Her accusation agitated him. "Short of killing Jessym, there was nothing else I could do. I hated to shift the blame to Sawyer, but he is nothing next to your happiness. I would destroy anyone who threatened your safety."
Phaedra leapt out of the chair and backed away from him. The vehemence in his words frightened her. She paced toward the window and shifted the curtain aside, hoping to find help in the streets below. But as she drew back the material, she found the glass boarded over, the wood covered with a landscape scene painted in pastels. She was as much a prisoner here as she had been in Bedlam--only now she had a madman for her gaoler. Phaedra clutched her hands together resisting the urge to beat futilely against the boards.
Jonathan stalked toward her, pleading, "Don't turn away from me, Phaedra. You must see that I have done all this for your good. I never meant to hurt you. The most difficult thing of all was helping to rid you of that babe. "
Phaedra felt her face drain of all color. Jonathan!"
She cried out in protest, wanting an end to these horrible confessions, wanting this all to be a bad dream and Jonathan to transform back into her calm, dependable friend again.
"I thought the cold water of the pond would be enough. The shock should have made you miscarry. I knew you swam far too well to drown, and of course I was right there, to protect you." He shook his head mournfully. "But it didn't work. And then I was afraid that when you recovered, you would go back to Ireland, just as you had threatened to do. It was then that I thought it might be best to have you looked after, until this room was ready for you."
Phaedra drew in a sharp breath as the final piece of this nightmare fell into place. Jonathan had often spoken about his patronage of various charities, and Sawyer Weylin had chaffed him about throwing away good money.
"Bedlam,” she murmured. “You are one of the patrons of Bedlam.”
"Indeed I am. I have always been most generous, so that it was not difficult to arrange your stay there. I kept praying that somehow you would yet miscarry by natural means. But in the end, to protect you from that sinful child, I had no choice but to put the tansy root into your stew."
Phaedra bit down hard upon her knuckle, drawing blood. She ought to hate him, this madman who had destroyed her child. Yet she could fell nothing but horror at his twisted logic, his mind diseased past all healing.
She cowered back when he advanced upon her, but he only stroked her cheek. It was like a caress from the grave. Her friend Jonathan was dead, and now some demented stranger was using his gentle voice and soft eyes to terrify her.
“You must put everything behind you now, Phaedra. You are safe. No one will find you here."
No, that couldn't be true. James. Hadn't Jonathan said earlier that James was looking for her? Her lashes swept down to conceal that hope, but with the cunning of madness, Jonathan seemed to read her mind.
"No one," he repeated. "Not even the Marquis de Varnais. I will see to that."
Phaedra could hardly speak for the fear strangling her. ”What are you going to do?”
"You must not worry." He brushed a kiss against her mouth, and she fought the urge to scrub her hand across her lips. "You must rest now, my dear. You are looking quite fatigued."
As Jonathan turned to go, Phaedra had a wild impulse to dart past him, but she knew she would never make it to the door. She must remain calm. James's life could depend upon it. Jonathan was clearly planning something, and James would not be on his guard against the gentle-seeming man-any more than Hester or Ewan had been.
She raced after Jonathan and caught his arm. "Jonathan. Let me help you to destroy the marquis."
He patted her hand with an indulgent smile. "I could not do that. It would be far too distressful for you."
"No, I hate him!" The shrillness of fear in her voice made her words sound genuine. "He seduced and abandoned me. I will never be happy unless you grant me this."
Jonathan's brow furrowed. Her heart plummeted in despair. She would never fool him. Then he nodded gravely and said, "Very well, my dear. I will come for you when it is time."
"Jonathan," she pleaded, but he was already leaving, locking the door behind him.
Phaedra could no longer keep her frenzy at bay. She rattled the handle, but quickly realized the futility of it. Racing over to the window, she pounded against the wood, then attempted to pry free the boards. Hopeless. Jonathan had obviously taken care to leave nothing in the chamber-not even fire irons-that she could use to smash her way to freedom.
Phaedra spun away from the boarded-up window and began rummaging through the drawers of the dressing table. Surely she could at least find a hairpin and attempt to pick the lock on the door. But it seemed Jonathan had even considered that possibility, for her search turned up nothing.
He had done a most thorough job of sealing her off from the world. There was no way out, no one to hear her. Her only choice was to wait-if she could keep from going mad herself before Jonathan returned. What if he changed his mind and simply went ahead and- She refused to consider that grim possibility.
Instead she spent her time in the useless pursuit of examining the past, entertaining guilt-ridden thoughts of how much she had had to do with Jonathan's broken mind. Had she given him the wrong impression when she had risked her life to nurse him through the pox? Had she been too kind to him over the years, or not kind enough? Would it have made it better or worse if she had-
Phaedra sank her head between her hands. She did not see how it could possibly be any worse. The time dragged by until she wanted to scream. She had no notion of how many hours passed before the click of the lock announced Jonathan's return.
As Phaedra raised her head to look at him, she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Her face was ghostly pale, her hair wildly disheveled. Jonathan, by comparison, looked perfectly ordinary, his neckcloth arranged somberly, his demeanor calm. Anyone might be forgiven for supposing that she was the mad one.
"It is time, my dear," Jonathan said solemnly. He extended his arm in a courtly gesture to escort her downstairs. Phaedra wanted to shrink from him, but her recent terrors had left her so light-headed that she was obliged to accept Jonathan's support.
He led her to the small parlor below. The rest of the house was dark and silent, but here a small fire glowed on the hearth. The candles were ordered in such grim array that the room had a funereal look.
"The marquis will be here soon," Jonathan said. "I told him I had tidings of you."
Phaedra concealed her alarm. She could not formulate her own plans until she knew what Jonathan meant to do. He drew her over to the sideboard and indicated a large crystal pitcher, filled with what appeared to be water.
"Pure vitriolic acid," he said. "I have diluted a small portion and added it to this."
Jonathan held aloft a full wine decanter for her inspection. "Rascally merchants do it all the time to improve the body and color of inferior products. I have added far more than is safe. His lordship will seem to have perished from drinking badly adulterated wine."
Phaedra's gaze flicked with horror to the crystal decanter. The burgundy liquid sparkled a rich red. Never had death been put in a more inviting form.
Jonathan arranged the decanter and the glasses neatly upon the tea table, then tugged her by the hand. "You will wait in the next room behind the door. You can see everything from there. You shall have your vengeance soon. Phaedra."
His eyes glazed over as he said, "It will be a most hideous painful death, but no more than the marquis deserves. Then nothing will stand between us, my love."
As Jonathan bent to kiss her cheek, Phaedra could no longer conceal her revulsion. She felt relieved when he permitted her to slip past him into the dining room. She hoped he would close the door; then she might be able to escape through one of the long windows and warn James before he reached the house. But whether Jonathan simply reveled in gazing upon her or he did not yet completely trust her, Phaedra was unsure. Whatever his reason, he kept her within sig
ht during the strained half-hour of waiting that followed.
She started when finally there came a thundering summons at the front door. Jonathan's features suffused with an expression of suppressed excitement as he held one finger to his lips. Warning Phaedra to remain silent, he closed her in the dining room. She could hear his footfalls fade as he stalked toward the front door.
Phaedra whirled about frantically, but she knew it was already too late. By the time she escaped through one of the windows and raced around to the front, James would be inside the house. Indeed she could already hear Jonathan returning. Cautiously, Phaedra inched open the door and peered into the parlor.
Jonathan addressed a shadowy figure beyond his shoulder. "Come and warm yourself at the fire. I will fetch you a glass of wine."
James swept in, impatiently stripping off his gloves. Phaedra's heart constricted with a mingling of joy and fear at the sight of the familiar hard angles of his face, the waves of dark hair, the cool blue eyes that were so blessedly sane.
With a choked cry, she flung open the salon door and ran to him. She had but a glimpse of his astonishment as she hurled herself into his arms.
"Phaedra, thank God," he said. "I have been going out of my mind searching for you."
She sagged against him, gasping out words that were barely comprehensible. "James, take care. Jonathan, he's mad. He-"
But James was given no chance to make sense of her words before Jonathan's mournful tones broke in. "You shouldn't have done that, Phaedra. You have made it all so much more difficult."
Without releasing her, James turned and she felt him tense. Phaedra looked around in time to see Jonathan unsheathe a sword, the tip as lethal as the fanatical light in Jonathan's eyes.
With incredible calm, James eased Phaedra away from him. He reasoned gently, "You'd best put that down, Mr. Burnell."
Jonathan advanced, his eyes blazing. Phaedra knew he would try to run James through where he stood. She flung her body protectively in front of James.
James hurled her aside, growling in her ear, "Run!"
A split-second later, Jonathan thrust at him, but James was too quick. He sidestepped the blow, recovered and backed toward the mantel. Phaedra watched, terrified. Why didn't James draw his own weapon? Her gaze flicked to where his sword should have been, the sickening realization sweeping over her. He was unarmed.
She leapt at Jonathan, catching at his arm. He shoved her roughly and knocked her into the tea table. She fell,.bringing the table down with her. The glasses shattered and the poisoned wine stained the carpet blood-red.
James was forced farther back as Jonathan came at him, brandishing the sword. "Villain!" Jonathan shrieked. "You hurt Phaedra once, but you'll never touch her again. I will protect her as I always have done."
He lunged wildly, but James again eluded him. As Phaedra struggled to her feet, she saw that James had managed to move away from the fireplace into the center of the room.
"Easy, Jonathan," he soothed. "I have no intention of hurting Phaedra.”
“Liar! You have come to snatch her away from me.” Jonathan lunged again, this time catching the end of James's cloak with the sword. James dove toward the sideboard. In desperation, he snatched up the thick crystal pitcher and dashed its contents over Jonathan's face.
Letting out an inhuman scream, Jonathan dropped the sword. He clutched madly at his eyes and fell to his knees, writhing in torment.
"Wh-What?" James glanced toward Phaedra, his eyes clouded with confusion.
"Acid," Phaedra cried, pointing to the pitcher James still held in his hand. "It was acid."
With a savage oath, James flung the pitcher aside. He leaped at Jonathan and pinned him to the ground, trying to restrain the older man from tearing at his own flesh.
"Water! Fetch water!" James commanded. When Phaedra stood frozen in horror, he bellowed, "Move!"
She bolted from the room.
Hours later the parlor yet bore signs of the struggle. The poisoned wine had left a large red stain on the rug, and no one had bothered to upright the tea table. James perched upon the edge of the settee. He buried his face in his hands as they waited for some word from the bedchamber upstairs, where the doctor was attending Jonathan.
Phaedra crowded close to James, curling one arm about his rigid shoulders. The room was silent, except for the fire crackling upon the hearth.
"Blind," James muttered at last. "He's going to be God-cursed blind."
Phaedra stroked back the dark strands of hair that fell across his brow. "It was not your fault. You had no way of knowing. It was Jonathan himself who placed the acid in that pitcher. He meant to kill you.”
"The poor bastard was mad. I only wanted to stop him, not maim him in such horrible fashion. He’d be better off dead."
James pulled away from her. He rose to his feet, rejecting her efforts at consolation.
A lump formed in Phaedra's throat as she stared at him. This was the man she had once thought of as cold-blooded. But a lack of feeling had never been James’s problem. The man felt far too much.
When a sound came from the hall beyond, both she and James tensed, anticipating the return of the doctor.
"Jamey-boy?" someone called, in a lilting Irish accent. The parlor door opened, and a tousled head of dark curls poked inside the room. “Lethington? Where the deuce have you been, man? I've been waiting forever."
Gilly halted abruptly as his gaze fell upon Phaedra. "Fae!" He bounded into the room with a joy-filled cry and swept her up into his arms. His roguish green eyes moistened as he choked, "Damn it, Fae. I thought you'd been carried off by the banshee this time for sure."
She started to assure him she was very much alive when he gave her an angry shake. "What the devil do you mean vanishing that way, frightening the life out of everyone? Where have you been?"
Phaedra drew back, wiping away her own tears. "It is a long story," she said. And she wasn't sure she would ever have the heart to tell it all.
Gilly's eyes darted shrewdly from her to James's haggard face. Her cousin uprighted the overturned tea table. "What in blazes has been happening here? Where's Jonathan?"
But he didn't wait for an answer, shrugging. "I suppose it will keep for a few more minutes. I have to fetch Julianna in from the carriage."
"Julianna!" Phaedra exclaimed. Still shaken by the terrible events of the past few hours, she had forgotten to inquire about James's mission to find his sister. But before she could say anything more, James glowered at Gilly.
"Why the devil did you bring her here?"
"I could not be after leaving her alone, could I? What with you haring off and not sending me a blessed word."
James silenced his complaint with an impatient gesture. "I suppose you'd best bring her in,"
As Gilly left the room, Phaedra turned to James. "So you did find her. How was ... I mean, how is Julianna?"
"You will see for yourself in a moment."
The anguish in his voice told Phaedra all she needed to know. Dread clutched at her as she awaited Gilly's return.
When he stepped back into the parlor, a timid wraith of a girl clung to his arm, her blond hair and wan face all but swallowed up by the hood of her cape.
Phaedra's greeting died upon her lips. She blinked and stared as though seeing a ghost.
"Fae," Gilly said solemnly, "may I present Miss Julianna Lethington."
But Phaedra swept past her startled cousin to ease back the hood to peer closer at young woman. She regarded Phaedra with vacant blue eyes, an uncertain smile trembling upon her lips.
"Dear God," Phaedra breathed. "Marie."
Chapter Twenty-three
The fire blazed in the hearth dispensing warmth through the far end of the music gallery. Candle shine spilled a soft glow upon the spinet and the couple who sat there. Gilly's tenor voice crooned a ballad to the girl seated beside him, who shyly ducked her head. The girl Phaedra had known as Marie Antoniette.
Since Phaedra had last glimpsed th
e girl in Bedlam, Julianna's appearance was altered. Her hair was neatly brushed, and she wore a pretty gown. But her frame was still too thin, and there yet lurked a lost, childlike quality to her eyes. Phaedra had the impression that Julianna still sometimes dreamed she was the Queen of France.
Phaedra tucked the ends of her shawl more securely about her. She and James lingered in the cool shadows at the opposite end of the gallery, watching the other couple. Phaedra sat in one of the massive armchairs while James paced before her. He directed a heavy frown toward the spinet. Phaedra had sensed no diminution of the tension in him since their return to the Heath yesterday. She was uncertain whether it stemmed from his feelings toward the old man upstairs, who clung tenaciously to life, although Sawyer no longer moved or spoke; or if it sprung from the sight of his sister, who didn't even know him.
Julianna did remember at times that she had a brother James. But she could not connect that fiery young man with the tall stranger whose hard features seemed to frighten her.
Gilly stopped singing long enough to guide Julianna's fingers over the keys. James pursed his lips, and then resumed what he had been saying to Phaedra before he had become distracted. "When Gilly and I arrived at the cottage, there was no sign of Julianna or Mrs. Link. We eventually found out the woman had died a year ago. Her rascally nephew had been pocketing the money your grandfather sent all that time. He told us some taradiddle about other relatives having taken Julianna north to Scotland.
"It was a long, wearisome search before Gilly and I discovered that my sister had actually been consigned to hell."
James's words were such an accurate description of Bedlam that Phaedra did not trust herself to reply. She paled as a flood of painful recollections coursed through her.
James must have noticed, for his grim features softened. He started to reach for her hand but stopped himself abruptly and resumed his pacing.
"Bedlam was a nightmare,” Phaedra said at last. "I hate to think of Jonathan in that dreadful place."
"He won't be sent there, I promise you. He will be looked after in his own home."
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