Devil's Palace

by Margaret Pemberton

  An ugly red stain mottled his cheeks. His own greed had been his downfall and he had blamed his folly on his beautiful young wife. Never a day passed without him belittlling or ridiculing her, wishing her dead so that he could marry advantageously elsewhere.

  His eyes narrowed speculatively. What spirit she had he had nearly broken. She spent her days weeping, eating only enough to keep a bird alive. If Karolyi should succeed in coercing her into his bed and he, Beston, then faced her with the truth, she would be a broken reed and might even lose the will to live. Zara was not like the majority of her contemporaries, entering lightly upon liaisons and affaires. Her purity was almost nun-like. The shame of breaking her wedding vows would be monumental.

  He smiled grimly to himself as his carriage returned to the hotel. She had barely taken her eyes off Karolyi when he had visited that morning, and Karolyi, too, had not been as circumspect as usual. The tension in the air had been almost palpable.

  He opened the door of his suite and froze Zara in the act of leaving. Slowly he closed the door behind him. ‘And just where do you think you are going?’ he asked softly. ‘Who are you intending to see?’

  ‘I … no one.’ Trembling convulsively Zara removed her hat and lay down her gloves. Beston eyed her curiously.

  ‘I’m not a fool, Zara,’ he said, and the very silken quality of his voice intensified her fear.

  ‘I … I have just come in.’ She forced a smile. ‘I would like to retire now. I feel most unwell.’ Nervously she reached a hand out to ring for her maid, but her husband’s hand closed around hers, restrainingly.

  ‘I think perhaps you have something to tell me, Zara.’

  ‘No. It is just that I feel most unwell.’ His touch on her flesh made her shrink with revulsion. Sweat broke out on her forehead and the palms of her hands.

  ‘I am reliably informed that guilt often has that effect,’ Beston said smoothly, noting with satisfaction that the blood had drained from her face and that her heart was palpitating wildly.

  ‘Guilt?’ Her eyes widened and Beston felt a frisson of pleasure. She was hiding something. Had she received a communication from Karolyi? Had she been on the point of capitulation? Had she, incredible thought, already capitulated? Was she already Karolyi’s mistress? Was now the time to strike?

  ‘Perhaps you would like to tell me his name, my dear, and relieve your conscience of its burden?’

  ‘There is no one. I swear …’

  Beston laughed softly. ‘I doubt if an onlooker to this morning’s little reunion would find that believable.’

  Zara’s throat contracted with fear. Her mouth opened and she tried to speak but no sound would come. Her husband released her hands and seated himself comfortably on the nearest sofa, pinning her with his eyes as if she were a butterfly on a mount.

  ‘I think the moment for truth has finally arrived, Zara.’

  Zara’s fingers splayed helplessly in an effort to find something upon which to lean for support. ‘I … I don’t know what you mean. I was just going for a carriage ride.…’

  Her distress held a quality he had never seen before. His suspicions became certainty.

  ‘You told me a moment ago, my dear, that you had just returned from a carriage ride.’

  ‘I… I am confused.’

  Beston rose to his feet and poured himself a brandy. ‘Your talent for lying is as negligible as your other talents. And it is completely pointless. You see, my dear, I know the truth about you and Sandor Karolyi.’

  Zara’s nails dug deep into the back of a chair. ‘No … It isn’t possible.’

  Her husband sighed with satisfaction. ‘So … I was right in my assumption. It is true.’

  ‘Yes … No …’ Zara began to weep unrestrainedly.

  Something near to heat warmed Lord Beston’s glacial gaze as Zara fell half senseless across the chair.

  ‘Do you realise the shame you have brought on my name?’ he said relentlessly. ‘The ignominy.’ His voice was like a whiplash. He rose to his feet, his shadow falling threateningly across her.

  Zara clutched at his hand, falling to her knees. ‘No one need know! Oh please! Promise me you will not speak of it again. It will break Sandor’s heart to relinquish Valeni!’

  Lord Beston began to speak and then halted. Valeni. Why the devil should Karolyi be obliged to relinquish the family estates? The sixth sense that never failed him prompted him to silence.

  ‘It was my father’s dying wish …’ Zara was incoherent. Her head hurt. She could no longer think clearly. She had to protect Sandor. Had to make Beston see how important it was for him to keep silent. Tears strangled her throat.

  ‘I know you have no love for me, but I beg of you to keep it silent. To do otherwise would be to kill me.’

  Lord Beston’s eyes glinted. ‘Then let us have some truth, Zara. I think you have deceived me long enough.’

  ‘But there was no other course open for me.’ Her eyes were wide, distraught. What she had lived in fear of all her life had occurred. Beston knew her secret. Knew Sandor’s secret.

  ‘Who told you,’ she sobbed, wrapping her arms around her body, as if to hold herself against an inner disintegration.

  ‘It is of no moment.’

  ‘But it is! Oh! What if he should tell Povzervslay? What will become of Valeni?’

  Lord Beston was aware of a rising excitement that took all his self-discipline to control. ‘ You must tell me everything yourself, Zara. Right from the beginning.’

  Zara moaned and for a moment Beston was afraid that she was going to lose consciousness.

  ‘Count Karolyi loved Sandor as if he was his own son. He always meant Valeni to be Sandor’s.’

  Lord Beston felt the blood throb in his temple. Dear God, what was she telling him? That the arrogant Hungarian was one of the old Count’s by-blows?

  ‘If only he had adopted Sandor, then Povzervslay would have no claim to it …’ She was crying again and her husband could scarcely prevent himself from shaking her shoulders.

  ‘Yes?’ he prompted, leaning forward, his eyes gleaming with anticipation.

  ‘But he wouldn’t. He loved our mother too much. He thought that if he adopted Sandor, news of his action would leak into society and then there would be speculation and gossip.’

  ‘Our mother?’ Beston repeated softly, hardly daring to breathe.

  Zara closed her eyes. She had feared this moment all her life, now there was a strange relief in saying:

  ‘There was no question of Count Karolyi adopting me. He gave me to Prince and Princess Katzinsky when I was only days old …’

  Beston’s breath hissed. ‘Your mother was Count Istvan’s wife?’

  ‘But of course!’ Her eyes flew open. Her husband was smiling. ‘But you knew that! You told me you knew!’

  ‘I know all I need to know,’ he said with exultant satisfaction. ‘I know that you’re not a Katzinsky but an illegitimate nobody. I know that you married me under false pretences and that I can now be freed of this marriage without any damage to my own reputation.’ His teeth showed wolfishly as his smile widened. ‘ I know that your bastard brother has no right to the title he holds.’

  Zara felt as if she was falling into a bottomless pit. A pit of her own making. ‘No!’ she gasped, falling on to her knees before him. ‘Oh, promise me you will say nothing. Povzervslay is a man of blood and violence. His tenants live in mortal fear of him. He must not be allowed to wreak his wrath on Valeni tenants.’

  Lord Beston picked up his silk hat and gloves. ‘ Povzervslay’s actions are immaterial to me. However, honour demands that I inform him that he has been usurped.’

  Zara flung her arms around his knees dementedly. ‘ It was Count Istvan’s dying wish that Sandor inherit!’

  ‘Then he should have taken the precaution of legally adopting, and legally willing Valeni to your brother. As it is …’ Beston shrugged his shoulders expressively and turned for the door, sending Zara sprawling.

  ‘N
o! Oh, no!’ Imploringly she stretched out her hands towards him.

  Her husband laughed. ‘ I imagine Povzervslay will be exceedingly grateful to me, but before I have the pleasure of telling him the truth, I shall indulge myself in telling Monte Carlo.’

  ‘You … are … a … devil,’ she whispered, and fell unconscious at his feet.

  Lord Beston laughed, adjusted his hat and closed the door on his stricken wife.

  At first Charlotte wondered what sound had awoken her with such a start. She stared perplexedly at the darkened shutters. No light filtered through the slats. Had dusk already fallen? If so, she had been asleep for several hours, overcome with an emotional exhaustion. The sound that had woken her came again, this time umistakable. A female cry of anguish.

  Hastily Charlotte sprang from the bed and stepped into her dress, fastening the tiny buttons with hurrying fingers as desperate sobs reverberated through the villa. She ran along the corridor to the top of the staircase and at the sight that met her eyes, halted, her hands flying to her throat.

  Zara was sobbing, her words strangled, barely coherent. Sandor was holding her in his arms, rocking her against his chest with unutterable tenderness.

  ‘He knows everything, Sandor! He’s going to the casino now to make the news public! He’s going to ruin you, my love.’

  ‘There is nothing to fear, Zara. I will speak with Beston.’

  ‘It is no use, he is evil.’ She began to shiver uncontrollably. ‘He will not rest at vilifying you and myself. He will have Mama’s name disparaged in every salon, at every card table.’

  Gently Sandor extricated himself from her grasp. ‘ That he will never do, Zara,’ he said, and at the tone of his voice Charlotte’s blood chilled. ‘Georges, attend to Lady Beston for me. I am going to the casino.’

  Charlotte felt her heart begin to beat in slow thick strokes. The dark menace that surrounded him like an aura had finally been unleashed. Charlotte had no doubt that on behalf of the woman he loved, Sandor was capable of murder. He strode to the door, ignoring the jacket that Georges held out for him. His white shirt was slashed open at the throat, every muscle in his body taut and tense like that of an animal about to spring on its prey.

  Charlotte felt the strength leave her legs. If he confronted Lord Beston in such a demonic fury then only tragedy could result. She clung to the banisters for support as Georges called after him agitatedly,

  ‘No, sir, I beg of you to consider!’

  The door slammed and rocked on its hinges and Zara threw herself prostrate on the chaise longue and began to sob as if her heart would break.

  Chapter Ten

  Charlotte forced herself to move, to run down the crimson carpeted stairs.

  Jeanne was leading the semi-conscious Lady Beston into the main salon. The door of Beausoleil was flung open. The dusk had deepened. The moon was rising as Charlotte ran out into the night. The carriage was still there but in the distance she could hear the galloping of hoofs. Georges was at her side, white-faced and shaking. She grasped his arm urgently. ‘ The carriage, Georges. I must take the carriage.’

  Georges did not demur. As she stepped inside she heard him order the coachman to drive at full speed for the casino after Count Karolyi.

  The whips cracked. The carriage lurched into motion. She found that she was praying aloud. He could not kill Lord Beston. The consequences would be too terrible to contemplate. The road she had taken so often now seemed endless. Pine trees soared starkly against the moonlit sky. Orange and lemon groves loomed grotesquely.

  ‘Faster,’ she urged beneath her breath. ‘Oh please, faster!’

  Revellers turned in alarm as the Karolyi coach hurtled to the entrance of the casino. Charlotte flung open the carriage door herself and ran heedlessly past the startled gentlemen at the casino’s entrance.

  He was not in the Salle Mauresque. Jewelled heads turned in her direction. Eyebrows rose in surprise. Her gown was not suitable for such a venue. Louise smiled in her direction and was perplexed as Charlotte stared at and through her sightlessly.

  Where was he? In the Salon Privé? In the theatre? The answer came unerringly. He would not face Beston in such a throng. He would confront him on the darkened terraces.

  Fluttering fans, smiling faces, pressed in on her on every side. She pushed through them. She must reach the terrace and Sandor’s side before it was too late.

  Lord Beston paused in his conversation with his companions in a side doorway and gazed after her thoughtfully. The girl was distressed and alone. He crushed out his cigar in an onyx ashtray, excused himself and followed her at a discreet distance.

  Charlotte hurried out of the casino and on to the darkened terrace. Couples, hands closely entwined, strolled languidly, laughing flirtatiously. The night air was soft and warm, heavy with fragrance. Charlotte picked up her skirts and began to run along the flower-bordered terrace, down the steps where oleanders and dark-green shrubs lent privacy and seclusion. It was here that Sandor had first kissed her. From here that she had run from him, burning with shame at the response that had consumed her.

  What would be his reaction when she caught up with him? Fury? Indifference? Certainly he would not take kindly to her interference, but she could not stand idly by whilst his murderous rage led to actions he would surely regret. His meeting with Lord Beston would end in violence, there could be no other outcome. And Lord Beston was not a lackey who could be thrashed and forgotten. He was a man of high public standing—a peer of the realm. A man whose capacity to hate far exceeded his capacity for love.

  Her heart hurt in her chest. He was not there. The lower terraces were empty. Despairingly she turned, intent on once more searching the glittering rooms of the casino.

  ‘You appear to be searching for someone, Miss Grainger. Would it be Count Karolyi?’

  Charlotte’s hand flew to her throat as Lord Beston stepped from the shadows. Her first reaction was one of overwhelming relief that Sandor had not, as yet, confronted him. Her second, one of apprehension as he moved towards her, barring her way.

  ‘No,’ she said, gathering her scattered wits, forcing herself to smile and be civil. ‘I was simply taking some air. The gaming rooms are intolerably hot this evening.’

  ‘And you, Miss Grainger, are incredibly beautiful.’ In the darkness his tall, narrow frame seemed far more substantial that it had by daylight. The moon sailed from a bank of cloud and she could see the expression in his curiously colourless eyes clearly. They held the same hungry gleam that Prince Victor’s had held. Charlotte’s apprehension deepened into fear. She struggled to keep her voice light, praying that he would not detain her.

  ‘Thank you for the compliment, Lord Beston, but I must now be returning to the tables. My presence will be missed.’

  ‘I think not,’ Lord Beston said easily. ‘You did not, after all, enter the casino with any companions. Nor speak to anyone on your whirlwind tour of the rooms.’

  ‘I was simply observing who was present this evening, and now, Lord Beston, if you will excuse me …’ Determinedly she moved forward but to her alarm Lord Beston did not step aside.

  ‘I think, Miss Grainger, it is time we had a little tête à tête.’ Unhurriedly he removed a cigar from his inside pocket, lit it and blew a wreath of blue smoke upwards.

  Charlotte did not move. She sensed that to do so would be to precipitate action on Lord Beston’s part. Then he might detain her by force. At last he said,

  ‘You seem inordinately fond of Karolyi, and, knowing that gentleman as I do, I feel obliged to acquaint you with some unsavoury aspects of his character.’

  At the prospect of hearing of Sandor’s love for Lady Beston from Lord Beston himself, Charlotte felt panic well up in her. ‘ I am not a close friend of Count Karolyi and I have no desire to learn any more about him than I already know,’ she said through parched lips.

  Lord Beston puffed contentedly on his cigar, certain of victory. She was lying of course. She was Karolyi’s mistress bu
t she would not be so after tonight. Not after he had embellished his story with unpleasant innuendos about the depth of affection between brother and sister. She would be devastated and distraught, and he would console her. The prospect was an immensely pleasing one.

  ‘Count Sandor Karolyi is a man about to face ruin.’

  ‘Then I am sorry, but it is none of my affair.’ Dear God, she had to escape. She could not endure to hear of Sandor’s love for Zara from Beston’s lips.

  Purposefully she tried to step past him but he laid his hand on her arm restrainingly.

  ‘The man is an impostor. A usurper.’

  Charlotte halted, rigid with shock. This was not the revelation she had expected. Lord Beston’s eyes were triumphant.

  ‘He has duped Baron Povzervslay out of his rightful estate, and he has aided and abetted my wife into deceiving me.’

  Charlotte stared at him in bewilderment. ‘I am afraid I do not understand you.’

  ‘You will,’ Lord Beston said with an unpleasant laugh. ‘And so will everyone else when I disclose the truth.’ He glanced down to where his hand grasped Charlotte’s slender wrist. Desire licked through him. ‘So you see, Miss Grainger,’ he said, drawing her protesting hand to his lips and kissing it passionately, ‘ he is not a man it is wise to be seen with.’

  ‘And you, sir,’ Charlotte retorted, aware of a note of rising hysteria in her voice, ‘are not a man it is wise to be alone with!’ She tried to wrench her hand away from his hold and failed.