Devil's Palace

by Margaret Pemberton

  Lord Beston laughed and caught hold of her waist, pressing her body so close to his that Charlotte could feel the buttons of his jacket pressing painfully against her breasts.

  ‘I like you exceedingly Miss Grainger.… Charlotte. Let us be friends, eh?’ His lips sought her averted face, his moustache brushing her skin unpleasantly.

  ‘No!’ Charlotte gasped. ‘ Your behaviour is infamous. I demand that you release me instantly.’

  ‘Not until I have told you the truth about the man you feel such misplaced loyalty for,’ Lord Beston said, his voice hardening. ‘He has no feelings of affection for you. None for any woman except his sister; my wife.’ He began to laugh again and in his laughter was the sound of madness.

  Charlotte felt revulsion flood her body. His words made no sense to her but it was obvious that his hatred of Sandor was sufficient to endanger Sandor’s life if they should meet.

  Lord Beston’s mouth sought hers with desperate urgency. ‘ So no more Count Karolyi,’ he panted as she struggled against him. ‘No more Zara. Let them comfort each other in penury while we …’ His mouth fastened on hers. She could feel his teeth biting her lips, smell the sickly sweetness of his breath.

  Lord Beston was not a man who normally let passion rule his senses, but the enormity of his wife’s revelations had temporarily deranged him. His power over the unsufferably self-assured and arrogant Count Karolyi was absolute. And as if to prove it, he had every intention of possessing Karolyi’s mistress, with her consent or without it.

  Sheer terror lent Charlotte strength. She clawed and kicked but the harder she fought the more she inflamed Lord Beston’s senses. His hand grasped the silk of her bodice and pulled with terrifying ferocity.

  ‘No! Oh please God! No!’

  Twisting and struggling, they had moved from the spot where he had detained her. She felt her back slammed into the hard trunk of a tree and then he was upon her, grasping and kneading her tender flesh.

  She could taste blood in her mouth, feel her strength ebbing. His knee pressed between hers and then she felt the touch of his hand beneath her skirts, and she screamed Sandor’s name.

  Lord Beston had not been in the Salle Mauresque when Sandor entered. Sandor had wasted little time in his search of the downstairs rooms. If Beston was at the casino he would no doubt be playing in exclusive company upstairs. His search there was fruitless. As Lord Beston entered the main gaming room and watched Charlotte’s hurried entrance, Sandor was in conversation with Monsieur Blanc, asking if Lord Beston had entered the casino that evening. On being told that his lordship was indeed present. Sandor had demanded to know which private supper room Lord Beston was entertaining in. Monsieur Blanc had assured Sandor that his lordship was in none of them.

  Grim-faced, Sandor strode through the jostling throng, ignoring smiles and calls of greeting. Where the devil was Beston?

  Louise de Remy excused herself prettily from her escort’s side and hurried across to Sandor in a rustle of silk and a cloud of feathers.

  ‘Excuse me, Count Karolyi, if you are looking for Charlotte she stepped out on to the terrace some ten minutes ago and has not returned.’

  ‘Charlotte?’ Sandor paused, his dark brows flying together.

  ‘She seemed a little … agitated,’ Louise ventured, her heavy lashed eyes concerned. ‘Lord Beston followed her. I think perhaps he, too, realised she was not her usual self.’

  In that moment Louise de Remy knew full well how Sandor Karolyi had earned his devil-dark reputation. She heard the hiss of his indrawn breath, saw the glitter of his eyes and was suddenly aware of the primitive and feral nature of his masculinity.

  ‘Which way did they go?’ he rasped, his voice slicing across her nerve-ends like a whip.

  ‘I do not know,’ Louise faltered, regretting her boldness and trying to tear her eyes away from his before the angry blaze in them consumed her.

  Sandor cursed and spun on his heel, shouldering his way towards the terrace with little heed for those in his path. His anxiety grew as he saw that Charlotte and Beston were not among the couples enjoying the evening air within earshot of the gaming rooms. Fear was an emotion that he was not familiar with, but it gripped him now as he ran down the shrub-bordered steps to the lower terrace. A couple enjoying a close embrace in the shadows sprang apart guiltily at his approach. Sandor ignored them. Swiftly he strode along the darkened terrace and then Charlotte’s scream shattered the stillness, abruptly curtailed as Beston’s hand smothered her mouth.

  Sandor hurried down the seldom used steps to the wilderness of Madame Blanc’s tropical garden. For a terrifying moment, although he could hear the sound of a violent struggle, he could see only the silhouettes of palms and eucalyptus and then, against the darkness of the trees, he saw the flash of silk.

  With the speed and agility of a wild animal, Sandor covered the distance between himself and Beston in a couple of seconds. He had sought him that evening to talk with him, reason with him—now he desired only to kill him.

  Charlotte’s gown was ripped from her shoulders, her breasts exposed, and in the moonlight Sandor could see the cruel imprint of Beston’s fingers on her soft flesh. Her skirts were disarranged, pushed high towards her waist. She was sobbing, still struggling as Sandor’s hand closed like a vice on the collar of Beston’s jacket and he hauled him off her protesting body.

  ‘What the …?’ Lord Beston began, and was immediately silenced as Sandor’s fist made violent contact with his jaw.

  ‘That!’ Sandor snarled, ‘ is for making my sister’s life a misery. This!’ Another blow sent Lord Beston to his knees, bloody-faced, ‘is for having the temerity to lay hands on the woman I love.’

  Lord Beston struggled to his feet and lashed out in vain. The blow skimmed Sandor’s face and Sandor’s clenched fist drove deep into Lord Beston’s stomach, doubling him up with pain.

  ‘That, is for all the other women you have no doubt taken advantage of and who have had no one to defend them. And this!’ He dragged Lord Beston upright, steadying him with one hand and slamming his fist into his jaw with the other, ‘ is to ensure that you never lay a finger on Charlotte again!’

  Lord Beston fell and Sandor turned to Charlotte, his breath coming in harsh gasps.

  ‘Are you all right, my love?’

  ‘Yes …’ She began to shake as he helped her gently to her feet, holding her against his pounding heart as if he would never let her go. Why was he treating her so? Did he think she was Zara? She clung to him, heedless of his reasons, grateful only for his strength and his tenderness, wanting to stay for ever in the safety of his arms.

  ‘You will pay for this, Karolyi,’ Beston panted, his voice slurred as he stumbled to his feet. ‘ I’ll tell the whole world of your bastardy.’

  Blood blinded his eyes, he began to weave backwards, away from Sandor and Charlotte, and towards the low wall that protected nocturnal strollers from the cliff face.

  ‘Be careful, Beston,’ Sandor warned. ‘The cliff is only yards behind you.’

  ‘You will be ruined! Ostracised in every capital of Europe!’

  ‘You are going to fall, Beston.’ Sandor’s voice held true alarm.

  Beston laughed. ‘Incest. That’s what I’ll accuse you of. I’ll destroy you! Force you to your knees!’

  Like a man overcome by drink, Lord Beston continued to stagger backwards.

  ‘For God’s sake man, move no further!’ Sandor shouted.

  ‘Povzervslay can slaughter every one of your tenants in cold blood for all I care,’ Beston crowed, and then his heel struck stone and he tottered, losing his balance.

  For a hideous second Charlotte saw the gleeful expression on his face change to one of concern and then terrified comprehension. His hands clutched vainly in Sandor’s direction as Sandor leapt to save him. His fingers caught hold of Beston’s jacket and Charlotte heard the sickening tear of the material and then Lord Beston’s crazed scream as his own weight wrenched him from Sandor’s grasp and
he toppled, arms flailing wildly, over the low wall and down the rock-strewn cliff.

  Feeling as if she were in the grip of a nightmare, Charlotte forced herself to walk to Sandor’s side, staring horrified at the dark abyss into which Lord Beston had fallen. No sound came. No cry for help. No moan of pain.

  ‘Is he dead?’ she asked fearfully.

  ‘Dead or mortally wounded,’ Sandor said grimly and then the first of those to be alarmed by Lord Beston’s screams came running down the steps towards them.

  ‘Good God, Karolyi, what’s happened?’

  In seconds they were surrounded and Charlotte clutched the remnants of her gown to her breasts as Sandor’s arm circled her shoulders.

  ‘Lord Beston,’ Sandor said briefly. ‘There has been an accident and he has fallen.’

  Sharp eyes flew from the smears of blood on the white linen of Sandor’s shirt to Charlotte’s state of disarray and Charlotte could hear the whispers fly.

  ‘A fight?’

  ‘I always said Karolyi was born to be hung.’

  ‘Was it murder?’

  Monsieur Blanc forced his way through the gathering crowd. ‘What happened?’ he asked Sandor urgently.

  ‘Lord Beston,’ Sandor said briefly, pointing down the cliff face. ‘You will need to get men down there immediately. He may still be alive.’

  Agitatedly Monsieur Blanc issued orders to his staff for lanterns to be lit and a search to be made. Then he turned once more to Sandor. ‘I must call the gendarmes,’ he said in distress. ‘I have no alternative.’

  Charlotte stared at the faces around her, at Monsieur Blanc’s bowed shoulders, at the skin stretched like parchment across Sandor’s cheekbones. It had been an accident but in that moment she knew that if the truth were told it would not be believed. Sandor would be accused of murder.

  Suddenly she began to sob, tearing herself from Sandor’s grasp and throwing herself into Monsieur Blanc’s arms.

  ‘Oh, Monsieur Blanc. What will happen? Will I be accused of murder? I did not mean it. Truly I did not. Lord Beston was so pressing in his attentions and when I refused him he grew angry.’

  She no longer attempted to disguise the rent in her gown. All those present could see that it was ripped from the neck to the waist. A lace camisole gleamed provocatively. Bared breasts rose and fell as she wept in Monsieur Blanc’s arms.

  ‘I begged him to desist, and when he did not I pushed him and he fell against that little wall, and …’ She shuddered expressively. ‘Count Karolyi heard my cries for help and he came just as Lord Beston fell. He tried to reach Lord Beston and I believe he has injured himself.’

  Eyes swivelled to the blood on Sandor’s shirt. Sandor tried to interrupt her and gain Camille Blanc’s attention, but failed. The Frenchman’s concentration was given entirely to comforting the delightfully distressed English girl.

  The members of his staff who had stumbled into the darkness with lanterns to locate Lord Beston’s body returned without haste.

  ‘The gentleman is dead, Monsieur Blanc.’

  Charlotte gave a little scream and Monsieur Blanc tightened his hold on her shoulders as he ushered her through the crowd, away from the scene of the tragedy and towards his private suite. Again Sandor attempted to speak to him, but Monsieur Blanc merely said,

  ‘It was an unfortunate occurrence, Count Karolyi. And one that the gendarmes will handle discreetly. The young lady was protecting her honour. The fall was an accident,’ he shrugged expressively.

  Justin de Valmy took hold of Sandor’s arm. ‘A brandy, I think, Karolyi.’

  ‘No. I must speak to the gendarmes.’

  ‘The gendarmes will handle the situation far more discreetly without your presence,’ Justin said drily.

  ‘But you don’t understand, de Valmy, it was not as Charlotte says.’

  ‘Then I advise you to keep silent about that fact. The gendarmes will let Charlotte off lightly. She is a woman, she is beautiful, and she is distressed. What Frenchman could resist such a combination?’

  ‘But I cannot allow her to take the blame for Beston’s death when the fool caused it himself,’ Sandor hissed.

  ‘For the love of God, keep your voice down,’ Justin chided, keeping a firm hold of his arm as they climbed the steps to the casino. ‘The matter as it stands is simple. Charlotte accidentally pushed Beston over the wall, while defending her honour. Don’t complicate the simple affair unnecessarily.’

  Charlotte was ahead of them, crying softly, Monsieur Blanc’s arm protectively around her shoulders. All around them they could hear the buzz of sympathetic gossip.

  ‘The poor child is half out of her mind.’

  ‘My dear, the man must have been an animal. Did you see the state of her gown?’

  ‘Such a sweet girl too.’

  ‘Princess Natalya was devoted to her.’

  They were at the door of the de Valmy carriage. ‘Get in,’ Justin said to him. ‘The sooner we leave the better.’

  ‘No. I cannot leave now,’ Sandor retorted. ‘ I must go to Charlotte.’

  Justin sighed with exasperation. ‘Charlotte can manage quite well on her own, Karolyi. You are forgetting that if it is as you say, it is her quick wit that has saved you from arrest. That she pushed Beston and he fell is acceptable and will not be regarded as murder. That you should admit to doing such a thing …’

  ‘Damn it to hell, man! No one pushed Beston over that parapet! He fell to his death unaided.’

  Justin laughed grimly. ‘Considering Charlotte’s dishevellment, I doubt if you will find anyone to believe that. Follow my advice. Leave Charlotte to exonerate you both and join me for a brandy.’

  ‘No. My place is with Charlotte,’ and with that Sandor wrenched his arm from Justin’s hold and marched through the crowd of fevered spectators after Monsieur Blanc and Charlotte.

  No one detained him as he entered Monsieur Blanc’s lavishly appointed office. Charlotte was still crying quietly and being comforted by Monsieur Blanc. As Sandor entered the room her eyes flew to his, pleading for him to remain silent. He had known he had loved her for a long time, but not until that moment did he realise the enormity of his love. In that moment he knew that if it were necessary Charlotte would lay down her life for him. As he would for her.

  Within minutes the gendarmes arrived, headed by the inspector of Monte Carlo’s small police force. Monsieur Blanc greeted him warmly. He was an old and trusted friend. Cognac was poured.

  ‘Mademoiselle Grainger is a young lady of irreproachable morals,’ he told the inspector. ‘You will remember the incident in the Boulevard des Moulins? It was Mademoiselle Grainger who risked her life in saving the child from the bolting horse. She was companion to Princess Yakovleva and the Princess was devoted to her.’

  Above Charlotte’s head Monsieur Blanc’s eyes met those of the inspector. The inspector nodded. So—the young lady was not a cocotte. Not an adventuress. Blanc, one of the most respected citizens in Monte Carlo, was prepared to vouch for her character.

  ‘What happened, mademoiselle,’ he asked gently.

  Charlotte clutched the torn bodice of her gown to her breasts. ‘It was hot in the casino and I was taking some air on the terraces. I had wandered further than usual for I enjoy solitude and there were many other strollers on the upper terrace.’ She paused and shivered convulsively. ‘I was about to return when Lord Beston barred my way. He … he tried to detain me in conversation but I told him I wished to return to the gaming room and then he …’

  She gazed up at Monsieur Blanc as if for support. ‘ He told me that I was beautiful and seized my hand, kissing it most passionately.’

  The inspector’s subordinate nodded. The Englishman had been overcome by the girl’s beauty, had tried to take advantage of her and had behaved clumsily and failed. No Frenchman would have made such an error.

  ‘And then …’ the inspector prompted kindly.

  ‘I tried to free my hand from his grasp, but he pulled me against him and
tried to kiss me against my will.’

  Sandor’s face was demonic. A pulse beat furiously at his jawline and his hands were clenched so tightly that the knuckles showed white.

  ‘I begged of him to desist, but he would not. I think … I think he was not quite sane. He tore off my bodice and then he forced me to the ground …’ Tears convulsed her.

  Monsieur Blanc leant gallantly towards the inspector and saved her from continuing.

  ‘Attempted rape,’ he whispered in the inspector’s ear.

  The inspector coughed appreciatively.

  ‘I screamed, and that must have been when Count Karolyi heard my cry and began to run to my assistance. As I did so Lord Beston tried to silence me and that was when I managed to free myself of him. He caught hold of me again and I pushed him and he fell against the parapet. Count Karolyi ran on to the terrace and tried to seize him, but Lord Beston was too heavy for him.’ She covered her face with her hands and her torn gown fell to reveal her breasts to the pleasure of every onlooker but Sandor.

  ‘You have my deepest sympathy, Mademoiselle,’ the inspector said, envying Blanc his task of comforting such a delectable creature.

  Charlotte managed a tremulous smile and Sandor could contain himself no longer. Savagely he brushed Monsieur Blanc aside and draped his evening jacket over Charlotte’s naked shoulders. There was a knock at the door and Dr Deslys entered.

  ‘You have seen the body?’ the inspector asked, regretting the Hungarian’s chivalrous action.

  Dr Deslys’s sharp eyes moved from Charlotte’s dishevelled gown to Sandor’s grim face, and back once again to Charlotte’s pleading eyes.

  ‘I have. A full autopsy will have to be carried out at a later date, but I think I can assure you that death was occasioned by the fall.’

  ‘Were there any blows inflicted on the body? Any signs of violence?’

  There had been four quite definite blows and Dr Deslys could well imagine how they had been caused. His eyes held Charlotte’s. ‘No. There were several contusions of course, and a great deal of bleeding, but then that was to be expected. There was nothing of a suspicious nature,’ he lied smoothly.