by Jo Goodman
“Fool!” Kenna shouted, running to Nick’s side, unafraid of Mason’s pistol any longer. Once fired, it was useless until he reloaded. Kenna dropped to her knees, her head snapping up when she saw Victorine step into the chamber. “Oh, why did you come here? Look what has—” She broke off abruptly as she noticed the pistol Victorine held in a tight double grip. Her weapon was pointed directly at Mason’s chest.
Mason had seen the pistol before Kenna and he decided upon his action quickly. He kicked the lantern at his feet, sending it skidding wildly toward Victorine. At the same time, he dove for Kenna, using her body to shield him. Startled, Victorine stumbled backward as she tried to avoid the lantern. She fell against the stone, releasing the spring, and it rolled easily into place, blocking the exit she had planned for Kenna and Nicholas.
Mason stood up, bringing Kenna to her feet in front of him. “Your calm surprises me, Victorine. I thought you would fire your weapon. But look at this situation carefully. You still have a primed pistol and I have Kenna. It would appear we have a stalemate”
Tears sprang to Victorine’s eyes but she did not lower the pistol. “You are a proper bastard, Mason.”
“A popular opinion this evening,” he said easily, getting to his feet and dragging Kenna with him. “Give me the valise and I’ll bid you au revoir.”
“If you want it, you will have to get it yourself.”
Kenna was frightened for her stepmother. The pistol seemed impossibly heavy for her thin arms to support much longer “Let him have it, Victorine,” Kenna said. “What can it matter now?”
“It matters, Kenna. Once he has it he will kill us.”
“But his pistol—”
“Mason is never without a knife. Isn’t that so, Mason?”
Mason grinned. “You know me so well, but then our association goes back many years, doesn’t it? Mayhap you wish me to explain it to Kenna?”
“I wish you to cut her bonds.”
“I don’t think so.”
“Cut them, Mason.”
He shrugged. Watching Victorine carefully, he slowly pulled his knife from where it was sheathed against his calf inside his right boot. He cut the ropes at Kenna’s wrists but did not let her go. Placing one arm across her chest, he held her back while he pointed the tip of the blade beneath her chin. “I have done as you asked, Victorine, though I fail to see what you have gained.”
What Victorine had gained was the possibility that Kenna could defend herself. Before her bonds were cut she hadn’t the remotest chance of doing anything to save herself. “Now release Kenna and I will give you the valise.”
Mason shook his head. “And shoot me when I pick it up. I have not forgotten that you can use that thing, though perhaps Kenna has. You are not so successful at distances—witness how you missed Kenna in the wood and shot that old poacher instead—but you are more than competent at this range, aren’t you, Victorine?”
Kenna gasped, her features contorting in a mixture of pain and horror at her stepmother’s betrayal. The last veil over her memory was lifted. She closed her eyes briefly and in milliseconds she saw what she had never seen before: Victorine picking up the pistol that her father had dropped a moment before the lantern was extinguished. Kenna opened her eyes and stared hard and accusingly at Victorine. “You killed my father! You murdered your husband!”
Mason tightened his grip on Kenna. “You are half right,” he said. “She shot Robert Dunne but she did not murder her husband.” He jerked his chin in Victorine’s direction. “Tell Kenna why we were here that night.”
Victorine’s thin shoulders sagged a little. The pistol wavered as her arms slackened. “I came with Mason to discover word of my husband, the Comte Dussault.”
“But—” Kenna’s protest was cut short as Mason pressed his blade more firmly against her neck.
Victorine did not seem to notice Mason’s action, nor that he was slowly, cautiously, moving himself and Kenna toward the valise. She continued to speak, her voice low and strained. “I know you thought I was a widow. Everyone did. But my husband was still alive in France…I would have done anything to see him released…and I did. I was told I could save him by coming to England and acquiring information for the Bonapartists. I accepted Robert’s marriage proposal because I thought it would give me access to what I needed. I never intended to care for him, Kenna, but I could not help myself.”
“He loved you,” Kenna said. “He tried to protect you that night.”
“I know.” Her head dropped forward as she stared at the ground. “He knew more about me than I had ever suspected. He slowly realized my purpose in England and gave me bits of useless information.”
Kenna looked away from Victorine to the unconscious form of her brother. The darkening flower of blood on his shoulder needed attending. “That is when you turned to Nick.”
“Yes. But it was not what you think. Nick was simply infatuated with me and I used it against him, teasing him along. Until his own sense of guilt played upon him, Nick was unwittingly helpful.”
“Then who was with you in the summerhouse?”
A single tear trickled down Victorine’s cheek as she lifted her head. In the lantern light her complexion was sallow. “Mason,” she said quietly. “Mason was my lover. Not that I wished him to be, but because I had no real choice. Even before I came to England, Mason was using me. I laid with him because he saw to it that my husband was not tortured.” She glared at Mason. “He made no such promises about my parents. They were murdered by the Bonapartists. As was my husband, eventually.” Victorine came out of her reverie suddenly, tightening her grip on the pistol. “Stay there, Mason!”
Mason halted but he began talking, lowering Victorine’s guard as he filled in the gaps for Kenna. “Victorine arranged that I should wear the same costume as Nick at the masque. It was merely a precaution to throw suspicion toward Nick and away from me. She said she had important information to give our contacts so she took me through the passage which Robert had shown to her and I responded to the signal from the ship. But she had lied to me. She only wanted news of her husband. Unknown to either of us your father followed.”
“It was an accident, Kenna!” Victorine said. “You must believe me! It was an accident! I picked up one of the pistols Robert dropped when Mason hit him. The lantern went out and I could no longer see. You know what it was like. I was so frightened! I did not know I had fired the pistol until your father fell against me. I screamed and one of our contacts found me and pulled me away from Robert.”
Kenna was unmoved. “You left me here,” she said coldly. “My hands and feet were bound and you left me here to drown.”
“I did not know it was you! None of us did! I wouldn’t have left you if I had known!”
“You will understand if I find it difficult to credit. There is the matter of a fall on the stairs, a boating accident, a tampered girth, Tom Allen’s death, poisoning, and finally, arranging my abduction.”
Mason smiled malevolently at Victorine. “Kenna has a remarkable memory for certain facts, don’t you think?”
“It was all Mason’s idea, Kenna! He was forcing me! If I did not stop you from remembering the events at the masque his operation would be in jeopardy. I would go to prison! I couldn’t go there! I couldn’t! That was then, but things have changed. I have changed. I no longer care what happens to me.”
Kenna wondered if she could believe Victorine. Some part of her doubt must have shown on her face for Victorine continued.
“It’s true! I don’t care what becomes of me now! But I cared what happened to you, Kenna! Yes, I tampered with Pyramid’s girth, but in the end I went riding with you. I couldn’t let you go alone. I saw your saddle begin to slip. Do you remember? I called to you then to slow down. I saved you from a fatal fall.” Her expression appealed to Kenna for forgiveness. “And I set the trap in the woods for you, but when you arrived safely back at Dunnelly, I knew I couldn’t go through with it. I went to retrieve it later, but you ha
d returned to the spot with that poacher. I was afraid! I could have killed you then, Kenna, but I didn’t!”
“Instead you protected yourself by murdering Tom Allen.”
“I had to!”
“You tried to poison me, Victorine!”
“I tried to frighten you,” she corrected. “I knew you suspected Rhys. Who didn’t? Mason said you could not be allowed to marry Rhys. You would be beyond our control then. If I had wanted to kill you I could have done so easily and the suspicion would have fallen upon Rhys or, thanks to your maid, Monsieur Raillier.”
“Did you meet Mason in this chamber and discuss the plan for Napoleon’s escape? Were you helping to finance that escape?”
Her question visibly startled both Mason and Victorine.
“How did you know?” asked Victorine.
“It’s unimportant.”
“I had to, don’t you see? Mason was not giving me a choice. I had to provide financing for his plans. There were others that offered support. I was but their link to Mason.”
“What about my abduction?” Kenna asked coldly.
“That was Mason’s idea. I told him you were going away. He did the rest. He finally realized I could not hurt you. Didn’t I beg you not to go to Cherry Hill?”
Victorine began to sob jerkily, giving Mason the opportunity he had been waiting for. He pushed Kenna hard toward Victorine. Victorine’s hands lifted higher to remove the pistol from Kenna’s path and as Kenna fell into her the weapon was fired harmlessly at the roof of the chamber.
Kenna rolled off Victorine and quickly scrambled to her feet. Mason’s attention was distracted as he tried to lift the heavy valise. With no thought for the consequences, Kenna locked her hands together in a double fist and swung her outstretched arms as if she were swinging a plank. Her fists smashed against Mason’s nose at the same time she felt a sharp pain in her thigh. Mason staggered backward, withdrawing his blade from Kenna’s leg. Blood gushed from his nose and he howled once in pain before he advanced on Kenna, revenge sharply defining his features.
Kenna backed away, limping as she edged toward the lantern on the stone shelf. She could not think of any way to escape him save under the cover of darkness. Kenna leaped for the lantern, knocking it off the ledge at the same moment the wall of the chamber opened for the second time that evening.
Rhys had only a second to mark everyone’s position in the chamber before the lantern crashed to the floor, but he marked them well. The shots from his pistols thundered in the chamber, then there was an even more thunderous silence.
“Kenna?” he ventured softly.
Kenna was so stunned by the sweet familiarity of Rhys’s voice that she couldn’t say anything. She clung to the sheer damp wall for support, not believing he was really here.
“Dammit, Kenna! Say something!”
“I’m here, Rhys.”
Rhys started forward but Victorine’s warning cry came in time to halt his steps. Mason’s knife caught the sleeve of Rhys’s jacket before Rhys jerked away. There was a heavy groan from Mason, a pained sob from Victorine. Their bodies crumbled to the floor, then thick silence pervaded the chamber once more.
“Rhys!” Kenna cried out. “What happened? Victorine!”
Rhys did not answer immediately. Cautiously he bent over, groping in the dark for proof of what his mind was already telling him. He found Mason’s body first. There was no pulse. He pushed at Mason’s lifeless form and his hands brushed Victorine’s shoulders. A moment later he found Mason’s knife, embedded to the hilt in Victorine’s breast.
Rhys’s voice was heavy. “She’s dead, Kenna.”
Kenna’s harsh sobs led Rhys to her side. She felt his arms circle her and she clung to him tightly, weeping with shock, bitterness, and finally thankfulness for the security of his embrace.
Epilogue
“Goodnight, Nick.” Kenna touched his uninjured shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze, and kissed his cheek. His tender smile warmed her heart. In the six days since Victorine’s funeral she had despaired of seeing her brother smile again. He seemed haunted by the discovery of Victorine’s betrayal, as if he believed it had been in his power to make things different. He blamed himself for not providing protection for Kenna and for not recognizing Victorine’s perfidy. He despised himself for the youthful passion he had once felt for Victorine. Kenna felt helpless in the face of Nick’s decision to accept responsibility for all that had happened. That neither she nor Rhys blamed him for anything did not seem to matter.
Nick laid his hand over Kenna’s. “I dearly love you, sprite,” he said. “I’m going to miss you and Rhys.”
“We could stay longer,” she offered quickly. They were due to leave in the morning but she knew Rhys would not object.
He shook his head and released her hand. “No. You both need to return to Boston. The only reason you would stay here is for me and I am going to be fine.”
“You’ll visit us?”
“I promise,” he assured her. He pointed to the clock. “Your husband is no doubt pacing the floor, wondering what’s kept you. You’d better go, Kenna.”
Realizing he was politely saying he wanted to be alone, she shut the study door quietly behind her, leaving Nick to his own thoughts. When Kenna reached the bedchamber the first thing she noticed was that Rhys was not pacing the floor. He looked very comfortable in bed, his back propped against several plump pillows, reading the London paper. He was hungry for all the available news on Wellington’s defeat of Napoleon at Waterloo but he put aside the paper when Kenna came over to the bed.
He patted a spot beside him, gesturing her to sit down. “You were a long time with Nick this evening. How is he?”
“Better, I think. Do you know what he said tonight?”
“What?”
“He said he envied us. He wants a wife, a family. I think that’s good, don’t you?”
“Very.”
Kenna nodded. “Will you unfasten this dress?”
“Certainly.” His fingers nimbly undid the tiny hooks.
Kenna slid off the bed and began to undress. “Do you know,” she asked, her voice muffled as she pulled her gown over her head, “I’ve been wondering about something Nick said a long time ago. He said that he was with Victorine when Father was murdered. But he wasn’t. Why did he tell everyone he was?”
“Why didn’t you ask him?”
“I couldn’t. I was afraid he might think I was accusing him of something.” Kenna laid her gown aside and stripped off her undergarments, completely unaware of the attractive picture she made as she danced about on the cool floor, looking for her nightgown.
“Forget your nightgown,” Rhys said huskily. Kenna needed no further encouragement, she slipped between the covers that Rhys held open for her and snuggled beside him. He wasn’t wearing anything either. “So why do you think he said it?” she asked.
“Oh, we’re still speaking of Nick, I take it.”
“Yes.”
“Pity.” He put an arm around her shoulder. “I believe Nick thought he was telling the truth about that night. Everything was so confusing. There were only a few of us who knew the exact time of Robert’s death. If you recall, I thought I saw Nick and Victorine in the garden. He really was with Victorine a short time later when she left Mason and ran to get him and told him I wanted him at the cave. He was simply mistaken about the time everything happened.”
That explanation more than satisfied Kenna. “Poor Victorine,” she said after a moment. “Mason used her vilely for his own ends, baiting her with news about her husband when all the time the comte was dead. I cannot hate her; I feel so sorry for her.”
“Then you believe it was an accident that she killed your father.”
“Yes, don’t you?”
Rhys was not so certain. Victorine had shot Tom Allen, then found the resolve to brutally strangle the injured man. She had arranged accident after accident to protect herself against the power of Kenna’s returning memory. Simple lu
ck had prevented Victorine from suspicion on a number of occasions. Nick’s confusion and innocence had protected her the night of the masque. Nick again, accidentally bumping into Rhys when he carried the broth, and Janet’s own suspicion that Monsieur Raillier was responsible for the poisoning, carried Victorine safely through another dilemma. But it was truly Robert Dunne’s own trust in Victorine that kept her safe, because Kenna could not believe her father would seek to protect his wife if he did not truly think she was innocent. Lord Dunne’s judgment became his daughter’s until Kenna learned of the betrayal from Victorine’s own lips.
Rhys thought this all, but he said, “Yes, it was probably an accident. She said she had come to care for Robert. And you know, in the end, she proved her love for you. She went to the cave with no other thought in mind than to kill Mason and bring you and Nick out safely. Nick even said that Victorine begged him not to take the ransom himself.”
“And she saved your life,” she said softly. Even now it was hard to imagine how Victorine had sensed Mason moving in the pitch-black cave and gave her life to stop him.
Rhys pressed a kiss to Kenna’s soft temple. Beneath the sheet his hand touched her thigh where Mason had stabbed her. He ran his finger lightly over the tender scar. “I’m very happy that you chose not to tell Yvonne everything.”
“I just couldn’t,” she said, shaking her head. “What purpose would it have served? Better that Yvonne thinks only that her mother gave her life to protect us. There is truth in that, too.”
“I love you, Kenna.”
“And that makes me very, very happy.” She turned into him, curving her body against his own. The lean, wiry strength of his body never failed to thrill her. “Very happy,” she repeated softly.
