Chance the Winds of Fortune (48 page)

Camareigh seemed unusually quiet, the duchess thought as she hurried along the dark corridors. Before leaving the bedchamber, she had checked the dressing room, thinking that had Lucien been restless, he might have gone there in order not to disturb her sleep. But the small room had been empty. She had walked the distance of the Long Gallery, hoping to find him gazing at that picture again, but the room was possessed of an almost death-like silence. The duchess berated herself for her midnight fancies, but the room suddenly began to feel like a tomb, with the dead staring down at her, resenting her intrusion into their solitude.

The duchess shivered, wishing Mary were here to explain away such strange feelings. Holding the hem of her dragging nightdress in one hand and a candlestick and the ends of her shawl in the other, the duchess descended the Grand Staircase, headed for Lucien's study. It was the first place that she should have looked, she decided, shivering with cold and wishing she were back beneath the quilts in her bed.

Absorbed as she was in making her way carefully down the stairs, she heard nothing until she had taken several steps across the marble hall toward Lucien's study. She paused, pushing her unbound hair out of her eyes when she heard voices coming from the opened door of the room. At first she thought it was a servant; then she realized with growing alarm that no servant would be speaking to the Duke of Camareigh in that tone of voice.

“…and 'tis time I felt your blood on my hands, dear cousin Lucien. You should have died years ago. 'Twas remiss of me not to have taken care of this matter sooner. You really never should have been left alive to sire heirs to Camareigh. To think that you, of all people, should have sired twins. Even Percy never had twins, but then that cow of a wife of his hadn't any hot blood in her. I'm surprised she managed to give birth to anything, or that Percy persisted in trying,” Kate was saying.

A log fell with a shower of sparks in the hearth, startling Kate for an instant. But her aim never wavered as she continued to stare hungrily at Lucien's face, his scar still having the power to fascinate her.

“This will be the very last time, Lucien. I shall finally put an end to your cursed existence. Good-bye, dear cousin Lucien, and may your soul rot in hell!” she spat in a final burst of venom. Kate never saw the flashing blade, but Lucien did; yet he still could not believe it, even as it swung down in an arc from the doorway, guided by Sabrina's hands.

As the curved edge of the blade sliced deeply into Kate's exposed wrist, she screamed with surprise and pain, the pistol dropping from her throbbing hand. She turned incredulous eyes on the small, black-haired woman standing in the doorway, who still held the bloodied sword in her hands.

Involuntarily, Sabrina stepped backward, for never before had she seen such a malevolent, nightmarish face. The pale, glittering eyes were cursing her silently, while the distorted mouth snarled such obscenities that Sabrina could feel her blood running cold.

Kate's hoarse scream of frustrated rage filled the room like a demon's howl, momentarily stunning Sabrina as she stood pressed against the doorjamb. Lucien knew Kate well enough, however, not to make the fatal mistake of underestimating her, for despite her wound she was still dangerous. She was also crazed enough to attack the woman who had foiled her last chance to destroy him.

But Kate, with the instinct of a wounded, trapped animal, sensed his move to block her from her only means of escape. Her pale eyes, filled with a desperate cunning, darted around the room seeking a weapon, but the room was unfamiliar to her. She stared down at the pistol lying at her feet in a pool of her own blood. Her glance drew Lucien's as well, and in that brief second when he was off his guard, she reached out with her uninjured hand and wrapped her fingers around one of the silver candlesticks on the desk; then, with a guttural cry, she threw the heavy piece at Lucien's head.

He managed to step aside, and it crashed with a splintering of wood against the molded paneling of the fireplace. But it had given Kate enough time to escape, and in a trice she was upon Sabrina, her clawlike hand pushing the smaller woman into the path of the pursuing duke.

Sabrina tripped on the hem of her gown and fell to her knees as Lucien, trying to avoid her, stumbled against the door.

He straightened slowly, favoring his injured arm. “Are you all right, Rina?” he demanded, hesitating before following his cousin into the dark hall.

“Yes, please. Go after her, Lucien,” Sabrina pleaded as she struggled to her feet, using the bloodied sword like a cane.

But he was not gone longer than a few minutes before returning and closing his arms around the duchess. “Oh, thank God, Lucien,” she breathed. “What happened? Where is she?”

“I couldn't find a trace of her in the darkness. She's just disappeared. We will need half the household to find her. I doubt, however, that she will get far with that wound,” Lucien predicted as he guided Sabrina to one of the armchairs before the fire and gently forced her to sit. He then walked over to his desk, opened the middle drawer, and pulled out a pistol. He paused beside the bloodstain on the floor; then, with a look of distaste, he picked up Kate's pistol. The butt was sticky with congealing blood, but he grasped it firmly and walked to the windows. Pulling back the heavy velvet hangings, he opened the window and fired each pistol, the sound echoing through the silence of the night like the roar of a cannon.

“Lucien! What—” Sabrina began as the explosions reverberated in the room.

“That should alert Butterick and his men. Camareigh will be alive with people and lights within minutes. Kate shall have a difficult time of it, for the dogs will sniff her out if she is mad enough to still be on the grounds. Kate's days are finally numbered,” he pronounced coldly.

“I cannot seem to forget that horrible face and those wild eyes. I do not think I have ever felt such evilness,” Sabrina said, her lips trembling as she tried to hold back tears. “And to think that she meant to murder you.”

“But she did not, my love. If it had not been for you and that sword, then she might well have succeeded,” Lucien reminded her, his eyes lingering on the empty space on the wall where the sword had been crossed with its mate. Now it had been used as a weapon once again.

“Now, come on, my love, dry your tears,” Lucien ordered, watching while she dabbed ineffectively at her cheeks with the back of her sleeve. “The worst is over.”

Sabrina sniffed: then, as her focus sharpened, she became aware of the subtle change in Lucien's expression. It would have gone unnoticed by anyone else, but Sabrina knew Lucien's moods too well not to sense the difference. It was as if he'd had a lightening of spirit.

“What is it, Lucien?” she asked hesitantly. Then, as she saw a slight smile curving his lips, she felt her own excitement rising. “Please, Lucien. Tell me what it is,” she pleaded.

“They did not kill Rhea Claire. No, listen to what I have to say first, Rina,” Lucien warned her as she scrambled to her feet, her eyes glowing with renewed hope.

Forgetting that Kate's blood was staining his hands, Lucien took Sabrina's hands between his and stared into her expectant face. “Kate admitted that she had not killed Rhea, although not for a lack of trying. She said they had drugged Rhea, then sold her as an indentured servant. She was put on board a ship bound for the colonies. Even Kate does not know what Rhea's ultimate fate was to be,” he said bluntly, afraid she would get her hopes up too high, for the horrors of such a journey were not unknown to him. The fate of many a traveler crossing the seas was uncertain, but the hardships were even greater for those who could not afford to pay for proper food and accommodation. But even if they could afford it, it mattered little if the ship were sailing on violent seas.

“The colonies?” Sabrina whispered, thinking of that untamed wilderness so far away. “Oh, dear God, my poor Rhea,” she cried, agonized by the realization of what her daughter must be suffering. “What shall we do? How will we find her? Oh, Lucien!” she cried, but this time with tears of joy wetting her cheeks. “Rhea
is
alive. I feel certain. At least we have a chance now of finding her alive. 'Tis far better than not knowing anything.” She spoke almost challengingly, as if refusing to believe the worst.

“Rina? Lucien? What is this about Rhea being alive? I heard the shots and came running, although it took me several endless minutes, and a stubbed toe, to figure out where the two of you were,” Richard said from the doorway, his bare feet sticking out from beneath the hem of his nightdress and loosely hanging robe. “Are you all right?” he asked with concern as he noticed Sabrina's tear-streaked face.

“I am fine, Richard,” Sabrina reassured him. “We are going to get Rhea back!” she exclaimed, unable to contain her exuberance.

“Rina, I don't think you—” Lucien interrupted, his words of caution drowned out as several well-muscled young men, led by a blustering Butterick, stormed into the study.

“Your Graces! Are you injured? Who fired the pistol? Is anyone hurt? Where's the culprit?!” he demanded aggressively, his sharp eyes missing nothing in the room, including Lord Wrainton in his nightdress, his red hair standing on end. “Was it the cousins, Your Grace?”

“It was Kate. She is alone but wounded, and therefore very dangerous, Butterick,” the duke warned him. “She sneaked in through the underground passage. I imagine that is the way she will escape.”

“That she-devil. Always was the meaner of the two. And her brother? Will he be waitin' for her, do you think, Your Grace?” Butterick asked, wanting to be prepared if he came face-to-face with the two of them.

“Eventually, I suspect,” the duke said strangely, then shook his head. “Percy is dead. We have only Kate to deal with.”

“Aye, that's enough, I'll wager,” Butterick muttered, thinking privately he'd rather be going up against a maddened bull. “I'll send a couple of fellows to the outside entrance of the passage to catch her as she's coming out. Then, me and a couple more of my lads will go in this end. We'll cut her off between us, we will,” Butterick promised. “She won't be gettin' up to any more mischief after tonight!”

* * *

Kate stared down at the peacefully sleeping child. Oblivious to her wound and to the blood dripping onto the quilted coverlet, she reached out and lightly touched the silken blond head. Kate glared around the room, cursing the darkness, for she could barely make out the features of this boy child. The banked fire in the hearth gave off little light and deepened the shadows, making it more difficult for her to see her way across the room. She had already stumbled once into a rocking horse. The scraping noise had sounded loud enough to wake the dead, or so she had feared, but the nanny in the narrow bed in the corner continued to snore undisturbed.

With a sly smile, Kate glanced over her shoulder at the covered hump in the bed, then over at the other crib, where the girl child continued to sleep peacefully. She imagined herself sleeping there so long ago, so innocent of what her future would hold. In the darkness, the nursery looked much the way it had when she and Percy had lived at Camareigh.

“Percy,” she said softly, lovingly. “I have come for you. 'Tis time we left, Percy. Wake up, love,” she urged him, staring down at Andrew Dominick's cherubic face. Then she carefully lifted the slumbering child from the warmth of the covers.

Cradling him against her breast, she hugged this small body, which still possessed the precious breath of life. “Sweet Percy,” she sang as she walked to the door. “Sweet, sweet Percy. Kate has come for you.”

A low, rumbling snort and cough from the bed of the nanny halted Kate in her steps. She stood staring through the flickering darkness at the slowly stirring shape beneath the covers.

“If ye please, now. Who be ye there?” a slightly querulous voice demanded. “Yer Grace, is it?”

Kate bit her lip in vexation as she heard a fumbling at the bedside table; then a light was struck and she was caught in its glow.

“Agin, I'm askin' who be ye? I'm not knowin' ye, am I?” the quivering voice questioned worriedly; although the old woman's mind was still fogged with sleep, a sense of urgency seemed to be penetrating it, warning her something was not right. “What have ye got there, now? To be sure, I can't be seein' a thing without me specs,” the nanny muttered irritably. “Now ye be waitin' a minute. Just what d'ye think' ye be doin' in here, young woman? What is that ye be holdin' now? Mercy! 'Tis young Lord Andrew fer sure! What d'ye think ye be doin'—” The words halted abruptly, for Kate had turned her face fully to the candle's revealing light, deciding there was one sure way of silencing the old biddy.

The nanny's scream of horror followed Kate's exit from the room and echoed down the halls of Camareigh, but by the time it had drifted to the brother and sister walking arm in arm along the corridor near the nursery, it sounded hardly more than a moaning through the trees.

“I think I understand why Lucien would wish to be there when they catch up with Kate,” Richard was saying, shaking with cold from the icy drafts swirling around his bare legs. “You would think, however, that he would hate the very sight of her. And yet, do you know, Rina,” he said curiously, “I think he pities her, though God only knows why. I've never really thought of Lucien being an overly compassionate man. Please do not misunderstand me,” he added quickly, “for Lucien is a good man, but he is just a trifle hard and unforgiving at times.”

“You are right, Richard, but Kate is, after all, family,” Sabrina said. She herself was slightly surprised at Lucien's actions.

“I suppose so, strange though it is. Do you know, Rina, that when our father died I should have felt nothing. After all, I had only spoken to the man once to my recollection, and then I was scared to death of him. But when you told me the news, well,” Richard said awkwardly, as if embarrassed by what he was about to admit, “I was saddened. I felt a loss, and yet I am not certain why.”