Devotion (42 page)

He covered her mouth in a hard kiss. She struggled briefly, until he succeeded in sliding his tongue into her mouth. She twisted her hands into his coat lapels, intending to push him away, but all she could do was sway against him, curl her fingers inward, allow a low groan to escape her and dissolve against his lips.

Oh, that she had come to this: a slave of longing for her master; a wanton who would gladly disregard the feelings of a young woman who waited patiently to become his wife.

Suddenly, he pushed her back. His breathing came heavily; his face was agonized.

He shoved her away, pivoted awkwardly before stumbling against the desk. With one swipe of his arm, he sent papers, quill, and ink onto the floor and shouted, "Get out! Just get the hell out!"

Her jewel-headed cane making a determined thump on the floor, the duchess, with
Edgcumbe
at her side, moved down the corridor, chin thrust, her eyes locked on Maria who, along with Gertrude and a number of other servants, had gathered outside Salterdon's door.

"What is the meaning of this?" the dowager demanded. "Answer me, for
Godsake
. What is this poppycock that Trey has locked himself in his room and refuses to respond?"

Visibly trembling, Gertrude stepped forward, extending her ring of keys. "The key to His Grace's room has gone
missin
', Yer Grace. I've sent Lilly to fetch the spare."

The duchess turned toward the door, glared at it a long minute, then declared, "Trey, you will open this door this minute."

"Go to hell,"
came
the reply.

"You're acting like a spoiled, ill-tempered brat."

He
laughed,
a maniacal sound.

"You will open this door this moment or I shall have someone break it down."

"I'll shoot the first person who tries."

"Oh, you will, will you?" she muttered under her breath, then turned her attention to a gawking servant who had just retrieved the supper tray from Maria's room.

"You," the duchess barked. "Here."

The girl elbowed her way through the cluster of fascinated domestics. The duchess grabbed a knife from the tray, thrust it at
Edgcumbe
, and declared, "Do what you must, my good man."

Gertrude leaned toward Maria and whispered, "I reckon he's
wishin
' he could use that on his own throat 'bout now . . . or on hers. I
s'
pose the outcome of this little foray ain't exactly
goin
' to put
Edgcumbe
and his
healin
'
medicináis
in a right pretty light."

Countenance drained of color,
Edgcumbe
gaped at the knife in his hand, then at the door. Fingers trembling, he slid the blade into the crack between the door and its frame by the keyhole as far as it would go and gave it a jiggle. Then another, harder, causing the door
handle
to gyrate up and down.

An explosion erupted.

Servants scattered.

The teacup balanced on a saucer on the tray the servant was carrying shattered and sent slivers of china flying.

They all stared at the thumb-sized hole in the wall.

"
Gorm
," the servant squeaked. "It's a
bleedin
' bullet hole. The loony devil
be
shootin
' at us now."

With that, the servants took off running.

Edgcumbe
studied the hole through his monocle before turning slowly back to the duchess. "By gosh," he said, "I do believe she's right."

With that the duchess sank to the floor in a swoon.

Gertrude shrieked.

Edgcumbe
gasped. Dropping to the floor on his knees, he slid his arm beneath her neck and grabbing a kerchief proceeded to fan her ashen face with it. "There, there, Isabella. Breathe deeply, my dear. It will all work out. We'll send for Physician
Sivenwright
at Royal Oaks immediately."

"Royal Oaks?"
Maria said in a sudden panic.
"A hospital?"

"We have no other choice, my dear. The man is beyond our help. He has resorted to murder!"

"He's murdered no one!"

"The gun," cried the duchess coming out of her faint. Grabbing hold of
Edgcumbe's
coat, she dragged herself into a partially upright position. "He has a gun. Dear God. He is liable to do himself harm."

Maria
stood,
that realization as splintering as that dreadful, deadly bullet through the wall. She moved toward the door, pressed her ear against it and listened. Finally, she called softly, "Your Grace. I beg you to open the door. I won't allow them to take you to Royal Oaks."

"Won't allow—"
Edgcumbe
began furiously.

"Hush!" Gertrude snapped, causing
Edgcumbe's
eyebrows to shoot up and his face to go red.

"
Your
Grace?" Maria forced herself to breathe evenly. "Think about what you're doing. There comes a time when we must all accept our lot in life. While I can dream of fairy-tale lives, I realize that being born the daughter of a meager vicar I must content myself with such a destiny. You were born into greatness, into wealth and power. It was your destiny, sir."

She listened hard, feeling her heart pound at the base of her throat. Her eyes closed, she imagined his image, slumped in his chair surrounded by discarded remnants of his passion—his music—his dark, chiseled face framed by glorious wild hair. A gun lay in his lap, his long fingers lightly cradling it.

"Think of the beautiful children you shall have, Your Grace. Think of the values you might instill in them. Think of their own hopes and dreams and aspirations, and how your power and wealth will enable your sons and daughters to achieve them. You needn't make the same mistakes your parents made with you. You'll revere your children for who they are, not what they are."

A servant scurried up, wagging a key. "I found the spare," she whispered and slapped it into Maria's hand.

Her fingers closed around it. She slid it into the lock and slowly twisted it.

"
Gorm
, lass, be careful," Gertrude said. "E's liable to plug
ya
the minute
ya
walk in."

"He won't hurt me," she declared, and eased open the door.

Just as she had pictured him, he sat at his desk, legs slightly sprawled, the gun in his lap.

"Did I kill anyone?" he asked with a slight smirk on his handsome lips.

"Nay, Your Grace, although you didn't do a particular teacup and saucer any favors . . . or the poor maid who was holding it at the time."

"A shame," he replied simply.

"Your grandmother, however, is recovering from a swoon."

He smiled.

"Will you give me the gun?"

"Say please."

"Please," she replied softly.

He tossed it onto the bed and relaxed again into his chair. "Who's to say that I'll be capable of having children?" he said in a weary voice.

Reclining on a chaise, with
Edgcumbe
hovering and fanning her face, the duchess glared at the lineup of servants and Maria.

"I demand to know how my grandson came to have that gun. Obviously one of you got it for him. Well? Speak up. Confess. Do you expect me to believe he sashayed down two flights of stairs, sauntered to the hunt room and retrieved the weapon himself? Need I remind you that he's incapable of walking?"

Maria looked away.

Had he managed it somehow?

Impossible.
A mere movement of his legs sent his muscles into spasms.

The duchess lifted one hand. A maid hustled to hand her a cup of chocolate.

"I don't understand," said the duchess. "He seemed so much improved. What's brought on this sudden spate of dementia? Everything he's ever wanted is right at his fingertips. All he need do is to marry the Lady Laura, something he was more than happy lo do before he was injured. Not only would he be entitled to half of my money upon marrying the girl, the dowry that comes with Laura is exceptional. Considering that Laura is Lord Duns worthy's only beneficiary, the estates which will pass to Laura upon her father's demise will make my grandson one of the wealthiest men in the entire country. It's what he wanted," the duchess declared in exasperation, then realizing she was rambling to the mesmerized servants as if they were cherished confidants, she frowned and thrust her empty cup at
Edgcumbe
. "For the love of St. Peter you'll be interning me to Royal Oaks soon . . . and I'm not so certain it would be such a displeasing opportunity."

"It is a strange truth that although the human heart may know peace, contentment, serenity, even thankfulness, it never does and never can know happiness—the sense of complete full-rounded bliss except in the joy of happy love . . ." So Maria's mother had often said when reminded by family or friend that she should be thankful for the comfort and respect her husband's position offered her. Of course, such a confession had not been made to anyone except Maria and Paul.

Maria pondered this late into the night.

Obviously, her time at Thorn Rose was drawing to a close. As soon as Salterdon married Lady
Dunsworthy
Maria would return to
Huddersfield
, where John Rees waited. He would offer her marriage, a home, a future . . . something she had always wanted—to spend the rest of her life in the company of a good, kind man who was her friend.

Once, she had desired
him . . .
or thought she had. Then desire had been the
titillation
over a forbidden
kiss, a mysterious yearning. He had been a prize to win, an objective to lure away from God—to no avail.