What if Varya was already dead?
His hand tightened on the banister. She couldn’t be. He would know if she were dead. Somehow, he would know.
That was the conviction he clung to as he entered the morning room in search of the company that had arrived while he was in the tub. Anticipation unfurled in the pit of his stomach as his gaze fell upon Robert and Caroline taking tea with his mother, Blythe, and Carny.
“It is so disappointing that dear Varya has taken ill,” Caroline was lamenting. “I did so wish to see her.”
“I’m certain she will regret not being able to receive you,” Elizabeth responded.
Miles’s boots didn’t make a sound on the Wilton carpet as he entered the room. He was only a few steps inside when Carny seemed to sense his presence.
“I hope she is not afflicted with anything serious?” Robert asked, lifting his cup to his lips.
“Here’s the man to ask,” Carny announced loudly, drawing the room’s attention. “Miles, how fares your lovely bride?”
All eyes were on him as he entered their circle.
“She is a little better, I believe. Good morning, Caroline, Robert.”
“Good morning, Miles,” Caroline chirped. “I am so glad to hear Varya is already improving. Will you be taking your wedding trip once she recovers?”
They hadn’t even had a chance to discuss a wedding trip. Miles supposed if both he and Varya managed to come out of this mess alive a long trip alone would definitely be in order.
“Yes. I expect we shall.”
“Don’t commit yourself yet, Miles,” Robert warned with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Women always view travel as an excuse to buy a new wardrobe.”
Miles gritted his teeth. “I think I can afford a few dresses.”
“Yes, and you have a wife who looks demmed lovely no matter what she wears. I particularly admire the way that yellow morning gown displays her figure. Very fetching indeed.”
Pasting a false smile on his face, Miles agreed with the lecherous bastard. “Yes, Varya always looks lovely. If you’ll all excuse me, I have some work to do. Carny, you said you would go over those bills of sale with me?”
His friend didn’t miss a beat. “Of course.”
“We should really be on our way as well,” Robert announced.
Miles bid them a brief farewell and stomped off to his study with Carny at his heels.
“Cretin,” Miles muttered, shutting the door.
“He is indeed.” Carny lit a cigar and perched on the edge of the desk. “I wouldn’t take him off your suspect list, however.”
“I wasn’t planning on it.” Combing his fingers through his hair, Miles began to pace.
“Your sister and I had a very uneventful morning,” Carny informed him after several minutes of silence. “We encountered Pennington in the park. He appeared to be more interested in Blythe than either you or Varya.”
Miles rubbed his face. “I feel like we’re missing something.”
“Take one of these, will you?” Carny thrust a cigar into Miles’s face. “It will give you something to do with those restless hands of yours.”
Miles lit the cigar and inhaled deeply. The smoke warmed his lungs, and gave him something to toy with.
They smoked in silence, each preoccupied with the task of finding Varya.
After what felt like an eternity of nothing more than his mind whirling hopelessly, the door flew open.
“I’m sorry to barge in,” Blythe blurted out, as she hurried into the room. “But I think I may have some information about Varya.”
Miles stared at her. “What?”
She smiled tremulously. “When Robert mentioned Varya’s yellow morning dress, something struck me as strange, but I couldn’t think what.” Her gaze locked with Miles’s. “After they left I remembered that I had
talked Varya into buying a yellow gown with her trousseau because I thought the color would suit her. She told me she’d never owned a yellow gown.”
Miles shook his head in confusion. “So?”
Blythe drew breath. “Miles, she’s never worn it! How could Robert have seen it if Varya’s never worn it outside the house?”
Horror constricted Miles’s heart. Slowly, as if in a dream, his head turned toward Carny. He couldn’t see him clearly.
Blythe’s fingers touched his shoulder. “I checked Varya’s wardrobe. The yellow gown is the only one missing.”
A fist of dizzying rage slammed into Miles’s gut. How could he have missed it? Robert…
An iron band clasped his arm. It was Carny’s hand.
“There will be plenty of time for both of us to feel stupid later,” he growled, steering Miles toward the door.
Miles pulled free of his grasp, walking back to catch Blythe in a fierce hug.
“Thank you,” he whispered. For the first time since Varya had disappeared, he felt hope.
His sister squeezed him back. “Just find her.”
Stepping out of her embrace, Miles nodded curtly. “I will.” He turned on his heel and strode toward the door and Carny.
“Let’s go get the son of a bitch.”
Caroline had just barely settled herself behind the white and gold desk in her sitting room when Miles and Carny swooped down upon her.
“Miles, Lord Carnover!” She rose. “I certainly wasn’t expecting to see you both again so soon. Will you sit?”
Miles cleared his throat. “No. Thank you, Caroline. We’re here to see Robert. Is he home?”
Caroline’s wide gaze skipped from Miles to Carny. She paled at the sight of their stony countenances. Pressing her palm to her throat, she sank back into her chair.
“Dear God,” she whispered. “What’s he done?”
Carny threw a surprised glance at Miles.
“What makes you think he’s done anything, Caro?” Miles dragged a chair over to her desk and lowered himself into it.
Her gaze was nervous and unsteady as it flitted back and forth between them. “That’s why you’re looking for him, isn’t it?”
“What’s he done?” Miles prodded gently.
Caroline shook her head, staring despondently at the letters in front of her. “I don’t know. Something awful, I think.” She lifted her gaze to his. “He didn’t come home the night of your wedding. He hardly stays home for more than a few hours at a time. He’s been in an awful, bizarre mood, and there are all these strange men coming around—men he served with in the war.”
Miles’s gut tightened. “Do you know where he goes?”
Again Caroline shook her head. “He hardly speaks to me anymore, let alone tells me where he’s going.”
“Damn!” Miles swore, stomping his foot in frustration. “Does he take his own carriage?”
Caroline’s brow wrinkled. “Yes, of course he does. Really, Miles, you’re beginning to frighten me.”
Miles watched her intently, noticing the dark circles under her eyes, the drawn pallor of the face that reminded him so much of Charlotte. Her hands were trembling.
“Does Robert ever frighten you, Caro?”
She tore her gaze away from his, but not before he saw the tears glistening in her eyes.
“What did he do, Caroline?” Miles kept his voice soft and coaxing as he leaned across the desk and captured one of her cold hands in his.
She shook her head, her other hand pressed against her mouth in an obvious effort to hold the tears at bay.
Carny offered her a handkerchief.
“Thank you,” she whispered, dabbing at her eyes. Sniffing, she raised her reddened gaze.
“Tell me what happened,” Miles prodded, giving her hand a gentle squeeze.
Her voice was as shaky as the nod she gave. “When Robert and I were married I cared for him very much. He made no secret that I was his second choice as a wife, but I believed that in time he would come to love me. He would often call me by this other woman’s name during our”—she blushed a dark rose—“
intimate
moments. Eventually it stopped. He rarely called me anything at all. He began finding his fulfillment elsewhere and has done so for several years, but a few nights ago he came to my bed again.” She fell silent.
“And he called you by this woman’s name again?” Miles guessed.
Caroline nodded, pressing the handkerchief to her
brimming eyes. “Yes. He said how much he loved her.” She choked on a sob.
Miles patted her hand. He had always suspected Caroline’s marriage to Robert to be an unhappy one, but he had never imagined to what extent.
Caroline took a deep breath. “He also swore that the man who killed her would pay. I thought he was talking drunken nonsense, but now that you are here I think he may have been quite lucid—frighteningly so.”
A shivering, bitter taste pooled in the back of Miles’s mouth. It was the taste of foreboding.
“Who was he talking about, Caro?” His gaze was riveted on her now blotchy face.
She shook her head sadly. “Surely you know, Miles?”
He raised an inquisitive brow. “Should I?”
“Oh, Miles!” she gasped, her eyes filling again. “It was Charlotte!”
Shock jabbed icy fingers into Miles’s chest, robbing him of breath.
“Robert asked for Charlotte’s hand but she refused him to marry you.” Caroline’s voice sounded dim through the fog surrounding his brain. “I suppose he felt that having her sister was better than not having her at all.”
Slowly, everything came back into focus. Miles stared at Caroline in horror as pieces of the puzzle fell into place. “I’m the man who killed her,” he whispered.
Caroline said nothing. She didn’t have to—her eyes said it all.
Miles turned his gaze to Carny, whose face wore an expression of bleak triumph. They had found the killer, but the fact that he had Varya made the victory a hollow one.
“I don’t wish to be here when he finally comes home,” she whispered.
Miles was tempted to tell her that if he had anything to do with it, her husband
wouldn’t
be coming home at all, but he thought against it.
“You are more than welcome to return to Wynter Lane. Mama and Blythe are both aware of the situation and will stay with you until our return.”
Ten minutes later, as Caroline’s carriage rolled out of the drive, Miles and Carny strode toward the stables.
Robert’s coachman had just returned.
“We’ll find her,” Carny swore when Miles said nothing.
“I know. Robert wants
me
to suffer, not her.” He kicked at a stone with the toe of his boot. “We have to find her before he hurts her.”
“We will.”
Miles stopped. “He wants me to see her dead, Carny. He wants to be there. He blames me for the death of the woman he loved and he’s been killing women I cared for hoping to get his revenge.”
Carny nodded grimly. “And now he has the woman you love.”
“I’m hoping he’ll want to savor his revenge.” Miles began walking again. “That he’ll want to prolong my torture for as long as possible. If he gets impatient he may kill her anyway and then just send me a note telling me where to find her. I don’t think it would re
ally matter to him just as long as I found her body.” He refused to imagine Varya dead. He would find her. He had to.
“Then let us hope John Coachman will give us the information we require.” Carny opened the door to the stables.
“He will,” Miles promised.
They found the man alone in the backroom of the stables.
“Here now,” he cried as they approached. “What do you two want?”
“I am the Marquess of Wynter, and this is the Earl of Carnover,” Miles began congenially. “We’d like to ask you a few questions about your master and where he’s been going the past few days.”
“Why?” The man folded his thick forearms across his chest in a defiant manner.
“Not that it’s any of your business, but I believe he has something of mine.”
The coachman eyed them wearily, unease flickering the depths of his muddy gaze. “I don’t have to tell you nothin’.”
Miles reached behind him and swung the heavy door closed. The smile he gave the coachman was cold and grim.
“Oh, but I’m afraid you do.”
“A
t first I thought I had been wrong, that he cared as little about you as he had about the others, but then I saw the pain in his eyes when Caroline mentioned a wedding trip.”
From her seat near the window Varya watched Robert with narrowed eyes as he paced the length of her cell. His words were supposed to frighten her. Instead, they gave her hope. Miles was worried about her; that meant he would be looking for her. Robert was certainly mad, but he was no match for Miles.
She had gone numb with shock when Robert caught her at the bottom of the stairs that morning. She hadn’t even struggled when he dragged her back up to her prison.
“By the way, that was quite a fight you put up this
morning,” he remarked. “I’m not surprised. Miles always did like plucky women.” He ran a finger down the sleeve of her gown. “I do like this dress.”
She said nothing, but stared up at him with wary distaste.
“Bella put up a good struggle too.” He sighed dramatically. “But we all know where that got her, don’t we?”
Icy anguish ripped through Varya’s soul. Darkness swam before her eyes, bringing with it the horrible vision of Bella’s lifeless body. Clenching her hands into tight fists, she stared at the toes of her slippers. Let the bastard gloat; she would not give him the satisfaction of seeing her react.
“For years I’ve wanted to make Miles pay for Charlotte’s death. I killed his women, hoping that he truly cared for at least one of them, but he didn’t. He didn’t even care about Charlotte.” His face darkened. “I loved her, you know. I still mourn for her, but your
husband
cared more about that dead brat then he did for Charlotte.”
Varya watched his boots cross the worn carpet. Even when they stopped directly before her she did not lift her head. She would not argue with him. What good would it do to tell him that Miles blamed himself for Charlotte’s death?
“But he cares now.” His fingers bit into the flesh of her jaw and cheek, pinching her face and forcing her to meet his triumphant gaze. He forced her head back until it felt as though her neck might snap. “Congratulations, Varya. You’re the first woman Miles has ever loved.”
She jerked her head against his grip, gazing at him angrily. “Miles Christian is incapable of love. He’s the first to admit it.” God, but it hurt to say it out loud.
Robert chuckled and released his hold on her face. Straightening, he stared at her with a mixture of pity and amusement in his gaze. “You truly believe that, don’t you?” He shook his head. “He loves you, Varya. Nothing—not even his honor—could have made him marry you if he didn’t. I wish I could tell you that it doesn’t have to be this way, but it does. I have to kill you.”
“You’re insane,” she growled, not caring what his reaction might be.
Again he chuckled, but this time his laughter was bitter and harsh. “I wish that were true.” He took a step backward. “Perhaps then I wouldn’t feel any remorse for what I’ve done. I took no pleasure in killing those women. My one and only thought has always been making Miles feel the same pain he inflicted on me when he took Charlotte from me forever.” He pressed the heel of his palm to his forehead and rubbed.
“Killing me won’t bring her back.”
He smiled sadly. “I know that, Varya, but it will avenge Charlotte.”
“Miles will kill you,” she taunted him with more bravado than she felt.
Nodding, Robert’s smile faded. “And then maybe I’ll finally be with her.” He turned toward the door.
Like a statue, Varya sat frozen in her chair as he left the room. As the key turned in the lock, she slowly pushed herself to her feet. She held tight to the back of the chair, willing her trembling legs to support her.
Hysteria hovered at the edges of her mind, threatening to destroy her sanity. She closed her eyes and inhaled deeply, willing herself to be calm with every breath.
As her head cleared, her fingers groped inside the sleeve of her dress for the object she had hidden there earlier. She had grabbed it while cleaning up the broken remains of her breakfast.
The knife was cold and hard against her hand as she pulled it from the sleeve. Her fingers tightened around it, turning her knuckles white with the force of her grip.
With purpose and determination, she moved toward the window, flinging back the drapes and opening the sash like a madwoman.
She had already made some progress. She attacked the rotting wood at the base of the bar with renewed vigor, stabbing at it with the knife.
Her other hand wriggled the bar, wrenching and pulling at it until her shoulder ached. Her right hand burned from wielding the knife; her knuckles were stiff and begged for mercy, but she thrust and thrust again.
The bar came loose with a loud grating sound. Varya staggered backward from the force of its release.
Shoving the bent and battered bread knife under her pillow, Varya weighed the bar in her palm. It was solid and heavy, as big around as two of her fingers and as long as her forearm.
She glanced toward the window. The opening wasn’t nearly big enough for her to crawl through, but the bar…
The bar would do nicely.
When Robert returned that night, she would be ready.
Robert was back.
Slipping her weapon from under her pillow, Varya weighed it in her palm. There was no question in her mind that she could use it. The question was, would it be enough? Would she be able to incapacitate Robert enough to escape?
Muffled voices drifted up from the front hall. The sound of footsteps on the stairs sent her heart pounding against her ribs.
Please God,
she prayed, hiding the bar behind her back.
Give me the strength to fight him.
The key clicked in the lock and the door swung open. Robert walked in, his expression solemn. He shut the door behind him.
The silence was maddening. He stared at her as though he blamed her for his determination to kill her. There was no madness in his gaze, just apologetic sorrow. Varya had never hated anyone as she hated him at that moment.
“Have you come to kill me?” she asked, her voice flat.
He nodded and drew a vial from inside his coat. “Drink this. It will be over with quickly.”
Varya laughed. Hysterical. Brittle. She actually found the situation strangely amusing.
“No.”
Robert seemed surprised. “No?”
A bitter smile curved her lips. “I’m not going to help
you do this, Robert. If you want me dead, you’re going to have to do it yourself—as you did with Bella.” The memory of her friend renewed Varya’s rage. She cupped her hand around the end of the metal bar, drawing strength from its solid circumference.
Sighing, Robert tucked the vial back into his pocket. “I didn’t want to have to do it that way, Varya.”
“What you want doesn’t interest me. I will not make my death easy for you.”
He moved toward her. Varya tensed, bracing herself for his attack. “I had hoped that the man I sent to kill you would have been able to do the job for me. I don’t enjoy killing.”
Varya did not reply.
His fingers closed around her throat. His dark gaze was moist as it met hers. “I wish this could be different,” he murmured.
“No you don’t,” she rasped as the pressure increased. Her gaze locked with his.
He squeezed.
She clawed at him with her free hand but he was a man possessed. Even as her nails drew blood, he did not relent.
Gasping for breath, her back pressed against the window ledge, Varya lifted her hand that held the bar from behind her back.
And swung.
It connected with the side of his skull with a sickening
crack
. With a moan, Robert fell to the floor, clutching his head.
Varya ran. For the second time in her life she was running from a man who would see her dead.
The door crashed open just as she reached for it. She jerked back in time to avoid being flung against the wall.
The short guard raced in. Aiming for his bandaged nose, Varya struck him with the bar. His screams of anguish followed her as she raced down the stairs.
Only the housekeeper stood between Varya and freedom. Varya didn’t want to hurt her again, but she would.
“Varya!”
It was Robert. The rage in his voice reverberated throughout the house. Varya’s knees locked in fear, causing her to stumble and almost fall.
The housekeeper met her gaze with a look that Varya couldn’t read. If she saw the desperation and fear in Varya’s face, the older woman didn’t show it. She simply moved to stand in front of the door.
And opened it.
With a sob Varya flew past the housekeeper, stumbling into the night air. She ran down the steps.
And was caught in an iron grip. She raised her weapon, flailing against the relentless hold, screaming at him in a mixture of Russian and broken English.
He ripped the bar from her hand. Sobbing in frustration, Varya refused to give up easily. She kicked wildly at his shins, her fists pounded the solid width of his shoulders.
“Varya. It’s me!”
Miles? Dimly she became aware that the arms holding her weren’t threatening or hurtful, but gentle and strong. She raised her gaze to the man’s face and saw the eyes of her husband brimming with tears.
“Thank God I found you!” he cried before crushing her mouth beneath his.
Varya clung to him, elation soaring through her veins. Miles had found her. She was safe! Pressing herself against him, she returned his kiss with all the love and relief she had. Behind her she heard the subtle click of a pistol being cocked. She felt Miles stiffen. He broke their kiss.
“A touching reunion,” Robert snarled from the steps. “Miles, you’ve arrived just in time to watch your wife die.” Half of his face glistened with blood, lending a gruesome cast to the sneer on his face.
“You won’t get away with this, Robert,” Miles warned.
“You don’t understand, Miles. I don’t care as long as I know you’ve felt the same pain I’ve lived with these five years. Kill me and I’m with Charlotte, but you’ll spend the rest of your life with Varya’s death on your conscience.” He raised the pistol and squeezed the trigger.
Varya was tossed to the ground as a second shot rang out from over Miles’s shoulder. Her head struck the cobblestones, stunning her, but she remained awake. An eerie silence had descended over the courtyard.
Groggily, she struggled to lift herself up. Staggering to a standing position, she spotted Robert slumped on the steps, clutching his right arm against his chest. His sleeve was dark with blood.
A hand clutched her arm. “Varya, are you all right?”
She turned. “Carny? What happened?”
“Never mind that right now.” He pulled her toward
the carriage. The coachman regarded them with a mixture of terror and confusion. “Come, we have to get you and Miles home.”
“Miles?” she cried as he shoved her inside the vehicle. “What’s wrong with Miles?”
As she turned, she saw Miles lying on the cobblestones. Carny knelt over him, pressing his hand against the left side of her husband’s chest.
Miles had been shot.
“You must eat something.”
Varya glanced up at her father’s concerned face. “I’m fine, Papa.”
“You are not fine, Varenka. You have not eaten since the Englishman brought you and your…
husband
…home.” Vladimir was making an effort to like his son-in-law now that he had been shot saving his daughter. Apparently, his heroic deed had proven Miles worthy.
Varya smiled, turned away from the window through which she had been staring at the moon for the last two hours, and accepted the plate he shoved under her nose.
Her father beamed at her. If he patted her on the head Varya wouldn’t be surprised.
“That’s a good girl,” he praised as she nibbled on a hard-boiled egg.
There was a moment of comfortable silence between them—something Varya had never experienced with her father before.
“Do you love him?”
“Yes,” she admitted, staring at the food on her plate. “I do.”
His blue gaze bright and anxious, her father inched closer, so that she alone could hear his words. “Then you must tell him, Varenka. Do not lose him because of silly pride.”
Tears burned the backs of Varya’s eyes as she realized her father spoke not only of her marriage, but of their own relationship as well. Reaching over, she caught his large hand in her own and squeezed.
“I will tell him, Papa.”
Vladimir nodded stiffly. “Good, because he loves you too.”
And Varya didn’t know if he referred to Miles or himself.
The door opened and all heads turned as Forsythe walked in.
“Your Highness,” he said, addressing Varya. “His Lordship is asking for you.”
Varya’s heart turned over in her chest. She hadn’t been allowed to see Miles while the surgeon removed the bullet, and the doctor had been unable to tell her when her husband might regain consciousness. It had been two days.
“Thank you, Forsythe.”
The walk from the sitting room to Miles’s bedchamber seemed to go on forever. With every step, Varya’s limbs felt more awkward, her heart heavier. She both dreaded and longed to see him.
Announcing her arrival with a tentative knock, she stepped into the chamber.
And stopped.
Propped up against a mountain of pillows, his russet hair shaggier than usual, was her husband. Naked
save for the blankets that covered his lower body, he looked more like a disheveled god than a mere mortal. The snowy white bandage around his upper chest and shoulder was a grim reminder of his mortality.
“I was hoping you would come,” he said softly and held out his hand. “Come here.”
Quickly, Varya went to his side. As she placed her hand in his, he gently tugged, urging her up onto the bed beside him.
“I thought I’d never see you again,” he told her, gently massaging her fingers.
Varya bit the inside of her lip to keep the tears at bay. “So did I.” She raised his hand to her lips, planting feathery kisses on each knuckle. “Miles, I am so sorry you were shot.”
The corners of his mouth twitched. “So am I.” His expression sobered. “I’m sorry for a lot of things, Varya. I’m sorry you had to go through this.”