Ruthless (25 page)

“Apparently he's been visiting her out at the château every day, pressing his suit, and she finally agreed. It's just as well he took her from under Rohan's roof, don't you agree?”

“Absolutely,” she said numbly. “Can I see her?”

“It would be wiser not to at the moment. You haven't yet asked me about my proposition.”

She forced herself to evince an interest. “Of course, cousin. I'm very interested.” Perhaps he had an elderly aunt who needed a companion, or a cousin who needed a governess. Except that he had no family—his family was hers.

“I know this will sound unexpected, but I've thought it through in great detail, and it seems as if it would answer everything. It might not be what you want, but I suspect it would work out very well indeed, and…”

“Cousin,” Elinor interrupted him, some of her old fire coming back. “What are you trying to say?”

He took her hand and got down on one knee in the swaying coach, and she watched him in utter horror. “I'm asking you to marry me, Cousin Elinor. I believe we should get on very well together, and I can't help but feel that all the grand things I've inherited really should be yours, but for an accident of birth. I want to share them with you.”

“Cousin…” she said gently, trying to hide her annoyance.

“Indeed, I have the utmost respect for you, dear lady, and…and fondness. I think we can grow to love each other very deeply, and I beg you will consider my offer.”

She stared down at him for a long moment, all the while he attempted to keep his balance as the coach rattled along the rough roads. It would answer everything, she thought numbly. Rohan would hear she'd
married, and promptly forget all about her, which is what she wanted. If she couldn't have him then she wanted it over, completely.

She looked at her handsome cousin, holding her hand in his. “Yes,” she said in practical tones. “But I would like to return to England immediately.”

His smile was beatific. “Dear girl! I have a small ship waiting for us at Calais. We can be in England by tomorrow.”

Tomorrow. She'd be far away from this place, the country where she'd lived for the last ten years, the place she'd grown up in, the place she'd lost the only mother she'd ever known. Not to mention Lady Caroline.

He could never follow her. It didn't matter if he suddenly came to his senses, remembered the long hours in each others' arms, the heat, the tenderness. He couldn't come after her. To follow her would be to risk his life. His miserable, ill-begotten life. “And my sister?”

“We'll have her and her new husband to visit us as soon as we're settled,” he said. “We can get married by special license almost as soon as we reach Dorset. You don't know how happy you've made me, my dear. I was afraid it was too much to hope for.”

He rose up, taking the seat beside her, and she immediately jumped up and took the seat opposite him, oddly unwilling to have him so near.

“There is something I must tell you, Cousin Marcus,” she said, “which might cause you to change your mind.”

“I can't imagine what, my dear.”

“I've lived a…a difficult life for the past few years.”

He nodded vigorously. “I know you have. It angers me that your father couldn't have aided you when you most needed him.”

“I'm afraid…Marcus, I'm no longer a maid.”

He didn't even blink. “I'm sure it wasn't your fault, my dear. I am certainly not one to hold blame. You will be modest and faithful to me, and that is all that matters.”

For a moment she didn't move. “Yes, Marcus,” she said finally. “Then I will marry you.”

“Darling cousin,” he said, beaming at her.

It wouldn't be too awful, she thought, leaning back in the corner of the coach. He knew enough not to try to sit beside her again, not to touch her or kiss her. He would be polite, patient. And in truth, she could lie beneath him and let him rut on her body, because she knew with utter certainty that that was all he would do. There would be no touches, hard and then gentle, no kisses. And she would be fine.

She would just need to find someone who would dispense laudanum. Perhaps her new brother-in-law would be so kind, she thought mirthlessly.

She looked over at her husband-to-be. He was quite handsome, all in all, despite the Harriman Nose. His colorless hair was thinning slightly, very different from Rohan's luxuriant black mane, and his mouth was…

She had to stop thinking about that. She had to remember the cruel, heartbreaking words and hold
them close to her, in case she should ever waver, ever long for him. That man was a lie. The truth lay across from her, dozing slightly as they made their way through the night, heading for Calais.

M
aison de Giverney was dark and silent. Charles Reading looked up at the huge building in astonishment. It was only five days into the two-week Revels, and the place looked abandoned. He'd been gone for only three days, and he knew a moment's dread when he surveyed the darkness.

He'd waited too long, selfishly assuring himself and Lydia that Elinor was safe under Rohan's protection. Francis had compromised her—that had been in the cards since the moment he'd laid eyes on her, but despite his threats Charles knew he wouldn't hurt her. And he'd simply swept Lydia off to the nearest English parson he could find and married her out of hand before anything or anyone could stop them, including his own conscience. He wasn't good enough for her, and it was totally impractical, and he didn't give a damn. He was in love, and all the rationalizations couldn't make it go away.

The nearest English parson had been half a days' ride outside of Paris, and they'd spent their wedding
night in a tiny inn in the countryside. The next two days had passed in a blaze of desire and a burst of tenderness, and it was only after they'd arrived back in Paris, returned to his rooms in the Place des Vosges, that they'd both emerged from their cocoon of happiness to think about Elinor's rescue.

His wife was safely ensconced there, drowsy-eyed and naked in his bed, and he'd been more than loath to leave her. The only thing that could distract them from their dazed delight in each other was the nagging question of Elinor, and he'd come to retrieve her, take her away from Rohan before he could dispense with her.

He'd known perfectly well that despite Rohan's threats he'd make no move to get rid of her until after the Revels had concluded, and he would cushion the blow. For all that Rohan strutted around thinking himself the Prince of Darkness, his battered soul contained a bruised nobility that would appall him. Rohan much preferred to fancy himself heartless.

Charles had no idea how Elinor Harriman would take her dismissal. From what he'd seen of her she was a most resilient young woman. If anything, she might come back and smash a vase over Rohan's elegant head, but she wasn't the sort to sit in a corner and weep.

Then again, she wasn't the sort to succumb to Rohan's notorious powers of seduction, and she had. And Rohan's usual methods were totally at odds with his current behavior. Reading wasn't certain if he'd ever seen his friend the way he'd been that night, the
savagery of his one-sided duel with the unlamented Sir Christopher, the anger when he'd gone after Elinor during her aborted escape. Something was very wrong in his friend's life, and the darkness at Maison de Giverney was a clear sign.

He was relieved to see some light behind the windows surrounding the vast front door, and it opened upon his approach, a dour Willis standing there. For a moment he'd wondered if the Heavenly Host had some new conceit—Revels in dark and silence, but he knew immediately that his first surmise had been correct. The place was deserted.

“Is your master here, Willis?” he said.

“He's here. Everyone else is gone, though, including half the servants,” he muttered. “I'm glad you're here, sir. He needs you.”

“Where is he?”

“In the library. Drinking or drunk, if I make my guess. No one's to go near him, and since he almost blew Cavalle's head off with his dueling pistol the servants, what's left of them, are keeping their distance.”

“He won't shoot me,” Charles said, heading off through the dimly lit hallways.

The house was spotless—all signs of the recent party had been swept away. Charles couldn't imagine how he'd done it—once the Heavenly Host were in full swing it was almost impossible to distract them until excess had exhausted them.

The door to Rohan's study was closed, and for once no footman sat waiting for a summons. He knocked on the door.

“Go away, damn it,” Rohan's voice came from behind the door. There was just the faintest suggestion of a slur in it, another astonishment. In their years of heavy drinking he'd never heard Rohan sound anything but cool and in control.

“It's me.”

“Get the hell out of here, Charles.”

That was welcome enough. He pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The last time he'd been in this room they'd been trying to kill each other. Obviously Rohan had continued that pursuit on his own.

The room was destroyed; a madman had clearly taken a firepoker to every possible surface, smashing and destroying in a blind fury. The massive desk was overturned, chairs were splintered, paintings torn off the walls and sliced through. And Rohan was in the midst of it. On the built-in window seat that even he couldn't destroy, a bottle of Scots whiskey in his hand.

He looked like holy hell, and Charles could only surmise that he'd been doing nothing but drink and smash things since the moment he left.

One of the overturned chairs looked to have four intact legs, though one arm was gone, and he picked it up and righted it, then sat in it, looking at his old friend. “What have you done with the Heavenly Host?” he inquired politely.

“Got rid of the lot. Drove 'em out of the place, and they won't be coming back.”

“No, I expect not. Not with their Revels disrupted,”
Charles observed. “And where is Miss Harriman? I assume you sent her on her way as well?”

“It didn't come to that,” he said with an ugly turn to his mouth. “She left on her own.”

Reading's eyes narrowed. “How?”

“Someone saw her departing soon after you left. Were you fool enough to go after the sister?”

“You knew I would,” Reading said.

“Indeed. You're still young and foolish enough to believe in love.”

“And you don't, Francis?” he said gently. “I think Elinor loved you.”

“I didn't give you leave to call her by her given name,” Rohan snapped drunkenly.

“I wasn't aware that it was your permission I needed,” Reading said wryly. “Where is she?”

“Damned if I know.”

“You most certainly are.” Reading kept his voice pleasant. “How do you know she's gone?”

“Went back to her room. Rooms. I put her away from the riffraff, and when I went to find her she was gone.”

“Perhaps she knew that was what you wanted.”

“How the hell did she know what I wanted?” Rohan argued with drunken logic. “I didn't know what I wanted.”

Reading looked at him in frustration. “You've cocked this up badly, Francis. It isn't at all like you—you have more finesse. I can only think there must be something else at play here. Perhaps something on your part.”

“I beg you, Charles, spare me your sentimentality,” Rohan said.

Reading shook his head. “I need to find her, Francis, for her sister's sake if for no other. I would think you'd feel some responsibility…”

“None,” he said succinctly, taking another drink from the bottle. “She may go wherever she wishes and tup anyone she chooses. I'm done with her.”

Charles rose, crossed the room and grabbed the bottle, smashing it in the fireplace. Rohan leaped from his seat with drunken fury, murder in his eyes, and then his face went blank as he stood there for a moment, then gracefully passed out in Charles's arms.

Charles let his old friend down carefully on the littered floor and went to the door. Willis was already waiting, with coffee and food on a tray, a bowl of warm water and fresh clothes over his arm.

“What happened to her, Willis?”

“It's uncertain, Mr. Reading, but I had word that she was seen leaving in the company of a gentleman.”

Alarm swept through Reading. There was no member or guest of this devil's retinue who was a fitting companion for Elinor Harriman.

“I believe it was Baron Tolliver. He's a relative newcomer, and I gather he has some relation to the lady.”

“So she's safe.”

Willis looked torn. “As for that, I'm not certain, Mr. Reading. I took it upon myself to see what I could find out about the situation. He'd hired a carriage to transport them to Calais, from whence I can only
assume he's planning to return to England. With Miss Harriman.”

He should be relieved. If she was with the titular head of her family then he should have nothing to worry about. Except that this was the very man that Rohan had been gathering information about, though he'd been damn secretive about it.

The time for secrets had passed. “Bring some very cold water, Willis. I think it's time for Lord Rohan to face the mess he's made of his life.”

“Indeed, sir.” He nodded, bowing.

Charles didn't wait for Willis's return. He opened the doors to the snowy terrace and went back to Rohan's unconscious body. He was too big to lift, so Charles simply dragged him across the floor to the door, hoisting him over the doorjamb until he went face-first in the snow.

He came to quite quickly, heading for Charles once more. “Enough,” Charles thundered, holding one arm out to keep him at bay. “You've spent enough time feeling sorry for yourself. It's time for you to sober up and do something.”

“I could do your intended,” Rohan said evilly in a deliberate attempt to get Charles to hit him.

“She's my wife, you degenerate bastard. And you know perfectly well she's not the Harriman you want. Elinor went off with that new cousin of hers—she's probably in England by now. We're going to have make absolutely certain she's—” He stopped as Rohan began to curse. “What?”

But Rohan seemed to have shaken off the vast
amount of whiskey he'd had. He rose to his full, impressive height. “Get my valet,” he snapped. “And order my coach.”

“Willis is bringing water and fresh clothes,” Charles said warily. “But why bring your coach? She's already back in England by now, and you certainly can't even think of going there.”

“Can't I, Charles?” he said in a grim voice, stripping off his torn and stained waistcoat and shirt. “I'm not convinced she's safe with him. I had him removed from the property at the beginning of the Revels, but he must have somehow gotten to her anyway.”

“And she's safer with you? Allow me to doubt that,” Charles said derisively.

“You don't understand. He's not her cousin. He's not the true heir to Harriman's estate, but he presented papers that Harriman's daughter had died in France.”

Charles froze. “How did you discover this?”

“I can get any information I need, you know that,” he said, his voice dark. “Young Marley, the Duke of Mont Albe, all had knowledge of the so-called Marcus Harriman. He's a fake, Charles. He's her bastard half brother, and I can't believe his intentions have anything to do with Elinor's well-being.”

Charles felt the ice that he'd dumped Rohan in begin to form in his veins. “Bloody hell. That would explain a lot. Neither you nor I were satisfied that Lady Caroline started that fire, and you yourself said the attempt on your life might have been a mistake. Miss Harriman had accompanied you only minutes earlier, and it would be simple enough for him to have
hired a marksman, one of the disaffected soldiers who roam the streets.”

Rohan was splashing water on his body. “If he's taken her back to England it's in order to kill her. And I've been sitting here for days, drinking.”

“We could be worried for nothing,” Reading said. “After all, the estate's entailed. What could he hope to gain?”

Rohan shook his head, then moaned, putting his hands to his temples. “Devil of a headache,” he muttered, momentarily distracted. Then he looked up, steely-eyed. “The estate isn't entailed. Not even the title. She inherits it all, and if she marries, her son inherits the title. I don't think our so-called Baron Tolliver is going to let that happen.”

He strode to the door, filled with feverish energy. “Willis, damn you!” he shouted into the darkened hallway. “What's taking you so bloody long?”

“I'm coming, my lord!” Willis's voice wheezed from a short distance away.

“Tell me what to do, Francis,” Charles said urgently. “You have no choice but to stay here, but I can go after them, catch up with them before anything happens.”

“It might already be too late. He could have tossed her over the side of the boat,” Rohan said bleakly. “But no, he didn't do that. I'd know. In my heart, I'd know.”

Charles stared at him, stupefied. “You have a heart, Francis? Surely not.”

Rohan turned to look at him. “We still haven't settled our duel,” he said in an evil voice.

“You really wish to waste time with such inconsequentialities?” Reading said. “Don't glower at me—I've known you too long to be intimidated by the
King of Hell
. You'll have to give up that title, you know. You'll be drummed out of the Heavenly Host.”

“God deliver me from their tiresome playacting,” Rohan said wearily.

“Lord save us, first you have a heart, now you have a god? Will wonders never cease?” Charles said, turning back to close the door that was still blowing icy air and snow into the library. “One thing is certain. I'm not letting you go anywhere near England. Not that you'd be fool enough to even think of it, but you're out of your mind already, and it would be just like you—”

Something crashed down on his head. One moment he was lecturing his old, dissipated friend, the next he was falling toward the littered, snowy floor of Rohan's library, and then everything went black.

 

Rohan didn't stop to consider what drove him, what he was risking. There wasn't time. He had no idea when Marcus Harriman had departed with his half sister, but any kind of head start was unacceptable. He'd done nothing but drink for the past three days—they would have left anytime, while he'd be feeling sorry for himself.

He tied his old friend up deftly, bitterly amused at the realization that the only reason he knew how to bind someone was for some of the Heavenly Host's more interesting games. Charles would be ready to
kill him when he awakened, but at least Rohan would have a head start. He knew full well that there was no way Charles would stand by and let him put his life in jeopardy by returning to England. He also knew there was no way he could stop him.