Miranda nodded miserably. "He is tied hand and foot, his arm is strapped to the bedpost, there is a guard in the room — and two outside the door of the room in which he is imprisoned."
Emily closed her eyes, picturing him trapped just like they had hoped to do to Granbury. But it was Granbury who was guilty. Valentine was guilty of nothing but wanting the best for her. She wished, not for the first time, that she had not spoken a word of the elopement. Her mother might have been infuriated with Valentine if she thought he had been trying to elope with her. But her fury that he had succeeded seemed to know no bounds. "Is he being fed?"
"Yes. The cook was fond of him when he was a footman." Miranda smiled. "He always had a way with the cooks at Anderlin, too."
"What shall we do?" Emily felt helpless. But then she remembered her resolution. "No. I know what we must do. We must find the real murderer."
"If there is one," Miranda added skeptically. "Granbury could have staged this whole business just to get rid of a rival for your affections and someone who knows the truth about him at one fell swoop."
Emily smiled, encouraged that Miranda was thinking as she was. "Then we must find him. For no one will believe it until they see him standing before them." The thought of having to find the marquess and manage to bind him for long enough to prove he had staged his own death gave her a headache.
Miranda nodded in agreement, and then said, "But first, we must find Nan."
"Of course." But how? With Valentine imprisoned upstairs there was one less person to help discover where the maid had been taken. One less person to keep their promise to her — to avenge her sister's death, whether Nancy survived Granbury's wrath or not.
Oh, well, what was one more impossible task, more or less?
The wine cellar was neat, if dark and damp. A tribute to Soames's skills as a butler, Emily supposed. For a moment she did nothing but stand still and silent, holding up the lantern. The glow was not nearly adequate to read the faint writing on the note she held.
It had few words, and she had memorized them. Perhaps she should have alerted Miranda when the footman handed her the folded note. But no. The note had said to come alone or Valentine would be killed. Miranda would have told the duke. And neither of them would have let her come alone.
Emily knew she had no choice. Trussed as Miranda said he was, he would make an easy target. But though she had come alone, she had not come unarmed. She held the pistol steadily in the hand which did not hold the lantern. Where was he? The note had to have been sent by Granbury. She knew no one else with such a sick sense of gamesmanship.
The question was not where was he, she reminded herself after a moment. No, the question was, where was Nancy? After all, the note had said she would find the maid down here. Was it true? She moved slowly swinging the lantern back and forth until she felt dizzy from the play of light in the dark cellar. And then she heard the sound of scrabbling.
She froze and listened quietly. Mice? Loathesome creatures. There was but one way to discover the answer. She moved forward, toward the sound. Rounding a corner of polished bottles resting in their rack, she saw a pair of feet. Small and feminine. Not Granbury's feet. To her great relief, as she directed the lantern light she found that the noise came from Nancy. The note had not lied. The maid had been tied up and left like a discarded sack of potatoes in the corner of the wine cellar. But she was alive.
"Nancy!" She knelt beside her, feeling tears start to see the girl's dark eyes open and alert.
The girl struggled to sit up. "My lady, you must leave. Now."
"Not without you!" Emily set down the lantern and the pistol, and hastily untied the maid's bonds. "Come, we must get out of here as quickly as possible. I don't know when Granbury will return."
"Now, my dear." His voice was as silky as ever.
She turned to face him, marveling at how calm he could be when he was being hunted for murder. Never mind that most of the inhabitants of the castle thought him dead. "I knew you weren't dead! I knew it!"
Emily reached for the pistol, but he lifted his and pointed it toward her, halting her movement. "I hope you told no one else your suspicions."
Emily considered that no one could hear her scream down here in the wine cellar. "Of course — I told everyone."
He smiled, as if it didn't matter. His calm demeanor incensed her immeasurably. "Good, then they simply think you mad and will not have believed you."
Nancy stood up next to her and together they faced him, leaning on each other for support. "You will not get away with this."
"Get away with what? The murders of a few poor women who were no better than they should be? Pretending that I have been most foully murdered — by your lover Fenster?" His laughter was full of self assurance. "On the contrary, I will get away with this, and I promise you I will be watching while the hangman's noose tightens around your lover's throat."
"My husband will not hang." Emily stood up as tall as she could as she flung the truth at him. If only she could distract him, she could retrieve the pistol and get the upper hand at last.
"Yes, he will, my dear." He blinked at the word husband, but the distraction was momentary and not an opportunity to reach for her weapon. "I will be dancing when he does."
"You are mad." Nancy's voice was toneless.
Emily could see that the maid was tousseled but there were no fresh bruises at her throat. There must not have been time for Granbury to torture her yet. But the girl seemed to have lost her will, judging by the dull look she pinned on the marquess.
He frowned at the maid. And then he smiled at Emily. "So some mundane minds might say. But I know better. And soon, my dear, I hope that you, too, will learn to appreciate my finer qualities."
"You cannot possibly imagine I would marry you now?"
"Of course not. I would not marry the disgraced widow of a murderer. But I will have her as a servant. Until I am bored with her."
"The duke and his wife know that I am here," Emily lied, wishing very much that she had told them where she was going.
There was a scuffling sound near the wine cellar door. Someone called her name.
Emily's heartbeat sped up. "Valentine?" As soon as she had called his name, she regretted it. For a moment she hoped he had not heard.
But then he shouted in return, "Thank God I've found you! Emily — are you all right?"
The marquess turned, the deadly pistol in his grip.
Emily dived for her own weapon unsuccessfully as she screamed, "It's a trap, Valentine. Run! Save yourself."
She knew it was fruitless to tell him to run. But she had to try "For my sake," she pleaded, "save yourself."
The marquess, seeing her movement, turned back and there was a loud report as he discharged his weapon. Her lantern went out, but she felt no pain. She squeezed Nancy's hand and got a strong squeeze in return. Neither of them had been hit. But the darkness was complete.
"Emily!" Valentine's voice was choked with panic as he hurried past the rows of bottles toward the sound. She could hear his incaution in each step. He had no thought but to rescue her.
Scrabbling along the floor in the dark, Emily tried to find her own pistol. She called out again to warn him. "Granbury is here. He has a weapon." The shine of a lantern grew brighter as he neared. In the light, Emily saw her pistol and grabbed it. She pointed it toward Granbury who was crouched, reloading his own weapon. He turned it upon her.
A single thought flashed through her mind: so this was what it felt like when men fought a duel. Valentine's light fell full upon them, illuminating the stalemate. But, aware of the dangerous nature of the marquess's temper, he halted his forward charge.
"How did you get free? Last I knew you were trussed like a Christmas goose." Granbury's tone was conversational. Pleasant, if she hadn't known he was mad.
"Soames ordered the footmen to untruss me shortly before Lady Emily was reported missing."
"He dared let a murderer go free?"
"He did not believe your story Granbury. He believed mine. And he is loyal to Lady Emily even if the countess is not. Fortunately, a scullery maid saw her take the keys and descend to the wine cellar."
"Loyalty is a rare commodity. So many discard it whenever it becomes inconvenient." The marquess continued softly, "For example, which of you will prefer to die? And which of you will prefer to save the other?" He laughed at the horror his questions evoked. "Or do you both prefer to live?"
"We both prefer to live, of course," Emily said calmly. She gestured to Nancy to leave them, but the maid did not move.
Granbury's eyes flicked nervously from the maid to Emily. "If you wish to live, Emily then you know what you must do."
"I can't marry you, Lord Granbury I have a husband."
"I can remedy that," he said, turning his glance, but not his pistol, upon Valentine.
"No!" Emily again gestured for the maid to go. "Nancy, leave us now. There is no need for you to be hurt as well."
"She can't go. She will raise the alarm before I am ready."
Emily bit her lip. "If you let her go, I will come with you. I will divorce Valentine. I will marry you." Her voice was deadly calm.
"Emily — no!" Valentine's voice was distorted into a shocked and strangled whisper.
Nancy shook her head. "No, my lady. 'E will not honor his word. No point in both us dyin'. You go."
Emily spoke softly, her words intended to reach deep into the mad heart of the Marquess. "I have caused this trouble for us all, Nancy. The Marquess is the only one who can see my guilt. The only one who can punish me as I must be punished. He knows that you are just a simple girl. A good girl. You will not speak of this to anyone. You would not dare. You are a sensible girl, and you don't want others to think you mad."
The marquess's eyes lit with unholy glee. He focused on the maid. "Go, girl. I shall count to ten. If you are gone by then, you shall live — thanks to your lady."
Nancy still did not move. But then the marquess's soft counting began and, with a whimper, the girl dashed toward the end of the row and freedom. As she reached the marquess, though, her flight ended and she threw herself into him, knocking him off balance. He screamed and they both fell in a tangle. His pistol fell uselessly several feet away.
Emily let out a shocked cry when neither figure rose. "Nancy," she called, as she rushed to help the maid.
Valentine waved her away as he bent over the crumpled figures, and carefully lifted a limp Nancy.
Emily gasped. When the maid was lifted from the marquess, a spread of blood covered his chest.
"What have you done to me?" the marquess whispered, staring only at the little maid who had dared to attack him.
"I stabbed you in your black 'eart, like you deserve, you devil!" Nancy straightened. "No one hurts my lady Emily," and then she collapsed against Valentine's shoulder, weeping hysterically.
Emily held up a pale lawn fabric sample, her face a study in surprise. "I can have no gowns for the season then?"
Valentine shook his head. He had gone over the books with his steward. Anderlin was faring better than it had in his father's day. But it was by no means able to support his wife and five sisters in a lavish style. "Miranda and the duke have agreed to sponsor Hero and Juliet for their seasons, but we must remain in the country this year, I'm afraid." He swallowed hard, not wanting to tell her the truth, but there was no other choice. "We cannot afford the clothing necessary to appear in Society without disgracing ourselves and announcing to the world that we must mind our pennies. I have put you through enough scandal, I will not have more."
She smiled, toying with the fabric, smoothing it through her fingers. "So it is not that you do not wish to be seen with your infamous viscountess?"
He marveled that she could be so lighthearted after all they had been through. "After Miranda has woven the tale into one of her fairy stories, I believe you will no longer qualify for infamy. Your courage must soon be the talk of London." He laughed ruefully. "Of course, even though I am quite cleared of Granbury's first murder, no one will believe that I'm good enough for you. But I always knew that anyway. I just didn't let it stop me from possessing you."
She dropped the fabric sample into her lap, and dipped her head so that he could not see her eyes and judge the depths of her disappointment. "That is truly a shame, about the season, though. I do not know if I can bear it."
"I wish I could — " He broke off. Taking her hands in his own, he met her gaze steadily. "I promise, no matter what, that you will have a chance to enjoy the London season next year."
"I suppose that will have to do." She sighed.
There was just a hint of a smile behind the sigh, though, he recognized suddenly. "Emily, what are you about?"
"It's just that I so wanted to let everyone who doubted that we would have a successful marriage see that I am a good wife."
"And that would be easier this year than next?"
Her voice was small, and muffled. He hoped she was not about to cry. "Certainly! A woman always gains much more sympathy for her sacrifice when she is heavy with child than she does once the child has been born and is lying prettily in its crib, don't you think?"
"I suppose." For a moment he did not register what she had said.
She lifted the fabric again, and met his eyes. "Do you imagine the budget will stretch to cover a few new garments, if they are very, very small?"
Dazed, he realized that he must closet himself with the books once again. He grinned. "I suppose that means I must break the promise I just made then — the budget will not bear both the cost of a season in London and the things a baby will need."
"What a shame." She moved toward him, dropping the fabric sample to the floor. As she settled herself in his lap and began to kiss his neck gently, she whispered, "I'm so very disappointed."
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