Fascination -and- Charmed (84 page)

“Make potions that cure people’s ills.”

When he’d finally secured Cloudsmoor and dispatched his dear sister and grandmother to live in the house there, he’d be free to carry on the activities that satisfied him most in the comfort of his own rooms.

Etienne staggered a little as he approached his apartments and paused, leaning against the wall, while he waited for his head to clear.

Creeping around, visiting Henri and Anabel in places where they would not be discovered, was becoming a bloody bore.

He rolled to rest his back against the wall. He felt weak, drained. Grinning, swaying, he let himself into the small sitting room off his bedchamber. He
was
drained. Anabel and Henri had taken every ounce of the juices he’d poured forth for them for hours.

And they’d enjoyed the taking.

And he’d relished the giving.

And they would play again on the morrow, when they would devise fresh entertainments. At the fair, a young girl from the village had been offered to him by her father. Yes, he’d have to consider that offer very seriously and soon—by the morrow.

Damn these people who meddled in his pleasures. He should be in his bed with his faithful friends, not falling about, awaiting the ministrations of his damnable man who was nowhere around.

Etienne screwed up his eyes.

No. Nowhere about.

“Belcher!”

Not a sign of the lazy bounder.

“Belcher!”

“Belcher is not here, Etienne.” A tall, dark-haired man rose from a wing chair near the fire. The back of the chair faced Etienne, which accounted for his not having noted that he had a visitor. Perhaps he was about to be offered another little virgin.

“I say,” he said. “Bit late for visitors, ain’t it? Or is it a bit early?” He giggled at his own jest.

“There would never be a good time for this visit,” the man said. His voice scratched and Etienne decided he did not like it at all. Not at all. This was not a fellow of any culture.

“You’d best seat yourself,” the man said. “You’ll soon find your legs a deal less strong. Not that they’re strong now, by the looks of things.”

“The devil you say.” Etienne made careful steps across the Aubusson carpets and fell into the leather chair behind his writing table. Position of authority. Table between the nobleman and the serf. Impertinent, vulgar peasant. “State your business here and get out. Where’s Belcher?”

“Belcher was told you would not need him tonight,” the man said. “You wouldn’t want him to be here for our little talk.”

“Don’t wish to talk with you.”

The man was exceedingly tall. His black hair was straight, overlong and dull, and his sharp silvery eyes hid beneath the hairless, jutting bones of his brow. “It’s time for you to pay your accounts,
Your Grace,
” he said, resting big-knuckled hands on the writing table.

A shred of clearheadedness threatened Etienne’s warm haze. “Accounts?” He sat straighter. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Who sent you?”

“Someone who knew you’d be willing to pay handsomely for the information I can give you. And for my silence.”

Etienne gripped the edge of the table. Sweat broke out on his brow. He must keep calm. This could be any sort of foolery. Nonchalance would win out over this oaf. “Get out,” he said, as imperiously as his thick tongue allowed.

“Get out?” The man’s thin lips parted in a grin that sent deep lines into his sunken cheeks. “You wouldn’t want me to do that. I might tell someone else what I know about you.

There’s someone else as would pay a great deal for the information, and then
you’d
have nothing left to pay anything with.”

Etienne blinked to clear his vision. There was something about the man…Yes, he’d seen this creature before. “Where do I know you from?” he demanded.

“You don’t know me at all. But then, maybe you know me very well. Who can tell? The answer depends on what you mean by knowing.”

“I’m in no mood for riddles.” Etienne swallowed bile, but the drink’s effect was waning. “Speak your piece.”

“I want half of everything you own,” the man said. “I’ve chosen an estate north of Cloudsmoor. From there I can be certain you never forget to provide my portion.”

Etienne stiffened, then collapsed back in his chair. He laughed, wiped the back of a hand over his mouth and laughed again. “A madman.
Belcher!
By God, I’ll have his hide for sleeping when I need him.”

“Miranda is ill,” the man said. He stood and walked around to sit on the edge of the table—close to Etienne. “You do remember Miranda? Milo’s sister?”

Etienne swallowed. He was sober now. “No,” he said. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“I thought you would remember,” the man said. “Miranda can’t work. I’m going to have to look after her. Make sure she’s in a safe place where she won’t be tempted to tell what she knows in order to get the money she and Milo need to live.”

The horror that had haunted him since his wretched…This horror had haunted him since the appearance of the wretched woman who had told him she was his mother. He had never ceased to fear that someone, somehow, knew about him and would come to torture him.

“Miranda knows all about you, but that doesn’t surprise Your Grace too much, does it?”

Etienne stared unseeingly ahead.

“You did guess it could be true. Cora Bains, Lady Hoarville’s mother, knew, and she was friendly with Miranda.”

He could try to reach a weapon.

“Your own dear mother told Cora, and Cora told Miranda.

Such a pity. Florence always was such a chatterer.”

“
Don’t
mention that woman’s name!”

“Florence Hawkins,” the man said casually. “A beautiful creature when she was young. So sad the way she died. And right after you’d been so kind as to arrange another meeting with her. A fever, the doctor said. Cora said it was poison and so did Miranda, but who would listen to them? Must have been a shock, finding out you were a whore’s bastard son.”

“No!” Etienne clawed at the nearest drawer, where a slim steel knife lay. He found the drawer handle and pulled.

A big, hard hand closed over his and clamped it atop the table. “A whore’s bastard son, placed in an infant duke’s cradle because the whore hated the infant duke’s father and intended to get her hands on what was his. Through you. Clever of her, wasn’t it?”

Etienne panted and felt spittle bubble from the corner of his mouth.

“Too bad she told you everyone who’d known was dead—except her. Silly, that. Thinking that when she told you she was your mother, you’d keep her safe. You killed her for it. But the snake man’s assistant wasn’t the only one who knew she had taken the duke’s rightful heir and left you in his place. She was gone, all right, but not Cora and not Miranda.”

“Cora’s dead now.” Etienne whimpered.

“We’ll not speak about that. Miranda’s not dead and neither am I, and you’ll pay for our silence.”

“I’ll kill you both.”

The man laughed, and it was a sound that made Etienne cast up his accounts.

When he’d finished soiling his clothes and the polished desk and the Aubusson carpets, he peered up into the impassive face above him. “I’ll kill you both.”

“No, you won’t,” the man said. “Because we have taken precautions.
I
have taken precautions. You’d do well to watch the Hoarville bitch. She may become a problem.”

Anabel? Anabel must never know what had happened here tonight. “I can deal with Anabel,” he said, scarcely able to draw a breath. He fumbled for a kerchief and pressed it to his bitter-tasting lips.

“Listen to me and listen well. You have something else to deal with. When it is done, I’ll return to make the rest of our arrangements.”

The man stood and Etienne’s burning eyes followed the unfolding of the tall, thin body.

“Innes,” the man said. “You must dispose of him. And of his friend if he knows.”

“Knows what?” Etienne asked. “Chauncey? Is Innes Chauncey’s man?”

For a moment there was question in the man’s small, light-colored eyes. “Chauncey? Forget Chauncey, you fool. There’s no problem there. Innes is your problem.”

“Because he’s sniffing around after my fiancée? He’ll never manage—”

“Shut up! And listen to me. You will deal with Innes before he deals with you.”

“I’ll tell him to leave and that’ll be an end of it.”

The lipless mouth pressed briefly shut. “You will kill him, and
that
will be an end of it. You will kill the rightful Duke of Franchot.”

“The…” Etienne’s tongue refused to make any more words.

“He is the man who should sit where you sit,
bastard.
Move carefully. Take enough time to ensure there is no other witness against us; then
do
it.”

Etienne could only nod.

“I’ll leave you now. But I’ll never be far away.”

“Your name?” Etienne choked out, tearing at his already loosened shirt. “Tell me your name and where I may find you.”

“I shall find you. My name is of no interest. Think of me simply as your
father.
”

Autumn. Pippa felt its impatient sting at the edge of the morning’s scant warmth.

Her imagination only. August was yet with them.

Mist rose from the lawns like a drifting sheet of muslin. Pippa was glad of the light cloak she’d thrown on before coming in search of Calum. She felt autumn. And with autumn would come her wedding.

He had not eaten breakfast, so the dour servant in attendance revealed. And Max, who always knew where Calum was, did not know this morning.

There he came, head down, walking slowly up flights of steps between the castle’s terraced gardens.

Pippa hugged the cloak of fine gray wool closer. Anyone looking from this side of the castle would see them clearly. No sign of the urgency she felt must be visible.

But her feet moved as if she could not stop them. Down, down, down.

Calum raised his face, saw her and stopped climbing.

And she was close enough to see desolation in his eyes.
“She said it would kill you.”
Her own words of the previous night echoed.

He smiled, but it was a poor attempt.

“Good morning, Calum,” she said, taking the final steps that brought her to his side. “I should like to hold you very close in my arms, dear friend.”

His expression changed slowly, as if her words were not immediately clear to him. “You would do well not to risk sentiments like those where they may be heard, my lady.”

Anger flared in her breast. “Who will hear?” She looked around. “I should like to kiss you and have you kiss me. I should like to lie with you on the mist upon this very grass.”

“We can be clearly seen from the castle.”

“We cannot be clearly
heard
from the castle. I wish I need never again leave your arms. Without you, I am not even half of myself.”

“My God, Pippa.” He turned his face from her. “You do not know what you’re saying. Go back.”

“Go back!” Her eyes stung, but the tears that threatened were born as much of fury as of hurt. “What can you be saying? Go
back?
”

He faced her once more, the lines of his face stark, his dark eyes glittering. “Yes, go back. I want to hold you, too, you little fool. I want to lie with you here on this grass and never let you go from me again. Without you,
I
am not even half of myself.”

The tears overflowed and she reached for him.

Calum stepped back. “Don’t. We can be seen, I tell you.”

“Let them see us. Let them all see us. Calum, you sought me out. For whatever reason, you followed me here and
you have
pursued me. Yet now you try to hold me at a distance.”

“Yes!” he cried, hanging back his head. He drove his hands into his pockets and stared at the sky. “I hold you at a distance because I’m afraid I may destroy you.”

“I don’t—”

“You don’t have to understand more than you do.” He looked at her and the passion in his eyes tore at her. “I want it
all.
And no, you do not understand me. I want everything. And in taking everything, I might consume your very body, your spirit. Stay away from me before I destroy you.”

Etienne stood close to green damask draperies drawn back from the windows in a tiny salon beneath the bell tower. From here he had an excellent view of the terraced gardens.

“What are they doing now?” Anabel asked.

“They are mooning over each other,” he told her, careful to keep himself in the cover of the draperies.

Anabel, in rustling peach-colored satin, paced green silk carpets before a fire in the exquisite little Italian-tiled fireplace.

Etienne looked at the woman from whom there might be no escape—ever—and felt rage at his plight.

He’d told her of the night’s travesty. There had seemed no choice. He needed an accomplice, someone to advise and assist him, and there was no one else. She had promised that his confidence would remain between them, that even Henri would never hear the horrible truth.

“Now?” she demanded, twining her fingers together. “What are they doing now?”

“Parting, I believe,” he told her. “What shall we do?”

“We shall make certain they do not succeed in their plot against us,” Anabel said. “They are in it together. I had always suspected as much. I don’t care what your—what that man said. Chauncey is somewhere behind this. He discovered there was some doubt about your identity and came up with this Innes. Innes persuaded Miranda he is the duke, and she told
him.
”

“They are certain. If you are right, that means Chauncey is also certain and will expose me. He—that man said I must dispose of Innes before he tells the world I am an imposter.”

Anabel took up a delicate crystal dish and squeezed its pedestal in one fist. “If Calum Innes had enough proof to make his claim, he would already have made it. He does not have that proof.”

“What if he gets it?”

“Are they parting?”

“Yes. She is returning to the castle. He is walking downward once more.”