Natalya (48 page)

"What do you mean to do?" David inquired.

"I just told you!" she spat.

"But, why? You aren't going to harm them, surely?"

"Of course, you idiot! I've seen your insufferable brother, and it's plain that the only solution is to do away with him, which means doing away with his lover as well. I've no doubt that he has kept her informed of my existence in Philadelphia and the bad blood between us, so—"

"You want to
kill
Grey?" he repeated blankly.

"Don't look so shocked! If you had the wits God gave a
stoat,
you would see that it is the only solution. You needn't pretend you haven't hated him all your life, and now we shall both be rid of him. The title will be yours, darling, we shall be married, and we can return to England. I'll say I discovered you wandering about in France suffering from memory loss. Isn't it
perfect?"

David felt numb as he stared into her burning eyes. "Well, yes, I suppose so."

"You were the man she ran away with," Natalya whispered incredulously. "You faked your death in battle and stole your own brother's wife!"

"Do not speak again or I shall shoot you immediately," Francesca said in tones of ice.

Having retrieved the evil-looking knife from Francesca's reticule, David set about slicing strips from the silk draperies. The light was fading quickly and Francesca urged him on, then handed him the pistol as she bound Natalya's and Charlotte's wrists.

"Now what do you intend to do?" David asked, watching her in confusion. "You don't mean just to shoot them in cold blood, do you?"

"Imbecile!" She threw him an irritated glance over one shoulder, then gagged Natalya and Charlotte with strips of silk. "We shall wait for Grey. I know my beloved husband, and I feel certain that he'll come rushing out here tonight to cleanse himself of the memory of our earlier encounter. My effect on him was undeniable. He was clearly aroused, but seems to have temporarily developed a conscience. No doubt he'll believe that a visit with his little spinster will absolve him of all his wicked thoughts." Francesca pushed Charlotte down to the floor and began to tie her ankles together. "We'll wait for him to walk into our trap, tie him up as well, and then let him watch his lover die first...."

David was listening in horrified fascination when Francesca's head snapped up. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"Listen!" she hissed, scrambling to her feet, the knife clutched in one hand.

Natalya's heart gave a painful wrench as she recognized the sound of hoofbeats on the drive. Please God, she prayed, don't let it be Grey. Don't let it end for us this way! Francesca had forgotten to bind her ankles, and she wondered if there was anything she could do. The silk that bound her wrists had been made into draperies by Caro at least twenty years ago, and she had threatened to replace them because of age even before Natalya went to France. Now, as she tugged and pulled her wrists apart, Natalya felt the fabric begin to tear.

A sharp knock sounded at the front door, followed by Grey's achingly beloved voice. "Natalya? Is anyone at home?"

Smiling, Francesca whispered to David, then
slipped into
the stair hall and stood behind the door, just as she had earlier in her own bedchamber. Grey knocked again, then tried the door, opened it, and stepped into yet another trap.

Instantly Francesca was behind him, the blade of her knife pressed between his shoulder blades. "Lift your hands up for me, darling, unless you want your lover to die," she purred.

All the muscles in his lean body tightened, but Grey remained silent and did as she bade him. The point of the knife cut into his coat, nudging him forward into the dimly lit north parlor. "Damn you," he breathed when he glimpsed Natalya, gagged and bound beside Charlotte on the floor.

Then David St. James stepped out of the shadow, shaking visibly as he pointed the pistol at his brother.

Lifting his eyebrows, Grey remarked with pointed irony. "Ah, there you are, David. Not dead at all, I perceive, but come to rescue me. How can I convey my gratitude?"

"Hold that pistol steady, you dolt," Francesca commanded her lover, who had begun to sweat profusely under Grey's cool gaze. "Pull back the hammer and shoot Miss Beauvisage instantly if she makes a suspicious move." Still gripping the knife, she reached for the remaining strips of silk and prepared to tie her husband's wrists behind his back.

Natalya fought an urge to weep in the face of Grey's bravado and the fate that loomed before them both. Then she heard it: a tiny, familiar click in the paneled wall. Grey winked at her as relief flooded her body.

In the next instant, a panel in the wall sprang open and Fedbusk and Speed burst into the parlor, brandishing pistols. Their color was high, and they wore reckless grins.

"Don't none of you move!" Fedbusk commanded, his feet spread as if he were back on the
Rover's
quarterdeck. "Now then, wench," he drawled, staring at Francesca, "I never did like you, and I've always wished I could say so to your face! Take that knife from 'is lordship's back and toss it across the floor toward us."

"Go to the devil," she snarled, then turned her eyes up on the quaking David. "Shoot Grey! Shoot him now! Don't let him win again!"

David's finger hooked around the trigger as he sobbed, "I cannot. He is my brother!" When he drew it back, the pistol exploded, and Francesca stared down in stunned disbelief as a crimson stain blossomed and blended with the blood red violet of her bodice.

Horrified, Natalya watched as Grey's wife tumbled to the floor at her feet and lay motionless. Fedbusk and Speed ran up behind David and were divesting him of his weapon just as Natalya ripped free of the rotting silk that bound her wrists and scrambled to her feet. She could hear Charlotte making incoherent whimpering sounds behind her gag, and she helped the young maid up, trying to move her away from the dead woman.

David St. James was sobbing, clinging to his brother. "Hold on, old man," Grey said in a voice rough with tenderness. "I must see to the ladies."

Sagging limply against Natalya, Charlotte glimpsed a movement over her mistress's shoulder. It was Francesca. Smeared with blood, she was reaching up, wild-eyed, clambering to her knees, the knife in one hand, her other fingers transformed into scarlet-streaked claws that grasped Natalya's white muslin skirts, pulling with inhuman strength.

Caught off-balance, Natalya staggered backward. Grey dashed toward her from across the parlor, but the blade was already slashing into Natalya's gown. Charlotte, her wrists still bound, threw herself past her mistress and drove Francesca back.

Emitting one last shriek, Francesca toppled onto her own knife and died at last.

Chapter 30

May
26, 1814

Grey sat on the edge of Alexandre Beauvisage's massive cherry desk, gazing out the windows of his office at the shipyards below. Both men had removed their coats and were indulging in glasses of Madeira. Spread across the desk were plans for ships.

"When this war is ended," Alec was saying, "and I believe that will be soon, I can stop outfitting my vessels as warships and turn to more exciting designs. I think we're about to enter a new age, when ships can be built to be faster and more efficient than ever. Have you seen the French luggers that have been trading in our waters recently? This newest design"—he pointed toward the central drawing—"is based on them."

"Your work is fascinating," Grey said. He stared intently at the plans, then looked up to find that Beauvisage was watching him. "No doubt your son will join you in business when the war is over."

"I rather doubt it." Alec smiled and gave a Gallic shrug. "Etienne seems to take after his maternal grandfather. Farming is his passion, and he and his wife, Marianne, have purchased land adjoining her family's farm in northern New York State."

"Are you disappointed, sir?"

"Not at all." He wandered to the window and gazed down at the men toiling over the wooden skeletons of ships while the Delaware River glittered in the distance. "Etienne must do exactly as
he
pleases. It is his life, not mine, certainly, and my only wish is that he seek happiness and fulfillment." Alec glanced back at the Englishman with a wry smile. "Of course, it would add to
my
happiness and fulfillment if I could find a young man who honestly loves this work and would enjoy learning from me, sharing with me, and eventually carrying on in my place." He paused, then arched a brow meaningfully. "I don't suppose, my good friend, that you have entertained any thoughts of remaining in Philadelphia?"

Grey felt a rush of emotion that had been unknown to him a season ago. When discussing their love, Natalya spoke of the grace of God, explaining that grace meant "unmerited favor." He found himself thinking of that phrase almost hourly now that the cloud surrounding Francesca's death had lifted and he and Natalya were planning their life together in earnest. He had no idea why God had blessed him with Natalya. The added gift of her openhearted family filled him with wonder.

"Yes, sir, I would like to remain in Philadelphia," he answered the older man. "In fact, that is the reason I came to see you today. When you and Mrs. Beauvisage returned from Connecticut yesterday, there was so much to tell you—so much had transpired in your absence. Yet it didn't seem right to discuss Natalya... our own romance, in the same conversation with Francesca's plots."

"And now?" Alec prodded gently.

"I have the honor of asking for your daughter's hand in marriage, sir. She has taught me all that I know about love," Grey said, a smile playing over his mouth, "and I shall do everything in my power to see that nothing dampens her natural joy in living. I have made one devil of a mistake already, and hope I have learned from it."

"A worthy speech," Beauvisage said approvingly, his turquoise eyes warm with pleasure and affection. Closing the space between them, he placed an arm about Grey's shoulders. "I will dare to speak for Caro and tender our approval for this marriage on one condition..."

"Yes, sir?"

"That you'll stop calling me 'sir' immediately!" He gave a shout of laughter. "You must call us Alec and Caro or, better still, Papa and Maman, but no more of this sir and Mrs. Beauvisage nonsense! Agreed?"

Grey was shocked to feel tears sting his eyes. "I—I am quite undone... Alec. In all honesty, I must tell you that my own father, my own family, is completely unlike this one. Formality is a very old habit, one I may not be able to break immediately."

"I know," Alec replied, with grim understanding. "Do not forget that I am acquainted with your father. In his defense, I should say that he doubtless could not give his children what he did not have. That formality you speak of was instilled in him from birth... but underneath it all, I believe Lord Hartford does have a heart. He saved my life, you know."

"Odd, isn't it—that thirty-year link between our two families?"

Beauvisage nodded, then turned to his desk and began rolling up the sheaf of papers. "You said that Lady Altburne was buried in St. Peter's churchyard?"

"Yes. Natalya felt that she must have been mad, and therefore not responsible for the harm she tried to inflict. I tended to agree—that Francesca was mad, at any rate. It seemed the right thing to do, giving her a decent burial...." Grey's eyes darkened. "I just wanted the matter resolved so that we could begin to move onward, away from the horrific memories."

"And your brother?" Alec asked softly. "What's to become of him?"

"Actually we've made a peace of sorts. I rather felt that Francesca had put a sort of spell on him that was broken when she ordered him to murder me. He's had a difficult life, and I had a great many regrets when I thought he was dead. Natalya has helped me to see his behavior in a more positive light. It will take time, but I hope that eventually we can be brothers more truly than we were before the war." Grey reached for his Madeira, took a drink, then turned the glass absently in his hands. "At any rate, I'm sending him home to England. The
Wild Rover
sails tomorrow, and David will have the unpleasant but unavoidable task of informing Francesca's family of her death. I don't know how he'll explain his own role in it, or his whereabouts these past two years to our father." One corner of his mouth quirked ironically. "Our father is difficult to shock, and believe me, I've tried. David may well get no more from him than: 'So, you're alive, after all. Good of you to inform me, and do let me know if you die again.' "

Alec chuckled and led the way toward the door. "I promised Caro that I'd come home early today. It seems that Kristin has someone she wants us to formally meet. I hope you'll join us for supper as well. You must go through it all again, I fear, begging both of us for Natalya's hand in marriage as if you and I never discussed it. Caro would have our heads if she thought we
men
had been conducting a secret conference!"

In the corridor, Grey shrugged into his coat, laughing as he tried to imagine Caroline in a fit of temper. Then he glanced back at the paneled door that bore Alec's engraved nameplate. Above it was the bare strip left when Jean-Philippe Beauvisage's plate had been removed after his death.