Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 04] - Love's Duet (26 page)

"Good God!" Wilton groaned, "you sold to Prendergast!"

"We're finished!" gasped Blanchard. "He'll squeeze us to the last sou!"

"No, by gad!" cried Ridgley loyally. "Damon's land ain't encumbered!"

"What the devil is that to say to anything?" Wilton roared, thumping
his large fist upon the table, his face thunderous. "What good is an
hotel built on the shores of a lake whose guests cannot reach the God—"
He noted the Marquis's frigid glare, glanced to Sophia, spluttered, and
fumed, "—the dashed lake?"

"Or more to the point," frowned Redmond, "whose guests cannot reach the hotel!"

Sophia felt crushed by guilt, but before she could say anything,
Redmond burst out, "How could you be so birdwitted, coz? You must have
heard of the spa since you come here! Didn't it occur to you that your
lands were in the locality?"

"Oh, Harry," she said with a small and very real sob, "I do not understand all those legal property descriptions."

"'Course she don't," snapped Wilton, who was clearly growing more
panicked by the minute. "Place the blame where it really lies. Of all
the cork-brained starts as to go ahead with construction when you'd no
clear title to the lands surrounding us! A fine great mull you've made
of it, Damon!"

Mr. James gasped, "My God!" and, losing all his colour, sat down.
"I'm ruined! This spa was my last hope. I sank every penny I could
raise!"

"Then," said Damon kindly, "you shall be reimbursed, Harold. At once. See to it, please, Gilly."

"I trust," Wilton snarled, "that offer holds good for all of us?"

Gillam turned frantic eyes to his employer, opened his mouth to
speak, encountered a steady stare, and closed his mouth hurriedly.

"Hold up a bit," said Redmond. "That ain't fair, Philip. We all agreed to go ahead and try to beat the weather. We all thought—"

"Do not seek to place the blame on my shoulders," Wilton retaliated,
his face scarlet." He shook a fist at the Marquis. "The responsibility
was—"

"But of course," Damon smiled. "The fault was mine. I should have
been more cautious. And none of you shall pay for my—error. You shall
have my notes within the week."

Damon came back into the music room and closed the door. Sophia,
standing beside the fire, turned to face him, her pulses racing again.
Except for Horatio, who had galloped behind the drapes when she entered
the room, they were quite alone. Ridgley had accompanied Redmond and
Bolster to the stables. Wilton, James, and Blanchard had left very soon
after the meeting had broken up, Sir Philip's angry eyes and stiff bow
conveying his resentment at having been placed in such an unhappy
situation even while his polite words ensured that Damon not forget his
pledge to cover their losses. Redmond had said he would not withdraw
his backing, pending negotiations with Prendergast, and Bolster's blond
head had nodded a vigorous agreement. Ridgley had made it very clear
throughout that he placed complete trust in his kinsman.

The Marquis had been affability itself, apparently confident that
his attorney would sooner or later bring matters to a satisfactory
conclusion. Now, however, watching as he locked the door and slipped
the key into his pocket, Sophia felt a surge of fear. She had a fair
idea of what she had cost him today, and every instinct had told her to
leave with the gentlemen when he would not dare to wreak his fury upon
her. But she could not bring herself to strike at even so unprincipled
a man and then run away like a coward. She
must
face him. She must play this game out by her own rules even if he was without honour.

"How valiant of you," said the Marquis in a cold dispassionate
voice, "to wait." He wandered to the terrace door, turned the key, and
pocketed it, also. "And how very fool-hardy."

His smile was silken and terrible, and despite the pistol, Sophia
felt her palms grow wet. "I stayed because there is something I have to
say to you."

"At the very least… And I shall be most interested to hear it. But
first, if I may ask…" He sauntered a little closer and paused at the
far end of the harpsichord, one slim hand resting nonchalantly on the
top. "You were, in fact, fully aware of the location of your property,
were you not, ma'am?"

She looked him straight in the eye. "Most assuredly, my lord."

"My compliments, niece. You are a most accomplished liar. So, from
the first moment you came here, this fiendish little plot was
slithering about in your mind?"

She felt faint and sick and could not answer, striving for a haughty stare to convey her dislike of his choice of words.

"Tell me, my lady," he purred, "do you feel elated? Is revenge truly sweet?"

"Unutterably," she lied. "And yet, alas, it is not nearly enough to repay you."

"Console yourself. You have done better than you may think. And how
you must have enjoyed it. Feigning affection for my family while all
the time you were gloating over your shabby scheming!"

Sophia's cheeks were burning. How white and enraged he looked. How
fierce the glare in his eyes! Surely, he would not dare attack her
knowing his father admired and respected her? Gathering strength from
that thought, she managed to say without a tremor, "I will tell you
this, sir, since I was not able to finish what I started to say at your
meeting. I have not sold the property."

He tensed and waited.

"I merely borrowed against it. Possibly, I shall be willing to negotiate a sale at some future date."

"How very gracious of you. And this sale would be at your idea of a
fair price. Predicated upon the amount you were able to borrow,
perhaps?"

"Perhaps," she said, trying to sound nonchalant.

"And—forgive me—how high is your loan, ma'am?"

"Twelve thousand pounds."

Shocked out of his cynical derision, he gasped, "Twelve… thousand!
Rubbish! Your property isn't worth half that amount even if it were
sold outright!" His brows drew down into a fierce scowl. "There's more
to this. Let me see your note."

"I shall do no such thing!"

He took a step closer, his eyes like flames. "Then I shall have to take it from you. Unless your brother has it, in which case—"

"My brother knows nothing of this!" she cried hastily.

"Of course, he does not. You little fool! You've made Whitthurst
seem a veritable idiot! Many people know he gave me his hand on this!
You've properly fouled his honour!" He began to move toward her, that
terrifying set look about his mouth. Frightened, she backed away. "By
God!" he grated, "were you my sister, I'd spank you 'til you couldn't
sit down for a week! That you sought revenge against me was foolish
hysteria and a chronic underestimation of Whitthurst. That you
carelessly brought near ruin on six other gentlemen is unforgivable!"

She had never in her life been confronted by real rage, and the
menacing tone of his voice, the thin hard line of his mouth, the
coldness in his eyes were petrifying her. One must never betray fear
with such a man, she knew, and, wetting stiff lips, she said an
unfortunate "Men who… l-lie down with dogs, get up with fleas!" The
resultant blaze of his wrath was so unnerving that she took several
quick little steps away from the fire, her courage quite deserting her
as she choked a desperate "Do not dare to strike me!"

"You've a wicked tongue, ma'am" he breathed through set teeth. "And
I do believe I shall favour Whitthurst by administering the spanking he
is unable to mete out! Now—give me that note!"

"No! I shall not!"

He smiled unpleasantly. "If I know you women, you have it in your
reticule. You'd not dare leave it where Whitthurst might discover it!"
His eyes gleamed as her terror betrayed her into an instinctive
tightening of her hold on the reticule. "So I was right!"

For answer, she clutched it to her bosom and gasped, "No! I do not have it with me! Stay back!"

Instead, he moved closer. "I intend to see for myself! I warned you!"

With a whimper of fear, she ran toward the door. Despite a slight
limp, he moved very fast to block her path, then stopped abruptly as,
seeing herself trapped, she levelled the small pistol at him. "Stay
back!" she repeated, her voice shrill with hysteria.

Those heavy brows lifted. The turquoise eyes widened and were lit by
a reluctant admiration. "Egad! You did, indeed, come prepared! Had you
a duel in mind, ma'am, or were you hoping to find it necessary to
defend your virtue?"

She said nothing, though she shrank a little farther from him.

"Silly child," he said, amused. "Put that stupid thing down before you break something else in here."

"Do you really imagine I shall? Or that—knowing what you are, I
would c-come here unarmed?" she stammered breathlessly. "Do you think I
do not know that little N-Nancy was just one among your many v-victims?"

His amusement faded. "Do
you
really imagine I have the remotest intention of assaulting you in my music room? Don't be ridiculous!"

"I would not place you above the basest treachery in this or any
other room! Ah—no! Stay back! I do not want your death on my
conscience!"

"Oh, my God! What dramatics! I'll be damned if I'll stand here and let you wave that popgun under my nose!"

His eyes held inflexible purpose, and her finger tightened on the trigger. "I shall shoot," she half sobbed, "if you
t-take one more step!"

"Shoot, then! I'm safe enough so long as you're aiming at me! I will
have that note. And then, ma'am, you shall pay the price of your
naughty scheming!"

He advanced relentlessly. How grim was his mouth—how deadly his
eyes. She realized he had not the least intention of halting, and he
was of Cobra! In total desperation, she aimed and squeezed the trigger.

The roar of the shot echoed and re-echoed, hurting her ears. Horatio
squawked frenziedly and rushed madly up and down behind the drapes.
Damon, clutching the scorched sleeve of his jacket, uttered a howl of
torture. "You miserable wretch of a woman! Look what you've done!" He
raced to the harpsichord and began to inspect it, moaning his anguish
as he raised the top and peered inside.

Trembling, Sophia gazed at the large hole in the beautiful wood
behind the keys. The pistol fell from her nerveless hand. Sickened by
the thought of just such a wound in the Marquis, she mumbled, "You… you
dared me to shoot…"

"I thought you were going to shoot me!" he groaned, touching the shattered wood caressingly.

He sounded positively indignant that she had not; despite herself, a
tearful smile quivered on her lips. "I w-was afraid I… m-might…"

Damon swung around. She looked very small and white and shook
visibly, her teeth all but chattering. He should cling to rage but,
like a fool, felt instead an all but overpowering impulse to take the
brave soul into his arms and comfort her. The best he could do by way
of compromise was to speculate, "If I thought you had
deliberately
shot my poor harpsichord…"

"I did." She was weak in the knees from the reaction, but her chin
lifted. In a thready voice, she said, "And I'm glad, because it was
much more effective. If you're anything like my brother, and I had
succeeded in wounding you, you would undoubtedly have been… much too
stoical to make a sound. That heartfelt wail was some compensation for
our ill usage at your hands."

Mirth crept into his eyes. "I must admit, it is painful in the
extreme!" A quirk beside his mouth spread to a grin. "I've never been
shot in the keyboard before!" And he broke into a hearty laugh.

Sophia knew she had totally frustrated his hopes and plans today.
She'd threatened his life and hurt the one thing she was sure he loved.
A man of his type should at the very least have shaken and slapped her
or driven her away in a torrent of abuse. Damon, however, looked
charming; the menacing anger quite vanished from his battered face, his
deep merry laughter as contagious as it was unexpected. She was unable
to restrain an answering smile.

He stepped forward at once and took her cold hands into his vital
clasp and, being caught so off his stride that he was temporarily
defenseless, asked gently, "Why don't you admit you're a very poor
shot?"

"
Au contraire
, my lord. The bullet took you squarely above middle 'C'."

Incredulity widened his eyes, and he turned to look. "By Gad! You're right! You really can shoot!"

"I have won two Ladies' Day trophies," she said proudly.

"And I almost dodged aside! Why—you vixen! You
must
be punished!"

"I spared your life!" She pulled back in alarm. "You wouldn't—"

He would, as he proceeded to demonstrate. She was swept into arms
that seemed little impaired by this morning's brutal encounter and
crushed against ribs that no matter how painful were apparently able to
survive this pressure. His lips, damaged but effective, found hers. Her
hands clawed toward his face, only to relax, hang motionless in the
air, then sweep round his neck, those clawing fingers closing gently in
the thick, crisp hair.

Everything else faded, and she was aware only of his mouth, his
arms, the tender gentleness of this strangely un-lecherous lecher. She
marvelled at the strength that was so firmly held in check, the need
and hunger in her that reached out in a passionate response she had
never dreamed was inside her. He released her lips at last, after an
eternity of sweetness, but still held her close against him, his hand
cradling the back of her head, his cheek against her hair.

She was weak and trembling. Everything she believed in and held dear
was crumbling: every concept of honour and decency; every trust in a
code she had always held inviolate; every prayer that someday she would
find a man to whom she could look with respect as well as love. Yet her
heart was shouting what it had whispered from the start. She looked up
into his eyes, and all the yearning, all the adoration she had dreamed
of, and so much more, was there.