Velvet Embrace (62 page)

As if recalling her presence, Dominic dropped his hands from her shoulders and stepped back, putting a distance between them. "I haven't finished the story. The captain had barely gotten the words out of his mouth when your mother appeared on the scene. She threw her arms around my father, protesting her innocence, much as you did just now—although her sobbing added a bit more drama. It was quite a touching scene."

Hearing the hard note in his voice, Brie turned to face Dominic, her eyes searching his face. "And you chose not to believe her?"

Her expression remained enigmatic as he returned her gaze. "It was too much of a coincidence not to. Had Suzanne Durham been innocent, she would not have known of the charges, nor would she have arrived at that particular moment. I don't think my father believed her either, for that matter. The soldiers took him away shortly, and I never saw him or your mother again. My tutor, having a high regard for his own skin—and mine as well, I suppose—bundled me up and whisked me off to England to my mother's family. I was told that my father would be safe once he could clear his name of the charges. It was less than a month later when we received word of his execution."

Brie stared at Dominic, wanting desperately to understand this complex, bitter man she had come to love. "Is that why you sided against the French during the war?" she asked finally. "You wanted revenge?"

Dominic looked away, sighing wearily. "Not precisely. Napoleon had to be stopped at all costs and I merely did my part. But you miss my point. Granted the tide of the revolution was evil, an uncontrollable evil, but it was merely an instrument which Suzanne Durham used to bring about my father's downfall."

"But if the
comte
really did kill my grandmother, that would explain my mother's action."

"Explain, perhaps, but not excuse. My father did not kill
Lisette
Durham."

"But how can you be sure?"

Dominic leveled his piercing gaze at Brie once more, and there was a long, pregnant pause before he spoke. "
Chérie
, you are either very, very naive, or you are a superb actress. You almost had me doubting my father. But perhaps that is your game, after all."

It was all Brie could do to keep from looking away. She had always known Dominic was no more willing to believe her own innocence than her mother's, but his words still hurt. "I am playing no game, Dominic," she murmured, trying to keep the tremor from her voice.

"We shall see," he replied, the warning in his tone apparent. "We shall see."

Brie buried her hands beneath the folds of her cloak to hide their trembling, but it was a futile gesture. Dominic knew already how nervous and apprehensive she was. Yet how could she be otherwise when the atmosphere in the coach was fraught with tension as she and Dominic approached their final destination?

When they had left the
Valdois
estates a few hours before, they had gone to the village inn where Dominic ordered rooms and a light repast to be served in the private parlor. Brie had made no pretense of eating, but if Dominic noticed her lack of appetite, he hadn't commented on it. Afterward he had told her to wait in her room until the horses were rested. When they set out once more, Dominic rode with her in the coach. He was silent and preoccupied, and Brie remained just as silent, hoping fervently that the impending confrontation with Sir Charles Durham would provide both a key to the past and a vindication of her own actions.

The coach finally came to a halt before a house which wasn't as large as the
Valdois
chateau but had been built in a similar style. Dominic handed Brie down from the carriage,
then
escorted her to the front door.

It was quite a while after his knock that the door was opened a mere crack. A slovenly-looking porter peered out, eying the
visitors with undisguised hostility.

"It would seem we are expected," Dominic observed sardonically. When the door started to slam in his face, he forced his way in and roughly grabbed the servant by the collar of his liveried jacket, jerking him up. "Now my good man," Dominic said brusquely in French. "You will tell me where I may find your master before another minute is up, or I will throw you to my coachman. Jacques knows quite well how to deal with your kind. Ah, excellent timing," he added when Jacques entered behind Brie. The burly coachman was brandishing a pistol and looking quite capable of using it.

The porter, finding himself outnumbered, gave a frightened whimper and in a strangled voice, said that Sir Charles could be found in his study. Dominic gave a brief nod. "Jacques, you may take charge of this fellow. See that we aren't interrupted, if you please." Taking hold of Brie's arm then, he guided her down the hall.

When he stopped before a closed door, he spared a glance for her. Her cheeks were rather pale, but she met his eyes bravely. Returning her gaze, Dominic once again doubted his wisdom in bringing her along. If she were innocent, she would be in no little danger when he confronted Durham. On the other hand, if she were a party to her grandfather's plans, then he, Dominic, would have to be doubly on his guard. But he had to know. And it was much too late now to allow his doubts to interfere with his course of action. Quietly, Dominic opened the door and ushered Brie into the study.

A man, grayed and stooped with age, was hunched behind a massive oak desk at the far end of the room. He was richly dressed in brocade and lace, his clothes belonging to an earlier generation. The curling, powdered wig he wore had gone out of style some twenty years ago.

He did not look up, but growled in a feeble voice, "Take it away, you imbecile. How many times have I told you not to bring tea while I am busy?"

"It must be a great trial to you, Sir Charles," Dominic said
softly, "to be surrounded by incompetence. You would do better to choose your employees with more care."

At Dominic's first words, Sir Charles had looked up, impatience written on his grizzled countenance. But his impatience quickly turned to puzzlement, then comprehension, and finally
fear
. "Who the devil are you?" he demanded without conviction.

Dominic shut the door quietly behind him and moved further into the room, drawing Brie with him. At closer range, he could see the unhealthy pallor of Sir Charles' complexion. The old man was obviously an invalid, for his eyes were sunk deep in their sockets, and his thin, spotted hands were trembling.

Disgusted to have a foe so unworthy of his steel, Dominic wondered if he had somehow been misled about Durham's intent to kill him. But then he caught the fiery gleam of hatred in the sunken eyes. "I hardly think introductions are necessary," he replied, "but since you insist, I am Dominic
Serrault
."

Sir Charles stared malevolently at Dominic before his attention shifted to Brie. Then suddenly his face turned a deathly shade of white, while a strangled gasp erupted from his throat.
"
Lisette
!
My God."
His claw-like hands gripped the edge of the desk, and he swayed, shutting his eyes. When he opened them again, he was still staring at Brie.

Watching Sir Charles' reaction, Dominic could see his shock was real. It was obvious the old man thought he was seeing the ghost of his dead wife
Lisette
. Dominic felt such a flood of relief that his knees went numb. Brie hadn't been lying to him.
She hadn't been lying.
A slow, spiraling joy began to wing its way upward from his heart.

But he ruthlessly forced his chaotic thoughts aside in order to concentrate. The shock had disappeared from on Sir Charles' face, to be replaced by suspicion and a rapidly increasing anger.

With a swift motion that belied his years, he pointed an
accusing finger at Brie. "You are not
Lisette
!" he bellowed, his face becoming mottled with rage. "Who are you? Who are you?"

Brie was startled by his fury. "I am your granddaughter, sir," she answered warily, wondering if Sir Charles possessed an unsound mind.

"That is a lie! I have no granddaughter."

"I assure you it is true. I am Brie
Carringdon
. Your daughter Suzanne was my mother."

Sir Charles hesitated. "Suzanne? Suzanne, did you say?" He sneered, his eyes becoming more hooded. "So the little slut ran off and found herself a husband. I always wondered what happened to her. Was
Carringdon
fooled? Did he think you were his child?"

Brie was first astonished, then enraged by the insult. "How dare you!" she said between clenched teeth. "How dare you say such a thing about my
mother.
" She took a step toward him but was restrained by Dominic.

"That is quite enough, Brie," he said quietly. "You may leave the room." When Brie raised a questioning gaze, Dominic gave a curt shake of his head. "This quarrel is not yours, but mine. Go, now. Wait for me in the hall."

The expression on Dominic's face was unreadable, but Brie couldn't ignore the command in those gray eyes. Lifting her skirts, she turned to obey.

Later, she wondered if the outcome would have been different had she not done so, for when she reached the door and opened it, she came face to face with Jacques. The next instant she was flung roughly to the floor as a pistol shot exploded behind her.

The fall stunned Brie, knocking the breath from her body, and she missed seeing Jacques raise his own pistol and fire. But the retort of his weapon was still ringing in her ears as she lay there gasping and trying to recover her senses. When she heard a woman's voice exclaiming in horror, Brie thought she must be imagining things, for it sounded very much like
Katherine. Then gentle hands grasped her shoulders and she heard Julian's voice, asking her if she were all right.

Bewildered, Brie looked up to find him kneeling beside her, his concerned blue eyes fixed on her face. "No, I'm not hurt," she insisted, struggling to her feet. "Please . . . help me up. What—"

The question froze on her lips as she caught sight of Sir Charles. He sat slumped in his chair, his head lolling to one side, a bright red stain spreading across his chest and contrasting vividly with the ivory color of his waistcoat. A large pearl-handled dueling pistol lay on the desk, making Brie recall the first pistol shot.

Her shocked gaze swung to Dominic. He had shrugged out of his coat, and Brie saw with horror that his right shirt sleeve was rolled up to expose a bloody gash on his upper arm. Jacques was dabbing at the wound with a handkerchief, trying to stem the welling blood, while Dominic, with one hand, was untying his cravat to use as a bandage. When the coachman began deftly wrapping the injured arm with the
neckcloth
, Dominic looked up and met her gaze, his gray eyes locking with Brie's blue-green ones.

His face was devoid of expression, but Brie felt the impact of his gaze as surely as if he had reached out and touched her. She stood there, unable to look away, not even realizing that she was still clinging to Julian's arm.

It was Julian who broke the spell by speaking. "I had best go in search of some brandy," he said quietly.
"And perhaps a strong footman to carry Sir Charles to his room.
Brie, can you see to Miss Hewitt?"