Velvet Embrace (64 page)

"I do not claim the title," Dominic answered, "but I am the
comte's
son. You are . . . ?"

"Henri Fontaine, doctor of medicine."

"I see. Well, then, Monsieur le Doctor, perhaps you will be so good as to come with me. I think a private conversation would be more in order."

"But Dominic," Brie said quickly, realizing they wouldn't hear what the doctor had to say. "Surely Doctor Fontaine's information cannot be so very private. Could you not remain here?" When Dominic turned to look at her, Brie hesitated, seeing the hard glitter in his eyes. But she felt she had a right to the truth. "Please, Dominic?"

He couldn't fail to see the justice in her plea. "Very well," he agreed. "Be seated, if you will, monsieur."

When the doctor was settled, Dominic took a seat across from the sofa and leaned back wearily, feeling a painful throb in his wounded arm. He wanted nothing more than to hear the last of these revelations and be alone with his thoughts. He needed time to digest what he had learned . . . and decide what to do.

As the doctor began to speak, Dominic found his gaze straying to Brie. She sat with her head bowed, her hand tightly gripping Katherine's. Watching her, he couldn't help swearing at himself. God, what had he done? Stripped her pride away, destroyed her reputation, doubted her honor,
forced
her . . . like his father. Only with a strong effort was he able to control his thoughts so he could follow the doctor's words.

"What Madame Briggs says is true," the doctor was saying. "My father, Pierre Fontaine, was Lady Durham's physician
during the last years of her life. He examined her body upon her death and confirmed that the cause was poisoning. He also discovered that she was with child."

The doctor glanced at Dominic, then at Katherine. "When Sir Charles returned home and learned of the death of his wife, he was very distressed. He did not know then about the child, for my father never told him. But later he discovered the letter, did he not, Madame Briggs?"

Katherine nodded mutely. No one interrupted the story to ask about her name, for it seemed a minor point.

"How much better it would have been had you burned the letter," Fontaine said with a sigh. "But you did not expect Sir Charles to search your rooms? No, naturally you would not. Yet that was how he found the letter and learned about the child. I believe that was when Sir Charles became crazed. He could think of nothing but revenge on the man who had dishonored his wife. So he turned Le Comte de
Valdois
over to the revolutionaries.
A cunning sort of revenge, perhaps, but effective.
He could not be certain of winning a duel."

"But I understood my mother had accused the
comte
," Brie interjected.

Fontaine's gaze swung to Brie, studying her. "Your mother was Mademoiselle Suzanne? You have very much the look of Madame
Lisette
. But where was I? Yes,
M'amselle
Suzanne. Bah, she had nothing to do with the
comte's
arrest. It was Sir Charles, believe me. In his anger he thought it would be . . . how you say?
Using one stone to kill two birds.
Mademoiselle Suzanne had returned home from school but a few days before, and she was beginning to fall under the
comte's
influence." The doctor gave Dominic an apologetic glance. "Pardon,
m'sieur
, but your father had great charm with the ladies."

Julian spoke then for the first time. "Doctor Fontaine, how do you know all this? Surely Sir Charles did not confess all this to you."

Henri Fontaine looked affronted. "Monsieur, I have not been the physician and confidant of Sir Charles for twenty years without gleaning the facts of the situation."

"Then you know that Sir Charles tried to murder Dominic?"

The doctor gave a start. "
Non
, but I did not! He spoke of it many times, but I did not know that he had tried."

"Julian, pray let the good doctor continue," Dominic said wearily.

"
Alors
, where was I? Ah, yes, Mademoiselle Suzanne. She discovered what Sir Charles was about and went to warn the
comte
. But she was too late. That night she left her father's house with Madam Briggs. You went to England?" he asked Katherine.

"No," she replied in a hoarse whisper. "We stayed in an inn for a time, and when the
comte
was taken to Paris, we followed. Suzanne thought she could bribe the authorities to free the
comte
. But she could do nothing. Afterward, we went to London, where she met and married your father, Brie."

"Katherine, my father . . . Papa was my father?"

Appalled that Brie should have such doubts, Katherine stared at her. "Of course he was. You were born more than a year after Suzanne and Sir William married."

"She knew about her mother, then?
About why
Lisette
had killed herself?"

Katherine nodded. "Yes, she knew. When I learned Suzanne meant to go to Paris, I had to tell her, though I think she had guessed beforehand what had happened.
Lisette
left a sort of warning for her . . . inscribed on a pendant. But Suzanne would not listen to me. She went to Paris, despite knowing what sort of man the
comte
was. I went with her, for I had lost my place here and I was afraid for her safety. It was so dangerous then—for all of us—but particularly for a young girl alone."

When Katherine bowed her head, Fontaine cleared his throat and continued. "During the war between our countries, Sir Charles was forced into hiding for a period, he being English. But he returned, having obtained the proper authorization papers. Many years went by. I believed he had forgotten about the past." Fontaine paused,
then
addressed Dominic directly. "Monsieur, do you remember a boy by the name of Nicholas
Dumonde
?" The arrested look in Dominic's eyes confirmed the answer. "I see you do. Did you know that young
Dumonde
was the son—pardon
mesdames
—
the bastard of Sir Charles?"

Dominic groaned, putting a hand to his eyes. "This becomes more absurd with each passing moment," he murmured. "Had I tried, I could not have become more involved with Sir Charles' family."

Everyone but the doctor was puzzled by his remark.
"And the mademoiselle?"
Fontaine asked curiously.

"Another coincidence," Dominic replied curtly, directing an enigmatic glance at Brie.

Julian, who had been trying to follow this odd conversation, finally became exasperated. "Would you mind explaining what the devil you two are talking about, Dom?"

Dominic shot his friend a hard glance, but then he sighed. "I was in Paris some four years ago," he explained, "spying for the British, if you must know. I had . . . discovered some valuable documents which I had to deliver to my superior. Before I left France, a boy by the name of Nicholas
Dumonde
tried to relieve me of them. I turned him over to a colleague of mine and then left for England. Later I heard that my associate had become . . . overzealous and that
Dumonde
had died. I assume Sir Charles discovered my involvement?" Dominic said to the doctor. "But that doesn't explain why he waited this long to seek me out."

"After his son's death, Sir Charles suffered a stroke. He was partially paralyzed."

"But he recovered enough to travel to England?"

Fontaine nodded. "Last September. But I thought he did not find you. You were travelling in the West Indies, or some such place."

"So I was. It was after I returned that Sir Charles' hirelings attempted to earn their pay."

The doctor stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Sir Charles was very angry when he learned you had recovered the
Valdois
estate. He meant to prevent you from taking possession. He even went to Paris a few months ago to speak to an attorney about this."

And in Paris he hired
Germain
, Dominic thought to himself. It wasn't difficult to guess the rest of the story. "Tell me,
M'sieur
le Doctor," Dominic said. "What do you gain by telling me this?"

Henri Fontaine shrugged.
"A clear conscience, perhaps.
I wanted you to understand why Sir Charles acted as he did."

Dominic's jaw hardened. "I understand," he replied grimly. "All too well, I understand."

He stood up then and crossed the room before anyone thought to stop him from leaving. At the door, however, he turned back to survey the company, his gaze lingering on Brie even though she refused to meet his eyes.

"Ironic, is it not,
doctor
," Dominic said slowly, "that the pattern of our lives can be so easily altered by circumstances? And that we can be so foolish as to wish it were not so?
Superbly ironic."

"I am perfectly all right, Julian," Brie repeated for the third time, "And will you please stop looking at me as if I had lost my reason? I am sorry to have put you to so much trouble, but it really wasn't necessary for you to come after me."

Julian dismissed her remarks with an impatient wave of his hand and continued his agitated pacing of the floor. "Damn it, Brie, it was no trouble! What kind of friend do you take me for? Do you think I could merely turn a blind eye while you gadded about the continent with a man who could ruin your reputation with a few choice words, let alone his company?"

When Brie began to protest, Julian held up his hand again. "All right, perhaps you were not gadding about, and Dominic is one of my best friends. But that still doesn't change the fact that you were
unchaperoned
in his company for the better part of a week. Good God, Brie! Were you lost to all sense of propriety? Surely you must see what this means?"

"Julian, calm down. And please quit scolding me. You are beginning to sound like my aunt."

Julian snorted derisively. "At least Lady
Arabella
knows what is required in the conduct of a lady." He paused for a moment,
then
said in a milder tone, "There is no hope for it.
Brie.
You must marry Dominic—and at once. At least that will help scotch the rumors that are flying about. My guess is that
Dominic has already arrived at that conclusion."

Brie looked away. "You can see how overjoyed he is at the prospect. He has been gone the entire afternoon."

"I'm certain he meant no insult to you." When Brie didn't reply, Julian swore silently. Dominic should be the one trying to find a satisfactory solution to this mess, but he had ridden out after hearing the doctor's story and hadn't come back. Julian had been required to handle the French authorities alone. But even that hadn't been as difficult as trying to talk some sense into Brie.

"Come now," he said, adding to his argument. "It won't be so bad being married to Dom. He can be quite a pleasant fellow. He's rich and titled and not unattractive to women. I'd even lay odds that after a time, you'll be able to wind him around your finger the way you do me. I expect he'll let you continue to indulge in your passion for your horses and stables."