Mastered By Love (55 page)

No one else.”

 

Both wanted to ask why; neither did. Lips tightening, they nodded, exchanged glances, then separated and slipped through the crowd.

 

Searching. He searched, too, but, finding it harder and harder to keep his expression impassive, he went back into the hallway and left the hunt to the women.

 

Minutes later, Leonora slipped through the door. “They’ve found her, but she was conversing with others. Eleanor, Madeline, and Alicia are extracting her.”

 

He nodded, pacing, too tense to remain still.

 

The other ladies joined them, one by one slipping into the hallway, all aware something was amiss. They threw him searching glances, but none asked. Last to join them were Eleanor, Alicia, and Madeline, shepherding Ellen, wide-eyed, before them.

 

She didn’t know him; sensing the anger he was trying to contain, she was already skittish.

 

“Just ignore the growling,” Letitia curtly advised her. “He won’t bite.”

 

Ellen’s eyes widened even more.

 

“I don’t have time to explain,” Royce said, speaking to them all, “but I need to know who Minerva came out here to meet.”

 

Ellen blinked. “One of your cousins asked me to tell her your half brother’s children were here, asking to speak with her. Apparently they had a gift they’d made her. He said they were waiting in the garden.” She nodded down the corridor. “Out there.”

 

Royce felt a sudden sense of inevitability. “Which of my cousins?”

 

Ellen shook her head. “I’m sorry, I can’t say. I don’t know them, and you all look so alike.”

 

Phoebe stirred. “How old?”

 

Ellen glanced at Royce. “Of similar age to His Grace.”

 

Letitia looked at Royce. “How many is that?”

 

“Three.” But he already knew which one it was, which
one it had to be.

 

The door to the ballroom cracked open; Susannah peered around it. She took in the ladies, then focused on him. “What’s going on?”

 

He didn’t answer, instead said, “I need to know if Gordon, Phillip, and Gregory are in the ballroom. Don’t speak to them, just go and check. Now.”

 

She stared at him, then closed her mouth and went.

 

Clarice, Letitia, and Penny headed for the door. “We know them, too,” Penny said as she passed him.

 

Bare minutes later, all four came back. “Gordon and Gregory are in there,” Susannah reported. “Not Phillip.”

 

Royce nodded, half turned away, his mind churning.

 

Alicia said, “That’s not conclusive. Phillip might be anywhere—the castle is huge.”

 

Mystified, Susannah appealed to the others; Letitia explained they were trying to learn which of the cousins had lured Minerva away.

 

“It’ll be Phillip.” Susannah was definite. Royce looked at her; she went on, “I don’t know what bee he’s got in his bonnet about you, but for years he’s always wanted to know every last thing about you and your doings—and recently…it was he who suggested I invite Helen Ashton. He who told me Minerva was your lover and…not suggested but led me to think that engineering a situation might be a good thing. Of course, he never dreamed you loved her—” She broke off, paled. “Oh, God—he’s taken her, hasn’t he?”

 

For a long moment, no one answered, then Royce slowly nodded. “Yes, he has.”

 

He glanced at Alicia. “The last traitor we’ve been hunting over the last year? We concluded he had some connection with the War Office. Of all my cousins, of all those here, only Phillip qualifies.”

 

He felt a certain sureness infuse him. It always helped to know who he was hunting.

 

 

Minerva struggled through clouds of unconsciousness. Her
head felt woolly; thoughts half formed, then slipped away, sank into the murk. She couldn’t think—couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t formulate a coherent wish, much less open her eyes. But inside, where a cold kernel of panicked helplessness clung to reality, she knew.

 

Someone had seized her and carried her away. She’d gone to the door, looking for Hamish’s children—and someone, some man, had come up behind her. She’d sensed him an instant before he’d grabbed her, tried to turn her head, but he’d slapped a handkerchief over her nose and mouth…

 

It had smelled sickly sweet, cloying…

 

Reality inched closer, seeped into her mind. She breathed in, carefully, but that horrible, nauseating smell was gone.

 

Someone—the man—was talking, the sound distant, fading in and out.

 

Familiar.
He
was familiar.

 

She would have frowned, but her features were still not her own. She was lying on her back…on stone, its rough surface beneath her fingers, under one palm…she’d been here before, lain just like this not long ago…

 

The millstone. She was lying on the grinding stone in the mill.

 

The realization evoked an inpouring of awareness; the clouds dissipated; she came fully awake.

 

Just as the man halted beside her. She sensed him looking down at her; instinct kept her perfectly still.

 

“Damn you—wake
up!
”

 

He’d spoken through clenched teeth, yet she placed him.
Phillip.
What the devil was he up to?

 

With a muttered curse, he swung away. Her hearing focused, her mind followed; still too weak to move, she listened as he paced, talking to himself.

 

“It’s all
right.
I have time.
Plenty
of time to set the stage—to rape her, and beat her, then kill her—perhaps slit her throat, let her blood flow artistically over the stone—yes!”

 

His shoes scraped on the floor as if he’d swung around. She sensed him looking at her; she didn’t move a muscle.

 

“Damn!” he muttered. “I forgot to bring my knife.” He paused, then said, “No matter. I’ve ball and powder—I can shoot her as many times, in as many places, as I like.”

 

Again she felt him studying her, then he started pacing again.

 

“Yes, that will do nicely. I’ll rip her gown to shreds, shoot her in the head, then again in the belly, and place that damned crown in the blood.” He laughed. “Oh,
yes
, that will work. He has to be shattered by the sight. Completely and utterly
broken
. He has to finally see that
I’m
more powerful. That because he took my treasure, I’ve taken something he valued from him—that in our game,
I’ll
always win. That I’m the truly clever one. When he comes in here, and sees what I’ve done to her—his new duchess, the woman he today vowed to honor and protect—he’ll know I’ve won. He’ll know that
everyone
will know what a failure he is—that he wasn’t even clever enough, strong enough, powerful enough, to protect
her
.”

 

His long strides brought him to the millstone again; again she felt his gaze. Unlike Royce’s, his made her skin crawl. She fought to remain lifeless, utterly lax—battled the compulsion to tense, to hold her breath, to raise her lids enough to see.

 

She nearly sighed with relief when he said, “Time’s on my side.” He moved away again. “I’ve got more than an hour before that valet gives Royce the note. Plenty of time to enjoy debauching and killing her, and then get ready to welcome him.”

 

Facts fell into place with a suddenness that left her mentally reeling.
Treasure
. Phillip had said treasure.
He
was Royce’s last traitor.

 

That’s what this was all about. He thought to use her to break Royce.

 

The fight she had to wage to suppress her reaction—not to let her jaw, her features, set,
not
to let her hands curl into fists, not to reach for the knife she had, for an entirely different reason, strapped to her thigh—was immense.

 

She could kill him with that knife, but Phillip was strong—he was like Royce in that. Yet while he believed her unconscious, it seemed she was safe. Just as long as he kept believing he had time, her best strategy was to simply lie there and let him rant.

 

And give Royce time to reach her.

 

She knew he would.

 

How long had she been unconscious? How long was it since she’d left the ballroom? Phillip’s plan had a large hole in it, one he’d never see. He might not be a Varisey, yet he was just like Royce in not understanding what love actually was.

 

He didn’t comprehend that Royce would simply know, that he was always aware of her—even in a crowded ballroom. He’d never wait an hour before checking where she’d gone. She seriously doubted he’d have waited ten minutes. Which meant rescue was afoot.

 

Phillip was now ranting about his father, and his grandfather, how they’d always lauded Royce and never him. How they would now see that Royce was nothing, powerless…

 

Royce’s maternal grandfather was long dead.

 

Not that she needed any further proof of the state of Phillip’s mind.

 

Nevertheless, she forced herself to listen so she could track his movements; when she was sure he was pacing away from her, she quickly cracked open her lids—immediately closed them again and heaved a mental sigh of relief. He’d closed the mill doors.

 

Resisting the urge to smile intently, she worked on keeping every muscle flaccid.

 

Not so easy when Phillip stopped talking, then halted beside the millstone. She was fully awake now, could sense his physical closeness. Like Royce, he was large, well-muscled, and radiated heat—and quelling her revulsion and lying quiescent with him near was the hardest thing she’d ever had to do.

 

Then she heard a rustle; his arms moved.

 

Then he leaned near. “Come on, damn you! Wake up.”

 

And then she discovered there were harder things to quell than mere revulsion.

 

Instinct had her peeking through her lashes. She only had an instant’s warning, only an instant to scream at herself to relax, relax,
for God’s sake don’t react!
—then he jabbed her in the arm with his cravat pin.

 

 

Royce waited in the hallway until all the men had gathered. The ladies remained, too—they were all too sober to go back into the ballroom; if they did, they’d cause comment.

 

Christian slipped through the door. “That’s all of us.”

 

Royce raked the ranks of deadly serious faces. “My cousin, Phillip Debraigh, has seized Minerva. He’s our last traitor—the one I failed to apprehend. As far as I can judge, he’s set on wreaking vengeance of a sort on me—the diadem she was wearing”—
that he, Royce, had given her
—“was part of his thirty pieces of silver. He’s taken her somewhere outside. Although the castle is huge, with it packed with guests there are staff constantly scurrying everywhere—something he knows. He won’t have risked staging anything indoors.” He glanced outside. “But there are only so many places he could use outside—which gives us a chance to rescue Minerva, and capture him.”

 

He brought his gaze back to the grave faces. “He took her less than fifteen minutes ago—he won’t be expecting us to have even noticed her absence yet, so we have a small amount of time to plan.”

 

Rupert, on his left, shifted, caught Royce’s eyes when he glanced his way. “Whatever we do, secrecy is imperative. No matter he’s a traitor, and deserves to be brought down, you can’t bring down the Debraighs as a family. You, especially, can’t do that.”

 

Because the Debraighs, his mother’s family, had always supported him. Because his Debraigh grandfather had been so much a part of his formative life. Jaw set, Royce nodded. “As far as possible, we’ll try to keep this secret, but I won’t
risk Minerva’s safety, not even for the Debraighs.”

 

He looked at the grouped ladies, at Letitia, Clarice, Rose, and all the rest. “You ladies are going to have to give us cover. You’re going to have to go back into the ballroom and spread some story—of how we’ve adjourned for a meeting on whatever topic your imaginations can devise. You’re going to have to hide your apprehension—make it appear as irritation, annoyance, resignation—anything. But we’ll never keep this concealed without you.”

 

Clarice nodded. “We’ll manage. Just go”—she waved them off—“do what you’re so good at, and get Minerva back.”

 

Her waspish tone was reinforced by the looks on the other ladies’ faces. Royce nodded grimly, and looked at the men. “Come up to the battlements.”

 

 

He led them up the battlement stairs in a thunder of heavy feet. Just in case he’d guessed wrongly and Phillip was somewhere in the house, Handley, Trevor, Jeffers, Retford, and Hamilton were alerted, and a quiet search was under way. But as he walked to the battlements, waited while the others joined him, he knew he was right. Phillip was outside—somewhere in the grounds, all the relevant parts of which were visible from this vantage point.

 

Bracing his hands on the stone, he looked out. “He’ll have taken her to one of the structures. There’s not that many. There’s—” He broke off. He’d come to the same spot to which he’d brought Minerva, twice. The view was to the north, up the gorge to the Cheviots and Scotland beyond.

 

The mill was in the foreground.

 

He straightened, his gaze locked on the building. “He’s taken her to the mill.”

 

All the others crowded the battlements, looking.

 

Before any could ask, he went on, “There is no one on the entire estate who would close those doors—for excellent reasons, they’re
always
left open.”

 

Christian was assessing the terrain, as were the others.
“Two levels.”

 

“Can he get out along the stream?” Tony asked.

 

“Not easily—not safely.”

 

“So.” Devil Cynster straightened, cocked a brow his way. “How are we going to do this?”

 

In a few succinct phrases, he told them.

 

They weren’t entirely happy, but no one argued.

 

Minutes later, they were streaming from the house, slipping into the gardens, a silent, deadly force intent on only one thing—ending the last traitor’s reign.

 

Royce was at the head of the pack, saving Minerva his only real aim.