Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 04] - Love's Duet (38 page)

Damon put up his own hand to cover those white fingers. Vaille
turned abruptly, strode to the window, and blew his nose. Damon, now
very tired, closed his eyes for an instant, his self-control slipping
dangerously.

"I wish," sighed the Duke, "I had not slapped you."

"Yet it suited my purpose, sir. And did not signify, at all events."

"Compliment to your performance, eh? Well, it was masterful—I own
it." He strolled over to close the partly open door of one of the
presses and asked, "What possessed you to take them on, single-handed?"

Damon answered slowly, choosing his words with care. "I've not been
of much use to… my country. This gave me the chance to do something…
worthwhile."

It was the answer Vaille had prayed to hear, but he observed dryly, "Even a General does not confront the enemy alone, Camille."

"I assure you it was not the way I should wish to have dealt with
it. But too many innocent lives would have been ruined had I put it in
the hands of the Runners. My only chance to destroy those records was
from the inside."

Vaille's jaw had set during this small speech, and his eyes held an
angry glint. "Did it not occur to you that instead of rushing in like a
rash and quixotic young fool, you could have come to me and—" He choked
back the words once more. The boy looked very ill; this was no time for
a trimming. After a minute, he said in a kinder tone, "I really am
sorry, Camille—about your dogs. And the guard."

His well-meant attempt was disastrous. Those memories were too raw
to be endured with equanimity, and Damon, his nerves beginning to
shred, flinched perceptibly. "You will be glad to know," the Duke went
on, sublimely unaware of the havoc he was creating, "that Mr. Rust gets
about a little now, with the aid of a cane. I drove over to see him and
discovered that his son is one of your gamekeepers, a steady young
chap. I have promoted him—temporarily, at least. He is now one of the
guards." He turned from his wanderings to meet a flashing look of anger
and admitted, "Yes, I have caused the estate to be surrounded by armed
men—which should have been done long since. I trust you do not object."

Damon thought it doubtful that his objections would be heeded.
Watching the Duke's rambling progress about the room, he had thus far
seen his medicines arranged tidily, the window curtains straightened, a
smudge removed from the mirror and a hairbrush turned bristles down.

Vaille, meanwhile, was thinking that the carpet in this room was all
wrong. He would instruct Orpington to have one installed that was more
in keeping with the prestige of the head of the house. He checked his
thoughts guiltily, all but hearing Charlotte's indignation, and,
smiling to himself, knew he must leave before his son became tired. But
one matter must be rectified first. He returned to the bedside and
stood for a moment, fiddling with his emerald ring.

"Camille," he said with unaccustomed diffidence, "I rather suspect I
owe the French an apology. Oxford, I doubt, could have done any better."

Damon was lying, passively watching the trees toss against a
cloud-dotted sky when the door opened stealthily and Whitthurst's
apprehensive countenance appeared. Damon shot a look to Mrs. Gaffney.
The good woman was snoring softly in her chair. He gestured
impatiently, and the Viscount crept in, sat on the bed, and peered at
him. "Ain't going to have another spasm, are you?" he enquired. "Your
sire is still smarting from the dressing down he received at the hands
of old Belmont because he tired you yesterday! Lord! What a tyrant!"

"If I don't damned well find out what went on in this house," Damon
grumbled, "I shall have two spasms and a convulsion, at the very least!
Why was Belmont called from Town? I'd have sworn there was another old
duck muddling around." His brows knit thoughtfully. "Seem to remember
swearing at him—though I'm dashed if I can recall why…"

Whitthurst, emboldened by the fact that his sister and Genevieve had
gone for a ride with Vaille, undertook his uncle's edification. Damon
listened in silence, but he paled, and the horror did not leave his
eyes until at last he breathed, "Then, that valiant, darling girl saved
my life!"

"Well, I ain't all wood upstairs, y'know," Whitthurst pointed out.
"I began to think she might have the right of it." He scowled and
muttered, "Just like Craig-Bell to have come up with such a loathesome
idea."

There was a small, grim silence. Then Damon asked slowly, "Was Twine one of 'em, do you suppose?"

Whitthurst's finger traced the pattern of the coverlet. "Twine was never here, Cam."

"But you said— And I remember—"

"We hauled Mrs. Gaffney back, and first thing next morning, Hartwell
come galloping in with Belmont, who confirmed that Twine is—as he
says—the hell of a fine surgeon. Cannot understand what possessed the
man, he kept saying. Your father demanded to know if that meant Sophia
had been right." He looked up and, meeting Damon's steady gaze,
shrugged, "Belmont admitted that if that last cupping had been done…
there'd have been no saving you."

"So that's why I've been so pulled," muttered Damon.

"That's why, old fellow. When Vaille heard it, he informed Belmont
that he intended to seek Twine out and strangle him with his bare
hands—white hairs or no!"

"Did he, by God!" said Damon, brightening.

"Would have done it, too," Whitthurst grinned. "Only…" He looked
down again. "Only Belmont said there must be some mistake. Twine don't
have white hair, he said. He don't have
any
hair! For a good twenty years, that
walking skeleton
has been bald as an egg!"

Damon felt chilled. They regarded one another for a long moment, and
then he whistled. "That was a close one! Jove! They were fast this
time!"

Whitthurst nodded and pointed out quietly, "If your monk was of Cobra, also, they have been
inside
this house, Cam. Twice!"

Damon was silent, but his thoughts turned to the portrait of his
Mama. Whitthurst was wrong: Cobra had invaded the Priory more than
twice.

Leaning heavily on Ariel's arm, Damon came to the balcony and
hesitated, glancing at the stairs uneasily. He'd never before realized
how steep they were.

"Upsy daisy!" quoth Ariel cheerily. He swept Damon into his arms,
took the first step, and paused. Damon put a hand over his eyes and
groaned. Beside them, Whitthurst asked an interested "Don't think your
back's going out, do you, Ariel? I can't catch the old fellow if you
drop him, y'know."

"You are," observed the Marquis with a nod of his bandaged head, "a great comfort to me, Whitt."

At the foot of the stairs, Sophia watched anxiously and, heaving a
sigh of relief when her love's feet touched the floor, hurried to open
the door to the music room. "We have a surprise for you, Camille. Close
your eyes, please, dear."

Obeying, he kept them closed until he was comfortably, disposed on the sofa
and the attentive Mrs. Gaffney had placed a blanket over his knees, her shake of
the head expressing her disapproval of the entire affair.

A chorus of welcoming shouts opened his eyes. He was swooped upon by
a radiant Genevieve and warmly embraced. Feather kissed him and
muttered that he was a "wicked liar." Charlotte Hilby, pressing her
lips to his brow, said archly, "My betrothal kiss, dear fiance!" which
drew an unrepentant laugh from the invalid. Whitthurst enquired how it
felt to be "among the living again." Answering him with a brief and
fervent "Splendid!" Damon's eyes sought out his father. Vaille stood
beside the fire, Horatio snoozing at his feet. He smiled on his son,
turned slightly, and glanced up. Damon stiffened. The portrait of his
Mother, in all her glowing beauty, hung once again over the mantle.
Through a hushed silence, he faltered. "I cannot conceive how… even
you… found an artist able to repair it."

The tremble in his voice brought Sophia hastening to sit beside him and slip a hand through his arm.

"It is from my drawing room in Vaille House," the Duke smiled. "I am having another painted, and—"

Thompson threw open the door, and Ridgley rushed in, closely
followed by Amory Hartwell. The Earl strode to Damon's side, took his
hand as though it were fashioned from sheerest glass and, peering into
the ravaged face, groaned, "You stupid damned gudgeon! I should never
have left you! Why in God's name did you not tell me Ariel had
deserted? I'd never have let you be alone here—you know that, Cam!"

"How charming," murmured Vaille acidly. "And what a very great pity
that you had not the common decency to inform a father of his son's
peril."

Ridgley whirled on him, his brow thunderous. Sophia felt her beloved
tense and placed her other hand gently on his arm. Miss Hilby said a
cautionary "Philip…"

"Come and give me a kiss, you blasted clumsy clod," Feather demanded.

Obviously containing his resentment with an effort, the Earl obliged.

Hartwell came to take Damon's hand and say unhappily, "I collect you know I was almost responsible for your—"

"How very kind in you to have gone for Doctor Belmont," Sophia
interrupted, her eyes flashing him a warning. "And then to go on for
Ted. You are too good!"

He straightened and, taking the hint, said smoothly, "I do at least
have good news for you, ma'am. Ridgley and I were successful to some
extent. Your beloved Singlebirch is safe. Full title has been restored
to Whitt, and—"

"S-Singlebirch?" she gasped.

"Prendergast was busy, I take it," said Damon cynically.

Hartwell nodded. "The old rogue had slapped a lien not only upon
your spa but on all the Drayton properties and estates. I'm sorrier
than I can say, ma'am."

Sophia turned a distressed face to Whitthurst, and Sir Amory asked a perplexed "Didn't you tell her of it, Whitt?"

"No," said the Viscount sternly. "I've not yet taxed her with her misdeeds."

Sophia went at once to stand before him, hanging her head like a
chastened little girl. "I was very stupid—and wicked, Stephen. I
meant
to tell you…"

He lifted her chin. "Yes, of course, but you'd… other things on your
mind." She smiled at him gratefully, and he added in a very low voice,
"Your 'wickedness' was minute, dearest, compared to my own!" He gave
her a quick buss on the cheek and said gruffly, "Silly chit! Get on
back to your beau."

She obeyed, and Damon drew her close to him, saying in tender accents, "You see what happens when you go Viper hunting… ?"

The adoration in his eyes drove all other considerations from her
mind. For an instant, it was very still in the room, everyone watching
the young lovers; each heart touched. Then Vaille gave a small amused
cough, and Sophia, glancing vaguely at him, became aware of his
laughing eyes. She blushed and stammered, "Sir Amory, you have been
more than kind. And now have come to my rescue once more. I—"

Hartwell threw up a deprecating hand. "My efforts were small,
Sophia. The Duke threw his entire legal staff into the effort to
untangle your property."

Her startled gaze flashed to Vaille, and before she could speak, he
said fervently, "Dear lady, do I live to be a hundred I shall never be
able to repay you. Not only for your intrepid bravery in the catacombs
but for your unbelievable willingness to shoot the lock off that
damnable door, while the rest of us held you to be hysterically
unstable!"

Ridgley's jaw dropped. "A gun… in the house? What the devil?"

"I am amazed," murmured Vaille, "that
you'd
not foreseen such an eventuality…".

Hartwell, noting the swift angry flush on Ridgley's face and the
imploring gaze Sophia shot to him, said, "I must beg you will all
excuse me. I've business I can no longer neglect." He turned wistfully
to Sophia, having bade farewell to the others, and sighed, "He don't
deserve you, you know. If you ever change your mind—"

"She will not!" Damon intervened with mock indignation. "And
you
do not deserve her either, so
adieu, mon faux bonhomme
!"

They all laughed, but Hartwell eyed Damon searchingly for a moment.
With a faint smile, he turned to leave, only to stop again. "I forgot
to pass along something that might be of small interest—if any of you
knew of him. One of England's most colourful individuals has left the
current scene. Sumner Craig-Bell died yesterday."

There was a total hush. Whitthurst, his face almost as white as
Damon's, drew in his breath audibly. The Marquis, his unblinking stare
riveted to Hartwell's comely face, breathed, "The devil, you say!"

"Craig-Bell?" Vaille said mildly. "Of Green Willow?"

"Yes." Hartwell cast a curious glance round those taut faces. "It
was believed he was out of the country. Strange. They found him in his
carriage. Not too far from here, as a matter of fact. Terrible tragedy.
Did you know him, Duke?"

"I did. And I agree. It was a terrible tragedy. That he lived so
long." He glanced at Whitthurst's stricken face and murmured, "Do you
not agree, Stephen?"

"Totally, sir. How did it happen, Amory? Heart?"

"Might say so. Don't know who or why… but—a bullet stopped it."

Sophia walked slowly down the hall. She had accompanied Hartwell to
the front door for the express purpose of thanking him for all his
efforts in her behalf. He had been gallant, but the sadness in his eyes
had been intense and had cast a shadow over her own happiness.

She had little time to dwell on the matter, however, because she
returned to the music room to find Vaille and his cousin practically at
daggers drawn. A small reference to Ridgley's loyalty had brought the
Duke's simmering anger to the boil, and it was all that a suddenly
militant Charlotte Hilby could do to restrain them from throwing the
gauntlet there and then. Feather and Sophia rushed into the breach, and
the danger was averted, but the strain wrought havoc with Damon. An
infuriated Belmont later told Vaille in no uncertain terms that the
best thing he could do for his ailing son would be to take himself and
his entourage back to London. "Wounds, germs, and disease I can fight,"
the surgeon snarled. "I do my possible for all my patients and will
concede to no man my score of victories! But relations I cannot combat!
They are, sir, the worst plague ever to drive a nurse to hysterics and
a doctor to drink!"