Till Dawn with the Devil (24 page)

“Gabriel told me that it was an accident. That Beatrice must have tripped and fallen.”

Lady Colette shook her head. “She had dragged a table in front of the door after Gabriel staggered off. Needless to say, she was rather surprised to discover that she was not alone in the bedchamber. Frightened, Beatrice tried to run for the door and tripped as Gabriel and the magistrate had
guessed. She lay on her back, dazed from the blow that she took when her head hit one of the bedposts, her belly swollen with the evidence of her betrayal to my son and the family name. I—”

The countess’s eyes narrowed as she peered down at the drawing room rug, apparently seeing the helpless Beatrice struggling to climb to her feet as she stalked toward her. “I simply put my hands around her neck and held them there. Stifling her denials of innocence . . . making her choke on her lies. Oh, Beatrice tried to stop me, clawing at my arms and hands. However, overindulgence and her lover’s child had weakened her constitution. It was over rather quickly. In those last minutes, do you think Beatrice was longing for the husband she had cast aside?”

Sophia shut her eyes and did not bother replying. The tears that she had held back slid down her cheeks—tears for Beatrice and her unborn child. What Beatrice had done to Reign had been cruel, but she had not deserved to die for her sins.

Reign’s mother made a soft sound of distress as she returned to Sophia. “There, there . . . child.” She used a portion of her chemise to wipe away Sophia’s tears.

“Why have you revealed yourself to me, Lady Colette?” Sophia asked hoarsely, her throat tight with misery. “I am not Beatrice. I am not abandoning your son, nor am I carrying another man’s child. I will not hurt Gabriel.”

“You already have!” Lady Colette shouted at Sophia. “Did you think that you could keep
secrets in this house? I know you tricked my son into marriage.”

“No!” Sophia said, the pitch of her voice climbing with her desperation. “It was Gabriel’s suggestion that we marry. At first, I-I refused him, but he was so insistent and seemed to make sense when everything was such a damn muddle.”

Sophia figured God would forgive her for cursing. It was not every day that someone pointed a pistol at her head.

“And were you going to tell him about the child?” Lady Colette said, the deadly calm inflection somehow more terrifying than if the woman were screaming at her.

Sophia’s pulse leaped in her throat. This was not the first time the countess had mentioned the possibility of a child. Was Lady Colette rambling about the past again, or had she been watching her son’s new wife closely? It was only recently that Sophia had begun to suspect that she might be carrying Reign’s child. If true, the babe had likely been conceived on their wedding night.

“You do not understand,” Sophia said hastily, rushing her words until it sounded like one nonsensical combination. “I am not keeping secrets! What can I say to make you believe me?”

Lady Colette moved in closer to guarantee that she would not miss when she pulled the trigger. “I promise that you will not suffer. Not like before. Just close your eyes.”

Not like before? Before what exactly?

“Please!” Sophia sobbed, pulling frantically against her restraints.

“Get the hell away from my wife!”

From the corner of her eye, Sophia saw Reign and Stephan standing in the doorway.
What is my brother doing here?
she wondered, distracted momentarily by Stephan’s unexpected appearance. Both men were poised for action.

Especially Reign. There was a mute fury radiating from him. Sophia had never been so grateful to see her husband.

“Dear God, Rainecourt,” the older woman said, the shock whitening her already pale face. “How can this be?”

Reign stared impassively at the disheveled creature in his drawing room. Who was she? He had not seen a woman dressed in breeches since Vane and Frost had thought it would be amusing to escort two outrageously dressed doxies to the theater in men’s garb. Was this some sort of jest? If so, then why the devil was the woman pointing a pistol at Sophia’s head?

“Wife, you did not tell me that you had planned to entertain this evening.”

Reign sensed the subtle tension coming from Ravenshaw. Sophia’s hotheaded brother was unhappy with this unexpected turn, but this was not the time for recklessness. He restrained the man with a hand gesture.

Sophia’s eyes shimmered with unshed tears.
Reign’s heart clenched at the sight. “Husband, you were right about the ghosts.”

“Ghosts? What nonsense is this?” Ravenshaw spat, revealing his impatience.

Reign glared at the older woman. “Who are you? If you know me, then you should understand that the pistol is unnecessary. No one will harm you.”

Ravenshaw snorted. “Speak for yourself, Rainecourt.”

Reign ignored his brother-in-law’s outburst. “If you have come to steal silver or food, you can take your fill and leave in peace.”

Just stop aiming that bloody pistol at my wife’s head!

The color was returning to the woman’s face. There was something vaguely familiar about her, though Reign could not place where he had met her. Initially, when he and Ravenshaw had entered the house, Reign had thought Sophia had retired early for the evening. He had been heading toward the stairs to wake her when both men heard Sophia scream.

The woman tilted her head in a regal fashion as her dark gaze narrowed. “Oh, I know you, Rainecourt. You as well, Ravenshaw. I also know that this pistol is necessary, gentlemen. You should not be here, but no matter. I shall put things right again.”

“She is mad, Gabriel,” Sophia said with such solemn conviction, he did not doubt it.

“Who is she?” Ravenshaw took a challenging step forward. “I will get a confession.”

“No!”

Both ladies started shouting at Ravenshaw.

“Stay where you are!” Sophia yelled at her brother with such grim authority that it revealed just how precarious her situation was.

Fortunately, her brother halted, and Reign took the opportunity to grab Ravenshaw by the arm and drag him back. He gave the younger man an irritated glance. The gent was going to get his sister shot if he persisted.

“Leave us,” the woman said, gesturing with the pistol. “This does not have to concern you.”

“Wrong,” Reign replied tersely. “You have my wife. Surrender her, and we will leave.”

“Rainecourt—” Ravenshaw began, but Reign cut him off with a vicious glance. It was apparent that every time the Rainecourt name was evoked, it increased the woman’s agitation.

“I give you my word, madam,” he said, staring into the woman’s eyes and feeling that odd connection again. “Step aside, and allow me to untie my wife. Consider it a trade. Her life for your freedom.”

“Gabriel, you do not understand,” Sophia said, cringing away from the barrel pressed against her temple. “She is your mother.”

“My mother is dead.”

Sophia did not blame Reign for the resounding denial. From what he had told her about his childhood, his father had been an uncompromising man who used his fists on his wife and young son. He had been aggressive, competitive, and channeled his power politically. What mother would abandon her defenseless son to such a man?

“It is true, Gabriel,” Sophia said, hating that she could not go to him when he needed her. She did not know if Lady Colette intended to tell Reign the truth, nor did she care; the time for secrets had ended. “Your father kept her hidden away on Rainecourt lands with attendants as companions. He told everyone, including you, that she had died.”

I am so sorry,
she wordlessly mouthed to her husband.

Reign sucked in his cheeks, revealing the firm lines of his jaw. He shook his head, refusing or
perhaps not wanting to believe that his father had executed such a cruel deception. “Sophia, I do not know who this woman is, but she is lying. I saw my mother’s body. I saw . . . !”

“A dead woman with long dark hair,” Lady Colette said, her eyes glistening. “Probably some poor creature from the village, I would guess.”

Reign started to respond, but seemed to catch himself. The past could wait. It was the present that concerned him. He stabbed his finger at the countess. “Let us be clear, madam, I do not care if you are my mother or claim to be Demeter herself, searching for her long-lost daughter. What grievances you have should be directed at me, not my wife. Release her at once!”

“Oh, love, can you not see that she will never be yours?” Lady Colette said, moving behind the chair as she gently stroked Sophia’s hair.

“What is she rambling on about?” her brother muttered.

Reign’s burning gaze did not waver from his mother’s face. “You are not helping, Ravenshaw.”

Sophia closed her eyes and willed her brother to remain silent. Stephan did not seem to comprehend that Lady Colette’s grasp of the present was tenuous at best. One misstep and the countess might fire the pistol.

“Madam,” Reign said, holding out his hand. “You are among friends. Give me the pistol.”

“You tried to take the pistol from me that night, too.” Lady Colette’s hand seized a handful of Sophia’s blond hair and pulled when Reign
tried to move forward. Sophia’s cry of pain halted his slow advance. “And failed.”

Reign parted his hands in surrender. “What night?”

Sophia drew in a shaky breath. The back of her head throbbed from the blow the countess had delivered earlier, and her stomach roiled in protest. “The night your father and my parents were murdered. Lady Colette was there, and I think—”

She craned her head to glance up at the older woman. “Good heavens, you were the one who hit me that night. When I came down the stairs to find my mother, I saw my mother and father from the doorway. I heard Lord Rainecourt’s angry shouts.” The memories from that night were elusive and insubstantial as smoke.

Still . . .

“Someone struck me from behind,” Sophia said, wondering why no one had considered that there had been one more person in the house. “It was you.”

“She was a baby, you crazy bitch!” Stephan yelled, his face reddening with suppressed fury. “You almost killed her!”

Sophia blinked, taken aback by her brother’s outrage. Then again, perhaps it was not surprising. That horrible night had left its mark on all of them.

“Steady, Ravenshaw,” Reign warned, though his underlying calm was a facade. “Think of Sophia.”

“Yes, Ravenshaw,” Lady Colette hissed. “Think of Sophia.” The countess pressed the walnut stock of the pistol to her temple, and trembled.

Without hesitation, Stephan and Reign took advantage of Lady Colette’s momentary lapse by edging closer to the two women. They froze when the countess’s head snapped up, her eyes blazing with righteous fury. “How can you defend her, knowing that she betrayed you?”

Uncertain of his part in this drama, Stephan glanced warily at Reign and shrugged.

Sophia cast a furtive glance at Reign. The same enigmatic expression was on her husband’s face.

“What? You have nothing to say?” Lady Colette taunted.

“Be careful, Gabriel,” Sophia said softly when her husband shifted his stance. “Do you not see? All the players are present. Just like before. Rainecourt, Ravenshaw, and Lady Ravenshaw.”

And Lady Colette.

It was happening again. The countess was reliving the horrifying night that had ended in death.

Someone was going to die.

Reign did not want to believe that woman standing over Sophia was his mother. After his mother’s death, his father had removed his wife’s portrait from the gallery. Reign had assumed that it had been a painful reminder of loss. Now he was not so certain. The portrait had been forgotten, leaving Reign with faded memories.

The woman before him did not remotely resemble the raven-haired beauty who used to visit him in his dreams. The dark tresses he recalled had silvered with age. Her mouth had thinned with bitterness, and lines marred the once smooth face that had seemed so full of vitality. It was the lady’s eyes that troubled him the most—intense and steeped in shadows. He did not like how the woman stared at Sophia.

Reign was frightened for his wife. He had seen the miniature of Lady Ravenshaw that Sophia kept on her dressing table. The resemblance was startling, and Lady Colette seemed too eager to embrace the past.

He longed to assure Sophia that he understood what she was trying to convey. Unfortunately, her vision was too unpredictable, and Reign did not want to tip his hand to his mother. The scandalous tale of the Rainecourt-Ravenshaw murders that had tantalized the
ton
for so many years had been based on speculation. Everyone, including Reign, had assumed that his father had coveted Lord Ravenshaw’s wife, and a fight had broken out between the two men that had ended in two murders and suicide.

No one had guessed that there had been another person in the room that night.

Or that the real killer had walked away after she had mercilessly murdered three people and left six-year-old Sophia barely clinging to life.

“You will not succeed this time, madam,” Reign said, his gaze shifting from his wife to Stephan,
willing the man to not lose his head for his sister’s sake.