A Most Sinful Proposal (22 page)

“Halt!”

Slowly he turned to face his enemy.

Von Hautt was standing, booted legs apart, the pistol trained on him, a smile on his youthful face. “Ah, Valentine,” he said, with deep satisfaction. “I hoped it might be you.”

Valentine found himself rigid with tension and he forced his muscles to relax. He needed to get the baron off his guard.

“I saw your footprints in the dust,” the baron went on, waving the barrel of his pistol in the direction of the floor. “But I thought it best to play a game with you, let you think you could escape. You are behaving a little like a rat in a trap, Valentine. I had thought better of you. Why did you not call out. Face me man-to-man.”

Valentine gestured at the pistol. “For the very reason I see before me now. You are armed, Von Hautt, and I am not. I do not trust you.”

Von Hautt looked insulted. “You do not trust me?” he said haughtily. “That is ironic, my friend, considering how your family has treated mine in the past.”

Valentine tried to understand what he meant but could not. His bafflement must have been obvious, and it made Von Hautt angry.

“Do not pretend you do not understand!” he shouted. “I know you are well aware of what your father did, and the consequences for me. Do you think I would allow you to escape the punishment you deserve? Do you?”

And he raised the pistol until the barrel was aimed at Valentine’s heart, his finger tightening on the trigger. Valentine felt light-headed, and yet he could not run. He could not move. Marissa, he thought, with an ache of longing. The life he’d dreamed of, the happy future he’d imagined with her, would never now come to pass.

M
arissa saw the house at last. It really did look like a dark bird of prey against the sky. The moon had slipped beneath the clouds and the rain had returned, just lightly, but enough to cause the cloak to become damp and her face damper as she struggled to see ahead. Now she turned the horse up the narrow lane to the gate where she had been earlier today, and saw that Valentine had left his own mount hidden by the overgrown garden.

Seeing it there was comforting. He was here after all. It was only as she glanced up at the manor house that she saw the wedge of light coming through the shutters in the upper window, and her heart sank again.

Augustus Von Hautt was here as well.

Quickly she climbed over the gate, jumping down onto the muddy ground, and began to make her way toward the house. As she drew closer to the portico she saw that the front door was ajar, leaving a black and sinister gap. She hesitated, uncertain whether to approach any closer in case someone was waiting for her on the other side, but then she heard the voices.

Two voices. Although she could not make out what they were saying she recognized one of them instantly as Valentine’s, and the other she was almost certain was the baron’s.

They were inside the house, beyond the narrow opening in the door. Marissa crept closer, onto the portico, and edged toward the voices.

“Why should I believe you?” the baron shouted suddenly, making her jump. Valentine replied, sounding calm and unflustered, and she knew he was trying to defuse the dangerous situation.

She peeped through the gap and into the house only to pull back almost immediately with shock. But she’d seen enough.

Valentine was seated on the stairs, hands clasped loosely between his knees, head tipped to the side as though considering what he’d been told. Von Hautt was standing before him, his back to Marissa, but she could see he was holding a pistol pointed in Valentine’s direction.

Her own hand slid into her pocket and closed around the petite weapon the innkeeper’s wife had given her. Peering at it in the faint moonlight, she managed to cock the firing mechanism. It was just possible that she may be able to slip through the gap in the door and creep in behind the baron, taking him by surprise, forcing him to surrender his pistol.

And if he refused to surrender? Or threatened her?

Marissa knew she would have to shoot him.

“Your father seduced my mother and abandoned her,” the baron was saying bitterly. “When I was
born she died, leaving me to the scorn of my relatives. My father hated me, too, because I was not his. But I am your brother, Valentine. You cannot deny me that, at least.”

His words were wild, bizarre, and as far as Marissa knew completely untrue. Where could he have got such a story? From the expression on Valentine’s face he was wondering the same thing.

“Did you know my father was also a seeker after the Crusader’s Rose?” the baron went on. “He had heard the legend from my mother’s family, that one of her distant ancestors helped to bring the rose back to England after the Crusades, and he wanted to find it. He was told of your father, Valentine, and that he, too, was on the quest.”

“I didn’t know,” Valentine said with feeling. “Why didn’t you tell me this before?”

“Because I hate you,” Von Hautt spat. “You would take everything from me, if you could. It is I who should be Lord Kent. I am the eldest born son. But how to prove it? How to satisfy your English blue bloods that I am as good as them.”

“I assure you, Von Hautt, my father is not yours. It simply cannot be. My father was never in Prussia in his life.”

“Because he told you so?” Von Hautt mocked. “You are a fool. Of course it is true. My grandmother told me the truth when I was a boy. She said my father was a wealthy and aristocratic gentleman, a lord, and that he lived close by Bentley Green in an old manor house and that he also had an interest in roses. Who could it be but your father?”

Valentine looked away, as if considering the ques
tion, but he was clearly finding it difficult to answer without antagonizing the baron.

Marissa moved into the gap, careful not to let her cloak brush against the warped wood. At first she was half hidden by the dresser that seemed to have been used to bulwark the door, but she knew she couldn’t stay there indefinitely.

“I wanted to find the rose before you, to prove to you I was the better of the two of us. I wanted to be like one of the knights of old, honorable and good. You believed that, too, didn’t you?”

“When I was a boy, yes, I did feel like that,” Valentine said, sounding as if his throat was dry. “But now I see there are other things more important.”

“You are wrong. You don’t deserve to find it.”

“At least I didn’t cheat and steal.”

Von Hautt went white.

“You have a spy in my house! Tell me who it is?” Valentine roared, rising up from the stairs.

Von Hautt’s grip on his pistol tightened and he took up a firing stance. “Sit down!” he shouted.

Marissa’s heart was thudding. The two men were yelling at each other, their voices echoing up into the dusty heights of the old house. The tension grew unbearable. There was no time to wait; it must be now. She came around the dresser toward them, knowing they wouldn’t hear her anyway with the noise, but she’d reckoned without the moonlight.

She hadn’t realized the clouds had cleared away and the moon had come out, bright and beaming, and was shining through the gap in the door behind her. As she moved her shadow stretched across the floor and fell upon the men.

Von Hautt spun around, eyes wide, the pistol wavering as he saw her. There was a moment, just a moment, when she read the shock and fury in his gaze, and then Valentine called her name and was running toward her and she knew if she didn’t fire now then one or other of them would die.

She pressed the trigger.

The retort wasn’t very loud. Von Hautt had not fired and she saw that he was still upright, still standing facing her and Valentine, who by now had reached her.

Von Hautt looked down at his torso. “You shot me, Miss Rotherhild,” he said in wonderment. There was a hole on the left side, but very small, and although blood was beginning to seep onto his clothes it was very little. He put his hand over the wound and actually laughed. “Next time you play the heroine, you must use a real gun and not a toy,” he teased.

“Put your pistol down, Von Hautt,” Valentine said firmly. “It is over.”

The baron tipped his head to the side. “What is over, brother? The quest for the rose? Maybe. But I am determined your family will recognize me for who I am.”

Marissa’s hand had stolen into Valentine’s and she felt his fingers squeeze hers. For comfort or for warning? She glanced up at him and couldn’t decide.

“I wish I could recognize you, Von Hautt. I will need to investigate the matter further. But I swear to you I have never before heard of the things you are telling me.”

The bitterness in Von Hautt’s smile made him
almost ugly. His strange cold eyes slid to Marissa and narrowed.

“But you see, brother, that isn’t good enough. My mother should have had justice, but she died with the condemnations of her family and her husband ringing in her ears, the same sneers and jibes I have heard all my life. I do not forgive. I want justice. An eye for an eye.”

Valentine seemed to know what was coming. Marissa felt his body stiffen, felt the surge of energy within him. His hand on hers tightened painfully. “No,” he said.

“Don’t move, Valentine,” the baron said in an icy voice.

“What you’re suggesting is monstrous,” Valentine growled, and pushed Marissa behind him. “I warn you, I will not allow you to touch her.”

Understanding came to her as she stood, frozen, at his back. Von Hautt meant to seduce her as he believed Valentine’s father had seduced his mother, only in this case there would be no seduction. Von Hautt would take her as he’d taken Lady Longhurst—brutally and without pity.

She pressed her face into Valentine’s jacket, finding comfort in his solidarity. “I want to marry you, Valentine,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry I made you wait for my answer.”

He glanced back at her and their eyes met.

“And I want you to know how much I love you,” she said, her voice breaking. “In case…in case…”

“I will never let him hurt you,” he said gruffly.

“Monstrous?” the baron was too busy ranting to
notice their private conversation. “Shouldn’t your father have thought of that before he destroyed my mother?”

“Von Hautt,” Valentine said wearily, “how can I make you understand that I am completely ignorant of any wrongdoing by my family to yours?”

“You’re my brother,” he cried, and there was something dangerous and, at the same time wounded, in his tone.

Valentine fell silent.

Marissa dared to peer around her bulwark. Von Hautt appeared to be swaying from side to side. The pistol was still pointed at them, but he was having difficulty keeping it level. And his face was paler, with a shine of sweat on his skin. Her gaze dropped lower and, with a cry of horror, she saw that the hand he was holding over his wound was now red with blood.

“You need a doctor! Please, let us help you, Baron.”

He turned to stare at her as if he’d forgotten she was there.

“Yes,” Valentine added, in that same soft tone. “Let us get you help, Augustus. Look at yourself. You’re losing a great deal of blood.”

He looked down in surprise. “But it was such a little hole,” he muttered. “How could such a little hole bleed so much?”

Valentine took a step forward and then another. “Come, brother,” he said, “let me help you.”

The baron stumbled, losing his footing, and then his legs gave way completely and Valentine caught
him as he fell, the pistol clattering to the floor. Carefully Valentine eased him down on the floor, while Marissa knelt beside them.

The baron’s eyes fluttered and then opened wide. He stared up at Valentine and then he smiled.

“Brother,” he whispered.

O
ld Doctor Arnold finished washing his hands in the bowl by his side and began to dry them carefully. His gaze rested on his patient lying still in the bed, the covers folded neatly over his chest, his face as unmoving as the effigy on a tomb.

“Will he recover?” Marissa said anxiously.

Valentine took her hand in his. “It isn’t your fault,” he assured her, but he could see by her expression that she felt differently. “You had no choice,” he went on firmly. “He was beyond reasoning with. You saved our lives, Marissa.”

“Perhaps he wouldn’t have harmed me after all,” she said, without much conviction.

“He would have tried, but I wouldn’t have allowed it. He’d have had to shoot me first.” His words sounded heroic, very different from the man he’d always thought himself, but Marissa made him feel like a hero—capable of anything.

She gave a woebegone smile, tears sparkling in her eyes, and wished everyone would just go away so that he could hold her as he longed to.

“I have hopes he’ll recover,” the doctor interrupted.
“I’ve done what I can but I’d be happier if he could be seen by someone more, hmm, specialized.”

“Of course. We will see to it,” Valentine spoke with authority. “Can he be moved?”

“Better not,” the old man said. He reached out and placed his gnarled hand on the baron’s brow, and it was like a caress. “Is what you’ve said really true? Did he say those things about his mother?”

Valentine nodded. “Yes.”

Doctor Arnold shook his head. “I blame his grandmother for filling his head with such nonsense. I know there was talk of Augustus being a by-blow from his mother’s affair with a fellow officer of his father’s, but it had nothing to do with your father, my lord. That was his grandmother’s doing, trying to make a silk purse from a sow’s ear. I think Augustus must have imagined the rest. Poor troubled boy.”

“What’s important now is to help him recover physically,” Valentine said.

“And then what? I have heard of the terrible thing he did to Lady Longhurst. Perhaps it would be better if he died.”

Valentine felt Marissa’s fingers tighten involuntarily in his, and knew the baron dying wouldn’t be better for her. He’d cursed himself for going off to capture Augustus. He’d been furious, eager to come to blows with the man, hoping he would not meekly hand himself over until Valentine had got a few good blows in. What he hadn’t expected to feel was pity. The baron might be a dangerous lunatic but he was also a lost soul.

His quest to find the Crusader’s Rose would never
seem the same again. It was time to put it away and concentrate on the here and now, the people in his life who mattered, the woman he loved.

The crackle of the fire brought him back from his thoughts.

“We will see to his comfort, whatever happens,” Valentine assured Doctor Arnold. “I will take responsibility for him, never fear.”

“You are very good, my lord.”

Comforted, the old man rose and after another glance at his young relation, left the room. Valentine followed him out, and when he returned he found Marissa seated by the bed. She looked up, and there were dark shadows under her eyes.

“George has gone to London to bring the best medical man he can find back to Bentley Green,” Valentine said. “The innkeeper’s wife is a good and reliable woman, and she will watch Von Hautt. Doctor Arnold is nearby as well. There is nothing more we can do, my love.”

“I know. I know you have done everything in your power, and more, to save him. I know he is dangerous and disturbed and he has done terrible things, but there is something horribly sad about his story, Valentine.”

“Yes.”

They were silent for a moment, both lost in their own thoughts.

“Can we go home now?” Marissa said softly. “I would like to go home, Valentine.”

He smiled. He did not ask her where she meant; he already knew it was Abbey Thorne Manor that was home for them both.

There was a great deal to tell Lady Bethany and Lord Jasper, and arrangements to be made for the care of Von Hautt. The doctor George brought with him to Bentley Green thought the baron would be better off in a private sanitarium where he would receive all the care and attention he required, as well as be watched around the clock, and he was moved there at once.

“I’m sorry, but I can’t feel for him,” Lady Bethany said, as they sat down to dinner a week later. “And what will your parents say, Marissa, when they hear? They will blame me, you’ll see. It will be all my fault.”

“Perhaps we can distract them with some good news,” Valentine interrupted, looking a little self-conscious.

They all turned to him, a mixture of surprise and anticipation on their faces. George, with whom he’d already shared the news, chuckled.

“I expect to hear myself thanked in the wedding speeches,” he said smugly, “because without me this would never have happened.”

Valentine gave his brother a long-suffering look. They’d discussed the matter at length and he was still doubtful whether George had told him the truth—that he’d engineered the whole thing for Valentine’s sake—or he was simply saving face. Whatever the case he was glad George bore him no ill-feelings; indeed quite the opposite.

Lady Bethany was beaming. “Wedding speeches? Oh, Marissa, does that mean…?”

“Good heavens, Kent! Congratulations to you. To you both.”

Smiling, Marissa and Valentine accepted their good wishes with obvious pleasure.

“Morris! Fetch the best champagne,” George ordered. “Lord Kent is to be married!”

Morris looked properly astonished, but there was a satisfied gleam in his eye as he wished them well. When the champagne was brought and the toast made, George demanded to know what date the wedding would be set for. “As I may have to rearrange my social schedule,” he explained thoughtfully.

His brother snorted, but before he could offer his own observations on George’s schedule, Morris cleared his throat and intervened.

“I think, my lord, it depends on how soon and how large you wish the wedding to be.”

Valentine glanced at Marissa.

“My answer to that is as soon as possible,” he replied.

“Then, if you forgive me, m’lord, it would be difficult to arrange a large wedding in limited time.”

“What about a small wedding?” he asked, beginning to look a little desperate.

“We could manage a date one month hence,” the indefatigable Morris said evenly.

“A whole month!” Valentine cried.

“Any sooner and I fear the celebration might be lacking. I should dislike it very much if Abbey Thorne Manor was not at its best for the occasion. And if Your Lordship and miss require suitable clothing for the ceremony, there are seamstresses
and tailors to be consulted,” Morris went on firmly. “I presume you do want to look spick-and-span on the day, my lord? If you do not look like a proper bridegroom then I fear I will not be able to take charge of the arrangements.”

It sounded like a warning and Valentine sighed. “Very well, if I must, Morris. I will leave it in your capable hands.”

“Oh yes, Marissa, you must have a bride’s dress!” her grandmother declared, looking twenty years younger. “How exciting! Your mother refused to allow me any part in her wedding. They were married in a forest and she held a bouquet of ferns, pouf! This time I insist upon being consulted before any decisions are made.”

“Of course, Grandmamma,” she said quietly. “I have no argument with that. Your taste is impeccable.”

Lady Bethany barely had time to preen. “My dear, we must go up to London immediately and begin. Where will the ceremony be held?”

“In the village church,” Valentine said quickly. Then, with a wry glance at Marissa, “If that is acceptable to you, Marissa?”

She wasn’t meeting his eyes, which worried him, but her voice was adamant. “The village church would be perfect. I don’t want it in London. Then Father and Mother would feel obliged to invite all of their botanical friends.”

Lady Bethany shuddered. “Oh lord, yes, how revolting. Of course some of them will still turn up, you know that. They will probably set about collecting botanical specimens in the churchyard. No,
we must keep it small, and hope for the best.”

“I—I would like my friends from Miss Debenham’s to come, but other than that…” Marissa said.

“It will be necessary to invite some of the local families,” Valentine said. “And George and Jasper,” he added with a grin. “Afterward we will take our honeymoon on the Island of Reunion, or Bourbon as the French are currently calling it.”

Valentine was becoming rather worried about his wife-to-be’s lack of joy in this talk of the wedding, and he was glad to see Marissa’s face brighten at the mention of the honeymoon. “Why there?”

“Because it is a paradise, my love, and you deserve a paradise.”

“And there are a great many roses growing there,” George added mockingly.

“Well, yes, there
are
roses,” Valentine admitted, with a frown at his brother. “We may need to travel overland through France and Spain, and perhaps even the deserts of Arabia. We may be gone for a very long time.”

Suddenly he was no longer certain whether he was doing the right thing. Perhaps Marissa would prefer a honeymoon in Brighton or Cornwall. Doubts grew inside him and for a moment Vanessa’s poison bubbled up, threatening to ruin all his happiness.

Marissa’s hand rested on his, her smile warmer than the sunlight through the window, soothing his fears. “I shall love it, Valentine.” Her smile faded slightly. “But are you sure you can spare the time away from your work? Your studies?”

“I believe my work can wait,” he assured her.

“Then, yes, I would love to travel with you to Bourbon.”

George shook his head in despair. “I had thought better of you, Marissa. Does this mean you have been infected with the disease of rose collecting?”

Marissa laughed but to Valentine it sounded slightly forced. “Not at all, although I do admit to a partiality to their scent.”

“In some parts of the world, I believe, women bathe in rose petals steeped in water,” Valentine said to no one in particular.

Marissa bowed her head but he saw by her wicked smile that she was not expecting to take such a bath alone.

Lady Bethany was still mulling over “the dress” and had taken a small notepad from her reticule and was writing upon it with a pencil. Jasper watched her, bemused, but with a fond glint in his eye. He was not such a selfish creature that he wanted his ladylove’s complete attention, especially when he knew this wedding gave her such pleasure. Who would have thought both he and Kent would fall in love like this?

Abbey Thorne Manor was about to enter a new era and Jasper was glad to be a part of it.

But the question of the Crusader’s Rose niggled at the back of his mind, reminding him of the unfulfilled quest. A pity it would never now be found, but at least they had done their utmost to discover the truth.

And besides, if it hadn’t been for the rose then
Valentine would never have met Marissa, and he would never have met Lady Bethany.

“What did George mean? That this was all his doing?” Marissa demanded, curled beside Valentine as they sat in the candlelit darkness of the yellow salon.

He explained how George now insisted their meeting had been part of his plan to find the perfect wife for his brother. “I don’t know whether to believe him or not, but he insists it is the truth.”

Marissa was inclined to be annoyed at first, feeling herself used, but when she saw that actually Valentine was touched that his brother thought so much of him that he’d gone to such lengths, she couldn’t stay cross.

“I will have something to say to him next time we meet,” she said with a thin smile. “The perfect wife indeed!”

“But you are,” Valentine murmured, bending to kiss her softly on the lips. “Perfection in all things.”

“Now you know that isn’t true,” she retorted, flushing. “If you really believe that you will be sadly disappointed.”

He tried to hush her with another kiss. “I will never be disappointed, minx.”

“Valentine, please, I’m serious,” she said with a searching look. “If you think I am perfect then I will become seriously worried.”

He laughed as if she’d made a joke, and drew her closer.

Marissa gave up, resting her head on his chest.
She wished she could put into words the confusion and doubt. The truth was, this sense of panic had first assailed her when Valentine began to talk about the wedding. He’d said he wanted a small wedding, as soon as possible, as if he was afraid she might change her mind and bolt. She knew that wasn’t really true—he just wanted to be with her, as she did him, and it seemed as if the formal arrangements were getting in his way. But there was a sense of being rushed, perhaps even forced into the marriage, before she was ready.

What if she was making a mistake?

Marissa was beginning to feel trapped, but when she thought of the alternative she knew she didn’t want to escape. The trouble was, at the moment, she didn’t know what she wanted. Except perhaps to let things be—to enjoy herself and forget about the future.

Everything was happening so fast.

“I will accompany you back to London.” Valentine’s voice interrupted her growing desperation, and she was glad.

“Yes.”

“I have to speak to Von Hautt anyway.”

She looked up at him anxiously. “I suppose you do.”

“Not just because of what has happened, Marissa, but because of all the things he knew about me. About us. Someone in my house is a spy and I need to discover who it is. I want to know, when you come to live here with me as my wife, that you will be safe.”

His words soothed her, reminding her of why she
loved him and wanted to marry him. “Do you still have no idea who it is, Valentine?”

He shook his head. “No idea. Most of my servants have been here for years, some of them decades. I can’t imagine any one of them turning traitor.”

“Perhaps they don’t think of it like that. Perhaps their loyalty is to Baron Von Hautt for some reason or another.”

“Well, I cannot tolerate anyone in my house whose loyalty is not primarily to me. To us.”