Artful Deceptions (24 page)

Galen came up beside her and caught her hands, rubbing them between his to warm them. “I am beginning to think it was a mistake to bring you. This isn’t at all as I expected.”

“Nor I. Do you think anyone will answer if we knock?” Arianne clung to the strength of his hands
.

“There is only one way to find out.” Releasing one of her hands, Galen pressed the other to his coat sleeve as he led her toward the main door. Beside him, the bright yellow of her bonnet and gown made a splash of joyous color against the dismal gray of the stone walls. Surely, naught could go wrong in the presence of such color.

The knocker sounded loud and hollow as Galen brought it down with great force against the high door. If footsteps responded to the call, they were given no chance to discern them. A scream of terror echoed through an open window somewhere above, and Galen no longer considered politeness as he tested the door and threw it open without waiting for permission to enter.

Arianne picked up her skirts and ran after him despite his admonitions to wait outside. That was Melanie’s scream, and Arianne had no intention of waiting anywhere. She paid scant heed to the fading tapestries on the old walls or the worn carpets underfoot. Like Galen, her attention focused on the loud voices carrying down the spiral stairs from the hall above.

They raced up the steps, Galen taking them two at a time, Arianne lifting her narrow skirt and petticoat to follow as swiftly as she was able. Noting a suit of armor complete with battleax on the landing, she briefly contemplated securing the weapon for her own use, but caution warned that she would be bested in any struggle with decades of rust. She raced upward in Galen’s trail.

The sharp, curt tones of Rhys’s voice suddenly lowered to angry reassurances, and Melanie’s screams fell abruptly silent as Arianne and Galen raced down a cavernous hallway toward the only open door visible. Situated at the front of the building, the doorway spilled a block of sunlight into the corridor, apparently from a bank of windows within the room. A shadow passed across the squares of light, and another voice spoke in answer to Rhys’s.

“What is it you want me to do? Name you my heir before I die? Will that repair the damage that has been done?”

Galen caught Arianne’s arm, and they stepped silently to the room’s entrance. The morning sun spilling through the windows temporarily blinded Arianne to the room’s occupants, but she could discern the silhouette of a short, rotund man striding behind a massive desk in the center of the room. She gasped, and Galen covered her mouth with his hand as the silhouette carelessly raised a long-barreled pistol and gestured with it.

“I want my parents’ name cleared. What could they ever have done to you to deserve the dirt you threw on them after they were dead?”

Vision beginning to clear, Arianne turned in the direction the baron faced, and had to hold back another cry as she recognized the portrait hanging in splendor over the wide mantel at the far end of the room. Streaming black hair seemed to fill the canvas, and dark eyes gazed down with love and sympathy and just a hint of laughter from her high position upon the wall.

Quickly Arianne scanned the room, finding Melanie hovering helplessly near the doorway where they stood, her gaze fastened in horror on the gun that the baron swung so casually in his hand. Rhys stood between her and his uncle, his stocky figure seeming to swell to twice its size as he waited with arms akimbo for his reply.

“I loved her first.” The man’s face was gray as it turned toward his only nephew. If he saw the new arrivals in the doorway, he gave no evidence of it, but his gaze shifted upward to the portrait. “I should never have sent that away. I thought those years would go away with it, but they didn’t. David missed her so terribly, he never even questioned me when I told him the painting had been destroyed. Stealing it back hasn’t made this place any happier either.”

Galen pushed Arianne back against the hall wall and stepped into the room, reaching for Melanie’s arm. But she resisted, digging her feet into the carpet and clinging to the paneled wall as the baron continued speaking.

“I was the one who found her, you know,” he said to Rhys as if the others weren’t there. “I met her at a country fair when she was staying with her father’s relatives in Keswick. I was up there hunting with some friends. They called her a Gypsy and said insulting things and we had a falling-out. One of them must have written to David. He came flying to the rescue of his foolish younger brother. I was barely out of school at the time, and perhaps he had some right for concern, but he had no right to steal her from me.”

Arianne came up behind Galen, unable to remain hiding in the hall while all she knew and loved stood bravely in the face of danger. Melanie grasped her hand gratefully, but they said nothing, understanding there was nothing to be said while the baron unburdened his guilty conscience.

“After David arrived, she never looked at me again. I cursed her for a fortune hunter, but the truth was, she had never looked at me as anything more than a distracting amusement. It was David who cast his spell to bring the Gypsy to her knees. But she returned the favor, and he proposed marriage before even a month was out.”

The baron stared up at the laughing Gypsy of the painting, the pistol hanging loosely in his fist. Arianne watched as Rhys gauged the distance between himself and the weapon, could almost see his calculations as he judged his ability to disarm the older man without harm, and felt his torment when he realized it could not be done without risk to others. Galen squeezed her shoulder, and she knew he had followed her thoughts precisely.

“I stood up for David after he obtained the special license. An aunt stood up for your mother. The woman is long since dead. I was the only witness left to that ceremony. It seemed such a simple thing. The marriage was brief. Six years was nothing. Why should six short years destroy everything?”

“My father had to go to the bishop for a special license. How could you deny what took place in the church, within the records of the church? Why can’t anyone find those records, if what you say is true?”

The baron swung around, his ashen face marred by the sardonic line of his mouth. “I thought God favored my position. I’d lost my love to David, and my inheritance to David’s son. When the cathedral burned, taking with it all the records, I thought God had answered my prayers. He had, you know, but just as you can’t bargain with the devil, you can’t get the best of God. I gained the title and the wealth, just as I asked. At the time, I had no idea of the cost.”

He lifted the heavy pistol and caressed the barrel thoughtfully. Melanie stifled another scream and cringed against Arianne, but her arm went out to Rhys, beckoning him to retreat to safety. He seemed to have no recognition of the gesture, but strode forward instead.

“You cannot correct one wrong with another. Put down the pistol, Uncle Owen. It serves no purpose. You can keep the title and estate if it makes you happy. All I want is my father’s honor returned. Surely you can invent some lie to explain why the marriage was hidden all these years.”

“Does one lie right another?” the baron asked wryly, facing his nephew, but this time giving a nod of acknowledgment to the man behind him.

Galen returned the nod and caught Melanie’s arm when she seemed prepared to fly to Rhys’s side. If tragedy were to be averted here, it would be by caution and not emotional theatrics. But he judged the presence of others besides Rhys would lessen the chances of unpleasantness. Whatever Owen Llewellyn might be, he was too much the gentleman to subject the ladies to violence.

“What is one lie in a whole list of lies?” Rhys demanded. “Tell them you have recently uncovered evidence of the marriage. I’ll denounce the title in your favor. I’ve lived without it all these years, it means nothing to me now. I just wish to be able to offer an honest name to the woman I wish to marry.”

Arianne jerked involuntarily in Galen’s grasp, then turned to give Melanie a warning glance. He was throwing away any chance of a future with Melanie with these words. It was a reckless, mad thing to do, but if it would ease the situation ...

The baron glanced to the two women behind his nephew, as if seeing them for the first time. He nodded in recognition at Melanie, then studied Arianne before returning his gaze to his challenger.

“I don’t think either of them is much concerned with your name, but you have a right to it, as you have a right to your estate and title. Six years might be a small part of a lifetime, but it was enough to give you what I had always wanted. Or thought I wanted. You’ve seen Sarah. How is she? She never answered my letters, and I haven’t heard anything from anyone going in that direction lately.”

“My aunt is well and doing comfortably. She thought I might be coming here and sends her respects. She’s a lovely lady.”

“Yes, she always was, but she wasn’t your mother. I married her because I didn’t know what else to do. Your mother was dead, you had the inheritance, it seemed the thing to do. We had some good years together, before your father died. I regret that I didn’t understand happiness wasn’t in possessing what I didn’t have, but in enjoying what I already possessed. She wanted to give me sons, but I longed for stone walls. Foolish, the things we think are important when we’re young. You’ll have the lot shortly. Tell Sarah I’m sorry I gave up the best thing in my life when I let her go. I want her to know that.”

Tears streamed down Arianne’s face as she heard the finality in his words. She clutched Galen’s handkerchief and huddled against his side. The baron’s words came so close to hitting topics she had debated with Melanie for so long, but she didn’t have the clarity of mind to examine them now. She feared for Rhys, and for his uncle, and wished there were some way to stop them. Galen’s arm was reassuring, and when he hugged her, she looked up to him with expectation.

He pressed a kiss to her forehead, then released her into Melanie’s desperate grasp before striding between the two men.

“Tell her yourself, Llewellyn. She deserves that much. Now, give me the gun before you frighten the ladies witless. I don’t know about you, but I could use a good glass of brandy right now, and if there’s any canary, I think the ladies would benefit from it.” Galen calmly appropriated the weapon, carrying it with him to the wine cabinet as he searched for glasses and the appropriate spirits, as if they had just come in from an evening at the club.

Arianne sagged with relief as Rhys grabbed his uncle and pushed him down into the desk chair, then reached for the large snifter of brandy Galen handed to him, passing it to his uncle. Melanie ran to take the next glass poured and to deliver it to Rhys. For the first time, he gazed into her pale face, and his fingers closed around her hand as he took her offering.

“I’m going to put a harness and bridle on you one of these days, my lady,” he said without inflection.

“Well, perhaps if you think of me as one of your horses, you will understand me better,” Melanie replied tartly. The tear-stains on her face belied the tone of her voice, however.

Rhys waited until Galen had handed Melanie a small glass of wine before sipping his own drink, and then his reply wasn’t directed at Melanie but at the man behind her. “Locke, I’m certain her brothers will be properly appreciative that you have managed to keep her in sight, but I think you’d better take her home now. My uncle and I have a few things we need to discuss.” He sent a quick look to Arianne. “Miss Richards, I apologize for inflicting you with this unpleasantness. Will you reserve a few minutes for me when I return this evening?”

The wine in her glass shook as Arianne absorbed the tableau playing before her. The baron stared out the window, numb to the happenings around him. Rhys stood cold and unresponsive near him, his dark eyes filled with wells of pain as he gazed over Melanie’s head to Arianne and Galen. It was Melanie’s stricken face that shattered all of Arianne’s firmly held beliefs. Melanie had discovered the anguish of love. Why hadn’t
she
seen it before?

Arianne glanced back to Rhys, noting how tightly he held his glass, how carefully he avoided looking at the distraught female before him. He was being sensible, of course. Even if by some miracle his estates could be restored to him, Rhys would still be only a baron of a small west-country property, with a scandal for the
ton
to whisper about for years to come. He no doubt would prefer to keep to his writing and his horses rather than indulge in the social whirl of London. The granddaughter of an earl could do much better than that, particularly one as lovely and wealthy as Melanie. She would be much better off with Galen.

Or would she? Melanie’s tear-stained face was turned to Arianne now, and Arianne couldn’t deny the love and hope and plea burning in her cousin’s eyes at her hesitation in replying. After the tale told here today, Arianne could no longer pretend that love wasn’t an emotion to reckon with.

She didn’t love Rhys; she had known that from the start. They might respect each other and live their lives as friends, but they would never know the passion shining in Melanie’s eyes, nor the one Rhys struggled to conceal. Who was she to destroy their happiness because of a few weak promises and a vague understanding that she wasn’t good enough for love?

Arianne met Rhys’s gaze with sympathy, and shook her head. “I think it is time that you quit pretending you aren’t good enough to have what you want, Rhys. After what you have suffered all these years, you deserve the best of everything. It’s not my time you seek.” She glanced hesitantly to Locke. “Galen, should we leave now? It wouldn’t be proper to leave Melanie ...”

Galen shook his head, meeting Rhys’s tormented gaze. “We’ll not leave yet. We’ll make ourselves comfortable in one of the rooms below until Rhys is ready to leave with us.” He turned a thoughtful gaze to Arianne. “Perhaps we could spend the time more wisely than we have in the past.”

Hope warred with fear as Melanie watched the battle of wills between her cousin and Locke. Turning to Rhys, she daringly reached out to touch his rumpled cravat, smoothing it awkwardly. He seemed frozen beneath her touch, but she thought she could feel the erratic pounding of his heart, and she looked up to find his gaze fixed hungrily on her.