The Star-Crossed Bride (13 page)

CHAPTER TEN

Emily stumbled out of bed, unwilling to believe she had been caught up in this nightmare. She must reach Valentine, now, before . . . Before what? The worst had already happened. She felt like a fly caught fast in a sticky trap. The glances that flew between her mother and Granbury even as she watched were not full of suspicion or disappointment, but collusion and self-satisfaction.

She looked toward the maids, wondering if they were part of the conspiracy or unwitting accomplices. "Mother, I did nothing. You put something in my tea so that I would sleep. I was unconscious, I didn't know .... " She babbled on for a bit more before she realized that it would do no good, and managed to sputter to a stop. Obviously if her mother had drugged her, she had done so in order to see that Granbury could be found here. The only purpose she could imagine for the countess to take such a drastic step would be to hasten the wedding date.

She looked past her mother toward the door, wondering if she could push through the maids and manage to run down the stairs and out the main door before another servant could prevent her. Maybe Valentine would turn his back on her now, but it didn't change the fact that she couldn't, wouldn't, marry the marquess, no matter what.

Outside, away from the castle, she'd be in her nightgown in the dark of night, alone, penniless. Even knowing that, somehow such a fate seemed preferable to being right here, right now. Emily's heart began a double beat.

The gleam of satisfaction in her mother's eye was frightening as the countess said with sharp disdain that Emily knew to be completely false, "I will expect you to correct this situation at once, my lord."

Almost as if he knew that Emily was now focused on the closed, but unlocked bedroom door, the marquess stirred next to her, grasping for one of her hands, keeping her by the side of the bed. "Of course. I will send my man for a special license at once. We can hold the ceremony as soon as he returns."

Emily began to protest, but stopped when Nancy gave a quick shake of her head and a wiggle of her brow. The maid's somewhat panic-stricken look reminded her that she was not the only one in danger of being found out. The better part of valor in this situation was, unfortunately, to play the properly penitent, chastened, and accepting sacrificial victim. She dropped her head and pretended to be distraught — although it was not a terribly difficult pretense to effect.

"I 'm so sorry Mother." The words came out a bit choked because she had to force them out of her unwilling throat, so she followed with a bit of sobbing, which wasn't too hard to muster, considering how dim her future suddenly looked.

What must Valentine think? Did he think her fickle, or did he suspect the marquess and her mother of subterfuge? For some reason, she trusted that he would know the truth. That he would still help her, if it were possible at this point, to rescue her at all from the fate which seemed to be crushing down upon her with the force of an avalanche.

She managed to pull her hand away from the marquess's sweaty grip, so that she could fumble a handful of nightgown to cover her face. She was afraid to let her mother know that she still had a shred of hope she might escape this in some other way than becoming the marchioness of Granbury. What she needed desperately to find out was whether Valentine would finally recognize there was only one solution to rescue her ruined reputation. Marriage. And not to the marquess of Granbury.

If Valentine did, at last, ask her to elope with him, could she do it, knowing that he would not have done so if she were not in dire straits — the alternative being an unwilling marriage to a murderer? Could she do it knowing the cost to his family if she did?

Tears sprang to her eyes and she dashed them away. For a moment she wished she could disappear like a wisp of smoke on the breeze. It seemed an easier feat than making her future somehow end up in any way bearable.

He was weary of playing the patient servant, biding his time, protecting Emily's reputation which now had yet another blot upon it. Fiance or no, Granbury had no business in her room and the servants would gossip it abroad. There had been too many in that knot for the countess to expect them to keep the news quiet. Not, of course, that he expected she'd wanted her daughter's disgrace kept quiet. No, this time she wanted the girl married, and as quickly as possible at that.

The effort of lying in his cot, waiting for Ned to fall back to sleep, waiting for the furor to settle down enough for him to go back upstairs, brought sweat out onto his forehead. Seared on his mind was the sight of Emily lying in her bed with the marquess beside her. Suddenly, all his objections to eloping with Emily were dust in his mouth. He would turn to the duke to protect his sisters if he must, pride be damned. Emily might never have a lively social life at Anderlin, but she would not be forced to bear the attentions of a monster, either. The solution seemed so clear to him now, he could only hope that he was not too late.

It was fortunate that Granbury had not given thought to the fact that the marriage laws of Scotland were different. Or perhaps he simply wanted an English marriage so no questions could ever be raised. Either way Valentine calculated that the marquess's man could not return with the special license in less than two days. Unfortunately, Granbury himself was still here, and still able to create mischief — aided and abetted by the countess, and perhaps by Nan, loyal though he had previously thought her.

At last, the house was still. Afraid to trust Nan any longer, Valentine found the set of keys himself, and hurried silently up the stairs toward Emily's room. No matter what had happened between the marquess and Emily, he was taking her away with him tonight. He paused, hand upon the doorknob. He did not need the key — the door was unlocked and slightly ajar.

He could hear the countess's voice from within and hid himself in the maid's closet just as Nancy emerged from the room.

Deep in despair, Emily watched as her mother shooed out the maids and then departed herself. To her surprise, the countess contented herself with one backward sally. "My lord, I would sigh, but . . . spilt milk and all that .... — Emily stared at the marquess, unable to believe that her mother had left him in her room. At least she had not locked the door. But did that do any good, when Granbury was between Emily and freedom? He did not look like he would let her leave, unlocked door or not.

"Should you not leave as well, my lord? After all, we will not be truly married for a few days yet."

He did not answer her directly. "Did you truly think I would let you play silly games with me, my dear? You are quite resourceful, but you are also very young." She felt as if he were toying with her, treating her as a cat might do a mouse.

It was impossible to forget what kind of man he was, what awful things he had done to young women not that very different from Emily herself. "I don't know what you mean, my lord." She edged toward her dressing table, hoping to find a bottle sturdy and large enough to serve as a weapon, should she need one.

"Of course you do. Please do not play the innocent with me. No one believes it of you any longer not after tonight."

So, the marquess had finally shed his pleasant persona. If she thought she had glimpsed malice in the garden, she knew she gazed full upon it now. For a moment, all she wanted to do was curl into a little ball and never uncurl again. But then she thought about how unfairly she was being treated. She was not chattel. And she was not a milk-and-water miss, no matter how diligently her mother had worked to mold her into one.

Emily glared back, suddenly angry at the way she was being manipulated. "After this little scenario you arranged with my mother's help, you mean?"

Her anger seemed to please him. "Ah, your temper is showing at last. But why over something so trivial? You had doubts, I put them to rest."

"To rest? Do you think I am reassured by the idea that my fiance is willing to collude with my mother to drug me and pretend — " She stopped. She had no words for what the servants thought had occurred tonight. "I can assure you I am less inclined toward this marriage now than I ever was."

"I'm sorry to hear that, especially now that you must see you have no other choice. Believe me, Emily, I just wanted to ease your maidenly concerns. Your mother warned me that you would be a difficult one to reassure. So we decided this little . . . insurance . . . was the next best way to trust that you wouldn't run away before the vows could be exchanged."

He seemed absolutely impervious to the simple fact that she did not want him for a husband. It was not only frustrating, it was exhausting.

"Why do you want a woman who doesn't want to be your wife?"

He smiled as if she were a pupil who had asked a very good question. "I told you before — I like a challenge. And I knew you would offer me an interesting one the moment I heard the gossips picking over your life."

"If you believe the gossips, my lord, you cannot possibly consider me a suitable woman to be your marchioness. Besides," she broke out in frustration, "I don't want to marry you! Why don't you understand?"

His eyes gleamed and he moved toward her. "But I understand perfectly my dear. I think the challenge of taming you should add a little spice to my life. I must say it has been unbearably dull for the last few months. Some busybodies like to tell a man how he can treat his servants. But no one dares interfere between a man and his wife."

Some of Emily's internal fire died as she remembered what he had done for entertainment in the past. Common sense dictated that stirring his anger, or his love of a good challenge, was not going to encourage him to leave her room. Why her mother had allowed him to remain here she did not want to contemplate. Emily had no doubt at all that she wanted him out. And, suddenly, she found that she was afraid to tell him so.

Coward, she chided herself, as she said, "I am not Kate and you are no Petrucchio."

"No?" He laughed softly a sound which set the hairs on the back of her neck aquiver with dread. "You have a temper. Your mother said you were biddable, but I thought I glimpsed some fire under that pretty pose."

"And you are a monster — the kind of man who murders innocent women."

His astonishment was quickly followed by an anger so cold Emily thought she might freeze in his glare. "Someone has been telling tales. Perhaps your mother is right, and this Valentine Fenster has somehow managed to catch your ear. I hope, for your sake, that he has not had the opportunity to catch more than that, though."

Shaking with fear and outrage, Emily wondered if she would, in the end, be the one to betray Valentine's presence. She tried not to let the marquess see her fear. "You are despicable."

"Yes, well. Knowing what you do, I can see where your reluctance might be a bit hard to overcome. So let me say, my dear, that you will marry me."

"And if I don't?"

"If you don't, I will see that you stand trial for the murder of the two men who did not quite make it to the altar."

That was one answer Emily could not have anticipated and it quite took the wind out of her outrage. She scoffed, "That's absurd."

"You'd be surprised, Emily, what I can accomplish with the right words in a few ears, and a little coin to ease the way."

Could he? Nonsense. "And you'd be surprised by the friends I have who could make sure that you are not believed."

"You are the one who would be surprised, my dear. But perhaps you are right. Perhaps it would be a mistake to charge you with the murders. Wouldn't it be more . . . interesting . . . to accuse Valentine Fenster, the man who tried to steal you from your home and family and now pines away in poverty, wishing he had captured his wealthy heiress?" His expression was so serene, so certain, that Emily found herself becoming convinced. But no, he was merely playing a game with her mind.

"No one would believe — "

"Of course they would. Whichever of you I choose to accuse, I can assure you, I will also ensure is convicted."

"But why — "

"As I said, I find the idea of taming you a challenge too tantalizing to miss." His eyes warned her a scant instant before he lunged toward her and grasped her arms tightly; binding them to her sides so that the bottle she held was useless as a weapon against him. She struggled for a moment, and then gave up, hoping to fool him into thinking she would not fight him any longer. But his grip remained strong as he said, "I think perhaps, even though we are anticipating the wedding by a day or two, that it is time for our first lesson in wifely duty. Climb into your bed, Emily."

Frightened by the determined look his eyes, Emily opened her mouth to scream. Though as she did so, she wondered if anyone would answer the scream even if they heard it. After all, the servants now thought she had let the marquess into her bed willingly, thanks to her mother's scheming.

But Granbury's face twisted into a snarl at her defiance, and without warning he lifted her by her arms and flung her onto her bed, forcing the air from her lungs and silencing her scream. He loomed over her saying quietly, "A wife always obeys her husband instantly."

Before she could struggle any further she saw a shadow upon the wall. Valentine stood over the marquess, his raised hand grasping a heavy candlestick, which he brought down on the marquess's head.

The marquess of Granbury proved to be an ordinary man after all, as he collapsed like a badly built house of cards, his hands slipping from her arms as he slid to the floor and lay still.

He did not spare a glance for the marquess, but instead gathered Emily to him and held her as she buried herself tightly against his chest. After the worst of her sobs had calmed, he looked down at Granbury's sprawled figure. "I should kill him."

In his arms, she tensed and grabbed at his shoulders as if to hold him back. "No — "

"I won't. I'd be no better than he is if I murdered him while he was unconscious."

"He was going to — " He held his breath as she began to speak, and then, unable to listen to what she might have to say, asked, "Has he hurt you?"