Wildblossom (51 page)

"Perhaps people may expect you to live at Aylesbury Castle now that you are duke, Your Grace," Parmenter wondered.

"This is my home." He looked at the paintings, illumined by gaslights built into the balcony walls. "I remember now, Parmenter. You may leave us."

It was eerie for both Shelby and Geoff to stand on the balcony, overlooking the arched hall with its priceless linen-fold paneling, and realize that on the morrow their lives and families would be joined. Together they examined the paintings made nearly five centuries ago by the third Marquess of Sandhurst.

"This is Andrew Weston, my ancestor." He pointed at a man who could have passed for Geoff himself but for the jeweled doublet with its slashed, puffed sleeves. "And this is Micheline, his wife."

A strange chill coursed down Shelby's spine. Indeed, this woman bore a strong resemblance to her, though her hair was a bit lighter. Their eyes were the same, though: lively and determined.

There were children. Two, then four. Paintings of Micheline with her children. A whimsical portrait of a spotted spaniel. Horses.

"They bred horses," Geoff murmured.

"How romantic!" She paused before the spaniel. "Why don't you have dogs?"

"I do. They're in the kennels, next to the stables."

"Geoff, it's time to make this house a home again!" Shelby's voice rose, impassioned. "The gardens need to be tended so that they have character again. The rooms here must be furnished with regard to history, not passing fashions like those potted palms! And the dogs should be in the house where we can enjoy them!"

"We could fill the stables again," he said, catching the spark of her enthusiasm. "Sandhurst Manor could be a stud farm. Horse racing is all the rage in England now; it could ensure our financial security."

Shivering with excitement, Shelby wrapped her arms around Geoff's chest and they held on tight to one another.

"I never thought to have this feeling for my heritage," he said in soft wonderment. "It's taken you to awaken bits of me I never knew could live."

"I'm delighted to hear it." She turned her face up to his kiss as the tall-case clock in the hall below struck midnight. "Goodness! I had better had get my beauty sleep if I'm going to be a proper bride."

"Maybe you'd sleep better in my bed...."

"What in the world put that notion in your head?"

"Wishful thinking, I perceive." Geoff smiled ruefully. "I suppose I can wait one more night."

"Pleasure postponed is pleasure enhanced, Your Grace!"

* * *

As Shelby and Geoff were kissing good night in the doorway to her suite of rooms, Charles was next door, sitting on the edge of Vivian's bed with his arm carefully placed around her shoulders.

"Shh! They'll hear us!" Viv cautioned.

"Darling, there's no cause for alarm. I'm quite certain our friends would be delighted to know that our romance is progressing so nicely."

"But it's only been a few months!" Her face was pale and anxious. "That is, of course I care for you, but that does not mean I can allow you to take liberties—"

"But, I love you, Vivian. I know you were hurt by that man you had to marry. I think of you as a bird with a broken wing, and I hope that with my gentleness and caring, you'll learn to fly again. I respect you, and I would
never
do anything to hurt you!" They had spent nearly this entire evening alone, and Charles had had such high hopes that, at last, his beloved would allow more than a chaste kiss. Every ounce of his being longed to shower her with tenderness and kindness, to enfold her body in his arms, to attain a level of intimacy in keeping with the feelings he knew they shared. "Vivian... I am not asking for... favors. I only hope for some sign that you care for me—"

"Oh, I do!" Tears sprang to her eyes, and suddenly her hands went out to him, clutching at his sleeves. "I love you, Charles!" Then, horrified by her own audacity, she drew back. "I'm just not ready yet."

"Vivian, darling, I love you, too!" Long-suppressed passions boiled up inside him. "Please... please..."

His dark eyes were feverish with need, and she thought, Just one kiss... I've done that before.... Squeezing her eyes tightly shut, she puckered her lips, and his mouth touched hers, carefully.

When she didn't protest, Charles drew her into his arms. He made a tremendous effort to hold back, to remember that Viv was nothing like the women he'd made love to before, and he must not let his body overpower his mind. Was she softening? Another kiss, and Viv seemed to relax. Her hand touched his back.

"My darling," Charles muttered, "I have never cared for anyone this way. I ache, night and day, to prove my love to you."

Forget about Bart! This is different!
And for a moment Viv felt it. Charles was tender and dear. She tentatively returned his embrace, and then his arms tightened, his lips parted, his breath grew ragged, and a silent scream rose from the depths of her soul.

Although Vivian made no sound, her torment somehow reached Charles through the haze of his own physical need. When he looked at her, he saw such raw terror in her blue eyes that it dawned on him that her problems were deeper than anything he could simply persuade her to forget.

"Please,
don't make me
—" Vivian choked when she found her voice.

"Of course not!" he replied, aghast. "Never! I love you and I will wait for you to trust me." And yet, a stain of sadness spread within him as he wondered if that day could ever come. "Viv, dear, I believe I'll pop on over to the inn and stay there with the others. Would that be all right?"

Her relief was evident. "Yes." She was breathing hard in the aftermath of her panic. "I'll be better tomorrow, Charles."

"I know, love."

She was lying across the bed, weeping for them both, when she heard the Sunbeam Mabley chug to life out in front. It was a curious-looking, noisy motorcar, and Charles had to travel a fair distance down the road before the sound died away completely.

Drained and dry-eyed at last, Viv rose off the grand four-poster bed and went into her bathroom to wash her face. When she closed the door, she saw Bart Croll sitting on the edge of the claw-footed bathtub.

It's another vision—like all the other times....

Certain she'd only imagined him again, she stifled her screams because she didn't want to disturb the house. By the time it came to her that he was
real,
Bart had grabbed her in a punishing grip and forced a gag into her mouth.

"You'd of been better off with that pretty limey, bitch." He took another of the silk ties he'd stolen from Geoff's closet and bound her hands. Then he leaned right up to her face, staring with his black, burning eyes, and he smiled. "Didn't you believe me when I said you could never get away from me? You didn't really think you could
kill
me, didja? Now you're gonna have to pay for tryin'."

Vivian wished she could die at that instant. He pulled her along with him back into the bedroom, and the sight of the bed filled her with horror. But Bart had other things on his mind, and at first Viv was grateful for the reprieve.

"I got a cast-iron belly," he said, then pointed to the pistol stuck in the waistband of his trousers and laughed at the pun. "I was sick for a couple days, but then it passed—and the only thing I cared about was makin' you hurt like you did me."

Don't you know you already had?
she thought, but she couldn't speak, and the pitiful look in her eyes was familiar to him.

"Let's see." He pretended to think, scratching his stubbled cheek. "What are you scared of, woman?" His eyes scraped her soul again. "How 'bout a little fire? You still have bad dreams about that fire that kilt yer family?"

While she stood there, trembling, Bart rolled a cigarette, then lit it with a delicate oil lamp Charles had placed on the bedside table for atmosphere.

"Trouble is," he growled, exhaling the strong smoke, "I don't want to just pay
you
back, I want yer fancy friends to suffer, too! The minute they showed up next door to my ranch, things started goin' wrong. You think I don't know they made you try to
kill
me?" He was snarling now, puffing madly on the cigarette. "I
hate
them folks! Luckily, I been learnin' my way around this place, and I know just how to pay alla you back. We're gonna make a nice big fire, Viv, just you 'n' me. Won't that be
fun!" He cackled, coughed, crushed the cigarette on the rosewood table, then picked up the oil lamp. Grasping her thin waist, he yanked her along behind him. "C'mon, bitch."

Viv had made herself go numb, just as she had back in the sod house in Wyoming. She followed him obediently, glassy-eyed, through long corridors.
It's only death,
she thought.
It'll be over soon.
She prayed that the others would be able to escape. It was fortunate that Geoff's suite of rooms was on the ground floor and everyone else had gone to the inn. The servants were far away in their own wing. Geoff would rescue Shelby—

Throwing open a door, Bart pushed Viv onto a staircase landing. Below them sprawled the manor's magnificent great hall; above was the railed balcony that bisected the two-story walls. Bart's oil lamp sent wavering orange shadows over the hand-carved paneling and heirlooms that marked the progress of six centuries of Sandhurst nobility.

"Looks like this place'll go up like tinder-dry sagebrush in August." Bart smiled at the oil lamp and drew off the glass chimney. "Ain't this fun, Viv?"

* * *

After Geoff had left Shelby at her door, she postponed sleep in favor of looking over everything she'd need tomorrow. Her gown was exquisite; fashioned of four different kinds of delicate lace. Her veil would be secured by an understated tiara that had belonged to the seventh Marchioness of Sandhurst. Finally, Consuelo's gift had been luxurious Parisian lingerie for Shelby to wear under her wedding gown.

Her inventory of the bridal accessories was interrupted by the sound of an automobile starting up out in the drive.
Who could it be? Crossing to her windows, Shelby drew back the curtains and dimly made out the figure of a man who appeared to be Charles Lipton-Lyons, chugging off in the Sunbeam Mabley down the long, moonlit drive.

Immediately she worried about Viv. Had something gone wrong between them? Perhaps she should go and say good night and they could have a last bedtime chat, just as they had each night when they lived together in the camp village.

Shelby had just opened her door when she was assailed by second thoughts. Viv might already be asleep. After all, it was nearly one o'clock and they all were tired. Or she and Charles might have actually had a romantic experience together and she was enjoying the afterglow.

Shelby admonished herself not to be so nosy. But what was that smell? The unmistakable odor of strong cigarette smoke made her nose twitch. Then, in the next instant, she instinctively knew that it was Bart Croll. It didn't make any sense, but Shelby knew. She turned out her lights and waited, listening. Voices came to her. Viv's door opened and Shelby caught a faint, sour, unwashed whiff that was unmistakably Bart.

Oh, dearest Viv!
Her eyes stung in empathy, but she couldn't allow herself tears. She remained completely still, listening, watching as Croll emerged into the passageway, an oil lamp in one hand while he pulled Viv along with the other.

Shelby waited until they turned a corner at the end of the corridor, then she bent next to her bed in the darkness. Underneath she had stowed her valuable guns from the Wild West Show. Most of them were either shotguns or rifles converted to use shot, because Colonel Cody considered long-distance bullets too dangerous around such a big audience. However, she still had the Winchester repeating rifle she'd practiced with on the ranch. It would serve her needs well enough tonight.

Grimly, she loaded the rifle and slipped extra shells into her pocket, then crept out into the corridor.

Sandhurst Manor was a virtual rabbit warren of passageways, but luckily Bart had left his stench for her to follow. She was just passing the last suite of guest rooms when a door suddenly flew open and frightened Shelby so much that she thought her heart might burst.

"What in heaven's name are you doing? What's happening?" It was Edith, decked out in a lavish, beribboned, lace-trimmed combing gown. He white hair was lying across her bosom in two long braids. "Something's wrong, isn't it? Oh, my! Why are you carrying that hideous gun?"

The moment she opened her mouth, Shelby had pushed her back inside her rooms, closing the door behind them. "For God's sake, hush up! I'll brook no argument from you on this matter, Your Grace. There is a man here in the manor at this moment who means us all harm. You must stay in here and not make a sound until I have—disposed of him."

"But—this is unthinkable! You cannot do this! Geoffrey must be summoned—"

"Geoff's rooms are downstairs. This villain came into Vivian's bedchamber, which adjoins mine, and he has taken her hostage. Geoff can't hear us or help us now; you'll have to trust me." Shelby started to open the door again, then glanced back at her goggling future mother-in-law. "You may wish to admit that it's not so terrible that I'm a sharpshooter. I'm the best person to have on hand at this moment; better in fact than Geoff!"