An Unlikely Alliance (17 page)

A footman approached her. “The gentleman asked me to tell you that he is waiting for you in the studio,” he said.

Alexander must have discovered something he wished to discuss with her in private. Magda thanked the footman and made her way to the studio. Earlier it had been the center of activity, yet now it was deserted. She took a few steps in and hesitated. The servant had said the studio, had he not?

The door shut behind her and Magda whirled, every sense alert.

“We meet again, Mademoiselle.” It was Le Duc d’Aiguillon. For the first time in their acquaintance he was dressed soberly, all in black except for his white linen shirt. Gone, too, were the jeweled pumps and elaborate powdered wig that he normally favored. If he had not spoken, Magda would not have recognized him.

“I beg your pardon,” she said. “I was expecting someone else.”

“Did you not get my message?” he asked, a sardonic smile on his lips. All of the revulsion that she had felt before in his presence came flooding back full force. There was something about him, something about his somber appearance, that made him seem sinister and menacing.

“I had almost convinced myself that you knew nothing. That you were an imposter, and that Madame Katerina’s talents had gone with her to the grave. But then I saw you studying the picture of my nephew and I realized that I was wrong.”

“Your nephew?”

“The late Duc d’Aiguillon,” he said. “Surely you haven’t forgotten him? Or the dreadful scene that your mother caused at his funeral?”

The memories came flooding back and Magda gasped with horror as she made the connection. Now she remembered who d’Aiguillon was, and how he had met her mother. His nephew, the young duke, had been scarcely older than herself when he died. She remembered her mother’s friends talking about what a tragedy it was, how the gallant uncle had rescued the orphan from the revolutionaries in France and brought him to England. And now the boy was dead of a putrid fever.

Her mother had never met the young duke, but had agreed to accompany a friend to his funeral. Magda had not been allowed to attend, but she remembered how upset her mother had been when she returned. “Wickedness, vile wickedness,” her mother had muttered, but she had refused to explain. Instead she had sent a message to Bow Street requesting a meeting with the magistrate. Later that evening she went out, never to return.

“Ah, I see your memory has improved. I have often wondered what it must be like, seeing glimpses of the past and the future,” he continued, his tone as mild as if they were conversing on the weather. “A skeptic myself, I did not believe those who claimed your mother had such a gift. That is, until the day of my nephew’s funeral, and her melodramatic swoon when she touched the casket. When she was revived, she looked at me with such burning hatred that I realized she knew everything.”

“You killed him.”

“Of course. My brother Jean was a weakling. He should never have been the duke. I saw the revolution coming years before and had moved my fortune to England. But Jean would not listen until it was too late. When I finally returned to France, I found his wife was pregnant and too weak to travel swiftly. It was easy to play on my brother’s fears until he begged me to take young Henri to safety.”

D’Aiguillon smiled at the memory of his cleverness. “My brother and his wife were to follow along as best they could. But alas, somehow the revolutionaries learned of their travel plans. They were captured and executed. Naturally I was desolated, but I managed to bear on and bring the young duke to safety in England. It made me quite the hero, the dashing aristocrat who had rescued his nephew from certain death. After that I just had to bide my time.”

It was an incredible tale and yet she did not doubt for one moment that it was true. “No one suspected anything?”

“Why should they? Everyone knew how devoted I was to young Henri. Everything went beautifully until your mother decided to interfere in my affairs.”

Her breath caught in her throat as she realized where his story was leading. “So you decided she had to die as well?”

“Of course. Once I was certain that she had told no one else of what she had guessed.”

This was the man who had killed her mother. Magda stared at him, wondering how someone so evil could appear so ordinary. But her anger toward him was tempered by the shadow of fear as she realized that she, too, was in danger.

“She wasn’t the only one who suspected you, but the authorities needed proof of your crimes,” Magda lied. “You overreached yourself when you decided to come after me. My friends have been watching your every move and it is only a matter of time before they arrest you.”

She opened the fan and gently fanned her face as if unconcerned over her safety. But fear was growing in her. Where was Alexander? Why hadn’t he come for her?

“A bold speech, but I know better,” he said. “Your precious Lord Kerrigan has already been attended to.”

Magda gasped, unable to contain her shock. Alexander! She hoped fervently that no harm had come to him. Reason told her that he could take care of himself, but her imagination painted pictures of Alexander lying dead or bleeding in some alley.

“Oh yes,” he said. “Did you think me so stupid that I would fall into such an obvious trap? Naturally I would have preferred to handle this matter discreetly, but you and your meddling have made that impossible. But once you are disposed of, the matter will come to an end. Your companions lack proof—otherwise they never would have resorted to this pathetic cat and mouse game.”

He lifted his cane and pulled on the handle, revealing the swordstick that had been concealed inside. He pointed the sword directly at her. “And now, Mademoiselle, I think it time you joined your
chère maman
as another of the mysteries of London,” he said, gesturing toward the French doors that led out into the garden. “Unless you would prefer that I dispose of you here?”

Magda hesitated. The swordstick looked all too deadly, and she had no doubt that Le Duc was prepared to use it should she refuse to cooperate. She took a few slow steps toward the garden doors, playing for time in the hope that someone would come into the studio. But no one came. She drew a deep breath, preparing to scream.

“Don’t even think about it,” her captor said, the sharp point of the swordstick touching the back of her neck.

The touch made her shiver. She continued, stopping as she reached the doors.

“Open them.”

To her dismay the doors opened on a deserted garden, surrounded by a low brick wall. There was a gate set in the wall and a carriage waiting in the lane opposite the gate. “Very good, Mademoiselle. Now hurry along. We don’t want to keep my carriage waiting,” Le Duc said.

As she took her first step onto the terrace, an arm reached out and a hand locked around her right forearm, plucking her from danger.

“The lady is not going anywhere with you,” Alexander said, drawing her to his side and placing his left arm around her. In the other hand he held a lethal-looking pistol.

Magda sagged against him in relief. “Alexander! I thought you were injured. Or worse.”

“Not for lack of trying,” he said, his eyes firmly fixed on d’Aiguillon. Glancing up, she could see that Alexander’s hair was disarranged and there was the beginning of a nasty bruise on his chin. But he was real and solid and his arm around her was a comforting anchor of stability in a world gone mad.

Le Duc d’Aiguillon glanced around the garden, then took a step back into the library, as if to retreat.

A voice came from the library. “Just keep on walking, Monsoor Duke,” Bob Parker said. “Nothing would make me happier than having an excuse to plug you where you stand.”

The Frenchman wisely stood still.

“Now drop your fancy sword like a good chap,” Bob said.

Le Duc showed no emotion at this sudden turn of events. With a careless flick of his wrist he tossed the swordstick away from him. It landed point first in the garden, the blade vibrating slightly from the force of the throw. “I am a well-respected member of the court in exile and an adviser to the rightful king,” he said haughtily. “You can not hold me. You have no proof. And what fool would believe a lying Gypsy slut over the word of a nobleman like myself?”

How dare he! Magda itched to slap his face, but Alexander’s arm restrained her. Instead Alexander gave a sharp whistle, repeating the sound twice. The garden gate opened and two of Bob Parker’s cronies entered.

“I think you’d be quite surprised at what people will believe,” Alexander said. “Particularly since both Bob Parker and I heard you confess to two murders. You’ll find that English justice takes a very poor view of foreigners who commit mayhem on our soil.”

She hadn’t been alone, after all. He had been there the whole time, protecting her, just as he had promised, and she felt ashamed of her earlier doubts.

The runners laid hands on the Duc. Magda forced herself to look at her mother’s killer. Staring into his eyes, she saw no trace of regret, only icy fury at having been apprehended. This was no man. This was a monster.

“You can leave things to us, my lord,” Bob Parker said. “Bow Street has its own score to settle with this one. We’ll be sure to take good care of him…to see that he makes it to the hanging.”

“You did very well,” Alexander said, uncocking his pistol and placing it back in his pocket as the criminal was led away. “Please convey my regards to your superiors and be certain that I will inform them of my appreciation as well.”

“Thank you, my lord,” Bob said. “But this one was a pleasure.” His gaze softened as he turned to look at Magda. “It took us a while, but we finally got our man.”

“Yes, you did,” she said, breaking free of Alexander’s arm. She gave Bob an awkward hug and planted a kiss on his cheek, causing the old runner to blush. “I can’t ever begin to thank you.”

Bob mumbled that it was nothing as he followed his men and their prisoner.

“What about me?” Alexander asked. “Don’t I get at least a thank you?”

He looked so pleased with himself that she grew angry as she remembered how worried she had been over his safety. “You! Where were you? What was the meaning of making me wait like that? I nearly died of fright, thinking that I was all alone with that monster.”

“But if I had broken in earlier, it would have ruined everything,” he said as if explaining the obvious. “D’Aiguillon would never have boasted to you of his cleverness. Without his admission of guilt, we had nothing against him. But you were never in any real danger. I was just outside and I knew Bob Parker was there, behind the stack of unfinished canvasses.”

How could he be so calm? His words made sense, but her insides were boiling with a mixture of emotions; she seized on anger as being the one most familiar. “I suppose now you will say that you knew it was him all this time?”

She needed to be angry. If she stayed angry she could push aside the grief that was beginning to stir as she realized that she had come face-to-face with the man who had robbed her of her childhood when he murdered her mother.

His face turned serious again, the teasing light fading from his blue eyes. “Honestly? I was as surprised as anyone when we realized that d’Aiguillon was our man. Even after he sent his thugs to get me out of the way, I still wasn’t sure it was him till I heard him speaking with you.”

She shivered with the memory of those moments. Alexander drew her to him, enfolding her in his arms and pressing her head against his chest. “It is over now,” he said, one hand gently brushing back the strands of hair that had fallen on her face. She clung to him, wrapping her arms around him and wishing she could stay there forever, safe in the circle of his embrace.

“The lads have just left with their prize,” she heard a voice say. Turning her head slightly, she saw Luke coming through the gate into the walled garden. “I suggest you depart through the side door as well. Lawson and the last of his guests are under the impression that you departed quite some time ago.”

“Understood,” Alexander said, but he did not move.

Magda closed her eyes briefly, trying to comprehend all that had happened. It was finished, she told herself, and yet she could not bring herself to feel the joy this should bring.

“We have done it. It is finally over,” she said aloud, but the words held no conviction. She could have stood there, clinging to Alexander and absorbing his strength, forever. But it was not right, and she forced herself to draw back from his embrace. “We had best leave.”

“I will take you home,” he promised.

If only he could. But she no longer knew where home was.

Le Duc d’Aiguillon would never again trouble Magda, and Alexander felt a cold satisfaction at having stopped the vicious killer. A part of him regretted that the Frenchman had surrendered so tamely, rather than giving Alexander an excuse to settle his account personally. But he had faith that d’Aiguillon would find English justice to be merciless and lethal.

His satisfaction over d’Aiguillon’s capture was marred by his puzzlement at Magda’s lack of reaction. Not that he had expected her to fall on him with gratitude, showering him with kisses and praise for his bravery. But instead she merely expressed mild satisfaction, and then had retreated into herself.

He studied her face, but the closed expression gave him no hint as to what she was thinking. She resisted his attempts to draw her out until finally he left her in peace, holding one of her hands in his, lending his support. He resolved to be patient with her. After all, she had just survived an encounter with the man who had murdered her own mother and tried to end her own life. It was no wonder she needed time to come to grips with these emotions.

He drew the carriage to a halt.

“Why have we come here?” she asked.

He blinked in surprise, realizing that he had driven them to his residence rather than returning her to the Stanthorpes’. It was an odd mistake to make, and the only excuse was his absorption with his passenger.

But he would not admit to woolgathering in front of Magda. “If I appear at Lady Stanthorpe’s as I am now, it will only cause talk,” he said, improvising rapidly. “Come inside while I let Perkins fetch me a new coat.”