Love's Vengeance (60 page)

“Stephen…” she began but he grasped her hand, leading her out and closing the door. “Stephen what happened? You are bleeding.” she stated, gesturing to his temple.”

Stephen wiped the blood away with annoyance from the grazing shot Parks had delivered to him, “Bridgett, where is Monet?”

“Inside. Why?” her voice was a whisper, matching his own.

“It was him Bridgett. Monet was behind her parents death, the burning of the house, the pirates—all of it. Including the miscreants I just met in the woods who admitted that their sole purpose was to stop me or Captain Greaves from getting to Desiree. Greaves came with word at my home.”

“No it cannot be. Not Jacques. We have known him for years. He has known Desiree her entire life.” Bridgett said in disbelief.

“Trust me Bridgett, I am certain.” He assured.

“Oh my God!” Bridgett gasped, “He is living here—in this very house.”

“Bridgett exactly where is he now?”

“I believe he was on his way to the kitchen to fix tea for Desiree. Around back, there is a door.”

“Stay out of sight until I call for you. Do you understand?”

Bridgett nodded and Stephen started around the side of the manor. Bridgett stood for a moment, then unable to simply stand and do nothing, hurried toward the stables, taking a route through the trees.

***

Stephen silently mounted the back porch stairs, peering through a window into the kitchen. He was surprised that his adversary would be so small a man. The man stood at a counter, stirring a cup of tea with his back to the door and Stephen released the hammer on his flintlock, tucking it into the waistband of his breeches, seeing no need for such force with one so low in stature. He slowly and silently, opened the door, slipping inside.

“So—you have been here all along, under the same roof as your victim.” Stephen hissed and the man spun around with a start to face him.

“Who are you?” Jacques asked in English, “What do you want?”

“My name is Stephen Colter.”

“Oh I see…” Jacques chuckled, “A little late to be honorable—Desiree bore your bastard days ago.”

“No I am here for more than that Monet. I seem to have helped to thwart your plans concerning Desiree. Macintosh, Red Legs, Kirwood—your two men I just met out in the woods. Any of this ring a bell?”

“Of course! Desiree gave us those names as well as your own—for your part in her woe.”

“It is all out Monet, you were behind all the attempts to harm Desiree.” Stephen hissed coldly, wanting nothing more than to take the life of this arrogant scum.

“The only harm that Desiree has come to has been at your hands Colter. You are lunatic, for I have no idea what you are talking about.” Jacques laughed, turning back to the counter.

“Is that so? Well I am confidant that the authorities shall be very convinced by the time I am through.”

“I have nothing to hide.” Monet chuckled, taking the cup of tea from the counter and sitting at the table casually, “Call for the authorities, I shall await them!” he eyed Stephen coolly.

Stephen moved back to the door, calling for Bridgett while keeping his eyes on Monet. Bridgett peeked around the corner with several stable hands at her side, “Send someone for the authorities.” Stephen ordered, “They will also find one man I left in the woods east of the house and a dead body, friends of Monet. Please collect them for the authorities as well.”

Bridgett spoke in French to the men and Georges’ gestured he would go for the authorities, taking his leave, while two others headed for the woods and the others entered the kitchen. Bridgett watched Monet warily and he smiled kindly at her, “Bridgett! I am not a criminal, this man is demented.” Jacques laughed.

Stephen removed the gun from his waistband and with a foot upon a chair, held the handle loosely within his grasp, “No Monet, you are demented. It has all come out. Captain Greaves learned enough to put you at the root of every crime. The men I just was introduced to in the woods, the one named Jones, I was given his name by Greaves and he just confirmed to me that he was hired to file the axles and burn the house and the other told me before I sent him to meet his maker that his orders were to bring you my head on a platter. Murder—arson—piracy—kidnapping. You shall most assuredly be spending the rest of your life in the goal or face death for your deeds. So why don’t you just tell me why? Why did you wish Desiree and her family dead?”

Monet finished the tea and stood, moving to the window, while the group watched him in anticipation.

“Very simple. I would inherit her fortune in the event of her death. Her father was a trusting fool you see. Making me executor of his will and leaving his estate in trust, with myself as sole trustee until Desiree reached her twenty first birthday and then joint trustee’s from then on. Do you know what I received—in return for my years of service? One quarter—one quarter of his wealth!” he laughed caustically, “But in the event of his death, the estate would be paid to the trust for Desiree’s benefit. In the event of Desiree’s death, the entire fortune would be paid to the trust of which, again, I had control. Her father felt that in this way, Desiree would be safe—would not be taken by some scoundrel, out for her money, because it would be safely in trust and under my joint care, regardless.”

Bridgett sobbed, dashing from the room and Monet turned to Stephen.

“So very simple.” Monet chuckled and then loosened his stock.

His face was oddly ashen, Stephen noted, and a beading of perspiration had broken out upon his brow.

“It appears as though I won’t be awaiting the authorities after all.” He sat heavily in a chair and produced a handkerchief, mopping at his brow, “I hadn’t realized how quickly this takes effect.” he pointed to the empty cup, “It is very rapid.”

“What are you talking about?” Stephen pointed the black bore of his pistol in Monet’s direction.

“The tea—poison.” Monet laughed, then a slight tremor shook his frame, “It was meant for Desiree but since I seemed to be in a need of a way out, I felt it a good option.” He smiled at Stephen’s shocked expression, “Surprised? See—therein lies the beauty of it. I have been using a harmless emetic to induce the symptoms of illness and this…” he pointed to the cup, “Would have been the
piece de resistance
—a very undetectable, very deadly main dish. No one would have suspected; just accepted, that the mysterious malady had finally taken its toll. I had hoped to be rid of her and your bastard at once, until the unexpected early arrival—but then one so small would have been easy enough to do away with.” He grinned.

Stephen could easily see the insanity in his eyes and had no doubt that the hideous scheme he described was the truth, “You!” Stephen pointed to one of the boys, “A doctor—quickly.” He commanded in broken, halting French.

“Oh she will be fine, starvation is her only plight. The drug has no lasting effects.” Monet said casually, then shuddered and fell from his chair. His body contorted in convulsions, his back arching at an odd angle. His breathing became labored and he moaned and wreathed in agony.

“Captain what happened?” Bridgett gasped, pushing through the swinging door and stopping when she saw Jacques upon the floor, with Stephen standing over him.

“Poison! He poisoned himself! It was meant for Desiree. This very day he had planned to do away with her!” Stephen ground out, “The doctor is on his way for Desiree. He’s been using some drug on her Bridgett.”

Stephen was digging through the man’s coat pockets and retrieved a small empty vial, “This!” he held up the vial and then placed it upon the table, “This was the deadly end to his game. He has been using an emetic to cause her symptoms, for weeks now. You must relay that information to the doctor.”

Monet sputtered and choked, and then lay still and his body relaxed. Stephen stooped over him again and felt for a pulse at his neck, feeling none. He rose and then said softly, “He’s dead. Bridgett where is she?”

“Upstairs, the second door on the right.” Bridgett whispered.

Stephen started to push through the heavy swinging door but Bridgett spoke his name, stopping him mid stride and he turned back in the doorway.

“She has been deathly ill. You will be shocked at her appearance—I want you to be prepared.”

***

Stephen entered the room, after a light knock was not answered. He stopped short, when his eyes fell on the small still form upon the bed and he took a moment to survey her condition as she slumbered. The large beautiful eyes that haunted him each night in his dreams were closed, with deep circles marring her beauty. Her delicate features were ashen gray, thin and gaunt. The sheets were drawn up close about her body but one finely boned hand lay upon the pillow beside her face and the other lay across her midriff. The pale peach ruffle of her long sleeved gown showed the pallor of her skin in contrast. She was deep in sleep but it was not a peaceful sleep. She looked pained and her breathing seemed labored and shallow.

He silently moved to the bed, taking a seat in a chair already positioned at her side.

“Oh my love,” he whispered, taking her hand that lay limp upon the pillow and holding it within his own. If not for the warmth of her flesh, she could be taken for dead, her state was so severe. He lightly kissed her fingers and held her hand to his chin, as he drank in the beauty that, just months ago, he had believed he would never behold again in his lifetime.

He thought bitterly that he had feared he would arrive and find her in danger. He had feared he would be too late and she may be already lost to him, but this—this sight had never crossed his mind. To see her so still and helpless, so near death, brought panic to the surface as his eyes roamed over the delicate features.

“I won’t lose you Desiree—I cannot live without you.” He confessed aloud fearfully.

She began to stir and groaned with a furrowing of her brows. Her eyes fluttered and then opened and locked with his. At first—she simply stared, not understanding that what she was seeing was even real.

He smiled, looking into those violet depths he knew so well, “I love you.” He whispered, “You look as if you are seeing a ghost but I’m here and I love you.” He declared, resting his arm upon the pillow beside her and stroking her hair gently, while he held her hand to his lips for a kiss.

Desiree feared she
was
dreaming, those dreams of his presence in this very room, that tormented her. But this was really him—Stephen—here by her side—no dream had ever been so beautiful. He was more handsome than she even remembered. His eyes a deeper brown, his hair a lighter blond, his face lean and chiseled. Tears traced down her temples, clinging to her hair. Her lips trembled with an effort to speak some light greeting but the months of longing, of words unspoken, of pain and sorrow and loneliness, brought her words from her very soul in an anguished rush.

“I have prayed to see you once more—to have just one chance to beg your forgiveness for the pain and past crimes against you Stephen and to have just one moment in your presence to tell you—I love you.” She reached out to touch his face and a kiss was pressed to her palm, “Oh Stephen—please, please say you will forgive me—so that I may die without the weight of this guilt and with an end to my torment.”

“Shhhh..gently love” he shook his head, soothing the hand that clutched his, “You are not dying.”

“That last argument.” Desiree continued ignoring the words she had heard so often of late, “I wanted to tell you I loved you so desperately that day and now I have wasted all those precious moments we might have shared…”

“No sweet, we shall have a lifetime of moments.”

“No!” she moaned, “Stephen look at me! I am at death’s door—I feel it—I see it on the faces of all around me! Bridgett, Mary, my friends, they all speak lightly with false hope and turn away in tears, thinking I don’t see. Please don’t fill me with those same false hopes! Not now…not you! I must begin to say my farewells, for if I cling to life, then soon my time will be spent and my voice silenced forever.”

“Please listen to me sweetheart it was…” he began, attempting to bring her relief from her anguish but she interrupted.

“Oh Stephen! My baby—your baby!” she looked wildly into his eyes, “You have a baby daughter Stephen, she is so tiny—so beautiful. Please promise me you shall do what you are able, to ensure her happiness.”

He reached out with both hands, holding her face, forcing her to hear his words, “Desiree we shall both see to our child’s happiness; you are not dying! It was Monet, he is behind this illness; he was behind everything! Red Legs came with the news.”

Desiree shook her head, “No! No one can be behind an illness…”

“Yes—yes one can, if the illness is induced. Poison, he has been giving you a drug. But the effect is not lasting, I swear it. You shall recover. Monet admitted everything moments ago, admitted to your parents murder, the house—before he took his own life with the very cup of death he had planned for you this day.”

“How can this be? Then Kirwood? My kidnapping?”

“It was all Monet love. He was insane, twisted in his mind.”

As the reality set in, her sobs began anew, “But how could he?” she cried, “He took such care that I was well guarded. He has been so close to me—he always has, ever since I was a little girl; and this last year living right here—slowly taking my life and almost the life of my child…”

“Shhh…” he kissed a tear at her temple, “Don’t think of it Desiree, it’s over and you shall be well again. Please love try to rest and let me do the talking because I have so much I need to say to you.” He paused, holding her hand to his lips and his voice was deep and husky, his eyes sparkling with emotion, when he finally began. “I have been tormented also Desiree by so many things but—that day when you left, our last bitter argument…”

“Stephen we were both at fault. I should have told you that day I loved you instead of the hurtful things I said.” Desiree interrupted, with her own tears welling up again, “I didn’t think you wanted me...”

“And you were desperate to get away and keep your secret.” Stephen finished for her.