[Samuel Barbara] The Black Angel(Book4You) (39 page)

Adriana rose out of sleep by degrees, a sense of disturbance on her. Before she opened her eyes, she tried to remember what it was, what worrisome thing she had to face, and a host of confused possibilities presented themselves. The trial? The ball? For a long moment she could not even think what day it was, or what she was to do, or what bed she'd awaken in.

Tynan.

She bolted awake, her whole body protesting with varying levels of screams as she forced herself to sit up. The light was low and cool in the room—perhaps early evening, she thought, or a cloudy noonday. Who could tell? With effort, she flung back the coverlet and moved to the window, her hair spilling free, wavy from the braid she'd worn.

Absently, she put her hand over the sore, bandaged place on her arm and folded back the shutters to discover a cold, thick rain, and traffic that told her it was at least not morning.

Lightheaded, she turned to call for Fiona and spied the letter on the dresser. Her name was scrawled across the face of it in that bold, hurried hand she had not seen since he arrived at Hartwood Hall. She halted, knowing it meant he'd already left, that he'd broken his word to her. A crushing sense of loss burned in her.

But the room was cold and her feet were bare, and delaying the inevitable would not make it disappear. Mouth tight, chin high, she marched across the room, plucked up the missive and broke the seal.

My dear Adriana,

No man (or woman) can serve two masters, and that is what I have tried to do these past months. It was my own recognition of that fact that angered me this morning. In your integrity, I saw my own lack. In your willingness to fight to the death for what you believed, I saw I have only gone half measures. In your full-throated devotion to your duty, and your desire to make an accounting of your mistakes, I saw that I have run from what I must do more often than I've accounted.

Which leads me to a confession you are owed. A confession I should have given long since, one I must deliver in this way because I cannot bear to watch your face as my lie is exposed.

I cannot write it in a letter that might go astray, for much rests on my ability to maintain this fabrication. Go to Julian. He knows the truth. Please accept my apology for it in advance. I am most sincerely sorry.

It is time now for me to take up my own sword. I will await word on the method you choose for annulment of this marriage, for I wish to leave you free to pursue your own dreams and goals without the hindrance of a husband you chose in a moment of desperation. The funds, of course, will be yours to dispose of as you wish. I consider our bargain well-met, and release you from any further obligation to me.

And at last, I will say only that you have enriched my life and leant a clarity of vision I had lacked till now. I have no regrets over our time together, and hope only that I have been of some help to you as well. Most sincerely,

Tynan Spenser

Adriana sank down in her chair and closed her eyes, as if to erase what she'd read. She sat there, breathless, holding it loosely in her hands. At last she raised her eyes to her reflection. Her face was bruised and weary, but in her eyes she saw the light that had been lost. On her mouth she saw strength where once there had been weakness.

More than life itself she wanted to go after him, pack her bags and collect her maid and set off on a chase behind him, to convince him that her love was true and clear, and would weather whatever he thought threatened them. She thought of his face when he kissed her, thought of the unbearable tenderness in his eyes when they made love, thought of his easy laughter and zestful approach to living, and she knew she could not let him go so easily.

But whatever faced Tynan and whatever she faced herself were nothing in comparison to what Julian faced two days hence. Because her brother acted on her behalf, because he needed her now, she would stay. She would testify if necessary. She would stand up for him and for herself.

And then she would go to Tynan.

First, she had to see Julian.

Winter hung with frosted threat in the day, and despite her layers of clothing, Adriana was cold. Beside her, Gabriel shivered even through his greatcoat, and Adriana glanced up at him. Below his dark hat, his face was shadowed, and she glimpsed revulsion on his mouth. "Are you freezing?"

He shook his head silently, his gaze trained on the looming structure of the Tower. Ravens circled and landed, sailed off the ramparts and squalled in the dark day, lending gloom to the already threatening structure. "I hate ravens," he said. "So many ravens can't be good luck."

"I think that's the idea," Adriana replied grimly.

"Wait here," he instructed, and moved forward to talk to a guard in red and blue livery. Money exchanged hands and Gabriel waved her forward. She linked her arm through his elbow as they passed the gates and moved into the quiet walk beyond.

"It's better by day than it was by night," she commented, but it gave her the same creeping sense of despair it had the first time. "Oppressive. Julian will have nightmares for years."

"Ah, there are darker things in his memory than this," Gabriel replied.

She raised her head. "Will the two of you ever share the full scope of those adventures?"

He looked down, a sad smile on his elegant mouth. "Honestly? Not likely. I've no doubt you'll hear most over time, but never all. And do not try to dig out Julian's sorrow. He'll grieve a woman he met there forever, and it will be better to leave him to nurse that place alone."

"Will you tell me, Gabriel?"

"Perhaps." Then, as if he knew he'd grown too serious, he gave her a lively smile. "Buy enough port and I reckon I'll spill most anything."

At the foot of the stairs Gabriel halted. "Do you wish to do this alone?"

"No. Please come."

So together they ascended the narrow, circling stairs, feeling the damp and cold seep in through the walls. The guardsman unlocked Julian's door, and Adriana was relieved to see a coal fire burning on the grate. The room was drafty, but no more uncomfortable than many of the medieval rooms at Hartwood. And Julian himself appeared in good spirits, his long golden hair combed back from his freshly shaven face.

"Adriana, Gabriel!" he cried, and jumped up to embrace them, kissing his sister, punching his brother, and Adriana felt herself letting go of a breath. "What news have you brought me?" His brows beetled, and the effect was the same as ever: it lent his fair face a dark and dangerous angle. "What happened to your face, Riana? Did your husband beat you?"

She and Gabriel exchanged a glance and both laughed. "We've quite a tale to tell," Gabriel said, and launched into the story of Adriana's encounter with an enemy of Spencer, and her subsequent duel.

Julian looked disconcerted at first. "Why didn't you let Spenser or Gabriel duel on your behalf, Adriana?"

She sighed and even resorted to rolling her eyes in exasperation. "I wanted to fight my own battle, and I did. Enough, please?"

He shrugged, and Adriana pressed on. "I've come for another reason, Julian." She took out the letter from her husband and gave it to him. "What lie did he tell?"

Julian read the letter and his face emptied of all expression. The gray eyes were mirrors when he looked at her. "Did he return to his estates?"

Gabriel supplied the answer. "He has had periodic news of unrest during his sojourn here. Yesterday, a man brought the news that his glassworks had burned to the ground."

Julian glanced at the letter and nodded. He gave it back to Adriana and tucked his hands behind his back. "It is not my place to tell you."

She narrowed her eyes. "You will tell me this time, brother. I asked before and will not ask again."

"Do you wish to use his lie to remove yourself from the marriage?"

A pang of sorrow burst in her heart, and she put a hand over the place. "No! What could be so terrible that I would toss it all away?" Troubled, she looked down at the letter, at the scrawl of his handwriting over the page, and felt bereft.

"He is Catholic," Julian said.

For a moment Adriana waited for the rest, but when her brother only regarded her steadily, she cried, "That's all? He's Catholic?"

Julian nodded. "But it is more than you think, that choice. And if any learn of his affiliation, he will lose everything."

Still, Adriana could not quite take it in. "That is the secret. The whole secret," she repeated. "He's Catholic."

"Yes."

She made an exasperated noise and looked at Gabriel, who had a secretive smile on his mouth. "And this was so dreadful he could not tell me? And he left me, thinking I would reject him over that?"

Now Gabriel spoke, and his voice held the round vowels of his lecturing style. "We spoke of the question you asked me about race last night," he said.

She nodded, frowning.

"The question of his religion goes much deeper than simply what customs you will indulge as his wife. Imagine instead that Tynan is of my own race, and going to him, standing by him, meant you were also transformed. The struggle you will face is that difficult."

It was difficult to admit to such private feelings, but Adriana raised her head and met his eyes. "I was prepared to endure him only," she said at last. "And instead, he stole my heart."

"Can you stand with him, always? Take care in your answer, Adriana. He has endured much. He has given much, and will be asked to give more. His wife will be asked for the same courage." Julian bent his head and looked at his hand. On his third finger was the ruby ring that bore the family crest. "I was prepared to hate him on your behalf, and find I have grown to admire him deeply. I have not seen how you matured these past five years, Riana, but the girl we left would not be equal to being his wife."

She swallowed, stung. "Thank you ever so."

Gabriel took her hand. "You have been in here, Julian, but I've been out there. She is no more a frivolous, vain,—" He grinned at her puff of indignation. "—self-centered child. She has grown into a woman with courage and honor."

Julian seemed to take that into account, and then he inclined his head. "Then you must go to him."

She scowled. "Thank you for your permission, oh lord of mine, but I'd already intended to go to him as soon as the trial is finished. I do not need your instruction to make my choice to follow my husband. I only came to discover what secret so pains him."

"You needn't stay, Adriana. I would not ask it of you."

Gabriel grinned, that rakish, mischievous grin. "Oh, but I think she shall, brother." From within his coat he took a thin sheaf of papers. "For she's become a hero."

"What?" Adriana saw what they were and moaned. "Oh, not more satires!"

Julian laughed aloud, and behind her Gabriel joined him. She snatched the papers from Julian's hand and glared down at them.

"Madame Chevalier! Madame D'Artagnan!" Julian said, and laughed again.

Adriana gaped. There were three drawings, and all were equally flattering. In one, more skilled than the others, she was drawn straight and tall, her long braid suggested, her feminine curves downplayed, her sword arm graceful. And her opponent was sketched as a lascivious sort, eyes bulging. The caption read,
The lout learns a lesson
.

But Madame Chevalier, in spite of its greater crudeness, pleased her ever so much more. It showed her as an avenging angel, a woman dressed in man's clothing and wings, her hair streaming out behind her, and a small army of women, some in various levels of dishabille, descending from the heavens behind her. Adriana's sword was set to strike down a cowering crowd of terrified rakes.

She, too, laughed in delight. "This is priceless!" she cried. "I wonder who drew it?"

"The style is not familiar to me."

Gabriel frowned. "It is not signed, but I recognize the style. Whoever it is has a taste for radical politics."

Still smiling, Adriana imagined framing the thing, for the sheer pleasure of remembering that morning. And then a brainstorm took her. "I have an idea!" she cried, and grasped Julian's arm. "I know how we can put this all to rights."

The morning of the trial, Adriana carefully adorned herself. "Be ready, Fiona," she said as she patted the last curls of her hair into place. "I do not wish to delay until morning."

"Yes, milady."

The carriage arrived to take her and Gabriel, dressed as finely as his sister in wig and powder and the finest of morning suits. "Madame," he said, handing her up into the carriage with a wicked glint in his eye.

"Sir," she replied archly.

There was a crowd gathered before Parliament, of course. Adriana wondered if her mysterious satirist was among them. Gabriel had asked about with no luck; the artist was very careful.

As Adriana stepped out of the carriage, a cry went up, and startled, she paused, looking out. The crowd waved and called to her, "Lady Chevalier!" and some even tossed ribbons and flowers toward her. A man's handkerchief, starched and monogrammed, stuck to her sleeve, and a velvet ribbon landed across her shoulders. Instinctively, she took the standards and kissed them, grinning and waving back at them.

Gabriel offered his arm, suppressed laughter making his eyes starry and liquid. "What a fickle lot," he murmured. "One day harlot, the next heroine."

"Heroine is ever so much more enjoyable."

Within, however, her nerves came back. It was a thin crowd of Lords who gathered here today, but in their wigs and sober faces, she felt intimidated enough. In the spectator's boxes she spied Malvern's mother, her mouth pinched in a drawn face. She intended to win here today, no doubt.

Gabriel leaned over to whisper, "None of her lovers are here!"

She scanned the crowd and discovered it was true. In excitement, she squeezed his arm, willing herself not to smile. They'd obviously chosen to opt out of the process.

The trial proceeded smoothly. A statement of the charges, along with a long, emotional oratory by one of the members about the scourge of dueling and the cost of it in terms of young men's lives, and the need to halt it, for good. By the time the speech was finished, impatience was rife—the members wanted to be done with this spectacle. The case against Julian was presented straightforwardly, a cold-blooded murder, this, since Malvern himself was very drunk and the duel should have been avoided.