Susan Carroll (49 page)

Phaedra bit down hard upon her knuckle,
drawing blood. She ought to hate him, this madman who had destroyed
her child. Yet she could fell nothing but horror at his twisted
logic, his mind diseased past all healing.

She cowered back when he advanced upon her,
but he only stroked her cheek. It was like a caress from the grave.
Her friend Jonathan was dead, and now some demented stranger was
using his gentle voice and soft eyes to terrify her.

“You must put everything behind you now,
Phaedra. You are safe. No one will find you here."

No, that couldn't be true. James. Hadn't
Jonathan said earlier that James was looking for her? Her lashes
swept down to conceal that hope, but with the cunning of madness,
Jonathan seemed to read her mind.

"No one," he repeated. "Not even the Marquis
de Varnais. I will see to that."

Phaedra could hardly speak for the fear
strangling her. ”What are you going to do?”

"You must not worry." He brushed a kiss
against her mouth, and she fought the urge to scrub her hand across
her lips. "You must rest now, my dear. You are looking quite
fatigued."

As Jonathan turned to go, Phaedra had a wild
impulse to dart past him, but she knew she would never make it to
the door. She must remain calm. James's life could depend upon it.
Jonathan was clearly planning something, and James would not be on
his guard against the gentle-seeming man-any more than Hester or
Ewan had been.

She raced after Jonathan and caught his arm.
"Jonathan. Let me help you to destroy the marquis."

He patted her hand with an indulgent smile.
"I could not do that. It would be far too distressful for you."

"No, I hate him!" The shrillness of fear in
her voice made her words sound genuine. "He seduced and abandoned
me. I will never be happy unless you grant me this."

Jonathan's brow furrowed. Her heart plummeted
in despair. She would never fool him. Then he nodded gravely and
said, "Very well, my dear. I will come for you when it is
time."

"Jonathan," she pleaded, but he was already
leaving, locking the door behind him.

Phaedra could no longer keep her frenzy at
bay. She rattled the handle, but quickly realized the futility of
it. Racing over to the window, she pounded against the wood, then
attempted to pry free the boards. Hopeless. Jonathan had obviously
taken care to leave nothing in the chamber-not even fire irons-that
she could use to smash her way to freedom.

Phaedra spun away from the boarded-up window
and began rummaging through the drawers of the dressing table.
Surely she could at least find a hairpin and attempt to pick the
lock on the door. But it seemed Jonathan had even considered that
possibility, for her search turned up nothing.

He had done a most thorough job of sealing
her off from the world. There was no way out, no one to hear her.
Her only choice was to wait-if she could keep from going mad
herself before Jonathan returned. What if he changed his mind and
simply went ahead and- She refused to consider that grim
possibility.

Instead she spent her time in the useless
pursuit of examining the past, entertaining guilt-ridden thoughts
of how much she had had to do with Jonathan's broken mind. Had she
given him the wrong impression when she had risked her life to
nurse him through the pox? Had she been too kind to him over the
years, or not kind enough? Would it have made it better or worse if
she had-

Phaedra sank her head between her hands. She
did not see how it could possibly be any worse. The time dragged by
until she wanted to scream. She had no notion of how many hours
passed before the click of the lock announced Jonathan's
return.

As Phaedra raised her head to look at him,
she caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror. Her face was ghostly
pale, her hair wildly disheveled. Jonathan, by comparison, looked
perfectly ordinary, his neckcloth arranged somberly, his demeanor
calm. Anyone might be forgiven for supposing that she was the mad
one.

"It is time, my dear," Jonathan said
solemnly. He extended his arm in a courtly gesture to escort her
downstairs. Phaedra wanted to shrink from him, but her recent
terrors had left her so light-headed that she was obliged to accept
Jonathan's support.

He led her to the small parlor below. The
rest of the house was dark and silent, but here a small fire glowed
on the hearth. The candles were ordered in such grim array that the
room had a funereal look.

"The marquis will be here soon," Jonathan
said. "I told him I had tidings of you."

Phaedra concealed her alarm. She could not
formulate her own plans until she knew what Jonathan meant to do.
He drew her over to the sideboard and indicated a large crystal
pitcher, filled with what appeared to be water.

"Pure vitriolic acid," he said. "I have
diluted a small portion and added it to this."

Jonathan held aloft a full wine decanter for
her inspection. "Rascally merchants do it all the time to improve
the body and color of inferior products. I have added far more than
is safe. His lordship will seem to have perished from drinking
badly adulterated wine."

Phaedra's gaze flicked with horror to the
crystal decanter. The burgundy liquid sparkled a rich red. Never
had death been put in a more inviting form.

Jonathan arranged the decanter and the
glasses neatly upon the tea table, then tugged her by the hand.
"You will wait in the next room behind the door. You can see
everything from there. You shall have your vengeance soon.
Phaedra."

His eyes glazed over as he said, "It will be
a most hideous painful death, but no more than the marquis
deserves. Then nothing will stand between us, my love."

As Jonathan bent to kiss her cheek, Phaedra
could no longer conceal her revulsion. She felt relieved when he
permitted her to slip past him into the dining room. She hoped he
would close the door; then she might be able to escape through one
of the long windows and warn James before he reached the house. But
whether Jonathan simply reveled in gazing upon her or he did not
yet completely trust her, Phaedra was unsure. Whatever his reason,
he kept her within sight during the strained half-hour of waiting
that followed.

She started when finally there came a
thundering summons at the front door. Jonathan's features suffused
with an expression of suppressed excitement as he held one finger
to his lips. Warning Phaedra to remain silent, he closed her in the
dining room. She could hear his footfalls fade as he stalked toward
the front door.

Phaedra whirled about frantically, but she
knew it was already too late. By the time she escaped through one
of the windows and raced around to the front, James would be inside
the house. Indeed she could already hear Jonathan returning.
Cautiously, Phaedra inched open the door and peered into the
parlor.

Jonathan addressed a shadowy figure beyond
his shoulder. "Come and warm yourself at the fire. I will fetch you
a glass of wine."

James swept in, impatiently stripping off his
gloves. Phaedra's heart constricted with a mingling of joy and fear
at the sight of the familiar hard angles of his face, the waves of
dark hair, the cool blue eyes that were so blessedly sane.

With a choked cry, she flung open the salon
door and ran to him. She had but a glimpse of his astonishment as
she hurled herself into his arms.

"Phaedra, thank God," he said. "I have been
going out of my mind searching for you."

She sagged against him, gasping out words
that were barely comprehensible. "James, take care. Jonathan, he's
mad. He-"

But James was given no chance to make sense
of her words before Jonathan's mournful tones broke in. "You
shouldn't have done that, Phaedra. You have made it all so much
more difficult."

Without releasing her, James turned and she
felt him tense. Phaedra looked around in time to see Jonathan
unsheathe a sword, the tip as lethal as the fanatical light in
Jonathan's eyes.

With incredible calm, James eased Phaedra
away from him. He reasoned gently, "You'd best put that down, Mr.
Burnell."

Jonathan advanced, his eyes blazing. Phaedra
knew he would try to run James through where he stood. She flung
her body protectively in front of James.

James hurled her aside, growling in her ear,
"Run!"

A split-second later, Jonathan thrust at him,
but James was too quick. He sidestepped the blow, recovered and
backed toward the mantel. Phaedra watched, terrified. Why didn't
James draw his own weapon? Her gaze flicked to where his sword
should have been, the sickening realization sweeping over her. He
was unarmed.

She leapt at Jonathan, catching at his arm.
He shoved her roughly and knocked her into the tea table. She
fell,.bringing the table down with her. The glasses shattered and
the poisoned wine stained the carpet blood-red.

James was forced farther back as Jonathan
came at him, brandishing the sword. "Villain!" Jonathan shrieked.
"You hurt Phaedra once, but you'll never touch her again. I will
protect her as I always have done."

He lunged wildly, but James again eluded him.
As Phaedra struggled to her feet, she saw that James had managed to
move away from the fireplace into the center of the room.

"Easy, Jonathan," he soothed. "I have no
intention of hurting Phaedra.”

“Liar! You have come to snatch her away from
me.” Jonathan lunged again, this time catching the end of James's
cloak with the sword. James dove toward the sideboard. In
desperation, he snatched up the thick crystal pitcher and dashed
its contents over Jonathan's face.

Letting out an inhuman scream, Jonathan
dropped the sword. He clutched madly at his eyes and fell to his
knees, writhing in torment.

"Wh-What?" James glanced toward Phaedra, his
eyes clouded with confusion.

"Acid," Phaedra cried, pointing to the
pitcher James still held in his hand. "It was acid."

With a savage oath, James flung the pitcher
aside. He leaped at Jonathan and pinned him to the ground, trying
to restrain the older man from tearing at his own flesh.

"Water! Fetch water!" James commanded. When
Phaedra stood frozen in horror, he bellowed, "Move!"

She bolted from the room.

Hours later the parlor yet bore signs of the
struggle. The poisoned wine had left a large red stain on the rug,
and no one had bothered to upright the tea table. James perched
upon the edge of the settee. He buried his face in his hands as
they waited for some word from the bedchamber upstairs, where the
doctor was attending Jonathan.

Phaedra crowded close to James, curling one
arm about his rigid shoulders. The room was silent, except for the
fire crackling upon the hearth.

"Blind," James muttered at last. "He's going
to be God-cursed blind."

Phaedra stroked back the dark strands of hair
that fell across his brow. "It was not your fault. You had no way
of knowing. It was Jonathan himself who placed the acid in that
pitcher. He meant to kill you.”

"The poor bastard was mad. I only wanted to
stop him, not maim him in such horrible fashion. He’d be better off
dead."

James pulled away from her. He rose to his
feet, rejecting her efforts at consolation.

A lump formed in Phaedra's throat as she
stared at him. This was the man she had once thought of as
cold-blooded. But a lack of feeling had never been James’s problem.
The man felt far too much.

When a sound came from the hall beyond, both
she and James tensed, anticipating the return of the doctor.

"Jamey-boy?" someone called, in a lilting
Irish accent. The parlor door opened, and a tousled head of dark
curls poked inside the room. “Lethington? Where the deuce have you
been, man? I've been waiting forever."

Gilly halted abruptly as his gaze fell upon
Phaedra. "Fae!" He bounded into the room with a joy-filled cry and
swept her up into his arms. His roguish green eyes moistened as he
choked, "Damn it, Fae. I thought you'd been carried off by the
banshee this time for sure."

She started to assure him she was very much
alive when he gave her an angry shake. "What the devil do you mean
vanishing that way, frightening the life out of everyone? Where
have you been?"

Phaedra drew back, wiping away her own tears.
"It is a long story," she said. And she wasn't sure she would ever
have the heart to tell it all.

Gilly's eyes darted shrewdly from her to
James's haggard face. Her cousin uprighted the overturned tea
table. "What in blazes has been happening here? Where's
Jonathan?"

But he didn't wait for an answer, shrugging.
"I suppose it will keep for a few more minutes. I have to fetch
Julianna in from the carriage."

"Julianna!" Phaedra exclaimed. Still shaken
by the terrible events of the past few hours, she had forgotten to
inquire about James's mission to find his sister. But before she
could say anything more, James glowered at Gilly.

"Why the devil did you bring her here?"

"I could not be after leaving her alone,
could I? What with you haring off and not sending me a blessed
word."

James silenced his complaint with an
impatient gesture. "I suppose you'd best bring her in,"

As Gilly left the room, Phaedra turned to
James. "So you did find her. How was ... I mean, how is
Julianna?"

"You will see for yourself in a moment."

The anguish in his voice told Phaedra all she
needed to know. Dread clutched at her as she awaited Gilly's
return.

When he stepped back into the parlor, a timid
wraith of a girl clung to his arm, her blond hair and wan face all
but swallowed up by the hood of her cape.

Phaedra's greeting died upon her lips. She
blinked and stared as though seeing a ghost.

"Fae," Gilly said solemnly, "may I present
Miss Julianna Lethington."