Tiger's Eye (45 page)

Almost as soon as she saw it, he slammed it into her forehead with a sickening crunch. Isabella shrieked at the pain of it, at the knowledge that she would die, at the horror of feeling her own head burst open like a melon beneath the savage blow. The rock fell a second time. She must have blacked out for an instant, because when she became aware again, she was being carried in his arms, not more than a yard or so from the precipice.

And they were no longer alone.

“Put her down, St. Just,” Alec said evenly, and as Isabella blinked disbelievingly at him, she saw that he had a pistol pointed squarely at Bernard’s head.

LXI

“W
ho the devil are you?” Bernard spoke quite normally, as it he didn’t have the wife he intended to murder, bleeding and hysterical, held tight in his arms less than a yard from the edge of a hundred-foot drop.

“I said put her down. Now.”

There was blood in her eyes, and in her mouth, but Isabella shook her head to clear it and fastened her eyes on Alec. Her situation was still precarious; it was possible that Bernard might be able to toss her over the side before Alec got a shot off—if he was mad enough to sacrifice his own life to do it. But just knowing that Alec was present took some of the edge off her terror. He would keep her safe, if anyone could. She tried to say his name, but the blood in her mouth made it come out all garbled.

“Haven’t I seen you somewhere before?” Bernard, looking faintly puzzled, had his eyes on Alec’s face rather than on the pistol.

“It’s possible. Put the lady down, and we’ll try to discover where.”

“In London, I think. A hell, maybe? I’ve got it—the Golden Carousel.”

“I said, put the lady down. I won’t repeat it.”

The pistol lifted ominously, its tiny black mouth pointed right between Bernard’s eyes. At such close range it would be impossible for Alec to miss. Isabella wondered if Bernard was too crazed to realize that.

Bernard glanced down at Isabella almost as if he had forgotten her existence. Then, with a regretful grimace, he bent and placed her gently on the ground. Relief rushed through her, and for an instant she lay there, unmoving, her eyes closing as she realized that she would not die today, after all.

“Isabella?” Alec sounded far away suddenly. “Damn it, Isabella, answer me.”

“You know her?” Bernard asked with a surprised frown.

“Al-ec.” This time she managed his name. Those golden eyes flickered over her, fastened again on Bernard, the light in them savage.

“Yes, I know her, you swine.” His voice was even, but the glitter in his eyes told Isabella that he was dangerous with rage. “Step back from her. Do it!”

“But how? She’s never been to London, never been anywhere except Blakely Park and Paris. Except for …” Bernard’s eyes met Alec’s, and he seemed to realize his danger, because he retreated a few steps. Alec walked forward until he stood over Isabella. Dropping to one knee, keeping the pistol trained on Bernard all the while, he touched her face gently, his expression a grimace when the fingers he withdrew were wet with blood.

“ ’Twill be all right, love,” he said, his voice low. “I’ve got you now. ’Twill be all right.”

“Al-ec.” Blood pooled in her mouth. Gagging, she tried to spit it out, and choked. Alec’s mouth twisted savagely and he stood up.

“You bloody piece of slime, you’d better say your prayers, because you’ll not live out the hour.” Alec spoke through his teeth. The hand holding the pistol lifted.

“It was you! You were her lover!” Bernard howled, and sprang. Alec smiled, with what Isabella thought was grim satisfaction, and the pistol exploded.

The ball caught Bernard square in the throat. His hands clawed at the wound from which blood spurted as if from a fountain, pouring over the pristine neckcloth and staining it bright red. Isabella was too shocked to even breathe as he staggered backwards, clutching his throat, and then, without even a cry, he toppled over the edge of the precipice and vanished from her sight.

LXII

“G
ood God! Good God!” The voice belonged to her father and Isabella looked around to find him red-faced and puffing as he skidded to a walk not ten feet away. Behind him, running as Isabella had never thought to see either of them run, came Sarah and the Marquise de la Ros, both cloakless and unprecedentedly dishevelled. Behind those two a motley assortment of guests loped toward the scene.

“Isabella! Isabella, good God, gel, we were in the garden and heard you scream—gad, we saw the whole thing! Oh, dear Jesus, look at her! I wouldn’t have believed it of him if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes!”

Alec lowered the pistol and thrust it in his belt as the white-haired duke gained Isabella’s side and dropped to his knees, staring from his daughter’s battered face to the precipice over which his son-in-law had vanished. The ladies fluttered up, bent over Isabella as well, their faces pale and their eyes wide with horror as they surveyed the damage done her. Isabella scarcely looked at any of the expanding group that clustered, exclaiming, around her. Her eyes were all for the tawny-haired man who stood a little back from her now, watching the scene with narrowed eyes.

“Al-ec.” His name was not much clearer than before, but he heard. Mouth twisting, he walked toward her, knelt, and shouldering aside her father and the others, gathered her up in his arms.

“Who the hell …” her father blustered, looking affronted as Alec, ignoring him and the rest of them, started to walk toward the chateau with Isabella held protectively against his chest.

“He saved her life, Charles. Didn’t you see?” Sarah put her hand on her husband’s arm.

“I saw. I saw. Damn, I wouldn’t have believed it of Bernard. The gel was telling the truth all along! I can scarcely credit it even now. But who is he?”

The majority of the guests fell into step behind Alec, leaving the marquise to stand alone at the precipice, staring down at the water far below. If her eyes held tears for Bernard, they were the only ones that did.

“Alec.” Isabella could not manage to say more than that, but it was enough. Alec’s face twisted at the sight of the slender body draped so bonelessly in his arms.

“Don’t fash yourself, love; you’re going to be all right. They’ll take good care of you, and you’ll be as lovely as ever before you know it.”

“Bernard …?”

“He’s dead. You don’t have to fear. He’ll never bother you again, I swear.”

“Thank you.” Held securely in his arms, she rested her head against his chest, and her eyes closed. Darkness threatened to claim her, and she let it. It was safe to do so now that Alec was there.

When she regained consciousness, she was lying on the bed in the bedroom she had occupied since coming to the chateau, and a strange man, whom she gathered from the efficient way he was wrapping a bandage around her head was a doctor, was leaning over her.

“Alec,” she said fretfully.

“Do not try to talk, Madame la Comtesse. You have been sadly injured, but with luck, there should be no permanent damage. But you need to lie quietly, and rest.”

“Alec,” she repeated stubbornly. Suddenly Sarah materialized behind the doctor’s shoulder.

“He’s outside, in the hall. Indeed, he’s been there for the past two hours, refusing to even go downstairs until he’s been assured by Monsieur
le docteur
that you’re going to survive. It was all I could do to chase him out of the bedroom.”

The doctor turned away from the bedside to dispose of some bloodstained cotton with which he had staunched the wound in her forehead, and Sarah leaned closer, whispering.

“My goodness, Isabella, he’s a gorgeous man! I can quite see … But your father is scandalized! Only think, Mr. Tyron tells us that he has been having you watched for months, just in case Bernard should … well, do what he did. He even had what he calls one of his men infiltrate the house staff here when we came to stay, and had another man actually living in the woods. It’s positively romantic, and I don’t care what your father says, I don’t blame you a bit!”

“Your pardon, madame, but Madame la Comtesse needs quiet, not gossip,” the doctor said sternly, returning to Isabella’s bedside.

“Please, Sarah, get Alec,” Isabella pleaded, forcing the words out through a mouth so swollen that it was, perhaps fortunately, numb. Her head throbbed, she was nauseous and dizzy, and her face felt huge and shapeless, as if the skin would split if she opened her mouth or eyes too wide. She knew she must look dreadful, but she didn’t care. She had to see Alec.

“I’ll do my best, dear, but your father is outside too, and they’re glaring at each other like two dogs.” Sarah patted Isabella’s shoulder, then crossed to the door while the doctor gathered his things together.

From the hail Isabella could hear her father bellow, “Damn it, Sarah, you can’t wish me to let him go into her bedchamber alone! God, think of the scandal already! And you know perfectly well he’s …”

Whatever else her father had to say, Isabella missed entirely, because the bedroom door opened and Alec walked in. The doctor took one look at him and left. Alec closed the door, and walked toward the bed. Isabella tried a welcoming smile. It hurt, and she winced.

“You saved my life.” Her voice was no more than a hoarse whisper.

“Think nothing of it. ’Tis getting to be quite a habit with me.” He was looking down at her, his handsome face harsh as he surveyed her injuries. Instinctively seeking to give comfort, Isabella groped for his hand. His fingers curled around hers, and she took solace from the warm strength of his grip.

“You didn’t go away after all.” It hurt to talk, but she was afraid to stop. There was so much she had to say, so much he needed to hear. She didn’t have the strength for it, but from somewhere she would find it.

He grimaced. “Did you think I would leave you to the tender mercies of that bastard of a husband of yours? I’ve had a man watching you since the day after you decided to stay with him rather than go with me. ’Twas only bad luck that we didn’t get to you sooner today. I had a man in the woods with me, but when you started toward the castle, we pulled back to blow a cloud. We never even saw you with that whoreson until you screamed.” His hand tightened over hers, and his lips clenched. “God, you gave me the fright of my life. I didn’t know if I could get to you in time.”

“There won’t be any trouble? For you, over Bernard?”

Alec shook his head. “There’ll be an inquest, of course, but with you in the state you’re in and the fact that half a dozen witnesses saw him jump toward me, I doubt there’ll be any kind of charge. Obliging of him, really. I’d have killed the son of a bitch even if he hadn’t made another threatening move, for what he did to you.”

The bedroom door opened without ceremony, and the duke entered, scowling at Alec as he approached the bed. “Here now, you’ve had enough time. There’ll be gossip aplenty without more to add to it. Gad, none of us will ever live this down as long as we live!”

“I’m sorry about the scandal, Papa,” Isabella offered in a small voice.

The duke looked down at her, and his brow contracted. He reached out to pat her arm, then scowled at Alec anew as he saw that Alec held his daughter’s hand.

“ ’Tis I who should apologize to you, daughter. I should’ve known no chit of mine could be an adulteress. Although who this … fellow … is, I admit I don’t quite understand.”

He looked Alec up and down with obvious dislike. Alec looked back at him with a nearly identical expression.

“Alec saved my life. Today, and when Bernard tried before.”

“I understand that. What I don’t understand is—”

“Isabella’s in no state to be making explanations to you or to anyone else. Look at her, for Christ’s sake! That bloody husband you forced her to take came within a hair’s breadth of beating her to death today!”

“Now, listen here, sirra, I’ll not be spoken to in such a way by the likes of you! And who gave you permission to be so free with my daughter’s name, and her hand, I’d like to know? You’re overstepping your bounds, and—”

“Pardon, Monsieur le Due, but Madame la Comtesse must be left to rest or I cannot be answerable for the consequences.” The doctor glided up to Isabella’s bedside and regarded the two combatants reprovingly. Her father broke off in mid-tirade to stand glaring at Alec. Disregarding that basilisk stare, Alec carried Isabella’s hand to his mouth and softly kissed the back of it. Watching, the duke made a sound much like a hiss.

“I’ll leave you to rest, then.” Alec placed her hand with gentle care back atop the coverlet, and turned to go.

“Alec!” Panic filled her. She had not said near what she had meant to.…

“You must rest, madame,” the doctor insisted, and pressed her back into the pillows when she would have tried to sit up.

Isabella watched anxiously as Alec, followed by her father, left the room.

There would be time later to talk to him, she comforted herself as the doctor forced her to take a sleeping draught. But even as she drank it, and sank almost immediately into unconsciousness, the fear remained that there was no time left.…

Her fear proved well-founded. When she awoke again, near thirty-six hours later, and asked for Alec, she was brought instead a small package that he had left for her.

The package contained an exquisite necklace of large, circular amethysts set in filigreed silver, and a matching pair of earrings. Sarah, watching as Isabella unwrapped it, exclaimed over the contents with wonder. It was a magnificent gift, and one Isabella knew from the color of the stones Alec must have purchased specifically for her.

Only after she opened the package did she see the crumpled screw of paper that accompanied it. Isabella read the terse note, then sat looking from the jewelry on her lap to the paper in her hand as if she had been suddenly dealt a stunning blow. As Sarah watched helplessly, tears filled Isabella’s eyes and began to roll unchecked down her face. The doctor finally had to be summoned to administer a sleeping draught to quiet her. But not even drugged oblivion could take away her pain.

Alec never intended to see her again.