Velvet Embrace (61 page)

"You are confusing the issue! Conventions have nothing to whatever do with character. And why must you bring my breeches into the conversation? You are mocking me again, Dominic. I thought we had a bargain."

His lips curved into a slow smile, while glowing lights began to dance in his eyes.
"Ah, yes, our bargain.
Shall I give you an opportunity to fulfill your part,
chérie
?"

Brie glanced at him in puzzlement when he reached up to draw the curtains across the windows, but she had no trouble comprehending Dominic's purpose when he wrapped a strong arm around her waist and lifted her onto his lap.

"But, Dominic—" she protested halfheartedly as he started to unfasten the buttons of her
spencer
.

"We won't be disturbed," he assured her before silencing her protests with his lips.

Two mornings later their truce dissolved completely. Brie woke feeling apprehensive, knowing that the day would see them at their journey's end. Already they had penetrated deep into the wine country, having passed through
Chalon
the day before and turned south toward Lyon.

Brie opened her eyes slowly. The faint gray light filtering into the bedroom promised little in the way of warmth and only served to increase her foreboding. Lifting her head, she peered down at Dominic. She was surprised to see that he was awake. He was lying with one arm flung across his forehead as he stared at the ceiling.

Sensing his withdrawal, Brie felt an inexplicable chill run up her spine. Dominic's gray eyes were arctic, holding no trace of the warmth that had been present the past few days. His expression seemed so forbidding that she edged away from him a little.

"Is it far?" she ventured at last.

"Far?"

"To your home."

"A half-day's ride, no more.
Dress warmly. I expect it to rain."

His expressionless tone reminded Brie of icicles in winter, and her heart sank. The wall was between them again. She could almost see it. Her fingers plucked nervously at the blanket. "And when we arrive? What do you intend to do?"

Dominic turned his head to look at her, his eyes narrowing as he studied her face. "That remains to be seen."

Brie's gaze slid away from his. "You still don't trust me. I-I had hoped. . . ."

"What had you hoped? That I would dismiss the possibility of your past involvement? You have a very poor opinion of me,
chérie
, if you think I so easily confuse business and pleasure. Although I admit it has been a pleasure." He reached over to stroke her cheek, but Brie recoiled in pain and anger.

"Don't touch me!" she cried, leaping from the bed. "Don't you dare touch
me.
" Catching up her wrapper, she threw it about her shoulders. "This 'business' cannot be concluded too rapidly for my taste. A truce, you say.
But only so long as it serves your purpose.
Well, it appears that I have served your purpose long enough. You can damned well seek your pleasures elsewhere!"

Not wanting Dominic to see the hot tears that filled her eyes, Brie fled to the safety of her own bedchamber, slamming the connecting door behind her. She would see him in hell before she let him see her cry.

Leaning against the door, she clenched her fists in an effort to stem the tears rolling down her cheeks. Stupid, stupid fool! She had fallen in love with a man who wouldn't give
tuppence
to spare her feelings, had allowed herself to be hurt, time and time again. When would she learn that Dominic didn't care for
her, that
he never would? She must come to terms with that understanding—before her heart broke into little pieces.

It was quite a while before Brie had control of herself again, but then she poured water in a bowl and splashed some on her flushed face, trying to erase the traces of tears.

Breakfast in the common room of the inn was a solemn affair. Brie ate in stony silence, trying to ignore both Dominic and the bustle around her. She was grateful when at last Jacques came to inform them the carriage was ready.

Once on their way, Brie couldn't help contrasting this leg of their journey with previous ones. She was alone in the coach and there was no spirited banter or pleasant companionship to alleviate the boredom—not even any exercise to relieve the tedious miles. The day was gray and overcast, wrapping the countryside in gloom, and Brie spent so much of the time staring out the window that she grew to hate the dreary landscape with its endless vineyards patterning the hillsides.

They changed horses twice, but neither time when she stepped down to stretch her legs did she see Dominic. During their second stop, she was told by Jacques that Dominic had ridden on ahead.

At last, after what seemed to be an interminable interval, the carriage pulled off the main road. Jacques slowed the horses to a walk, but the lane was in such a sad state of repair that the coach bucked and swayed continually. Each rut and pothole jarred Brie's teeth, and several times she was almost thrown from the seat.

After a quarter mile or so, the lane gave way to a clearing— or at least what once must have been a clearing, Brie thought grimly as she noted the overgrown weeds and unkempt shrubbery. Then the coach crawled around a bend in the drive and the once-magnificent chateau came into view.

Seeing it, Brie gasped involuntarily. She had supposed the manor house might be in poor condition, but she hadn't expected the utter desolation of the place. Although the frame and main walls of the house still stood, great gaping holes took the place of leaded windows, and a section of the roof had collapsed where a limb from a nearby tree had fallen on it. Peeling paint and crumbling mortar completed the picture of abandonment and ruin, while a gray mist hovered around the place, giving the scene an unearthly aura. Brie shuddered at the eerie silence, suddenly not wanting to leave the relative security of the coach.

The soft jingle of a harness was the only sound she heard as she opened the door and stepped down. Jacques was still in the
driver's box, she noted, but he was staring grimly at the wreckage of the chateau.

Slowly, as if in a dream, Brie mounted the steps to the house. There was no front door to impede her progress, but she had to duck her head to avoid the cobwebs as she entered. If possible, the inside of the chateau was in worse state than the outside. Holding her skirts high to avoid the debris and rubble, she began a tour of the silent mausoleum.

Bits of crystal from a fallen chandelier crunched under her feet as she moved along the entrance hall. In rooms to her right and left, she could see broken pieces of furniture strewn on the moldering carpets, and all the walls were badly stained and oozing dampness. The once magnificent staircase was missing the banister, and Brie had to step carefully as she made her way upstairs.

On the second floor she discovered what must have been a music room. A discarded harp, its bow snapped in two, lay on a pile of charred wood. Someone had obviously built a fire—not in the fire place as one might expect, but in the middle of the room.

On the third floor Brie opened a door and checked abruptly. Dominic stood at the window with his back to her, his head bowed. He seemed not to have noticed her presence, but as Brie turned to leave, he suddenly spoke. "Welcome to my ancestral home, Miss
Carringdon
," he said, his voice sounding harsh and bitter.

Brie hesitated, not knowing how to respond. Then, without warning, Dominic suddenly whirled and threw something against the side wall with such force that the plaster cracked. Brie flinched, realizing when the object clattered to the floor that it was a broken toy soldier.

Dominic gave a derisive laugh at her startled expression. "This, by the way, is the nursery," he said in that same bitter tone. "And that," he added, pointing to the pieces of the wooden toy, "was once my favorite plaything. I always wondered what had become of it. I left it here that night, when the soldiers came for my father. I can remember
,
years later, still feeling uncomfortable at the sight of a uniform, even British."

His gaze returned to Brie, his eyes raking her figure as if daring her to mock him. She had no intention of mocking him, though. She could see the raw pain in his eyes, and her heart went out to him.

"Dominic," she said, searching for the right words. "It does no good to relive the past. Neither you nor I could have prevented what happened. Can you not forget?"

His mouth twisted in the curving sneer she hated so much. "Forget? That is hardly likely, mademoiselle, when your very presence in this house serves to remind me. Your mother used to visit here, did you know? In this very room, while I was at my lessons." He paused, regarding her narrowly. "Come here."

Suddenly wary, Brie hesitated. But when Dominic abruptly repeated his command, she slowly walked across the room to where he stood. He grasped her arm and turned her face to the window that overlooked the front lawns,
then
stepped behind her.
When he placed his hands on her shoulders.
Brie tensed, not quite sure of his intentions. But Dominic merely began to speak in a low, faraway voice.

"I have never forgotten that night," he said softly. "I was supposed to be in bed asleep, but instead I was here, playing with my wooden soldiers. When I heard a disturbance, I looked out this window and could see real soldiers—a small troop, actually. There." He pointed to the spot. "The sun had already set, but I could see the men's faces clearly in the light of the torches they carried. When I opened my window so I could peer down, I heard my father's voice demanding an explanation for the intrusion. He received no answer. I saw him walk down the front steps toward the waiting men, and didn't wait any longer but ran out of the nursery. I'm not sure what I intended to do. Save my father, I think, though from what danger I wasn't certain.

"Only years later did I understand why he had left the apparent security of the house. He was protecting
me.
Had he stayed, the revolutionary soldiers would have stormed his home, but as it was, the soldiers forgot me. I believe they were too surprised my father put up no struggle."

Brie closed her eyes, blinking back tears as she pictured the young boy Dominic had described. How frightened and bewildered he must have been to see his beloved father taken away by the soldiers. She wanted to say something to let him know she understood, but he spoke again.

"I raced downstairs, but when I reached the front hall, I came face to face with my tutor who caught me and very effectively ended my headlong rush into the fray. I fought him, to no avail. Then finally I quieted so I could hear what was being said. My father's arms were bound behind him, and he was speaking to their captain, demanding to know why he was being arrested. I almost laughed when I heard the charges, they were so outrageous. Treason and murder! Treason because he was of noble blood—that I could almost
understand
. As young as I was, I was aware of the mood of the country. I had heard all the gruesome details about what was happening in Paris from a travelling gypsy, and I could realize no nobleman was safe from the trumped-up charge of treason. But murder! He was charged with killing Lady
Lisette
, your grandmother. And it was your mother Suzanne who accused him."

Brie had been listening intently to Dominic's story, but she interrupted him at this point to deny her mother's involvement. "I don't believe it," she declared. "My mother would never do such a thing."