Ariana had to smile. “What brilliant words did Sir Francis have on the subject?”
“‘Certainly virtue is like precious odors, most fragrant when they are incensed or crushed: for prosperity doth best discover vice, but adversity doth best discover virtue.’”
“The latter most definitely applies to Trenton.” Ariana tilted her head questioningly at Theresa. “One of my main worries is that the former applies to Baxter.”
“Your brother is indeed a greedy man. If wealth has been placed in or near his hands, he may cast scruples aside.”
“Do you think he is behind the delivery of the book and the eerie incident at the beach?”
Theresa studied her folded hands. “He has both the motivation and the hatred. But he lacks the cunning and the fortitude.”
“My thoughts exactly. Still”—Ariana shook her head, baffled—“I have the nagging suspicion that Baxter’s desire to make amends is just a little too timely to be mere coincidence.”
“Your instincts again, pet. Heed them well.”
“But Baxter’s potential involvement still doesn’t address one important question: Who is impersonating Vanessa?”
“Ah. Now we need to return to my view of appearance.”
“Your view of appearance?” Ariana was completely at sea. “How does that apply here?”
“Because as I’ve said, appearance varies depending upon one’s perspective and is often not as one believes it to be.”
“Meaning that Vanessa’s impostor is not what she seems?”
“Indeed.” Theresa turned to look out the window, a clear indication that the subject had been exhausted. “Think about it, love,” she advised. “Think hard; think well.”
“Do you know who the woman is?”
“I only know that she is a threat to your husband’s sanity, and that she represents danger,” Theresa replied. “The rest is still in shadows … shadows you must unveil.”
Broddington was silent.
Staring moodily out the window, Trenton wondered why he had sought out the sitting room in which to think. Aside from his visit here the other day, he never ventured into his father’s domain.
The answer was simple: He felt closer to the truth here.
Hands clasped behind his back, Trenton gazed into the late-afternoon sky, wishing the hours would speed by and bring Ariana safely home. Rational or not, he felt terribly uneasy about her meeting with Baxter. True, she had lived with the man for eighteen years, during which time no real harm had befallen her. But that was before she’d become Trenton’s wife, before she’d come to care for the man who was her brother’s enemy.
Before Trenton had fallen in love with her in return.
Warily, Trenton pondered Baxter’s intent. Was he engineering some sinister plot to drive Trenton to his knees? Did he plan to use Ariana as an unsuspecting accomplice? If so, would Ariana be able to recognize his ploy? She was so damned trusting and innocent.
So unlike Vanessa.
Trenton began to prowl the room fitfully, the concept of Vanessa crowding his mind, consuming his thoughts. The one thing he couldn’t accuse Baxter of was conjuring up Vanessa’s image the other night at the river. Had Baxter paid someone to play the part? Was that possible? Could anyone so closely resemble the vivid bitch who had destroyed Trenton’s life?
And the most frightening question of all: Had anyone actually been present that night, or was Trenton truly losing his mind?
Sweat breaking out on his brow, Trenton stalked out of the sitting room, the ghosts of the past too powerful to withstand. He stood in the hallway, his breathing shallow, grateful that no one was about to witness his uncharacteristic loss of control. Grimly, he battled the emotional weakness, reminding himself that his reserves were depleted, for he’d had little more than two hours’ sleep the past few nights.
Sleep. The very solution.
Trenton made his way to his chambers, determined to rest, if not doze, until Ariana’s return. Perhaps then his mind would be fresh and he’d be able to view the entire situation more objectively.
The room was warm with late-afternoon sunlight. Trenton leaned back against the closed door and inhaled deeply.
Roses.
Instantly, the scent accosted him, icy fear encasing his soul, bile churning through his gut. In a rigid, trancelike state, Trenton crossed the room, each step bringing him closer to some inescapable, unknown atrocity. He sensed it with every fiber of his being, steeling himself for its discovery.
No amount of fortification prepared him for what awaited.
With a low groan, Trenton clutched his nightstand, staring at the scene before him. His bed was carefully turned down, a tattered lime silk gown crumpled on the floor at its foot. The stark linen was barren, but for a single rose that lay upon the pillow amid a bright crimson stain.
Blood.
With shaking hands, Trenton bent to lift the gown from the floor, already knowing what he would find. More blood was streaked across the delicate fabric, the bodice ragged, but still discernible.
It was the gown Vanessa had worn on the night she died.
Flinging the garment to the bed, Trenton backed away, shaking his head in denial. It couldn’t be. Dear Lord, it couldn’t be.
And yet it was.
He took the stairs two at a time, unsure exactly where it was he was running—and from whom. A lone maid glanced curiously in his direction, but she was far too timid to approach the duke in his obviously agitated state.
The conservatory door was open, the flowers bright and beckoning. Mindlessly, Trenton stumbled inside, unconsciously seeking whatever haven Ariana seemed always to find here, desperately craving peace.
It was unattainable.
“Trenton …”
The chanting sound of his name accosted him, struck a chilling chord of recognition. It was her voice: not only the one he’d heard two nights ago at the river, but the one he’d heard six years ago.
It was Vanessa.
“Trenton …”
Feeling as though he were living some heinous nightmare, Trenton forced himself to turn his head, following the sound with his eyes.
She stood directly outside the conservatory door leading from the manor. As he stared, ashen-faced, she raised her arms, beckoning him toward her.
“Please, Trenton … don’t hurt me … don’t leave me … not again.” She raised her chin, gazing at him with brilliant emerald eyes. “Come to me, Trenton. Stay with me.”
A hoarse cry rose in Trenton’s throat, and something inside him seemed to snap. Violently, he erupted, knocking flowers and plants out of his way, racing toward the loathsome apparition, wild fury and terror converging.
She was gone.
He shaded his eyes with his hand, dragging air into his lungs in hard, shallow rasps. Each breath was accompanied by the lingering scent of roses, a taunting reminder of Vanessa’s presence. Trenton raked the grounds with his savage cobalt stare, refusing to concede defeat by allowing the apparition to escape. Whoever … whatever … she was, he would find her.
A snatch of color caught his eye and he took off in pursuit. Rounding the corner of the house, he stopped dead in his tracks.
She was leaning against the trunk of a sweeping oak tree, gazing intently at the sky and jotting idly in some kind of notebook.
Trenton closed the gap between them in ten long strides, seizing her elbows and slapping the notebook from her hands.
“Damn you! You won’t get away from me this time!”
She blinked up at him, her green eyes wide and startled. “Trenton? What is it? Why are you so upset?”
Of their own volition, his fingers wrapped around her throat, digging into the soft skin. “Who are you? Why are you doing this to me?”
She began to struggle, looking totally bewildered and utterly terrified. “Trenton … it’s me: Ariana. Don’t you recognize me?”
All the color drained from his face. “Ariana?”
“Yes … your wif
e.” She shoved at his forearms, trying to ease his biting grip. “I’m not doing anything to you; I saw a robin feathering her nest and was noting it in my journal. Why are you so angry at me?”
Trenton’s hold grew lax, and he swallowed the sickness that rose in his throat, staring at the woman as if seeing her for the first time. Ariana? This wasn’t Ariana. It couldn’t be. Where was the gentle turquoise of her eyes, the copper softness of her hair, the delicate innocence of her fine features?
“No!” he denied vehemently, shaking her shoulders until she whimpered aloud. “No!”
“Trenton … you’re hurting me.” She began to struggle, the loose waves of her hair spilling over her shoulders. “Please … let me go.”
He stared at the soft tendrils, thinking of all the times Ariana’s unbound tresses had cascaded around them, a bright, unrestricted waterfall. Could it be?
Dragging the woman closer, Trenton’s granite features hardened to stone as he studied her face, her coloring.
No. This wasn’t his misty angel. This was her detestable older sister. Hard. Vicious. Bitter. Vanessa. It had to be.
Didn’t it?
“Trenton?” The woman reached up to touch his cheek.
“You’re frightening me … Why are you looking at me like that?”
Vanessa was dead; this couldn’t be Vanessa.
“Would you like to walk with me? It’s a glorious day, and the robin I mentioned is on that thick branch just over our heads.” She pointed. “If I were dressed differently, I’d be tempted to climb this old oak myself so that I might see the nest firsthand.”
Dressed differently.
The words triggered a thought in Trenton’s dazed mind and, automatically, his gaze dropped to the woman’s morning dress: the same dress Ariana was wearing when she’d left Broddington hours before.
A harsh groan escaped his lips. “Your gown …”
She glanced down at herself and sighed. “Do you really dislike it? Or is it only because Baxter gave it to me? He means well, Trenton, truly he does.” She inclined her head. “Still, if it troubles you so, I’ll return it.”
“Dear God, what’s happening to me?” Trenton flung her from him, grabbing his head and stumbling backward in a haze of disorientation.
The apparition opened her mouth to speak, but her words were lost amid the deafening buzz inside Trenton’s head.
“What’s happening to me?” he repeated in a horrified whisper, cold sweat drenching his entire body.
He didn’t wait for an answer.
Propelled by the fires of hell, he staggered back toward the manor.
CHAPTER
22
“TRENTON? I’M HOME!” ARIANA scanned the deserted hallway, then looked questioningly at Theresa. “I wonder where he is.”
“He wonders the same.”
“Pardon me?”
“Your husband needs you, pet. Find him.” Theresa’s probing black eyes conveyed a definitive message to her mistress. “Quickly, Your Grace.” She patted the volume in her apron pocket. “And bear in mind that ‘the virtue of adversity is fortitude.’”
A knot of apprehension formed in Ariana’s stomach. Theresa’s quotes of Sir Francis, her sage advice, were never without purpose. Hardship evidently loomed ahead: hardship that would take its toll, require all of Ariana’s inner strength.
Suddenly, locating her husband seemed imperative.
“Trenton!” She raced through the house, first upstairs, then down, colliding with Jennings outside the music room. “Jennings … where is the duke?”
“Why, I’m not sure, Your Grace. I haven’t seen him all afternoon. Perhaps he …”
But Ariana wasn’t listening. She’d already sprinted past the butler, her anxiety increasing by the second. Where could he be?
“Trenton …” The word lodged in her throat as she stood in the open chapel doorway. The back of Trenton’s dark head and broad shoulders were visible from where he sat, slumped in the first-row bench. “Trenton?” Ariana hastened up the aisle, touching him gently on the arm.
Slowly, Trenton turned his head, gazing up at her with dark, tormented eyes.
Her heart hammering, Ariana dropped to her knees beside him. “What is it?”
His expression never changed. “Why are you still torturing me? Haven’t you taken enough from me already?”
Ariana turned white. “Torturing you? What are you talking about?”
“About you. Whoever you are. Why have you followed me here?”
“Trenton … it’s me … Ariana.” She swallowed, battling the sheer panic threatening to envelop her. “I’ve just arrived home from Winsham. Baxter gave me the check. I’m fine. Everything is all right.”
Trenton drank in her earnest features, reaching out to caress her throat and shoulders, stroking down to her arms. “I hurt you,” he muttered, staring at her smooth skin. “Forgive me, misty angel. I vowed that night in the maze never to harm you. And I never intended to. Forgive me.”
“You haven’t harmed me … you’ve never harmed me. Trenton!” She seized the lapels of his coat. “What’s happened since I left Broddington? Why are you acting this way?”
“Did I bruise you?” he asked, massaging the gentle curve of her neck, frowning as he inspected the unblemished area. “No, thank heavens I didn’t. I can barely live with myself as it is. I don’t know how I could have withstood it if I’d marred that flawless skin.” Soberly, he kissed the curve of her shoulder. “I never should have forced you to marry me, misty angel. Never should have touched you. You’re far too fine and untainted for a destructive madman like me.”
“Stop it!” She seized his hands, her own fingers cold and trembling. “Why are you saying these things? What happened while I was away?”
“Ah, but you weren’t away. You were right here at Broddington. In the gardens. Directly in front of me. In my sight … in my mind. It was you. I didn’t know it, but it was. Once again I thought you were Vanessa, just as I did the night you freed your white owl. Only this time I hurt you. I nearly choked you. Who knows what I might do next time? What I’ve done in the past but can’t recall? What I’m capable of doing if provoked?”
“Listen to me.” Ariana was losing control—fast. “I’ve been at Winsham with Theresa. We just arrived home a few minutes ago. I don’t know who you saw, but it wasn’t me.”
“You’re so bloody beautiful,” he murmured, rubbing his thumb across her collarbone. “How could I confuse you with Vanessa?”
“Trenton … I love you,” Ariana replied desperately.
He went rigid. “Don’t say that again. Ever.”
“But—”
“Dammit, Ariana!” For the first time he reacted, coming to his feet in one savage motion. “I’m unstable, deranged, insane—the last person on earth to be worthy of your love!” He saw Ariana cringe, and his guts twisted in response to her obvious terror. Instinctively, he looked toward the altar, knowing that even prayer could no longer save him. “You’re frightened,” he told his wife bleakly. “You should be. I don’t know who I am or what I’ve done. Nor can I be certain of what I might do in the future. You can’t stay with me. … You have to go.”
“Go?” Ariana’s voice sounded wooden to her own ears.
“Yes. For your own safety.”
“No.” Tears filled her eyes. “I won’t … I can’t leave you.”
Trenton clenched his fists, summoning up all his strength. “Fine. Then I’ll leave you.”
“You’ll … what?” Ariana clutched the bench for support.
“I’ll pack immediately and be gone from Broddington by nightfall.” The pain in his wife’s eyes was nearly Trenton’s undoing, but he forced himself to stand firm—for Ariana’s sake. “You’ll lack for nothing; I’ll see to that. All of Broddington will be at your disposal, the servants advised to jump to your command.”
“I don’t care about Broddington!” Ariana burst out, tears sliding down her cheeks. “I care about you.”
For a split second Trenton’s features twisted with anguish. Then his expression changed to one of brittle resolve. “Don’t, misty angel. I’m not worth it.”
He turned and headed for the door, wincing at the sound of his wife’s quiet weeping.
Walking away was the hardest thing he’d ever done.
Dustin alighted from his carriage, grateful to have finally arrived at Broddington. The short drive had seemed endless, his mind filled with unanswered questions and uneasy doubts.
Ariana’s brief message had said only that Trenton was away for several days and, therefore, could Dustin possibly use this time to implement his plans for the sitting room?
It was what she hadn’t said that worried him.
Why was Trenton away? What was his current state of mind? Had there been any further unnerving occurrences?
Armed with the sitting-room sketches, Dustin came to find out for himself.
“Dustin! I’m so glad you could come.” Ariana greeted him in the hallway, a warm smile lighting her face.
Dustin saw beyond the smile, troubled by the dark circles beneath her eyes, the hollows in her cheeks that hadn’t been there last week. “I’m delighted to have been invited,” he said aloud, kissing her hand. “Am I to assume that the sitting room is to be totally transformed by the time Trent returns?”
A shadow crossed Ariana’s face.
This time Dustin didn’t pretend not to notice. “When is Trent coming home?”
“I don’t know.”
Dustin studied her pale face. “I’m aware that your marriage is none of my business. I apologize in advance for making it my business.” He caught her chin gently in his hand. “Did you have an argument?”
“No.” Ariana turned away.
“Sweetheart.” Dustin placed his hands on her shoulders. “I had hoped you thought of me as your friend.”
“I do.”
“Then let me help you.”
Ariana’s shoulders began to jerk convulsively. “I don’t even know where Trenton is.” She wept. “He’s been gone for three days; I don’t know what to do.”