“Yes,” Rafael said slowly, “yes, you do that. And I will speak to Victoria.”
Rafael walked slowly up the staircase, down the long eastern corridor to the Pewter Room. There was no one there save Molly, who was cleaning out the grate. This time her mobcap was neatly set atop her light brown braids. She smiled shyly at him.
He nodded to her and retreated. It was some time later that he entered the nursery. Damaris shrieked at the sight of him and dashed forward to clutch at his legs. Victoria remained seated on the floor, a row of dolls in front of her.
“Torie and I are playing dolls. Do you want to? I’ll give you Queen Bess.”
That was obviously quite a concession. “No, not just now,” Rafael said, his eyes searching his wife’s face. She looked very pale, frightened. He stiffened. She had no reason to be afraid of him, did she?
“Victoria, I have decided that we will travel to Falmouth on the morrow. Is that all right with you?”
She nodded, saying nothing. He saw her lift one of the dolls and hold it close to her chest.
His lips thinned. He hugged Damaris, set her away from him, and left the nursery, not looking back.
Victoria didn’t move. She watched him, listened to his footsteps as they retreated down the long corridor. What would he have done if she’d been alone? What would he do when he learned the truth? She shivered. She disliked Damien profoundly, but she liked her cousin, at least most of the time she did.
She didn’t want Elaine hurt.
It was late afternoon and he was lying in wait. He despised himself for what he intended, but at the same time he was determined. His very stubborn jaw grew more so.
He saw her coming toward him, walking slowly, her head lowered. What was she thinking? Feeling?
“Victoria.”
She stopped abruptly, but didn’t look directly at him. No, she was looking toward the ridiculous gaggle of ducks marching about Fletcher’s Pond.
“I’ve been waiting for you. I was told that you come here a lot.”
That got her attention. She looked at him, her face calm, then puzzled.
“What do you mean?” she asked, not coming closer.
He walked to her. “I mean that your husband told me of your preference for the ducks and the pond.”
“I see. What do you want, Damien?”
“Why, my love, I want to finish what we began this morning. Isn’t that also your wish?” He reached out his hand and lightly stroked his fingertips over her wrist. She jumped, pulling back her hand.
She felt as cold as an ember in July. So that was the way of it. Slowly she nodded, and looked up at him. “Yes,” she said, her voice low and as seductive as she could make it. “Yes, I should very much like to finish what we began.” She put her hands, palms flat, on his shoulders and gave him a smile that would melt a stone. “You no longer think badly of me for turning you down this morning? I had to, you know. Rafael could have been anywhere, quite close even. Yes, but now that I know we’re alone, I want you.”
He sucked in his breath, then let the air hiss through his teeth. “Victoria,” he whispered, and leaned down to kiss her.
The instant his mouth touched hers, Victoria, despite her rage, felt intense pleasure. Didn’t he know? She wondered, furious now, more furious by the minute. Why couldn’t he simply believe her? She smiled and melted against him. Her lips parted and she yielded, every part of her giving and wanting.
“Oh, yes,” she whispered into his mouth, her breath warm and gentle. “I want you so very much, Damien.”
She felt him stiffen at her words, and she pressed her belly against him. His hands were on her hips, kneading her soft flesh, then lifting her against him. She made no demur, indeed, she clasped him more tightly to her.
He wedged his hand between her thighs, touching her, caressing her through her clothing.
Suddenly, without warning, she jerked away. She kicked him hard in the shin. He yelped, jumping on his right foot.
“You bastard. You miserable, unmitigated bastard. I shall never forgive you this, Rafael. Never.”
“Victoria.” He felt bizarre, as if he’d walked onto the stage of a play he himself had penned, only to have his leading lady go off on a tangent. And find him out. But when? At what point?
He saw her ready for another attack and yelled, “Stop.”
“You may go directly to the devil, Rafael.”
The instant she’d flung the words at him, she was running away. “Your leg.” He called after her. “Take care.”
“Ha.”
Her sneering voice floated back to him, but he remained where he was. Well, that was that. He rubbed his shin, then straightened, only to see Clarence eyeing him.
“Sorry, Duke, no bread for you today.”
Clarence squawked.
“And no nothing for me today either.” He turned slowly and began his walk back to Drago Hall.
“I must speak to you, Victoria.”
“Go away.”
“No. I will tie you down if I must. We have to talk.”
Victoria straightened from her task. She slowly put down the feather duster and laid the volume of Voltaire back on the shelf. “Very well, if you must. Get it over with, if you please.” She paused a moment and gave him a thoroughly disgusted look. “This will probably be magnificent. Your other performance was certainly sterling enough.”
“I was wrong, at least I assume that I was. You threw me.”
“If only I had been stronger, you would have been in Fletcher’s Pond.”
“Elaine told me she saw you and me making love by the stable. She thought I was Damien. She thought the man kissing you was me. I decided to put it to the test after you refused to talk to me. I’m not proud of it, Victoria, but I had to.”
“Yet again,” she said mildly, idly dusting a tabletop. “Again you chose to believe anyone, except me.”
“But you responded to me so freely, you said you wanted me, and you—”
“You are a great fool. I also find you excessively boring, Rafael. Have you nothing at all to do with yourself except test your wife to see if she’s virtuous?”
“Tell me you did it on purpose. Tell me you knew all along that I was pretending to be Damien.”
“I will tell you nothing. Nothing at all. Who knows what conclusions you will draw now? Certainly I expect to come out in the wrong. It appears that is inevitable when you are involved. I should like to kick your other shin.”
She tossed the duster at him. “I’m going to dress for dinner.” Then she stopped cold and turned back to him. “Actually, we must leave the Pewter Room.”
“Why?”
“When Damien was pretending to be you, he spoke of things like Honeycutt Cottage and the kitchen. He also said that he was wild for me, particularly after yesterday afternoon.” She stopped, watching his face.
He paled; then his face flooded with furious color. “That damned bastard.”
“Yes,” she said.
“So that is why we were assigned the Pewter Room. There must be a peephole in there, and Damien was watching us.” He stopped, so incoherent with rage that he could find no words.
“Yes,” she said again.
He got hold of himself, but it was a powerful effort. “Let’s find that peephole,” he said, took her hand, and dragged her after him.
It took only fifteen minutes to find it. “In the middle of a grape,” Rafael said with disgust. “Look, Victoria.”
She looked at the fireplace mantel, at the swags of fruits sculptured on the frieze. “Do you think there could also be a passageway behind the fireplace? Connecting other rooms, perhaps?”
“That would be logical. I can’t believe I never knew about this. Obviously Damien discovered it after I was gone. Let’s see if there’s an opening.”
It was the turning of an orange counterclockwise that did it. A narrow panel just to the right of the fireplace slid noiselessly back. The two of them simply stared into the black space. ??
?Goodness,” Victoria managed, then stepped forward. “Let’s explore and see where it goes?”
“No fear?”
“No, just fury. I should like to do something awful to your brother. I can’t stand to think of him watching us.”
“I know. Let’s explore, then.”
Rafael fetched a candle and stepped into the narrow passageway, bowing his head, for the ceiling was low. “All right,” he said over his shoulder to Victoria. She paused just inside the passageway. Quietly she turned a small wooden knob, and a panel slid open. She looked into the Pewter Room. She shuddered, then moved aside for Rafael to look.
He cursed quietly. He felt Victoria’s hand on his arm and turned away toward the dark tunnel. He breathed in deeply, a damp musty smell filling his nostrils. He watched Victoria stop at the next narrow door. She turned a small wooden knob just like the one that gave onto the Pewter Room.
It was Elaine’s bedchamber. And Elaine was dressed only in her underthings. Her belly was huge; she was rubbing the small of her back, her eyes closed.
Victoria quickly closed the panel.
“Elaine?”
“Yes.”
Rafael could now picture the twists and turns of the passageway. He wondered idly if his parents had known about it. But no, had his father known, he would have made a great game of it with his two boys. How had Damien discovered it?
Rafael opened the next panel and saw that it gave onto one of the guest chambers. The room wasn’t empty. Damien and the maid Molly were on the bed, the girl’s skirts about her face, her legs widespread, and Damien pumping into her. Rafael remembered Molly’s crooked mobcap. Had she just come from a tryst with her employer? He drew a deep breath and slid the panel shut.
“What is this room?” Victoria asked from behind him.
“Just a guest chamber,” Rafael said, trying his best to sound nonchalant.
“What did you see, Rafael?”
He turned slowly and said, “I saw Damien and Molly on the bed. Now, let’s keep going.”
They continued their descent. There was an opening into the main drawing room and one into the estate room. Rafael slipped through the opening in the estate room, then gave his hand to Victoria. They were standing just in front of the now closed panel when Ligger entered and gasped.
“Hello, Ligger.”
“But, Master Rafael. I . . . didn’t know . . . Oh, dear, this is most confusing.”
“Let me show you, Ligger.” Rafael opened the panel, the knob behind some carved maple leaves. The butler stared and Rafael saw comprehension come into his eyes. So he’d seen Damien where he hadn’t expected to, and wondered about it. Well, no more. No more secret passageways in Drago Hall. He would ensure that every servant, every guest in the vicinity would know about it. Damien would hold no more power, not this kind, anyway.
“The passage winds upstairs and there are peepholes and entrances into many of the upstairs rooms. The estate room here and the drawing room are the only ones downstairs. The passage stops just a few feet beyond the estate room. If I’ve got my thinking aright, the door leads into the east garden. It is probably well-covered with ivy on the outside.”
Ligger nodded slowly. He looked at Victoria, then at Rafael. He said quietly, “What would you like to do about this, Captain?”
“Why, Ligger, I think you should tell all the servants about this, every one of them. Tell everyone. If you like, feel free to tour the passageway. I will, of course, discuss this with the baron.”
Ligger nodded and Victoria felt herself go warm with embarrassment at the understanding in the old man’s eyes.
“Let’s go back to the Pewter Room now,” Rafael said, and nodding to Ligger, he took Victoria’s hand and together they disappeared into the dim passage. The panel slid shut soundlessly behind them.
Rafael was leading the way. He was holding the candle high, and at a bend in the path its flickering light fell upon something neatly folded on top of a very old trunk. It was black, velvet or satin, he thought. Later, he decided. Later he would come back. He didn’t want Victoria involved in this.
Once back in their bedchamber, Rafael went off in a brown study. He sat in the high-backed wing chair, steepled his fingers, and stared off at nothing in particular.
Victoria watched him for a moment; then her gaze went back to the grape cluster. She shivered. Was Damien planning to come and watch them again? Soon now?
“First of all,” her husband said finally, still not looking at her, “you must have another name. Vic, I think, is charming and will suit our purpose quite nicely. Whenever I come upon you, I will call you Vic.”
“Vic? I have an even better idea. Let us simply leave Drago Hall tomorrow. We can go to Falmouth, then to St. Agnes, to our new home.”
“We don’t as yet know if it is our new home.”
“You know the family will accept. You continue to delay, Rafael. Why do you wish to remain here at Drago Hall? Oh, damn, it’s this Hellfire Club business and you are the one to put a stop to it. Just say yes, and I will say no more.”
“Yes,” he said very quietly.
“Then what are we to do about your brother? I have no wish to provide him with more entertainment.”
“No, we shan’t. I want to kill him for what he’s done, and that scares me, Victoria. That scares the hell out of me. He is, after all, my brother, my damned twin. Well, Ligger will begin to spread the news of the passageway. That should enrage Damien. I shall board up our cluster of grapes over there. Then I must decide what to do.”
“All right.” She sighed. “It’s a mess.”
“Victoria, will you forgive me just one more time? I am sorry, you know. Kick me again if you wish, but forgive me.”
She didn’t say anything for a very long time. Rafael fidgeted, opened his mouth, then closed it.
Suddenly, Victoria drew back her fist and hit him in the belly. “I forgive you.”
He left her then, shaking his head and smiling, to return surreptitiously to the passage, and some thirty minutes later he found her speaking to Flash. “Let’s leave for Falmouth, say, in a half-hour? I’ll think of something, er, plausible, before we return.”
She cocked her head at his sudden change of plans. Something had happened, something he wasn’t going to tell her about. She saw Flash smiling widely, pleased to the tips of his boots that they were returning to the Seawitch.
Victoria forced a smile. “I’ll be ready in thirty minutes.”
“Thank you, Victoria.” He caressed her cheek with his knuckles, then turned to Flash.
Victoria walked back to the Hall, furiously thinking. She would pry it out of him somehow.
Two afternoons later, Rafael sat on the uncomfortable scarred bench in the oak-beamed ale room of the Ostrich. The inn was older than anyone cared to remember, save for Pimberton, the landlord, who told stories of how King John had stopped at the Ostrich way back in 1215 on his way to Runnymede. No one had bothered to tell him that the Ostrich wasn’t exactly on the direct route to Runnymede.
Rafael was alone at the Ostrich in Carnon Downs. He’d left Victoria yesterday on the Seawitch in the care of Blick and Rollo. As for Flash, he’d been so excited to be back on board, he’d chattered like a magpie. Carnon Downs was just southeast of Truro, only two hours from Falmouth. He, of course, hadn’t told Victoria a thing, simply said he had some business to conduct, but she’d looked at him, that I-know-you’re-up-to-something look, shrugged, and taken Blick’s arm for a stroll on the deck.
As Rafael nursed his mug of ale, he heard Pimberton talking now about the Black Prince. “. . . Aye, you may wonder,” Pimberton was saying, rubbing his hands over the the that covered his immense stomach, “wonder indeed that the prince brought King John of France with him . . . and he was met by Edward III, right here, at the Ostrich . . . aye, in this very room. ’Twas in 1355, aye, indeed. History, sirs, that’s what we have here.”
Rafael grinned, then went very still when he heard the loud voice ca
lling out, “Pimmby, your best ale, if you please.”
Johnny Tregonnet had come, just as the note had said.
“Here you are, Master John,” said Pimberton, beaming at the young man whose father owned a vast part of Carnon Downs.
“Hello, Damien.”
“Glad you’re here early,” Rafael said, and indeed he was. Were Damien to arrive now, everything would be well and truly lost. “I’ve lots of business to conduct. How are you, Johnny?”
“I’m well as always. Why are you being so civil, Damien? You’ve never done much of anything for me except sneer.”
Rafael waved a negligent hand. “I’m feeling quite mellow, old fellow. Now, what is it you want?”
“Your brother. He knows about us. He threatened me at your ball. He wants to join our group or else he’ll do us all in. I sent a note to the Ram, but I haven’t heard a thing.”
“What did the Ram say when you told him about Rafael?”
Johnny stared at him. “You know there’s no one who knows who the Ram is. I left a message at the hidden box, you know, the one at the crossroads at Pellway. What’s wrong with you, Damien?”
“Ah,” said Rafael, and called out quickly, “Pimmby, more ale for my friend here.” Damnation, he thought, so none of the members knew the identity of the Ram. Well, at least something should happen soon, since Johnny had sent the man a message about him.
“Hey, just you wait a second,” Johnny shouted, shoving back his chair. “You ain’t Damien!”
“Very good, Johnny. I’m not. Ah, here’s our good innkeeper with your ale.” Johnny lurched toward him, and Rafael very smoothly threw a right into Johnny’s belly, following it with a left to his jaw. He slouched to the floor without a sound.
Mr. Pimberton, a mug of ale in hand, stared down at the unconscious man. “Goodness, Baron, shouldn’t ye—”
“Yes, I should,” said Rafael mildly. He took the mug of ale and poured it onto Johnny’s face.
“That should do it,” said Mr. Pimberton. “I’ll get me missis to clean him up.”