Chapter 21

Chapter Twenty-One

I t seemed as if Marissa had barely closed her eyes and fallen asleep, after an evening filling in Lady Bethany and Jasper on the search at Canthorpe, while inwardly obsessing over the problem of Valentine's pigheadedness. She was woken by knocking on the front door and a loud shout for entry. Then more voices began shouting and doors slamming, all with an increasing sense of urgency.

Marissa sat up in her bed, hair in her eyes, and stumbled out barefoot, searching for her robe. She'd been dreaming of being wrapped in Valentine's arms, and now it was a shock to find herself alone in the darkness. Ever since he'd spoken to her about his concerns she'd felt as if she was in limbo, knowing he wanted her as much as she wanted him, but unable to convince him to take the final step.

She thought there was probably an element of self-preservation in his behavior. He'd been through one bitter experience and was shy of facing another. Marissa couldn't blame him for that, but she wished he would just throw all his doubts aside.

But if he did that he wouldn't be Valentine, would he?

By now she'd wrapped her robe over her nightgown, and made her way out to the landing. Leaning against the balustrade, she peered down into the hall. Lamplight wavered, showing Morris standing shivering in his nightgown and his nightcap, while Valentine, in hastily donned breeches and a crumpled shirt, questioned a disheveled-looking young man who shuffled his boots as he gave his answers.

"Lady Longhurst begs you come, my lord," Marissa heard him say. "She's beside herself, she is. Hy-hysterical."

Lady Longhurst? The name was enough to send Marissa down the stairs in her bare feet, not caring if it was proper or not. Since she'd come to Abbey Thorne Manor she'd been kicking society's rules and conventions out of her path like autumn leaves.

"What is happening?" she said, glancing from one to the other.

Morris answered her, his voice stiff and his gaze a little wild. "It seems that Lady Longhurst has been assaulted, Miss Rotherhild."

"Assaulted?" Marissa cried. "Is she injured?"

"Aye, me lady," the lad said, eyes wide, relishing the dramatic situation he found himself in. "A foreigner came and she offered him her—her hospitality and he betrayed it."

Marissa turned to Valentine, seeking illumination.

"It seems Von Hautt charmed his way into Lady Longhurst's house," he said, troubled anger in his eyes.

The lad interrupted. "She needs you to come at once, me lord. Will you come?"

Morris cleared his throat, his jowls wobbling. "My lord, I don't think it wise of you to go riding off into the night. You barely know this Lady Longhurst."

"I know she's a lady in need of my help, Morris," Valentine retorted.

"I thought you said you weren't Sir Lancelot?" Marissa murmured, with a questioning glance. "You are acting very like him."

"I am behaving like a gentleman," Valentine retorted, and turned back to Morris. "Get Bartholomew, Pinnock, Nesmith up out of their beds, with whoever else who wants to come, and tell them to ready the horses. I'll be there in a moment."

"Make sure there's a horse for me," Marissa said briskly. "Lady Longhurst will appreciate a woman's support in such a delicate situation."

Valentine opened his mouth to argue, then seemed to think better of it. "Very well," he said. "You are probably safer with me anyway. I don't like the thought of Von Hautt wandering around the countryside unrestrained."

"I am more than a match for the baron," Marissa assured him.

"Of course she is." It was George, standing on the stairs and yawning. He rubbed his eyes. "I'll come, too, just to be on the safe side."

Valentine gave him a narrowed look. "I thought you were ill in bed, George."

"I was. I'm better now."

Marissa left them to it. She wanted to tell Lady Bethany what was happening before she left for Canthorpe, and after a soft knock on her door, opened it a crack and peered in. Her gasp sounded very loud in the silence.

The room was lit by the moonlight coming in the uncovered window so there was no mistaking what she saw. Two people, Lady Bethany and Jasper, lay curled in each other's arms, their mouths ajar in sleep, the covers tucked around them. They looked remarkably handsome together—which probably had a bit to do with the moonlight—and very peaceful.

Marissa couldn't decide whether she was outraged or horrified or any of the other things a respectable young lady should be. But the truth was she wasn't particularly upset; she wasn't even particularly shocked. She was well aware of her grandmother's attitude when it came to making the most of her life; she even shared some of her ideals. Marissa could only wish the lovers well.

Gently she closed the door and tiptoed away.

By the time she'd dressed and made her way out to the stable, the men were assembled.

"I don't want to be uncharitable," she said in a low voice to Valentine. "Perhaps the lady really is in dire need. But why has she sent for you and not one of her closer neighbors or relatives?"

Valentine gave her a grin. "You're jealous, minx."

"I'm suspicious," she corrected him. It had been obvious to her from the first that Lady Longhurst had set her sights on Valentine, and husband or no husband she was most unhappy when he slipped out of her grasp. Now she'd found a reason to draw him back into her web, and she must have known he would respond to her plea for help—how could Valentine the proper gentleman refuse?

But Marissa was adamant that Valentine was her gentleman and Lady Longhurst was not going to use his more heroic qualities to trap him. If anyone was going to hunt Valentine then it was Marissa.

I am hunting him, she thought in surprise. Is he the one I want to marry and live with happily ever after? Was George simply a wrong turn in my journey? Whatever the answer, this husband hunting no longer feels like a game; it is deadly serious. A matter of life lived to the full with the man I love, or a lifetime of regrets.

Love? Marissa was dizzy. Was it true, did she really love him? Her practical side cast doubt upon her emotional response, until she felt as if there was a battle going on inside her. But there was no time to sit down and properly consider her situation. A moment later they set off, galloping into the night, heading for Canthorpe, and she knew she must put her own feelings aside and concentrate on the here and now.

"Do you think Baron Von Hautt followed you?" George called out, as the horses spread out along the narrow road. "Or is his spy supplying him with our information?"

"I hope he's not following us," Marissa said, glancing behind her. She might boast she wasn't afraid of the baron but that didn't mean she was keen to come face-to-face with him in the dark.

For the first time, she began to have an uncomfortable feeling about this whole business. She'd been dismissing Lady Longhurst as a manipulative creature, but what if she was being unfair? What if she was wrong? Von Hautt was a dangerous man who had shown himself capable of any mischief, and for some reason he had a grudge against Valentine.

"What I don't understand is, where could he be living? He must be nearby. Surely someone has seen him?" George had brought his horse up beside her, calling across her to his brother on her other side.

"I've made inquiries about the village." Valentine began to catalogue his efforts to find the baron in a grim voice. "I've sent men out to scour the woods and the countryside for miles. But I always get the same answer—no one has seen him. I'm starting to wonder if he's a ghost and can appear and disappear at will."

"Not a ghost," George said. "A magician, a trickster, that's what Von Hautt is."

A short time later they saw the village below them, and then shortly after that, Canthorpe, the entire house ablaze with light. Several servants could be seen in the formal garden, either guarding the house or searching the grounds, or both. Valentine's group was allowed past after one of the servants held a lantern up to his face.

"I'm sorry, m'lord," he apologized.

"Is Lady Longhurst inside?"

"Yes, she is."

"My men are here to help in any way they can."

"Thank you, m'lord. I'll set them to searching the wilderness."

Valentine sprang down from the saddle, followed by George and Marissa, and hurried inside.

The maid Marissa remembered from their visit yesterday came flying across the hall, her cap askew, spirals of hair tumbling from beneath it and into her eyes. When she saw who they were she seemed to fold in on herself with relief. "Oh, my lord," she cried, eyes big and frightened. "Thank heavens you've come. This way. My lady is in the small saloon."

She showed them the way, glancing behind her all the while, as if worried she might lose them even over such a short distance.

"Lady Longhurst is a great beauty, so I've heard," George murmured in Marissa's ear.

She flicked him a look and recognized the knowing expression on his face. "Is that why you're here?" she asked disapprovingly.

"I want to see Valentine play the hero."

A frown creased her brow. "He said you met up with Von Hautt in Magna Midcombe and that he threatened you."

"Yes," he said with a grimace. "Not one of my finer moments."

"Why do you think he's pursuing your family, George? What has he against you?"

George shrugged. "In my opinion he has bats in his belfry."

The maid had reached the closed door to the small saloon. "Lady Longhurst is in here," she said in a quiet voice. She hesitated, and then tapped lightly. When there was no answer she tapped again.

"Open it," Valentine ordered.

With a jerky nod, the maid tried to do so, but the door was locked.

"Lady Longhurst," he called out, knocking loudly. "It is Kent. You sent word for me to come and I am here. Please, unlock the door."

"My poor lady is beside herself," the maid whispered. The tears in the girl's eyes welled over her lashes and began to trickle down her cheeks.

"When did Baron Von Hautt leave?" Valentine said.

"Hours ago, my lord. At least, we think he left. But my lady doesn't believe it. She believes he's still hiding somewhere about the house."

"Lord Kent?" a husky, wavery voice came through the door from the other side. "Is that you?"

"Yes, it is me. Unlock the door, Lady Longhurst."

The scrape of the key in the lock, and the clunk of the bolt being released. Valentine twisted the handle and the door opened wide.

There were candles everywhere—a year's supply of wax gone up in one night—and the blaze of light was so bright it made Marissa blink. Lady Longhurst stood in the center of the room, a shawl wrapped around what appeared to be her chemise, in her stockinged feet. Her hair was tangled and falling down around her face. She was more like a tragic victim than the beautiful elegant lady Marissa remembered. Her lower lip was swollen and caked with dried blood, and there was evidence of tears streaking her cheeks. She clutched the door key in her hands, twisting it around and around, while her gaze was fixed on Valentine.

"Lady Longhurst?" Valentine was as startled as Marissa.

"He seemed such a gentleman," the lady said, her face pinched and white. "Such a—a gentleman."

The beauty Marissa remembered was still there, but now there was a ravaged quality to it. She felt a wave of pity.

"Lady Longhurst?" she said gently. "Are you able to tell us what happened?"

The woman shuddered. "What happened?" she cried in a rising, wavering voice. "I was assaulted, that was what happened." She lifted her tangled hair from one side of her face, and disclosed a livid mark high on her cheek. Then she tilted her head, showing another mark on the side of her neck. "There are others," she said, "but I will not show them to you." She closed her eyes for a moment, withdrawing into herself. "What will my husband say?" she whispered. "Dear Lord, what will he say?"

Valentine took her arm, his touch, his voice gentle. "I am so sorry you suffered at Baron Von Hautt's hands. Can you tell us what happened after we left? It may help us to find him."

She looked up at him and her face came to life.

Tears streamed out of her eyes, dripping down onto her shawl, while her mouth shook and trembled. Her hands continued to twist the key, until Valentine placed his hands over them, and held them tightly within his own.

"H-he seemed so cultured," she sobbed. "So continental. I believed he was the sort of man I could confide in, whom I could trust to . . . to . . ."

She looked up wildly, and it was Marissa who answered. "I understand. He betrayed your trust."

"Yes," she spat. "He was a filthy creature of no conscience and no soul."

It took time and patience, but gradually the truth came out one painful piece at a time. Lady Longhurst had indeed found Baron Von Hautt charming and pleasant company, and she'd chosen to invite him into her bedchamber for some mutual enjoyment.

She was a lonely woman, and now she admitted that her husband had a young mistress in London, so she was also feeling neglected. The baron seemed like the sort of man who would understand her offer was for a casual afternoon of enjoyment and after they'd both taken their fill then he would leave.

However it didn't happen as Lady Longhurst had hoped, and before too long she began to realize that she had made a terrible mistake. All began as it should, with wine and conversation in her boudoir, but his kisses were rough and painful, and suddenly Lady Longhurst no longer trusted him. She ordered him to leave, but he refused, and a moment later his fa?ade of charming gentleman peeled away to reveal the real creature beneath. Despite her struggles and protests he would not desist in his rough lovemaking.

"He told me that to be hurt was what a woman such as me deserved." By now Lady Longhurst was sobbing bitterly. "He told me that only a whore would offer herself to another when she was already married. He said—said he needed to teach me a lesson about f-fidelity that I would never f-forget."

Once the story was told, Lady Longhurst became incoherent for some time, and Valentine carried her to her bedchamber, where Marissa and the maid put her to bed with a sedative. Eventually she fell asleep.

Marissa stroked her hair, looking down at the bruised and ravaged face, now pale and peaceful.

She knew Lady Longhurst had been foolish and perhaps arrogant in her belief that her position would keep her safe, but she didn't deserve what had happened to her. She was not part of the quest for the rose and yet Von Hautt had chosen to make her suffer.

Leaving the maid with her lady, Marissa went to seek out Valentine. She found him in deep discussion with the servants, but when he saw her, he broke off and led her into a room where they were able to be private.

"I understand why she didn't call anyone who lived nearby Canthorpe," Marissa said unhappily. "She's embarrassed, vulnerable, and she feels as if it was her fault for trusting him. Baron Von Hautt must know that. What sort of creature is he, Valentine, to prey upon a sad and lonely woman?"

He reached to take her hand in his, squeezing her fingers comfortingly. "You were right to come, Marissa. She did need a woman's support."

After a little while Marissa managed to shake off the image of Lady Longhurst's bruised and injured body. "What did the servants say?"

"They say they heard nothing at all until Lady Longhurst began screaming and when they came to her aid they found her door locked. By the time they'd broken it down, the baron was gone, escaping through a window and into the garden."

"So he is gone?"

"It appears so."

Marissa sighed. "I am sorry I thought badly of her," she said. "No one deserves to be treated like that. He must be a madman."

"If that happened to you . . ." Valentine began and then shook his head, not wishing to finish. "I'd kill him," he growled. His eyes were blazing, his cheeks were flushed, the tendons in his neck standing out.

Shocked at his show of raw violence, nevertheless Marissa felt a purely feminine thrill. "He won't do anything to me," she reassured him, leaning forward to kiss his lips. "I know what he is and I would never trust him."

"Hmm, I seem to have interrupted an interesting moment."

George was standing in the doorway with a questioning look on his face.

Marissa moved to draw back, tugging her fingers from Valentine's, but to her surprise he held on to them and kept her close. George's eyes narrowed.

"That's enough, George," Valentine warned, before he could speak. "Marissa is upset. This has been a most unpleasant experience."

"She could always come to me if she's upset," he muttered sulkily.

"George!" His brother gave him a quelling look and for once George took heed, although his sigh was heartfelt. "The servants also told me that Lady Longhurst has a younger sister she is very fond of, who lives about five miles away. The sister has a new baby and they think that is one of the reasons she didn't send to her for help."

"I think we should send word to the sister that Lady Longhurst requires her help. If they are as close as she says then she must be told." Marissa looked to Valentine for support.

He smiled into her eyes. "I knew you'd think so. Let's do it then, before we go home."

Arrangements were made for a servant to go to Lady Longhurst's sister, informing her of the situation, and asking her to come to Canthorpe as soon as possible. By the time Valentine and Marissa were ready to leave, all was in hand, but George had agreed to stay, just in case.

"I'm sure you won't miss me," he said mournfully.

"I've continued the guard on the house," Valentine ignored him. "Just in case Von Hautt is still about, although I doubt he is. He's too clever to linger after something as dastardly as this."

"We must find him before he attacks someone else," George said bleakly, looking out into darkness that was beginning to lighten with the dawn. "He's a very dangerous man."

His words returned to Marissa as they rode away, and she knew it was true, and she should be wary and a little bit afraid. But the sun had begun to rise and suddenly the world was beautiful again. If Valentine was the man for her, there was no need to search anymore. She thought she might love him, and she thought—she hoped—she could convince him to love her.

Her own budding happiness made her feel guilty, remembering Lady Longhurst. As they paused before the old moated manor house that she was beginning to think of as home, the light of dawn turned the bricks and timber to pink, while the rising sun reflected in the moat. And everything felt so wonderful and right, she was suddenly afraid.

As if the Fates were laughing at her, and preparing for her fall.