Chapter 31

Chapter Thirty-One

M arissa saw the house at last. It really did look like a dark bird of prey against the sky. The moon had slipped beneath the clouds and the rain had returned, just lightly, but enough to cause the cloak to become damp and her face damper as she struggled to see ahead. Now she turned the horse up the narrow lane to the gate where she had been earlier today, and saw that Valentine had left his own mount hidden by the overgrown garden.

Seeing it there was comforting. He was here after all. It was only as she glanced up at the manor house that she saw the wedge of light coming through the shutters in the upper window, and her heart sank again.

Augustus Von Hautt was here as well.

Quickly she climbed over the gate, jumping down onto the muddy ground, and began to make her way toward the house. As she drew closer to the portico she saw that the front door was ajar, leaving a black and sinister gap. She hesitated, uncertain whether to approach any closer in case someone was waiting for her on the other side, but then she heard the voices.

Two voices. Although she could not make out what they were saying she recognized one of them instantly as Valentine's, and the other she was almost certain was the baron's.

They were inside the house, beyond the narrow opening in the door. Marissa crept closer, onto the portico, and edged toward the voices.

"Why should I believe you?" the baron shouted suddenly, making her jump. Valentine replied, sounding calm and unflustered, and she knew he was trying to defuse the dangerous situation.

She peeped through the gap and into the house only to pull back almost immediately with shock.

But she'd seen enough.

Valentine was seated on the stairs, hands clasped loosely between his knees, head tipped to the side as though considering what he'd been told. Von Hautt was standing before him, his back to Marissa, but she could see he was holding a pistol pointed in Valentine's direction.

Her own hand slid into her pocket and closed around the petite weapon the innkeeper's wife had given her. Peering at it in the faint moonlight, she managed to cock the firing mechanism. It was just possible that she may be able to slip through the gap in the door and creep in behind the baron, taking him by surprise, forcing him to surrender his pistol.

And if he refused to surrender? Or threatened her?

Marissa knew she would have to shoot him.

"Your father seduced my mother and abandoned her," the baron was saying bitterly. "When I was born she died, leaving me to the scorn of my relatives. My father hated me, too, because I was not his. But I am your brother, Valentine. You cannot deny me that, at least."

His words were wild, bizarre, and as far as Marissa knew completely untrue. Where could he have got such a story? From the expression on Valentine's face, he was wondering the same thing.

"Did you know my father was also a seeker after the Crusader's Rose?" the baron went on. "He had heard the legend from my mother's family, that one of her distant ancestors helped to bring the rose back to England after the Crusades, and he wanted to find it. He was told of your father, Valentine, and that he, too, was on the quest."

"I didn't know," Valentine said with feeling. "Why didn't you tell me this before?"

"Because I hate you," Von Hautt spat. "You would take everything from me, if you could. It is I who should be Lord Kent. I am the eldest born son. But how to prove it? How to satisfy your English blue bloods that I am as good as them."

"I assure you, Von Hautt, my father is not yours. It simply cannot be. My father was never in Prussia in his life."

"Because he told you so?" Von Hautt mocked. "You are a fool. Of course it is true. My grandmother told me the truth when I was a boy. She said my father was a wealthy and aristocratic gentleman, a lord, and that he lived close by Bentley Green in an old manor house and that he also had an interest in roses. Who could it be but your father?"

Valentine looked away, as if considering the question, but he was clearly finding it difficult to answer without antagonizing the baron.

Marissa moved into the gap, careful not to let her cloak brush against the warped wood. At first she was half hidden by the dresser that seemed to have been used to bulwark the door, but she knew she couldn't stay there indefinitely.

"I wanted to find the rose before you, to prove to you I was the better of the two of us. I wanted to be like one of the knights of old, honorable and good. You believed that, too, didn't you?"

"When I was a boy, yes, I did feel like that," Valentine said, sounding as if his throat was dry. "But now I see there are other things more important."

"You are wrong. You don't deserve to find it."

"At least I didn't cheat and steal."

Von Hautt went white.

"You have a spy in my house! Tell me who it is?" Valentine roared, rising up from the stairs.

Von Hautt's grip on his pistol tightened and he took up a firing stance. "Sit down!" he shouted.

Marissa's heart was thudding. The two men were yelling at each other, their voices echoing up into the dusty heights of the old house. The tension grew unbearable. There was no time to wait; it must be now. She came around the dresser toward them, knowing they wouldn't hear her anyway with the noise, but she'd reckoned without the moonlight.

She hadn't realized the clouds had cleared away and the moon had come out, bright and beaming, and was shining through the gap in the door behind her. As she moved her shadow stretched across the floor and fell upon the men.

Von Hautt spun around, eyes wide, the pistol wavering as he saw her. There was a moment, just a moment, when she read the shock and fury in his gaze, and then Valentine called her name and was running toward her and she knew if she didn't fire now then one or other of them would die.

She pressed the trigger.

The retort wasn't very loud. Von Hautt had not fired and she saw that he was still upright, still standing facing her and Valentine, who by now had reached her.

Von Hautt looked down at his torso. "You shot me, Miss Rotherhild," he said in wonderment. There was a hole on the left side, but very small, and although blood was beginning to seep onto his clothes it was very little. He put his hand over the wound and actually laughed. "Next time you play the heroine, you must use a real gun and not a toy," he teased.

"Put your pistol down, Von Hautt," Valentine said firmly. "It is over."

The baron tipped his head to the side. "What is over, brother? The quest for the rose? Maybe. But I am determined your family will recognize me for who I am."

Marissa's hand had stolen into Valentine's and she felt his fingers squeeze hers. For comfort or for warning? She glanced up at him and couldn't decide.

"I wish I could recognize you, Von Hautt. I will need to investigate the matter further. But I swear to you I have never before heard of the things you are telling me."

The bitterness in Von Hautt's smile made him almost ugly. His strange cold eyes slid to Marissa and narrowed.

"But you see, brother, that isn't good enough. My mother should have had justice, but she died with the condemnations of her family and her husband ringing in her ears, the same sneers and jibes I have heard all my life. I do not forgive. I want justice. An eye for an eye."

Valentine seemed to know what was coming. Marissa felt his body stiffen, felt the surge of energy within him. His hand on hers tightened painfully.

"No," he said.

"Don't move, Valentine," the baron said in an icy voice.

"What you're suggesting is monstrous," Valentine growled, and pushed Marissa behind him. "I warn you, I will not allow you to touch her."

Understanding came to her as she stood, frozen, at his back. Von Hautt meant to seduce her as he believed Valentine's father had seduced his mother, only in this case there would be no seduction. Von Hautt would take her as he'd taken Lady Longhurst—brutally and without pity.

She pressed her face into Valentine's jacket, finding comfort in his solidarity. "I want to marry you, Valentine," she whispered. "I'm so sorry I made you wait for my answer."

He glanced back at her and their eyes met.

"And I want you to know how much I love you," she said, her voice breaking. "In case . . . in case . . ."

"I will never let him hurt you," he said gruffly.

"Monstrous?" the baron was too busy ranting to notice their private conversation. "Shouldn't your father have thought of that before he destroyed my mother?"

"Von Hautt," Valentine said wearily, "how can I make you understand that I am completely ignorant of any wrongdoing by my family to yours?"

"You're my brother," he cried, and there was something dangerous and, at the same time wounded, in his tone.

Valentine fell silent.

Marissa dared to peer around her bulwark. Von Hautt appeared to be swaying from side to side. The pistol was still pointed at them, but he was having difficulty keeping it level. And his face was paler, with a shine of sweat on his skin. Her gaze dropped lower and, with a cry of horror, she saw that the hand he was holding over his wound was now red with blood.

"You need a doctor! Please, let us help you, Baron."

He turned to stare at her as if he'd forgotten she was there.

"Yes," Valentine added, in that same soft tone. "Let us get you help, Augustus. Look at yourself. You're losing a great deal of blood."

He looked down in surprise. "But it was such a little hole," he muttered. "How could such a little hole bleed so much?"

Valentine took a step forward and then another.

"Come, brother," he said, "let me help you."

The baron stumbled, losing his footing, and then his legs gave way completely and Valentine caught him as he fell, the pistol clattering to the floor. Carefully Valentine eased him down on the floor, while Marissa knelt beside them.

The baron's eyes fluttered and then opened wide.

He stared up at Valentine and then he smiled.

"Brother," he whispered.