Chapter 32

CHAPTER 32

" M y lord. It has been a long time since our first meeting. I trust this time is convenient?" Cecilia said, looking Thorpe up and down.

He looked down at himself, spreading his arms, then grinned wider.

"Quite convenient, I assure you. I have been on somewhat of an adventure tonight. Most exhilarating. I had considered myself defeated, but now, I am not so sure. Please, take a seat."

He indicated a chair opposite his own but Cecilia shook her head, standing her ground.

"I will not, if that is all the same to you. I do not intend to stay long. I don't suppose that Sir Gerald Knightley is still lodging with you?"

Thorpe's face fell for a moment, from smiling politely to blank and dangerous for all his lack of expression. He dropped the linen into the dirty water of the bowl and walked slowly to a sideboard heavy with assorted decanters and bottles. He was silent as he poured himself a large measure of a liquid of deep, golden brown color.

"He was, until this evening," he said, finally. "Can I offer you something to drink?"

"Thank you, but no," Cecilia replied. "Is he no longer a guest then?"

Thorpe took a long swallow and began to walk towards Cecilia. She noticed a slight limp, as though his left leg pained him. As he approached, she also noticed a bruise rising on the left side of his face. She stood her ground as he approached, feeling somewhat more confident now that it seemed he was in some way incapacitated. He stopped a few yards away, watching her with slightly narrowed eyes.

"He is no longer a guest… not of mine anyway. Why the interest in Sir Gerald? I understood that you and he were not on the best of terms."

"He is a bully who believes he can take what he wants from women," Cecilia retorted, "but he intimated that he was the owner of the Penrose estate…"

Thorpe threw back his head and laughed, cutting her off. "Penrose? That is why you are here? The bloody fool. I knew he would not be able to resist taunting you. It was an extravagant waste of money. But the Sinclairs were desperate for money and Gerald was desperate for something to hold over you."

"I did not know that my aunt and uncle were short of funds. That explains why they kept Penrose from me," Cecilia murmured, more to herself.

Thorpe took another generous swallow from his drink. His eyes roved across Cecilia's body but she hid the discomfort such a look engendered in her. She was looking at him directly when his eyes returned to her face.

"They pursued appearances they could not afford. When your brother died…"

"Was murdered . By you," Cecilia corrected, rather matter-of-factly.

Inwardly, she wondered if she should not be smiling and trying to affront this man. After all, Sir Gerald was his associate, if not his friend even, and she wanted to find out all she could about Sir Gerald's plans for Penrose. Challenging Thorpe directly might not be the best of ideas, but the words left her before she could bring them back. Thorpe's face did not change. He maintained his polite, even courteous smile and turned away, returning to his chair.

"Are you sure you would not like to make yourself comfortable, Your Grace?" he said, putting mockery onto the title.

Cecilia was beginning to feel foolish in her refusal to sit and nodded curtly, going to the chair opposite Thorpe's own and sitting.

"I did not intend to harm Arthur. Which I suppose you know given your willingness to face me despite the fact. Though the man did not like me and did not care to hide it. That was rude of him I always thought. But then he was taking his lead from my younger brother, was he not?"

"I'm sure they had their reasons. Arthur did not take against anyone for no reason. Nor have I observed Lionel doing the same," Cecilia replied.

Thorpe's eyebrows rose. "So, you know that your husband and I are brothers? Which means he knows it too. So that is why he came for me tonight."

Cecilia could not react quickly enough to hide her surprise and sudden interest.

"Came for you?" she queried.

Thorpe smiled, an expression that held a lot of wolf. "Did he not tell you his business tonight?" he asked softly.

Cecilia did not reply and Thorpe laughed again.

"So, he does not trust you with all his secrets, it seems."

"I did not come here to discuss my husband," Cecilia said firmly.

"Well, this is my house and I wish to discuss him," Thorpe replied, smile slipping.

It was like seeing a wolf wearing a mask and dropping that mask to reveal the slavering predator beneath. Blue eyes were suddenly cold and hard, mouth pulled tight with the suggestion of teeth beneath. He leaned forward, eyes wide and intent.

"I had assumed you were merely the tenant," Cecilia began carefully, probing for a weakness in Thorpe's armor, seeking to draw the blood of anger.

Thorpe sat back, looking around, eyes narrowing. "Of course, I am the master here. I do not rent other men's houses any more than I share their wives."

"It is just that this house has the look of a place newly occupied. So many empty spaces on the walls. And on your bookshelves. I had assumed you were yet to fully unpack your possessions. My mistake, my lord," Cecilia said, looking around innocently.

Thorpe growled in his throat, suddenly hurling the glass aside where it shattered against a bookcase.

"Do not think that you can insult me without consequence," he growled.

"Do I insult, Lord Thorpe? By admitting to being in error? I do apologize if that is how you took my words. I was merely observing the unfinished state of your house. Our servants had Bruton Street fully prepared for our arrival."

"This shambolic pile of brick is my property, purchased with my money. But the house you brag of in Bruton Street should have been mine too. It is mine by right of being the eldest son of Charles Grisham!" Thorpe roared. "I am forced to live in this modern rubbish while my younger brother claims my birthright."

There was madness in his eyes and spittle flew from his mouth. Cecilia felt the first twinges of fear. She had believed herself safe enough from a rational, if objectionable man, in the middle of London and a house full of servants. But, if Thorpe was not rational? She instinctively understood that showing any sign of weakness at this moment would be her undoing. So she returned his stare stolidly, unmoving in her chair.

"I came here to discuss my own home with Sir Gerald Knightley. You suggested that you disagreed with his purchasing of the property?" she remarked, as though they were discussing the weather.

Thorpe stared at her for a long moment, then visibly restrained himself, swallowing his anger and steepling his fingers before his face.

"I did. The man has always been impulsive. I believe he wished to use the property as a means to persuade you to sell yourself to him."

Cecilia couldn't speak for a moment. Both at the notion and the matter-of-fact way in which Thorpe stated it. As though his only objection to the plan was that it was a waste of money. It said something about his character. But then he was prepared to kill a man he knew to be his brother so that he could steal his title and lands. That alone told her all she needed to know.

An inkling of doubt was beginning to grow in her mind, a wondering if she had gone too far. Her hasty journey here had been driven by her anger at Lionel for breaking his promise. Now, she felt that she had put herself into greater danger than she had at first realized.

"That is an unpleasant notion," Cecilia replied, keeping her worries locked away beneath the trap door of her calm outward appearance.

"It has a certain dark attraction," Thorpe added with a leering grin.

"Is Sir Gerald in residence this evening?" Cecilia asked.

"He is not. Sir Gerald is at this moment in the hands of His Majesty's Custom and Excise. Led by your gallant husband," Thorpe muttered.

"Oh…" Cecilia said, not quite knowing how to reply.

"They raided a ship belonging to me which had moored to the east of the city, quite against my wishes. Again, my headstrong and impulsive partner seeking to make a quick profit," Thorpe continued conversationally. "And as a result of his greed, ship, cargo, and enterprise are all lost. I believed that I was lost too. Utterly… well, except for one rather pyrrhic victory."

He had been looking away from Cecilia as he spoke. Now, his eyes returned to hers. They were hooded and glittered where they caught the firelight. His smile was utterly predatory. The kind of smile that is the last sight a creature of prey sees before its untimely end. Cecilia stood.

"Then I see that my journey here has been for nothing. And it is hardly the best time to be visiting anyway. I thank you for…" she trailed off.

Thorpe came out of his seat with the smooth grace of a viper. He moved to stand between Cecilia and the door.

"I do not think your journey has been wasted. On the contrary. Do you not wish to know why my victory tonight was… pyrrhic?"

"I do not care about your victories or defeats…" Cecilia began.

"Oh, I think you will want to know about this one. In other circumstances, I would claim it the greatest victory of my life. The culmination of my lifelong quest." With hands tucked behind his back, he raised his head to the ceiling, breathing in rather dramatically. "Alas, it is tainted with the loss of my wealth and the possible need to leave these shores. We shall see exactly how much Knightley is persuaded to tell the excisemen, I suppose. But, I am consoled that I have, at least, had the last laugh over my privileged brother." He turned his gaze to her. "You see, I shot him dead."

Cecilia did not know what happened next with any certainty. The words hit her like a physical blow. Perhaps that is what spurred her immediate reaction. She slapped Thorpe across the face with enough force to make his head whip to his shoulder. He actually staggered backward a step.

"You did not kill my husband!" Cecilia lashed out.

She was amazed at her own courage, but a feral fury was burning within her. Paradoxically, she was also deathly afraid. She prayed that this was an idle boast, a brag to break her spirit and gain a measure of revenge for his own defeat at Lionel's hands. Within that yawning terror was an abyss, a void that would swallow her soul if Lionel was dead. She herself would join him, in spirit if not in body. Thorpe snarled as he raised his hand to deliver a backhand blow.

"My manservant is outside, and if I scream, he will come running. He is loyal to his master and mistress. Would you have him witness you beating me?" Cecilia uttered, unable to stop herself from stepping back despite her bravado.

Thorpe glanced towards the doors and Cecilia seized the opportunity to dash to the fireplace which stood to her left. Above it was a family crest over two crossed swords. Her hand closed around the basket-shaped hand protector of one of the swords. A French blade, she thought, as she pulled it from the wall, adjusting her grip for its weight. Arthur had taught her much of sport, had been a practitioner of just about every one conceived. Fencing was among that number.

In a twist of bitter irony, it was one of the few sports taught to him by Lionel, and the first mention her brother had ever made of her soon-to-be husband. In some ways, she supposed, she had learned it directly from him.

Thorpe had taken a few steps after her but now stopped short. He grinned as Cecilia struggled to lift the tip of the blade from the ground. Or let him believe as much. He slowly advanced on her.

"Excisemen came out of the night and stormed my ship. I was on deck with Sir Gerald, about to oversee the ridiculous sale he had arranged. I saw Lionel in the van, leading the charge. I jumped from the ship to a waiting boat and when I looked back, I saw him. I took my chance and fired. He fell back. I saw him no more and he did not pursue me. I labored through miles of stinking marsh to escape."

He was slowly edging forward, inexorably closing the gap between them. Cecilia licked her lips, backing away but conscious that the fire was behind her, cutting off any retreat. From the corner of her eye, she saw a tall pedestal bearing a silver goblet.

"You did not see him die though," she put in breathlessly.

"I did not, but I saw him fall after I fired my shot. He was hit."

"At night. And through a cloud of gun smoke? You used a Baker?" Cecilia asked.

Another sport that Arthur had educated her on. She had learned a lot about rifles and marksmanship even if she had no interest in learning how to actually shoot.

"I did."

"Then you could not have seen your target once the trigger was pulled. The smoke will have blinded you. You saw him there. Fired and when the smoke cleared, he was not there. Hardly proof."

Again, Thorpe seemed to hesitate, a flicker of doubt crossing his face. Then he grinned wolfishly.

"Why do we dance around the issue at stake here? With a few choice words, I will soon be heir to the Thornhill estate. I have the power to give you the most comfortable life. As my wife."

He put out his hand as though offering it to her.

Slowly, she took it, before flicking the blade upwards with ease and slashing its tip across the back of Thorpe's hand. He recoiled with a scream, clutching at his wounded appendage. Cecilia darted the blade to the side, knocking the silver goblet from its perch so that it clattered loudly to the ground.

When Thorpe looked at her next, his face was a mask of fury. He cursed, face reddening. Again, his eyes were those of a rabid animal, the thin veneer of civilization discarded like a ragged cloak. He lunged for her and she side-stepped, whipping the blade out and scoring a line under one of his arms, across his ribs. He grabbed for the other blade, slipping on droplets of blood that had flicked to the ground from the tip of Cecilia's sword. She stepped back, knees beginning to tremble. She'd eaten only a bowl of broth and some bread after purging everything she'd eaten the night before. The sword was well-balanced but still a heavy piece of metal.

She was also fighting the mental shock that Lionel might be wounded. Or dead.

The library door banged open then and Flock burst in. He was holding a cane presumably plucked from the stand beside the front door. At the sight of his mistress holding a bloody blade and a man confronting her with a sword of his own, Flock lunged forward, swinging the cane. Thorpe lashed out with the sword and Cecilia screamed her concern, but the rapier blade smashed into the cane and was snapped in two. Flock discarded the weapon and seized Thorpe by the lapels of his coat, dragging him towards the fire with teeth bared in savage, outraged anger.

"Stop, Flock!" Cecilia cried out.

Flock froze. Thorpe's feet had gone from beneath him and he hung, suspended, above the flames. Only Flock's white-knuckled fists held him out of the hungry fire.

"We are leaving," she commanded, "this man is beneath us."

She snapped her own blade across the wall and discarded the pieces. Her heart was racing and she took deep breaths, remembering the child that grew within her. Was that to be a fatherless child? Just as she and Arthur had been? The very thought burned a pit in her stomach.

Flock tossed Thorpe aside so that he rolled and only stopped when he thudded into a bookcase. He hit it hard enough that it creaked and swayed, several volumes slipping from the shelves to cascade around him.

"I will destroy you just like I destroyed your husband!" Thorpe spat.

That brought Flock around, and he took a step towards the stricken Viscount, who whimpered involuntarily, raising his hands.

"Flock!" Cecilia repeated, "Ignore him. They are just words. Take me home, please."

She prayed with all her soul that they were just words.