Chapter 19 #2
“I’ll promise you nothing.” He turned away and ran his hands through his disordered hair. “I’ll have you and Verity out of this hellhole. No one trusts a Malloren, especially with a woman. They’ll doubtless pass you around.” He swung back to sneer at her. “If they haven’t already.”
“Fort, stop this!”
He stopped, but only to stare at her. “Cyn Malloren! I knew I remembered that name. He was at—” He broke off and then said, “At a certain place.”
He was talking about Rood House.
“Have you breakfasted, Fort?” Chastity asked quickly.
“I heard Cyn Malloren was fighting over a wench,” he sneered. “How do you like that, sister dear? But three nights since, your honorable seducer was squabbling over a whore.”
Then he started counting nights. She could see it in his eyes.
“That was the night you spent on the road with him on your way to Maidenhead . . .” His puzzled frown turned to an expression of horror. “Dear Lord in heaven . . .” Chastity retreated strategically behind a sofa, wondering what her chances were of reaching the door.
“I thought that teasing Chloe was familiar!” His voice swelled to a roar. “You filthy little trollop!”
“You were at Rood House too!” she screamed at him.
He charged at her, and the sofa suddenly seemed no barrier at all. Chastity looked for a weapon and grabbed a large Chinese vase, the best defense to hand.
Fort stopped.
He stopped because a glittering rapier was at his throat, wielded by Rothgar, who had appeared as if by magic.
“Ah,” said Fort. “Another Malloren. Is she whore to the whole family, then?”
“My dear Thornhill,” said Rothgar softly, “she is to all intents and purposes one of the family. If you offend against her, I will be forced to take it personally . . .”
Even Fort appeared to be sobered by the concentrated malice in the marquess’ voice.
“She doesn’t deny that your brother ruined her,” Fort said. “I’ll have satisfaction of him.”
“That is between you and him. But it is your father who has ruined her. Whose side are you on?” The unwavering sword at his neck carried a lethal promise.
Fort ignored it and looked steadily at Chastity. She sent him a silent appeal. He sighed. “Hers.”
Rothgar lowered the sword. Chastity only then realized that Brand and Elf were in the room too.
“Then we are all on the same side,” said Rothgar smoothly, as if that violence had never been. “Let me tell you about your father . . .”
Time hung heavy at the Abbey as everyone waited for Rothgar’s plans to bring results. No one was entirely sure what wheels Rothgar had set in motion except the marquess himself, and the only clear sign he gave was to casually order preparations for a grand masqued ball in five days.
“Five days,” said Elf calmly. “And who is to attend?”
“Everyone I have invited,” he said enigmatically.
It became clear that Rothgar had invited all the local gentry and a good part of the aristocracy.
“Won’t they think it strange to be invited to a grand ball at such short notice?” Chastity asked.
“Oh, no,” said Elf. “He always does things this way. A whim takes him and he holds an event. They are accustomed.”
“Well, I suppose they are accustomed to a scrambling kind of affair then. It took weeks of planning for my father to hold a ball this spring.”
“Scrambling,” said Elf with Malloren hauteur. “Of course not.”
Chastity found herself swept up into a whirlwind of efficient organization.
Large numbers of extra staff were summoned from London.
Messages went to Rothgar’s other estates demanding provisions.
Both staff and provisions, of course, all came by the fastest means, regardless of cost. A dozen crates of geese came by post chaise.
Fort stayed on at the Abbey. He appeared to accept the likelihood of his father’s guilt, but he was not particularly mellowed toward the Mallorens.
He kept to himself as they awaited Cyn’s return.
Cyn, who would bring the document that could ruin the whole Ware family. Cyn, who was his sister’s seducer.
Fort looked like a man who lusted for someone to kill.
“What a horrible brother,” said Elf as she directed the rearrangement of furniture. “He doesn’t seem to care for you at all.”
“Perhaps he cares too much,” said Chastity. “What would Rothgar do if he found you in bed with a man?”
Elf went wide-eyed at the thought, but said, “He wouldn’t turn against me.”
Chastity didn’t argue, but she thought Elf overoptimistic. She hoped her new friend’s illusions were never shattered.
In the evening of the next day, Bryght returned from Maidenhead with the letter.
Chastity and Elf were with Rothgar when Bryght walked into the Tapestry Room and gave it to his brother.
“The house was deserted, and Walgrave is no longer in Maidenhead.” Somewhat grimly, he added, “You didn’t tell me who the letter was from. ”
“I didn’t tell you to read it, either,” remarked Rothgar with an unmistakable touch of humor. Rothgar’s humor was generally cause for concern.
Chastity saw an angry muscle twitch in Bryght’s jaw. He hadn’t shaved that day, and looked more sullen and angry than usual. “Was I to ride my arse raw to get the damn thing, and not stop to check it wasn’t a laundry list?”
Rothgar scanned the perfumed paper and his brows rose. “One glance would tell you it wasn’t that.”
“One glance told me who had written it. I recognized the writing, and the perfume.”
“Ah,” said Rothgar, with a smile that was positively beatific, yet the most chilling thing Chastity had ever seen.
Bryght’s jaw was working in an alarming way and his hands were fists. “You sent me deliberately.”
Rothgar didn’t deny it. “You have never believed the woman to be less than perfect.”
“I’m not sure what I believe now. Would she have come to this if she’d married me?”
Chastity realized with horror that Bryght’s lost love was Nerissa Trelyn.
“She chose Trelyn of her own free will,” Rothgar pointed out.
Bryght turned on his heel and slammed out of the room.
“As you see,” said Rothgar to Chastity, “I have a score of my own to settle with Nerissa Trelyn. But even so, I will not destroy her unless she insists on it.”
Chastity shared a horrified look with Elf, but that lady just shrugged as if such dramatics were an ordinary part of life. Lud, but living with the Mallorens was like living in a dragon’s lair, with Fort as an invading eagle.
When a second day passed without Cyn’s appearance, Chastity began to worry about his safety.
Three times she was on the point of begging Rothgar to send out a search party, but Cyn would hate that if he were safe.
Besides, Rothgar’s confidence was so overwhelming she feared he’d be mortally offended at the suggestion of a problem in his plans.
She buried her worries under the work of helping Elf organize the ball. Elf seemed to have all the details in hand but one.
“We need a theme,” she said. “A ball must have a theme.”
“Flowers?” said Chastity.
“Not in November,” said Elf with a grin. “Not even for a Malloren. Medieval?” she mused. “No, for people would wish to be in costume, and there is not time. Venetian? Terribly overdone . . . Ah,” she suddenly said. “Chinese!”
“Chinese?” queried Chastity, following her hostess as she headed toward the subterranean depths of the house.
“Why did I not think of it before?” Elf burbled happily. “Come along. You’ll see.”
What Chastity saw was a pile of bales wrapped in burlap. When a footman unwrapped them, they proved to be rolls of priceless, hand-painted red Chinese silk.
She touched one reverently, then turned to Elf in horror. “You can’t!”
“I’m going to hang it all around the ballroom.”
“Elf, you can’t!” Chastity wailed. “It’s far too precious!”
“Oh,” said Elf, “not for a Malloren.”
Then Chastity saw the way Elf’s lips were twitching.
She looked again at the silk. It was undoubtedly very valuable.
She gently unrolled some. It was a cleverly constructed dummy bale.
Inside she found only a coarse glazed cotton printed with the same gilded pattern.
“You wretch,” she declared. “Where did all this come from?”
“Rothgar acquired it in one of his more mysterious enterprises. I keep wondering what to do with the good silk, but it’s too exotic for a dress . . .” She looked at Chastity. “For me, maybe.”
“I’m not going to the ball in a gown that appears to be made from the hangings,” said Chastity firmly.
Elf laughed. “Of course not. But for later, perhaps. Meanwhile, we’ll have this unwrapped and hung.” She gave the orders and swept off. “It would be effective to paint the woodwork in the ballroom in black lacquer,” she mused.
“But somewhat permanent,” Chastity pointed out, wondering if that would matter to a Malloren. “You could always have mock panels constructed and placed around the room.” As soon as she’d said it, Chastity knew she was being infected with the Malloren outlook on life.
“Of course,” said Elf delightedly, and gave more orders. The amazing thing, thought Chastity, was that the enormous staff of servants never blinked at any order, no matter how outrageous. No wonder Cyn was as he was.
With a Malloren, all things were possible.
She had begun to think of Rothgar Abbey as a miniature Versailles.
She was directing the draping of the ‘silk’ when Cyn returned. He walked into the ballroom and halted. “ ’Struth. Is that really . . . ?”
Chastity whirled. “Cyn!” Without thinking, she hurled herself into his arms under the discreet but fascinated attention of twenty servants.
She recollected herself immediately and pulled away. He almost let her go, but then suddenly, desperately, stepped back with her out of the room and into the corridor. For a moment they stood there, drinking in the sight of each other, then their mouths met in desperate communion.
Chastity knew then that life was scarcely possible for her without Cyn’s presence—his touch, his voice, his love . . .
The kiss eased away but they still clung together.