“Well it’s not, is it? It was a rock, at least a brick, that did this to you.”
“My head is fine.”
“Nevertheless,” George interrupted, “you will see a quack, or whoever passes for one in Bentley Green. Do you think Von Hautt meant to hurt you?” he added, before his brother could protest.
Valentine pushed a lock of hair out of his eyes. “I think he hates me,” he said in a voice devoid of feeling. “He wants to see me suffer.”
“But why?” George seemed bewildered.
Valentine gave him a look, as if he had more to say but wasn’t going to say it in front of Marissa. Cautiously she began to descend the creaky stairs. I don’t care, she told herself. Let them have their silly secrets. She crossed to the front door, her shoes squelching with each step. I want a warm bath and a warm fire and dry clothing and warm sheets with a hot water bottle.
Outside, the rain had stopped. The afternoon was lighter, and the rain clouds were breaking up as the storm moved on. She might have thought it a big improvement, apart from the fact the wind was icy. It felt as if it was blowing right through her wet clothes to her bare, shivering skin.
Behind her Valentine and George came out of the house and stood under the portico. They both looked at her, then away again. George even flushed. Something had passed between them; something about her, Marissa decided, irritably. Well they could keep their secrets, see if she cared.
With as much dignity as she could muster, Marissa headed down the path through the garden, trying not to wince each time the rain-soaked foliage showered her with drops.
I wish I’d never come, she thought miserably. I wish I’d stayed at home. Why do I want to marry a man who brings me to a monstrous tumbledown ruin with an overrun jungle for a garden and then makes me stand in the rain?
A warm, strong hand closed on her arm, and a large jacket was placed about her shoulders. It was far from dry but at least it was warm from his body, and just for a moment she allowed herself to breathe in his scent.
“Poor Marissa,” he said, his voice deep and husky, with a smile in it.
“Not poor Marissa,” she retorted. “Courageous Marissa. Marissa who saved you from drowning in the pond.”
He was silent a moment, and then he bent closer, his breath in her ear, the warmth of it making her shiver despite herself. “Sweetest, dearest Marissa, thank you.”
She hoped he meant it, but she wasn’t sure. She glanced at him sideways and saw that he was watching her, a sparkle in his eyes. How could he be so…so alive after all that had happened?
“Does it rain on that hillside in Italy?” she asked blithely.
He grinned. “If it does there’s always the villa to shelter in.”
Marissa opened her mouth to ask if the villa had a bed, and then closed it again. Time for talk about beds later, when she was warm again, and when they were alone.
Chapter 27
Baron Augustus Von Hautt raised his telescope to his eye and watched the passing of his enemy. Lord Valentine Kent was on the road below, ignorant of the fact that he was under observation. The baron smiled. He’d returned to the house as soon as Kent left it, creeping in unseen, settling himself by the window on the top story. He knew the place well and today he’d used that knowledge to make a fool of his enemy.
All his life he’d felt second best.
Well, soon that would change. He would be a hero, someone others admired and listened to in silent appreciation, the sort of man who was invited everywhere. His life would become what it always should have been, had fate been different. All he had to do was find the Crusader’s Rose and destroy Valentine Kent.
He used to think the two went together, that by being the first to discover the rose after all these years he would automatically blight Kent’s future happiness. But now he saw another possible avenue for his revenge.
Marissa Rotherhild.
It had been clear to him from the first moment he saw her, as he stood looking into the candlelit rooms of Abbey Thorne Manor, that she was something out of the ordinary. A rare and precious treasure, like the Crusader’s Rose itself. He’d seen her again at Montfitchet, and been even more struck by her.
That’s when he’d decided to have her as well as the rose.
Well, why not? To be truly destroyed, Valentine Kent must lose everything he treasured—and Von Hautt believed Kent was enamored of Marissa Rotherhild. For years he’d watched him, secretly, and he’d never seen him like this, as if he was on the verge of an epiphany.
Augustus wanted nothing more than to ruin it. He hadn’t meant to give away his plan, but while Kent lay on the ground in the garden, at Von Hautt’s mercy, he hadn’t been able to resist gloating a little. He’d leaned down and whispered, “The woman will be mine. Remember all you have lost while I am…” He’d used a filthy term, but one he knew Kent would understand. The coarseness of it added to the effect, despoiling what Kent believed was wholesome and pure.
Kent had promptly tried to throttle him but instead he’d fallen and struck his head. Not dead, though—Von Hautt had time to check before the brother came after him and he had to run.
Was Kent remembering his words now, as he hurried toward Bentley Green? Was he grinding his teeth in fury, imagining what would happen to his woman? Von Hautt smiled. He hoped so. He hoped Kent was sick with fear. Let him suffer.