Velvet Embrace

Once on their way, Brie couldn't help contrasting this leg of their journey with previous ones. She was alone in the coach and there was no spirited banter or pleasant companionship to alleviate the boredom—not even any exercise to relieve the tedious miles. The day was gray and overcast, wrapping the countryside in gloom, and Brie spent so much of the time staring out the window that she grew to hate the dreary landscape with its endless vineyards patterning the hillsides.

They changed horses twice, but neither time when she stepped down to stretch her legs did she see Dominic. During their second stop, she was told by Jacques that Dominic had ridden on ahead.

At last, after what seemed to be an interminable interval, the carriage pulled off the main road. Jacques slowed the horses to a walk, but the lane was in such a sad state of repair that the coach bucked and swayed continually. Each rut and pothole jarred Brie's teeth, and several times she was almost thrown from the seat.

After a quarter mile or so, the lane gave way to a clearing— or at least what once must have been a clearing, Brie thought grimly as she noted the overgrown weeds and unkempt shrubbery. Then the coach crawled around a bend in the drive and the once-magnificent chateau came into view.

Seeing it, Brie gasped involuntarily. She had supposed the manor house might be in poor condition, but she hadn't expected the utter desolation of the place. Although the frame and main walls of the house still stood, great gaping holes took the place of leaded windows, and a section of the roof had collapsed where a limb from a nearby tree had fallen on it. Peeling paint and crumbling mortar completed the picture of abandonment and ruin, while a gray mist hovered around the place, giving the scene an unearthly aura. Brie shuddered at the eerie silence, suddenly not wanting to leave the relative security of the coach.

The soft jingle of a harness was the only sound she heard as she opened the door and stepped down. Jacques was still in the driver's box, she noted, but he was staring grimly at the wreckage of the chateau.

Slowly, as if in a dream, Brie mounted the steps to the house. There was no front door to impede her progress, but she had to duck her head to avoid the cobwebs as she entered. If possible, the inside of the chateau was in worse state than the outside. Holding her skirts high to avoid the debris and rubble, she began a tour of the silent mausoleum.

Bits of crystal from a fallen chandelier crunched under her feet as she moved along the entrance hall. In rooms to her right and left, she could see broken pieces of furniture strewn on the moldering carpets, and all the walls were badly stained and oozing dampness. The once magnificent staircase was missing the banister, and Brie had to step carefully as she made her way upstairs.

On the second floor she discovered what must have been a music room. A discarded harp, its bow snapped in two, lay on a pile of charred wood. Someone had obviously built a fire—not in the fire place as one might expect, but in the middle of the room.

On the third floor Brie opened a door and checked abruptly. Dominic stood at the window with his back to her, his head bowed. He seemed not to have noticed her presence, but as Brie turned to leave, he suddenly spoke. "Welcome to my ancestral home, Miss Carringdon," he said, his voice sounding harsh and bitter.

Brie hesitated, not knowing how to respond. Then, without warning, Dominic suddenly whirled and threw something against the side wall with such force that the plaster cracked. Brie flinched, realizing when the object clattered to the floor that it was a broken toy soldier.

Dominic gave a derisive laugh at her startled expression. "This, by the way, is the nursery," he said in that same bitter tone. "And that," he added, pointing to the pieces of the wooden toy, "was once my favorite plaything. I always wondered what had become of it. I left it here that night, when the soldiers came for my father. I can remember, years later, still feeling uncomfortable at the sight of a uniform, even British."

His gaze returned to Brie, his eyes raking her figure as if daring her to mock him. She had no intention of mocking him, though. She could see the raw pain in his eyes, and her heart went out to him.

"Dominic," she said, searching for the right words. "It does no good to relive the past. Neither you nor I could have prevented what happened. Can you not forget?"

His mouth twisted in the curving sneer she hated so much. "Forget? That is hardly likely, mademoiselle, when your very presence in this house serves to remind me. Your mother used to visit here, did you know? In this very room, while I was at my lessons." He paused, regarding her narrowly. "Come here."

Suddenly wary, Brie hesitated. But when Dominic abruptly repeated his command, she slowly walked across the room to where he stood. He grasped her arm and turned her face to the window that overlooked the front lawns, then stepped behind her. When he placed his hands on her shoulders. Brie tensed, not quite sure of his intentions. But Dominic merely began to speak in a low, faraway voice.

"I have never forgotten that night," he said softly. "I was supposed to be in bed asleep, but instead I was here, playing with my wooden soldiers. When I heard a disturbance, I looked out this window and could see real soldiers—a small troop, actually. There." He pointed to the spot. "The sun had already set, but I could see the men's faces clearly in the light of the torches they carried. When I opened my window so I could peer down, I heard my father's voice demanding an explanation for the intrusion. He received no answer. I saw him walk down the front steps toward the waiting men, and didn't wait any longer but ran out of the nursery. I'm not sure what I intended to do. Save my father, I think, though from what danger I wasn't certain.

"Only years later did I understand why he had left the apparent security of the house. He was protecting me. Had he stayed, the revolutionary soldiers would have stormed his home, but as it was, the soldiers forgot me. I believe they were too surprised my father put up no struggle."

Brie closed her eyes, blinking back tears as she pictured the young boy Dominic had described. How frightened and bewildered he must have been to see his beloved father taken away by the soldiers. She wanted to say something to let him know she understood, but he spoke again.

"I raced downstairs, but when I reached the front hall, I came face to face with my tutor who caught me and very effectively ended my headlong rush into the fray. I fought him, to no avail. Then finally I quieted so I could hear what was being said. My father's arms were bound behind him, and he was speaking to their captain, demanding to know why he was being arrested. I almost laughed when I heard the charges, they were so outrageous. Treason and murder! Treason because he was of noble blood—that I could almost understand. As young as I was, I was aware of the mood of the country. I had heard all the gruesome details about what was happening in Paris from a travelling gypsy, and I could realize no nobleman was safe from the trumped-up charge of treason. But murder! He was charged with killing Lady Lisette, your grandmother. And it was your mother Suzanne who accused him."

Brie had been listening intently to Dominic's story, but she interrupted him at this point to den

y her mother's involvement. "I don't believe it," she declared. "My mother would never do such a thing."

As if recalling her presence, Dominic dropped his hands from her shoulders and stepped back, putting a distance between them. "I haven't finished the story. The captain had barely gotten the words out of his mouth when your mother appeared on the scene. She threw her arms around my father, protesting her innocence, much as you did just now—although her sobbing added a bit more drama. It was quite a touching scene."

Hearing the hard note in his voice, Brie turned to face Dominic, her eyes searching his face. "And you chose not to believe her?"

Her expression remained enigmatic as he returned her gaze. "It was too much of a coincidence not to. Had Suzanne Durham been innocent, she would not have known of the charges, nor would she have arrived at that particular moment. I don't think my father believed her either, for that matter. The soldiers took him away shortly, and I never saw him or your mother again. My tutor, having a high regard for his own skin—and mine as well, I suppose—bundled me up and whisked me off to England to my mother's family. I was told that my father would be safe once he could clear his name of the charges. It was less than a month later when we received word of his execution."

Brie stared at Dominic, wanting desperately to understand this complex, bitter man she had come to love. "Is that why you sided against the French during the war?" she asked finally. "You wanted revenge?"

Dominic looked away, sighing wearily. "Not precisely. Napoleon had to be stopped at all costs and I merely did my part. But you miss my point. Granted the tide of the revolution was evil, an uncontrollable evil, but it was merely an instrument which Suzanne Durham used to bring about my father's downfall."

"But if the comte really did kill my grandmother, that would explain my mother's action."

"Explain, perhaps, but not excuse. My father did not kill Lisette Durham."

"But how can you be sure?"