Velvet Embrace

Dominic leveled his piercing gaze at Brie once more, and there was a long, pregnant pause before he spoke. "Chérie, you are either very, very naive, or you are a superb actress. You almost had me doubting my father. But perhaps that is your game, after all."

It was all Brie could do to keep from looking away. She had always known Dominic was no more willing to believe her own innocence than her mother's, but his words still hurt. "I am playing no game, Dominic," she murmured, trying to keep the tremor from her voice.

"We shall see," he replied, the warning in his tone apparent. "We shall see."

Chapter Seventeen

Brie buried her hands beneath the folds of her cloak to hide their trembling, but it was a futile gesture. Dominic knew already how nervous and apprehensive she was. Yet how could she be otherwise when the atmosphere in the coach was fraught with tension as she and Dominic approached their final destination?

When they had left the Valdois estates a few hours before, they had gone to the village inn where Dominic ordered rooms and a light repast to be served in the private parlor. Brie had made no pretense of eating, but if Dominic noticed her lack of appetite, he hadn't commented on it. Afterward he had told her to wait in her room until the horses were rested. When they set out once more, Dominic rode with her in the coach. He was silent and preoccupied, and Brie remained just as silent, hoping fervently that the impending confrontation with Sir Charles Durham would provide both a key to the past and a vindication of her own actions.

The coach finally came to a halt before a house which wasn't as large as the Valdois chateau but had been built in a similar style. Dominic handed Brie down from the carriage, then escorted her to the front door.

It was quite a while after his knock that the door was opened a mere crack. A slovenly-looking porter peered out, eying the visitors with undisguised hostility.

"It would seem we are expected," Dominic observed sardonically. When the door started to slam in his face, he forced his way in and roughly grabbed the servant by the collar of his liveried jacket, jerking him up. "Now my good man," Dominic said brusquely in French. "You will tell me where I may find your master before another minute is up, or I will throw you to my coachman. Jacques knows quite well how to deal with your kind. Ah, excellent timing," he added when Jacques entered behind Brie. The burly coachman was brandishing a pistol and looking quite capable of using it.

The porter, finding himself outnumbered, gave a frightened whimper and in a strangled voice, said that Sir Charles could be found in his study. Dominic gave a brief nod. "Jacques, you may take charge of this fellow. See that we aren't interrupted, if you please." Taking hold of Brie's arm then, he guided her down the hall.

When he stopped before a closed door, he spared a glance for her. Her cheeks were rather pale, but she met his eyes bravely. Returning her gaze, Dominic once again doubted his wisdom in bringing her along. If she were innocent, she would be in no little danger when he confronted Durham. On the other hand, if she were a party to her grandfather's plans, then he, Dominic, would have to be doubly on his guard. But he had to know. And it was much too late now to allow his doubts to interfere with his course of action. Quietly, Dominic opened the door and ushered Brie into the study.

A man, grayed and stooped with age, was hunched behind a massive oak desk at the far end of the room. He was richly dressed in brocade and lace, his clothes belonging to an earlier generation. The curling, powdered wig he wore had gone out of style some twenty years ago.

He did not look up, but growled in a feeble voice, "Take it away, you imbecile. How many times have I told you not to bring tea while I am busy?"

"It must be a great trial to you, Sir Charles," Dominic said softly, "to be surrounded by incompetence. You would do better to choose your employees with more care."

At Dominic's first words, Sir Charles had looked up, impatience written on his grizzled countenance. But his impatience quickly turned to puzzlement, then comprehension, and finally fear. "Who the devil are you?" he demanded without conviction.

Dominic shut the door quietly behind him and moved further into the room, drawing Brie with him. At closer range, he could see the unhealthy pallor of Sir Charles' complexion. The old man was obviously an invalid, for his eyes were sunk deep in their sockets, and his thin, spotted hands were trembling.

Disgusted to have a foe so unworthy of his steel, Dominic wondered if he had somehow been misled about Durham's intent to kill him. But then he caught the fiery gleam of hatred in the sunken eyes. "I hardly think introductions are necessary," he replied, "but since you insist, I am Dominic Serrault."

Sir Charles stared malevolently at Dominic before his attention shifted to Brie. Then suddenly his face turned a deathly shade of white, while a strangled gasp erupted from his throat. "Lisette! My God." His claw-like hands gripped the edge of the desk, and he swayed, shutting his eyes. When he opened them again, he was still staring at Brie.

Watching Sir Charles' reaction, Dominic could see his shock was real. It was obvious the old man thought he was seeing the ghost of his dead wife Lisette. Dominic felt such a flood of relief that his knees went numb. Brie hadn't been lying to him. She hadn't been lying. A slow, spiraling joy began to wing its way upward from his heart.

But he ruthlessly forced his chaotic thoughts aside in order to concentrate. The shock had disappeared from on Sir Charles' face, to be replaced by suspicion and a rapidly increasing anger.

With a swift motion that belied his years, he pointed an accusing finger at Brie. "You are not Lisette!" he bellowed, his face becoming mottled with rage. "Who are you? Who are you?"

Brie was startled by his fury. "I am your granddaughter, sir," she answered warily, wondering if Sir Charles possessed an unsound mind.

"That is a lie! I have no granddaughter."

"I assure you it is true. I am Brie Carringdon. Your daughter Suzanne was my mother."

Sir Charles hesitated. "Suzanne? Suzanne, did you say?" He sneered, his eyes becoming more hooded. "So the little slut ran off and found herself a h

usband. I always wondered what happened to her. Was Carringdon fooled? Did he think you were his child?"

Brie was first astonished, then enraged by the insult. "How dare you!" she said between clenched teeth. "How dare you say such a thing about my mother." She took a step toward him but was restrained by Dominic.

"That is quite enough, Brie," he said quietly. "You may leave the room." When Brie raised a questioning gaze, Dominic gave a curt shake of his head. "This quarrel is not yours, but mine. Go, now. Wait for me in the hall."

The expression on Dominic's face was unreadable, but Brie couldn't ignore the command in those gray eyes. Lifting her skirts, she turned to obey.

Later, she wondered if the outcome would have been different had she not done so, for when she reached the door and opened it, she came face to face with Jacques. The next instant she was flung roughly to the floor as a pistol shot exploded behind her.