The baron tipped his head to the side. “What is over, brother? The quest for the rose? Maybe. But I am determined your family will recognize me for who I am.”
Marissa’s hand had stolen into Valentine’s and she felt his fingers squeeze hers. For comfort or for warning? She glanced up at him and couldn’t decide.
“I wish I could recognize you, Von Hautt. I will need to investigate the matter further. But I swear to you I have never before heard of the things you are telling me.”
The bitterness in Von Hautt’s smile made him almost ugly. His strange cold eyes slid to Marissa and narrowed.
“But you see, brother, that isn’t good enough. My mother should have had justice, but she died with the condemnations of her family and her husband ringing in her ears, the same sneers and jibes I have heard all my life. I do not forgive. I want justice. An eye for an eye.”
Valentine seemed to know what was coming. Marissa felt his body stiffen, felt the surge of energy within him. His hand on hers tightened painfully. “No,” he said.
“Don’t move, Valentine,” the baron said in an icy voice.
“What you’re suggesting is monstrous,” Valentine growled, and pushed Marissa behind him. “I warn you, I will not allow you to touch her.”
Understanding came to her as she stood, frozen, at his back. Von Hautt meant to seduce her as he believed Valentine’s father had seduced his mother, only in this case there would be no seduction. Von Hautt would take her as he’d taken Lady Longhurst—brutally and without pity.
She pressed her face into Valentine’s jacket, finding comfort in his solidarity. “I want to marry you, Valentine,” she whispered. “I’m so sorry I made you wait for my answer.”
He glanced back at her and their eyes met.
“And I want you to know how much I love you,” she said, her voice breaking. “In case…in case…”
“I will never let him hurt you,” he said gruffly.
“Monstrous?” the baron was too busy ranting to notice their private conversation. “Shouldn’t your father have thought of that before he destroyed my mother?”
“Von Hautt,” Valentine said wearily, “how can I make you understand that I am completely ignorant of any wrongdoing by my family to yours?”
“You’re my brother,” he cried, and there was something dangerous and, at the same time wounded, in his tone.
Valentine fell silent.
Marissa dared to peer around her bulwark. Von Hautt appeared to be swaying from side to side. The pistol was still pointed at them, but he was having difficulty keeping it level. And his face was paler, with a shine of sweat on his skin. Her gaze dropped lower and, with a cry of horror, she saw that the hand he was holding over his wound was now red with blood.
“You need a doctor! Please, let us help you, Baron.”
He turned to stare at her as if he’d forgotten she was there.
“Yes,” Valentine added, in that same soft tone. “Let us get you help, Augustus. Look at yourself. You’re losing a great deal of blood.”
He looked down in surprise. “But it was such a little hole,” he muttered. “How could such a little hole bleed so much?”
Valentine took a step forward and then another. “Come, brother,” he said, “let me help you.”
The baron stumbled, losing his footing, and then his legs gave way completely and Valentine caught him as he fell, the pistol clattering to the floor. Carefully Valentine eased him down on the floor, while Marissa knelt beside them.
The baron’s eyes fluttered and then opened wide. He stared up at Valentine and then he smiled.
“Brother,” he whispered.
Chapter 32
Old Doctor Arnold finished washing his hands in the bowl by his side and began to dry them carefully. His gaze rested on his patient lying still in the bed, the covers folded neatly over his chest, his face as unmoving as the effigy on a tomb.
“Will he recover?” Marissa said anxiously.
Valentine took her hand in his. “It isn’t your fault,” he assured her, but he could see by her expression that she felt differently. “You had no choice,” he went on firmly. “He was beyond reasoning with. You saved our lives, Marissa.”