“Wherein, Crecy is imprudent – again - and Belle suffers a shock.”

 

It was sheer bad luck that Edward happened to be walking the stairs at the moment his detested cousin came to call. In usual circumstances, Garrett would simply deny him, but that was hard to do when Edward was so obviously standing in Gabriel’s line of sight.

“Winterbourne,” Gabriel said, that cruel mouth tilted just a little into a mocking smile.

Edward stared back at the fellow with contempt. This man had tried to ensure that Edward remained dead to the world in the filth of the Dials, and when that failed, he’d tried to make the situation rather more permanent. Except that the fool he’d hired had almost killed his sister’s husband when Aubrey had rushed to push Edward out of the way of the bullet.

“Demorte,” he replied, his tone far from welcoming. “What do you want?”

“Want?” the viscount replied, one thick, dark brow arching upwards, a parody of innocent surprise. “My dear fellow, I want nothing from you, I can assure you of that.”

Edward snorted; nothing except his title, his wealth, his estate ... his sister. “Well then, as I certainly want nothing from you, I fail to see what it is you are doing here.”

Gabriel chuckled, and, despite himself, Edward felt a shiver run over his skin. There was a time when Edward had pitied Gabriel. His life had been doomed from the moment he’d been born, the madness in the family only too evident in Gabriel’s father, Edward’s Uncle Thomas. The man had gone out of his way to ensure his only son was every bit as twisted as he was.

Gabriel had found his mother’s body on the day that she had finally made good on her threats and committed suicide. In a final horrific act, his father had been so overwrought that he’d also killed himself, that very same day - in front of his ten-year-old son.

No wonder the poor bastard was twisted; what chance did he have after all? But such empathetic feelings tended to be curtailed when the devil tried to kill you. Twice.

“My dear Edward,” Gabriel continued, smiling, though it was the kind of smile that Lucifer himself must give the new arrivals to his fiery abode. “I have merely discovered that I am late in congratulating your sister on her ... err ... advantageous marriage.”

Edward scowled. He had opposed Violette’s marriage fiercely because it was anything but advantageous. But he had to be fair, Aubrey Russell would be Baron Russell one day, which was perfectly respectable, and he seemed to be making Violette happy. Extremely happy, if he was being fair (which was rare it had to be said), and Violette deserved to be happy. Add the fact that the man was making his fortune with quite startling rapidity… Yes, perhaps his interest in this locomotive deal smacked rather of trade, but Edward had never had much time for the kind of men who sat about twiddling their thumbs while their estates crumbled to dust, in any case. He had begun to find he rather admired Mr Russell, though he’d never admit it to his sister.

“I’ll be sure to pass on your felicitations, cousin,” Edward replied, his tone dry. Violette was terrified of Demorte, and would run a mile from him, or even all the way to London, alone and unchaperoned.

He felt a swell of rage at the man who had so frightened his sister. Gabriel’s mouth curled a little further as he must well know what Edward was thinking. Edward bit back any further angry remarks, knowing that his cousin would relish an outburst on his part. He thrived on their animosity.

“You’re looking well, Edward, if I might observe it.”

“Not dead, you mean?” Edward replied, his tone mild.

Gabriel grinned, showing a row of even, white teeth. “Ah, how well we understand each other.”

Edward said nothing.

This was typical of the man and his mind games. He had come for no other reason than to unsettle Edward and remind him that he still had an enemy at large.

As if he could forget it.

“Well, then, dear cousin,” Gabriel said, sweeping a theatrical bow. “I will bid you good day.”

***

Belle stared out at the barren, snow covered landscape with quiet rage as she watched her sister walking in the grounds, alone, with Lord Benjamin Lancaster. The youngest son of a marquess, he would have been quite a catch for Crecy. If Crecy favoured him, Belle would happily have promoted the union, if not for the fact that Ben Lancaster was a notorious rake!

“Do stop being so stuffy, Belinda,” her aunt was saying. “The man is a lord, and even if he is only the youngest son, he’s rumoured to have a rather splendid fortune. You must give the man time to fall in love with her. If only she would put some effort into catching him. But still, if he gets her on her own, he should be able to persuade her, he’s dreadfully handsome.” Her aunt gave a dejected sigh. “I admit, of course, that I had hopes that Winterbourne himself might show an interest ...”

Belle felt her temper flare at this appalling woman and her dreadful lack of care. “Yes, and I suppose it matters little if she ruins herself; after all, you’ll merely offer him a carte blanche on her behalf, I suppose?”

Aunt Grimble levelled her with a cool look of dislike. “The world is a hard place for a woman with no fortune, you foolish girl. She’d be fortunate indeed to be offered such. You don’t know how lucky you’ve been in me. You’ve never appreciated my generosity in taking you in, and letting you both eat me out of house and home ...”

“Using us as unpaid slaves, dangling Crecy in front of every man with a fortune no matter his age or character, like a worm on a hook ...” Belle interjected in fury, pulling on her pelisse as fast as she could, having had quite enough of any pretence of politeness to the odious creature.

“Well, I tell you this, you ungrateful cat,” Aunt Grimble sneered. “This is your last chance. You’ll have this season to snare yourselves a wealthy husband, and if you don’t manage it, you’re out. I’ll not house you any longer, for a pair of more grasping, insensible creatures, I’ve never come across!” Belle gasped at the sheer audacity of the woman, calling them grasping! “Not to mention that unnatural sister of yours and her love of dead and broken things.” Her aunt gave a visible shudder, and on this point, Belle felt a little less certain. The room they shared was littered with all manner of skulls and bones and odd things that her sister had found. If she’d been a more sensitive creature, Belle would likely have suffered nightmares.

But the threat of being thrown on the streets was too real to be merely a nightmare. Belle had known it was inevitable, though, whatever the wretched woman might say. She’d always planned to kick Belle out after this season if neither of them had found a husband, and as for Crecy ... Belle shuddered.

“Well, you’ll just have to start paying for some staff, then,” Belle replied with dignity as she tied her bonnet. “If you can find someone to work for such a vulgar, miserly muck worm.” And with that she sailed out of the door with the gratifying image of Aunt Grimble, mouth agape with shock, etched upon her mind.

Her satisfaction was short-lived, however, and terror began to churn in her stomach. Good God, whatever was to become of them?

For the moment, however, she had to rescue Crecy.

The gardens were lovely in their seasonal dusting of snow, and despite the cold, it was a beautiful day. A sky so pure and blue that the day was almost too bright to bear, glinting upon the pristine white covering that had been thrown over the countryside like a cloak. Thankfully, the snow wasn’t deep, merely an inch or so, and as no one else had dared venture out into the freezing atmosphere, Crecy and Lord Lancaster’s footsteps were easy to track.

It appeared that she had arrived not a moment too soon, as she crested a small hill and looked down upon the shallow valley that led towards a thick patch of woodland, to discover Lord Lancaster making his move. Crecy had been examining something on the ground, brushing the snow away as Lord Lancaster crouched beside her. As she looked around, smiling with delight at whatever (no doubt revolting) thing she had discovered, Lancaster moved in ... and kissed her.

Predictably, to Belle, at least, Crecy exclaimed in outrage and then gave Lancaster a hard shove, sending him sprawling backwards into the snow in an ungainly heap.

Belle hurried up to them, sending Crecy a look of pure fury before turning her attention to Lancaster. Crecy had the decency to look sheepish, at least, while to her surprise and relief, Lord Lancaster seemed to have seen the funny side of it.

“Well, I suppose I deserved that,” he remarked with a chuckle, getting to his feet and brushing snow from his clothes.

“Indeed, you did,” Belle replied, relieved that she didn’t have to confront an angry scene, but still extremely indignant on Crecy’s behalf, no matter how ill-advised her behaviour.

“You deserved a punch on the nose, my lord,” Crecy replied, the words tart and angry. “Only I didn’t want to risk damaging the skeleton.”

Skeleton? Oh Lord, well, that would explain a lot.

Lancaster gave a snort of amusement. “Well, dash it all, Miss Lucretia, I never knew a woman so hard on a man’s ego. I feel quite deflated.”

“I’m certain you will recover,” Crecy replied with dignity, folding her arms.

His lordship glanced from Crecy’s indignant face to Belle’s, and cleared his throat, clearly feeling a little discomforted. As well he might.

“I apologise for my appalling behaviour, ladies. I can only say in my defence that the temptation was too much to bear.”

Both women gave a snort of disgust at this comment, and Lancaster’s unease seemed to increase. He cleared his throat. “Yes, well ... err, perhaps you would allow me to make amends by escorting you back to the house. Devilish cold out,” he added, with what he probably imagined was a charming grin. In actual fact, it was very endearing, and Belle could well see how he’d gained such a dreadful reputation, but nonetheless.

“That will not be necessary, my lord,” Belle replied, her tone cool. “I will escort my sister. I beg you will not trouble yourself.”

Lancaster glanced at Crecy, who just turned her back on him with a final look of utter disgust. Belle sighed; as much as she was angry at the man for his impropriety and for taking advantage, he would have been a good match for Crecy, and he didn’t seem a bad sort, really. Not every man would take being pushed into an undignified heap in the snow with good grace, no matter how much he deserved it.

With a final display of good sense, Lord Lancaster repeated his apology, gave a polite bow, and left the two women alone.

“Oh Crecy!” Belle cried once he was out of earshot. “How could you? And after everything I said to you yesterday, too!”

Crecy glared back at her, a mutinous look in her eyes. “He said he’d found the skeleton of a snake, Belle!” she cried, as if this explained everything with perfect clarity. “And Aunt Grimble was supposed to be coming, too. I asked her to come with me, for propriety, just as you said, Belle. She said she was just going to fetch her pelisse and would be along directly.”

Belle rolled her eyes to the heavens. “Oh Crecy, you goose! Why on earth would you believe a word that wretched woman says to you? Not when you know full well she’s been doing all in her power to throw you in every and any wealthy man’s path at every opportunity!”

“Well, I thought she might come, as I’d specifically asked her to!” she retorted.

Belle groaned and Crecy scowled at her before turning away and crouching down in the snow again, the conversation clearly over as far as she was concerned.

“Look, Belle,” she said, smiling now, the argument long forgotten in the face of her treasure. “It’s so delicate, almost like lace. Isn’t it lovely?”

Belle took a reluctant step closer to see what was indeed the skeleton of a snake on top of a tree stump. Grimacing, Belle repressed a shudder. “Lovely,” she repeated, privately thinking the exact opposite.

“Lord Lancaster overheard me speaking about my collection to the Bridgeford twins, so when he saw it yesterday, before the snow, of course, he put it here to show me.”

“How thoughtful,” Belle replied, her tone dry.

“Wasn’t it?” Crecy said, nodding, and then her face fell, her lovely grey eyes showing a hint of dark, bruised lavender storm clouds. “At least I’d thought it was thoughtful. Now, I suppose I must conclude that he arranged the whole thing to get me alone. Oh, Belle, why are men so underhanded? I’d much rather know that a fellow had nefarious intentions for me than have him be charming to my face and then spring it upon me. At least you know where you stand then.”

“Crecy!” Belle exclaimed as her sister looked up with a puzzled expression.

“What?” she demanded, obviously none the wiser as to her sister’s distress.

Belle shook her head with impatience. “Never mind, now. You and I are going to have a talk, dearest, but not until my toes have thawed out. Come along, I’m freezing, and you’re getting a red nose.”

“Pooh,” Crecy exclaimed with impatience. “Much I care for a red nose! The question is,” she added, her expression one of deep concern, “how am I to get such a delicate thing back to the house?”

“No, Crecy!” Belle exclaimed, folding her arms. That was the last straw. “You will not take that nasty skeleton back to the house, I forbid it!”

“You said it was lovely!” Crecy replied, equally annoyed, her tone accusing.

“Y-yes, well ...” Belle stammered, caught out in her lie. “And I know it is, to you, dearest. But to most people it’s ... it’s creepy and ... ugh. No, Crecy, just no!”

“Oh, but Belle!”

“No.”

Belle grabbed her bewildering sister’s hand and towed her forcibly away from her irresistible treasure. For heaven’s sake, why couldn’t the girl have a fancy for bird spotting - live birds, at least - or ... or ... knitting! Anything but dead things!

“I could get a little box,” Crecy continued as Belle tugged her back to the house.

“No, Crecy.”

“I could,” she added, sounding sulky and defiant by this point.

Belle pursed her lips and nodded, and then replied, her tone light-hearted. “You could,” she agreed. “And I could tell every young gentleman who has the vaguest interest in you, that you would simply adore it if they composed a love sonnet to your beautiful eyes.”

Crecy stopped in her tracks and stared at her sister with a combination of horror and clear admiration for her evil genius. “Oh, Belle, you wouldn’t!”

Belle grinned at her. “Bring that wretched snake to the house and try me,” she suggested with a sweet smile.

“Well, of all the low ...” Crecy muttered under her breath, stalking off ahead of her sister. Belle grinned and followed her back to the house.

Crecy had managed to get some distance ahead of her, clearly walking off her annoyance, by the time they returned to the main doors of the castle. Belle looked up to see a towering, dark figure exit the building and stride down the stairs towards a waiting carriage. He was an impressive sight, with the stature and breadth of shoulders of the marquess himself. But where Lord Winterbourne’s hair was a dark brown, this man’s hair was black as a crow’s back, glinting blue in the sun.

Belle watched with misgiving, as instead of giving a polite nod and carrying on, Crecy stopped in her tracks to stare at the stranger. She looked every bit as rapt as she had with the blasted skeleton, and Belle felt a chill of foreboding.

The man stopped, too, no doubt arrested by her sister’s beauty and her all too obvious interest. Belle hurried to Crecy’s side and took her arm. This close, she could see the man’s eyes were a vivid and rather unusually dark blue. They were also as cold as the bitter landscape around them.

“Hello,” Crecy said, sounding uncharacteristically shy, her eyes never leaving the man, and her tone rather breathless.

Belle gave her arm a sharp tug, praying she would move, but the man was staring at her with equal intensity, a slight frown between his eyes.

“You have me at a disadvantage, madam,” he said, his tone as icy as his gaze, though Belle thought she detected a note of curiosity there too.

“Forgive us, sir,” Belle said, tugging at her sister’s arm. “We did not mean to disturb you.” She gave Crecy a hard pinch, which seemed to snap her out of her reverie, and she glanced at Belle and then blushed, finally following her away from the man. Everything about him had set warning bells ringing in Belle’s ears. He spelled trouble - in every sense of the word. And yet as Belle hurried her up the steps, she realised that Crecy had turned her head to stare at him again, and he watched her retreat in return, with equal intensity.

Belle shoved her sister through the door and turned back to glare at the devilish-looking man, but he had entered his carriage, slamming the door shut behind him. She drew in a sharp breath as she recognised the crest on the door. In white, gold, blue, and sable, it was unusual and disturbing. The two main devices on the shield were notorious, and synonymous with only one name. That name made her heart thud with fear.

Two black crows, shot through the neck with an arrow.

Good God, that was Viscount Demorte.

She turned on her sister, who was wearing an unusually guarded expression, but held her tongue as she discovered the Bridgeford twins chattering together as they came down the staircase. Belle made their excuses, saying with perfect honesty that they were chilled to the bone and must go and warm up and change their boots before luncheon. She needed to speak with her sister, and fast. Crecy was hiding something, and Belle was increasingly concerned as to exactly what that something might be.