Vixen

Chapter 26

Chloe awoke stiff and cold despite her clothes. There was no fire in the attic room and sleet had begun to fall, coating the grimy window and filling the cheerless room with a cold gray light.

She got up and went to wash her face. The water in the ewer was frozen solid. The remains of the loaf on the tray were dry and stale. Hungry and thirsty, with no way of alleviating either condition, she returned to bed, huddling beneath the covers in an effort to keep warm.

It was many hours later before she heard footsteps on the stairs and the key turned in the lock. Jasper and Crispin came in. Neither of them spoke to her as they approached the bed and stood looking down at her white face on the pillow, all that was visible of her body. She stared up at them, reading cold indifference in Jasper's face, hungry anticipation in Crispin's, and for the life of her she couldn't decide which was the most frightening.

"Sit up and drink this," Jasper finally said, holding out the cup he held.

"What is it'" She made no move to obey.

"That is not something you need to know. Sit up."

"I'm hungry and cold," she said.

"Soon you won't be," he returned. "Sit up. I won't tell you again."

Slowly, she struggled up on the pillows and took the cup. Its contents were thick and syrupy, giving off a strange and repulsive odor. "I don't want it," she said, turning her head away, holding the cup out to him.

Jasper said nothing. He took the cup and handed it to Crispin. Then he sat on the bed and caught Chloe's head in the crook of his arm, forcing it back. She was tightly wrapped in the bedcovers and couldn't free her limbs as she struggled violently. He held her head in a vise and took the cup from Crispin.

"Open her mouth."

Crispin's fingers brutally pulled her mouth open and the evil-smelling liquid slid down her throat. With her head tipped back as it was, she had no choice but to swallow. Crispin clamped her jaws shut and she thought she was going to suffocate. And then they released her.

"You are a little fool," Jasper said. "You have nothing to gain by resistance."

They went out and left her alone again. She fell back on the pillows, numbed with shock, tears streaming unheeded down her cheeks. A foul taste was in her mouth, like bitter aloes, and she was abruptly reminded of the potion Hugo had given her. That hadn't tasted as bad, but the herbal quality had been the same.

What was this one supposed to do? It wasn't poison. They wouldn't poison her when they had such plans for her. She lay in terror, waiting for something to happen. When it did, it took her by surprise. Her body began to feel warm and relaxed, her head slightly muzzy, but it wasn't an unpleasant sensation at all. She was no longer hungry or even particularly thirsty and soon drifted into a light-headed doze filled with a sequence of soft-edged dreams.

She lost all sense of time and, when her door opened again, looked with fuzzy lack of curiosity at her visitors. Louise's anxious face hung over her like a moon in a mist, and Chloe smiled reassuringly, or thought she did.

"Come along, dear, it's time to dress," Louise said. Her voice sounded a little peculiar, but Chloe let the speculation slip from her. She tried to sit up and the maid who had accompanied Louise moved to help her.

Her head swam and the room tilted violently. A wave of nausea washed over her and she fell back again. "No, I'll stay here," she said faintly.

"You can't, dear." Louise sounded almost desperate. "Once you sit up, it'll be better." She tugged at Chloe's arm, and because she sounded so unhappy, Chloe made one more effort. This time the room stopped spinning once she opened her eyes wide.

She submitted to being undressed and her body-washed in warm water from a steaming copper jug. They brushed and rebraided her hair, fastening the braids in a coronet around her head. She tried to help her attendants, but her limbs were too heavy to lift and her mind kept slipping sideways so she forgot what it was she'd intended to do. But nothing seemed to matter. The room wasn't even cold anymore.

They dressed her in a white silk shift that covered her body from neck to ankles, white silk stockings gartered above the knees, white satin pumps. Vaguely she was aware that some article of underwear was missing, but the recognition simply flitted through her untroubled brain. Finally, Louise slipped over her head a white silk gown with long sleeves and a high, ruffled collar and the maid pinned a diaphanous veil onto the golden crown of her hair.

"How lovely you are," Louise said, her voice thick with tears as she gazed at the vision… the sacrifice she had prepared for her son. She tried to tell herself that Crispin would make a good husband, that Chloe was making a perfectly good match, one that many girls would give their eyeteeth for. Maybe she wasn't too eager, but what young girl was? It wasn't a love match, but such connections were rare these days and they were young; they could grow together.

All brides suffered from wedding nerves. She tried to pretend she didn't know why Chloe's eyes were blank, her movements sluggish. It was just wedding nerves.

"Come downstairs, dear."

Chloe allowed herself to be led out of her prison and down the stairs into the hall. She felt as if she were moving through some kind of filmy curtain, her feet making tentative contact with the ground as if it were made of sponge. There were people in the hall, their faces moving in and out of her field of vision.

"Behold the virgin bride." Jasper stepped up to her, his voice suddenly low. "What a vision of purity, little sister. But you and I know better." The open mockery made no dent in the warm, muzzy world she was inhabiting. In truth, she hardly heard him. He took her arm, placing her hand on his own arm, and they began to walk across the hall as the carefully selected wedding guests fell back… guests who bore the mark of Eden on their skin. Later they would accompany the bridal couple to the crypt in the time-honored rituals of the Congregation.

Louise moved into the shadows at the rear. She knew Jasper expected her to make herself scarce, but a mother was surely entitled to witness her only son's marriage.

The Reverend Elgar Ponsonby stood before a table, his hands nervously caressing the smooth leather binding of a Bible. His clerical linen was limp and slightly spotted. His eyes were unfocused, his breath pure alcohol, it seemed to Crispin, standing beside him as he watched the progress of his bride and his stepfather. Old Elgar was never sober, and only Sir Jasper's purse kept bread and wine on his table.

Jasper removed Chloe's hand from his arm as they reached the table and placed it on Crispin's. As she felt Crispin's hand close over hers, Chloe looked up through the gauzy material of her veil at his face hovering in the air in front of her. Unease filtered through the rosy mists of unthinking. She was being married to Crispin. Jasper had said so and that was what was supposed to happen. But it wasn't supposed to happen. It mustn't be allowed to happen. The passionate conviction thrust through the trance and for a second she was aware of her surroundings, of the people around her. She could smell the woodsmoke from the fireplace, the hot candle wax. Her lips moved beneath the veil as if to form some shout of protest, some screaming appeal to the shapes around her. But nothing would come. And then the moment of lucidity was gone and the warm muzziness had returned. She smiled vaguely and obediently stepped up to the table beside Crispin.

Hugo stood outside the closed door to the crypt. The ghosts seemed to come out to meet him as he postponed the moment when he would take the key from its secret shelf under the lintel, open the door, and go inside, down the shallow flight of stone stairs into the labyrinth of cold, vaulted chambers smelling of earth and mold and the grave.

Samuel stood beside him, patiently waiting. It was late afternoon and a flock of rooks circled noisily overhead before settling in a black cloud onto the gaunt branches of a nearby copse. The sleet had stopped, but the darkening sky was still heavy with snow clouds and the wind raced achingly cold across the moor.

"A bit cheerless, this is," Samuel observed matter-of-factly. "We goin' to stand out 'ere till we turn to stone?"

"I'm sorry," Hugo said. He reached under the lintel and his fingers unerringly found the little slot. It was as if he'd been here yesterday. He pulled out the great brass key and fit it into the lock. The door yawned open onto the darkness and the smell came out and hit him. How was it that once that smell had excited him, had been redolent with the exultant sense of things unknown and forbidden? But only on that last occasion had he gone down into the crypt in full possession of his senses… in full awareness of the evil that the excitement had masked.

Samuel lit the lantern he carried, and together they went inside, Hugo pulling the door to behind them. It was unlikely there were any watchers, but it wasn't worth taking unnecessary risks. He closed his mind to the memories, concentrating only on what had to be done.

"Gawd 'elp us," Samuel muttered as they descended to the crypt. "What kind of an 'ell'ole is this?"

"You may well ask," Hugo said, welcoming Samuel's prosaic commentary. He stood in the vaulted central chamber, holding the lantern high. Everything was in readiness for the night's ceremonies; fresh altar candles planted in the holders around the bier, the torches newly filled with pitch in their sconces on the walls. The bier was spread with a white damask cloth, a thick pillow at its head. On the long, low table against the far wall stood the flagons of wine, the little pots of herbal magic, the clay pipes for the opium.

He stood very still and let it come back to him. He had to face it if he was to overcome it. He closed his eyes and the room filled with the whispering ghosts of ecstasy and laughter. Limbs twined before his internal vision and on his tongue lingered the bitter aftertaste of the little pellets that sent a man into a world of pleasure beyond imagining as he moved between the smooth white thighs Of his partner.

Did Jasper intend giving Chloe the drug before she took her place on the bier? Such an enhancement of pleasure for one normally so passionate would be beyond words…

"Over here." He spun on his heel and strode to a dark hole in the far wall. The lantern illuminated the smaller chamber beyond. Samuel followed him up a rough-hewn flight of steps carved into the wall. At die top they opened onto a narrow stone gallery overlooking the crypt. "I'll be up here," Hugo said quietly, looking down at the bier.

He took a pair of epees from Samuel and rested them carefully against the low rail of the gallery. On the ledge he placed a narrow box containing two dueling pistols. Silently, he checked the other pistol in his belt, ran his finger down the sharp blade of a cutlass before returning it to the sheath resting snug against his thigh.

"Quite a little armory ye've got," Samuel remarked with satisfaction. He knew Hugo's skill with both sword and pistol, just as he knew how cold and clear he was under fire. A one-man army, he would wait in ambush and spring his surprise attack with all the careful calculation of a tried campaigner.

'Take your place outside now," Hugo said, handing him the key. "You saw where to put this?"

"Aye." Samuel took the key and the lantern. "Powerful dark it'll be once I've gone."

"It doesn't matter," Hugo said. "You know what to do?"

"Aye," Samuel repeated as phlegmatically as before. "I'll be off, then."

Hugo sat on the stone floor, resting his back against the wall, watching as the flickering light of the lantern retreated. He heard the dull thud as the door closed behind Samuel and he was alone in the darkness. He closed his eyes and emptied his mind of all but the certainty of success.

"You may kiss the bride," old Elgar mumbled, heaving an audible sigh of relief at the knowledge that he'd somehow muddled successfully through the service.

Crispin slowly lifted Chloe's veil. His face came close to hers, and suddenly she could see him clearly, every feature sharply denned, just as his mouth came down on hers. A nameless terror chased away the warm languor of indifference, and with a dreadful rush of insight she understood what had happened. She pushed against Crispin, her eyes opening wide, her clear gaze fixed on the Reverend Ponsonby behind her husband.

Crispin drew back, aware of the change in her. Her heart thudded with fear and immediately she dropped her gaze and let her arms lie still at her sides.

"It's wearing off," he whispered urgently to his stepfather over Chloe's head.

Jasper took her arm and drew her away from the makeshift altar. Chloe was now aware that what she had perceived through the mists as a crowd was in fact only a small group of men.

"We must give her some more," Crispin was whispering as they moved to the side of the hall.

Jasper caught her chin and lifted it. He gazed fixedly at her face. Chloe fought the awareness from her eyes. It was easier than it might have been since she still seemed to have only a tenuous hold on reality. She only knew that she must prevent having that liquid poured down her throat again.

'Too much will defeat the object," Jasper said quietly. "We don't want her cataleptic. She's not eaten properly for two days and the mixture is much more potent on an empty belly."

Chloe let her eyes wander and a vague smile touched her lips.

Jasper released her face. "She's all right. I'll give her something else when we begin."

Chloe drifted over to a settle beside the massive ingle-nook fireplace and sat down. Her head was beginning to ache and she felt nauseated, but her senses were returning so fast now, they seemed to be tumbling over themselves as full awareness flooded her. She had been married to Crispin. She was Crispin's wife. Till death.

She kept her eyes down, her hands twisting idly in her silken lap. A spark of firelight caught the sinuous golden twists of the coiled serpent ring they'd put on her finger. Nothing mattered any longer in the face of the fact embodied in the perverted wedding ring. Except Hugo… Hugo was to walk into a trap when they took her to the crypt. He would be forced to watch the ceremony of her initiation and then Jasper would kill him. For herself, the crypt didn't matter. She was condemned to a life as Crispin's wife… his prisoner… what else happened to her mattered not a jot. But she must try to help Hugo. If they believed her still drugged, she might have a chance.

She let her head fall back against the settle and closed her eyes. Let them think she was dozing again.

Around her the buzz of noise increased in volume and she lost all sense of time, and then she heard Jasper's voice against her ear. "Come, little sister, it's time to prepare for your wedding night."

Samuel moved his cold-numbed limbs and took a swig of brandy from his flask. Then he heard the sound of voices. A wavering light fell across the path beyond his hiding place. Boots crunched on the icy ground.

Two men appeared. At the door of the crypt, one of them reached up. Then the door swung open and the two disappeared with their lantern.

Inside, Hugo came alert at the first sound of the key in the door above. He edged farther back against the wall, although he knew he wouldn't be visible from below. He listened as the two men lit the pitch torches and the altar candles and their light threw giant shadows up onto the vaulted ceiling.

One of the men was Denis DeLacy. He poured wine into a crystal flagon and drank deeply, his eyes roaming over the bier. He opened one of the little pots and shook a small pinch of herbs onto the palm of his hand. He put his tongue to it and licked, waiting for the crackle to start in his head.

Outside, Samuel waited. Then there were more voices, more light, and a group of men came down the path. A shrouded figure walked in their midst and the lantern caught the glimmer of white beneath the cloak and the deep golden radiance of her hair.

Tension ripped through Samuel with a surge of almost unmanageable fury. He breathed long and slow until he had himself in control again. All but two men entered the crypt.

Those two, pistols in their hands, moved to either side of the entrance, each taking up a position in the thick bushes.

They were awaiting the arrival of Hugo Lattimer.

Samuel waited until the deep night silence of the countryside had reasserted itself after the flurry of arrival. Then he moved. He moved like a sylph made of air, belying his size.

The first man didn't know what had hit him when the flat edge of a hand chopped at the base of his skull. He went down into the underbrush without a murmur. The second man half turned as the dark bulk of a figure sprang at him. His finger slipped on the trigger of his pistol, a cry, strangled at birth, broke from his lips as the hand chopped at his throat and he went down like his partner.

Samuel eased open the heavy door to the crypt. He slid through the narrowest gap he could manage and then crouched in the shadows at the top of the stairs. He held a pistol in each hand, a wicked double-bladed knife in a sheath in his boot. He could hear the voices from below clearly.

Chloe stood still in the middle of the chamber. Her eyes darted surreptitiously from side to side as she took in her surroundings. This was the place that had created Hugo's painted devils. The evil miasma of the place rose up from the tombstone slabs of the floor, seemed to writhe out of the stone walls with the serpentine flickering of the pitch torches This was the place where Hugo had killed her father.

For some reason she wasn't frightened. The last residues of the drug she'd been given had vanished and she was as clear-headed as she'd ever been. Even her hunger had disappeared, although she was conscious of a void inside her. But it was a void that seemed to create the energy that thrummed in her veins, infusing her mind and body.

When would Hugo come? She had to save him. It was the only thought, the only purpose, and since she had no plans, she must rely on instinct and circumstance as they arose.

Someone was taking the cloak from her shoulders. A rapt silence fell as she stood in her pure white gown with her golden hair, now loosened, falling about her shoulders.

Then Hugo spoke, his voice echoing in the silence. "It seems we finally come to a meeting, Jasper."

They all looked upward. Hugo, in his shirt-sleeves, swung one leg over the narrow rail of the gallery. He held the two epees in one hand. With a twist of his wrist he sent one of them spinning down.

Automatically, Jasper reached up and caught the hilt in his gloved hand.

In stunned silence but as if under the command of one will, the group of men moved backward against the wall. Chloe was at first thunderstruck, then filled with a wild exultation. Hugo had set his own trap.

Suddenly Jasper laughed. "I wasn't expecting you to be ahead of me, Lattimer. I forgot that you're now a model of sobriety and clear-thinking. An oversight-and a pity… as I had your reception so well prepared. However-" He raised his epee in a fencer's salute. "As you say, we have unfinished business. Let us finish it."

Huyo swung his other leg over the gallery rail and jumped down. It was a long jump, but he landed easily on the balls of his stocking feet-a man who'd spent many years climbing the rigging of a ship of the line.

"I've pistols, if you prefer," he offered courteously, watching as Jasper also shrugged out of his coat.

"No… no…" Jasper said calmly, bending to pull off his boots. "It should be done according to ritual, as always."

"And according to ritual, the honor of the woman falls to the victor."

"Exactly so."

Chloe understood what was happening; Jasper's bedtime story had left nothing out, and she knew all the details of the rules and rituals of the Congregation. Hugo was fighting for her as he'd fought for her mother. If he won, then she would never have to take her place in the crypt again. If he lost… but then nothing would matter. If he lost, he would be dead. The duels of the Congregation were always mortal combat.

Crispin was hissing through his teeth, his body very close to Chloe's. Hugo suddenly turned to look at Chloe for the first time. "Go and stand on the stairs, lass," he instructed in even tones.

"But I-"

"Do it!"

For once she obeyed immediately, and as she reached the stairs understood the reason for the order. Samuel was standing in the darkness behind her. Hugo was not going to play by the rules. Even if he lost, she would not be abandoned to the Congregation.

The two men saluted each other. Then Hugo said softly, "En garde." He lunged in a straight thrust and Jasper parried in quarte. The blades met and disengaged.

Chloe watched with a numb and dreadful fascination as the two men danced over the tombstone slabs, their blades glimmering, flashing with an almost impossible speed, moving from one position to another in a rapid series of attacks and counterattacks as they probed for an opening in their opponent's guard. It seemed to her that neither man held the attack for more than one engagement, as each attack was parried, the defender became the attacker.

Ten… fifteen… twenty minutes it went on, and it seemed impossible that any man could maintain such speed and accuracy for another second.

Finish it… please God, finish it. The prayer went around and around in Chloe's head. She could feel their growing fatigue amid the desperate clashing of invincible wills… the desperate purpose that fueled them both… the terrifying knowledge of imminent death.

Then came a moment when Hugo seemed to fall back on one knee, his free hand grazing the floor, then he sprang upright as Jasper's blade thrust beneath his arm, twisting sideways so the deadly attack met only air. His own blade caught his opponent's and the ring of steel echoed in the hushed vault. Hugo offered a feint to his opponent's forearm, and as Jasper jumped back to gather for a reprise, Hugo's blade came down and under.

Jasper fell to his knees, his blade clattering to the ground. Blood welled from his side.

Crispin with a frenzied hiss leapt forward, grabbing up his stepfather's weapon. His salute was perfunctory. "En garde."

Hugo didn't seem to draw breath. He parried his new opponent's attack smoothly, moving backward, allowing Crispin to press the attack as he assessed the skill of the younger man. He knew he was exhausted. Just as he knew that for one almost fatal second he had allowed himself to believe he'd won and it was over. Now he had to face the knowledge that it was far from over.

Chloe gasped in horror at this villainous intervention. She gazed around the room, waiting for someone to protest, to call a halt to such an infamously unfair fight. But they all remained still, watching closely. Denis was licking his lips almost convulsively in his anxiety, and once his eyes darted across to her, predatory and filled with hungry anticipation.

Hugo moved backward, invited a thrust in sixte, counterattacked to Crispin's left shoulder, lunged as his opponent feinted, and saw the epee snaking into his forearm too quickly to evade. It sliced through his shirt, nicking the skin. It was no fatal strike, but it was a deadly warning.

Chloe's heart seemed lodged somewhere in her throat, so she could hardly breathe. Her eyes raced around the crypt. Now no one seemed interested in her; their eyes were all fixed on the lethal combat. Jasper had been pulled to the side of the crypt and someone was staunching his wound. His eyes were closed and his labored breathing was an audible accompaniment to the ring of steel on steel.

She began to sidle around the wall until she stood against the strange, damask-covered, candlelit table. She licked the finger and thumb of one hand, slipped the hand behind her, and pinched out the flame of one of the candles. Then slowly she brought the heavy candlestick down to her side. All eyes were still on the two men locked in their mortal struggle.

She inched forward again. Sweat glistened on Hugo's brow; his face was drawn in a rictus of determination and exhaustion. Both men's movements were slowing perceptibly, but Crispin maintained the edge, pressing his attack.

Hugo felt now as he imagined Stephen had felt, facing his inevitable defeat at the hands of a younger, stronger man. But Crispin was not stronger… just younger and fresher. He tried to hang on to that, to keep at bay the destructive forces of hopelessness, but the blood was thundering in his head and his lungs screamed for air.

Chloe calmly, casually, put out her foot, catching Crispin's ankle as he lunged in full extension. He lost his balance, and as he swayed, she brought the candlestick down on his head. He fell sideways to the floor and lay still.

There was a moment of total silence, then Samuel, pistols in hand, appeared at the foot of the stairs. He leveled his weapons at the assembly in general and nodded curtly. "I shouldn't move if I were you, sirs."

Hugo doubled over, struggling for breath as the men in the crypt stared between Samuel and Chloe, still standing over the fallen Crispin.

"Have I killed him?" Chloe asked into the silence.

Hugo straightened slowly. "You don't play by the rules, do you, lass?" he gasped as his lungs expanded and he drew a deep shuddering breath.

"I wasn't going to let him kill you," Chloe said. "Of all the underhanded tricks."

"Shameful, I agree," he said dryly, bending over the fallen Crispin, feeling for the pulse in his neck. "And I suppose one underhanded trick deserves another. At least you seem to have stopped short of murder."

"But he has to be dead," she said in a voice that now didn't seem to be her own. She lifted the candlestick again. "I'm married to him, and I would prefer to be his widow."

Hugo caught her arm. "Steady now, lass." He spoke quietly but firmly as he twisted the candlestick out of her grip.

"But you don't understand-"

"Yes, I do," he interrupted, picking up the cloak they had taken off her earlier. "Put this on." He wrapped the cloak around her shoulders and lightly kissed her brow. 'Trust me, lass."

Jasper stirred and his eyes fluttered open. "Lattimer?" His voice was a thread.

Hugo crossed over to him. He stood over his fallen enemy and spoke with slow, deliberate clarity. "It's done, Jasper. Finished. The circle is completed. The girl is mine."

"And has been for quite some time, I understand." Blood trickled from the corner of Jasper's mouth as he moved his lips in the travesty of a mocking grin. "For all your self-righteous posturing, Lattimer, you debauched her. You're no better than the rest of us."

Hugo stood very still, his face white in the candle glow, but his voice was low and even. "Of course you would see it in those terms, wouldn't you, Jasper? You seek only to sully and you would see only defilement in love." His shoulders lifted in a dismissive shrug. "I've done finally with you and yours… and with this sewer."

His eyes ran around the crypt, lingered for an instant on the faces of the men gathered there, then he turned away from Jasper. As he did so, a harsh rattle came from the wounded man's throat and Jasper's head fell back. Hugo swung back to him. His expression was inscrutable as he watched death film the shallow eyes as they stared up at the vaulted roof of the crypt. Then he turned aside and strode back to Chloe.

He took her left hand and drew off the serpent ring. It bounced on the granite slab by Crispin's head as he threw it to the floor.

"Come along, lass. You've breathed this infected air for long enough." He swept her ahead of him toward the stairs where Samuel still stood, his pistols still aimed at the cluster of men in the crypt. But no one made a move.

Chloe was silent as they went up the steps and into the pure cold air of the moor. She could think only that Hugo had talked of love… that he'd told Jasper that he loved her. He'd fought for her… risked his life for her… as he had done for her mother.

But she was married to Crispin. Even if she never saw him again, she was his wife. Jasper was dead, but Crispin wasn't.

The horses were tethered in the copse, restless at the end of their ropes, quivering in the frosty night. Hugo lifted her onto his mount and swung up behind her. He was as silent as she, but he held her tightly against him as they rode back to Denholm. Samuel rode alongside, also keeping his own counsel.

"I'll see to the 'orses," Samuel said as they dismounted in the courtyard. "Ye'd better throw some kindlin' on the fire. like as not it'll be out by now."

Hugo and Chloe went into the house. The kitchen was dark and cold, only the ashes in the range showing any light. Hugo lit the candles, stirred the embers, and threw on kindling and fresh logs.

Chloe stood wrapped in her cloak, watching him. She was beginning to feel as if she were slipping back into the drug-induced torpor. "Hugo, they married me to Crispin this afternoon," she finally said. The words sounded as if they came from somewhere outside herself. "Just taking off the ring can't make it go away."

He pulled a chair up to the blaze and beckoned her over. "No, I know that," he said, drawing her between his knees. "Let me explain. You're a minor, married against your will and without your guardian's consent. In addition, the marriage has not been consummated." His eyes were grave as they examined her face. "That is true, isn't it?"

"Yes."

He'd known it was, but still the fear had been there that he might have miscalculated… that Jasper would have found some way to defile her before he could reach her. The final relief seeped through his veins. He smiled. "Then the marriage will be annulled, lass. It's a mere formality. Crispin won't dare to contest it even if he could."

"So I'm not married?"

'Tes, you are, technically. But only for as long as it takes me to find a Justice of the Peace."

"Oh." Her knees began to shake and tears suddenly filled her eyes. "I'm sorry…" But the flood of tears was unstoppable.

"Hush, sweetheart." He pulled her down onto his lap, cradling her against his chest, rocking her gently. "Did they hurt you, love?"

She shook her head against his chest, tried to speak, but the words were lost in sobs.

Samuel entered the kitchen, glanced at the pair by the fire, and sat down in the chair opposite, stretching his feet to the fire.

When her tears had subsided somewhat, Hugo sat her upright and said, "Sweetheart, you have to tell me. Did they hurt you?"

"Only a little. But it was uncomfortable," she said frankly, wiping her eyes on the handkerchief he handed her. "I don't know why I cried like that… I expect it's because I'm hungry."

Hugo threw back his head and laughed in rich relief. Samuel grinned and went to the pantry. "Coddled eggs do ye, lass?"

"Yes, thank you." She smiled mistily and leaned back against Hugo's shoulder.

"Tell us exactly what happened to you," Hugo demanded, knowing he wouldn't be satisfied until he'd heard every detail. While she ate her supper, he listened as she rendered a faithful account of her captivity. She left out nothing, including what Jasper had told her of Hugo's past. Hugo's eyes were hard, his mouth a grim line, and when she concluded, he said with soft savagery, "He died too quickly."

Both father and son had died too quickly for the evil they had wrought. But he must let it pass from him now. It was over. Without a Gresham to lead it, the Congregation would disband. Crispin hadn't the authority or the maturity to take over from Jasper. It had been created by the Greshams and would die with them.

He glanced over to the table, where the last Gresham sat wiping her plate clean with a slice of barley bread. Stephen never knew what a pearl he'd sired. And the qualities he'd passed on to his daughter-the fire and the passion-were without the taint, the twist that marred them in the father.

He leaned back in his chair, his eyes closed as he allowed the peace to fill him. He was finally free. He had honored Elizabeth's charge; Chloe would never again be harmed by the Greshams; and he had confronted his painted devils and defeated them. He knew himself to be no better and no worse than the next man. And the knowledge was sweet.

He opened his eyes to see Chloe regarding him gravely. "Why didn't you tell me that you'd loved my mother? Why didn't you tell me what happened?"

He met her gaze steadily. "Cowardice, lass," he said. "I was terrified I would lose your trust if I told you. How could you trust a man who had played in the crypt… who had done what I had done? I couldn't bear the thought of losing your love and your trust-they were… are… the most precious gifts… gifts without price."

Sweet relief flowed in her veins. It wasn't lack of love but love itself that had kept him silent.

"It doesn't matter to me," she said. "What happened… what you did…"

His eyes held hers for a minute, then he said softly, "And it doesn't matter to me anymore. The past has ruled for long enough."

Samuel gave an audible sigh of relief and began gathering up dirty dishes.

Hugo stood up. "It's time for bed," he said, stretching and yawning. "Upstairs with you, lass."

"It doesn't seem as if there's any essential difference between adultery and fornication," Chloe observed with a mischievous chuckle, turning her head on Hugo's chest to look up at him with dancing eyes glowing with the residue of desire and its fulfillment.

"Certainly they both involve the participation of a fallen woman," Hugo stated blandly, catching up the thick golden mass clustering on her shoulders and twisting it around his wrist. Then he let it fall again, concealing the blue-black stripe where her brother's whip had fallen. It was over and Jasper had paid the price.

Chloe, unaware of the fleeting thought, smiled and drew her hand in a lazy caress across his stomach. "And a fallen gentleman, I would have said, since, in my experience, it takes two."

Hugo stroked her hair. "Well, perhaps we should expand your experience and see what difference the blessing of the church makes."

He spoke so softly that for a minute Chloe didn't understand what he'd said. Then she did. She sat bolt upright. "Are you going to marry me?"

"Someone has to," he said with an air of solemnity. "You're not safe in Society unmarried… or do I mean Society isn't safe?"

"But… but you said Society would think you were taking advantage of your guardianship." She frowned down at him, still unsure that he really meant what he was saying.

"Society can think what the hell it pleases," Hugo responded. "The question is: Do you wish to marry your guardian, lass?"

"But you know I do. I've been saying so this age. Only you wouldn't listen."

"No, a lamentable failing," he agreed, his eyes smiling. "I've had the most foolish tendency not to listen to you. However, I begin to understand that you always mean what you say, and that, in general, you know what's best for you."

"And for you," she flashed.

"Conceited minx." He caught her head and drew her face down to his. "I've known what's best for me for a long time, sweetheart, I just needed to be convinced that it was best for you too."

Chloe dropped her mouth to his, her body moving over his, fitting herself to his curves and hollows, reaching a hand down to guide him within her. Pushing backward, she sat on her heels, moving her body around him, her eyes languorous, her hair tumbling over her shoulders.

"I do know what's best for you." she said with a smug smile. "I'll prove it to you."

"Be my guest, lass." Hugo linked his hands behind his head and watched her face, enjoying his own passivity as much as Chloe was.

"I suppose," she said, running her flat palms over the ridged muscles of his abdomen, "I suppose you'll want to keep control of my fortune."

"Oh, I'm sure we can come to some satisfactory compromise," Hugo said, the green eyes sparking.

"But…" Her hand moved behind her, sliding between his thighs. "But I don't imagine you'll compromise over my wardrobe?" Her fingers moved wickedly, deftly.

"No…" He closed his eyes on an exhalation of joy. "That's one area in which you patently don't know what's best for you, so there'll be no compromises."

"Not even when I do this?" She put her head on one side, regarding him with narrowed eyes as her fingers pursued their intimate course.

"No, you crafty little fox." Gathering her against him, he rolled with her until she was lying beneath him. "I can be cozened just so far." He laughed down at her rather startled expression and kissed the tip of her nose. "But don't let that stop you from trying, lass."

"As if it would… as if anything could," she said softly, no longer mischievous. She touched his mouth with the tip of a finger. "I love you."

"And I you, little one. With every breath I breathe."

Holding her gaze with his own, he moved within her until it seemed her breath was his and his hers, until their blood flowed as one, and the future purged of the past was born of the transcendent glory of their fusion.