A Daughter's Destiny (32 page)

“Yes,” Brienne said, “but we cannot do that story with only three of us.”

“Shall we perform the final scene when the merchant's son finds his princess?” asked Armistead.

She nodded, then was sorry she had, for her head spun more with every passing moment. The scratch of tables and chairs being pushed aside added to the burgeoning pain along her forehead. As the others took their places on the makeshift stage, she closed her eyes and tried to dredge up energy to speak her lines. She heard another guest being greeted and guessed this was the person Armistead had been awaiting to arrive.

Brienne had no chance to think more about the latecomer, because Louisa announced the beginning of the play. As Armistead sought about the room to the laughter of his friends, Brienne waited for him to find the princess and her eleven attendants. She smiled as he turned to her.

With the king following, he approached and dropped to one knee. “My beloved princess, I have found you before the eight days ordered by your father. Marry me.”

“Yes, brave sir.” She put her hands on his shoulders to urge him to rise. That was what she had intended, but her fingers touched nothing.

He stood and gazed down at her. When his arm slipped around her waist, he drew her to him. “Be mine, and give me your father's lands that will be yours upon his death.”

“It and I am yours, brave sir.”

When he bent to kiss her on the cheek, she smiled. This was the end of the play. Now she could take her leave.

Armistead shouted, “Let the wedding be held, so that all the kingdom can know of my good fortune.”

“There is no wedding scene,” Brienne protested in a whisper.

He chuckled. “If we have the wedding for the princess and her brave hero, we can celebrate the wedding feast the rest of the evening.”

“No, I think I should leave.” She swayed. “I feel very light-headed.”

“I promised our guests that we would do this for their entertainment,” he said, as petulant as Angiola could be.

“As long as you promise that I can leave as soon as it is over.”

“I do, Brienne.”

She tried to focus on his face, but it became a bright blob in the candlelight. As she was turned to a darker shape which had no human form, she tried to stay on her feet long enough for this silliness. Each time she blinked, she had to fight to reopen her eyes.

The voices came from a distant place, but with Armistead prompting her, she replied. Applause told her the play was complete. She thought she heard him saying something, but she could not understand his words.

She started to reply, but everything became black as the room vanished. She surrendered to the dizziness, satisfied that she had managed to maintain her senses until the play was completed. It was her last thought before oblivion claimed her.

Brienne winced as she rolled over in bed. Light oozed through her slitted eyes, and she moaned. Hiding her head in the pillows, she wondered if she had been struck by a dray. Only such an accident would leave her head pulsating with all this pain.

An ache in her left temple kept her eyes from focusing, so she closed them and sank back into the soft mattress. Drifting in a black river of pain, she waited for the discomfort to ebb. She realized it had eased when she could blink her eyes without groaning.

Although she was not willing to trust her still numb toes, Brienne clawed her way up the pillows until she was propped against the headboard. She looked about and frowned. She was in Armistead Porter's house, for past the open bed curtains, she could see the view out the window. It was Grosvenor Square, but not the view from her room.

Why had she been put into another room? Mayhap she had been so ill that she had been quarantined. She touched her forehead. No hint of fever remained. Had she been ill?

She ran her fingers through her tangled hair, pushing it back from her face. That she had gone to bed without braiding it amazed her. The only other time she had done that was when she had fallen asleep in Evan's arms.

Evan.…

Tears bubbled from her eyes. In her weakness, she could not deny that she loved him. His touch and kisses brought her alive as nothing else did. Grand-mère had been right when she said that Brienne had just been drifting through life until Evan came along to offer her an anchor. That the anchor was set in sand instead of rock did not matter, for she loved him.

The door opened. Peering past the partially drawn bed curtains on the other side of the bed, Brienne saw a maid with a tray. The thought of food renewed her nausea. “Please, take it away.”

“As you wish, Mrs. Porter. Shall I come back to help madam dress?”

Brienne sat straighter, ignoring the ache in her stomach. “What did you call me?”

“Mrs. Porter? Do you prefer to be called something else? Tell me what you wish, madam, and I shall do so.”

“I wish you to call me Miss LeClerc.”

The maid bit her bottom lip uneasily. “But, madam, a woman does not continue to use her birth name once she is married.”

“Married?” She started to throw the covers aside. The bright glint of a gold band on her left hand halted her. In disbelief, she raised her hand and touched the ring on her fourth finger. It had not been there when.… She could not recall going to bed the previous night.

She touched her flimsy white silk nightgown. Lace encircled the low neckline. Seeing a matching wrapper at the foot of her bed, she reached for it. Her fingers pulled back in horror as she saw an undeniably masculine one of navy silk lying next to it.

“What has happened?” she asked as she stood, holding tightly to the bed.

“Mrs. Porter—”

“Stop calling me that! My name is Brienne LeClerc! Not Porter.” She grasped the dark blue robe. “Who does this belong to?”

The maid smiled. “Why, Mr. Porter, of course.”

“Are you telling me that Armistead slept here last night?”

Lowering her eyes, the maid flushed. “Madam, it is customary for a man to spend his wedding night with his wife.”

“His wife …” She touched the gold band again. It was real, but how had it come to be on her hand? She had not been a part of a wedding ceremony, except.… Her face grew cold. There
had
been a ceremony, performed for Armistead's friends as the climax for
The Golden Lion
. “But that was only a play!”

The door opened again.

Brienne held the wrapper to her chin as she stared at Armistead, who was walking into the room. His chest was bare above his half-buttoned breeches.

He smiled when he saw her by the rumpled bed. As he stretched, muscles rippled across his body. Why was he parading himself before her like a harlot on the Dover docks? She flushed at the thought, but it was an icy flush. She must have shared her bed with him last night.

She could not remember anything beyond the black pain that overmastered her. Desperately, she searched her memory, but found nothing. She could not recall being brought to this room or being in Armistead's embrace.

Deep in her thoughts, Brienne gasped when he cupped her chin and kissed her swiftly.

“Good morning, my wife,” he murmured. He released her and picked up the dark dressing robe that had fallen from her fingers. Pulling it on, he went to the table where the breakfast tray waited. He ordered the maid from the room as he buttered a muffin. “Don't you want some breakfast this morning, Brienne?”

“Get out! I do not know what made you think you have the right to—”

Grasping her left hand, he held it up in front of her face. His buttery finger tapped the band. “This! This gives me the right to everything you possess. You are my wife.”

“Wife?” She laughed, but the sound was hollow. “I cannot be your wife. We were never married.”

“But we were. Don't you remember? You could not have been that intoxicated.”

“I was not intoxicated! I know we never married.”

“But we did.” He took a bite of the muffin. “Last night with a dozen witnesses.”

She scowled. “You know last night was just playacting.”

“As I acted when I persuaded you that Somerset had told me about your short career on the stage.” He chuckled. “Neither of you noticed me in your audience.”

“You saw us with the Teatro Caparelli?”

“Enough to know this was the way to make you my wife.”

“But it was only a play!” she cried. “I did not mean—”

“It does not matter what you meant.” He lifted the lids of the silver serving dishes. Bending to sample the eggs, he glanced insidiously at her. “We are married. Legally and irrevocably.”

“I shall get it annulled! I shall—”

He whirled and caught her by the shoulders. Tugging her against him, he growled, “You shall do no such thing. However, I will do what I must to make sure everyone accepts our marriage.” He eyed her up and down. “No matter how distasteful.”

“If you do not want to—that is—”

His laugh was cruel. “Do you truly believe that you are so appealing? Just because Somerset seduced you, do not think every other man pines for you. I have more selective tastes than Somerset, who will bed any woman he keeps company with.”

Brienne flinched. She did not want to believe that Evan had seduced her simply because she had been convenient during their adventures. No, she must not let the insults keep her from asking the questions she must. “Then, why would you marry me?”

“If you have to ask that, you are a greater fool than I had believed!”

When he went back to the table, she drew on her wrapper, tying it at her waist. She would not listen to any more of this. She would leave. She would—

A single step betrayed her. She crumpled to the floor, her wobbly legs refusing to support her. The bedside table rocked, and the trio of figurines atop it fell on their sides, one rolling to shatter on the floor.

“What did you do to me?” she gasped as she grasped the bed to try to pull herself up from the carpet.

“Why are you blaming me for your drunkenness?”

She looked up and wished she could strip away his superior smile. When he did not offer to help her to her feet, she struggled to stand. She fell again. Her fury at his laughter strengthened her, and she stood. Flashing him a victorious smile, she wished she could walk out. She did not dare to move, not trusting her precarious balance any more than she trusted this man Evan had so foolishly.

“Armistead, you drugged my wine. Did your friends have a grand time laughing at a woman who was tricked into a marriage which cannot be legal?”

“Yes, they did, but I tell you, wife, that the ceremony was legal. A minister officiated.”

She pressed her fingers to her lips as horror struck her like a blow.
Mon Dieu
, it might mean she was truly married to Armistead Porter. As his smile broadened, he patted her on the cheek. She tried to pull away, but the motion was too much for her weak knees. With a soft cry, she slipped back to the floor. She snarled a French oath.

When he answered in perfect French, she stared at him. “You need not look so surprised,” he said with a laugh. “Some of the
émigrés
have made a better life for themselves than you and your so-called
grand-mère
, Brienne Levesque.”

“How do you know that name?” Brienne knew it was useless to pretend that he was using the wrong name. If he had overheard a single one of the conversations between her and Grand-mère, he had heard them discuss her lost family.

“Do not think you can run back to Somerset,” he said instead of answering her question. “The staff believes that I have wed you to protect you from those who would cheat a simpleminded heiress.”

“How noble of you!”

“Isn't it?”

“I shall—”

Gripping her face tightly, he snarled, “You shall cooperate, wife. If you do not, I will see you dead as soon as I find your sister.”

“Sister? You know about my sister?”

He released her, shoving her away. “I know all about the Levesque family. It is too bad you did not discover the truth before this, Brienne. I understand your mother died fairly recently.” He laughed. “I wonder what the
duchesse
would have thought of her daughter who whores for a common art thief.”

Brienne stared at him in disbelief. She struggled to her feet again. “Armistead, do you know where my sister is?”

“Yes.”

“Where is she?”

“Where she is I shall keep to myself unless you give me reason to find her. 'Tis not a journey I want to make when winter is still gripping the Continent. If you cooperate, I shall have no reason to bring your sister here to mourn at your demise while I woo her into being my wife at the same time she claims her place as the new
duchesse
.”

“You would not!”

“Do not cooperate, and I shall show you exactly how serious I am.”

Holding tightly to the bed, she did not answer as he walked toward the table. Armistead Porter would do as he threatened. She could not allow her sister to become mixed up in this.

When she did not reply, he smiled. She kept her face blank. Until she regained her strength from whatever he had mixed in her wine, she must be careful.

He served himself a generous breakfast. “You need not lurk in the shadows like a beaten dog. Come and sit while we discuss what we shall do to ensure that Château Tonnere du Grêlon becomes ours soon. We shall enjoy a luxurious life in the late
duc's
fine home.”

“Château Tonnere du Grêlon shall never be yours!”

He laughed. “You are now my wife. Everything you possessed belongs to your husband when you wed. Your title for our son—”

“I shall never sleep with you!” she fired back.

Ignoring her, he continued, “Your château is mine as is your slender body.”

She clenched her hands. If the marriage had been performed legally, he was right. Everything belonged to him. She refused to admit that the marriage was real.