Patricia Veryan - [Sanguinet Saga 07] - Married Past Redemption (39 page)

Being a well-bred individual, with long years of experience in
his
profession, the butler who opened the door of the impressive mansion
evinced not the slightest surprise upon discovering a morning caller
upon the porch, with behind her an extremely muddied travelling coach
complete with coachman, groom, and what appeared to be an abigail
peeping from the rain-beaded window. He bowed deferentially to Mrs.
Strand and imparted his regret that neither Mrs. Leith nor Miss Strand
was in Town, they and Lady Mayne-Waring having gone down to spend a
week or two with Lord and Lady Moulton in Sussex.

Lisette could have wept her frustration. Greenwings, the
Moulton's
lovely old country home, was not above five and twenty miles southeast
of Strand Hall! These three miserable days had been wasted in searching
for a girl who had all the time been only three hours' drive from home!
She thanked the butler, returned to her carriage, and instructed the
coachman to proceed to Portland Place.

Lord
Jeremy Bolster was despondent. For
three days his
frenzied pursuit of Lisette Strand had all but banished his own
problems from his mind. This morning, however, he had reached Town and
learned from his valet, an unfailingly reliable source, that only an
hour since Mrs. Justin Strand had called briefly at the mansion of the
Earl of Mayne-Waring, and then proceeded to the home of her parents.
The danger was, it would appear, past. Bolster was nothing if not
thorough, however, and so it was that he strolled up Stratton Street,
his heart as heavy as his steps.

The porter admitted him to number 15, and he climbed
the stairs to
Devenish's rooms. The door was opened by an impressive valet who
advised that his master was not presently at home, but expected to
return before noon so as to change his clothes for an afternoon
engagement. Since it was then half-past eleven, Bolster accepted an
invitation to wait, rather than again venture into the rain in search
of his quarry. He bestowed his long drab coat upon the valet, tossed
hat, gloves, and cane onto an already littered sideboard, and settled
himself in the comfortable chair beside the fire of the cosy parlour.
He was scanning
The Racing Calendar
when he heard
a carriage
rattle at a spanking pace along the street and stop nearby. A moment
later, someone pounded on the door, and voices in the hall were
followed by a quick, light step that Bolster knew all too well. His
heart sinking, he sprang up to confront the man he was least desirous
of beholding.

"S-Strand!" he said nervously. "You here?"

Strand carried his hat and whip and was still wearing a
many-caped
drab coat. He looked haggard and grim, and returned a pithy,
"Evidently. Have you seen Leith?"

"Leith?" Bolster echoed, his voice squeaking a little.
"N-n-no. Not
here, dear old b-boy." To which he added a reinforcing, "I come
to's-s-see Devenish. D-Devenish lives here."

"So I understand." Strand passed his hat and gloves to the
hovering
valet, but retained his whip. He then flung himself into the one
remaining armchair and glowered at the fire.

Bolster thought he looked ripe for murder. "Catch cold in here
with
your c-coat on, old fellow. Want to walk? I'll come with you."

"Thank you," Strand muttered. "But I shall wait for Devenish.
He may
be able to tell me where I can find a filthy snake that calls itself
Tristram Leith."

Anguished, Bolster thought, He knows! But springing to his
feet, he
tried to look shocked, and expostulated, "Confound you, Justin! Here
you go r-rushing off half-cocked again! What is it this time?
Tristram's a spl-splendid fellow."

Strand leaned his head back against the wing chair and with a
curl
of the lip observed, "The kind of 'splendid fellow' who marries my
sister and within a year seduces my wife!"

"No, no! That ain't so! I swear you are quite out there!"

"Devil I am!" Strand uttered a mirthless bark of laughter and
stood
to take off his greatcoat and toss it over the table. "I chance to have
intercepted a letter warning my devoted bride against going to Leith. I
reached home to discover she had already done so!" He paused, his face
turned away, and added as though the words scourged him, "I traced her
as far as Cloudhills."

"Yes, but she d-did- did not st-stop there."

For a moment Strand was very still. Turning his head, he
looked at Bolster enigmatically. "She didn't?"

"No, no, old fellow. Saw her m'self. In Oxford."

"Did you now?" said Strand in a soft, almost caressing tone.

"How very remarkable. I was told the road to Oxford was
flooded and that the military was turning back all travellers."

"Oh… well, I must have dr-dr- passed through b-before that."

"Indeed you must," Strand said dryly. "And come away by means
of a rowboat, eh? Do you mean to explain away the letter also?"

"Er—likely it was more of Garvey's no-no-nonsense is all."

"And he tricked Lisette into driving to Berkshire also, no
doubt?
Good try, my friend, but…" He stood, rummaged under his coat, retrieved
his whip, and sat down again.

Bolster eyed the heavy whip uneasily. "Wh-what d'you m-mean to
do?"

"Call Leith out," Strand grated. "The sneaking, lying cur!"

"Good God! You mustn't talk like that, Justin! He's wed't-to
your sister!"

"The more reason to slaughter the—" Strand paused, listening
intently.

To Bolster's horror, wheels sounded outside, followed by a
sudden burst of male talk and laughter.

Strand came to his feet in a fluid, pantherish movement.
Jumping up
also, Bolster gripped his arm. "Justin! For the love of God! Do not!"

"Stand clear, Jerry." Strand wrenched free. "I'd not have, you
hurt."

"You're m-mad! C-consider Rachel! Consider Lisette!"

"Consider the marriage vows! Consider honour and decency!"

"Aye, but if—"

Footsteps were in the hall. Devenish's voice said laughingly,
"… but it
was
his wife, eh?"

Strand's lips pulled back and from between gritted teeth came
a low, menacing growl.

Attempting to seize the whip, Bolster pleaded, "Give over,
man! You will never b-be able't-to—"

Strand shoved him away. "I shall
kill
the swine who was with my wife last week-end!"

"But—I swear it
w-wasn't Leith
!"

Strand caught his breath. His eyes, turning to Bolster, put
that
earnest young man forcibly in remind of two sabres. "Then… who…" he
breathed, "
was
she with?"

The door was flung open. Desperate and thinking only to
prevent the impending tragedy, Bolster cried, "Me!"

Alain Devenish and Marcus Clay paused on the threshold, struck
to
silence- by the dramatic pose of the two before them: Bolster's hand
clutching Strand's wrist, Strand, pale and rigid, every inch of his
lean frame reflecting restrained fury.

For Strand, time seemed to stand still. A series of cameos
flickered
through his mind with blinding speed: Lisette, saying so casually that
Bolster had visited her during that first horrible week of their
marriage—ostensibly to leave Brutus in her care. Bolster, usually so
painfully afflicted with shyness at the presence of a female, yet
conversing merrily with Lisette. The two of them, standing very close
together before the weeping willow at Silverings, and on Bolster's face
that almost ludicrous expression of guilt. Lisette's deep concern when
Bolster had wrenched his arm while working on
Silvering Sails
… the way they'd sat together on the sofa later, whispering so softly,
so secretively… Lord! How could he have been so blind!

"By
God.'"
he snarled. "
You
?
Of all men?
You
?"

His lordship blinked. It had never occurred to him that Strand
might think
he
had cuckolded him, and briefly, he was stunned with surprise. If ever
there was a moment when it was imperative that he enunciate clearly,
this was it. But the more nervous Bolster became, the worse was his
stammering, and thus, belatedly attempting to extricate himself from
this deadly development, he uttered an unfortunate, "N-no! Not—I
didn't—we didn't—L-L-Lisette and I d-d-did—but we didn't mean't-t-to—"

A red haze was before Strand's eyes. Quite forgetting he still
held
the whip, he struck out, the blow catching Bolster across the left side
of his face so hard that he was sent reeling back.

"
Foulness
!" spat out Strand, advancing on
his dazed victim. "Judas!"

Recovering their wits, Devenish and Clay jumped forward;
Devenish, to support Bolster, Clay to leap before the enraged Strand.

Appalled, Clay demanded, "Justin! Are you run mad? Bolster is
your closest friend!"

With an effort that left him shaking, Strand overmastered his
fury.
His face very white, he said with devastating and deliberate
clarity,
"Lord Bolster is no friend of mine! He is a damned cheat! A lecherous,
conniving, disloyal, womanizing vermin I can scarce wait to shoot down
so I may wipe my boots on his worthless carcass!"

"Good… God!" gasped Devenish. "What in the name of—"

"Name your seconds, Bolster!" thundered Strand.

With deepening horror, Clay noted that the door to the hall
stood
wide and that the porter, who had been conductiong two military
gentlemen on tour of some available rooms, stood with his charges
gazing across the small vestibule at the dramatic confrontation.
Stifling a groan, he raced to close the outer door, his heart
plummeting as he recognized one of the officers as Captain Butterfield,
a likeable but garrulous young man. There was, he thought miserably, no
quieting this now!

"J-Justin," Bolster managed faintly, one hand pressed to his
cheek, "you m-must not—"

"If your friend, Mr. Devenish," sneered Strand, "lacks
sufficient
backbone to meet me, I would as soon bring my pistol here and shoot him
down like the dog he is!"

To swallow this, added to the former insults, was unthinkable,
and
Devenish and Clay exchanged stricken looks. His lips tight, Devenish
turned to Bolster. "Jeremy, do you wish that I act for you?"

Bolster lowered his hand, revealing a great darkening welt
across his cheek. "No! Justin, I b-beg of you to l-l—"

"Observe the whining coward," sneered Strand. "What is your
next
move, poltroon? Shall you fall on your knees and beg pardon?" Bolster
flushed, and Strand snarled, "Can you suppose I would
ever
pardon such treachery?"

"N-no!" Bolster said with a faint frown. "B-but I am n-not—I
did not—"

"You convicted yourself with your own mouth," Strand raged.
"Unless—" The glaring, murderous light in his eyes softened. He said an
all but pleading, "There can be but one reason for your refusal to meet
me! You are innocent and it
was
Leith, as I
suspected! Jeremy, for the love of God! Only tell me that is so, and—"

"No!" gasped Bolster. "But there is no n-n-need for us to
fight, and—"

"No need?"
Strand thundered. "Damn you!
Do you rate her
favours so cheap?" He sprang forward, but Clay stepped between them,
and said, a touch of frost in his voice, "Bolster. You have no choice,
you know."

Bolster sighed. "I know," he muttered, and drawing himself up,
added
with the odd judicial dignity that occasionally marked him, "Gone too
far now. Quite r-right. I th-thought Leith was c-coming in with you,
else I'd not have said—oh, well. Too late n-now." He glanced at
Devenish. "Thank you for the offer, D-Dev. I'll accept it."

Devenish nodded gravely.

Strand turned his glittering gaze on Clay.

"I'll act for you, Justin," the Major said with frowning
reluctance. "When?"

"Now!"

Devenish gave a gasp and, with sudden and uncharacteristic
propriety, remonstrated, "Cannot fight at this hour! Ain't done!"

"Don't be so damned prim!" growled Strand.

"If you were caught," Clay pointed out reasonably, "you'd have
to make a run for it. Better be dawn, Justin, or—"

"Now!"
Strand reiterated. Green had been
right, as usual,
and he had contracted a heavy cold. Already he felt hot and feverish,
and his head so wooden that to think was an effort. Lord knows if he'd
be able to fight at all tomorrow! He said stubbornly, "I've to leave
Town first thing in the morning. No one will see us in this miserable
weather. We can meet in Wanderer's Spinney off the Wimbledon Road.
If"—his lip curled unpleasantly— "you can get your man there, Devenish."

With his wide gaze fixed on the hearth, Bolster did not hear
this
latest slur. He was instead experiencing a vague and foolish sense of
pride that Strand
had
suspected him of engaging
in an
affaire
with the lovely Lisette. This
emotion was followed at once by regret that the beauty had proven so
faithless. She
had
spent the night at Cloudhills, alone with Leith. That much he'd been
able to determine. It was a pity he had been unable to come up with a
believable explanation for her activities—or his own. But at least
Strand no longer suspected that Leith had been his betrayer. Perhaps,
did Strand wound him a little… for he certainly would not shoot to
kill, would he? Bolster frowned thoughtfully. Perhaps he'd best write a
note to Lisette and to

Leith, warning them. Just in case. He thought with regret of
his
love and of the life they might have had, save for her high sense of
honour. And with a sudden stab of guilt, knew that his mother would
mourn him deeply. And there was good old Harry Redmond and his
tempestuous brother, Mitchell. And Lucian St. Clair, and Vaughan, and…
He started when Devenish touched his shoulder and repeated a gentle,
"Well, Jeremy?"

"Eh? Oh, whatever. I shall choose pistols if you d-d-do not
mind."
He looked to Strand apologetically. "Never was much good with swords,
you know."