The Heir - Catherine Coulter [65]
She nodded to the group in general, avoiding the earl’s eyes, and made for the door.
“Do wait a moment, my dear,” the earl said, stopping her. “I myself am also ready to retire.”
Arabella wanted to run, but knew she could not. He had adroitly cornered her, and to protest would announce her fear to everyone. She stood in tense silence until the earl, with his customary grace, had made his round of good nights. She knew he was taking his time on purpose.
Dr. Branyon didn’t like any of it. He watched the earl slip his arm about Arabella’s waist and lead her from the room. He hoped Ann would not ask him to speak to the earl. He had no idea what he would ask, or, for that matter, what the earl would say to him. He imagined that Justin could be just as ruthless as the former earl had been. Could he also be as carelessly cruel? There was indeed trouble between Justin and Arabella, but why? What the devil could have happened?
Dr. Branyon had remarked to the earl that the comte seemed to have a fair way with the ladies. The earl had replied, “It perhaps serves his best interest to be all things to all people.” He had then said more to himself than to Dr. Branyon, and in the most oblique manner, “I shall shortly know if our young French relative has the spirit of a dove, the fangs of a viper, or simply the unprincipled instincts inherent in his French blood. I believe you saw him very clearly when he first arrived, Paul.”
Dr. Branyon hadn’t really seen a thing. He’d had just instinctively disliked the young man. He’d said, “It you do not like him, why not tell him to leave?”
The earl had been quiet for a long time. Finally, he’d said, “I can’t, not just yet. Besides, I do believe I would rather kill him than allow him to leave Evesham Abbey. I would very much enjoying killing him.”
Good God, Dr. Branyon had thought. What was going on here?
Arabella maintained a wary silence until they reached the top of the stairs. She tried to pull away from him but could not. She said between her teeth, “Let me go. I want to go to my bedchamber now.”
He tightened his arm around her waist. “Of course, you mean to say our bedchamber. That, my dear, was exactly where I was taking you.”
“No, damn you, no.” She managed to wrench away from him. She sped down the corridor to her room and flung the door wide. She stopped dead in her tracks. A sense of unreality seized her. All the furniture was swathed in ghostly holland covers. Her favorite pictures were gone, her personal belongings nowhere to be seen. The room was stripped of her presence. It was as if she had never spent a moment in this bedchamber, never existed. With a gulp of panic she raced to the armoire and pulled at the ivory knobs. All her gowns, cloaks, and bonnets were gone; even her slippers, lined in a colorful row, had vanished. She turned slowly and saw the earl standing in the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest.
“What have you done? Where are all my clothes, my pictures, my brushes? Damn you, answer me!”
The earl straightened and said matter-of-factly, “I decided your room was not big enough for both of us. Thus, during dinner I had your belongings removed to the earl’s bedchamber. If Evesham Abbey’s ghostly visitors return, we will simply have to accustom ourselves to them. Now, come, wife, your husband awaits his pleasure.”
Arabella slipped her hand into the pocket of her gown, closing her fingers over the smooth ivory handle of her small pistol. When she had seen it next to her jewel box before dinner, she had wondered at herself for not remembering it earlier. Ironically, her father’s gift would protect her now from the man he had so carefully chosen for her. There had to be irony in that somewhere. She drew up now to her full height. “Were you intending another rape tonight?”
He shrugged indifferently. “It was not rape. I used cream to ease you. It is not my fault you fought me. However, it will be as you wish it. I will use no cream on you tonight. If your