Mastered By Love

He shifted to his right, crouched down. “Phillip-can you hear me?”

Phillip’s lips twisted. “Almost got you. Almost…did it.”

The words were barely a whisper, but in the intent silence, they were audible enough.

“You were the traitor, weren’t you, Phillip? The one in the War Office. The one who sent God knows how many Englishmen to their deaths, and who the French paid in a treasure most of which lies at the bottom of the Channel.”

Although his eyes remained closed, Phillip’s lips curved in an unholy smile. “You’ll never know how successful I was.”

“No.” Royce curved one hand about Phillip’s chin, with his other hand grasped the top of his skull. “We won’t.”

He sensed Minerva draw close, from the corner of his eye glimpsed the ivory lace of her gown. He turned his head her way. “Look away.”

Phillip dragged in a hissing breath. He frowned. “Hurts.”

Royce looked down at him. “Sadly nowhere near as much as you deserve.” With an abrupt twist, he snapped Phillip’s neck.

He released him. The features so like his own eased, fell slack.

He reached for the knife hilt, jerked the blade free. With Phillip’s heart already stopped, the wound bled only slightly. He wiped the blade on Phillip’s lapel, then rose, sliding the knife into his pocket.

Minerva’s hand slipped into his, her fingers twining, gripping.

Christian stepped forward; so did Miles and Devil Cynster.

“Leave this to us,” Christian said.

“You’ve tidied up after us often enough,” Charles said. “Allow us to return the favor.”

There was a growl of agreement from the other Bastion Club members.

“I hate to sound like a grande dame,” Devil said, “but you need to get back to your wedding celebration.”

Miles glanced at Rupert and Gerald. “Gerald and I will stay and help-we know the estate fairly well. Enough, at least, to help stage a fatal accident-I presume that’s what we need?”

“Yes,” Rupert, Devil, and Christian answered as one.

Rupert caught Royce eye. “You and Minerva need to get back.”

They took over and, for once, Royce let them. Devil, Rupert, Christian, Tony, and both Jacks accompanied him and Minerva back to the house, leaving the others to stage Phillip’s accident. Royce knew what they would do; the gorge was both close and convenient, and disguising the knife wound as a wound from a sharp stick wouldn’t be hard-but he appreciated their tact in not discussing the details in front of Minerva.

She hurried beside him, her skirts looped over her arm so they could stride faster.

The instant they came within sight of the house, the ladies-who had been banned absolutely from setting foot in the gardens until their husbands returned, and who, for once, had obeyed-broke ranks and came pouring out of the north wing to meet them.

They had, it transpired, been operating in shifts-some on watch, while the others did duty in the ballroom. Letitia, Phoebe, Alice, Penny, Leonora, and Alicia had just resumed the watch-they flocked around Minerva, reporting that all was under control, that although the grandes dames were suspicious, none had yet demanded to be told what was going on, then they announced that Minerva’s gown would no longer pass muster-she would have to change.

“And that,” Leonora declared, “is our perfect excuse for where you’ve been. This gown looks so delicate, no one will be surprised that you’ve chosen to change, even in the middle of your wedding breakfast.”

“But we’ll have to make it quick.” Alice beckoned them back into the house. “Let’s go.”

In a flurry of silks and satins, the ladies whisked Minerva up the west turret stairs.

Royce and the other men exchanged glances, drew in deep breaths, then headed back to the ballroom. Pausing before the door, they donned expressions of relaxed jocularity, then, with a nod, Royce led them back into the melee.

No one knew, no one guessed; gradually all those involved slipped back into the ballroom, the men returning in jovial groups of three or more, the ladies ferrying Minerva back, ready with their tale to explain her absence.

And if the grandes dames wondered why Royce thereafter kept Minerva so closely beside him, why he so often drew her within the circle of his arm, if they wondered why she showed no inclination to stray, but instead often touched a hand to his arm, none of them voiced so much as a vague query.

The wedding celebrations of the tenth Duke and Duchess of Wolverstone were widely reported to have passed joyously, and-sadly for the gossipmongers-entirely without incident.

About a third of the guests left late that afternoon. It was evening before Royce and Minerva could disappear, could close the door of his sitting room on the world-and finally take stock.

She halted in the middle of the room, stood for one moment, then drew in a huge breath, raised her head, whirled-and plowed her fist into his arm. “Don’t you dare do such a thing again!”

As immovable as rock, and equally impassive, he merely looked down at her, arched an arrogant brow.

She wasn’t having that. She narrowed her eyes on his, stepped close and pointed a finger at his nose. “Don’t you dare pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about. What sort of maniac invites a deranged killer to shoot him?”

For a long moment, he looked down at her, then, his eyes locked on hers, he caught her hand, raised it, and pressed a kiss to her palm. “A maniac who loves you. To the depths of his cold, hardened, uninformed heart.”

Her lungs seized. She searched his eyes, replayed his words-savored the certainty that rang in them. Then she drew in a shaky breath, nodded. “I’m glad you’ve realized that. Phillip was useful for that much, at least.”

His lips quirked, but then he sobered. “Phillip.” He shook his head, his expression turning grim. “I suspected the last traitor was someone I knew, but…”

“You never imagined the traitor had become a traitor be cause of you, so you never suspected anyone so close.” She stepped back, with the hand he still held drew him with her. “There’s more-Phillip ranted a lot while he was waiting for me to recover. I already had, but was pretending to be unconscious, so I heard. Come and sit down, and I’ll tell you. You need to hear.”

He sank heavily into one of the armchairs, pulled her down onto his lap. “Tell me.”

Leaning against his chest, his arms around her, she recounted as much as she could remember.

“So it was his father’s and my grandfather’s attention he craved?”

“Not just their attention-their appreciation and acknowledgment that he was your equal. He felt…impotent when it came to them-no matter what he did, what he achieved, they never noticed him.”

Royce shook his head. “I never saw it.” He grimaced. “At least not that they lauded me and not Phillip, but I was rarely there to hear either.” He shook his head again. “My uncle and grandfather would be horrified to know they were the cause of such traitorous acts.”

“The underlying cause,” she sternly corrected him. “They were entirely unwitting-it was Phillip’s mania, first to last. He twisted his mind-no one else can be blamed.”

He cocked a brow at her. “Not even me?”

“Least of all you.”

The fierceness in her tone, in her eyes as she turned her head to meet his, warmed him.

Then she frowned. “One thing I’ve been puzzling over-if Phillip wanted you dead, and he definitely did, more than anything else, then why did he help rescue you from the river? Surely it would have been easy to miss catching you, and then your death would have been a sad accident.”

He sighed. “In hindsight, I think he did intend to let me drown. He couldn’t not help in the rescue because all the others were there, but by being the last in the line…” He tightened his arms about her, as ever anchored by her warmth, her physical presence. “At the time, I thought I wouldn’t be able to reach his hand. It was just out of my reach-or so I thought. In desperation I made a herculean effort-and managed to grab his wrist. And once I had, he couldn’t easily have broken my hold-not without being obvious. So he had to pull me in-an opportunity he missed, by pure luck.”