He came to quite quickly, heading for Charles once more. “Enough,” Charles thundered, holding one arm out to keep him at bay. “You’ve spent enough time feeling sorry for yourself. It’s time for you to sober up and do something. ”
“I could do your intended,” Rohan said evilly in a deliberate attempt to get Charles to hit him.
“She’s my wife, you degenerate bastard. And you know perfectly well she’s not the Harriman you want. Elinor went off with that new cousin of hers—she’s probably in England by now. We’re going to have make absolutely certain she’s—” He stopped as Rohan began to curse. “What?”
But Rohan seemed to have shaken off the vast amount of whiskey he’d had. He rose to his full, impressive height. “Get my valet,” he snapped. “And order my coach. ”
“Willis is bringing water and fresh clothes,” Charles said warily. “But why bring your coach? She’s already back in England by now, and you certainly can’t even think of going there. ”
“Can’t I, Charles?” he said in a grim voice, stripping off his torn and stained waistcoat and shirt. “I’m not convinced she’s safe with him. I had him removed from the property at the beginning of the Revels, but he must have somehow gotten to her anyway. ”
“And she’s safer with you? Allow me to doubt that,” Charles said derisively.
“You don’t understand. He’s not her cousin. He’s not the true heir to Harriman’s estate, but he presented papers that Harriman’s daughter had died in France. ”
Charles froze. “How did you discover this?”
“I can get any information I need, you know that,” he said, his voice dark. “Young Marley, the Duke of Mont Albe, all had knowledge of the so-called Marcus Harriman. He’s a fake, Charles. He’s her bastard half brother, and I can’t believe his intentions have anything to do with Elinor’s well-being. ”
Charles felt the ice that he’d dumped Rohan in begin to form in his veins. “Bloody hell. That would explain a lot. Neither you nor I were satisfied that Lady Caroline started that fire, and you yourself said the attempt on your life might have been a mistake. Miss Harriman had accompanied you only minutes earlier, and it would be simple enough for him to have hired a marksman, one of the disaffected soldiers who roam the streets. ”
Rohan was splashing water on his body. “If he’s taken her back to England it’s in order to kill her. And I’ve been sitting here for days, drinking. ”
“We could be worried for nothing,” Reading said. “After all, the estate’s entailed. What could he hope to gain?”
Rohan shook his head, then moaned, putting his hands to his temples. “Devil of a headache,” he muttered, momentarily distracted. Then he looked up, steely-eyed. “The estate isn’t entailed. Not even the title. She inherits it all, and if she marries, her son inherits the title. I don’t think our so-called Baron Tolliver is going to let that happen. ”
He strode to the door, filled with feverish energy. “Willis, damn you!” he shouted into the darkened hallway. “What’s taking you so bloody long?”
“I’m coming, my lord!” Willis’s voice wheezed from a short distance away.
“Tell me what to do, Francis,” Charles said urgently. “You have no choice but to stay here, but I can go after them, catch up with them before anything happens. ”
“It might already be too late. He could have tossed her over the side of the boat,” Rohan said bleakly. “But no, he didn’t do that. I’d know. In my heart, I’d know. ”
Charles stared at him, stupefied. “You have a heart, Francis? Surely not. ”
Rohan turned to look at him. “We still haven’t settled our duel,” he said in an evil voice.
“You really wish to waste time with such inconsequentialities?” Reading said. “Don’t glower at me—I’ve known you too long to be intimidated by the King of Hell. You’ll have to give up that title, you know. You’ll be drummed out of the Heavenly Host. ”
“God deliver me from their tiresome playacting,” Rohan said wearily.
“Lord save us, first you have a heart, now you have a god? Will wonders never cease?” Charles said, turning back to close the door that was still blowing icy air and snow into the library. “One thing is certain. I’m not letting you go anywhere near England. Not that you’
d be fool enough to even think of it, but you’re out of your mind already, and it would be just like you—”
Something crashed down on his head. One moment he was lecturing his old, dissipated friend, the next he was falling toward the littered, snowy floor of Rohan’s library, and then everything went black.
Rohan didn’t stop to consider what drove him, what he was risking. There wasn’t time. He had no idea when Marcus Harriman had departed with his half sister, but any kind of head start was unacceptable. He’d done nothing but drink for the past three days—they would have left anytime, while he’d be feeling sorry for himself.
He tied his old friend up deftly, bitterly amused at the realization that the only reason he knew how to bind someone was for some of the Heavenly Host’s more interesting games. Charles would be ready to kill him when he awakened, but at least Rohan would have a head start. He knew full well that there was no way Charles would stand by and let him put his life in jeopardy by returning to England. He also knew there was no way he could stop him.
He moved quickly. He had no line of credit or bank in England, necessitating that he take a large amount of cash from his Paris bank. He sent Willis ahead to Calais to hire a boat—he needed one ready to sail at the first tide, and he had his valet pack his plainest clothes. He left the Maison de Giverney less than an hour after Charles had arrived, taking his horse and riding toward the coast hell-for-leather.
He stopped only to change horses, pushing on at a madman’s pace. It was sheer luck that he decided that one more change was necessary, and he stopped at a small inn some ten miles from the coast. Sheer luck that when the man accosted him he didn’t simply shoot him and move on.
It was the Harrimans’ erstwhile coachman, though his name escaped Rohan. It didn’t matter—the man knew who he was.