She had answered in the affirmative, but she did not want to admit Danemount's fairness now if it was coupled with this merciless hardness.
"Are you afraid to hear the truth?" he taunted.
"What you say is truth."
"Then judge for yourself." His gaze held hers as his words spiked out with hammered precision. "Danjuet was the home of my father's cousin, Paul Brasnier, Compte de Talaisar and his wife, Gabrielle. During the madness when aristocrats were being butchered at every turn, he couldn't believe it would happen to him. He wanted to stay in the land of his birth and thought the madness would run its course before it touched him. His wife had borne him a child two years before, and she insisted the babe was too frail to travel. My father decided to go to France to convince them to flee to England before it was too late. We arrived at Danjuet the night the neighboring estate was burned to the ground and the owner taken in chains to Paris for execution." He smiled sardonically. "It was enough to sober even cousin Paul. He agreed to allow my father to arrange transport for his family and himself. Before leaving England my father had taken the precaution of obtaining the name and address of a young artist who had been helpful in aiding the escape of another family a year earlier. Charles Deville.
"He sent for him. In the meantime we hid in a small secret room in the dungeon of the château. Deville came; he agreed to give us his help and set the escape plans in motion. My father had arranged to have a ship anchored in a cove off the coast, but we had to get there. It took two weeks before Deville completed the forged documents, and another two days to bribe the border guards. Then we were ready to go." He paused. "I remember Deville looked very somber when I looked back at him from the window of the carriage. I thought it was only concern. Your father was so very charming. None of us even suspected him of villainy."
"He's not a villain."
"No? You wouldn't have been able to convince my cousin and his wife as they knelt before the guillotine. The carriage was stopped not twenty miles from the château by agents of the Committee of Public Safety. The soldiers knew exactly who would be in the carriage. The Compte and his wife were taken prisoner and set out under guard for Paris. The soldiers would have killed their child on the spot, but my father intervened. They had other instructions for our disposition that did not include immediate slaughter, so he was allowed to take the child himself."
"Surely they wouldn't have murdered a child."
"You think not? During those days it was not unusual to use aristocrats as canon fodder."
She shuddered with horror. She had been too young to really comprehend the tragedy going on around her. She had heard only stories recounted with grim relish by Clara, and they had seemed no more real than a bad dream. Now those tales were being brought vividly to life. "My father couldn't have had anything to do with their capture."
"Judas," he said flatly. "When my father and I were brought back to the château, Deville was in the courtyard talking to a man who was obviously in charge of the soldiers."
"Then he might have been a prisoner, too."
"He turned white when he saw me staring at him. He backed away, mounted his horse, and rode out of the courtyard. Free." He added bitterly, "And probably considerably richer than when he had arrived two weeks before."
"There has to be some explanation," she whispered.
"I'm giving it to you. You just refuse to accept it."
She shook her head. "It can't be. There has to be another answer. Who was the man he was talking to?"
"Raoul Cambre."
"And he was a soldier?"
"No, I found out later he was loosely attached to the Committee of Public Safety, which was charged with the persecution of the enemies of the state. Very loosely. He astutely kept out of the light of public attention, gathering riches from the estates of the aristocrats he sent to the guillotine, riding the crest of the wave until it turned. After Robespierre was beheaded and the terror ended, he simply disappeared." He met her gaze. "Like your father."
"I keep telling you, he's not at all like my father." She was shaking, she realized. She crossed her arms to keep him from noticing. "If you want to kill someone, kill Cambre. He was clearly to blame."
"Were the Romans more to blame than Judas?"
She drew a long breath before saying unevenly, "I'm sorry your cousins were killed, but I-"
"Not only my cousins. My father was butchered."
"But you said the soldiers had orders not to hurt him," she said, shocked.
"My father was a very reckless man and had the temerity to speak to Cambre with less respect than he thought he deserved. Raoul Cambre gave the order that he be taken into the forest and cut to pieces. I watched them do it."
"Please." She closed her eyes to shut out the image. "I don't want to hear any more."
"I have no intention of giving you any bloody details. I think you've heard enough."
Too much. Danemount's clear, cold words had rung with truth and shaken her more than a passionate utterance would ever have done.
"Do you still think I'm lying?" he asked.
She forced herself to open her eyes and face him again. "I think you believe you're telling the truth."
"Christ." He stared at her in exasperation. "Don't you ever give up?"
"Sometimes the truth isn't clear," she said desperately. "You have no evidence."
"I saw Charles Deville."
"And I trust him," she whispered. "And even if I didn't trust him, he's my father. I couldn't let you kill him. It had to be a mistake. Everyone makes mistakes. We have to forgive them."
"Not a mistake of this magnitude." His lips tightened. "I don't forgive mistakes until they're paid for."
"Not even your own father's mistakes?"
He looked at her in surprise. "My father?"
"You said you were only a boy. What right did he have to take you from safety to a country in which he knew you'd be in danger?"
"I wanted to go."
"It was still a mistake. You could have been killed and it would have been his fault. He was a fool."
"We're not talking about my father."
"I'm not talking at all." She leaned back and tried to gather the tattered remnants of her composure about her. "It does no good. We cannot agree."
He was silent a moment and men said roughly. "You're right. I knew you wouldn't be dissuaded when I started. Why in Hades should I keep trying to save you, when you won't save yourself? I assure you it's not my nature. I always accept whatever fate offers me, and I'm already anticipating this particular delicacy." He smiled cynically. "By all means, come with me. It's been a long, frustrating search, and it's only right that I take a reward for my labors."
Lani came out onto the veranda just after dawn, and Cassie breathed a sigh of relief. It was good to have an ally nearby. Danemount had not spoken again, but she could sense his anger and tension as he lay those few feet away.
"Good morning," Danemount greeted Lani coldly. "May I take it that you're also actively involved in all this?"
"As actively as Cassie would permit. She didn't tell me about the laudanum." Lani walked over to Bradford, tilted his head back, and peered into his face. "I expected him to be awake by now. It must be all that brandy…"
"I am awake," Bradford murmured. "I'm just afraid to open my eyes. My head feels like a broken coconut." He cautiously opened one bloodshot eye. "Ah, but the sight of you is worth any pain. You truly have the face of an angel."
"Your judgment has no value. You've clearly had no dealings with heaven or any of its beings."
Bradford flinched. "Cruel…" He frowned in puzzlement. "I seem to be restrained." He tugged at the bonds. "Your doing?"
"I believe we can lay the blame at Mademoiselle Deville's door," Jared said. "Along with the laudanum."
"Laudanum. No wonder I have such a throbbing head."