EIGHTEEN
"You went to the old witch, just as Elizabeth did, didn't you? There is only one reason a woman would seek her out." Waycott's tone was eerily conversational as he set Sophy on her feet and pulled the cloak away from her face. He watched her with an unnatural brightness in his eyes as he slowly removed his mask. "I am quite pleased, my dear. I will be able to give Ravenwood the coup de grace when I tell him his new Countess was determined to rid herself of his heir, just as his first Countess did."
"Good evening, my lord." Sophy inclined her head graciously, just as if she were meeting him in a London drawing room. She was still bound in the cloak but she pretended to ignore that fact. She had not spent the past weeks learning to conduct herself as befit a Countess for nothing. "Imagine meeting you here. Rather an unusual location, is it not? I have always found this place very picturesque."
Sophy gazed around the small stone chamber and tried to conceal a shudder of fear. She hated this place. He had brought her to the old Norman ruin she had loved to sketch until the day she had decided it was the scene of her sister's seduction.
The ramshackle old castle, which had always looked so charmingly scenic, now appeared like something out of a nightmare to her. Late afternoon shadows were falling outside and the narrow slits of windows allowed very little light inside. The bare stones of the ceiling and walls were darkened with traces of old smoke from the massive hearth. The place was disturbingly dank and gloomy.
A fire had been laid on the hearth and there was a kettle and some provisions in a basket. The most disturbing thing of all about the room, however, was the sleeping pallet that had been arranged against one wall.
"You are familiar with my little trysting place? Excellent. You may find it very useful in the future when you begin betraying your husband on a regular basis. I am delighted I shall be the one to introduce you to the pleasures of the sport." Waycott walked over to a corner of the room and dropped the mask onto the floor. He turned to smile at Sophy from the shadows. "Elizabeth liked to come here on occasion. It made a pleasant change, she said."
A dark premonition swept over Sophy. "And was she the only one you brought here, Lord Waycott?"
Waycott glanced down at the mask on the floor and his face hardened. "Oh, no, I used it occasionally to entertain myself with a pretty little piece from the village when Elizabeth was occupied with her own strange fancies."
Rage surged through Sophy. It had a strengthening effect, she discovered. "Who was this pretty little piece you brought here, my lord? What was her name?"
"I told you, she was just a village whore. No one important. As I said, I only used her when Elizabeth was in one of her moods." Waycott looked up from his contemplation of the mask, clearly anxious for Sophy to understand. "Elizabeth's moods never lasted long, you know. But while they were upon her, she was not herself. There were… other men at times. I could not tolerate watching her flirt with them and then invite them to her bedchamber. Sometimes she wanted me to join them there. I could not abide that."
"So you came here. With an innocent young woman from the village." Sophy was light-headed with her anger but she struggled desperately to conceal it. Her fate, she sensed, hinged on keeping a tight rein on her emotions.
Waycott chuckled reminiscently. "She did not remain innocent for long, I assure you. I am accounted a most excellent lover, Sophy, as you will soon discover." His eyes narrowed suddenly. "But that reminds me, my dear, I must ask you how you came by the ring."
"Yes. The ring. Where and when did you lose it, my lord?"
"I am not certain." Waycott frowned. "But it is possible the village girl stole it. She always claimed she was a member of the gentry but I knew better. She was the offspring of some village merchant. Yes, I have often wondered if she stole the ring from me while I slept. She was always after me, demanding some symbol of my love. Stupid chit. But how did the ring get into your hands?"
"I told you the night of the masquerade ball. May I inquire how you knew I was wearing the gypsy costume?"
"What? Oh, that. It was simple enough to have one of my footmen ask one of your maids what Lady Ravenwood planned to wear that evening. It was easy to find you in the crowd. But the ring was a surprise. Now I recall you said that you had acquired it from a friend of yours." Waycott pursed his lips. "But how does it happen that a lady of your class becomes friends with a tradesman's daughter? Did she work for your family?"
"As it happens," Sophy forced herself to breathe deeply and slowly, "we knew each other rather well."
"But she did not tell you about me, did she? You showed no signs of knowing me when we met in London."
"No, she never confided the name of her lover." Sophy looked directly at him. "She is dead now, my lord. Along with your babe. She took an overdose of laudanum."
"Stupid wench." He shrugged the issue aside with an elegant movement of his shoulders. "I am afraid I shall have to ask you to return the ring to me. It cannot be terribly important to you."
"But it is to you?"
"I am rather fond of it." Waycott's smile was taunting. "It symbolizes certain victories, past and present."
"I no longer have the ring," Sophy said calmly. "I gave it to Ravenwood a few days ago."
Waycott's eyes burned for an instant. "Why the devil did you give it to him?"
"He was curious about it." She wondered if that would alarm Waycott.
"He can discover nothing about it. All who wear the ring are bound to silence. Nevertheless, I intend to have it returned to me. Soon, my dear, you will get it back from Ravenwood."
"It is not easy to take anything away from my husband that he does not choose to relinquish."
"You are wrong," Waycott said triumphantly. "I have helped myself to Ravenwood's possessions before and I will do so again."
"You are referring to Elizabeth, I suppose?"
"Elizabeth was never his. I am referring to these." He crossed the chamber and bent over the basket on the hearth. When he straightened he was holding a handful of green fire. "I brought them along because I thought you might find them interesting. Ravenwood cannot give them to you, my dear. But I can."
"The emeralds," Sophy breathed, genuinely astounded. She stared at the cascade of green stones and then jerked her eyes back to Waycott's fever bright gaze. "You've had them all along?"
"Since the night my beautiful Elizabeth died. Ravenwood never guessed, of course. He searched the house for them and sent word to all the jewelers in London that if anyone came into possession of the gems, he would willingly double the asking price. Word has it that one or two unscrupulous merchants tried to produce copies of the originals in order to claim the doubled price but Ravenwood was unfortunately not deceived. A pity. That would have been the final irony, would it not? Think of Ravenwood saddled with false stones as well as two false wives."
Sophy straightened her shoulders, unable to resist the taunt, even though she knew it would be better if she kept silent. "I am Ravenwood's true wife and I will not play him false."
"Yes, my dear, you will. And what's more, you will do so wearing these emeralds." He let the necklace stream from palm to palm. He seemed hypnotized by the shimmering green waterfall. "Elizabeth always enjoyed it that way. It gave her a special pleasure to put on the emeralds before she got into bed with me. She would make such sweet love to me while wearing these stones." Waycott looked up suddenly. "You will like doing it that way, too."
"Will I?" Sophy's palms were damp. She must not say anything more that would goad him further she told herself. She must let him think she was his helpless victim, a meek rabbit who would not give him any resistance.