Sophy closed her eyes for a moment. "I always make it that way for Ravenwood."
"Do you? Well, in that case, I will have it the same way."
"Why do you doubt that my husband would challenge you? He fought a duel over Elizabeth, did he not?"
"Two of them. Or so legend would have it. But he engaged in those appointments during the first months of his marriage when he still believed Elizabeth loved him. After the second dawn meeting he must have realized he could neither control my sweet Elizabeth's spirit nor terrorize every man in the country so he abandoned all efforts to avenge his honor where a woman is involved."
"And that is why you do not fear him. You know he will not challenge you because of me?"
Waycott took another swallow of tea, his eyes focused intently on the fire. "Why would he challenge me over the issue of your honor when he did not bother to do so over Elizabeth's?"
Sophy sensed a thread of uncertainty in Waycott's voice.
He was trying to convince himself as well as her that he had nothing to fear from Julian. "An interesting question, my lord," she said softly. "Why would he bother, indeed?"
"You are not half so beautiful as Elizabeth."
"We have already agreed upon that." Sophy watched, her stomach knotted with tension as Waycott took another sip of tea. He drank mechanically, his mind on the past.
"Nor do you have her style or charm."
"Quite true."
"He could not possibly want you as badly as he wanted Elizabeth. No, he will not bother to call me out over you." Waycott smiled slowly above the rim of his cup. "But he may very well murder you the way he murdered her. Yes, I think that is exactly what he will do when he finds out what has occurred here today."
Sophy kept silent as Waycott took the last swallow of tea. Her own cup was still full. She held it cradled in her palms and waited.
"The tea was excellent, my dear. Now I should like some of the bread and cheese. You will serve it to me."
"Yes, my lord." Sophy got to her feet.
"But first," Waycott drawled slowly, "you will undress and put the Ravenwood emeralds around your throat. That was the way Elizabeth always did it."
Sophy went very still, searching his eyes for some signs of the herb's effect. "I do not intend to undress for you, Lord Waycott."
"But you will." From out of nowhere Waycott produced a palm-size pocket pistol. "You will do exactly as I say." He smiled his too brilliant smile. "And you will do it exactly as Elizabeth did it. I will guide you every step of the way. I will show you precisely how to spread your thighs for me, madam."
"You are as mad as she was," Sophy whispered. She took a step back toward the fire. When Waycott did nothing, she took another and another.
He allowed her to retreat nearly the length of the room and then with casual brutality he yanked on the rope that bound her ankle.
Sophy gasped as she tumbled awkwardly to the hard stone floor. She lay there for a moment, trying to steady herself and then she looked fearfully at Waycott. He was still smiling but there was a dazed quality in his eyes now.
"You must do as I say Sophy, or I will be obliged to hurt you."
She sat up cautiously. "As you hurt Elizabeth that night by the pond? Ravenwood did not kill her, did he? You killed her. Will you murder me as you did your beautiful, faithless Elizabeth?"
"What are you talking about? I did nothing to her. Ravenwood killed her. I told you that."
"No, my lord. You have tried to convince yourself all these years that Ravenwood was responsible for her death because you do not wish to admit you were the one who killed the woman you loved. But you did. You followed her the night she went to visit Old Bess. You waited by the pond for her to return. When you realized where she had gone and what she had done, you were angry with her. Angrier than you had ever been."
Waycott staggered to his feet, his handsome face contorted with violence. "She went to the old witch to ask for a potion to get rid of the babe, just as you did today."
"And the babe was yours, was it not?"
"Yes, it was mine. And she taunted me, saying she no more wanted my child than she had wanted Ravenwood's." Waycott took two unsteady steps toward Sophy. The pocket pistol waved erratically in his hand. "But she had always claimed she loved me. How could she wish to get rid of my babe if she loved me?"
"Elizabeth was incapable of loving anyone. She married Ravenwood to secure a good position and all the money she needed." Sophy edged away from him on her hands and knees. She dared not rise to her feet for fear Waycott would pull the rope again. "She kept you dangling on her puppet strings because you amused her. Nothing more."
"That's not true, damn you. I was the best lover she'd ever taken to her bed. She told me so." Waycott lurched to one side and stopped. He dropped the rope and rubbed his eyes with the heel of his free hand. "What's wrong with me?"
"Nothing's wrong, my lord."
"Something is wrong. I don't feel right." His hand dropped from his eyes and he tried to focus on her. "What did you do to me, you bitch?"
"Nothing, my lord."
"You poisoned me. You put something in my tea, didn't you? I'll kill you for this."
He lunged at Sophy who leapt to her feet and stumbled blindly out of his path. Waycott fetched up against the stone wall near the hearth. The pistol fell, unnoticed from his hand and landed with a small clinking sound in the basket that had held the food.
Waycott turned his head to locate Sophy, his eyes wild with fury and the inevitable effects of the drug.
"I'll kill you. Just as I killed Elizabeth. You deserve to die, just as she did. Oh, God, Elizabeth." He leaned against the stone wall, shaking his head in a vain effort to clear it. "Elizabeth, how could you do this to me? You loved me." Waycott began to slide slowly down the wall, sobbing. "You always said you loved me."
Sophy watched with horrified fascination as Waycott cried himself into a deep slumber.
"Murderer," she breathed, her pulse leaping with rage. "You killed my sister. As surely as if you had put a gun to her head, you killed her."
Her eyes flew to the basket on the hearth. She knew how to use a pistol and Waycott deserved to die. With an anguished sob she ran to the basket and looked down. The pistol lay atop the glittering emeralds. Sophy leaned over and scooped up the small weapon.
Holding it in both hands she whirled about to point the pistol at the unconscious Waycott.
"You deserve to die," she repeated aloud and released the pistol from its half-cocked position. The trigger, which was designed to fit into a small recess for safety's sake, dropped into firing position and Sophy's finger closed hungrily around it.
She stepped closer to Waycott, her mind summoning up the image of Amelia lying on her bed, an empty bottle of laudanum on the table beside her.
"I will kill you, Waycott. This is simple justice."
For an endless moment Sophy hovered on the brink, willing herself to pull the trigger. But it was no good. She could not find the courage to do it. With a wrenching cry of despair she lowered the pistol, returning it to the half-cocked position. "Dear God, why am I so weak?"
She put the pistol back into the basket and knelt to fumble with the rope around her ankle. Her fingers shook but she managed to free herself. She could not take the emeralds or the pistol back to Ravenwood. There would be no way to explain them.
Without a backward glance she opened the door and ran out into the night. Waycott's horse nickered softly as she approached.
"Easy, my friend. I have no time to put a saddle on you," Sophy whispered as she fitted the bridle onto the gelding. "We must hurry. Everyone will be frantic at the Abbey."
She led the gelding over to a pile of rubble that had once been a fortified wall. Standing on the heap of stones, she adjusted her skirts above her knees and scrambled up onto the horse's back. The animal snorted and danced and then accepted her unfamiliar presence.