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“So, Clemmons died in the massacre, effectively nullifying the debt.”
Vale gave an incredulous bark of laughter. “You think I killed two hundred and forty-six men so I wouldn’t have to pay my debt to Clemmons? You are mad.”
Maybe he was. Rebecca stood crying behind him, and Lady Emeline was watching him warily as if he might suddenly try to climb the walls. Vale stared at him with no fear in his eyes.
Sam remembered how the viscount had looked that day, astride his horse, trying to reach Colonel Darby through the mess of fighting men. The bay had been shot out from under Vale, and Sam had seen him jump clear of the falling horse. Stand and open wide his mouth in a battle cry Sam hadn’t heard, swing his sword savagely, and watch in despair as Darby was pulled from his own horse and killed. And then Vale had continued fighting even as the battle was clearly lost.
Sam should be apologizing to Vale and backing away. This man couldn’t be the traitor. But something inside whispered, A brave man isn’t necessarily an honest man. MacDonald had been a brave soldier, too, before his arrest. Deep in his belly, Sam needed to find out the truth of Spinner’s Falls.
Lady Emeline shook herself as if coming out of a trance and marched to the doors, her small back militantly straight. A footman was lingering there, gawking at the spectacle, and she pointed at him. “You. Bring some wine and biscuits, please. Thank you.” And she firmly closed the doors on his face.
“Is that all you have?” Vale asked. “My gambling debts led you to believe that I’d betrayed our regiment, then had myself captured by Indians and Reynaud killed?”
Lady Emeline flinched. Vale didn’t seem to notice.
Sam hadn’t wanted to speak of this in front of her, but now it was inevitable. “There was a letter detailing our plans to march to Fort Edward. It included a map with drawings that could be deciphered by the Indians.”
Vale leaned against the rail. “How do you know about this letter?”
“I have it.”
Rebecca had stopped crying and now said wonderingly, “That’s why you wanted me to attend this ball, isn’t it? It had nothing to do with me at all. You wanted to meet Lord Vale.”
Damn. Sam stared at his younger sister. “I—”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked.
“Or me,” Lady Emeline said. Her words were quiet, but Sam knew not to take that as a sign she wasn’t angry. “Reynaud was killed because of that battle. Didn’t you think I had a right to know?”
Sam frowned. His head hurt, his mouth tasted like acid, and he didn’t want to deal with the women in his life. This was man’s business, although he wasn’t such a fool as to say that aloud.
Apparently, Vale had no such qualms. “Emmie, this will only open old wounds for you. Why don’t you and Miss...” He looked uncertainly at Rebecca.
o;Mr. Hartley. Samuel.”
Her voice was near, and he felt a cool hand on his cheek. With an effort, he opened his eyes.
Her black eyes were staring into his, and he latched on to the sight, trying to focus on only her.
“Are you all right?” she asked.
He opened his mouth and formed the word carefully, speaking the truth because that was all he could do. “No.”
Her eyes left his for a moment, and he grasped her shoulders to keep his balance. “What is wrong with him, do you know?” she asked.
“I don’t know. I’ve never seen him like this,” Rebecca said.
Her black eyes returned to his, and he felt relief. “Come with me.”
He nodded, his throat working convulsively, and stumbled after her like a drunken man. Their progress was slow, and he knew that sweat was running down his cheeks. He kept her constantly in his vision, a guideline to sanity. Then, suddenly, there were doors, and he tumbled out into cool, fresh air. It was a veranda with a low rail. He made it to one end before spewing over the rail and into the bushes.
“He’s ill,” Sam heard Rebecca say as he gulped great breaths of air. “Maybe he ate something spoiled. We should send for a doctor.”
“No.” His voice emerged a strangled rasp. He cleared his throat, fighting to sound normal. “No doctor.”
Behind him, Rebecca made a sound of distress. He wished he could face her, reassure her that nothing was wrong.
“Mr. Hartley,” Lady Emeline murmured very close to him. She laid her hand on his shoulder. He hunched it. Shameful for any woman to see him like this, let alone her. “You’re ill. Please satisfy your sister’s worry and let us send for a physician.”
