Move Heaven and Earth

by Christina Dodd

  He was trembling all over, and his forehead glistened with a fine sheen of perspiration. “Do you want to stop?”

  She gaped at him, then considered. Her insides felt as if they’d been pinched, her nipples knew they’d been pinched, but the sensation was fading. Not as fast as she would like, but fading.

  And he was suffering. He hadn’t taken a breath since he asked the question he now clearly regretted. Moving carefully, she edged herself back onto the pillows. “No.”

  His chest rose and fell as he sucked in air. “Good. I’m glad we agree on such an important issue.”

  14

  He’d spent the hours worrying about an act he’d finished too quickly. At least, he’d thought it was quickly. For Sylvan, it had lasted long enough to erase the sting of deflowering, and she’d fallen asleep with her hand over his heart and her head on his shoulder. He’d been rubbing her back and wishing she had had all the experience the ton had gossiped about, because once hadn’t been enough and probably never would be enough with Sylvan.

  So in lieu of making love, he pulled on his rumpled clothes and waited for her to wake up so they could talk about making love. He’d tell her how well she’d done for a rank beginner. He closed his eyes. She had done very well for a rank beginner. In all his imaginings—and there had been quite a few—he’d never dared hope she would respond with such enthusiasm.

  After he’d praised her, she’d tell him how magnificent he’d been…he hoped.

  Of course he’d been magnificent. Hadn’t she spasmed and whimpered and moaned and—he twisted around, trying to see his own shoulders—scratched?

  He looked toward the bed where she slept heavily, and grinned. God, married life was good.

  A timid tap alerted him to the sound of voices in the hall, and he opened the door. Jasper leaned against the wall, glaring mightily at Betty, who held Sylvan’s maid by the arm.

  “Sh. She’s asleep,” Rand warned them. Then, taking a look at the mutinous expression on Bernadette’s face, he said, “Thank you, but I don’t think Her Grace needs an abigail’s services right now.”

  “That’s not why we’re here. We’re here to tell you something you should have been told when it happened.” Betty shook Bernadette. “Tell His Grace.”

  Bernadette ducked her head. “Miss Sylvan—Her Grace—promised to tell him the night before the wedding. She even went to his room. Why do ye think she didn’t?”

  “Because I saw His Grace after she left his room that night, and they hadn’t been discussing anything grim. Quite the opposite, if you ask me.” When Bernadette would have interrupted, Betty added, “And His Grace would have had her swaddled in cotton and wrapped in a ribbon these three days if he’d known.”

  Rand had stiffened. “I know about the ghost. She did tell me he was in the hall outside her room.”

  “And?” Bernadette stared and waited for more.

  But what more? Rand realized now he’d been distracted that night and hadn’t asked all the questions he should. Now his servants were acting as if something had happened to Sylvan, something dreadful, and he did not know about it. Leaning forward, he urged, “Tell me, Bernadette.”

  “I promised Her Grace I wouldn’t tell Lady Emmie and Lady Adela.” Bernadette bit her lip. “Betty, ye always told me I shouldn’t betray my lady’s confidence, no matter what the reason.”

  Jasper interrupted. “I’ll tell him.”

  Everyone turned to Jasper in surprise.

  Jasper was morose with regret. “I was chasing after Her Grace, or I would have never missed him.”

  “Missed who?” Rand stepped into the hall and shut the door behind him. “Chasing Her Grace where?”

  “’Twas the night before yer wedding, and I was watching Miss Sylvan’s door.”

  Rand began, “I thought you were with—”

  “No!” Jasper put up his hand. “I wasn’t. I was watching Miss Sylvan’s door.” Bernadette was obviously salivating to know who Jasper might have been with, but Jasper paid her no attention.

  “Why were you watching Miss Sylvan’s door?” Rand demanded.

  “I feared for her.”

  Jasper studiously avoided meeting Rand’s gaze, and Rand remembered his misgivings regarding Jasper. Misgivings without foundation, he assured himself, but misgivings nonetheless.

  Jasper plodded along, his speech slow and deliberate. “It just seemed, after that attack on Loretta and Miss Sylvan, that there was reason for alarm. Someone doesn’t like Her Grace.”

  “I know that.” Rand did know that, but the solemn expressions these servants wore warned him that knowing was not enough.

  “I was watching Miss Sylvan’s door, and I admit, I was dozing a little. ’Twas the middle of the night, and I’d had little rest. But I swear to you, Miss Sylvan suddenly opens her door and starts down the hall toward the servants’ quarters, calling yer name, Yer Grace, and talking as if ye were right in front of her. Well, she was sleepwalking, of course, but I followed nonetheless.”

  “I never heard her leave.” Bernadette excused herself to a frowning Betty.

  “She led me on a merry chase,” Jasper continued. “Around the halls, all the while talking to ye, Lord Rand—I mean, Lord Clairmont—I mean, Yer Grace—”

  “Lord Rand will do nicely,” Rand said, almost dancing with impatience.

  “Aye, my lord.” Jasper was thoroughly tangled in the courtesies, but he took a look at Rand’s grimace and plunged ahead. “Miss Sylvan was trying to convince ye to go back to yer room.”

  “Why didn’t you stop her?” Betty asked.

  Jasper’s eyes shifted away, looking everywhere but at Rand. “I’ve some dealings with sleepwalkers, and I know ye’re not supposed to wake them as long as they’re not a danger to themselves.”

  Slowly, Rand nodded, all the while thinking, Jasper had known about his walking. Jasper had kept his own counsel, but had he been trekking along after Rand the same way he’d followed Sylvan? Did he seek Garth’s death in a twisted desire to elevate Rand? Did this man who had been Rand’s faithful servant hide a vicious streak?

  “Anyway, Miss Sylvan led us right back to her own hallway, and all of a sudden there’s a shriek and a dark-haired man dressed in sheets runs from her room. I chased after him, fast as I could, and followed him into the old part of the castle, and there I lost him.”

  “How?” Rand shot the question at him, sure for just a moment that Jasper’s tale was nothing but a sham to hide his own involvement.

  “There are rooms and rooms in there, as ye know, and the ghost knew better where to hide than I knew how to find him.” Jasper spread his hands in regret. “I’m sorry, Yer Grace.”

  “So am I.” Sorry to hear the story, because Rand worried that Jasper had implicated himself. Turning away from him, Rand demanded, “What damage did he do?”

  “He had a stick and beat on her bed,” Bernadette answered.

  “He was looking for her, then?”

  “I told her he was. She said she was going to tell ye.”

  Bernadette obviously wanted no fault to rest on her shoulders, and Rand was not inclined to place it there. It was Sylvan who should have told him that she was in danger.

  “Your Grace,” Betty said softly. “The ghost—”

  Bernadette snorted. “’Twasn’t a ghost. ’Twas a man, Miss Sylvan said, and Miss Sylvan was right.”

  “Of course it was a man, just as it was a man who vandalized the steam engine and killed my Garth.” Betty’s eyes shone brightly with tears, but her resolution could not be swayed. “But he’s not really a man, he’s a coward who does his work in the dark and preys on the helpless, and we’re going to get him.”

  Putting his arm around her, Rand hugged her. “Betty, you’re an inspiration.”

  “But I don’t want Miss Sylvan caught in the middle, and for some reason, this coward seems to hate her as much as he hated my…as much as he hated the late duke. She has to live, and Your Grace, this ghost-man was ready to
do harm, for he beat on Bernadette.”

  “Beat on her?”

  “Show him, Bernie.”

  Bernadette bared her arms, and there they were. Fading strips of yellow and green, mute testimony to inexplicable violence.

  Betty said, “I fear Miss Sylvan is in danger.”

  Rand wanted to shout in frustration, to fling himself at the people before him and command that they go back in time and do what should have been done. “But why? Why is this lunatic hunting Sylvan?”

  “He didn’t go after her until after you’d decided she would marry you,” Betty said. “I think it’s all part and parcel of my Garth’s…death.” She had to stop and collect herself, and the others waited respectfully. “I think this killer wants to destroy the whole Malkin family.”

  “Well, he’ll not have Sylvan.”

  Rand must have been glowing with anger, for Jasper said feebly, “I’ve been watching.”

  Oh, there’s comfort. “That’s not enough.” Restlessly, Rand paced the hall. For the first time in hours, he was aware of the pain in his legs and an ache in his back. The servants watched him and waited, like soldiers, for their orders. “Betty’s right. Sylvan has to be protected. She has to be safe, and I don’t know how to accomplish that here.” If anything, his fury rose higher. “I’m going to have to send her away.”

  “You’re fooling yourself if you think she’ll go, Your Grace.” Betty smiled scornfully at Rand and his imaginary supremacy over his new wife. “Miss Sylvan’s not one to turn tail and run. If she were, she would have told you the story of the ghost before the wedding. Seems like it could have successfully delayed that wedding, and she was none too keen on marrying you.”

  Did Betty have to rub his face in it? He tried to think how to remove Sylvan without a fight. “I’ll talk to her. She’s a reasonable woman. She’ll see my point.”

  Jasper laughed once, sharply. “If she’s reasonable, she’s the first woman to so be.”

  Bernadette whacked him on the arm. “Hey! There’s no need to be rude about Her Grace.”

  With a sniff, Jasper said, “So ye think Her Grace will go at her husband’s bidding?”

  A sinking feeling enveloped Rand as Betty and Bernadette exchanged glances. The jeopardy of this situation could not be dismissed because of Sylvan’s stubbornness. She had to go, or he would be shielding her when he should be searching for his brother’s killer. Firmly, he said, “Bernadette, pack Miss Sylvan’s things.”

  “’Tis a good decision.” Jasper praised him.

  Rand’s lips twisted at the irony of having his unmarried body servant approve his decision, and what did Jasper’s praise mean when weighed against Rand’s suspicions? But he said only, “She’s going to London to stay at her father’s house.”

  “For how long, Your Grace?” Betty asked.

  “For as long as it takes,” he answered. “We’ll trap our man before I allow her to return.”

  “Your Grace, it’s time to rise and get ready to go.”

  Gradually, Sylvan opened her eyes and looked into Betty’s face. Go? She had to go? She jerked herself erect. “The patients!”

  Betty laid a hand on Sylvan’s shoulder. “No, Your Grace, the patients are all doing well. Your doctor’s here taking care of them, and a right good job he’s doing, too.”

  “Oh.” Sylvan laid her hand on her pounding heart and subsided onto the pillows. “I remember.” Yes, Dr. Moreland had arrived on Rand’s request, and this morning, Sylvan was glad. She could rest, loll in bed, then rise and assist the doctor as he needed.

  But why was Betty here? Sylvan said, “You shouldn’t be resuming your duties so soon after the…after the death of…”

  “I know what you’re trying to say, Your Grace, but I cannot bear to sit and think.” Betty stared into space, then shook herself and bustled over to the porcelain pitcher. “I’ve got to work.”

  “Surely you could spare yourself everything but the truly important duties,” Sylvan protested.

  “There’s nothing more important than the health of the new duchess. ’Tis ten in the morning, and the carriage will be waiting for you in an hour.” Pouring a basin full of water, she handed it to Bernadette with a cloth and a towel. “Here’s your water. Best wash those cobwebs out of your eyes. You’ve slept more than the clock around!”

  Sylvan held the sheet around her chest while Bernadette handed her a clean shift, then she dove under the covers and pulled them over her head. Surfacing, she asked, “Are we going away?”

  “You are,” Betty agreed.

  A smile tugged at Sylvan’s lips while she tried to imagine Rand’s plans. Were they taking a ride in the country? Were they going to visit London? Or were they—she scarcely dared to think it—were they going abroad, where they could spend time reveling in each other’s company, visiting ancient ruins, quoting poetry beneath a full moon…

  She caught sight of Betty, saw the way the housekeeper wrung her hands inside her apron and how her eyes were rimmed in red, and realized how inappropriate her day-dreams were. Rand’s brother had just died, a murderer was on the rampage, and they were all in danger.

  But she and Rand were married, and they could cure the cancer that threatened to kill them all. She knew it. Together, they were invincible. “Where’s Rand?”

  Betty and Bernadette exchanged glances, and Bernadette muttered something that sounded like, “Hiding.”

  Betty coughed and said, “His Grace discovered he had business elsewhere.”

  That single phrase jerked Sylvan to attention. Business elsewhere. Her father had frequently had “business elsewhere,” especially when she’d displeased him.

  But there was no way Rand could know the significance that phrase had for her, and anyway, she hadn’t displeased him. Had she?

  Elaborately casual, she accepted the damp cloth from Bernadette and washed her face. “Where are we going so early in the morning?”

  Betty folded her hands and smiled placidly. “His Grace thought you’d be pleased to visit your parents and inform them of your marriage in person.”

  Sylvan jumped up so fast the basin went flying and Bernadette had an unexpected baptism. “What?”

  “Visit your parents and…” Betty’s placid demeanor failed. “Miss Sylvan? Are you feeling well?”

  Standing on the mattress, Sylvan shouted, “Alone?”

  “That was his—”

  “Where’s Rand?”

  “I…he…”

  Sylvan had seen guilt on a servant’s face before, and she recognized it on Betty’s now. Stalking across the bed, her feet sinking deep with each step, she articulated, “Where…is…His Grace? Where…is…my husband?”

  Betty surrendered without a protest. “He’s at the mill, looking over the remains of the blast.”

  “Get me dressed.” Sylvan jumped off the bed and landed so hard both her ankles tingled with the impact. “I’m going out there.”

  Three walls of the mill remained largely intact. Some of the machinery had withstood the blast; some had withstood the collapse of the roof. If the explosion hadn’t torn the bearing wall out from under the roof beams, the damage would have been substantially less.

  But what could he salvage from such a wreck? Rand stood in the middle of the floor and looked up into the sky. Garth would have known the answer. Rand did not. He didn’t know enough about manufacturing to make the right decisions, he didn’t know who had caused the explosion, and he didn’t know how to cure the ills of the estate.

  His brother was dead, and all his dreams and plans had died with him. Rand was the duke now. He was responsible for the people on the estate, for the family fortune, and, most precariously, for the safety of his wife.

  Picking his way through the rubble, he stepped outside into the sunshine and groaned.

  The carriage was coming toward him full tilt, and he knew what it meant. Betty and Bernadette had agreed to try and send Sylvan away without seeing him—they seemed to lack faith in his ability to e
nforce his will with his new bride—and without offending her. Obviously, they’d failed, and she’d bullied Jasper into bringing her out here.

  Now he wished he had done as he originally planned, and talked to her reasonably. Surely she would understand.

  He groaned again when the carriage door opened and Sylvan tumbled out, holding her parasol before her as if it were a sword.

  His heart almost failed him when she started toward him. Her blond hair stood up and danced with the wind. Her big eyes narrowed and sliced him to snippets. Crimson blotched her normally pale complexion over her cheekbones and at the end of her nose, and it crept up from the bodice of her frock.

  This threatened to be a brawl, not a dignified confrontation between a man and his wife. He looked at her again. Between a man and his livid wife.

  He had to take control at once, or he would have control over neither her, for she was plainly ready to destroy him, nor over himself, for he saw her passion and wanted to keep it close. When she was near enough to hear him, yet he was still out of range of the parasol, he said, “Sylvan, have you come to view the destruction?”

  “I certainly have.” She stalked toward him, her gaze fixed on the vulnerable area of his body.

  He walked away. “I haven’t been to the mill since the day of the explosion, and I had hoped my imagination created a chaos greater than the reality.” He gestured at the building. “Obviously, that is not the case.”

  Sylvan glanced at the ruin, then slowed and stared with appalled fascination. “It is awful, isn’t it?”

  Giving her a wide berth, Rand circled her. “I wonder at the lengths the killer is willing to go to destroy the Malkin family.”

  She jerked her attention back to him. “You don’t know the motive for this.”

  “No, I don’t,” he admitted. “It may be that he seeks the extermination of the Malkin family, or it might be the Malkin prosperity that he seeks to obliterate. In either case, God help any who get in his way.”