by Olivia Drake
Elation throbbed heavily in her belly. She lay her head on his broad shoulder. “I need you, Kent. Forever. For always.”
“I need you, too,” he whispered, unbuttoning her gown. “It’s been four lonely nights since I’ve held you in my arms.”
He drew off her dress and corset, and cool air kissed her skin. His urgency vitalized her; she felt an unbearable hope for the future, a hope that would be torture to abandon. If arguments couldn’t dissuade him from sending her away, perhaps lovemaking would.
“There’ll be no more waiting,” she said, her fingers seeking his trousers. “No more nights spent apart.”
Indecision haunted the aggressively male contours of his face; yearning softened the austerity of his mouth. “Darling, you can’t stay here. It’s impossible—”
He stiffened as she took his heat into her hand and began stroking him. “Ah, Juliet.” Tension melted from him and he buried his face between her breasts, his hands cupping the undersides while his thumbs drew circles around the silk draped nipples. A gush of liquid fever threatened to drown her sanity.
“There’ll be no more secrets between us, either,” she murmured. “From now on, we’ll both be honest with each other.”
Abruptly his head swung up; his eyes clouded with a strange and savage intensity. “Here’s honesty, then: I want you. Now.”
Without bothering to finish undressing, he pulled her toward the bed and snuffed out the candle. Night enclosed them in intimate darkness, a darkness as soft and primal as the earth, a darkness as familiar and exciting as the insistent pulse of desire within her. Catching her by the waist, he guided her down onto the bed until she lay atop him. His breath blew hot and harsh against her throat; his hands coasted unerringly beneath the layers of her petticoats and up her bare legs. He probed the parting in her underdrawers and found her moist and ready.
Moaning, she spread her legs to encompass his trouser clad thighs. She rocked her hips, the better to feel his hardness. He eased upward in a slow, sweet movement and joined their bodies. She bent to kiss his shadowed face, her hair tumbling like a curtain around them, her breasts heavy and loose inside the silk chemise.
He guided her hips. “Move with me, Juliet. Love me. Love me.”
She didn’t answer; she couldn’t speak for the exquisite pleasure tightening her throat, a pleasure born as much from the surety of his love as the passion of their bodies. He pressed deeper into her, thrusting upward with the rhythm and rush of passion. She clutched at his shoulders, her petticoats billowing around them. An exhilarating tension lured her on the relentless ascent to bliss. The pressure burst at last, convulsing her body with the sweet sharp spasms of ecstasy. Even as she collapsed against his slick skin, he cried out her name in the throes of his own release.
Unable to move or think, she lay sprawled over him. Beneath her cheek she felt the quick rise and fall of his chest and the solid thrum of his heartbeat. His hand drifted over her hair, the hypnotic movement making her drowsy.
“Juliet.”
The quiet agony in his voice snapped her fully awake. She pushed up against his chest, but darkness obscured his expression. “What is it?”
“I should never have brought you here. I should never have exposed you to such danger.” Guilt and horror burdened his words.
She touched his cheek, the stubble abrading her fingers. “Danger?” she said, trying to lighten his mood. “Since when is making love dangerous?”
He laughed a little, then sobered. “These feelings I have for you, Juliet... It frightens me to think of losing you.”
More determined than ever to stay and explore their newfound closeness, she searched for a convincing argument. “Maybe we’re wrong. Maybe there is no killer.”
His arms tightened. “There is. I’m certain of that.”
“Then this person could follow me to London. What then?”
“I’d know if anyone left the castle.”
“Can you be certain? What if Augusta said she was going on her rounds? She could board a train and have a knife at my throat before you realized the truth.”
“Don’t be absurd.”
“Don’t be illogical. Gordon stays in the library for hours on end. Chantal is usually alone in the tower. Rose devotes her time to writing that play. And Ravi... who knows what he does all day? The culprit could even slip out during the night. Or hire an assassin. Can you account for everyone and oversee the harvest at the same time?”
“Damn the bloody harvest!” His hands clamped around her arms. “You’re going back to your father, and that’s that.”
“If you try to force me, I’ll just come back. I’m perfectly capable of taking a train from London. So you see, I’ll be much safer right here, under your protection.”
The triumph in her voice almost made Kent laugh in spite of his despair. She meant every word, by God. What had he ever done in his sin-filled life to deserve a devotion as rich as Juliet offered? Now she even nurtured his child in her womb.
There’ll be no more secrets between us... From now on, we’ll both be honest...
Oh, God. What could he say to that? He dared not tell her the truth, dared not reveal the link between Emily’s murder and today’s attempt. If he told his wife, not even the depth of his love would earn him her forgiveness.
“Kent? Tell me what you’re thinking.”
He drew her down, smoothing her petticoats and banishing the awful image of her lying broken, lifeless. “I was thinking that you debate as well as Gladstone himself.”
“Then you won’t send me away?”
Torn between caution and passion, he pressed his lips to her fragrant hair. Perhaps she would be safer by his side...
“Darling Juliet, I’m yours to command.”
Her sigh bathed his throat in warmth, and she snuggled against him. Long after her breathing slowed to the even rhythm of sleep, frustration kept Kent staring into the darkness. He’d been dead wrong about Emmett Carleton. His revenge had hinged upon a lie. He’d wed Juliet for all the wrong reasons. Now his sin had reaped a dreadful punishment: the possibility of her death.
A sudden thought gripped him. Good God. He did have a lever to force Juliet back to London.
It would mean sacrificing his own happiness in exchange for her safety. Yet how happy could he be so long as she faced danger?
Wanting to hold her forever, yet knowing he dreamed the impossible, he tightened his arms around her precious form. Yes, it was the only answer.
Tomorrow he would tell her his secret.
Chapter 17
“A secret murderer!” Peering saucer-eyed through her spectacles, Maud swiveled on the dressing table stool and stared at Juliet. “Whoever would want to see you dead?”
“I wish I knew.”
Sickness stirred inside Juliet, a mixture of anxiety over yesterday’s events and aversion to the remains of Maud’s hearty breakfast on a nearby tray. Seeking a distraction, she parted the moth-eaten blue curtains and peered outside.
The single window in the guest dressing room overlooked the vast lawn that swept toward a thicket of oak and larch. In the distance rippled the ripe gold of the fields, and a breeze wafted the summer scents of grass and sunshine. The fine morning seemed to mock such an unreal notion as murder.
“Egad! I have it.”
Juliet swung back toward Maud, who sat brushing her unbound honey blond hair. “Have what?”
“The killer’s identity, of course.” She leaned forward so far, she almost fell from the stool. “Augusta.”
“Augusta?”
“Precisely.” Maud wagged the silver-backed hairbrush. “It’s simple enough. If Kent has no children, Gordon could inherit someday, and Augusta will be Duchess of Radcliffe. She must have pushed his first wife from the parapet and now she’s after you.”
Another lurch of nausea assailed Juliet. Did the merciless mind of a murderess lurk behind those hyacinth eyes? She recalled Augusta embracing little Hannah Forster; maternal affecti
on had softened that severe countenance...
“I’m not so sure,” Juliet said slowly. “Augusta’s obsession with money doesn’t fit your theory. Why would she try to kill me before I received the dowry? If she waited a few more weeks, Kent—and Radcliffe— would gain the money upon my death.”
“Unless she’s a madwoman.”
“Don’t be absurd. You’ve been reading too many penny dreadfuls.”
Maud crinkled her nose in concentration. “I know! Rose. She must be madly jealous because Henry flirted with you at that haying party.”
“Why me, then? You’re the one who’s smitten handsome Henry.”
Pleasure and alarm chased across Maud’s features; she clutched the frilly cambric dressing gown to her throat. “Egad! That means I could be next on her list.”
Smiling wanly, Juliet shook her head. “I’m afraid you’ll have to come up with a more solid motive.”
“And so I shall,” Maud declared. “Henry knows everyone here at the castle. We must pay him a call this morning and interrogate him.” Leaping up, she scurried to the wardrobe and flung open the double doors. “Shall I wear the pistachio silk? No, the azure walking dress, I believe.” She batted her fair lashes. “Henry prefers me in blue. He says it enhances the color of my eyes.”
A troublesome thought invaded Juliet’s worries. “Maud, I don’t mean to meddle, but Henry has quite the reputation with the ladies. Do be careful that he doesn’t lead you astray.”
“Just let him try to dishonor me.” An unholy gleam entered Maud’s gaze. “You see, I know a man’s tenderest place. Discovered it by accident when that beastly Roger Billingsgate grabbed me in the garden at Lady Winkel’s ball. As I ducked to elude his grasp, my elbow struck his... well, suffice to say I left him doubled over and in no condition to pursue.”
Perched on the stone casement, Juliet swallowed a giggle. “You never told me that story.”
“It happened after you eloped.” Maud sighed. “I didn’t want to tell anyone, but that’s partly why I came to visit. Father has been supporting Roger’s suit, and I thought it prudent to absent myself for a while.”
“You and Henry,” Juliet said, recalling his exile from London, “make quite a pair. At least promise to take Miss Fane along today as chaperone.”
“Oh, but aren’t you coming?”
Her stomach turned at the thought of riding in a swaying carriage. She shook her head. “I don’t feel up to visiting today.”
“Dear heavens!” Maud raced to Juliet’s side. “You aren’t going to swoon again, are you?”
“It’s only a bit of nausea, and now that we know the happy cause, I don’t mind. I’ll lie down in my room for a while.”
“You do look a trifle pale. Oh, dear, you shouldn’t go back alone, and here I am in my dressing gown. Let me see if Miss Fane is returning yet with the laundry.”
Before Juliet could speak, Maud darted to the door and peeked out. In a flash she slammed it shut again. Gasping, she stood clutching the folds of her robe, her eyes round behind the gold-rimmed spectacles.
“Ravi,” she hissed. “He’s lurking in the hall. Waiting to pounce on you, no doubt. Oh, merciful heavens, I should have guessed that mausoleum would be the murderer.”
“That’s Muslim,” Juliet chided in exasperation. “Kent had to leave unexpectedly this morning to repair the mechanical reaper, so he asked Ravi to stay near me.”
“And you trust him?”
“Kent does.”
Maud missed the slight hesitation. “I keep remembering that frightful tale Ravi told us last night,” she said, shuddering. “The duke must be awfully brave to ignore the curse. I do hope you aren’t going to wear Dreamspinner again.”
Dreamspinner. No longer did the name conjure fond memories for Juliet. She swallowed the queasiness creeping up her throat. “Not anytime soon.”
She slipped into the hall. Ravi stood gazing out an arched window at the end of the corridor. As she passed, he fell into pace behind her. He said nothing; she heard only the whisper of his robe and the tap of his slippers. She wondered if the sounds would awaken her if he were to sneak into her chamber at night...
Ridiculous. Kent slept beside her. Kent would protect her.
As they reached the door, Ravi stretched out an arm to stop her from entering. “Your pardon, memsahib.”
“What are you—”
The quiet command in his manner silenced her. He stepped into the alcove sitting room, looked around, then went into her bedchamber. Following, she saw him examine the dressing room and glance behind the draperies. Then he produced a key from the folds of his robe and locked the outer door.
“All is safe,” he said. “I will wait in the sahib’s room.”
He started toward the connecting door.
“One moment.” Disquiet sent Juliet marching after him. “I’ll hold that key, please.”
His mud hued eyes bored into her. Bowing, he dropped the key into her outstretched palm. “As Your Grace commands.”
He left the connecting door slightly ajar. She tightened her fingers until the hard metal teeth of the key dug painfully into her flesh. Having grown up with Ravi, Kent might be blind to evil in the servant. Though she couldn’t fathom why Ravi might profit from her death, until she felt certain of his loyalty, she must stay on guard.
Her stomach churned; pocketing the key, she walked unsteadily across the rug. The windows were open to the cool breeze. Mrs. Fleetwood had tidied the room, for the tangled sheets and embroidered counterpane had been straightened. Cheeks warm, Juliet recalled the activity that had produced such disarray.
Only upon reaching the bedside did she notice the small book lying on her pillow. The unadorned cream cover blended with the yellowed linen.
Mystified, she picked up the slim volume. Handwriting filled a few ruled pages... governess handwriting with perfect lettering. Flipping through, she realized the book was a diary. Along the spine, ragged bits of paper indicated where pages had been torn out. She held the volume to her nose; a musty odor mingled with a trace of lily of the valley. Odd, she wouldn’t have connected the sturdy Mrs. Fleetwood with such dainty work.
Juliet hesitated. She ought to return the book. Yet it had been left on her bed. Feeling like a spy, she glanced down.
Several lines on the first page caught her eye:
October 6, 1883. Something dreadful happened last night; Mama had the most terrible argument with the duke. They thought my sister and I asleep, and in truth Rose was indeed abed...
My sister... Rose?
Dear God, this must be Emily’s diary. Mama was Chantal; the duke... William?
Dizziness swept through Juliet; she wilted onto the bed. Her fingers gripped the slender book. Who had put the journal here, on her pillow? And why? Why now, right after her life had been endangered?
Her mind felt drugged, unable to sort through the mystery. She felt guilty for reading something so personal, yet the neat script drew her gaze, and she couldn’t stop herself from reading on...
The slamming of a door jolted me awake. I knew it must be the duke, for he only comes to visit Mama late at night, when he needn’t encounter me. Mama tries to shield me from his scorn, but she can’t hide the way he showers Rose with presents fit for a princess, gives her pretty gowns, and invites her to share dinner each evening with him and Kent. Rose thinks me envious of all her finery. But I long only for a father to hold me close and tell me tales of his youth, a father to listen to my hopes and dreams, a father to kiss me goodnight. Impossible yearnings! For cruel circumstance forbids me to openly receive my own papa.
Unable to sleep, I donned my wrapper and crept into the drawing room to find the copy of Black Beauty which Papa sent last week for my sixteenth birthday. Long ago he ceased sending gifts of any great value because the duke sold the pony, the elegant jeweled combs, even the fine gold locket with Papa’s photograph inside.
In the darkness the draped walls and cane furnishings danced with shadows and
gave me the shivers, but Mama adores the exotic from her years in India, and I cannot bear to criticize her small joys. My hands were closing around the book when I realized her bedroom door stood ajar, spilling a thin bar of lamplight. The duke’s voice boomed through the opening.
“Chantal, be reasonable. Cassill’s Academy for Ladies will give her the training to find work as a governess or companion.”
“Nonsense. I won’t see Emily waste her life herding a brood of whining children. Nor will she enslave herself to some querulous old countess.”
I shrank against the wall. Me... they were speaking of me.
“What else do you propose she do?” the duke demanded. “No man of consequence will ever marry a bastard-born commoner. Rose at least has the noble blood of the Deverells.” His heavy footsteps paced the floor. “No, Emily must prepare for the future, for a time when you aren’t around to coddle her. She’s going away to school, and that’s final.”
“It isn’t your decision to make.”
“You’d defy me on this matter, then?” Rage trembled in his voice. “How swiftly you forget all that I’ve given you. I took you in and gave the both of you a home. I could have sent her away long before this.”
“I’ve forgotten nothing, yet I will not let you banish Emily.” Mama lowered her tone to a placating murmur “Oh, William, she’s my daughter, a part of myself. If you truly care for me, why can you not show her a fragment of affection—”
“Affection! I can’t bear the sight of her—and you know why! Do you truly expect me to embrace that bastard–”
I couldn’t bear to hear any more. Tears blinding m eyes, I rushed from the room and slammed the door. My slippered feet sped down the spiral staircase of the tower and for once I plunged without fear through the shadows that cloaked the castle. My heart ached with desolation. Scarcely aware of anything but the need to put distance between myself and that awful scene, I ran and ran down the echoing corridors until the estate office loomed ahead, the candle glow from within beckoning like a sanctuary.
