by Olivia Drake
Pushing open the door, I saw through blurry eyes that Kent sat behind the desk. His dark head was bent over the ledger that lay upon the scarred oak surface.
He looked up, then tossed down the pen and stood. Concern etched his features. “Emily! What’s wrong?”
Sobbing, I flew into his arms. Ever since I’d come to the castle as a timid child of five and met Kent, four years my elder, he had been my protector, my refuge, someone who listened to my dreams of having a normal family, someone who teased me out of melancholy. His warm presence comforted me, made me feel less alone. Gradually my weeping diminished to a few hiccuping sniffles.
“Here now,” he said gently, pressing his handkerchief into my fingers. “Wipe those pretty eyes and tell me what’s the matter.”
Dabbing the moisture from my face, I struggled for composure. “Mama and the duke were talking... He wants to send me away.”
His arms tensed. “Away? Where?”
“To a finishing school.” Suddenly I knew why the prospect was so disheartening; I longed to remain right here, within the safe circle of his arms. “Oh, Kent, I don’t want to go. I can’t bear to leave you.”
He stared down at me. His soft brown eyes seemed to change, to deepen with tenderness. “My dear Emily...”
Before I realized his intent, he took my face into his hands and kissed me. Surprise held me immobile, but the pressure of his lips felt strange yet pleasant, and gave me the sense of being cherished. Seeking the haven he offered, I wound my arms around his neck and let his warmth flow into me.
I was devastated at what happened next.
“What’s the devil’s going on here?”
The duke’s brusque voice snapped me out of the reverie.
With a gasp, I turned to see him filling the doorway. As always, his high starched collar and burgundy smoking jacket were immaculate, his side whiskers neatly trimmed. In the cheekbones and dark eyes he resembled Kent, though William Deverell had a haughty way of gazing down his aristocratic nose at me. From the lowered slash of his graying eyebrows to the ruddy hue of his cheeks, he glared with fury.
Recoiling against Kent, I realized how compromising the scene must appear. Clasped by the duke’s son, I wore only a dressing gown. My legs felt wooden, too paralyzed for escape.
Surprisingly the duke said nothing about the kiss. “How dare you frighten your mother by running off like that. And you were eavesdropping as well.”
He must have heard the door slam. “I meant no harm...”
Kent’s hands pressed reassuringly into my shoulders. “Emily was upset, and rightly so. She has no wish to leave here.”
The duke glowered. “Her wishes are immaterial. It’s long past time she accepted her lot in life.”
“Emily has accepted more than enough. She can’t help the circumstances of her birth.”
“She can’t aspire beyond her bloodlines, either. I’ve made her a generous offer, to pay for her schooling and give her a productive life.” His shrewd gaze shifted from Kent to me. “Unless, of course, she prefers to live under the protection of a gentleman.”
Appalled, I realized he meant I could live as Mama did. I could sit up at night and wonder if my lover would come to me; I could weep bitter tears and wonder if he would ever grant me the honor of his name.
“Emily will live under my protection,” Kent said.
The duke cast a thoughtful look at me; then his eyes gleamed with sly satisfaction. “An admirable notion. I wonder why I never considered such an arrangement before.”
Kent flexed his fingers around my shoulders. “I don’t believe you understand,” he said quietly. “As soon as Emily comes of age, I intend to marry her.”
Astonishment made me gasp. I twisted to gaze up at him, but he was staring at his father. My mind whirled to grasp his meaning. Surely he merely needled the duke; his very bravery in doing so alarmed me. At the same time, the prospect of becoming his wife held an unimaginable happiness, for at last it would give me a place here. Everyone else at the castle had a niche: Augusta her alms giving, Gordon his research, Mama her role of mistress, Rose her rank as honored daughter. At last I needn’t feel unwanted, never truly accepted by the others.
A choked sound came from the duke and his cheeks flushed redder. “You would dare...”he sputtered. “You, my son, my heir, would wed this... this...”
“Emily will make a perfectly suitable duchess.”
“Her... Duchess of Radcliffe!” Repugnance inflamed his face as he took an angry step forward. “I won’t stand for it, Kent. I won’t see you bring disgrace to the Deverell name.”
“You’ll have to. I’ve made up my mind.”
“I won’t tolerate grandchildren with tainted blood.” He pointed at me. “She’ll never wear Dreamspinner—”
Juliet stared at the ragged edges where the remainder of the diary pages had been torn out. Lifting her head, she saw that she still sat beside the pillow. Dust motes danced in the sunbeams. The bedchamber looked the same, all faded grandeur and musty elegance, yet inside she felt changed, different somehow.
She clutched the journal in her lap; slowly she forced her fingers to relax. The glimpse into the past left her drained, numb, unable to react, but seething with questions.
Why would someone want her to read about Emily and Kent? Who had left the diary? Chantal? Rose? Augusta? Gordon? Could Ravi have slipped back here while she’d been visiting Maud?
Juliet got up to study the trio of framed drawings over the fireplace, all romantic renderings of the castle sketched by William Deverell. How could a man so sensitive to beauty treat a defenseless girl so harshly? How could he sell her pony and her precious locket, I and seek to deny her the happiness of marriage?
Suddenly she knew what had changed. Through the intimate outpourings on paper, Emily had lost the lifelessness of a shadow figure. She had taken on the form and substance of a real person who had known both heartache and happiness. She was just as Kent had described her, meek, kind, and unimposing. Her lot had been difficult, barren of a father’s love. How well Juliet could understand the sorrow of losing a father’s devotion.
Tears of pity blurred her eyes. It was hard to imagine anyone hating Emily enough to kill her. Could William’s cruelty have driven her to suicide? Yet Emily had been about to fulfill her dream of having a family. She wouldn’t have taken her own life.
Could her death have been an accident? Could Kent have overreacted last night? Perhaps the greenhouse incident had been mere mischance, a natural result of ancient stone decaying.
Juliet felt the burning need to discern the truth. Perhaps there was a way to erase the doubt from her mind. Yet in case she was wrong, she didn’t dare take Ravi with her.
Going to the outer door, she reached into her pocket and withdrew the key. As she turned it in the lock, metal screeched on metal.
She froze. No sound came from Kent’s room; Ravi must not have heard.
Carefully she eased the door open and slipped into the alcove. Tiptoeing out, she glanced around to make certain the corridor was empty. Not until she reached the bottom of the stairway did she release the breath from her lungs.
In the great hall she met Augusta coming inside, Punjab trotting behind. Augusta clasped a basket in her sturdy hands. Her thick ginger eyebrows drew into a frown. “Shouldn’t you be resting, Your Grace?”
Juliet’s stomach jumped. “I’m going for a short walk, that’s all. To get a breath of fresh air.”
“Do have a care. In your condition you might have a fainting spell. You could fall and harm yourself or the babe.”
She forced a wooden smile. “Don’t worry, I feel in the pink of health. If you’ll excuse me.”
She escaped into the castle yard. Did Augusta resent her for bearing a baby? Juliet shoved the thought from her mind. Dear God, she hated feeling so wary of everyone; she and Kent must solve this mystery swiftly.
The brilliant sunlight made her blink. She looked around to be sure the place was dese
rted. Then she headed for the staircase leading to the south ramparts.
The steps were steep; she held her skirts with one hand and braced the other on the uneven stone of the curtain wall. Her feet dislodged an occasional pebble, which tumbled back down to the courtyard. She kept her eyes focused on the battlement above, away from the dizzying downward view.
As she gained the top, relief washed over her. A narrow walkway ran the length of the wall between the south tower and the eastern one. A strong breeze tugged at her hair and gown. Her head spun as she noticed one side of the walkway falling in a sheer drop to the ground. She hastened to the safety of the wall.
Across the courtyard a glint caught her attention. She shaded her eyes to see a man, thin as a silver birch, leaning over the north parapet.
Fleetwood. The old retainer didn’t see her; his back was turned as he peered through the field glasses Kent had brought from London. Fleetwood seemed to be studying the waving fronds of a willow just outside the castle.
Juliet grinned. No doubt he had stolen a moment from his duties to observe a nest of birds.
Her smile died under a numbing thought. Emily had fallen from the north parapet; Fleetwood made a habit of frequenting the battlements. Could he be the one? Could he hide a dark motive for wanting both of Kent’s wives dead?
Her gaze shifted to the north tower. Sunlight rendered the arched windows opaque. Did Chantal or Rose stand inside, watching? A door led onto the parapet, the door Emily had used that fateful evening. Juliet felt a fierce desire to unearth the truth about the death.
Marching to an embrasure, she leaned against the toothlike opening. She caught her breath at the beauty below. The river gleamed like a blue satin ribbon woven through the shaggy green of willow and cedar. Lush water meadows stretched beneath an azure sky; she felt as free as a swallow soaring beneath the white clouds.
Then she looked directly down.
Giddiness swamped her in nausea. Blinking, she forced herself to focus. Far below lay the rose garden, and to the left, the trio of greenhouses. A jagged hole marred one roof.
A protective hand over her belly, she buried the cowardly urge to retreat to her room. A cool wind blew hard, whistling in her ears and restoring her equilibrium. Keeping her gaze trained on the stone flags, she walked slowly southward, searching for any indication that someone had been up here yesterday.
Her shoes kicked small chunks that had crumbled from the wall. It proved easy enough to locate the embrasure directly over the greenhouses. The age-streaked stone had eroded there, leaving pieces of rock littering the opening.
She spied something pale wedged into a crack. Her fingers worked at the chalky limestone until the small object broke free. It was an ivory button, a man’s shirt button, still shiny.
As she put the button into her pocket, agitation twisted her stomach. A man had been here recently. Fleetwood? Gordon? Did Ravi have buttons anywhere on his robe? Juliet couldn’t remember.
She leaned against the opening and glanced down. Fighting dizziness, she tried to imagine someone standing here, peering at her as she worked. Had he positioned a block of stone on the brink? Waited for a suitable moment and then pushed—
A hand clamped on to her shoulder. Gasping, she turned her head to see a man’s strong fingers. A whimpering cry burst from her as she spun to face him.
Chapter 18
Heart hammering, Juliet stared at the man looming over her. His hand bit into her shoulder and his eyes bored into hers.
“You,” she said, her voice faltering. “You followed me.”
“You should not have come up here alone.”
His sharp words needled her. Anger burned away the knee-weakening alarm. “How dare you speak so after giving me such a fright,” she snapped. “Kindly remove your hand.”
Ravi complied, stepping back. The wind whipped the gray robe around his lean form. His swarthy features showed no sign of emotion, yet his dark eyes still held a trace of censure.
“The stone is crumbling, Your Grace. I meant only to keep you from falling to your death.”
“You nearly startled me into falling.”
“The sahib wishes me to guard you. I cannot do so without your compliance.”
Juliet regarded him keenly. Having read the diary, she was burning with questions. Questions Ravi might answer. “Kent says you protected Emily, too, that you once saved her life.”
He shrugged. “I did only what anyone would have done.”
“Tell me what happened.”
“She was a mere child, new to the castle. The old duke kept a fine stable, and she wandered into a paddock where a nervous mare awaited breeding. When the mare reared, I pulled Miss Emily away.”
“I see.” She braced her spine against the stone wall.
“I’ve been wondering about William, too. He disapproved of Kent marrying Emily, did he not?”
Ravi narrowed his eyes to slits. “Because of her bastard birth.”
“Of course. What other reason could there be?”
He shrugged. “What, indeed?”
She sensed hidden emotion in him, emotion that perplexed her. Suddenly she recalled her second day at the castle, when she’d seen him on the parapet, praying to Mecca. A chill struck her. Ravi, too, frequented the place where Emily had fallen...
Reining in her fear, she said, “When did William die?”
“Four years ago. He succumbed to influenza.”
“Why did you stay on? If you were loyal to William, why did you serve Kent after he’d disobeyed his father’s edict about marrying Emily?”
“Because I have attended the Deverells for thirty years.”
Trying to pry a reaction from him, she said, “Then you must have despised the Carletons for as long. Doesn’t it bother you to have to guard me?”
Irritation flickered in his dark eyes. “You are the master’s wife. He has solicited my protection. That is enough for me.”
Juliet studied his frown. Dare she believe Ravi? Or could he harbor a fanatical devotion to William’s memory, a devotion that might drive him to murder Emmett Carleton’s daughter and grandchild? Therein lay another possibility. Perhaps Emily’s death had been an accident, but the attempt on Juliet had not been.
Fleetwood had departed the north rampart. She and Ravi stood alone on the battlement. In his hand she’d detected a wiry strength. He could easily overpower her, push her over the embrasure. Her fingers would scrabble for purchase on the decaying stone. Screaming, she would plunge to the rock-strewn ground...
A dizzying shudder seized her. With great effort, she raised her chin and coolly regarded Ravi. “I wish to return to my room.”
He bowed. “I will lead the way, memsahib.”
Turning, he walked to the stairs. She started down the stone steps, bracing a hand on the wall to steady herself. He stayed close, glancing back to watch her descent. If he really wanted to kill her, wouldn’t he have followed? A slight shove and...
She forced away the morbid thought. She had to stop the wild speculations and start solving the mystery. Fingering the button in her pocket, she examined Ravi’s garments, the turban and the robe. She could see no fastenings other than the wide sash cinching his waist.
Impatience prodded her. Perhaps Kent would recognize the button. When they reached the base of the stairs, she said, “I’ve changed my mind. I’m going to see the duke.”
“The sahib wishes you to rest.”
“The memsahib wishes you to accompany her. Otherwise she’ll go alone.”
A gleam entered those murky eyes. He bowed. “Come with me, then, Your Grace.”
They veered toward the stables, where he directed a stable boy to hitch a pony to the dogcart. Ravi helped her onto the seat, then took the reins. The wheels clattered over the drawbridge, the horse’s hooves clopping.
As the lane dipped and rose through copses of oak and meadows shorn from haying, misgivings rolled through her. Perhaps it had been a mistake to drive alone with Ravi. If he ch
ose to attack, she had little defense. Yet he’d ignored other opportunities.
Clutching to the side of the swaying cart, she forced herself to ponder the other suspects. Had Gordon or Fleetwood lost a button yesterday? She couldn’t recall. Perhaps she was wrong in thinking the button belonged to a man. How did Augusta fasten her cuffs? Or, for that matter, Rose? Chantal? Juliet resolved to pay greater heed to such details.
Beyond a small stream she spied a half-mown field. Sickles swinging, a row of men labored at cutting the wheat. Another group followed to tie the grain into sheaves, which dotted the stubbled ground.
She drew in the dusty-warm scent of sunshine and harvest. Contentment settled inside her as the vehicle rattled over the narrow wooden bridge. At the edge of the field, Kent crouched beneath the spreading boughs of a chestnut tree. He tinkered with the long rake-like object lying before him.
As Ravi halted the dogcart, Kent looked up. Grease smeared one fine cheekbone and streaked his half-open shirt. He got up, wiping his hands on a rag. Alarm tautened his features as he approached, stuffing the rag into his pocket.
Juliet scrambled down. “What’s wrong?” she asked, peering past him. “That’s not the threshing machine in the sketch you showed me.”
“It’s a horse-drawn reaper, but the axle broke.” He slid his hands around her shoulders. “Never mind that,” he said hoarsely. “What are you doing here? Is something wrong?”
His concern warmed her. “Of course not, love. I needed to speak to you, that’s all. Could we have a moment alone?”
He glanced at Ravi, who sat impassively in the dogcart. “We’ll walk to the brook.”
Fingers braced at her back, Kent guided her a short distance down the stream. Water gurgled merrily over the rocks. Clumps of reeds lined the bank, along with a few stalks of yellow loosestrife. A fat bumblebee buzzed among the tiny blue stars of a forget-me-not bush.
Longing to savor a moment alone with her husband, she paused beneath the dappled shade of a willow. “Do you ever fish here?”
