by Olivia Drake
There must be another man named Emmett Carleton.
Logic scoffed at the wild thought. Another Emmett Carleton in London society? An Emmett Carleton who had lived near St. George’s Church, in a terrace house exactly like the one in which Juliet had grown up? An Emmett Carleton who hated William Deverell?
A cold weight pressed into her chest, squeezing the breath from her lungs. Her limbs felt leaden, numb.
Emily... Emmett. Dear God, she must have been named for him. Emily... his first daughter—
A quiet rap broke the stillness. The sound jolted Juliet. Obeying a half rational impulse, she wedged the diary pages behind the chair cushion.
The door opened. “Memsahib?”
Ravi. It was only Ravi. Drawing in a deep breath, she laced her trembling fingers in her lap. “Come in.”
Carrying a silver tray, he walked into the bedroom. “I have brought your luncheon.”
He set the tray on the dressing table. She watched, only half comprehending as he uncovered plates and poured a cup of tea. A part of her mind cataloged the odors of shepherd’s pie and warm, crusty bread. Her stomach felt empty, but the notion of eating held no appeal.
Ravi straightened. “I have tested the dishes, so you need not fear dining.”
“Tested?”
“For poison, Your Grace.”
She stared. The fact that someone wished her dead seemed eons distant. Her thoughts were scattered pieces of a puzzle that didn’t fit together. Emily. Papa. Kent. Murder.
Ravi peered intently at her. “Do not look so worried, memsahib. I will keep you safe.”
Juliet managed a nod, more because he seemed to desire a response than because she understood him. He departed, leaving the door slightly ajar.
How much did Kent know?
She couldn’t think. She couldn’t see a way out of the dark chaos in her mind.
Without conscious intent, she pulled out the diary pages. Her eyes brought Emily’s feminine handwriting into focus.
... Emmett Carleton had another daughter. I tried to tell myself that Papa loved me, that I should be grateful for all he had given me, that only the selfless need to protect his second child prevented him from acknowledging me as his own. Yet the circumstance still caused me deep pain, even as I grew older and wiser in the ways of the world.
I was thrilled to learn that at last he would come to the castle. So what if his intent to declare me his daughter was linked to my new position as duchess? He loved me in his own way, and I was willing to accept him on any terms.
In the note I received yesterday he asked me not to tell Kent of the call. At the time I thought Papa only meant to resolve our situation before informing my husband. I implored Mama to let us hold the secret rendezvous in her sitting room.
“No. I don’t care for the idea of him coming here,” she said stiffly. “Kent might not regard the feud with as much vehemence as William, but he is the duke. He deserves to know that an enemy is about to breach his walls.”
I took her smooth hand. “Please, Mama, don’t be melodramatic. I’ll explain things to Kent later, at the right moment.”
“Emmett will only upset you. What if you lose the baby?”
“He won’t harm his own grandchild.”
“Can you be so certain? Darling, you don’t know how hatred can fester inside a person’s heart.”
“Yes, I do,” I whispered. “I’ve seen what the feud has done to you, to Kent, to the old duke. Even Gordon and Augusta resent Papa.”
“Precisely.” Pulling free, she pointed at my slightly rounded belly. “That child represents the mingling of Deverell and Carleton blood. I can’t imagine Emmett acting the doting grandfather to a Deverell. William would never have done so, either.”
Uncertainty whirled inside me, but yearning overpowered doubt. “Please, Mama. I have to see him.”
Studying me, she pursed her lips. At last a bitter sigh escaped her. “You’ve asked me for so little, darling. I suppose I can grant you this one request.”
A sudden, great premonition of disaster overwhelmed me that something would happen to prohibit the meeting. “Don’t tell anyone,” I begged. “Not even Rose.”
Mama nodded reluctantly. When the appointed hour arrived, she admitted Papa through the postern gate and spirited him up into the tower sitting room. Whatever words they had spoken remain a mystery to me, for she merely gave me a tight smile and vanished into the bedroom.
I hadn’t seen him in nearly a year. Money had grown scarcer since the old duke’s death, when Kent had discovered the extent of his father’s mismanagement of estate funds. To save the expense of London dressmakers, Augusta had generously volunteered to sew my trousseau. Today I wore the finest of those gowns, a pale blue silk that brought out the color of my eyes.
Feeling shy, I let Papa kiss my cheek. “You look well, Emily. News of your marriage came as quite a surprise.”
“I wanted to invite you to the wedding,” I hastened to say. “But Kent insisted on keeping the party small.”
“Never mind that.”
His eyes flitted to my belly. Anxiously I put a hand there. Already I felt a fierce love for my baby, a love that would endure even if he had twisted limbs like the poor infant, Hannah Forster. “You’re happy about the baby, aren’t you?” I asked.
“I didn’t come here to speak of babies.” Lips thinned beneath the handlebar mustache, he prowled the room. “There’s something else I came to discuss today. Since you’re now the duchess.”
His air of agitation puzzled me as much as his dismissal of my child hurt me. Not even in our clandestine visits in London had I seen him look so anxious, so reluctant to meet my eyes. My breast constricted under the force of a startling thought. Was he worried that I might not wish him to acknowledge me as his daughter?
Going to him, I lovingly touched his cheek. “Whatever it is, Papa, you may speak freely to me.”
“All right, then, I’ll get straight to the point. I want Dreamspinner.”
I sank into a bamboo chair. Dreamspinner? That gaudy peacock necklace gave me the shivers. Ravi had related the tale of the curse and the memory made me tremble. Though the piece was worth a king’s ransom, I had never felt the slightest inclination to wear it.
“But why?” My voice emerged a feeble whisper. “Why would you want Dreamspinner?”
“Because William Deverell cheated me out of the necklace. But you’re the duchess now, Emily. Dreamspinner belongs to you.”
I still reeled under the numbing knowledge that this coldblooded bargain was the purpose of his visit. Would he never forget the feud? “I can’t simply give away jewelry of such value.”
“I’m not asking you for charity. Name your price and I’ll meet it.”
I shook my head. “Kent would never allow me to sell the necklace. It meant too much to his father.”
“You’re in desperate need of my money. Look at this place.” He waved a hand. “It’s falling around your ears.”
“Kent says the harvest will—”
“His paltry harvest will never buy you the luxury you deserve, Emily.” Leaning down, he gripped my shoulders. “I want to help you, but he’s as stiff-necked as his father; he’ll not let you accept gifts from me. But if you sell me Dreamspinner–”
“Take your bloody hands off my wife.”
Gasping, I turned to see Kent standing in the doorway. His eyes were black with fury, the skin taut over his cheekbones. The loose white shirt and faded breeches gave proof that he’d just ridden from the fields.
Papa straightened, his fingers tensing into fists. “Emily is my daughter. I’ve every right to visit her.”
Kent let out a disbelieving chuckle. “If you really want to lay claim to Emily, why don’t you take her to London, declare her your daughter before all of society?”
Papa’s mouth opened and closed. “Why don’t you launch her into society?”
“Because I can’t spare the time for such useless pursuits as balls and so
irees.”
“The time... or the money? Admit it, Deverell. For all your exalted rank, you can’t even provide for your own wife.”
Tears blurred my eyes; I couldn’t bear to see the two men I loved fling insults at each other. “Please, I don’t need money.”
Neither seemed to hear me.
Staring at Papa, Kent walked closer, hands on his hips. “If we Deverells lack your wealth, it’s because our money swells your bank account. Money you stole from my father. “
“Any Deverell money I possess, I earned fair and square.”
“You don’t know the meaning of the word fair. Today you had to sneak in here when you thought I was gone. Because you wanted to get your greedy hands on Dreamspinner.”
Papa glowered. “I’m doing you a favor by offering to buy the necklace. It’s only gathering dust in a vault.”
“And there it shall remain. I intend to honor my father’s wishes. So you see, this time stealth has gained you nothing.”
Papa’s chest rose and fell with suppressed fury. For a moment I feared they would come to blows. Then he pushed past Kent and stalked toward the door.
Pain lanced my breast; he was leaving me again. I leapt up and ran after him. “Papa! Don’t go yet.”
He seized my hand. “Come away with me, Emily. You’re old enough to live on your own. I’ll buy you a fine house with servants of your own, a carriage, a fashionable wardrobe...”
Temptation tugged at me. As much as I loved Kent, I’d yearned forever to hear my father make such an offer.
“But will you claim her as your own ?” Kent said softly.
Silence stretched out. Through teary eyes, I gazed at Papa’s beloved face. “Come, Emily,” he repeated urgently. “Leave him. I’ll give you everything you need.”
“But will you acknowledge me?” I whispered.
His eyes shifted from mine. My dearest hopes crumbled to dust. Drawing my hand free, I backed away, his image like a blurred figure seen through a rain-washed window.
He hesitated a moment, then turned and went down the stairs. Back to the daughter to whom he’d devoted his life, the girl he was grooming for a grand match.
Kent still stood with his hands planted on his hips. He made no move to take me into his arms, to stop my tears. Unlike the tender man I loved, he was a cold-eyed stranger.
“I’m sorry you’re hurt,” he said, “but it’s high time you saw him for the greedy man he is. You should never have invited him here.”
“How did you know—”
“Rose warned me. And it seems provident that she did, else you might have sold him Dreamspinner in hopes of gaining his favor. You’re so naive where he’s concerned.”
“But why don’t we sell it?” A shudder coursed through me. “I’ve no wish ever to wear the necklace.”
“I promised Father to keep Dreamspinner out of Emmett Carleton’s possession. I don’t ever want that scoundrel coming near you again. Perhaps now you’ll see that he’ll never treat you like a princess, the way he does his legitimate daughter.”
He strode from the room. Left alone, I buried my face in my hands and wept bitterly. Even Kent, who never spoke an unkind word to me, was furious. As my sobs slowed, a curious fluttering sensation stirred inside me. Joy shone through the darkness of my sorrow. The first movements of the baby. Papa’s grandchild.
Despair clutched at me again. I feared never again seeing my dear papa; that cursed necklace had come between us. I fancied it lying alone in the family coffers, the emerald peacock glowing with malevolent satisfaction at the trouble it had wrought. Dreamspinner. A preposterous name for a necklace that symbolized so much bitter hatred, so many broken dreams.
How could I face a future torn asunder by a feud? How could I ever win back Papa’s love?
Trying to get my thoughts in order, I went to my room to write in this journal. The action has eased my pain a little. Many of the incidents I’ve recorded here were too painful to write about before today. But the exercise has given me the courage to defy Kent for the first time, to do what must be done.
Juliet slowly looked up from the final diary page. Her head aching, her eyes clouded with confusion, she stared across the bedroom. The luncheon tray still lay untouched on the dressing table. The bar of sunlight had barely shifted; no more than an hour had passed since she’d sat down. Yet an emotional earthquake had realigned the landscape of her life.
She tried to put her disjointed impressions in order. How had Emily intended to defy Kent? Certainly not by committing suicide when she so eagerly anticipated a baby.
Whatever she’d planned had triggered her murder.
I had a sister, Juliet reflected. A sister who was murdered.
Disjointed thoughts spun through the black mist of her mind. Emily. Papa. Kent. Murder.
Abruptly the pieces formed a cohesive whole.
Dear God. Emily was Papa’s firstborn daughter. Emily must have been murdered because she carried Emmett Carleton’s grandchild.
Horror deluged Juliet. The pages scattered as she flattened her palms over her stomach. Now she bore a baby with Deverell and Carleton blood. And the murderer had tried to kill again.
Nothing must happen to her child. She imagined herself cuddling the infant. Who could want to harm an innocent babe?
Shakily she got up. Something fell from her bodice. Bending, she picked up the sprig of forget-me-nots and unthinkingly brushed the tiny petals across her chin.
Kent. Dear God, he had known.
He’ll never treat you like a princess, the way he does his legitimate daughter.
He had known she was Emily’s half sister. He had known when he’d first approached Juliet at the ball. He had known when he’d asked her to marry him.
He’d known while making love to her. While whispering of his love for her. Lies. All lies.
Pain lashed her, a pain so terrible, she crumpled to the floor, her skirts forming a pool of emerald silk around her. Pressing her brow to the musty-scented chair, she tried to deny his complicity, to find an excuse for his actions.
Yet the relentless truth hammered at her.
Kent had deliberately wooed and wed her. Not for passion. Not for companionship. Not for love.
For revenge.
The time had come to tell her the truth.
Willing away the tremor in his hands, Kent splashed cold water on his face and methodically cleansed himself of the grime and sweat of a hard morning’s work. If only he could cleanse himself of guilt so easily. He groped for the towel hanging from the washstand hook. Despair cudgeled his brain. If only there was another way. If only he could conceive another plan to compel Juliet to leave the castle and return to her father’s house, where she’d be safe. But she was determined to stay. To stay with the husband she loved and trusted. She didn’t realize the danger. She didn’t know the bond between her and Emily. She didn’t know what Kent had done because of that bond.
And when she did...
Oh, Christ. The love shining in her eyes would darken to hatred. The light she’d brought into his life would vanish forever, leaving him in joyless shadow.
In a hell he richly deserved.
He trudged into the bedroom and found his brandy glass. Swallowing the liquor without tasting it, he knew the confession was long overdue. He should have admitted the truth weeks ago. He should never have deceived her in the first place.
But then she wouldn’t have married him. He wouldn’t have so many precious memories: the sound of her laughter brightening the air; the sight of her guileless smile; the gratifying sense of expectation, of never being certain what she would say or do. His throat tightened. The sweet contact of hands and lips and bodies. The peace afterward of falling asleep in each other’s arms.
And she wouldn’t be nurturing their child within her womb, a child formed from the essence of their love. A child he desperately wanted. The promise of a real family and a closeness unmarred by hatred.
He could blame no one but him
self for the loss.
Hand shaking, he took a final gulp of brandy and set down the glass. He mustn’t delay any longer; he must secure his wife’s safety once and for all. If he told her now, she might still catch the late train to London.
On leaden legs, he walked to the connecting door and pushed it open. Sunlight illuminated some papers scattered around a chair near the window. An untouched tray of food rested on the dressing table. The bed linens lay smooth, unslept on.
She was gone.
“Juliet!”
Panic sent him dashing for the outer door. He wrenched at the knob. Locked. She must have relocked the door from the other side. Where the hell was she?
He pictured her lying in a puddle of blood. Oh, Christ, he shouldn’t have left her, not even for an instant.
He spun around, rushing for his bedroom and the hall door.
A flash of color yanked his gaze to the dressing room. She stood watching him from the shadowed doorway, the emerald silk of tier gown enhancing the green gold of her eyes.
Veering in midstride, he clutched her close and buried his face in her hair. The familiar scent and warmth of his wife drenched him in relief.
“Thank God,” he muttered. “Thank God you’re safe.”
She said nothing. Her arms hung at her sides; a strange stiffness pervaded her body. Baffled, he drew away, his hands grasping her slim shoulders.
“Juliet?”
She stared back, unblinking. He had the disquieting notion that she viewed him as a stranger. A stranger she despised.
He cocked his head. “What’s wrong, love? Why are you—”
“Don’t call me that.”
“Call you what?”
She stepped out of his grasp. “Love. You can’t possibly comprehend the meaning of the word.”
Accusation hardened her delicate features. A part of himself withered and died. She knew. Oh, God, she knew.
He swallowed the wild urge to utter a denial, to banish the loathing in her eyes. “Juliet, I do love you. I wanted to tell you the truth—”
“Another lie. I should have expected as much. You lied even as you spoke our wedding vows. To cherish me... to honor me...”
