by Olivia Drake
Old habits die hard.
Studying the handsome features of her husband, she felt the weakening urge to trust him. But trust had broken her heart once already. Trust meant opening herself to the terrible risk of betrayal.
Emmett stepped back, his face grim. “We must find the scoundrel who would dare threaten my daughter. We’ll need to scrutinize everyone here.”
“I’ve a private matter to discuss with my cousin first,” Kent said. “In the meantime, gather your thoughts on the suspects. We’ll pool our impressions in an hour, over tea. Is that agreeable?”
“All right. Perhaps I’ll even poke around myself.”
“Go anywhere you wish. We’d like you to feel at home here.”
As they started down the winding stairs, Juliet felt the power of Kent’s gaze. Warmth stirred deep in her stomach, hunger for him.
Suppressing her dangerous yearnings, she hastened ahead and took her father’s arm. “How is Mama?”
“Well, except she misses you.” He patted her hand. “I know you’ve been corresponding with your mother, Princess. She thought to hide it from me, but her maid told my valet that Dorothea had sent along your wardrobe. I should have settled a dowry on you sooner.”
“You’ve been very generous.” Juliet felt a sudden wistful longing for her mother, for the familiar scent of violets and the comforting dullness of gossip. “Did you tell Mama you were coming to see me today?”
“No... I didn’t dare. She would have wanted to accompany me.”
“What will you tell her now?”
He shot her a troubled glance as they entered a long corridor. “I’ll send word that I’ve been detained on a business matter. But don’t condemn me as a liar, Princess. I see no sense in ever hurting Dorothea merely to unburden myself of guilt.”
Their footsteps echoed through the stone corridor. Mullioned windows let in a watery gray light that reflected off the ancient shields on the walls. He was right, Juliet reflected; sometimes the omission of a painful truth could serve as an act of love.
She angled a glance at Kent, who walked at her side, his dark head bowed in contemplative silence. In the days since their confrontation, his attempts at reconciliation had dwindled. She shuddered to think that the ending of the feud had come too late to save her marriage. Could he deliberately hold himself aloof as an act of love, because he wanted her to feel free to leave him?
I love you. Don’t ever forget that.
The memory of his words made her throat tighten. Yet he’d told her so many lies... Or had his concealment of Emily’s identity been less a lie than another act of love?
The noble answer gave Juliet pause. Perhaps it had been the desperate deed of a man wanting to shield his wife from a painful truth. A truth sure to sever the tender bonds of their marriage.
I couldn’t tell you. You wouldn’t have married me. From our first meeting, 1 wanted you to be a part of my life...
A knot formed in her chest. If only she could separate fact from falsehood, trust from doubt. If only she could verify that Kent loved her...
The pressure of her father’s hand on her arm brought her back to reality; they’d reached a guest bedroom near the ducal suite.
Longing shone starkly in Emmett’s eyes. “Juliet,” he said, “will you tell me everything Emily wrote about me in the diary?”
A wave of tenderness rolled over her. He had loved Emily, in his own fashion. “Later you can read it for yourself.”
“Watch over her well, Kent. The sooner we find the murderer, the sooner we can get on with our lives and our friendship.”
“I won’t let her out of my sight.”
Kent directed her back to the stairs. Now that they were alone, tension throbbed between them, a tension aggravated by her unresolved emotions. Her every step felt stiff and unnatural. She wondered at his aura of distraction, as if he were embroiled in deep, disquieting thoughts.
“Why do we need to see Gordon?” she asked.
His dark eyes glided over her. “I’ve been thinking about people and their obsessions. I’ve been blind about something... or at least I think I’ve been. We’ll find out in a moment.”
They reached the library, where he pushed open the massive door. The dim daylight dulled the barren bookshelves and antiquated furnishings. Speculating on his purpose, she followed Kent down the short leg of the H, to the second set of wings. A faint sweetish odor tainted the air, and now that she knew the source of the smell, her stomach churned with pity.
Gordon sat at the end of the long table, his shoulders slumped beneath the maroon smoking jacket. He looked blessedly lucid, his eyes alert behind thick spectacles. To Juliet’s surprise, Augusta occupied the seat to his left. The weariness of spent grief drew down her mouth. From the tense way she gripped his flawed hands, it appeared that husband and wife had been involved in a heated discussion.
“Pardon us for interrupting,” Juliet said.
Augusta released his hands and sat back, her face pale but composed. “It’s quite all right, Your Grace.”
Bracing both palms on the scarred oak, Kent stared down the length of the table. “I’ve come to ask you a question, Gordon.”
“Most assuredly, Cousin.” He tugged nervously at his cravat. “How may I accommodate you?”
“By giving me an honest answer. What do you know about the opium Father was accused of stealing?”
He went still; only his gaze shied away. “The opium? Emmett Carleton did that to discredit Uncle William.”
“I know. But I’ve just had an interesting talk with Emmett.”
Augusta’s jaw dropped. She turned to stare at Juliet. “Emmett Carleton is here?”
Kent gave a curt nod. “As my honored guest. He claims no responsibility for the incident. A few months ago I would have called him a liar. But we’re through lying to each other now. Well, Gordon?”
“I...” He swallowed, the dry gulp audible.
“Tell him,” Augusta said flatly. “There’ve been too many secrets here. It’s cost this family too much.”
Gordon glanced around as if seeking an escape route. Then he sank lower in the chair, his high brow propped against his knobby hands. “So be it,” he mumbled. “I concede my culpability.”
The confession stunned Juliet. So Papa was innocent. And William, too.
“You lied to my father,” Kent said, his tone incredulous. “I remember him asking you straight out if you were involved, and you denied it.”
“I was afraid—”
“Afraid! You let your crime besmirch Father’s good name.”
“I never meant anyone any harm,” Gordon said brokenly. “I located a source of exceptionally pure opium. It wasn’t pilfered, either. I paid an outrageous sum to an agent of the East India Company. You see, I needed—”
“You needed.” Kent thumped his fist onto the table. “Christ! You let the wrong man shoulder the blame.”
“I never meant to impugn his character. Uncle William charged the deed to Emmett Carleton, and it seemed... simpler to concur. What was one more wickedness attributed to that knave?”
“What, indeed?” Kent said, his voice heavy with irony. “I loved you as a brother. I thought I could trust you.”
“I’m sorry,” Gordon muttered, hanging his head. “So utterly sorry.”
“I wish you’d said that twenty years ago.”
Kent walked away to stare out the diamond panes of the window. Disillusionment darkened his strong features. The incident had been a keystone in his hatred for her father, Juliet thought, a hatred grounded in falsehood. How dreadful he must feel to know his blood kin had perpetrated such a lie.
“Your Grace,” Augusta said, “that isn’t all we have to confess. Gordon and I had just decided it was time we admitted the truth about Dreamspinner.”
Juliet felt her every nerve come alert.
Kent spun on his heel. “What do you mean?”
“We thought we must speak out before Ravi left for London.” With bl
eak hyacinth eyes, Augusta glanced at her husband; he stared at his hands. She focused her gaze on Kent.
“You see,” she said slowly, “the necklace is a forgery.”
Chapter 24
Silence wrapped the library. Juliet saw a blankness in Kent’s eyes, then a struggle to assimilate the incredible news. He remained perfectly still, the cloudy afternoon light framing his lordly features, the broad shoulders and lean hips.
“Counterfeit?” he said. “But my father had the necklace appraised by a reputable London jeweler.”
“And shortly thereafter,” Augusta said, “I sold the real stones and had them substituted with paste.”
“But why?” Juliet said. “Why would you do such a thing?”
She lifted her chin. “For the good of the Radcliffe tenants. I had no other resources to help them. The old duke took everything.”
“It’s my fault,” Gordon said, his shoulders hunched in misery. “Uncle William convinced me to expend her dowry to pay the debts he’d incurred over the opium incident. I could scarcely refuse.”
Augusta’s mouth twisted into a grimace. “That was in the days before the law recognized a wife’s right to control her own money.”
Kent stared, his hooded eyes masking his emotions. “Dreamspinner was worth a small fortune. How did no one ever notice you spending the money?”
“It was my nest egg for nigh on fifteen years, Your Grace. I used a little bit here, a little bit there. A new roof for the church. A university education for Alf Peek’s eldest boy. The biggest expense was building the surgery for Dr. Sattler.”
“I assumed the rents had paid for that.”
Augusta shrugged. “So did everyone. William took such scant interest in the estate that he never guessed, either. The money ran out just before you inherited the dukedom. Unfortunately, before I could help Hannah Forster.”
She sat straight, the tight ginger bun crowning her head. No remorse for the misdeed colored her plain features, only a deep conviction and a quiet honesty.
Compassion formed a warm pool inside Juliet. She stepped to Augusta’s side and touched her sturdy shoulder. “Forgive me for ever suggesting you neglected Hannah. With my dowry, we’ll get her the finest medical care.”
“I know.” A shadow of a smile crossed the older woman’s face; then she looked soberly at Kent. “You took me by surprise, Your Grace, the day you said you meant to sell the necklace. After I left the drawing room, I resolved to confess the truth. But when I came back, my poor Punjab...”
Her composure crumpled and she blinked hard, looking away.
Gordon reached out to pat her hand in awkward tenderness. “There, there, my dear. I wish I could assuage your tribulation. Yet I only seem to ruin everything I touch.”
“Oh, poppycock,” she murmured halfheartedly. “I wish only to find whoever is responsible for the poisoning. Because that same person is deranged enough to harm Juliet and her precious babe.”
“It must have been a tragic accident,” Gordon said, shaking his head in befuddlement. “Murder is simply inconceivable. Who could it be? Ravi is too loyal. Little Rose is too much the scholar. Chantal is... well, she is...” He paused, blinking.
“She’s your likely culprit,” Augusta said with conviction. “Always did think there was something peculiar about a woman who’d be content to live off her lovers.”
Juliet’s stomach turned over. Could Augusta be right?
Harsh weariness etched Kent’s cheeks and jaw.
“That’s neither proof nor motive. Does anyone else here know of the forgery?”
Augusta wiped her eyes. “Not a soul. Your Grace, please believe that I never meant to deprive you of your inheritance. When William took my money, I felt Dreamspinner was only my due.”
“I’ve no quarrel with you. To be honest, I find it gratifying that the cursed necklace has accomplished so much good.”
His words seemed to comfort Augusta; she squared her shoulders as he took Juliet’s arm and guided her out of the library.
Their footsteps resounded in the empty hall. Her gown swishing, she scurried to keep up with his long strides. He scowled into the gloom ahead, and she had the impression his thoughts ranged far from her.
“Do you think they took it?” she asked.
Kent shifted his frown to her. “Pardon?”
“Dreamspinner. Would Augusta or Gordon have stolen it to prevent Ravi from taking a false necklace to London?”
He shook his head. “Surely she would have admitted as much. On the other hand, I scarcely know what to believe anymore.”
“At least we know Augusta acted out of humanitarian reasons.”
“Yet for so many years my own kin deceived me.” Through the shadowy light, his eyes glowed with an obsessive savagery. “I’m getting a proper lesson in how betrayed you felt.”
Self derision made his voice gritty. She wanted to comfort him, to ease the hurt he must be feeling. But their estrangement loomed between them, a barrier widened by suspicion and broken dreams.
As he led her through a maze of corridors, toward the kitchen, she said, “I thought we were going to take tea with Papa.”
“I’d rather not,” he said. “I have to escape these walls for a while. Will you come with me?”
A haunted quality dimmed his expression. He, too, felt the sting of shattered illusions. Again she felt the hopeless longing to kiss away the unhappiness shading his mouth. Looking down, she nodded.
They passed the empty servants’ hall and entered a room she hadn’t seen before. The small chamber was stuffed with rusted coal scuttles and fire irons, cricket bats and croquet mallets, cobwebbed shovels and abandoned trinkets. The air smelled of damp stone and mildewed wallpaper.
From a corner he fetched two fishing rods and a wicker creel. Hefting the items in one hand, he touched her arm and nodded to the door. An intense awareness prickled her skin and clenched her stomach. Quickly she turned and walked out.
They left the castle through the postern gate. Clouds hung low, presaging an early dusk. Passing through the south garden, Juliet found her mind wandering not to the ruined greenhouse, but to the haying party, when she had been deliriously in love, when her trust in Kent had been untainted by doubts. Oh, dear God, if only she could return to that untrammeled innocence...
The cultivated area gave way to the untamed beauty of the meadow and a colorful splash of wildflowers: yellow loosestrife, white comfrey, blue forget-me-nots. A brace of hares bolted from the green undergrowth and bounded off. Bees buzzed the fluffy white seed balls crowning stalks of water mint.
Brambles choked the path and caught at her skirt. Kent took her hand, his fingers strong and warm as he led the way down the gentle slope to the river. Tall reeds grew thickly near the water, and the ground was spongy. Yet still he drew her onward, through copses of oak and cedar, until they reached a cluster of willows.
The long, leafy fronds formed a cool bower beside the river. Setting down the creel and rods, he waved at a broad, flat rock overhanging the water. “Behold... my favorite fishing spot.”
His somberness distressed her. The atmosphere felt strained, the tension tangible. Her stomach squeezed tight. Once, they’d laughed and chatted easily; once upon a time he’d been her knight in shining armor, the man she’d adored without reservation.
As he sat on the hard stone, she sank beside him, her topaz skirts whispering. “How long have you been coming here?”
“Since I was a boy.”
A heron swooped out of the reeds, flying low with slow beats of its great wings. Grasshoppers fiddled and leaves rustled. In search of flies, a fish sucked at the surface of the water.
Only her doubts and dreams disturbed the peace. Kent made no move to open the creel. Arms hooked around his knees, he gazed toward the lily pads matting the opposite shore. She suddenly saw him as a lad, solemn and tousle-haired, stealing from his studies to laze away the summer hours. A bittersweet longing crept inside her.
She too
k a deep, hurting breath. “I wonder if our son will come here someday.”
He shot her a sharp glance. “I thought you meant to leave Castle Radcliffe.”
Her heart tripped. “Do you want me to go?”
“What I want isn’t the issue anymore.”
The rigidity in his expression shut her out of his thoughts. Uncertainty sparked an abrupt anger. “Yes, it is,” she insisted. “We’re married, with a child on the way. We both have a responsibility to decide his future, even if we live apart.”
“I want you to do whatever makes you happy.”
“I won’t be happy until you give me an honest answer. Do you want me to go?”
A breeze stirred the willow fronds. He stared at her, and that fierce look gentled to tender despair. “Dammit,” he growled, “of course I don’t want you to go.”
“Why not?”
“Don’t you know—?” He started to reach out; then his hand halted in midair and settled between them, palm flattened on the stone. “Because I love you. And because I want what we had before... the closeness... the trust...”
“We never really had trust,” she felt compelled to point out. “I only thought so.”
His lashes dipped slightly, though he held her gaze. “You’re right. Perhaps our marriage can never be what you thought it was.”
The desolate words blended with the murmur of the river. She saw the watery gleam of tears in his eyes; then he lowered his gaze to a tiny red ladybird trundling over the barren rock.
The harshness fled his face, unveiling an unhappiness and a loneliness as acute as her own. Her heart overflowed with the need to touch and be touched. The distance separating them suddenly seemed remarkably short.
Her fingertips skimmed the back of his hand, the dusting of black hairs, the bronzed flesh and strong bones. “It’s better that we don’t return to the past,” she said.
He didn’t look up, only nodded.
“You see,” she went on softly, “I’m no longer the naive girl, dreaming of the perfect love. And you’re no longer the embittered man, dreaming of the perfect revenge. We’ve both changed.”
