A Woman’s Innocence

by Gayle Callen

  He nodded and took her shoulders to push her toward a surprised Julia. “Stay with Constable Fitzjames. I’ll gather some of the men and we’ll go look for her in the manor and in the garden. I’m sure she’s fine.”

  “We can search the manor—” Julia began, but Sam cut her off.

  “No. Keep watch on the women right here.”

  Sam’s fear seemed to burn a hole in his gut. It took all his composure to keep everyone calm, to explain that Frances had probably twisted an ankle and was just waiting to be found. But he knew that was a lie. Since Lewis’s henchman couldn’t get to Sam and Julia, he’d obviously decided to try another tactic. The man would be a fool to hurt someone else, but was he beginning to feel desperate?

  The men fanned out through the garden, torches and candles and lanterns making it seem like twilight instead of full night. When an hour had passed with no sign of his sister, Sam’s fear turned into a hatred so intense he felt calm. The next time he saw the villain, he would kill him.

  “Constable Seabrook!”

  There was a shout from nearby and he raced through the foliage, knocking aside tall plants and jumping over bushes. Henry and another gardener were kneeling on the ground, and Sam saw the body stretched out next to a pond. His heartbeat went frantic, even as everything around him seemed to slow down. Was she—

  “She’s alive,” Henry quickly said, his smile grim. “Just a bump on the head. She’s coming around even now.”

  More men entered the clearing and Sam pushed them all away as he knelt beside Frances. She groaned and put a hand to her head, but he stopped her. Blood matted her hair.

  “Mrs. Cooper, how do ye feel?” he asked softly, pushing a strand of hair out of her face.

  She looked up at him with wide, frightened eyes. She opened her mouth, hesitated, then glanced at all the concerned faces. “I—I think I remember tripping.”

  “Ye’ve hit your head,” Sam said, knowing damn well there was more to this story. But she was being brave and holding it in so as not to alarm the innocent servants.

  She gave a faint smile. “So who won?”

  There was relieved laughter as Sam scooped her into his arms and rose to his feet.

  “I can walk,” she insisted.

  He didn’t put her down.

  Julia had gathered the women together, and they all passed the time by cleaning up after the party. Julia felt almost faint with worry, full of guilt that it was all her fault something had happened to sweet, kind Frances, who’d only tried to help.

  She was the first to see the bobbing lights that announced the men as they came striding out of the garden. Sam was carrying Frances, who looked annoyed to be in his arms. Julia swayed with relief and leaned against a table.

  Lucy stopped at Julia’s side and rolled her eyes. “No matter what Frances says, I know she did this to get the constable’s attention.”

  Julia could barely control her giggle, and desperately reminded herself how serious the situation was. In the housekeeper’s suite, Mrs. Sherryngton bathed and bandaged her daughter’s wounded forehead, while Frances kept insisting that she was fine. When everyone had calmed down, and Henry had taken his mother home, Julia and Sam managed to closet themselves alone with Frances, who rested in her bed.

  Julia saw how pale Frances looked. There was a nasty bruise on her forehead, partially hidden by the bandage.

  “I’m fine,” Frances murmured when she looked from Sam to Julia.

  Sam stood over her, his face cold and impassive, his fists resting on his hips. “You’re not fine. Can you remember what happened?”

  Julia looked up at Sam. “Maybe this should wait until morning.”

  “No,” Frances said quickly. “I remember everything. There was a stranger on the grounds. He had something black obscuring his face.”

  Julia closed her eyes and sagged back into a chair. Sam was a dark presence above both women, and she found herself almost afraid of him, as if she didn’t know what he was capable of.

  “He attacked us before,” Sam said in a clipped voice. “I assumed he wouldn’t dare do anything with so many people in the gardens, but I was wrong. Forgive me, Frances. It was even my idea to send you into his path. Tell me what he did.”

  She fluttered a hand. “Don’t go blaming yourself, Constable.” Even in her injured state, she remembered to use his new identity. “He didn’t hurt me. He just…wouldn’t let me leave. He didn’t ask me any questions, just…looked at me as if he didn’t really have a plan. He covered my mouth when someone came near. He stood behind me, b-breathing in my ear, then he—touched me inappropriately.”

  Julia gasped.

  Sam’s gaze froze on his sister. “Did he hurt you?”

  Frances shook her head. Then, as a tear slid down into her hair, Julia handed her a handkerchief.

  “No, I assure you I’m unharmed. He just wanted to frighten me. He had a message for you. He said that if I’d been a certain woman, he’d have done more to me. He wanted you to know that she won’t have an easy death. He meant Miss Reed, didn’t he?”

  Julia wiped her damp hands on her thighs over and over again, remembering the hiss of the attacker’s breath in the trees, trying not to imagine what he planned to do to her if he got her alone.

  Sam put his hand on Julia’s shoulder. “Frances, did he say anything else?”

  “Just that the grooms and footmen won’t be able to stop him when he finally comes for you. And then he hit me with something, and I don’t remember anything else.”

  Sam turned away, running his hand through his hair. He suddenly looked tired, and Julia felt his pain along with her own. It wasn’t his fault—it was hers. She was the one he was trying to help, risking his own life and now his family’s safety. None of this would have happened if she hadn’t been so brazen, so selfishly insistent on having her own freedom all those years ago.

  They brought Lucy in to keep Frances company. When Julia and Sam reached their suite, he insisted on searching each room before he’d let her out of his sight, including opening each window and looking down. Julia stood in the center of her bedroom, hugging herself, feeling dazed and so very tired.

  Sam finally approached her. “I’ve locked and barricaded the doors, and kept the chairs in front of each window. We’re safe.”

  “Are we? Is everyone else safe? Frances wasn’t.”

  She could see the muscles in his jaw spasm as he clenched his teeth.

  “The footmen are patrolling the manor, and the grooms will be stationed around the house. The attacker has warned us; I think that’s all he meant to do tonight. Everyone should be safe.”

  She shuddered, and allowed him to put his arms around her.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” he murmured, “and you mustn’t blame yourself. Everything is Lewis’s fault, and we’ll catch him in the end. We’re closer than ever.”

  “If I’m not to blame myself, then you can’t hold yourself accountable either. You’re only one man, Sam.”

  He nodded, but she didn’t think he believed her words.

  “I don’t want you sleeping alone tonight,” he said. “Come be with me.”

  After undressing, she gladly crawled into his bed wearing only a shirt, and let him put his warm, safe arms about her.

  In the middle of the night, Sam awoke to find his bed cold and Julia gone. Naked, he ran across his bedroom floor and came to a relieved stop when he saw Julia curled up in a chair in the sitting room, staring at the bare hearth, a single candle illuminating her.

  She didn’t see him immediately, and for a moment he thought about how isolated he’d felt without her in bed. He knew he’d be sleeping alone again eventually, but now he craved every moment he had with her.

  But he couldn’t stand to see her looking so sad.

  “We never had the chance to dance,” he said softly.

  She looked up at him and tried to smile, but it was a bleak effort. He walked toward her, holding out his hand. “Dance with me.”
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  She looked down his naked body, and a reluctant smile lifted the corners of her mouth. “I’m sure I’ve never had such a scandalous dance partner.”

  “I’m glad to hear it.”

  She gave a soft laugh and accepted his hand. He took her in his arms and began a slow waltz across the carpeted floor. The candlelight played on her upturned face and her short hair that hung loose and scattered. The pale light cast shadows on the shirt, changing it from opaque to translucent depending on where she danced.

  He swept her into a turn to avoid one of the desks, and she finally relaxed and laughed.

  “You’re very good,” she murmured.

  He could feel the fluidity in her muscles, the way she moved to music she only heard in her mind. He smiled and just watched her face, glad he’d briefly chased away the shadows.

  “Where did you learn to waltz?” she asked.

  He moved faster, dipping her through the turn. “Bombay. Officers were in great demand as dancing partners.”

  “I have a hard time imagining you learning to dance on a woman’s whim.”

  He saw the question she didn’t ask. She wanted to know if it was at a particular woman’s request.

  He grinned. “Nick Wright and Will Chadwick placed a wager that I could not refuse. That’s the only reason I learned.”

  She could not quite hide her relief, and he found himself leaning closer. “Jealous, Julia?”

  “I have no reason to be,” she said primly.

  “No, no reason at all,” he said in a low, heartfelt voice.

  He picked her up and carried her back to bed, where he memorized every curve of her body, the taste of her mouth, her smothered gasps of pleasure. Would these memories someday give him peace, or only remind him of everything he’d lost?

  Julia awoke before dawn, with the first glimpse of contentment she’d felt in…years. She was warm and drowsy and safe for the moment in Sam’s arms. They lay spooned together, her back to his front.

  His arm was draped over her now, his breath warm in her ear. Already his erection pressed into her backside, and she gave a soft giggle and snuggled closer.

  “Is something amusing?” he murmured, cupping her breast and tweaking her nipple gently.

  She looked over her shoulder to see his eyes heavy with sleep, flecks of gold and brown, full of tenderness that made her ache with regret for the future. She sighed and ignored her sudden melancholia and the thought of empty years without him.

  “Nothing amusing at all,” she said, giving him a quick kiss on the nose. “What are we doing today?”

  “We’re going to finish searching the house.”

  “What about the statue?”

  “I’ll talk to Henry about it. Looking it over in the daylight might suggest a way to open it that I couldn’t find last night.”

  “Or maybe it’s just a plain statue.”

  “Maybe. But it’s too coincidental.”

  She rolled until she could put her arms around him and snuggle her face into his chest. Sighing, she trailed her fingers through his chest hair. “Waking up like this feels wonderful.”

  His muscles stiffened slightly, though she knew he tried to hide it.

  “It does,” he finally answered.

  So many words came to her lips, but she wouldn’t ruin the moment by saying them. What are you keeping secret, Sam? Even held close to his heart, there was yet a distance between them that she had no means to cross. He didn’t seem to hold her past against her, and she had finally started to let go of her guilt. But when she was free—and she’d begun to believe that such a miracle was possible—what kind of future did she have without Sam? Should she offer to go back to India with him, live life following the drum as an officer’s wife, waiting for the day he wouldn’t come home to her? And would he even want her there?

  She was making herself crazy thinking of the future when the present was all she had. And if part of that present was being able to love Sam, however briefly, she would accept it gladly. She closed her eyes and memorized the feel of his skin on hers, the roughness of his fingertips stroking her arm, the softness of his mouth when he kissed her forehead.

  “The day awaits,” he said, throwing back the blankets.

  She groaned and burrowed closer to his side.

  “What if Lucy brings you hot water and finds us like this?”

  “You mean if she got past your door barricades? We could trust her with the truth—and then she’d stop following me about wearing a silly expression.”

  He squeezed her bottom, then gave her a push that sent her to the edge of the bed.

  “Hey!”

  “Out of my room so I can dress.”

  “You don’t want my help?” She looked pointedly at his erection, which hadn’t shown any sign of subsiding.

  He laughed and gave her another push so that she ended up on her feet. “We’ll have tonight. And maybe we’ll have something to celebrate.”

  She sighed and picked up her shirt from the floor. “We can only hope.”

  Chapter 21

  After seeing that Frances had recovered, Julia spent the morning following Sam through the family wing, taking notes on what they’d searched.

  She had not realized that with so much decorative detail in the plaster walls and ceiling, Sam would feel the need to run his hands over everything. Every room seemed to take an hour, but he wanted to be thorough, in case the statue was a false lead.

  They were walking down the long gallery, with its family paintings on either side, when Julia stopped to finish a notation in her notebook. Sam entered the billiard room ahead of her. She was so intent on her work that she didn’t hear anyone approach until there was an audible gasp.

  She looked up to see Lucy standing not ten feet away from her, staring at her with a stunned expression, then looking over her head. Julia looked behind her and realized she was standing directly beneath her own full-length portrait.

  Lucy’s face drained of color, and then she dropped her armful of towels and ran.

  Julia ran after her. She gave no thought to telling Sam; she just needed to stop Lucy before the maid did…. whatever she had in mind.

  “Lucy!” she called in a hoarse whisper, but the girl never even looked back over her shoulder.

  They followed the dark corridors into the back of the house and the servants’ wing. Lucy reached her sister’s room, opened the door without knocking, and slammed it behind her. A few seconds later, Julia, out of breath and desperate, halted only momentarily before opening the door herself and stepping inside.

  She found Lucy and Frances standing face to face in the center of the sitting room. Both turned to stare at Julia. Frances winced.

  Lucy’s complexion went red as she pointed a shaking finger at Julia. “You heard me, Frances! That—that is not a man, and he—she looks just like a member of General Reed’s family!”

  Well, at least Julia hadn’t been immediately recognized. She raised both hands pleadingly. “Let me explain—”

  Lucy ignored her. “She’s probably one of the old master’s by-blows, come to snoop about now that Miss Julia is in trouble!” She rounded on Julia and took a menacing step in her direction. “How dare you! Lying about your identity—pretending to be a constable. Does Constable Seabrook know?” Her eyes went wide. “Is he in on this, too?”

  Julia sighed and rubbed her hand across her eyes. Where to begin? This was not something that could be eased over with another lie.

  “Lucy, calm yourself,” Frances said, her voice as smooth as the quietest violin. “We do not need one of the staff rushing in here curious because of all the noise.”

  “But—”

  “Will you allow me to explain now?” Julia asked with a soft voice.

  She was surprised to see tears shining in Lucy’s eyes, obviously tears of anger and embarrassment. Julia felt guilty for having caused them.

  “Go ahead and try,” Lucy said belligerently. “Then my sister will see you thrown into
the yard.”

  Julia lowered her voice and looked plaintively at Lucy. “I’m not a bastard child—I’m Julia Reed.”

  Lucy’s face went strangely blank, and then she gaped at her sister. “Can you believe what this—”

  “It’s true,” Frances said quietly.

  Julia winced and shook her head. Frances had aligned herself with the deception, when Julia had meant to leave her out of it.

  Lucy took a step back from them both. “What are you saying?”

  “This is our mistress, Miss Julia, and she needed my help, so I’ve given it.”

  “You’ve known, all this time, yet you said nothing?” Lucy demanded, aghast. “You let me—you let all of us look like fools!”

  “I warned you to stay away from the constable,” Frances said. “But you wouldn’t listen. I tried to protect you—”

  “Protect me!” Lucy gave a laugh that held no amusement. “You let me believe she was—a man!”

  “It was my idea, not Frances’s,” Julia said quickly. “It was the only way I could remain unexposed as I tried to discover the truth.”

  “The truth is that you’re an escaped criminal who belongs in jail!”

  “Lucy!” Frances said in a shocked voice. “That is your anger talking! You know Miss Julia would never have committed such a terrible crime.”

  But Lucy’s tears had begun to fall down her cheeks, and she scrubbed at them angrily with her fists. “My brother is in trouble because of you! What does he think about your lies—”

  She broke off, and a startled look crossed her face, which darkened to an ugly crimson. Then she turned and ran out the door.

  Julia exchanged a panicked look with Frances.

  “Where do you think she’s going now?” the housekeeper said.

  “I know exactly where she’s going.”

  Julia opened the door and went back down the corridor, trying to keep her pace more normal until they left the servants’ wing. Then she started to run, taking the stairs two at a time to the first floor. She saw Lucy at the far end of the gallery only a second before the maid disappeared into the billiard room.