“He’ll be here, I’m sure, the moment he realizes you are gone.”
He closed the distance between them. She felt the sharp tip of his saber through her light dress. The barn had been unbearably warm earlier. Now the air chilled her like frost. Her mouth tasted like chalk, dry with fear. Auclair’s dark eyes reflected no expression, beyond cruel . . . empty.
“Why are you doing this?” she asked, swallowing to counteract the sour taste in her mouth.
“He hasn’t told you?”
“No.”
“He killed my sister,” Auclair said, frowning at her. “She was staying in a convent where Althorne and Boscastle took refuge after escaping me. They had demanded shelter, and the nuns gave it. Your lover shot her through the heart in broad daylight. She was dead when I found her.”
Heath was running so hard that he almost knocked down Jane and her maid on the twisting path to the barn. “My goodness, Heath,” she exclaimed as he gripped her shoulders to steady her. “Are you running after Julia or away from her?”
Her teasing grin fell the instant she saw his face. White, frightened, his eyes wild. “Auclair is one of the actors who performed here tonight,” he said. “Find Grayson and Drake. For God’s sake, hurry.”
Julia heard her voice echo faintly in the rafters of the barn. From the loft above she could see the sliver of moonlight that angled across the unlit wing of the stage.
It was as if she were watching another performance. She felt detached, numb, barely conscious of what she said or did. She closed her fingers around the pistol concealed in the warm layers of her cloak. Her husband had given her the gun four months before he was killed. Heath’s warning in the woods, and some instinct this evening, had prompted her to take it with her. Her late husband’s words echoed in her mind. Was Adam trying to help her?
Do not carry it openly, Julia, but this is a savage world. I may not always be near to defend you.
She felt a rush of sorrow for him, a pain she had not acknowledged since leaving India. It was one of the few times she had allowed herself to grieve for Adam since she’d come home. She had been angry, bewildered at his death, uncertain what would become of her. Returning to England, to her dying father, had brought comfort but also a remembrance of deep regrets.
She believed she had lost Heath, the one man she had secretly loved. She had lost her young husband, and she had loved him, if not with the same frightening passion as she had Heath. She would reenter Society, which had never approved of her, with a wicked reputation and wealth.
She was Julia Hepworth Whitby, and she threw herself body and soul into whatever joy and tribulation she had to face. She would not die without fighting for her life.
“My sister was only nineteen,” Auclair said, raising the saber in the air. “I left her in that convent to protect her. Your lover murdered her, and I—”
She lifted the gun. And braced herself to fire.
Chapter 30
She had closed her eyes reflexively as she prepared to pull the trigger. When she opened them, she saw Auclair crumbled on the straw in front of her. Blood soaked the wrinkled white ruffles of his linen shirt. Thankfully she could not see his face. His saber had fallen between her feet.
She shook out her dress to dislodge the blade. The echo of the gunshot seemed to deafen her for a few moments. She looked past Auclair’s inert body to see Hermia frozen in the middle of the barn. She had no idea how long her aunt had been standing there. In fact, she did not even recall the instant she had fired the gun. She lowered it to the ground behind her.
Hermia’s empty basket slipped from her hands. “Julia,” she said in a faltering voice, her face gray, “I think . . . I think that I shall faint. You really have to curb this habit of shooting men.”
Julia managed to move around Auclair as Hermia collapsed, her ample figure fortunately landing on a thick layer of straw. “Aunt Hermia,” she cried, falling to her knees beside her. “Can you hear me?”
“Hear you what?” Hermia’s eyes searched her face. “Did I faint?”
Julia rubbed her aunt’s wrists between her palms. “I don’t think so.”
“Why not?” Hermia whispered.
“Well, your eyes were open the whole time, and you never stopped talking.”
Hermia’s frightened gaze drifted past Julia to the unmoving male figure only a few feet away. “Is he dead?”
Julia caught her lip between her teeth. She had started to shake, and she felt alternately hot and cold, as if she had suddenly taken ill. “I believe so.”
“I wish I could faint,” Hermia said, struggling to sit up.
“Yes, I do, too,” Julia said. Her heartbeat felt erratic. “It’s the first time I’ve actually killed a man.”
“You didn’t kill him.”
She came unsteadily to her feet. She heard Heath’s deep, reassuring voice from somewhere in the vicinity of the ladder to her left. It took her several seconds to perceive his familiar figure.
Her thoughts began to race.
He’s still wearing his evening clothes. There’s a pistol in each of his hands. That’s the first time I’ve ever seen him slightly disheveled, and . . .
“You have straw on your trousers,” she said, wondering if she were in shock. She had just killed a man—hadn’t she? She worked up the courage to look more closely at Auclair. He lay unnaturally still.
Before she could even move, Heath was in front of her, grasping her in his arms as if he would never let her go again. She welcomed his warm strength and support, not certain how much longer she could keep her emotions in check. Her courage had never been tested before. Somehow she thought her father would have been proud of her. Only now could she admit how terrified she had been, grateful to whatever self-protective instinct had saved her.
“He is dead, isn’t he?” she asked, gazing past his shoulder.
He turned her in the opposite direction so that she could not view the body. “Yes, he’s dead, but you didn’t kill him. I did.”
She stared at him. The pistols he’d been carrying a few moments ago had disappeared. There was still straw on his evening clothes, and she wanted to cry. “How long have you been here?” she asked, her throat dry.
“I came shortly after you. As soon as I realized what was happening.”
“You shot him from the loft?” she asked in wonder.
“I crawled up through the window. I thought for a moment that you heard me. You looked right at me at one point.” His voice was uneven. “I was terrified of what might happen if I missed.”
She felt his arms tighten as if to shield her. Still holding her, he looked past her and nodded tersely, his gaze on the loft. From the corner of her eye she saw Drake drop to the ground like a graceful cat. He moved swiftly toward Auclair’s body, covering it with his own coat, his hard face dispassionate.
The door swung open. Voices echoed across the barn, the concerned voices of the Boscastle family and servants brought to help. Grayson and Odham were gently lifting Hermia to her feet, guiding her back into the fresh night air.
Drake and Hamm removed Auclair from view. And Heath had not released her. Julia could hardly believe it had happened so fast, and that it was over. Heath had vanquished the man who had intended to destroy him. Her mind was in such a blur she could barely remember what Auclair had looked like. She wanted to forget.
“Did you hear what he said?” she asked softly. Heath was staring past her to the stage. His eyes seemed distant; she was afraid he was beyond her reach.
He glanced down at her. The hard angles of his face softened as their eyes met. “I heard everything, but I don’t remember what happened at the convent the day I was rescued. I don’t remember anything until I was being half dragged along an icy road by Hamm and Russell. We were dressed as peasants—they had disguised me to escape.”
“There’s no reason to believe him anyway,” she said, aching for him.
He shook his head. “Why would he lie?” His eyes darkened wi
th a bewilderment he did not bother to conceal. Had she ever thought him cool and detached? It seemed incredible that for years she had held an image of him as heartless and reserved.
The man who stood before her, who had killed to protect her, felt more deeply than anyone could ever guess. And she sensed he might have told her more had the doors behind him not opened quite so dramatically.
A breath of evening air scattered the straw littered on the ground. Grayson had returned to the barn. He strode up to where they stood like an outraged king who had almost lost his favorite prince and princess.
He picked up the pistol that Julia had dropped. His blue eyes glittered in hard approval. “Is she all right, Heath?”
“Yes. She will be.”
“That was a damn good shot, Julia,” Grayson said slowly, “although . . .” His voice trailed off. He was examining the pistol with a puzzled frown. “It’s fortunate that your skill with firearms has improved since you shot my brother.”
Heath sent him a meaningful look. “She didn’t kill Auclair. I did.”
“Ah.” Grayson nodded in understanding and lowered the gun. “Well, that explains why her pistol has not been fired. What an ordeal.”
“I’m taking her to her room,” Heath said in a firm voice. Before Julia knew it, he had turned her toward the door. He broke away from his brother, who waited only a second before following them.
“Good idea,” Grayson said. “Put her straight to bed.”
Heath glanced at Julia sideways and smiled a little ruefully. “Isn’t he an inspiration? Grayson, perhaps you should see to your wife. I gave Jane quite a scare on my way here. I do apologize if I upset her.”
“Jane was more concerned about you and Julia,” Grayson replied. He glanced back at the barn, shaking his head, his voice low with emotion. “On my own estate. Dear God, to think I invited that butcher into my home.”
Julia slept in brief snatches throughout the night. She woke up twice, naked, in Heath’s arms, and thought for an instant that she had dreamed Auclair’s death. The scene in the barn had all happened too quickly, too unexpectedly, and Heath’s lovemaking had seemed so passionate and spontaneous that the earlier events of the evening did not seem real. She wanted the scene with Auclair to fade away. She wanted to erase it from her mind.
Had Auclair held a saber to her hours ago?
“Was it all a nightmare?” she murmured as Heath’s strong form moved over her.
She focused on the devilish smile that flitted across his face in the darkness. She tried to sit up. He eased her down effortlessly on the bed, his mouth capturing hers.
“It was very real.” He kissed her deeply. “And it’s over. My brave darling.”
The low sensual tone of his voice sent a pleasant warning through her system. He sounded more dangerously sexual than ever. Could it be that in having conquered his enemy, he was able to unleash his deepest passions?
If so, Julia was in more trouble than she’d anticipated. Trouble of the most wicked type. Of course there was only one answer to her dilemma: submit, participate, and enjoy.
She wound her arms around his neck. “You are a formidable rival, Boscastle. I’m glad to count you as a friend.”
“We’re slightly more than friends,” he said, spreading her thighs apart with his knee to punctuate his point.
He proved that statement several times over before the end of the night. Julia had never seen him so uninhibited, so highly erotic; she did not know whether she would survive this dark and decadently unrestrained side of the man she loved. She was more than willing to try. He brought out the passion inside her that she had suppressed.
He took her in one powerful thrust.
The tenderness in his eyes was as devastating as his wild sexuality. Heart and body, she gave herself to him. He took her greedily, demanding more, and she answered.
She raised herself to his lean, pumping hips. Met the untamed surge of his body with her own tantalizing movements.
He teased her. She teased him back.
More than once he withdrew, slowed the depth of his thrusts to torment her. More than once she squeezed her inner muscles around him to glove him in wet heat only to relax as he neared his peak. It was a game they played to bring each other maximum pleasure.
Heath was a master at it.
Julia was giving him hard competition.
They would both claim victory in the end, but the enjoyment came in playing, not in following the rules.
He was shuddering with enjoyment, the muscles of his taut body straining when she took her release. She could not fight it. He had hammered at her until she could not hold back another moment, his face dark with unadulterated desire.
At the moment of her climax, he claimed her mouth in a hot hungry kiss. Julia surrendered to him, yielded to her deepest impulses with abandon. She gripped his shoulders and felt herself shatter beneath him, fragment in unbearable pleasure. He groaned, sheathed inside her.
There was nothing left but to follow their instincts, no matter where they would take them. Julia savored the unrestrained power of him, the sensations that inundated her, the helpless spasms that swept through her. Only hours ago they had confronted a killer. Having survived, having watched Heath triumph over his enemy, made this moment all the sweeter. He craved raw sex. Perhaps he needed oblivion. She obliged him.
She caressed his tight buttocks with her fingertips and drew him tighter. He had stripped her of everything but pure sensation. She moaned softly against his mouth. She scored his back with her nails when he released a deep growl and exploded inside her. He held her so tightly she could feel his heart pound, the tension in his muscles slowly ebb away. She touched his face with her fingertips.
The fragrance of their lovemaking scented the bedclothes and their damp, intertwined bodies. In another hour or so a new day would begin. Their intimacy would be interrupted, if not threatened. She knew that Russell would demand, and deserve, his explanation. She also knew that Heath would never be at peace with himself until he knew the truth about that day in the convent; Auclair’s words had affected him profoundly. Had he killed Auclair’s sister? Had he even been aware, in control of his actions? She would stand beside him no matter what he had done. He was a good man.
She thought of how the ton would look at them. The gossip that would erupt like a storm. Perhaps she would never return to London.
“We’ll never be invited anywhere after this,” she mused, not caring, wondering if he did.
He curled his arm around her waist. “One dead spy does not a scandal make. Besides, no one here tonight will talk.”
She was quiet for a moment, her eyes closed. Men had a way of reducing everything to the most basic terms. Especially Boscastle men, who seemed to believe that whatever they decided would be law. Or that they were above laws. Particularly social ones.
“I think you’ve forgotten Russell,” she said hesitantly. “The minor obstacle in the path of our illicit love. And when I speak of minor obstacles, I am referring to an obstacle the size of a small mountain.”
He grunted. It was a rude sound, and it made her giggle. “I shall take care of Russell, as I told you before. I haven’t forgotten him for one moment.” He pulled her warm sated body against his. “I suggest that you forget him, though. In fact, as your future husband, I demand it. My family will support you, no matter what anyone else says or does. I really do not give a damn about the others.”
“Perhaps I should have the first word with him,” she said softly.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“He isn’t going to hurt me.”
“I realize that.”
She kissed his throat. “It’s only fair, Heath.”
True to Heath’s prediction, the Boscastle family rallied around Julia the next day as if she were a royal relation about to be besieged by an army of peasants. Which, with their typical arrogance, the clan secretly believed everyone who did not support them to be.
&nbs
p; The family met to have a civilized breakfast of tea, coffee, eggs, bacon, crumpets, and jam. Listening to the lot of them joke and make plans for the week, Julia found herself wondering if Heath had actually killed a man last night. And then she realized that their high spirits were a heartfelt celebration of overcoming. They shared in everything, the good and the bad.
Even Hermia and Odham were laughing and exchanging secret looks. But then they were in love, having conquered many obstacles to accept what they felt. Perhaps that made the difference. The Boscastle family loved life, and loved one another, sometimes with a clash of emotion and will that proved quite painful.
The Boscastles took extreme measures. The word lukewarm did not exist in their world, and Julia found herself welcomed, embraced, a part of their passionate chaos.
The youngest devil of the brood, Devon Boscastle, appeared later in the morning, to the delight of everyone, then disappeared to take coffee and meet with his brothers. Julia did not know how Devon had learned of Auclair’s death. But she could tell by the way he grinned at Heath that he had been told and wanted to be part of the celebration.
Heath’s sisters Emma and Chloe, along with her husband, Dominic Breckland, Viscount Stratfield, had sent word that they were coming, too. The marquess would have a full house, or full house party, and his good spirits and enjoyment of entertaining were contagious.
Julia found herself seduced by the collective charm of the Boscastles, so swept up that she could have sworn the impossible had happened: she’d completely forgotten about the ugly complication she would have to confront.
Breaking her engagement to Russell.
He arrived at the house an hour after breakfast, as the family dispersed to change for a game of cricket on the lawn. Julia had lingered at the table over a last cup of tea, enjoying the sunny warmth that poured in the windows, a quiet moment to savor and reflect.
The sun seemed to disappear as a footman brought Russell to the room. She set down her cup and saucer, slowly rising from her chair. His face looked thinner, rather haggard, but he still cut a striking figure in his dark brown pantaloons and double-breasted riding jacket. His black eye patch, as always, gave him a dashing look. He was a familiar figure from her past, but her heart did not respond to him. They could never be happy together. She hoped he would accept that.
The Wedding Night of an English Rogue Page 29
