“You asked me if I thought Bedford is behind these attacks? I honestly don’t know. As Daniel says, Bedford has nothing to gain through Daniel’s murder, and everything to lose. But if a boy is capable of beating and maiming another, nearly severing his finger, then perhaps that boy is capable of murder as a man.” He paused and gave Julia a deliberate look. “You aren’t ruined, Lady Julia. Far from it, Daniel saved you.” He bowed, turned on his heel, and left.
Stunned, Julia stared at the closed door, swiping at the tears she realized streamed down her cheeks. She was an embarrassing water pot. Thank goodness, the room had cleared. She lifted Daniel’s hand, and grabbing a discarded washcloth, she washed his bloodied and battered knuckles, the mindless task soothing her.
Daniel had said his reasons for leaving for America were unimportant. He had lied. Murder. Why? Why would someone want to kill him? To what purpose? He was the second son of a duke. His lands comprised a mere four hundred acres of Lakeview Manor. She did not understand it. Too many pieces of the puzzle eluded her. Her eyes strayed to Daniel, and her breath hitched.
Someone had tried to murder him.
It was the only piece she did have. Brett had confided so much more than Daniel. Good lord, his childhood must have been a living nightmare. She shuddered, seeing a slim, almost delicate boy, head bent, hands thrust in his pockets as he strolled the banks of Lakeview Manor. So very alone. And bruised. She had seen it herself. A blackened eye or cheek, his innocuous explanations were often accompanied with a dismissive shrug.
Her thumb rubbed over his bruised knuckles, and she found another white scar on his middle finger. Nearly severed, Brett had said.
While she had realized her mistake in accepting Edmund’s hand, she had never fathomed how close her escape had been.
I think I was meant to come home for you.
Daniel saved you.
“Thank you,” she murmured. She lifted Daniel’s hand and pressed her lips to his scarred finger, her vision swimming again.
“My pleasure.”
The words were barely audible, but they had her jerking back as if they were shouted. She stared into Daniel’s eyes, or rather, one open heavy-lidded eye. It met hers for a few heartbeats before it slid closed, and his breathing evened out. Her heart fluttered. When she was sure he slept, she expelled her breath.
Sometimes it takes the scare of losing something precious for someone to realize its true value.
Daniel’s words about her father and Emily returning from grief echoed in the quiet room. Through a moist sheen of tears, she brushed Daniel’s hair from his forehead, her smile wavering. He was precious to her, but Brett was right. He needed to return to America before it was too late. She vowed to make sure he did so. Short of finding his murderer, it was all she could do for him.
He had saved her.
It was her turn to save him.
Chapter Seventeen
DANIEL awoke when he rolled to his side and a stabbing pain shot through him. His eyes flew open and he blinked, disoriented. He didn’t recognize the brass bed, the emerald green and gold brocade curtains and drapes, or the marble-topped nightstand. When his befuddled gaze located a young woman, curled up in a padded armchair and fast asleep, he relaxed. The room may be unfamiliar, but the beautiful woman was not.
Julia.
Once again, he approved of her streak of bluestocking independence, for a young woman did not enter a gentleman’s bedroom alone, let alone fall asleep in said chamber, in bed or out. His lips curved as he savored this rare chance to study her at his leisure, without her blue gaze staring him down or her delicate brow arched in question.
She wore a rose-colored silk dressing gown, her legs drawn up on the chair and tucked beside her. For the first time since his return, her hair was down. Loosely tied back, the long strands fell in a riotous mass of curling waves over her shoulder and to her waist. The pain in his side paled in comparison to his aching need to reach out and wrap his hand in the thick locks and pull her close.
He would then kiss those full, parted lips, long-lashed eyelids, the curve of her cheek, and . . . he groaned. This would not do. Same throbbing pain, new location, and there were no bandages to alleviate matters. He eased onto his back and glowered at the painted swirls in the ceiling.
“Are you all right?”
He turned his head and found Julia wide-awake. He swallowed. Good lord, if she would accept his bloody proposal, he could awaken to her looking at him like that every morning, though hopefully, minus the furrowed brow of concern.
She unfurled her legs and stood. Leaning over, she brushed his hair from his temple, and placed her hand on his forehead. “No fever. That’s good.” She straightened and smiled. “How are you feeling?”
It surprised him that he didn’t have a fever, for his body was burning, and her touch elevated his temperature another degree. He cleared his throat. “Like an apple tossed into the cider mill’s crusher.” He paused, wonder filling him at the moisture pooling in her eyes before she blinked it back. He hastened to allay her worry. “I look worse than I feel. Really. Bruises heal. The footpads picked the wrong group to rob.” When she still looked unconvinced, he pressed on. “They didn’t see Robbie. With his size, he only had to growl and they fled like the cowards they were.”
Julia quickly turned away and strode over to the commode. He frowned as she lifted her hand to swipe at her eye.
Something in his chest constricted. No one had ever shed tears over him before, had ever offered him compassion, and he was not sure how to respond. He swallowed down the lump in his throat and with it the compulsion to babble like an idiot. “Julia, I promise you, I am fine, been battered worse. I—”
She swung back around and fisted her hands at her sides. “It was not a robbery gone wrong, so don’t placate me with a lie. Someone tried to plunge a knife in you, and you could have been killed. And not for the first time. I know they tried to burn Lakeview Manor with you in it.” Unshed tears glistened in her eyes.
Stunned, his mouth dropped open, and then slammed shut. Brett. He cursed him and his big mouth. When Daniel got through with him, he would wish he had been the one cut last evening. He struggled to a sitting position, cursed the pain piercing his side, and fell back with a groan.
Julia’s anger vanished, and she was at his side, her hand on his shoulder. “Stay still. Do you want to open the wound again? For goodness’ sake, you need to lie down and let yourself heal.”
Daniel glowered and propped himself more slowly on his elbows, resisting her efforts to push him back.
“Daniel, stop it,” she cried. “Stop it or I’ll get my father in here to hold you down.”
Amused, he paused to consider her words. “Not a good idea with you dressed like that and me like this and us having spent the night together—”
She yanked her hand back as if his skin burned and hissed at him. “We did no such thing,” she gasped.
“We did. I woke up and you were sound asleep on the chair. It’s official now. We have spent the night together, so you have to marry me. I have now compromised you twice.” He groaned and collapsed back on the bed, the strain of propping himself up having taken its toll. “But don’t send for the vicar just yet. Give me a few days . . .”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You cannot compromise someone twice. Once they are ruined, the matter is finished. There is no . . .” Her voice trailed off and she pressed her hand to her forehead. “This conversation is not relevant. You are deliberately trying to distract me. It will not succeed, and we are not marrying in a few days, because you are leaving. You are returning to America as soon as possible. You cannot stay. Last night proved it. It is too dangerous. Brett Curtis told me—”
“Too much, that is what he told you,” he muttered. He attempted to sit up again, but Julia was beside him, pressing back on his shoulders.
“Wait, stop! If you insist on sitting up, let me help you before you open your wound and bleed all over the bed linens.”
>
“Fine.” He started to sit up, but when her hand moved to slip behind him, he stopped and sank back into the pillows. “I . . . I ah . . . I can manage on my own. I am fine, really.”
She stared at him and straightening, she spoke softly. “I have seen the scars. It is a small sacrifice to pay for your life. You could have been killed and you survived. Those scars are a reminder of that and carry no shame.”
Stunned, his lips parted, and his heart beat off rhythm. Many women had turned away at the sight, appalled. Not his Julia. Nothing scared her. Except marriage. To him.
“Stop scowling, and let me help you,” she said.
He eased himself up enough for her to slip her arm beneath his shoulders.
She yanked his pillows up to cushion his back. “There. Now ease back slowly.”
He glanced over his shoulder and grinned. “Can you leave your arm around me and sit beside me? It reduces the pain.”
Their gazes met, and a thrum of awareness filled the air before she snatched her arm free, letting him sink back onto the pillows with a groan.
“You deserved that. For goodness’ sake, I am trying to help you and you cannot be serious for one minute. This is a dangerous situation. You need to treat it as such.”
“I am,” he protested, his humor gone. “You can be sure I will watch my back from now on. But what I will not do, and what you are asking me to do, is to run away. I did that once. I am done running.”
“What do you think you are going to accomplish by staying? Provide them with a target to practice on until they perfect their aim?” She folded her arms across her chest and awaited his response.
He did not have any answers to that.
The silence stretched, but Julia was formidable.
Sighing, he lifted his hands and swiped them through his hair. “I am going to kill Brett.”
“Yelling at friends who care about you will not change the situation. Besides, he did not tell me anything, just warned me that it was dangerous for you to remain here. He told me I had to get the full story from you, which will be difficult because you only give half of the story, like you did about Edmund.”
“He told you about Edmund, too? He is going to die. Right now!” Daniel flipped his covers back and made to get up, but Julia rushed over to him.
“No! No, he is not here. For goodness’ sake, you can kill him when you heal. You have enough bruises on your body. Please, no more.” She yanked the covers out of his hands and bent over him to tuck them back in around him.
When her eyes lifted to his, her anguish dispelled his anger. He cupped her cheek, turning her face toward his. “I am sorry, Julia. So very sorry that I scared you.”
“Then don’t do it again! Go home. Go to America,” she begged.
His hand dropped and he sighed. “I cannot. I did that once. I left everything behind, buried myself in work and tried to forget. But over the years, the questions were like this wound, only they would not close and they festered. A decade ago, I lost everything precious to me, nearly including my life. I will not leave until I get answers. I do not know what Edmund is looking for, and I have no idea why someone wants me dead, but I will find out.”
Julia dropped like a stone onto his bed. Her gaze studied him with a sharp scrutiny, and she must have read the conviction in his expression, for she nodded, looking resigned. “Fine. Then I will help you.”
“What? No! Absolutely not. It is too dangerous. I will not allow it.”
“You are too weak to stop me. We are also not betrothed, so you cannot tell me what I can or cannot do. But you did make me an offer, and you are responsible for ruining me as you like to remind me, so I have a vested interest in your survival. Saving you saves me.”
He stared at her. “That is the most ridiculous piece of logic I have ever heard.”
She shrugged. “I am involved. I have spent a long, uncomfortable night caring for your worthless, ungrateful hide, even if it is so thick that knives cannot pierce it. I have earned the right to make sure it remains in one piece. Just in case I decide to marry you.”
He blinked at her and then he couldn’t help it, he laughed. He stopped immediately, for it irritated his side. “So if I let you assist me, and I survive, does this mean you will marry me?”
“I will give it serious consideration.”
She looked so earnest, he had to stifle his laugh again.
He could not resist. He grasped the long rope of curls that tumbled over her shoulder. His knuckles brushed her breast, and he heard her ragged intake of breath. He did what he had yearned to do since he had opened his eyes to a lovely angel sitting bedside vigil. He wrapped the thick strands around his hand and reeled her in. “Maybe I can help expedite your decision.” His voice was husky as his eyes dropped to her lips.
“You can,” she whispered back, her gaze meeting his, inches away. She was so close he could see tiny white streaks like starbursts flaring out in the blue of her eyes.
Mesmerized, it took him a moment before her words registered. He leaned forward, but her hand, firm and warm on his shoulder stopped him. Damned if his temperature didn’t ratchet up another notch.
“By telling me what you mean about Edmund looking for something. By telling me all you have not told me. By trusting in me.”
Surprised, he paused. So she was telling the truth. Brett hadn’t told her everything after all. He considered her plea. He was a good negotiator; it was time he employed those skills in order to practice other more pleasurable skills. “I will tell you everything and let you assist me—at a safe distance and with my supervision—if you give me something in return.” He kept his voice to a low murmur.
“Isn’t my assistance in keeping you alive enough?” she whispered back.
He smiled. “Well, Robbie’s bigger than you. As I said, he growls and people scatter. But you have something else that I want, that only you can provide.”
“What is it?” she breathed, her own lips curving.
“One kiss, freely given.”
She paused as if to consider the matter. “And then you will tell me everything? No more secrets?”
He looked offended. “I never kept secrets. I just did not tell . . . Never mind. Yes, I will tell you everything.” Why not? There was not much to tell because he did not know a damn thing—yet.
Her eyes met his, and she lifted her hand to gently finger the swelling surrounding his left eye, nearly closing it, and then featherlight, she swept it over his bruised cheek. The gentle touch combined with her look of tenderness nearly undid him. He did not dare to move, not even to breathe, for she was like a bird, poised for flight. The clicking of a distant clock filled in the hushed, expectant silence.
Her eyes dipped to his lips. “One kiss.” And then she lowered her head.
Her lips were full, and so incredibly soft. She kissed him tentatively, a light pressure against his lips. She teased and tempted, in small nibbles, filling him with a longing so strong, he nearly begged.
His fist tightened in her hair, his other hand cradling the nape of her neck, his thumb resting on the beating pulse in her throat. With gentle pressure, he lured her closer. And then he opened his mouth and drank her in. She tasted of innocence and sweet promises. His tongue delved deeply and desire pounded through him.
He wanted her. More of her. All of her.
She groaned against his lips, igniting his passion to a fevered pitch.
He released her hair to thread his fingers down the split V of her silk robe, his fingers touching warm, silken skin.
She drew away and stared at him through passion-glazed eyes.
“Good lord, I want you,” he breathed.
Her eyes widened, her pink tongue darting out to moisten her lips. “Yes, well, the bargain was for one kiss.” Her voice was hoarse, as if she hadn’t used it in a while because her mouth was busy with other matters. She started to pull away, but his hand around her nape held her in place.
“I want more than one kiss. I w
ant to touch you and have you touch me. I want to make love to you.” He lifted his head and captured her lips again, which had parted in surprise. His fingers slid lower, curving over a full breast, his thumb slid over an aroused peak. “Give in to me, Julia. Be mine, and let me be yours.”
Her eyes flew open and she drew back with a gasp. “We must stop. This is not right. You are wounded . . . and . . . need to regain your strength.” She struggled to her feet, cinching her robe tightly together, her hands not quite steady.
“All the parts that need to work are perfectly healthy,” he muttered.
“You are trying to seduce me to make me forget our bargain. You need—”
“Of course I am,” he growled, lifting his hands to drag them down his face, grimacing at the swelling on his eye. Perhaps she was right. He was a bit of a mess. But he wouldn’t be for long. He spoke more calmly. “Fine. I will slow down, give us both more time. Just not too much of it.”
She frowned at the echo of his earlier warning. “I will return after I dress. I will have something brought to you to break your fast. Are you hungry?”
“I was, but not necessarily for food.” He couldn’t resist the trite quip.
She grinned. “Yes, well, knowing you, I am confident that you will not pass up hot scones, or anything else edible as long as I have the cook douse it in sugar or syrup.”
“Too true. It is my favorite dream of you.” Delighted, he admired the pink flush suffusing her cheeks, like rose wine filling a delicate glass.
“I have to go.” She whirled and practically ran to the door. She stopped, her hand on the knob, the other pressed flat on the doorframe, and spoke with her back to him. “I am glad you are all right.”
And then she was gone.
His smile was smug as he settled himself more comfortably into the pillows. Brett was right. Wooing a woman was much easier when you were safely ensconced in their house, and they were worried for you. He was not keen on Julia assisting him with his agenda, but recalling her clever mind and keen eye for detail, the idea held merit. He would let her help—as long as he could keep her safe. If not, all bargains were off.
The Heart of a Duke Page 18
