Rapture Becomes Her

by Shirlee Busbee

  “Yes,” Barnaby said, and as the coach rolled homeward, proceeded to tell Lamb the exact sequence of events.

  Lamb nodded several times and when Barnaby finished speaking he said, “Well, at least now we know that someone is definitely trying to kill you and that nothing has been an accident.”

  His gaze on the passing countryside, Barnaby asked abruptly, “Do you think that Simon could be behind the attacks?”

  Surprised, Lamb questioned, “Simon? Now why has your fancy hit upon him?”

  “Because Mathew and Thomas are not in the area—they’re at Monks Abbey several hours away and not due to arrive at Windmere until Monday. Simon, I would remind you, is still at Windmere, roaming freely about.”

  “Yes, but . . .” Lamb frowned. “It’s possible . . . he did go for a ride this morning. . . .”

  His face grim, Barnaby said, “Find out, discreetly, what time my dear cousin Simon left for his ride this morning, the direction, if possible, and when he returned.”

  They rode in silence a bit, then Lamb asked, “Are you going to tell Luc?”

  “Yes. It’s only fair and it will be comforting to have another pair of eyes watching my back.” Barnaby grimaced, thinking of Emily. Why was it fair to tell Luc, but not Emily? Was he being fair to her, keeping the truth from her? I should have told her, he thought again, conscious of the hole he had dug for himself. Recalling the militant look in her eye, he sighed. She hadn’t believed him anyway, and unless he missed his guess, his prevarication had been for naught.

  Peckham was horrified by Barnaby’s pink-and-lavender-hued forehead when he arrived back at Windmere, but Barnaby brushed aside the butler’s sympathy as he ascended the stairs to his rooms.

  Simon appeared concerned when they met that afternoon but Barnaby caught him looking at him with a queer expression in his eyes when Simon thought himself unobserved. Guilty conscience? Astonishment that he was still alive? Or genuine puzzlement? Perhaps even worry? But why would Simon worry if he believed it was only an accident?

  Anne, Hugh and Mrs. Althea Townsend arrived at The Birches late Saturday afternoon and Emily hadn’t known how much she had missed her stepmother until Hugh helped Anne down from the big old traveling coach. Anne embraced her and whispered in her ear, “Oh, Emily, my dear! I could not be happier for you.”

  Althea Townsend was just as always, sweet and easygoing, her blue eyes as beautiful as they had been when she had been a girl of twenty. Over the years, her once glorious golden hair had faded to a lovely champagne color, but her delicate figure was only a little rounder than it had been the day she married Jeffery and Hugh’s father, Emily’s father’s younger brother. Emily always thought that Aunt Althea, with her champagne curls, blue eyes and pink cheeks, resembled a big, china-faced doll. Cornelia routinely dismissed Althea as a pretty pea-goose but she was very fond of her and no one could deny that Althea was as kind as she was silly.

  Once she had been helped from the coach by Jeffery, Althea, with those blue eyes full of affection and pleasure, had hugged Emily and congratulated her on her coming wedding. Tucking her small hand under Emily’s arm, she breathed, “My goodness! It has been an exciting few weeks, hasn’t it? Now you must tell me all about Joslyn. I hear he is very large and not very handsome and speaks a strange sort of English.”

  Smothering a laugh, Emily patiently tried to explain Barnaby to her aunt—especially the soft, Virginia drawl that marked his speech. After Althea had greeted Cornelia in the foyer, Emily guided her upstairs to the room Althea would use during her stay at the house. It was the same room Barnaby had used only hours earlier and Emily was relieved to see that Walker and Jane had removed all signs of that brief occupancy. There was even a large bouquet of gay, welcoming daffodils placed on the small table near one of the windows. Althea was charmed.

  With his mother present and aware that he had no allies in the house, Jeffery was graciousness itself. He welcomed Anne back profusely, greeted his brother with a hearty smile and proceeded to dote on his mother. His attentiveness to Althea was so marked, especially compared to his usual indifference, that as he solicitously escorted her to the green salon after dinner that evening, she peered up at him and asked, puzzled, “My dear, are you feeling quite the thing?”

  Hugh and Cornelia had gone ahead, and Anne and Emily following behind Jeffery and Althea overheard the question and convulsed with laughter. Althea, even more puzzled by their laughter, looked back at them. “What?” she demanded. “Surely you have noticed that he is not acting like himself.”

  When Anne and Emily only shook their heads, she turned to Jeffery and murmured, “I think the approaching wedding has made everyone giddy.”

  Jeffery shot the two younger women a murderous look, but then smiling benignly down at his mother, he said jovially, “I believe you are right. We are all of us excited and silly with delight. Just think, our sweet Emily, a viscountess!”

  Sunday, at the third and final calling of the banns, Barnaby, with Emily at his side, his forehead now an eye-popping purple, ran the gauntlet of shocked well-wishers, deftly turning aside anyone who probed too closely about the circumstances of his accident. After the service, by mentioning to several people his delight at the sudden arrival of his half brother, Lucien, Barnaby was able to accomplish two things: deflect interest from his accident and smooth the way for Luc’s appearance at the wedding. His brother, he added somberly, couldn’t be here this morning because he was recovering from a debilitating fever contracted while traveling on the continent. It was hoped Lucien would be well enough to attend the wedding.

  At Windmere that evening there was a small dinner party and the guests, all family members, except for the vicar and his wife, tactfully ignored Barnaby’s bruise. If anyone doubted that a fall from his horse had been the cause, they were all too polite to say so.

  While Luc had not attended church, he did make an appearance at the dinner party, and except for his slenderness and extreme pallor, looked extremely handsome as he was introduced and bowed elegantly over the ladies’ hands. There had been no time to obtain suitable clothing for him and only Barnaby knew his half brother was tricked out in some hastily cut down clothing of Barnaby’s.

  Luc’s illegitimacy alone would cause gossip enough and his unexpected arrival only added to the curiosity about him, but there was no help for it. Deciding that the sooner Luc was introduced to the country society the better, Barnaby had suggested that his half brother join them that Sunday evening. Since it was primarily a family party, except for the vicar and his wife, it seemed an ideal time for Luc to make his first appearance.

  His eyes twinkling with amusement, Barnaby presented Luc first to Cornelia, who was looking very regal in a gown of amber shot-silk and her steel-gray hair piled high on her head, diamond-and-topaz earrings dangling from her ears. Luc bowed gracefully and took Cornelia’s hand in his and pressed a kiss on her wrinkled skin. From the sparkle in her eyes, Barnaby knew she was pleased.

  “Very prettily done,” she murmured, when Luc released her hand and straightened. “Your great-grandfather couldn’t have done it better.”

  A teasing gleam in the azure eyes, Luc replied, “Surely, such an attractive lady as yourself is far too young to have known my great-grandfather.”

  Cornelia chuckled, liking him, and tapped him on the cheek with her painted silk-and-lace fan. “Doing it up too brown, my boy.”

  “You wound me, madame,” Luc cried, clutching his heart, though his eyes danced.

  Cornelia snorted, but there was laughter in her voice when she said, “Well, take your wounded self across the room and share your charm on someone who’s not old enough to be your grandmother and might actually believe you.”

  After introducing Luc to the assembled guests, Barnaby returned to Cornelia.

  “Well, what do you think?” he asked.

  “I think that he’s going to cause havoc amongst the ladies,” she said. Smiling, she added, “Which is just as well, since you’ve bee
n taken from the field, but we’ll have to do a little spade work to ensure that he is welcomed everywhere.”

  Barnaby didn’t doubt that Cornelia would do her best to quell the worst of the gossip about Luc and she assured him that Penelope Smythe could be counted on to lend a hand.

  “Penelope knows everyone in the area,” Cornelia told him. “And she adores intrigue. Under the guise of spreading gossip, she will be able to present your half brother in the best possible light—and stop much of the speculation before it starts.” She grinned at Barnaby. “Actually the timing of his arrival couldn’t be better—everyone is so excited about the wedding on Tuesday that I suspect no one will pay him much heed.” Her gaze slid to Luc. “Besides, he has the devil’s own charm and with very little help from us, he’ll do just fine.”

  Watching Luc moving about the room, smiling and talking animatedly with Simon, Hugh and the vicar and then a few minutes later charming Anne, Penelope Smythe and Althea Townsend, Barnaby decided that Cornelia might be right. Luc would be fine.

  Feeling he had done what he could to smooth Luc’s way, Barnaby set about pleasing himself. Unfortunately, beyond exchanging glances with Emily during the dinner that followed, it wasn’t until after the meal and they’d all gathered in the gold salon for tea and coffee that he was finally able to have a private word with her. Cutting her deftly away from the ladies, he walked her to the edge of the room for a few minutes of low-voiced private conversation. Glancing down, he murmured, “Ah, alone at last.”

  Emily smiled and with a hand she indicated the room full of guests. “Alone?”

  Barnaby sighed. “Well, as alone as I can arrange things right now.”

  Which was just as well, Emily thought, remembering how close she had come to surrendering to him two nights ago. Thinking of those passionate kisses and his hand on her breast sent a warm thrill through her. If Walker had not interrupted them . . . She swallowed, wondering where calm, levelheaded Emily had gone. In Barnaby’s arms she forgot everything but the delight of his kiss, his touch . . . A flush stained her cheeks when she felt her nipples tighten.

  Seeing her blush and having a good idea what she was thinking, he muttered, “If I had you alone, our lips would be very busy, but we certainly wouldn’t be talking.”

  “Talking is exactly what we should be doing,” she said, determinedly thrusting aside the vivid thoughts of Barnaby’s lips moving over her body.

  He grimaced. She was right, of course. This was torture, having her so close and yet unable to touch and caress her as he longed to do.

  Taking a deep breath, he said, “I think we have events well in hand, don’t you?”

  Grateful for a safer topic, she replied, “I agree. When one thinks how things could have turned out, we do, indeed, have events well in hand . . . for the moment.”

  “For the moment,” Barnaby agreed, not having forgotten about the Nolles gang or that someone was trying to kill him. Despite his good intentions, he couldn’t help his gaze from lingering on her, thinking that she looked particularly lovely this evening with that glorious mane of fair hair tamed into soft ringlets that framed her face and wearing a gown of lavender satin and an overskirt of pale green gauze. Of course, what interested him more was all the warm, silky flesh hidden beneath the gown and, remembering the sensation of his hands sliding over that sweet skin, heat flared in his groin.

  Smothering a groan, he dragged his eyes away from Emily, concentrating instead on stifling a certain part of his anatomy that had no sense of timing. What he wouldn’t give, he thought, for the wedding to be behind them and to know that when they retired tonight it would be to each other’s arms and he could slake the hot ache for her that seldom left him these days.

  Peckham appeared and walked quickly over to Barnaby. Bowing, he murmured, “My lord, Mr. Mathew and Mr. Thomas have arrived unexpectedly.” He coughed delicately. “I’ve had their luggage taken up to the rooms they used during their previous stay. I trust that meets with your approval.”

  “Do whatever is necessary to make them comfortable,” Barnaby said. Mathew and Thomas had not been expected to return to Windmere until tomorrow night and he wondered idly what had prompted their earlier arrival. He smiled without amusement. It certainly wasn’t a fondness for his company.

  Glancing at Peckham, Barnaby asked, “Are they going to join us?”

  “If that is your wish, my lord. They’re aware you have guests . . . they did not wish to intrude.”

  “They’re my cousins,” Barnaby said. “They could hardly be called intruders. Show them in when they’re ready.”

  Five minutes after Peckham had departed the salon the butler returned to announce Mr. Mathew Joslyn and Mr. Thomas Joslyn. Barnaby left Emily with Cornelia and Anne and walked over to greet them, prepared for their reactions to the gash on his forehead—and the magnificent bruise that surrounded it.

  Mathew’s eyes widened when he caught sight of the bruise and the alarm on his handsome face seemed genuine. “Good God!” Mathew exclaimed, as he stood in front of Barnaby. “Simon wrote that you had taken a spill, but he made no mention of the lasting effects.” Shaking his head, he added, “Seeing for myself the results of your accident, I understand Simon’s anxiety and why he wrote me. Dash it all, Barnaby, you could have been killed!”

  “Simon wrote you?” Barnaby asked, honing in on the only part of Mathew’s speech that interested him.

  “Yes,” Tom said quickly, stepping next to Mathew. “A messenger delivered his note explaining your unfortunate accident to us last night at Monks Abbey. This morning we decided that nothing would do but that we see for ourselves the extent of your injuries.”

  Simon strolled up and, sending his brothers a sharp look, he said, “I think we should discuss this privately—after the guests have left.”

  “Yes, yes, of course,” Mathew said hastily, recalled to their surroundings. The two new arrivals knew everyone present except for Luc, and from the shock on their faces when Luc was introduced to them, it was obvious that in his note Simon had failed to mention Luc’s sudden appearance at Windmere. Simon’s actions in sending a note posthaste to his brothers perplexed Barnaby and made him wonder precisely what was going on. Was it possible that all three brothers were involved in a plot to kill him and Simon had written to warn them that the latest attempt had failed?

  The vicar and his wife had been on the verge of taking their leave when Thomas and Mathew arrived, but they remained several minutes longer to visit with the newcomers. After the vicar and his wife finally departed, it wasn’t long after that the Townsend coach was called for and the entire group, escorted by Barnaby and the other Joslyn men, gathered at the front of the mansion.

  Barnaby sighed as he helped Emily ascend the coach, regretting that there would be no stolen kisses tonight. Pressing a warm kiss onto the palm of her hand, he said, “I shall see you tomorrow afternoon.”

  Worry in her eyes, she said, “Only if you bring Lamb or one of your cousins with you.”

  Since he doubted Lamb would let him out of his sight, Barnaby graciously agreed. A crooked smile on his lips, he said, “As you wish, my love.”

  Once the coach lights had disappeared into the darkness the men walked together back into the house. Luc looked exhausted and Barnaby whispered to him, “Shall I make an excuse for you?”

  Luc shook his head and muttered, “And leave you alone with the enemy?”

  As they crossed the huge foyer, Mathew suggested that they retire to Barnaby’s study and shrugging, Barnaby agreed. In his study, the three brothers arranged themselves at one side of the room; Mathew remained standing, while Thomas and Simon seated themselves in a pair of leather chairs. Barnaby and Luc took the opposite end of the room, Barnaby taking up a position near the fireplace, Luc sinking down gratefully onto the sofa.

  “I suppose you are wondering what this is all about,” Mathew said heavily.

  His eyes on Simon, Barnaby said, “I assume it has to do with Simon’s note.”<
br />
  Simon flushed. “I’m no tale bearer, but your latest ‘accident’ worried me and I felt Mathew should know about it.”

  “A fall from my horse? Now why should that worry any of you?”

  “Because, dash it all, since January, this is the third time you’ve suffered a serious accident,” Mathew snapped.

  Barnaby stilled. “The third time? I know of only two accidents.”

  Mathew made an impatient movement with his hand. Angrily he said, “Don’t play me for a fool! There was always something smoky about the yacht disappearing like it did and then about the time the yacht vanishes, you’re suddenly bedridden at The Crown. You were in rude health when I saw you the previous morning before you left London, yet you turn up at The Crown so ill that you had to remain the night at the inn—when Windmere is only miles away.” Mathew snorted. “What happened? Did you sink her and nearly drown in the process? Another accident?”

  “So you know what happened to the yacht?”

  Mathew sighed. “Not all of it. I always suspected that you had something to do with its disappearance; the timing was too coincidental. But if you didn’t want to admit you’d sunk her in the Channel, it was none of my business.” Mathew shot him a level look. “Servants see things, and though Lamb was discreet, someone noticed that after you arrived, he left your room once with some bloody bandages, a clear indication that in addition to your illness you suffered a wound of some sort.”

  Barnaby didn’t believe that Lamb had been so foolish and he was convinced that “someone” had done some serious snooping or already knew about the wound. . . .

  “Suppose you’re right,” Barnaby said slowly. “Suppose I was on the yacht when it sank. Suppose I did get a blow to my head and nearly drowned. And suppose I have suffered a few accidents since then. What does it matter to you?”

  His eyes bleak, Mathew declared bluntly, “Because I don’t want your death on my conscience. My brothers and I are convinced that someone is trying to kill you.”