Shrouded Passions

by Faye Hall

  David was trailing behind the other two men. “Maybe it was better times for you, brother.”

  Just then a flock of whistler ducks flew up into the sky. David aimed and fired his rifle, but none of the game fell to the ground.

  “Bloody hell! That was my last bullet too.” Lowering his rifle, David turned and looked at his brother. “Why insist I come shooting with you when we both know I can’t see much further than my nose?”

  “What?” Jack asked, confused by what he was hearing.

  George laughed. “You always were as blind as a bat, David. If I hadn’t gone hunting with you back in England, there wouldn’t have been any meat on our tables ever. Bit like now actually.” George checked his pouch for bullets. “Good thing this trip was for fun and not food, because I’m out of bullets also.”

  Jack stood watching the two brothers, memories of another time returning to him.

  “It was you who shot that man,” Jack murmured, events from the past finally becoming clear to him. “All these years, all the lies you’ve told…”

  “What the hell are you jabbering about?” George asked.

  “It wasn’t David who shot Henry Davern’s son back in Victoria,” Jack answered him, now in perfect clarity. “It was you, George.”

  “Jack, I told you what happened that day, remember?” George said, his voice steady as it usually was when he was trying to will down the other man.

  Jack’s eyes narrowed on the deceitful man before him. “You told me what you wanted me to hear.”

  George started approaching him cautiously. “After all these years, does it really matter? Victoria was so very long ago. We are different men now.”

  Jack lifted and aimed his rifle at him. “You bastard! I have torn my life apart for your lies! I have watched my wife die and I have manipulated my son’s life all because of you!”

  “Jack—”

  “No, George!” Jack cut him off. “No more! My son will not play your pawn as I have. His engagement to Elizabeth shall be broken. Devon will wed whom he wishes.”

  “It appears your son’s wish is my daughter, Jack,” David finally spoke up.

  “And for that I am sorry, David, but please don’t punish him for the sins and foolishness of his father,” Jack said apologetically, glancing briefly at David before returning his watchful eye to George.

  “You bastard!” George raised his voice. “You agreed our children would wed. You swore on it!”

  “He wants our gold, David, did you know that?” Jack continued as if George hadn’t spoken. “He thinks what we stole back in Victoria should have been all his, that we owed it to him. That we still owe it to him.”

  “Don’t listen to him, David,” George tried pleading.

  “He wanted me to help steal your gold from you, David,” Jack continued. “That’s why he wants my son betrothed to his daughter, to get what’s left of my gold too.”

  George stormed toward him. “You son of a bitch! I’ll teach you!”

  Jack cocked his rifle and aimed it at George. “Unlike your brother, I am a very good shot. Now here is what will happen, George. You will release my son from his engagement to your daughter. You will leave David’s and my own remaining Victorian gold where it belongs—with us!”

  George stopped, standing still as he tried to stand down the once weaker man. “And if I don’t?”

  Jack smiled, for once feeling as if he had the upper hand. “Then the police will be told the truth about how you stole that gold and shot that man. You want all the gold, George, then it is you who can hang for it too.”­

  * * * *

  Elizabeth Fanti walked up behind where Devon stood in the Higgins’ dancehall.

  “I didn’t think to see you here tonight, Devon.”

  He glanced over his shoulder at her. “I was invited by David Higgins himself, Elizabeth. How, pray tell, did you come to be here?”

  She ran her fingers suggestively along his shoulders. “I’m family, Devon. It is expected that I be here.”

  Being unaffected by Elizabeth’s meager flirtations, Devon noticed from the corner of his eye as she looked out across the dancehall to see what had captured his attention. Following the direction of his gaze, he saw the moment Elizabeth noticed Lotte being spun around the dancehall by a rather young, handsome man.

  “You may be waiting a while if you’re after a dance with my cousin out there, Devon,” Elizabeth said tartly. “She enjoys nights such as this. She looks upon it as research.”

  “Research?” Devon asked, his line of sight never leaving Lotte. “What are you blathering about?”

  “Lotte writes stories of a kind,” Elizabeth explained, her palm running affectionately down along his arm and to his hand holding his glass of brandy. “Though I’m sure her scribbles would be far more welcome in a brothel than amongst polite society.”

  Devon knew Elizabeth was waiting for his disgusted reaction, for him to be repulsed by what she had just told him, but she didn’t receive any of that.

  Leaning against him, her breasts brushed against his back, her lips near his ear. “She keeps them hidden in her bedroom. You really should read them. They will be an eye opener.”

  Kissing him lightly at the base of his earlobe, Elizabeth left his company and walked into the crowd of revelers.­

  Devon stood there, swirling his brandy around in his glass, Elizabeth’s words running through his head. He didn’t want to believe what she had told him about Lotte; he wanted to think her words were little more than the words of a jealous woman.

  Watching Lotte with these men on the dance floor made him wonder exactly what kind of woman she was when they weren’t together. Was she only playing the part of her father’s daughter, and entertaining the sons of David Higgins’s many business associates, or was she really using these men as research in some book?

  Lotte had never mentioned her writings to him before. Still, that didn’t mean they didn’t exist. If she did indeed write the kind of things Elizabeth just told him of, it was no wonder they remained a secret.

  Shaking his head, Devon called himself a fool. Elizabeth was only trying to cause trouble. There was no other reason for their conversation. Needing another drink to clear his mind of the suspicion Elizabeth had tried to plant there, Devon walked over to the drinks table.

  “That’s the young man there,” he overheard as he walked behind Elizabeth and the group of ladies she was talking with. “She was caught in a, um, compromising position they say. She never even tried to deny it when they were found together. She only claimed to be researching for a book.”

  Jealousy burned inside him as he continued walking toward the drinks table. Was Lotte really found with another man? Was she really guilty of things even his heart couldn’t forgive? Devon didn’t know. All he knew was he had to find out the truth. Now.

  Chapter 8

  Devon searched the dancehall for Lotte, but he couldn’t find her anywhere. Frantically, he began drifting back to the rooms of the estate house, needing to find her, needing to find some answers. Opening doors, Devon looked behind each one, desperate to discover Lotte’s room, desperate to know the truth. Finally, finding what looked to be her abode, Devon searched the small writing desk for any signs of the contents of her stories. He found nothing. Turning around in her room, Devon looked for where else such scandalous scripts could be hidden, if they indeed existed.

  Slowly, he walked over to the chest of drawers, needing to see if this is where her secrets lie, but scared too of what he might find. He didn’t want Elizabeth’s words to be true. He wanted Lotte to be the woman who surrendered her purity to him and would continue to stay true to him throughout their years ahead together. Devon couldn’t bear the thought of discovering Lotte to be little better than the few other women he had shared a bed with, women who used any man to find their pleasure, only to move to another the next night at a different gathering.

  Carefully opening the drawer, his gaze settled in the silken intimates
within. His fingers running over the soft fabric, Devon looked beneath to see if maybe this was the hiding spot he’d been looking for.

  There, beneath Lotte’s silken undergarments, lay sheets of loose paper covered in the most elegant handwriting Devon had ever seen. Taking the sheets from the drawer, he sat on the corner of the bed and began to read.

  He stood at the edge of the lake staring at me. I wanted to ask him to join me, but I was fearful he might refuse me.

  Devon turned to another page.

  Holding me tightly against his naked self, he waded us through the water, my back pressing hard against the solid rock. I could feel the passion he had for me as he pressed against the apex of my thighs…

  Devon could read no more, nor did he have to. He knew what happened next. How could he not when on these pages lay near word for word of everything he had shared with Lotte their first night together at the waterhole.

  Part of him was infuriated that their most intimate encounters were written down for anyone to find and read. Another part of him needed to find Lotte, to ask her why she had written these things. Were these pages little more than a diary or were they some piece of smut for others to read and drool over? Devon didn’t know, but he was going to go find her and ask her this very question.­

  * * * *

  Lotte moved around the dance floor, a practiced smile on her lips.

  “Do you have information for me, Jeremy?” she asked the young man dancing with her.

  He too held a practiced smile. “I have a little, Miss Higgins. Servants are being ordered around the house by Elizabeth to follow yourself and Mr. Munroy. She has been threatening them all with their lives and that of their families should they not do her bidding.”

  Lotte didn’t try to hide her confusion. “But why would anyone want me followed?”

  Jeremy shrugged. “I don’t know, miss. But I have been told there are servants also being killed at the Fanti estate after Elizabeth no longer has use for them.”

  “What does George Fanti say about all of this going on around him?” Lotte asked, not trying to hide her concern.

  “He seems oblivious to any wrong his daughter can do,” was Jeremy’s reply.

  “What does she have planned for my father?” Lotte asked, suddenly worried of what may eventuate for her family.

  “We need to talk,” Devon demanded, barging in and interrupting their dance.

  “Devon?” Lotte asked, unsure of his sudden urgency. “Whatever is the matter?”

  Devon’s look was dark. “I need to talk to you now!”

  Lotte became fearful of what happened to cause his sudden change in mood.

  “Devon, I will join you outside shortly. I need to finish—”

  He reached for her, grabbing her wrist painfully, pulling her away from Jeremy. “You will join me now!” he said angrily as he dragged her behind him from the crowded dancehall and out into the night darkened gardens.

  “Let me go, Devon!” Lotte cried as he pulled her behind him, further and further into the gardens.

  Upon reaching the now abandoned, original cottage her father had built that still lay on the grounds, Lotte managed to pull herself free from Devon’s threatening hold.

  “What the hell are you doing?” she yelled at him. “Have you gone completely mad?”

  Devon stood studying her, his eyes looking as if they were searching for something. Finally, he broke his silence.

  “Why do you write your stories, Lotte?” Devon asked her. “Who are they about?”

  Lotte could feel fear and betrayal growing inside her. She hadn’t told him of her writings, so why would he be asking about them now?

  Not waiting for her answer, he continued. “I found them in your room and read them. You wrote about us, Lotte. About how we met, about the first time we made love, every sordid detail there for anyone and everyone to read.”

  Lotte was pained that Devon would snoop through her belongings to find something she was sure was hidden from the world.

  “Are there more of these stories?” he asked. “Are there other men you have seduced only so you might write a story about them?”

  Though Lotte could hear the pain in his words, she couldn’t ignore the hurt she felt at his accusation. Walking away from him, Lotte entered her father’s old cottage, lighting the few remaining lamps.

  “Lotte,” Devon said as he followed her inside. “Please tell me, Lotte. Help me understand.”

  She turned to face him. “Who told you of my writings?”

  “It was Elizabeth,” Devon answered. “At first, I thought it was just the rantings of a jealous woman, but then I saw you with that man in there, I saw the way you looked at him. I can’t bear the thought of you having lain with other men, Lotte. Nor can I bear the thought of you publishing our love for all to read about.”

  Lotte studied this man before her, part of her curious about how Elizabeth knew of her writings, another part curious of his intense reaction.

  “You’re jealous?” she asked.

  Devon didn’t answer her.

  She slowly walked toward him, needing to make him understand some truths. “That man you saw me with inside is an informant of mine who has been keeping an eye on Elizabeth for me. He is nothing more to me. He is also the son of one of my father’s business associates, so familiarity is expected of me. But familiarity is neither affection nor attraction, Devon.”

  “Has he touched you?” Devon asked in barely more than a whisper. “Have any of those other men your father throws you at touched you?”

  Lotte stopped before him, her hand affectionately resting on his cheek. “You are the only man who has touched me. You are the only man I want to.” Leaning into him, Lotte lightly touched her lips to his. “I love you, Devon.”

  Devon’s arms held her close against him, their bodies molding into each other as they hungrily embraced.

  “What the hell are you doing?” a male voice roared as the cottage door was loudly kicked open.

  Chapter 9

  Elizabeth ran to her father, tears streaming down her face. “You need to help me, Father,” she cried. “Lotte will stop at nothing until she has Devon all to herself.”

  George took his daughter in his arms, trying to calm her. “What are you talking about, daughter? What has happened? What has Devon done?”

  Elizabeth clung to her father, her tears wetting his jacket. “I’m with child, Father, but Devon said he doesn’t want it. He’d rather be with that whore, Lotte Higgins.”

  George held his daughter back away from him, studying her. “How can you be sure, Elizabeth?”

  More tears spilled from Elizabeth’s eyes. “I saw him leave with her. He was taking her out to the old cottage. His hands were on her.”

  George pulled his daughter again into his arms, holding her tight against him. “I will go see that bastard learns his place.”­

  * * * *

  Hearing the sound of the door being kicked in behind them, Devon turned suddenly, instinctively pushing Lotte behind him to protect her.

  “You bastard!” George Fanti yelled at him, lifting his gun and aiming it at them both. “You would leave my baby girl for this...this whore!”

  “George, you need to understand,” Devon tried to explain, needing to calm this suddenly threatening man.

  “Understand what?” George yelled at him. “I should shoot you where you stand for how you’ve treated Elizabeth. As for your whore, she belongs dead in a gutter with her father!”

  George cocked his gun, waving it at the two people before him. “Outside with you both. It’s time you both answer for what you’ve done to my family.”

  Devon’s steps were measured, suddenly fearful what was to become of Lotte and himself. “What are you going to do with us?”

  “Whatever I want, my boy.” George smiled evilly at them.

  Without warning, Devon lunged at the older man, struggling with him for the weapon. George fought back strongly, until Devon feared he woul
d lose this fight. In desperation, Devon laid his hands on the weapon, struggling to try and knock it free from the other man’s hold.

  Suddenly, a loud shot echoed throughout the cottage.

  Hearing a scream, Devon turned instantly toward Lotte, a sickening feeling in his gut. Watching her fall to the ground, Devon let go of George and rushed to her, catching her just as she was about to hit the floor.

  Studying her frantically, Devon prayed to every god he knew that Lotte had just fainted out of fear, but seeing the blood seeping through the fabric of her dress, he knew that wasn’t the case.

  “Lotte!” he cried, lifting her onto his lap, his hand cradling her face against his chest. “You’ll be fine, honey. It’s just a little nick.”

  Lotte didn’t move though.

  “Lotte, please!” he cried, tears welling in his eyes as he cradled the woman he loved in his arms. “You need to hang in there, honey. Just a little bit longer and help will be here.”

  Just then, loud voices were heard outside the still open cottage door as Jack Munroy and his servant, Andrew Hult, came barging inside.

  “What the hell have you done?” Jack roared as he rushed toward his son and the dying girl he was still holding.

  “Devon shot her,” George said immediately. “Your son will hang for this, Jack.”

  Jack turned to his tearful son. “Did you shoot her?”

  Devon looked at his father, desperation filling him as he replayed the events of the evening again and again in his mind.

  “T-there was a s-struggle. The g-gun went off…”

  Jack pulled Devon up from the floor. “You have to get out of here!” he yelled, shoving Devon toward the door of the cottage.

  Devon fought against his father. “I won’t leave her.” He tried to go back to Lotte’s still form, but Jack stopped him. “Lotte!” Devon screamed, hoping that alone might wake her up.

  Lotte still didn’t move.

  “Get out of here, Devon!” Jack yelled, dragging him with him. “Now!”

  “Let me go, Father!” Devon roared, fighting against the older man’s hold unsuccessfully. “I have to save her. I have to be with her!”