Shrouded Passions

by Faye Hall

  “I have no idea, Lotte, but I wouldn’t be surprised if she did. If she learned Charles was a threat to her father, Elizabeth would have done nearly anything to be rid of him.”

  “Who was the boy who ran from the estate?” Lotte asked, her train of thought changing direction. “Was he a servant? Or was he Charles Davern’s son?”

  Patrick shook his head. “I don’t know, Lotte, nor could anyone tell me. But I’d bet near on anything that it’s him who sent those letters to Elizabeth. Be he a servant or old man Davern’s son, I’d bet he’s the blackmailer.”

  Going to her brother, Lotte kissed his cheek. “Thank you, Patrick. Thank you for everything.”

  “But Lotte—”

  “I have to return to the house before I am missed,” she cut her brother off. “I have to—”

  Patrick reached out for her, stopping her retreat. “You need to listen to me, Lotte,” he interrupted his sister. “You need to be careful. We know nothing of this man who hunts Elizabeth, nothing about how far he will go to get what he wants. As for Elizabeth herself, she is ruthless and cares for no one or nothing around her. She will stop at nothing, Lotte. She will destroy everyone around her if need be to get what she wants.”

  “What if what she wants is Devon’s money and the Victorian gold he would have been left by his father? She has killed men for money before. What is there to stop her from ensuring Devon too meets a fatal end?” Lotte said.

  “Elizabeth doesn’t have to kill Devon to get his money though, Lotte,” Patrick explained. “She’s married to him, remember? Whatever money Devon may have been left by his father is now rightfully hers too.”

  Lotte nodded. “But with Devon dead, Elizabeth can have it all. She gets everything to do with what she wants.”

  “But why would she take the risk?” Patrick asked.

  Lotte didn’t want to listen to him though. All she could think of was the prospect of danger Devon could now be in. “He has to know the danger he’s in,” Lotte muttered. “I have to protect him, Patrick.”

  “Damn it, Lotte.” Patrick raised his voice, pulling his sister back. “Who is going to protect you?”

  Lotte pulled away from her brother, standing strong. “Devon will protect me. He won’t let Elizabeth hurt me again.”

  Patrick shook his head. “He couldn’t protect you from her the first time. What makes you think he’ll be able to now?”­

  * * * *

  The following morning, Devon waited patiently for Elizabeth to call Lotte to attend her, suspicion clouding his mind. So much about his wife’s handmaiden was hauntingly familiar, but something happened between them last night, something so familiar it tugged on his heartstrings. She had said something to him, something only one other had ever said to him.

  “I don’t care who you’re the son of.”

  Lotte Higgins had said exactly that same thing to him the first time they met at the waterhole.

  He knew he was being foolish concentrating on these few words, but try as he did, Devon couldn’t forget about it. Why would this woman say that to him?

  But it was more than just the words that troubled him, it was the look on her face when she spoke them. He had seen that look before. His suspicions growing, Devon remembered the night he’d spent with this woman at the Pioneer Hotel. He had thought that night too that the similarities between Lotte Higgins and this woman were uncanny. But now, having shared her passions again, having spent time with her… Devon couldn’t say what it was, but he knew this woman was so much more than just his wife’s handmaiden. She was so familiar to the woman he had shot dead almost four years ago. Too familiar for it to be a mere coincidence or for his own grief to be seeing only what he wanted to.

  Now more than ever, after having lain with this woman again, having held her in his arms and felt her passions released around him, having smelt the musky rose scent of her skin, Devon allowed himself to think back on the night Lotte Higgins was shot. He remembered holding her in his arms, being covered in her blood. She was so still as he held her, Devon was certain she was dead. But now, thinking back on that tragic night, he found himself wondering and questioning. What if Lotte Higgins hadn’t died that night on the floor of her father’s old cottage? What if somehow she had survived?

  Opening the door to Lotte’s room, Devon allowed himself to think the incomprehensible. What if Lotte wasn’t dead? What if she was in fact the woman that was now his wife’s handmaiden? But if that was the case, then why had she not come to him sooner, and why all the secrecy? Had she lost her memory after the shooting and had no idea who he was, or who he was to her? Devon didn’t know the answers to any of these nagging questions. All he knew was he had to get to the bottom of this situation, no matter what he discovered along the way. Once and for all he needed to discover the true identity of this woman.

  Walking into Lotte’s room, Devon looked around at her meager belongings, hoping to see something, anything, that would explain exactly who this woman was and why she was now here in his life.

  Going to her clothes drawers, Devon carefully opened them. His fingers ran over the soft fabric of the camisoles inside, and lifting one to his nose, he smelt the soft scent of roses. So many things about this woman reminded him of Lotte Higgins. So many things were more than just familiar; they were the same.

  Closing his eyes to the anguish filling him, Devon closed the drawer and opened another. Looking through the soft fabrics, he caught a glimpse of some papers hidden beneath. Pulling them forth, Devon began to read, hoping to find anything that might help clear the confusion growing in his mind.

  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 quickly turned to another page, his breath catching in his throat as his eyes skimmed the words.

  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…

  The pages fell from his hands and to the floor. Devon could read no more, but he knew he didn’t have to. Even now, he could remember every detail from that day at the waterhole, every gasp Lotte had made as he broke through her purity. There were many pages still in the drawer, no doubt detailing every other affection he had bestowed upon her that day, but he didn’t have to read them. He knew what happened next. He had lived it and held its memory close to his heart all these years.

  He had also read these words once before on sheets of paper found in the belongings of another woman. That other woman was Lotte Higgins, a woman who was supposed to have died in his arms nearly four years ago. So how did these papers end up here in the possession of this woman, this handmaiden who carried the very same Christian name as the woman he had given his heart to years before, unless…

  Devon began to question all he had seen happen these last few years. He began to question all he saw, and all he was told had happened that night in the old cottage on the Higgins’ estate grounds. A small part of him began to hope that some miracle had brought his Lotte back to him. For the first time in years, Devon found himself beginning to hope and beginning to dream.

  Leaving Lotte’s room, Devon went in search of her, knowing it was time he got some much needed answers about exactly who this woman was and why was she there.

  Chapter 19

  Shortly after leaving Elizabeth’s room, having attended to her duties for the morning, Lotte quickly escaped the estate house, her direction toward the young aboriginal woman standing on the edge of the grounds boundary. Going to her friend, Lotte greeted her affectionately. “Thank you for coming so quickly, Sarah. I wasn’t sure you’d be able to get away so early.”

  Sarah hugged her back, returning her affectionate greeting. “The new owners haven’t arrived yet, Lotte, so it was easy to sneak away.”

  “They still haven’t arrived?” Lotte asked. “I wonder if these other children belonging to my
father will ever come to claim their inheritance.”

  Sarah shrugged. “I guess we will just have to wait and see. Why did you send for me, Lotte? Are you in danger again?”

  Lotte shook her head. “No, but I do need your help. I need you to try and find some information for me.”

  “I will do my best, Lotte.”

  Lotte smiled her thanks at her friend. “Around the time I was shot, there was another shooting. An older white man, closer to my own father’s age, came to Brandon from Victoria. He was shot and killed here.”

  Sarah nodded. “I know the story. The man who was shot was Charles Davern. A young boy was supposedly seen running from the house on the night he was shot.”

  Lotte nodded. “I need to know more about these men. All I know at the moment is that Charles Davern was shot back in Victoria. He would have died had it not been for an aboriginal woman my father left him with.”

  Sarah looked confused. “My mother was from Victoria. She came to Brandon to join my father just before I was born.”

  Lotte felt hope growing in her. “Is there any way you could find out if your mother might have known the healer woman I speak of? And what connection she would have had to my father. Please, Sarah, it’s very important.”

  Sarah nodded. “There are people I can ask who might be able to help. But Lotte, you need to realize Victoria is a big place, there is no guarantee—” Suddenly Sarah’s gaze shifted to behind Lotte. “Devon is coming toward us.”

  Lotte quickly glanced over her shoulder before turning her attention back to her friend. “You must go, Sarah. Devon can’t see you with me or he will start to suspect something.”

  Hugging her friend tightly, Sarah quickly turned and fled back toward the Higgins estate.

  Lotte turned and began walking toward Devon.

  “Isn’t that the young aboriginal girl they call Sarah?” he asked her.

  Lotte shrugged. “I’m afraid I never got her name.”

  Devon stopped Lotte as she tried to walk past him. “Don’t bullshit me, Lotte. That girl hugged you as if you two were long-lost friends. Now I want to know what she was doing here with you.”

  Lotte tried to pull away from him. “It is nothing of importance, Devon. She was only asking for a good place to find water chestnuts. I told her there’s a waterhole not far from here that usually has plenty.”

  When Devon didn’t let her go, his grip on her arm still firm, Lotte looked at him, her stare resting on his.

  “What is it, Devon?” she asked him, unsure of the emotion she could see filling his face. “You look almost as if you’ve seen a ghost.”

  Devon nodded slowly. “I think I have.”

  Pulling her to him then, he embraced her passionately, his hands frantically pulling at her clothing, begging for entrance as he walked her back to the seclusion of the bushes near the huge gum tree.­

  * * * *

  Holding Lotte to him, her soft moans of pleasure and gasps of orgasmic release buried against his naked chest, Devon drove himself deep inside her one last time, filling her with his passion.

  Their breathing ragged, Devon still held her to him, not wanting to let her go, for fear she may disappear.

  “Devon,” Lotte moaned, her lips caressing his chest, her legs still entangled with his. “I need to get back to the house before I am missed.”

  Shifting the bulk of his weight off her, Devon bent his head, kissing her slowly, treasuring the taste of her. “I don’t want you to leave me, Lotte.”

  With both her hands on his chest, Lotte pushed him away from her a little until their gazes met. “And yet still I must, Devon.”

  Removing his now sated self from her, Devon reached for her hand, helping her to sit.

  They were silent while they dressed, each occupied with their own thoughts.

  “You really are just so very beautiful, Lotte,” Devon muttered, having finished righting his clothing.

  Going to where she stood under the shady gum tree, Devon helped her right her clothes. When they were both again fully dressed, Devon held her hand in his and walked her back toward the house, not ignorant to her silence.

  “Why do you not sleep with your wife, Devon?” Lotte asked, finally breaking the silence.

  Devon stalled, knowing he didn’t have to answer her. He had every right to tell her to remember her place, that such things were none of her business. Still he wouldn’t. He couldn’t.

  “It was an arranged marriage,” he finally answered.

  “Even so,” Lotte persisted. “Most husbands share the same bed as their wife, arranged or not.”

  Devon glanced at this woman beside him, wondering at her curiosity about his life. “Why do you care so much whom I share a bed with?” he asked her, his suspicions surrounding this woman again returning to him.

  Lotte shrugged. “I just find it curious that you would risk your wife’s wrath to bed a servant.”

  Devon thought on her words for a minute, knowing what Lotte said was true. He knew of Elizabeth’s uncontrollable anger, having seen it in action many times. Usually, he wouldn’t have done anything knowingly to invoke his wife’s rage but now, having Lotte here for his taking, Devon couldn’t stop from going to her whenever or wherever he could. Still, he thought he owed her some kind of explanation, one that would help her understand that she was more than just another woman to fill his bed. Part of him hoped too that his explanation might help remind Lotte of the woman Devon hoped she really was.

  “I fell in love with a woman a few years back. Her name was Lotte Higgins. When she died, I wanted nothing more than to die with her. I didn’t care what happened to me anymore. I certainly didn’t care about the wife my father arranged for me.” Devon eyed the woman before him carefully. “I made it very clear to Elizabeth on our wedding night that I had no desire to share her bed. She was a contract between our fathers. Nothing more.”

  Silence again fell between them, and Devon began to worry that his explanation had been too harsh.

  “This woman you loved, how did she die?” Lotte finally asked.

  Devon stopped, dropping her hand from his, memories from that fatal night again clear in his mind. “I shot her.”

  Reaching out to her, he ran his fingers along a loose strand of her hair, remembering the written stories he’d found only moments before in her room, the stories that had sent him in search of her.

  “You are so much like her. Your hair, your eyes, your name…”

  Lotte reached for his caressing hand, pulling it away from her. “I’m not this woman, Devon. Just because I share her name doesn’t make me her.”

  “I shouldn’t have ever slept with you,” Devon uttered, emotion driven pain stabbing at his heart. “I don’t deserve to feel the pleasure of a woman after what I did. I swore I would never be with another woman after she died. Then I saw you in the Pioneer Hotel that night. I smelt you.”

  Lotte went to reach out for him, but he stepped away.

  “Damn it, Lotte! I shot a woman! I killed her! Doesn’t that mean anything to you?”

  “Devon—”

  “No!” he cut her off, his ambivalence over this woman starting to suffocate him. “How can you still want to be with me knowing what I’ve done?”

  “Devon—”

  But he cut her off again. “Who are you, Lotte?” he asked, his desperation for the truth growing. “You are so much like Lotte Higgins, yet you say you are not her. Part of me tells me you can’t be her because it was me who took her life. But then you touch me, I hear your voice, and it’s like she’s back here, returned from her grave. It’s like you are her—”

  Lotte grabbed the sides of her skirt in her hands. “What if you didn’t kill her?” she asked, interrupting him. “What if this woman you say you loved didn’t die?”

  “How can you say that?” Devon spat at her. “You weren’t there. You didn’t see.”

  “Did you?” Lotte asked him. “Did you see her die?”

  “I was covered
in her blood!” Devon shouted, not able to understand why she seemed to be taunting him.

  Lotte nodded as if understanding. “But did you see her die, Devon?” she asked again. “Or did you leave that cottage while some poor servant was ordered to clean up the mess?”

  He stared at her, an uneasy feeling filling him, her words echoing in his head. “What did you just say?”

  Lotte didn’t try to explain. She didn’t say anything. She just turned away from him and ran toward the house.

  * * * *

  Going to his room, Devon stood looking out the window at the evening sky and setting sun, his fists gripping the windowsill, the nightmares from the previous night still plaguing his mind. Lotte had always been a constant in his dreams over the months she had worked at the estate, but now, he couldn’t seem to forget about the writings he had found in her room. They were exact to the ones he’d found years before in the bedroom of Lotte Higgins. Why did this woman have these pieces of paper if she wasn’t his lover returned from the grave?

  Rubbing at the bite marks on his bare chest, Devon found himself thinking back to another time and place when he had worn the marks of a woman’s rapture.

  The words he read on those pieces of paper belonged to Lotte Higgins. He was sure of it. But how could this be? She was dead, wasn’t she?

  Rubbing his hands over his face, Devon tried to clear his mind. He had heard the gunshot that night, had held her while she died…

  “But did you see her die?”

  He’d held her, had been covered in her blood, then his father ordered him to be taken away while his servant, Andrew Hult, was ordered to clean up the body. What if Andrew had seen something? What if he managed to save her life?

  * * * *

  Lotte ran straight to her room, tears running down her cheeks. This wasn’t why she had come to the Munroy estate. She hadn’t come there to play some strumpet, supplying free acts of fornication for her employer. Nor had she come there to reveal the truth of the fate that become her the night of the shooting nearly four years ago. Lotte had come there to find proof against Elizabeth and to have her held responsible for the murders she had committed. There was no other reason, or so she had told her brother upon announcing she would be taking employment at the Munroy estate. But even as she said the words, Lotte knew they were a lie. She had been sneaking into Devon’s study for months now. How could she be expected to refuse him now that she was living under the same roof?