“If you don’t,” she said sincerely, “I think I shall die.”
A grunt of unwilling laughter burst from his lips. “Well, we cannot allow that to happen. You are the most delightful creature, Abby.”
While she flushed in pleasure, his face fell somber again. “As the years passed, there continued to be similar events— other animals were tortured and killed. There were odd disappearances of under-servants. I heard rumours that more than one stableboy had been beaten, then paid well to leave. My father closeted himself in his study more and more. I think he knew of Michael’s sickness, or evil, or whatever it was that marked him, but couldn’t confront it.
“You see, Michael was always his favorite. In the early years, Father often boasted he was the son most like himself. Michael is, or was, a man of great personal charm, as was Father when he chose to exert himself. I think my sire began to see the error of his judgment as time progressed. But still he wouldn’t listen to the rumours, wouldn’t pay heed to the cautions of his steward or even my brother Carl.
“I, of course, kept well out of the way. Until the chambermaid was discovered with her throat—” He blinked, seemed to come to himself, and looked at Abby. “Until the chambermaid was found dead.”
Abby said nothing, but one hand flew to her lips.
His gaze remained locked with hers, though he seemed not to see her. “I discovered the maid in my bedroom lying on my bed. It was a tremendous shock, as you might imagine, a shock deepened by my affection for the child. She was only thirteen years old. I was seventeen at the time.”
His words gained momentum, as if, now that he’d begun, he could not stop.
“The two of us had engaged in that kind of harmless flirtation which pretty young servants and lord’s sons often do in country houses. It was no more than that, I assure you, though it might have been had events followed their course. I was no saint, and she was a lively, vital young girl. When I found her there—when the worst of my shock was over, I touched her face. Her body was still warm. I saw Michael as plainly as I see you now. I watched him trying to seduce Christine. I felt his anger when she rejected him. I saw him bending over her dead body and caressing her hair.”
“Oh, dear God,” Abby breathed.
“Yes. But that isn’t quite everything. A moment after I discovered the girl’s body, I heard Michael in the corridor outside. Carl was with him. It became clear to me they were coming to my room, that Michael was bringing my brother with the intention of finding me there. And then the door opened, and I stood revealed with Christine’s blood on my hands. The knife lay beside her on the bed. I saw it all in an instant. Michael’s hatred of me, his knowledge of my fondness for the maid. His plan to accuse me of her murder before Carl, the brother I loved. If you had seen Carl’s face, Abby. The shock, the disgust. The sense of betrayal. It was cleverly done, if such a monstrous crime could be called such. And very like Michael. He is brilliant in his way.
“All of these things came to me at once. In my rage, I grabbed the knife and attacked Michael. I see I’ve surprised you. Perhaps you’ll believe me now when I tell you I’m not kind. At that moment I had nothing inside my head except murder. But don’t look so worried. I only cut the sleeve of his jacket before Carl pinned me to the floor and took the knife away.
“The scene that followed was as ugly as you can imagine. My brothers hauled me into my father’s study. I kicked and fought all the way down the stairs, screaming that Michael had done it. When my father heard all, he gave me a choice. Confinement to the west wing of the house, under a physician’s care, or I could leave. The prospect of judicial punishment was out of the question for such as I, of course. The girl’s family would be hushed with gold, and Christine would be buried quietly.
“I chose to leave. I departed that very night, taking nothing with me except the memory of Carl’s disappointment and the sure knowledge that my father knew I hadn’t touched the child.”
“No,” Abby said, her heart beating with outrage and sympathy. “Surely that can’t be.”
Julian’s face was tightly controlled, but his eyes looked hollow and lost. “It can. He banished me knowing that Michael killed Christine.”
Numbed by his story, Abby was beyond tears. Her mind echoed with emptiness. She could think of nothing to say that was not trite or meaningless in the light of such injustice. Had she ever felt her life was hard? Could she ever feel so again?
“How can you bear it?” she asked finally, brokenly.
His eyes sharpened, and he seemed to recognize her with something like surprise. “My dear,” he said. “Why have I told you all this? You are too tenderhearted to hear about such things. Don’t feel badly. It all happened long ago. I don’t normally think about it anymore.”
She did not believe a word of it. All she could contemplate was giving him comfort, easing his pain. She walked closer and slipped her arms around his waist. She was being bold, bolder than she’d been in the attics when exuberance made her fling her arms about him. At that time, she would have done so to anyone who had discovered the lost child. But now it was only him, only Lord Merlyn, Julian, her husband, even though he was a paper husband and not a real one.
And how sad that was. Since she had learned she could trust him, there was no denying the growing desire of her heart. Although she had only known him briefly, she wished this magical man was a forever-husband who would touch and cherish her, give her children, and grow lines in his face and silver in his hair at the same time she did.
The thought brought a sob to her throat, and she pulled him closer, not caring if she shocked him. He would understand; she knew he would.
He responded to her tightening embrace by clutching her even nearer, as though pulling her into himself. She could feel his heart racing beneath her own. Or was it her own heartbeat she felt? There was no knowing. Their hearts seemed intertwined, pounding an erratic duet. Whispering her name, he tilted her head upward to receive the kiss she had known was coming, had felt at the same moment he formed the impulse.
His lips pressed tenderly against hers. The balcony floor seemed to tilt beneath her feet. Irrelevantly, the imagery she had earlier of the ship floated into her mind. She almost laughed. One kiss and she was being swept out to sea. But long before she wanted him to, he released her, turned away, and gripped the rail.
“I have run mad. Forgive me, Abby. I shouldn’t have done that.”
Truly, he must think her missish indeed—all that talk about her being tenderhearted and sensitive. She placed her hand on his sleeve. “Please do not think I am shocked. I wanted you to kiss me, Julian.”
He looked at the hand on his arm, then patted it as a brother would. “You are being kind.” His gaze moved restlessly across the field, as if he were looking for something, anything, so long as it wasn’t her. “I have taken advantage of your sympathetic nature, and I apologize.” In a strained voice he added, “I hope you will forget it ever happened.”
She did not know whether to be amused or angry. “I don’t want to forget it. No one has ever kissed me like that.” As soon as the words left her mouth, she wished them back; but it was too late.
Whatever he had been about to say died on his lips. “Indeed?” He smiled briefly. “I suppose you have had a great many kisses in order to compare them with mine.” Clearly, he expected her to deny it.
Her chest became tight. She did not want to speak of Philip’s embrace or her slight, weak pleasure in it. The entire memory shamed her. “Oh, well, I—I have received the usual kisses from relatives, of course.”
He laughed shortly. “That is not what I meant, and you know it.” He took her chin between his fingers and forced her to look upward. “Who has kissed you, Abby?”
“No one,” she protested, then dropped her gaze. He tweaked her chin gently. “Well, only Philip, and I did not want him to.”
“The cad,” he mumbled. “I should have called him out.” She darted a look at him beneath her lashes and felt a rush
of warmth at the hard glint in his eyes. “I won’t let it happen to you again,” he added fiercely.
She bit the inside of her cheek to keep herself from beaming like a gudgeon. “And what of you?” she asked archly. “How many ladies have you kissed?”
He looked surprised. “Me? Oh, I don’t know. Can’t remember.”
“It must have been a great many if you can’t remember.”
“No, no.” He laughed uncomfortably. “Why are we talking about this, Abby? None of it matters. You had best go off to bed now; we have an early day tomorrow.”
“I am not sleepy in the least. And I don’t want to leave before saying that you have no need to be jealous of Philip.”
“Jealous? Of Philip?” He threw back his head and laughed—much too loudly, she thought with sudden irritation. “Of course, I am not jealous of him. You know I want to protect you, but jealousy is a different thing altogether. It implies—well, you understand. Our marriage will be dissolved shortly. I don’t want you to think I am growing possessive. You mustn’t—you shouldn’t worry about that.”
“Oh, I am not worried,” said Abby, who could not have been more hurt had he stabbed her. “Do not think it for one moment. Or rather, think what you like. It is of no concern to me.”
A tiny line appeared in his forehead. “I am happy to hear you say so.”
“It is only the truth. I have never cared what you thought.”
“That is excellent indeed, for I don’t care what you think, either.”
“Good! I see that we understand one another.”
“Yes, perfectly.”
“Perfectly and beyond any doubt.” Abby folded her arms together and pressed them to her stomach. She blinked several times and added in a softer voice, “But Julian, I am sorry for your loss and for—for all the bad things that happened in your past.”
He did not answer immediately but looked at her with eyes that glimmered brilliantly in the moonlight. “Thank you, Abby,” he said at last, then guided her inside, through his room and down the hall to the door of her own bedroom. He bowed over her hand without meeting her eyes, then beat a hasty retreat to his chamber. Neither of them spoke another word, as if nothing had ever happened.
Abby entered her bedroom and stared at the comfortable furnishings with unseeing eyes, thinking perhaps nothing had.
Chapter 10
Neither of them slept well that night, which was why they were late leaving the inn on the next morning. As Abby, Julian, and Charlotte Ann climbed into the carriage, Nurse Phoebe and Master Gordon, still dressed in their bedroom attire, ran out the front door and across the courtyard toward them.
“He wanted to meet you, milord,” Phoebe said.
Julian immediately returned to the pavement, introduced himself, and shook hands. The boy, his hair sparking gold fire in the sunlight, gravely presented the stuffed rabbit the magician had tried to read on the day before.
“Thank you for finding me,” Gordie said. “This is Pietro. Nurse told me you liked him.” The child’s high, clear voice wavered only slightly as he added, “You can have him.”
“Why, thank you,” Julian said, accepting the toy.
Gordie nodded, his gaze intent on the rabbit. His lips moved, then set in a firm, straight line.
“I like rabbits,” the magician continued.
Gordie nodded again. Abby, watching from the carriage window, thought she saw moisture gathering in the child’s eyes. Her heart twisted in amused sympathy. Oh, Julian, she thought, hoping he would look her way and read her face, if not her thoughts. Don’t be as beastly to him as you were to me last night. But his attention was fixed on the toy.
“How nice of you to give me Pietro. You have had him since you were a baby, haven’t you?”
“How did you know? I guess nurse told you.”
“No, Pietro did.”
Gordie looked at the rabbit with stronger interest. “He did?”
“Yes. Why do you look surprised? Doesn’t he talk to you?”
The boy’s face relaxed, and he almost smiled. “Sometimes. But I didn’t know he talked to anybody else.”
“Well, he does. If the truth be known, he told me where to find you yesterday.” The magician’s eyebrows twitched a little at the lie.
“Truly?”
“Truly.” Julian cocked his head at the rabbit, then looked at Gordie. “A moment, please, he is speaking to me now.” He brought the toy closer to his ear, and his face lengthened in shock. “Do not say so, Pietro!”
The little boy danced from foot to foot. “What did he say, what did he say?”
“It is the most surprising thing. He has become quite rude, and I know it’s not like him. Pietro says it is his duty to watch over you, and that if I take him away, he will bite me.”
“Did he?” Gordie breathed, his face a portrait of delight. “He is being very naughty.”
“Well, yes, I suppose so, but he’s terribly fond of you. Much as I’d like to have him, I really think I should leave him with you so he won’t be unhappy.”
“I s’pose you should,” Gordie said tiredly, a bedraggled parent used to his child’s foibles. He took the rabbit, nestled it against his chest, then turned back to the inn, scolding Pietro as he walked.
Phoebe started after him, then stepped back to Julian. “Thank you, milord. Still don’t know how you found him, but we’ll never forget you.” The magician tipped his hat, and she curtseyed and hurried after her charge.
When Julian reentered the coach, Abby knew her thoughts were written plainly across her face. She made no attempt to hide them, but he did not look at her. He was probably too modest to accept her admiration. This was the man who had said terrible things dwelt in his heart. She tried to imagine Philip showing kindness to a child and nearly laughed out loud.
At that moment she forgave him for his behaviour on the night before. He had done nothing wrong. She was at fault for investing too much meaning in a kiss. Her heart had run away with her head. There was no reason to think he must fall in love with her just because she felt that way. He was preserving her from a terrible fate with Philip. He didn’t have to love her, too.
How bleak seemed a future without him, though.
As the coach sprang into motion, her thoughts tangled and knotted until she felt a headache coming on. None of her companions appeared more willing to talk than she. Even Charlotte Ann, pale with weariness, appeared unwilling to speak. Finally, after a meagre luncheon at a farmhouse, Abby settled her head against a cushion and prepared to nap like everyone else.
She slept lightly, fitfully. When Julian cried out, she sprang to immediate wakefulness. For a moment, she thought she’d imagined the noise, or dreamed it. He was still asleep, his head leaning against the interior carriage wall at a bruising angle, while Charlotte Ann sat stiffly upright, her mouth hanging open and spawning moist snores.
Just as Abby closed her eyes again, she heard the sound a second time, a low, visceral groan that seemed torn from Julian’s chest. Prickling needles sped up her back, and she shivered at the utter despair of the cry. His forehead creased and uncreased; his eyes moved back and forth beneath his eyelids; his face was damp and pale.
“Julian,” she said quietly, shaking his arm. “Wake up.”
He continued to dream for an instant more, then his lids slowly opened. Black eyes stared at her without comprehension. Dark, dark eyes, empty eyes. Abby felt a momentary imbalance, as if she stood on the edge of a deep, bottomless well. Fear washed over her; a fear born of superstition and irrationality. For one brief fraction of time, she thought, I don’t know this man. I don’t know him at all. What is he? And then it was gone, replaced by compassion as he sat erect and returned her gaze, his blue eyes still befuddled with sleep.
Abby forced her lips into a smile. “You were dreaming.”
He scraped his fingers through his hair, then took a handkerchief from his waistcoat and wiped his face. Apparently, he was not going to speak.
�
��What did you dream?” she persisted.
He shook his head and looked out the window. “I don’t know. I don’t remember.”
“You are not telling the truth, Julian.”
He stiffened. “I beg your pardon?”
“Your eyebrows moved up and down. I have noticed they do that when you tell untruths.”
“Have you?” he asked faintly. “How interesting.”
“Won’t you tell me what you dreamed?”
“Why do you want to know?” he asked, exasperated. “Dreams are only tricks of the mind.”
“That may be so for most dreamers, but not you.”
He snorted. “I have nightmares like everyone else, and silly dreams. Meaningless.” He seemed to be trying to convince himself.
“But your eyes … they were dark when you awoke.”
“Were they?” A pained expression flickered across his face and disappeared. “You are very observant.”
“It always means something important when your eyes darken like that, doesn’t it?” When he remained silent, Abby’s breath grew short. “You dreamed about me, didn’t you? About Philip. What did you see? Tell me.”
“No, no, Abby, it wasn’t about Philip.” He gave her a troubled look. “Please don’t ask me anymore.”
The intensity of her questions had brought her forward until their knees touched. Now she shifted her weight backward, all the way against the back of the seat. Charlotte Ann flopped against her arm, and Abby pushed her in the other direction without waking her.
“All right,” she said between tight lips.
He smiled in relief. “We should be stopping for the night soon. I apologize for not taking time to show you the beauties of the north. I fear I’m treating you shabbily, not pausing to view the mountains properly. Have you seen the Peak?”
“No,” she said crossly.
“Oh, well, perhaps someday you can. And we really should visit Wedgwood Etruria at least; it is so near. But I confess after a three-month tour of smoky playhouses and indifferent lodgings, I’m weary of traveling and long for the comforts of home.”
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