The Devereaux Affair: Ladies of the Order - Book 1

by Clee, Adele

Julianna had been torn away from him one stormy night, had escaped in the early hours the second time, but Bennet would be damned if he’d let her flee again. His heart still hadn’t recovered after waking and finding her gone. This time, he wasn’t restricted by age or lack of resources. This time, he’d been hot on her heels.

  “You’re confident we’ll find the culprit in a few days?” he said.

  “Less if we all work together.” Daventry sounded optimistic. “It’s imperative we solve the mystery before the villain discovers Mrs Eden is an enquiry agent.”

  In helping him, had Julianna placed herself in danger, too? Surely the culprit was out to torment him, not murder him in his bed.

  “That’s another reason why I think you should see this case to the end, Mrs Eden,” Daventry continued. “If you’re to leave for Paris, I’d rather you do so knowing no one bears a grudge.”

  “It seems I have little choice, sir.” Julianna’s shoulders slumped with the weight of her burden. “I’ll not spend the rest of my days fearing a reprisal.”

  “We do have a problem, one that might make you reconsider.” Bennet had to be honest with her, though he feared she’d have every reason to run now. “Lowbridge told his sisters what happened with Granger. They cornered me when I arrived this morning and begged to hear how I thumped their cousin for attacking my mistress.”

  “Your mistress!” Daventry did not look pleased.

  Julianna paled.

  “You denied the fact, surely,” Ashwood said.

  “Of course. I explained we were old friends.” Though after their rampant night of passion, his tone had carried a distinct lack of conviction.

  “I’m afraid it’s all my fault,” Julianna confessed. “While attempting to deter Mr Granger, I said I was Lord Devereaux’s mistress. It never occurred to me the devil would admit to behaving so disgracefully, let alone explain every sordid detail.”

  “When it comes to gossip, young ladies are rarely discreet,” Cole said.

  True. Lowbridge’s sisters thrived on spreading tales.

  “It may yet serve as an advantage.” Daventry took up his notebook. “Let’s begin again. Tell me everything that happened at Witherdeen, including the ghostly sightings.”

  The men of the Order listened to the tale. Bennet added relevant information regarding the third note, the clothes worn at the masquerade, of the monk he saw entering the abbey and how he beat Granger when in truth he wanted to murder the bastard.

  “And you left Witherdeen after your encounter with Granger,” Daventry stated. “Bower said you were crying when you woke him and begged him to bring you back to town.”

  Julianna failed to look Daventry in the eye. “Is that not to be expected after suffering a trauma?”

  Bennet’s heart thumped fiercely. Why had she not woken him? Had their lovemaking been so disappointing she’d decided to run? And yet she’d kissed him like he was the air she needed to breathe. Had writhed beneath him like she would die without his touch.

  “Based on the facts, who do you think sent the notes to Lord Devereaux?”

  Julianna thought for a moment. “Evidence suggests Miss Winters and an accomplice, a man. Her coming to stay at the coaching inn in Bramley rouses suspicion, yet her motive is weak. Too weak to make sense.”

  “People do foolish things in the name of love,” Ashwood added.

  Julianna glanced at Bennet, her mind most definitely occupied with thoughts of them naked together in bed. Had her love for the boy she’d lost caused her to behave recklessly with the man she’d found?

  “Isabella Winters doesn’t give a damn about me,” Bennet said. The woman cared about money and grasping any opportunity to rise above her station. “While Granger confessed to bringing her to Bramley, I’m convinced my housekeeper saw her at Witherdeen two days before the guests arrived.”

  “Then we need to focus our attention on Miss Winters to either prove or disprove your theory.” Daventry turned to Cole. “Ride to the coaching inn in Bramley today and find out how many times Miss Winters has stayed there during the last month. Ask if anyone came to visit her at the inn. And call at Witherdeen and inspect the ruins. Devereaux will give you a letter to present to the housekeeper.”

  Cole nodded.

  “Say you’re an artist, sir, come to sketch the abbey. Mrs Hendrie is expecting my colleague, and in a panic, I gave your name.” Julianna paused. “There are two other possibilities I think deserve a mention.”

  “We are all ears, Mrs Eden.”

  Julianna shifted in her seat. Nerves saw her catch her lower lip with her teeth. Eventually, she said, “What if my mother is alive? What if her mind is so fractured she’s come to punish her old lovers? It sounds far-fetched, I know, but when I questioned Mrs Hendrie about the ghost, the likeness to Giselle is uncanny.”

  Daventry frowned. “I am more inclined to believe the housekeeper has a vivid imagination. Or Miss Winters did not arrive with Granger as stated. How could it be your mother when she left the gold dress behind? I can send word to Paris, but it will take weeks to receive a reply.” He paused. “I will send for confirmation if it will settle your fears.”

  “Yes, I would like to know for sure,” she said so quietly and with such sorrow in her eyes, Bennet wanted to cross the room and hold her hand.

  “And the second possibility?”

  Julianna cleared her throat. “Mr Weaver, the steward who preceded Mr Branner, was dismissed due to discrepancies in his bookkeeping.”

  “Mr Weaver had been purchasing goods at inflated prices for years, splitting the profits with his supplier.” Bennet had also discovered deliberate accounting errors, stolen sums amounting to a few thousand pounds. “My father chose not to prosecute. What man wants to appear foolish amongst his peers?”

  “And where might we find Mr Weaver?”

  “He had family in Farnborough, but that’s all I know.”

  Silence descended while Daventry consulted his notes.

  Bennet looked at Julianna. While part of him wished he could go back to the moment before she’d found the bangle in his coat pocket, wished he would have kept his cock in his trousers because it would have given him more time to forge a friendship, he longed to know her intimately again.

  Now he feared it was too late.

  How could they be friends when the need to touch her proved maddening? What was the point of trying when she would be gone from his life again in a few short days?

  Daventry, in his infinite wisdom, decided to take charge of the problem. “Ashwood, where should Devereaux and Mrs Eden focus their attention?”

  Ashwood cleared his throat. “They should spend the afternoon reading through the journals Mrs Eden brought from Witherdeen. Checking for anything that may seem pertinent. They need to provoke a reaction from Miss Winters and should do so by flaunting the fact Mrs Eden is Devereaux’s new mistress.”

  Julianna inhaled sharply. “If Miss Winters doesn’t care about the marquess, why would it matter?” She looked like she would rather do a stint in the Marshalsea than be seen about town on his arm.

  “We need to know if that’s true,” Daventry said. “Men invariably underestimate women’s emotions. What other motive could she have for visiting Witherdeen?” He gestured for Ashwood to continue.

  “They should attend Lord Newberry’s Winter Ball tomorrow evening. With the information you hold on Newberry’s nefarious deeds, it won’t be difficult to secure Mrs Eden an invitation. Devereaux should encourage his friends to join them. Mrs Eden can ply the women with punch, coax them for information about Miss Winters, Lowbridge and Roxburgh.”

  “Devereaux should confide in Roxburgh,” Cole added. “Explain someone is trying to kill him and see how the lord responds. If Roxburgh is innocent of any wrongdoing, the evidence should support his claims. If he’s guilty, he will try to throw Devereaux off his trail.”

  Daventry clapped his hands in agreement. “You will both attend Lord Newberry’s Winter Ball tomorrow evening. Le
t the gossips have their day. Let everyone believe you are following in your father’s footsteps and have taken Julianna de Lacy as your mistress.” He raised a hand when Julianna opened her mouth to protest. “You’ll be gone from London in a few days, Mrs Eden, leaving Devereaux to deal with the aftermath. Let’s do everything we can to put an end to his torment.”

  After some thought, she sighed. “Yes. Lord Devereaux’s happiness is of the utmost importance. I only hope it won’t hinder his plans to find a wife.”

  Find a wife!

  Did she honestly think that was his priority now?

  Daventry rubbed his jaw. “There is a slight problem. I cannot have the villain following you back to Howland Street. With Devereaux’s permission, you will move into his London home for a few days, until you leave for Paris. Protecting the ladies in Howland Street must be a priority. Surely you see that.”

  While Julianna blanched, Bennet resisted the urge to throw himself at Daventry’s feet and pay homage to the genius. He had three days to—to do what? Bury himself so deep in her body she’d never want to leave? Beg her to stay and become a permanent part of his life?

  Either way, his plan was flawed.

  He didn’t want her as his mistress.

  She was worth a damn sight more than that.

  Chapter 13

  Confused, Julianna stood in the hall of Bennet’s lavish townhouse in St James’ Square, trying to determine why she felt instantly at home. It had nothing to do with the luxurious surroundings. During her formative years, she had grown accustomed to living in grand mansions. Perhaps it had something to do with the lingering scent of Bennet’s cedarwood cologne. A smell that roused memories of her kissing his neck, nipping his bare shoulder, memories of the only man who’d ever touched her heart.

  “Lord Devereaux is expecting you, Mrs Eden. I shall inform him you’ve arrived.” The hint of disrespect in the butler’s tone soured her mood. He glanced at her shabby valise as if it were a mangy dog. “I’ll have a footman take your things upstairs, madam.”

  He spoke of the box Mr Bower had deposited on the parquet floor. A box containing the journals she had stolen while Bennet slept naked in bed.

  “Have a footman deposit the box in his lordship’s study.” Julianna spoke with a confidence belying her station. While it felt unnatural to be anything but kind, her stay would be unbearable if the servants thought her weak. To them, she was the harlot corrupting their master. A strumpet. A whore.

  Beyond the grave, Giselle must be clapping her hands with glee.

  Bennet appeared at the top of the stairs. “Julianna.”

  Two hours had passed since she’d left him in Hart Street. Still, it took an immense effort to calm her racing heart. She tried to keep her gaze locked on his face as he descended, yet stealing a glimpse at his muscular thighs proved too tempting to resist.

  For the next three days, she would be living in purgatory. A torturous place where heaven was but a heartbeat away. A place for sinners to face their temptations and repent, repent, repent. But how could she fight these damnable cravings when Bennet gripped her arms and kissed her forehead as if she were his dearest treasure?

  “Come, let me give you a tour of the house.” His velvet voice melted her insides. “Let me show you to your room.”

  The butler presumed Bennet meant to spend the afternoon frolicking upstairs because he said, “Do you still wish to dine at seven, my lord?”

  “Unless Mrs Eden would care to dine later.”

  “Seven is perfect.” She turned to the sour-faced grouch. “We’ll be in his lordship’s study, examining historical text. Have a bath drawn at six, so I might wash and change before dinner.”

  “I shall inform the maid at once, madam.” The butler inclined his head and probably couldn’t wait to tell the servants that their master’s mistress was a fussy trollop.

  “Excellent.” Bennet grabbed her hand and drew her upstairs. “Let me show you my bedchamber. Then you’ll know where to come should you suffer a nightmare.”

  She was already living a nightmare.

  At no point had she planned to become any man’s mistress.

  Before she could protest, he pulled her inside an overtly masculine room akin to the devil’s boudoir. The second she glanced at the impressive tester bed, she imagined them writhing naked atop the counterpane.

  Bennet closed the door.

  With the click of the latch, all pretence slipped.

  Wearing an arrogant grin that was almost predatory, he prowled towards her, forcing her back against the bedpost.

  “Now we’re alone, you’ll tell me why you ran.” He braced his hands above her head, caging her in a masculine prison. His hot breath breezed across her cheek, sending her mind whirling. “Why did you not wake me? I might have persuaded you to stay. You didn’t even wait to say goodbye.”

  His sensual drawl penetrated her reserve. The raw power of his presence left her floundering. She swallowed deeply, remembering the hardness of his body, the mastery in every delicious stroke.

  “Isn’t it obvious?”

  “If it were obvious, I wouldn’t have asked.”

  “It seemed better to leave than prolong the agony.” She hated how that sounded. Cold. Heartless. The need to soothe him surfaced. “Bennet, I’ll reiterate what I said before. Being friends will only lead to heartbreak.” That hadn’t stopped her from succumbing to her carnal appetites or running away when, in truth, she’d wanted to stay. “The memory of being dragged away on that stormy night still hurts, and I cannot bear the thought of saying goodbye to you again.”

  “You presume the outcome will be the same.”

  “How can it be any different?”

  The more time they spent together, the deeper she’d fall. Their lovemaking proved they had an undeniable bond. And even if in some far-fetched fantasy she might marry the only man who’d made her feel cherished, special, even if they could weather the storm—a marquess did not wed a strumpet’s daughter—their children would forever bear the mark of shame. After all she had suffered, she couldn’t inflict that indignity on another poor soul.

  She saw the same conflict in his eyes. “Bennet, it was inevitable we’d end up in bed. We both craved the connection we shared years ago. But we’re adults now with the sense to know what’s right.” And yet nothing about being with him felt wrong.

  “What’s right for us or society?”

  “Your birthright means they are one and the same.”

  He touched his forehead to hers and sighed. “I can’t stop thinking about last night. The need to be close to you, to move inside you, is driving me insane.”

  Every muscle in her core throbbed. All she need do was look up, and in seconds his mouth would be ravaging hers. Instead, she pushed his chest with what little strength she could muster and forced him to straighten.

  “We’ve work to do. Three days is no time at all. Let us focus on that.”

  Their physical desires would wane. Protecting their hearts mattered most. It was too late for her. She wanted him more than she could ever express in words. And she had been selfish enough already.

  “Say I’m not the only one suffering,” he pleaded. “Say it.”

  “Stop. Stop making it so hard. Direct me to my bedchamber. I shall meet you in the study in ten minutes to examine your father’s journals. He must have left some clue. It’s a shame the trunk is at the cottage.” She had taken to babbling like Miss Ponsonby.

  “I brought a handful of books with me. The evidence may lead us back to Witherdeen, and we can examine the rest of the journals then.”

  She could never go back to Witherdeen but didn’t have the heart to tell him. Hopefully, Mr Cole would conduct a thorough investigation when he visited. She would be keen to hear his opinion of Mr Branner.

  “Then let us start at once. If I could just have a few minutes alone in my bedchamber,” to cry and console herself, to climb onto the bed, hug the pillow and pretend it was the master of the house,
“and then we’ll get to work.”

  Bennet inclined his head. “You can access your room through the adjoining door.” He gestured to the right of the large mahogany armoire. “You’ll find the key on your nightstand.”

  “You put me in the marchioness’ suite?” Lord, no wonder the butler seemed aggrieved. “Bennet, you cannot put your mistress in a room soon to be occupied by your wife.”

  He arched a mischievous brow. “You’re not my mistress, and I have no definite plans to marry. Does a dear friend not deserve the best chamber in the house?”

  “Everyone thinks I’m your mistress. When the ton discovers what you’ve done, they’ll think you’ve inherited your father’s obsession.”

  “I don’t give a damn what they think. It’s a delightful room, and I want you to feel comfortable. Besides, we’re already courting scandal. Most men provide houses for their lovers, not move them into their family home.”

  She supposed he had a point. But how in Lucifer’s name could she sleep knowing he was naked in bed next door? The need to solve the case quickly suddenly became more important than ever.

  “I’ll visit the bedchamber later. Let’s take tea in the study while we examine the journals. We’ve got two hours until I need to wash and change for dinner. We should be able to get through a few by then.”

  She left the room without waiting for a reply. Bennet followed behind. His butler kept an impassive expression when ushering the maid out of the study, but he must have wondered why they were not thrashing about in bed.

  Seated on the opposite side of Bennet’s desk, and after sipping a calming cup of tea, Julianna delved into the box and handed Bennet a journal.

  “In the journal I read at Witherdeen, your father wrote about his father’s passing and inheriting the marquessate. What’s strange is the title on the first recto page.”

  Bennet settled back in the chair behind his desk. “You mean the one where he fears everyone wants to murder him in his bed?”

  “Did he ever have cause to fear for his life?” Giselle always said she’d stab him with a letter opener should he ever darken her door again.