by Clee, Adele
Bennet stepped out of her embrace and drew the curtains. “You’re right. I can’t stand here all night watching the shadows.” He took hold of her hand. “Let’s go to bed. Lying next to you will ease my mind for a time.”
They climbed into bed. Bennet drew her close to his chest, and she twined her legs with his. The conversation turned to Miss Ponsonby.
“If she killed her brother, there is nothing I can do to save her. If she harms you, Julianna, I will see her hang.” Bennet stroked her hair, pushed an errant lock behind her ear. “When this is over, I must visit Mary Devereaux, see what I can do to mend the feud my father started.”
“I’m sure she’ll welcome you, for her children’s sakes.”
They fell into companionable silence and closed their eyes.
Julianna was almost asleep when Bennet said, “Miss Gambit is to meet her client soon. Daventry spoke about it on the journey. Perhaps you should warn her the man is a hard taskmaster.”
Rachel had an assignment?
Julianna shot up. “Who’s a hard taskmaster? Mr Daventry or the new client?” Either way, Rachel would finally get an opportunity to prove her worth.
Bennet smiled. “The client. Miss Gambit must pass a series of tests before he’ll agree to hire her.”
“Tests? What sort of tests?”
“Who can say?”
“Do you know who wishes to hire her?” Rachel would be beside herself with excitement. She’d breeze through the tests and show her client she was just as formidable as the men. “It might help her prepare.”
“No, but with the name Hunter, he’s more than a match for Miss Gambit.”
“Hunter! He sounds like a savage.” Still, Rachel was equally skilled with weaponry. “Oh, there’s no chance of me sleeping now.”
His sensual hum said he sought to take advantage of the fact. “As I’m to blame for the disturbance, let me massage your shoulders as you did mine. Help you relax.”
Julianna arched a brow. “Are you sure you mean to massage my shoulders? Why do I suspect you failed to pay attention in anatomy class?”
His husky laugh turned her blood molten. “Turn over, love, and face the wall.”
“Shouldn’t I lie face down?”
Bennet chuckled softly. “I plan to start at your thigh and slowly work my way up to your shoulder. Concentrating on those areas that throb and ache most.”
Unable to suppress the flutter of excitement, she turned over and let him have his way. She had no complaints. Those magical fingers soothed all her woes. When he fondled her breasts and entered her from behind, when he drove slow and deep to limit the noise, she had to muffle her moans with a pillow.
“I’ve spent many nights imagining holding you like this,” he whispered against her neck as they came down from the dizzying heights of their pleasure. “Now I’ve found you, I’ll never let you go.”
“I’ve spent many nights thinking of you, too.” She caressed his arm in soothing strokes, lulling him to sleep. Julianna knew he’d succumbed when his breathing slowed and his limbs relaxed. And yet she lay awake, the old fears and doubts surfacing.
She had been ripped from his embrace once before.
Was their love destined to end in tragedy again?
* * *
Julianna woke to a faint tapping noise. She glanced around the dark room. The embers in the grate had died, and the air carried a bitter chill. Below stairs, she heard mumbled voices and the clip of footsteps on the flagstones. The clatter of horses’ hooves on the cobbles outside said a coach had entered the stable yard.
“Devereaux?” Bennet’s name whispered through the room, followed by more tapping on the bedchamber door. “Devereaux?”
Julianna shook Bennet awake. “Bennet. There’s someone at the door. I think it’s Mr Daventry.” It was definitely a man’s voice.
“Devereaux!” came the urgent plea.
Bennet dragged himself out of bed and padded to the door.
Julianna’s gaze followed his firm buttocks and solid thighs. She would never tire of ogling his naked physique. She would never tire of sleeping next to the man she loved.
“Give me a moment.” Bennet’s voice was still thick from sleep. To protect his modesty, he opened the door a fraction. “Daventry? What time is it?”
“Three o’clock. Get dressed. Roxburgh’s carriage has just pulled into the inn. I’m right in saying his crest carries a flaming torch?”
Roxburgh? Julianna’s breath caught in her throat.
Why would the lord make the fourteen-hour journey to Bristol when he complained about the drive to Hampshire? She’d wager all she owned he was not involved in the threats made against Bennet, but it looked mighty suspicious.
“It can’t be Roxburgh.” Bennet echoed Julianna’s sentiment, but she’d never known Mr Daventry make a mistake. “He wouldn’t come all this way unless—” Bennet paused and exhaled deeply. “Wait there. I’ll be two minutes at most.”
Bennet closed the door and quickly reached for his breeches.
A hundred questions filled Julianna’s mind. “Lord Roxburgh must have left at noon to arrive so promptly.”
Bennet seemed agitated. “What if Miss Ponsonby—or whatever the hell her name is—has exacted her revenge by torching Witherdeen?” He dragged his shirt over his head and thrust his arms into the sleeves. “She knew she couldn’t catch us before we found her mother and so avenged her father’s death by sticking to their original plan.”
“That’s physically impossible. It would take a minimum of five hours for news of Witherdeen to reach London. And it’s a fourteen-hour journey to Bristol.”
“Then what the devil is Roxburgh doing here?” Bennet dropped onto the bed while tugging on his boots. “What possessed him to journey a hundred miles? The man hates the drive to Witherdeen.”
“I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation.”
Like a thief in the night, doubt slipped into her mind. Trust no one—that was the lesson she’d learnt long ago. Mr Branner had been kind and affable and had proven false. Miss Ponsonby brightened a room like a ray of sunshine, and she was a deceiving devil, too. Was Lord Roxburgh hiding hatred in his heart?
“I shall dress and come downstairs with you.” Julianna pulled back the bedsheets and climbed out of bed. “We don’t know who to trust anymore.”
Bennet thrust his arms into his coat. “No. Stay here and lock the door. Don’t let anyone into the chamber. Roxburgh must have some justification for being here. If I’m wrong, you’ll hear us fighting in the taproom.”
“What if he means to shoot you?”
Bennet gave an incredulous snort. “In front of Daventry and the innkeeper?” He crossed the room, kissed her forehead, and reiterated, “Lock the door. I’ll return and put your mind at ease as soon as I’ve spoken to Roxburgh.”
He slipped from the room, leaving Julianna alone with her thoughts and a crippling sense of dread. She couldn’t settle, took to pacing the floor, her mind a whirl of questions.
Was Lord Roxburgh playing the dutiful friend?
Had he come all this way merely to offer his support?
It seemed unlikely.
The icy nip in the air saw her throw her pelisse over her nightgown and fasten the buttons. Then she continued pacing while determining why the hairs on her nape prickled to attention, why she felt a sudden frisson of alarm.
So, the carriage clattering into the stable yard belonged to Lord Roxburgh. She walked over to the window and parted the curtains, expecting to see the young grooms removing the harnesses and brushing down the horses.
No one attended the carriage with the unusual crest.
But wait! Movement inside Lord Roxburgh’s vehicle caught Julianna’s eye. How odd. Mr Daventry said the lord was waiting downstairs in the taproom.
Hiding behind the curtain, she took a tentative peek at the conveyance. The outline of a woman’s bonnet caught her eye, but it was impossible to note any identifying features in the dark. I
t could be Mrs Thorne. The widow clung to the lord like knotweed. Could it be Miss Ponsonby? If so, why had she not followed Lord Roxburgh into the inn?
Was the plan to lure Bennet to the carriage and shoot him dead? Would Lord Roxburgh really risk his life and reputation to assist Miss Ponsonby in her devilish plan?
There was only one way to find out.
Julianna pushed her feet into her boots, tied the laces and ferreted around in her valise for the pretty bottle of pepper and small blade given to her by Rachel Gambit. She slipped the weapons into her pocket and unlocked the bedchamber door.
Mr Daventry had spent five minutes explaining every route out of the building in case they found themselves pursued by Mr Branner’s killer. And so, Julianna left the room and took the rear stairs leading to the stable yard.
She paused on the bottom step and took a deep breath.
Every instinct said Miss Ponsonby had come to Bristol.
Every instinct said Julianna was about to confront a cold-blooded killer.
* * *
Bennet strode into the dimly lit taproom to find Roxburgh leaning against the crude oak counter. “What the devil are you doing here?” Bennet came to a crashing halt. “God’s teeth! You look like you’ve crawled from the pits of hell.”
Roxburgh never looked anything but immaculate. Now his ruffled clothes, bloodshot eyes and pale face spoke of severe fatigue.
“Fourteen hours of torture does that to a man.” Roxburgh dragged his hand down his face and rubbed his bristly jaw. “It hurts to stand, hurts to sit. Every bone in my body creaks. I crave a hot bath and a woman’s pliant fingers to massage the knots.”
Daventry closed in on the lord. “You were given a simple task. Inform Devereaux’s friends of our plan so the villain might follow us to Bristol. The fact you’re here leads me to question your innocence.”
Roxburgh jerked back. “If I was going to kill a man, I’d shoot him between the brows, not hit him with a fireside implement.”
“Who told you Branner was killed with a poker?”
The innkeeper slammed a large glass of whisky on the counter.
Roxburgh knocked it back in two gulps.
“Sloane woke me at an ungodly hour and described every gory detail.” Roxburgh panted as the liquor scorched his throat. “He said I was to make the tale sound gruesome, judge our friends’ reactions. Said the villain would do something to rouse my suspicion.”
Daventry gestured to a round table. “Sit down. Explain why you saw fit to ignore simple instructions.”
Roxburgh dragged out a chair. “Can a man not use his initiative?”
They sat around the table. Roxburgh summoned the innkeeper and ordered another drink. Bennet declined the offer of refreshment, as did Daventry. Men hunting a brutal fiend had to keep their wits.
Daventry fixed the lord with a stare. “Well?”
“Miss Winters was detained while attempting to book passage on the Edinburgh stage at nine o’clock yesterday morning. Cole, and that burly fellow who lifts rocks like they’re pebbles, caught up with me outside the townhouse Lowbridge keeps for his mistress.”
Relief settled over Bennet’s shoulders like a warm blanket. So they were not hiding in a coaching inn waiting for a killer. Isabella had murdered Branner in a fit of rage. Yet the pang deep in his gut said not.
“Where is Isabella now?” Bennet snapped.
“Being questioned by the magistrate at Bow Street. Cole said I was to tell our friends that Miss Winters killed the steward.”
Daventry leant forward. “Did you?”
Roxburgh nodded. “Sloane was right. Miss Ponsonby’s reaction gave me cause for concern. She suddenly recalled seeing Miss Winters running across the lawn in a blood-stained gown. Said Miss Winters told her she had stolen Devereaux’s stickpin as a keepsake. Lowbridge suggested she go to Bow Street and give a statement.”
“How did she react when you told her Branner was dead?”
“The Miss Ponsonby I know would have swooned before asking a myriad of questions. Would have wanted to know every gruesome detail. I found her stone-cold silence unnerving. Not as unnerving as what happened when I left the house.”
“What did Miss Ponsonby ask you to do?” Daventry spoke as if he knew the answer. He waited for Roxburgh to inhale a pinch of snuff. “I guarantee she had more important matters on her mind than visiting Bow Street.”
“She followed me, had a sudden fit of hysterics. Insisted we come to Bristol. She ranted about Miss Winters’ wickedness, about needing to put your mind at ease, Devereaux. She whined and made a host of excuses for needing to reassure Mrs Eden. Pleaded with me to act at once.”
A shiver ran the length of Bennet’s spine. “Tell me you left her in London and are here purely to pass on the information.” Had Miss Ponsonby made such a nuisance of herself, Roxburgh had agreed to her demands? “For the love of God, tell me you didn’t bring her to Bristol.”
Roxburgh glanced at the taproom door and lowered his voice. “Sloane said the person who murdered Branner will likely follow you here. Is it not better to keep the devil in one’s sights?”
In one’s sights?
“Cursed saints!” Bennet jumped to his feet and sent the chair crashing to the floor. “Where is she?”
“Asleep in the carriage. I left—”
“Damnation!” Sick with fear, Bennet darted across the taproom and mounted the stairs. He hammered on the bedchamber door. “Julianna. It’s me. Quickly, open the door.” A frantic scan of the dark corridor said a murderer wasn’t lingering in the shadows. “Julianna!” He knocked louder this time, loud enough to wake the dead. He tried the doorknob to put his mind at ease.
The door opened without any resistance.
Nausea rolled through Bennet. He entered and searched the darkness.
But Julianna was gone.
Chapter 20
The night was cold. A bitter breeze wound its way under the hem of Julianna’s clothes, raising goose pimples to her skin. The air smelled crisp, sterile, but for the stench of manure and the faint odour of fear.
She hid in the shadows, gathering her wits, before creeping towards the vehicle. There was no way to surprise the lady, and so Julianna had no option but to yank open the door and climb into Lord Roxburgh’s carriage.
She slammed the door and dropped into the seat, caught a whiff of Miss Ponsonby’s perfume before meeting the woman’s shocked gaze.
“Mrs Eden!” Miss Ponsonby’s throat worked tirelessly while she scrambled to compose herself. “Oh, thank heavens it’s you. Have you seen Roxburgh? Damn the man for making me wait in the stable yard in the dead of night. Who leaves a woman alone to defend herself against ruffians?”
Julianna decided to play along for a while. “Roxburgh has no shame. He said coaching inns are eerie places, that during the witching hour you’re bound to see a ghost.”
The lady kept her hands nestled inside her white muff. “I’d like to meet the ghost of a headless horseman. Men are much more tolerable when they cannot speak or think.” She laughed. “Perhaps you should write a book about haunted hostelries.”
Julianna laughed, too, though shuddered inside at the depth of this woman’s deception. “Please tell me you’ve not travelled fourteen hours in a carriage with Lord Roxburgh just to see a ghost. I don’t imagine he’s much of a conversationalist.”
Miss Ponsonby huffed. “It was the worst fourteen hours of my life. The man mumbles erotic fantasies in his sleep. Oh, the air was blue with his crude descriptions. But never mind that. We came to bring news of Miss Winters, to tell you she’s been taken to Bow Street on suspicion of murdering the steward. Indeed, you must come home at once.”
Miss Winters arrested for murder! It was a surprising development. In all likelihood, the woman was innocent.
“Miss Winters killed Mr Branner? Good heavens!” Julianna wanted to bombard her with questions, but it could wait. No doubt Lord Roxburgh had come to Bristol to relay the shocking news. Miss Po
nsonby had come for devious reasons.
“You ventured all this way just to tell us about Miss Winters? You should have waited. We’re returning to London later today.”
“Today?” Panic flickered in the woman’s eyes. Fear coated every word when she said, “Why? Have you concluded your business already?”
Miss Ponsonby’s prying questions hadn’t bothered Julianna before. She’d found them quite endearing. Now it was evident she had an ulterior motive for everything she asked.
“We planned to go into town tomorrow. Poor Mr Branner had a library book in his cottage, from King Street, Bristol. We hoped to gain his address from the library’s records, hoped to visit his family and pay our respects.”
“But I’m sure someone said the steward’s mother lives in Bath.” Miss Ponsonby clung to her story like a spider did a web.
“They were mistaken. Mr Branner’s mother lives near Great George Street in Bristol. Lord Devereaux wished to visit and express his condolences.”
Miss Ponsonby fell silent.
Miss Ponsonby never fell silent.
“Luckily, we arrived early enough to travel into Bristol last night. We spoke to Mrs Blanchard. It seems Mr Branner used a false name when he worked at Witherdeen, to disguise the fact he was the marquess’ cousin.”
Miss Ponsonby’s bright blue eyes darkened. “How odd.”
That was all? Where were the gasps of shock, the excited titters? Where were the rambling questions that usually followed every statement?
“Mr Branner was John Devereaux’s illegitimate son.” Julianna observed the woman, waiting for the mask to fall. “What shall we discuss first, Portia? The fact you’ve been lying to everyone? Or that during a heated argument, you killed your brother?”
The air turned oppressive.
Julianna held her breath for a few suffocating seconds.
“No one likes a snoop, Mrs Eden,” came Miss Ponsonby’s bitter reply. Her charming smile vanished as quick as a spectre. The playful innocence shrank into the shadows, replaced with a demonic-like contempt. “You think you’re so clever, so smart, so bloody perfect. The ingenious mistress saves the day. Hurrah for Mrs Eden! Hurrah!”
