Dreamspinner (32 page)

“Of course not. I’m...” A faint blush stained her milk pale face. Looking oddly nervous, she touched her scraped cheek and frowned at her friend.

Maud clapped a hand to her mouth. “Oh, fiddle. I’ve spilled the beans, haven’t I?”

He glared. “Spilled what beans?”

Blinking, she fell uncharacteristically silent. A moment of suspended breathing stretched out. Releasing Juliet, he looked around the sunlit gathering. Ravi stood impassively beside Chantal. Rose fussed with the fichu. Augusta pursed her lips. Fleetwood took sudden interest in his shoes.

By God, if they meant to hide another murder attempt from him...

Juliet touched his forearm. “Let’s go inside and discuss this in private—”

“I’m not going anywhere until I get an answer.” Fear made his voice harsh, dry. “Why did the doctor see you?”

The pink tint to her cheeks deepened. “Kent, please. I’d really rather not talk about it here.”

“You
will
talk about it here and now.”

“Don’t you dare bully her.” Her fair features screwed into a belligerent expression, Maud marched in front of him. Lowering her voice, she said, “You see, Your Grace, you mustn’t upset her, for she’s breeding.”

Stupefied, he gaped at Juliet. The unwavering softness of her eyes confirmed the report. A baby, a creation of their love. His heart took a joyous leap; his stomach took a sickening dive. She could have lost the baby. She could have been killed. Just as Emily had died with his child in her womb.

Oh, God.
Oh, God.
He could lose Juliet, too. The ruined greenhouse gave mute testimony to the possibility. By marrying her, he had set in motion a scheme that had turned his life into an emotional morass. He had plunged her into a mire of danger.

Everyone stared as if awaiting his response. “I... I’m pleased, Juliet. Very pleased.”

Their faces swam in and out of focus. Behind which one lurked the demented mind of a killer? Kent tried to tell himself he was mistaken; the incident today had been no more than a chance misfortune.

Yet how could he be sure?

Dreamspinner. Emily’s last word. Damn, what had she been trying to tell him?

The plan grabbed him, a plan so improbable, it just might succeed. A plan to flush out the killer...

He scooped Juliet into his arms. “You’re coming with me.”

She wriggled against him. “Put me down.”

“No.”

“For pity’s sake, Kent. I’m perfectly capable of walking.”

“I’ll decide that.”

The grim ducal tone rankled Juliet. But judging by the lowered slant of his eyebrows and the rigid set of his jaw, she’d best withhold further protest.

And why resist when the fright of the awful accident still weakened her limbs? She loved being cradled in the security of his strong arms, loved being nestled against his hard chest. He smelled faintly of horses and sweat and the indefinable essence of man. She started to snuggle her cheek into the crook of his shoulder, then caught herself. Ill feelings still seethed between them, feelings that must be settled before she could lie content in his embrace.

As he strode toward the door, she caught a glimpse of Maud gawking. “Your Grace!” she squeaked. “Where are you taking her?”

“To bed,” Kent said, “where she belongs.”

Amid the row of startled faces, Henry grinned. “Good show, old chap. You always let your women know who’s in charge.”

The air smelled pure after the settling dust of the greenhouse. A peacock strutted the garden, its fan spread. Kent’s heart thrummed against her breast; his muscles shifted rhythmically as he walked.

A flash of brownish gray caught her eye. Tilting her head, she saw a horse cropping the weeds beside an overgrown bank of rosebushes. “Where did that nag come from?”

“That nag,” Kent said, with a glint in his dark eyes, “could win a steeplechase.” Swinging around, setting
her head to whirling, he called to Fleetwood, “Fetch a stable boy. I want this horse to have a good rubdown and a hearty serving of oats.”

The postern gate stood ajar; Kent passed under the stone archway. Gordon wandered across the dusty, sunlit courtyard. He stopped and blinked, his eyes dreamy behind thick spectacles.

“Why are you holding her, Kent? Is she dead?” His thin voice elevated. “Is Emily dead?”

His confusion shocked Juliet and stirred her compassion. “It’s me, Juliet,” she said gently. “And I’m perfectly fine.”

“She suffered an accident in the greenhouse.” Kent narrowed his eyes on his cousin. “Where have you been?”

Gordon waved a misshapen hand at the manor. “Researching Machiavellian theory in the library. Heard a crash, then shouts and tramping feet and the like. Disturbed my cogitation...” His voice faded, as if he’d lost the thread of thought.

“If you’ll excuse us,” Kent said.

“Certainly.” The glaze suddenly left Gordon’s eyes; he looked remarkably lucid. “Er... felicitations on your happy condition, Juliet.”

“Thank you.”

The great hall lay in gloom. His boot heels ringing on the stone floor, Kent carried her down a winding corridor.

“How oddly Gordon behaved,” she said.

“He’s absentminded, that’s all. Don’t worry about him. You need to concentrate on watching over yourself.”

His high handed manner annoyed her. “Yes, Your Grace.”

Though she kept her eyes downcast, she felt his gaze trickle her skin. She stared at his white shirt, where a few curling black hairs escaped his unbuttoned collar. As if she weighed no more than a spray of roses, he bore her up the steps. Was it the curving of the staircase or his tantalizing nearness that made her so deliciously dizzy?

Pushing open a doorway, Kent walked through the alcove and into her bedchamber. He settled Juliet on the vast canopied bed and propped two pillows behind her. Then he disappeared into the dressing room, returning a moment later with a wet cloth. The mattress dipped as he sat down on the bed. He brushed aside her tumbled hair and began to cleanse her brow.

“Are you certain you’re all right? The doctor should take a look at you.”

“I told you, I’m fine.” Only then did she recall her dishevelment. An inexplicable wave of shyness inundated her. “Although I must look a fright.”

His eyes briefly met hers. “The sight of you alive and well is all that matters.”

Yet his tone held a distracted quality; she had the impression his thoughts ranged far from her and this ancient bedroom. She swallowed an upsurge of frustration and dismay. The uncompromising set of his face proved he hadn’t forgiven her for appealing to the queen.

For trampling his pride and seeking what was rightfully hers.

He cares more for the feud than your love.

Her scraped cheek stung beneath a swipe of damp linen; she winced.

His hand stilled. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

His formality smarted more than the wound. “It’s only a scratch. Believe me, I’ve suffered worse pain.”

His gaze sharpened. For an instant he seemed on the verge of speaking; then he tightened his lips and looked back at her cheek. He gently angled her jaw as the cool cloth glided over her skin.

Tears pricked her eyes; blinking, she prayed he’d attribute it to the abrasion. This was hardly the romantic scenario she’d envisioned, being placated with soft words of forgiveness, wooed with tender kisses of reconciliation. Instead, she faced a cold-eyed stranger who seemed more inclined to silence than peacemaking.

His callused fingertips lightly inspected her cheek. “It’s only a minor scrape, thank God. Ought to heal without a scar.” Taking firm hold of her wrist, he wiped the grime from her palm. “I want you to rest until dinner. I’ll give orders that no one’s to disturb you.”

Resentment burst inside her. “You’re good at giving orders.”

His fingers tensed; his gaze shot to hers. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means,” she said, tugging her hand free and sitting up straight, “that you’ve been gone for nearly three days. Doesn’t it occur to you that I might be interested in hearing what happened with the queen?”

Something flashed across his features. Guilt? Regret? Annoyance? “Of course I intended to tell you about the audience. But you’re too shaken right now.”

“Kent, I’m fine. How many times must I say so?” She bit down hard on her lip. “Mama wrote that Papa received a summons, too. Was he there?”

He bent his head to examine a small scratch on the back of her hand. “Yes, Emmett was there.”

“And?”

“Her Majesty commanded him to dower you properly. I expect you’ll be hearing from his solicitors within a fortnight.”

His reticence maddened her more than her father’s capitulation pleased her. “Is that all?”

“It was a brief meeting.”

“Did...” She held a long breath, then expelled it slowly. “Did Papa ask after me?”

The relentless severity of his face softened; tossing the wet cloth onto the bedside table, Kent tunneled a hand into her hair. “Yes, darling, he did. I told him you were happy.”

His quiet words ended on the faint uplift of a question. A question she could not honestly answer. The murmur of the river drifted into the silence. A breeze billowed the velvet draperies and wrapped the bed in the fresh scent of summer sunshine. Against her neck, his hand lay heavy and warm. His aggressively handsome features bore a vulnerability that arrowed into her heart. He was waiting, she knew, waiting for her assurance.

Not yet... not yet.

“Do you still oppose my accepting the dowry?”

His steady gaze faltered, but only for an instant. “No. You’ve the right to use the money for the good of the people here and whatever else you please. ‘

“You’re not angry anymore?”

“No.” His mouth thinned into a grimace. “After what happened today, I can see how dearly we need money to safeguard this place for our child.”

She knew the pride the admission cost him, yet wariness thudded in her stomach. “Are you truly pleased about the baby?”

He exhaled in a hollow rush. “For Christ’s sake, Juliet. Of course I am. Did you think I wouldn’t be?”

The tender curve of his lips distracted her. “I wasn’t sure
what
to think... after that awful quarrel—”

His sudden taut embrace scattered her doubts like the feathery seeds of a dandelion. She reveled in the flex of male muscles, the possessive steel of his arms, the sandalwood scent of his skin. Beneath her hands, his shoulders were solid and warm. His mouth caught hers in an open kiss that spun into a long, lush outpouring of passion. He pressed her against the bed; she lay back willingly. When at last he moved his lips to her brow, his heart beat a swift tempo against her breasts.

“I was so afraid,” he muttered. “Afraid you might not be here when I returned. Then when I saw the greenhouse, I was even more terrified that you
were
here and hurt.”

She cupped his smooth cheekbones. “Don’t think about the accident anymore, love.”

“How can I not?” His grip tensed; his voice lashed almost angrily: “You might have been killed, Juliet. You and our baby. Just like...”

In a blinding slap of awareness, she knew he was recalling Emily. The old wound ached, but Juliet shoved it away. “We weren’t, Kent. I’m here for you.”

“I can’t lose you. Not now. Not before we’ve had a chance at the future... children... happiness.”

Naked need blurred his features, a need that shot a shiver of longing through her. She wanted him now, with the birds twittering outside and sunlight filtering past the curtains. The depth of her yearning made her fingers quiver as she smoothed the black strands of hair edging his collar. “I’ve missed you terribly.”

His night dark lashes lowered; his broad palms weighed her breasts. “And I, you.”

“Then make love to me, Kent.”

Abruptly he sat up. “No, we can’t.”

She blinked. “Can’t?”

“You’ve had a shock, and you’re pregnant. You need to rest.”

“Oh, for pity’s sake. Are we back to
that
again?” She leaned toward him, her breasts finding the delicious solidity of his chest. Smiling seductively, she said, “The doctor told me that I could continue my normal schedule of activities.”

A muscle in his jaw leapt. Indecision hovered in the flexing of his hands on her shoulders, in the swift rise and fall of his breathing. “Later,” he said, pressing her against the pillows. “I want you to take a nap, get your strength back.”

“Nap! I haven’t taken a nap since I was three.”

“Darling Juliet, we do have tonight.”

Of course, she thought crossly, he made love to her only in the dark of night. Yet the flame in his eyes melted her annoyance. The truth was, she
did
feel a
weakening wash of fatigue. “I won’t sleep,” she warned.

Smiling, Kent pushed up from the bed. “I trust you’ll try. I want you to feel well enough to attend dinner tonight.”

“I will. I’m hardly an invalid.”

Bracing a hand on either side of her, he planted a hard kiss on her lips. “Grant me a favor.”

“I tried to grant you a favor a moment ago.”

His eyes gleamed. “Wear the white gown to dinner. The one you wore at the ball when we first met.”

“Why?”

“Because you look lovely in it.”

“Is that all?”

“You’ll find out soon enough, Duchess.” Kent gently ran his knuckles along her cheek, where the scrape still burned. That odd preoccupied quality again shadowed his face. “I’ll be right next door if you need me.”

He strode from the bedroom and left the door ajar. Tonight she’d make certain he thought only of her. Rolling onto her side, she hugged the pillow and started to plan precisely how she would entice him into a declaration of love...

She opened her eyes to the dusky light of sunset. For a moment Juliet couldn’t recall how she’d come to be lying fully clothed, gazing at the green and gold canopy of her bed. She felt stiff, her muscles aching from the fall. Then a quiet rap sounded on the door and Mrs. Fleetwood trotted inside.

In contrast to her husband, she was short and stout; Juliet found the woman an efficient lady’s maid. She soon sat garbed in the gown of white tulle before the dressing table. A pair of candles dispelled the gathering darkness. The gray-haired woman chattered freely as she coiled Juliet’s hair atop her head.