Dreamspinner (37 page)

Reining in her fear, she said, “When did William die?”

“Four years ago. He succumbed to influenza.”

“Why did you stay on? If you were loyal to William, why did you serve Kent after he’d disobeyed his father’s edict about marrying Emily?”

“Because I have attended the Deverells for thirty years.”

Trying to pry a reaction from him, she said, “Then you must have despised the Carletons for as long. Doesn’t it bother you to have to guard me?”

Irritation flickered in his dark eyes. “You are the master’s wife. He has solicited my protection. That is enough for me.”

Juliet studied his frown. Dare she believe Ravi? Or could he harbor a fanatical devotion to William’s memory, a devotion that might drive him to murder Emmett Carleton’s daughter and grandchild? Therein lay another possibility. Perhaps Emily’s death had been an accident, but the attempt on Juliet had not been.

Fleetwood had departed the north rampart. She and Ravi stood alone on the battlement. In his hand she’d detected a wiry strength. He could easily overpower her, push her over the embrasure. Her fingers would scrabble for purchase on the decaying stone. Screaming, she would plunge to the rock-strewn ground...

A dizzying shudder seized her. With great effort, she raised her chin and coolly regarded Ravi. “I wish to return to my room.”

He bowed. “I will lead the way, memsahib.”

Turning, he walked to the stairs. She started down the stone steps, bracing a hand on the wall to steady herself. He stayed close, glancing back to watch her descent. If he really wanted to kill her, wouldn’t he have followed? A slight shove and...

She forced away the morbid thought. She had to stop the wild speculations and start solving the mystery. Fingering the button in her pocket, she examined Ravi’s garments, the turban and the robe. She could see no fastenings other than the wide sash cinching his waist.

Impatience prodded her. Perhaps Kent would recognize the button. When they reached the base of the stairs, she said, “I’ve changed my mind. I’m going to see the duke.”

“The sahib wishes you to rest.”

“The memsahib wishes you to accompany her. Otherwise she’ll go alone.”

A gleam entered those murky eyes. He bowed. “Come with me, then, Your Grace.”

They veered toward the stables, where he directed a stable boy to hitch a pony to the dogcart. Ravi helped her onto the seat, then took the reins. The wheels clattered over the drawbridge, the horse’s hooves clopping.

As the lane dipped and rose through copses of oak and meadows shorn from haying, misgivings rolled through her. Perhaps it had been a mistake to drive alone with Ravi. If he chose to attack, she had little defense. Yet he’d ignored other opportunities.

Clutching to the side of the swaying cart, she forced herself to ponder the other suspects. Had Gordon or Fleetwood lost a button yesterday? She couldn’t recall. Perhaps she was wrong in thinking the button belonged to a man. How did Augusta fasten her cuffs? Or, for that matter, Rose? Chantal? Juliet resolved to pay greater heed to such details.

Beyond a small stream she spied a half-mown field. Sickles swinging, a row of men labored at cutting the wheat. Another group followed to tie the grain into sheaves, which dotted the stubbled ground.

She drew in the dusty-warm scent of sunshine and harvest. Contentment settled inside her as the vehicle rattled over the narrow wooden bridge. At the edge of the field, Kent crouched beneath the spreading boughs of a chestnut tree. He tinkered with the long rake-like object lying before him.

As Ravi halted the dogcart, Kent looked up. Grease smeared one fine cheekbone and streaked his half-open shirt. He got up, wiping his hands on a rag. Alarm tautened his features as he approached, stuffing the rag into his pocket.

Juliet scrambled down. “What’s wrong?” she asked, peering past him. “That’s not the threshing machine in the sketch you showed me.”

“It’s a horse-drawn reaper, but the axle broke.” He slid his hands around her shoulders. “Never mind that,” he said hoarsely. “What are you doing here? Is something wrong?”

His concern warmed her. “Of course not, love. I needed to speak to you, that’s all. Could we have a moment alone?”

He glanced at Ravi, who sat impassively in the dogcart. “We’ll walk to the brook.”

Fingers braced at her back, Kent guided her a short distance down the stream. Water gurgled merrily over the rocks. Clumps of reeds lined the bank, along with a few stalks of yellow loosestrife. A fat bumblebee buzzed among the tiny blue stars of a forget-me-not bush.

Longing to savor a moment alone with her husband, she paused beneath the dappled shade of a willow. “Do you ever fish here?”

“No, usually in the river.” He drew her around to face him. “You didn’t come all this way to speak of fishing. What’s so important that it couldn’t wait until I came home to you?”

His eyes expressed a deep, abiding love, an emotion so honest, she nearly swayed from giddy joy. How could she ever have found his handsome face difficult to read?

Striving for composure, she lowered her gaze to his
open collar, where the dark mat of chest hair was visible. The warmth of the day had caused him to half unfasten his sweat-dampened shirt... Her eyes sharpened.

“You!” she gasped, then burst into startled laughter. “It was
you!”

Puzzlement etched his features. “Me? What are you babbling about?”

She took a breath to contain her relieved amusement. “The button,” she said, plucking it from her pocket and eyeing the loose threads on his shirt. “I thought this belonged to the killer.”

“The killer?”

“I found this button on the parapet, wedged into the wall above the greenhouse—

“You went up there?” He seized her arms so swiftly that the button went bouncing down the embankment and plopped into the water. “Are you mad? My God, Juliet, you could have fallen... died...”

His horror raised a sense of guilt. “But I didn’t, love. I thought only to find a clue—”

“You might trust me to do what’s necessary,” he snapped. “I checked the parapet myself this morning.

“Did you learn anything?”

“Only that the place is crumbling around our ears. I’m astonished that Ravi would escort you to such a dangerous place. I shall have a word with him.”

“Don’t blame Ravi, please. I slipped away without his knowledge.”

An ironic smile touched his mouth. “I might have guessed. You do have a way of taking matters into your own hands.”

The reference to the dowry annoyed her, yet she held her head high. “I behave according to what I believe is right.”

“This is one case where you’re wrong. You’ll leave the investigating to me.”

The directive rankled. “If I hide in my room like a mouse, we’ll never solve this mystery.”

A shadow passed over his face. Abruptly he loosed her arms and stepped back. “We’ll speak later, as soon as I’ve finished out here. I’ve something important to tell you.”

Intrigued, she said, “About the mystery?”

His eyes slid away for a moment. “Yes, but it’s too involved to go into right now. In the meantime, I want you to promise you’ll not venture out again without Ravi or me.”

Unable to refuse the entreaty, she nodded slowly. She debated telling him about finding Emily’s diary, then decided its mysterious appearance would only cause him undue worry, when his mind should be on the harvest. There would be time later to show him the journal, to speculate on who wanted her to know about Emily’s thoughts and fears.

Abruptly he walked away and returned a moment later with a sprig of forget-me-not. His smile seemed almost melancholy as he tickled her chin with the brilliant blue flowers. “Remember the time I brought you a spray of these?”

“On our wedding night. If I recall, you identified the Latin name before I could.”

“If I recall, you set me on fire with wanting you, my Lady Botanist. Perhaps I should show you again.”

Her legs felt on the verge of wilting. Breathlessly she teased, “Perhaps I don’t kiss a man who has grease on his cheek.”

“Have I?” Cocking a sheepish eyebrow, he rubbed a hand over his face. “Where?”

“Here, let me wipe it.”

Juliet pulled a rag from his pocket and stroked at the spot. He smelled faintly musky, uniquely male. His breath stirred her hair; his nearness stirred her blood. She wanted to shape her hands to the powerful muscles of his shoulders, to undress him, to lie in the sunshine and feel him inside her...

Glancing up, she saw Kent watching her with that odd nervous intensity. What could he have to tell her? “I’d best take you back,” he murmured, “before I ravish you right here.”

“I wouldn’t mind.”

His mouth tilted into a half smile. “I told you once before, I won’t chance any other man seeing what’s for my eyes alone.”

Placing the rag in his hand, she let out an exaggerated sigh. “Your wish is my command, Your Grace.”

He tucked the stem of forget-me-nots into her bodice, his callused fingers brushing her breasts. Cupping her cheeks, he brought his lips down hard on hers in a sudden violent outpouring of emotion. Willingly she melted into him, welcoming the keen pleasure of his kiss. Time spun away as she tasted him, caressed him, pressed her hips to his. He held her tight as if he could not bear to let her go.

“I love you, Juliet. Don’t ever forget that.”

Joy thrummed inside her. To hear him speak such passionate words in the light of day brought a sense of boundless contentment. Last night had been no illusion, no isolated confession brought about by his fear for her life. He truly loved her.

An arm at her waist, he walked her back to the dogcart. “I shouldn’t be much longer than another hour or two.” He looked at Ravi and added, “Guard her well.”

“Yes, sahib.”

Kent brushed a distracted kiss across her cheek; his mind must already be combing the list of suspects again. As the vehicle jolted down the lane, frustration eroded her heart. He must have thought of a vital clue; that must be the reason for his pensive mood. A pity the shirt button had proven to be a false sign. Her hand stole over her midsection. She wanted nothing to mar her happiness with Kent, nothing to harm their child.

Inside the castle, she and Ravi met Gordon emerging from the library. His shoulders drooped beneath a frayed burgundy jacket. An odd gray pallor shadowed his face, and despite the dank coolness of the air, beads of sweat glistened on his brow.

“Have you seen my wife?” he asked. “She was to procure my medication from the physician.”

Gordon must be in pain from his rheumatism, Juliet thought in sympathy. “I saw Augusta come in a couple of hours ago. Would you like me to find her?”

Confusion chased across his nondescript features. “No... no. She’s in our apartments, I would surmise.”

With a wave of knotty fingers, he shuffled down the corridor. As she and Ravi continued upstairs, Juliet wondered if Gordon could be the one. Could he really wish to prevent the birth of an heir? Did he possess the strength to push Emily over the parapet? Could he heft a heavy rock in his deformed hands?

She shook her head. Kent knew far more about the people here; later they could put their heads together and arrive at a culprit and a motive.

Ravi locked the bedroom door and placed the key on a table. “If you should need me—”

“You’ll be next door.”

The corners of his mouth quirked slightly. “Yes, memsahib.” Bowing, he retreated into Kent’s bedchamber.

Juliet freshened up in the dressing room, then wandered through the vast bedchamber and stopped by an open window. Leaning on the casement, she gazed down at the river, blue-gray and calm. Its lapping harmonized with the quack of a duck and the murmur of a wood pigeon. The outing had dissipated the nausea and left her restless. She longed to plunge her fingers into warm earth, to find peace in the mundane tasks of trimming rosebushes and pulling weeds. A dismal sense of loss eddied through her. All those beautiful seedlings. And the clusters of glossy green grapes, ready to darken to a rich purple. All destroyed. Of course, she might salvage something from the wreckage.

But Kent had asked her to remain here. Out of love he’d begged her to be cautious. Even without the directive, she wasn’t certain she possessed the courage to work in the greenhouse, to know that someone might be leaning over the parapet, peering down at her...

Shuddering, she took a deep breath. She refused to go through life fearing every shadow, seeing danger around every corner.

There must be something she could do to chase away the specter of peril. Perhaps she should reread the diary, more slowly this time, to search out a hidden clue.

But the cream-covered journal had vanished from her pillow. In its stead lay a thin sheaf of papers.

Someone had been in the bedroom during her absence. The notion unleashed a prickly sensation over her skin. The intruder could be anyone here in the castle. Even Ravi had had the opportunity to invade her private chamber.

Hand trembling, she picked up the stack. One edge was ragged; the pages must have been torn from a diary. Yet these sheets were slightly different, of a finer-quality stock; they must have come from a different journal. Emily’s feminine handwriting unrolled across the ruled lines. The hand was firmer, less girlish.

August 11, 1885.
The day she had died.

The third anniversary was four days away.

Juliet swallowed. She had a sudden, peculiar urge to throw down the pages. Was the person who’d left the diary a murderer? Did the journal hold a clue to the mystery of Emily’s death?

She dragged a wing chair to a shaft of sunlight. Curling her legs beneath her, she began to read.

Papa came to visit this afternoon. When Mama slipped me his note yesterday, I had no notion of the grief his call would wreak upon my heart and upon my marriage. Only joy and excitement danced inside me. His brief letter was the first response I’d received since writing to him about my marriage, then the coming child, his grandchild. For the first time I would see Papa in my own home and, as the Duchess of Radcliffe, receive him. I prayed my newly respectable rank had inspired him to at last acknowledge me as his true daughter. Perhaps I’d taken the one step that would win his esteem.