Dreamspinner (41 page)

“She was napping in the tower.”

“You have only her word on that?”

He nodded.

“And Rose?”

“She was off tending Father’s grave, as she does once a week. In summer she often goes in the early evening, when it’s cooler. Mrs. Fleetwood saw her leave just after tea.”

“Rose might have crept back in, then.”

His midnight eyes bored into her. Abruptly he swept an arm across the desk, scattering the small piles of wires and fibers and cock’s hackles across the faded rug.

“Christ! My own sister—Emily’s sister—can’t be the killer. Neither could Chantal have murdered her daughter. And Gordon? He couldn’t harm a trout. Nor could Augusta. She spends her time saving lives, not taking them.”

Frustration snapped through his voice; the outburst of emotion reached across the rift and touched Juliet. How devastated he must be that one of the people he loved was a killer. Resisting the urge to console him, she pressed her spine against the door. “We must consider everyone, Kent, no matter how unlikely.”

Slouching in the chair, he passed a hand over his brow; the gesture conveyed an unutterable weariness. “I know.”

She forced her mind back to the mystery. “What about Fleetwood? And Mrs. Fleetwood?”

“Except for the few minutes Fleetwood went to the estate office, he was polishing silver in the pantry. Mrs. Fleetwood was in the kitchen, cooking dinner.”

“So no one has an ironclad alibi.”

He shook his head regretfully.

“I see.” In a circuit of the drawing room, she absently fingered a small brass elephant. Now she could better appreciate why he had brought out Dreamspinner; faced with a dearth of evidence, he’d grabbed at any chance, however remote, to unmask the culprit.

Before more murders occurred. Her own... and their baby’s.

Suppressing a shudder, she turned toward him. “You read Emily’s diary last night. Did you see any clues I missed?’

“No, but the fact that she had a plan confirms that her death couldn’t have been suicide.” His mouth twisted. “I wish I’d read the journal earlier. After her death, I tore the place apart looking for it, but I never found it.”

“That last entry recorded the meeting with Papa, that you’d sent him away. She said she’d decided to defy you.”

“Maybe she intended to visit him no matter what I said.” Kent leaned forward, head bowed, elbows resting on his knees. “I shouldn’t have forbade Emily to see her father. I was resentful of her obsession with him.”

The open admission touched Juliet. “She had a deep need for Papa’s love. That wasn’t your fault.”

“But I hurt her. I was so furious over seeing Emmett that I walked out on her, never dreaming I wouldn’t have the chance to apologize. Now it seems my arrogance may have prompted her to do something rash.”

Seeing his guilt, she felt a twist of compassion. Unthinkingly, she stepped around the litter and stopped beside him. “For pity’s sake, Kent, don’t blame yourself. All husbands and wives quarrel sometimes. You couldn’t have known she would die.”

“But I do know not to make the same mistake again.” He took gentle hold of her wrist. “I’m sorry, Juliet. Words can’t possibly make up for what I’ve done to you, yet they’re all I have to offer. I want to spend my life making it up to you.”

His gaze was steady, soft with regret. His thumb massaged the inside of her wrist and sent shivers over her skin. His masculine scent drifted to her. As she stared at his familiar rugged face, a magical intimacy leapt between them, an undeniable joining of mind and body and soul. The sensation enticed her...

Damn, she was doing it again. Pain and resentment flared hot. The instant he’d sensed a weakening in her reserve, he’d exploited it. Kent Deverell was a master at manipulation.

Pulling free, she walked to a chair and gripped the back. “We were speaking of Emily’s murder.”

He lowered his eyes to the vise holding the iridescent fly. When he looked at her again, his expression was empty of emotion. “That we were,” he murmured.

The moment of closeness might never have happened. It was better this way, she told herself. Better to stay away from him rather than endure the torture of desiring a man who had decided her fate as a means of revenge.

“I’ve been wondering who might have left the diary,” she said. “Who has Emily’s things? There’s nothing of hers left in my bedroom.”

“She never used that room.”

“Never?” Juliet said, surprised.

“She didn’t feel comfortable in such a grand setting. She wanted a smaller room down the hall, and I saw no reason to deny the request.”

An odd arrangement for husband and wife. Yet by Kent’s own admission, they’d been more friends than lovers. “Perhaps we should look in Emily’s room, then. We might find a clue to whoever put the journal on my bed.”

“I may have a quicker method for getting to the bottom of this,” he said. “Come with me, please.”

He strode to the door and flung it open, then waited for her to precede him. As they walked down the hall, she stole a glance at him. He might have been the man she’d first met, enigmatic and aloof, his face revealing nothing of his thoughts. She wondered if the days ahead would follow this dismal pattern of polite reserve. What would they talk about until the mystery was solved?

She imagined endless dinners with civil conversation about crops and household matters. Endless nights without a loving husband to share her innermost dreams and desires. The prospect dragged on her spirits. For the hundredth time, she mulled over the idea of returning to London. Her mother would surely welcome her with open arms, but Papa...

She’d eloped with his enemy. She’d caused his humiliation before the queen. Recalling his callous dismissal of Emily’s unborn child, Juliet couldn’t imagine him accepting a grandchild with Deverell blood.

The thought sparked a blaze of fierce protectiveness. Her baby would not suffer from this nonsensical feud. Two generations had already been ensnared in the trap of hatred. For the next generation, she intended to see the threat of danger vanquished, the hostility ended. Soon she would have the money to leave here, to establish a comfortable home somewhere for her child. Why did the thought make her feel so empty?

She suddenly realized Kent was leading the way up the winding stairs of the north tower. “You think Chantal left the diary?”

He cast an oblique glance at her. “It’s one possibility.”

They reached the small landing outside Chantal’s apartment. The muffled sound of an upraised female voice penetrated the oak door. Kent hesitated only an instant; then he rapped hard.

The door opened. Ravi stood with a hand on the knob, his dusky features taut. He bowed, and when he raised his turbaned head, his irritated expression had smoothed into blank deference. “Sahib. Were you looking for me?”

Kent shook his head. “We’re here to visit Chantal.”

“Come in,” she called. “Ravi, do invite my guests inside.”

He stepped silently away to allow them entrance. Juliet followed her husband into the bazaar-like decor of the sitting room. Despite the sunshine flowing through the narrow windows, the crimson wall hangings created the impression of a cave, mysterious and secluded.

Garbed in a loosely gathered gown of garnet-hued cotton, Chantal sat in a tall cane chair, the dark wood framing her blond hair. Rose stood near the mantelpiece. Her lower lip jutted sullenly and her arms were crossed over her lace fichu. Juliet had the impression that they were interrupting an argument.

“If you’d like,” she said to Chantal, “we could return at a more convenient time.”

Their hostess swept her arm in a grand gesture of cordiality that made her silver bracelets clink. “Of course not. Please, do sit down.”

As she and Kent settled into chairs, Juliet subjected Chantal to a surreptitious scrutiny. A buffalo horn necklace drew attention to her splendid bosom. Despite the age lines furrowing her alabaster complexion, she was still a handsome woman, exotic and queenly. Her beauty had an untamed quality, unlike the disciplined elegance of Juliet’s mother.

Papa had had a love affair with Chantal; the notion was both painful and jarring. Juliet couldn’t imagine her staid and proper father having such a mistress. Yet this woman had shared a past with him, a hidden past that excluded his legitimate family, a secret past that included a bastard daughter, Juliet’s half sister. Like a bone-deep laceration, the knowledge of his betrayal throbbed within her.

Ravi came forward, his robe rustling faintly. “If you will excuse me, I will return to my duties.”

Kent gave a distracted nod.

As the door closed, Chantal waved at a small bundle on a bamboo side table. “Ravi was kind enough to deliver a batch of the Calcutta newspapers. They came in today’s post. News of India always brings back memories of a happier time.”

Rose let out a disgruntled huff. “Indeed, Mama. A time when you were content with Father’s love. Now you think nothing of betraying his memory by consorting with that... that dark-skinned servant—”

“That’s quite enough, young miss.” Chantal slashed a hand downward. “Ravi is a dear friend. I’ll not hear you malign him.”

Rose scowled. Uneasy at witnessing the private quarrel, Juliet said quickly, “I haven’t seen you since the dinner party, Rose. Writing your play must be keeping you busy.”

The girl’s fractious expression eased. “Yes, I’ve had to do a good deal of research into the family chronicles.”

His gaze keen, Kent leaned toward his half sister. “You wouldn’t happen to have come across Emily’s diary, would you?”

The color faded from her cheeks and she twisted her fichu into a knot. “Emily’s—? What do you mean?”

“I suspect you know perfectly well what I mean.”

Staring at the floor, Rose said nothing.

Shock stung Juliet.
Rose
had left the diary?

“What’s all this about?” Chantal asked.

“Someone left the journal in Juliet’s room yesterday,” he said. “The pages contained a description of Emily’s father.”

Chantal went pale; her bosom rose and fell. Clenching the arms of the chair, she gazed first at Juliet, then Rose. “Why... what a wicked, malicious act. What induced you to do such a dreadful thing?”

Rose hung her head. “I never meant any harm,” she said stiffly. “I merely thought it was unfair that you’ve both kept such a secret from Juliet. She deserves to know of her sister.”

“Half sister,” Kent corrected. “And if you felt so strongly on the matter, you ought to have discussed it with me.”

“I’m sorry. I... I didn’t think.”

Her voice sounded subdued, but her face remained tilted down, and the rich mass of sable hair half concealed her expression. They were the same age, Juliet reflected suddenly. Yet Rose, with her schoolgirl hairstyle, seemed much younger, almost childlike. When she lifted her head, tears misted her brown eyes.

“I suppose I was considering only myself,” she added. “Even though we’re not related, Juliet and I shared a sibling. That makes us almost sisters, doesn’t it?”

Struggling between sympathy and suspicion, Juliet studied the girl. Had she really meant no harm? Rose was such a fey creature, impetuous and emotional. She might well have responded to impulse in leaving the diary. Her actions could have been spurred by the need for a sister to ease her loneliness.

Compassion crowded Juliet’s throat. What was it like to lose a beloved older sister to tragedy? She ached to solve the mystery, not only to protect herself, but also to avenge Emily. The diary had sparked a loyalty to the sibling she had never known.

“Next time,” Kent told Rose, “I trust you’ll think before you act. You ought not to have interfered.”

Her lower lip quivered. “You always scold. Father never treated me so harshly.”

She put a hand to her mouth and choked back a sob. Hair swinging, she darted out and slammed the door.

His breath came out in a hiss. Gripping the chair arms, he started to rise.

“Let her go,” Chantal said, gracefully lifting a hand.

“Perhaps I was too hard on her—”

“You said nothing that shouldn’t have been said. That willful girl! Sometimes she reminds me of...” Her eyes went unfocused, as if she were pondering a distant problem; then she fluttered her fingers. “Ah, well, never mind. The truth is out and there’s no retracting it.”

At Chantal’s unperturbed manner, Juliet felt a stirring of resentment. “Don’t you mind me knowing that you were my father’s mistress?”

“Our association ended a long time ago. How comfortable would you have felt here had I been candid?” Turning to Kent, she said, “Would you like a brandy?”

“Thank you.”

He looked moody, withdrawn into his thoughts. As Chantal glided to a cabinet inlaid with mother-of-pearl, Juliet wondered if she was the only one who seethed with hurt and bitterness. Of course, the truth came as no surprise to
them.
She was the only one who’d been kept in the dark.

Chantal handed the glass to Kent. “Would you care for any refreshment, Juliet? A sherry, perhaps? Or I could brew a pot of tea—I have Darjeeling.”

“No, thank you,” she said coldly. “I should like to talk about my father.”

The older woman arranged herself in the tall chair and smoothed her garnet skirt. “As you wish.”

“This must relate to the feud,” Juliet said. “First you had an affair with Papa, and then with his archrival. That can’t be a coincidence.”

Kent frowned. “Perhaps Chantal finds that topic too painful to discuss.”

“It’s all right,” she said, flicking her wrist in dramatic compliance. “I believe I told you, Juliet, that I was once a celebrated actress. It was at the height of my career that I met your father. He was, of course, not married at the time.”

Juliet recalled the first time they’d talked here in the tower. Feeling suddenly ill, she put a hand to her mouth. “I remember now,” she whispered. “You played the lead in Romeo and Juliet. He
named
me for you.”

Chantal shrugged. “It would seem so. Yet his feelings for me weren’t strong enough to offer marriage.” Her lips twisted into a bitter line. “He had a plan for his life that didn’t involve an actress with questionable bloodlines.”