Mistress of Merrivale (30 page)

“How are we going to search the abbey in this light?” Leo asked.

“I found a cache of candles the other day,” Cartwright said, sounding a trifle smug.

“Lead the way.”

Cartwright groped for a candle and lit it before handing it to Leo. “Can you hear something?”

“It sounds like crying.”

Holding his candle aloft, Cartwright hurried in the direction of the noise, Leo following swiftly behind. They came across a woman locked in a makeshift room, her hands tied behind her back.

“Isn’t that the blacksmith’s wife?” Leo murmured.

Her eyes widened on seeing them, and she opened her mouth as if to scream.

“It’s Captain Cartwright, the parish constable,” Cartwright said hurriedly. “We’ve come to help. Turn around. Let Leo unfasten your bonds.”

“He’s not a murderer?”

Leo’s mouth twisted in irritation as he made short work of untying her. “No, madam. I am not a murderer.”

“Who left you here?” Cartwright asked.

“That Sir James and his friend, Boynton. They promised they’d give me coin if I let them tup me. Bastards went back on their word. They dragged me here and left me alone in the dark.”

“Do you know why?” Cartwright asked.

“They didn’t tell me.” The woman sniffed, rubbing the back of her hand across her nose. “Heard ’em mention tomorrow.”

Leo nodded, his excitement growing. A witness. At last they had a witness.

“Would you be willing to testify against Sir James and his friend?”

The woman tossed her head, flipping a tendril of black hair away from her cheek. “Ye’d take my word?” She paused. “Wot will ye pay me?”

Cartwright ignored her request for payment. “Do you know if any other local men are involved?”

“I only seen those two gents. They told me to pretend I be running off. Outside of town, they came for me. Stashed me in a right nice room.” Her eyes flashed anger in the candlelight. “Until tonight. If I be knowing they intended to leave me in the dark I wouldn’t ’ave gone for their schemes.”

“What schemes?” Leo demanded.

Cartwright sent him a chiding look, and Leo gave a clipped nod to indicate his silence.

“What schemes?” Cartwright asked, his tone far more gentle and coaxing than Leo’s.

“They’re having a big party. Invited me, they did.”

Leo bit back a curse and stepped away to stop himself throttling the woman. It was easy to imagine squeezing the answers from her. The damn woman had found her equilibrium quickly after her scare. The blacksmith was well rid of her.

“When is the party and where?” Cartwright asked, never losing his patient manner.

“They be ’avin’ it here at the abbey. A masked ball tomorrow night. Accordin’ to them. They told me I’d be sure to find a gentleman to look after me.” Her bottom lip shot out in a pout. “I think they be tellin’ me lies.”

“Tomorrow.” Cartwright scratched his chin, the abrasive sound amplified in the enclosed space.

“They might come back,” Leo said. “We should go.”

“’ere! What about me?”

“Would you like to help us catch these men?” Cartwright asked.

“Catch ’em? No laws against a party, is there?”

“We believe these men are responsible for murder.”

She jerked her chin in Leo’s direction. “Everyone thinks he did it.”

Leo couldn’t prevent his frustrated growl. He took half a step toward the woman. She let out a squeak of alarm and darted behind Cartwright.

“Sherbourne,” Cartwright snapped and turned to the woman. “He didn’t do it.”

“Then why he be in jail?”

“We need you to help us catch the true murderer.”

She twirled a lock of her hair between finger and thumb, shifty intelligence flitting through her eyes. “What’s in it for me?”

It was early morning when Leo skulked through the shadows and entered the manor in his usual clandestine method.

“Who’s there?” a crisp voice demanded.

“Fuck!” Leo muttered, almost leaping out of his boots.

“Stay right there or I’ll put a bullet through you.”

A light flared, and Leo squinted against the sudden brightness.

“Mr. Sherbourne,” Woodley said, lowering his pistol. “You’ll be wanting to see your wife. Best take the servants’ stairs. There’s a footman lurking at the bottom of the main staircase.”

“Right. Thank you.” Leo walked past and turned, curiosity getting the better of him. “Aren’t you concerned about my presence?”

“I reckon if you had murder on your mind, you’d have done it on one of the nights you visited Mrs. Sherbourne,” Woodley said. “I’ve been keeping an eye on your chamber, tidying away evidence so none of the maids suspected anything.”

Leo offered a chagrined smile. “Thank you, Woodley. I’m attending the festival tomorrow.”

“Mrs. Sherbourne will like that. Good night, sir.”

“Good night, Woodley.”

Leo made his way to Jocelyn’s chamber, eager to see her again. He slipped inside and inhaled deeply, pausing to enjoy the floral scent on the air.

Seconds later, he disrobed rapidly, pulled back the covers and slipped into the bed. Jocelyn didn’t wake, but it didn’t matter. This was home.

He woke hours later, only to realize Jocelyn was no longer in the bed.

“Jocelyn?”

“You’re awake.”

“What are you doing?” It was warm under the covers and the sheets smelled of Jocelyn. Flowers again.

“Checking the weather. I want to see if it’s raining.”

“Come back to bed.” Leo stretched, his senses alive, relaxed—yet not.

Her husband’s husky voice told Jocelyn exactly what he had on his mind. “What sort of incentive are you offering?”

His dark tousled head poked above the covers. A crooked grin lit his handsome face, and her heart jogged against her ribs. “Is that a challenge? Come closer.”

“Said the fox to the rabbit?”

“Jocelyn.” His lazy smile lured her, tempted her.

She hurried back to her bed and slipped between the sheets.

“Ow, woman. Your feet are cold.”

Jocelyn laughed and cuddled closer, unperturbed by his complaints. His arms wrapped around her, and she burrowed against him, soaking in his heat. She brushed a kiss against his throat and lifted her head to grin when he grumbled another complaint.

“I need to warm you.” His hand stroked over her head, smoothing down the wayward locks. She’d given up braiding her hair while preparing for bed. The first thing Leo did whenever he came to her was unfasten her braid.

“I’m warming up already.”

“I have a better way.”

Jocelyn drew back to study his face. “Oh?”

He rolled without warning, caging her within his arms and laughing down at her. “I think we can dispense with your chemise.”

“That won’t keep me warm.”

“Trust me.” He licked along her jawline, wringing a shiver from her. Her breasts prickled, the sensation echoing low between her thighs.

She didn’t reply but wrapped her hands around his neck, drawing him closer until his weight rested on her. He allowed it for an instant before moving. He whisked off her chemise and settled against her again. Their mouths joined, and she greedily met his kiss. His taste and masculine scent washed over her while his warm hand cupped the slight mound of her stomach. She gasped at the touch, somehow intimate and loving, and a wave of emotion almost choked her. In that moment, she wanted to tell Leo she loved him, but doubts—her uncertainty—overruled her.

He caressed the upper curves of her breasts and followed his fingers with his tongue. His touch made her breath catch, her pulse race. His proximity seduced her. She jerked when he nibbled at the juncture of her neck and shoulder and sighed when he soothed the sting with a lick of his tongue. A hungry noise escaped as his hands skimmed her body, his mouth moving downward to tongue her sensitive nipple.

“Leo,” she whispered, the tension stretching to breaking point inside her. “I want you now.” She wriggled a fraction, parting her legs and silently encouraging him to hurry. Thankfully, he did. He slipped between her legs and pushed into her with an easy glide.

His mouth fused with hers, his first sweet kiss changing swiftly to insistent. His hands glided across her body, loving and tender. He made her feel precious. She wondered at his silence, then the thought drifted away, shoved from her mind as his muscles flexed and rippled against her. A fine sheen of sweat grew on their bodies.

“Jocelyn, you make me happy.” He forged into her again, filling her as he spoke. “I’m glad I followed my instincts and offered you marriage. I appreciate your support through all this. Your trust.”

The glow in his eyes warmed her all the way through. Words of love flickered through her mind again, but caution kept them contained. It was enough that the emotions had grown in her.

She clasped his shoulders, luxuriating in the sensations coursing through her. One hand crept down to caress his rump, the shift of firm muscles giving her an intense thrill. He changed the angle of his stroke and a flash of pleasure shocked a cry from her. She bit her lip, holding back a whimper. Her gaze went to his face—the stark muscles and flashing eyes, all determination with a contrasting gentleness when he noticed her close attention.

Another thrust pushed her over the edge. Waves of heat and pressure tossed her into a maelstrom. Leo hammered into her with fast, almost brutal strokes. She clung to him, glorying in his need. He gave one final thrust, his breath a heated rush past her ear. His heart thudded against her chest, and for an instant his weight fell on her again. She ran her tongue over his biceps, the tang of sweat salty. She realized she felt happy, despite the loss of her mother. She’d done her best for her parent, and surely that was all anyone could ask. Now was the time to focus on the present and her own family.

Leo separated their bodies and drew her into his embrace.

“What happens if I have a girl?”

“As long as you both come through the birth safely, I’ll be happy.”

Surprised, she stared at him. “Most men want an heir.”

“Of course I’d like a son, but you’re important to me.”

It was almost a declaration of love, and Jocelyn beamed at him. “I’ll do my best to have a son.”

A tap on her bedchamber door told of the passing time.

“Leo,” she whispered in consternation. She bounded out of bed and thrust her arms into her robe. She belted it with jerky moves. “You shouldn’t have stayed so long.”

“It’s all right. Cartwright knows I’m here. I’ll be attending the festival later and greeting the guests at your side.”

“Has Cartwright found the murderer?”

“Not yet.”

“Oh.” Jocelyn worried her bottom lip and considered the reasoning for freeing Leo.

Another knock sounded on the door. “Mrs. Sherbourne.”

Sighing, Leo rolled out of bed. He picked up his breeches and pulled them on. “Don’t overdo things today. If you start to get tired, make sure you take a rest. Everyone will understand. I’d better not let Susan see me.” He picked up his shirt.

The door burst open. “Mrs. Sherbourne— You!” Susan came to a halt, an appalled expression on her face. “Murderer!” She whirled away, signaling an intention to leave, but Leo grabbed her and shut the door.

“Leo,” Jocelyn protested.

Susan screeched, and Leo clapped a hand over her mouth to mute the sound.

“What are you doing? Let Susan go.”

“I can’t have her telling people I’m out of jail,” Leo said. “Hand me my shirt.” He indicated the shirt he’d dropped when he’d grabbed Susan.

All of Jocelyn’s fears rushed back to swamp her newfound equilibrium. Was he telling the truth? Had Cartwright really released him?

Another knock sounded on the door, and Jocelyn hurried to answer. Her room felt like the front room of a coaching inn this morning.

“Mrs. Sherbourne,” Woodley said. “Captain Cartwright has arrived. He wishes to go over last minute plans with Mr. Sherbourne. I have put him in the study.”

“Let Woodley in,” Leo instructed.

Wordlessly, Jocelyn opened the door and gestured for the butler to enter.

“Susan, I’m going to take my hand away,” Leo said. “Don’t scream.” He slowly removed his hand.

A panicked cry rippled through the room.

Leo slapped his hand over Susan’s mouth again, cutting off the noise. Jocelyn risked a glance at Woodley as her maid kicked in an attempt to gain freedom.

“Stop that racket this instant,” Woodley snapped, acting the stern butler from his rigid expression to his upright carriage.

Susan stilled, but Jocelyn could see her panicked eyes, could imagine the frantic race of her heart.

“Mr. Sherbourne didn’t commit those murders,” Woodley said in a crisp voice. “Captain Cartwright is here to speak with him. Mr. Sherbourne isn’t brandishing a weapon, nor is he threatening Mrs. Sherbourne, which tells me the master didn’t escape jail in order to murder us in our beds. Now remain silent, and Mr. Sherbourne will release you.”