Punish Me With Roses - a Victorian Historical Romance (14 page)

"There's no danger if used correctly. If used sinisterly, however, it can be deadly." He steeped over a fallen log and helped her cross to the other side. "I don't know why I'm taking a lady along such a treacherous path."

If there was anything treacherous about that day, it certainly wasn't the path. "Well," she said, "it was my decision to come this way. You hadn't much of a choice."

He raised his eyebrows and she wondered to where the warmth of the scene in the drawing room had disappeared.

Of course, she'd had that premonition of disaster once they'd begun the walk. Maybe she perceived his words as something other than the way they were since she was feeling so uneasy. She might have convinced herself of that, but then he said it.

"There was a case recently, in fact, where a woman killed two men with the deadly, white powder."

"Where did you hear that?" she asked much too quickly.

"The newspaper."

"She has been accused of the crime?" She looked up at him, not wishing to appear uncomfortable. But she was hard put trying to behave normally.

His pace had slowed. "So you've heard of the case?"

"Hasn't everyone?" She tossed her plait over one shoulder and twirled her parasol. She tried to appear casual, uncaring. "Last article I read on the subject said that she had left the scene and it was only
wondered
that she might have something to do with it."

"Is that so?"

She nodded. "Has that changed?"

His eyes narrowed as if he were looking at something in the distance. "Some things have changed. After testing, arsenic was found in only one of the bodies."

"Which one?"

"The valet. I don't recall what his name was. Do you?"

"No, of course not." She frowned. "What, do they say, was her motive?"

"Money. She inherited it all."

She laughed and his eyes became larger in his suntanned face. "I don't believe a woman in her position would do such a thing. Surely with such a rich family, she wouldn't need all that money for herself. Would murder really be worth a few extra pounds for her allowance?" Victoria realized that she meant every word. It had all been an accident, after all, and she never would have done such a thing intentionally.

Alexander shook his head. "I must say it is a baffling mystery."

And even though she wasn't as nonchalant as her actions portended, she found the courage to ask, "Why so much interest in a woman you've never met?"

"What makes you think I haven't?"

"Oh, I..." she petered out into silence. She then picked up her pace, seeing the cemetery ahead. "I suppose one assumes such things. Now let us hasten to our destination. I see no reason why we should be dwelling on such things on such a beautiful day."

She saw him smile, but only out of the corner of her eye. Then he said, "I thought that since we were on our way to such a morbid place, no topic would be forbidden."

"It's not forbidden," she was quick to say. "It is just cryptic and a little bothersome."

He shrugged.

She wished she could too, but her mind was still on the things he had said: arsenic in only one of the bodies. What could it mean?

They entered the cemetery and the silence between them became oppressive. She wondered what he was thinking of, but his expression was as enigmatic as she claimed the Blackmoore murders were to her. She picked her way through the graves, some untended and overgrown.

Then she reached Fiona's grave and stood before the small gravestone in shock. She really should have known what she'd find waiting for her between the long strands of grass. Considering what the rest of her day had been like, it seemed like the perfect end to a confusing day. Her anxiety on coming to the cemetery had been a warning and she realized then that she should have just turned back. She shouldn't have spoken to Alexander in the drawing room and she shouldn't have allowed him to accompany her on her walk. It had only made things worse and made her suspect that the conversation that had turned her breathing shallow and her heartbeat uneven had been intentional. Was he taunting her? And she had gone through it all only to get a final shock when coming to her aunt's grave.

"Victoria?"

She looked at him and saw that his eyes were full of concern. She wondered then how she must appear to the outsider. Her face must have visibly paled as she'd been told it did when she was upset. Alexander looked as though he were about to cry which was exactly what she was about to do.

She covered her face with her hands. Not only did it cover her shame, but also erased the image of the full red rose lying on Fiona's grave. She didn't know who was leaving the roses, but Alex's actions made it hard to suspect him. More than that, it didn't seem he'd had the opportunity either of the last two times it had happened. But who else did she know in the area that had any reason to care about her activities and past? Rafe Randel?

No, she didn't know who the culprit was and she wasn't sure she ever would. She did know, however, that the sight of the rose filled her with dismay and she wondered how she would ever face even one more day of guilt. "Oh, no," she wailed. "I can't bear it."

"What's wrong?" She felt the warmth of his body as he moved closer and, even though she covered her eyes, her vision became darker. "Are you upset that someone left a flower for her? Maybe it was your uncle."

"I... it..." She didn't finish her sentence, but instead cried more hot tears, wetting the palms of her hands. How could she possibly explain her reaction to the rose without telling the truth?

"Let me help you, Victoria. Tell me what's wrong."

She looked at the rose. The blood red--

"Why, Victoria? Why?" He yanked it from the grave and tossed it over his shoulder. "Do you want me to discover where it came from?"

She nodded.

"I'll do anything if you'll stop crying." He touched her shoulder. "But you could help me too by explaining why it bothers you so."

"It's much too complicated." Her voice was wobbly and unsure.

"I would understand." He said this in such a firm tone that she believed him.

She knew then that she wanted to confess. She could trust him. She let her hands fall to her sides and opened her eyes. The light stung, as did the expression of pity in Alexander's eyes. She opened her mouth to speak, but didn't know how to form the words. She was so ashamed! So instead of words, a loud sob escaped her lips and she tried to once again hide her shame from his caring eyes.

But he grabbed her wrists and he held them firm. This didn't stop her tears, but it did prevent her from hiding. And then, once she'd calmed down a little, he dropped her arms only long enough to embrace her.

This made her cry even more.

"You don't have to explain anything to me, dear." He held her tight and she rested her head against his chest. She was wetting his vest with her tears, but he obviously didn't care.

She didn't speak then, believing that there was no need to. Soon the barrage of salty water ceased its incessant pour from her eyes, but she didn't move away. He continued to hold her and she continued to let herself be held.

She'd never known, until then, how good it was to be held by a man. More importantly, to be held by a man whom she was wonderfully smitten by. Just the feel of his hard arms holding in her close to him made her feel safe. She didn't mind the higher temperature, even on such a hot day, and she wanted to stay in that position forever. But as she realized how wonderful it felt, she also realized it wouldn't last forever.

She was willing to forget everything just to spend another few minutes in his arms, but she didn't get the chance when footsteps approached

It was obvious that he'd heard it too because they jumped away from each other at the same time. Then she blushed because she realized what their embarrassment meant. They'd both felt they were doing something they shouldn't.

Their mysterious guest wasn't mysterious at all. It was one of her uncle's men and he'd come to convey her uncle's invitation of dinner.

She smiled, even through her emotional recovery. It seemed they'd all warmed up to Alex and she thought it was justified. Maybe he really would save her from herself, as John had suggested.

Far from being a murderous fiend, what had happened at Blackmoore had been an accident. If she concealed it from him, she wasn't doing anything more than keeping a painful secret from her past. Women have had far worse secrets. And he wouldn't regret it, she thought. She'd make up for her past with love.

All she had to do now was actually believe what she was telling herself and erase the unwelcome notion that she was the last person who deserved to be loved.

She was still reckless with her need for Alexander when she found herself in Fiona's abandoned bedroom. She needed space...time to think out her next step. Why did she always end up in her aunt's bedroom when she was feeling such a way?

It was early in the day and as usual, and the house was nearly empty. She was glad she hadn't told Alex about her past. It was an impulse she was glad had been denied her. She could thank her uncle and his invitation for that. If she was going to tell Alex everything, she would have to plan it carefully.

She supposed that thoughts of him made her think of her deceased aunt, since the quest to solve that mystery was closely tied with her days spent with her new friend. Her first perusal of Fiona's bedroom had been quick, so she thought she had a good opportunity to search some more.

She was surprised, however, to find the room not at all how she'd left it. She shut the door behind her and took in everything. It was all gone. Her uncle had cleaned the room and restored it to an unassuming guest room...a room as empty as his heart.

She noticed the excessive use of gilding, no longer distracted by personal effects. It seemed to shine off the walls in attention-grabbing ornamentation. It detracted from the heavy furniture and dark, rugless floor. The room was unexciting and a mixture of styles. The overall impression was terrible.

Before, her aunt's room reflected the kind of woman she was: charming, affable, and engaging. Now, it was the kind of room that made depression worse. Even standing in it for a matter of minutes, Victoria's heart felt heavier.

She would have liked to think that the newly cleaned room meant that her uncle had moved on. She knew in her heart that this was not the case. He'd done it to blind her prying eyes.

She walked to the window, wondering about the view. There was nothing else for her to look at in the room. But that too was depressing and surprisingly empty of life. It looked down on the front yard. She wondered if it had been a place Fiona had liked to sit. There was a chair close by that she could have pulled up to the wall and the wooden sill looked scratched beneath a decade's layer of dust.

She looked at the scratches in the wood and thought they were more than commonplace. Had her ancestor delighted in destruction? She smiled at the thought and brushed away some of the dust to get a better look. After sneezing so violently that she thought her forehead would hit the glass, she realized that the scratched formed words. "Be safe, my dear," was carved into the sill.

She wondered at its meaning. It wasn't usual for someone to scratch messages to other people in their windowsill. She looked at the door that led into her uncle's chambers. Surely, she couldn't have been thinking of him when she'd made the crude carving?

Her missing cousin entered her mind. She didn't know why Fiona would write the message there, even if it was for her son. But maybe the person was never meant to see it. Perhaps it was a prayer that the woman hoped would somehow be answered.

Victoria straightened up and looked out the window again. The view had improved considerably. Alex was standing in the front yard.

Not forgetting about the carving, but realizing it wasn't going anywhere, she rushed out of the room. She went down the stairs so fast that she probably missed a couple of them. As it was, she tripped over her skirts and only the railing kept her from pitching down to the ground floor.

She smiled as she left the house, but he was gone!

And in his place was Rafe Randel, a huge disappointment after expecting Alex. She had half a mind to turn back around and shut the door.

"I hope you don't mind the visit," he said. "I was nearby and thought you wouldn't mind."

Either he couldn't read signals very well or he was being deliberately obtuse. "My uncle isn't here," she said, as if that would explain to him that she couldn't possibly entertain him. That would be, of course, counting on the fact that he didn't know that she done it with Alexander many times.

He smiled. "I could entertain you instead. We could go for a walk."

After all her walks with the other man, the idea was unappealing. Then she remembered what Rafe had said the last time they'd met, but thought while he was there, she might get more information on the person who was so important to her. "What did you mean when you said it was good I didn't see Alexander?"

"Did I say that?"

"You most certainly did."

"I don't really want to discuss that." He looked down at the ground and this made her follow his gaze. The bottom of his breeches was wet. "There's something I'd like to show you if you'll walk with me."

"My uncle expects me to stay home. Don't you like Mr. Trevelyn?"

"I told you, that discussion would be pointless."

"I don't think it would be."

"Just come with me."

"Mr. Randel, maybe I've not made myself clear. I'm not going to take a walk with you."

"The cove is lovely at this time of the day."

"Maybe I'll see it some time, but it won't be today. If you'd like to talk me, then tell me about Alexander Trevelyn." She thought of leaving him then, but the information he had alluded to in the past made her stay. In the past, she had been a little afraid of Alexander and this man might have the knowledge to either prove or disperse her fears.

"Why are you so eager to pry into his business? Some secrets are best left hidden." He laughed. "And I would like to talk to you, but even more than that, I have something to show you."