With This Kiss (35 page)

After few minutes she simply quit listening. She folded her hands and stared blindly at the smoldering ash. Beyond her grief and exhaustion, she experienced a profound sense of failure. Her gaze shifted to the dray as the driver climbed aboard. He gave the reins a light shake, setting his mules plodding into motion. The crowd wordlessly parted to let the vehicle pass.

Chivers cleared his throat. “Is there any family to be notified?”

She shook her head. “They had no children. Henry’s brother died years before. Annie has — had — two sisters, both of whom reside in Leicester.”

“Do you recall their names?”

So dry, so unemotional. It seemed impossible to believe that they were discussing two very dear people whom Julia had known nearly all her life. While she struggled to remember the names of distant relatives, Morgan stepped away, joining Chivers’s men as they sifted through the ash and debris. From the corner of her eye, she watched him push the rubble aside with the toe of his boot, intently studying the charred remains. He moved on, then abruptly turned back with a frown, returning to the spot where he had originally stood. Bending down, he sifted through the ash and lifted something from the debris. He studied the object for a long moment with a concentrated frown, then tucked it in his pocket. Curious, Julia made a mental note to ask him what he had found.

“Very well. I’ll see to it then,” Chivers said, redirecting her attention to their conversation.

Startled that their interview had come to such an abrupt end, she looked at him and said, “What shall I do now? Should we try to set another trap?”

Chivers shook his head. “Whoever we are dealing with may not be entirely sane, but that does not imply that he is fool. In fact, his actions seem to suggest the opposite, do they not? Continue your column if you wish, but in no case should you attempt to instigate contact on your own.”

“That’s everything, then?” Morgan asked as he returned to her side.

“For the moment, yes. I would suggest you take whatever precautions you deem necessary to keep yourselves safe. If you receive another letter from the man, I would be most indebted if you would share that with me immediately. Aside from that we simply wait.”

She studied him in disbelief. “You’re suggesting we do nothing?”

“It has been my experience that time favors the just, Lady Barlowe. Eventually our luck will change for the better.”

On that optimistic — and to Julia’s mind, supremely unrealistic — note, Chivers bade them good day and returned to join his men.

With nothing more left for them to do there, Morgan placed his hand on the small of her back and guided her toward his coach. He helped her inside and stepped in behind her, pulling the door shut as he did so. As they drove away, the grim reality of the scene came rushing at her. No matter how she tried to push the images away, she couldn’t escape them. The shocked crowd. The smoldering debris. The charred limb.

As they moved through the bustling streets, the heat and darkness within the coach grew increasingly oppressive. She felt hollow, hot, and sticky, her nerves shattered to the point of collapse. Perhaps Lazarus was right. She should be punished. While Henry and Annie had been trapped inside Tom’s Rest burning to death, she and Morgan had spent the night wrapped in each other’s arms. In fact, they had left so quickly that morning, she hadn’t yet had a chance to bathe. The scent of their love-making still clung to her skin, marking her guilt as clearly as a hot brand.

She took a deep breath, struggling to control her churning emotions and retain her dignity. They would return to Morgan’s estate shortly. There she could retreat to her room and surrender to her feelings in private.

Unfortunately, her husband chose just that moment to fix his attention on her. “Julia?”

Unable to meet his eyes, she turned away, staring blindly out the coach window. “Yes?”

“Are you all right?”

“Certainly,” she managed in a small, choked voice.

Ignoring her shaky affirmation, Morgan reached out and pulled her into his arms. Embarrassed, she tried to draw back, but her resistance was futile. He cradled her against his chest, ignoring her puny struggles to break free. It was too late to save her dignity in any case. Unlike some women, who turned into gushing faucets of sentimentality at the slightest provocation, Julia was not prone to public displays of emotion. Therefore she was all the more embarrassed at her lack of ability to control her reaction to the morning’s events.

She cried for the horrific way Henry and Annie had died, she cried out of guilt for the part she had played in their deaths, she cried out of shame for the comfort she had taken in Morgan’s arms while her friends had perished, and finally she cried at her own lack of control — because she felt like a fool for crying but simply couldn’t stop herself.

At last she took a deep, shuddering breath and accepted the handkerchief he passed her. She dabbed her eyes dry and blew her nose, then sent him a small, embarrassed smile. “I apologize. I didn’t mean to subject you to that.”

He brushed back a strand of her hair that was matted to her cheek and kissed the spot where it had lain. “You don’t have anything to apologize for.”

“Henry and Annie would be alive if I hadn’t run that column.”

After a long moment of silence, Morgan released a deep sigh. “I couldn’t have predicted what he would do. Neither could you. Neither could Chivers.”

“It’s all my fault.”

“No, Julia. It just feels like it is,”

Perhaps it was his tone, or the look in his eyes, or just the simplicity of his words. But that statement finally penetrated her own grief and self-absorption. Morgan knew. Moreover, his understanding ran deeper than mere words of consolation. She had seen the scars he bore on his skin, she had heard the rumors of what had transpired in his servants’ quarters on that foggy morning over two years ago. For one of the few times in her life, words failed her completely.

Julia had assumed she held a vague notion of the horror he had gone through. But now she wondered. What must it have been like to have fought so valiantly and to have failed nonetheless? To have lost everything he had held dear? The woman to whom he had been betrothed, his standing in society, his notion of his own ability to control his life and protect those around him. All of it gone with a wisp of smoke. Even his reflection in the mirror had changed. The Beast.

A heavy somberness fell over her as the questions drifted through her mind. Too exhausted to examine them at length, she released a sigh and leaned back against his chest, taking what comfort she could from his embrace as their coach lumbered toward Grosvenor Square. To her surprise, another vehicle preceded them through the tall gates of Morgan’s estate. The door was blazoned with the regal family crest of the Earl of Bedford.

“Were you expecting Jonathan Derrick?” she asked.

“No, I wasn’t,” he replied, studying the coach with a slight frown.

The vehicle came to a halt in the circular drive before Morgan’s front door. But to her surprise and dismay, it wasn’t the earl who disembarked from the coach, but her Uncle Cyrus, Aunt Rosalind, and cousins Theresa and Marianne.

Julia reluctantly shifted off Morgan’s lap and onto the seat bank opposite him. “Just like bad pennies,” she said with a small apologetic smile. “Always appearing at the most inopportune moment.” She lifted her shoulders in a resigned shrug. “I suppose I would have had to call on them immediately in any case. At least this saves me the trip.”

“You planned a social call?”

“Of course. Clearly I have no choice after the events of this morning. If Lazarus knew about Henry and Annie, he cannot fail to know of the existence of the rest of my family. If he is determined to continue to strike out at the people around me, they are all in grave danger.”

A strange, shadowed expression crossed Morgan’s face. As a groomsman moved to their door to pull it open, he waved the man off. “See that our guests are shown to the west parlor and offered refreshments. The viscountess and I will be along shortly.”

“Very good, m’lord.”

Morgan studied her in somber silence, waiting until his servant had stepped away and given them the privacy he obviously required. At last he said, “Has it occurred to you that Cyrus Prentisse may very well be the man we are looking for?”

“You cannot be serious. Uncle Cyrus?”

“You told me yourself that your uncle felt slighted by society for not having been recognized as a peer of greater stature.”

“Resentment over his status in society would hardly would indicate a diabolical need to burn all of London to ashes in revenge.”

“You must admit he fits the profile of the man we are seeking,” Morgan pressed. “Cyrus is directly connected to you and could easily have monitored your movements. It is certainly conceivable that he would have known of your column at the
Review
and of the warehouse you operated with Henry—”

“In which case he would have demanded the entire profits from both ventures.”

“Furthermore,” he continued doggedly, “it is not inconceivable that he might have harbored a personal grudge against me. The fact remains that he did openly press the suit of both his daughters, neither of whom interested me in the slightest.”

“If we are to suspect every father of a daughter you either rejected or seduced in your career as a consummate rake, I imagine the list of suspects would include nearly every household in England.”

“It should also be noted that Cyrus Prentisse was not on the guest list for the galas that were being held that year by the Earl of Chilton and Lord Webster. Many in society regarded those parties as the events of the Season. The arson that followed could easily be construed as retaliation for the perceived slight.”

“There are many events to which my uncle is not invited,” she pointed out.

“Would you at least consider the possibility?”

She ran the premise through her mind. “No,” she said firmly. “No. It can’t be.”

“Julia—”

“Do not for a moment imagine that I am defending my uncle’s character,” she interrupted with a rueful smile. “In fact, just the opposite is true. But as far as the matter at hand is concerned…” She paused, shaking her head. “Lazarus seems to be motivated by sin and redemption. Uncle Cyrus is motivated by money and social status. They are two very different things.”

“But if I am right?” Morgan asked.

“If you are wrong?” she countered. “If Lazarus harms them and I do nothing to warn them of the danger? No,” she said, a slight shudder running through her frame. “I’m sorry, but I simply cannot abide another death on my conscience.”

Before Morgan could further attempt to dissuade her from her course, she opened the coach door and stepped outside. Apparently acquiescing to her wishes, he walked beside her in silence as they made their way to the west parlor.

The informal receiving room was one of Julia’s favorite places in all of Morgan’s estate. But as she stepped inside, she felt the same tight, uneasy tension she experienced whenever she was near her family. Gazing about the room, she noted that her Uncle Cyrus looked even more smug and superior than usual. Her aunt and cousins regarded her with expressions that could be defined only as gloating satisfaction.

After polite greetings had been exchanged, she asked, “Isn’t the earl with you?”

“No, but he was kind enough to lend us the use of his coach for the afternoon,” replied her uncle.

“Oh?” Something in his tone told her there was more to come.

“We have glorious news, Julia,” gushed her aunt.

“Yes?”

“Jonathan Derrick, the Earl of Bedford,” Cyrus Prentisse intoned regally, “has asked for permission to court Marianne. Furthermore, he has made it quite clear that his ultimate intention is to request her hand in marriage.”

Fixing a polite smile on her face, Julia turned toward her cousin and said, “What wonderful news. I’m so happy for you both.”

Her aunt immediately launched upon a long and painfully elaborate discourse regarding the details of the courtship, the date the betrothal would be formally announced, the wedding plans that had been undertaken to date, the items Marianne had acquired for her trousseau, and a million other details so petty and sundry, Julia forgot them the instant they were mentioned. Glancing across the room at Morgan, she noted that he, too, listened with polite but blank interest. At long last her aunt seemed to run out of breath, and the conversation ground to a merciful close.

A brief, awkward silence followed. Julia hesitated, giving the matter of Lazarus final consideration. Although she knew she was directly proceeding against Morgan’s wishes, she could think of no other course but to warn her family of the danger they might be facing. The fate Annie and Henry had suffered just hours earlier loomed too large to ignore. Therefore she took a deep breath and announced, “Actually, it’s quite fortunate that you’ve all come. I had intended to pay a call this afternoon.”

“Oh?” said Rosalind.

“I hate to follow Marianne’s joyous news with something unpleasant, but I thought you should know…” She hesitated for a moment, searching for the right way to frame her words. At last she blurted, “There’s been another fire. Another deliberate case of arson.”

“Oh dear,” sighed Rosalind. “Between those ghastly fires and this dreadful heat, the quality are simply fleeing London. If this keeps up, there’ll be no one of any standing left to attend the gala the earl is hosting next week. Then where will we be? Something simply must be done.”

“Yes. Well… I’m afraid there’s something else you should know,” Julia continued. “This latest fire occurred down at the docks, at a tavern owned by Henry Maddox, my father’s former bosun. It appears as though the fire may have been indirectly connected to me.”

“Connected to you?” Cyrus’s gaze moved from her to Morgan with a frown. “How can that be?”

In a manner as level and straightforward as she could manage, Julia proceeded to inform them that she was the anonymous author of “The Tattler,” that she had been receiving notes from Lazarus, and that she was involved in the failed trap Mr. Chivers had set for the arsonist. So as not to frighten or overwhelm them any more than necessary, she concluded briskly, “I’m certain he will not attempt to retaliate any further, but I thought it only fair you be warned in order that you might take whatever precautions you deem necessary to protect yourselves.”