Dreamspinner (29 page)

Fury thinned his lips. “So. You’re determined to shove this money down my throat, no matter what my feelings to the contrary.”

“Your feelings are distorted by ancient hatreds,” she snapped. “I’m finally beginning to see that you’re as obstinate and narrow-minded as my father.”

He reared back as if she’d struck him. “Don’t you dare compare me to Emmett Carleton.”

“Don’t blind yourself to the truth. Hatred has bred hatred in him, just as in you. So long as you tie yourself to the past, Kent Deverell, our marriage hasn’t much hope for the future.”

His face went white; the faint strident sound of his breathing broke the stillness. He took a step toward her. “Juliet, you’ll not leave me—”

“I’ll make you no promises,” she said, resisting the tears closing her throat. “I’ll tell you my plans when you return from Windsor.”

Whirling, she stalked from the office and took bleak delight in slamming the door.

Chapter 14

Their steps echoing on the marble floor, Kent followed a liveried footman down the Grand Corridor of Windsor Castle. Royal busts, gray with age, stared from pedestals set against either wall. The mullioned windows along one side overlooked the rain-soaked upper ward. Drafts of damp air gusted from doorways along the passage.

The chill cooled his sweating skin. He detested having to face Victoria’s forbidding presence and explain that he hadn’t orchestrated the meeting. Yet his fury already had burned down to the cinders of guilt. Juliet only meant to help his tenants. How could he charge her with deceit when a far greater secret weighted his own shoulders, a secret that could shatter her heart?

Unless her heart was already shattered by his angry outburst.

He hungered to be back at Radcliffe. At this very instant, Juliet might be packing in preparation to depart.

Unless she’d already gone.

His pace slowed.
I’ll make you no promises.
God. Would she truly abandon their marriage? Recalling the disillusionment shadowing her face and his own denouncement of her father, Kent feared the worst.

After that bitter argument, she had kept to her room, only emerging the next day to bid him a dispassionate farewell. No fervid kiss, no whispered words of love, no warmth gentling her face. He’d longed to apologize, but how could he? How could he beg a forgiveness that hinged on accepting tainted money from Emmett Carleton?

Squeezing his eyes shut, Kent tried to envision a future without her lively conversation, without her passionate loving, without her radiant smile. He saw only darkness.

When he opened his eyes, the footman had vanished. In his place, a man strode back and forth along the end of the corridor. Kent’s stomach twisted with involuntary aversion.

Emmett Carleton.

A silk hat topped his silver-streaked hair; a formal black frock coat rode his broad shoulders. Yet beneath the finery, he looked older somehow, grayer. A nervous quality pervaded his gait; he reminded Kent of a prowling lion.

An aging lion who had lost his pride to a younger challenger.

Yet Kent felt no sense of triumph, only a niggling sympathy that tasted both bitter and foreign in his mouth. Deliberately he made his footfalls louder.

Emmett pivoted. He jerked in surprise. His eyes widened, then narrowed. Green eyes rimmed with gold.

God,
Kent thought.
Juliet’s eyes.

Hatred has bred hatred in him, just as in you.

Was she right? Had malice spun an eternal web of darkness? A darkness so dense, he’d lost sight of all that was clean and light?

Entombing his disturbing doubts, he inclined his head in a cool nod. “Emmett.”

“You bloody bounder!” he sputtered. “What are
you
doing here?”

“Exactly what you are. Answering Victoria’s summons.”

The lips went taut beneath the handlebar mustache. “Why would the queen invite
you
to my—”

“To your what?” Then Kent knew, and said with mocking softness, “Ah, did you think she meant to award you that knighthood?”

The leonine face contorted. “I hope the queen strips you of your title. I’d buy a ticket to
that.”

“On the contrary, Juliet will stay the Duchess of Radcliffe.”

Emmett knotted his fingers into fists. “If you’ve harmed my daughter,” he spat, “I swear before God I’ll kill you.”

“You’re the one who harmed her. You slapped her... The bruise on her cheek lasted a week.”

Emmett stood still. His glare faltered, and for an instant Kent had the powerful impression of guilt in him, a guilt so human, Kent felt a startling stab of compassion.

Unable to resist, he added a lie. “Besides, Juliet has never been happier in her life. But then, you haven’t bothered to find that out.”

Emmett bristled. “Why, you—”

The door opened. A distinguished, bearded man in scarlet-trimmed uniform regarded them.

“Ponsonby,” Kent said.

“Your Grace.” The secretary bowed to Kent, then nodded to Emmett. “And Mr. Carleton, I presume. Her Majesty awaits.”

Ponsonby took their hats, then led them into a small reception room. “His Grace, the Duke of Radcliffe, and Mr. Emmett Carleton.”

Queen Victoria stood with her back to a rain-streaked window. Small and plain, her bell-like figure was swathed in black, her gray hair covered by a white widow’s cap. She might have been a dowdy hausfrau except for the aura of command she emanated.

“Your Majesty.” Kent kissed her age-mottled hand.

Emmett followed suit, his movements jerky with awe.

She gazed at Kent. “You’re looking fit, Radcliffe. Marriage must agree with you.”

“Indeed so, ma’am.”

“Yet the ancient title of Radcliffe is being bandied about by every newspaper in London. The gossips have been saying that vengeance induced you to elope with Mr. Carleton’s daughter.”

Kent chose his reply carefully. “Not vengeance, ma’am, but love. Juliet and I knew that he would grant us neither his permission nor his blessing.”

“Scandal doesn’t become you, Radcliffe. I would have expected such disgrace of William, but not of you.”

Her regal glare had reduced many a smooth-tongued statesman to babbling incoherence. Only with effort did Kent keep his gaze steady.

“As for you, Mr. Carleton,” she said, turning to Emmett, “why would you not bless this union? Your daughter has made a brilliant match, far better than could be expected for a commoner.”

“I... I had another man in mind for her... ” His words trailed off as she fixed him with a cool stare.

“This feud,” she went on, with a wave of her ringed hand, “can yield nothing but more detestable gossip. I shall not tolerate it. I command you both to settle your differences.”

Given no choice, Kent nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

Looking overwhelmed, Emmett mumbled, “As you wish.”

Victoria reached into a pocket of her voluminous gown and drew forth a sheet of stationery. “Mr. Carleton, I understand from your daughter’s note that you’ve disinherited her. How deplorable that a man of such wealth would condemn his only child to poverty.” She arched an eyebrow. “As a token of your good will, I should like you to grant her a suitable endowment.”

Emmett shot Kent a murderous glance. “I knew Radcliffe was after my money.”

“I didn’t marry Juliet for money,” Kent said quickly. “And I knew nothing of her request. I seek only the right to live with my wife in peace.”

Emmett snorted in disbelief. “That is a lie—”

Victoria silenced him with a cold look. “Your daughter has wed a duke. Will you leave her without the means to support her position?” Lifting the note, she studied it for a moment. “She seeks the betterment of the Radcliffe tenants. Houses wanting repair, a crippled girl in need of an operation. Quite an admirable goal for so young a duchess, don’t you agree, Mr. Carleton?”

Kent veered from the peak of pride to the depths of humility. How badly he’d underestimated Juliet.

“I... yes, ma’am,” Emmett said.

A rare smile imbued her homely face with unexpected charm. “Then we shall expect this settlement to be generous. I would never consider knighting a man who would disown his daughter.” Folding the note, Victoria turned to Kent. “And financial security will grant you the time to occupy your seat in the House of Lords.”

Chagrined, Kent said, “Of course, ma’am.”

“Excellent. We expect every Englishman to do his duty.” She sent Emmett a piercing look. “And without delay.
Salamty sejao.”
With a wave of her pudgy hand, the queen dismissed them.

Go with peace.
Kent sardonically translated the Hindustani. Peace was impossible with Emmett Carleton following so close behind.

The instant the door shut, Emmett growled, “You conniving bastard. I should have expected you to go crying to the queen.”

“I’d like nothing better than to toss your cursed money back in your face.”

He uttered a snarl of impotent fury. “You plotted this. You tricked my Juliet into marrying you to get your greedy hands on the fortune I earned.”

“The fortune you swindled from my father.”

“Liar! Your father couldn’t manage a penny without losing a crown. God, the thought of you with my Juliet! You badgered her into writing to the queen.”

The misinterpretation galled Kent. “She’s my Juliet now,” he snapped. “And you badger far better than I. It was your hounding Emily over buying Dreamspinner that drove her to take her own life.”

Rage darkened Emmett’s face. His broad chest rose and fell rapidly. “You dare imply—” Drawing back a fist, he started to lunge.

“Gentlemen?” An impassive footman appeared with their hats.

Emmett froze; his arm dropped to his side.

As Kent accepted his hat, a dark instinct overpowered him, prodded him into a taunting smile. “Goodbye...
Papa.”

Papa... Papa.
..
Papa...

Emmett Carleton splashed straight whiskey into a tumbler. Tilting back his head, he gulped down the alcohol, his parched throat working. The drink failed to expurgate the tormenting memory of Juliet’s voice.
Papa
...
Papa.
..

“Mr. Carleton.”

He swung around to see Dorothea scurrying into the library. His chest squeezed. In her face, still exquisite despite her forty-two years, he saw echoes of Juliet’s youthful beauty. God, he missed his daughter.

“Potter told me you’d returned,” Dorothea said breathlessly. “Why didn’t you come tell me about your interview with the queen? Did she indeed dub you a knight?”

Crystal clinked as he refilled his glass. “No.”

“No?” Surprise slackened her aristocratic jaw. “After all your philanthropic deeds? Oh, my dear! How disappointed you must be.”

“Never mind, Dorothea. It was nothing important.”

“But Mr. Carleton, a man doesn’t receive a summons from the queen every day. Was it a business matter—?”

“I said,
never mind.”

Blinded by the need to be alone, he stomped past her and into the hall. He didn’t grasp his direction until he found himself upstairs, standing before Juliet’s bedroom door.

He twisted the knob and walked slowly inside. The room was dim and forlorn, the drapes drawn shut. An aura of emptiness pervaded the air, though the French gilt furniture stood just as she’d left it. The clean aroma of beeswax couldn’t disguise the faint scent of jasmine. Juliet’s scent.

Juliet... ah, God, Juliet. His beloved daughter on whom he’d pinned his hopes and ambitions. The unconventional sprite who’d brought such joy into his life. Stolen by a Deverell. Damn that blue-blooded devil to hell!

Emmett hurled his glass at the hearth. Shards spewed over the white marble; whiskey drenched the empty grate.

His rage vanished beneath a tidal wave of grief. With the slow steps of an old man, he walked to the bed and leaned against the post. Juliet had stood in this very spot the day he’d slapped her...

He passed a hand over his face. “I’m sorry, Princess,” he muttered. “I’m sorry for driving you away.”

It galled him to think he’d played right into Kent Deverell’s vengeful game. It galled him to think of having grandchildren with Deverell blood. Was she truly as happy as Deverell claimed? What if he spent his spite on her!

No, Emmett assured himself, Kent Deverell’s way was more subtle, more devious. He’d simply neglect Juliet, drive her to melancholy. And there was nothing Emmett could do except what the queen had commanded. At least money of her own would give Juliet the means to protect herself.

Fingers trembling, he reached into his breast pocket and drew forth the filigreed locket. The mantel clock ticked into the silence as he studied the two photographs inside. A revelation struck hope into his empty chest. There
was
someone at Castle Radcliffe who might be persuaded to watch over Juliet, to telegraph him the instant she showed the slightest sign of misery.

Snapping the locket shut, Emmett stalked to the rolltop desk and sat down, the dainty gilt chair creaking under his weight. Eyes watery, he drew forth a sheet of stationery and began to compose a letter.