Dreamspinner (46 page)

She raised her eyes to his impossibly handsome face. The words choked her throat. “You’ve orchestrated my life from the very start, Kent. I’m staying until we find Emily’s murderer.”

The intensity faded, leaving his features barren of emotion. He turned slightly to gaze out the window. Though a bar of sunlight illuminated his strong profile, she had the impression he stood wrapped in shadow.

“And then?” he murmured. “What will you do afterwards?”

“I haven’t decided.”

That much was the truth. As Kent walked slowly away, she recalled how the reassuring warmth of his arms had chased away the horrid image of him dead from drinking the tea. Now the rift was back between them, as vast as ever. Could she stay at Radcliffe and endure a lifetime of polite distance? See him every day and know that she could never trust him, that he might be secretly contemplating another way to get revenge on her father?

He claimed to want to end the feud. But he’d lied to her about that many times before.

An unutterable weariness dragged on her heart. Soon she would have the funds to set up her own household wherever she pleased. A town house in London. Or a peaceful cottage in the country, where she could grow a garden and watch her child play and thrive.

Kent’s child, too.

As he went to the desk, she couldn’t stop her gaze from following his familiar form, the shoulders honed hard and brawny from physical labor, the black hair and bronzed skin that formed so stunning a contrast to his white shirt, the narrow waist and firm male hips that inflamed her blood...

“What the devil—” he muttered. Pivoting sharply, he drilled her with a furious, baffled glare. “The necklace is gone! Someone’s stolen Dreamspinner.”

Chapter 23

“What do you suppose it means?” Juliet mused.

She glanced up at Kent, then gazed again in perplexity at the note in her hand. The firm script flowed across the sheet of scented stationery. Just moments ago, someone had slipped the envelope under her bedroom door. Kent had hastened into the hall, but whoever had left the message was gone.

Standing at her elbow now, he bent closer to reread the words. So close she caught his sandalwood scent. She kept her eyes fixed on the letter.

Juliet, I’ve something of grave importance to tell you. Please come to see me at once. Chantal.

“There’s only one way to find out what she means,” he said, straightening. “I know this is addressed to you, but I’d like to accompany you if I may.”

“I’ll freshen up first.”

Stalking into the dressing room, she closed the door and blew out an exasperated breath. His request was a mere formality, for she knew he wouldn’t allow her to go alone. Was it his constant presence that made her feel on the verge of exploding?

Three tedious days had passed since the poisoning attempt that had culminated in Dreamspinner’s disappearance. Three sleepless nights of lying beside Kent and wondering how much longer she could bear living like this, so close yet so far apart.

Crumpling the note, she flung it onto the dressing table, where it rolled to a stop among the ancient bottles and jars. She scrutinized her reflection in the mirror; the wavy glass held little evidence of her agitated mood. Wistful eyes stared back from a pale face. A gown of fashionable topaz silk skimmed her still slender figure. No one would guess from her appearance that she would bear a baby come spring. She looked like an ordinary woman with an ordinary wish for happiness.

Only the dark smudges beneath her eyes hinted at hidden sorrow and unmitigated strain.

Sighing, she smoothed her chignon and dabbed perfume at her wrists and throat. Obeying a sudden strong impulse, she opened a drawer and drew forth the pearls her father had given her on the occasion of her debut. His gruff voice echoed in her ears and the memory of his quick embrace brought a phantom warmth.

I can’t wait to show you off, Princess... the jewel in my crown of achievements.

She swallowed a lump of grief. That enchanted night seemed as if it had happened to another girl. She was a woman now. A woman who had chosen a path for her life and must now follow it.

Juliet, if it meant...

What had Kent been about to say the afternoon of the fateful tea? That he would do anything, even shake hands with Emmett Carleton, if it meant repairing the damage to their marriage? Or had he been about to say that she asked the impossible?

He hadn’t broached the topic again, and neither had she. To herself, she admitted to mistrusting either answer. It was less painful to remain in the dark.

Fastening the strand of pearls around her neck, she dragged in a steadying breath. The moment alone had fortified her, and she felt strong enough to face her husband again.

He waited by the outer door. His midnight eyes surveyed her with disconcerting directness before he turned to open the door. A quiver stirred inside her. A quiver that took great effort to subdue.

He fell into step beside her. To fill the oppressive silence, she said, “I wonder if Chantal knows what’s happened to Dreamspinner.”

“I pray to God she does. I could kick myself for failing to watch everyone more closely that day.”

Juliet shared his frustration. “We were all distracted by Punjab. Anyone could have slipped over to the desk and stolen the jewels.”

“Yes, anyone. That’s the damnable crux of the matter.”

“Maybe we’re wrong to look for one person. Maybe it’s two people working together.”

Kent arched an eyebrow. “Anything’s possible.”

As they passed a casement window, she glanced at the overcast sky and mentally reviewed the facts she and Kent had gone over many times. Gordon seemed the most likely culprit since he’d sat by the desk. Yet the others couldn’t be discounted. Chantal had paced the drawing room. Rose had distanced herself from the group. Even Augusta might have moved away for the moment necessary to pocket the jewel pouch. And neither she nor Kent had kept a close eye on the Fleetwoods or Ravi.

Maud and Henry had been unable to cast any light on the enigma, either. The pair spent every waking hour with their heads together, but Juliet suspected they were too distracted by their own budding romance.

In the uncertain hope of gleaning a reaction from someone, Kent kept the disappearance of Dreamspinner a secret. One by one, each suspect had asked when Ravi would be leaving for London; Kent had been deliberately vague. Otherwise, Gordon hadn’t ventured from the library. Rose ensconced herself somewhere to work on her play. Chantal kept to her tower apartment. Devastated by the loss of her beloved dog, poor Augusta took to her bed.

The castle seemed quieter than ever. The waiting rubbed on Juliet’s nerves and left her feeling so chilled, she couldn’t contain a shiver.

“Would you care to go back for your shawl?” Kent asked.

“No, thank you. I want only to find out what Chantal knows.”

He nodded, then politely supported her arm as they mounted the winding steps of the north tower. Reaching the small landing, he rapped on the door. The knob rattled and the oak panel swung open.

Her heart skipped a beat. It wasn’t Chantal who stood there, framed by dreary gray daylight.

It was her father.

Behind her, Kent uttered an exclamation, then fell silent.

Emmett held himself as proud and erect as a lion, his impeccable garb befitting his status as a prosperous businessman. Yet he’d aged in the long weeks since he’d locked her in her bedroom and out of his heart. An overabundance of silver streaked his groomed hair. Lines of tension dragged at his mouth, sweeping his mustache downward.

Wary and oddly hesitant, he regarded her. “Princess, you’re... looking well.”

An unbidden throb of affection paralyzed her. His gaze dipped to her belly; he must have heard about the baby. The Deverell baby he would never acknowledge. The acid memory of his hatred burned away the brief tenderness.

“So the note was a ruse,” she said coldly.

“I was afraid you might refuse to see me.” Knuckles white, he clenched the door. “I wanted you to know your dowry is settled. But that’s not the real reason I came. Chantal wrote to me about your finding the diary. I’d like to explain why I never told you—”

“There’s nothing you can say that can make me forgive all your lies.”

In a whirl of topaz skirts, she stalked toward the stairs. Kent caught her wrist and drew her back.

“He’s come a long way,” he murmured. “At least give the man a chance to speak.”

Juliet strained to read the emotion in the striking planes of his face. His eyes reflected only a dark dispassion. Suddenly she saw the choice looming before her. Would she perpetuate the feud, or take the first step toward healing a sundered family? Confused, she let him lead her into the apartment.

Emmett seated himself in a cane chair. Despite his stiff boiled collar and sedate frock coat, he looked oddly at home against the exotic decor.

She walked to the window and turned, bracing herself on the casement. “Where is Chantal?”

“She and Rose went to visit the cemetery,” Emmett said. “Today is...” His voice faltered and his gaze fell to his clasped hands.

August 11th.
Juliet swung her eyes toward Kent, who stood with his shoulder propped against the chimney piece. The bleakness in his expression told her he hadn’t forgotten the date. Anguish flooded her, an anguish made more acute because she didn’t know whether it arose from grief over her sister or the ugly, niggling thought that he cherished his memories of Emily over the wife he’d chosen as his instrument of vengeance. She would live forever with the gnawing pain of his deception.

And her father’s deception. Both men had woven a conspiracy of silence.

She pressed trembling fingers against the cold stone behind her. “Today is the third anniversary of Emily’s death. The sister I never knew.”

Emmett’s head jerked up. “I wanted to tell you about her. So many times. I used to imagine the two of you playing together, sharing girlish confidences. But how could I admit the truth? If word had slipped out that I had a bastard daughter, the scandal would have caused you and Dorothea needless suffering.”

“You mean
you
would have been hurt,” she retorted. “You care only about your own reputation. You couldn’t bear to lose the chance at your cherished knighthood.”

His brawny shoulders squared. “There’s no wrong in a man wanting to better himself—”

“Even at my expense? You denied me the love and companionship of an older sister. You subjected Emily to years of miserable longing for your love.”

“Princess, you were only fifteen when Emily died. Too young to understand why I’d had an affair before I married your mother.”

“Emily knew about
me.
In her diary she wrote that she’d waited in front of our house until she saw us together.”

He passed a hand over his face. “I didn’t know. She never breathed a word about that to me.”

Juliet swallowed hard against an upsurge of tenderness. “I’m not surprised. She wouldn’t have jeopardized what precious little time you gave her. More than anything, she wanted your love.”

“She had my love, my support,” he said roughly. “I’ve always carried her image close to my heart. See here?”

Reaching into his breast pocket, he drew forth a locket and fumbled with the clasp. Juliet found herself walking on numb legs toward him. Over his shoulder she saw that one side of the locket held a portrait of herself; the other bore a photograph of Emily, a miniature of the sad-eyed angel once displayed in Kent’s bedroom.

She turned her gaze to her husband; he stared back, his arms folded. His expression remained oblique, offering no clue to his thoughts. He was leaving the choice to her.

Pacing away, she spun toward her father. “You were looking at that locket on the night of my debut.”

“Yes, I was wishing Emily could have been there to meet you. I regretted that she’d never had the opportunities you had. She never had a come out ball, or the chance to wear a grandmother’s pearls.”

His sorrow shook the firm ground of her anger. Recalling her naive happiness on that long ago night, Juliet touched the glossy strand circling her throat. “Jewels can’t replace a father’s company. All Emily ever wanted was for you to declare her your own.”

“Can’t you see—? If I’d acknowledged her before society, the stigma of her bastardy would have touched you as well, Princess.”

Was it true?
Had
he meant to protect her?

“I
could have borne the shame. It’s a small price to pay for having a sister to love.”

“I’m sorry, Princess. I don’t see the situation that way.” As he clicked the locket shut and tucked it away, he cast a guarded glance at Kent, then back at her. “You’re a married woman now, with a child of your own on the way. I’d hoped you could understand the delicacy of my position. Whether you believe it or not, I wanted to do my best for both my daughters.”

She reflected on the girl she’d been, blithe and trusting, with a blind belief in eternal love and perfect faith. The death of her dreams ached like a raw wound. Perhaps Papa was right in that; perhaps she had once been too innocent to comprehend that people could love, yet still hurt each other.

No more. Still, too many painful questions roiled inside her to allow room for forgiveness.

“Your best obviously wasn’t enough for Emily,” she said. “If you loved her so much, why did you demand Dreamspinner from her?”

Leaning heavily on the chair arm, Emmett kneaded his brow. “I resented the fact that she grew up here in the Deverell stronghold. I resented His Grace for marrying her. When I learned she was to bear him an heir, I could think only of punishing him by getting the necklace back.”

His expression darkening, Kent pushed away from the mantelpiece. “Back? Dreamspinner never belonged to you in the first place.”

Emmett surged up to confront him. “When William learned I meant to buy the necklace as a wedding gift for Dorothea, he sent his agent to the maharaja and beggared himself to make a higher bid. A peer of the realm ought to have had more respect for a gentleman’s agreement.”