Harlequin Historical May 2014 - Bundle 2 of 2: Unwed and Unrepentant\Return of the Prodigal Gilvry\A Traitor's Touch (64 page)

‘You are very beautiful, Henrietta,' he whispered and bent his head to kiss her inflamed lips.

‘You flatter me, Simon.'

‘It is no flattery, my love.'

She sighed and said nothing. He bent his dark head and kissed the soft skin of her shoulder, touching it with his tongue. She shivered and moaned. His hand traced her waist and hip.

Catching his hand in hers and placing it on her stomach, she whispered, ‘Just hold me, Simon.'

Nodding, he let his hands rest. Her head fit perfectly into the hollow of his shoulder. The warmth of her next to his body comforted him. He breathed deeply, completely at ease for the first time in months.

* * *

Some time later Henrietta stirred, waking him from his light slumber. ‘We must get dressed before Uncle Matthew gets back. Do not forget that this is not my house.'

‘Yes, I know.' After all Matthew's kindness and the danger Simon had placed both Matthew and Henrietta in by being there, the thought of him returning and finding them in bed together was like a dash of cold water on him. He seemed to sober instantly. Reluctantly, he released her and left her to dress.

Henrietta watched him go before resting back on the pillows. With tears blurring her vision, she closed her eyes. She was a fool, she told herself, a fool for having gone to bed with him again. She was no saint, that she well knew. Perhaps she should send him away now, this day, tell him that he could no longer stay at the cottage. But, no, she knew he was not well enough to travel just yet. He would leave her soon, of that she had no doubt.
Please, God, do not let him end his life on the gallows. Let him make it to France.

But then she would be left alone, having given him her heart. Fresh tears formed in her eyes as she thought of not ever seeing him again.
You cannot have it both ways,
she told herself with disgust.
You cannot have him, but not want him.

There was no time or place for love in her life, she asserted to herself. No room for it as long as the issue concerning Baron Lucas's will remained unresolved and Jeremy wanted to kill her.

No room,
she thought bitterly.
I am a fool. A fool...for having fallen in love with Simon Tremain, a rebel, a fugitive, a man accused of seditious, traitorous acts against King George.

* * *

Letters arrived irregularly in the Highlands. Sometimes, considering the lengths to which messengers had to go to deliver mail in the outer reaches of Scotland, Henrietta thought it incredible that anything arrived at all. Crossing the yard from the stable, Matthew saw the messenger riding along the road to the cottage. Immediately he went to warn Simon, who had left the confines of the cave to enjoy a little time in Henrietta's company. Unwilling to risk being seen, yet reluctant to leave the cosy fireside chair as he watched Henrietta go about her chores, Simon made a hasty retreat to his lonely dwelling place. Matthew greeted the messenger, who had brought a packet of letters and books. Matthew thumbed through until he came to a letter addressed from London.

‘At last. I was beginning to wonder when we would hear from Baron Lucas's lawyer. I think this is what we've been waiting for.'

He cleared his throat sharply as he settled himself in a nearby chair. Opening the letter, he began to read. After a moment a troubled frown creased his brow.

Henrietta became uneasy. ‘What is it, Uncle Matthew? Is something wrong?'

‘It would appear so. The letter is from Mr Goodwin's son, Christopher Goodwin. He has written in response to my letter and to inform me that his father is missing. With no leads as to his whereabouts, it is assumed that he may have met with a tragic accident.'

‘But—but that is terrible news. What can have happened to him?'

‘Heaven knows. Christopher Goodwin goes on to say that he has since taken over his father's law practice and will look into the matter I raised in my letter concerning Baron Lucas's will. He does stress that there should be a copy of the will, and if this is the case then claiming your inheritance will be a straightforward matter.'

‘I see. Well, one thing is certain. Nothing can be resolved while ever I remain in Scotland. I must go back to London.'

‘I agree—and soon. I said in the beginning that I will not let you deal with this alone. We will make arrangements to leave as soon as Simon leaves.' Glancing out of the window, he saw Simon crossing the yard to the house. ‘Here he comes now. I'll leave you to inform him of the contents of the letter. I must feed the horses. Thank goodness he's a lot stronger and fit enough to travel. I can only pray he will evade the Redcoats.'

* * *

The following day Henrietta returned from a short walk over the moor and let herself into the house. Simon was resting in the cave and Uncle Matthew was visiting a neighbour to inform him of his journey south and to ask him to keep an eye on his property. He was expected back at any time.

He had brought news from Inverness the week before that Prince Charles had abandoned the Jacobite cause and was trying to flee Scotland. So far he had managed to evade capture. It was thought that he was hiding out on the moor, where there would be many still loyal to the cause who would aid him in his escape. There was a price on his head of thirty thousand pounds, but as yet no one had come forward to claim the reward.

He also told them that Cumberland had emptied the prisons in Inverness, people imprisoned by Jacobite supporters, replacing them with Jacobite prisoners themselves. Some prisoners were being taken south to stand trial for treason.

Removing her cloak, Henrietta crossed to the fire to warm herself.

‘So this is where you're hiding. I knew I'd track you down eventually,' a voice jeered behind her.

The sound made Henrietta freeze. She knew it too well. Its caustic tone evoked dark memories and suddenly she was afraid, enough that the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. She swayed in a stunned daze, then, drawing a deep breath to steady herself, she turned slowly and reluctantly responded in like manner.

‘Jeremy. Do forgive my surprise. I'm sure you can believe that your visit here is most unexpected. In fact, you're the last person I anticipated seeing today.'

Despite the moment she had been allowed to compose herself, Henrietta realised she hadn't been expecting the sudden surge of abhorrence that had swept through her when she settled her gaze on Jeremy Lucas. She only wished Simon was here with her now, or Uncle Matthew, watching over her with his usual care. Jeremy's clothes were ill-fitting, rumpled and travel stained—far different from what his dandified appearance had been in London. He was thinner and his face had grown leaner. At least his ordeal had proved exhausting to him, she thought with some pleasure.

With a growl Jeremy stepped from the shadows into the room, outraged at this young woman whose disappearance had left him wallowing in debt and dragged him all this way to seek her out. He raked his gaze scathingly over the object of his hatred and felt a bitter disappointment as he took note of the confident girl. His lips twisted downwards snidely as he made comment. ‘Life on the run certainly seems to agree with you.'

‘I've stopped running, Jeremy. How did you find me?'

‘That, my dear, Henrietta, was a relatively easy task. I knew you had an uncle in Scotland. When my enquiries in London failed to locate you, I knew this was where you would come, so I followed you.'

‘How did you get here?'

‘I left my horse by the rocks in the lane.'

‘I see. So you intended taking me by surprise. Well, welcome to Scotland. I trust it is to your liking.'

With a sneer he conveyed his distaste. ‘I've seen nothing so far but sheep and marauding Highlanders—nothing that would make me ever want to venture so far north again.'

Henrietta managed her most tolerant smile. ‘But Edinburgh and other Scottish cities are most impressive. As for myself, I treasure the space and freedom of Scotland. The spirit of adventure thrives in this land and appeals to my heart. I found the journey to Inverness a very enlightening experience.'

Jeremy wasn't very appreciative of the tenets of a born Scot, especially one who was the daughter of a traitor. ‘I'm sure you must feel quite at home in this savage wilderness, but I much prefer the civilised refinement of London. Of course only an Englishman would esteem his cultural heritage.'

‘Arrogant men who think themselves knowledgeable beyond the common man. Granted some are, but many are not, and I think such views they express originate from a narrow-minded prejudice. What do you want, Jeremy? It must be important for you to follow me all this way.'

‘My uncle's will would be a start—the one you stole—the one he had drafted on the sly behind my back.'

Henrietta shrugged. Her poise amazed her. She had never dreamt that she could remain calm in the face of so much danger. She had always been afraid that she'd panic when she finally came face to face with Jeremy and fall to pieces. Silently she thanked heaven for her aplomb.

‘I do have the copy of the will. Mr Goodwin has the original in his possession—which I am sure you will know all about otherwise you wouldn't be here now. Before you threw me onto the street you were too busy blustering to give me a chance to explain that your uncle had acquired the services of a new solicitor while Mr Braithwaite was out of the country, having him draft a new will.'

‘Which excluded me completely.'

‘Not quite. He left you a few artefacts.'

‘Artefacts! What use are artefacts to me?' he sneered contemptuously. ‘With creditors snapping at my heels day and night I needed that money. I held them off as long as possible, praying for my uncle's demise so I could inherit. I grew tired of having to grovel and beg for every penny he threw me.'

‘But he didn't die, did he, Jeremy? And you became desperate, which is why you killed him and your aunt—and their coach driver—to acquire their wealth.'

Jeremy's face became suffused with rage. ‘I've never heard anything so preposterous,' he flared indignantly. ‘I don't understand your purpose, Henrietta, but I do know your accusation is a vicious, slanderous lie.' His eyes flared with unsurpassed fury. ‘I'm surprised at the lengths you will go to see me shamed.'

‘You shame yourself. You abuse others out of malice and then judge them by your own despicable character. I assure you that whatever shame or slander you reap in this world, you will have brought it on yourself.' Henrietta cast a glance at Jeremy. In all her years she had never seen anyone look so mean or turn such an ugly colour. ‘I overheard you and your wife confess to their murder, Jeremy, so please don't take me for a fool by denying it.'

‘Aye,' he roared crazily, uncaring what she thought, since she would soon be out of the way. ‘I admit it. Tired of waiting, I took matters into my own hands. It was easy. All I had to do was think how rich I'd be once they were out of the way. I ran their carriage off the road and finished them off, making it look like an accident. My one regret was that you weren't in the carriage with them.'

‘I can imagine,' Henrietta said, her mind reeling. ‘How disappointed you must have felt when Mr Goodwin presented you with the new will. Even then you didn't give up, did you? What do you hope to achieve by coming after me?'

‘I want that copy.'

‘So you can destroy it?' She smiled thinly. ‘It will do you no good. Mr Goodwin has the original draft. Uncle Matthew has written to him on my behalf explaining what has transpired. Unfortunately he has mysteriously disappeared. His son has taken over his father's law practice. We will meet when my uncle and I arrive in London.'

‘Do you think I would allow such a meeting to take place?'

With a sense of premonition, Henrietta turned suddenly cold. ‘What do you mean? What have you done?'

‘Goodwin and the new draft have been removed.'

Henrietta's brows gathered in confusion. It took a moment for her to comprehend his meaning. She had known Jeremy was evil, but she hadn't counted on him actually admitting to another murder. ‘You—you mean you killed him?'

‘Not immediately.'

‘Do you think to frighten me with a simpering account of your murders?'

‘Frighten you?' Jeremy snorted derisively, his pale eyes raking her boldly. ‘Why, of course not.' He slowly paced the carpet and instructed her further in the most casual and offhanded tone, ‘I did consider coming after you and taking you back to London, ensconcing you in the house and then rendering you feeble and incapable of communication with strong medicines. Then I'd have buried you. Without a legal heir to your name, Braithwaite would have drafted your will and after forcing you to sign it before I killed you, all of the old man's wealth would come to me. But that would take time—time which I could ill afford. When I have snapped that beautiful neck of yours and destroyed the copy of the newly drafted will, no one will be able to contest its authenticity in a court of law. It will be as though it had never existed and the earlier draft leaving everything to me will be the only one.'

Henrietta's skin crawled as he casually talked of her death. Slowly, carefully, she backed away from him. ‘You would have had difficulty taking me to London. My uncle would not have allowed it.'

Jeremy chortled smugly. ‘He would have been taken care of. The area is swamped with dead Highlanders who did not survive Culloden. One more dead man would not be noticed. Now hurry and get the will. Do not make this any harder for me.'

Henrietta shook her head, becoming quite obstinate. ‘If you think I'm going to give it to you and then let you kill me, you're insane.'

The speed of Jeremy's movement took her completely by surprise.

His face twisted with hatred as he grabbed her wrist and jerked her arm behind her back. ‘Tell me where you have hidden the copy of the will, or I'll break your arm.'