by Shana Galen
At least now she would die fighting. She raised the rock. “Come on!” she screamed. “You want me? I’m right here.”
Oliver gave her a wary look and slowed. He was breathing hard and squinting at her. That was her one advantage. The wind was behind her, blowing rain into his eyes, while she faced away.
“You’re going to pay,” he yelled. He was not far from her, but the wind made it all but impossible to hear.
“Fine. Do your worst. I’m not running from you anymore, Oliver Clifton. You don’t scare me anymore. You don’t control me anymore.”
“We’ll see how scared you are in a moment, you worthless slut.” He was coming for her, and her hand itched to throw the rock she clutched tightly. The rough edges cut into her flesh, the pain keeping her mind clear.
Wait, she cautioned herself. Wait until he’s close enough.
She would have one chance, one shot. She could not miss, or she would die.
“Worthless?” she spat. “You tried for years to make me believe so. You belittled me and tried all you could to break my spirit. And you almost succeeded, but you couldn’t break me completely, Oliver. Deep down, I knew I was worth something. And now I’ve proven it. I’m a celebrity. I’m in the papers. Everyone knows who I am. I dine with the Prince Regent!”
“You take him to your bed. You’re nothing more than a glorified slut.”
“And what are you? No one and nothing. A warped old man who was bested by a slut. I got away from you. I forgot you. But you couldn’t ever forget me.”
“And now you’ll never forget me!” He charged her, and she raised her arm and flung the stone. She watched in horror as it went off course, hitting him in the cheek instead of the center of the forehead, as she had hoped.
And still he stumbled forward, surprised by the action and the impact. Juliette hit him over the head. It probably hurt her as much as it hurt him, but she wasn’t going to die without a fight. He plowed into her and knocked her over. She fell hard on the rocky ground, and for a moment, the world dimmed. Rain mixed with fresh tears of pain, coating her face. And then Oliver’s face came into focus. He was bleeding from a gash on his cheek, his teeth were bared, and there was murder in his eyes.
She did the first thing she could think of, which was to strike at him. She hit his nose with her hand, and he reared back. She rolled over and tried to climb to her feet. Oliver caught her shoulder and pulled her back down. He wrapped his hands around her neck, and she tried frantically to catch her breath. But he was squeezing hard, strangling the life out of her.
She tried to claw at him, but he was above her, out of arm’s reach. She flailed and writhed, and the world went gray then charcoal. He was straddling her now, leaning in close as her movements began to weaken. He wanted to be close when he squeezed the life from her. She opened her eyes and measured their positions. And then she took one last chance, brought her knee up hard, and caught him between the legs.
He howled but didn’t release her. She dug into her reserves, into every last ounce of strength she possessed, and fought him. His grip loosened, and she rolled away. When he didn’t catch her immediately, she began crawling. Her fist closed on another rock, this one long and jagged. She rose to her knees then climbed to her feet. Slowly, she turned to face Oliver. He was staggering toward her, his face a mask of pain and rage, his bloody cheek making him look grotesque and evil. He reached for her, and as his hands closed on her throat, she brought her hand up, stabbing the rock through his jaw.
He stilled, his eyes widening, and then he released her and grabbed for the rock embedded in his flesh. He fell to the ground, clutching the rock, and she stood over him, feeling no pity, feeling no triumph.
Feeling nothing but the hard rain pelting her back.
Twenty
Will saw Lucifer coming for Juliette. He saw him reach for her, and Will knew he would be too late. He was running now, running through the punishing rain and sliding on the wet grasses. He heard someone screaming, “No, no, no!” over and over. After a moment, he realized it was he engaging in this completely undignified behavior. It was not the kind of behavior one would expect from a duke.
And he didn’t care. He ran and he yelled, and it was entirely futile, because he saw Lucifer had her. And then he was afraid he imagined what he saw next, because Lucifer fell to the ground and Juliette stood over him, fists clenched, face set in a mask of stone.
“Juliette!” he called. He was close enough for her to hear him now, but she didn’t turn, didn’t acknowledge him whatsoever. “Juliette!” He reached for her, touching her shoulder, afraid to believe she was real and not a figment of his imagination.
She jumped when he touched her, hissing and turning defensively. He put his hands up, shocked at the anger and coldness in her eyes. And then all of that melted away, and she was Juliette again. “Will?”
He didn’t have time to respond before she fell into his arms. She was cold, but she was solid. She was alive. He held her tightly, whispering words she could not have possibly heard, words he did not even understand himself. She buried her head on his shoulder, and he caught a glimpse of Lucifer over her bright hair.
Except it wasn’t Lucifer. He didn’t recognize the man, and not only because he had a large chunk of rock protruding from his chin. “Who the devil is that?”
Juliette lifted her head and peered around. “It’s Oliver, my former husband.”
“I don’t understand.”
“All this time we thought it was Lucifer who attacked me, only Lucifer who was after me, but it was Oliver, too. The night of Lady Elizabeth’s murder, my cook told me a man had come looking for me, and I assumed it was Lucifer. But it must have been Oliver. And then the day we went back together, the day we were in the attic. Your men saw a man lurking about the alley. Again, we assumed it was Lucifer, because he had been there earlier, but your men didn’t see any man matching his description. Because it wasn’t Lucifer that time. It was Oliver.”
“Then where is Lucifer?”
“I don’t know.”
Oliver made a moaning sound, and Juliette shrank away. Will pulled her close, turning at the sound of another voice. “Your Grace!”
Will wrapped his arms around Juliette’s waist and started back toward the house. “Let’s go.”
“We can’t leave him here, like this.”
He pointed toward the house. The rain was still steady and strong, but it no longer pelted them with a vengeance. Mr. Pittinger trudged toward them. “We’ll give him over to Pittinger,” Will told her. “You needn’t think of him anymore.”
She gazed at Will. “I stood up to him. I didn’t run this time. I stood and fought.”
He thought of the man’s bloody face. “I never had any doubt.”
“I stood and fought, Will,” she said again, swaying on her feet. “Just like the dukes of Pelham. I didn’t run.”
“Juliette—” She swayed again, and he caught her before she could fall.
***
Juliette woke to the sound of snoring. She didn’t know where she was, but she knew she was warm, comfortable, and safe. Something heavy lay over her midsection, and she reached up gingerly to touch it. Her arm muscles were sore. Every part of her body was sore. She touched an arm—a man’s arm. And then she knew, before she even opened her eyes, it was Will’s arm.
She opened her eyes slowly, smiling when the first thing to greet her was Will’s face. He was asleep beside her, fully dressed, lying on the counterpane. Though the drapes had been drawn, she could see strips of sunlight on the ceiling and knew it was full day. A quick glance about told her she was in the ducal chambers at Rothingham Manor. Why should she be here? She was not the duchess.
She had no recollection of how she had come to be in the bedchamber. She didn’t even recall how she had come to travel from Nowlund Park to Roth
ingham Manor. She did remember Oliver. She shuddered at the memory of the rock jutting from his flesh, and Will pulled her closer. She smiled. Even in his sleep he comforted her.
She traced a finger over his stern cheekbones, so perfect even when he was in repose. She touched his eyelashes lightly, marveling at how they lay so straight and still on his skin. She traced his eyebrows, the slope of his nose, the curve of his lips.
His lips moved. “You’re awake.”
“I don’t remember falling asleep.”
His eyes opened, and she felt as though she could stare into their dark blue depths forever. “You fainted.”
She blinked. “I don’t think so.”
“I know so. I was the one who caught you.”
She shook her head, tried to sit, but he held her down with light pressure from his arm. “But I’ve never fainted. I’m no delicate flower.”
“I think it’s safe to say you were exhausted and traumatized. I had you brought back here.”
To his bedchamber, not her room. Did that mean there would be no more pretensions? No more acting as though they would occupy two chambers and then sneaking in to see each other? She was afraid to hope that it might mean more.
She swallowed. “And Oliver. Is he…?”
“He’s alive, unfortunately,” Will said, lifting his head and leaning toward her to kiss her cheek. “You didn’t kill him, but I dare say he will have a nasty scar to remember you by.” He caressed her hair as though she were a child to be comforted.
“Where is he?”
“Jail, I should hope. Pittinger called the magistrate, who said he would take care of the matter. I don’t believe you will need to give a statement. There were enough witnesses. I imagine he’ll be tried and hung. We’ll keep it quiet. No need to have the news reach London. You’re finally rid of him.” He kissed her again. “No need to think of him again.”
Juliette stared at the ceiling. She was rid of Oliver. He would not bother her ever again. She would never have to look over her shoulder for fear of finding him coming for her. Suddenly, she felt as light as one of those balloons that lifted people high in the sky. She felt so light she thought she might fly.
“One of the footmen I brought with me from London recognized him.”
Juliette glanced back at Will. “How?”
“You were right. He was the man at your town house in London. The footman saw him outside that day we waited in the attic. He didn’t match Lucifer’s description, so they didn’t stop him or question him, though his appearance in the back alley caused them enough concern so that they notified me. But he gave them some story about a coal delivery, and they let him go.”
“All this time we thought it was Lucifer after us.”
“I don’t think we’re rid of Lucifer yet. He may still be in London, biding his time.”
“He knows the diamonds are there.”
“Well, they sure as hell aren’t in Yorkshire,” Will said. “We searched everywhere.”
“Then where are they? If we didn’t find them at Nowlund Park, and Lord and Lady Nowlund didn’t find them at their London town house, and the diamonds are obviously not hidden at my town house, where are they?” Juliette asked.
“Only Lady Elizabeth knows that. We may never find them, but we won’t have to contend with Lucifer forever. The magistrate will apprehend him. If I need to supply additional men and funds, we’ll catch him.”
Juliette nodded. Then they were going back to London, back to their old lives. She knew this couldn’t last forever, knew she was a fool to allow herself to fall in love with Will. She took a deep breath. “So what now?”
“Now? I was thinking we might try some of this.” He rose on one elbow and kissed her gently on the mouth. She responded, but her mind was still conjecturing. Will must have known she had been asking about returning to London, but he’d evaded the question. Did that mean he wasn’t anxious to return either?
She would have loved to continue kissing him, but she had to know where they stood. “Will, wait.”
He pulled back, looked down at her. “What is it? Are you still feeling unwell? I should have—”
She put a finger over his lips. “I’m fine. But I was wondering, do we return to London?”
His brow furrowed. “I’m in no hurry. Are you anxious to get back?”
“Not exactly.”
“Good. Then for now, we stay right here.”
She stared at him. “You mean, you have no plan, no schedule, no timetable?”
“Oh, I have a plan,” he said, pulling her tight against him. “I plan to seduce you.”
She stared at him, and he raised a brow.
“Am I growing horns?”
Who was this man who was suddenly amusing and carefree? What had happened to the rigid, stodgy duke? “No. But I’m amazed at how much you’ve changed.”
He grinned. “Perhaps I can amaze you in other ways, as well.”
“Do you think so?”
“A man can hope.” He kissed her again, and this time she put all thoughts of London and the future aside. Oliver was gone. She was free of him forever. She was in Will’s bed, in Will’s arms. That was all that mattered. He moved on top of her, careful to support his weight so she would not bear it. He kissed her nose, her chin, her eyes. He was so tender, so gentle, and then he kissed her cheek and whispered in her ear, “I thought I’d lost you. I saw him reach for you, and I thought I’d lost you.” His voice sounded so raw and anguished.
“You didn’t lose me, Will. You’ll never lose me,” she said.
“I don’t think I could bear it.”
For a long moment, they simply held each other, and Juliette thought she had never been happier. This was what she wanted; this was what she had dreamed of—this closeness, this tenderness, this love.
She had a moment of doubt, but it was fleeting. She pushed it away just as Will kissed her again. It was so easy to get lost in Will’s arms, in his mouth, in the caress of his fingers. It was easy to forget everything but the two of them.
Slowly, carefully, Will stripped off her nightshift until she was laid bare before him. The way he looked at her, with such reverence, made her catch her breath.
“He hurt you,” Will said, tracing the bumps and bruises she’d garnered during her fight with Oliver. He touched her knee, her hip, her elbow, her neck. She winced. “That looks tender.”
“It’s nothing.” And it wasn’t. She didn’t even feel the lingering ache from Oliver’s fingers when Will looked at her this way. She was eager to look back. Will still wore a linen shirt and trousers. She pushed up slowly and sat with her legs crossed. Reaching for his shirt, she pulled it up, revealing that hard bronze abdomen little by little. She allowed her fingers to skate along Will’s flesh, teasing both of them. He lifted his arms, and on his skin, she saw the play of the streaks of sunlight escaping the wall of curtains. And then she pulled the shirt off, and he was naked to the waist. She touched his broad shoulders, his muscled chest, his flat abdomen. “How is it you are so tan? Do not tell me a duke works outside without his shirt.”
“I think it is that you are so pale. Either that or it is from my mother. I’m told she was part Italian.”
“Ah, then that explains why you are sun-kissed here.” She tucked her fingers into the waistband of his trousers. “I had images of you outside in nothing but your boots.”
“I’m sorry to disappoint.” His voice was husky as she released the fall of his trousers.
“Oh, you haven’t disappointed me yet.” She worked the trousers over his hips, and he sat back so she could pull them off. She tossed them on the floor in an unorganized heap, glanced at him, and raised a brow in challenge.
He smiled and tossed his shirt on the floor after the trousers. She laughed. “You are too wicked, sir.�
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“Let me show you just how wicked.”
He loved her. He hadn’t said the words, but Juliette knew he must love her. The way he kissed her, touched her, held her. Will loved her—she was sure of it. And when they lay, sated and spent, in each other’s arms, Juliette was happier than she’d ever been in her life. She fell asleep to dreams of their future together.
And woke to a nightmare.
Twenty-one
Will stared at a ghost.
He was no fanciful child—had not been fanciful even when he was a child—but the man’s resemblance to his father was striking. Will’s shock began when Richards, who had finally arrived from London, stepped into his library and announced the arrival of Lord Henry Cavington.
“Who?” Pelham asked, looking up from his ledgers. He’d been up since six, and it was only half past eight at present. To the best of his knowledge, Juliette was still asleep. He would have preferred to stay in bed with her, but they had spent the afternoon, evening, and night talking, eating, and making love. If he stayed by her side, he would want her again, and he knew she needed her rest.
And so he had decided he would work until she woke, and then they could make plans for the day together. It was a strange feeling—not knowing what he would do that day, not having it planned out—but he was gradually getting used to the idea. He was even considering what artwork he might like to hang in place of his father’s portraits. Juliette had been correct. There were far too many images of his father gazing down, with disapproving eyes, at him. Will idly looked over his ledgers, checking the accuracy of his steward, and thinking of Juliette’s lovely mouth, her long legs, the freckle on the third toe of her left foot…
He had been imagining kissing that freckle when Richards knocked then entered, announcing a guest. “Lord Henry is your uncle, Your Grace,” Richards said. “Your father’s brother.”