by Olivia Drake
For Kent, she would try anything.
In her dressing room, she selected the largest hatbox and tossed aside its lavishly ribboned contents. Buoyed by nervous energy, she packed the makeshift portmanteau and hid it under the bed. Then she waited. Hours passed in measured ticks of the ormolu mantelpiece clock. At eight, Charlotte brought a dinner tray. From her sidelong looks, Juliet knew the maid burned to discover why the master had imprisoned his daughter. To avoid suspicion, she accepted Charlotte’s aid in donning a nightdress. The servant murmured a good night and locked the door behind her.
Too overwrought to sleep, Juliet forced herself to sit in a chair by the window. With a pang of regret, she gazed over the darkened gardens in which she’d spent many contented hours. There would be other gardens at Radcliffe, a place of her own. What was his castle like? And Kent’s cousin?
The sky was cloudy, the night chilly with rising mist. Gaslight shone in the windows of neighboring houses and in the mews, where the stable lads and coachman resided. The ever present odor of smoke pervaded the air. From downstairs came the occasional rise of a voice, though the words were indistinct.
Her mind replayed the awful confrontation with her father. He won’t get away with stealing you, too. What could the Deverell have done to turn her father into such a beast? Swallowing hard, she buried the memory beneath thoughts of Kent... the beauty of his smiles, the taste of his mouth, the gentleness of his touch.
One by one the lights vanished and the voices ceased. The clock chimed once. The house creaked and settled. Certain that everyone slept, she exchanged her nightdress for a simple gown of forest green silk. The task seemed to take forever as her fingers fumbled with corset hooks and frock buttons.
Then she sat down at her desk and composed a note to her parents. Her emotions numb, she left the folded letter and poked her head out the window again. The ledge lay hidden in gloom. A shudder ran through her. She might lose her footing, tumble to the flagstoned terrace.
Just as Emily Deverell had fallen to her death.
Yet what other choice did she have?
A startling idea sent Juliet rushing to the door. Crouching, she peered through the keyhole. The key blocked the opening.
From her desk she fetched a sheet of stationery and slid it under the door. Using a hairpin, she gently dislodged the key. A ping sounded as the metal struck the floor of the hall. Dropping to her knees, she peered beneath the door and saw the key lying just past the paper. “Drat!”
Now what? She ran into her dressing room and yanked open a drawer. Fingers trembling, she pushed aside fans and combs, hatpins and handkerchiefs. At last she found a buttonhook.
Hurrying back, she thrust the long hook under the door. It took four tries before her shaking hand maneuvered the key onto the paper. She slowly drew it inside. Elated, she snatched up the cold brass in her fist. Then her exultation drained. No doubt, Charlotte would be held to blame for forgetting the key.
Yet Juliet couldn’t turn back now.
The clock chimed twice as she swiftly donned hr best braided jacket. Catching the hatbox handle in the hand, she unlocked the door and crept out. A low lit gas sconce at the far end of the hall shed enough light for her to see. She relocked the door and left the key so that nothing would appear amiss.
Silence hung heavy as she tiptoed along the dark hall and past her parents’ suite of rooms. She headed down the grand, curving staircase, her shoes tapping on the marble risers, the ungainly hatbox bumping her thigh.
Turning the latch, she opened the front door. Across the square, in a deep shadowed area between the street lamps, she saw the misty outline of a familiar landau. Pivoting, she took one last look around the lofty foyer. Regret choked her throat, regret that her parents could not accept the man she loved.
Then she stepped into the chilly night and closed the door on her childhood.
Chapter 6
Kent forced himself to stand rigidly before the altar steps.
Seeking a distraction to calm the churning in his stomach, he glanced around the small church. This remote sanctum in the rolling hills of Hampshire suited his requirements superbly. Sunshine flowed through the stained glass and cast jeweled light over the rows of empty pews. The congregation consisted of Ravi and Hatchett who sat together at the rear. On one side of Kent stood the gangly vicar; on the other, a rabbit toothed young curate gawked with ill concealed awe.
Everyone waited for the ceremony to begin.
Panic swept Kent in a sickening wave. The urge to run out of the church swamped him. He could yet stop himself from committing this ignominious act. He could turn back, cancel the wedding, and restore Juliet to the life she deserved. Fleeing would be not the act of a coward, but of a hero.
Go. Now. If you have any humanity left in the void of your soul, you’ll give her back.
His foot moved. A hand touched his arm. Numbly he looked at the ink stained fingers on his gray sleeve. His eyes followed the arm to the surprised clergyman.
“I don’t blame you for your impatience, Your Grace,” whispered Wesley Elphinstone. “Here’s your bride now. And she’s one worth waiting for, if I may say so.”
Kent jerked his gaze down the aisle. Juliet stood framed by the open doors of the church, the late afternoon sunlight gilding her slender figure. A wreath of orange blossoms crowned her upswept hair, and a crepe de chine gown in a shade of aged gold hugged her skin. In her arms she cradled a spray of lavender marsh orchids. The blooms drew his eyes to her breasts, where the prim bodice and pearl necklace accented her womanly fullness. Tonight he’d possess the right to undress her; tonight he’d run his hands over her ripe curves; tonight he’d make long, sweet love to her.
His groin tightened with unholy heat. Christ. Now he was lusting in a church. To what depths had he sunk?
Go, his mind urged again. Go, before it’s too late.
Yet his feet remained rooted to the stone floor; his eyes remained fastened on the beautiful girl.
The organ wheezed, yanking his gaze to the choir loft where he could see Mrs. Elphinstone’s pudgy back bent over the keyboard. The feathers on her enormous green hat bobbed as she lurched into Wagner’s Lohengrin March.
Juliet started down the aisle. The sadness and exhaustion of the girl who’d run to him so early this morning no longer shaded her face. Now her eyes were steady with resolution, her features serene with love.
A love he’d taken by trickery. A love he couldn’t return.
Self loathing twisted like a knife inside him. He was about to achieve the ultimate revenge; he was about to gain legal control of Emmett Carleton’s daughter.
Yet he felt lower than a worm slinking beneath the fields of Castle Radcliffe.
In desperation, he dipped into the black well of memory. Emily. Think about Emily. Think about Dreamspinner.
But the images were fleeting, insubstantial compared to the vibrant picture of Juliet walking toward him.
Skirts swishing, she glided to his side. As she met his gaze, uncertainty flashed in her eyes; then her mouth curved into a tender smile. She slipped her hand into his, and his mind went blank to all but the inviting fullness of her lower lip. He wanted to kiss her, right here and now, to submerge himself in the magic of her youthful charm and let reality fall away.
Elphinstone cleared his throat. “Er... as there’s no one to give the bride away, shall we begin?”
Oh, God. Kent’s palms turned to ice. Rather than trust his voice, he gave the clergyman a curt nod.
Elphinstone commenced reading the service, his black prayer book held at arm’s length.
Only a few words of the prefatory address pierced the roaring in Kent’s ears “... answer before God at the day of doom...”A wave of dizziness almost made him sway. All that kept him upright was the feel of her small hand enclosed in his. “... if you know any lawful hindrance why you may not be wedded together at this time, say it now.”
Elphinstone paused and looked up, his bushy gray brows raised. K
ent bit back a rude command: Good Christ, why don’t you just get on with it?
“Ahem.” Hastily lowering his eyes, the vicar droned out the wedding contract. Like stones, each word sank into Kent.
“... from this day forward, for better for worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do us part.”
“I will,” Juliet said, her voice soft but firm.
Turning to the duke, Elphinstone began to intone the vow a second time.
An awful agitation stirred inside Kent. He could offer Juliet neither love nor riches. What right had he to cheat her of a happy future? In despair he looked down at her, and the faint bruise along her cheekbone caught his eye. Fury surged inside him, a fury that swept the guilt away. God, how he’d wanted to kill Emmet Carleton for striking her!
Perhaps he should have told her the whole sordid story.
Then she wouldn’t have married him.
Oh, Christ. At least he was doing her a favor by saving her from that brute. He would keep his pledge to protect her.
Time folded back; years dropped away. Once again, a Deverell would give asylum to a Carleton...
“Your Grace?”
He jerked his head toward the vicar. Kent swallowed the knot in his throat. “I will.”
His steadfast tone brought a trembling joy to Juliet. When she’d walked down the aisle to join him, his aloof demeanor had dismayed her. Now, through a haze of happiness, she watched him place his heavy gold signet on her finger. She held her fist tight to keep the ring from sliding off as he bent to give her a brief, stirring kiss.
Elphinstone murmured the closing prayers and blessings; then the organ began thumping out a recessional march. With one arm holding the stalk of orchids and the other looped with her husband’s, she entered the vestry to sign the register. Footsteps clumped down the choir stairs, and Mrs. Elphinstone’s stout figure appeared in the doorway. She clasped a handkerchief to the bosom of her green and garnet striped gown.
“Oh, my, wasn’t that romantic?” She dabbed her eyes with the handkerchief, then noisily blew her nose. “Never have I seen a more radiant bride, Your Grace. You two make a handsome couple indeed.”
“We appreciate your hospitality,” Kent said. “It was kind of you, Vicar, to marry us on such short notice.”
Elphinstone’s gaunt chest swelled with self importance. “Say no more. It is my holy duty to perform God’s tasks.”
“Yet perhaps you won’t refuse a modest donation in exchange for a few days silence on this matter.” Kent pressed a gold coin into the parson’s palm.
Elphinstone’s eyes gleamed bright as the sovereign. “Thank you, Your Grace. The less fortunate in our district will benefit from your generosity.”
His wife looked crestfallen and curious. “A few days, Your Grace? Won’t you tell us the cause for such secrecy?”
Kent’s expression went frigid. “My reasons are my own. If you’ll excuse us now.” Hand at the base of Juliet’s spine, he steered her toward the arched doorway.
“Oh, but Your Grace!” Mrs. Elphinstone burst out. “Surely you’re not leaving so soon? The Vicar and I would be honored to have you share our tea.”
Standing witness to the wedding of a duke must be the pinnacle of Mrs. Elphinstone’s dull life, Juliet thought in wry sympathy. Impulsively she lay a hand on Kent’s arm. “We can spare a few moments, can’t we?”
His mouth tightened, and she thought by his frosty glare that he would refuse. Then he turned away and said, “My wife and I would be delighted to join you.”
The delay displeased him, Juliet reflected, as the foursome trooped out of the church and toward the stone vicarage. Or was he angry with her? Did he expect her to be as subservient as her own mother? The magnitude of the step she’d taken struck with dizzying force. She had bound her life to the tall and sternly handsome man who walked beside her, a man who could be both bitter and tender, cold and kind.
As they passed beneath a trellis crowned with pink cabbage roses, trepidation weighed upon her as heavily as the ring upon her finger. A thought had been hovering at the back of her mind since the quarrel with her father, a thought she had refused to ponder during the long, numbing carriage ride. How well did she really know Kent?
In the vicarage parlor, she took her seat beside him on an ancient sofa. The watercress sandwiches tasted dry as sand in her mouth and the sticky black gingerbread settled like a lump in her stomach. Kent took command of the conversation; he deftly flattered Mrs. Elphinstone and politely solicited the vicar’s pompous opinions. With startling clarity, Juliet saw another facet of this complex man who was now her husband.
Afterward they found Hatchett waiting outside with the landau, the top folded down to the balmy summer evening. Ravi stood beside the carriage, and his swarthy face wore no expression as he handed Juliet inside. Yet she sensed contempt in his eyes, a contempt that added to her unease. He resented her... because she had Carleton blood. Would the others at the castle resent her, too?
The servant took his place beside the burly coachman, and the carriage started down the narrow country road.
Late sunlight gleamed through a stand of elms and settled on the hedgerows and fields. Alongside the ditch grew yellow marsh marigolds and an occasional patch of purple orchids, like the stalk in her lap. Her wedding bouquet. Running a fingertip over the velvety lip of one bloom, she tried to recapture the reckless hope that had borne her through the marriage ceremony.
Yet the man beside her seemed a stranger now. She felt awkward and tongue tied, naive and nervous. Could she truly cure his cynicism and win his love?
His hand settled over hers, the calluses firm against her soft skin. His keen dark eyes studied her. “Second thoughts?” he asked, his low pitched words almost lost to the rattle of wheels.
She lowered her gaze to their joined hands. “All my life I trusted my father, but he turned on me the moment I ceased doing as he commanded.”
Almost imperceptibly, his fingers tightened. “And now you’re wondering if you can trust me.”
“Yes.”
He said nothing for a moment; the shrill cry of a peewit mingled with the rhythmic clopping of hooves.
“Juliet, look at me.”
An underlying roughness made his words more an entreaty than an order. Lifting her chin, she found her skin prickling from the intensity of his gaze.
“I’ll never raise a hand to you,” he said, his voice soft but steadfast. “You have my word on that.”
“I know.”
He watched her closely. “Then why do you still doubt me?”
How could she tell him that her misgivings stemmed not from the threat of abuse but from the absence of affection? She touched the pearls encircling her throat.
Go near that devil and by God, you’re no longer my daughter.
She swallowed hard. “I’m wondering about something odd that my father said to me last night. Something about you not stealing me, too. What did he mean?”
His eyes widened, then narrowed. He released her hands and sat back. “Doubtless Emmett referred to his belief that my father cheated him out of a piece of property.”
She tilted her head. “But I thought it was the other way around. I thought your father believed Papa had cheated him.”
“There were many arguments between them. Let’s not let their feud spoil our honeymoon.”
Juliet couldn’t forget her father’s furious face. “But what will Papa do? He’s surely gotten my letter by now.”
Kent shrugged. “You’re my lawful wife. You needn’t worry about your father.”
“And if he comes after us?”
“He’ll expect us to travel by train to Radcliffe. The last thing he’ll suspect is that we took a carriage to Hampshire.”
“What if he’s waiting at the castle?”
“Then we’ll invite him in and have a feast.” Tenderly he brushed her hand again. “Don’t torment yourself, Juliet. Let’s enjoy the few d
ays it’ll take us to reach home.”
Home. That single word boosted her spirits because, consciously or not, he’d drawn her into the circle of his family.
“Let’s set aside the future and the past,” he went on, his voice lowering to a husky whisper. “Nothing should mar your memory of our wedding. I’ll do my best to make everything perfect for you tonight. You can trust me in that.”
His thumb drew slow circles over her wrist, and the warmth of his grip flowed into her. Kent had married her because he, too, felt this burning ache for physical closeness. Impulsively she leaned toward him and said,
“My father deceived me into thinking he was a decent, fair minded person. What I love about you, Kent, is that you’ve been so honest with me.”
Something dark leaped into his eyes, that frustrating veil hiding his thoughts. The breeze blew a lock of black hair against his forehead. He nodded and turned to gaze at the scenery.
Beset by disappointment and determination, Juliet fingered her pearls. Tonight, she thought. Tonight he wouldn’t shut her out.
They stopped for the night at an ancient posting inn. The second story room had a steep pitched roof and a gabled window open to the night breezes. The tassels on the drawn back draperies stirred with each puff of air. Candlelight glowed over the whitewashed walls and cast shadows in the corners.
Standing before a minuscule washstand, Juliet dipped her hands into a chipped china bowl and rinsed the travel dust from her face, then shined the heavy gold wedding band. Kent had gone downstairs, ostensibly to order dinner, more likely to give her a few moments privacy. His considerate nature warmed her heart and made her shiver with anticipation. Would he be as patient with her inexperience tonight? Trust me...
Restlessly she walked to the bed, the floorboards creaking. The pink and white striped hatbox looked incongruous against the claret colored counterpane. She focused her attention on the meager task of unpacking her few toilet articles, a favorite botany text, the crumpled green gown she’d worn this morning. The wrinkles dismayed her. She tried to shake out the silk folds, then gave up and draped the garment over a chair.