by Olivia Drake
Maud shuddered. “That’s the most gruesome tale I’ve ever heard.”
“My brother went half crazy over her death,” Rose said, a faraway frown wrinkling her brow. “He didn’t want to believe...”
A moment of silence spun out. Juliet felt her heart thumping faster. “Believe what?” she asked.
“That she killed herself,” Rose whispered.
Augusta stirred, her face grim. “Precisely. His Grace was so overwrought that he accused us all of murder.”
Chapter 15
Murder. Tilting her face to the warm sunlight, Juliet found the notion too alien to ponder on such a perfect afternoon. Yesterday’s rain had washed the slanted glass roof of the greenhouse so that she had a clear view of the castle, the south tower looming like a gray guardian. The rear of the hothouse abutted the fortress, and with prudent use of the potbellied stove, winter crops would thrive in the sheltered spot.
Ancient vines twisted over wires strung along the glass walls. Despite years of neglect, the vines bore clusters of small green grapes that nestled like tenacious jewels within the bower of leaves. Already the fruit was beginning to turn a rich purple. The grapes would be ready in September to harvest for jam making, Juliet calculated.
Drawing on a pair of white cotton work gloves, she glanced down the long row of seed boxes. A mist of green covered the trays; new leaves like delicate fans unfurled to the sunshine. A miracle, like the tiny life growing within her.
Pregnant. Another alien word... alien yet exhilarating.
After a somewhat embarrassing physical examination, with Augusta acting as baleful chaperone, the doctor had confirmed Juliet’s impending motherhood. “Been examined three times myself,” Augusta admitted afterward. “For babes I miscarried.” Her eyes held a haunted look of grief as she’d left on her rounds.
Poor Augusta. Perhaps she’d find it easier to smile once a baby occupied the Radcliffe nursery.
With a lightened heart, Juliet set to work thinning the seedlings for her garden. Cauliflower, asparagus, broccoli, cabbage, leeks, all would bear bounty come autumn. Would Kent be thrilled to learn she would bear his baby come spring?
Surely he would. Every man wanted an heir.
Even from a wife who was too brash for his tastes? She paused, dirt clods clinging to her gloves. He’d been enraged over the dowry; he’d acted aloof upon leaving for Windsor. How he must resent her for causing his humiliation before the queen.
Emily would never have taken such bold action. Emily, who hadn’t had a rich dowry. Emily, who had died with Kent’s unborn child in her belly...
Murder.
Juliet yanked out a weed as the word again stirred uneasiness inside her. Not because she thought Emily had been killed—the notion was too absurd to contemplate—but because it confirmed that Kent had adored his first wife. Desperate to clear his beloved of the blemish of suicide, he’d grilled each resident of the castle, not resting until each had been exonerated.
Augusta made no secret of the fact that she held a grudge over the unjust accusation; Rose had been quieter, as if the memory saddened her.
A baby would bring happiness to this troubled household.
Joy bubbled inside Juliet, like a ginger beer bottle shaken, then uncorked. She and Kent must settle their estrangement. Their child would have a home filled with laughter and love. She envisioned reconciling with Kent, kissing him, loving him, then seeing his face light up when she told him about the baby...
In the meantime, the doctor had given her leave to go about her normal tasks, so long as she took regular rest periods and ate well. Despite her morning nausea, she felt vital, alive.
Tranquility came from inhaling the lovely scent of earth, from feeling the mysterious softness of dirt beneath her fingers, from seeing the rich fruit of her labor. If she held her breath, she could almost hear the plants growing, stretching toward the sunshine.
Juliet tipped her head back to relish the life-giving rays. Far above, on the parapet adjoining the south tower, she glimpsed a pale flash framed by a stone embrasure. The spot vanished as fast as a blink.
Had someone been watching her from the lofty perch?
Nonsense.
Yet a chill invaded her warmth. Frowning, she turned her eyes to the odd gray object resting on the brink of the opening.
The block moved, teetered. Leaving a gap in the parapet, the chunk of stone hurtled straight toward the glass roof.
Her scream splintered the air. She dove frantically toward the tray of seed boxes and rolled. Petticoats entangled her legs. Earth showered her. Gravel abraded her cheek.
A single coherent thought blazed across her mind.
The baby. Oh, Kent, our baby.
Mounted on a station hack, Kent rode toward Castle Radcliffe. The brilliance of an enameled blue sky hurt his eyes. A few puddles scattered the ruts in the road, but the sun had dried much of the moisture from the fields. He passed shorn pastures with only brown stubble left from haying time. If luck brought fair weather for the next few weeks, the single day of rain needn’t slow the harvest.
At the top of a rise, he looked across the fertile valley toward the castle occupying a knoll above the Avon River. The gray stone gleamed in the afternoon sunshine like a time-battered jewel. The sight grabbed his throat and held hard.
Would Juliet still be there?
I’ll make you no promises.
As he’d done several times already, he nudged his boot heels into the horse’s sides. For a score of yards, the dun accelerated to a trot, then settled back into its dull, plodding pace. The ancient cob was more suited to pulling a plow than bearing a duke.
So much for haste.
Clenching the reins, Kent decided this horse must be a penance visited upon him for his sins. For making love to Juliet while shrouded by dark secrets. For reaping joy from her smile when he deserved her contempt. For denying her the right to use her own money to help the people of Radcliffe.
Not Carleton money. Not Deverell money. Her money.
Thinking about the dowry that way made the glut of pride slip easier down his throat.
A clump of cedars hid all but the jagged teeth of the turrets. He stared at the age-darkened stone and again prayed Juliet abided within those walls.
The money would give her the independence to leave him.
He pushed the sobering thought from his mind. No, he couldn’t let her go. He wouldn’t. Somehow he’d breach the bulwark of her anger, make amends for his arrogant behavior. He’d back down and apologize.
The lane stretched like a brown ribbon through the green parkland that swept toward the castle. The mournful bleat of a sheep drifted across the steady clip clop of hooves. A jackdaw swooped from the cloudless sky and into a thicket of larch.
The tranquil setting lulled Kent; he let his thoughts spin dreams of an ardent reception from Juliet...
A far off scream shattered the peace, then a muted crash. The sound rang hollow, discordant, like glass pulverizing.
Glass? He straightened, staring at the distant row of lime trees that bordered the south garden. The greenhouses?
Where Juliet worked most afternoons.
Terror drenched him in sweat. He plunged his heels into the horse. The dun obliged with a burst of speed. Just as the animal began to lag, Kent slapped the reins.
“Go, for Christ’s sake. Go!”
The pointed ears pricked. The dun maintained a trot, the breeze lifting the matted mane. Kent muttered a frantic encouragement. Some buried instinct of youth must have awakened in the cob, for the beast launched into an unsteady canter.
The castle loomed steadily nearer. Kent strained to see past the limes. For the first time in years, he uttered a heartfelt prayer.
Dear God, You can’t let it happen again. Please don’t take my love from me. And then he prayed she’d left him for that would ensure her safety...
A figure darted from the postern gate, followed by another. Ravi? Chantal? Behind them scurried the beanpole
shape of Fleetwood.
“Go, damn you!”
Like a racehorse sighting the finish line, the dun stretched his neck. His gait expanded to a teeth-jarring gallop. Yet the motion felt as sluggish as a nightmare.
“No... no... no...”
The wind snatched away the desperate denial. The dun lurched into a final spurt of speed and vaulted a hedge of roses.
Kent spied the trio of hothouses. A jagged hole gaped in the end of one roof. Metal window frames twisted grotesquely. Juliet’s greenhouse.
Too late again... too late... too late...
Horror stricken, he yanked on the reins. The horse skidded to a halt. He leapt from the saddle just as Rose came hurrying down the walkway.
“I heard a crash,” she said breathlessly. “What happened?”
He didn’t answer; he couldn’t answer.
Already running, he pounded toward the greenhouse. Tears of panic fogged his eyes. The door of the long chamber hung askew and cracks threaded the fanlight window.
He plunged inside. Dust blurred the air. The smells of crushed plants and damp soil swirled about him. In the center of the room Chantal hovered, wringing her hands. Beyond her, Ravi and Fleetwood and Augusta pulled at a heap of debris lying atop a crumpled form.
Juliet.
He sprinted down the path. “No... no... no.”
She lay curled into a ball, her back to him, her hair atumble. Dark splotches spattered her lemon yellow skirts. Blood. Oh, Christ, blood.
Gravel flew from beneath his feet. A litany played over and over inside his skull: Please let her live... please... please...
Thrusting Chantal aside, he dropped to his knees beside Juliet. A splintered board tilted drunkenly against her shoulder; he shoved it away. Dirt smeared the pale oval of her face. He cupped her bloodied cheek. So warm. So fragile.
Nightmarish memories siphoned him toward spinning darkness. Only his hands on her body anchored him to reality. “No,” he muttered. “Not again. This can’t happen again.’
Augusta bent toward him, touched his shoulder. “You’re overwrought. Let me see to Her Grace.”
“No.” Shaking off her hand, he searched Juliet’s throat for a pulse. The gentle throb of her precious life rewarded him. “For God’s sake, wake up. Wake up!”
She stirred. Her hand lifted to swat at his. She turned onto her back and her eyelids fluttered. She squinted into the brilliant sunshine and her green gold gaze bathed him in relief.
“Kent,” she said, sounding surprised. “You’ve come home.”
Joy blazed like a comet into his heart. “Yes, love, I’m home.”
He fought the urge to grab her, to cradle her beloved body. Seeking injuries, his gentle hands roamed the length of her. “Are you in pain? Does anything hurt?”
“I’m fine.” She struggled to sit.
“Lie still,” he murmured. “You may have broken a bone.”
“No, I haven’t.”
“Sssh. Let’s make sure.”
“There’s nothing wrong with me.” Abruptly Juliet sat. Clumps of dirt rolled from her skirts. Not blood, thank God, but dirt. “Oh, no!” she exclaimed. “Look at all my plants... my poor lovely grapes—”
“Forget the damned grapes.”
Kent buried his face in her disheveled hair. She smelled of jasmine and earth and life. Her arms came around him, clinging tightly. “Praise God,” he muttered. “Praise God you’re all right, darling.”
“Are you certain you’re having no pains?” Augusta said.
Juliet drew back and rubbed her arm. “I bumped my elbow, that’s all.”
“You might have been killed,” said Rose in a quavery voice.
Chantal peered closely. “I don’t understand what happened.”
“I will show you,” said Ravi.
The servant stepped carefully through the rubble and shattered glass. Bending to pluck something off the floor, he turned, extending his robed arm. Resting in his bronzed palm were two large chunks of gray rock.
Augusta looked dubious. “Could a few bits of stone wreak so much damage?”
Ravi nodded. “If it gathered speed by falling a great distance, then broke apart on impact.”
“It fell from the parapet,” Juliet said, her voice shaky as she leaned against Kent and peeled off her cotton gloves. “I spied the rock hurtling toward me just before I dove under the seed boxes.”
All tilted their heads back to gaze at the battlements.
“Thank heavens,” said Chantal, “you had such presence of mind.”
Rose shuddered. “How could such a calamity happen?”
“Ahem,” said Fleetwood, squaring his sloping shoulders. “If His Grace will permit me to speak.
“Go on,” said Kent.
“I have recently visited the southwest parapet to observe a nest of starlings. The stone there is crumbling. Perchance a portion broke loose?”
“Humph, said Augusta. “That doesn’t surprise me. This castle is falling to pieces.”
“Just think,” Rose said, goggle eyed, “we nearly added another tragedy to the family chronicles.”
Chantal arched a blond eyebrow. “It’s truly a miracle that Her Grace survived such an accident.”
Accident, thought Kent. His mind teetered on the brink of a dark well as he stared at the litter. Had the incident been an accident?
It must be. It must be.
And yet...
Dust motes danced in the sunshine, incongruous with the hideous questions clashing within him. What if he’d been wrong about Emmett Carleton’s role in Emily’s death? What if he’d been right three years ago? What if Emily had been murdered! What if the killer now stalked Juliet...
“Egad!”
Holding Juliet close, he whipped his head around to see Maud squinting from the doorway. Garbed in a sapphire riding costume, her hat waving a single white egret plume, she scurried down the path.
Henry Hammond-Gore hastened in her wake. “Your Grace!” he gasped, focusing on Juliet. “Whatever happened?”
Smoothing her hair, she gave a quick accounting of the incident.
“Good heavens!” Maud said. “You might have been killed!”
She drooped artfully against Henry; his arm curved around her waist and his shrewd blue eyes focused on Kent.
“An accident, old chap? Always did think this old ruin would tumble around your ears someday.”
“Oh, dear,” Maud said. “I suppose the doctor shall have to come straight back and examine you again, Juliet.”
Shock lanced Kent. Had there been another accident?
Wheeling, he took Juliet’s arms.”Again?” he said hoarsely, his eyes drilling hers. “Were you hurt earlier?”
“Of course not. I’m...” A faint blush stained her milk pale face. Looking oddly nervous, she touched her scraped cheek and frowned at her friend.
Maud clapped a hand to her mouth. “Oh, fiddle. I’ve spilled the beans, haven’t I?”
He glared. “Spilled what beans?”
Blinking, she fell uncharacteristically silent. A moment of suspended breathing stretched out. Releasing Juliet, he looked around the sunlit gathering. Ravi stood impassively beside Chantal. Rose fussed with the fichu. Augusta pursed her lips. Fleetwood took sudden interest in his shoes.
By God, if they meant to hide another murder attempt from him...
Juliet touched his forearm. “Let’s go inside and discuss this in private—”
“I’m not going anywhere until I get an answer.” Fear made his voice harsh, dry. “Why did the doctor see you?”
The pink tint to her cheeks deepened. “Kent, please. I’d really rather not talk about it here.”
“You will talk about it here and now.”
“Don’t you dare bully her.” Her fair features screwed into a belligerent expression, Maud marched in front of him. Lowering her voice, she said, “You see, Your Grace, you mustn’t upset her, for she’s breeding.”
Stupefied, he gaped at Juliet. The u
nwavering softness of her eyes confirmed the report. A baby, a creation of their love. His heart took a joyous leap; his stomach took a sickening dive. She could have lost the baby. She could have been killed. Just as Emily had died with his child in her womb.
Oh, God. Oh, God. He could lose Juliet, too. The ruined greenhouse gave mute testimony to the possibility. By marrying her, he had set in motion a scheme that had turned his life into an emotional morass. He had plunged her into a mire of danger.
Everyone stared as if awaiting his response. “I... I’m pleased, Juliet. Very pleased.”
Their faces swam in and out of focus. Behind which one lurked the demented mind of a killer? Kent tried to tell himself he was mistaken; the incident today had been no more than a chance misfortune.
Yet how could he be sure?
Dreamspinner. Emily’s last word. Damn, what had she been trying to tell him?
The plan grabbed him, a plan so improbable, it just might succeed. A plan to flush out the killer...
He scooped Juliet into his arms. “You’re coming with me.”
She wriggled against him. “Put me down.”
“No.”
“For pity’s sake, Kent. I’m perfectly capable of walking.”
“I’ll decide that.”
The grim ducal tone rankled Juliet. But judging by the lowered slant of his eyebrows and the rigid set of his jaw, she’d best withhold further protest.
And why resist when the fright of the awful accident still weakened her limbs? She loved being cradled in the security of his strong arms, loved being nestled against his hard chest. He smelled faintly of horses and sweat and the indefinable essence of man. She started to snuggle her cheek into the crook of his shoulder, then caught herself. Ill feelings still seethed between them, feelings that must be settled before she could lie content in his embrace.
As he strode toward the door, she caught a glimpse of Maud gawking. “Your Grace!” she squeaked. “Where are you taking her?”
“To bed,” Kent said, “where she belongs.”
Amid the row of startled faces, Henry grinned. “Good show, old chap. You always let your women know who’s in charge.”