Daniel’s breathing was hoarse and ragged, his desire rising to match hers.
His hard arousal pressed against her leg and the sounds of his own passionate response, his heavy breaths, ignited the fire growing within her. A cry escaped her with the sudden burst of her release. Stunned, she collapsed, lay still and dazed, blinking up at Daniel, her body a puddle of satisfaction. She had never experienced anything like it before. Wondered if that was what she had been yearning for all her life?
Daniel gathered her into his arms, his hand brushing back strands of hair stuck to her temple. His lips pressed there. “Ladies go first. It is proper etiquette.”
His breath was warm against her temple, and she closed her eyes, mortified at how outrageously she had behaved. They lay that way, intimate and entwined until her world righted itself.
Daniel had brought her to places she had never been, but had secretly wished to go. He had ruined her, thoroughly now, or at least for any other man.
Let me love you, Julia.
And she had. But he did not love her. She pushed against his chest.
“I have to go.”
“Julia, it is all right, we are going to be married. This is natural between a husband and a wife. What goes on between us, what we feel, it is not wrong.”
But he did not feel what she felt. She had asked him to love her, and he had said, I will, not I do. He wanted her. He desired her. But he did not love her.
She stared at his face, the candlelight highlighting the perfect symmetry of his features, those incredible green eyes entreating. She wondered if that could be enough. If this passion they shared was enough to sustain a marriage. It was more than she had felt for Edmund.
She did not know. Could not think with him staring at her so, the heat of him still warming her. She tugged feebly at her gown, drawing it closed. “Please, I must go.”
He stared at her in silence and then with a sigh, rose to his feet. He combed his hand through his tousled hair. He stood, bare chested but for his bandage, his breathing deep and fast, as if he had run a small race.
With shaking fingers, she drew her robe together and belted it. Her legs trembled when she rose to her feet. She shoved her curtain of hair from her face.
“Julia, it’s all right.”
“Please. Don’t say anything more.” She collected her candle, and glanced back at him. “Did . . . did you determine Weasel’s whereabouts today?”
He nodded. “We did. We have made arrangements to meet with him tomorrow.”
“You . . . you will be careful?”
He stared at her, then gave her a heart-wrenching smile. “I will. I have much to live for. Painting lessons.” His humor fled, and his eyes roved over her features. “I promise, I will never let anyone take me away from you or you from me.”
She bit her lip, the familiar flush of pleasure burning her cheeks.
If a woman could not hear words of love, those were close.
It should be enough for most women, but Julia was not most women. She was older and wiser, and she craved what she was willing to give to him. Love.
Everything.
That is, unless she had to send him to America to keep him safe.
She shuddered at the thought, could only trust in him to keep his word and never, ever leave her.
Chapter Twenty-one
THE worst areas of London were located in the rookeries of St. Giles and Seven Dials, but it was wise to avoid venturing east into the territory along the docks that bypassed the Tower of London. It crossed into another slum area housing nothing but poverty and misery. As they walked in that direction, Daniel could only hope that Robbie hadn’t agreed to meet the elusive Weasel any farther east.
His senses alert, he forbade his thoughts to detour to far more pleasurable sights of Julia. Good lord, she was passionate. When he did not fear his neck being slashed and his body dumped into the Thames, he planned to relish the prior evening at his leisure, when he had time to savor her every touch, taste, and response.
He sidestepped another pile of refuse, nearly gagging on the rank stench of raw sewage from the Thames. His eyes sought out Brett, who strode ahead, and then behind him to Robbie, tight-lipped and grim faced. All three of them carried canes, which could be wielded as a weapon. Robbie had a revolver and had vowed to use it if they were waylaid again, not wasting time with fists when a bullet settled the matter more quickly.
The Devil’s Lair was an apt name for the pub, for only those destined for hell would willingly set foot in the dark, dank tavern. The stench of unwashed men, sweat, and stale gin assailed him. With the end of two wars, the new congregating place for returning veterans was the taverns. Too many drank their days away as the population in the city exploded with their return, the surplus of labor leading to a scarcity of jobs. This then led to the competition with workers outside of London, which Mabry had lamented.
Daniel surmised that it wouldn’t be too long before the empire found another conflict to rid itself of its surfeit of able-bodied men and ease the strain on the economy. Shaking his head at the sad state of affairs, he followed Robbie down the length of the tavern. His mammoth frame, like the prow of a ship, cleaved a path through the press of men. Daniel and Brett followed in his wake before the opening closed behind him.
Robbie must have arranged a designated meeting spot, for he ignored the seedy occupants and kept on a straight course to the rear of the bar.
They stopped before a brass-studded oak door, and Robbie gave it three hard taps. The door cracked open a mere slit.
“Ye be late. Will cost ye.”
“And you’re wasting my time and that will cost you,” Robbie snarled. “You have him?”
The door opened without further comment, and a rail-thin man ushered them in with a flick of his wrist and then disappeared.
The room was lit by a cheap rushlight and held a battered desk and two spindle-legged chairs. Daniel’s gaze immediately locked on the man behind the desk. Weasel.
His wiry frame was hunched over, a sullen expression pinching gaunt features. Straggly yellow hair drooped over his brow and into his eyes. Daniel followed the three-fingered hand that brushed the hairs aside. He swallowed at the sight of the scarred-over stubs.
Weasel’s eyes flared as they drank in his features, obviously recognizing the resemblance to his brother. Weasel slunk lower in his seat. “Don’t know why I’m here.” He jerked his head toward Robbie. “A bloke can’t be dragged ’gainst his bloody will. I’s got me rights,” he whined.
“You will be free to go momentarily,” Robbie sighed. “As I have promised you. You will also be compensated for your time, which you did agree to give.”
“I mighten ’ave, but I mighten ’ave changed me mind.” A cagey look entered his eyes, and he tipped his head to the side, as if sizing Daniel up. “Perhaps a bit more blunt mighten change it back.”
Wordlessly, Daniel extracted a sovereign from his jacket pocket and slapped it into Weasel’s hand. “I am not my brother, you will not be mistreated here. I just need to ask a few questions.” The thought did occur to him that if Weasel could be so easily bought, he was not to be trusted.
Weasel shoved the coin into the pocket of the rumpled garrick redingote that swallowed his scarecrow frame.
“I have been investigating the fire at Lakeview Manor. Someone said you were in the vicinity, talked about witnessing the start of the blaze and seeing some men on the grounds.”
Weasel swiped at his hair again, eyeing Daniel, and the speculative gleam in his eyes belied his denial. “That’s bollocks. I don’t knows wot you is natterin’ on bouts. I ain’t seen nothin’. I ain’t no squealer.”
Daniel sighed and produced another coin. He tossed it to Weasel, who was quick to snap it from the air, clearly well practiced at his game.
Weasel furrowed his brow. “I mighten’ remember now. I was settin’ me traps, when I saw a few blokes ridin’ away from the blaze. An’ why wouldn’t they be, for it be a right
inferno they set.”
“Are you certain that these men deliberately set the fire?” Daniel edged closer.
Weasel pressed his three-fingered hand to his temple, fingering the greasy strands flopping over his forehead.
Brett swore and rummaged in his pocket for a crown, which he tossed to Weasel and which vanished as quickly as the others.
“Spect that be wot their bleedin’ torches be for. Saw ’em toss ’em away as they scurried off. Tried to get ’em, for could ’ave used ’em against ’em to fleece ’em proper. Money lost there,” he murmured the last regretfully.
Daniel snorted. Weasel would forage for eyes to sell to a blind man.
“Fire was too hot, couldn’t get near ’em.”
“Final question, Weasel,” he pressed another coin into his hand. “Did you recognize any of these men?”
Weasel hesitated, and then gave a curt nod.
Daniel’s eyes shot to Brett’s, hardly daring to breathe.
“Ain’t no use to you now.” Weasel shrugged. “Long dead and gone. Not from natural causes, if you knows wot I means. Should ’ave come ’ome sooner.”
Daniel exhaled, the words a punch to the gut. Robbie came to his side, clamping a hand on his shoulder. Daniel only had one more question. “If you knew them, do you know who they worked for?”
When Weasel opened his mouth for his requisite fee, he paused. Robbie had withdrawn his gun, a beautiful Manton revolver, much coveted by the ton for dueling, and on loan from Taunton. He pulled out his handkerchief and leisurely ran it over the piece, polishing its silver finish so it gleamed in the candlelight.
Weasel swallowed, his face going a shade of gray. His eyes snapped to Daniel’s and he spat his response. “Cor, they be workin’ for yon bastard the duke, who else? Why’d ye think no one listened when I said so all them years ago? Thot’s why he done this to me and planned to do more, ’ad I not escaped.” He brandished his maimed hand. “But Weasel’s too smart to be trapped. Unlike the sad gits who set the blaze and were found hanged dead.” He snapped his mouth closed, his expression truculent.
Silence followed. Had anyone spoken, the roaring in Daniel’s ears would have swallowed it up. One word cut through it, shoving at him like a battering ram that nearly dropped him to his knees.
Fratricide.
His brother had attempted to kill him.
Daniel had fought the truth. Repeatedly. Because he could not believe it? Or because he could, but couldn’t grasp the magnitude of it? He had always known Edmund hated him. Now he understood just how much.
But why?
The question remained unanswered.
Edmund had the title, the estates, the money, even Julia at one point. What the devil did he care about him for? Before the night of the fire, his only interest in Daniel had been for vicious sport, and as they had grown, even that waned.
What had changed his mind? Turned him toward murder?
“You’ve earned your blunt.” Robbie nodded toward Weasel, his tone weary. “That will be all.”
Weasel’s fist swallowed another coin. Like his namesake, he darted to the door as fast as his short legs could carry him, and was gone.
Daniel could locate him again if needed—for a price—but there was no point. A duke would be tried before a jury of his peers. The word of a sordid village poacher who could be bought with a few coins would not stand up in the House of Lords against one of their own. No, Weasel had done all he could for them. And it was enough.
“Now do you see the danger you are in?” Brett cried. “We should make arrangements to leave on our next ship returning to Boston.”
Daniel raked an unsteady hand through his hair. “It makes no sense. To what end does my death help Edmund? For God’s sake, I have been gone ten years. As far as he is aware, I will be gone again soon.”
“Soon? How about now? What are you staying for?” Brett looked stunned.
“Julia,” he snapped back. “I will not leave her. Besides, I have to know—”
“Take her with you. Have you not learned enough? What more do you need to know? To see if the next attack succeeds? Your goddamn dukes do what they want with impunity. Killing his twin shouldn’t be a problem for Bedford, not with the resources he commands.” Brett swiped a hand down his face and lowered his voice, his words quieter. “Come home, Daniel. It isn’t safe for you to stay here.”
“I cannot,” his words were curt, but final. He met Brett’s eyes, wishing he could make his friend understand. But there were questions yet to be answered. Abel Shaw’s words about a destiny to be claimed still haunted. And Julia. He doubted she would leave her family and her home. Not even for him. Yet.
Brett read his resolve and sighed. “You are determined to see this through, despite its deadly stakes. I do not like it, hope to change your mind, but it is your decision.”
“At least, he doesn’t have to worry about being gutted by the bird skinner.”
Daniel turned with Brett to stare blankly at Robbie.
“Your cousin, the bird man,” Robbie clarified.
“The ornithologist,” Brett corrected. “He doesn’t skin them, only guts them.” He faced Daniel and his lips twitched. “There is a spot of good news.”
Daniel shook his head. “Good, because the rest of it looks bleak.”
“Well, Defoe did warn that meeting a weasel is a bad omen,” Brett muttered.
“Who?” Robbie said.
“Unlike you, Robbie, Curtis reads. Defoe was a British journalist. He wrote Robinson Crusoe.”
“He said that about weasels? Damned if he was not right. It’s one thing for Bedford to toss your room, but murder of your own brother? As much as I’d like to kill a few of my own, I settle for knocking their heads together. Duke or not, Bedford will hang.”
“No, he will not because we cannot prove anything. It is Weasel’s word against Bedford’s,” Daniel explained. “No one listened to me when he beat me bloody time and again. You think they will listen to a village poacher spouting murder against a peer of the realm?”
Daniel began pacing. “We need to think this through. Whatever Edmund wants, he is willing to kill for it. We suspect it must have been in Shaw’s possession because Edmund visited Shaw’s offices to acquire it immediately following the solicitor’s death. We assume it has to do with my father because of Shaw, and we believe Edmund does not want me to possess whatever it is because he tried to kill me shortly after my father’s death.” He paused. “It must be something incriminating about Edmund or my father.”
“Maybe your father knew of someone else Edmund murdered?” Robbie suggested.
“I wouldn’t put it past the bastard,” Brett agreed.
Daniel shook his head. “Perhaps, but Edmund never gave enough of a damn about anyone to want them dead. The only candidate he held that level of enmity toward was me.”
“I have a plan,” Robbie said, brandishing the Manton revolver. “Shoot the bastard before he shoots you. We can bury his body in one of our back pastures. It’s where Tanners for generations have put all their inferior stock.”
“I like it.” Brett nodded. “If you shoot him in London, we can toss the body in the Thames.”
“I will keep your suggestions in mind,” Daniel said dryly. “Let us first discover what he is after. I would like to determine his motive. Depending on that, I will shoot him.”
“Then you should carry this. You need it more than I.” Robbie handed Daniel the revolver.
“And watch your arse,” Brett added. “Lady Julia might miss it.”
Damn. Julia. He did not mind her assisting him when it was a simple matter of tracking down some solicitor’s papers, but it was a different matter altogether now that he had learned his half-crazed twin was trying to murder him. It was too close to home.
Thank God, she had not married him. The thought congealed his blood. Now that he had saved her from Edmund, he refused to put her in danger again. His gaze shot to Robbie and Brett, and his eyes narro
wed.
They were in a heated argument over the best manner in which to dispose of Bedford’s body.
Pair of idiots, but he would trust both with his life. He was beginning to appreciate the binds of both friendship and family. He would need all of them to keep Julia and himself safe.
Chapter Twenty-two
JULIA’S knees went weak and she sank onto the drawing room settee, too stunned to comprehend the full import of Daniel’s words. “Edmund,” she breathed aloud. She curled her arms around her waist, feeling violently ill.
Daniel held up his hands in a helpless gesture, and then let them drop. “I did not know if I should tell you, but I thought . . . I believed you had a right to know.”
“Of course you should have told me,” she insisted, his words snapping her back to the moment. “For goodness’ sake, I was engaged to the man for five years. I almost married him,” she said, a shudder seizing her.
“Good thing I ruined you.” At her chastising look, he became defensive. “Well, it is the only bit of good news.”
She sighed. “It is a novelty. Few women should feel gratitude for being ruined, but I am grateful.”
“It was my pleasure,” he said and grinned.
Her eyes met his and the warmth in his expression was her undoing. Particularly after their evening in the library. She tore her gaze away and swept to her feet. She couldn’t think about that now. Not after what he had told her. “But why?”
Daniel shoved his hands in his pockets and shrugged. “I do not know. I have racked my brains trying to understand. But I cannot.”
“To hate with such passion,” she murmured, remembering the vitriol in Edmund’s expression, but also remembering his charm. The two faces of Janus. Beautiful Bedford and the Damn Duke. She shuddered. Another thought struck her. “You have known since yesterday. You have known and you did not tell me. You were not planning to.” She voiced the most damning accusation of all. “You do not trust me.”
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