Swept Away

by Candace Camp

  He took his leave of her with his usual elegant bow, and Phoebe turned to the daunting task of getting herself, a child and his nurse packed and ready to go by the following morning.

  Julia, worn out by the excitement of the last few days, slept late the following morning. She found the clothes she had worn the day before freshly cleaned and laid out for her. Even the little rip in the hem of her dress had been neatly mended. She took off the nightgown Lady Stonehaven had lent her—absurdly short on her, ending at midcalf—and put back on her clothes. Once she had her hair brushed and pinned up, she at least looked presentable, she thought, though she did spare a single wistful thought for the trunk of clothes she had written Phoebe to send.

  She went downstairs, determined to look at the suicide note that Deverel claimed he had. That, she reminded herself sternly, was the only thing she was here for. She must forget all this nonsense about marrying that Stonehaven kept putting forth.

  However, when she went into the dining room, she found only Stonehaven’s mother sitting at the table. The older woman smiled happily when she saw her. “There you are, my dear. Do sit down. Would you like some eggs and ham? Tea?” She gestured toward the footman standing beside the sideboard. “Unfortunately, you have missed Deverel. He’s gone to ride over the estate with the manager, since it’s been over a month since he was here. He’s very conscientious about such things. But I’m afraid it means that you are stuck with my company this morning.”

  “I couldn’t think of better company,” Julia replied. She did truly enjoy his mother; however, she felt deflated by the news that Deverel was not there. She was merely disappointed, she knew, that she would not get to look at the note immediately.

  “How kind of you to say so—though I don’t fool myself that spending the morning with an old lady is of more interest to you than being with a good-looking young man.” She smiled. “Did you sleep well?”

  “Oh, yes.” Julia had eaten a hearty meal, then taken a long, soaking bath, and fallen into bed earlier than she could remember doing in years. It surprised her a little, now that she thought about it, that she had fallen asleep so easily in the heart of her enemy’s territory. She supposed it was a testimony to how tired she had been. “Thank you for having my clothes cleaned while I was asleep.”

  “I only wish I could have lent you something to wear. But I knew that anything in my closet would be far too large and absurdly short. However, I have my dresser hunting through the wardrobe for a dress that has a long hem that she could lower. Then it would only require taking it in on the sides, and you would be able to wear it.”

  “You are too kind. I wrote to my sister-in-law, asking her to send some of my clothes.” Color rose in her cheeks. “I am sure you must wonder how I could manage to arrive here in such a state—no clothes, no abigail, not even a nightgown.”

  “It is a trifle odd,” Lady Stonehaven admitted. “And I would be less than human if I were not curious. However, I expect if you want me to know, you shall tell me, and if not—well, we are all entitled to our little secrets, aren’t we? How awful it would be if we had to explain everything to everyone.”

  “But you must think me a—an abandoned creature.”

  “Don’t be nonsensical. Deverel would never bring home an abandoned creature as his future bride. Now…I thought I could show you around the house, if you’d like.”

  “Certainly. That sounds very nice.”

  And it was. Lady Stonehaven, who insisted that Julia call her Teresa, was a charming companion, and knowledgeable about both the house and the people who had lived there. She told amusing anecdotes about many of the rooms they went through, and the marks of her good taste were evident everywhere. Though none of the rooms were as cozy as her own sitting room, all of them were quite pleasant, some elegant and others more casual, some left in the furnishings of an earlier time period and others freshly up-to-date. They ended the tour in Lady Stonehaven’s workroom.

  The twining of leaves around the window in her bedroom had not prepared Julia for the scope and excellence of the older woman’s art. She stood in awe for a few minutes, examining the detailed mural of an Athens scene that decorated one wall of the studio. This woman was no mere dabbler in painting, as many gentlewomen were; she was truly an artist.

  “These are wonderful!” she exclaimed, trailing slowly around the room and looking at the canvases propped up against the wall.

  “Do you like them? Truly?” Lady Stonehaven seemed as delighted as a child.

  “Oh, yes.”

  “Good. Sometimes I worry that people say so just to be polite. It is satisfying to sell them, of course, but since I do it through an agent, I don’t get to hear what they say about the paintings. And friends, well, I know most of them would admire my work even if they looked like a child’s scrawlings.”

  “So you do sell your work?”

  “Some of it. Whatever I can bear to give up. That’s why I have such a store of pictures. There are more of them in the room next door, and we have them hanging about the house. I give some to friends, of course. It’s much easier when one isn’t obliged to have the money. Of course, I don’t sell them as myself. I sell them under the name T. A. Emerson. Emerson was my maiden name, and no one realizes that T. A. stands for Teresa Anne.”

  They talked for some time about the paintings and her work, and Julia looked through all the canvases in her workroom and in the storage room next door. She did not even realize how much time had passed until Deverel’s voice interrupted them. “I thought I would find you here.”

  Julia was shocked by the sudden and intense wave of desire that washed through her at the sound of his voice. She turned around shakily. Deverel was lounging in the open doorway of the storage room, still in his riding clothes. It galled her that she felt this uprush of pleasure at seeing him, that suddenly the room seemed brighter and warmer, the air sweeter. He grinned at her, and for an instant his expression was as welcoming, as warm and admiring, as it had been a few days ago, before he found out about her. Julia could not keep from grinning back. He took a step forward.

  Then, abruptly, he stopped, and his face changed, the warmth receding, replaced by a cool, polite, faintly sardonic look, as if he had remembered who she was and what had happened. Julia’s heart squeezed within her chest, and her throat was suddenly tight and constricted.

  “Why, Deverel!” Lady Stonehaven greeted him. “How nice. I didn’t expect you home so early.”

  “It’s hardly early, Mother. It’s almost noon. I have finished with Hammerton, at least for today.”

  “Wonderful. Then you will be able to join us for luncheon.”

  “Of course.”

  “De—Lord Stonehaven,” Julia began, coming forward. “You had promised to show me that note.”

  He scowled. “Yes. I will show it to you. But first I must clean up. Why don’t we do it after luncheon?”

  Julia nodded, and he left them.

  Later, during the meal, Stonehaven was remote and cool, leaving the conversation up to his mother and Julia. Julia made it a point to maintain a lively discussion without him. She suspected that he was regretting his promise to show her the suicide note. Cynically, she wondered if such a note even existed, or if he had only made it up in an effort to convince her of her brother’s guilt.

  After they ate, Stonehaven escorted her to his office, a large room lined with bookshelves and furnished in heavy mahogany. A huge desk dominated the room, and it was to this piece of furniture that Stonehaven went after closing the door behind them. He turned toward Julia.

  “Are you sure you want to see this?” he asked abruptly. “I must have been mad to have said I would show you. It will only make you unhappy. That is why Varian and I decided to conceal it in the first place.”

  “I want to see it,” Julia retorted flatly. “If, of course, you really have it. Or is it just something you made up?”

  “Of course I have it,” he snapped. “Unlike you, I am not in the habit of l
ying.”

  He took a small key from his pocket and unlocked one of the drawers of the desk. He rifled through it for a moment and came up with a piece of paper, which he held out to Julia expressionlessly.

  Julia’s stomach clenched, and her heart began to beat rapidly. She reached out with fingers that trembled slightly and took the paper. The familiar handwriting seemed to leap off the page, and she felt dizzy. She sat down abruptly in the nearest chair. It was her brother’s handwriting, and she was suddenly frightened. It took all her courage to force herself to focus on the page.

  To Whomever Finds This:

  By the time you read this, I will be dead. I am sorry to add this latest sin to my list, but I cannot live with the burden of guilt any longer. I took the money from Thomas’s trust. Thomas, I hope you will find it in your heart to forgive me. I knew it was wrong, but I had to come by the money without anyone knowing, and I could think of no other way. You see, there was a woman. (Isn’t there always?) She lives in London, and I went there to see her as often as I could. I have no excuse other than that I was mad with love for her. I could not think straight; I lost all sense of honor. Nothing mattered except keeping her—and she was very expensive. She had to have a house, a carriage, jewelry, clothes. I could not afford to maintain two households, and it was too difficult trying to keep all my expenditures a secret. So I took the money from the trust. It was wrong and wicked of me; I see that now. But I could not stop myself.

  In my madness, I ruined my life and those of everyone around me. I can no longer stand the shame. Please, forgive me, Phoebe, for all of it. Try to keep Gilbert from hating his father. I love both of you very much, and I cannot stand to stay here any longer and see the two of you hurt by my stupidity.

  It was signed with Selby’s bold, slashing signature.

  The paper blurred before Julia’s eyes. Her ears were filled with a roaring sound, and she thought she might be sick. “Oh, God!” she moaned, then clapped her hand to her mouth. But she could not stifle the sobs welling up in her throat. “Selby!”

  She began to cry, harsh, racking sobs that shook her body. She raised her hands to cover her face. Dimly she was aware of Stonehaven letting out a curse, and in three strides he was around the desk and pulling her out of her chair. He cradled her against his chest, his arms encircling her.

  “I’m sorry. Please forgive me. I shouldn’t have let you see. I was a fool. If only I hadn’t been so angry, I would have known better. Forgive me.”

  He murmured soft, meaningless words of comfort as he stroked her hair and back. Julia clung to him, crying her heart out, grateful for his strength and sympathy. She felt his lips press softly against her hair.

  “Deverel,” she breathed.

  “Julia.” He kissed the side of her face, her forehead. She tilted back her head, and suddenly they were kissing with all the hunger that had lain suppressed within them for two days.

  Julia let out a little moan, and her hands went up behind his head, pulling him closer. The pain, the fear, all the tumultuous emotions of the past week, exploded and were burned up in the fire of passion. She was on fire for him, her body alive and aching. He kissed her as if he could never get enough of her, his mouth buried in hers. His hands slid down her back and over the curve of her hips, digging into her buttocks and lifting her up into him. She felt the hard length of his desire against her, heard the harsh rasp of his breath, and her own passion blossomed. There was a damp heat between her legs, and her loins felt as if they had turned to wax. His fingers began to knead the fleshy mounds of her buttocks, and she trembled.

  He breathed her name again, and his lips left hers to travel across her cheek to her ear. “Thank God,” he murmured as he began to kiss and nibble at her ear. “Now you understand. Now you know the truth.”

  Julia stiffened, alarms sounding in her head. She pulled back from him, looking up with sudden, sharp suspicion. “What did you say?”

  “What?” Deverel looked bewildered. “Only that now you see that I am not what you think I am. That it was Selby who—”

  “No!” Julia ripped herself out of his grasp, stumbling backward, suddenly filled with self-loathing. How could she have forsaken Selby so quickly? How could she have believed the letter without question and then fallen into this man’s arms? “No, I don’t—I can’t—”

  She bent quickly and retrieved the letter from the floor where it had fallen when Deverel had taken her into his arms. With a low cry, she turned and ran out of the room, the letter in her hand.

  13

  Julia ran to her room and locked the door, then threw herself onto the bed and indulged in another, shorter fit of tears. How could she have done what she just had? She felt as if she had betrayed her brother. She had vowed to clear his name, but she had crumpled at the first obstacle. She had looked at the suicide note and seen his handwriting, and she had, for a moment, believed that Selby had actually done it, just as everyone else had. Even worse, she had fallen into the arms of Selby’s enemy, the man who had brought all this down onto Selby’s head.

  For a long time she lay on the bed, wrapped in misery and self-condemnation. She wished Phoebe were here, so that she could talk to her, but immediately on the heels of that thought came the realization that she could not show this letter to Phoebe. It would hurt her far too much. Irritation filled her as she realized that such a thought was exactly why Deverel said he and Varian had hidden the letter from them. She sat up, disgruntlement finally rousing her from her depression.

  Getting up, she washed her face, picked up the letter from where she had thrown it on the bed and sat down in the chair to read through it again. She turned it over and looked at the back, running a thoughtful finger over the broken seal of wax. Turning it back over, she read it through a third time, then sat for some time, frowning in thought.

  Finally she stood and marched downstairs, her back ramrod straight. She went to Deverel’s office and knocked on the door. His voice answered, and she went inside, nerves dancing in her stomach. He looked up from the work on his desk and jumped to his feet when he saw her.

  “Julia!” He came around from behind the massive desk. “Are you all right?”

  Julia nodded, closing the door behind her. “Yes. I have been in my room thinking.”

  “I hope you will accept my apology. What I did was inexcusable and inappropriate, given your state of mind. I took advantage of your weakness.”

  Julia looked at his cool, carefully controlled face. He hardly seemed the same man as the one who had kissed her earlier with such heat and passion. “It doesn’t matter. I came to talk to you about this letter.”

  “I see.” If possible, it seemed as if his face shut down even more. “Of course.”

  “Selby did not write it.”

  Deverel sighed. “I might have known.” He motioned to the chair in front of his desk. “Sit down and tell me.”

  Julia sat down while Deverel perched on the corner of his desk and folded his arms, looking at her with a determinedly patient expression. “You needn’t look at me like that,” she snapped. “I’m not a fool. I have perfectly good reasons for believing what I do.”

  “All right.”

  “For a moment I was fooled by the handwriting. If those other letters look as much like Selby’s hand as these, I can understand why everyone was taken in by them. But obviously, if they were forged, then there’s no reason why this suicide note was not forged, as well.”

  “Obviously.”

  “Do stop being so odiously superior and listen to what I have to say! I went over this note several times, and a few things became clear to me. The first is that I do not believe Selby committed suicide. He was a fighter. He would not have abandoned Phoebe and Gilbert and me to the world. That was the act of a coward, and you must agree that Selby was never a coward.”

  “No. You are right about that. But even a strong man can break—and given the weight of the evidence, he must have known that he was caught. Pamela was pushing for a
criminal investigation. He may have felt that he was saving his family from further scandal, stopping the investigation with his death. It would have been far worse for you if he had actually been tried and convicted and sent to prison as an embezzler.”

  “If he wanted so much to save us from scandal, why would he have written a note confessing to the embezzlement and, more than that, admitting to having a mistress?” As she said the words, a second question flickered through her mind: Why had Stonehaven not shown such a condemning note to the world? It would have put the final seal on Selby’s guilt.

  “Perhaps the weight of his crime was too much for his conscience. It happens. He was essentially a good man, and he went astray. His passion for a woman caused him to do things he would not normally do, and he was racked with guilt over what he had done. So he felt he had to confess, but he could not face the shame of it.”

  “Oh, twaddle!” Julia snapped, letting go of the strange thought. “That is another thing that rings false. Selby loved Phoebe. He would not have been unfaithful to her. He would not have kept a mistress hidden away in London.”

  “It is a common enough practice,” Deverel remarked. “Even among men who love their wives.”

  “Oh? Is that what you plan to do when you are married to m—” She stopped, realizing what she was saying, and blushed to the roots of her hair. Suddenly the very air between them was alive with sensuality. “I—I didn’t mean—”

  “What I do or what you do is an entirely different case.” Deverel’s eyes shone with an odd light.

  “Yes, of course,” Julia replied caustically. “After all, Selby cared for Phoebe.”