by Candace Camp
Deverel looked at each example she showed him, his frown deepening. He felt a twinge of unease. “But those letters of Selby’s were written a long time ago,” he argued. “His writing probably changed over the years.”
“A little, perhaps.”
“You have to remember that a suicide note would have been written under great stress. No doubt his thoughts were all a jumble. He was probably writing quickly, under the force of great emotion.”
“Yes, but don’t you see?” Julia smiled up at him victoriously, and the glow on her face was enough to take his breath away. “The writing in the suicide note is not at all agitated! It is the one that is so uniform, so regular—all the spaces the same, the letters the same. Look at it. Does it make any sense that a suicide note would be so neat and precise? The writing so perfect?”
“No…I suppose it doesn’t.”
Seeing that she was making headway, Julia pressed her point. “The other letters he wrote flowed from his thoughts. He didn’t think about his handwriting or worry about whether the letters looked right. But in this suicide note, when he should have been in great agitation, he was very careful to get each letter exactly the same size and the spaces perfectly uniform. Why would he do that? I’ll tell you why,” she went on without giving him a chance to answer. “He did it because he wasn’t distressed. He wasn’t even Selby. He was not writing from the heart but carefully copying something. His main concern was to make the writing look exactly right.”
Julia gazed at him expectantly. Deverel sighed.
“It is a little odd,” he admitted.
“A little! I should say it is very odd indeed.”
“But these are such small things,” he protested. “It hardly seems enough to prove that Selby—”
“Oh!” Julia cried out in frustration. “You are determined that it should be Selby! You will not consider anything else. Whatever I say, you have some sort of argument against it. You even discount what is right before your eyes.”
“I have no desire for Selby to have committed suicide,” Deverel replied stiffly. “It seems to me that it is you who is determined to make me the villain of this piece. I never wished Selby any harm. God help me, I didn’t want to believe that he was guilty. He was my friend. I tried my damnedest to find some way to prove that he did not do anything wrong.” He broke off and turned away. He stood still for a long moment, then sighed and turned back to her. “Look. I promised you that we would investigate the embezzlement all over again, and we will. The letters that were written about the money are in London, at the office of the fund’s agent. I suggest that we go there and look at them. You can compare them to these letters of yours. We can talk to Varian and Fitz again. We’ll see if there is anyone who knew Selby’s mysterious mistress.”
“There won’t be, because she didn’t exist,” Julia said firmly. Her eyes were shining again with eagerness. “Oh, Deverel! I know we’ll find out the truth. You will see that Selby didn’t do it.”
“I thought you were firmly convinced that I already knew Selby didn’t do it—because I was the one who did.” He looked at her a little quizzically.
“Oh.” Julia felt herself blushing. She could not meet his eyes. “I—I am not so sure anymore.”
“I am very glad to hear that.” Deverel’s first instinct was to reach out and pull her into his arms, but he resisted the impulse. Just because Julia was beginning to have doubts about his guilt did not mean that she wanted him to touch her.
They stood for a moment awkwardly. Then Julia turned and gathered up her letters, starting toward the door. She stopped and looked back at him.
“Thank you,” she said softly.
Deverel raised his brows. “For what?”
“For helping me. For going to London and making the agent let me look at the letters. I have tried, you see, and he would not allow me.”
There was a glow of gratitude in her eyes that Deverel found did odd things to his chest. “You’re welcome. I am not truly an ogre.”
She started once again to leave, but turned back. Not looking at him, she said in a rush, “I hope, too, that someday you will forgive me—for what I did to you. It was my fault that you had to marry me. I shall regret it every day of my life.”
Deverel stiffened, the warmth that had been ignited by her earlier words suddenly dying. “Pray, do not dwell on it.”
His voice was as icy as a mountain spring, and Julia was miserably aware that he had not said that he forgave her. He would, she thought, probably hate her forever. She nodded, unable to look at him, and left the room.
Two days later, they left for London with Phoebe and Geoffrey. Julia rode in the carriage with Phoebe and Geoffrey, and Deverel accompanied them on horseback, pleasing Gilbert and saving the rest of them much grief by taking the boy up on his horse in front of him, where he suffered no travel sickness.
When they reached London, it was an odd experience for Julia when Phoebe’s carriage left her and Deverel at his house, then trundled on to the Armiger home without her. She was all alone with him now, she realized as they walked through the front door. Before there had been Lady Stonehaven and the others with them, and it had seemed more as if she were visiting than married. There was no getting around it here, however. The butler who hurried to greet Stonehaven had obviously been told that Deverel was bringing home his bride, for he bowed and welcomed Julia as Lady Stonehaven. The other servants lined up, as well, to be introduced to her, and Julia greeted each of them with a smile, hoping that she would remember as least some of their names.
Afterward, the butler escorted them upstairs into the master bedroom, where a beautiful crystal vase filled with flowers greeted them. It was a lovely room, spacious and well-furnished. Julia assured the waiting butler that everything was lovely, indeed, but all the while the pit of her stomach had turned to ice. Obviously Deverel had not informed them that they should prepare two bedchambers.
When the butler had bowed out, closing the door and leaving them alone, Julia turned toward Deverel. Her fingers were clasped tightly together. She wasn’t sure exactly what feeling gripped her: anger, fear, excitement…. No, surely it was not that. It was distress that she felt; it had to be.
“I am sorry,” Deverel said stiffly, interpreting her look as alarm. “I forgot to tell them to prepare an extra bedroom. It—I—there is no connecting chamber with this one. They would not have thought…”
His voice trailed off, and Julia realized with astonishment that he was embarrassed. He did not want the servants to know that though he had taken a bride, he was sleeping alone. In the country house, with their connected bedrooms, it had not seemed so strange.
“I see.”
“It will have to do for tonight,” he said. “I shall sleep on the couch. You needn’t worry.”
Julia was not about to tell him that the emotion she had felt had not been worry.
Accustomed to country hours, they had an early supper, and afterward they sat together in the informal sitting room. Julia had thought that the evening would be unbearably stiff and awkward, the two of them trapped alone together. However, Deverel began to talk about Gilbert and his progress on his pony, and they soon had a lively conversation going about their own early experiences riding. As both of them had enjoyed riding all their lives, they found it easy to talk and even laugh. It didn’t become awkward until late in the evening, when Julia stifled a yawn and Deverel said casually that it must be time for bed.
Suddenly the air was charged with meaning. Julia felt heat rising up her throat, and Deverel glanced away from her. “I—uh, that is, if you are ready to retire, I believe that I shall go to my study and, um, have a brandy.”
“That sounds fine. I find I am somewhat sleepy.” Julia could not keep her voice from sounding stilted.
Deverel nodded, rising as she stood up and left the room. She went upstairs and dressed for bed, a shy upstairs maid helping her with her dress and hair.
“’Cor, you have beautiful hair
, my lady,” she sighed, taking up the brush and beginning to run it through Julia’s hair. “Like fire, it is, and so soft.”
Julia remembered when she had taken her hair down in the carriage that night when they were driving to Kent…how Deverel had thrust his fingers into the heavy mass, murmuring at its lush softness.
“Thank you,” she said abruptly, taking the brush. It was dangerous to think of such things.
The maid curtsied and left, and Julia brushed her hair briskly, pacing as she did so. She reminded herself that it did not matter how much Deverel had once wanted her. The fact of the matter was that now he had no passion for her. He had told her that he would not sleep with her. And, of course, that was what she wanted, too.
Impatient with her own thoughts, Julia put down her brush and climbed into bed. However, she found it difficult to sleep, and she was still awake when the door opened quietly and Deverel entered the room. His movements were soft, but she could not help but be aware of them. She listened as he took off his clothes, her mind full of vivid, disturbing images. She tried not to think about Deverel removing his shirt, or what his chest and arms looked like bare, or how he had felt lying against her that night at the inn. However, it seemed as if the harder she tried, the more she thought about him, and her mind kept her awake until long after he had lain down on the sofa. She waited, listening to his breathing as it slipped into the regular rhythm of sleep. It was vastly irritating that he could go to sleep so calmly and quickly, while she was still tossing and turning.
She did at last fall asleep, but almost as soon as she did so, she began to dream. Her dreams were dark and sensual.
She was walking through a meadow, and every sense was unusually alive. The grass was soft and springy beneath her feet, the breeze warm on her skin. She could smell the scent of flowers on the air. It was evening, and there was only a faint glow of sun left on the horizon. Her loins were heavy and warm. She realized without much surprise that she wore no clothing. She could feel the night air over every inch of skin. But she was not embarrassed. It seemed natural, just as it was perfectly normal a moment later when Deverel was suddenly beside her in her dream.
She stopped walking, and Deverel began to caress her skin. He kissed her cheeks and eyes and neck and ears, his mouth traveling over her languidly. Her whole body surged with desire, and she arched up against him, aching for his touch. Then his hands began to move on her, and she was lost in a swirl of pleasure.
Deverel came awake abruptly. He sat up, looking around him, puzzled. Then the noise came, a low, muffled sound from the bed, and he knew that must have been what had awakened him. He lay still, listening. He heard Julia moving in the bed, tossing and turning; then a groan came from her.
He thought she must be sick or having a nightmare, so he got up and walked across the floor to the side of her bed, lighting a candle to help him see. He stood for a moment, looking down at her.
Julia had thrown off all her covers in the course of her tossing and turning, and her nightgown had ridden up to her thighs, exposing the white expanse of her long legs. She twitched, and her breasts bobbed beneath her white gown, the darker nipples visible through the thin cloth. The buds were hard and small, thrusting against the material. His gaze moved upward.
She turned her head, and her tongue stole out to lick her lips. Her mouth was full and moist, slightly pouting, and there was a certain slackness to her features. She moaned again, one hand going to her stomach and moving over her own body in a caressing way.
Deverel’s throat went dry. She was not having a nightmare. She was obviously in the grip of a passionate dream. He watched as expressions of desire flitted across her features. She moved and twitched, and her hand caressed first her breast, then her stomach, a faint frown of frustration forming on her face.
Deverel watched, his own passion welling up inside him, as her breath came faster, her breasts rising and falling. A faint sheen of sweat formed on her skin, giving her flesh a golden glow in the candlelight. She writhed, her hips churning, and let out a breathy noise that was part gasp, part groan. Deverel felt as if he were on fire, watching. He ached to touch her, but some remnant of good sense kept him from doing so.
She murmured a word. He thought it was his name, but he could not be sure if she had said “Dev” or if it was merely wishful thinking. He swallowed, his hands curling into fists, as if to keep himself from caressing her. She gave a little gasp, then another, and her body tightened all over. She let out a long, low groan and gradually relaxed.
He knew that Julia had reached a peak of pleasure. He sank his teeth into his lower lip to stifle his own groan. Never in his life had he wanted anyone as he wanted her now. Yet he knew that to take her here, vulnerable in her sleep, after he had sworn to her that she was safe from his advances, would be the act of a scoundrel. She would hate him, he thought, if she was brought out of sleep by his falling on her like a ravenous animal.
He stood for another long moment, fighting for control, then turned and walked slowly back to his sleepless couch.
Julia awoke feeling languid and warm. There was an odd, melting feeling between her legs, not quite an ache, yet something that was not entirely satisfied, either. Her nerves seemed unusually sensitive all over her body, as if she could feel the very air moving across her skin. She got out of bed and rang for a maid to help her dress. She noticed that Deverel had gone, and with him all indications that anyone had spent the night on the couch instead of in bed.
When she was dressed, she wandered downstairs to the breakfast room, where she found Deverel sitting, reading the newspaper over a cup of coffee. He looked up and saw her, and for an instant, a hot flame glowed in his eyes. “Julia.”
A shiver ran through Julia, and suddenly she remembered her dream of the night before. Deverel had been caressing her, and she had been completely awash in pleasure. She remembered, too, that final jolt of intense feeling. The soft, warm, yearning feeling between her legs increased.
“Deverel.” She was sure that she was blushing. What would he think if he knew what she had dreamed?
He stood up and pulled out a chair for her, and Julia forced herself to walk across the room and sit down. As she sat down, she thought she felt his fingertips slide up her bare arm in a soft caress, but when she glanced up quickly, his face was blank, giving nothing away.
“Coffee?” he asked.
She nodded mutely, and he poured her a cup.
“Would you like some breakfast?” he asked, reaching for the bell cord.
“Just toast.” She knew there was no way she could force down a whole breakfast, not with the sudden turmoil in her stomach. She took a piece from the serving rack and began to spread it with marmalade.
“Did you sleep well last night?” Deverel asked, and Julia’s head snapped up.
He couldn’t know, she reminded herself. He was merely being polite. “Yes. I—it was fine.”
“Good. I am glad that you found the bed…agreeable.”
“Very.” The toast tasted dry as dust, and Julia had trouble swallowing. The warmth between her legs was growing, beginning to throb. She shifted restlessly on her chair, trying to ease the sensation.
She realized what she was doing, and she stopped. She glanced at him surreptitiously and saw that he was watching her, a faint smile upon his lips. He knew! She could not imagine how, but somehow he knew what she had dreamed!
“Uh…” Heat spread up her throat and into her face. Julia shoved back her chair abruptly and jumped up. “I—I—excuse me.”
She turned and started toward the door, but Deverel was after her in an instant. He reached the door just before she did and closed it, holding his arm across it like a bar.
“No, wait. Don’t go.” His voice was low and almost breathless. His eyes bored into hers. “I am a fool to tease you. I’m…” He looked away, as if searching for a word, and finally said, “Jealous. I awoke last night. I heard you.”
Julia made a choked noise of embarrassmen
t and pressed her palms to her hot cheeks. She looked down.
“No. Don’t look away from me.” Deverel put his forefinger under her chin and tilted it up until she was forced to look at him. Julia trembled at the heat in his eyes, almost a physical caress. “I was envious—of nothing. Of a dream!”
He opened his hand beneath her chin and slid it gently down her throat. “I wanted to have, even for a moment,” he said huskily, “what you gave to someone in your sleep.” He cupped the back of her neck with his hand, his thumb gently stroking the side of her throat.
Shivers streaked through her at his light touch, shooting from where his thumb slid over her skin all through her body and finally gathering, hotly, in her loins. “Deverel…”
“I thought I heard you say my name last night. Did you?” His hand moved up, caressing the side of her face. His thumb traced the line of her lips. “Was I the man who—”
“No! Please don’t ask me this. I can’t—” The caress of his fingers was distracting her so that Julia could hardly think. She was aware of an almost overpowering impulse to open her lips and take his thumb between them.
He must have seen something of the thought in her eyes, for his skin suddenly flushed with heat, and his eyes darkened. “I want you, Julia,” he said baldly. “Are we to spend the rest of our lives without pleasure?”
“You swore you would not—”
“I said I would not demand my rights as your husband,” he countered. “I did not promise that I wouldn’t ask.”
He bent and brushed his lips across hers. The touch was light and velvety and made Julia tremble. She remembered the taste of his mouth on hers, the pressure, the texture, and she ached to feel them again.
“Well, Julia?” he breathed. “What is it to be?” His fingers trailed down onto her throat, then still lower, until they reached the neckline of her dress. “I have discovered that pride makes a lonely bedfellow.”
He bent and kissed the side of her neck softly. Julia could not hold back a soft moan. She could feel her nipples hardening, yearning for his touch.