by Kate Pearce
“I would advise you both to be very careful when you use the soap,” Brighid warned. “The perfume may draw the attention of a particular gentleman.” Her gaze turned to the footman, and she narrowed her eyes. Bronson folded his arms and glared right back at her. Jane hid her smile, for she doubted if any soap could ever draw the attention of a man like him. He was nearly old enough to be her grandfather.
“Excellent,” Marjorie declared. “That is exactly what I was hoping for.” Dropping her voice to a whisper, she said, “Only if I can find a handsome one who suits me well.”
Jane tucked the bar of soap into her reticule and quietly thanked her friend. “You didn’t have to do this, Marjorie. But I love the soap very much.”
Her friend brightened and linked her arm with Jane’s. “We are going to have a grand time today. And perhaps after we have a meal, we might go in search of the gypsies. I’ve heard that Lady Charlotte had her fortune told.”
Jane remembered meeting Lady Charlotte earlier. The young woman was exuberant and charming, and Jane had liked her very much. But the idea of seeking out gypsies to have her fortune told was not at all appealing. Truth to tell, she didn’t think they would find anything good about her future.
“Perhaps tomorrow,” she said to Marjorie. “It’s getting late.” And tomorrow she would find a reason not to go.
“All right.” Her friend didn’t seem deterred at all. “I am starving. We should go and get something to eat. Perhaps at the inn we passed earlier.”
The others agreed, except for Lady Claire, who had an errand to run and departed with her maid and Elethea. Jane went along to the inn, though she wasn’t particularly hungry. Right now, she felt distracted more than anything else.
She felt the outline of the bar of soap through her reticule and decided that tonight she would take a hot bath and enjoy the soft lather. Just thinking of the relaxing water brought a smile to her face. But as she held the bar, a sudden image came over her, of warm skin and slick water. She imagined a man’s hands moving over her, washing her shoulders…his broad hands slipping down to her breasts.
The jolt of desire caught her by surprise, and she dropped her reticule on the cobbled streets. Her cheeks burned as she picked it up, but she recalled the healer’s warning that women’s husbands enjoyed the soap.
Oh dear. She feared she now understood exactly what that meant.
After luncheon, Jane felt terribly awkward when, once again, Marjorie paid for her food. She slowed her pace after they left The Mermaid’s Kiss and let the others continue on the steep road leading back to Castle Keyvnor. The footman kept a slight distance away from them, but he kept guard.
“Marjorie,” Jane said quietly. “Truly, you don’t have to pay for everything. It makes me uncomfortable.” They had been friends long enough that she could be wholly honest with her.
But Marjorie got a mischievous look in her eyes. “Mr. Hunt didn’t tell you, did he?”
“Tell me what?”
Marjorie linked her arm in Jane’s and said, “You must promise not to say anything. But I heard that you’re to receive a very large portion from the late Lord Banfield. Enough to make you a true heiress! Isn’t that wonderful?”
A sinking feeling caught in her stomach, and Jane couldn’t quite find the words to respond. Her friend blinked a moment and said, “Jane, are you not feeling well? I’ve just told you that you’re to inherit a large portion, and you’re not delighted by this?”
She hesitated, wondering if she dared to tell Marjorie the truth. “Did he tell you why?”
Her friend shook her head. “But I still don’t understand why you aren’t thrilled by this.” She eyed her more closely. “You know the reason, don’t you? And you haven’t told me your secret.”
Jane let out a sigh. “I only found out earlier today.” Marjorie would be hurt if she didn’t tell her, so she confessed, “Lord Banfield told me who my real father is.”
Her friend brightened at the news and leaned closer. “Tell me everything.”
“It seems that…my mother had an affair with Jonathan Hambly, the late Earl of Banfield, after his wife went mad. She became pregnant with me, but he could never acknowledge me as his daughter.” Jane lifted her gaze to Marjorie. “He may be providing for me now, but it won’t stop the scandal. Everyone will know that my mother was ruined by him.”
Marjorie linked her arm in Jane’s, her face sympathetic. “I do understand. But you are not at fault for his choices. And I, for one, am glad that you will receive part of his fortune. You deserve it, Jane.”
Just then, the first raindrops began to fall. Bronson had brought two umbrellas. He hurried over to Lady Samantha, and then opened another umbrella to shielded Jane and Marjorie from the rain.
“You are an angel, Bronson,” Marjorie proclaimed. Jane smiled at him gratefully, but he still did not respond with pleasantries—a grunt was his only answer.
Lady Samantha hurried up the embankment, muttering an unladylike curse when her footing slipped. She was farther ahead than the rest of them, trying to get out of the rain with the maid. In another minute, they saw she had nearly reached the castle entrance.
“We’ll have to be careful,” Marjorie warned. “It’s very slippery along that pathway.” She took slow steps, trying to avoid the mud.
Jane followed her example, but then the footman lost his balance. The umbrella went toppling from his hand, and he grabbed hold of her, trying to break his fall. Jane went skidding down the hillside, landing hard.
She winced at the realization that the muddy stains would never come out of her gown, and it was one of the nicer ones she owned.
“Jane, are you all right?” Marjorie asked.
“I’m fine. But I’m not so certain about Bronson.” The older footman was on his hands and knees, facing downward. Jane tried to get up from the mud and asked, “Are you all right, Mr. Bronson?”
He gave no answer, but kept his head lowered. Beneath his breath, he appeared to be muttering something, but she couldn’t quite tell what it was.
“Marjorie, come and help me with him.” Her friend took careful steps down the hill until she reached the footman’s side.
“Bronson, we’re going to help you stand up.” Jane moved to his right side and told Marjorie, “You take the left side.”
But the moment she touched his shoulders, his fist shot toward Marjorie’s face. Her friend let out a cry of pain before Bronson struck her again and she fell silent. Jane screamed, but he jerked her to her feet, clamping his hand over her mouth. His skin smelled of dirt and rain, and she was horrified to realize that this had all been a ruse.
“You aren’t supposed to be here,” he growled.
Dear God, she knew that voice. Panic clawed at her throat when she realized that he was the one who had locked her in the wine cellar and tried to throw her down the stairs. But why? What had she ever done to Bronson?
He kept his hand over her mouth, dragging her off the path and toward the edge of the hillside overlooking the sea. Below her, Jane saw waves swirling against the rocks, the foam circling the surface like boiling water.
She struggled against him, and he tightened his grip. “Stop fighting. It will all be over soon. She’ll never know about you.”
Over soon? And who was he talking about? His words spurred her harder, and she struggled with all her strength, kicking at him and trying to free herself. She would not stand here and let this madman throw her off a cliff.
Back on the pathway, she saw Marjorie standing immobile. If Bronson saw her, he might turn his anger toward her friend. Jane tried to point toward the castle, hoping her friend would understand her silent plea.
Go and bring back help.
It was pouring down rain and there was no sign of Jane. Devon knew she had gone to Bocka Morrow with a small group from the castle, but it seemed that the others had already returned.
Everyone except Lady Marjorie and Jane, that is. He asked if anyone had seen the two, and Lady
Claire admitted, “They were just behind me. I know Lady Marjorie was talking about the gypsy camp. They might have gone back to look for it. She said she wants to have her fortune told tomorrow. But don’t worry, they had Bronson to guide them back.”
It should have reassured him, but with the terrible weather, Devon wasn’t so certain. Every instinct warned him to go after Jane and find her.
He gave orders for his coat, hat, and an umbrella. Before the servant arrived, he felt frigid air settling around his shoulders. Devon glanced up and when the cold retreated, he saw the ghost, Benedict. The specter grimaced and pointed toward the door. It seemed that his worries were founded, and once the servant returned with his coat, he hurried outside. The ghost led him in the direction of the path toward Bocka Morrow. The hillside was slick from the rain, but he allowed the ghost to guide him.
Just then, he saw Lady Marjorie running toward him. Her bonnet was gone, and her hair was soaked around her shoulders. Mud coated her gown, and her eyes gleamed with panic. “Jane needs help. Please hurry!”
She tried to run back, but her footing slipped, and she hit the ground hard. “Don’t worry about me—just go! I’ll get more help.”
He obeyed, following the path until he saw Bronson holding Jane a few steps away from the edge of the cliff. She was fighting to free herself, but the footman was standing behind her with one arm across her throat, the other around her waist.
Devon didn’t hesitate, but ran as hard as he could, heedless of the rain and the muddy path. “Let her go, Bronson.” The footman was muttering to himself, and he couldn’t quite make out the words. Devon took a few steps closer, seeing the wild fear in Jane’s eyes.
“You have no reason to harm her. She’s done nothing to you.”
“She was born,” Bronson shot back. “She never should have been alive. Not when my mistress tried for so many years to have another child.”
Devon took a few steps closer, trying not to enrage the footman further. “I think you have Jane confused with someone else. She’s the daughter of a vicar.”
“She’s a bastard daughter, that’s what she is.” The footman’s eyes gleamed with hatred, and he glanced up at the turret. “My mistress lost her only son. Grieved for him and tried everything to have another. But Lord Banfield betrayed her. He went to another woman.” He tightened his arm, and Jane gasped for air, trying to push him away.
Devon knew he had only seconds to save her life. The footman had lost his grasp on reality and would not be swayed with words. “You would punish the child for her father’s sins?”
“My mistress cannot learn that this woman exists. She has been through enough pain. I will not stand by and let this…nobody inherit. I have stood by Lady Banfield all these years as her loyal servant. She must never know the truth.” He stared back at the castle, his gaze resting upon one of the turrets.
He was speaking about a dead woman as if she were still alive. Devon realized that Bronson had likely been in love with Lady Banfield, but his mind had twisted the past and present together. And whether there was any truth to his words didn’t matter—all Devon’s focus was on saving Jane’s life.
Bronson started to move toward the edge, and Devon closed the distance, seizing the man and throwing him to the ground. Jane landed beneath the footman, and it took all Devon’s strength to drag the footman’s hands away from her throat. He punched the man in the jaw, pouring his frustration and fury into the fight. Bronson was strong, in spite of his age, but Devon was faster.
He ripped the man free, forcing him away from Jane. The man swung his fist, and Devon ducked the blow, crushing his own punch into Bronson’s stomach. He didn’t hold back, but when he aimed another blow, the footman tried to scramble away. Bronson slipped, and he skidded backward, striking his head against a stone as he fell. He was motionless, and Jane paled.
“Is he dead?”
Devon went to check, but there was still a pulse. “No, he’s unconscious.” He stepped back and helped Jane to her feet. “What about you? Did he hurt you?”
She touched her throat, and he saw that her hands were shaking. “A little bruised, but nothing serious.” With a rueful smile, she added, “And covered in mud.”
He cared nothing for that but crushed her into his embrace. Her arms hugged him tightly, and a moment later, he heard servants approaching, along with Lord Banfield and Marjorie.
“What has happened?” the earl demanded, eyeing the fallen body of Bronson.
Devon explained, keeping Jane’s hand in his. As he finished his tale, Jane said, “Mr. Lancaster saved my life, Lord Banfield. I am very grateful to him.”
Marjorie rushed forward and hugged Jane tightly. “I was so afraid for you. I didn’t want to leave you with that madman.”
“I’m glad you did. You could not have saved me from him.” To Devon, Jane added, “Thank you for coming for me.”
He lifted her hand to his mouth. “I would never let anything happen to you.”
The earl glanced at the way they were holding hands, and Devon stood his ground, letting the man know of his interest in Jane. Even though she was safe, his heart was still racing at the thought of what could have happened to her. She had been in true danger, and the footman could easily have thrown her over the side of the cliff. He touched his hand to the small of her back, so thankful she was all right.
“Let us go back inside,” Lord Banfield said. “Jane, you will want some hot tea and clean clothing.”
“And a bath, if it’s not too much trouble,” she pleaded. Her arms and face were caked in mud, along with her hair. Devon spied her fallen bonnet and reticule on the ground a few feet away, and he motioned for a servant to fetch them.
“Of course,” the earl said. “I will see to it.”
Devon helped her walk up the steep pathway leading back to the castle, and he saw the faint outline of Benedict. I am very grateful, my friend, he thought silently.
The ghost tipped his velvet cap and then vanished. Jane’s hand tightened upon his, and she whispered, “Did you see—?”
“Yes,” he answered with a smile. He rested his arm around her waist, in the pretense of helping her keep her balance. The truth was, he needed to touch her, to ensure she was all right. If there were not so many people surrounding them, he would have claimed a kiss. Instead, he had to release her once they reached the safety of Castle Keyvnor.
But as Jane followed Marjorie down the hallway, she turned back to him. In her eyes, he saw the longing and gratefulness.
Thank you, she mouthed.
An hour later, Jane was seated in a wooden tub, scrubbing the mud from her body. She had sent the maid away, needing time to be alone. Her mind was still spinning from the earlier danger. Although she should now feel safe, since Bronson had been arrested and taken away from the castle, it was difficult to relax.
She decided to use the jasmine-scented soap, hoping the scent would help to calm her. The maid had left it near the tub, as she’d asked, and Jane unwrapped the brown paper. The moment she touched the soap, she felt her mood shift. She dipped it beneath the water and rubbed it between her palms to form a lather.
She washed herself, sliding the soap over her shoulders and arms. The aroma did seem to diminish her worries. Jane lathered the soap again and slid her wet palms over her breasts. Her nipples grew erect, and she felt an answering echo of need between her legs. She caught the trace scents of rose, primrose, and cinnamon mingling with the jasmine. Jane lifted her knee out of the water, washing it, and the moment she drew the soap over her leg, the feelings seemed to intensify.
Though she had meant only to wash herself, the healer’s warning came to mind, about a husband enjoying the soap. She knew that herbs could hold a strong effect, but it startled her that this soap was causing her to become aroused. Her body tingled in every place the lather had touched. When she rinsed the soap away, the restless feelings lingered.
For a moment, she closed her eyes, imagining Devon’s face. He had grip
ped her tightly, as if she meant something to him. She was so thankful he had been there to save her from Bronson. And right now, she wanted so desperately to feel his kiss, to be in his arms.
Her breathing grew unsteady, and she reached for the soap again, allowing it to pull her beneath its invisible spell. She knelt down in the tub, soaping her bare skin. Every time she moved her hands over her breasts, she felt her body yearning for more. She traced the outline of her own nipples, shuddering as the heat rose over her.
God above, she didn’t understand what was happening, but her need for Devon sharpened. She rinsed away the soap and reached for a towel, hoping the feelings would diminish. Instead, they intensified.
She dried herself and reached for the nightgown her maid had left. There was a tray of food on a table, for she had asked to dine alone. Everyone else was at dinner and would likely spend the evening gossiping about what had happened to her. She couldn’t face them—not yet.
Jane put on the nightgown and walked toward the tray of food. A candle burned brightly in a brass chamberstick. As she sat down and toyed with the bread and soup, she found herself mesmerized by the patterned wallpaper. One of the seams didn’t quite line up, and she walked over for a closer look. When she touched it, she heard a faint clicking noise. She pushed at the wall and was startled to see it open like a door into to a dark passageway. A cold gust seemed to press at her shoulders, and she picked up the chamberstick, shielding the candle with her hand as she stepped inside.
Where did the passageway lead? She followed the spiral stairs to a narrow corridor that stretched in both directions. A few paces to the right, she spied another door with a handle that she could pull. Traces of light gleamed from the edges, and she wondered where the passageway ended. It was a risk to open the door, especially with so many people in the castle, but she couldn’t resist the urge.
To her surprise, she saw that she was in the library. And on the other side of the room, she saw Devon standing beside a bookcase.