His subdued smile did not change, but his eyes assumed penetrating lights.
“And what was it, Pen?”
The question startled her, but he was right; it definitely needed clarification. She sifted through what she had experienced in that passion, and before and after. She set some of those reactions aside, because they were not very sophisticated at all.
“I think it was one very special night of sharing between two friends, Julian. A momentary abandon to an intimacy that was safe and unfettered so I could ignore the past a while longer. I suspect that such a thing is a rare occurrence between men and women, and only possible because of our long history.”
He reached over, lifted her by the waist, and moved her onto his lap. “Extremely rare. But not so momentary that I do not want to embrace you today and enjoy the remnants of that sharing for a little longer.”
He held her almost all the way to their destination. She was grateful to be in his safe and caring arms. Their quiet contentment soothed her agitation about the meeting that waited.
When the carriage turned off a road and followed a lane through some chestnuts, he slid her off his lap.
They stopped in front of a modest house surrounded by extensive plantings.
“What lovely gardens these must be in season,” Pen said.
Julian handed her down from the carriage. “Mrs. Kenworthy tends them herself. That and books have been her great passions.”
“A bluestocking?”
“She was a friend of my uncle, the vicar, and could converse with him on any topic as an equal.”
“Is that why you thought she would take in Cleo?”
There, it was said. The reason they were here. It could not be ignored any longer.
Her heart started beating in a discomforting patter.
“I knew her to be a kindhearted woman, and thought she could help the girl.”
The maid accepted Julian’s card, then returned to lead them to the gardens in back. They found Mrs. Kenworthy bending to cut the dead stalks of a herbaceous garden. She wore a man’s straw hat atop a simple cap, and a loose, green dress with no stays.
As they approached she straightened carefully, as if her body rebelled against her activity.
“Now this is a wonderful surprise.” Her pale eyes gave Julian a warm inspection much as an old nurse might. “You are rarely in these parts, Julian. It must be eight years now since your uncle passed.”
“If you are saying that I have been neglectful of old friends, I stand admonished.”
He introduced Pen. Mrs. Kenworthy’s curiosity was obviously piqued.
“The countess would like to speak with Cleo,” Julian explained.
Mrs. Kenworthy’s brow knit. “Did you not receive my letter?”
“The one in January? Yes, and I replied.”
“But not the next one? Four months ago?”
“I did not, madame.”
Mrs. Kenworthy suddenly did not appear very stiff and old at all. A vivid clarity entered her eyes.
“Come inside. We must talk. If you did not receive that letter, something suspicious is afoot.”
“What did the letter say?”
“Cleo is dead, Julian. She hung herself.”
“We always knew it was a danger, of course.” Mrs. Ken-worthy handed Pen a cup of coffee. They sat in a cube of a library stuffed with books and pamphlets. “She was never quite right after she came. She possessed a deeply melancholy nature. Even with me, after all these years, she acted like a dog that was kicked often as a puppy.”
Pen remembered that manner. It was as if Cleo tried to make herself small and invisible. She could see her in the earl’s Wiltshire house, slinking out of a chamber, head bowed and shoulders hunched.
The news that Cleo was dead had numbed her. “How did it happen?”
“She simply walked away from this property, found a tree, that big old chestnut at the next crossroads, tied a rope, and jumped off a stump. I wrote you about the sad event, Julian. I sent the letter to you through your agent, as you requested. Now I am wondering if he was your agent at all.”
“He was not. I have no agent who would have contacted you.”
Mrs. Kenworthy sighed deeply. “Oh, dear. I have been most negligent. I fear that poor woman’s death is my fault.”
“You have been nothing but generous to her, and no fault in this is yours. Please tell me about this agent of mine, however.”
“He visited last spring. He said that he served you and that your duties kept you very busy, so you had asked him to handle certain matters in your name. Matters such as this. You had sent him to speak with Cleo, he claimed, to see how she fared. He said that you would continue sending money for her board, but that it would be easier if I directed any requests or news to him in the future.”
Pen had not realized that Julian supported Cleo. He had told her that Mrs. Kenworthy had taken Cleo into service here.
“Did he meet with her?” Julian asked.
Mrs. Kenworthy turned fretful. “Yes. I allowed them to speak alone. She was a mature woman, and this was a personal matter. I could see them in the garden from this window, of course. She showed no particular reaction to whatever he said.”
“Your judgment cannot be faulted,” Julian said.
“I fear you are wrong. It was the next week that she killed herself. I wonder now if that man said something that drove her to it.”
An ominous feeling spread through Pen. She dreaded that Mrs. Kenworthy was correct.
That man had come from Glasbury. There was no other explanation. Cleo might well seek sanctuary in death if she feared falling into Glasbury’s hands again.
“I would like to see where she was found,” Pen said.
Julian shook his head and raised a halting hand in an imperious gesture. “No, madame. It will only distress you.”
“I demand tosee where it occurred, Mr. Hampton.”
She stood under the old tree, picturing Cleo older now but still childlike in her dress and grooming. She empathized too much with the despair that had resulted in this act.
Her horrible suspicions crystallized. “Glasbury knew she could support my accusations, Julian. He wrote that letter to me in Naples saying the arrangement was over right after this happened. Heknew she was a threat before I realized it, and comprehended how her death untied his hands.”
Julian appeared lost in his thoughts. He did not examine the tree the way she did. He looked at nothing at all.
“My God, Julian, we thought we had defeated him, and he was watching her the whole time. Since she left. Since Ileft.”
Mr. Hampton the solicitor stood there, but she knew he was not dispassionate about this. His reserve hid contemplations she did not see, but she knew he was not unmoved by this tragedy.
She could not be so silent. Her heart was crying with anger and frustration. “That man told her she would have to go back, and she was too ignorant to really understand that Glasbury had no power to make her do so. That is what drove her to this. He guessed it would. He counted on it. She was born a slave and she thought as a slave. After tasting freedom and safety she would have died before accepting the chains again. I would have, too.”
“I do not think that is how it happened.”
His tone made her turn to him. He appeared angry now. Dangerously furious.
“That man did not tell her he came from Glasbury, Pen. He said he came from me.He had to, otherwise the inconsistency might come out when Cleo spoke with Mrs. Kenworthy. Whatever he said to her, he said in my name.”
She feared he was correct. If Julian had sent Cleo a message saying she had to go back, she would have no hope.
Unless … she looked at the tree. That big chestnut at the next crossroads.Not just any tree. A big old one, known to the folk who lived in the region.
Why would Cleo have chosen this tree?
A shiver slid up Pen’s spine.
Cleo had not come here to kill herself, but to meet Mr. Hampto
n’s agent, who would spirit her away to another place of safety. That was why Mrs. Kenworthy had seen no distress as she watched that conversation.
She had been wrong in her assumptions. Glasbury had not been watching Cleo all these years.
He had been looking for her, however.
And last spring he had finally found her.
Pen thought about what she knew of Glasbury’s character. She saw that country house with its servant-slaves. She saw his expression while he hurt her in the cottage.
Could he have done it? Arranged someone’s murder?
Her mind wanted to reject the idea, but her heart knew the truth.
“Julian, when you negotiated with Glasbury to get me free, what did you say to him?”
“I spoke of his misuse of you and the servants, especially the girl. I said that if he did not release you that you would divorce him and that it would all come out, what occurred there and the crimes he had committed.”
“Did you specify what those crimes were, besides his use of Cleo?”
“It was not necessary. He understood. He knew that a man cannot have slaves in Britain, either in the law or in practice. He knew that he would be publicly scorned if that little plantation he had created in Wiltshire became known.”
Would that have been enough? What if there had been other crimes, bigger ones, that would bring down more than scandal and scorn if known? What if Cleo had seen far more than the Countess of Glasbury had?
She walked away so Julian would not see the horror her thoughts were provoking.
Glasbury had killed Cleo. She was sure of it. He may have been looking for her for years, since it all started, so that he could. Cleo had been lured here in Julian’s name and murdered.
Pen felt horribly vulnerable suddenly, in a way even Julian’s presence could not shield. She experienced no panic, however. No terror. With a calm certainty, she realized what she faced now.
Either Glasbury would succeed in forcing her back, or he would kill her, too. There would be no continuation of the agreement. She would win no divorce on her story.
As for provoking him to divorce her—
She looked back at Julian. A visceral fear clutched her. If Glasbury discovered what had happened last night …
What would it be? A fall from the cliff walk while Julian visited the cottage? A riding accident when he galloped out to Hampstead?
She had been concerned for Julian’s reputation and livelihood.
She should have been worrying for his life.
chapter 15
I have made my decision, Julian. I know what I should do.” She found the courage to broach the subject back in Grossington, after their supper in the inn’s private dining room.
Catherine had eaten quickly, then retired, claiming a headache. Pen suspected that her companion did not sleep soundly at all, and knew about the leaving and entering last night. She now wanted to give the lovers some time alone.
Julian made a gesture dismissing the servant who waited to see to their comfort. When they were alone he took her hand. “What decision is that?”
There was no expectation in his manner, but she sensed it anyway. Her heart swelled with sad longing. This morning she had been sure that last night had not been a mistake, but now she realized that it had.
Not only because of the danger to Julian from Glasbury. She had not realized how close to him she would feel, and how hard it would be to deny what they had shared.
“I must go away, Julian. As I first planned. If Glasbury was so diabolic with Cleo, if he drove her to her death, he will not be fair with me. We are not dealing with a man who acts or thinks in the normal way, or whose honor and conscience create the normal restraints.”
She expected an argument. Instead he just looked at her hand while his thumb gently stroked its back. That touch contained everything they had ever known. She focused on it so she would never forget the sensation. Every minute of their friendship was emblazoned in that discreet caress.
“Bianca has spoken of friends in Baltimore. I will go there and ask for their help until Laclere can arrange something for me.”
“I will not allow you to do this on the hope of charity from people you do not know.”
“It is not for you to allow or not allow, Julian,” she said softly.
She saw a flicker of anger in his eyes. A slight possessive pressure changed his touch, as if saying he had no rights was an insult.
That was another reason why last night had been a mistake. She did not think men could give honest advice to women who were their lovers, even if the union had been framed by friendship instead of romantic love.
“Pen, if what happened with Cleo has made you fear Glasbury more, that is understandable. I said I will never allow him to hurt you, however, and I meant it.”
“I know that, Julian. I still think it would be better to go away.” Because you would protect me, even if it imperiled you. Not only because of last night, but because of all the years of
friendship and the duty you think they created. Because of those afternoons when we were children at Laclere Park.
And if Julian Hampton stood against the Earl of Glasbury now, the earl would remove the nuisance.
“If you are resolved, then that is how it must be. However, you will not go penniless. On this I must stand firm. Tomorrow I will hire a post chaise and ride to London. I will bring you back enough to live on until formal arrangements can be made. I must insist on this, Pen. It will delay you only a few days.”
He had promised to let her make the decision, and he was doing so. Her heart wished he would not accept it so calmly, however. She wished he would try and dissuade her, even if he could not.
She held in the confusing disappointment that was muddling her emotions. At most, there might have been an affair of convenience if she were not leaving. A temporary illusion, to force the earl’s hand. If it ended after one night instead of twenty, that really made no difference.
Only she would have gladly had the twenty. The apprehension in her soul said that leaving would be hard in many ways, but especially because it meant not seeing this dear friend ever again.
“A few days should not make a difference, I suppose.”
“You can remain here, or stay with Mrs. Kenworthy, whichever you prefer. I think that you will be safe either way.”
“I would like to visit with Mrs. Kenworthy if she will have us.”
•••
Catherine’s breaths timed the passing seconds and minutes as Pen lay in bed that night.
She was remembering again. Not about Cleo or Glasbury. That dragon lurked in deep shadows tonight. Knowing she would sail far from its lair lessened the sense that it waited to devour her.
Tonight’s thoughts were different ones. Beautiful and sad ones. Memories of Julian from years ago and from last night. The sight of him at a party when she would face society’s scorn, lending reassurance with his quiet strength. Standing in the library at Laclere Park, as familiar to her surroundings as a vase or chair.
Looking down at her with his face transformed by passion, so masculine and severe and gentle and warm all at once.
He had said and done nothing to suggest that they should repeat last night’s indiscretion. He had allowed her to retire without any special comment or look. He had accepted that last night had been what she offered and no more, one night to comfort and distract her.
In the morning he would leave for London and not even know that it was their final farewell.
She sat up in bed. The silence of the sleeping inn hung around her. Catherine’s breathing remained steady and deep.
Last night had been a mistake for many reasons, and should not be repeated. She knew that. But her heart grieved so badly that she had to at least be in his presence tonight.
She slipped from the chamber and took the few steps to Julian’s door.
The faintest light leaked out in a thin line all around three sides. It was slightly ajar.
&
nbsp; She pushed the door a bit wider.
He stood near the fireplace, arms taut as he braced them against the mantel and looked down into the low flames. Their light made reflected patterns of gold on his shirt.
He appeared very romantic, and so handsome and unsensible without his coats and cravat, his dark hair mussed and his eyes dangerously intense.
She entered and closed the door. The small sound made him straighten. His arms fell from the mantel.
He turned and looked at her.
“I did not think you were coming.”
“I wasn’t sure that you wanted me to.”
“I will always want you to.”
He did not approach her. He just stood there, looking so wonderful that her heart pounded.
“I am not so afraid tonight.” She spoke to fill the silence that had begun pulsing with a demand for … something.“Making a decision has freed me more than I thought.”
“I am glad. Did you come to tell me that?”
“I do not know why I came.”
“Don’t you?”
Yes, she did, even though it would only make tomorrow harder.
He held out his hand.
She took the few steps to place her hand in his. As soon as they touched, his cool restraint cracked. He pulled her to him and wrapped her with possessive arms.
There was little of last night’s gentle care in his passion. His kisses did not lure, but demanded. His caresses claimed her body in a way that permitted no denial. His heat blazed into her. Within moments she was gasping, first from astonishment and then from the savage arousal that burst in her.
No words. No requests. No illusions like last night. They were not young, tasting this for the first time. They were a man and a woman overwhelming each other.
She abandoned herself to the delicious pleasure. She welcomed the consuming kisses on her neck and mouth and the confident strokes of his hands over her body. She swam within the primitive fury, secure that she was safe despite the danger.
She wanted him badly. Almost viciously. She used her mouth and tongue and hands to tell him so, which only intensified their fervor. She pulled at his shirt, anxious to remove it so she could feel him. Somehow he got it off in the midst of their clutching holds and biting kisses. She pressed her palms to his chest, and then her lips, too, and let their heat brand the taste and feel of his skin on her memory.
The Romantic Page 15