SoundsofLove

by Marilyn Kelly

  Melina nodded vigorous agreement. Julian’s heart hammered in his chest.

  “Thank you, Harold. You and Bobby may return to your posts.” As soon as the door closed, Fiona turned on Julian. “We must move now.”

  Fiona and Melina had played him long enough. “Fashion me priest’s robes. I’ll crouch. That’s the only skirt I’ll wear. I shall bring my own clothes and confront the duke with her.”

  The field marshal bristled. He would face brutal lessons at her studio, if he continued to attend her classes. After this episode, perhaps he should distance himself from her and enjoy his bride in solitude for a few years. “Very well, but don’t push him to rash actions. A frontal assault might be dangerous.”

  Melina added encouragingly, “At the best, you’ll be back inside the hour.”

  Fiona nodded, “At the worst, you’ll get to see her and determine a course of action.”

  “At the worst, the duke’s men will take me to the magistrate for trespassing—dressed like a priest. I’ll make the cover of the Times.” This was not one of the reunion scenarios he’d played in his head, but no other course of action fit the circumstances. Keep my eye on the prize. Cathryn needs me, however I present myself.

  * * * * *

  “I’m here to hear Lady Sibley’s confession,” he practiced repeatedly until he had some control over his countrified accent. His carriage slowed at the back entrance to Waverly Castle.

  An enormous man with a thick forehead and small beady eyes popped his head in the window. “What’s your business?”

  “I’m here to hear Lady Sibley’s confession.” Julian stared at his own hands, watching from the corner of his eye. He was ready to spring out of the carriage if need be, to pin the man to the ground and pummel him. He would much prefer to be in the ring against this man than face him this way.

  The homely guard glanced around the inside of the carriage, hesitating when he came to Julian’s face, darkened with kohl.

  “We’ve come from London with only one stop.” The hackney driver groused in a conversational tone. “Seems the baroness is particular about her confessions.” Exactly as he’d been coached.

  Julian shrugged and nodded his head, attempting congeniality. “She’s a bit high-strung.”

  The man stared at Julian for a long moment, slowly scanning him. “She’s to be the new duchess. You best speak well of her.”

  Julian’s smile faded. He must have passed the first test because the gate opened, and his plain hackney trotted up the infernally long rear drive of the grand estate. He desperately hoped he hadn’t missed the nuptials and wondered how Cathryn was handling the pressure. When they reached the back door, a tall footman came to lower the step.

  “I’m Ian. I’ll take you to the housekeeper, Mrs. Tims.”

  The door swung open in front of them and a giant of a man stepped into the bright sunlight, grumbling something about his laundry. He glanced at Julian but went by without stopping. His coarse features were etched in Julian’s mind, and his size was unmistakable.

  A second flash of anger hit Julian. This was the largest of his London attackers, and revenge was required. But it would have to wait.

  “He looks dangerous,” Julian said as he followed Ian into the house.

  “Rowdy? Aye, he is.” They walked in silence past store rooms and living quarters, Ian’s steps clicking briskly while Julian shuffled behind, knees aching from the exertion of crouching.

  When he calmed himself, his thoughts returned to Cathryn. “Is it true about Lady Sibley?”

  “That she’s to be the new duchess? That’s what I’ve heard. The duke snatched her up from the side of the road. Quickest hands in the house.” Ian laughed at his own joke.

  Damn.

  “Sit here and I’ll find Mrs. Tims.” He pointed to a wooden bench lining the hall outside the busy kitchens. “I’ll take your bag.” He reached for the carpetbag, but Julian held firm. It held his jacket, and he was not about to let it out of his sight.

  “No, thank you.” Julian sat with the bag on his lap. Word evidently spread quickly about his arrival, and a steady procession came to inspect him.

  Snippets of gossip, lack of smiles and a negative tension all indicated an unhappy household. He hoped his own downstairs was more pleasant than this and vowed to look into it when he returned to London and his own estates.

  Watching the bustling underbelly of the duke’s empire, he saw females subject to open scrutiny and unwanted advances. Julian realized he had also treated women as disposable. Before Cathryn, he had never considered elevating a woman to a man’s intellectual stature. He could not deny that she was his equal in every way except physical strength, and even that she had managed to circumvent. Together, they would do much more than he could accomplish alone. He would find a way to make amends for his past actions. Perhaps he would write a pamphlet on the invaluable contributions of women to society.

  “Come with me.” A matronly woman interrupted his musings, and he jumped to his feet. “I’m Mrs. Tims.” Her gray skirts swept a wide path as he followed her. “Lady Sibley will see you in the chapel. We need to move quickly.”

  His heart raced as he hurried behind her, anxious to see Cathryn and complete his mission.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  “Lady Sibley, your priest Father Hill has arrived. He said you would want to know, in case you needed a confession.” A stocky footman delivered his message in a mildly sarcastic tone.

  Cathryn resisted the urge to jump to her feet and rush from the room. More help had arrived, and she needed to keep her wits about her. She glanced at the duke, who sat at the head of the study table reviewing her notes with a glazed look, and then at the mantle clock, that read eleven-fifteen. “I should like to see him. Perhaps we could break for half an hour?”

  The duke followed her lead and glanced at the clock. “Luncheon is in an hour. I would rather you wait.”

  She rose to her feet decisively. “It’s been weeks since my last confession, sir. I shall return in ten minutes.” The footman hovered near her elbow, and she directed him quietly with what she hoped was a neutral tone. “Father Hill may attend me in the chapel down the hall.”

  She felt the duke’s gaze follow her out of the room and prayed that Father Hill was resourceful enough to accommodate a change in venue. Reaching the door, she wondered who Father Hill might be?

  She gasped as she made sense of the name. Father Hill must reference Fanny Hill. Julian had sent her a message. He was willing to forgive her. She repressed a grin as her heart quickened.

  Please let me be correct about this.

  She increased her pace towards the chapel. This ordeal might be over in a few minutes if the man had a clever plan to draw her back to London. Short of setting her hair on fire, she saw little that would cause the duke to release her from the translation in the next few weeks. In spite of his tyrannical nature, she clung to the hope that he would not force a marriage, and she ached to know Julian’s perspective. Without the earl’s support, she had very little power to refuse a duke’s offer.

  She rounded the final turn before her destination, and nearly ran into the housekeeper and a dark-skinned priest with terrible posture who held his large hand in front of his mouth as he mumbled, “Good morning, Lady Sibley.”

  She struggled to maintain her composure as she examined the man. “Good morning, Father Hill. I’m so glad you’ve come.” Was this Julian in priest’s robes? Turning to the housekeeper, Cathryn smiled. “Father Hill was my childhood priest.” A footman opened the chapel door, and Cathryn entered, hoping Julian followed alone.

  “Your father’s very concerned.”

  Julian feigned a speech defect, a whiney quality that would quickly become grating. A decayed tooth added a further imperfection, and Cathryn smiled at the transformation. “I’ve informed my father that I’m working on a translation with the duke. He plans to be done by Christmas, but I suspect we’ll be done in two or three weeks.”


  Father Hill stared straight at her, and Cathryn’s heart leapt with pride at the twinkle in those golden eyes.

  “Father Hill,” she said softly, “I’m so glad you’ve come.”

  He cracked a hint of a smile, and even with the black tooth, she felt certain it was him. The air crackled between them, and her certainty cemented.

  Joy surged through her. Julian was back, and he was paying a terrible price to his pride in order to rescue her.

  Anything she said would be relayed to the duke, and she scrambled for ways to communicate. “Mrs. Tims, is it?” Cathryn assumed a firm stance. “I should like a moment in private with Father Hill.” She’d not been alone since she arrived, but to her delight, the woman didn’t hesitate.

  The moment the housekeeper closed the door, Julian pulled her into his arms “I shouldn’t have left without hearing your full accounting.”

  Her heart soared. He had forgiven her. “I promise never to doubt you again. A kiss, to seal our reunion.”

  His soft lips descended on hers, and the ache for him took hold deep within her. “Julian, I’ve missed you terribly.”

  “I received your eloquent letter, thank you.” His next kiss told her he agreed with the contents, and her heart soared. “I have my garb in the bag. We must be quick about it. I don’t want to be seen like this again.” He grinned at Cathryn, dragging his fingers through his short hair before he turned his attentions to disrobing. He resembled a robust Lord Byron in the midst of a romantic escapade, the essence of sacrifice crossed with good humor. Cathryn could only gawk at his enormous sacrifice.

  Julian Ahlquist was the proudest man she knew—for a plethora of good reasons—but nonetheless, he had cut his signature locks and was costumed in an ill-fitting priest’s robe ready to rescue her.

  It was quite possible the proudest moment of her life.

  The surge of pride buoyed her spirits, which had been dulled by a day of captivity. What could she say that wouldn’t add to his humiliation?

  He removed his shirt, trousers and jacket from the satchel. Turning his back to Cathryn, he spoke over his shoulder. “Get me out of this robe, and I’ll give you all the Ahlquist jewels.”

  Cathryn giggled nervously as she loosened the ties on his robe. “You posed as a priest—for me?”

  “Consider us even,” he said with an edge to his voice. “You wore a disguise to reach me when I…needed you.” He labored to free his arms as she tugged, and the robe soon lay pooled around his feet. “Never again.”

  She scrambled to search the satchel he’d brought. “What’s your plan?”

  “We face him together. But first, I need to dress.”

  Cathryn grabbed a shirt and shoved it at Julian. “Perhaps I should feign illness, and you may escort me to my chambers.”

  “No. We need to face the man together.” Julian spoke quietly in his normal baritone voice, but it was strained. “I wish I could challenge him to a proper duel, but this is not the place.”

  Dueling a duke would be the end of Julian’s political career. The situation was delicate indeed. “I feel I’m living one of Melina Burns’ novels.”

  He glanced around the chapel like a trapped animal in a gilded cage. “I wish I knew precisely how the next scene was going to play out. I could only think of finding you.” She meant to throw her arms around him and thank him for his valiant effort, but she had far exceeded her ten minutes away from the dastardly duke. “I should like to see the translation finished, although I believe my father better equipped to supervise the Lincoln pupils.” She crammed his belongings back into the satchel, looking up as he buttoned his jacket. Giles would blanch if he saw such wrinkles, but there was no time for pressing.

  “As you wish.” Julian finished his transformation by wiping kohl from his face and black from his teeth. Dear heavens, he was more handsome than she recalled, and oh so close. She feared someone would corner them in the chapel, and she would much rather be out in the open. Overcoming temptation to embrace him, she reached for the door.

  He stopped her hand and drew her towards him. A second kiss lingered longer than the first.

  “We must go.” She broke away while she could still stand. This was not the time or place for seduction. Julian joined her as she stepped out into the hall. He tugged at his jacket sleeves in an attempt to reduce his rumpled appearance, and she tried to bolster his confidence. “I like your new hairstyle. It’s very romantic.”

  “My mother and an ill child conspired against me.” He offered her his arm, and she took it with a smile. “You would have been very proud of me.”

  “I’m always proud of you.” She tried not to appear hesitant. “The duke’s in the library.”

  “Show me, please.”

  Cathryn flushed at their private joke, and even his color rose. I should not doubt him. He is an earl. If anyone can release me, it is he. “As you wish.”

  “Together, we are invincible,” he whispered as she led him down the hallway. “He has no rights on you.”

  They reached the base of the wide staircase, and a footman loomed ahead guarding the library entrance. Cathryn paused and dropped her hand as she looked up at Julian, hoping her anxiety didn’t show. Julian was trespassing, and the duke was unpredictable.

  His handsome face clouded. “You have a doubt after my coming here?”

  She shook her head. “No. I only wish we had a clear strategy.”

  “We will defeat him together. I have a few persuasive arguments in my arsenal.”

  “And I think I know what will convince him to release me. With you by my side, I believe he will listen.” Taking a deep breath, she faced the library door. “Into the fire.”

  “My hose is at your back.”

  She could not resist laughing at his naughty pun as he escorted her across the hallway. His good humor bolstered her spirits.

  The footman gave them a queer look but opened the door without question.

  The duke merely glanced at the clock as she entered the room. “You said ten minutes, not twenty.”

  “Sir, Lord Ahlquist has come to offer his assistance on the translation.” She crossed the plush carpet steadily, hoping her wariness did not show.

  His Grace’s icy veneer nearly cracked as he saw Julian. “What the devil?” He rose to stand by the table.

  Julian gave him a shallow bow. “I’ve come to retrieve Lady Sibley.”

  Eager to avoid a fistfight, Cathryn continued, “His brother-in-law, Wallace Garretson—”

  “Yes, I know him, the Cambridge fellow, but I’ve no desire to involve more parties.”

  “As you wish.” She had succeeded in distracting him. “Sir,” she summoned all her courage and made her appeal. “I shall be pleased to continue my work on the Digenis Acritas, and with Mr. Clarke’s able assistance we shall complete a final draft within the month—working at Bradford Manor.” Clarendon glared at her, and she was glad for Julian’s hand on her waist. His power was her shield. “My father will be a further expert editor, and you can rely on his anonymity.”

  Lawrence’s tired brown eyes begged from across the room and she added, “Mr. Clarke needs to return to Lincoln to retrieve the master reference list. Afterwards he may stay at Bradford Manor. I promise diligence.” She took a deep breath, hoping the duke would agree, but his face was impassive.

  “How did you get in here?” the duke asked Julian in disgust, ignoring Cathryn’s case. His disregard stung, but she was used to such treatment from men of high station, and she remained inexpressive, curious to hear Julian’s response.

  “I was refused entry at the main gate, so I came in through the back. I saw your man Rowdy on my way in—recognized him from the street in London.” A heavy threat hung in the air, and Cathryn surmised Rowdy had been one of the duke’s burly men.

  The duke’s eyes narrowed and he glanced at Lawrence, who was watching the proceedings intently. Cathryn could almost hear the nobleman’s brain whirling as he considered his next move. Knifing an ea
rl was a capital offense, even for a duke, although the case would be hell to prosecute. Trespassing was easy to prove and would keep Julian under the local magistrate’s control indefinitely. Both scandals to avoid.

  “I want no Cambridge involvement in this project.” It was a weak jab, as Julian had no interest in tackling Byzantine.

  Julian countered. “I shall leave Lady Sibley alone while she is working, but we do have a wedding to plan.”

  The mantle of his protection settled fully over her, and Cathryn breathed easier.

  He speared Julian with a fierce look. “You’re also a Cambridge man.”

  “Indeed.”

  “I want this to be an Oxford effort.” He faced Cathryn. “Keep him and Garretson away.”

  “Agreed.”

  The duke’s gaze darted between them and seemed to decide in their favor. “You two are well-suited.”

  Cathryn sighed in relief. It was as close to blessing their union as he would come.

  He settled his sights on her. “A month?”

  “No more, with the first pages in a few days, after Mr. Clarke has all the tools he needs.”

  The duke looked at the paper-laden table. Cathryn knew he was in over his head intellectually on this project, and she dropped her voice to soothing. “It’s a fine body of work, sir, and with a little polish, it will be exceptional. I shall enjoy the challenge, and Mr. Clarke is very competent. We’ll send daily reports on our progress.”

  His voice approached a whine. “You’ve made good progress in just one day. If you stay here, you could be done in a few weeks.”

  Julian stiffened beside her, and she kept her voice low. “I should be pleased to serve you by completing the supervision of this translation, sir, at Bradford Manor, where you are always welcome. My father’s editorial eye is unrivaled, and I assure you he will add value to this work.”

  He still hesitated, and she pulled out her final card. “Mrs. Burns and Mrs. Aubrey will be here shortly.” Melina might wield even more power than the duke, in the public eye, and Fiona was formidable by any standards. “It would be grand to tell them of our cooperative effort to bring this work to publication quickly.”