“A man doesn’t want a rest after a brawl. He wants his woman,” he grumbled, but he allowed her to ease him back against the pillows. She took the chair beside the bed and stroked his hair until his eyes grew heavy, and his breaths became slow and even.
Once he was asleep, Juliana crept across the room and took up his coat. She found the paper with Benedict’s vowels tucked into one of the pockets.
She found something else, as well, and drew it out, frowning.
It was a stone, with a rough carving etched into its hard, flat surface. Juliana held it up to the light of the window, trying to make out what it said. It almost looked like…
It was. The letters J and L, and underneath them a date.
Their wedding day.
She ran a fingertip over the rough carving, sudden tears gathering in her eyes.
Logan had made them an oathing stone. Somehow, Juliana knew he’d carved it himself, though he’d never mentioned it, and he’d never shown it to her. She turned back toward the bed, and her gaze landed on Logan’s face. She couldn’t say exactly when it had happened, but somewhere between Castle Kinross and Graystone Court, his face had come to mean the world to her.
Her fingers closed around the stone. She wanted to slip it into her own pocket and take it with her for luck, but after thinking about it, she reluctantly returned the stone to Logan’s coat pocket.
It wasn’t hers. If he’d wanted her to have it, he’d have given it to her.
* * * *
Benedict liked to keep people waiting. It made him feel powerful.
Still, Juliana wasn’t surprised when he appeared in the drawing room soon after she arrived. She’d predicted he’d be eager to toy with her, and she could see by the gleam in his cold gray eyes she’d been right.
“Lady Juliana. Why, what a delightful surprise. It’s been months since I had the pleasure of your company, but here you are, as lovely as ever.” He took her hand and raised it to his lips, his eyes flashing with triumph when she flinched at his touch.
“Good afternoon, my lord. This isn’t a social call, as I’m sure you’re aware. I have some business to discuss with you.” Juliana’s words were clipped. If he could, Benedict would do everything in his power to drag out this moment between them. She wouldn’t allow it. The sooner she could escape his drawing room, the better.
“Business?” He took a seat on the settee, sitting far too close to her. “I can’t imagine what sort of business you could have with me.”
Juliana shifted away from him. “Come now, Benedict. We both know that’s not true. Let’s be honest with each other, shall we?”
He didn’t answer. Instead he pressed the tips of his fingers together under his chin, and regarded her with that icy stare.
Juliana suppressed a shiver. She never could bear to look into Benedict’s eyes. It was like looking into an abyss. She dropped her gaze, reached into the bag at her side and retrieved the slip of paper she’d taken from Logan’s coat pocket. She held it out to Benedict. “Does this look familiar to you?”
Benedict didn’t take the paper. His gaze flicked to it, then back to her face. “Perhaps it does.”
“They’re your vowels, Benedict. It seems you owe my husband two thousand pounds.”
The moment she mentioned Logan, a cruel smiled drifted across Benedict’s lips. “Ah, yes. Mr. Blair. I’m relieved to find he made it home safely after our game last night. My man Rowley mentioned something about a disturbance. You should warn your husband to be more careful, Juliana.”
Juliana managed a casual shrug, but her heart was pounding. “Perhaps you should deliver the same warning to your manservant. From the account I heard, he got the worst of it.”
Benedict didn’t care for that reminder. His smile faded and his eyes narrowed, but when he spoke, he was as cool and charming as ever. “I can only hope your husband’s good fortune continues.”
Juliana recognized Benedict’s words for the threat they were, and her mouth went dry. “That’s what I came to discuss with you.”
“What, your husband’s good fortune, or the lack thereof?” Benedict laughed. “My dear Juliana, what can I possibly have to say to it?”
Juliana didn’t bother to answer that question. Instead she nodded at the slip of paper with Benedict’s vowels, which she’d placed on the table between them. “You know very well my husband doesn’t want your money. He wants the land in Perth. I do wonder, though, whether that really matters. It occurs to me, Benedict, you may not honor the debt.”
Benedict gave her a mocking smile and laid a hand on his chest. “You wound me. I’m a gentleman, Lady Juliana. A gentleman always honors his debts.”
Juliana looked at him, a loathing unlike anything she’d ever known burning in her chest. This man had tried to force her to marry him. He’d taken advantage of her father when he was too ill to defend himself. Benedict had done everything he could to take Grace away from her, and last night he’d sent his manservant out to hurt Logan. If Benedict got the chance, she hadn’t the slightest doubt he’d do it again.
He wasn’t a gentleman. He was a monster, and she was done pretending otherwise. “But that’s just it, Benedict. You’re not a gentleman. We both know you haven’t the least intention of letting go of your Scottish lands, because that would mean giving Fitzwilliam something he wants. You’d sooner send your man after Logan again than do that, wouldn’t you? Tell me, Benedict. Just how far will your thirst for revenge take you? Will you stop short of murder?”
“How melodramatic you are, Juliana.” Benedict laughed, and Juliana could see by the malicious glitter in his eyes he was relishing every moment of this confrontation with her.
“No, I don’t think I am. You forget how well I know you.” She nodded at the paper again. “But I don’t intend to find out how far you’ll take this. I’ve come to collect the deed to the Scottish lands from you. In return, I’ll give you back that paper, and something else, as well. Something you’ve always wanted.”
He laughed. “You flatter yourself, my lady. Perhaps there was a time I wanted something from you, but that time has long since passed. You don’t have a single thing I desire, Lady Juliana.”
“But I do, my lord.” She reached into the bag she’d brought, pulled out some papers, and dropped them on the table on top of Benedict’s vowels. “I have Rosemount.”
Juliana couldn’t hide the quaver in her voice when she said it. She and Fitzwilliam and Jonathan had spent so many happy times there when they were children. Jonathan had taken Emma there after their marriage, and later, after Grace was born, they’d all gone together as a family. They’d wandered in the tiny garden admiring the wild roses, and lingered on the bridge to throw stones into the stream below.
So many of her happiest memories were tied to Rosemount. It had always felt like more of a home to her than Graystone Court, perhaps because it was her only connection to the mother she’d never known. She’d wanted so badly to take Grace there, and make a home with her.
To lose Rosemount to Benedict—to think of him in that beautiful place, poisoning it with his presence—was enough to make her gasp with pain.
That, of course, was the reason Benedict wanted it.
He didn’t have any use for Rosemount. He had a dozen or more other properties, some of which he’d never even bothered to visit, many of them much grander than Rosemount. In monetary terms, the estate was no more valuable to him than the carpet under their feet, or the fine porcelain vase resting on the end table.
In emotional terms, however, it was priceless. Benedict knew it would break her heart to give it up, and that was why he wouldn’t be able to resist taking it from her. He’d always been that man—the one who gloried in taking what he had no right to, for the sheer pleasure of keeping someone who loved it from having it.
“Rosemount?” Benedict looked shocked. He hadn’t expecte
d she’d offer him Rosemount. “You’d actually give up your mother’s estate for some remote patch of scrub brush in the Scottish Highlands?”
No. She’d give it up for Fitzwilliam, who’d treat Clan Murray with the respect they deserved. For Logan, and for the people he loved.
She didn’t tell Benedict that, however. She simply stared at him and waited, until at last he shook his head. “I accept your offer, Lady Juliana. Indeed, how could I refuse?”
For the first time since she’d entered his house, Juliana smiled. He couldn’t refuse. Perhaps another sort of man could, but not Benedict. She’d known that before she crossed the threshold.
Benedict studied her for a moment, then his lips curved in a mocking smile. “You love him, don’t you? The Scot. Ah, my lady. I thought you were smarter than that. Indeed, I pity you.”
He pitied her? Juliana flicked her gaze over Benedict’s face, then looked away. How predictable he was. “That’s just what I’d expect a man like you to say.”
Half an hour later she was riding away from Benedict’s estate, the deed to the land in Perth tucked safely into a saddlebag. She cast nervous glances over her shoulder the entire way back to Graystone Court, but no one followed her. Not Benedict, and not his knife-wielding manservant. Perhaps there was a line even a villain like Benedict wouldn’t cross. Perhaps he did retain a meager shred of his humanity, but Juliana wouldn’t wager on it.
Benedict would never be able to comprehend the kind of love that would make a person give up something they cherished, something it hurt them to lose, for another person.
There was nothing she had she wouldn’t give up for Logan’s sake.
Not even Logan himself.
Once he had the deed to the Perth land in his hand, there would no longer be anything keeping Logan in England. As soon as he was healed enough to travel, there was every chance he’d leave Surrey behind.
And with it, Juliana and Grace.
She given up Rosemount today, but that wasn’t the loss that was tearing her heart to shreds.
It was that she might also have given up Logan.
Chapter Twenty-five
It took Logan half an hour to struggle free of the heavy sleep that had held him pinned to the bed all afternoon. When he managed to drag himself into consciousness at last, he made several unwelcome discoveries.
He was in a bed in a darkened room, his arm was screaming in pain, and Juliana was gone. He sat up and dragged a hand down his face as his sluggish brain fought to process all these mysteries at once.
Something was wrong. He felt as if someone had beaten him with a fireplace poker. His ear stung, his jaw throbbed, his chest was burning, and his arm…Mo Dhia, what was wrong with his arm?
He twisted in the bed to get a look at it. A low groan left his lips as pain sliced through him, setting every inch of skin above his elbow on fire. He blinked down at the blood-stained bandage wrapped tightly around his upper arm, confused.
Blood. There’d been blood, hadn’t there? He remembered being surprised at how much of it there was. He’d been covered with it, his shirt soaked in it. He hadn’t wanted Juliana to see him, but she’d been there, her low, sweet voice in his ear, her fingers stroking his hair, caressing his face—
Cowden.
Logan struggled for breath as memories of last night and this morning crashed down on him. The wager, the brawl with Cowden’s manservant, the ride back to Graystone Court, and Juliana, always Juliana…the horror on her face when she’d seen him, her hands holding him gently against the bed, his crushing sense of helplessness…
She’d had the doctor in to dress his wounds, but that had been hours ago. Why was it so dark? He couldn’t have slept the entire afternoon and into the night. He squinted at the window, and saw Juliana had drawn the drapes closed before she left him alone.
Logan grunted with pain as he rose from the bed and padded across the room to the window. He pushed the drapes aside, cursing as another arc of pain shot across his chest.
It wasn’t nighttime, but late afternoon. Juliana was likely with Grace.
He turned away from the window, frowning at the empty room. There was no telling how long she’d been gone, or when she would return. What was he meant to do until she did? Damned if he knew. He hadn’t spent an afternoon in his bed since he’d poisoned himself with the laburnum when he was a lad.
Not alone, that is.
Logan wandered back across the room to the side of the rumpled bed, eyeing it with distaste. Juliana had told him to sleep, but he’d never been one for lying about. A few cuts and scratches weren’t going to change that.
He could eat. He wasn’t hungry, but a meal would distract him until Juliana returned. He went to pull the bell to summon a servant, but paused when he saw the coat he’d worn last night tossed over the back of a chair.
He’d left Cowden’s vowels in the pocket. Any one of the servants could have wandered in here and taken the coat away while he was sleeping. Even bloody knife wounds didn’t excuse such carelessness.
He took the coat up and rifled through it, searching for the slip of paper.
It wasn’t there.
No, it was impossible. It had to be there.
He searched through it again, digging deep into the pockets, but once again the search revealed nothing. He turned the coat upside down and shook it, wincing at the pain in his arm. Something dropped to the floor with a thud, and Logan reached down to pick it up.
It was the oathing stone he’d made for Juliana.
He stared down at it, a thousand different emotions flooding his chest at once. He hadn’t known it at the time—or at least he hadn’t yet admitted it to himself—but he’d been in love with her when he carved this stone.
Just as he was in love with her now.
Logan closed the stone tightly in his fist. He’d brought it all the way from Scotland with him. He’d kept it with him every day since then, tucked into the breast pocket of whatever coat he was wearing. All this time, he’d kept it close to his heart.
Just as he meant to keep Juliana close to his heart. Her, and Grace. They were his now.
And he was theirs.
He should have told her that the night before last, when they’d made love. He should have given her the stone then, and explained that he’d made it for her. That he’d loved her even then, all those weeks ago.
Logan gazed down at the stone, heavy in his palm. Heavier than it should be, because it didn’t belong to him. It belonged to her. It always had. As soon as she returned to him he’d give it to her, and with it, his whole heart.
But first, Cowden’s vowels. They had to be here. Logan drew in a deep breath and forced himself to search the pockets again, slowly and methodically.
He turned up nothing. The slip of paper was truly gone.
Logan dropped the coat back onto the chair. It didn’t make sense. The oathing stone was right where he’d left it, but the paper was gone. If someone had dropped the coat—if the paper had fallen out by accident—then the stone would be missing, as well.
It could only mean one thing. Someone had taken the paper deliberately. Juliana? It must be. He’d told her he had Cowden’s vowels in his pocket. No one else knew that paper was there, aside from…
Aside from Cowden, and Cowden’s murderous manservant.
Logan’s blood went cold.
No. Again, it was impossible. Even Cowden wasn’t that brazen. And if he was, how would he manage the thing? It wasn’t as if he could march into Logan’s bedchamber and rifle through his coat until he found it.
No, but a servant could. It would be the easiest thing in the world for a servant to wait for Juliana to leave, then creep into his bedchamber and take the paper while he slept.
Could Cowden have bribed one of Juliana’s servants?
If it were anyone but Cowden, Logan would dism
iss the idea as ridiculous. But was it really too far-fetched to imagine a man who’d sent his manservant after Logan with a blade would draw the line at bribery?
Or worse.
What if Cowden was in even greater financial troubles than Fitz realized? If Cowden was desperate enough to send his man to open Logan’s throat, what else might he do? How far might he go? Was he desperate enough to try and hurt Juliana, or Grace?
There was only one way to find out.
Struggling into his clothes was harder than Logan had anticipated. The boots were the worst, but he managed it. Juliana was going to be furious when she caught him out of bed, but he couldn’t wait for her to return to his bedchamber. He needed to see her at once, as much to find out if she’d taken the paper as to reassure himself she and Grace were all right.
But a search of the house didn’t turn up either of them, and none of the servants knew where they’d gone. Neither Juliana or Grace had been seen for several hours.
Damn it, where were they? Grace was injured, and though she was recovering quickly, she still grew tired in the afternoons. There was no way Juliana would have taken her far from Graystone Court.
Not willingly.
Logan’s heart pounded as he made his way as quickly as he could to the stables. By the time he got there he was out of breath, and his arm was bleeding again. He called for James, and to his great relief the lad appeared at once.
When he saw Logan standing there, he winced. “Begging yer pardon, sir, but shouldn’t ye be in yer bed?”
Logan waved this off. “No. I’ve been in bed all day. I’m looking for Lady Juliana, James. Have you seen her?”
“I did see ’er, yes. She and Miss Grace was out again this afternoon, wandering about in the rose garden. That were some time ago, though.”
“How long?”
To Wed A Wild Scot Page 29