“I do not want anything from you, Daphne.” But that was a lie. He wanted the midnight back, and the storm. He wanted her writhing in his arms, calling his name, moaning as he filled her.
“Elise!” she cried. “Have you only come to taunt me?”
“Tell me why it cannot be. Why did you come back to Barrett, Elise? Why did you not tell me?”
“All those years, I believed I had killed him. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw him lying on my bedroom floor, his head gashed and blood everywhere. I was so certain…”
Some of the sting left him as he recognized the truth in her words. She had believed she was a widow. And her refusal to return to England made sense, too. If she thought Barrett was dead, she would believe herself to be a criminal. “But why did you come back, if you thought he was dead?”
“A letter…” she began, but then closed her mouth and shook her head.
“Were you trying to kill him, Elise? Or was it an accident?”
She groaned and he sat beside her. He didn’t give a damn what was happening on the other side of the curtain, or that Barrett could return and find them there. He took her mouth and swallowed her gasp of surprise. She was sweet and warm, and her lips trembled when they opened to him.
“Please,” she whispered, “please do not taunt me as you did in Carlin’s portrait gallery. I cannot stop you, and you know it.”
He was not ashamed of that incident. He’d wanted to shake her from her icy coldness, to remind her of what they had once been to one another. And to know if he had only dreamed her responsiveness. Furthermore, he could not promise not to do it again. “Elise…” he whispered against her lips. “Why did you not leave word for me?”
“I could not think what to say. I still cannot. Tell me what to say, Lockwood. What words will ease your mind? Give you peace and recompense?”
There were no words. There was nothing she could say that would make it right again—that could ever give them a future together. He reached out to her, then let his hand drop. He did not even have the right to touch her.
He stood and bowed before opening the curtain and leaving her there alone as he ran a gamut of curious stares.
Elise stared out the library window at the dirty slush melting in the morning sun and shuddered. She had forgotten that London was a very dangerous place until the news of Captain Gilbert’s murder, and then their return home last night to find that the house had been broken into and searched. The servants had long since retired, but the thief had fled when Barrett’s valet had heard a noise and gone to investigate.
She turned and faced the desk, where Barrett was poring over his records, comparing his inventory to the items in his wall safe. A careful examination of the rest of the house revealed that nothing of import was missing and that the thief had not been able to open the safe.
“Then what is missing?” she asked.
“My cash. Must’ve been fifty pounds in my desk drawer. Looks like Smythe frightened him away before he could get to the rest.”
The thought was not in the least comforting. What if they’d been home? Her stomach twisted with anxiety. “London is so bleak in the winter, Barrett. Can we not go home?”
He looked up from the ledger with a smug smile on his face. “I think I shall buy another estate, courtesy of Mr. Doyle’s wagering. One in the north. When I’m tired of you, I can send you off to Northumberland.” He laughed at the hope that must have shown on her face. “You are too transparent by half, Elise. Oh, you want to go away, but it isn’t the robbery that has you troubled. You want to avoid society’s curiosity, do you not? Their censure? Well, you’ve made your bed, dear wife, and you will have to lie in it.”
He stood and laughed again at his suggestive metaphor and came to pinch her cheek with a cruel twist. She slapped his hand away, knowing there would be another bruise she would have to hide. But perhaps he was right, after all. Once they were back in the country, there would be nothing to prevent him from abusing her at will—no need for her to appear in public, no restraint on his evil temper. Surely that would be more dangerous than a mere thief.
She turned at a soft knock on the door. Smythe appeared, bearing a sealed note on a silver tray. “My lord,” he said as he offered the note with a bow.
Barrett popped the seal and unfolded the page. As he read it, his eyes narrowed. “Why would Lady Sarah Travis ask you to tea this afternoon, madam?”
Lockwood’s sister? She lifted her eyebrows. She knew Barrett had been opening her mail and burning anything he did not want her to see, but she had suspected those were notes from William. It had not occurred to her that she could be receiving invitations. “I really cannot say,” she admitted. “I have met her, but we did not pass more than a few words.”
“You may go,” he pronounced.
“And if I do not wish to go?”
Barrett narrowed his eyes in a warning. “You will go, madam. And you will report back to me.”
“What should I report?”
“Whatever they discuss. Whatever questions they ask. I find it far too coincidental that I keep running into Lockwood and his kin. They are up to something, and I want to know what it is. You, madam, will be my eyes and ears.”
Was he jesting? But no, Barrett never jested. She held her quick refusal, knowing it would do no good. Later, when he demanded a report, she would simply tell him tea had been a purely social event.
“And do not lie to me,” he added, apparently reading her expression. “Or your precious William will suffer for it.”
She studied the ugly look on Barrett’s face and asked the question that had troubled her since William’s birth. “Why do you hate him so, Barrett? He is your son. Your flesh and blood.”
“Your flesh and blood, madam. He looks like you and even sounds like you. There is nothing of me in him. He is a weak, puling little brat.”
“Do you doubt he is your son?”
“I have wondered that from the day he came squalling into this world. I wouldn’t put it past that ne’er-do-well sot of a brother of yours to pass off used goods. If the brat is mine, madam, I swear you drank a witch’s potion to purge my influence from your womb.”
Was he mad? “But…he is still your son.”
“Only because I have no other at the moment. His real value to me is in bringing you to heel.”
She tried a bluff. “No longer, Barrett. You have coerced me from the day I arrived, all without giving me proof that you even have William, or that you have not already…already…” But she could not finish the thought, let alone the words. “After what you’ve just said, you cannot hold that over me without proof. Produce William if you think to use him against me, or I shall leave you immediately.”
Barrett laughed. “So you have grown claws, little kitten. Very well, then. I shall have William here tomorrow afternoon. You will have precisely two minutes to assure yourself of his safety. That is all, madam, until I am certain I can trust you.”
“What will that take, Barrett? How can I show you that you can trust me?”
“Do not betray the little trust I’ve given you so far. And open your bedroom door to me.”
Dear Lord. She might have been able to justify spying on Lockwood’s family, but how could she ever…no. Never. Not if hell froze over. Not if the sun fell from the sky. Not if…but she gave her husband a cool nod of acknowledgment.
A polite servant had taken Elise’s bonnet and cloak and had escorted Anne to the kitchen. Elise stood uncertainly in the foyer, wondering if she was supposed to find the parlor or wait for another servant to appear.
Instead, Lady Sarah skipped down the wide staircase, smiling in welcome. “I heard the bell, but I had to put the baby back in her cradle. I hope I have not kept you waiting too long.”
“Not at all, Lady Sarah. I—”
“Shall we dispense with formalities, madam? I would much prefer you to call me Sarah, and I would be grateful for the privilege if I could call you Elise.”
&n
bsp; Elise barely had time to nod before Sarah linked arms with her and led her toward a small sitting room behind the front parlor. “I hope you do not mind, Elise, that I have asked you to come earlier than the other ladies. I wanted a chance to talk to you alone.”
“I do not mind at all,” she said, a little breathless from Sarah’s energy.
“You will learn that I am usually more subtle than I am about to be, but we haven’t much time.”
“I am not sure I know what you mean, La—Sarah.”
“It is about my brother, you see.” She sat on a small blue velvet sofa and pulled Elise down beside her. “To be frank, he came to me early this morning and told me that he thought you might need a friend. I asked him particulars, but he said you would not talk to him and he thought I might be able to help.”
“Oh, I see.” Elise felt the heat rising in her cheeks. She removed her gloves and put them in her reticule. “That was very kind of him, but he should not have imposed—”
“Heavens! I have given you the wrong impression. This is not a favor for my brother. I had intended to invite you to tea ever since we met. I wanted to hear all about St. Claire. Men are so scant on the interesting details, you know. But before we come to that, I…oh, dear. I am going to seem quite the busybody to you.”
Elise smiled. “You have led into it quite nicely. I am now prepared for nearly anything,” she said.
“Well, I gather—not from anything Hunt has said, but from my own observation—that you have a great sadness. And, regrettably, I have concluded that your marriage is not precisely…happy?”
The understatement made Elise laugh. “You are correct on both counts.”
“If there is anything I can do to help, I would be eager to do so.”
“There is nothing that can be done.”
“As to that, I would not be so certain. You might be astonished at what can be done. Where there is a will, they say. I know women—my friends, actually—who have overcome great odds to achieve their ends. If you could just bring yourself to trust me, perhaps we could find a solution.”
Elise tamped out the faint glimmer of hope. How could she trust anyone when there was so much at risk?
“You have a son, do you not?”
She nodded.
“He must be a great comfort to you.”
The sympathy undid her. She opened her reticule and retrieved her handkerchief. Oh, drat! She dabbed at her eyes and composed herself before she answered. “I have not seen William since my return.”
“No? But where is he?”
Now she could barely speak for the lump in her throat. “I… Barrett has not told me. He has promised to bring William to see me tomorrow afternoon.”
When there was no further comment, Elise glanced up to see an expression of speculation on Sarah’s face. “I see,” she said. “Yes, I see.”
And, with a chill, Elise realized she did.
There was a commotion from the foyer and she stood with Sarah to greet the newcomers. Four young women joined them, and Sarah began the introductions.
“Lady Barrett, may I present my friends, Lady Auberville, Mrs. Hawthorne, Lady MacGregor and Lady Morgan. Ladies, please be seated. I believe Elise is in need of assistance.”
Hunt woke in a cold sweat. The dream, the same one he’d had nearly every night since his return, had come again. He was standing on the cliffs overlooking Blackpool cove. From the inky blackness below, Layton’s face emerged like a reproach to Hunt for his stupidity. How had he missed all the clues—the arrival of the new ship, the conversation at the tap, the way the men had surrounded Layton as they’d gone outside? But he had, and Layton had paid the price. It should have been him, damn it. It should have been him.
He’d been at this job too long. He’d been too lucky. Odds favored a failure and it was time to get out before someone else paid for his misstep. This assignment had been a disaster from the beginning, and he’d have no peace until he could put it behind him.
The mantel clock chimed midnight and he threw off his covers and stumbled out of bed. It had been a mistake to think he could sleep before dawn these days.
He tied his robe around his waist and went to his fireplace to stir the flames. The night chill crept beneath window sashes and across thresholds to invade even the coziest corner and, for a moment, he wished himself back on St. Claire. He could not seem to drag his mind away from there.
The brandy bottle on his bureau beckoned him. Perhaps that would drug him enough to sleep. He poured himself a measure and went to his window. A halo of yellowish light surrounded the streetlamps in the gently falling snow—beautiful tonight, but dirty slush in the light of day.
He turned back to his room, to the empty bed, and envisioned Elise there, her sun-kissed hair spread across his pillow, the dark fans of her lashes lying like crescents on cheeks flushed from making love. He grew hard with desire and a longing so strong it nearly doubled him over.
He stopped at his writing desk, swallowed the remains of the brandy and placed the glass on the blotter. For a perturbing moment, he stared at the conch shell, remembering that long-ago night.
Can you let yourself dream, Daphne?
He had let himself dream that night. Dream that he could build an ordinary life. That a woman could love him, despite the dark things he’d done in the name of God and Country. That he had something of value to offer. That— No. Such thinking could drive him insane. He would be better served to learn to live without hope.
But he could not help himself when he lifted the conch shell and carried it back to his bed. As he placed it on his nightstand, a withered wild orchid fell out of the curve. Faint but distinct, the scent wafted to him, conjuring the hiss of waves, the flash of lightning and the roll of thunder over the vast expanse of ocean.
He stroked the sleek pink inner curve of the shell and closed his eyes as he lay back against his pillows. It was Elise he stroked. Elise who lay open to him. It might be torture to think of her when he knew he could not have her, but it was the only thing that kept him sane.
Elise wrapped the pocket puzzle in brightly colored paper and put it in a small velvet pouch with candied plums and marzipan figures. There would be no time to watch him open it, or to see his smile as he savored the sweets, but he could take it with him and enjoy it later.
She glanced at the tall case clock and schooled herself to patience. Traffic could have delayed their coach. Or perhaps Barrett had misjudged the distance. He’d still come. Surely he’d come. Wouldn’t he? Oh, pray this was not another of his tricks to raise her hopes and then dash them for his amusement.
Or perhaps he was punishing her. He’d been almost angry yesterday when she’d told him that tea with Lady Sarah had been just that—tea. She’d sworn that there had been no secret motives or nefarious purposes. And she prayed she’d been convincing.
Indeed, she was still not entirely certain what Sarah and her friends thought they could do. They hadn’t told her, nor had they made any promises. But they had listened and had given her hope. More than that, she was grateful for their friendship. There was, she discovered, great strength to be found in friendship.
She pulled a Windsor chair in front of the fireplace and sat to warm her hands and feet while she thought. There had to be something she could do to make Barrett relent. Perhaps, if she stopped baiting him, she could persuade him to allow weekly visits with William. And if she could manage to give the appearance of even mild affection for her husband, perhaps he would let William stay longer.
As for granting Barrett access to her bed, she did not know if she could bend that far. Just the memory of it made her stomach gurgle and her heart constrict. She would have to be very drunk, indeed, or unconscious, to endure his touch.
The sound of a coach stopping outside sent Elise running to the window. Yes! Barrett stepped down onto the pavement and turned to reach up to someone still in the shadows.
Small, touchingly thin, a dark-haired lad emerged. Elise held her bre
ath. William’s eyes were sunken and he looked as if he would refuse Barrett’s helping hand. He was clearly frightened as they climbed the front steps.
She turned from the window and went to sit on the sofa and compose herself. She couldn’t let William see her distress. And she knew she dare not give Barrett any reason to refuse future visits. But, if her plan worked, perhaps she would not need Barrett’s permission soon.
“Mama? Mama!”
She stood and took a few steps before the parlor door flew open and William burst though. A lump formed in her throat and she could not speak. Instead, she held her arms out to him.
William ran to her and landed against her, his thin arms wrapping around her waist. “Oh, Mama. Where have you been? I thought you gave me away.”
She glared at Barrett over William’s head. Her heart was breaking to think of William, alone and believing she had deserted him. Is that what Barrett had told him to make him leave Charleston with him? “Never! Never think that, William. I would never give you away.” She knelt and held him away from her to give him a steady look. “I love you, darling. And I came to you as soon as I could. I have been so worried about you. Are you well? Have you been eating? Are you keeping up with your studies?”
William looked over his shoulder at Barrett. “Papa says I mustn’t talk about such things. That I will only worry you.”
She lowered her voice. It was a risk, but one she had to take. “Is…is Uncle Alfred being good to you, William?”
Her son looked confused, as if he had not understood the question. Was it possible she was wrong? That William was not being held by Barrett’s brother?
Barrett sneered as he came forward. “I warned you not to pry, Elise. I told you what would happen if you did.”
She widened her eyes in innocence. “How is that prying, Barrett? I told you I would ask after his welfare.” She turned back to the boy. “Are you getting enough to eat? You look so thin.”
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