Work had already begun on clearing away the rubble that remained of the kitchen wing and Julian had no trouble finding the foreman. Leaving Marcus to poke around in the ruins, Julian took the foreman aside.
Standing several yards from the house, Julian asked, “Would you care to explain to me how this happened?”
The foreman, Jenkins, was a local man whose reputation for honest, hard work had convinced Julian to hire him instead of using someone from the estate. He was a sturdy fellow with a thatch of rusty-red hair just beginning to be threaded with gray and a workman’s brawny arms and rough hands.
His weathered features grim, Jenkins rubbed his jaw. “Explanation’s easy enough, my lord: someone left a burning candle in the kitchen near a pile of rags and some beeswax that had been used to polish the wainscoting we’d just installed the day before in the upper hallway.”
“And how do you know that?
“Because when I smelled smoke I went in search of the source,” Jenkins said. “When I entered the kitchen the fire was already burning steadily and the candle and rags were still in the middle of the room. I shouted for help and kicked the rags apart and began stamping on the fire. Two of my fellows heard my call and joined me, but it was no use. By then it was so smoky that we could hardly see and when the fire reached the north wall and began climbing, we knew that there was nothing we could do but see to it that everyone escaped safely.”
“It would seem that you hire careless workmen,” Julian said coolly, holding back the rage he felt that Lady Diana and Elizabeth had been put at risk and, more damning from his standpoint, that Nell had been placed in danger.
Jenkins’s calm blue eyes met Julian’s hard stare. “I do not,” he said firmly, “hire careless workmen. These men have worked for me for years and there’s not a fool or a careless man in the bunch. I’ve questioned them—in particular the man who left the rags and beeswax in the kitchen—and he swears that last night he threw the rags and such in the middle of the floor to be gathered up later today and taken outside. He swears that there was no candle in that room, or anywhere near that room.”
“If it was not one of your men, then how do you think the candle ended up in the kitchen, conveniently near a pile of rags reeking of beeswax?” For a moment some of Julian’s rage and fear leaked through. “Good God, man! The countess, endangering herself and the baby she carries, was here fighting to save the house!”
Jenkins dipped his head. “Indeed, my lord, and I am sorry for any danger your lady may have been in.” Stubbornly, he added, “But the blame for the fire does not lie at my feet. It was no man of mine who left that candle burning in the kitchen.”
“Then who?”
“I can’t answer that, my lord.” Jenkins hesitated, then cleared his throat. “There’s been some gypsies in the area lately, they’ve been camping near Lord Beckworth’s place, and you know how they are. A worst set of pilfering thieves I’ve never seen—nothing is safe with them around. It’s possible that one of them set the fire to distract everyone so that the rest of them could steal things from anywhere they wanted while we were all busy fighting the fire.”
Julian scowled. Gypsies would explain the missing items from the Dower House…but, the fire? It was possible. There seemed to be nothing more to be learned from Jenkins, so he dismissed him.
Looking for Marcus, he found him studying the remains of the kitchen wing. At Julian’s approach he turned. “Did you discover anything of interest?” Marcus asked.
Julian related the news about the candle, the rags and the gypsies.
“Hmmm, it’s possible,” Marcus said, frowning. “Most are known to be light-fingered and crafty. The fire would have provided a great distraction and with everyone here, they could steal at will—the stables, the henhouse, the orangery and, if they dared, even the manor itself, all would have been worthy targets.”
Julian’s mouth grew grim. “You may be right. I’ll talk to Farley and have him investigate.”
Marcus glanced at the blackened ruins. “It’s going to cost you a pretty sum to rebuild. Not to mention the work that must be redone because of the smoke damage.”
“My wife has already informed me that she expects me to meekly meet any of Lady Diana’s demands on my pocketbook and to not only gladly pay for all damages, but to have the kitchen wing enlarged and rebuilt with all speed.” Julian grinned. “And it shall be worth every penny it will cost me if it keeps the females of my household happy.”
“Aha! I told you that you would live under the cat’s paw.”
Julian laughed and motioned Marcus toward their horses. “Yes, it is true,” he said, as they mounted, “but it is such a dainty paw, that I find I do not mind its weight at all.”
Marcus sent him a narrow-eyed stare. “My God! Don’t tell me you’ve gone and fallen in love with your own wife?”
Julian only smiled and would not be drawn. He spent the remainder of the day talking with his steward, his stable master and his butler. What he learned from them gave him little to smile about.
It was late when Julian went in search of his wife. Everyone had gone to bed and, wearing a heavy black silk robe, Julian entered Nell’s rooms and found her halfway across the room, walking in his direction.
“Were you coming to call, my lady?” he asked, a warm light leaping to his eyes at the sight of her with her hair tumbling around her shoulders and only a diaphanous negligee of some misty-green color cloaking her body from his gaze.
“I was,” Nell admitted with a laugh. “Did you think that you would escape telling me what you discovered today?”
“That thought never crossed my mind.” Reaching out a hand, he added, “Come. We shall sit by the fire in my room.”
Julian seated Nell near the cheery fire that burned on the grate in his rooms and handed her a small glass of ratafia. After serving himself a snifter of brandy, he sprawled comfortably in the chair next to hers, his long legs stretched toward the leaping flames.
“What a bloody wasted day,” he said after taking a sip of his brandy. “When I think of the fire and what could have happened…”
“I was terrified when I saw all that black smoke and realized that it came from the Dower House,” Nell admitted. “But once I was actually there and saw that Lady Diana and Elizabeth were unharmed…” A faint smile crossed her face. “After that I was too busy to be frightened.”
He reached out and took her hand. Kissing the back of it, he said huskily, “Dear God, Nell, when I think of you fighting that fire…If anything had happened to you and the babe, I do not think I could bear it.”
Nell’s heart swelled with delight. Catherine’s reach from the grave must be fading. Why else would there be that note in his voice, that look in his eyes? More hopeful than she had been for a long time, she said cheerfully, “Do not worry about me. Remember, I survived a fall over a cliff. I am sure that throwing some buckets of water on a fire will not harm me, or our babe.” When Julian remained silent, his gaze fixed moodily on the fire, she asked, “And your day? Were you able to see the dungeons at Squire Chadbourne’s home?”
Julian’s head dropped back against the chair and a smile curled his lips. “Oh, Lord, yes. Chadbourne fairly leaped at the idea of showing us around his prize. But Pierce looked at us as if we were candidates for Bedlam, I can tell you that.”
“Was it…Did it resemble the place in my nightmare?”
Julian shook his head. “No. It was as clean and neat as our front drawing room. It had no sluice hole as in your nightmare, but there’s a cistern down there that was used to store water in case of siege.” He glanced at her. “Nell, the place was pristine—no smoke-stained walls, no stone…altar, for lack of a better word.” He grinned at her. “He did have an iron maiden that sent him off into raptures when he showed it to us. I’m sure that he’ll be happy to show it to you. Perhaps even let you fit inside it.”
Nell shuddered at the thought of even viewing one of those iron-spiked monstrosities, much less
trying it on for a fit. “No, thank you.” She grimaced. “So your day was not very productive, either.”
“I wouldn’t say that. Squire was so delighted with Marcus’s interest that he suggested that we see the dungeon at Lord Beckworth’s. Even offered to talk to Beckworth about it himself.”
“Excellent! How wonderful for us that Squire will be the one to approach him.”
“Yes, I suppose so,” Julian said slowly. “I know Beckworth, but not well. He is closer to the squire’s age than my own and I had been racking my brain for an excuse to pay him a visit.” He took a sip of his brandy. “The squire’s invitation seemed fortuitous, but Jenkins’s mention of gypsies camping on Beckworth’s land has also given me an excuse to call—and a more timely one.”
Nell looked at him, her expression troubled. “Do you think that it was the gypsies that started the fire?”
“They’re the most likely culprits. Unless you believe in ghosts.” He took another sip of brandy. “I talked to Dibble and Farley and I found it most enlightening—there has been some minor pilfering over the past few weeks. And Hunter admits to having run several of them off my land, more than once. So, yes, I do think that the fire was caused by the gypsies. And I intend to call upon Lord Beckworth tomorrow to discuss the matter with him.”
“Will you try to view his dungeons then?”
Julian shook his head. “No, I’ll let Squire arrange that.” When Nell looked disappointed he added, “I’ll get to Beckworth’s dungeons soon enough. In the meantime, Marcus and I can eliminate the ones that are rumored to be beneath the old Norman keep and the remains of the monastery.” He frowned. “And those beneath Hunter’s place.” He looked across at her and smiled crookedly. “Believe me, I shall have plenty of dungeons to examine.” He stood up and pulling her out of the chair, he kissed her neck. “But right now, there is this enticing bundle in my arms that requires my fullest examination.”
Pressed next to him Nell could feel his bulging member. Heat swarmed through her lower body and when Julian’s hand swept down over her hips and cupped her buttocks and pulled her even closer to him, her breath quickened and desire rose within her. Just the touch of his hands and she burned with hunger, her breasts swelling and excitement churning low in her belly.
Julian’s lips brushed her ear. “I assume that you have no objections, my lady?” His teeth closed lightly on her lobe and Nell shivered, imagining them on her nipples.
Her arms went around his neck, her head fell back and with eyes already glazed with passion, she murmured, “I cannot think of even one, my lord.”
His teeth a white flash in his dark face, Julian laughed and swung her up into his arms. He carried her to his bed and dropping her down on the soft, feather-filled mattress, he joined her. Plucking at the sash of her negligee, he said, “Now, where was I?…Ah, yes, I remember, I was examining you.”
And examine her, he did. Twice. Very, very thoroughly.
The next morning the other ladies were not inclined to rise early, but Nell rose at her usual time. While Becky laid out her clothing for the day, Nell, wearing only a chemise, preened in front of the cheval glass, noting with pride that her once-flat abdomen now had a nice, noticeable bulge. A smile curved her mouth and she patted the little bulge.
Wearing an apricot gown of fine woolen material, her hair caught up in an olive green ribbon, she hurried down the stairs. Entering the morning room, she discovered that the two gentlemen were just finishing their breakfasts. She joined them and they remained, keeping her company while she sipped her tea and ate her usual hearty meal. The conversation was about the fire and Julian’s plan to call on Lord Beckworth and talk to him about the gypsies. Marcus declined to accompany him, both men having privately agreed that it might be wise for one of them to remain at the house for the time being.
Nell knew very well what they were about and with a sparkle in her sea green eyes, she asked, “Do you really think that the gypsies are going to launch a raid on the manor? Or that the moment your back is turned the Shadow Man is going to materialize and whisk me away to his dungeon?”
“No,” Julian replied grimly. “But why take chances?”
Nell had no argument against that and shortly Julian departed to call upon Lord Beckworth. Since the weather held and the day was agreeable she and Marcus spent a pleasant morning touring the gardens. Nell suspected that he was bored but his innate politeness kept any sign of it from appearing in his manner. She took pity on him and excused herself, telling him that she wished to rest.
Upstairs in her rooms she wandered around restlessly. There were a thousand little tasks that she should be doing or overseeing, but none of them appealed. Absently patting the place where her child grew, she stood staring out the windows, thinking of Julian and their relationship. A faint blush pinked her cheeks when she thought of the way he had made love to her last night.
He must care for me, she thought for the thousandth time, and it must be more than respect and fondness that he holds for me. It cannot be mere kindness, or just lust that brings him to me. She turned last night over in her mind, considering his anxious features and his gratifying words: “If anything happened to you and the babe, I do not think I could bear it.” Surely that denoted a deep feeling? Dare she hope that Catherine’s hold on him had weakened? Or was it just the coming baby that aroused such strong emotions within him? Did he value her only as the vessel that carried his child? Her heart shrank a little in her breast. She’d rather die than be held in esteem for her abilities as a brood mare. And liking, respect, fondness and kindness were not enough. She wanted him to love her.
She sighed. Heaven knew she’d brought up Catherine’s name often enough and had been firmly repulsed for it, too, she thought grimly. What was it that Catherine possessed that she didn’t?
Her jaw set, she crossed the room and stepped out into the hall and surreptitiously headed for the gallery. It would have mortified her if anyone noticed that she spent an inordinate amount of time staring at the portrait of Julian’s first wife.
But someone did notice the furtive air about her as she hurried to the gallery. Puzzled, Marcus discreetly followed her.
Reaching her destination, Nell stood in front of Catherine’s portrait. Nothing had changed since the last time she’d been there—Catherine was still as petite, still as blonde, still as ethereally lovely as she had always been. For a second Nell’s gaze rested on the fresh, lush bouquet of huge red roses beneath the portrait. She kept hoping that one day she would come here and there would be no roses—at least that would be a positive sign. But, no, she thought viciously, the bloody roses are here again.
She glared at the portrait. Catherine had been beautiful, of that there was no doubt, but so beautiful that her allure extended from the grave? How could she fight a dead woman? Nell wondered with despairing anger. Why couldn’t Julian love her? At least she was alive. Rage shook Nell and forgetting not to let her angry despair get the upper hand, she once again snatched up the crystal vase of roses and smashed it on the floor. Shattered glass, water and roses flew everywhere. Heedless of the destruction she’d wrought, she stormed from the gallery. And this time she wasn’t even ashamed of her actions.
Hidden in the shadows, Marcus watched the entire scene. Once Nell fled, he left his place of concealment and walked over to stand in front of Catherine’s portrait. He looked at the portrait for several minutes, then at the ruined flowers. His gaze came back to Catherine’s portrait. He stared a long time at that lovely face. And what, my pretty bitch, he wondered, are you up to now?
Chapter 18
By the time Julian had reached the driveway that led to Beckworth’s home, he’d not yet decided precisely how he would present the situation to Lord Beckworth. He wished that he knew the man better. The only memory he had of him was of a dark, taciturn gentleman near his father’s age, and some of those old gentlemen could be as stiff-rumped as they come and take offense at anyone daring to complain about decisions they made
. His lips tightened. Like allowing gypsies to camp on their land.
As he was shown into a handsome library by Beckworth’s butler, he decided that the easiest ways were usually the simplest and once the social niceties were dispensed with he plunged into his reason for calling. Bluntly he said, “Yesterday there was fire at the Dower House…and the suspicion was raised that it might have been started by some gypsies that are in the neighborhood.”
Lord Beckworth grunted and shot him a look from under his brows. “The gypsies camping on my land?” he asked.
“Unless you know of any others in the area?”
Beckworth ran a hand over his face. “No, I’m afraid that I don’t. Damn! I suspected there’d be trouble one of these days if I let those fellows camp in the south meadow.” He shook his head. “When the poor buggers first showed up they seemed desperate and a decent lot, for gypsies, and I decided to take a chance on them. During the spring and summer I’ve let them camp there for the past couple of years now, but I should have known that sooner or later…” He grimaced. “Must be getting totty-headed in my old age.” He took a long swallow of the ale that had been served. Slapping down the tankard hard on his desk, he said, “I’ll have them run off before nightfall.”
Julian hesitated. The reputation of gypsies for thievery of all sorts, be it livestock, jewelry or food, even small children, was legendary and their arrival in a new neighborhood, usually having been driven out by their previous unwilling hosts, was never greeted with joy by the local populace. Julian’s sympathies lay with his tenants, but he realized that in bringing about the eviction of the gypsies, he was putting women and children on the road—and there was not yet any solid proof that they had started the fire, or stolen one item.
Scandal Becomes Her Page 28