The fragile cup slipped from Gareth’s hand, spilling its hot contents onto his dressing gown. With supreme control, he stood without wincing, scattering bits of china over the carpet. “What did you say?”
Smith’s features contorted. “Lady Fleming’s father learned of my little talent for being able to easily f-forge other people’s h-handwriting,” he stuttered. “H-he forced me to write that letter.”
“You bastard.” Gareth’s charge across the carpet to strangle Smith would have been successful if William had not grabbed him in a bear hug. “In God’s name, why?”
“Mr. Heaton th-threatened to tell my patron, the Marquess of Durham, of my gambling debts if I d-did not write it,” Smith whined. “It would have c-cost me my living and ruined me.”
“So you ruined my life instead,” Gareth snarled. “I spent eight years in hell because of you.”
“But if Julia didn’t write the letter, why did she still marry Fleming?” William demanded. “It makes no sense.”
Smith’s lips tightened. “She loved His Grace but he broke her heart with his betrayal.”
“What are you talking about?” Gareth struggled against William’s grip. “How did I betray her?”
“Your dalliance with a serving maid on the balcony of the Willows, the Earl of Cheswick’s estate outside London—only then it still belonged to his father, the Marquess—the night before your planned elopement.” Smith adopted a clergyman’s overly pious tone. “Lady Fleming saw you. So did her maid and her father. Mr. Heaton told me so. They heard the woman call you by name.”
“I was in London obtaining a special license,” Gareth argued, nodding at William. “With him.”
“Lady Fleming recognized you,” Smith insisted. “She said she recognized your cape and dark hair.”
“Cape?” Gareth repeated.
“Yes, Your Grace,” Smith said. “A white cape.”
“I had my cape with me,” Gareth said. “In London. So I could hardly talk to a woman on a balcony at the Willows.”
“Shakespeare,” William said, relaxing his grip. “‘Lord, what fools we mortals be.’ Shakespeare.”
Gareth frowned at him. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Shakespeare,” William repeated. “In Much Ado About Nothing, the villains create a situation so a prospective groom sees a night-gowned woman he believes is his fiancée talking to a man on a balcony the night before their wedding. Then the groom shames her at the altar and chaos follows.”
“You had a cape like mine,” Gareth recalled, his voice rising. “Only you left it at Cheswick’s when we left for London. Heaton and Fleming must have guessed our plans, and out-schemed us. Someone used your cape and—” Rage silenced him.
“Pretended to be you,” William finished. “Julia saw the cape and thought it was you. But why didn’t she recognize it wasn’t you? Surely she could see it was not.”
Gareth’s hands balled into fists. “She would never admit it, but Julia has very poor night vision. If all she saw was a dark-haired man in a white cape being called by my name—”
“And Heaton had several dark-haired servants at the time,” William interrupted. “He or Fleming forced one of them to do it. What infamy! Did Fleming pay your gambling debts, Smith?”
“Yes sir.” Smith lowered his gaze.
Tricked. They had been tricked. Pain like no wound he ever received on the battlefield exploded through Gareth’s being. Gunshot-blasted skin paled in comparison to the eight years of agony in believing the only woman he had ever loved abandoned him to marry another. From somewhere deep inside his chest, a rapid, painful throbbing began. His heart. He still had a heart after all.
And Julia. Dearest, beloved Julia. What had she suffered? Giving Smith the glare infamous for making junior officers shake in their boots, Gareth demanded, “Why are you telling me now? Did you think you could undo the damage you had done with your so-called confession?”
“Because I no longer wish to be a coward.” Smith’s suddenly steady tone surprised Gareth. “I failed in my duty as a cleric before, but I will not do so again. I left the Marquess’ employment shortly after that night for a parish in Bethnal Green.”
“Do you think working in the slums of East London will earn you forgiveness?” William’s harshly questioning tone would have reduced another man to a quivering mass of jelly.
Smith’s gaze wavered, but his voice remained steady. “I am to be married next month but found I could not rest until I told my fiancée what happened that night. I wanted there to be no impediment between us. Happily she did not end our engagement, but required I confess my actions to you. I do not expect your forgiveness, Your Grace. Neither do I deserve it. But I am here.”
“Eight years too late,” Gareth sneered.
“You should be defrocked,” William added bitterly.
Smith lowered his head. “I am at Your Grace’s mercy.”
“Get out,” Gareth ordered. “Now. Taggert!”
Taggert appeared in the doorway. “Yes, Your Grace?”
Gareth waited until Smith hustled from the room before saying, “Fetch my dueling pistols, Taggert.”
“Two duels in two days, Your Grace? Isn’t that some kind of record? Wouldn’t you at least like some coffee?”
“Very funny,” Gareth retorted. “Just get them. William, you will be my second again.”
William frowned. “What do you think you’re going to do?”
“I’m going to find Heaton and challenge him,” Gareth said. “Shoot the bastard in the heart. I don’t care if he’s still on the chamber pot or not.”
“Don’t be as ass,” William snapped. “You have the chance to win Julia back and you’re going to kill her father?”
“He deserves no less.” Gareth pointed an imaginary pistol at a conjured, quivering Heaton.
“That’s not how you pay him back,” William retorted. “You must shame him before the world. You’re the Duke of Harrow now. You can ruin him with a single word. That alone will kill him. You must go back to the Willows and talk to Julia. If we leave now, we can be there by noon.”
Gareth lowered his dueling arm. “Taggert! Start—”
“The packing will be done by the time Your Grace finishes bathing,” Taggert said. “But I’ll leave your dueling pistols behind.” He gave a very un-valet-like grin. “You do intend to bathe before calling on the lady don’t you?”
Chapter Twelve
Julia blinked against the sunlight easing its way through the curtains covering the open window, and inhaled the sweet morning air washed clean from last night’s rain. For the first time in days, something like peace filled her heart.
Because she and Gareth had done it. With their help, Lucy was now Mrs. James Conrad. James’ shining face and her sister’s happy, tear-filled eyes were all the thanks she needed.
And worth having to spend more time with Gareth than she wanted. But he was gone now. He and William had sped back to London after the first toasts were drunk. She need not see him ever again.
Why did the thought give her no happiness?
She rose and washed in the corner basin, then donned a simple morning dress and unbraided her hair for a quick brush. In the hall, she glanced down toward the private suite where the newlyweds were staying. Yesterday’s ferocious rainstorm prevented them from journeying north to Scotland and another of Cheswick’s properties he had promised for their use during their honeymoon. Looking down the hall again, Julia laughed. She had not seen them since yesterday morning and doubted she would see them before they left.
But the rain had finally stopped last night, hopefully promising a clear day and easy travel for the newlyweds. Slipping outside, Julia glanced about the grounds. It was here she had met Gareth. But in spite of her father’s estate and Charles’ old home being next to this one, she hadn’t been here in years. Time to reacquaint herself with it.
She strolled about and her gaze examined the expanse of trees at the far side of the g
arden and her heart skipped. Within their depths was the small hut where she and Gareth met to make love. Was it still there?
A horse’s whinny took her gaze to an exercise ring just beyond a pagoda and shock halted her steps. Inside it, a man was riding a chestnut mare round and round. A dark-haired man wearing a white cape. Gareth. Dear God, when did he come back?
The man looked toward her and she exhaled in relief. Not Gareth. She walked toward him and he dismounted. As she reached the ring, he possessively took the reins, watching her approach. She halted, and saw the fear in his face.
“I never meant to wake you, my lady,” he said. His features told her in spite of the man’s body, his mind had not developed along with it.
“You didn’t,” she said gently. “Do you work here?”
“I work for Lord Cheswick,” he said proudly. “He lets me help with the horses.”
Julia reached over the railing and stroked the chestnut mare’s nose. “I’m sure you take very good care of them. My name is Julia. What’s yours?”
“Thomas, my lady,” he said.
“I’m happy to meet you, Thomas. That is a very handsome cape you’re wearing.”
“You’re not gonna take it back, are you?”
“Of course not,” she said. “Did someone give it to you?”
“A long, long time ago.” Thomas’ lips formed a pout. “Sir Charles said I could keep it after I played the game.”
“Sir Charles?” Julia placed trembling hands on the rail. Forcing herself to continue smiling at Thomas, she said, “I like games too. What did you have to do to win the cape?”
“I had to wear it when I talked to Mary on the balcony.” He blushed. “She let me kiss her, so she did.”
Icy sweat chilled Julia’s skin, and she shivered. “Where did you play the game, Thomas? Here?”
He shook his head. “No, my lady. Sir Charles made me come over here and kiss Mary on the balcony. He’s dead now.”
Julia’s head swam. She had no memory of this man. “When did you work for Sir Charles?” she asked.
Thomas’ features twisted in concentration. “A long, long time ago. Sir Charles was a mean one. Right after I kissed Mary, he made me go work for Lord Cheswick’s papa. Then I came here. I was glad. Sir Charles never let me work with horses.”
It wasn’t Gareth. Dear God, it wasn’t Gareth! Realization hammered its message into Julia’s spinning brain. “Where is Mary now?”
“Dunno, lady. I’ve not seen her.” His worried eyes searched her face. “I ain’t done nothing wrong, have I?”
“No,” she whispered, digging her nails into her palms.
Charles. Charles and her father. They had lied to her and tricked her into believing Gareth had betrayed her.
And it worked. In her shock, Julia allowed herself to marry Charles by special license and be whisked off to Norfolk. After they returned to London, Julia learned Cheswick’s father had purchased Gareth an army commission. He had vanished into the Continent’s warring landscape, thinking she’d rejected him. A sob broke from her throat.
“I ain’t in trouble because I told you, am I?” Thomas asked. “Can I still keep the cape?”
Not trusting herself to say more without bursting into tears, Julia turned and stumbling, ran toward the house. She must leave for London at once. Find Gareth and explain everything to him. Opening the front door, she sagged against it, gripping the handle for support.
Lord, you’ve given me two miracles. You brought Gareth safely home, and Lucy and James are now safely married. Give me a chance to make it right with Gareth. Please.
“Lady Fleming?” Arthur, Cheswick’s butler stared at her. “Is anything amiss?”
“Yes,” Julia gasped. “No. Where is Lord Cheswick?”
“He’s gone riding, my lady. And then to invite some neighbors for a picnic and scavenger hunt, weather permitting.”
“Damn and blast!”
“My lady?”
“Sorry,” Julia said quickly. “But I must leave for London at once.”
“I think not, Lady Fleming,” Arthur said patiently. “The roads are probably not dry enough quite yet. But his lordship did leave you a note. You’ll find it at your place in the breakfast room.”
Sure enough, a folded paper addressed to her waited on a plate on the fully set table. Julia opened it and scanned Cheswick’s brief message.
No doubt your father will be arriving later, provided Maria’s dosing didn’t last too long. I left word for him to learn of our whereabouts. Don’t spoil my fun and leave before we see his face when he learns we’ve outfoxed him.
“Oh, Dash, when will you grow up?” Julia groaned.
Knowing the man’s puckish sense of humor would not be challenged, she would have to still herself to patience.
But Cheswick was right. Seeing her father and Clayton’s faces would make the waiting worth it. After eight years, what would a few more hours matter?
* * * * *
“It’s time to get started with our scavenger hunt,” Cheswick announced, feeding each of his four Scottish deerhounds a bite of sandwich as the guests finished their picnic lunch inside the pagoda-shaped folly near the front drive. “Let me see—”
“Dash,” Julia interrupted. Her father and Clayton had still not arrived and the now darkening sky overhead threatened to open up and drench them all. And then how could she get back to London and Gareth?
“One moment my dear,” he replied. “Abernathy, you go with the Misses Johnson. Lady Fleming, you shall— Ah, here are our long-awaited guests.” Mud flew in clumps as a coach thundered up the drive.
The guests left their seats and stepped out of the pagoda to watch its progress.
“That’s not my father’s coach.” Heart in her throat, Julia stepped forward. “It’s one of Constance Pettigrew’s.”
The carriage careened to a halt just as the door opened. One of the carriage’s occupants stepped down and Julia’s heart soared. Gareth.
His pace as he crossed the yard was just short of an all-out run, and he nearly skidded to a halt on the grass before the assembled guests.
“We’d like to join you,” he announced, flashing a smile Julia had not seen in years. The stony mask he had worn since his return had vanished, replaced with an expression of youthful hope. “I hope William and I are not too late?”
Cheswick raised his quizzing glass at the sky. “Lud, Harrow, you’ve brought more rain clouds with you. Not very sporting of you for we’re not even started with our scavenger hunt.”
“Then we should start hunting immediately. Lady Julia, will you partner me? It’s been a long time since I’ve been here.” Gareth’s tone was all innocence, but in his eyes Julia saw a look she recognized and she shivered. He knew. Somehow, he knew.
“And I have our list,” she said, running to join him. “There is any number of interesting objects.” She pulled the list from her pocket and read aloud,” A spade, potting soil, a sheet—”
“I should try that old shed in the grove if I were you,” Cheswick murmured as he stepped forward to join them. “I took the liberty of putting clean sheets on the cot this morning, just in case.”
“Then off we go!” Gareth took her hand and they darted toward the grove as thunder crashed overhead. The trees covered them in a canopy of cooling darkness, and Julia pulled him into her arms. Beneath his coat and shirt, his heart pounded at an alarming rate. Julia inhaled the scent of shaving soap and patchouli and the essence that belonged only to him, the most comforting scent she knew. “Gareth,” she whispered. “Darling Gareth.”
He pulled back to cup her chin with the fingers of one hand, forcing her to look into his panther-green eyes, while the others gently traced her cheek. “Hear me now,” he whispered. “I love you. All my life, I have loved only you. Do you believe me?”
“Yes, darling,” Julia choked. “Yes.”
Above them, thunder roared again and hand in hand they ran to the place where they had once loved. As
if waiting for them, the hut door stood open. Gareth slammed it shut just as the rain began to hammer on the roof. He folded her into his arms again and rested his chin on her head. “You know? Know what happened?”
“Yes.” A sob broke free from her throat. “My father and Charles—”
“A forged letter from a dishonest clergyman—” he interjected.
“A dark-haired man in your cape—”
“And your poor night vision,” he finished for her. Lowering his head, he kissed her, long and slow and she savored the long-remembered taste of his mouth’s sweetness filling hers. Her tongue slid into his mouth while her hand slowly, playfully, slid down his chest to rest just below his navel, and sighing, Julia arched herself against him. His hardened need pressed against the junction of her thighs and she moved her hands to fondle his bottom.
He broke their kiss to laugh. “Wench,” he teased. “My saucy wench.”
Julia tugged on his cravat. “You have no idea,” she murmured, undoing the silk and dropping it on the ground beside them. “That was really a very poorly tied knot.”
“I told Taggert if he took more than a minute to tie it, he could sell oranges in the street,” he answered, taking the pins from her hair, and one by one, scattered them on the ground.
She shook her head and the freed tresses undulated down her shoulders as she reached for his shirt and tugged the linen garment free from his breeches. “How long did it take Taggert to tie that knot? Sixty seconds? “
Gareth shrugged out of his coat and tossed it aside. “It took him seventy-five, but it’s hard to find good valet these days, so I’ll keep him.”
“Mmm.” A purr started deep in her throat. “I wonder what he would say if he saw me doing this—” She eased the shirt off his shoulders and threw it beside the coat. “Getting your beautiful shirt all dirty.” She stroked the dark hair covering his chest as she fingered his nipples with a gentle, feathering touch.
“He’ll just have to get used to do it.” Gareth lowered his head to kiss the throbbing pulse at the base of her throat, his hands moving down her back in a slow spiral to cup her bottom while his mouth continued its journey across her.
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