by Meara Platt
Of course, gaining her cooperation would make matters simpler, avoid the unpleasantness of ton gossip, or the nuisance of a legal battle she could not possibly win. He had the law on his side, the influence and connections not only to remove her as the boy’s legal guardian, but to ban her forever from all contact with the boy.
Surely, she understood the futility of her position. And if she didn’t, he’d explain it to her in very blunt terms. His mind set, as it had been since learning of the boy’s existence, he entered the sitting room and crossed to the window in time to watch the sun’s golden rays fade below the horizon.
Sun? When had it stopped raining?
He shrugged, deciding it mattered little and stepped away to peruse the room. He lit a small lamp on a nearby table, but after finding little of interest to occupy his time, he returned to the window, his gaze drawn – indeed, suddenly compelled – to the unusual garden.
He watched, at first amused and then fascinated by the golden twilight as it washed across the flowers and began to play tricks on his eyes, began to take on human shapes, as though Charlie’s faerie king was holding court among the profusion of blossoms.
“Hello, King Cadeyrn,” he murmured with a chuckle.
One of those shapes seemed to nod back at him, soon followed by other golden shapes.
He blinked once, twice.
The images refused to disappear, though he knew such creatures simply could not be. They existed only in a little boy’s imagination. Indeed, Charlie had captured the magical sunset over the garden in several of his drawings, particularly in those renderings of the faerie king and his court.
“My lord, please help yourself to more tea,” Julia called out. “I’ll be another moment.”
“Tea?” In most of those drawings, the faerie courtiers held silver goblets filled with wine.
An instant later, he noticed a decanter of red wine and two glasses on the table beside him. Julia must have set them out in anticipation of their discussion. “I’ll have the wine instead.”
He poured himself a glass and took a sip, expecting an unremarkable vintage. To his surprise, the ruby liquid slid smoothly down his throat and left a very pleasant fruity taste in his mouth. He drank more, enjoying the warm sensation now spreading throughout his body and easing his tension.
He leaned a shoulder against the window pane and lost himself in the magical twilight, in the golden shapes that grew brighter as day settled into night, as the colors of the blue sky faded to gold, then amber-gray and finally to black.
A peaceful, endless black.
Douglas suddenly jolted awake as the empty glass slipped from his hand and shattered. “Damn.” He shook his head and glanced around, only to find himself still standing beside the window. He must have drifted off to sleep, but he wasn’t certain for how long. His limbs were delightfully numb, as though he were floating along an effervescent stream and soothed by its warm, bubbling waters.
Odd that he felt no aches after a long day’s ride.
He let out another muttered oath and knelt to gather the larger shards, setting them on the ledge for the moment.
“Miss Marsden,” he called out impatiently, the garden now a bleak darkness he found most unsettling.
“I’ll be right there,” she responded. “Please make yourself comfortable, my lord. I’m sorry for the delay.”
Kicking aside the smaller pieces of glass, he was about to walk to the hearth to stoke the dying embers when a glimmer of light suddenly emanated from one of the flowers and caught his attention. Silver specks of light soon filled the garden, shimmering like fireflies on a hot summer’s eve.
Was this another trick of the light?
But from what source?
“Miss Marsden,” he called out again as the flowers began to sparkle like diamonds, each diamond assuming the color of its flower. White for daisies. Pink for roses. Blue for the myriad bluebells. Yellow for honeysuckle.
In the next moment, he heard music and whispering laughter seeming to come from the bluebells and drift into the sitting room.
The scent of honeysuckle suddenly filled the air.
“My lord, I’m ready to listen to what you have to say.”
He turned to the sound of Julia’s soft voice behind him and watched with heightened interest as she crossed the room. Small and slender, she moved with an elfin grace, her slippers barely making a sound as she glided to his side. He inhaled her delicate scent, roses kissed by the moonlight. Even her golden hair sparkled in the odd, faerie moonlight.
He shook his head to clear his jumbled thoughts.
Flowers didn’t gleam gold one moment then turn to silver. Had Julia drugged him with that wine?
Douglas moved his toes and fingers, hands and feet, and found nothing wrong with his limbs, no lingering trace of numbness. Nor did he feel any pain in his stomach or his head.
“Is something wrong, my lord?”
“No.” He tried to make logical sense of what was happening. Where was the music coming from, the sound of violins and laughter? It had to be a trick of the wind blowing through the fells. And hadn’t Charlie added honey to his tea tonight? The scent must have lingered in the room.
But that didn’t explain the moonlight penetrating the storm clouds and flooding the room in silvery light… no, there had to be a logical explanation.
“My lord?”
“Miss Marsden, I was wondering… who tends to your garden?”
“My garden?” She regarded him curiously. “No one. It tends itself.”
“Impossible. It’s more magnificent than the gardens at Eastbourne and they’re considered among the finest in England.”
She nibbled her lip. “May I ask why we are speaking of my garden?”
“How is it that your flowers shine even in the darkness?”
“Lord Eastbourne,” she whispered, a little tremor to her voice. “You must come away. Here, sit by the fire.”
“Don’t you see those brilliant points of light? Can it be King Cadeyrn and his faerie court making merry in the night?”
“He’s make-believe, the creation of a little boy with a vivid imagination.” She placed a firm hand on his arm and turned him from the window. “Please, my lord. Come away. There’s a draft here and we have important matters to discuss.”
“Julia,” he whispered, taking gentle hold of her. “You’re as beautiful as this enchanted night.”
She let out a moan, but didn’t otherwise protest as he drew her into his arms.
He heard her soft gasp and felt the light heave of her breasts now pressed against his chest. A joyous heat coursed through his body as she melted into his embrace. Tears glistened in her eyes and her mouth parted to invite his kiss. He slowly lowered his lips to her beautiful pink mouth, her soft cries beckoning him closer… closer… then, as though by magic, their lips did touch.
Lightly at first and ever so gently.
Her mouth felt as soft as a dream.
A moonlit dream.
He deepened the kiss, pressing his lips more firmly against her delicate mouth and giving himself over to the sudden, ravenous yearning to possess her.
“My lord,” she said, her voice a velvet sob, “release me now, before this goes too far. Please.”
He opened his eyes as reality, and harsh, male laughter in the distance, suddenly penetrated his senses. “Merciful heavens! What have I done? I didn’t mean… I don’t know how this happened.” It was one thing to see a pretty girl and wish to hold her, kiss her. But to actually do it against her will… he’d kissed Julia Marsden! “There must have been something in the wine.”
“What wine?” Julia’s eyes were now ablaze and her fingers curled into fists against his chest as she tried to push out of his arms.
He let her go, stepped away as well, and pointed to the ledge, but the remnants of his broken glass were gone. He glanced toward the table, only to find the bottle and remaining glass were also gone. “It was here a moment ago.” He shook his head in dismay. “You
must believe me.”
“Believe you? As Laura believed your brother’s sweet words and soft kisses? Your obvious ploy will never work on me. I won’t be seduced into giving up Charlie!”
“No, of course not.” He’d never intended to take her into his arms, certainly never meant to lower his lips to her soft mouth. But there was something about the girl, something irresistible that roused his protective instincts. In truth, that roused a dangerous hunger in him. Had her cousin possessed a similar sensual beauty? Is that how Laura Marsden had enchanted his brother? “Please accept my apology.”
“Why should I?”
He let out a ragged sigh. “I don’t know. Because it wasn’t me just then. It wasn’t me. I don’t know how else to explain it. One moment, I was staring into your garden and the next… I saw starlight, heard violins and distant laughter… and the next, I kissed you.”
At first, she didn’t seem inclined to believe him, but as the anger drained from her face, she turned him away from the now fading shimmers of light. “We had better speak in the kitchen.”
“You saw them, didn’t you? Those golden shapes?”
“No, my lord,” she replied shakily. “There’s nothing out there but a very wet, dark night.”
He was about to insist that it wasn’t raining, that the moon was out and the night clear, but one more glance out the window proved him wrong. Rain pelted the glass pane and a howling wind shook it dangerously. Bloody hell. “Yes, of course.”
But she knew. It was as though she understood what had come over him and was frightened by it. Not frightened of him, but of it… whatever it was.
“Miss Marsden, what’s out there?”
“Some things are better left unexplained,” she warned with a shiver, seeming to caution herself as well as him.
“Very well.” Douglas followed her into the kitchen. However, he was more determined than ever to get at the truth tonight. “About the boy,” he said, crossing to the hearth and taking several deep breaths before propping his shoulder against the sturdy mantel. He needed to regain control of the situation, but how did one accomplish that after acting the bewitched fool?
The kiss could not be taken back.
Nor could he shake off its lingering sensual power.
He remained standing, his discomfort mounting, while Julia settled onto the stool beside him. She primly folded her hands across her lap and waited for him to proceed.
But he couldn’t, not while the embers of passion still glowed within him.
“Charlie is a sweet, caring child with hopes and dreams, and a lot of love in his fragile heart,” Julia said, taking command of the conversation when he failed to continue. “He’s not a possession you can toss into your cupboard when you tire of him. You have no right to come marching in here after all these years and demand–”
He let out a growl and straightened to his full height. “I have every right! He’s my nephew.”
“Ah, spoken with the arrogance of a true Eastbourne.”
He ought to have been angry with the girl, but decided to overlook her cutting remark since he’d behaved far more abominably toward her this evening. Lord, what had come over him? “The last thing I wish to do is harm the boy.”
“Prove it. If you sincerely desire what’s best for Charlie, then you’ll let him stay with me. We’ve managed quite well without your assistance all these years.”
“Without… what about the funds provided?”
“Funds?” She eyed him with momentary confusion. “My father left us enough to purchase a milking cow, several chickens, and some sheep for wool. I sell the wool and take in a little sewing for pocket money.”
Vicar Marsden’s paltry savings had never cropped into his mind. What had she done with the money extorted from the Eastbourne family over the past ten years?
“I suppose you think I should do a little sewing for myself,” she continued uncomfortably as he stared at her. She glanced down at her gown, shaking her head as though understanding it would never pass on close inspection.
“That would be presumptuous of me.”
“Indeed, it would, Lord Eastbourne. I do what I must to take care of Charlie. Some niceties aren’t as important as others. One must be practical–”
“And you’re ever the practical sort. No dreams or fanciful notions for you.” Was she about to bleed him for more money?
Her violet eyes momentarily flashed with pain. “Even I have fanciful dreams, just not the leisure time to dwell upon them.”
“Miss Marsden,” he said, folding his arms across his chest, “it is time to speak plainly. The boy cannot remain in this cold and isolated place. He belongs at Eastbourne with me. There’ll be servants to see to his every need, the best food available at the ring of a bell, a fine bed with satin sheets. The best doctors at his disposal.”
“Doctors have already examined Charlie. There’s no cure for his affliction.”
“Surely, something–”
“There isn’t, though it has taken me years to accept it. Now that I have, I’ve done everything possible to make his last days comfortable and happy. Had there been the slightest hope,” she said, her voice faltering, “I would have crawled on bended knee to your father, begged him to help. I did that once, early on when I believed it possible to cure Charlie.”
“Six years ago,” he said numbly.
A tear glistened in the corner of her eye, but she quickly wiped it away. “He refused to see me, probably destroyed the letter I left behind with his butler.”
“No, he didn’t.” Douglas recalled Julia’s note recovered among his father’s personal effects shortly after the old man had departed this world. It started with these few, simple words, “Your grandson is dying. I thought you should know.”
Julia glanced up in surprise as he proceeded to recite the entire content of the note from memory.
“I’ve read it so often, it’s etched in my brain,” Douglas admitted. Had his father destroyed the note, Douglas never would have known of Charlie’s existence. Lord, the odd turns life took! The war had ended about the same time as Julia had ventured to Eastbourne seeking help for the boy.
Douglas shook his head in dismay, realizing he had returned to England by then, might even have been at Eastbourne the day Julia sought audience with his dour father.
“I’m surprised your father kept my letter, for he made his feelings quite clear to me. Neither he nor your mother ever wished to set eyes upon their son’s illegitimate child.”
Douglas took a deep breath.
Illegitimate?
“Nor did you ever care about Charlie,” she said with open bitterness. “What brings you here now? Why is Charlie so important to you now?”
“Julia, I never knew of the boy until a few months ago. I happened upon your letter while sifting through my father’s papers shortly after his death.” He wanted to say more, but hesitated because it concerned Charlie and the fact that he was indeed very much alive. His existence had changed everything for Douglas.
Bonnie Charlie, as he’d overheard the baker refer to him earlier, was the son of Charles Hawke. Everyone believed him to be the illegitimate son of Charles Hawke.
Douglas’ older brother.
His deceased, older brother.
Who had married Julia’s cousin in a quiet, lawfully recognized ceremony before Charlie was conceived.
Which meant Charlie, not he, was the sixth Earl of Eastbourne.
Chapter 4
“Want to know a secret, Uncle Douglas?”
Douglas shifted onto his side, opened one eye, and stared into Charlie’s impish face. “Is it morning yet?”
“Hours ago,” the boy said, all freckles and smiles.
“Bloody hell,” Douglas muttered under his breath. He was exhausted, having hardly slept a wink, for his own secrets had kept him awake most of the night.
He let out a groan.
Charlie took it as his assent and whispered, “King Cadeyrn wishes to meet you.”
And he wished to meet the faerie king, this nonexistent being who had wreaked havoc on him and raised fear in Julia’s eyes last night. “When?”
“Now.”
He groaned again.
“Well, do you, Uncle Douglas?”
Lord, what was he thinking? Faeries? Music, honeysuckle, and beautiful maidens? There had to be a logical explanation for those odd events – and heaven help Julia if she was behind any of the trickery. He wasn’t going to let her distract him from his purpose.
Yet he’d seen genuine fear in her eyes. Or was she that good an actress? “Give me a moment, Charlie.”
“How long do you need?”
“Just enough time to clear the cobwebs from my head,” he said with a chuckle. “I never make important decisions before I’m thoroughly awake.”
“That sounds like something Julia would say,” the boy grumbled.
“Julia,” he repeated her name softly. He’d spent a deuced awful night in Vicar Marsden’s hard bed, very much aware of her presence in the room beside his and very much uncertain as to how to proceed. All along, he’d believed Julia was aware of the Eastbourne’s dirty secret and blackmailing his parents in exchange for her silence.
He’d come here to end the threat, to take the boy home and accept him as the rightful earl, but last night’s conversation had revealed the family secret was safe. Julia, despite her possible acting talents, believed the boy was illegitimate, the result of an indiscretion between her misguided cousin, Laura Marsden, and his brother, Charles. A nuisance, an embarrassment, but nothing more.
A bastard.
If she believed it, then no one but he, his mother, and the senior Mr. Twombly of Twombly & Hooke, his father’s solicitors, knew the truth. And neither his mother nor his solicitor would ever tell. To them, Laura Marsden was a nobody, and her son – they never referred to Charlie by name – was a crippled creature who ought to have died years ago.
Damn them.
Damn himself, as well. Douglas gazed into the boy’s innocent countenance and knew he could have it all… the boy, the earldom, the wealth and power, as long as he continued the family lie.