by Candace Camp
This new desire to stroke his face or brush back his hair must come from the days she’d spent nursing him back to health—judging his temperature with a palm against his forehead, washing his face and chest with a cooling rag to quell his fever, rubbing his scalp to ease a headache. Touching him had become familiar. Easy.
And she liked it. There was a deep sensual pleasure in running her fingers through his thick, soft hair, in pressing her fingertips against his scalp, and it gave her a visceral satisfaction to watch his face soften and relax as she did so.
It warmed her, too, to slide her arm around his waist, his side against hers all the way up and down. To drag a damp cloth across his chest, feeling the padding of muscle and hardness of bone beneath his skin.
She must be a sensualist, given to unladylike pleasures—look at the way she had responded to his kisses when he was in a delirium. Without any love for the man, she had caressed him, kissed him, trembled at his touch. Truth was, she wished deep down that he had not stopped.
Laura returned to the fire and the lengthy process of brushing out her hair. She turned her thoughts to her accident this afternoon. It was enough to make one suspicious, given the attempt on James’s life.
However, it took only a few minutes’ reflection to see how unlikely it was that someone arranged it. Perhaps, in the short time between Tessa suggesting the idea and Laura leaving the house, one of the others could have sneaked down to the stables and tampered with the brake mechanism.
But how could Claude or anyone else have arranged for a bee to sting one of the horses at the top of that hill and set it off on a run? The idea was ludicrous. And to what purpose? She doubted James had told anyone how much of his fortune he was leaving to Laura. They would assume she had only a relatively small widow’s portion. No, she was simply starting at shadows. Thank heavens Graeme had not leapt to the same cynical thoughts, or he would have insisted on telling James about it.
She continued to brush her hair. It was a soothing, almost hypnotic ritual.
“I’ve kept you from practicing.” James’s voice from the bed startled Laura from her reverie.
She jumped, banging the brush against her scalp, and turned to him, fearful his mind was wandering again. “What?”
“Your music. Violin in the mornings. Piano in the music room. Sometimes I’d stop and listen.”
“Why didn’t you come in?”
“I didn’t want to disturb you.”
“I invited you one day, if you’ll remember.” Laura went over to the bed. “Do you like music?”
“I haven’t any talent for it, but I enjoy listening. I’m fond of Mozart. Among current composers, I like Tchaikovsky.”
“Really?” It came as no surprise that James would like the crisp mathematical precision of Mozart’s music, but she would not have guessed he was drawn to the more florid, emotional Russian compositions.
“What? You thought I wouldn’t enjoy a little bombast?” he asked, correctly interpreting where her surprise lay.
“Then you’ve heard the 1812 Overture.”
“Indeed. In London a month ago.”
“I should like to hear it. I’ve read about it.”
“I’ll take you. We’ll go to London. See everything you want to.”
“I’d like that.” She bent over him, her loose hair falling down over his chest and arm, as she pressed her palm to his face. “How are you feeling?”
“Better.”
“That’s good to hear.” She slid her fingers into his hair, fingertips rubbing his scalp. She was, she knew, giving in to her odd need to touch him, but there was no reason he had to know that. “Your head aching?”
James made a soft noise and closed his eyes, nestling his head against her hand. “Yes.”
“Did you have a good visit with Graeme and the dowager countess?”
“I came out unscathed, which with Lady Eugenia means it went well. She gave me her thoughts on who was trying to murder me.”
“I don’t suppose it occurred to her not to upset you?”
“Graeme was a little upset by it.” James shrugged and slid up to a sitting position, pulling away from her hand, and leaned back against the massive headboard.
She quirked up an eyebrow as she straightened and stepped back. “It didn’t bother you at all, I take it.”
“Sad to say, I’m apparently as insensitive as the dowager countess. I’ll admit it took me back a bit at first to think someone in my family wants me dead.” James’s tone was light, but it sent a pang through Laura’s chest. “I mean, not just in a general I-wish-you-weren’t-here way, but in a very specific, final knife-through-the-heart fashion.”
“We needn’t talk about this right now. Later, when you’re feeling better . . .”
“No, I think I must.” He gave her a faint smile. “I’d rather they not succeed. So it would seem the only recourse is to find him and stop him.”
“Very well.” She sat down on the bed beside him. “Who—do you have any idea who it is?”
“As you’re the one who stopped it, I think it’s safe to assume it’s not you.”
“James! Don’t even joke about such a thing.”
“My guess is my loving brother. It’s Claude who will inherit the title and the estate. Until I married you, he doubtless assumed I would leave him all the rest, as well—or at least the bulk of it.”
“There could be other reasons. Other people.”
“You’re saying there are a number of people who would like to see me dead?”
“No.” She grimaced. “I didn’t mean that. But it would be careless not to look at other possibilities. The apothecary could have added the mercury to your treatment.”
“True, but why? I hardly know the man. Besides, it would be rather hard for him to put the pan of mercury beneath my bed unnoticed. I think it must be someone here. Besides my family, that leaves only the servants. Any one of them could have been bribed, obviously.”
“A big risk to take for a bribe,” Laura pointed out. “They’d face the gallows if caught.”
“That’s one reason I’m inclined to put the staff at the bottom of my list. That leaves my family.”
“And Mr. Netherly.”
“The poet?” He snorted. “Yes, I suppose he could have done it, though I don’t see how it would help him in any way. That leaves us with the family. It’s the near and dear who would benefit most.”
“I think we can exempt your mother.”
“One would hope.”
“But you left money for all the others. Even if it is in a trust, it would mean more money—and one could easily assume that the trustees might be easier to persuade than you.”
“Yes. The same would apply for Sir Laurence’s trust. If I am gone, it would fall to his attorney and our banker, with his friend Blankenship as the third trustee. Everyone knows Blankenship is a soft touch, and our banker is more or less putty in Mother’s hands. No doubt she could talk them into any idiotic thing Patricia or Walter wants.”
“Claude doesn’t receive money from it?”
“No. Claude got his share. He was already twenty-one, and he’s never been a spendthrift. Sir Laurence wanted to protect Patricia’s funds from Archie. Walter was still quite young, and money goes through Tessa’s hands like water. Those were his major concerns.”
“Does that mean that Walter will get his portion when he reaches a certain age?”
James nodded. “At twenty-one, he gets one third, another third at twenty-five, then the rest at thirty.”
“So he will be coming into money fairly soon. It would be easier, not to mention safer, to wait.”
“True. But Walter’s hallmark is his impulsivity. Maybe he’s too impatient to wait another year. Besides, the amount he receives at twenty-one is subject to the trustees’ approval. We have to agree that he’s mature enough to handle it.”
“Ah. He might fear you would withhold his money.”
“If he was smart, he would. I’ve had t
o buy him out of enough scrapes to harbor some doubts on the issue. Remember, Walter is the one who usually brought my tonic from the apothecary, so he had the best chance to doctor it.”
“Yes, but after he brought it home, it was sitting in the cabinet, where anyone could have added something to it. It’s hard for me to picture Walter wanting to do away with you. He was the most concerned about your health. He offered to help; he looked in on you frequently.”
“Maybe he wanted to make certain his scheme was working.” James grinned faintly at her frown. “However, I’m inclined to agree with you that Walter is not our villain. I don’t think he’d have the nerve.” He tilted his head. “Who would be your choice for the culprit?”
Laura’s response was immediate. “Mr. Salstone. He would control any money your sister inherits, wouldn’t he?”
“Ah, yes, the inimitable Archibald Salstone.” James’s narrow smile was a little chilling. “I’d like it to be Archie, too.” He toyed idly with the ruffle that ran around the hem of her skirt. Laura was tinglingly aware of his fingers, so close to her leg yet not touching her. “I would wager his dislike of me outstrips even Claude’s. And because of our dear Archie, Patricia’s trust was set up not to ever distribute the principal to her. It will continue for her children and eventually be given outright to them.”
“So Archie’s only chance of getting money is the good graces of the trustees?”
“Yes. And my graces are generally not deemed very good.” He sighed. “The problem is, it’s a subtle scheme, and subtlety is not something Archie possesses. Neither he nor my sister is clever. Now Walter is devious—look at all his pranks.”
“Rather more harmless than plotting to murder one’s brother.”
“So . . .” Laura settled into a more comfortable position on the bed, resting her back against a post at the foot of the bed and stretching her legs out in front of her, so that she and James faced each other. “The fact is, all of them had a reason to do it. It needn’t be a compelling motive, only compelling to them. Perhaps we should approach it from a different direction.”
“Which of them had access to mercury?”
“Exactly.” Laura beamed at his ready understanding.
“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” James chuckled. “Who would have thought you’d have such a taste for the macabre?”
“I’m not enjoying the reason for it,” Laura denied, then admitted, “But, that aside, it’s rather an interesting puzzle.”
He leaned back, watching her, his lips curved in a way that sent odd sizzles through her. “So it is. Go on, fair sleuth.”
Laura cleared her throat, doing her best to ignore the sensations he caused in her. “Why would any of them know the effects of mercury?”
“I can’t imagine. I had no idea it was lethal, and I can assure you that I am a scholar compared to my siblings.”
“I would think he must have had some experience with mercury.”
“And possess patience. It’s not a quick method.”
“Not to mention a great capacity for cruelty,” Laura added hotly. “If it was someone in this house, they were watching your illness progress. They knew full well how it made you suffer.”
“Mm. I would think that was probably part of the reason for it.”
“How can you be so calm about it?”
“Would it help if I were irate?” he asked reasonably. “Anger clouds one’s thinking.”
“Yes, but how can you make yourself not feel it?”
“Years of practice, my dear.” James smiled and patted her leg. “I’ll let you carry the indignation standard for both of us. You do it well.”
His hand was warm, even through the layers of her clothes, and Laura was so conscious of it, it was difficult to keep her thoughts on the matter at hand. She wondered if James even noticed. No doubt he was able to divorce himself from that as ably as he did from other feelings.
Not, of course, that she wanted him to notice, much less to act upon it. Anger was not the only emotion that clouded one’s thinking. It was better that he wanted her as little as she wanted him . . . except, of course, that she was increasingly unsure how little she wanted him.
Her thoughts went involuntarily to that night when he had been out of his mind with fever, when he kissed her in a way that made her feel limp all over even now, just thinking about it. His hands on her body, firm and sure, his weight on her, pressing her into the soft mattress, as his mouth consumed hers. It was all very indecent—and even more indecent to be sitting here daydreaming about it.
James apparently noticed where his hand was, for he jerked it back abruptly. And that, she supposed, was a clear indication of how little his emotions ran in the same direction as hers. Good heavens, what was the matter with her?
She barely knew the man, had never liked him, and a few weeks ago she would have been shocked to her toes to even think of what they had done the other night. Worse, he wasn’t well, as was obvious from his shadowed eyes and too-thin face—even if those things did give his face a certain tantalizing look of dissipation.
Laura dragged her thoughts from their wayward path to the subject at hand. “It’s hard to believe one of your brothers could do that to you, no matter how much he might resent you.”
“We’re not a close family.” He gave her a wry smile. “Claude and I have never done more than tolerate each other.”
“Why not?”
James shrugged. “I suppose because after my older brother died, I was destined to inherit everything.”
“I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you had an older brother.”
“Vincent died before you were even born. I don’t really remember him, aside from a vague recollection of the night he died. The doctor coming . . . my mother crying . . . my father—” He stopped.
“Your father what?”
“Nothing.” He shook his head. “Claude was several years younger than I. I always thought him an unnecessary nuisance.”
“That could explain his dislike of you.”
“It could,” James allowed. “But more likely, it’s because I’m not Sir Laurence’s son.”
chapter 23
A stunned silence followed his words. “I—what?” Laura said at last.
James shifted his position, glancing away. “I’m sorry. I don’t usually . . . I shouldn’t . . . oh, the devil, I don’t know why I told you.”
“Because it’s the truth?” Laura suggested.
“Yes, well, that’s usually the reason something’s secret.”
“So you are saying that Tessa . . .”
“Had an affair. Yes.” He leaned his head back, looking even more weary. “No doubt you can guess the father.”
Laura began to shake her head. “How would I—” She stopped, sucking in a quick breath. “Not—Graeme’s father? Are you saying Reginald was . . .”
“Yes. Helps to explain the close family resemblance, doesn’t it?”
“I—I don’t know what to say.”
“Not much to say.” He edged away, folding his arms. “I hope you will not think too badly of Tessa. I shouldn’t have told you; I’m usually better at minding my tongue.”
“I’m sure you are. I have no right to judge Tessa.” She paused, but couldn’t hold back her words. “It’s just—Mirabelle is her sister.”
“To be fair, Reginald was not yet married to Mirabelle at the time. Tessa and Sir Laurence had one of their usual rows, and she left him in London and stormed back to Grace Hill. There was the future Lord Montclair just down the road, a bachelor with an eye for the ladies and a sympathetic shoulder to cry on. Mother had done her dynastic duty by producing a son and heir in Vincent. Where was the harm, Reginald doubtless thought. Tessa’s reasoning would have been that it would serve Laurence right for being so heartless.
“A few months later, Aunt Mirabelle came to visit her sister and Reginald met her. Mirabelle hadn’t even made her debut. I presume he realized he’d found a better version of the s
ame woman—although no doubt my mother would claim that Reginald settled for her sister, knowing he couldn’t have her.”
“Or Graeme’s father was just a rake who liked beautiful women.”
“That, too. And Tessa is a woman who likes being liked.” He shrugged. “My parents, or rather, Sir Laurence and Tessa, were the worst possible people to be married. Absolute opposites.”
“It was a loveless marriage?”
James let out a bark of mirthless laughter. “Hardly. They were altogether too much in love. He was mad for her till the end. Anyone could see that. But they were nothing alike, and they brought out the worst in each other. Sir Laurence was a true de Vere, cold and logical, with, as Lady Eugenia would say, a deplorable talent for making money. My mother has little use for logic, and while she finds money useful for purchasing things, I think she believes it falls from the sky like manna.”
“Ah. I see. They argued over money.”
“Among a vast number of things. Sir Laurence was harsh and demanding; she was flighty and unreasonable. But at the base of it, it was all about one thing—love. Mother is an inveterate flirt. She lives to be admired, to beguile. Clearly there have been times when she went beyond flirtation, how often I don’t know and frankly don’t care to. Sir Laurence was jealous.”
“It makes a bad combination.”
“Bizarrely enough, in most ways he was much like me.”
Laura suspected that the truth was more that James had modeled himself on the man he thought was his father, but she said nothing.
“He was ruled by his head, not his heart. He couldn’t understand Mother’s vagaries, her moods, her love of drama and passion. His one passion was her, and in that he was trapped. Hopelessly lost.”
“Something you never wanted to be.”
“Something I am not, and I thank God for it.” His gaze slid over to her and away. “I don’t know why I’m telling you all this.”
“It does much to explain the gulf between you and Claude—between you and all of them. Have you always known?”