by Candace Camp
He shook his head. “When I was young, I thought Sir Laurence was my father. There was no reason not to, and everyone spoke of how alike we were. I had his head for numbers, his impatience, his . . . aloofness.” He slanted a wry glance at her. “You may find it hard to believe, but I was not a loving child.”
“No? I’m surprised. I would have thought you had a dog you loved.”
“I did.” James’s face lit up. “Maggie. I was three years old and scarcely reached her shoulders. She adopted me; I think I was more her pet than the other way round. Everyone else was terrified of her. Nurse nearly had apoplexy when I brought her into my room. But there was no budging Mags once she’d set her mind to something.”
“Or you, I’ll warrant.”
“Or me.”
“You said her name when you were in a fever.”
“I saw her— I suppose it was actually Dem. She was his grand—no, great-grandmother. Mother banished her from the nursery when Claude was born . . . even though I told her I was almost positive Mags wouldn’t eat the baby.”
Laura laughed. “I wonder why she wasn’t reassured.”
“Mags could be another reason for Claude’s animosity. As I remember, he and Patricia were frightened of her.”
“I’m sure you did nothing to dispel that fear.”
“Laura!” He widened his eyes dramatically. “How can you say that?”
“Because I remember you when you were young.”
“You do?” He looked surprised.
“Yes, you would come to see Graeme sometimes when Mama and I were visiting Mirabelle. I thoroughly disliked you.”
“Was I unkind to you? I do beg your pardon. I don’t remember.”
“Of course you don’t; I was merely that nuisance of a girl. When you were there, the two of you went off and did ‘boy’ things and I was not allowed to join you.”
“Ah. So I stole Graeme away from you.”
“Yes, you did, but I forgive you.” She paused. “When did you—how did you—”
“Find out I was a bastard?”
“You’re not.”
“Not legally. Sir Laurence acknowledged me. He may have wished otherwise once Claude came along, but he would never have shamed Tessa. It was when I was older, maybe thirteen or so; I overheard one of the servants say something about it, just an offhand remark, making a joke. But I realized what he meant.”
“I’m sorry.” Laura took his hand in hers, as she had so many times through his illness. “It must have hurt terribly.”
He shrugged. “It explained a lot of things. Why Sir Laurence often looked at me the way he did. Things he’d said that hadn’t made sense to me at the time. How happy he was when Claude was born. I must have been a constant reminder of his wife’s infidelity.”
Though his voice was even, as it nearly always was, Laura sensed the pain that threaded through it. She squeezed his hand. “Yet you were the one he left in charge.”
“Since he acknowledged me, I had to be the heir; I was eldest.”
“Only the title and this estate. You told me that was all that would go to Claude. Yet Sir Laurence gave you everything, did he not? Except for that fund for the others, which he put into your care.”
“I am the only one he could trust to handle the money wisely and not give in to their wishes.”
“I would think having earned the trust of someone like Sir Laurence would mean a good deal,” Laura said.
James glanced at her sharply, but he said only, “You can see why Claude resents me—getting all the things he thinks should be his.”
“If it’s unfair, it’s the law that makes it so—and Sir Laurence. It’s not your fault.”
“No. But he has to get rid of me to have what he thinks he’s owed.”
“True—but is he the sort of person who would kill his brother in order to get it?”
“Who else could it be? If the apothecary or a servant did it, it would have to be because someone paid them; I cannot imagine someone taking that kind of risk just because they didn’t like me. And while you can make something of a case for the trust beneficiaries, it is Claude who has the strongest motive.” He paused. “There’s another factor to consider. I got sick in London. Someone must have put a pan of the stuff under my bed there, as they did here.”
“Which would eliminate the servants—in both places. And anyone else who was at Grace Hill the whole time. Who was at the house in London at the time you grew ill?”
“I’m not sure. I was here when Graeme’s baby was born, and I returned to London a week or so later. Within days, I was sick. It must have been placed there while I was at Grace Hill or as soon as I returned. I don’t really remember who was in London then. Tessa, of course.” He paused, thinking. “Walter hasn’t been in the house in town since last year when he got sent down.”
“What about the others?”
“Patricia and Archie doubtless were in London during the Season, but they would have stayed at Lord Salstone’s home.”
“They would have called on your mother, though.”
“True. I can’t remember when Claude was last in London. My memory is still cloudy, I’m afraid.” He frowned.
“What about that man who’s your partner? Doesn’t he inherit something?”
“Caulfield?” His brows lifted. “Yes, the factory we own jointly will revert to him on my death. It was his family’s originally.”
“Then he profits by your death. Surely he calls on you in London.”
“Yes,” he agreed slowly, frowning. “He does. I have even sometimes wondered if he has a tendre for Mother.”
“You said he was a hard man.”
“Yes, he’d have the spine to do it and the intelligence. I wouldn’t have thought he had the animosity—but I’m beginning to question my ability to judge one’s character. He would be handy, wouldn’t he, if not as satisfying as blaming it on Salstone? Still, half of a business doesn’t seem enough for murder.”
“Part of a family business.”
“There are some people to whom that would matter quite a bit.” He sent her a silvery glance, the corner of his mouth quirked up, in that look that did odd things to her insides. “Care to place a wager on it? My money’s on Claude. Who’s your man, Archie or Caulfield?”
“I don’t prefer either one.” Irritation sparked in her. “Really, James, you want to take bets on the identity of your murderer?”
“Would-be murderer, one hopes. Come, it will make it more entertaining.”
“Entertaining!” Laura scrambled off the bed, her annoyance flaring into anger. “How can you—after all this—and you’re joking about it? I have been here night after night, watching you struggle to breathe, listening to you converse with people who aren’t there, worried every second that you—” Her voice caught, her eyes suddenly filling with tears. “Oh, blast.”
She whirled to walk off, but James caught her wrist. “Laura, no. Wait.” He stood up, tugging her back. “Don’t cry. Please.” His hand curved around her cheek, tilting her face up. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think—I’m a wretch. An idiot.” He smoothed his thumb across her cheek, wiping away the tear that trickled down. “I would not hurt you for the world. And yet somehow I always do.”
“I realize you like to pretend that nothing matters, that you care for nothing, even your own life. But I do care. I’ve been so worried.”
“I know. You are an angel. I promise you, I didn’t mean to make light of what you did for me. I was just . . . being too much myself.” His thumb caressed her cheek again. “Sweet girl. Don’t waste your tears on me.” His eyes moved over her face, his hand sliding down to her neck, cupping it. “Laura . . .” His voice changed, suddenly huskier.
He said her name again, little more than a whisper, and she felt the brush of his breath against her skin. Then he kissed her.
chapter 24
James curved over her, fitting her body to his, and Laura melted into him. His lips were warm and gently insiste
nt, opening her mouth. He slid his hand down her back, following the curve in, then out, his caress as soft and inviting as his mouth. Their kiss deepened, his tongue tangling with hers, and Laura felt the surge of heat in his body.
His fingertips pressed into the soft flesh of her buttocks, and his other arm wrapped around her waist, locking her to him. Laura’s heart pounded madly. She was awash in sensual pleasure, her mind a blank. James changed the angle of their kiss, his lips harder, fiercer. His hand strayed over her, coming up to cup her breast.
Laura’s body responded, her nipple tightening beneath his touch and warmth blossoming between her legs. She wanted to touch him, to slide her hands over his chest and up his neck, to feel the glide of his hair through her fingers. The way he held her had shackled her arms to her sides. Laura shifted to pull one hand up through the circle of his embrace, pushing his arm aside a little, to reach his chest. James froze.
He lifted his head abruptly and stared down at her for a startled moment, his gaze the gray of storms. He jerked back from her with a low curse. Laura couldn’t move, just stared at him with her lips still parted, too surprised, too full of conflicting emotions, to even think, let alone speak.
“I’m sorry.” James swung away. “I shouldn’t—I didn’t mean to—” He shoved his hands back into his hair. After a moment, he cleared his throat and turned around to face her. His posture was stiff, his face remote. “I apologize. I have no excuse other than I am . . . not myself, as you know.”
“Yes, of course.” Laura’s own face was so stiff she thought it might crack. She felt almost literally ill, her stomach fluttering with all the emotions that had torn at her for the past week, mingling with the desire and pleasure that had flooded her with his kiss. She was in a state of confusion, but one thing was perfectly plain—James regretted kissing her.
“It won’t happen again.” James pressed on, as if she had expressed disbelief. “You have my word. You are not . . .” He paused, as if casting about for something to say.
“I am not a woman whom you would consider in that way,” Laura finished for him, her voice crisp. “I understand. The boundaries of our marriage were perfectly clear.”
“No.” He frowned. “I mean yes, I am clear about the boundaries. But—” He stopped, his face a study in frustration. He turned and strode over to the fireplace to stare moodily into its low flames.
Laura turned in the opposite direction and caught sight of herself in the mirror. She looked like a slattern, her hair loose and hanging all about. Reaching up, she braided her hair with trembling fingers. She wished she could bring her life into order as easily.
What a wretched day this had been—and how foolish and selfish it was of her to think that way when James was so much better. Flushing with shame, Laura glanced at James, still turned away from her, gazing fixedly at the mantel.
“I, um, if you’ll excuse me, I must see to some things.” Without waiting for a response, Laura turned and fled from the room.
James sagged, one hand gripping the mantel. Demosthenes, who had entered the room as Laura left, trotted over to him, giving his free hand a helpful nudge. James glanced down and ran his hand over the dog’s head. “I made an utter mess of that, didn’t I?”
He hadn’t set out to kiss her. Doubtless Laura would not believe it, but he had intended nothing except to apologize. He had been filled with an unaccustomed tenderness, a bittersweet regret at causing her to cry, combined with a pleased and amazed awareness that talk of his dying should upset her.
It had been sheer, unthinking instinct to kiss her, a soft reassurance and apology and expression of gratitude, all the things he could not bring himself to say. But then, touching her, tasting her, had been so sweet he wanted more. The flash of tenderness had turned to hunger, and he had responded as he had this morning in his sleep. Instinct was a dangerous thing.
It had taken Laura pushing against his arm, her palm on his chest trying to ward him off, to awaken him to reality, to realize that he had been on the verge of breaking his promises to her. Clearly his illness had affected his mind. How else to explain the absence of his usual control?
It was only natural to want her—what man wouldn’t? Laura was a beauty. That fall of golden hair around her shoulders, loose and soft and fine, beckoned one’s fingers to sink into it. The curve of her lips . . . the curves of her body . . . the satiny skin, all cream and rose. A man would have to be a saint not to want her, and James was anything but a saint.
But he should have been able to conquer it. He should have thought, considered, weighed the rewards and the consequences. He was not an impulsive man; he wasn’t ruled by his senses. He was always able to leash his hunger.
Today, though, kissing her had seemed so good, so right, that it bypassed his mind altogether. Perhaps, he thought, it was because the kiss had come from something other than mere physical desire. He wasn’t accustomed to heat and hunger spreading through him from his chest rather than his groin. He wasn’t used to such a wash of emotion.
And he didn’t like it. The more he thought about it, the more he realized it was a distinctly uncomfortable feeling.
This strange turmoil inside him would change, surely, as he regained his health. His sickness had left him thin-skinned, his barriers lowered, too slow of thought to maintain his equilibrium. Soon he would be back to himself. But what was he to do right now?
His first thought—that damnable instinct again—was to find a way around those promises he’d made to Laura. He could try to woo Laura into his bed, convince her to change their agreement. Surely he was not incapable of charm if he set his mind to it.
But it made him uneasy to think of inveigling Laura into something she didn’t want. The last thing he wanted was to deceive Laura or set her against him. After all she had done for him, it would be reprehensible to try to escape his part of the bargain.
From the start Laura had made it clear she didn’t desire him—indeed, was repelled by him. Truth be known, it had stung to be told nothing would induce her to bed him, but it had been easy enough to agree to her conditions. It was a bitter irony that Laura’s excellent care had brought him back to life, making him ache to ignore those boundaries. By saving him she had condemned herself to a lifetime with him.
No. He would not indulge himself at her expense. He would stick to their bargain and he would make that clear to her. James sank into the chair beside the bed, suddenly swamped with weariness. Dem settled his head on James’s leg and watched him soulfully. James stroked the silky head, smoothing out the wrinkles in the way the dog particularly liked. What he must do was obvious. It was both foolish and unlike him to be reluctant.
When Laura returned to the room sometime later, James rose from his chair to face her. He found the words irrationally hard to get out, but he forced himself to say, “It’s time for me to move back into my room.”
chapter 25
“What?” Laura stared, her stomach tightening. It had taken her several minutes strolling through the garden to even out her nerves, and already James had destroyed her calm. “No! It’s not safe. I didn’t dispose of the mercury.”
“Then we must get rid of it. I cannot continue to hide in here.”
Laura swallowed the protest that rose in her throat. He was right, of course; their life must revert to a normal state at some point. No doubt James felt caged and uncomfortable here. It was absurd, really, to feel this stab of hurt. “Still, you must give the room time to air out.”
“In a few days then.” James was all business now, the dispassionate man she had known before.
“Very well. You intend to reveal that we found the mercury?” Laura was determined that she could be as matter-of-fact as he.
“I suppose I’ll have to.” He frowned. “Though I’d like to have some proof of who is responsible before I do anything.”
“What do you intend to do?” Laura asked.
“I don’t know.”
“It’s good to see you have a well-t
hought-out plan.”
A reluctant smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Clearly you’re going to force me to think.” He rubbed his forehead.
“Do you have a headache?” Laura took a step toward him. “Shall I massage your head again?”
James moved back a step. “No. Best not.” He began to pace. “I’ll go down to dinner tomorrow.” He held up a hand to forestall her. “I know you think I’m too weak. But so do they, and I want to surprise them. I need to judge their reactions.” Laura crossed her arms, jaw set stubbornly, and glared at him. He sighed. “Very well. I’ll wait two days.”
“I’ll agree to that.” Though James wasn’t even close to fully recovered, Laura had learned how far his will could take him. And she would be there to help him if he had trouble. “You intend to keep everyone uninformed about your progress until then?”
“If possible. I’ve either been asleep or pretended to be whenever anyone comes in. So all they know is that I haven’t died. You didn’t tell anyone I had improved, did you?”
Laura shook her head. “No one except Graeme and his family. They wouldn’t have said anything, knowing you are in danger, not even Mirabelle.”
“Everyone views their visit today as a ‘last good-bye’?”
“Yes.” The words sent a shiver through Laura.
“I made it clear to Owen that he must not gossip with the other servants about my condition. I dangled a permanent position as my valet as a carrot, so I think he will keep his mouth shut.”
“What about this evening? I imagine Walter will visit you again, and Tessa. Claude usually comes to see you in the evening, as well.”
“Checking to see how his plan is progressing, no doubt.”
“James, you don’t know that.”
“Why are you so protective of Claude?” He raised an eyebrow.
“I’m not. I just—I don’t want it to be one of your siblings,” Laura admitted. “Do you? Honestly?”
“Well, if you’re going to insist on honesty . . .” He sighed, shrugging a shoulder. “No, I’d rather it not be one of them. But I cannot let sentimentality interfere with my thinking.”