A Momentary Marriage

by Candace Camp

  “I beg your pardon.” He scowled. “I’ve never run from anything.”

  “No?” Laura stepped forward. “You are running. From me.”

  “From you? Don’t be absurd. You think I’m afraid of you?” James gave a scornful laugh.

  “I think you’re afraid of how you feel,” she retorted. “You want to stay alone and locked up, secure in your isolation.”

  “Rubbish.”

  “I don’t think so.” She faced him, eyes bright, the truth burning like a flame in her. “You almost lost me tonight, and it scared you. That’s why you’re so angry. So wild.”

  “That’s nonsense.”

  “Is it? Then why are you trying to escape? You’re scared of the emotion you feel. Scared to death of it. You’re afraid to admit it, even to yourself.”

  James curled his lip. “Afraid to admit what?”

  “That you love me.”

  James went still, his silence filling the room. Finally, in a voice as cool and final as death, he said, “That, my dear, is where you are wrong.”

  He strode from the room, leaving Laura standing in numb silence behind him.

  chapter 38

  James sat across from his brother in the carriage, pretending an icy calm he didn’t feel. Claude, after muttering, “Don’t see why we have to flee in the night like criminals,” contented himself with crossing his arms over his chest and glowering at James. Claude’s resentment and anger didn’t bother James; the hard, cold knot in the pit of his stomach did.

  He was furious at everyone—at Claude, at himself for having placed her in danger, at Graeme for being there to save her when James himself was helpless to do so, at Laura for turning for help to someone other than him. And overlaying it all was the cold, sick terror that seized him as he saw the urn tumbling toward her, the emptiness that lurked beneath his fury.

  His mind skittered away from that thought. Better to dwell on Claude and his perfidy. Concentrate on what he needed to do. First he must find where Claude had hidden the mercury in the town house and dispose of it. Since he could not watch his brother constantly, he should hire a detective to follow Claude when he left the house. And, not at all the least of it, he needed to locate someone who would carry out his threat against Claude.

  James had considered simply bluffing about the assassin and trusting that it would keep his brother in line. But James wasn’t the sort of man who left anything to chance. Besides, if Claude managed to harm Laura—he could feel that hard lump in his stomach clenching even more tightly—James wanted him dead.

  He turned his eyes to Claude, and something of what he was thinking must have shown in his gaze, because Claude shifted in his seat, the sullen expression on his face flaring into anger.

  “You’re a fool, you know,” Claude growled. James didn’t answer, merely lifted his brows in that condescending way he knew infuriated his brother. “If your wife is really in any danger, which I doubt, you’ve just left her unprotected.”

  “Demosthenes is with her, in case you’ve hired someone to do the job you bungled.”

  “I didn’t do anything to her. It’s ludicrous. I’m sure it was only an accident.”

  “Two accidents in the space of what, a month, six weeks? I think not.”

  “You don’t know that anyone deliberately pushed that urn. Someone could have stumbled and fallen against it. They’d have been too bloody scared to admit it once you started ranting and raving. Or maybe the weight of it broke the railing.”

  “I checked; the railing is sturdy. The urn’s too heavy for a mere stumble to overset it. And you were missing from the ballroom. In fact, you were on the upper floor.”

  “Everyone else was in the ballroom at the time it happened? I suppose you noted every face there.” Claude sneered. “No. You just looked for me—the man you wanted to accuse.”

  “The man who had a motive.”

  “How do you think I arranged a carriage accident? Brakes fail all the time, and that hill is steep. Horses bolting at just the right moment is a bit chancy for a murder method, don’t you think?”

  “I don’t know what made the horses bolt. There are several things that could do it. Perhaps a loud noise startled them or you threw a rock at them.”

  “Threw a rock! You think I was standing beside the road, tossing rocks at them, and no one noticed me? Why in the hell would I want to kill your wife? I know nothing about the woman other than that she was foolish enough to marry you.”

  “Why? Because she stands between you and what you want. You would have been content with killing just me, but when I married her, I put her in your way.”

  “Now I’m supposed to have tried to murder you, as well? I somehow gave you a brain tumor?”

  “You provided the poison that nearly killed me. You were in the London house when it was hidden there.”

  “Poison! What do you mean, ‘hidden’? Where?”

  James ignored him, plowing ahead. “Unfortunately I was too foolish and blind to believe you would go after Laura next. I thought your lifelong hatred of me had driven you more than greed. I should have realized that you would find Laura a grave danger to your plans. All she has to do is bear me a son, and the title is no longer yours.”

  Claude stared at him for a long moment. “You believe I would kill two people in order to get the title? Murder my own brother?”

  “It isn’t as if we have a close fraternal bond.”

  Claude snorted. “How could we? You had no interest in any of us. All you ever cared about was your true brother. The mighty Earl of Montclair. You were really a Parr, much too good for us mere de Veres.”

  “What?” James’s eyebrows soared upward. “When have I ever laid claim to being a Parr? You think I liked being one of ‘Randy Reggie’s’ by-blows? Knowing that Sir Laurence hated the sight of me?” James heard the rising sound of his voice and clamped his mouth shut.

  “Father hated you? Oh, poor James. How unfortunate your life has been. You inherited a title you didn’t deserve, not to mention a house and estate. Our mother doted on you because you were his son, the man she truly loved. And Father favored you in every way imaginable. I am the oldest de Vere; I should have been the one to inherit. But he would never disclaim you. You were his prodigy, his shining son.”

  “What drivel. I was nothing to Sir Laurence but a daily reminder of his wife’s infidelity.”

  “Then why did he claim you as his own even though it would make you the heir?”

  “He would never have shamed Mother that way. He loved her.”

  “He didn’t have to set you up to run everything, to oversee the trust, to manage his money, the businesses. That would have been no shame to her. He did it because you were his favorite. Because you are the one who resembles her. Every time he looked into your eyes, he saw the woman he loved more than anything else in the world.”

  “You don’t know anything. Vincent was the child he loved. You weren’t around when he died. I was. I saw the way Sir Laurence looked at me. I watched him weep for Vincent. I heard him say, ‘Now I have no son.’ I have no idea how he felt about you. But I know how he felt about me. I was, much to his chagrin, the one most like him in thought and temperament. The one he knew who would take care of the finances properly, even advance them. The only one he trusted to be hard enough to handle the trustee’s duties. He gave me the responsibility, but he never gave me his love.”

  James looked away, all the anger that had carried him gone, leaving him exhausted. Claude, too, seemed out of words and wrath. The brothers were silent the rest of the way into London.

  chapter 39

  Laura awoke feeling sore all over. Looking at the emptiness beside her, she wished she could close her eyes and go back to sleep. How completely her life had changed in the course of one night.

  James’s words had pierced her. She suspected he was lying—whether to her or to himself, she wasn’t sure—but it had cut deeply to hear him say he didn’t love her. Worse, he didn’t want to
care for her. He wanted to be far away from her.

  She was tempted to avoid breakfast, but she knew she had to face the aftermath of last night’s events. Besides, she was mundanely hungry—clearly she hadn’t the makings of a tragic heroine.

  Breakfast was as bad as she feared it would be. Adelaide, unsurprisingly, was sullen and quiet. Tessa, red-eyed, kept dabbing her handkerchief to her eyes while Netherly tried to console her with poetic words. Archie seized the chance to hold forth on James’s unfairness, Claude’s slyness, and the unlikelihood that anyone had tried to kill Laura.

  Walter finally slammed the butt of his knife down on the table. “Stop! Good Gad, Salstone, can’t you keep your mouth shut?”

  The uncharacteristic outburst so startled Archie that he lapsed into silence. Adelaide gave a sob and jumped up from the table and ran from the room. Patricia followed her, presumably to provide comfort. After that the others began to leave, as well.

  Laura started to rise, too, but Walter said, “No, Laura, please stay. I’d like to talk to you, if I may.”

  “Of course.”

  Walter moved over to sit beside her. “I am so sorry about . . . everything.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Please don’t take it amiss, but I cannot believe that Claude tried to kill you.”

  Laura gave him a soft smile. “That’s only natural; he’s your brother. I’m not sure myself. I hate to think that James’s brother would try to kill either of us, but he is the one who would profit most by our deaths. And he was upstairs when it happened.”

  “But there were other people who weren’t in the ballroom, including me. The party was breaking up.” He sighed. “I do wish James hadn’t taken off with Claude like that. It’s not like him to be so impulsive.”

  “I’m not sure James was thinking clearly last night.”

  “No, of course not. He was distraught about you. The thing is, I don’t believe Claude did it, which means whoever did it is still here. And James is gone! I don’t know what to do. You’re in danger, and God knows how much help I’d be.”

  “James left Dem here.”

  “Yes, I saw him in the hallway. But Dem couldn’t have protected you from those other ‘accidents.’ ”

  “Neither could James,” Laura pointed out.

  “That’s why we must find the culprit before he tries again. Even worse now, if he succeeds, it’ll mean two deaths, because James will blame Claude.”

  “You really think James would do that?”

  “I imagine so,” Walter said matter-of-factly. “He’s rather fierce, you know, about the people he loves.” He gave her a half-sad smile. “I tell myself that’s why he gets angry with me for getting into trouble.”

  Laura wasn’t sure she qualified as one of the people James loved right now, but she said only, “I’m sure he loves you. James just . . . isn’t very good at showing it.”

  “He asked me about my manuscripts the other day,” Walter said shyly. “He said he would read one of them.” His grin broadened. “And he told me I didn’t have to go back to school if I didn’t want to. I nearly fainted.”

  “You see? He cares about you. All of you. I think that’s why he hasn’t done anything before now about Claude; he couldn’t bring himself to accuse Claude, no matter how logical it was.”

  “Claude wouldn’t kill him. He certainly wouldn’t do it in cold blood. And to do it in such a way, seeing James die by inches. No. Claude can be hard. He resents James and he’s often bitter, but he’s not cruel.”

  “Then who could it be? That’s the sticking point. Who else would benefit from James dying? I have no trouble accepting that Mr. Salstone is that cruel, and he might be wicked enough to murder just to gain a laxer trustee than James for Patricia’s funds. But why would he try to kill me? It would gain him nothing, and it seems a large risk to take merely because he dislikes me.”

  “It was a risk certainly. Someone could have seen him going in or out.” He sighed. “Unfortunately, no one did.”

  “Perhaps they really were accidents.”

  “It seems unlikely that urn would have fallen by itself. And we know someone plotted James’s death.” His face took on a determined expression. “I must investigate it. I can’t let James and Claude be at odds. Even if it turns out it was Claude, I have to know.”

  “I’ll help you.” Laura stood up. “Where shall we start?”

  They went first to the balcony, which lay off a little-used sitting room near the nursery wing. At the sound of their footsteps, Robbie popped out of one of the rooms farther down the corridor. “Hullo!”

  “Hullo, Robbie,” Walter greeted him cheerfully. “Learning anything yet?”

  “No,” Robbie returned proudly as he trotted down the hall toward them. “Will you take me down to the castle this afternoon? Miss Barstow says I cannot go alone, and Papa’s gone to London with Uncle James. I heard Uncle James and Papa had a mill last night. Did they?” He lifted his fists and launched into a pantomime of punching.

  “Who told you that?” Walter asked.

  “Nobody. I heard Mr. Netherly talking.”

  “You hear entirely too much,” Walter responded. “Hasn’t anyone told you not to go listening at doors?”

  The boy laughed, showing his gap-toothed grin. “Then I wouldn’t learn anything!”

  The governess rushed down the hall after Robbie, looking harried. “Robbie!” She bobbed a curtsey to Walter and Laura. “Beg your pardon, sir. Ma’am.”

  She hauled the boy back to his studies, scolding him in a low voice. Walter, watching them go, said, “He’s not a bad little chap, whatever Patsy says. He just gets bored.”

  As they continued down the hall, a man trotted up from the back staircase and emerged into the hallway. He paused, looking startled, when he saw the two of them, but he recovered quickly. “ ‘Ah, what light through yonder window breaks . . .’ ” He swept an elegant bow toward Laura. “Lady de Vere. What a pleasure to see you.”

  “Netherly,” Walter replied sourly, and turned away, steering Laura into the sitting room across the hallway. “Jumped-up poseur,” he muttered under his breath. “I don’t know how Mother puts up with him.”

  “What’s Mr. Netherly doing up here?” Laura wondered.

  “Dropping in to flirt with Miss Barstow, I’d guess. You heard Robbie repeating something he said.”

  “He’s flirting with the governess? What about his mad passion for your mother?”

  Walter snorted. “Mad passion for foisting himself on society, I’d say. Miss Barstow’s not the only female he pursues. He’s always sneaking about, bothering the maids. I even heard Adelaide dressing him down about it the other day. Insult to Mother, but of course, nobody wants to hurt her by telling her about it.”

  He turned around, surveying the bland room where they stood. “We’re right over the ballroom. Balcony’s out those French doors.” He pointed. “Easy enough to nip up here if one used those back stairs Netherly just came up. Of course, the culprit would risk being seen by the servants.”

  “The servants were busy running back and forth to the ballroom. I doubt they would have paid any attention to the stairs.”

  “He could get back to the ballroom quickly afterward, too. People might not even notice he’d been gone.”

  Laura nodded. “Which makes one wonder why Claude would still be hanging about upstairs if he was the culprit.”

  “Very true.”

  Walter opened the double-paned doors and they stepped outside. The balcony was built on the roof of the terrace. Slightly more narrow than the terrace below, it made a perfect spot to drop something onto anyone standing at the balustrade beneath it. There were four square stone posts, and all but one held round stone urns filled with red geraniums.

  Walter pushed tentatively at one, but it didn’t even budge until he put his shoulder into it. “You’d have to push it hard. Bound to be intentional.”

  They left the balcony, deep in thought. Finally Laura sai
d, “But how did they manage to wreck the carriage? It was done on the spur of the moment. No one knew I was going for a ride, including me, until that morning.”

  “They had two or three hours. Plenty of time to sabotage the brake slipper. It wouldn’t take much—just damage the chain so it comes off under stress.”

  “Wouldn’t someone notice a member of the household sneaking about in the carriage house?”

  Walter shrugged. “No one would think anything about it if he was dressed for riding. Just nip into the carriage house when no one is looking.”

  Laura’s mind went back to that afternoon. She’d seen Claude outside the stables. Were she and Walter merely fooling themselves about Claude?

  “Tougher to make the horses bolt at just the right moment,” Walter mused. “But he knew you would take the road past the castle. He could hide in the shrubbery beside the road beforehand. No, in the garden somewhere. Parts of it aren’t far from the lane, and he’d be concealed by the trees and bushes. When he saw the coachman set the brake and start down the hill, he just had to startle the horses.”

  “How? There weren’t any loud noises. The driver thought one of the animals was stung by a bee. That’s a bit difficult to arrange.”

  “Let’s look around the gardens.”

  Taking the back stairs, they went out to the gardens, going in the opposite direction from the waterfall steps. More shrouded in trees, it did not offer the splendid view of the other path, but at last Laura caught a glimpse of the road.

  Walter gestured in front of them, saying, “There’s a clearer spot ahead.” He stopped before a tree trailing vines and lifted the strands to let Laura pass under them. “It wasn’t this overgrown when I was young.”

  “Oh!” Laura stepped into a small shaded glade, bordered on three sides by shrubs and a large flat rock. On the fourth side lay the road and castle. Sunlight filtered through the leaves of the trees, casting dappled shadows on the mossy ground. “How charming.”

  It offered a narrow view between the tree and a large rhododendron bush, but she could see the road quite clearly. It was astonishingly close.