The Devereaux Affair by Adele Clee
Chapter 13
Confused,Julianna stood in the hall of Bennet’s lavish townhouse in St James’ Square, trying to determine why she felt instantly at home. It had nothing to do with the luxurious surroundings. During her formative years, she had grown accustomed to living in grand mansions. Perhaps it had something to do with the lingering scent of Bennet’s cedarwood cologne. A smell that roused memories of her kissing his neck, nipping his bare shoulder, memories of the only man who’d ever touched her heart.
“Lord Devereaux is expecting you, Mrs Eden. I shall inform him you’ve arrived.” The hint of disrespect in the butler’s tone soured her mood. He glanced at her shabby valise as if it were a mangy dog. “I’ll have a footman take your things upstairs, madam.”
He spoke of the box Mr Bower had deposited on the parquet floor. A box containing the journals she had stolen while Bennet slept naked in bed.
“Have a footman deposit the box in his lordship’s study.” Julianna spoke with a confidence belying her station. While it felt unnatural to be anything but kind, her stay would be unbearable if the servants thought her weak. To them, she was the harlot corrupting their master. A strumpet. A whore.
Beyond the grave, Giselle must be clapping her hands with glee.
Bennet appeared at the top of the stairs. “Julianna.”
Two hours had passed since she’d left him in Hart Street. Still, it took an immense effort to calm her racing heart. She tried to keep her gaze locked on his face as he descended, yet stealing a glimpse at his muscular thighs proved too tempting to resist.
For the next three days, she would be living in purgatory. A torturous place where heaven was but a heartbeat away. A place for sinners to face their temptations and repent, repent, repent. But how could she fight these damnable cravings when Bennet gripped her arms and kissed her forehead as if she were his dearest treasure?
“Come, let me give you a tour of the house.” His velvet voice melted her insides. “Let me show you to your room.”
The butler presumed Bennet meant to spend the afternoon frolicking upstairs because he said, “Do you still wish to dine at seven, my lord?”
“Unless Mrs Eden would care to dine later.”
“Seven is perfect.” She turned to the sour-faced grouch. “We’ll be in his lordship’s study, examining historical text. Have a bath drawn at six, so I might wash and change before dinner.”
“I shall inform the maid at once, madam.” The butler inclined his head and probably couldn’t wait to tell the servants that their master’s mistress was a fussy trollop.
“Excellent.” Bennet grabbed her hand and drew her upstairs. “Let me show you my bedchamber. Then you’ll know where to come should you suffer a nightmare.”
She was already living a nightmare.
At no point had she planned to become any man’s mistress.
Before she could protest, he pulled her inside an overtly masculine room akin to the devil’s boudoir. The second she glanced at the impressive tester bed, she imagined them writhing naked atop the counterpane.
Bennet closed the door.
With the click of the latch, all pretence slipped.
Wearing an arrogant grin that was almost predatory, he prowled towards her, forcing her back against the bedpost.
“Now we’re alone, you’ll tell me why you ran.” He braced his hands above her head, caging her in a masculine prison. His hot breath breezed across her cheek, sending her mind whirling. “Why did you not wake me? I might have persuaded you to stay. You didn’t even wait to say goodbye.”
His sensual drawl penetrated her reserve. The raw power of his presence left her floundering. She swallowed deeply, remembering the hardness of his body, the mastery in every delicious stroke.
“Isn’t it obvious?”
“If it were obvious, I wouldn’t have asked.”
“It seemed better to leave than prolong the agony.” She hated how that sounded. Cold. Heartless. The need to soothe him surfaced. “Bennet, I’ll reiterate what I said before. Being friends will only lead to heartbreak.” That hadn’t stopped her from succumbing to her carnal appetites or running away when, in truth, she’d wanted to stay. “The memory of being dragged away on that stormy night still hurts, and I cannot bear the thought of saying goodbye to you again.”
“You presume the outcome will be the same.”
“How can it be any different?”
The more time they spent together, the deeper she’d fall. Their lovemaking proved they had an undeniable bond. And even if in some far-fetched fantasy she might marry the only man who’d made her feel cherished, special, even if they could weather the storm—a marquess did not wed a strumpet’s daughter—their children would forever bear the mark of shame. After all she had suffered, she couldn’t inflict that indignity on another poor soul.
She saw the same conflict in his eyes. “Bennet, it was inevitable we’d end up in bed. We both craved the connection we shared years ago. But we’re adults now with the sense to know what’s right.” And yet nothing about being with him felt wrong.
“What’s right for us or society?”
“Your birthright means they are one and the same.”
He touched his forehead to hers and sighed. “I can’t stop thinking about last night. The need to be close to you, to move inside you, is driving me insane.”
Every muscle in her core throbbed. All she need do was look up, and in seconds his mouth would be ravaging hers. Instead, she pushed his chest with what little strength she could muster and forced him to straighten.
“We’ve work to do. Three days is no time at all. Let us focus on that.”
Their physical desires would wane. Protecting their hearts mattered most. It was too late for her. She wanted him more than she could ever express in words. And she had been selfish enough already.
“Say I’m not the only one suffering,” he pleaded. “Say it.”
“Stop. Stop making it so hard. Direct me to my bedchamber. I shall meet you in the study in ten minutes to examine your father’s journals. He must have left some clue. It’s a shame the trunk is at the cottage.” She had taken to babbling like Miss Ponsonby.
“I brought a handful of books with me. The evidence may lead us back to Witherdeen, and we can examine the rest of the journals then.”
She could never go back to Witherdeen but didn’t have the heart to tell him. Hopefully, Mr Cole would conduct a thorough investigation when he visited. She would be keen to hear his opinion of Mr Branner.
“Then let us start at once. If I could just have a few minutes alone in my bedchamber,” to cry and console herself, to climb onto the bed, hug the pillow and pretend it was the master of the house, “and then we’ll get to work.”
Bennet inclined his head. “You can access your room through the adjoining door.” He gestured to the right of the large mahogany armoire. “You’ll find the key on your nightstand.”
“You put me in the marchioness’ suite?” Lord, no wonder the butler seemed aggrieved. “Bennet, you cannot put your mistress in a room soon to be occupied by your wife.”
He arched a mischievous brow. “You’re not my mistress, and I have no definite plans to marry. Does a dear friend not deserve the best chamber in the house?”
“Everyone thinks I’m your mistress. When the ton discovers what you’ve done, they’ll think you’ve inherited your father’s obsession.”
“I don’t give a damn what they think. It’s a delightful room, and I want you to feel comfortable. Besides, we’re already courting scandal. Most men provide houses for their lovers, not move them into their family home.”
She supposed he had a point. But how in Lucifer’s name could she sleep knowing he was naked in bed next door? The need to solve the case quickly suddenly became more important than ever.
“I’ll visit the bedchamber later. Let’s take tea in the study while we examine the journals. We’ve got two hours until I need to wash and change for dinner. We should be able to get through a few by then.”
She left the room without waiting for a reply. Bennet followed behind. His butler kept an impassive expression when ushering the maid out of the study, but he must have wondered why they were not thrashing about in bed.
Seated on the opposite side of Bennet’s desk, and after sipping a calming cup of tea, Julianna delved into the box and handed Bennet a journal.
“In the journal I read at Witherdeen, your father wrote about his father’s passing and inheriting the marquessate. What’s strange is the title on the first recto page.”
Bennet settled back in the chair behind his desk. “You mean the one where he fears everyone wants to murder him in his bed?”
“Did he ever have cause to fear for his life?” Giselle always said she’d stab him with a letter opener should he ever darken her door again.
“Not that I’m aware. He severed contact with all family members when he inherited. That’s when he started recording his feelings. Until then, I believe he kept his outrageous thoughts to himself.”
Julianna reached for her notebook and pencil. “Tell me what you know about your uncles.” She scribbled Charles Devereaux’s name. “I recall you mentioning Charles was heir presumptive before you were born.”
“Yes, Charles was a year younger than my father. John, three years younger. Charles had two sons who both died in infancy. Uncle John’s only son is John Devereaux, the current heir presumptive serving on The Argyle.”
“Did you ever meet them?”
“No. Uncle John came to Witherdeen once. My father threw him out.”
“When was this?”
Bennet shrugged. “My father wrote about it in a journal. It was an argument about money. Uncle John invested in a scheme based on the word of a good friend. He lost a substantial sum before learning my father had paid the friend to lie.”
The depth of the late marquess’ deception was sickening. “How awful. To be tricked by one’s own brother.”
Bennet glanced at his father’s elegant penmanship in the open journal on his desk. “I tried to love my father. At least, I tried to love the man I knew in those latter years. But he behaved despicably. His terrible deeds were driven by unfounded fears.”
She remembered the awful beatings, the cruel taunts. Why would anyone want to love a monster? But she understood. For all the mistreatment she had suffered, she always hoped her mother would change. Besides, she had not lived Giselle’s life or walked in her shoes and so could not judge.
“We tried to love our parents even though they struggled to love us in return.” Surely that said a lot about their characters. “Neither of us inherited their bitterness. Each new generation should learn from the last, and we’re certainly a testament to that.”
Bennet’s weary sigh touched her heart. “It might have been easier to fail.”
“Much easier.” Julianna had lost count of the times she had been offered an exorbitant amount of money to sleep with men. “But I admire your desire to raise strong sons, good men who will make a difference to the world.”
“Privilege comes with a responsibility I cannot ignore.”
“No. You have a duty to king and country.” Thoughts of her future pushed to the fore. Would she ever be happy without Bennet? “Perhaps one day I will marry again, have spirited daughters who will defend their sisters’ rights to freedom. Daughters who never have to beg at the Registry.”
Bennet held her gaze. “Daughters as remarkable as their mother.”
Heat rose to her cheeks. “You’ve always been kind to me, Bennet, though you’re often prone to exaggeration. I never did see that giant fish you caught.”
“It was so big it almost snapped the line.”
They both laughed, fell quickly silent. She suspected his thoughts turned to their childhood, to that one blissful summer she would sell her soul to experience again.
They continued reading until the mantel clock chimed five.
“John Devereaux died not long after he lost a fortune in the mining scheme.”
“Yes, in 1801. The year my mother died.”
She had no wish to stir painful memories but had to say, “It was a riding accident, I recall.”
Bennet responded by handing her the journal he had been reading. The pages bore his father’s deluded suspicions and outpourings of grief.
“My mother fell from her horse and broke her leg. She’d told the groom she was heading across country to Bramley, but they found her the next morning in a field near Turgis Green. She died of exposure to the elements.”
“And you were four?”
“Yes, I have vague memories of her.”
Her heart sank. Loss tainted Bennet’s childhood. The loss of his mother and the loss of his best friend. Had it affected him more deeply than she’d known?
“When we left Witherdeen, did your father bring another mistress into the house?” It could be pertinent to the case.
“No. As I said earlier, men rarely move their mistresses into their family home. Your mother was the exception.”
“Giselle had rules. She refused to hide in the shadows. If a man wanted her, he had to declare it openly, treat her like a duchess.” Her mother had oozed class and elegance until her latter years. Until the loss of her looks led to her addiction.
Bennet sat forward. “Then why did you agree to stay here, knowing people would assume you were following in her footsteps?”
“I owe Mr Daventry a debt I must repay. And I cannot leave England without knowing you’re safe.” She was destined to spend her life worrying about his happiness.
“You don’t care that people will compare you to her?”
She would never be as beautiful as her mother.
Giselle de Lacy’s allure drew men in droves.
“Moths don’t become butterflies. But I shall play the role for your sake, and because Mr Daventry’s generous gift will give me plenty of time to find my way in Paris. Who knows? I might enjoy teasing the ton for a while.”
She expected an amusing quip about the upper echelons, but Bennet suddenly shot out of the chair. “Leave now, Julianna, before it’s too late. Go. Take as much money as you need. I have a property in Scotland. It’s yours. Do what is right for you, not for me or Lucius Daventry.”
Stunned by his sudden outburst, she struggled to form a reply.
“What do you want, Julianna? I can tell you it’s not to have the ton call you a whore or have people think I’m paying to bed you.”
“We have been intimate. And you are paying me a fee.”
“You know damn well there is no correlation between the two. I’m paying Daventry a fee. And we were intimate because … because when we’re together, the feelings are too powerful to ignore.”
He was right on both counts. “It’s too late, Bennet. Mr Lowbridge and his sisters will have told half a dozen people or more. By tonight, it will be the topic of conversation in most ballrooms. We have no choice but to see this through to the end.” To the bitter end, for their parting would bring great sorrow.
“I’ll tell them they’re mistaken.”
“The curtain twitchers have seen me entering your house with my valise. And what if the villain decides to hurt me to punish you?”
The comment had him flopping back into his seat. “Then leave for Scotland, not Paris. It’s a pretty shooting lodge on a loch overlooking glorious mountains. You’ll love it there.”
If she had learnt anything from her mother, it was not to become attached to beautiful places.
“And where is the nearest town? Fifty miles away, no doubt. Bennet, I’m tired of being alone and need to find work, meet new people. I like Paris.” She glanced at the mantel clock, desperate for a distraction. “Heavens. Time runs away when we’re together. We must finish reading the journals tonight. I cannot afford to disappoint Mr Daventry.”
With a disgruntled sigh, he buried his head in another book.
It was no good. She couldn’t concentrate, not when she could feel Bennet’s burning gaze. Oh, she had to be the worst enquiry agent in living memory. If only she had Rachel’s strength and determination. Rachel was as skilled and as quick-witted as the men and would solve her first case quickly.
“Did you leave the cottage the second I fell asleep?” Bennet’s husky whisper captured her attention. “When I moved inside you, pushed so deep you cried out with pleasure, were you thinking about making your escape?”
Her sex pulsed at the memory. She couldn’t tell him that she’d watched him sleeping for so long she’d almost stayed. She couldn’t tell him that she loved him as much now as she did when they were children. Daren’t tell him the feelings were more profound.
“I lay there not knowing what to do.”
“You didn’t consider how I might feel when I woke to find you gone?”
If she had, she wouldn’t have left. “If I’d stayed, we would have made love again and—”
“Again and again because I could never tire of having you.”
The room grew suddenly hot. Julianna looked to the mantel clock, wishing the hands would move faster, hoping the dour-faced butler would knock on the door, so she never had to think about her reply. Never have to acknowledge that his choice of words reminded her of her mother’s stark warning.
Men are governed by their appetites. They confuse lust with love.
“I left because I don’t want to hurt you any more than I have already. I left because we’re different people from different worlds. In bed, those things don’t matter. Tomorrow, at the Winter Ball, I suspect we will both receive an unwelcome dose of reality.”
And he was wrong. He would tire of her, tire of the cuts direct, tire of being looked down upon by his peers. She had seen the game play out so many times she knew not to pin her hopes on a fantasy. When she drew her last breath, was it not better to remember those magical moments than die angry and bitter?
Thankfully, the butler knocked to say the maid was ready and waiting in the bedchamber.
Julianna informed him she would be along shortly, then gathered two journals. “I think it best I take a tray in my room this evening. After a hectic few days, an early night is in order. You must be tired, too.”
“I doubt I shall sleep tonight.”
She wouldn’t sleep either. “Perhaps you can study the journals, and we can discuss our findings during breakfast tomorrow.” At breakfast, she wouldn’t drink too much wine and be tempted to straddle his lap.
“I’m to ride on the Row with Roxburgh in the morning and must visit Lowbridge to make sure he attends the ball. Daventry has arranged for you to visit his wife’s modiste. The woman is said to work miracles, and I imagine you’ll be out for most of the day.”
Julianna inwardly groaned. She could wear a gown made entirely of jewels and would still walk in her mother’s shadow.
“Mrs Sloane is to meet me at the modiste and take me to her house in Little Chelsea.” Arriving separately seemed unnecessary, but Mr Daventry insisted it would create more of a stir and allow Miss Winters to speak privately with Bennet. “I shan’t see you now until the Winter Ball.”
He held her gaze, the few seconds stirring something deep inside. “You will save a dance for me tomorrow?”
She would save everything for him, every dance, every kiss. “Of course. We must make Miss Winters believe I have replaced her in your affections.”
Again, he stared for the longest time. “Good night, Julianna. Should you change your mind about dinner, or anything else, don’t hesitate to come and find me.”
“Good night, Bennet.”
She left the room, spent the night alone with his father’s journals and the unbearable craving that gave her some appreciation for her mother’s wretched plight.
