The Devereaux Affair by Adele Clee

Chapter 17

Across the hall,a door creaked open. The patter of footsteps echoed on the tiled floor, accompanied by a mumbled conversation. Another door opened and closed. Bennet listened intently to every sound, wondering why the hell Lucius Daventry needed a private audience.

The matter concerned Bennet’s father.

Bennet had read the journals, had told Julianna of the bitter remarks, of his father’s need to force Giselle de Lacy back to Witherdeen. It wasn’t a secret. So why squirrel her away to another room and fill her head with nonsense.

“Branner went to a great deal of trouble to torment you, Devereaux.” Finlay Cole was known for being blunt. “I assume you checked his references before hiring him as your steward.”

Bennet tried to keep his temper. “My father employed Branner six months before he died. He never hired a man without a recommendation.”

“May I ask how he died?” The question carried Cole’s apparent suspicions. “He must have been no older than sixty.”

“Sixty-two. His heart failed. Branner didn’t kill him.”

“Perhaps the timing is a coincidence,” Cole mocked. “Branner never gave you a reason to doubt his loyalty?”

“Never.” Bennet was tired of the probing questions. He didn’t give a damn about the case, cared only about the wicked words Lucius Daventry was busy spouting.

As if conjured by thought alone, Daventry returned and closed the door.

Bennet shot to his feet. “Where is Mrs Eden?” Panic left his heart pounding. Was she drying her tears? Were those her footsteps he’d heard in the hall? Had she made a hasty escape?

“Sit down, Devereaux.” Daventry raised his hand, a plea for patience, and waited for Bennet to sit. “Cole, go home and get some sleep. Before you go, I need to know where Branner’s mother lives. Did you find anything in the cottage with her direction? Devereaux thinks it could be Bath or Bristol.”

“I found no personal effects. Nothing to suggest he has any living relatives. Though there was a book borrowed from the Bristol Library Society and never returned.” Cole removed a small notebook from his coat pocket and flicked through the pages. “A library in King Street, Bristol.”

“Excellent. Sloane, tell Sir Malcolm that Devereaux and I are journeying to Bristol tomorrow to see what we can discover about Branner’s background. We’ll be gone for two days—”

“Two days!” Bennet stood again. “I’m not leaving Julianna alone when there’s a murderer on the loose. The handbill Isabella Winters refused to deliver said Julianna died by my hands. Someone plans to hurt her and blame me.” Bennet glanced at the door. “Where is she? For the love of God, tell me you’ve not let her leave.”

“We’ll discuss it in a moment.”

“We’ll discuss it now!”

Daventry’s grey eyes darkened like a gathering storm. “Solving the case and saving your life is of paramount importance. You will wait while I lay a trap for the blackguard. I trust you told Roxburgh the truth.”

Bennet huffed. “Yes, and he was at a loss to know why one of our friends would go to such extreme lengths. What can any of them hope to gain by my death?”

“Do you suspect him?”

“Roxburgh? No! We shoot and fence together. He could have killed me many times and made it look like an accident. Besides, he can barely raise the enthusiasm to dress each morning.”

Daventry gave a curt nod. “Sloane, we’ll leave at first light. Visit Roxburgh at nine—”

“Nine?” Bennet snorted. “Roxburgh never rises before noon.”

“Drag Roxburgh from his bed. Tell him Devereaux and Mrs Eden are leaving for Bristol to locate Branner’s family. As a matter of urgency, he’s to visit all those who were at Witherdeen the night Branner died and inform them the man is dead, casually mention the trip to Bristol.”

Mrs Sloane spoke up. “The villain must believe it’s possible to find them before they reach Bristol, before they find Mr Branner’s mother.”

Daventry pursed his lips while in thought. “Do you recall the case where Sir Frederick Marley blamed his captain for stealing a tobacco shipment? We caught Sir Frederick paying the real thief at a coaching inn just outside Bristol.”

“The Golden Eagle?” Cole said.

“Sloane, tell Roxburgh that Devereaux is staying at the Golden Eagle. Make sure Devereaux’s friends and Miss Winters know they’ll find him there.”

Sloane nodded.

Through the means of silent communication, Daventry informed his agents it was time to leave. They made their excuses, said good night and headed for the door, though Mrs Sloane asked Bennet to convey a message, a desire for Julianna to visit her in Little Chelsea once they’d solved the case.

Daventry waited until his agents had left the house before speaking. “Now we’re alone, we’ll get back to the matter of Mrs Eden.”

“Where is she?”

“Gone home.”

“Home? To Howland Street? To bloody Paris?”

“To St James’ Square, but you’ll allow her time alone before giving chase.” Daventry crossed the room to the drinks cabinet. “Care for a brandy?”

Bennet’s temper flared. He imagined grabbing the man by the scruff of his coat and shaking the truth from his arrogant mouth. But Daventry raised a glass as an enticement to stay.

“If I lose her, I’ll blame you. Sod your agents. I’ll make your life a living hell. Do you hear?”

Daventry smiled. “Despite every effort to the contrary, you sound like your father. He persecuted Giselle, made her life hell, all in the name of love.”

Bennet firmed his jaw. “I’m nothing like my father.”

“No, you’re not.” Daventry closed the gap between them, thrust a glass of brandy at Bennet and raised his in salute. “You’re so in love with Mrs Eden, you would turn your back on your responsibilities and move to Paris.”

Bennet relaxed, all thoughts of fighting abandoning him. “I’m so in love with her, I would do whatever she asked. But I’m a man at war with my conscience.” It was a gruesome battle between happiness and duty.

Daventry knocked back his brandy and panted to cool the burn. “God, I’m glad I was born a bastard. Do you know what I find so amusing about the nobility?”

“No doubt you plan to enlighten me.”

“You have immense power yet are slaves to your position. You’re the Marquess Devereaux. You can do what the hell you please. No one will dare stand in your way. If you were a gambler, a whoremonger, you’d still be invited to fancy balls and routs. But woe betide you marry someone outside the select little club.”

Bennet swallowed a mouthful of brandy. “Breeding is everything. That’s what we have thrust down our throats from an early age.”

“Surely you can see how illogical it sounds.” Daventry snorted. “You would choose a debutante who whimpers because of muddy slippers over a woman like Mrs Eden?”

“Mrs Eden is superior in every regard.”

“Then marry her. You need a wife, and she has everything you could want in a marchioness.” Daventry winced. “Though after what she’s learnt tonight, she may not have you. To marry you, she must betray her mother’s memory.”

“What the devil did you say to her?” Fear fuelled Bennet’s temper now.

Daventry relayed the stories told by numerous lords, tales of blackmail and revenge, of jewels stolen from the Dog and Pheasant, of Giselle’s mistreatment at the hands of his father.

Shame left Bennet gripping the nearest chair and dropping into the seat. He’d known a milder version of events, knew his father was prone to bouts of cruelty, but what he’d done beggared belief.

“He died a lonely man.” Bennet recalled the deathbed conversations. The deep regrets that skulked out of the shadows when one’s life ebbed away. “But he was a master of his own destiny.”

Daventry refilled his brandy glass and then sat on the sofa. “Now it’s time to decide what sort of man you are, Devereaux. Are you a man who bows and nods and does what is expected? Or a man who challenges the rules and paves the way for the next generation? A man capable of choosing his own bride?”

Bennet’s heart swelled at the thought of marrying Julianna. If she refused him, he was destined to spend his life alone. He could not stand in church and exchange vows with any other woman.

“Life will be difficult for our children.”

“Difficult? Living from hand to mouth is difficult,” Daventry mocked. “Cowards choose the easy path. You’re not a coward, Devereaux. Raise children with the strength to do what is right. Perhaps your daughter will marry my son, and they’ll turn society completely on its head.”

Everything Daventry said made sense. But Julianna would refuse his suit. A courtesan’s daughter did not become a marchioness. And having resigned from the Order, all she wanted was peace.

“Your work for the Order is really a plot to take over the world, Daventry. You’re playing matchmaker. Marrying peers to sensible women so their children have the backbone to challenge convention.”

Daventry raised his glass and then downed the contents. “My father-in-law died trying to change the world. His death cannot be in vain. Our country needs rebels. Sons and daughters with the courage to confront their peers.”

They sat for a while, discussing how a forward-thinking man might rock the foundations of the House of Lords. The topic moved to the case, and Daventry warned Bennet that his steward might well have been his bastard brother.

The thought had crossed Bennet’s mind. He’d have welcomed Branner with open arms, treated him like kin. Perhaps it would have filled the void left by his estranged family. But without a confession, what proof was there?

Bennet made to leave, but Daventry spent the next ten minutes discussing arrangements for their trip to Bristol.

Keen to drag himself away, Bennet bid the master of the Order good night. “There’s nothing left to talk about unless you know of a secret mantra that might persuade Julianna to marry me.”

“The desire to have you spouting nonsense all the way home is tempting. Just remember, she’s in love with you. She’ll put your needs before her own. You must convince her your needs are the same.”

“The Augustinian monks were of one mind and one heart. I’ll keep their motto in mind when deciding what to say to Julianna.”

Daventry smiled. “What words could convey centuries of wisdom?”

“It’s a motto you could use—nothing conquers except the truth.”

* * *

Julianna shuffled down beneath the bedsheets and hugged the pillow to her ears so she wouldn’t hear Bennet pacing the floor in the adjoining room.

He’d come home ten minutes ago, entered his chamber but not said a word, not called to her through the locked door, not whispered good night. He’d dismissed his valet, insisting he would manage, asking to be left alone.

Alone.

Her soul ached at the thought. Every instinct urged her to open the door, to race into his arms and live for the moment. A hardened heart could cope with anything. That was another one of Giselle’s platitudes. But Julianna knew she would never recover from this.

Desperate to distract her mind, her thoughts turned to Mr Daventry’s revelation. Had Giselle not lost her precious jewels, would she have sold them to purchase a cottage in an idyllic location, away from the glittering lights of the ballroom? Would she have become a doting mother, loved Julianna more than she did a lover’s attention?

No. Never.

Giselle was as addicted to men as she was to laudanum. Fifty fawning lords could not satisfy her craving. Julianna needed only one man to feel completely content.

She let go of her pillow and sat up in bed.

All was quiet.

Did Bennet’s reticence stem from guilt? Did he believe his father’s misdeed had led to Julianna being sold to Edward Eden?

It wasn’t true.

The blame lay with Giselle, the manipulating devil who’d never been a mother. The blame lay with Julianna for being a fool to believe the lies, for not being strong enough to escape a loveless marriage.

“Julianna.” Spoken in a voice tinged with uncertainty, her name echoed from the room beyond. “Julianna. Are you awake?”

Her heart thumped hard in her chest.

“Julianna. I need to talk to you.”

She should ignore him, feign sleep, but his magnetic pull had her slipping out of bed and padding over to the connecting door. “Bennet, it’s late. Can we talk tomorrow?” If she faced him tonight, she would be a slave to her wants and desires.

He responded by sliding a folded note beneath the door.

With trembling hands, Julianna took the note and peeled back the folds. A smile formed. It was a privilege pass written in Bennet’s elegant penmanship, declaring himself the winner of the race from the ruins to the quaint cottage.

“We made a pact,” he reminded her. “Whoever won the pass can make demands. And I wish to use mine to make you open this door.”

She pressed her palm to the wood as if it were Bennet’s chest. “This isn’t a game, Bennet. We’re not those children anymore.”

“Still, you don’t want to break another vow. Let me in, Julianna.”

She hadn’t broken the first vow. She had returned to him every night in her dreams. A part of her would always live with him at Witherdeen.

Rousing what little strength she had, she folded the note and pushed it back through the gap beneath the door. “I can’t talk to you tonight. Perhaps tomorrow we—”

“We’re leaving for Bristol before dawn.”

“Bristol?”

“I can’t talk to you through the door. And we’ll be stuck in a carriage with Daventry for the best part of fourteen hours. No doubt we’ll speak of nothing but catching a killer.”

Julianna rested her forehead gently against the door. The man had the power of an ancient god, for his essence managed to penetrate the wood and seduce her senses. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. “Then we should sleep, else we’ll be good for nothing tomorrow.”

“Let me in, Julianna. Don’t make me ask again.”

“Why? Have you inherited your father’s need for control?”

Her stupid question was met with silence.

For lengthy seconds she stood there, knowing she had hurt him, wanting to make things right. “Bennet. I’m sorry. You could never be like him.”

Silence.

If this was their last night together, she didn’t want it marred by one foolish comment. Giselle used spiteful words to hurt men. Julianna would never be her mother’s daughter.

She quickly took the key from the nightstand, unlocked the door, and yanked it open. Bennet stood there in nothing but his breeches, his muscular arms braced against the door frame, his mischievous grin reaching his eyes.

The sight hardened her nipples.

His heated gaze skimmed her loose red curls, her plain nightgown, dipped to her bare feet. “Even in white cotton, you steal my breath.”

Herbreath hitched as he prowled towards her, this merciless hunger for him refusing to abate. “You’re a dangerous man, Bennet Devereaux. One look from those tawny eyes, and I’m entirely at your mercy.”

“Then I intend to put my powers to good use.” He came closer, captured her chin, and stroked her bottom lip with his thumb. “I know what my father did, and I shall spend my life making amends. I need you. I’ll never have the strength to let you go.”

“You must.”

“Don’t you want me, Julianna?”

She’d spent forever wanting him.

The time for honesty was nigh. “I could never share you with another woman. Even if I had your heart, it wouldn’t be enough. I want all of you, Bennet, and I cannot accept anything less.”

He bent his head and kissed her, those captivating lips moving so slowly, so softly, the coil of desire tightened in her belly. “I meant what I said earlier. I have loved you from the day you stole an apple from the kitchen and came to sit with me beneath the stairs. I will love you, and only you, my whole life.”

Unshed tears blurred her vision. She would never forgive herself if she left without letting him know how much she cared.

“I’ve tried to suppress my feelings, Bennet, but it becomes harder each day. I will always love you. Indeed, my love for you is so great I know I must let you go.”

A tear slipped down her cheek, and he dashed it away.

He gestured to the sumptuous pale blue bed hangings. “You see this splendid room. No one but you will ever cross the threshold. No one but you will ever sleep in that bed. No one but you will carry my name or bear my children. It’s you or no one, Julianna.”

Emotion caught in her throat. “C-carry your name?”

Surely he didn’t mean—

“Marry me. Be my marchioness, my wife, my lover, my friend. And if Edward Eden has poisoned your mind to marriage, then we’ll move to Paris and live in sin.”

Marry him? For a few seconds, she let his words infuse her mind, body and soul. She bathed in the possibility of all her wildest dreams coming true.

Reality reared its head. “You cannot marry a courtesan’s daughter.”

He tapped her playfully on the nose. “I’m the Marquess Devereaux. I can marry who the devil I please. Besides, I have Lucius Daventry’s permission to court you, and there’s not a man in England who’d dare challenge him.”

“But you’ll be cast out. Our children will—”

“Be so strong of heart and mind society will crave their approval. The world is changing, Julianna. Our children will have to please no one but themselves. Do you know how liberating that will be?” He chuckled. “I’ve already agreed our daughter will marry Daventry’s son, so you can’t refuse me now.”

This was a dream, a beautiful dream full of endless possibilities. Would she wake to find herself alone in a cold bed?

“Our daughter will be free to choose her own husband.”

Bennet’s eyes widened. “Does that mean you accept?”

“It will be difficult.”

“Living from hand to mouth is difficult.”

She recalled the day she’d sat on the Registry’s steps, alone and without hope. She owed Mr Daventry a debt far greater than she could ever repay.

“We’ll discuss marriage when we’ve caught the devil who wants to kill you.” A man was dead, murdered by his accomplice, though Julianna felt certain Miss Winters lacked the heart for such a grisly deed. “We should focus all our efforts on solving the case.”

“All our efforts?” He slipped his arm around her waist and glanced at the bed. His gaze was so hot she could warm her cold hands. “Surely we’re allowed a little self-indulgence before we leave at dawn.”

Heat pooled between her thighs at the prospect of joining him in bed. “By all accounts, Mr Daventry gave you permission to fraternise with his agent. And who would dare challenge such a formidable gentleman?”

“Who indeed?” He stripped her bare with his smouldering gaze. “Invite me into your bed, Julianna.”

Need surpassed embarrassment. Although her heart fluttered wildly, bit by bit, she drew her nightgown up over her thighs like a wicked wanton.

“Come to bed, Bennet.” She pulled the gown over her head, let it slip from her fingers to pool on the floor.

Bennet hissed a breath. He rubbed his chest as if starved of her touch. “Love, I plan to devour every inch of you.”

Entranced by the noticeable bulge in his breeches, by his lean hips and solid thighs, she dared to tease him. “What are you waiting for?”

With a self-assured grin, he stripped out of the garment, freeing his impressive erection. “Well? Do you like what you see?”

“Indeed.” Julianna stared at his manhood, so thick and gloriously hard. “I pray you won’t break your last vow.”

“The one where I promised to love you forever?”

“No. When you promised to pleasure me before a roaring fire, vowed to use your mouth to taste every inch of my flesh.”

Bennet glanced at the flames flickering in the grate. “I’m glad you reminded me. That’s one of many vows I intend to keep.” He closed the gap between them. “Before we take to the floor, there’s something I would like to do first. Something I imagined doing when I trapped you against the bedpost yesterday.”

She wanted nothing more than to be caged in his masculine prison.

With her body thrumming in eager expectation, she took his hand and drew him towards the bed. “Tell me what you want, Bennet. There must be no secrets between us.”

Hunger flared in those amber pools. “Turn around, love, and grip the bedpost.”

She did as he asked.

He came behind her, the heat of his body caressing her bare skin, his hot breath breezing down her spine, whispering over her buttocks. She breathed his musky scent, inhaled the potent smell of his arousal. He was achingly close. Soon he would touch her, slide those large hands around her waist and drive her dizzy with desire.

Every muscle was strung as tight as a bow. Lust left her panting.

“Touch me.” Sweet heaven. She was mindless with need.

“Close your eyes, love.”

She squeezed them shut, silently urging him to hurry.

And then she felt him. The soft brush of his lips across her right shoulder. The gentle suck on her neck. A moan burst from her when his hand skimmed her hip and cupped her breast. Then he was everywhere at once—kissing her neck, grazing her nipples with his thumbs, his erection pushing against her buttocks in an intoxicating rhythm.

“It’s always been you,” he whispered in her ear as he massaged her sex in tantalising strokes. “You’re the reason I spend most of my time at Witherdeen. The memories are like magic.”

His fingers were like magic.

“I’m going to spend my life finding ways to pleasure you,” he drawled.

She pushed back against him, needing to open herself, needing to feel his solid shaft sliding into her sex. “Take me like this, Bennet. We can move to the floor later. Take me. Take me now.”

Oh, did he oblige!

He gripped her hips and pushed slowly into her body. The sensation of him stretching her, filling her, there wasn’t a pleasure like it in the world.

“You’re so wet, love, so tight, so damn warm.”

She clutched the bedpost, a little bereft when he almost withdrew completely. “I need you inside me, Bennet.”

He drove into her sex again and again, in and out of her in long strokes. The audible slapping mingled with his guttural groans and her high-pitched pants.

“Can you feel me, Julianna? Is this how you imagined our reunion? Did you touch yourself when you slept under the stars, thinking about me?” He thrust to the hilt and stilled, slipped his fingers between her thighs, and teased her sex. “When we’re married, I’ll flood you with my seed. You’ll get all of me, Julianna, every last drop.”

Pleasure pulsed through her. Heat coursed through her veins. The quickening in her core left her shaking and convulsing around his solid length.

But he didn’t wait for the powerful waves to ebb. He slammed into her, quick and hard, telling her he loved her, assuring her they would never be parted again.