The Devereaux Affair by Adele Clee

Chapter 19

“Come to bed, Bennet.”Julianna came up on her elbows, her gaze finding his muscular silhouette in the darkness. Dressed in nothing but a pair of breeches hanging low on his hips, he stood at the window of their chamber in the Golden Eagle, staring out into the night. “Even if Miss Ponsonby hired a carriage, she won’t reach Bristol tonight. And Mr Daventry said the next mail coach from London doesn’t leave until first light.”

Bennet ran his hand through his hair and cast her a sidelong glance. “Get some sleep, love. We must have our wits tomorrow, and you hardly slept a wink last night.”

Was it only last night that he proposed marriage and made love to her twice? When Mr Daventry said they were to share a bedchamber, Bennet had grinned like a schoolboy and clearly hoped they’d be intimate again.

“I’ll not leave Mrs Eden alone in a chamber when there’s a murderer on the loose,” Mr Daventry had said when they arrived. “And I’ll not sleep in a room with anyone but my wife. I told the innkeeper you’re married. Gave your names as Mr and Mrs Drummond.”

But Bennet had been plagued by a crippling sense of guilt since learning of his cousin’s identity. And Julianna couldn’t give herself to him knowing Mr Daventry occupied the room across the hall.

Despite the frosty nip in the air, Julianna slipped out of bed and padded to the window. She ran her hand over Bennet’s shoulder and massaged the tense muscles. “Nothing about this situation is simple.”

He sighed. “My mind is in turmoil.”

“Because you don’t want to believe Miss Ponsonby killed her brother?”

“Because when I think of her situation, I think of you.” He glanced over his shoulder and covered her hand with his. “Was your father married? Did he love Giselle more than his wife?”

Talk of her father tugged at the wound she thought had healed. “My mother refused to tell me his name. She said men like to own things, and I was not for sale. Later she proved she was just as calculating and callous.”

“It wouldn’t be hard to find him.”

“He knew my mother had a child.” All a child wanted was love and recognition. “If I was important to him, he would have moved heaven and earth to find me.”

“Nothing would keep me from seeing my child.”

No, he was extremely determined with those he loved.

“I stopped blaming myself for my parents’ failures. No one is perfect. You must stop blaming yourself, too, Bennet.”

He fell silent and stared out over the deserted stable yard.

Julianna wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged him. There was something about the warmth of his skin, the natural masculine scent that made her feel safe, content, protected.

Her thoughts turned to Miss Ponsonby, or Miss Blanchard, as she should call her now. The friendly chatter had been an act—a means to get close to Bennet. Surely the ultimate aim wasn’t to kill him?

Bennet stepped out of her embrace and drew the curtains. “You’re right. I can’t stand here all night watching the shadows.” He took hold of her hand. “Let’s go to bed. Lying next to you will ease my mind for a time.”

They climbed into bed. Bennet drew her close to his chest, and she twined her legs with his. The conversation turned to Miss Ponsonby.

“If she killed her brother, there is nothing I can do to save her. If she harms you, Julianna, I will see her hang.” Bennet stroked her hair, pushed an errant lock behind her ear. “When this is over, I must visit Mary Devereaux, see what I can do to mend the feud my father started.”

“I’m sure she’ll welcome you, for her children’s sakes.”

They fell into companionable silence and closed their eyes.

Julianna was almost asleep when Bennet said, “Miss Gambit is to meet her client soon. Daventry spoke about it on the journey. Perhaps you should warn her the man is a hard taskmaster.”

Rachel had an assignment?

Julianna shot up. “Who’s a hard taskmaster? Mr Daventry or the new client?” Either way, Rachel would finally get an opportunity to prove her worth.

Bennet smiled. “The client. Miss Gambit must pass a series of tests before he’ll agree to hire her.”

“Tests? What sort of tests?”

“Who can say?”

“Do you know who wishes to hire her?” Rachel would be beside herself with excitement. She’d breeze through the tests and show her client she was just as formidable as the men. “It might help her prepare.”

“No, but with the name Hunter, he’s more than a match for Miss Gambit.”

“Hunter! He sounds like a savage.” Still, Rachel was equally skilled with weaponry. “Oh, there’s no chance of me sleeping now.”

His sensual hum said he sought to take advantage of the fact. “As I’m to blame for the disturbance, let me massage your shoulders as you did mine. Help you relax.”

Julianna arched a brow. “Are you sure you mean to massage my shoulders? Why do I suspect you failed to pay attention in anatomy class?”

His husky laugh turned her blood molten. “Turn over, love, and face the wall.”

“Shouldn’t I lie face down?”

Bennet chuckled softly. “I plan to start at your thigh and slowly work my way up to your shoulder. Concentrating on those areas that throb and ache most.”

Unable to suppress the flutter of excitement, she turned over and let him have his way. She had no complaints. Those magical fingers soothed all her woes. When he fondled her breasts and entered her from behind, when he drove slow and deep to limit the noise, she had to muffle her moans with a pillow.

“I’ve spent many nights imagining holding you like this,” he whispered against her neck as they came down from the dizzying heights of their pleasure. “Now I’ve found you, I’ll never let you go.”

“I’ve spent many nights thinking of you, too.” She caressed his arm in soothing strokes, lulling him to sleep. Julianna knew he’d succumbed when his breathing slowed and his limbs relaxed. And yet she lay awake, the old fears and doubts surfacing.

She had been ripped from his embrace once before.

Was their love destined to end in tragedy again?

* * *

Julianna woke to a faint tapping noise. She glanced around the dark room. The embers in the grate had died, and the air carried a bitter chill. Below stairs, she heard mumbled voices and the clip of footsteps on the flagstones. The clatter of horses’ hooves on the cobbles outside said a coach had entered the stable yard.

“Devereaux?” Bennet’s name whispered through the room, followed by more tapping on the bedchamber door. “Devereaux?”

Julianna shook Bennet awake. “Bennet. There’s someone at the door. I think it’s Mr Daventry.” It was definitely a man’s voice.

“Devereaux!” came the urgent plea.

Bennet dragged himself out of bed and padded to the door.

Julianna’s gaze followed his firm buttocks and solid thighs. She would never tire of ogling his naked physique. She would never tire of sleeping next to the man she loved.

“Give me a moment.” Bennet’s voice was still thick from sleep. To protect his modesty, he opened the door a fraction. “Daventry? What time is it?”

“Three o’clock. Get dressed. Roxburgh’s carriage has just pulled into the inn. I’m right in saying his crest carries a flaming torch?”

Roxburgh? Julianna’s breath caught in her throat.

Why would the lord make the fourteen-hour journey to Bristol when he complained about the drive to Hampshire? She’d wager all she owned he was not involved in the threats made against Bennet, but it looked mighty suspicious.

“It can’t be Roxburgh.” Bennet echoed Julianna’s sentiment, but she’d never known Mr Daventry make a mistake. “He wouldn’t come all this way unless—” Bennet paused and exhaled deeply. “Wait there. I’ll be two minutes at most.”

Bennet closed the door and quickly reached for his breeches.

A hundred questions filled Julianna’s mind. “Lord Roxburgh must have left at noon to arrive so promptly.”

Bennet seemed agitated. “What if Miss Ponsonby—or whatever the hell her name is—has exacted her revenge by torching Witherdeen?” He dragged his shirt over his head and thrust his arms into the sleeves. “She knew she couldn’t catch us before we found her mother and so avenged her father’s death by sticking to their original plan.”

“That’s physically impossible. It would take a minimum of five hours for news of Witherdeen to reach London. And it’s a fourteen-hour journey to Bristol.”

“Then what the devil is Roxburgh doing here?” Bennet dropped onto the bed while tugging on his boots. “What possessed him to journey a hundred miles? The man hates the drive to Witherdeen.”

“I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation.”

Like a thief in the night, doubt slipped into her mind. Trust no one—that was the lesson she’d learnt long ago. Mr Branner had been kind and affable and had proven false. Miss Ponsonby brightened a room like a ray of sunshine, and she was a deceiving devil, too. Was Lord Roxburgh hiding hatred in his heart?

“I shall dress and come downstairs with you.” Julianna pulled back the bedsheets and climbed out of bed. “We don’t know who to trust anymore.”

Bennet thrust his arms into his coat. “No. Stay here and lock the door. Don’t let anyone into the chamber. Roxburgh must have some justification for being here. If I’m wrong, you’ll hear us fighting in the taproom.”

“What if he means to shoot you?”

Bennet gave an incredulous snort. “In front of Daventry and the innkeeper?” He crossed the room, kissed her forehead, and reiterated, “Lock the door. I’ll return and put your mind at ease as soon as I’ve spoken to Roxburgh.”

He slipped from the room, leaving Julianna alone with her thoughts and a crippling sense of dread. She couldn’t settle, took to pacing the floor, her mind a whirl of questions.

Was Lord Roxburgh playing the dutiful friend?

Had he come all this way merely to offer his support?

It seemed unlikely.

The icy nip in the air saw her throw her pelisse over her nightgown and fasten the buttons. Then she continued pacing while determining why the hairs on her nape prickled to attention, why she felt a sudden frisson of alarm.

So, the carriage clattering into the stable yard belonged to Lord Roxburgh. She walked over to the window and parted the curtains, expecting to see the young grooms removing the harnesses and brushing down the horses.

No one attended the carriage with the unusual crest.

But wait! Movement inside Lord Roxburgh’s vehicle caught Julianna’s eye. How odd. Mr Daventry said the lord was waiting downstairs in the taproom.

Hiding behind the curtain, she took a tentative peek at the conveyance. The outline of a woman’s bonnet caught her eye, but it was impossible to note any identifying features in the dark. It could be Mrs Thorne. The widow clung to the lord like knotweed. Could it be Miss Ponsonby? If so, why had she not followed Lord Roxburgh into the inn?

Was the plan to lure Bennet to the carriage and shoot him dead? Would Lord Roxburgh really risk his life and reputation to assist Miss Ponsonby in her devilish plan?

There was only one way to find out.

Julianna pushed her feet into her boots, tied the laces and ferreted around in her valise for the pretty bottle of pepper and small blade given to her by Rachel Gambit. She slipped the weapons into her pocket and unlocked the bedchamber door.

Mr Daventry had spent five minutes explaining every route out of the building in case they found themselves pursued by Mr Branner’s killer. And so, Julianna left the room and took the rear stairs leading to the stable yard.

She paused on the bottom step and took a deep breath.

Every instinct said Miss Ponsonby had come to Bristol.

Every instinct said Julianna was about to confront a cold-blooded killer.

* * *

Bennet strode into the dimly lit taproom to find Roxburgh leaning against the crude oak counter. “What the devil are you doing here?” Bennet came to a crashing halt. “God’s teeth! You look like you’ve crawled from the pits of hell.”

Roxburgh never looked anything but immaculate. Now his ruffled clothes, bloodshot eyes and pale face spoke of severe fatigue.

“Fourteen hours of torture does that to a man.” Roxburgh dragged his hand down his face and rubbed his bristly jaw. “It hurts to stand, hurts to sit. Every bone in my body creaks. I crave a hot bath and a woman’s pliant fingers to massage the knots.”

Daventry closed in on the lord. “You were given a simple task. Inform Devereaux’s friends of our plan so the villain might follow us to Bristol. The fact you’re here leads me to question your innocence.”

Roxburgh jerked back. “If I was going to kill a man, I’d shoot him between the brows, not hit him with a fireside implement.”

“Who told you Branner was killed with a poker?”

The innkeeper slammed a large glass of whisky on the counter.

Roxburgh knocked it back in two gulps.

“Sloane woke me at an ungodly hour and described every gory detail.” Roxburgh panted as the liquor scorched his throat. “He said I was to make the tale sound gruesome, judge our friends’ reactions. Said the villain would do something to rouse my suspicion.”

Daventry gestured to a round table. “Sit down. Explain why you saw fit to ignore simple instructions.”

Roxburgh dragged out a chair. “Can a man not use his initiative?”

They sat around the table. Roxburgh summoned the innkeeper and ordered another drink. Bennet declined the offer of refreshment, as did Daventry. Men hunting a brutal fiend had to keep their wits.

Daventry fixed the lord with a stare. “Well?”

“Miss Winters was detained while attempting to book passage on the Edinburgh stage at nine o’clock yesterday morning. Cole, and that burly fellow who lifts rocks like they’re pebbles, caught up with me outside the townhouse Lowbridge keeps for his mistress.”

Relief settled over Bennet’s shoulders like a warm blanket. So they were not hiding in a coaching inn waiting for a killer. Isabella had murdered Branner in a fit of rage. Yet the pang deep in his gut said not.

“Where is Isabella now?” Bennet snapped.

“Being questioned by the magistrate at Bow Street. Cole said I was to tell our friends that Miss Winters killed the steward.”

Daventry leant forward. “Did you?”

Roxburgh nodded. “Sloane was right. Miss Ponsonby’s reaction gave me cause for concern. She suddenly recalled seeing Miss Winters running across the lawn in a blood-stained gown. Said Miss Winters told her she had stolen Devereaux’s stickpin as a keepsake. Lowbridge suggested she go to Bow Street and give a statement.”

“How did she react when you told her Branner was dead?”

“The Miss Ponsonby I know would have swooned before asking a myriad of questions. Would have wanted to know every gruesome detail. I found her stone-cold silence unnerving. Not as unnerving as what happened when I left the house.”

“What did Miss Ponsonby ask you to do?” Daventry spoke as if he knew the answer. He waited for Roxburgh to inhale a pinch of snuff. “I guarantee she had more important matters on her mind than visiting Bow Street.”

“She followed me, had a sudden fit of hysterics. Insisted we come to Bristol. She ranted about Miss Winters’ wickedness, about needing to put your mind at ease, Devereaux. She whined and made a host of excuses for needing to reassure Mrs Eden. Pleaded with me to act at once.”

A shiver ran the length of Bennet’s spine. “Tell me you left her in London and are here purely to pass on the information.” Had Miss Ponsonby made such a nuisance of herself, Roxburgh had agreed to her demands? “For the love of God, tell me you didn’t bring her to Bristol.”

Roxburgh glanced at the taproom door and lowered his voice. “Sloane said the person who murdered Branner will likely follow you here. Is it not better to keep the devil in one’s sights?”

In one’s sights?

“Cursed saints!” Bennet jumped to his feet and sent the chair crashing to the floor. “Where is she?”

“Asleep in the carriage. I left—”

“Damnation!” Sick with fear, Bennet darted across the taproom and mounted the stairs. He hammered on the bedchamber door. “Julianna. It’s me. Quickly, open the door.” A frantic scan of the dark corridor said a murderer wasn’t lingering in the shadows. “Julianna!” He knocked louder this time, loud enough to wake the dead. He tried the doorknob to put his mind at ease.

The door opened without any resistance.

Nausea rolled through Bennet. He entered and searched the darkness.

But Julianna was gone.