chapter 37
It was the flash of fear on James’s face that sent Laura rushing toward him. The enormous crash came a fraction of a second later, and something thudded into her back, knocking her down. Then James was there, saying her name and going down on his knees beside her.
“Laura, Laura, are you all right?” His hands swept over her, searching for damage. “Are you hurt? Did it hit you?”
Laura blinked, momentarily numb with shock. “What? What happened?”
“A bloody urn fell from the balcony, that’s what happened.” James’s voice was shaky, his hands cold. “No, don’t get up. You may have broken something.”
“I’m fine. It didn’t hit me. Let me up.”
Instead he swept her up in his arms and stood. She had a glimpse of the stone balustrade, a large crack running across it, and pieces of stone, dirt, and plant scattered all over the rail and floor, before James turned and carried her inside.
“James, I’m all right. Really,” Laura protested, but she was secretly glad he ignored her words. She felt both numb and shaky, and it was comforting to be held in his arms.
James set her down on one of the chairs and knelt beside her, holding her hands in his, his face pale. Mirabelle and Abby came to her other side, and everyone crowded around, all talking at once.
“What happened?” Tessa cried. “Laura, dearest, are you all right? You should lie down. James, take her upstairs.”
“No, really, it’s not necessary.” Laura put her hand on James’s arm to forestall him. “It just startled me.” The fall had jarred her and the spot high on her back was beginning to throb, but she wasn’t about to be tucked away into bed yet.
“You were hit.” James’s hands were gentle on her shoulders as he turned her. He brushed a hand lightly over her back. “Your dress is marked here. Are you sure you’re all right? Where’s the doctor anyway?” He glanced around.
“He and his wife left some time ago, dear,” Aunt Mirabelle answered. “Should we send someone after him?”
“No, please, really, I’m sure nothing is broken,” Laura assured them. “I’ll fix a poultice to take away the ache.”
“You’ll do nothing,” James said flatly. “Someone else will make a poultice.” The color was rushing back into his face now. His eyes glittered. “What I’d like to know is how the hell a great urn like that could fall from the balcony.”
No one had an answer to that. Graeme, who had wedged his way through the others, said, “Laura! Good Lord. Are you all right?” Without waiting for a reply, he went on, “This puts an entirely different light on your other accident.”
James’s head snapped toward him. “Accident? What other accident?”
“You never told him?” Graeme asked Laura, ignoring the elbow Abigail dug into his side.
“No. She never told me.” James shot a short, sharp glance at Laura, then fixed his gaze on Graeme. “I repeat, what other accident?”
“It was while you were ill. It was nothing, just an accident,” Laura said soothingly.
“The horses bolted, and the victoria’s brake slipper failed on the hill down to the castle,” Graeme explained.
“You were in the carriage when Littletree crashed it?” James surged to his feet. He stared down at Laura.
“Yes, but I wasn’t hurt.” Laura rose to her feet to face him. Something more was roiling beneath James’s surface than mere surprise, and she sought for words to reassure him, but could only repeat lamely, “It was only an accident.” She looked toward Graeme for help.
But Graeme, his face furrowed and arms crossed over his chest, provided none. Instead he said, “Two separate accidents seems unusual, especially given . . . the rest of it.” He glanced significantly at James.
Laura stared at Graeme. “But why would anyone—” She swung toward James. “You don’t really think—”
“I think that I have been a fool.” James’s face blazed with fury. “Why didn’t I realize?” He swung around, searching the room. He focused on Adelaide, standing a few feet away, and growled, “Where is he?”
Adelaide stared at him, wide-eyed and speechless. Laura, guessing his intent, jumped up and reached out to grab his arm, but James was already gone. Shoving past the knot of people around them, he charged out of the room.
“Graeme! Why did you tell him that now?” Laura threw an angry glance at Graeme and ran after her husband. James was already heading up the stairs, shouting, “Claude!”
There was no answer, but James did not pause. Laura lifted her skirts and ran after him. Graeme passed her, taking the steps two at a time, and Walter pelted after him, but James had too great a lead on all of them. As Laura reached the top of the stairs, she saw the door to Claude’s bedroom open, and he stepped out, scowling.
“What the—”
James barreled into his brother, knocking him down, and began to pummel him. Graeme and Walter reached the struggling pair and grabbed James’s arms, hauling him up. Claude lashed out, hitting James, and Walter threw himself between them. Walter warded off Claude as Graeme wrapped his arms around James, struggling to hold him back. Mr. Netherly and two other men helped pull the two men several feet apart.
“Let go.” James shook off Graeme’s hold. “I’m not going to kill him. Not yet.”
“What the hell is the matter with you?” Claude glared at his brother.
“What do you think is the matter?” James returned hotly. “You tried to murder her. It’s one thing to go after me, but when you try to hurt Laura—”
Claude stared. “What are you talking about?”
“An urn fell from the balcony, almost hit Laura,” Walter explained.
“What?” Claude’s eyebrows shot up and he turned his head, looking past the men to where Laura and the other women of the family were clustered. His face closed down and he turned back to James, saying bitterly, “So of course you decided it was me.”
“Who else would it be?” James retorted. “Bloody huge stone urns don’t just slip off the balcony. It was pushed.”
“Now, James, you don’t know that,” Graeme began reasonably.
“I know.” James glared at his brother. “He knows. I’m telling you, Claude, this stops. Now. If anything happens to her, I will kill you.”
“James . . .” Walter began nervously.
“Stay out of it, Walter.”
“James, calm down,” Graeme urged. “You don’t mean that.”
“The hell I don’t.” James turned to Graeme. “Don’t you understand? He tried to kill Laura. Twice. You think I could possibly ignore that?” He swung back to Claude. “I should have gotten rid of you as soon as I recovered. I foolishly hoped it was someone else, not my own brother, who wanted me dead.”
“I’ve wanted you dead a hundred times,” Claude shot back. “But you’re daft if you think I ever tried to kill you. And why in the bloody blue blazes would I pitch an urn down on your wife?”
“Because she stands in your way!”
The corridor went deathly quiet. It was Graeme who broke the silence. “James, this is absurd. Stop and think. You have no proof.”
“I don’t need proof.” James swung his head toward his cousin, his eyes implacable. “Who else would try to kill my wife?” He swept his hand toward the other people watching in stunned fascination. “All of them might hate me enough to kill me, however small the benefit. But no one would kill Laura except for profit . . . and Claude is the one who would profit. He would have to act quickly, you see, because once I survived, he’d know she might provide me with an heir. Then he would lose all chance of inheriting.” He looked back at his brother. “Wouldn’t you, Claude?”
Claude crossed his arms and regarded James stonily.
“I may not have enough proof for a judge, that’s true,” James went on. “Nor do I wish to upset Mother with the scandal. So this is what I intend: I am going to hire an assassin.”
“What?” A chorus of voices rose up around him.
“If Laura dies, if I die, he will kill you.” James jabbed his finger at Claude. “Do you understand?”
“I understand that you’re a bloody lunatic.”
“James, that’s mad,” Graeme protested. “You can’t just go about hiring someone to kill your brother!”
“Can’t I?”
“Stop and think about this. Consider the consequences. What if something happened that Claude had nothing to do with? If it was just an accident?”
“Then I’d say that Claude has a vested interest in making sure Laura remains well.” James turned and strode away, leaving everyone in the hall staring after him in shocked silence.
Laura whirled and ran after her husband. The remainder of their guests were clustered at the foot of the stairs, buzzing with curiosity, but Laura hardly glanced at them as she ran past.
When Laura entered the study, James was standing at his desk, tucking a sheaf of banknotes into an inner pocket of his jacket. She knew he had heard her enter because, if nothing else, Dem turned to wag his tail at her, but he did not acknowledge her. “James?”
He looked up then, and she saw that his lip was cut and bloodied. Laura pulled out her handkerchief, going to him to wipe away the blood.
He jerked his head away, his expression cool and remote. “I’m going to London.”
At the rebuff, Laura’s hand fell to her side and she took a step back. She tried to match his demeanor despite the fact that her heart was still racing and her nerves jangling in the aftermath of her fright. “Why?”
“To hire an assassin,” he said as calmly as if he’d told her he was going to buy a suit. “As I just told Claude.”
“Are you serious?” She stared. “You really intend to hire a killer?”
“Of course. Did you think I was joking?”
“I presumed you were bluffing,” she retorted, irritation blooming in her chest. “It’s a trifle extreme, don’t you think?”
“Trying to kill you was a trifle extreme,” he answered. “I don’t intend to sit around and wait until he’s successful. This is the most efficient way to assure your safety.”
“James, no! He’s your brother.” Laura’s eyes widened as he pulled a small pistol out of the drawer.
“I don’t have a great deal of brotherly love for the man right now.” He stuck the pistol into the waistband of his trousers and pulled his coat closed over it. “I’m leaving tonight, and I’m taking Claude with me.”
“You think he will be willing to go with you?”
James smiled thinly. “I’m not giving him a choice.” He walked over to the liquor cabinet and poured a shot of whiskey, then drank it down.
Laura watched him, baffled. From the moment the urn had almost hit her, he had been roiling with emotion, first panic, then rage. Now he seemed utterly calm and in control. But why wouldn’t he look at her? “I don’t understand. Why do you want Claude to accompany you?”
“Do you think I would risk him being near you?”
Laura started to point out that James could just as easily take her to London with him and leave Claude here, but he seemed suddenly so cool, so much a stranger, that she felt embarrassed to do so—as if she would be begging for his attention. As she watched, he poured another drink and downed it.
“James, why are you acting this way?” Laura’s legs began to tremble, and she had to lock her knees for fear she might crumple to the floor. Her chest was tight, and tears pushed at the edges of her eyes. She had almost died a few minutes ago. All she wanted right now was for James to hold her, to feel his strength and warmth all around her. Instead, he was as remote as a stranger. “This is madness!”
“Madness?” He whipped around, his composure cracking. “It’s madness to feel I should protect you? I’m your husband, damn it, however little you may regard me as such.”
Laura’s jaw dropped in astonishment. “What?”
“Why in hell didn’t you tell me?”
“Tell you what?”
“About someone trying to kill you! Or perhaps I should say the first time someone tried to murder you. Maybe there are a number of attempts you haven’t seen fit to share with me.”
“No, just the one.” Laura struggled for calm, reminding herself that James had received a fright tonight, too, and was also on edge. “I didn’t tell you because it was only an accident. We weren’t hurt. We were able to jump into the river as we crossed the bridge. I wasn’t even in the carriage when it crashed.”
“Jumped into—” He cut off the words and swung away, slamming his glass down on the cabinet. “You could have been killed. Was that not important enough to speak of? Or perhaps I just wasn’t important enough for you to tell.”
“This is absurd. You were ill. Just starting to recover. I wasn’t about to burden you with news of a carriage accident. I was fine, and there was nothing you could have done about it anyway.”
“No, certainly not. I was too weak and useless to protect my wife. But of course you could tell Graeme. He was able to help.”
“For pity’s sake,” Laura said, exasperated. “I didn’t tell Graeme. He was there.”
“He was with you?” For some reason, this seemed to incense him even more.
“No. He came along afterward.”
“How convenient.”
“What does that mean?” Laura was past being patient. Her own anger rose up in her, and she braced her hands on her hips, glaring at James. “ What is wrong with you? Why are you being so obnoxious?”
“It’s my natural state, remember?” His eyes glittered. “Forgive me. I’m sorry to be a bother about a little thing like someone trying to kill you! No doubt I should be calm and amiable about the fact that everyone knew about this except me.”
“It wasn’t everyone!”
“No, just Graeme. Your stalwart champion.”
Laura let out a noise that sounded much like a growl. “God give me strength. They’re right—you’ve gone mad.”
“Yes, no doubt. I’m sure it’s quite mad for a husband to think his wife might come to him if she was in danger. That she would think he had the right to take care of her, instead of some bloody fool who didn’t even have the courage to marry her!”
Laura stared. “My God . . . you’re jealous.”
“I’m not jealous!” James turned away and suddenly, with a wordless roar, he swept his arm across his desk, sending the things on it crashing to the floor. Demosthenes, who had been watching them warily, now jumped to his feet and let out a bark. James cursed beneath his breath and braced his hands against the desk, just standing there for a long moment, not looking at Laura.
Understanding dawned on Laura. “You’re running away.”
James whipped back around. “What did you say?”
“You aren’t going to London to hire a killer. Or to keep Claude from killing me. You’re running away!”
“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.