Alistair looked up as his wife entered his office. His wife. Why did his mind keep lingering over those two words as if the sound of them now gave him satisfaction? A sense of comfort when everything about their marriage was wrong and was set fair to get worse. Guilt rode him hard.
He frowned. Something was wrong. There were shadows in her eyes.
He got up and came around to lean against the front of his desk, removing at least the physical barrier between them. ‘How was the meeting?’ Even as he asked, his sense of her unease, her anxiety, intensified.
‘Your stepmother was there.’
He hissed in a breath, swallowing a curse. ‘At Beauworth’s?’
Julia wandered the room, touching the spines of books on the shelves, a china dog on the table, a pile of papers on the corner of his desk. Her fingers were long and elegant and the memory of them stroking his flesh made desire a heavy beat in his blood. He desired her too much, but more than that he wanted her happiness. The one thing that it was not in his power to give.
‘The meeting was held at Lady Wiltshire’s house,’ she said over her shoulder. ‘It usually is. Did I not say?’
She had not. Nor had he asked where the meeting was to be held, come to think of it. He’d simply assumed it was at Beauworth.
‘Lady Wiltshire is one of my stepmother’s cronies.’ Something Julia would not have known. Not that knowing would have made a jot of difference.
She turned to face him, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip in a way that made him want to bite it, too. ‘Alistair, she is very cordial.’
A black widow spider might seem cordial upon first acquaintance. He shrugged.
‘Your cousin, Percy Hepple, is also visiting Lady Wiltshire,’ she continued. ‘It seems your cousin is hopeful of speaking with you.’
He groaned inwardly. Though harmless, like all family, Percy was a royal pain in the buttocks. ‘Rusticating, is he? Hiding out from his creditors.’
A small smile curved her lips. ‘It would seem so.’ The smile disappeared, replaced by a frown.
‘He’s a wastrel and a fribble. Pay him no mind.’
The frown did not disappear. ‘Should we perhaps invite them to dine?’
She sounded so hesitant. So unsure.
How could he ever explain that the last thing he ever would want was to spend time with any member of his family and particularly not his stepmother? A woman who seemed cordial. Entertaining her would only serve to encourage her, then lead to accusations, tears and duns for money while she bludgeoned him with what she called his cruelty in going against his father’s wishes.
All because she refused to live within her means. Within the unbelievably generous settlement his father had put in place and that Alistair had struggled to maintain each and every quarter when he first returned to England. And while his cousin Percy was harmless and would be happy with a few guineas in his pocket, Percy’s papa would resent the interference. ‘I will send her a note. Did she say how long she was staying?’
‘No. She invited me to call on her again.’ She flushed. ‘She invited us.’
So that was the crux of the matter. The reason for her hesitation. ‘No.’
Her gaze shot to his face and away again.
‘You disagree?’ he asked, gritting his teeth.
‘I can have no opinion one way or the other, Alistair. She is your family.’
Ice filled his veins. His stepmother was working her wiles again. This time trying to turn his wife against him as she had done with his father. ‘She is no relation at all. It is my most fervent wish that you have no more contact with her or Percy for that matter.’
The anxiety in her eyes increased. ‘As you wish.’
He hated that she sounded so crushed. But he had no intention of starting down the road of confidences, of telling her the reasons for his antipathy, some of them founded on instinct rather than fact. One confidence might lead to another. The idea that she would learn just how badly he had betrayed his family, and her, made him physically ill.
As did the sight of her unhappiness. Hell and damnation. Things had been going along quite well between them these past few days. Why could she not simply accept that he wanted nothing to do with Isobel? If she could do that, then there was a chance this marriage could work reasonably well for them both.
They could even perhaps continue to make love. Surely, if any man could give her only the pleasure of his body, it was he.
* * *
Robins came in from the dressing room, carrying a tray. ‘I sent down for some warm milk.’ Robins’s voice was full of sympathy. And something else. Sadness? She placed the glass on the bedside table. ‘This will help you sleep. And I have rewarmed the hot water bottle His Grace sent up earlier.’ She tucked it in between the sheets.
‘You are very kind.’ Julia eyed the tumbler with misgivings. Robins had taken delivery of the tray through the servants’ door tucked away in her dressing room. A way of staff coming and going without disturbing their employers. The question was, did it contain laudanum? And did it arrive at the door already laced, or had Robins added it before she brought it in? Whichever it was, the question of why and on whose behalf continued to torture her.
Robins gave her an encouraging smile. ‘Drink your milk while it is warm.’
Unwillingly, Julia picked up the drink and cradled it in her palms. The idea of warm milk was indeed comforting. She lifted the glass and sniffed.
Laudanum. The scent stronger than usual.
She wanted to hurl the glass across the room. Instead she watched Robins gather up her gown and shawl and carry them off to the dressing room. As quick as she could, she disposed of the milk in the chamber pot she had placed beneath the bed. Robins smiled when she returned. ‘Sleep well, Your Grace.’ She carried the glass away, closing the chamber door behind her.
Julia snuggled deeper under the covers. How did one sleep well with the grinding ache of fear in one’s belly and nagging away in one’s brain. A fear that made it almost impossible to eat or drink anything.
Despite her struggle to keep her eyes open, exhaustion claimed her. She felt herself sinking into darkness. A nap. She would nap for a bit.
* * *
It was hard to breathe.
Something was pressing down on her chest. Something soft was covering her face. She tried to sit up. Too heavy. She fought against the weight flailing. Her hands tangled with her attacker’s hair. She tugged.
A screech of pain. The weight shifted. She grabbed a bony wrist and twisted hard. A yell. Something, or someone, landed on the floor.
Panting, she shot out of bed.
The door between her room and Alistair’s banged against the wall. ‘What the devil is going on?’
Alistair, candle in hand, wearing his dressing gown, his hair dishevelled, stared at first at Julia and then at Robins, who was hunched up on the floor, weeping. A pillow lay next to her on the carpet.
‘Julia?’ he said. ‘Are you all right.’
Julia swallowed.
Alistair stepped towards her. Instinctively, she backed away. His eyes widened. ‘It is all right,’ he said softly, holding out a hand, as if gentling a skittish horse. ‘Tell me what happened.’
She glanced down at Robins. ‘She attacked me.’
‘What?’ He seemed so absolutely stunned, so horrified, she could not help but take comfort in it.
Alistair pulled the weeping Robins to her feet. He shoved her into a chair when she seemed unable to stand unaided. ‘Is this correct?’
The woman cried even harder.
‘Robins,’ Julia said sharply. ‘Answer His Grace.’
The woman hiccupped.
Julia fetched a glass of water from the washstand and shoved it at her. She was so angry she didn’t know why she didn’t throw it in her face. ‘Drink it and calm yourself.’
The woman drank.
‘What the devil is going on?’ Alistair’s voice crackled with ice.
When the woman took in the rage in his face, she shrank away. ‘He said he would kill my daughter.’
‘He?’ Alistair said, his quiet voice far more menacing than a shout.
Robins flinched. The glass trembled in her hand. ‘A man.’
‘What man?’ Julia asked, more gently, controlling her own anger, her sense of betrayal by this woman who looked ready to collapse.
‘He came to my last position and told me I would be offered a place with Her Grace. I was to take it if I wanted my daughter to reach her next birthday. She’s only five.’ She burst into tears.
Threatening a child. The height of cruelty. Julia shook her head at Alistair, who looked ready for murder. ‘Tell us everything, Robins.’
Robins burst into sobs again. Julia wanted to shake her. ‘Calm yourself. Who is this man you speak of?’
‘I do not know,’ she said, gasping for breath. ‘Please. He told me I would never see Minnie again if I did not do exactly as I was told.’
Julia felt sympathy, but also anger. The woman should have trusted her instead of...
‘You have been putting laudanum in my tea and chocolate. To what end?’
The woman started sobbing again. ‘I’m s-s-sorry.’
Alistair cursed softly. ‘You said nothing of this.’
Julia looked up from the woman hunched in the chair and squared her shoulders. ‘How could I? I did not know who was doing it.’
He looked horrified. And cut to the quick. He inhaled a deep breath. ‘We will talk of this. Right now we must discover who means you harm. How did you know...?’
‘The poppy in laudanum makes me violently ill. It has done so ever since I was a child. It took a few days for me to realise why I did not like the chocolate I was given each morning. And why I was so violently ill. I stopped drinking the chocolate. It then turned up in my tea.’
Robins looked up, her eyes red and swollen. ‘That is why you were ill? I thought it was the travelling.’
And her husband had suspected she was with child. Julia glanced at Alistair. He looked shame-faced.
‘I knew you were bringing the stuff to me, Robins, but I did not know if you were part of the plot. Or someone’s dupe. Or what exactly the laudanum was supposed to accomplish.’ She took a deep breath and looked at Alistair. ‘She tried to smother me with that pillow.’
‘Dear God...’ he breathed. He glared at Robins. ‘Is this true?’
She nodded miserably. ‘He said I was taking too long. His employer wanted it done with.’
A shudder went through Julia at how cavalierly the woman spoke of her death. Yet if she had a child, would she not do anything to protect it? Anything at all. Even murder?
Alistair’s fists clenched as if he would strike the woman. ‘And once she was dead? What then?’
Robins shrugged. ‘Minnie would have been safe.’
Alistair paced away as if he could not bear to be near her. He kicked at the logs in the fire, sparking them to life.
‘This man,’ Alistair said, swinging around suddenly. ‘Did I see you speaking to him in the village the other day?’
She nodded. ‘I didn’t think you saw us.’ She gazed at Julia. ‘Your Grace, I am so sorry. I had to do it. I couldn’t let them hurt my little girl. And now...’ Sobbing, she buried her face in her hands. ‘They will kill Minnie for certain,’ she wailed.
‘What would you have done if my wife had been in bed with me tonight?’ Alistair asked, his voice full of ice.
Robins struggled to breath. ‘Waited for another night, I suppose. It isn’t as if you come to her all that often.’
The coldness of the words stung Julia like a slap to the face. The woman’s betrayal hurt so much, she did not want to be near her. She rose to her feet, anger making it hard to think clearly.
‘When do you meet this man again?’ Alistair asked, the menace in his voice making Robins shrink back. ‘And where.’
The woman wrung her hands. ‘He finds me. Or sends a note. I never know when to expect him.’
She sounded resigned.
‘What are you thinking, Alistair?’ Julia asked.
‘I am thinking you need your rest.’ He glared at Robins. ‘Give me the key to your room.’
The woman fumbled in her pocket and handed over a key. ‘What will you do with me?’
‘I will decide that in the morning.’ He walked over to the door. ‘For tonight I am going to lock you in your room where you can do no more harm.’
‘Please, Your Grace,’ Robins said, looking at Julia, her eyes wide. ‘Don’t hand me over to the magistrate. My daughter...’ She started sobbing again.
‘Do as His Grace ordered,’ Julia said, but pity for the child made her soften her tone.
The woman scuttled from the room followed by Alistair, who returned a few moments later.
‘Alistair—’ Julia said. Her knees felt suddenly weak. Fear, anger, even relief all warred with each other for attention.
‘Hush.’ He picked her up in his arms and carried her into his bedroom. ‘It is all right. She’s safely locked away. She cannot hurt you.’
He gazed down into her face and she saw he was worried. For her? All at once she felt safer than she had for days. ‘It is so hard to believe that someone wants me dead.’ She shuddered.
He nodded tersely. ‘You’ve had a shock. You need to rest.’
Tenderly he lay her on his bed and pulled the covers over her. ‘Sleep now. We will talk in the morning.’ He snuggled in beside her and held her close, gently running his hand over her back in circles.
She felt cherished. And strangely happy. As if she had drunk too much champagne, something she had done only once as a girl at her very first house party.
She lifted her head and kissed his cheek. ‘Thank you for coming in time.’
‘Sleep,’ he said and his voice was gruff.
* * *
Alistair put the breakfast tray on the end of the bed and leaned over his wife. Pride filled him as he saw she slept soundly. Trust. It was a heady thing, even if he hadn’t truly earned it. The idea that she had feared he might be the one causing her harm had been a bitter but not undeserved blow. He struggled with his sudden urge to tell her the truth, expose his guilt, yet it wasn’t his secret to share.
‘Wake up, sleepy head,’ he said, jostling her shoulder.
She opened her eyes. The moment her gaze focused on him she beamed. The beauty of her smile went straight to his groin, robbing his brain of all but lust. Now was not the right time, for so many reasons. He forced himself to focus on the task at hand.
‘Sit up. I brought breakfast on a tray so we can talk without interruption.’
Once they were settled with the tray between them and she had a cup of tea in her hands, Alistair took hold of his courage in both hands.
‘I sent Robins away,’ he said.
Her teacup rattled in the saucer and he steadied it, letting go only when he saw she had pulled herself together.
‘I put her in my carriage at four this morning and sent her off with Jaimie to collect her family. Jaimie will hide them away until we discover who is behind this plot to have you harmed.’
She frowned. ‘Why?’
He hadn’t slept a wink all night, thinking about this very thing. ‘One thing I know for certain, if we involve the magistrate it will create a great scandal. A blot on the family escutcheon.’ Not to mention bringing Julia into the limelight where her past might be revealed. ‘Her child is an innocent in all of this and she would suffer greatly if the mother was convicted of a crime.’
Her eyes widened in surprise. ‘That is generous of you.’
‘No matter what people say of me, I am not completely heartless.’ He wondered if she believed him but suspected she did not and that hurt more than he liked to admit. ‘Jaimie will get them away before the people involved realise what happened. He’ll spread some rumours at the local watering hole of a death in her family.’
Julia sipped at her tea. ‘And so you pre-empt any strike at the child they might make in retaliation.’ She sighed. ‘As angry as I am with Robins, I would not like the child to suffer. But we still do not know who they are. Or why they are doing this.’
Shadows of doubt remained in her eyes. Did she doubt him? How much more could he say to assure her he meant her no harm? That her welfare was important to him.
His mind went back to the deliberate sabotaging of his saddle. He could not help surmising that whoever was behind this attack was using his wife as a means to destroy him. Who, other than him, would have been accused of her murder, if Robins had succeeded?
Whatever the case, he would bet his title that his brother was involved, possibly with the help of his stepmother. And, Alistair admitted, with an arrow of pain that pierced his soul, his brother had good reason to hurt him. However, coming after Julia was a huge mistake. An act of aggression he would not tolerate.
He toyed with the idea of telling Julia his suspicions. Of easing her suspicions about him, but then he would have to tell her the whole story and she’d know exactly how badly he’d misled her. How shameful he really was. Self-disgust roiled in his gut. If she ever learned the truth he would likely lose her entirely.
‘I think we should talk to Digger. She might have some ideas.’