Dreamspinner (11 page)

Like a lion closing in on its prey, he surged up the stairs. His mind must have been on unpleasant matters; his lips were thinned beneath the handlebar mustache.

Juliet took a deep breath. “You’re home early, Papa.”

“And a damned good thing, too.”

The curse shocked her as much as the fury beneath his taut mask of civility. Seizing her arm, he jerked her toward the door. Potter held open the mahogany panel and stared straight ahead.

She half stumbled as her father hauled her into the house. “Papa? What’s wrong?”

His glance scorched her. “Don’t play the innocent with me.”

A second shock wave struck. She felt the blood drain from her cheeks.
Dear heaven, he must have found out about Kent.

Emmett marched her up the grand staircase. Her arm throbbed as he drew her down the hall and into her bedroom. He released her abruptly. She caught at the doorjamb to steady herself.

Her maid, Charlotte, stood before the dressing table. She froze in the act of pouring perfume into a cut glass bottle. The rich scent of oil of jasmine wafted through the air.

“Out,” Emmett growled.

Charlotte hastily corked the vial. Her wide eyed gaze darted from father to daughter; then she bobbed a curtsy and scurried out, shutting the door.

Fists clenched, he swung toward Juliet. His chest rose and fell with terrible fury. “You faithless liar. How long have you been sneaking off to see Deverell?”

She struggled to control her disgust and hurt that he’d treat her so crudely. As soon as he knew the truth, he’d calm down. “Papa, things aren’t what they seem—”

“Don’t deny that you got out of his carriage. I was close enough to see that much.”

“I wasn’t denying—”

“I saw the way that damned blackguard touched you. The way a man would caress his mistress. Now answer me: how long has this abomination been going on?”

His thundering voice alarmed her, but she refused to flinch. “I’ve met him a few times, but you must understand—”

“That conniving devil! I should have guessed he wouldn’t stop at invading my home.” He slammed his palm onto the dressing table so hard, the bottles and jars clinked. “By God, he won’t get away with stealing you, too!”

“Too?” Cocking her head, she sensed that something simmered below the surface of his anger, something beyond her perception. “What do you mean?”

Emmett turned away, his expression hidden. “A Deverell can’t be trusted,” he growled. “That’s all you need remember. He means to smear your reputation so that no decent man will want you.”

Juliet stepped in front of him. “Where do you get such horrible ideas? Kent would never dishonor me.”

He glowered. “Hah! He’s ruined more lives than you can know.”

Her lips softened into a reassuring smile. “But he’s asked me to marry him. And I agreed, Papa. I agreed because I love him. I’ve never wanted anything more than I want him.”

Emmett stood perfectly still. “You betraying bitch.”

With a snarl of fury, he lunged at her. His palm struck her cheek. Reeling from the blow, she staggered backward until her spine met the carved bedpost. Pain shot up her back.

Shaking with disbelief, Juliet stared at her father. The echo of the slap hung in the quiet air. She cupped her red hot cheek. Without the support of the bedpost, she would have wilted like an ice stung bloom.

His harsh expression dissolved into horrified regret, and he took a step toward her. “Princess, forgive me,” he said in a hoarse voice. “I shouldn’t have lost my temper.”

Bewildered, she shook her head slowly. “Didn’t you hear what I said? Kent wants me for his
wife.”

A muscle ticked in his jaw. “He’ll never have you. Never.”

Bitter disillusionment soured her soul, and she swallowed a choking upsurge of tears. “Then you aren’t apologizing for what’s really important. You can’t bear for me to love Kent because that would mean you’ve been wrong all these years.”

“I know him better than you think, Princess. I just don’t want him to hurt you.”

“You’ve already hurt me.” She touched her stinging cheek. “I didn’t realize how much until a moment ago.”

“Put that bastard out of your mind, do you understand me?” Her father shook a finger. “He’s no better than a dirt farmer—”

“Mr. Carleton! What’s going on here?”

Her mother stood with her hand on the doorknob, her figure trim and ladylike in a gown of gentian blue silk.

“I’ve not invited you into this discussion, Dorothea.”

She hesitated, her gaze moving from him to Juliet. Then Dorothea took a determined step forward. “I’m aware of that, Mr. Carleton. But Potter informed me that you’d dragged Juliet up the stairs in a most extraordinary fashion. Now I see you’ve struck her, and I wish to know why.”

“She’s been lying to both of us. For the past fortnight, she’s been sneaking off to meet Kent Deverell.”

Dorothea gasped and turned to her daughter. “Is this true?”

Juliet held her head high. “Yes. But you needn’t worry about scandal. Kent and I wish to be married.”

“Married! Dear me ...” Eyes alight, Dorothea looked at Emmett. “Darling, imagine! Our daughter, the Duchess of Radcliffe!”

“She’ll be the Marchioness of Breeton. That’s prestigious enough for me.”

“But Mr. Carleton, your grandson could be a duke–”

He cut her off with a downward slash of his hand. “I said that’s enough. I’ll not hear another word on the matter.”

The enthusiasm left her delicate features, and she lowered her gaze. “Yes, of course.”

Their argument left Juliet sickened, for neither of her parents considered her happiness. “You might ask me what
I
wish.”

“I know what’s best for you, Princess.” Emmett stalked toward the door, then pivoted, his expression
stony. “Go near that devil again and by God, you’re no longer my daughter.”

Though his words cleaved her heart, she lifted her chin. “You’re not treating me like your daughter, but a share of stock to be traded at your command. I’m old enough to make my own decisions.”

“You’re acting like a child. I’ll leave you alone to think about your unseemly conduct.”

Seizing his wife’s hand and snatching the brass key from the inside lock, he slammed the door shut behind them. Before Juliet realized his intent, the key rattled in the lock. The heavy tread of footsteps marched away.

She rushed to the door and shook the knob. A sob lodged in her throat and tears blurred her eyes. She sank to her knees and pressed her cheek to the door. The cool wood soothed her cheek, but the rent in her heart burned with the heat of her father’s callous words. Kent had been right all along; Papa hadn’t even been willing to listen. He didn’t trust her to make wise choices. He’d never offer his blessing on the marriage. And she couldn’t depend on her mother for help; no matter what her private feelings, Dorothea Carleton would bow to her husband’s wishes.

Go near that devil again and by God, you’ll no longer be my daughter.

Her mind a maze of grief, Juliet buried her face in her hands and wept. The burst of raw emotion gradually subsided, leaving her as desolate as a storm lashed garden. If she went through with the elopement, she would lose her parents forever. Yet could things ever be the same again? To make them happy, she’d have to forfeit the man she loved and shackle herself to that shallow, fox hunting Breeton.

She had the sudden, unbearable need to feel Kent’s arms around her, to lay her head on the firm warmth of his chest, to hear the reassuring beat of his heart.

Tonight she would pledge her life to him.

The decision cleared her mind. Rising, she looked around the bedroom. French gilt furniture, an ornately plastered ceiling, a silk hung, four poster bed with a pale blue counterpane.
A pretty cage.
The expensive decor reflected her mother’s style and her father’s appetite for luxury. Only the vase of dried wildflowers and the botany books on the nightstand marked the room as her own.

Going to an opened window, she peered down. The stone ledge above the terrace looked alarmingly narrow, and extended to an enormous oak at the corner of the house. She
had
to escape. Could she manage to inch her way to those thick branches?

For Kent, she would try anything.

In her dressing room, she selected the largest hatbox and tossed aside its lavishly ribboned contents. Buoyed by nervous energy, she packed the makeshift portmanteau and hid it under the bed. Then she waited. Hours passed in measured ticks of the ormolu mantelpiece clock. At eight, Charlotte brought a dinner tray. From her sidelong looks, Juliet knew the maid burned to discover why the master had imprisoned his daughter. To avoid suspicion, she accepted Charlotte’s aid in donning a nightdress. The servant murmured a good night and locked the door behind her.

Too overwrought to sleep, Juliet forced herself to sit in a chair by the window. With a pang of regret, she gazed over the darkened gardens in which she’d spent many contented hours. There would be other gardens at Radcliffe, a place of her own. What was his castle like? And Kent’s cousin?

The sky was cloudy, the night chilly with rising mist. Gaslight shone in the windows of neighboring houses and in the mews, where the stable lads and coachman resided. The ever present odor of smoke pervaded the air. From downstairs came the occasional rise of a voice, though the words were indistinct.

Her mind replayed the awful confrontation with her father.
He won’t get away with stealing you, too.
What could the Deverell have done to turn her father into such a beast? Swallowing hard, she buried the memory beneath thoughts of Kent... the beauty of his smiles, the taste of his mouth, the gentleness of his touch.

One by one the lights vanished and the voices ceased. The clock chimed once. The house creaked and settled. Certain that everyone slept, she exchanged her nightdress for a simple gown of forest green silk. The task seemed to take forever as her fingers fumbled with corset hooks and frock buttons.

Then she sat down at her desk and composed a note to her parents. Her emotions numb, she left the folded letter and poked her head out the window again. The ledge lay hidden in gloom. A shudder ran through her. She might lose her footing, tumble to the flagstoned terrace.

Just as Emily Deverell had fallen to her death.

Yet what other choice did she have?

A startling idea sent Juliet rushing to the door. Crouching, she peered through the keyhole. The key blocked the opening.

From her desk she fetched a sheet of stationery and slid it under the door. Using a hairpin, she gently dislodged the key. A ping sounded as the metal struck the floor of the hall. Dropping to her knees, she peered beneath the door and saw the key lying just past the paper. “Drat!”

Now what? She ran into her dressing room and yanked open a drawer. Fingers trembling, she pushed aside fans and combs, hatpins and handkerchiefs. At last she found a buttonhook.

Hurrying back, she thrust the long hook under the door. It took four tries before her shaking hand maneuvered the key onto the paper. She slowly drew it inside. Elated, she snatched up the cold brass in her fist. Then her exultation drained. No doubt, Charlotte would be held to blame for forgetting the key.

Yet Juliet couldn’t turn back now.

The clock chimed twice as she swiftly donned hr best braided jacket. Catching the hatbox handle in the hand, she unlocked the door and crept out. A low lit gas sconce at the far end of the hall shed enough light for her to see. She relocked the door and left the key so that nothing would appear amiss.

Silence hung heavy as she tiptoed along the dark hall and past her parents’ suite of rooms. She headed down the grand, curving staircase, her shoes tapping on the marble risers, the ungainly hatbox bumping her thigh.

Turning the latch, she opened the front door. Across the square, in a deep shadowed area between the street lamps, she saw the misty outline of a familiar landau. Pivoting, she took one last look around the lofty foyer. Regret choked her throat, regret that her parents could not accept the man she loved.

Then she stepped into the chilly night and closed the door on her childhood.

Chapter 6

Kent forced himself to stand rigidly before the altar steps.

Seeking a distraction to calm the churning in his stomach, he glanced around the small church. This remote sanctum in the rolling hills of Hampshire suited his requirements superbly. Sunshine flowed through the stained glass and cast jeweled light over the rows of empty pews. The congregation consisted of Ravi and Hatchett who sat together at the rear. On one side of Kent stood the gangly vicar; on the other, a rabbit toothed young curate gawked with ill concealed awe.

Everyone waited for the ceremony to begin.

Panic swept Kent in a sickening wave. The urge to run out of the church swamped him. He could yet stop himself from committing this ignominious act. He could turn back, cancel the wedding, and restore Juliet to the life she deserved. Fleeing would be not the act of a coward, but of a hero.

Go. Now. If you have any humanity left in the void of your soul, you’ll give her back.

His foot moved. A hand touched his arm. Numbly he looked at the ink stained fingers on his gray sleeve. His eyes followed the arm to the surprised clergyman.

“I don’t blame you for your impatience, Your Grace,” whispered Wesley Elphinstone. “Here’s your bride now. And she’s one worth waiting for, if I may say so.”

Kent jerked his gaze down the aisle. Juliet stood framed by the open doors of the church, the late afternoon sunlight gilding her slender figure. A wreath of orange blossoms crowned her upswept hair, and a crepe de chine gown in a shade of aged gold hugged her skin. In her arms she cradled a spray of lavender marsh orchids. The blooms drew his eyes to her breasts, where the prim bodice and pearl necklace accented her womanly fullness. Tonight he’d possess the right to undress her; tonight he’d run his hands over her ripe curves; tonight he’d make long, sweet love to her.

His groin tightened with unholy heat. Christ. Now he was lusting in a church. To what depths had he sunk?