Passion (27 page)

Flashes of Harry’s residence went through his
mind. Her huge library and collections. He could see her as young
studying, reading, books being her friends, as they were his at one
time. His refuge too. Learning…. Yes. For all Harry had a different
sort of life, adventure and unconventional upbringing, she likely
did not have stability. She mayhap felt the outsider because of her
background. He knew all about distance. However, Harry had somehow
made all the disadvantages, advantages, aside from wealth, which
she was certain to inherit. She made more of it, so that her future
would have substance and not just wealth. Harry had passion.

Jules cancelled his appointments, bathed and
slept. When he awoke, he made two trips into the shopping district,
arriving at his father’s with tailor, barber, and other necessary
men in tow.

The Duke merely raised a brow as they
proceeded to Raith’s apartments.

Raith opened at his knock, leaning on his
cane.

“May we come in?”

Looking at the individuals with him, the
burdens they carried, Raith eyed him. “Do I have a choice?”

“No.” Jules smiled aridly, and when Raith
stood back, they entered.

In the next hour, Jules oversaw the barber
sheering Raith’s hair, cutting it chin length and in a few layers
that suited him. He would be completely silver before he turned 30,
already there were streaks of it in the raven mane.

He commented as the tailor began pinning
precut cloth, “More in a Spanish style, I think. He has the
bloodlines, and height, to carry it off.”

Ignoring Raith’s less than pleasant smile,
Jules looked at the sketches and then approved several. He picked
out the subtle ruffle for the shirt collar and cuffs, then the
formal gloves.

When Raith was free from being poked and
pinned, Jules led him out to the back garden. They took seats on a
bench. He handed him a cheroot.

Lighting his, Raith’s dark eyes skimmed to
him. “What’s this all about?”

“I’ll tell you in a moment.” Jules leaned
back and puffed his own, looking over the garden before he asked
quietly, “Tell me about her. About Suzette.”

For a moment, there was utter silence. He
looked at Raith’s hard profile, the stillness on his face, before
Raith finally sighed and got to his feet.

He walked just a bit away, as if he did not
want Jules to see his face.

Raith began, “I met her while out walking—a
country lane that I somehow wondered onto. I just her and I would
swear my heart stopped beating for a moment. She spoke to me first.
I hardly knew what she said, something about, was I lost, or
perhaps looking for her father? He was a Rector. Suzette was blond,
pretty, and fresh as the sun. It all happened so fast, as if… I
knew if I didn’t take it, hold onto….”

Raith shook his head. “She was innocent, the
kind of pure, gentle, and loving creature that makes you wonder at
your own cynicism. I told her as little as possible about who I
was. She was close to her family, yet I was restless…I…After we
wed, I brought her to London. We….” He looked up at the sky a
moment.

Raith lowered his eyes and sighed heavily,
his free hand rubbed his nape. “We had just consummated the
marriage the night before she—went missing.” His voice nearly
broke, “I should have told her, warned her, not to go out
alone”

Jules dropped his stare from Raith, looking
around too. when Raith picked up the story…talking about searching
for her, about his fears, terrors, nightmares, and then finding her
much worse than any nightmare he’d had, Jules felt his own stomach
churn and tighten. He could not imagine it. He could hear the
horror in Raith’s voice. The description of her body was beyond
macabre.

When Raith fell silent, they finished their
cheroots. To change the mood and banish some of the shadows, Jules
talked about the investigations and the scandals coming from the
aftermath.

Raith said, “I deduced that Stratton had been
obsessed with Natasha’s getting away from him. He had put that
ring, the one I placed on Gabriella’s finger, on her.”

“I’m sorry. There are no words adequate...”
Jules murmured, “But no one mourns him. The more that comes out,
the more of his evil is exposed. I do not think everyone who had
dealings with him knew the extent of his depravity. However, I
believe they are partly responsible. There’s been no word of his
wife and brother in law, and one assumes they have fled.”

Eventually, somewhat reluctantly, Jules began
telling him about his meeting with sir George, since he’d figured
Raith had taken those papers—and seen them.

“Your…life is your affair.” Raith
shrugged.

“It’s not my life. It was an event—something
that— happened. Nevertheless, I thank God you did get those papers,
because it would not matter if it were once, or in what context—or
if it was my sexual preference. It would have destroyed me,
and….father too, no doubt. But you know what I mean.”

“She took them. Gabriella,” Raith husked.
“That’s what she was doing there. She was taking information out of
his desk and safe, that I used—”

Jules stared at Raith’s profile again. “Are
you telling me she played mistress to him? A sadistic and
depraved….”

“Yes.”

Seeing something awful on his face, Jules
still muttered, “Tell me—that you did not plan that…”

“It was the only way to get inside and get
close to him.”

“My, God, Raith.”

“Christ…I don’t know. I don’t bloody know, if
I made her… or not.” Raith turned and stared at him, his dark eyes
dreadful in their starkness. “Before…I would have said no. She was
with me for years, we planned it, worked toward that. And she
agreed to it. She owed him for her mother’s sufferings and her own.
She was never to let him abuse her…”

Jules could not help the strangled grunt that
came out at that.

Raith uttered harshly, “I know. I know. I
bloody know how it sounds now.”

Shaking his head, just looking at him, Jules
tried to picture all those years, all those years with that
obsession and that plan for revenge between them. He could see it
on his brother, and he could believe it. Nevertheless, he had seen
that young and beautiful woman. Moreover, to do that, to plan it
with Raith, to go that far and suffer so much…. Christ. They had
both nearly died.

“Tell me—about Gabriella.”

Raith just stared at him, the sinew on his
face like iron.

“I see.” Jules read it, even if Raith tried
to mask it.

Yes, he could imagine that Raith was coming
out of his nightmare, one he had seeped himself in and chosen to
walk in with tunnel vision. He could imagine that perhaps Raith was
seeing more clearly with distance. With the demon of his nightmares
vanquished. He was fairly certain his brother could feel now
too—where he could not, likely would not let himself, before.

Jules stood and walked over near him.
Reaching out, plucking a leaf, idly twirling it, he pondered how
far Raith would let him go. He had already invaded Raith’s space
and pushed much on him, and drawn a lot more out of him.

Jules did not fool himself that Raith felt
any kind of obligation to humor him. In many ways, it was easier
for Raith and Blaise to find some common or middle ground, than he
and Raith. They were complete opposites. Although, Jules was
beginning to think that was less likely true. They simply handled
their plights in different ways.

“Caroline has gotten word that the Duke will
be returning next week,” he informed quietly. “Gabriella is coming
back with him. I would imagine that his Grace is going to have his
usual birthday ball. We should all be there.”

“Blaise…”

“I’m going to see him, as soon as I leave
here.” Jules looked up to see Raith was staring beyond at nothing.
A muscle was twitching in his hard jaw.

Jules murmured, “You’ve closed a terrible
Chapter on your past. You have given Suzette rest. I think, you are
starting to see it all as if looking back through new eyes. That is
good, Raith. Some things we do are justified, others we cannot, and
should not. Gabriella has gone through a nightmare of her own. A
more intimate and fresher one, by the sounds of it. You have a
life, something to begin, and no excuses for going back there—ever
again. You have family, not just us, but your mother and
uncle—land, an estate, a future here or there. What matters, is
that you consider what you owe Gabriella.”

When his brother glanced at him, Jules raised
his brow. “You heard right. I said what you owe her. You were, and
still are, older. And too—you need to let yourself feel what I
think you are feeling for her, even at the risk of rejection.”

Raith’s dark eyes moved over his face. “You
are the least to be speaking of feeling or showing emotion,
Stoneleigh.”

“I know,” Jules, admitted it. “I’m realizing
that denial doesn’t make them impact out lives any less. In fact,
the more we deny, the less we can have of any “real” life.”

They went back inside. Jules saw his group
off, having a short visit with his father before he left to get up
with Blaise. He wanted his father to know though, that he would see
all of his sons together, very soon.

Artis had looked at him. “I’m proud of you,
my boy.”

Jules held a dry smile of his own. “Don’t be.
Not yet, father. I’m very good at arrogantly demanding of
others—even silently demanding, but...” He also muttered as he
left, “Being reminded of ones limits, is quite leveling.”

In the coach, Jules thought again of Harry
and their night of passion. He admitted that he had not stopped
thinking of her from that first encounter. It was inevitable,
considering the chemistry between them.

A year ago, he would have laughed at the idea
of being attracted to her, or even caring if a woman was educated
beyond the usual. He never thought about them. Women—did not matter
to him as friends, not even as lovers really.

He could not stop thinking about Harry.

* * * *

“Boxing?” Jules glared at his cousin, who was
holding ice to his eye. “Are you both insane!”

“No.” Ry laughed. “We had one good eye
between us, and by God, he landed a hit right on it.”

“Utterly stupid.” Jules shook his head.

“Your brother has defended himself, and been
a fighter most of his life. As blind, he is vulnerable, no matter
what his size. It is imperative that he learn to use his senses, to
re-train himself to fight. He cannot hide himself in his rooms, or
this house, and live the life of an invalid. He’s a man in his
prime.”

“Where is he?” Jules was standing in the
front parlor.

“He’s above, in his chambers. The doctor is
with him.”

“Doctor? Christ—“

“Don’t worry. I feel ghastly enough. And not
because I hit him. I promise you, if I had gone easy on him, he
would have beaten me to a bloody pulp. However, when he went down
the last time, he said he felt as if something loosened in his eye.
We thought it best to summon the doctor.”

“God in heaven.” Jules just stared at Ry. The
man had blood dried in his nose, his one working eye was turning
black, and his shirt was stained. “I don’t know which of you is
more dangerous to yourself, or to each other.”

Laughing, Ry grabbed his ribs, wincing
getting his big boots propped on a stool. “Blaise, certainly. He is
so determined to do everything he could when he had sight, he is
killing me trying to keep up with him. Horseback riding, fencing,
shooting, boxing…”

Jules went over and poured Ry a drink then
shoved it in his hands. “Get that eye better before next week.
You’re attending a ball.” He went upstairs to check on Blaise.

The sitting room door was ajar. He could see
Blaise in the bright room, with every window open to let in light
and several lamps blazing. A young valet stood beside his chair
with a wash pan, having a towel over his arm. A male he assumed was
the doctor, had his hand on Baize’s head, passing what looked like
a magnet before his eye.

“How about now?” He was asking.

“Still the same. Like looking through a thick
glass. I can see edges, color, but they are skewed. Nothing in the
center. But at least it’s some sight.”

The doctor straightened and tossed the magnet
in a case. He considered Blaise. “It’s promising, but don’t get
your hopes up.” He pat his shoulder. “Could be that piece of
shrapnel that came out was pressing on nerves and perhaps now if it
heals, more vision will return… but only time will tell.”

He checked the other eye, and Jules, who took
off coat and hat, and half sat on a chair arm, heard Blaise say,
“No real difference. Just a kind of gray.”

“Hmmm.” The doctor cleaned Blaise’s eyes,
muttering about excess bruising because of the blows to them. He
admonished. “No more of that. If you must spar, then learn to
protect those eyes.”

The doctor finished and closed his bag.
Seeing Jules on the way out, he bowed respectfully and Jules
nodded.

Walking over to his brother, Jules looked at
the knot on Blaise’s brow, a welt on his cheekbone. The other eye
was swelled and his lip was split.

“Well, at least you don’t look as bad as
Ry.”

“Jules.” Blaise smiled and then winced. He
took the towel that the valet held out, a nice wet one, and dabbed
at the lip, dismissing the young man next.

“Have a seat.” He invited.

Jules did, seating himself in the chair
opposite Blaise while the valet subdued some of the lamplight.

“May I get you anything, your Lordship?” The
Valet asked.

Jules attended the young man. “Coffee, for us
both.”

“I was thinking more of whiskey,” Blaise
muttered.

“No whiskey. You’re already blind, now
battered, all we need is for you to fall out a window.”

“Is that humor?” Blaise snorted at him, but
his lips smiled as much as he’d let them without it smarting. “I
didn’t know you had a sense of it, Stoneleigh.”