Chapter 10 #2
She shook her head. “He died in prison three months after my mother passed, whether from the abysmal conditions or the cancerous guilt eating his soul, I do not know. I had already gone to live with my aunt, as she was my only means of shelter, pitiful as it is.” She turned away her face, unwilling to read his response.
“So, there you have it. I am a poacher with a tarnished name. Are you so certain you still wish to keep me in your employ?”
Laughter rumbled in his chest. “More certain than ever.”
She spun back to him. “How can you say that?”
“Your past—no matter how tragic—does not define who you are. In the short time I have known you, you have shown more strength and integrity than many in the highest of society ever could. If anything, your resilience makes me respect you all the more.”
What?
Her breath caught. For the first time since the whole tragic event, she might believe—just maybe—that her worth wasn’t entirely lost.
“Do you truly think so?” she couldn’t help but ask.
“I do.” He grinned, so irresistibly charming that her knees weakened. “And if you will trust me, I shall prove to you that you are more than the sum of your father’s mistakes.”
What a balm that would be. Why, she might even consider there could be hope in this bleak situation after all.
“Henry!” Charity flew towards them, barely stopping before crashing into her brother’s broad chest. “Someone is watching me. I know it.”
All his mirth fled. “Where?”
“Over there.” Charity tipped her head towards the stretch of field before a long line of woods.
Juliet squinted into the dark, where a man-sized shape stood immobile near a stack of hay. “You go one way. I will go the other. We shall flank him.”
She didn’t wait for a reply. Using all the skills she’d honed over the past year, she quickly crept towards the east, keeping to the deepest patches of night, drawing ever closer to the man who clearly kept watch on the festival.
That wouldn’t last long, though. As quiet as she might be, he would surely detect the rustle of her hem in the long grass.
So, she’d just have to use that to her advantage.
“Pardon me, sir.” She waved a hand over her head as she advanced, hoping to hold his attention until Henry could come up from behind the fellow.
The man turned her way. So far, so good. She could already make out the silhouette of Henry stalking closer to him.
“Please, sir.” She waved again.
He kept staring.
Henry drew nearer.
“I seem to have lost my way,” she called all the louder.
The man stood rock still, clearly not the chivalrous sort.
Ten paces more now. Maybe nine, as Henry’s stride was so long.
“Could you help—”
Crack!
A stick broke like a gunshot beneath Henry’s heel.
The man bolted towards the tree line, a distinct limp hampering his speed.
Juliet’s gaze shot to Henry, who stood rigid for barely a beat—but in that beat, there was an unmistakable fury hardening his face and his fists.
A rage she’d never dare to stand against. May heaven help the man who’d presumed to stare across that field at Henry’s sister. He’d need all the help he could get.
For without a word, Henry tore after him.
White-hot fury pumped through his veins as Henry sprinted across the dark field. Parker! He might’ve known.
“Hold it right there!” Lunging, he grabbed a handful of Parker’s coat and spun him around.
Parker leaned heavily on his cane, the only thing keeping him upright besides Henry’s death grip. “Unhand me this instant, Russell.”
The words were calm—eerily so—which only validated Henry’s initial suspicions. He gave the man a jaw-rattling shake. “This stops here and now. Do you understand me? I ought to haul you off to the constable this instant.”
Parker wrenched violently, breaking loose and stumbling backwards—then planted his feet, gripping the ebony cane with both hands.
With a twist and pull, he unsheathed a hidden rapier from within the shaft.
The slender blade caught the festival’s spare light as he leveled its tip at Henry’s chest, his dark eyes twin voids in a skull-like face.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about. Now back off.”
Despite the threat, Henry stood his ground. “Do not play the innocent with me. Clearly some sort of guilt is involved here, else you’d not have run from me.”
Parker’s gaze was sharp as a dagger. “When a man is flanked, it is only natural to flee.”
He had a point. Barely. “And yet why would you be standing out here in the dark?”
“Not that it is any of your business, but since my service, crowds have a way of inciting anxiety.”
Plausible.
But far too convenient, particularly since the man had been staring at Charity. Henry grunted. “Listen, Parker, I know you nurse a grudge against my sister for rejecting your hand, and I saw you lurking about in town. You cannot deny this.”
“I do not answer to you. If you have a valid legal complaint against me, I shall happily see you in court. Until then, stay away from me.”
“You stay away from my sister!”
“Hah! That’s the problem with you Russells.
Always thinking you are the center of attention.
” He flicked the tip of the rapier, slicing off one of Henry’s coat buttons before sheathing the thing.
Once again he used the implement as a cane instead of a weapon as he pivoted into the dark with a lurching grace, the kind nightmares favoured.
Henry narrowed his eyes on Parker’s retreating form, barely keeping from charging after the miscreant and knocking him to the ground.
“Who was that?” Juliet’s voice floated over his shoulder. “And why did you let him go?”
“Edwin Parker.” He spit the name out like a mouthful of soured milk. “Charity’s former beau.”
“Former? Who scorned whom? What is the history here?”
After a last lip-snarling look at the man, he turned to Juliet.
“Parker used to be a familiar figure in the Bedford social circle, a frequent visitor to the manor. It was no secret he admired my sister. Initially, my father and I were open to the match. He was a respectable candidate, and if Charity married him, she would remain close to home.”
“Hmm.” Juliet crossed her arms, one finger tapping the crook of her elbow. “Clearly that is not how it played out. What happened?”
“When Parker finally proposed, Charity declined. She told him she valued his friendship—but nothing more. She did not harbour any romantic feelings for him and refused to marry without love. He took it hard. Too hard. For months he wallowed in shame and resentment. We were all glad when his brother persuaded him to join the military, and he left home.”
“Yet now he is back.” Juliet’s gaze slid to where the man’s dark shape struggled over a great hump of field grass and disappeared into the fray of the festival. “And he is likely even more bitter as he has clearly suffered some sort of life-altering injury during his service.”
Indeed. Did the man account that pain to Charity as well?
“So”—Juliet turned back to Henry—“why did you not collar him tonight and press charges?”
He snorted. “Trust me, I wanted to, more than you can possibly know. But what solid evidence do we have against him?”
“Point taken.” She sighed. “So, now what?”
“He knows I am onto him, and I warned him off. Hopefully that is enough to stop him from continuing his devilish deeds.” And if it wasn’t, next time he’d make sure to meet the villain armed as well.
“I suppose time will tell if that is so.”
A breeze rattled the line of trees behind them like bones clacking in the wind. A visible tremor rippled across Juliet’s shoulders, though he doubted very much it was from fear.
In a trice, he loosened the buttons that remained and swung his coat around her shoulders. “You are cold.”
“And now you are as well. There is no sense in both of us shivering. I shall be fine once we return to the festival, especially after a stop by the bonfire.” She fingered the lapels.
But before she could pull it off, he stayed her hands with a gentle—yet firm—touch. “Until then, I insist. I will not have you taking ill.”
A slow smile curved her lips. “I suppose I cannot refuse my employer. Though if you have intimidated this Mr. Parker well enough, you may not need to keep me on any longer.”
The thought was a punch in the gut. Oh, he’d be glad enough to be rid of his sister’s tormentor, that was for certain, but that very same blessing would mean a goodbye to Juliet.
Bedford Manor would not be the same without this little bird flitting about the passageways, riding out in the dark next to him to scout for threat, gracing the breakfast room each morn.
And more than that—he’d seen her with Charity.
Heard their laughter dancing through the halls, glimpsed them bent together over a game of draughts or sharing quiet duets at the pianoforte.
Those moments spoke of genuine care. Not obligation.
Not pretense. But a tenderness for his sister that touched him deeper than words could say.
And he wasn’t quite sure what to do about that.
So he grinned to mask his foolish feelings. “When I release you from our bargain, how am I to be certain you will not return to your former habit of relieving me of my game? For a lady of your talents will not be satisfied to sit in front of a fire with a lapful of needlepoint.”
“Ahh, but you underestimate me, sir. Given the right company, I could be convinced to stay indoors—though I prefer a bit more excitement than needlework.” An impish twinkle sparked in her eyes.
Which delighted him most absurdly. “The poacher knows how to flirt, does she?”
She gathered his coat tighter at her throat, a rakish tilt to her head. “I have more skills than bagging quail.”
“Yes, I believe you do.” Unbidden, his gaze fixed on her lips. A mistake, that, for his heart took off at full gallop. One step—just one—and he could pull her into his arms. Feel her softness. Taste her—
Great heavens! What was he thinking?
He pivoted, offering his arm without making eye contact. “As you suggested, we ought to return to the festival.”
He guided her across the field, her fingers barely a whisper on his sleeve, and yet that touch became his sole focus. Which was a danger. His sister’s welfare had to be first and foremost in his mind, not how the nearness of Juliet Finch made him feel.
Giving himself a mental shake, he pulled away the moment they spanned the last hump of grass and pointed to where Charity conversed with Clara Whitmore near a booth of ribbons and lace. “Over there.”
Scanning the nearby crowd for any sign of Parker, he stopped at Charity’s side. “Where are the rest of your friends? You told me you would stay with them.”
Clara arched a brow, dipping a graceful curtsey. “Good evening to you too, Henry. And to you, Juliet.” Her glance skimmed the coat draped over Juliet’s shoulders. “I must say, that is quite the look. If you’re not careful, Juliet, you’ll start a trend.”
Juliet’s cheeks flushed. “I doubt I’ll cause such a stir.”
Henry took the opportunity to retrieve his coat, shrugging it on and breathing in the faintest trace of her wild scent—rosemary and crushed leaves.
Charity leaned in. “Did you find him?”
“I did,” he murmured.
Clara glanced between them, brows furrowing. “Find who?”
Henry hesitated, but Clara’s question was earnest, her blue eyes filled only with curiosity. “Nothing to bother yourself about. It was just a misunderstanding, that’s all.”
“Ah, you do like your little adventures, don’t you?” Clara teased. “I hope it’s nothing that will end up in the gossip pages.”
“Nothing worth a whisper, I promise.”
“Good.” Clara’s eyes twinkled. “Because I came tonight for merriment, not scandal.”
“Then merriment it is,” he said. “Shall we?”
He swept his hand towards the festivities, trying to muster some gratitude that after his words with Parker, the whole charade should be at an end.
So why the niggling feeling in his gut that it was not?