Chapter Seven #2
“And you still feel responsible,” Solomon said. He hadn’t taken his eyes off the other man’s face.
Kellar nodded. “Perhaps you are right to question my judgment, even my pride. After all, I brought Caterina here to be safe. Her parents’ killers were never brought to my idea of justice.
I probably drink wine with them nowadays.
” He looked up at last, catching Solomon’s steady gaze.
“But my instinct stands. Something is wrong about Caterina’s death. ”
“Did you love her mother?” Constance blurted. She wasn’t even sure why it was important, though it probably had something to do with Juliet.
Kellar’s gaze fell again. He set down the glass.
“No,” he said. “But I was fond of her.”
*
“Do you believe him?” Constance said abruptly.
They were in their bedroom, preparing for bed in companionable if thoughtful silence.
Solomon dropped his cuff links on the dressing table and pulled his shirt over his head. “I believe there is truth in amongst all the words. I don’t think he ever lies outright.”
“But he is deceiving us?”
Solomon sat on the bed to remove the rest of his clothes. “He wants us to continue the investigation. He admits to being ruthless in pursuit of his goals. If there is deceit, I can’t see what it is, or what his purpose might be.”
He rose, naked, and prowled to the washstand. His skin glowed like dark gold in the candlelight. Her muscles tightened in inevitable desire. But he was her husband and there was time for everything.
Constance, who had been brushing her hair long enough to make it stand out from her head like a fuzzy golden halo, threw down the brush and paced discontentedly to the bed.
She climbed in and admired the glistening droplets of water on Solomon’s long, lean body.
He dragged the towel across his broad shoulders, down the rippling muscles of his arms and chest to his flat stomach and narrow hips…
She swallowed and, with an effort, rediscovered her thread.
“He wants to keep looking after her because he still carries guilt over her parents. All he can do now is bring whoever is responsible for her death to justice. He doesn’t want to accept that no one is responsible, because then he is useless.
He is a very complicated, convoluted man. ”
Solomon threw down the towel and paced toward her, large and predatory. God, he was beautiful. And she adored the glittering heat in his eyes, as if he had hungered for her for days. And yet last night…
Desire flooded her. Oh yes, last night… And now there was this night.
He sat on the edge of the bed, gazing at her. “We have been trying to prove him wrong. What if he’s right?”
“I’m not sure we’d ever prove it.”
“And what,” Solomon said slowly, “if he is guilty of the murder?”
Lust vanished along with her breath. “Then…we would never prove that either.” And since Kellar was the one who had instigated the investigation, he would be the only one who was never suspected of the crime.
“Oh, Solomon…” She seized him by the shoulders for comfort.
“And he saw Juliet! Do you think he recognized her?”
“She certainly did her best to put him off the scent. I have never heard her sound quite so Cockney.”
In spite of her sudden fear, a breath of laughter caught her by surprise. “And he showed no sign of recognizing her, did he?”
“No.” Solomon appeared to have lost interest in the matter. He was idly stroking her nape, bending his head toward hers.
Even before his mouth touched hers, desire rushed back, making her gasp as she drew him down with her. He covered her whole body in one long, sensual caress. Other people’s old relationships ceased to matter. There was only the truth of their own, constant, urgent, and unbearably sweet.
*
Juliet Silver opened her shop not long after seven o’clock the following morning.
That was not unusual. She lived right above her place of business and saw no reason to waste any opportunity.
She often caught new customers that way, people on their way to work, others returning from a night shift, or gentlemen who had not quite made it to their own beds.
At the very least, she could combine thinking time with industry as she polished her treasures and rearranged displays in the never-ending quest to attract visitors to her shop.
No, it was not unusual for her to unlock the shop door so early, change the printed sign to Open, and wrestle the tempting display table of pretty but worthless knickknacks outside. She then decided which pieces needed to be better displayed, and which should be made to shine.
What made this Saturday morning different was that she had difficulty focusing on either thoughts or work. Not even when her old business in Seven Dials was being threatened by the most ruthless of criminals had her stomach been this tightly knotted. Juliet was rattled.
She snatched up a silver tray with its matching teapot, sugar bowl and cream jug, and carried them to the back counter. She squeezed behind and sat on the stool, laying out her cloths and her newly mixed polish. Then she set to work with feverish intent.
What the devil had prompted her to seek Constance out last night?
There had been no reason for it, beyond the fact she hadn’t seen her daughter for a week and felt the urge.
It wasn’t as if they had ever lived in each other’s pockets, at least not since Connie had turned so wayward…
and Juliet had turned so disastrously to the bottle.
There was no point in dwelling on which had come first. But it was ridiculously important to Juliet that the new rapprochement between them remained, even grew.
Solomon Grey—beautiful man—had been good for Connie in many ways, softening those prickly edges, protecting her.
Most of all, protecting her. In all conscience, Juliet could step back now, go her own way without worrying about her daughter.
Except that it was Solomon who had made the shop possible, and she didn’t really want to be anywhere else.
And except that she seemed to like keeping her eye on Constance, now that she no longer had to.
Only what in God’s name was the girl doing on such intimate terms with Sebastian Kellar?
More to the point, what was he doing here in London?
She had known him at once. The shock had gone through her like a lightning bolt, and she had fled with all speed. Thank God she had retained enough sense to exaggerate both her movement and her speech.
She moved the cloth further to the right of the shining tray and gazed at the reflection of her own plump, saggy face and her impossibly blonde locks. No, there was nothing there to remind him of the woman, the girl, she had once been.
She shied away from that girl. It was one of the rules she lived by—forgetting the past and concentrating on the present.
Anything else led to debilitating self-pity…
And yet Sebastian Kellar’s handsome, clean-shaven, young face kept intruding, painting itself over the older, bearded countenance of the distinguished man dining at Connie’s table.
Old tenderness, forgotten desires, foolish hopes, and bad decisions…
Lots and lots of bad decisions. Followed by worse ones.
She rubbed harder at the tray, sweeping around its ornate edges and using her nails to push the cloth into each tiny crevice.
Nowadays, her decisions were better. She had trusted Solomon because Connie did, and they were both right.
Hard work had replaced gin in her life. Pride in her business and pride in her daughter had given her hope, and a certain contentment she would guard jealously, especially from Sebastian bloody Kellar.
In Venice, he had seen Juliet’s young face in Constance. She would not dwell on that either. That past could not impact this present, but she had to consider the future too. Should she warn Constance about him? Perhaps Solomon would be more susceptible to her advice.
“You are manipulating us,” Constance had been saying when Juliet blundered into the dining room. “Why?”
Why indeed? Was he somehow involved in whatever mystery Constance and Solomon were investigating? Connie was naturally suspicious—Juliet had taught her to be so—and had clearly seen that much about him, but she could not know the rest.
Having polished the tray to within an inch of its shining life, Juliet turned her attentions to the teapot.
She would find Connie again later, either at the Silver and Gray office, or at home in the evening.
Either way, the shock of seeing Kellar would not happen again.
Forewarned was forearmed. In the meantime, she had work to do, customers to serve, for the bell over the door had rung and a woman and her child had come in talking about gifts for someone’s birthday.
Juliet smiled and let them browse alone for a little, while she attended to her polishing. The delight of her shop was the unexpected, and she always waited to see what attracted individual customers before offering suggestions and choices.
Gerry, her longtime general factotum, would be in soon to help, though not Marissa, the girl she had taken from Connie’s establishment.
Marissa didn’t work Saturdays. She went home to her family in the country each week, now that she had a respectable job and a decent room she shared with another shop girl.
A shadow fell over Juliet. She hadn’t been keeping track of the woman with the child.
“Juliet,” said a voice that jolted through her.
The teapot landed too hard on the tray and she whisked her suddenly nerveless hands into her lap, where they gripped each other.
Smugness always led to disaster.
She forced a smile to her lips and raised her eyes to his. She wanted to die of humiliation.
“Sebastian,” she said, just as though she had seen him a couple of weeks ago. She even sounded pleased. “How are you?”
There was a pause. The years had added gray to his hair, and more lines to his face, especially on his forehead and at the corners of his eyes and mouth.
But the overall effect was one of distinction rather than deterioration.
His skin was browner, bronzed by warmer sun than ever shone over England.
And his blue eyes still gleamed with intelligence and humor.
Yes, three decades had been kind to Sebastian Kellar.
They had all but destroyed Juliet. It struck her suddenly that this was the closing of the circle for her, and perhaps for him.
He had remembered her, had recognized her even at Connie’s house.
But now, this close, he would no longer want to.
Relief flooded her. There was nothing she had to do or say, just be herself. It didn’t matter.
“How am I?” he repeated. “Overwhelmed, I think. It suits you, this setting.”
Whatever she had expected, it was not that. In desperation, she resorted to her professional manner. “Are you looking for something in particular?”
A smile flickered across his face. It might have been understanding. Or mockery. “Actually, I was looking for you.”
How the devil had he found her? Surely Connie had not blabbed? She would not, not without asking, and she never had. But then, she had never told Juliet that Kellar was in London…
“No, I didn’t ask your daughter,” Kellar said, as though he’d read her thoughts. Damn him, he had always been too good at that, too. “She is too protective to have told me. She is a very beautiful and interesting woman.”
“She is. Solomon is devoted to her.”
“And she to him. It is an odd arrangement, but a very charming one.”
Juliet raised one supercilious, painted brow. “What do you mean by that?”
“Oh, come, Juliet,” he said gently. “One doesn’t have to be in London long, or ask many questions, to discover who Constance Silver is.”
Then he knew, and there really was no more to hide. So she laughed. “You’d need to have asked in some shockingly low places to discover me.”
“I have been in London some weeks.”
During which time he had found Constance and uncovered her double, if not triple, life and tracked Juliet to her place of calm and safety. A chill of sudden fear passed over her.
She slid off the stool. “Excuse me. I have customers…”
“Juliet.”
He didn’t touch her, force her in the slightest, but she paused, aware of nothing but him and the tension cramping all her muscles.
“It is good to see you again,” he said.
And at that, finally, she could turn and laugh in his face. “No, it isn’t, Sebastian. Goodbye.”