Chapter 7 #2
She pressed her lips together, realizing that despite her vow to stay utterly in control today, she wanted to lose herself and step forward to taste those well-shaped lips. The thought both scared and excited her.
He took a deep breath and ran his hand through his tawny hair.
“It is just the two of us today to await Grayson’s arrival.
” He turned toward the door. “I am going to cut some wood so we will have a fire tonight. Afterward I am going fishing so we can eat. I suggest you find something to amuse yourself.”
He grasped the latch and yanked the door open. “And don’t bother cleaning the house. The others will be back with women to do that by this evening.”
Startled by his brusqueness, Claire watched as he shut the door behind him, once again placing a barrier between them as well as signaling her not to follow him outside. They were alone, and he would ignore her. Perfect. How many times would she fail to engage him?
Frustration sent her wandering through the nearly empty house, looking for something to do that would divert her mind from her predicament and help use her pent-up energy. She wandered from room to room until she found herself once more upstairs in front of the boarded-up chamber.
Jules had not replaced the wood slats she had removed the day before, so she once again slipped inside.
She had no candle to light the chamber this time, but she remembered from her past visit that there were four small windows on the far wall.
She made her way through the hazy darkness to the shutters.
She unlatched the first set of shutters that opened into the room and then pushed a second set out, letting golden sunshine fill the room.
When all four windows were open, a light breeze drifted through the chamber, cleansing the once-stagnant air. Within moments, the sinister aspect of the room had vanished, leaving only a severely neglected chamber in its place.
Claire moved through the chamber until she came to the abandoned table and chairs.
She righted the chair that lay against the ground and sat in it while she studied the room’s crown molding, high ceiling, and empty space.
The room had exquisite light and fine bones.
It would make a perfect ballroom with a little renewal and care.
Jules had asked her not to clean. He had asked her to leave this room alone.
Something horrible happened in this room, something that needed cleansing from Kildare Manor and from Jules’s life.
She knew she should leave the chamber now, stop the ideas that were brewing in her mind, but she could do neither thing as a new plan formed.
She needed something to occupy her time here for the next twelve days.
And she could think of no better way to amuse herself than transforming this chamber from a place of bad memories into a thing of beauty.
It would be her gift to Jules when she ultimately left him.
The thought brought her out of her chair and toward the window at the farthest side of the chamber. She would have no choice but to abandon her husband twelve days from now. And she would hurt him just as she suspected everyone in his life had done.
At the window she paused, hearing the rhythmic sound of an ax splitting wood in the distance. She peered outside to see Jules bared to the waist, his bronzed back tapering to narrow hips, his arms and shoulders rippling with thick, bunched muscle as he swung the ax in a graceful arc.
Heat came to Claire’s cheeks. As a painter, she had seen a man’s bare arms and torso before.
But somehow on Jules, they seemed so much more intimate.
She was appalled with herself for looking, yet so fascinated she could not look away.
Jules seemed so at ease as he swung his ax toward each waiting piece of wood and split each log with expert dexterity.
His actions puzzled her because she had simply assumed he was a highly polished Scottish laird who spent his time gaming, carousing, and moving in the highest levels of society.
Were his affluent friends not proof of that?
Yet today, the unpretentious and powerful Jules appeared every bit as comfortable in the wild and rugged terrain. A self-made man who needed no company but his own, and might even prefer it.
Evidently, the man had the ability to belong in whatever setting he happened to be in.
He could maneuver in the highest circles of society as well as survive in his dilapidated manor house in the wilds of Scotland.
For some reason, the revelation unsettled her.
Who was this man—Jules MacIntyre, Lord Kildare—who she had been forced to marry?
It was easier to think of him as a rogue she would hurt in the end than as an honest man who was merely making his way through this life, just as she was.
Or, she recalled yet another aspect of the man, the one who had been imprisoned for the murder of his stepmother. He had been proven innocent and released. But the woman had still died, and someone had killed her. There had been no other suspects except Jules.
His stepmother had been poisoned. Claire picked up the overturned teacup on the table.
Had this truly been the murder weapon? If so, why was it still here?
If Jules were guilty of the crime, would he not want all the evidence to be cleaned away, destroyed, so that no one could make any further claims?
Instead, he had left the chamber exactly as it had been. Every detail had been preserved. That fact, more than anything else, spoke to her of his true innocence. But why continue this torture? Now that he was the master of this house, why allow the memory to remain?
He had told her not to come here, that she was to leave the place alone. Claire returned the teacup to the table, exactly where it had been. Then she replaced the overturned chair she had righted earlier.
Yes, changing this room would be a gift—no, she corrected herself, an apology, for what she would eventually put him through when she succeeded in her mission.
But perhaps transforming a place of horror into something beautiful would make it easier for Jules to forgive her.
Or, she paused, would she leave him with yet another memory to take its place, even harder to erase?
Until she began the project, there was still time to change her mind. Meanwhile, she would record what evidence remained here in a different way. On that thought, Claire left the chamber and went downstairs to retrieve her drawing and painting satchel.
When she returned, she sat beneath one of the open windows and started to draw the scene before her in great detail.
The table, the chairs, the teacup. They would all be recorded for future reference, because, with each stroke of her lead, she was more determined than ever to act upon her earlier intention.
She would record the scene in case it was ever needed again, then clean this room, sweep away the old memories, and renew its purpose by giving it a fresh look.
When she had completed her drawing, she set it aside and stood.
Turning once again to gaze out the open window, she saw Jules, fully dressed this time, heading up from the loch with a large fish suspended from a line in his hand.
On his journey across the weed-tangled courtyard, he stopped and turned toward the road.
It was then that Claire heard what he no doubt responded to, the clatter of hoofbeats.
A single rider approached the manor at a breakneck pace.
The sun had yet to reach its zenith, yet the others had been gone for several hours.
Had something happened to them in the village?
Claire tensed at the thought, and her heart raced as she climbed through the slats that partially blocked the doorway and hurried down the main stairs.
She met Jules outside the front door just as the horse and rider came to a stop. “Lord Kildare,” the rider said. He offered Jules a bow, then hastened forward.
“Joseph,” Jules acknowledged.
A sense of foreboding threaded through Claire as she recognized the young messenger as the one Jules had hired only two days ago to bring Grayson back from Edinburgh.
“Have you a message from my solicitor?” Jules asked.
“Milord.” The young man was covered in dust, as though he had ridden hard and fast for some time. “I have been to see your solicitor.”
“Is he following in a carriage?”
Joseph shook his head. “He cannot, milord. Not now nor ever.”
“Why?” Jules asked with a scowl.
The young man paled. “He is dead.”
Blood roared in Claire’s ears. How could Grayson be dead? The man who had stood beside her at the wedding ceremony had been no older than herself.
She stole a glance at Jules. His face was hard, his posture rigid. “What happened?”
“Early yesterday morning, only a few moments before I arrived, a runaway carriage crushed him in the street while he was on his way to work,” Joseph said gently, as if a softened voice could make a difference when the words were so cold and ugly.
A heavy silence hung over them until Jules finally asked, “Who was the driver?”
“No one knows. They did not stop after the accident.” Joseph’s gaze dropped to the ground. “The only witness said the conveyance was unexceptional except for the bright red fringe that hung over the doorway. The driver was dressed in dark clothing, and the only occupant was cloaked in black.”
The same carriage that had reportedly taken her wards from her home.
A terrifying picture of Penelope, Anna, and Eloise lying dead in the street shot through Claire’s mind.
She felt a scream start deep inside her, building, gathering force until it threatened to choke her.
Her sweet wards could meet the same end.
She must have let a sound slip past her control because Jules turned to her. “Claire, what is it?” A deep frown furrowed his brows. “Do you know who did this?”
Tears scalded her eyes. She wanted to give in to them, to allow herself the relief of crying, but she knew she could not. If she told Jules the truth, the abductors would know and they would kill the girls regardless.
“To die in such a way . . .” She swallowed past the tightness in her throat. “No, I don’t know who would do such an evil thing as to kill an innocent man.”
“And the only witness to the marriage you say took place,” he replied with a softer tone.
Claire’s arms felt limp, and her legs went suddenly weak. She stumbled.
Jules was there beside her. His arm slid around her waist, bolstering her. They stood there for a long while, staring at each other, saying nothing until he finally broke the silence once more, saying, “Come inside.”
His words snapped her back to her senses.
She steadied herself and stepped away from his arm, supporting her own weight.
“I am better now. I want to stay out in the sunshine. The warmth helps.” Pale afternoon sunlight streamed through the tree branches overhead, creating a tangle of greenish-brown on the grass at her feet.
“I understand,” he said, walking her to a large rock nearby. “Wait here for me. I won’t be long.”
She heard the crunch of grass beneath his feet as he moved back to the messenger. “Take your horse to the stable for a rubdown and a pail of oats. When you are done, help yourself to whatever you can find in the kitchen.”
“Thank you, milord,” Joseph said as he guided his horse away.
Claire closed her eyes and tipped her head back, letting the sun caress her skin and ease the chill that had settled deep inside her since the girls had been taken. She drew a steadying breath.
She knew to use another human being in such a way was wrong, yet she would do whatever she had to do to free three innocent girls.
She was the only one who could rectify the situation.
And if Jules got hurt along the way, then she would have to find a way to forgive herself, eventually. Because hurt him she would.
She tried not to feel sad at the thought.