Chapter 11
Jules watched Claire enter the newly furnished green salon with David. She was laughing at something he said, and her cheeks were flushed. Her eyes sparkled, framed by tendrils of her over-bright hair that had worked their way free from her chignon to cradle her cheeks.
She seemed different—happier, definitely more relaxed, but also with a hint of sorrow in her eyes.
Puzzled by the mixture, Jules watched her as David, the youngest male among them, led her to the newly acquired settee, then sat down beside her.
She never stopped talking to David, who listened intently to her every word, his dark eyes unusually bright.
Something had happened between them, Jules thought, watching the couple discreetly while pretending to listen to what Jane said about all the new furniture they had purchased in the village.
Something had forged a friendship between the two of them, or was it something more? Perhaps David desired Claire . . .
She was his wife.
Jules frowned at the thought. When had he started to think of her as such?
It was ridiculous, and yet there was no denying the tension that tightened his hands or the pulse of jealousy that warmed his blood at the way David’s gaze lingered not on Claire’s eyes, but on the swell of her breasts, rising above her tight bodice.
Jules’s blood raced hot and furious through his veins. Before he knew what he was doing, he apologized to Jane, stood, then strode across the room.
“Claire,” he demanded, feeling the harshness of his voice echo in the thrumming of his blood.
Her conversation with David ceased. Her gaze shot to his, following his every move as he came closer and held out his hand. Her brow rose in question.
“Come with me to the cellar. We must select wine for supper tonight.” He knew there was very little wine left in the barrels, yet he had to do something to get her away from David.
With an apologetic smile at David, she accepted Jules’s hand and rose. He could not say why it angered him that she was speaking with David, but it did. And even more infuriating was the way in which she lifted her chin, met his gaze, and his challenge.
He had wanted to ignore her, to force her out of his life as rapidly as she had come into it. Yet there was something about her that was impossible to ignore. Her innocence disarmed him. Her calm determination defeated him at every turn.
He drew a stuttering breath, trying to calm his racing heart. No one had ever affected him like this, not even Jane. With Jane, he had been attracted to her beauty, her sweetness, her compassion, but their relationship had always been one of discussion and deep thought.
He and Jane had never kissed. And if truth be told, he realized now that from the time he had been thirteen years old, he’d set Jane on a pedestal of perfection that not even she could achieve. He had turned her into an untouchable goddess, and the culmination of all his dreams.
Jules frowned. With Claire, his responses were visceral, deep, anguishing.
She tempted him as he had never been tempted before.
Slowly, he could feel her breaking down the barriers he had built around himself, feel her piercing through the numbness he had allowed to wrap around his heart.
He had learned in gaol to distance himself from feelings.
It had been the only way to maintain his sanity at the time.
Why was she trying so hard to get close to him? He had nothing to offer her except poverty, disappointment, and debt. She could never be his. It would be better for them both if he ended this charade now.
He pushed the cellar door open, lit a torch, then turned to face her.
He could feel his blood pounding through his veins, but it had quickly changed from anger.
He stared at her moist, full lips. With just a look he remembered their taste.
He could feel her softness beneath his palms. Damnation, how he craved her.
“Before I tell the others, I wanted you to know I am leaving,” he said, resisting the urge to touch her hair, her cheek.
“You’re leaving?” she looked at him with such grief in her eyes he had to look away.
“Not forever,” he clarified. “Since Grayson cannot come to us, I must go to Edinburgh to find the proof of our marriage. The church or the solicitor will have documents, if any truly exist. St. Giles, you said?”
“Yes.” She released a soft sigh. “You won’t send that young messenger back to Edinburgh?”
Jules brought his gaze back to hers. “I’ll not risk Joseph’s life for something that should clearly fall on my shoulders. Besides, I have business to conduct in town as well.”
She moved toward him. “Jules . . .”
“We need wine for supper.” He dodged her touch and went to the wine barrels lining the right side of the cellar; whiskey barrels lined the left.
He reached for a wooden pitcher, made certain it didn’t contain dust or debris, then opened the spigot.
Nothing came out. He tipped the barrel and was rewarded for his efforts with a thin stream of pungent wine.
“I could go with you,” she said, her voice quiet yet hopeful.
“No, this is something I must do alone. Look after our guests.” He had meant to say his friends, but had changed his words at the last moment in order to include her in his life, at least in some small way.
He shook his head, trying to clear her from his thoughts.
He had to stay focused on that one task.
“When do you leave?”
“First light.” He averted her gaze, fighting the urge to scoop her into his arms and carry her to his room, then spend the entire night exploring every inch of her body with his lips, his hands, and his mouth. What was it about her that made him lose his focus time and again?
He turned to leave, but before he reached the door, Claire stopped him with a gentle hand to his shoulder. He twisted toward her. Before he knew what she was doing, she kissed him on the cheek and clasped his hand.
“Be safe on your travels.”
He inclined his head.
Leave. The thought pounded through his brain. Because if he didn’t, he might yield to the demanding need inside him.
She released his fingers and he felt the loss of her.
At the door, he turned to look at her. Concern and sorrow reflected in her golden eyes.
Stunned, he could do nothing more than blink as he forced his feet to move in the opposite direction. He couldn’t recall the last time anyone had been sad to see him go.
An hour later, ensconced in his study, Jules studied the ring Claire had said his solicitor had given her. He still couldn’t make sense of how his mother’s ring had resurfaced after all these years. He was positive his father had buried it with his mother. Had someone opened her grave?
Jules groaned. Nothing about Claire, their supposed marriage, or Grayson’s betrayal and his death made any sense. Yet there had to be a link. What was he overlooking?
Fin appeared at the door and cleared his throat before shuffling into the chamber. “Milord, I apologize fer the interruption, but he wouldn’t take no fer an answer, despite the late hour.”
“What is it?” Jules asked with a frown as he returned the ring to his waistcoat. Lord, he was tired. Jules flexed his shoulders to rid himself of tension, then stood, moving toward his faithful servant. Before he could address Fin further, a young man burst into the room.
“Lord Kildare.”
Jules frowned at the young, blond-haired man, instantly recognizing not his face but his purpose. He had hoped to keep the debt collectors at bay a while longer. “It’s all right, Fin. You can leave us.”
Fin backed out of the doorway, leaving the two of them alone. Jules waited until the door closed behind him, then said with great precision, “You’re the debt collector Fin told me about. You’ve been living in our boathouse. I should evict you from the premises.”
The man’s gaze narrowed. “But you won’t. I was instructed to stay close, to watch you, until your debts are paid.”
“I cannot pay you . . . yet. Come back in five days, and I will have your money.” Jules held up his hand as the man started to protest. “Five days or you will get nothing at all.”
A flicker of irritation entered the debt collector’s eyes. “Your new bride did not bring you an infusion of funds?”
“No,” Jules said, his own irritation spiking. “Not all brides come with dowries. Lady Kildare’s assets are a little more personal.”
The man’s eyes widened, but he said nothing more.
Jules had let the words slip before thinking. Even so, he realized there was some truth to what he’d said. Claire did bring certain assets into their marriage.
Assets that were getting harder and harder to forget.
The next morning, Jules set off for Edinburgh on his horse. Before he left, he made Fin promise to keep an eye on Lady Kildare and to do what he could to keep the dun collectors away. He did not need his friends or his supposed wife to be bothered by things that were clearly his responsibility.
It felt good to finally take an active role in the circumstances that had brought Claire to his door.
He was determined to find the answers he needed in Edinburgh.
Riding as swiftly as he could, and changing horses often, it still took two days before he arrived, late afternoon, to the city.
Jules made his way to James Grayson’s office, across the street from Parliament Hall.
Jules knew social dictates might require him to send a note, alerting Peter Kirkwood, Grayson’s partner, of his arrival and requesting a meeting for the following day, but he did not have the luxury of time. He needed answers before anything else happened to anyone involved in his affairs.
On the third rap upon the door, an aging and stooped Peter Kirkwood answered and ushered Jules into his office. He waited until Jules had settled into the chair before his massive desk, then sat in the chair behind it and put on his spectacles.