All Things Beautiful (20 page)

He loved her. Love made her powerful, beautiful, alive.

In one slow, continuous movement, Julia took him into her, her eyes never leaving his, only to discover she was the one snared. She’d turned into a flame, hot and bright, ready to fan hotter still…but Brader had to give her what she needed, what she could not exist a moment longer without. Her head thrown back, her curls cascading down her back, she cried his name.

Inarticulate words escaped his lips. His hands came to her hips and he set a pace that drove Julia to bone-shaking madness. His name on her lips was her grace, his love her salvation. She knew his needs and responses better than her own. She gave and gave and gave until, with a glad mindless cry, Brader took her into his arms, turned her onto the bed, and, with a passion and a force that were overwhelming, brought them together to an exploding, dazzling climax.

Never had it been this good, this complete.

Satiated, Julia lay in his arms listening to the pounding of their hearts, certain the world had changed forevermore. They had become one.

The future held no fear.

Life held meaning.

He loved her.

Julia didn’t know what woke her. Groggily, she looked around the room, taking in the darkness and the dim glow of the lamp before catching a glimpse of movement.

The edge of the bed gave slightly under the
weight of another person. Cold air nipped at her bare skin and Julia realized it was the lack of warmth from his body that had awoken her. She forced herself to wake further and was surprised by a dressed Brader pulling on his top boots. “Where are you go—?”

He silenced her question with a kiss. “Merry Christmas.”

The very sound of his voice had the power to arouse her. She stretched her arms over her head, purring like a cat, and demanded, “Come back to bed.”

“I can’t.”

She frowned. Brader crossed over to the desk and turned up the lamp wick. Julia squinted against the brighter light. “Where are you going?” she repeated.

Reaching up to the top shelf of his wardrobe, Brader pulled down a low brim beaver. “A messenger arrived. Mrs. Elliott heard him knocking on the door. Perceval wants to see me.”

Julia came completely awake and sat up, hugging the bedclothes around her. “The Prime Minister wants to see you now? On Christmas Day?”

“World affairs don’t wait. Go back to sleep.”

Brader wiped at a piece of dust on his hat brim. Julia sniffed. “If you had a valet, you wouldn’t have to worry about that.”

“If I had a valet, I wouldn’t have him in here right now.” He let his eyes roam over her sheet-clad body for emphasis.

Julia gave him a shrewd look. “What do you do for the government that would call for sending out a messenger in the middle of the night?”

Brader shrugged. “Many things. I don’t know. I only answer when I’m summoned. In fact, I’m curious too. It does seem odd for Perceval, although the War Ministry never sleeps, not with the Continent in an uproar.”

A premonition swept through Julia. A warning. She sat up. “Brader, don’t go.”

“I have to go.”

“Then don’t go alone.”

He smiled at her and picked up his greatcoat, shaking his head. “I gave Hardwell a week’s holiday. I’ll be fine.”

“I’m serious, Brader. Something doesn’t seem right. Call me silly but please, I’d feel better if you didn’t make the journey alone. I’d feel even better if you didn’t make the journey at all.”

Brader sat down beside her and then leaned forward to place a kiss on the swell of her breast above the sheet. Julia captured his face with her hands, cupping his square jawline. She raised his head up so that she could look him in the eye.

“Please?”

“What are you afraid of?”

She frowned, feeling foolish. “I don’t know. Fate, maybe. Every time matters appear to go my way, something happens. I don’t want to run the risk of losing you.”

He hesitated for a moment and then reassured
her. “You won’t lose me, not ever. But if it will make you feel better, I can take one of the stable boys, since I will be riding.” He stroked her cheek. “I have every intention of returning by nightfall. Will you be all right until I get back?”

Julia didn’t want to sound childish, so she nodded her head and pasted a confident smile on her face. “Mrs. Elliott and Mrs. Brown are here, and the two girls from the kitchen will be in for various chores. Nan and I should be fine.”

He stood and threw his coat around his shoulders. “Then I’ll see you tonight.”

“Tonight,” she agreed.

At the door he stopped. “I love you.”

Julia’s heart leaped. It hadn’t been a dream. Before she could answer, he was gone.

Without his presence, the room seemed cold and empty. Julia snuggled deeper under the covers. There was no need for her to rise at that moment. They’d been up over half the night.

She listened to his footsteps go down the stairs, the opening and closing of the front door, and sighed. This wasn’t how she’d planned to spend her Christmas Day. She frowned until her thumb touched the gold band on her ring finger.

Holding her hand up to the light, she admired it. Brader had whispered right before they’d fallen asleep that he would buy her a more suitable one in London, but she wasn’t going to let him. A simple gold ring. Nothing could be more perfect
for her. It touched her deeply to realize that Nan had cherished this ring as a commitment from Brader’s father. She wouldn’t trade it for all the Crown jewels.

Julia forced herself to rise. Goose flesh popped up all over her arms, and she quickly hopped over to stoke the fire. She missed Betty.

After she dressed, she tidied the room, smiling as she collected their discarded nightclothes. In the folds of the cashmere robe, she could smell her husband.

He loved her.

Nan immediately felt the presence of the ring on Julia’s finger. They spent the morning together in Nan’s room, and then Julia prepared a light luncheon of cold meats and bread for them and the two companions. Yesterday, she’d looked forward to having Brader all to herself in the kitchen. She did enjoy cooking and had hoped to surprise him with a small sampling of her skill. Now she found she didn’t have the interest to stir and mix and sent the two kitchen maids home after lunch.

Nan fell into a deep sleep after listening to Julia read for an hour. Leaving Mrs. Brown with her mother-in-law, she and Mrs. Elliott went for a bracing walk. She couldn’t wait for Brader to return.

The weather had turned even colder, the dampness invading the heavy wool of their clothing. Julia tucked her gloved hands under her arms and
scanned the horizon. There was the strong possibility of a storm, and fog was already gathering along the road. She hoped Brader either beat the storm or had the good sense to remain in London until it blew over.

For the remainder of the afternoon, Julia worked on a piece of needlework while visiting with the two companions and waited for Nan to wake. When the light turned so poor she had to set her handwork aside, she asked Mrs. Brown, “Isn’t Nan sleeping overlong?”

The nurse shook her head. “She was up late last night and early this morning. She needs her sleep. I’m going to let her rest a little more before waking her for supper.”

Julia could not fault that reasoning. With a sigh, she stood. “I’m going to check the kitchen and see what we can serve for supper. Would it be a problem if we had a light meal like our luncheon?”

Both women answered no. Julia walked into the hall, feeling the day a trifle flat. Opening the front door, she looked down the drive, wishing Brader would ride up right at that moment.

Mist and fog hung around the drive and through the forest. The cold wind swirled around the door and under her skirts. Julia closed it with a
whack.
Turning, she surveyed the empty hallway. She even missed Fisher today. She wondered if he missed her.

That’s when she heard the sound, the clinking of glass on glass. She stood very still and a few moments
later heard the sound again, coming from Brader’s study.

She couldn’t imagine that he would return without seeing her and his mother first. Cautiously, Julia walked toward the study, thankful she’d changed to her soft kid slippers after her afternoon walk.

The door was slightly ajar. Standing to the side so that whoever was in the room would not see her first, Julia pressed the door slowly and peered through the opening.

It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the murky twilight in the room, and when they did, she still didn’t believe what she saw.

Her presence startled the occupant, who spilled some of the port he was pouring into a glass. A tall man with saggy jowls and a red nose looked up in surprise. Once he recognized her, he gracelessly took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his brow. Raising the glass to his lips, he stuttered out as if an invited guest, “Hello, J-Julia. How are y-you this C-Christmas?”

Julia studied the dissipation in the man’s face and the tremor of his hands. A knot of concern formed in her stomach. “I’m fine, Jamie. Now tell me what brings you here.” She forced a smile and answered her brother as if it was the most natural thing in the world.

“I j-just c-couldn’t take it, J-Julia. I hope y-you d-don’t mind that I helped myself to a d-drink. I told G-Geoffrey I wouldn’t be any g-good. I told
him that,” Jamie repeated emphatically. He drained the glass in one gulp before looking up at his sister. “I’m a l-lamb, really, not a sh-shark like G-Geoff and the others. I don’t know how to m-murder anyone.”

“W
hat are you talking about?” Julia asked carefully. She didn’t know Jamie very well. Two years younger than Geoffrey, he’d lived most of his life in the shadow of their older brother. During her childhood, people had whispered that Jamie wasn’t quite right in the head, although he seemed to manage for himself well enough. Julia assumed his problem was more drink than anything else.

Now she wasn’t so sure.

Jamie’s eyes rounded owl-like, as if he’d said more than he dared. Puckering his fat bottom lip, he attempted to pour another drink, the lip of the bottle rattling against his glass.

“I’m not t-talking about anything. I d-don’t know anything.” He wrapped both hands around the glass.

Julia fought the urge to panic. Jamie’s sudden appearance in Brader’s study meant the brothers were up to something, but she knew from experience that direct confrontation never worked with
him. “You should have let me know you were here. I would have laid a fire for you. Let me light the lamp,” she offered, moving toward the lamp on Brader’s desk. She felt for the lucifers, flint, and steel he kept in a box on top of the desk. With a hiss of sulfur, she lighted the wick and replaced the glass.

The soft lamplight chased away some of the gloom in the room. As Jamie turned a glassy stare on her, she wondered how far gone he was and gauged the wine level in the bottle with her eyes. The bottle was practically empty. A strong foreboding ran through her, but she kept her voice gentle.

“Why are you here, Jamie? Why didn’t you announce yourself?”

With a
whoosh,
he sat down in Brader’s chair, his greatcoat hanging over the sides. He looked up at her with unfocused eyes. “I need a drink.”

“And you’ll have one. I’ll get the bottle from the cellar myself, but first you must tell me why you’ve come to visit.” And about the murder, she added silently.

He frowned. “I wasn’t s-supposed to let you know I’m here,” he confessed artlessly. “G-Geoff j-just wanted me to keep an eye on you. He said that I wasn’t any g-good to him out there.” He pointed with his nose toward the window and the cold, murky world outside.

Julia struggled to keep herself from walking over to him, grabbing him by his purple lapels, and
shaking a straight answer out of him. She kept her voice calm. “Why did Geoff want you to keep an eye on me?” She held her breath waiting for the answer.

With the innocence of a child, James said, “We wanted to make sure you stayed here t-today.”

Julia’s heart stopped. “What did you say?”

His mouth dropped open, the sharpness of her voice warning him. “I shouldn’t have t-told you that. G-Geoff will be upset with me.”

A sudden inexplicable fear for Brader welled up inside her. In three steps she was beside his chair blocking him from making an escape. She put her hands on the arms of the chair, and said in her most firm, direct voice, “Tell me. Tell me everything, Jamie.”

“No, I d-don’t th-think I sh-should. G-Geoff just t-told me to watch the house, not to t-talk to you. I sh-shouldn’t t-talk to you.” Jamie began to cry.

She fought the urge to slap him to his senses. “What is wrong? What is Geoffrey planning? Jamie, please, answer me!”

Jamie shook his head, reaching for the bottle. Julia thought for a second of stopping him and then realized, if he’d spent a good portion of the afternoon drinking in the study, he probably knew very little of Geoffrey’s plans.

The foreboding turned to ringing alarm. She had to get help. Jumping to her feet, her mind worked frantically. The stable hands were still on duty. If Brader was in danger, it would be on the road to
or from London. She’d send someone to warn him immediately and protect Kimberwood with the rest.

She whirled, ready to take a step toward the door, when her actions were stopped in mid stride.

Geoffrey walked into the room, followed by Harry and Lionel. They smelled of the wind and the mist. Geoffrey exhibited his habitual bland sangfroid, but Harry was frowning and Lionel had trouble meeting her gaze.

The fire of anger flashed through her. She refused to admit defeat. She took a step to go around them, but Lionel sidestepped and blocked her way.

And then the realization struck her: they’d only be this bold if they thought her unprotected. A terrible coldness formed in her chest.
Where is Brader?
she wanted to scream. She fought against rising panic.

Stepping back as if body contact with one of them would burn her, Julia stopped only when she felt the stone of the fireplace against her back. The words she forced out were heavy with foreboding. “What have you done?”

Geoffrey smiled grimly and removed his gloves. Unbuttoning his greatcoat, he said his words as if by rote. “Pigeon, I am sorry to inform you that your husband was waylaid and”—he heaved a heavy sigh—“murdered by highwaymen today on the way home from London.” He shrugged out of the coat and tossed it across Brader’s desk. Jamie whimpered and then guzzled his drink.

Julia looked to the faces of Harry and Lionel. Lionel avoided her eyes; Harry’s cheeks drained of all color.

Reason told her Geoffrey spoke the truth. Brader was dead.

No! her soul cried out. Brader lived. He’d become a part of her. Wouldn’t she sense a loss of that magnitude? She clenched her teeth to fight back the sting of tears. “You’re wrong. He’s not dead.”

Geoff gave a short bark of laughter, his frosty blue eyes gleaming with their own private amusement. “He’s dead.”

The certainty in his voice shook her confidence. Julia doubled her fists, fighting the tightening knot of dread in her stomach. She felt the warm metal of her wedding band. “How do you know? How would you know before I’m informed?”

Geoffrey pulled his mouth down into a somber frown, his manner solemn. “We were sent to inform you. We were coming from London for a Christmas visit and ran into the constable. He was only too happy to let us, as members of the family, carry the sad news.”

“You’re lying.” Julia snapped the words at him.

Harry’s voice intruded. “Julia, we saw the body.”

“No,” she denied. She ran her gaze from one brother to another. This had to be a hoax.

Lionel had recovered his composure and, although quiet, looked properly mournful. Harry,
too, looked sincere, and Geoffrey—she wouldn’t believe remorse in Geoffrey if their mother had died. But there was something there, on the edges of his expression and in the glint to his eyes. Avarice? No, that expression was an integral part of his personality. There was something else. Satisfaction?

She concentrated on Jamie. He studied the empty glass in his hand, no doubt wanting another drink but afraid to pour one in front of Geoffrey. He raised bloodshot eyes to hers and she found no doubt in their glassy depths. He believed her husband dead.

Her knees started to buckle and she leaned back against the stone wall of the fireplace for support. The cold, hard realization that Brader could be dead stunned her. Her brothers were too confident. They’d seen the body.

With a heart-wrenching cry, Julia hugged her arms around her middle, accepting the fact that Brader was dead. The fact overwhelmed her. She couldn’t breathe. Didn’t want to breathe. Nan was upstairs. How would she break the news to her that her last child had died?

How could she live without Brader? Her knees bent and she sank to the floor, body curled into a ball, hands covering her face, fingers tearing at her hair.

Brader. Dead!

Not even tears would give her relief. She dug her nails into her skin, relishing the pain while wishing all this were a dream, a nightmare.

Geoffrey’s voice came to her as if from a distance. “You’re a very rich woman, Julia.”

Her eyes flew open, hidden from their view by her hands on her face. He’d said those words before: another time, another conversation. Think.

They all spoke now, offering words of condolences, but Julia did not hear them. Holding her body very still, a thought too horrible and terrifying to be true struck her. She had to push it away before she could accept it…but when she did, it made perfect sense.

Money.

Julia rose to her feet, placing her hands on the fireplace wall behind her for balance. Her hair had come loose from its pins and ribbon to tumble down past her shoulders. “You killed him.”

Her brothers stopped speaking. Something passed in the icy depths of Geoffrey’s eyes before he shrugged his shoulders in maligned innocence. “You’ve had a shock. You don’t know what you are saying.”

“I wonder if the magistrate will see matters the same way?”

Harry and Lionel watched the play between the two in tense silence, but her words triggered a reaction in Jamie. His glass dropped from his fingers. She pursued her accusation like a hound after a hare.

“Did you murder him yourselves? Did you have the nerve?”

Geoffrey’s eyes narrowed. “We”—the wave of
his hand indicated all four brothers—“breakfasted together. There were plenty of witnesses. I’m sorry to disabuse you of your melodramatic notion, Pigeon.”

“Then you hired someone to murder him,” she shot back. “I should have known better than to imagine you would have the courage to do it yourselves.” Reacting to her words, James whimpered. The expressions on Harry and Lionel’s faces turned guarded and hard.

Geoffrey smiled. “You are hysterical, Julia,” he said in a reasonable manner. “You don’t know what you are saying.”

She wasn’t taken in. “What about me, Geoff? What did you hope to gain by my husband’s death? I’ll never let you have a shilling. You are worse off now than when you started.” She had the satisfaction of watching color drain from Harry and Lionel’s faces, thus displaying their guilt.

Geoffrey’s smile grew tighter. All pretense died from his eyes, which now glittered cold and hard. “Am I?” He laughed softly. “You shouldn’t be so bold with your statements. I find your posturing tiresome.”

He paused, and then looked at his brothers, clapping his hands together. “Come, gentlemen, do not look so distraught. Can you not see Julia is immersed in grief?”

“Enough that I would kill myself?” she asked him.

Geoffrey’s eyes twinkled with genuine delight.
“I’ve never had to explain matters more than once to you, have I? Whereas to my brothers”—he encompassed their silent, tense presence with a wave of his hand—“I must constantly repeat myself.” He sighed, blowing the air out between his lips. “So, no more pretense. Yes, we arranged for a false messenger this morning and for highwaymen to meet your husband on the road and—ah—slay him. He is quite dead. We waited until an official checked the body. He’s a big man, but one pistol hole brought him down.” He arranged his features in mock sorrow. “How fortunate that we were on the way to spend Christmas Day with our dear sister, so that we may now console her.”

Julia let her eyes flash with her anger, although she struggled to keep her voice controlled. “Thank you for the confession, Geoff.”

“I do hope you aren’t going to go on in that tiresome way about the magistrate, Julia. I’d deny everything or merely implicate you.”

She blinked at him. “Implicate me?”

He cocked his head with a knowing look. “After all, who stands to benefit the most by his death, hmm? Unfortunately, our friend Peter Jamison, with my encouragement, was most vocal to anyone who would listen about his intentions to rescue you from a marriage you found repugnant. Whether you like it or not, Pigeon, you are in this scheme unless you want a rope around your neck. What a pity. Brader should have given me money
when I asked for it instead of making me resort to such drastic measures.”

As his words sank into her mind, she realized what she was going to do, what she had to do. Not wanting Geoffrey to anticipate her reaction, she stalled for time. “What do you think I should do?” she asked in a small voice. Her fingers felt the fireplace wall behind her, searching.

His smug superiority made her sick. “You will share your wealth with the brothers who have worked so hard on your behalf.”

“What? No help from my parents?”

Geoffrey shook his head. “Mother would have leaked the information sooner or later, and Father really is too greedy. No, we decided there was only enough for us.”

“And if I choose not to be a party to your plans?”

Geoffrey mocked her with his laugh. “You can be dealt with. After all, you are suicidal.”

“You should remember that,” Julia whispered.

Geoffrey raised one eyebrow. “Why?

Her fingers behind her back found and closed around the heavy brass handle of the poker. “Because I
loved
him,”—she set free her anger—“and my life means
nothing
to me now.”

Before Geoffrey had time for the words to register in his mind, Julia, her need for vengeance rivaling Medea’s, heaved the poker up with a
zing
against the stone fireplace and lashed out toward his head. The slash of the poker made an angry
hiss through the air. He stumbled backward, but the heavy pointed tip caught Lionel in the jaw, ripping his face open at the mouth.

Julia didn’t wait to evaluate the damage. With both hands, she heaved the poker back and swung in the opposite direction as she stepped forward. Geoffrey dodged to the side, knocking over Harry, who crawled furiously to the far corner of the room. The wicked poker sent books, the wineglass, and the bottle flying off Brader’s desk, barely missing the lamp. With a yelp, Jamie slid off the chair and scrambled for cover under the desk.

She ignored Jamie’s sobs and Lionel’s moans. She wanted Geoffrey. The menacing poker held tightly in her hands, she took a step forward, stalking him. Geoffrey, wide-eyed with fear, moved back toward the door.

The sound of Mrs. Elliott’s voice calling her name sliced through her consciousness a split second before Geoffrey turned to the sound. Julia started to warn her to stay away, but Mrs. Elliott had come too close.

Geoffrey’s long arms snaked out. His hand snatched the companion’s wrist and dragged the startled woman through the door to use as a shield. Julia stopped dead in her tracks, but she still wielded the poker. She had every intention of killing him for the murder of her husband. He would make a mistake. She waited, poised to attack.