Cates, Kimberly (22 page)

"Which one of you is missing a piece of blue glass?" Adam demanded, sweeping a scathing glance at the women. They were white-faced, more than a little frightened— except for Isabelle who stood, as ever, an ice queen, untouchable. Suspicion tugged at Adam's chest. But it was not the Frenchwoman who cried out in dismay.

"Blue glass?" Elise echoed, her wan face the color of old wax. "Oh, no! Don't tell me I didn't sweep up all the bits of my scent-bottle!"

Adam gaped at the trembling woman, so fragile, so devoted to Juliet. Surely it was impossible that Elise was responsible for something so horrendous.

"I thought I got all the pieces wrapped up in paper and put them into the rubbish, but I must have dropped some. Why do I always have to be so clumsy?" Savage guilt racked Elise's delicate features. "Did you cut your foot?"

"No, Elise," Juliet soothed. "Don't concern yourself. Adam, there's no reason to upset everyone. Now stop—"

"Juliet cut her mouth on a piece of glass someone wedged into her gingerbread," Adam said ruthlessly. "It's a miracle she didn't swallow it!"

The consequences of that calamity rended Adam in the deepest part of his vitals, conjuring up pictures of what might have befallen this angel of a woman with her madonna eyes and her tender hands. Death of the most horrific, torturous kind imaginable.

Silence crashed down on the women, an utter sick silence as they grappled with his words. Elise cried out, racing to Juliet's side, catching up her hand. "Are you all right? Oh, sweet heaven!"

At her words, the others spilled forward on a wave of disbelief, concern, only Isabelle standing back, regal as an empress. "Stop your blathering, all of you! Of course she is all right. Open your eyes! Angelina, go make her some tea. Elise, quit your wretched caterwauling. She's not dead. See if we have a little sticking plaster, though I've no idea how it will work on her lip."

"No," Juliet interrupted, like a general mustering her troops. "Elise, get herbs for a poultice. You know which ones to pick. And Millicent, put the gingerbread into the fire. We don't want any children or animals to dig it out of the rubbish by mistake."

The women nodded and raced off.

Adam reached the door to Juliet's bedchamber and booted it open. By instinct alone, he carried her into the alcove, laid her down on his own tumbled bed. God in heaven, he thought, half profanity, half prayer, what the hell was he going to do with her? How was he going to keep her safe? Especially if the animal stalking her was so crafty it could strike with such demonic cunning within the confines of her own home?

"There is no reason for everyone to—to make such a fuss over this," Juliet insisted, levering herself to a sitting position. "After all, as Shakespeare said, all's well that ends well."

But you could be lying in my arms right now bleeding to death from wounds I could never reach,
a voice inside Adam tormented him.
The light could be draining from your eyes one star at a time, the life ebbing from your hands. I could be helpless...

Adam reached up, stroking back a lock of her hair, reassuring himself with the faint throb of a pulsebeat at her temple. Despite her brave words, he saw the echoes of his own horror in her eyes, curling deep into hidden places she would never let anyone else see.

"I don't know who did this," she said. "But they must hate me, Adam. Hate me terribly."

She gave a shaky laugh, and Adam saw her hands knot in the fabric of her apron in an effort to still their trembling. "Do you know that all the years I was in Northwillow no one ever did? Hate me, I mean. It's one more novel experience."

"Nothing makes people angrier than having someone else point out what hypocrites they are," Adam said.

"Maybe. But I think it's a good thing that they're attacking me this way."

"A good thing?" Adam echoed, incredulous. "Hell, you really have lost your mind."

"No, really. Think. When I first arrived, they only jeered at me, laughed at me, took wagers on how long it would take me to pack up my trunks and flee back to Northwillow. But lately, everything has gotten so much uglier, the threats, the—the things they do to warn me. I can't help thinking that they must not see me as quite the same laughingstock they did before. That they perceive me as an enemy now, a real threat."

"That seems a reasonable assumption since most people don't saunter around flinging bricks through their friends' windows."

"I keep thinking that maybe, just maybe, they're angry because I'm starting to win."

"Oui,
and maybe they're sick of you making a fool of yourself." Juliet recoiled as if Isabelle had slapped her. The Frenchwoman loomed over her, features haughty as an ice queen's carved in the most scathing of scorn.

"Enough of this nonsense!" Isabelle exclaimed. "You playing the savior, as if you are so much better than the rest of us! I believe it is time to gather up your toys, my sweet, and run away home."

Adam maneuvered himself between Juliet and Isabelle, his face grim. "This is no time to be battering at her! Can't you see she's hurt."

"Oui,
I can see that. And
I
say it is no surprise. She will be bleeding from far worse wounds if she does not give up this so foolish quest of hers." Isabelle faced Adam, another soldier of life, one whose features held the same world-weariness, the same cynicism, carved in the lines a hard life had etched into her face. "Adam Slade, do not even try to deny that you feel the same way I do about her ridiculous attachment to this house and the women inside it!"

There, beneath the flinty beauty of eyes hard and clear as gemstones, Adam saw a silent plea, suspected he'd won an unlikely ally, albeit maybe an untrustworthy one.

"You're wrong, Isabelle," Juliet said with absolute certainty. "Adam doesn't feel I should leave Angel's Fall. Not any longer. He knows that my work here is important." Those angel-blue eyes flashed to his in total certainty, confidence and trust shimmering with untold beauty in her face. "Tell her, Adam."

Adam gazed at her a moment, his heart giving a painful throb. And in that instant he knew he'd never feared anything as much as failing this woman of light and love and soul-deep goodness. There was only one thing he feared more. That she would be caught in the jaws of something more horrible than she could comprehend. She could be hurt, hideously, irrevocably, or worse still, she could be killed. His whole being recoiled at the thought. In that instant, he knew what he had to do.

"Isabelle is right. It's time to go home, Juliet."

His words struck her a far more brutal blow than whoever had put the glass into the gingerbread.

Her eyes darkened with hurt, her fingers trembling as she pressed them against the oozing wound in her lip. "No."

"Damn it to hell, Juliet, you could have died in that accursed pantry tonight. If you'd swallowed that glass—"

"But I didn't! A few tiny cuts are nothing to get in a fuss about!"

"What if Elise had taken that piece of gingerbread? Or Millicent? Or Fletcher? Hell, you say you're the only person here who likes gingerbread. I doubt you could manage to shovel down the whole pan of it before it went stale. Then what do you do with it?" He'd always had a knack for finding an opponent's vulnerability. He'd taught himself to be ruthless enough to press the advantage when he found it. And he knew, in his gut, he'd just discovered Juliet's.

"You've always put the remains of the cake into that beggar's basket you set outside the garden gate every night, haven't you?" Adam demanded. "What if some climbing boy or pauper's waif had tucked it underneath their rags to fill their pitiful stomachs? What if they'd wolfed the thing down like the ravening little savages they are?"

Every drop of color was sucked from her face until only her eyes remained, a hot tortured blue more cutting than the edge of any blade ever forged.

"No, sweet heaven!" She pressed quivering fingers to her lips, looking as if she were about to be sick.

"Damn it, Juliet, how long are you going to keep careening along this insane course? Are you going to wait until someone gets injured beyond repair? Or worse still, until someone is killed? I know all about terminal do-gooders like you. You always think you're willing to sacrifice yourself in some grand gesture. But what happens if your enemy's plans misfire and it's Elise laying in your arms, bleeding to death because a bullet or a brick or a piece of glass meant for you ends up striking her instead?"

"You don't understand! I can't... they'd be in far worse danger out on the street."

"The only thing I was in danger of was straining a muscle in my arm from the weight of the jewels the duke showered upon me," Isabelle declared with a toss of her regal head. "As for your philanthropic zeal, I'd sooner feed my finest gown into the fire as thank you for all you've done for me. This is a mere way station, one every courtesan and lightskirt in London knows about. On the street, they laugh about it—Angel's Fall, the perfect place to mount a campaign to find a new protector, one richer or handsomer or more generous than the one you had before."

Juliet stiffened. "Maybe some of them think so. Others might say they believe as you do. But I know that there are some I can help, some lives I can touch if I only reach out..."

Isabelle laughed, the sound like crystal bells shattering. "From the time we first hoisted our skirts for the pleasures of a man we've been schooled to grasp whatever advantages come our way, coin or jewels, pretty gowns, a warm bed or food to fill our stomachs. It just so happens that the price you demand in return is different."

"Price?" Juliet echoed, indignant. "I don't demand anything in return!"

"Don't you?" Isabelle's eyes narrowed, shrewd despite their beauty, and Adam wondered how many hurts her duke had dealt her to leave such a grim legacy in those eyes. "You make us play house like a convent full of little nuns— stitching perfect seams, baking little cakes, reading improving tomes. One thing I've learned in life is that everything can be bought. But some bargains are better than others. If I happen to prefer mine with broad shoulders and powerful thighs and a family treasure chest full of jewels, then who can blame me?"

Juliet's gaze flashed from one feminine face to another, her eyes searching, questioning. "Do the rest of you feel this way? Millicent? Angelina? Violet, say something for pity's sake! I can't believe you are just using Angel's Fall as a place to launch a search for another man."

Millicent pinkened. "That's not such a terrible thing as it sounds, Miss Juliet. You've given me time so's I don't have to take the first Reginald or Philip to saunter down St. James. I can take my time, real slow, like. Look them over careful and pick the best of the lot."

"It's considerable work, slaving over stitches all day," Angelina admitted, scuffing her toe against an uneven floorboard like a child caught in some mischief.

"At least she's not training you up to be a governess!" Violet said.

"But you're wonderful with children! I've seen you slipping the little ones
nonpareils
at the confectioners!"

"That doesn't mean I want to be drowning in the little monsters! My mama was a courtesan who raised me to be some gentleman's delight. Not blind myself over those French lessons and reading the same story over and over again until your brain turns to pudding, while everyone else is having wonderful times dancing and playing at whist."

"Violet, Lady Dudley promised me that she would give you a trial the instant I thought you were ready! It was no small feat to get her to give you a chance! If her husband wasn't in the direst straits from his gaming I never could have managed it.

"Think how lovely it will be," Juliet said, "tucking the children into their bed, or preparing the next day's lesson."

"Do you know what governesses
really
do, Juliet?" Violet's delicate hands twisted together. "They stand on the fringes, their faces pressed up against the stair-rail like a child excluded from Christmas. They see wonderful entertainments and beautiful gowns and intriguing men, but they are never allowed to taste any kind of pleasure themselves."

Violet tossed her curls. "They stand at a cracked mirror in their own abysmal little rooms, and watch wrinkles etch into their face, knowing that their beauty will fade away, that time is running out, but no one will ever notice."

"Why didn't you ever tell me you felt this way before?" Juliet asked brokenly.

"Because I didn't want to hurt your feelings." Violet shrugged. "I wanted to believe I could change, but I guess we're all what we were born to be."

A timid little mademoiselle who looked like she belonged in a convent school sidled up. "I want to be a seamstress, Miss Juliet," Felicity said. "Even if my fingers bleed and my eyes get sore."

Isabelle swept over, looping an arm about the girl's narrow shoulders. "It's all right to tell the truth now,
ma petite.
The game is over. And it isn't fair to put Juliet in further danger on our account, is it?" A pointed stare from the exquisite courtesan all but made the girl pull her apron up to hide her face. "We don't want Juliet to get hurt, do we?"

"N-no. Of course not. I..."

"The only way to get her to run back off to her safe little village in Norwich, was it? No, Northwillow—is to tell her we don't need her anymore."

The child-woman had seen enough of the streets to understand the meaning layered beneath Isabelle's words. Adam saw a tremor shake the girl. "I see you are—you are right."

"And Elise?" Isabelle turned, and Adam saw Elise, poised in the doorway, a bundle of herbs and a worn bowl and pestle clutched in her hands. "What about you? Don't you think it is time our Juliet stopped tilting with our dragons and went off and married a nice staid vicar or barrister?"

Juliet struggled up from the feathertick, stood, swaying, on bare feet, her nightgown a soft cloud around her. She curved her hands around Elise's, peering into those great dark eyes.

"Elise, you believe in Angel's Fall, don't you? Believe in what I'm doing here?"