The Seduction of Elliot McBride

Chapter 28

Juliana sat in silence, her hands folded on her lap. Was that what she’d been trying to do? Gemma was a wise woman—she always had been.

Had Juliana been trying to tear down and reconstruct Elliot in the way she’d remembered him? In the way she thought he ought to be? In the way she could understand him better?

“Oh, Gemma.” Her eyes burned. “I have no idea what I am doing. I don’t know how to love a man. I only know how to make lists.”

Gemma’s face softened. “My dear, your other fault is being too hard on yourself. You believed you needed to be the perfect daughter—now you’re trying to be the perfect wife. You and Mr. McBride are two strangers attempting to learn all about each other. The process is slow. It took me twenty years to get to know your father, and ten of those years I’ve been married to him.” Gemma placed a warm hand on Juliana’s knee. “Besides, Mr. McBride doesn’t look terribly put out that you’re trying to repair him. He looks much better, even in these two weeks since the wedding.”

Ainsley had said much the same thing. Juliana gave a faint laugh. “I doubt that is my doing. Elliot never listens to a word I say.”

“You mean he does not snap a salute and obey you, like that Hamish does,” Gemma said. “Or Mahindar Singh, who falls all over himself to please you. Your husband goes about his business, but he notices. He certainly notices you.” Her smile turned sly. “Can I assume that within the year, your father will take on the happy title of Grandpapa?”

Juliana blushed. “It is far too soon to know that.”

“But from your pink cheeks, I see that you and Mr. McBride are striving for the outcome.” Gemma got to her feet in a rustle of crisp poplin. “I will leave you to your strivings, stepdaughter, and eagerly await the announcement.”

Juliana rose with her and caught Gemma in her arms. Gemma stopped, pleased, and hugged Juliana back.

“Thank you for coming,” Juliana said with sincerity. “I’m only sorry we did not have enough time to spend together.”

“Of course we didn’t. What with your planning, your house not ready, people shooting at one another, and crashing chandeliers, we did not have a moment to ourselves.” Gemma kissed her cheek. “Next time, dear.”

Juliana walked out with her stepmother, arm in arm, and put her into the dogcart that Hamish had driven back from the station, likely at his usual breakneck speed.

She waved at Gemma for a long time, blinking back tears, then she went back to the house, with much to think about.

Juliana amazed Elliot every time he looked at her. The day had been crazed, with getting the guests away, moving Stacy to McPherson’s, and putting the house to rights—at least as much to rights as a run-down manor house-cum-castle could be.

Inspector Fellows had left with culprits in tow. He’d taken the Dalrymples to the nearest lockup for a hearing on a charge of blackmail, and the assassin back with him to Edinburgh. He, Elliot, and McPherson had arranged for the removal of the body of the fallen assassin in the tunnels, the man to be sent back to his family in London. Throughout it all, Juliana had helped, advised, and made little lists in her notebooks. Neat, efficient, cool, and lovely.

Juliana sat now at the other end of the dining table, the house finally emptied. She wore a blue satin tea gown that rode low on her shoulders, a cameo resting at her throat. She’d caught her curls up into a simple coil woven with a blue ribbon, fine curls framing her forehead.

Her notebook reposed next to her, with a Faber’s pencil nearby, so she could add to her blasted lists as she thought of things. Her curls trembled a little as she bent her head to write, candlelight catching on her sleek hair.

Elliot’s gaze went lower, to the shadow between her breasts. She’d worn the tea gown several times since their marriage, and Elliot decided he loved the dress. The satin hugged her body, and the décolletage put her breasts in tantalizing view. He would buy her a dozen such dresses and make sure she wore nothing else.

Elliot picked up his glass of wine. “What are you writing?”

Juliana looked up, pencil poised. “Hmm? What’s next to be done, of course. The chandelier replaced. What a monstrosity. I’m rather glad it fell. We’ll have something much more tasteful and charming in its place. I thought the drawing room carpet would be fine, but when we moved a chair to decorate for the ball, I found a very large hole all the way through to the floor beneath. I’d wondered why that chair was in such an odd place…”

Elliot rose from his seat, walked down the table, and pulled the notebook out from under her hand. He snatched the pencil as well.

“Elliot, what are you doing?”

Elliot tossed book and pencil to the other side of the table. He decided to be kind at the last minute and not put them on the fire.

He pulled a chair to her corner of the table, opening his knees to make room for the table leg that butted in his way. Ignoring Juliana’s splutters of indignation about her notebook, Elliot took her hand, turned it up on the table, and lightly traced a line that creased her palm.

“I’m going to tell your fortune.”

He saw the shiver go through her, watched her gaze fix on his.

Elliot traced another line. “I see a young woman in a blue dress. I see her in a bedchamber, candles lit, the bed turned down.”

“Do you?” Juliana wet her lips. “How very interesting.”

“I see a man, kissing her.”

“This grows still more interesting. Who is this man?”

The sly look she tried to assume had Elliot instantly hard. “He’s a mad Scotsman, weather-beaten, has kicked around the world. He has shorn hair and colorless eyes, and he loves you.”

“Loves.” The word was breathless. “Your eyes aren’t colorless. They’re gray like stormy skies. They’re the best color I’ve ever seen. Loves?”

“Loves.” Elliot leaned closer, studying her red lips and the moisture behind them. Her mouth waited, a warm place of enchanting desire.

He touched one plump lip with his—

And the darkness took him. Just like that. One moment, he bent to kiss his wife in a place of warmth, beauty, and happiness, and the next, he was back in the caves in the craggy mountains, waking up from the dream.

He felt the cold darkness, the stone beneath him, his beard and hair scratching his face, his filthy clothes crawling with vermin.

“No!” Elliot stared at his hands in the faint light, saw the cracked, dry skin, the calluses so hard he could barely feel anything through his fingertips.

“No!” he shouted again.

He hugged himself, willing himself back into the dream. It was there on the edges of his vision, the candlelight on Juliana’s hair, her eyes so blue, the same color as her gown.

He couldn’t touch it. She wasn’t real, none of it had been. The darkness mocked him, laughed at him for thinking he was well.

“Juliana,” a voice said. He recognized it as belonging to one of his captors, the cruelest of all, who’d sometimes amused himself by stripping off bits of Elliot’s skin with a jagged-edged knife. “The woman you love.” He spoke in his rough Punjabi, in a dialect they both understood.

Not Juliana. They can never take Juliana.

“You love her,” the man said. His knife went to the inside of Elliot’s wrist. “Say it.”

“I love her,” Elliot whispered.

“Shout it. Tell everyone.”

No. She was his secret. If they knew about Juliana, they’d threaten her, mock her, defile her memory, take her away from him. Elliot knew she was safe in Scotland, in her father’s prim house in Edinburgh, with her family, her friends, her miles of lists, her laughter.

They’d force him to talk about her, to tell them every single little secret memory he had of her. They’d describe what they’d do to her, what they wanted to do to her, until any thought of her was mixed with something horrifying.

And then Elliot would have nothing. Nothing between himself and the darkness.

Juliana was light. He couldn’t let them extinguish the light.

“No!”

“Say it.”

“I love her!” Elliot dragged his hands from his face. “Don’t take her away from me. Don’t take her away from me.”

The man grinned, his teeth crooked and brown. “She will never love you. You are broken and ruined, dirt beneath my heel. We broke you. Juliana will never want that.”

The mocking voice, the knife, the smile, her name on his lips, drove Elliot into the frenzy. He’d be beaten for it, he knew, but he couldn’t stop.

“I’ll kill you!” Elliot wrenched himself from his crouch and launched himself at his captor. His hands closed around the man’s throat, fingers knowing what to do. He felt glee when the man scrabbled at his wrists, dark eyes opening wide.

“Sahib!” the man tried to gasp. “Sahib, it is Mahindar.”

Liar. Mahindar was all that was kindness and goodness, and this man was evil incarnate. Elliot would choke Juliana’s name from his throat, so he could never say it again.

“Elliot!”

Her voice came from his dream, which tapped at the back of his mind. The dream wanted him to relax into it, to slumber in its peace, to never wake again.

But Elliot had to stay awake. He had to escape. He had to get home. To her.

Other hands grabbed his, trying to break his grip. Strong hands, as large as his, the slimmer hands of a woman but just as strong, and then the soft touch he knew deep inside his heart.

“Elliot,” she said in her musical voice.

The darkness cracked. Light came rushing at him, spinning in dazzling points, and then faces and voices. The wide, scared blue eyes of a Scottish lad, the dark face of a woman determined, the eyes of the man who’d helped him at every turn, and the sky blue beauty of Juliana’s eyes. Juliana was the only one who didn’t try to loosen Elliot’s grip, who only touched, and asked.

The rest of the real world now crashed into him, and the spinning stopped. Elliot was standing in the dining room of his own house, his manservant Mahindar bent backward over the table, Elliot’s hands around his throat.

Elliot swiftly lifted away from him. Nausea hit him right after that, bile shoving its way into his throat.

Juliana went to him, reaching for him. She closed her arms around Elliot, and he shuddered. He wanted to scoop her to him, to hold her, but he was going to be sick.

“No,” he said hoarsely.

He broke her grasp and pushed her away. Mahindar, coughing, stood up, helped by Channan, who hovered worriedly.

“I am all right, sahib,” Mahindar said, barely able to speak the words. “I will be fine.”

He wouldn’t be. There were bruises on Mahindar’s throat, and he coughed pathetically.

Damn it. Elliot swung away from them all and strode from the room, Hamish scuttling out of his way.

Dear God, he had them terrified, and no wonder. He could have killed Mahindar if they hadn’t been able to break Elliot out of his stupor.

What would have happened if it had been Juliana’s slender throat under his hands? Or Priti’s? What kind of monster had he become?

He heard Juliana calling after him. Elliot didn’t pause but walked on out into the night, into cool twilight and misty rain that had begun to fall.

Juliana started after Elliot. Mahindar, helped by Channan, collapsed heavily onto the chair Elliot had vacated.

“No, memsahib,” Mahindar said. “I told you. When he is like this, it is best to let him go.”

The evening was darker than usual, clouds having gathered, a new rain falling. Juliana saw Elliot outside the open dining room window, his tall form disappearing into the mist.

He walked swiftly, his head bowed. The red setter, Rosie, loped out of the garden and went after him, but Elliot didn’t turn to acknowledge the dog. He pressed on, swallowed by darkness.

“No,” Juliana said. “I won’t let him go. No, don’t stop me, Mahindar. I can’t let him be alone.”

Mahindar’s protests faded as Juliana rushed out the door. She noticed that Channan had not tried to stop her, the look in her wise eyes telling Juliana that she agreed.

Juliana ran out into the rain. She realized halfway down the path that she hadn’t stopped for a wrap or boots, and that she sloshed through mud and wet in her tea gown and slippers.

What did it matter? Juliana gathered up her water-stained satin skirts and ran on.

Rain beaded on her bare head and shoulders, not strong enough to be proper rain, but steady enough to get her sopping wet.

Elliot walked fast. Juliana ran to keep up, panting, her corset stealing her breath.

He was heading not up into the hills as Juliana had expected, but along the narrow, rather precarious road to the river. That way lay the wooden bridge across which Hamish had driven them the first night from the train.

At least, Juliana thought that was where Elliot was going. She soon lost him in the lowering fog, the path and trees swallowed by the thickening mist. Even Elliot’s pale hair and swirling plaid disappeared from sight.

A flash of red came to her, the setter, who rushed back at Juliana, tail waving. Rosie ran in a circle around Juliana then dashed on ahead again.

Juliana’s heart thumped. She could see well enough to keep her feet on the road, but the fog was descending rapidly. Soon, she’d be groping her way through the black, and the edge of this road plunged off into darkness.

The hollow thump of Rosie’s feet on the wooden bridge gave Juliana a burst of vigor. The bridge rode high over the water, the river rushing and roaring below.

Juliana saw the form of Elliot in the mist, facing the rail, his kilt a smudge in the darkness. She hiked her skirts high out of the wet and ran the last few feet.