Lord Deverill's Heir by Catherine Coulter (best books to read all time .TXT) 📗

Arabella didn’t know what to say. She knew that Elsbeth missed Josette.

After all, Josette had been with her all her life. She had been like a mother to her. She simply patted her sister’s hand and said gently, “I know, Elsbeth. I thank you for coming up with me.” Arabella slipped into her bed and blew out the candle beside her. She knew Justin would come to her soon. There was so much to be said. But for the moment she was alone, alone to think, to sort out the many facts and half-truths she had discovered.

She knew the contents of Magdalaine’s letter almost by heart now. She had read it several times again before going down to dinner. As to the letter itself, she had slipped it into the toe of one of her evening slippers, a hiding place that she knew to be safe—even Grace never went poking about in her shoes, except to hover with the feather duster over them, and that surely no more than once a month.

She sat up suddenly. Lord, what a fool she was. Josette must have known everything. Did she not ensure the dispatching of Magdalaine’s letters to her lover, Charles? Of course, Josette must have known that Gervaise was Magdalaine’s son. Josette—the old woman was now dead. Gooseflesh rose on her arms. A tragic fall down the main staircase in the middle of the night with no candle to guide her.

Her mind leaped back to the afternoon. She was as certain as she could be that the collapse in the old abbey ruins was no accident. But then, if Gervaise had wished to harm her—or kill her, for that matter—why did he return so quickly with Justin to rescue her? What possible reason could he have had for any of his actions? Nothing made any sense.

She shook her head. Where was her husband? Her shoulders slumped. She felt as though she was wandering through the maze in Richmond Park without the key to show the way out. The key to this maze was the reason why Gervaise had come to Evesham Abbey in the first place.

It seemed obvious that her father must have known of Gervaise’s existence as the natural son of his first wife. That must be the reason why Gervaise had not come until after her father’s death. But was there something else her father had known about him, something else that had kept him away?

Suddenly, the door opened and the earl came into the bedchamber. He was wearing an old dark blue brocade dressing gown, the same one he had worn on their wedding night, its elbows grown thin over the years. His feet were bare. She knew he was naked beneath the dressing gown. Her fingers clenched. She felt heat wash through her. Everything, suddenly, seemed so simple.

She said to him as he neared the bed, “Gervaise was never my lover. It was Elsbeth, not I.”

The earl came to a dead stop. He saw that long-ago moment in his mind as clear as if it had been but an hour before. So clear it had been to him, all of it. He said slowly, “I saw you humming as you walked out of the barn the day before our wedding. It was just moments after Gervaise, looking as furtive as a pickpocket, slipped out.”

“Because of that you believed I betrayed you?” The pulse was pounding in her neck. It was nothing, and yet he had turned on her? She wanted to leap up and attack him, but she didn’t move, just waited. She swallowed hard.

“No, there was more. When you came out, your gown was wrinkled, indeed, you were buttoning some buttons and trying to straighten it. You even had to lean down and tie the ribbons on your slipper. Your hair was a mess, filled with straw. You looked very pleased with yourself.” Still, she forced herself to keep silent. He sat down on the end of the bed. “I didn’t know what to think—the comte came out. He had the look of a man who had just made love to a woman. It is a look every man knows well. There was no mistake. I was very certain, and I wanted to kill both myself and you for betraying me. Ah, and I wanted to wring his damned neck.”

“You truly had no doubts then?”

“No, I was certain what had happened. I didn’t want to believe it, but I did. There was no doubt at all in my mind. I wanted to die.”

“You left immediately then?” He nodded. “You are telling me that if I had remained but a few more minutes, I would have seen Elsbeth coming out of the barn?”

“Yes.”

He ran his fingers through his black hair. “Why didn’t you tell me?” She could but stare at him.

He realized what he had said and shook his head. “No, you did tell me, didn’t you? But not about Elsbeth.”

“Yes, I did tell you once I realized what you believed, but you didn’t want to hear anything I said. You believed me guilty with no trial at all.”

“Yes,” he said slowly, “I did. I believed what I had seen. There was no doubt in my mind. But then—” He shrugged. He looked over at her. “I came to believe that you weren’t entirely to blame for what you had done. I came to believe that you felt trapped because of what your father had forced upon you. All I wanted was for you to tell me the truth—but of course you refused. When did you learn about Elsbeth?”

“When I was riding with Suzanne. She had seen the looks between them. She brought it up. At first I could just stare at her. At first I couldn’t bring myself to believe her—shy Elsbeth, so diffident, so much a child.”

“She is not a child if she gave herself to Gervaise.”

“No, but she is still innocent.”

“Now you defend her.”

Arabella nodded. If she told him all of it then