come across that morning. She handed it to him, opened to the society column.
“Lady Society,” he grumbled. “I never did learn who the damned chit was.” He scanned the article. “Lady Leticia was married the day before yesterday?” His eyes narrowed. “To Lord Morrey.” The name was uttered with an intimacy that piqued Camille’s interest.
“You know him, monsieur?”
“I killed his best friend.” The ferocity of his expression shocked her. She’d never seen her master look angered like that before. He fingered one of his cufflinks, a habit he always had when he was upset about something. Someday he’d rub off the cufflink’s surface from doing that too often.
Camille placed a hand on her master’s arm. “Is he like you?”
“Like me? No, he is just another English dandy who sticks his nose in places it doesn’t belong,” her master said calmly, yet Camille saw a strange fire in his eyes—anger that hid a deeper emotion.
“I will go, monsieur—”
“No.” He caught her arm, holding her forcefully. “You’ll stay and ease my temper.” He shoved her toward the bed. She desperately tried to calm him, hoping that he would be gentle if she did not upset him. When he was in a good mood, he was the best of lovers, but when he was not . . .
“Please, monsieur, give me a moment to make you happy.” She offered him her prettiest smile, and the hellish flames behind his brown eyes began to fade.
“Oh, my sweet French flower,” he murmured. “You always know how to soothe my black heart.”
She allowed herself a moment of relief. By God’s grace, she’d escaped bedding the devil tonight.
Caroline tossed fitfully in her bed, kicking her blankets off until the chill air woke her. She sat up in the darkness, listening to the wind howl against the windowpanes. Remnants of a dream trickled back to her. She had dreamed of John and the first time she’d met him.
She had been riding in the park with Adam. He had spotted a man astride a lovely brown gelding and had hailed him. She had been struck at once by the man’s fair features, as any woman would, but he had none of the condescension in his tone that many men used when speaking with ladies. He engaged her as equally as he did her brother.
That had only been the beginning. Over the next year, he had paid calls upon her, brought her flowers, and walked in the garden with her. He had recited poetry that made her laugh or blush. He was a flirt, but only with her. His gaze never strayed to any other woman. She knew with certainty that she held his heart, just as he did hers. When the day came whenhe proposed, she accepted, knowing that her life would change forever.
She had simply never guessed that it would be with his murder, rather than their marriage.
She slipped out of bed and went to the vanity table. In one of the drawers, tucked beneath layers of ribbons, silver-handled hairbrushes, and diamond-studded hair combs, she found a gold locket that hung upon a fine chain. She smoothed her thumb over the locket before opening it.
Inside was a portrait of John. He gazed out from the tiny miniature, his solemn features so unlike the happy, smiling man she remembered. She held the portrait up in the moonlight to better view it.
“Why did you have to go out that night?” she asked the man painted in oil. “Why didn’t you stay home?”
She placed a palm over her abdomen and drew in a deep breath. She had shared a bed with John only twice, but those nights had been sweet and wonderful. When she had discovered she was pregnant, she’d been overjoyed, but she’d kept it a secret from him, using clever gowns to hide her growing belly. She’d wanted the news to be a surprise on their wedding night. Perhaps if she had told him, he wouldn’t have been so cavalier with his life. He might have thought more of his own safety, for the sake of his future child.
Caroline closed the locket and set it back in the vanity drawer. She went back to her bed and burrowed beneath the covers. This time she dreamt of nothing except hearing that single feeble cry of her newborn babe before it too faded into the dark.
A figure loomed in the darkness toward Adam’s bed. His face pale, his clothes dripping with icy water, as though he’d dragged himself from the depths