Chapter 9

CHAPTER NINE

A sleepless night passed sluggishly for Julian. The moments in which he had closed his eyes brought only fitful dreams of Emily Granger, interspersed with visions of a wraithlike creature with shoulder-length white hair and skeletal hands that reached for him. He knew it to be the shade of his father, still vengeful for the crimes Julian had committed. Such dreams eventually drove Julian from his bed, abandoning any attempt at sleep.

He went instead to his study, garbed in a floor-length dressing robe, gloves carefully stowed in the belt that secured the garment. He methodically went through his correspondence, which had been ignored since the adventure of the night before. A letter from his erstwhile business partner, providing details of investments which he regarded as suitable for their joint enterprise.

Opening the bureau at which he sat, Julian dipped a pen into a waiting bottle of ink and made some notes in the margin of the letter. There were few people that Julian trusted enough to enter into business with. The man he had chosen was one of those few, known to Julian since his time growing up in the household of the good Doctor Hakesmere. A partner enabled Julian to engage in business dealings without revealing himself in town, avoiding unwelcome questions about the gloves or the legend that surrounded him.

Hours passed before dawn finally lit the study, finding Julian drowsing in his chair. No one book or item of correspondence had been able to hold his attention for long. Eventually, Emily's beautiful face and delicate, pale skin swam up before his eyes.

Grief tore at him, that a creature so lovely was doomed by his curse.

By his touch .

And he resolved not to meet with her again. The curse would take her, there was nothing he could do to prevent it. But, the least he could do for her would be to relieve her of his company, the man who had struck her down. His thoughts went to their extraordinary meeting. A lone female walking through Epping Forest, carrying a bag of coins. A substantial bag of silver and gold. To whom ? For what ?

It was a mystery and only Emily could provide the answers. She did not want to see him though. Nor speak to him it seemed. When his passion had gotten the better of him, she had fought like a demon and ran from him. That was a clear message, one he could not ignore.

Rising stiffly from his chair, he stretched and walked to the fireplace, where a tray-bearing teapot and cup were kept warm. Crammond had found him during the night and ensured refreshment was available when he awoke.

Lazily, he picked up the teacup and went to the nearest window, looking out over the neglected grounds of Theydon Mount. From this particular window, there was a view over the overgrown gardens and the forest which crept nearer every year. It contributed to the legend of the Phantom of Theydon Mount, the ghostly inhabitant of the castle hidden in the middle of the forest. It was not a legend he cared for but it kept people away and that was for the good.

A sharp rapping on the door disturbed his dark train of thought.

"Come in!" he snapped.

The door was opened to reveal Crammond. Consternation upset his normally somber features.

"I beg your pardon for disturbing you, Your Grace, but I have just received word from Molly that your house guest appears to be gravely ill."

"So soon," Julian muttered bitterly.

Perhaps it was for the best though. The curse should do its work quickly to spare Emily her fear and suffering.

"I fear so, Your Grace."

"I will… I will dress immediately and go to her side. It is the least I owe her," Julian breathed, putting down the teacup.

"I must also remind Your Grace of your appointment this morning with his lordship…"

Julian raised an impatient hand, momentarily annoyed at the butler's cold efficiency. To be able to put aside the imminent death of an innocent in order to discuss business affairs was distasteful.

"I am very much aware that I am scheduled to meet with the viscount this morning. But I'm afraid he will have to wait. I'm sure he will understand."

"Should I have a message relayed to him to postpone this morning's meeting?" Crammond added smoothly, showing no sign of offense at his master's short temper.

"Yes, do so. Have it sent to his London residence at the Albany, though I don't suppose he will be there."

"Very good, Your Grace."

Julian hurried back to his rooms and dressed himself hastily. He smoothed his hair back and tied it. Out of respect for the fate that he had brought upon Emily, he wore black. A plain black shirt with a matching cravat, held by a plain pin. His waistcoat was of unadorned onyx, as were his breeches, stockings, and shoes. It was an appearance that would mark him out with his peers, among whom the fashion was for outlandish colors and finery. Julian had always favored dark, plain attire to suit his outlook.

However, this was not a suit handpicked to conform to his tastes—it was a suit of mourning. The leather gloves were the final piece of the ensemble. Bitterly, he made his way to the rooms he had assigned to Emily as his guest.

Confronted by her door, he hesitated, hand hovering as it was lifted to knock. At least one other person had died as a direct result of his touch... that had been his brother, and Julian had not seen that death happen firsthand. Only its aftermath. He had never seen the curse at work, and now found himself bracing for the gruesome reality of it. What would he see?

He recalled vividly the look of pained fear on Samuel's face.

His death had not been easy.

Shaking his head and cursing himself for being a coward, he rapped sharply, then opened the door.

There was an anteroom before the bedroom. The fireplace in the anteroom was cold and the room was empty. The bedroom door was ajar. As he crossed the room, Molly appeared. Her eyes were red, and her cheeks tear-stained. Julian steeled himself for the sight that would await him in the room beyond.

"It… it must have come on her during the night, Your Grace," Molly murmured brokenly, "I brought her morning tea as she had requested last night and found her…"

Julian glowered, not angry at the maid but at himself, upon whose shoulders all guilt must rest. Molly shrank away from his glare but he could spare little attention for her.

Inhaling sharply, he raised his head, then stepped through the doorway into the bedroom.

Emily lay in her bed. Her face was flushed and a cloth was draped across her forehead. A basin of water sat on the bedside table beside her. She seemed to be fast asleep, but her breathing rattled in her chest. Julian approached carefully, halting beside the bed, and looking down at the stricken young woman.

Would it not have been easier to let her drown? No, that would have condemned her immortal soul. Better that she die pure and unsullied. Innocent.

Behind him, the sound of footsteps scurried closer. "She is burning up with a fever. I have been applying cold cloths to try and bring it down. I've put out the fire and opened the windows, Your Grace," Molly whispered. "I don't know what else to do..."

Julian nodded sharply. The curtains behind him were gusting in and out of the room with each breath of wind. A deep chill had fallen over the room, and yet Julian could almost feel the heat of Emily's skin. He looked around the room, saw a chair, and brought it over to the bedside.

"I will stay with her. Go about your duties," he ordered.

"I don't mind, Your Grace…"

"Go!" Julian snapped.

Molly jumped and hurriedly curtsied her way out of the room.

When Julian was alone, he scraped the chair a few inches forward and leaned in closer. "I am sincerely sorry to have brought you to this, Emily," he whispered. "How I wish our paths could have crossed in less… harrowing circumstances. That I had taken more care when I pulled you from the lake. You are too precious to deserve such a fate."

At the sound of his voice, her eyelids fluttered, and she slightly craned her neck. Julian found himself gazing into pale, hazel eyes.

"Your Grace… I mean, Julian… You are here," she murmured.

"I am. I am sorry that I forgot myself yesterday. It was unforgivable."

Emily shook her head gently. "No… I am sorry for my reaction. You did not take advantage..."

Julian wondered if she was delirious. It did not seem the kind of thing a gentlewoman would say. But then he could not talk of such things, he had behaved like the worst barbarian rogue.

He shook his head in turn. "Your reaction was the correct one. When a man takes liberty with a woman, it is entirely correct for her to fight against him."

"No. That was not why I fought," Emily whispered, "…good lord but I am thirsty. May I?" Her voice was breathy now and her eyes drifted to a jug of cold tea beside the basin.

Julian quickly poured some into a glass and made to hand it to her before realizing the act was futile. Instead, he helped her raise her head before tilting the glass before her lips. She greedily gulped down the entire drink before letting her head fall back to the pillow with a gasp.

"I… I fought because of a memory. The memory of another man," she muttered, her spirit slowly returning to her as she stared at the ceiling with a frown.

"Another man?" Julian asked, despite himself.

A stab of jealousy cut him to the quick, though he had no right to such emotions. He had no claim on this woman after all. He barely knew her. Part of the reason he was so drawn to her, he had no doubt, was his lack of romantic experience. It was difficult to kindle a romantic relationship when touch was denied, except through the barrier of gloves.

Emily opened her mouth to speak, and then clamped her hand over it, eyes going wide. Julian got the distinct impression that she had said more than she wanted to. Perhaps the fever had loosened her tongue. He knew that such things could happen, rendering a person loquacious as though they had imbibed too much alcohol.

"You do not have to say more," he said, reassuringly.

"But I want to... Though I fear your… judgment."

"There will be no judgment. I swear on my soul. I am the last to judge." Julian smiled wryly.

"Why?" Emily asked.

She tilted her head to look at him and he could see the glazing over her eyes. She seemed to be struggling to focus. The illness was indeed progressing quickly. How long would it be before her heart gave out, as Samuel's had done?

"I am cursed, as I have told you before," Julian said gently.

"Oh, yes," Emily whispered. "But is that of your own doing? I do not see how it could be."

Julian smiled bitterly, folding his arms on the edge of the bed, leaning forward until his forehead was cradled on them.

"Who can tell how such things come about? There is a library in my father's house at Windermere which might provide the answer. He never told me so, but the Black Library of the Lakes is famous as a repository of mystic apothecary and esoteric knowledge. Famed the world over."

"Have you never researched it to discover its cause and source?" Emily asked.

"Never," Julian muttered, "I have not set foot in that house since I was taken from it as a boy."

Suddenly, he felt Emily's warm fingers stroking his hair. His head came up sharply and he pushed himself back from the bed, the chair legs catching in the rug. It overbalanced and toppled. Julian tumbled with it, eyes wide and staring at Emily.

"You… you should not have done that," he said.

Her hand was still half raised.

"Why? Does the curse apply when someone else touches you?" she murmured.

"I… I do not know," Julian admitted.

"If I am already cursed, then does it even matter?"

Her eyes were bright and wide. He wondered how much of her directness was the result of the fever which had lit a fire within her. How much longer would she go on?

Then she smiled. Despite the circumstances, despite being someone who does not smile easily, Julian found himself returning that smile. It lit up her face, giving her a radiance that he would not have believed possible in someone already so beautiful. She giggled, breaking the intimate eye contact between them. Julian found himself disappointed, craving that contact with her once more.

"My head is spinning. I am sorry if I am behaving in any way that is inappropriate. I do not know what you must think of me."

Julian picked up the chair and returned it to the bedside.

"I do not judge," he said, echoing his earlier words and seating himself again.

He watched as Emily's chest rose and fell with labored breaths, her pale skin almost luminous in the dim light of the room. His heart clenched at how fragile she seemed, yet there was a fierce determination in her eyes, a spark that illness had yet to extinguish.

"You don't need to stay." Her voice was thin but resolute. "I know I am… not much company like this."

Julian shook his head. "I will stay as long as you need me."

She smiled faintly. Her lips parted, as if to say something, then hesitated. Her gaze drifted to the ceiling, and for a moment, Julian thought she had fallen silent… forever. But then she spoke, her voice softer, vulnerable. "There is something that… brings me comfort."

His brow furrowed as he leaned in closer. "Anything, Emily. Just say the word."

"When I was a child… when I was unwell," she began, her eyes distant, "my mother would rest her head on my stomach. It would soothe me."

Julian swallowed hard, understanding dawning in her words. "You want me to..."

"Lie your head on me," she finished, her hand resting on her stomach. "I know it's strange, but… I think it would bring me peace."

His heart raced. The request was so simple, yet unbearably intimate. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides. He had never allowed anyone that kind of closeness.

For a moment, he hesitated, unsure if he could let go of his rigid control. But then, he saw the weariness in her, the quiet desperation for comfort. With a deep breath, he nodded, standing from the chair and moving beside her. Gently, he lowered himself onto his knees beside the bed, his heart hammering in his chest. Then, he pressed his cheek against her stomach.

She inhaled softly, and he felt the delicate rise and fall of her body beneath him, her hand gradually sinking into his hair, stroking him with languid, tender movements.

The sensation was intoxicating—her warmth, her scent, the gentle rhythm of her touch. He closed his eyes, his body surrendering to the unexpected comfort of the moment. He had never felt so exposed, so defenseless.

For Julian, this was something alien, almost otherworldly. As a child, he had never known the warmth of another person's touch, not like this. There had been no tender embraces, no gentle hands soothing his fevered brow. The rare moments of closeness he remembered had been rigid, cold—his nursemaids too afraid to disobey his father's rules about touch. But now, this… this was something entirely different. Emily's hand in his hair, her body beneath his cheek—it was as though all the walls he had built around himself were crumbling, piece by piece.

Julian's chest tightened, and he blinked rapidly as tears burned at the back of his eyes. It was absurd. He was no weakling, no longer a fragile boy longing for comfort. But here he was, resting his head on her, feeling her warmth seep into him, and it was overwhelming—like the world had shifted, like everything he had thought about himself was being unmade.

Then, despite himself, he reached for her hand, taking it in both of his.

"Take off the gloves," she whispered. "What further harm can it do? Just my fortune that the only man I ever wished to touch should avoid it like the plague," she laughed quietly.

Julian found himself breathless with desire and trepidation. Logically, it could do no further harm. Death could not be made worse. Emily took hold of the fingertips of his gloves and began to gently tug on them. First, his right hand, and then his left were revealed.

Finally, Emily rested her bare hands upon his, turning them over in her soft grasp.

"They are noticeably paler than the rest of you," she breathed, then chuckled. "…There I go again. I am not hinting that I have been thinking about all of you. I meant your face and neck, the only parts I have seen yet… Oh my, I must stop talking before my tongue gets me into trouble."

Julian could not help but grin in return. "I do enjoy spending time out of doors. I daresay, my face is sun-kissed and wind-stroked. My hands never see the light of day."

Her fingers were hot against his skin, hotter than they should be. Despite that, the sensation of her touch on his bare hands was intensely exciting… almost made him feel giddy. Her fingers ran over his, and down the back of his hand to his wrist.

"You have very fine hands. The hands of an artist perhaps?"

Julian almost snatched his hand away. It was too close to a truth that he had shared with no one. There was a locked room at the top of the highest tower of Theydon Mount. No servant was allowed inside. None knew of his secret passion. He frowned.

"You do not know me? Or have ever heard of me?"

"Never. My family only moved here from Chester a few months ago. My father is renting Loughton Grange."

"I know of it," Julian replied, "but I thought you hailed from York?"

Emily's eyes went wide with panic, a reaction she tried to hide by turning her head. She pulled her hands away from his. Julian stared at his own pale hands, regretting the touch he had lost.

"No matter. I will not pry," he said, gently.

Emily sniffed and did not answer. Julian settled back in his chair, feeling as though a barrier had just been erected between them. He did not understand its source. The mystery around her deepened.

Ester could not bring herself to look at Julian. His presence pulled at her, drawing her like iron to a magnet. She clutched the blankets to keep her hands from seeking his.

That brief touch had made her feel alive in a way that no experience ever had. His skin had been soft and pale, seeming delicate, which was in contrast to the aura of strength that he exuded.

He was a man of contrasts.

Vulnerable, because of the burden he carried, the curse which he believed so fervently in. Strong, by virtue of his remarkable physique. His broad shoulders and chest, arms of steely muscle. She could not help but wonder what experience he had been through to acquire such a body. It was in such contrast to other gentlemen, even those who served the martial profession, that it made her curious. A curiosity she yearned to satiate…

But that was all secondary. For she had just put her family at risk by blurting out the name of the house in which they currently resided and the location of her father's ancestral home. Knowing that the tenants of Loughton Grange hailed from Chester could very well lead to Julian discovering Ester's identity and that of her family. Her sacrifice would be in vain in that instance. The crime she had committed against her father, stealing the dowry money that he had assembled for her, would be for naught. Closing her eyes, she tried to put Julian out of her thoughts.

She would not be drawn to him. Would not be attracted to him. Her own body and mind would rebel against such attraction. Forbidding her the intimacy that she so craved from him, summoning memories of her attacker to render her frigid to his touch.

That was all to the good.

She must recover from her illness, show Julian that there was no curse to hold her, and then depart.

She must depart. She must depart... That thought reverberated inside her head as the weariness of fever overcame her.