"I know everything, Armande," she said. "Or perhaps I should call you James."
"You may call me anything you damn well please!"
The release of his anger caused Phaedra to shrink back further. Yet she pleaded, clinging desperately to one last hope. "If you told me that none of it was true, even now I would believe you."
"Would you?" .He laughed savagely. "I won't put your faith in me to such a strain." He advanced upon her, his fine-chiseled features twisting into a sneer. "That is exactly who I am, my dear. Old Lethe, the legendary murderer of Blackheath Hall. A walking corpse with bloodstained hands. I wonder you dare to be down here alone with me."
With each step he took, Phaedra stumbled backward until she was pinned against the cold, rough stone of the wall.
"Except that you don't dare, do you?" he bit out. "You've been waiting for your chance to escape up those stairs, terrified that I mean to throttle you at any moment."
She shook her head, her breath coming out in a frightened sob.
"Damn you, Phaedra. It is you who are killing me." He yanked her into his arms, trapping her ruthlessly against the hardness of his body so that she could scarcely breathe or cry out. The shepherdess, still clutched in her hand, all but broke apart between her gripping fingers as she struggled to be free.
James pressed hot, savage kisses along the column of her throat, his words choked with the embittered fury of despair. "How oft have I held you in my arms, loved you in a way I never have loved any other, and still you could think that I would-"
Scarcely thinking what she did, Phaedra drove her foot hard against his instep. In that brief second he relaxed his grip enough for her to claw her way out of his arms. Tears streaming down her cheeks, she backed away toward the stairs.
"Phaedra!" He raged her name, sending it echoing off the rafters. He stretched his hand toward her in a gesture that was half a demand, half a plea.
Looking into his tormented eyes, she could see how her fears tore him apart, and she hated herself. She sensed that he was deliberately seeking to terrorize her-daring her, begging her, to fight back, to do anything but shrink from him.
But she could not give him the reassurance he sought with such desperation. Instead of her hand, she placed the shepherdess in his open palm. "Please, Armande ... James. Let me go. Tomorrow when it is light, we can-“
She broke off, flinching away from him as he uttered a vicious oath and hurled the figurine against the opposite wall. The sound of the delicate china shattering into a myriad of pieces destroyed what remained of Phaedra's control.
She spun about and hurled herself up the darkness of the stairs, stumbling on the hem of her gown, nearly pitching forward onto her face. She expected at any moment to feel James's hands close upon her, dragging her back.
She was halfway up the long, curving stair before she realized he was not coming after her. She slowed, taking one more uncertain step. The hall had resumed its unnatural silence, the only sound her ragged breathing.
Phaedra turned, risking one glance back at the chamber below her. By the spot where the figurine had shattered, James stood frozen, a lonely silhouette in the soft glow pooling from the lamp. She watched the last vestiges of anger drain from him. His hands balled into fists, and he buried his eyes against them, sinking down until he knelt amidst the glistening fragments of china.
Phaedra's fear vanished, a dull ache settling over her heart. Cursing herself for a fool, she rushed back down the stairs and crossed the hall to his side. His powerful frame was wracked with such tremors that she hesitated to touch him. Such grief in a man of James's iron control seemed too private a thing to be witnessed even by her eyes.
She caressed his bowed head, her fingers snagging in the strands of dark hair. She felt him stiffen, then he lowered his hands, to look up at her. He wrapped his arms about her waist, burying his face in the softness beneath her breasts. Phaedra clasped her hands behind his neck, her tears glistening upon his hair as she kissed the top of his head. She held him thus for a long time, offering him wordless comfort. When at last she could speak, the only words she could utter were "I'm sorry." How foolish, how inadequate, that sounded in the face of all that he had suffered.
He pulled away from her. Resting one hand heavily upon her shoulder, he struggled to his feet, gathering his strength and pride as he rose.
“It is I who should apologize to you," he said. "You have now seen the worst of James Lethington's infamous temper. A condition I thought I had cured in myself long ago."
Although he brushed aside the last traces of her tears, his eyes clouded with bitterness. "When I was young ..." He spoke as though that had been many, many ages ago. "I was nearly consumed with ambition. I was going to make my mark upon the world, leave behind a name to echo through time."
He laughed softly, the sound lacking in all mirth. "Little did I realize the name of James Lethington would be used to terrify little girls."
His fingers trailed along her skin, tracing the curve of her cheek, his gaze softened with tenderness. She caught his hand and pressed her lips against the warm hollow of his palm.
"This particular little girl is a fool," she whispered. "Can you ever forgive me?" She tried to find the words to explain to him, that even loving him as she did, she could still be afraid. "It is only that I felt so stunned. In all my wildest imaginings about your past, I never thought that-that-"
"The dead could return to walk the earth?" He meant the words to sound mocking, but his voice cracked.
"My feelings for Ewan betrayed me once, made me a victim," she continued. "But what I felt for him was mere infatuation, not one particle of the love I bear for you. I have never been so vulnerable in my life as I have been with you. I think that is, more than anything, why I was so terrified of you. You have always been so strong, so self-contained. I daresay you do not understand what it is to be afraid."
"Aye, but I do. There is one fear that is my constant torment. The dread of losing you."
He gathered her up in his arms, straining her close. "Phaedra," he murmured against her hair. "I should have told you the truth long ago, but that fear kept me silent. I was terrified that once you had heard my real name, once you knew I was a condemned murderer, that you would flee from me in horror. Is it too late for me to explain? Will you listen to me now?"
Before she had the chance to assent, they were both startled by the creak of a door, the sound of a footfall behind them. They drew quickly apart. Phaedra turned as the footman Peter straggled belatedly into the hall, bearing a candlestick in his upraised hand. Although he appeared somewhat surprised to see Phaedra and her houseguest standing alone in the dimly lit chamber, the young man appeared far more anxious to cover up his own dereliction of duty. His features flushed as he sought furtively to redo the uppermost button of his breeches.
"Lady Phaedra. My lord," he stammered. "I am sorry. I was away from my post for but a moment. Then I thought I heard a noise."
"I dropped a piece of china." James's voice was wooden as he described the destruction of a most cherished treasure. Whatever self-reproach he felt, he concealed it beneath a gruff command to Peter to see that the fragments were swept away. He took the candlestick from the footman, saying, "I will see her ladyship safely upstairs."
Leaving the abashed footman still trying to offer excuses for his absence, Phaedra followed James silently up the stairs. At the second-floor landing, he turned to her, saying, "You never gave me your answer, my lady. May the accused be permitted to speak in his own defense?"
Although he attempted to make the question sound light, she sensed with what anxiety he awaited her answer. Silently, she slipped her hand into his.
James set the candlestick down upon the windowsill in his bedchamber, the flame reflected back in the night-darkened panes. The moon was hidden behind the clouds, rendering the sky a sea of blackness. It was the lonliest part of night, when darkness threatened to stretch on forever, the rose-gold of dawn never to come again.
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While Phaedra settled herself into a stiff-backed chair, James paced before her, as though he were a prisoner in the dock preparing to mount one final, desperate defense for his life. The candle flickered, its illumination darting upward, casting James's hard-sculpted features half in light, half in shadow. Watching him was like gazing upon the souls of two different men trapped within his frame.
It was Armande de LeCroix's well-modulated voice that spoke to her, as icily controlled as ever; but the fire in the blue eyes and the angry set to the mouth were the features of James Lethington.
"It's a long story, Phaedra, and not one I can easily bring again to life."
Phaedra nodded and said gently, "I am ready to listen."
His words came hesitantly at first, then more confidently as James delved deeper into his tale, weaving a spell about Phaedra until she felt carried back into the past, transported by the anguished recounting of his memories.
Through James's eyes, she saw, in more detail, much of the story that had already become somewhat familiar to her-the restless young man longing for adventure, yearning to pursue some intangible dream far beyond the staid confines of his family's china shop. Then came the death of his beloved father, forcing him to assume the responsibilities of the business as well as to look after his mother and sister and his quiet younger brother, Jason. Phaedra heard James's bitterness at being entrapped in a role to which he was so ill-suited, his guilt and despair as the shop began to fail, his apprehension when he realized the growing attraction between Julianna and Ewan Grantham, his determination to keep his impressionable sister away from the weak man whom he held in contempt.
“You see, my dear, Ewan's father had already begun arranging his marriage to a rich man's granddaughter, the beautiful Miss Phaedra Weylin, yet residing in Ireland." Here James paused to give Phaedra a rueful smile. The smile vanished as he continued, "Ewan had not the courage to defy his father openly, but he wanted Julianna to elope with him. My sister loved all of us far too well to deceive her family in such a manner. Before the elopement could take place, she confessed everything to us."
James sighed. "I reacted too harshly. I cursed Ewan, forbade her to ever see him again. Julianna dissolved into tears and fled to her room. That was the last time I ever saw her. When I came upstairs from the shop for tea, I found her gone.
No," he said as though anticipating the question Phaedra had been about to voice. "She hadn't left to elope with Ewan. She had only gone, with my mother's permission, to tell him goodbye. I was angry, and would have gone after her at once; but my mother said, 'Let be, Jamey. She loves the lad, but Julianna is a sensible girl. She only wants to see him one last time, bid him farewell, and give him that little shepherdess she made. We can always design something else for the Emperor."
James interlaced his hands, his fingers tightening. "I wasn't concerned about the damned Emperor's commission. I was worried about my sister, but I allowed my mother to dissuade me. I waited for her return until the sun went down. When I saw the darkness gathering outside and she still hadn't come back, I went after Ewan Grantham."
James's eyes were twin flames as he rounded the darkest bend of this journey back into his past. "I tracked Ewan down to his lodgings, and we nigh had a set-to there and then. He was as furious as I, ranting that I had kept Julianna away from their rendezvous. That was when I realized he hadn't seen my sister all day, either. A feeling of dread began to churn in my stomach. Then Ewan turned pale. He was obviously afraid. ‘If it was not you who detained Julianna,' he said to me, 'then it must have been father.
"Ewan didn't want to explain any more than that, but he finally told me his father had made threats of what he would do to Julianna if Ewan did not give her up."
"That sounds most likely," Phaedra said. "From what I have heard, Carleton Grantham was badly in debt. He needed my grandfather's money desperately, and his son's marriage to me was the guarantee he would get it."
James nodded. "And Lord Carleton was not the sort of man to hold any particular regard for human life. When I thought that Julianna might have been in his hands ... " James shuddered. "I forced Ewan at once to tell me where his father was. He said that Lord Carleton had gone out to the Heath to go over marriage settlements with Sawyer Weylin. As usual, Ewan lacked the courage to confront his father himself. So I went alone."
James's voice dropped so low it was nearly inaudible. He closed his eyes. Phaedra reached out to him in a comforting gesture, but when he opened his eyes, she shrank back. His gaze fired with a hatred that seared her, although she knew his rage was not directed at her, but at some shadowy figure from the past only James could see.
He resumed. "I had no difficulty gaining entrance to the Heath. The place was strangely empty, not a servant in sight, no one except for him. Lord Carleton," James spat the name with loathing. "When I confronted him, he, sneered at me, at first denying any knowledge of my sister. Then I saw Julianna's cloak dropped in a heap by the stairs. It was torn as though in a struggle. Carleton- the cursed devil- just laughed in my face.
"He told me that he did now recall 'entertaining' my sister and could understand why his son Ewan found the pretty little whore so fascinating. I should have held my temper, should have found out exactly what he had done with Julianna, but something exploded inside me." James clenched his fists. "I could have ripped him apart with my bare hands. I went for his throat, but he seized a pike from the wall and rushed me with it. I managed to deflect the tip and grappled with him, sending him flying back."
Phaedra sat upon the very edge of her seat, gripping the arm rails while James paused to wipe at the perspiration beading his brow.
"Dear God, Phaedra, after all these years I am still not certain how it happened. That damned mace was set on the wall in those days. Perhaps when Carleton grabbed the pike, he somehow loosened the mountings. I only know that when he crashed back, the mace came down and ... He died almost instantly."
Phaedra stirred uneasily. This was far different from any account of Carleton Grantham's death she had ever heard before. With his uncanny perception, James sensed her feelings at once.
"Aye, you are right to look so doubting, my dear," he said. "An accident so bizarre surpasses all belief. I realized that myself at once. But before I could react, your grandfather came upon the scene. He clubbed me over the head with his cane. Next morning, I awoke in Newgate. I tried to render my account of the death, but already it was too late. Ewan Grantham had sworn that he saw me murder his father in cold blood."
Phaedra had dreaded to hear that it was her grandfather who had borne witness against James. Greatly astonished to hear that it had been Ewan, she protested, "But you said that Ewan was not even there. Why would he tell such lies?"
James raked his fingers through his dark hair, the gesture rife with frustration and helplessness. "To this day, I don't know. Maybe he believed that I had killed his father and would come after him if given a chance. I probably would have, for at that point Julianna's shoes had been found by the river and everyone was saying she had drowned herself. But Ewan seemed so frightened that I wondered if he had learned more about her death than he was telling."
James's shoulders sagged, a weary sigh escaping him. "Of course, no one believed my version of the event. Not even Dr. Glencoe, not even my own mother. My temper was legend, my account of the accident far too strange. Just as you don't believe me now."
Phaedra ached to assure him that she did, but the words that escaped her lips sounded faint even to her own ears. He looked quickly away from her.
"To make a tedious story short," he continued dully, "I was convicted of murder and hanged. And that is probably the strangest part of my whole tale. You see, I had never been to a hanging. It was not a diversion my father ever felt suited for his family. If I had been a little more experienced in such matters I might not be here now."
When Phaedra shot him a look of bewilderment, he explained, "If you want your neck to snap quickly, you have to take a sm
all leap into the air as the flooring drops away. Otherwise you might just ... dangle."
James's hand moved involuntarily to his collar. "The rope tightened, digging into my flesh, pressing on my throat, cutting off my air." His eyes glazed with the memory. Phaedra clutched her hands in her lap to still their trembling. She was so caught up in the pain and horror of what he described, it was as though she could feel the rope constricting about her own neck, tearing at her own life. She doubted James realized that his own breath now came faster, and his fingers unconsciously yanked at his cravat, ripping it away from his neck.
"I-I couldn't breathe-couldn't seem to die, either," he rasped. "I don't know how long I fought for my life. It felt like eternity. The crowd blurred before my eyes. The last thing I saw was Ewan's face. My last thought was that, if I had to come back from hell itself, I would find a way to make him tell the truth.”
James massaged his neck. He drew in a steadying breath before he was able to speak calmly once more. "When I next regained consciousness, I was not in heaven or hell, but Dr. Glencoe's cottage. My throat swathed in bandages, I felt like I had swallowed fire, but I was alive-if you want to call it that.
"As recompense for saving me, Glencoe insisted I take my mother and brother and go away. I was in no further danger from the law, because a man who survives hanging is generally pardoned. But the old man feared the vindictiveness of Ewan Grantham. Perhaps he feared my own black temper even more. I wanted to get at the truth of Julianna's death, and if there were any besides Lord Carleton who had had a hand in it, I wanted them to pay. But for my mother's sake, and for Jason's, I was persuaded to go. We salvaged what few belongings we could from the shop, and set sail for Canada.
"My mother was a gentle woman, Phaedra, far too gentle. Losing Julianna, the grinding days of my trial, witnessing my execution and return from the dead, having to flee our home- it was all too much for her. She fell ill on the voyage. I believed she might have recovered if she had had the will. As it was, Jason and I could do nothing but watch her slip away."