The River of No Return by Bee Ridgway (best novels of all time txt) 📕

Julia watched him closely—something was boiling up in him. Was it rage that made his mouth twitch, or was it . . .

Bertrand’s stern face broke into a ruffian grin, and he put his head back and laughed to shake the rafters. “You are cleverer than you look, Nick Davenant!” He smiled at Julia. “I accept your offer, Julia Percy,” he said. “I will settle for second-best and buy Castle Dar for . . . shall we say fifteen thousand pounds?”

“I prefer twenty-five,” Julia said.

“Done.”

Julia felt herself hugged fiercely by Nick. She turned to smile at him and was kissed on the mouth.

Bertrand leaned back out of the firelight and shook his head. “‘In love the heavens themselves do guide the state,’” he said, speaking up and into the darkness. “‘Money buys lands, and wives are sold by fate.’”

“For God’s sake, Bertrand,” Leo said. “Do you have to drop ice cubes down the back of every human feeling?”

CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

Julia sat, her expression bland. Bertrand leaned against the mantel, and Nick stood with his arms folded in front of him. Leo was nowhere to be seen. The Russian—her grandfather, though she couldn’t admit that truth to herself for more than a second at a time—was eyeing her with distaste. “I suppose I am convinced that she is innocent,” he said. “But someone was at Castle Dar that day, Nick. An Ofan.”

“I assure you, Arkady,” Bertrand said smoothly, “we will continue the investigation. You may return home to Alice and leave it in our hands.”

Arkady glowered. Julia could feel his frustration, but she didn’t glance up. The past hour had been an ordeal to say the least. Pretending. So this was what it felt like, to really hide the truth, a truth you actually knew. She was breathless and tense, because she understood what she was hiding. She knew the stakes.

The Russian had questioned and cross-questioned her ruthlessly, and she had given him answers that made her seem like a sheltered young woman, confused by the attention. She had run away from him that day in the London house because she was afraid of ghosts. She didn’t know anything about priests’ holes. Was it a kind of biscuit? The biscuit comment had made the Russian bark with derisive laughter, and for just a second, Julia thought she would get off easily.

But then the Russian had performed the ultimate test. He had frozen time, and Julia had to freeze with it.

She had practiced this trick with the Ofan, during the three days’ ride from the medieval barn where they had spent that first night. They had left the carriage in the barn, sold the extra horses, and ridden west, sleeping in the open like brigands. At every stop they would practice. One or another of them would freeze time, and her task was to let herself freeze, too. It was a terrifying thing to do; simply allowing time to end felt like dying. She finally managed it late on the second afternoon, somewhere near Sherborne. She had come back to consciousness to the sight of Leo and Bertrand congratulating each other, while Nick stared at her, as white as a sheet. He caught her up in a hug the minute he saw her blink, and kissed her. Then he set her away from him, straightened his cuffs, and congratulated her on her achievement in a stilted, formal voice.

The Ofan assured her it was a sign of her great talent, that she could let herself into and out of the river in whatever way she chose. They had her practice again and again, until it felt like second nature.

So when she felt the Russian slow time to a halt, she let herself go with it, felt her consciousness fade and wink out into nothingness.

When she blinked back, the Russian was pulling on his gloves. Nick surreptitiously held up three fingers—she had been out for half an hour while they discussed her. But she had passed the test; Count Lebedev believed her to be nothing more than a silly young lady from Devon, where it rains six days out of seven.

She tamped down the urge to dance around the room and instead sat still, her insipid smile pasted on her face. She had tricked him. She was almost free.

“Miss Percy.”

She looked up and met Lebedev’s blue eyes. They were melting with tears. The force of his emotion—grief—hit her like a blast of wind.

“Did your grandfather ever . . .” His tears spilled over. “Did he ever talk to you of another child, a brilliant child? A child of incredible gifts? Once he was her teacher, far away. She was unlike you, this girl. She was . . .”

Before Julia knew it, his grief for her mother had pulled her to her feet and he was hugging her close and sobbing into her hair. His pain flooded her. His tears were wet on her forehead and temple, and tears were streaming down her own cheeks. She was becoming this Russian, this man named Arkady, her mother’s father . . . this man who had lost his daughter and would never be whole again. When he finally stumbled away from her, apologizing and drying his eyes, she gathered herself just enough to flee the room, throwing open the double doors into the hallway and shutting them with a bang behind her. She leaned back against the doors, gasping for breath. She could still feel him in the room behind her, dragging at her soul.

Someone grabbed her hand. It was Leo, who had clearly been listening through the door. “Hold on to me,” he whispered fiercely. “Hold on!”

Julia stared blindly at him, and clutched first at his hand and then at his shoulders. Now she could feel Leo! Sense the terrible pain that lay at his core. She shrank, terrified.

“No!” He gathered her up into his arms. “Stop it, Julia. Don’t reach out to me. Reach in. Find your mooring. Reach in.”

She closed her eyes and breathed. She turned her attention to herself. Leo’s arms around her, which had at first felt as