A Heart for the Taking (34 page)

Annie’s heart sank. Leaving that small baby on the bluff had been hard enough, but to contemplate the murder—and there was no use calling it anything else—of two grown men, two innocent men, who merely had the misfortune to stand between Constance and what she wanted, made Annie feel sick. It was true that they also constituted a possible danger, but Annie did not care. Murder was murder. The merciful Lord had heard her prayers that long-ago night and had allowed the baby to be saved, and at this late date she was not going to undo the Lord’s work.

Annie looked over at Constance’s set features and amended her thoughts. She might not be able to completely wash their blood from her hands, but she was not
actively
going to take part in the murder of Chance and Morely. Constance would have to find someone else to do the deed.

Almost as if she read Annie’s mind, Constance said, “This is not something that we can do ourselves. They are two strong men. We will need help.” She took another turn around her spacious bedroom. “Jonathan will have to know,” she finally said. “He will know how to handle things.”

Not much comforted by Constance’s words, Annie said miserably, “He is not going to be very pleased to learn what we did—and you do not know that he will agree to murder.”

“When he learns the danger that Chance Walker consti
tutes for him, I know that my son will not hesitate.” She smiled smugly. “He
is,
after all,
my
son. He will not let the major portion of the Walker fortune slip through his fingers. Especially not to Chance.”

It was early evening before Constance could contrive a private moment with Jonathan. Because the house was still overflowing with wedding guests, and Sam had wanted to avoid any confrontation between Chance and Jonathan, Jonathan had spent the night at Foxfield. It had been late in the afternoon before he had finally returned to Walker Ridge. Many of the guests had departed that morning, and with the exception of the continued presence of Morely and Pru, the household was almost back to normal.

Constance had sent a note to her son earlier in the day, demanding his company, but since Jonathan was still seething over Ellen’s defection and the bitter knowledge that Fancy had spent the night in Chance’s arms, he was in no mood for his mother’s antics and had ignored her message. His mood had not been helped by the sight of the newly wedded pair walking about the grounds with Sam, Letty, Morely, and Pru, Chance’s arm resting possessively around Fancy’s waist. He knew that Chance and Fancy would be leaving tomorrow sometime for Devil’s Own and his banishment to Foxfield would be at end . . . and his plans for Chance’s demise could begin to take shape.

Somewhat buoyed by that thought, he eventually went in search of his mother. He found her in her sitting room with Annie, and from their expressions when he entered the chamber it was apparent that Constance’s summons had been more important than he had imagined.

“I thought,” he said dryly as he settled himself comfortably in a pale blue channel-back chair, “that I was the only one suffering from the megrims. You both look as if you have eaten bad fish. What is it?”

The telling didn’t take long, with Constance doing most of the talking. When she finished speaking both women looked expectantly at Jonathan.

Except for a twitch at his temple and the clawlike grip of
his hands on the arms of the chair, he displayed none of his inward fury and rage. Not only had Chance stolen his bride, but now the bastard could very well steal his heritage, his fortune, as well.

Fighting down his rage, he tried to view the situation coolly and methodically. Like his mother, Jonathan saw immediately that not only Chance but Morely, too, would have to be eliminated and as soon as possible—and without raising any suspicions or any finger of guilt pointing in his direction—or his mother’s. But unlike his mother, he also realized that there was another source of danger, and his gaze fell thoughtfully on Annie.

Annie had helped raise Jonathan from an infant, and she knew his moods and ways, perhaps better than even his mother. She was not as blind to his faults as Constance, and when he turned that cool blue gaze on her, a quiver of fear went through her and her heart thumped painfully in her breast. She had never, before this very moment, considered herself in any danger, but catching a glimpse of the icy implacability in the depths of Jonathan’s eyes, Annie knew that her own life was in peril.

Frozen with terror, Annie watched him as he rose to his feet and, after walking across the room, stopped in front of her. His expression was carefully bland, no sign of what he was feeling evident in his features. But Annie
knew.
Still, if she hadn’t seen that one frightening glimpse into what he was really thinking, she would have been utterly disarmed.

A polite smile on his handsome face, Jonathan put out a hand to help her rise from her chair and said, “If you please, Annie dear, I think that this is something that Mother and I must discuss privately.”

Knowing it was her death that he wished to discuss with Constance, Annie hesitated, sending Constance a pitiful glance. But Constance, unaware of the currents flowing through the room, waved her away. “Go on. I can tell you what you need to know later.”

If she was correct and Jonathan did plan to kill her, there was no use appealing to Constance, Annie realized sickly. If
a choice had to be made between herself and Jonathan, there was no question which one of them Constance would choose. Not willing, not
wanting
, to believe that Constance would agree to her murder, Annie reluctantly allowed herself to be ushered from the room.

Light-headed with terror, Annie stood swaying in the hall as the door shut firmly behind her. She might have been wrong about the expression in Jonathan’s eyes, she told herself weakly. Why, she had raised him! Surely he would never hurt her. And she had been Constance’s faithful companion for nearly fifty years. Constance wouldn’t let Jonathan murder her. But Annie sensed that she was only trying to reassure herself, as she slowly, painfully, moved down the hall. If Jonathan wanted her out of the way, then her death warrant had been signed.

And inside Constance’s pretty blue-and-cream sitting room, that was precisely what Jonathan was suggesting.

“Annie?” Constance said incredulously, her eyes very wide. “You think that she would betray us? Oh, do not be silly. Annie adores me. And you, too, for that matter. She would never do anything to hurt us.”

His hands steepled in front of him, Jonathan said simply, “Mother, you are letting your affection for her blind you to the very real danger she represents. What is the use of getting rid of Morely and Chance and then allowing Annie, a
servant
, to live, knowing that she could expose us? She would know not only about the original, er, incident, but also about the murder of two men. You told me you have already discussed it with her. Do you really want to live the rest of your life wondering if you are truly safe?”

Constance looked uncomfortable. “Well, no, but you are talking about
Annie.
”

“And?”

“Well, she is . . . she has been with me for so many years,” Constance finished lamely. “She has never given me a moment’s alarm.”

“Yes, and if it were not for Annie’s foolishness, we would
not now be in the position of having to dispose of two grown men.”

Constance made a face. “I realize that you are right, but I just cannot bring myself to . . . Let me think about it?”

“Very well,” he said grimly. “But do not waste a great deal of time in doing so.”

He rose to his feet and started toward the door.

“Wait!” Constance cried. “What about Morely and Chance?”

Jonathan turned and looked back at her, a bone-chilling smile on his face. “Oh, I would not worry about them. I shall take care of that particular problem. You may rest easy on that fact.”

The hall was empty when Jonathan stepped into it. His expression introspective, he made his way downstairs, grateful that he met no one else. He needed privacy and time to think, and knowing that Foxfield was where he would have both, he was suddenly glad that he had been banished to the smaller plantation until Chance and Fancy had left Walker Ridge.

Tossing the reins of his lathered horse to a waiting black boy some time later, he hurried up the broad steps of the pleasant, if unimpressive, house at Foxfield. Shortly, alone in the small, comfortable study at the side of the house, a freshly poured snifter of brandy in one hand, a thick cigar of fine Virginia tobacco in the other, he sat in a black leather chair and stared into space.

Planning to murder two men, with no wind of blame blowing in his direction, was not, he decided, going to be too difficult. Though everyone knew of the enmity between him and Chance, it was highly unlikely that he would be suspected if Chance were suddenly to have a fatal accident. Life was hard in the Colonies; there were tragedies every day.

However, Morely’s death either just preceding Chance’s or very soon thereafter was going to cause a certain amount of talk. Still, Jonathan did not think it would create any danger for him. Everyone liked Morely, and since he and
Morely were on good terms, there would be no reason for anyone even to cast a curious eye toward him. Two accidents were risky, but accidents
did
happen all the time, even in the same family. Perhaps it could be arranged that the
same
accident killed both men? A distinct possibility. He would have to consider it.

It was, Jonathan thought idly as he sipped his brandy, more a case of deciding when and where and how than anything else. It really was too bad that Morely and Pru were not going to travel with Chance and Fancy to Devil’s Own. A mishap along the trail would be a simple and swift solution to the problem.

Getting rid of Chance was imperative. Not only because of the danger that he represented, but every time Chance lay with Fancy, there was the possibility that she would conceive a child. An angry white line appeared around Jonathan’s lips. If he did marry Fancy, and he had begun to have a few doubts about that, it was going to be difficult enough living with the knowledge that Chance had known Fancy’s charms. But he would be damned if he would live with Chance’s spawn growing up under his very nose.

Jonathan took in a deep lungful of smoke and slowly let it out. Watching the blue wisps rise in the air, he considered his position. Once Chance was dead, the greatest threat was over. What would Morely gain by telling of his suspicions then? There was no denying that Morely was a soft-headed, vacillating fool—but he knew which side his bread was buttered on. With Chance dead, there would be no point in making a scandal or attempting to implicate Constance. Killing Morely might not be necessary, but Jonathan decided to take no chances. With Chance, Morely, and Annie dead, he and his mother would be the only ones who knew the truth.

He grimaced. Except that he did not plan to do the actual deeds himself. Well, in Annie’s case, it shouldn’t be too difficult. An evening stroll along the river’s edge, a tap on the head, and into the water she would go. By the time her body was found, it would be assumed that she’d slipped, fallen, and drowned. Any marks upon her body would be thought
to have happened in the river. No, Annie would not be a problem, and he could take care of her quite easily himself. The two men, however, were something different.

Jonathan sighed. It was obvious that he’d have to employ someone else, and he’d have to do it with extreme delicacy and great discretion. For several long moments he sat there savoring the cigar and the fine brandy, turning over various schemes in his mind.

Suddenly he smiled. Of course, the Thackers! Their hatred of Chance was well-known, and their reputations as brutal, dangerous men, capable of any wicked deed, were also notorious in this part of the colony. All he would have to do would be to, anonymously, naturally, give them the slightest nudge in Chance’s direction and everything would take care of itself.

A frown curved his forehead. Except using the Thackers might put Fancy in jeopardy. To himself Jonathan finally admitted that he was having trouble dealing with Fancy’s marriage to Chance, specifically the knowledge that Chance had lain with her. The fact that she had been a widow and not a virgin had not bothered him, but to know that
Chance
had touched her intimately galled him, and his blind determination to marry her once Chance was dead wavered. Perhaps the use of the Thackers would make up his mind for him? If Fancy fell into their hands and suffered an unfortunate fate, rape or death, well, then, that would be a clear sign that she was not, after all, the bride for him.

Satisfied with his decision, he rang for his valet. When Simmons entered the room and shut the door behind him, Jonathan motioned him nearer.

“How difficult,” Jonathan drawled, “would it be for you to arrange a private meeting for me with those, er, Thacker fellows?”

Beyond a slight lifting of one slim brow, Simmons gave no other sign that he was surprised by Jonathan’s request. But he was. Very. All communication between Jonathan and the Thackers had been carried out by a carefully disguised Simmons. Now Simmons was extremely curious as to why
his master wanted personally to talk with the two men he had frequently called a pair of noxious vermin.

But it was not a servant’s place to question the master. Dropping his lids to hide the rampant speculation in his dark eyes, Simmons said, “It might take me a little while to find where they are currently abiding, but I am certain that I can do as you have asked.”

“Do so,” Jonathan said almost jovially. “I have a little, ah, chore for them.”

Simmons cleared his throat and, unable to help himself, asked delicately, “Chore, sir? Is it something that I might be able to help you with?”

Jonathan smiled grimly. “No, this is something a trifle more complicated than transferring goods and gold.”

Aware that he would learn nothing more, Simmons bowed and murmured, “Very well, sir. I shall find the Thackers for you just as soon as possible.”

Pleased that he had set events in motion, Jonathan relaxed in his chair. He trusted Simmons, but not with something this important. Since secrecy was of the utmost importance, it would be folly to involve someone else too deeply. Unfortunately, he needed Simmons to find the Thackers for him, but beyond the curious fact that his master had requested to meet with the two men, Simmons would know nothing. When Chance died, it was possible that Simmons might guess the truth, but it was unlikely.