Alanna (When Hearts Dare Series Book 2) (20 page)

“Old Chinese said your dreams are coming along as he expected, so don’t try to force things. Just let them happen.” Trevor made his way to the fireplace. “Since you’re fading on me, I need to switch subjects. This beating you were subjected to,
mon frère
, what’s your gut feeling? Do you think it had any connection with your childhood and the murder? Or was it the consequence of a fiancé’s wounded pride?”

“Anything about me you don’t know?”

“Nothing I don’t have a need to know. I’m afraid you are truly ignorant as to what the word
mon frère
can mean. When a French Creole who owes you a debt of honor calls you brother, he’s telling you he is as committed to you as if you shared the same blood.”

Wolf’s chest tightened. Jeezus, what did he say now?

Trevor leaned an elbow on the mantel. “You saved my wife’s and child’s lives out there in the middle of nowhere; now it’s my chance to return the favor.” He smiled. “In fact, it’s your
obligation
to allow a French Creole to repay his debt of honor,
mon frère
.”

Wolf was desperate to change the subject. “How’s Celine?” He’d grapple with his emotions later.

“My wife is well. We’re quite content.” Trevor’s words were simply put, but the quick fire in his eyes at the mention of his wife gave Wolf a better answer.

“And Brandon?”

“Doing well. He’ll have a sibling come spring.”

Wolf groaned. “Celine must not get much rest with you rutting around.”

Trevor chuckled. “God gave man a most delectable way of reproducing. I’ve found married life has its . . . how should I say . . . constant rewards. You should try it.” He returned to the chair, where he sat and stretched his legs. “Speaking of which, I’ve known Alanna for years.”

At Wolf’s disgusted sigh, Trevor laughed. “The idea of you two getting together never crossed my mind. But when I heard, I thought . . .” He lifted his fingertips to his mouth and gave them a kiss. “You two couldn’t be more deserving of each other.”

“Kiss my ass.”

Trevor chuckled. “You grow tired,
mon frère
. It would be best if I leave, but I’ll return on the morrow. I promised Celine I would be home in time for the holidays, so I won’t remain in Boston but a short while and I have much to accomplish. I’ll visit as frequently as possible.”

A knock sounded on the door, and Thompson entered.

“Ah,” Trevor said. “I was about to go looking for you. It’s up to us to take care of a few things without burdening Wolf since not only is he incapacitated, he’s not in the right frame of mind to make serious decisions. I know—I’ve been right where he is.”

A look of dread shrouded Thompson’s visage. “I have a bad feeling that what you learned from the detective today is somehow going to dovetail with my recent revelations.”

Trevor rested an elbow on the chair’s arm and set his fingertips to his temple. “Tell me about
Junior
Hemenway.”

Thompson heaved a sigh. “It seems young Mr. Hemenway accompanied his future father-in-law on a recent trip to our nation’s capital. The two apparently spent the better part of most evenings frequenting brothels.”

“Christ,” Wolf muttered. Damn, he despised being so crippled up.

“Doesn’t surprise me,” Trevor responded. “Malone hasn’t been so faithful in other affairs, either.”

“How’s that?”

“He’s always booked his shipping with us, right? Spills over to other lines occasionally if we’re unavailable, correct?”

“Correct,” Thompson replied.

“He’s used other liners here when we’ve been at capacity, some as far away as New York, but always open and above board?”

Thompson nodded. “Always bids with us first.”

“Then why has he been booking cutters out of Liverpool and Australia under a different name?”

“A partner involved?” Thompson asked.

Trevor nodded. “Junior. They’re blackbirding.”

Slave trading.
Wolf cursed.

Thompson blew out a breath and sat in another chair. “Good God. Malone’s one of the most outspoken abolitionists in New England. You’re sure? Never mind. Of course you would be.” His cheeks puffed, then deflated in another rush of an exhale. “Why in the world would Malone risk everything for something like slave trading?”

Trevor shrugged. “Why are some of Boston’s wealthiest running opium when they can’t spend what they make running tea and household goods?”

Anger wound its way through Wolf’s gut. “Any idea how long this has been going on?”

“Since last May,” Trevor said. A long moment of silence sat heavy in the room. “It seems our
Monsieur
Malone has fallen into that sticky age-old trap. His reward for a lifetime of struggle sits right before him with the pending marriage of his daughter. He can smell it, but it’s still just a hair’s breadth beyond his reach. And I think Junior secretly wants to become independent of Senior’s control. Put the two together and
voila
, diamond mines in Africa—black diamonds, that is.”

“Do you think they both might be responsible for Wolf’s attackers?” Thompson asked. “Alanna thinks her fiancé and her mother might be the culprits, that her mother may have fanned her fiancé’s anger, naive to the deadly potential. You know what a featherbrain Mrs. Malone can be.”

“Those are only some of the missing pieces,” Trevor said. “But Miss Malone might be right—her mother is likely just as nervous as her husband with the culmination of their dreams in sight. Perhaps even more so now that there’s no denying the attraction between Wolf and her ace in the hole.”

“What about Hemenway Senior and the haircutting incident with his daughter?” Wolf asked. “The same thing was done to my mother.”

Trevor shook his head. “The senior Hemenway isn’t involved in his son’s and Malone’s mess. However, going on the assumption that he is the one who murdered your mother, and he’s somehow found out who you are and believes you witnessed the act, he has more to lose than the other two with you alive.”

“I had one last bit of information reported to me today,” Thompson said. “It seems one of Boston’s police captains hasn’t been seen since the night of Wolf’s attack.”

Trevor frowned. “Any connection?”

Thompson nodded. “He’s the same chap who detained Wolf at the precinct. The man used to work for Hemenway.”

Fire and ice ran through Wolf’s veins, but he was growing so weary he could do little more than grunt.

Trevor’s brows furrowed. “The minute you think Wolf can be moved, make him disappear.”

“I’ll see to it,” Thompson said. “But what about Alanna? Do you think it would be in everyone’s best interests if we curb her visits?”

Wolf was drifting in and out, but the idea of not seeing her before he was transported to the farm irritated him. He groaned.

Trevor chuckled. “There’s your answer, Thompson. Something tells me while Wolf has been running from any woman who wants to tie him down, he ended up running smack into one who has him tied up in knots.”

Wolf struggled to get his words out. “Damn the doctor and his powders. And to hell with your cocked-up opinions.”

 

The ball of white fluff asleep in Alanna’s lap twisted about until he curled against her, belly-up. She buried her fingers into the puppy’s deep fur and stroked his tummy. “He’s so sweet, thank you.”

Wolf gave a small nod. He sat before the fire, his head against the rocking chair’s carved back, one long leg thrust outward, his heel controlling the slow, rhythmic movements. His thumb brushed softly along his bottom lip as he silently studied her. Dusk’s deepening shadows and his half-closed lids veiled his thoughts. Her heart thumped in her chest. He’d changed recently, and the strange shift in his mood left her with a sense of discomfort.

His abrupt withdrawal had occurred right after Trevor had come to call. No longer did Wolf tease her. Ask her to brush his hair. Shave his face. Read to him. What in the world had caused him to grow so silent?

Tomorrow would be the first day she wouldn’t be over to visit him. She’d been fortunate to be able to spend time with him because of the Thompsons’ festivities, but Christmas Day would be too risky. Lord knew, she’d miss him. And when the celebrations were all over, what then? Gone would be the myriad social events that kept her parents too busy to bother with her whereabouts.

The prospect of returning home tonight to their shallow group of friends on this, her twenty-fourth birthday, nearly sent a rush of tears down her cheeks. Things seemed strangely out of sorts, as though something was about to change and her world would never run quite the same again.

Orange firelight flickered across Wolf’s face. His lips, nearly healed and back to their soft generosity, sent waves of warmth fluttering through her belly. “What’s on your mind, Wolf?”

He shrugged, but made no attempt to shift his gaze from her.

With a heavy sigh, she rose from her chair to leave. “My parents are expecting me.” The rotund puppy, utterly exhausted from Little Mary’s visit and her incessant pestering, gave a small grunt, rolled over, and went limp again.

Wolf stood, his movements still a bit stiff.

Alanna stood. “Oh, please, don’t get up on my account.” Her hand paused in midair before it touched him, and then slipped back under the dog’s fat belly. She made to move past him, but his arm slid around her waist. He pulled her to him, the ball of fur in her arms their only separation. Her heart leapt to her throat, and heat rose in her cheeks. For some odd reason, she felt close to tears. What had happened to alter their easy camaraderie?

His hand disappeared into the dog’s thick coat and found hers. His other hand slid from her waist to her shoulders, where he pulled her to him until her cheek rested against his chest. She caught the wild hammering of his heart. So he wasn’t as calm as he pretended. Lord, she didn’t want him to let go of her.

“Oh, Wolf. I shall miss you when I leave.”

Wolf wanted to kiss her, but he didn’t dare. He’d start something he probably couldn’t stop. A ragged breath escaped his lips.

“I’ll miss you, as well.” He released her and walked to the far window, where he parted the drapes a mere inch and caught sight of the waiting sleigh. “Have a good Christmas.”

The click of her heels against the wood floor sent lonely echoes along the hallway and down the stairs. In moments, she appeared beside the sleigh with Thompson and Old Chinese. When she disappeared from sight, he made his way back to his chair and resumed his slow rocking and staring at the firelight.

Knowing she returned to her family pained him more than he wanted anyone to know. Hell, even Old Chinese would be with her. She had been born twenty-four years ago tonight, and twenty-four years ago tomorrow his entire world had shattered. And the two events had taken place nearly across the street from one another—and not far from here. Christ! He swiped a hand over his face and wondered where he could find some good whiskey in a hurry.

“May I join you?” Martha stood at the doorway holding a silver tray laden with a cut-glass wine decanter and two crystal goblets. She stepped into the room. “Don’t get up.”

He did anyway. Lifting the tray from Martha’s grasp, he placed it on the small table between them, then sat again. “You’re welcome with or without the wine, Martha, but this looks mighty good about now.”

Martha angled her chair more toward Wolf than to the fire while he filled the two glasses and pressed one into her hand. He said nothing more, only leaned his head back against the chair and studied the dancing patterns that filtered through the garnet liquid in his glass.

“Your silence has gone on for some time now,” Martha said. “I think it causes Alanna pain.”

A knot formed in Wolf’s gut.

“Take her with you.”

“What?” By the look in her eyes, she wasn’t kidding. “I can hardly walk down the stairs by myself, and you suggest I take her with me? Jesus, Martha, that little sleigh ride to the wharf this morning to pick up the dog was all I could manage today.”

“You’re not leaving for England until spring. You’ll have thoroughly healed by then. Get her out of this disaster.” Martha leaned forward, her voice ardent. “Please, don’t let it be too late.”

“And what if I were to take her with me? After my business is finished, what then? Do I find a little thatched-roof cottage for the two of us? When this mess ends, her association with the Hemenways will terminate. She can get on with her life here in Boston or out with Old Chinese—without my interference.” His damn teeth hurt again. He unclenched his jaw.

“Would you care to know what I have to say about that?”

“Do I have a choice?” A hint of surrender entered his heart. Uneasy, he shifted his gaze back to the flames and slowly rocked the chair.

“You cannot be concerned about finances, so a miserable thatched-roof cottage is of no consequence. Besides, if only half the missing funds due you are recovered, you’ll be more than well set—”

“Don’t go by your own experience, Martha. Your parents weren’t like hers. If Alanna were involved with me, we’d spend the rest of our lives looking over our shoulders. No matter the miles between us, Malone wouldn’t hesitate at a chance to turn her into a wealthy widow, which would leave Alanna miserable.”

“I don’t think that would happen. In the end, I suspect it’s going to be quite difficult for the Malones to consider such spitefulness. They’d have too much to lose.”

“Humph.”

“Opium-running among Boston’s merchant elite is one thing, Wolf. Most all of them do it, so there’s not a one of them willing to expose the other. But slave trading by an avowed abolitionist? Well, that kind of scandal would bring great difficulties down on the Malones—perhaps even place them in harm’s way.”

She studied Wolf’s face and frowned. “But most likely I’m not telling you anything you and Trevor haven’t already discussed. I suspect Trevor’s ultimate plan is to catch them red-handed, make it difficult for them to take action against you for fear of exposure. Am I right?”

He wasn’t up to telling her of the latest news, that Alanna’s father and Jonathan actually co-owned the brothels they’d frequented in Washington, used them to entice and persuade government officials. The maze of deceit had grown another dark corridor.

A quizzical expression flashed across Martha’s features. “I apologize. I’m not trying to pressure you for information. I agree that the fewer people who know what Trevor is up to, the better. What I am saying is, I’ve come to the conclusion that what’s holding you back is the tragic burden you’ve carried for the past twenty-four years. You’re concerned it will haunt you the rest of your days and destroy any chance of a decent family life. If that’s your worry, it doesn’t have to be that way.”

A tired sigh escaped Wolf’s lips. “If only I could be certain.”

Martha reached out and covered his hand once again, this time not letting go. “Dare to go after your dreams.”

“What dreams? I’ve always lived like a feather in the wind, with nothing much on my mind but catching a killer one day.”

“Oh, I think deep down you know what you want. You’ve just never been able to acknowledge it. Now that Alanna’s shown up in your life, I think your hidden dreams are trying to wiggle out of the box you locked them in long ago.”

Disquieting thoughts raced through Wolf’s mind. His brows furrowed. “That reminds me of an actual dream I’ve been having—since my little . . . misfortune occurred.” He bent to refill his glass and filled hers as well.

“Is it the same one over and over?”

He nodded. “Some more detailed than others. It’s a strange dream, of a grand old manor house made of gray stone—castellated, I think. Rather baronial, the kind one might think to find in the English countryside. It sits in a green valley with grazing horses and beautiful trees. There’s a river out back. In front, a pond with a couple of swans.”

“How do you feel when the dream is going on?”

“Good.”

“How do you feel when you’re in the countryside with Old Chinese?” Martha’s wonderful voice, soft and clear, soothed him.

“The same. Big cities and crowded streets tend to stupefy my brain.”

She smiled. “That should tell you something. But you’ll know the full measure of what your dream is trying to tell you when the time is right.”

He refilled the wineglasses and a long silence ensued. Martha reached into a pocket of her skirt and extracted a black velvet pouch. She handed it to Wolf.

He stopped rocking the chair and emptied the bag’s contents into his hand. The chain and his mother’s earring dropped into his palm, jolting him. “Jeezus, I gave that up for lost.”

“One of Old Chinese’s students retrieved it for you,” she responded. “Old Chinese thought it fitting to return it to you this evening. I hope one day you’ll trust Alanna enough to share the story behind it.”

Wolf hooked the chain around his neck and slipped the earring under his shirt. “Who would’ve thought some twenty-four years later, I’d be sitting within spitting distance of my childhood home? Sometimes I feel like it found me, I didn’t find it. I’d knock on the door and ask to look around, but who would say yes to such an insane request?”

Tears filled Martha’s eyes, but her serene countenance remained. She swiped at a corner of her eye and laughed lightly. “Forgive me. I’ve become a bit emotional.”

Wolf ’s insides suddenly churned. He stilled. There was something about Martha just then that distinctly reminded him of his mother. Her soft, tear-filled laughter, that was it.

Long-forgotten memories tore from their deep moorings and shot to the surface. His stomach twisted in a kaleidoscope of reeling emotions. How could he have forgotten? His mother had looked nearly the same as Martha just now—sitting by the fire when his father was away on business. Apologizing for her tears. In a similar soft voice, she’d recited wonderful stories of their life together or woven tales of incredible fantasy. He’d especially loved hearing the legends of Merlin and tales of Celtic lore.

Inexplicably, a part of him withdrew into a corner of his past. In his mind’s eye, Wolf found himself looking down into a small boy’s world. A similar warm blaze and a similar feminine but iron-strong woman, sat beside a child with a puff of flaxen hair. Little feet, barely stretching beyond the edge of an oversized rocker, managed a slow, steady movement of the chair. A small, wet finger found its way back and forth along small, even teeth. A mother’s soft, honey-soaked voice lulled him.

Such a voice.

Such words.

Words that always made him feel secure—and loved. He’d felt life on earth was harmonious, immutable back then. Never had it occurred to him that his world would change, that his father would not always return from wherever he went, or that his mother would not always be there.

Never had it crossed his mind she could die.

“Your voice reminds me of my mother’s, Martha. Except for one thing.”

“What’s that?”

“She had a Scottish brogue.”

“You’re sure? Boston is heavily populated with the Irish, but I don’t know of many Scots around. The two accents do sound alike, though.”

Wolf shook his head. “No mistaking the two in my mind. Hers was Scots.”

With the heel of his shoe, he set his chair to rocking again. “I need to stop talking about myself. Tell me about your life after you moved to Boston.” He rotated the glass of wine in his fingers and took a slow sip. He allowed Martha’s silken voice to resonate through him and stir up crystal-clear memories. They rolled through him like relentless waves over both smooth and jagged boulders.

His odd dreams, his recent talking in his sleep, they were all awakenings of one kind or another, Old Chinese had said. He’d also told Wolf that he would soon begin bringing forth the ghosts of buried memories.

The pause in Martha’s voice ended his musings.

He turned to her. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

“I said, I study the origin of names, Wolf. Would you care to know what yours means?”