Deadly Kisses (20 page)

“Francesca,” Julia said, her voice hoarse. “Your father wishes to speak with you.”

Francesca stepped away from the stairs. There was no doubt in her mind that both of her parents had seen the
Sun,
at least. The house was terribly quiet, which told her there were no supper
guests. That was odd. Julia entertained every day of the week except for Sundays and Mondays, or she and Andrew went out.

Julia easily read her thoughts. “We canceled our plans to go out tonight, Francesca. Neither one of us was in a social mood.”

Francesca approached her mother. “Mama, we discussed this earlier. Hart is innocent. Do not believe whatever you have read.” But she kept her voice low, not wanting to alert Andrew to their conversation. Julia would surely move back to her side!

“Francesca, you know how fond of Hart I am. You know how thrilled I have been that you have managed to get engaged to him. I don't think he murdered anyone.”

For some reason, Francesca was not relieved. “Thank you for your faith and loyalty.”

Julia raised her hand. “Stop! It doesn't matter whether Hart is innocent or guilty. This scandal is simply unacceptable and you cannot be a part of it.”

Francesca was in disbelief. Julia had been their biggest ally, their greatest supporter. “How can you say that his innocence doesn't matter? Of course it does! Mama, I love Hart. I am not going to back down now. He will be proved innocent and this terrible scandal will fade away and disappear. One day, it will be entirely forgotten.”

“You may be right. On the other hand, this scandal may follow Hart for the rest of his life—unless he moves to Paris. But it might even follow him there!”

Francesca found it hard to breathe. “So what are you saying? You no longer approve of my marriage to Calder?”

Julia's face collapsed. “I have to protect you, Francesca. You are my child.”

“I am a grown woman,” Francesca cried in anger now. “Mama, I am begging you, do not oppose my marriage. I need you on my side.” She felt frantic—a very rare moment for her.

Julia wiped the tears that had appeared. “Your father wishes to speak to you. He is in the dining room.”

“I have to go out,” Francesca said tersely.

Julia was incredulous. “Francesca! Andrew wishes to speak to you!”

Francesca steeled herself, hardly able to believe that she would be so disrespectful as to go out without giving her father a word. But she did not want that confrontation now.

It did not matter what she wanted, she realized, for Andrew had come into the hall, his face terribly sober, the light in his eyes as grim.

Francesca knew what he would say. She rushed to him. “Papa, you have always respected my judgment and my choices. You have been proud of me because I am an independent thinker. Do not do this!”

“Francesca.” He actually hugged her. “You are right. I have allowed you the freedom of choice and action that no one I know allows their daughter. But like your mother, my duty is to protect you. I have been opposed to Hart from the start. Like your mother, I do not care whether he is innocent or not.”

“That is not fair,” she said bitterly.

“Life is not fair, and I know you know that.” He hesitated. “I already ended the engagement, but neither you nor Hart seemed to listen or to care. I will not allow the marriage, Francesca, not now—and not ever.”

In that moment, Francesca realized that her father, the most kind and rational of men, was going to close his mind forever to Calder Hart, and the choice she must make became crystal clear. It saddened her to no end.

“Did you hear me?” he asked quietly.

And because she had no intention of ending the future she had planned with Hart, she did not tell her father that Hart had ended their engagement that morning. “Yes, I did. I am very sad, Papa,” she said as quietly.

“You will recover. I know you do not think so, but you are only twenty-one years old. Eventually, you will find someone else.”

“There is no one else,” she said calmly.

His eyes widened. It took Andrew a full moment to understand. “You are going to disobey me?”

“I am afraid so,” she said evenly, but her heart raced with sickening speed.

He was shocked. “Francesca, I forbid the marriage! I forbid your seeing him, period!”

Behind them, Julia gasped.

Francesca wasn't certain she had ever been so hurt. A lifetime of memories flashed through her mind. She saw herself as a child eagerly and adoringly following her father about the house or his offices, soaking up his every word. There were other moments, too, sitting in his lap while he read to her, or his tending to her skinned knee. And later, as a young woman, there were the fierce debates they had shared, with one of them playing the devil's advocate, as they were always on any issue's same side.

“Papa,” she whispered. “I wish you weren't making me choose, but you are. I am choosing the man I love, the man I trust, the man I believe in. I am choosing the future I am determined to have.”

Andrew had turned white. “First Evan,” he whispered in shock and disbelief. “But you, Francesca, you would oppose me this way?”

Nothing had ever been harder than turning away from the man she had loved, respected and admired for her entire life. She wiped away the moisture that was gathering in her eyes. “I can't stay here anymore.” She closed her eyes, realizing that it was true. “I will move in with Connie.”

Julia cried out. “Francesca! You can't mean it!”

Francesca smiled sadly at her. “I love you both. But Hart is in a difficult time. I am not abandoning him because of a temporary
crisis. I wish you both could be supportive of me. But as you are not, yes, I do mean it. I am moving out.”

Julia sat down on the stairs, tears running down her cheeks.

Andrew had not moved. “Francesca, I am your father. No one,
no one,
loves you more than I do!”

“And I love you, too,” Francesca said. She hugged him briefly, kissing his cheek. “When Hart and I marry, you will always be welcome in our home.” She realized she would not be changing her clothes. She had to leave, before she lost all control, breaking down in tears.

Francesca went back across the hall, aware of her parents standing at its opposite end by the sweeping staircase, in shock and disbelief. She vaguely smiled at the doorman, and as he blanched, she realized he had heard every word. “Have Raoul meet me at Hart's,” she told him, her tone tremulous. She had no intention of waiting a half an hour for her carriage; she would take a cab.

“Francesca.” Julia ran after her.

Francesca faced her mother and hugged her, hard. “Don't worry, Mama. It will all work out in the end. You shall see.”

“Will it?” Julia cried, weeping.

“Yes, it will.” She meant her every word.

Wednesday, June 4, 1902—9:00 p.m.

F
RANCESCA STARED UP AT
the elegant and imposing front entrance of Hart's home, past the pair of life-size lime stone lions there, still stunned and shaken. The breakup with Hart had been hard enough to bear; now she knew she had hurt Andrew and Julia to no end. Yet there had been no other choice.

She slowly went up the front steps. A part of her was ready to rush into Hart's arms and tell him what had just happened, for she found so much comfort in his strong embrace, but she did not know what her reception would be. And even if he was pleased to see her, he had his own problems now. He did not need any additional burdens. Francesca realized that she was not going to tell Hart what had happened a few moments ago. Besides, facing him now was no simple or easy task. She needed all of her courage and all of her conviction.

Trepidation rising in her, Francesca waited for the door to be opened. Alfred did not seem surprised to see her, but then, Francesca didn't think Hart would tell his butler that he had ended his engagement. In fact, Hart might not have said a word to anyone. That would be a relief, indeed.

Alfred ushered her into the front hall. There, in the glow of the overhead chandelier, Francesca saw that he was worried. “I know it is late, but I need to speak with Calder. Alfred? Is something amiss?”

“I am afraid so,” he said seriously. “It is Mr. Hart, Miss Cahill. I am afraid he is in one of his moods.”

“What kind of mood?” Francesca asked warily. When she had first met Hart, Alfred had let her in on one of his employer's secrets. Hart would frequently dismiss the entire staff, so that he was alone in the huge house. Fearing for his employer, Alfred would retreat to the kitchens but not leave. Hart, unaware he was not as alone as he had intended, would then wander the halls, staring at his art while drinking heavily. Francesca still did not understand what dark despair drove him to such strange and solitary behavior.

Alfred, of course, had also witnessed his extreme temper, and his moments of cold, cruel reserve. Francesca did not think he could have dismissed the staff to indulge himself in an alcoholic binge, as his house contained too many guests. But with Hart, one simply never knew what was coming next.

“It is hard to say, Miss Cahill. He did not go to his offices this morning. He spent most of the day in the library, refusing all callers except one. I am afraid he was drinking. He seemed very distressed. Early this evening he went up to his rooms and I have not seen or heard from him since. I sent up a supper tray, but he would not answer the door and I did not dare take it inside.”

Now Francesca was worried, very much so. “Was he inebriated when he went up to his rooms?”

“Mr. Hart can hold his liquor. So I would say, no, he was not.”

“Who called?”

“Your sister.”

Francesca was very surprised, and instantly, she was suspicious. If Connie had called on Hart to interfere in her relationship, she was in for a major set-down. Francesca was beginning to feel as if the entire city was aligned against their future together. “Is anyone home?”

“At this hour? No,” Alfred said. “I do not expect Mr. Rourke
back until much later. As for Mr. D'Archand, it is hard to say, but he also keeps late hours. Mr. and Mrs. Bragg will not be back until next week.”

Francesca hesitated, trying to decide what to do. Alfred said, “Miss Cahill? I spoke to the police as we discussed. But I have seen the newspapers. We all have. How deeply in trouble is Mr. Hart?”

Instantly Francesca forgot her own worries and fears. “Alfred,” she said reassuringly and firmly, “Hart is innocent. I am going to prove him innocent. But I am very moved that you care so much for him. And thank you for your loyalty,” she added carefully.

He clearly understood. “We are all concerned,” Alfred said. “He is a good employer, even with his moods.”

Francesca was brought back to her own dilemma. “Alfred, can you tell Hart I am in the library and that it is urgent that I speak with him? I mean, I should understand if you are reluctant to go upstairs.”

Alfred smiled grimly. “I have had to corner the lion in his den many times over the past six years,” he said. “I will tell him you are here.”

Francesca's heart began to beat far too swiftly for comfort. As Alfred went upstairs, she went to the library, her nervous anxiety escalating wildly. In just a few minutes, she was going to face Hart. She was afraid he had not changed his mind about her. She began to gather all of the arguments she would make. Then she reminded herself not argue about their relationship—she would discuss the case with him instead.

Francesca was standing in the center of the large room, trying to remain calm, when she felt him come to the threshold of the room. She slowly turned.

Hart leaned on the wall in the open doorway, appearing disheveled. There was a five-o'clock shadow on his jaw, and wisps of short, dark hair curled randomly against his temples and forehead. His white shirt was unbuttoned well past the throat. The
shirt was in dire need of a pressing and his sleeves were rolled haphazardly up.

She forced a smile, her heart pounding. “I have just returned from Albany,” she said brightly. “I found Judge Gillespie.”

His expression remained impassive and impossible to read.

She faltered, wringing her hands. “He is Daisy's father, Calder. Her real name is Honora Gillespie.”

“What are you doing here?”

She stiffened in dread. “Hart, don't you want to hear what I have found out?”

“Not really.” He launched himself off the wall, his strides long and leisurely, at odds with the tension she sensed. He did not quite approach; he circled around her and walked toward the glass doors that opened onto the night. “I told you quite a few times that I do not want you on this case.”

When he behaved like this, she was afraid. She was afraid it was too late, that he no longer cared and that she had already lost him. “I am not abandoning you in your time of need.”

He faced her, his gaze raking over her features, shooting back to her eyes, where she was afraid all of her hurt and confusion showed. “But I don't need you, Francesca. Haven't I made myself clear?”

She was terribly taken aback. “We both know you do need me—or at least, you need my sleuthing services. Even if you do not want me involved in this case, it's too late. I
am
involved—not because I told Rose I would find the killer, but because I am not letting you down. Not now,” she said, swallowing hard, thinking of a future apart from him, “and not ever.”

“You are exasperating,” he warned.

She shook her head. “No, Hart. You are the stupidly exasperating one!”

His brows rose in some surprise. “Now I am stupid?”

She was aware that she was losing all control of her emotions. “Do not even think to turn my words around. You are a difficult
man. At times like these, you are be yond difficult, beyond unreasonable. And you are arrogant! We have been friends, partners and lovers for some time. But you decide without consulting me that it is over, just like that?”

“Welcome to the world of men,” he said, but he never looked away, his gaze terribly intent.

She shivered. “What does that mean?”

“It means you are naive enough to have no clue that when a rogue is done, he is done, and it is never a two-way street.”

She was going to break down, Francesca thought as his meaning became painfully clear. She fought to keep her composure about her, and her pride. “Fine. Jilt me, then. Papa feels certain I will find someone else, someone better, and maybe he is right.”

His face darkened. “Oh ho! Do you think to madden me with jealousy? I set you free this morning, Francesca, and damn it, your father is right. One day there will be someone else. I will be first in line to send you a wedding gift,” he snarled.

“Don't send me any presents!”

He gave her a long look and turned away.

She hesitated, then gave in to her impulses and ran after him. She seized his arm, forcing him to face her. “When you pursued me, when you seduced me, when you made me fall in love with you, then it became a two-way street, Calder. I am not like the other women you have chased.”

Reluctantly, he said, “No, you are not like any other woman. I will concede that. Don't do this, Francesca.”

She shook her head. “Don't do what? Don't make this hard for you? Don't make you hurt, the way I am hurting? How well do you know me, Calder?” she demanded. She was very angry now.

“Very well,” he said more quietly, his gaze riveted on hers.

“If you know me so well, then you know I would never give up on you. If you really are tired of me, if you really wish to
end our engagement, we both know, in the end, I will have to concede defeat. But I am your friend. I am your best
friend,
goddamn it. In times of danger, in times of need, friends stay the course! So end the affair, if you will. That only means you are a coward! But I am not leaving this case. I am going to find Daisy's killer. And when you are free of all suspicion, well, you can wander these halls all by yourself. No, better yet, you can find some whore to warm your bed and
I
will be the first to line up and congratulate you on a life well done!”

He smiled without any mirth whatsoever.

“Nothing I have said is amusing,” she snapped. She had the feeling she had gone too far but she had meant her every word.

“I have done nothing to deserve a woman like you.”

Relief overcame her and her knees buckled. Hart reached out to steady her. She clung to him in return. What did this mean? she wondered frantically. Was he finally going to give in and change his mind?

He did not try to release her. “I hate hurting you this way. I hate myself today.”

She leaned closer, but he did not pull her into his embrace. “There is no need. I could never hate you. We are in this together, whether you want it or not.”

He cupped her cheek. “Why can't you understand? I could never live with myself if I remained engaged, Francesca. I would hate myself even more than I now do. I am protecting your good name. I will continue to do so, no matter what you think, no matter what you say. Nothing is more important to me, not even proving my innocence.”

“I don't want my good name protected!”

He shook his head. “Yes, you do. You merely do not realize it just yet.”

He was resolute, she realized, disbelieving.

“But you are right. Friends do not jump ship at the first sign
of inclement weather. We will always be friends, won't we?” he said, and she heard the uncertainty in his tone.

He wanted reassurance, she realized, dumbfounded. Her heart ached impossibly. “Hart,” she said, only man aging a whisper, “I will always be your friend.”

He nodded and walked away from her. “I feel the same way.”

Francesca dropped into the closest chair, incredulous. Why did he have to want to protect her reputation so badly, when he had never cared about his own?

He faced her from a careful distance. “I had my office release a statement to the press earlier today. It will be in all the morning papers.”

She stiffened. “What kind of statement?”

“I announced that our engagement was over,” he said. Softly, he added, “I am sorry, Francesca.”

She just sat there staring at him, loving him so much that hope refused to expire. He wasn't going to change his mind—at least not now, not in the midst of this investigation, and maybe, not ever. It was hard to think, and even harder to know what to do. She tried to imagine a future in which they were merely good friends. It was impossible. “Do you still care about me?” she heard herself ask. “Or is this case a convenient means of ending an affair that no longer interests you?”

He wet his lips, never looking away from her. “I will never stop caring,” he said.

She realized he was struggling to appear calm. Slowly, she stood. “Then don't do this.”

“Don't,” he warned.

She could not stop herself. She walked to him, deter mined, reaching for his shoulders.

“Don't,” he said again, with some desperation flaring in his navy-and-gold eyes.

She ignored him, standing on tiptoe, pressing her mouth to his.

He did not move; his lips were firm and closed beneath hers. Francesca kissed him again, and then again, more insistently, and again, and even though he refused to respond, desire rose in a swift crescendo until he seized her in his arms, kissing her back.

Her mind rested, overcome by waves of dizzy relief. He kissed her urgently, mindlessly, hot and hard and openmouthed, as if this might be the last kiss they ever shared, and she knew his control had snapped. Francesca reached for his shirt, unbuttoning it and pulling it open, so she could run her hands up and down his broad, hard chest and solid, sculpted torso. His skin was smooth and warm. His chest hair was coarse, like the stubby hair on his jaw. He gasped, breaking the kiss and pushing her away from him.

Francesca was dazed from consuming desire. He made no move to close his shirt, which hung open, out side his pants, revealing a muscular body more fit for an athlete than an urban businessman.

“That doesn't help,” he said hoarsely, his chest rising and falling.

“I had a point to prove,” she managed to say as breathlessly.

“I told you—I will always care, and I will always want you.” He finally reached for his shirt, buttoning it. “What difference does it make? You have brought out my noble side, Francesca, and I am not changing my mind. No matter what will remain between us, I am protecting you now.”

“Fine,” she said, trembling. But she was beginning to realize that, if he still cared and he still wanted her so passionately, there was hope. “The engagement is off, but we are friends and you shall continue to protect me from your big, bad self.”