Leslie LaFoy (52 page)

“No, he won't,” Ben corrected. “He's busily cashing his letters of credit. And he told me himself that he has absolutely no intention of seeing you again before he sails. I almost fainted with gratitude when he passed along that bit of information. Oh,” he added, his smile brightening, “just in case you're wondering, Vanderhagen won't be waddling this way either. If he isn't dead yet, he will be in just another few minutes. The man ate enough poison for breakfast to kill a horse.”

Dear God in heaven. How had she never seen Ben's ruthlessness? His obvious greed and insanity. You had to be insane to kill people so callously. Why hadn't she seen that the mask of civility and loyalty hid a monster?

“Get on with tying the end to the rod and be quick about it. I have a luncheon engagement and I don't want to be late.”

“Bastard,” she snarled, hating him with every fiber of her being. “I hope you choke to death on the first bite.”

Ben rammed the muzzle hard against Abigail's head and bellowed, “Do it, Lindsay! Now!”

She obeyed, stretching up to stand on her toes, tying the knot as best she could, and then pulling the makeshift rope to test not the strength of the knot, but how well the rod had been anchored into the wall. Jack had pulled down the dining-room curtains with one single tug. She knew she couldn't equal the strength he had in his arms, but perhaps the weight of her body would be enough to accomplish the same end. She thought she heard what might have been a slight cracking of plaster, and she quickly feigned a whimper in the hope of covering the sound and keeping Ben from hearing it, too.

“Good. Tie the other end of the strip around your neck. And don't leave any slack in the sheet, either. We want it
nice and taut so there's no having to stop and do it over again.”

Lindsay moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue and slowly draped the strip of linen around her neck. Knotting the linen at her nape, she braced herself, focusing only on the feel of the strip leading up the back of her head. If she could grab it with both hands in time—

“Lindsay, no!” Abigail screamed.

“Oh, shut up!” Ben bellowed, slamming the butt of the pistol and then his fist into her face. Abigail crumpled to the floor like a tattered rag doll, silent and deathly still.

“You son of a bitch!” Lindsay screamed, frantically clawing at the knot behind her head, trying to undo it. “You're going to rot in hell!”

“Would you like to knock the stool out from under yourself?” he asked, sidling toward her and pocketing the pistol. “Or would you prefer that I do it for you?”

“You bastard!” She kicked at him, determined to keep him out of his arm's reach.

Ducking beneath the reach of her leg, he grabbed the seat cushion, crying, “And it's a bastard's revenge I want!” and pulled it all from under her.

The world fell away. She couldn't breathe and a scream strangled low in her throat as the world went gray. At the far distant edge of it, she heard someone call her name. The voice was frightened, but there was nothing she could do to reassure it. Then there came, from a long way away, the rumble of thunder, the brush of a sweeping wind against her body, the crack of splintering lightning. And then there was nothing at all.

T
EARS ROLLED DOWN
his cheeks.
Dear God, anything you want. Let her be alive. Let me have gotten here in time. Please.

“Lindsay!” Jackson called, frantically clawing through the drapery fabric, his pulse thundering, his breathing ragged gasps. She couldn't be dead. She couldn't. He needed her. He loved her with all his heart.

“Lindsay!” Bits of white plaster cascaded down the folds of dark rose velvet, but he was only barely aware of them, heedless of the debris in which he knelt.
Name the price. I'll pay it.

A bit of blue brocade skirt, a flutter of lace, and his heart hammered wildly as he jerked the heavier fabric aside to uncover her. She lay sprawled on her back on the carpet, silent and still, her golden hair fanning around her head like an angel's halo, the white noose encircling her neck. Choking back a cry, he scrambled to undo the deadly cord, his fingers fumbling and burning as they slipped on the fabric in his frenzied effort to pull the knot apart.

She moved; a feeble, dazed effort to lift her hand. Hope flared in his heart and soul as he ripped the deadly strip of sheet from around her neck and flung it away.

“Breathe for me, sweetheart,” he begged, gathering her carefully into his arms. Kneeling in the remnants of curtains and plaster wall, cradling her in his arms, Jack looked down at her face and poured his heart into a sobbing plea. “Breathe for me, Lindsay. Love me or hate me; it doesn't matter. Just don't die. Please.”

Her breath shuddered and her chest rose. Jack held his own breath, and tightening his arms around her, willed what remained of his strength into her body. Her eyelids fluttered and then came open. Blue eyes. She had the most beautiful blue eyes he'd ever seen. His heart flooded with relief and he smiled down at her, knowing that he'd remember for the rest of his life the pureness of wonder and hope that he saw in her eyes as she gazed back at him.

“Jack?” she whispered, reaching up to gently touch his cheek. “Jack?”

“I'm here, sweetheart,” he crooned, drawing her closer, desperate to hold her, determined never to let her go. “I've got you. You're safe.”

She collapsed into him, gathering fistfuls of his jacket into her hands as the memories struck her and her entire body began to tremble. He rocked her back and forth, pressing kisses to the top of her head and reveling in the warmth of her pressed against him, in the miracle of her survival.

Suddenly she started, catching him by surprise. “Abigail!” she cried, frantically trying to push out of his embrace.

He eased his hold on her, but only enough so that he could look into her eyes again. Such fear, such concern. “Emile's taking care of her,” he assured her, glancing to the foot of the bed. Gently brushing a tendril of golden silk from her cheek, he softly added, “She's alive and she'll heal.”

“Lucy—”

“We found her,” Jack interrupted soothingly, drawing her close again. “She's a little scraped up, but she's fine, sweetheart. Primrose has gone to get the constables. They should be here any minute now.”

She sighed and relaxed, nestling into him and nuzzling her cheek against his shoulder. Just as suddenly as before, she started in his arms and tried to pull back. He held her tight this time, understanding the new cause of her panic. “He's dead, Lindsay,” he said softly, noting with satisfaction the shattered window glass. “Ben can't hurt you. Can't hurt anyone. It's over.”

“Oh God, Jack,” she said softly, her voice thick and edged with tears as the last of her strength ebbed away. She fell into him and, through her sobs, poured out the horror of her ordeal. “He wanted the money, Jack. All of it. He couldn't let me change the Will. He … he …”

“I know, sweetheart. I know. I figured it out at the end of the auction.”

She shuddered and drew a deep breath. “He wanted everyone to think I'd killed myself. I was so afraid. I couldn't do anything. He had Abigail and he kept saying he'd shoot her. All I could do was hope you'd know how much I needed you. That you'd come save me.”

Jack tightened his hold on her as she began to sob again. “I did know, Lindsay. I came as fast as I could.”

But God, he'd been so close to too late. So heartbreakingly close. He'd always remember the terror he'd felt as he'd come through the front door to hear Abigail Beechum scream. And even if he lived ten thousand years, he'd never forget the sheer horror of scrambling into the bedroom just in time to see Ben pull the cushion from under Lindsay's feet, to see her dangling, clawing at death. If he'd been one second later …

Tears filled his eyes as he realized how very close he'd come to losing her. He'd lost so many of those he loved; he couldn't bear the thought of losing her, too. She had become his life, the best and brightest light of his days and the sweetest comfort of his nights.

From downstairs drifted the sounds of booted footsteps and voices. Emile left Abigail's side and hurried to the door to summon everyone to what Jack knew the papers would refer to as “the scene of the crime.” All hell was going to break loose. He was going to have to let go of Lindsay so they could both answer the constables' questions. Dr.
Bernard would have to be summoned and then Abigail and Lucy tended to and comforted. All of it was necessary and couldn't be avoided, but he regretted it just the same.

As footsteps thundered up the stairs, Jackson pressed a kiss into Lindsay's hair and then laid his cheek on the warm pillow of golden threads. “When everyone's gone, sweetheart,” he whispered, “we're going to talk.”

She nodded and hugged him tight. An image drifted through his mind. Tiny, pale blue morning glories surrounded and supported by a mass of pink roses. And he understood why it felt so right.

L
INDSAY PAUSED AT THE DOOR
of Abigail's room. Dr. Bernard sat beside her housekeeper's bed, holding her hand and murmuring reassurances. Abigail, her face covered by the wet compresses Primrose had prepared, clung tightly to the physician's hand and waited for the laudanum to work its miracle. Lindsay offered them a tired smile that neither of them saw and then pulled the door closed behind herself.

Upstairs, Jeb was caring for Lucy in much the same way. Emile, on the heels of the constables' arrival, had been dispatched to the courthouse to summon the young bookkeeper. Jeb had come careening through the front door of MacPhaull House breathless and ready to kill. He'd swept Lucy into his arms, kissed her soundly, and then promptly carried her upstairs to their room.

Lindsay leaned back against the wall outside Abigail's room and closed her eyes, remembering awakening amidst the debris and in Jack's embrace, the deep sense of being safe and cherished that had eased the terror from her mind. And then the world had intruded and she'd had to stand alone again. Jack had said they were going to talk when everyone left. She didn't want to talk, though; she wanted to be held, wanted to pretend that Jack was always going to be there when she couldn't be brave or stalwart or resolute.

But talk they must and Lindsay knew there was nothing to be gained in avoiding or delaying it. She needed to thank
Jack properly, formally, for having thrown Ben out the window and pulling down the draperies, to thank him for nothing less than saving her life.

With a deep sigh, she pushed herself off the wall, squared her shoulders, and started toward the main part of the house in search of him. As she went, she recalled reading about some cultures in the world that believed saving a person's life indebted them to you, that required the saved soul to commit their lives to serving their savior until the debt could be repaid in kind. What would Jack do, she wondered, if she insisted on accompanying him to the ends of the earth, living for him until the end of time?

She had no ready answer and in that she saw a glimmer of hope. Was she brave enough to propose it? Did she have anything to lose in taking the chance? Only her pride and dignity. And what were they worth when compared to the possibility of spending forever without Jack?

J
ACK PACED HIS BEDROOM
,trying to organize his thoughts and failing spectacularly. He eyed the whiskey decanter he'd brought up from the study and wondered whether he could keep his hands steady enough to pour himself a glass of courage. Deciding that it wasn't likely, he scrubbed his face with the palms of his hands and then pushed his fingers through his hair.

Jesus. He had rocks for brains. If only he'd realized that he loved her before either one of them had known she was a wealthy woman. If only he'd had the good sense to ask her to marry him the night he'd suggested that she go to Texas with him. And to think that he'd been so stupid as to suggest that he'd help her find a husband. That one had been a masterpiece of sheer blindness.

How the hell was he going to fix the mess he'd made of it all? How was he going to convince Lindsay that he loved her and that her money didn't have a damn thing to do with it?

“I've been looking all over for you.”

His heart slammed upward, lodging high in his throat.

He turned to find her standing on his side of the door connecting their rooms, the tapestry sliding back into place behind her. Her eyes were soft and warily searching his and he ached to hold her.
I love you, Lindsay.
He bit his tongue and tried to summon some sort of strategy more sensible than dashing forward and pulling her into his arms.

She took a shaky breath, moistened her lower lip with the tip of her tongue, and then said, “I assume the constables have gone away satisfied?”

“Horatio Wellsbacher, too,” he managed to get out around his heart. “How's Abigail?”

“Fine,” she answered, nodding. “Dr. Bernard's still with her. I think he's planning to stay the night at her side. And just between us, I don't think his attentions are purely professional.” She drew another unsteady breath. “You said we needed to talk and I agree. There are some things I need to say to you, Jack.”

“There are some things I need to say to you, too, Lindsay,” he blurted, the words rushing past his determination to be calm. “And please forgive the lack of gallantry, but I'm going first. I want to apologize for being an absolute horse's ass yesterday afternoon and an even bigger one this morning.”

“Apology accepted,” she said softly, her smile tremulous and her breathing suddenly ragged. “May I ask why you were so angry?”

God, let me do this right. I love her so much.
“Do you want the long version or the short one?”

“I'm willing to take whatever you're willing give me, Jack.”

Calm and certainty washed over him. And he knew in that moment that it didn't matter how the words came out. She trusted him, had never asked anything of him beyond honesty. She gave of herself without condition, and he cherished her for understanding it had been the way he needed to be loved.

“I'll give you the long one, sweetheart. You deserve it,” he answered, slowly closing the distance between them. He stopped in front of her and gazed down into her beautiful blue eyes; eyes so full of yearning that it made his heart
ache. He took a deep breath and put his hands on her waist to steady himself.