Once Upon a Masquerade (20 page)

“Nathan Gebhardt’s murder,” she breathed. “Do you know who killed him?”

“Yes.” His eyes gleamed. “I did.”

The truth chilled her. “I thought a woman killed him.”

“Hmm. So everyone thinks. That’s where you come in.”

He was so smug and arrogant, Rebecca wondered how she could have been taken in by him. “No one suspects you.”

“That’s right, because everyone believes it was you. If you disappear, all will assume you ran away from your crime, and I can go on doing what I do best.”

“What is that?” She noted from his roaming eyes that this conversation was beginning to bore him.

“Taking money from the rich.” His fingers flexed.

“With your uncanny skill at cards?” she guessed, her mind frantic to keep him talking.

“This low class card room isn’t mine.” He huffed out an incredulous laugh. “I’m a member of the
bon ton
.” His hungry stare roamed over her bare skin, making her shudder. “No, I’m borrowing this rundown hovel and these men from the man your father owes. Or should I say owed?” he added. “I paid off his debt and then some.”

The six hundred dollars. “Why?”

“Because of you, my little decoy. With that money, I controlled your father and you. I gave you one week to pay, enough incentive to make you desperate and foolish. So desperate you stumbled into society with your eyes closed. That money also ensured those thugs would kill you when I said the time was right.” Philip scowled and muttered beneath his breath, “Those idiots weren’t worth the price.”

Her throat closed off, her heart pounding hard enough to bruise her ribs. She almost didn’t want to ask, but she couldn’t help herself. “If your plan is to kill me, then what are you waiting for?”

Philip’s sigh had an “oh, well” quality to it as if the matter were nothing but a nuisance to be overcome. His palm came to rest on her cheek. “Because I’m not done with you yet. You, dear girl, are my bait.”

Jerking her head to the side, she shook off his hand. “Bait for what?”

“Not what. Who.” A secretive smile tilted his lips. “Enough talk of this.” He swept his hands up her legs, his fingers pressing into her thighs. “Now where were we?”

She dared not think about who he meant. She couldn’t bear it. Suppressing a sob, she willed herself to think. He may want no more talk, but she couldn’t say the same. She dipped her head down to catch his eye and pressed, “You were telling me how you take money from the rich.”

His intense stare darkened. She wouldn’t be able to distract him much longer. “With sex. It’s a weakness of all men. You of all people should know how a woman can manipulate a man when she has allowed him a sampling of her favors. How else would a poor servant girl gain access to the lofty circles you’ve breached?”

He grasped her hips and slid her forward to the edge of her chair. In an instant, his mouth came crashing down onto hers in a brutal kiss.

Rebecca stiffened. With only her wits to fight, she willed her body to relax. In moments Philip followed suit, the pressure of his mouth lessening. His defenses weakened, she made her move, biting down hard on his lip.

Philip pulled back with a yelp and slapped her across the cheek. An explosion of light flashed through her skull, but she was able to keep her senses. If her actions delayed Philip’s attack for any amount of time, it would be worth the pain.

He smoothed his fingers over his wound and checked them for blood. His skin wasn’t broken. A small crescent mark circled below his lip. To her horror, the cruel grin returned to his face. “Rebecca, you’re such a tease.”

With a jerk, he pulled his shirt free from the waist of his trousers. Rebecca tried to sit up, to move herself back in the chair. He shoved her down, and his hands freed the buttons that concealed his obvious arousal.

She gave a small cry and kicked out in the hope of catching his shins. Grabbing her legs, Philip picked up the knife and bent down to free the ropes that bound her ankles.

Someone cleared his throat behind her. “I was told to let you know your lady has arrived.”

She’d never thought she’d be so glad to hear Otto’s voice.

“Tell her she can wait,” Philip snarled.

Before Philip could continue, Otto interrupted again, “She says she wants to speak with you right away, or she’ll come down to get you.”

Philip glared at Otto, then closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he adjusted his clothing back into place. “Otto, the ignorant lout, thinks someday he’ll win her favor—the favor of a whore,” he grumbled before he strode away, the knife in hand.

Rebecca straightened in her chair, scooting back as far as she could and wriggling her body until her skirts covered her legs once more, surprised Otto had been so bold as to interfere. He pined for the woman upstairs so much he would risk Philip’s rage? Just what kind of lady was she?

Twisting in her chair, Rebecca met Otto’s gaze. His stare devoured her bared skin.

She held her breath, her nerves already quaking when Philip bellowed from the stairs, “I’m not through with her, Otto. You touch her, and you die. Go outside and check the perimeter.” Philip’s angry footfalls knocked on each step as he climbed to the second floor.

After a glance back toward the staircase, Otto studied her a full minute before sauntering to the front entrance.

The air in her lungs left her in a rush of relief. Once the door slammed closed behind him, she worked the ropes that bound her hands to no avail. Swallowing hard, she scanned the room, her eyes catching on a few fragments of broken glass that lay with the trash littering the floor.

Her pulse jumped as an idea took hold. She rocked herself forward and stood, her ankles still tied. With one particularly sharp-looking piece of glass in sight, she tried to shuffle forward and fell. Her knees hit the hard floor, and with a wince, she tumbled to her side.

Her gaze darted to the doors and stairs, hoping no one heard her crash to the floor. No one came. She scooted across the dusty planks until she could reach the glass. Her body trembled, but she willed her hands steady. Looking over her shoulder, she carefully picked up the shard of glass and sawed at the ropes that tied her wrists. Freedom would soon be hers.

…

Spying the men he sought guarding the perimeter of the Rusty Nail, Christopher jumped down from the carriage a block away. “Go to the police. Tell Bryce Barkham what’s happening.”

Quinn nodded and flicked the reins. Rebecca’s father would be better off with Quinn for the time being.

Christopher raced past the rundown card rooms, saloons, and boarding houses that had buzzed with activity mere hours ago. He slowed his pace when the Rusty Nail came into view, then stopped.

The slovenly ass Rebecca had called Otto walked along the side of the building. Once Otto turned the corner to the front, Christopher dashed toward a door. The stale smell of cheap liquor mingled with the foul odor of rotting trash. He tried the knob. Locked. He hurried past a haphazard pile of barrels and crates, peered around the corner, and jerked back. The older gunman stood guard at the rear of the building.

Christopher shook his head and looked up. A slight overhang traveled the length of the wall. He eyed the tall barrel beside him, then climbed on top. Gauging the distance, he sprang up from his shaky perch. As his legs dangled over the edge, he swore under his breath. He gathered his strength, swung himself up.

Climbing through a bedroom window, he entered a sparsely furnished room, undoubtedly used to entertain customers with more carnal pursuits, and heard two people nearby. He pulled from his waistband the pistol he’d retrieved from his home and sidled to the door, careful not to make a sound. A man and woman argued across the narrow hallway. He recognized the man immediately. What was Westerly doing here?

“What have you done to her?” the woman accused. Her voice seemed somehow familiar, although Christopher couldn’t quite place it.

“Just having a bit of fun.” Westerly laughed. “Don’t look at me like that. She bit
me
.” His chuckles grew louder. “All right, I took a nip too.”

Christopher stiffened.
He’d better not be talking about Rebecca.

“I don’t think this is a good idea. We should let the police handle this,” she insisted.

“Come now. You know as well as I do Black’s not going to let our little Rebecca go to prison.”

“If you kill her, we’ll only have more blood on our hands. And I heard at the house he’s on his way here for her.”

Christopher’s jaw clamped tight. So much for a surprise entrance.

“Good. That’s what I’ve been waiting for,” Westerly said. “Why do you think I chose to bring her here?” Westerly chuckled, low and deep. “So her father would send Black. Once he arrives, we’ll get rid of them both and be done with this.”

“Murdering them will solve nothing. The police will keep looking for Nathan’s killer.”

The hairs on the back of Christopher’s neck rose.
Nathan.

“Don’t be stupid,” Westerly scoffed. “Their bodies will never be found. Everyone will think the two lovers have run off together to avoid her punishment.” Westerly clucked his tongue. “Where is this sudden conscience coming from? You were the one who convinced me that Rebecca was desperate enough to fall prey to our scheme. I had other ideas, if you recall. I said we should kill some strumpet off the street, throw the comb in her hair and let the police find her.”

“It wouldn’t have been enough,” the woman declared. “There were already too many leads the police were following, and all of them laying a path to the Endicotts’ house.”

“Yes. Which is what made Rebecca the perfect candidate,” Philip admitted. “You made me see your way of thinking, and I did my part. I befriended her at the Vanderbilt ball. I brought her out of the corner and into the spotlight, even taking her to dinner and the theater in order to show the world and, of course, Mr. Black, how ill-fitted she was in society, how suspicious her behavior. And your plan worked. Christopher Black got a good taste of her desperation for money and tracked her to the Endicotts’ only to discover her charade and tell the police. All that’s left is to be rid of them both, and
now
you have doubts?”

Footsteps paced closer, then farther away. “You have no right to question me, not now, not when we’re so close. Especially since we wouldn’t be in this mess if it weren’t for you,” Westerly said. “Not only did you allow your emotions to get in the way, you had to leave that comb at Gebhardt’s house.”

“I didn’t leave the comb. Nathan’s hand snagged it when he fell. Don’t you dare blame me. You caused this trouble when you poisoned him.”

Christopher tensed. The news rocked him like a jab to the kidney. Damn Westerly. He’d known the man was trouble from the moment they’d met.

“We’ve talked about this before. I didn’t push him down the stairs,” Westerly needled. “That’s what ultimately killed him.”

“You know that’s not true,” she argued. “He was feeling ill and stumbled. I tried to stop his fall.” Her tone softened. “You didn’t have to kill him. He knew what we were doing from the start. He didn’t care.”

Westerly laughed once again. “He was a sap who pitied you. That’s all.”

“No.”

“And you still wonder why I killed him? Look at yourself, mooning over him after death.”

“I didn’t agree to marry him,” she insisted.

“You didn’t tell him no either. Instead, you let him sneak around the Endicotts’ home vying for your attention, bringing you flowers, which is why the police are now sniffing around the Endicotts’ door.” The anger in Philip’s voice intensified. “It was only a matter of time… You were going to leave me for him.”

The woman gasped. “Stop. You’re hurting me.”

“I’ll never let you go. You’re too good at what you do. The best I’ve ever seen. Those men practically open up their bank accounts to please you.”

She groaned.

“No one is going to take you from me,” Westerly warned. “You should have learned that from the doctor in Boston. How many men do I have to kill to make you understand that?”

Boston? Philip had killed before. Nathan had planned to leave the city, no doubt with the woman he wanted protected. Which begged the question… Even if he’d given Nathan the money he sought, would Philip have hunted him down and killed him anyway? Likely.

“Let go,” she demanded.

“With all suspicion turned to Rebecca, the police will never piece together that you or I had any involvement in Nathan Gebhardt’s death and all can go back to normal. We can begin again. Do you have any prospects?”

“Not yet.” The pain in her tone was unmistakable.

“Listen well to Victoria’s gossip and find us someone else.”

“I want out,” she gritted.

“You’ll do as I say. I have everything well in hand.”

Christopher stepped back as Westerly’s voice came closer. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m not finished entertaining our guest. Or rather she’s not finished entertaining me.”

A seething rage erupted within Christopher’s chest. His teeth clenched as he fought the overwhelming urge to leap out at Westerly and beat him into the ground, but he needed to keep his head or Rebecca could be killed. After she was safe, he would make Westerly pay.

Christopher had to act fast. There was no way in hell he would allow Westerly to lay a hand on Rebecca. He glanced down the hall to see Westerly descending the stairway. His pistol ready, Christopher stole across the narrow space between the doorways and entered the other room.

“What do you want now?” the woman complained, obviously thinking the footsteps she’d heard belonged to Westerly. Christopher wasn’t surprised by her identity when she spun around. Finally, all of the pieces were coming together.

Chapter Eighteen

BY THE TIME REBECCA sawed through the ropes that bound her hands, it felt like hours had passed. She tugged at the bindings at her ankles. When the last rope slipped off, she almost cried out. At last, she was free.

She rose on stiff legs and hurried toward the back door, her progress much slower than she would have liked.

“Where are you going, my sweet?” Philip placed a restraining hand on her shoulder.

No!
Where had he come from? Snatching up a bottle from the bar, she spun about, ready to club him with it.

He caught her wrist in a tight grip. “Nice try, Rebecca. But not good enough,” he taunted with an amused grin.

Anger and frustration seeped from every pore. She screamed and struggled against Philip’s hold.

Harvey burst through the back door, gun in hand, while Otto returned through the front.

“I hate you,” she cried.

“Let her go,” Christopher barked. All eyes riveted on him as he descended the last step of the staircase, pulling someone behind him.

She raised a trembling hand to her mouth, and tears stung her eyes. He’d come for her. Dear Lord, no.

Christopher dragged the struggling woman into the light.

Rebecca inhaled a sharp breath.
Mary.
The image of Mary and Philip together in the gardens at the Henley estate flashed through her mind.
It can’t be.

“What the hell?” Philip gave a foul oath and turned a glare toward his men. He knocked the bottle from Rebecca’s loosened grip, and his lips curled into a pained smile. “I was wondering when you’d arrive.”

“Release Rebecca now.” Christopher pointed his gun at Mary.

“Why would I do that?” Philip asked. “Keep Mary. Shoot her. I couldn’t care less what you do with her.”

Christopher’s gaze dipped to Rebecca’s torn gown and bruised skin before his hardened stare returned to Philip. “Because if you do, I may give you a head start before I come after you.”

“How very generous,” Philip quipped, raising a hand in signal. “Men, aim your weapons.”

Christopher pulled Mary behind him.

“No,” Rebecca yelled. Her voice echoed with another.

Otto trained his weapon on Harvey. “Don’t shoot, Harvey. You could hit Mary.”

“Damn it, Otto,” Philip groaned, only to have the barrel of Otto’s gun turned on him. He shoved Rebecca in front of him as a shield. “I’ll kill you for this.”

Otto’s face flickered with fear, before darkening. “Then what do I have to lose?”

She could feel Philip’s body stiffen behind her and looked up into his angry face. His jaw tightened. “A trade it is.” His eyes darted to the front entrance before he nodded to Harvey.

Harvey turned his gun to Rebecca in silent warning.

“Shall we?” Christopher pressed.

“Very well.” Philip pushed Rebecca ahead with a rough shove.

She stepped forward, careful not to make any sudden moves, and stared hard at Mary. “It was you all along?” As Mary walked toward her, Rebecca’s thoughts gained momentum. “Of course,” Rebecca sighed. “You encouraged me to step out into society. You chose that ridiculous maid costume hoping I would make a false step. And you gave me the comb that linked me with Nathan Gebhardt’s murder.”

Although Mary didn’t utter a sound, her gaze lifted, and Rebecca saw a glimmer of remorse. Her attention turned to the purple hues on Mary’s face. A bruise that had shown itself the morning after Rebecca’s attacker had almost suffocated her. “You tried to kill me.”

“I couldn’t do it,” Mary whispered. She shook her head. “This has to stop. I never meant for it to go this far.”

They neared the center of the floor, and Mary’s eyes filled with tears. “Nathan loved me. He wanted to save me from this. I thought maybe this time…”

A rapid movement behind Mary snagged Rebecca’s attention. She screamed as Frank leapt out of nowhere and tackled Christopher. Both men landed with a crash onto the floor, and Christopher’s gun clattered against the wooden planks, sliding halfway across the room toward the front entrance.

“Rebecca, run,” Christopher yelled as the big man rained blows down on him.

Rebecca raced after the gun. Before she could go any distance, Mary caught her arm.

“No, look out.” Mary whirled her back to the center of the room.

A shot blasted through the air as she struggled to yank her arm away from Mary’s grasp.

Mary screamed, and her face clenched in pain.

“My God.” Rebecca caught her as she crumpled forward.

“I’m sorry,” Mary gasped, her body sagging in Rebecca’s arms, and they both sank to the floor.

Harvey let out a foul oath, the smoking revolver in his hand still pointed in their direction. Surely he wouldn’t miss a second time. A sob broke free from Rebecca’s throat as she peered down at Mary’s lifeless face.

Harvey turned away from them, and Philip yanked Rebecca to her feet. He snatched her wrist and hauled her across the room to the back door. Rebecca stared at Mary’s limp body—those blue eyes, dull and sightless, forever scorched into her memory.

…

A woman’s scream rang in Christopher’s ears. From the corner of his eye, he’d seen Rebecca collapse to the floor. His chest ached. The thought of Rebecca bleeding to death enraged him and gave him a burst of strength. Fighting his way to an upright position, he used all of his weight to shove the larger man back, knocking him off-balance. Frank fell onto a table, tipping it over to its side. The bottles on its surface crashed all around him as he landed hard, hitting his head on the dusty floor with a sickening thump.

Christopher turned to the woman lying crumpled on the floor in a pool of blood, and closed his eyes. It wasn’t Rebecca. With a long exhale, he scanned the room and spotted Otto staring at Mary’s body, a lost look on his face. Heading toward the back of the room,
Christopher heard a heavy click behind him. He stopped short and turned to face Harvey and the revolver aimed at his chest.

“Otto, get over here,” Harvey called over his shoulder.

His cowardly companion glanced at them, then backed away and slipped out the front door.

“Dammit.” Harvey looked over at Mary’s body and grumbled, “There’ll be hell to pay for that costly mistake. If I’d had my shooting arm to work with, I wouldn’t have missed.” He walked a few steps closer until he was an arm’s length away. “I don’t think I’ll have that problem this time.”

Before Christopher could blink, gunfire echoed through the large room. He looked down at his chest, half-expecting to see blood seeping through his shirt. Instead, Harvey’s short frame collapse to the floor, revealing Rebecca’s father leaning against the front door jamb with Christopher’s pistol clenched in an unsteady hand.

Giving a curt nod to Richard, Christopher picked up Harvey’s gun and raced for the back door.

The rapid clip of horses’ hooves and the rattle of wagons echoed off the buildings around him.
The police.
He ran the length of the alley hoping to find any clue as to the path Westerly and Rebecca had gone. His stomach twisted when her voice rang out in the distance.

He sped in the direction of the sound until he came to a narrow path running between two buildings. Christopher rushed around the corner, his gun raised. “Stop where you are.”

Westerly grabbed Rebecca, wrapping an arm about her shoulders, and pressed a knife to her throat.

Christopher took a step forward but forced himself to hold back. “You’ll only make things worse for yourself if you kill her.”

“Check around the back,” a voice shouted from the front of the building.

“It can’t get any worse,” Westerly rasped, his tone desperate.

Christopher clenched the gun tighter, his knuckles white. He was powerless to stop Westerly if he chose to cut her. As his mind whirled through his dwindling options, Rebecca stared calmly into his eyes, sending him a signal he couldn’t comprehend.

In the next instant, she smashed a heel into Westerly’s right leg and pushed hard against the arm that imprisoned her. Westerly roared as his knee buckled beneath him.

Rebecca yanked herself free from his loosened hold and sprinted toward Christopher. When he saw Westerly’s arm rear back, he rushed forward. Clasping Rebecca to his chest, he twisted aside as the dagger flew past, grazing his biceps before clattering against the brick building next to them.

With an outstretched arm, Christopher trained his pistol on Westerly. “Don’t move, or I’ll shoot,” he ordered, almost wishing he had an excuse. He squeezed Rebecca to him. She felt so good in his arms. “Never do that again. Don’t ever leave me behind again.”

His gun still pointed at Westerly’s chest, Christopher glanced at Rebecca. “Did he hurt you in any way?”

“No,” she whispered back.

“Are you sure?” His gaze darted to the bruise marring her flawless skin. He brushed his thumb over the tender area and felt her shiver.

“Christopher, I’m fine,” she said, resting her hand over his.

Satisfied, he approached Westerly, tucking the revolver into the waist of his trousers. Christopher grasped hold of Westerly’s shirtfront and lifted him off of his knees. “You’re lucky,” he growled in Westerly’s scowling face before his fist connected solidly with the blond man’s jaw, sending him sprawling.

At Rebecca’s shocked look, he shrugged. “Even if nothing happened, his intentions were clear.” Christopher jerked Westerly to his feet. “We should go around to the front. I can turn this one in to the police, and you can talk to your father.”

Westerly yelped in pain and hobbled on one foot.

“My father? He’s here?” Rebecca asked as she bent down to retrieve the dagger.

Pushing Westerly ahead of him down the narrow alley, Christopher nodded with a smile. “He saved my life.”

…

As they emerged from the dark footpath, Rebecca saw a policeman load Otto into one of three New York City police department carriages that lined the street. She scanned the area for her father.

“It’s about time you got here, Bryce,” Christopher called out to an older man in a navy frock coat.

Bryce shook Christopher’s hand as an officer led Philip away. “I came as soon as I could. You didn’t give me much time to pull my men together.”

Frank stumbled out of the front entrance of the card room escorted by two officers. Although he went peacefully, the officers kept a good grip on the large man’s shackled arms.

Once they passed, she spotted her father huddled on the ground outside the door, his elbows resting on bent knees. With his hands cradling his bandaged head, he looked dejected and tired. She couldn’t believe he was here instead of at home in bed. “Father?”

He looked up. The overwhelming relief on his battered face sent a lump to her throat.

“Becca. Thank heavens.” He rose to his feet with a wince.

Tears stung her eyes as she ran to meet him and threw her arms about his neck.

“Oh, Becca. I’m so sorry—so sorry.” His arms wrapped around her. “I never saw these men attack you. I didn’t know. I wouldn’t have left.”

Her heart swelled with emotion. Facing his enemies had been a gamble that could have cost him his life, and he’d come anyway. When she’d almost given up hope that he cared, he surprised her beyond anything she could imagine.

She sniffed back her tears. “It’s all right now. Even your debt has been paid. Our friend, Philip Westerly has seen to that.”

Richard straightened. Holding her shoulders, he looked into her eyes. “No. It’s not all right. This isn’t the only mistake I’ve made. I haven’t been the father I should have been.” His voice broke. “Things are going to change.
I’m
going to change.”

He sounded so sincere, she wanted to believe him. But after all these years she found it hard to imagine. It would take all his strength and determination to see it through. Still, after today, she held a glimmer of hope.

…

“Extortion, kidnapping, murder… Philip Westerly has built quite the record.” Bryce leaned back in his office chair.

Rebecca sat next to Christopher in front of the Chief’s desk, bone tired. She shook her head. “How did this happen?”

“The Westerlys are well-known Boston blue bloods,” Christopher explained. “Philip used his family name to work his way into New York society. What no one knew was that the Westerlys had squandered away their money years ago, and to refill his coffers, he had Mary working for him. She gleaned gossip from Miss Endicott to choose their victims—men who could be controlled.”

It still didn’t make sense. “How could Mary’s involvement with one man be profitable enough to sustain them both?”

“I’ve seen their kind before.” Bryce shuffled his papers and laid them on a haphazard stack. “Once they invade a man’s home, they lie, steal, blackmail, whatever they need to do to drain the man’s accounts. Imagine using that kind of manipulation on several men at once.”

Rebecca turned to Christopher. “Why would Mr. Gebhardt take Mary as his mistress?”

His gaze softened. “It appears he saw something in Mary worth saving.”

She nodded. “I saw it, too.”

An officer rapped on the office door, and Bryce rose from behind his cluttered desk to meet him.

“Nathan asked her to marry him,” Christopher admitted.

Rebecca raised a hand to her lips. “His reputation would have been ruined.”

“Nathan wouldn’t have cared. He wasn’t that kind of man.”

“The gunman will live. He’ll be escorted to jail later today,” Bryce said as the officer walked away. He lifted a pouch into view. “And your money has been recovered.”

Christopher rose from his chair and met Bryce at the door. His arm was now bandaged and the beginnings of a bruise touched his jaw. Accepting the pouch, he clasped the older man’s hand. “Thanks, Bryce.” Christopher’s part in the investigation had come to an end. She could hear the finality of it in his voice.

As he and Bryce concluded their business, she prepared herself for their good-byes. Christopher had never lied to her about his feelings. Marriage would never work between the two of them. Yet, for a brief moment when he’d held her close in the alley, she’d wondered if he’d changed his mind. He’d seemed so earnest when he told her to never leave him behind again, she’d almost believed him. Now that it was all over, she had to face the truth. He’d said those words in the heat of the moment. They weren’t real. It wasn’t meant to be.