The Marker (30 page)
It was all her fault. If he hadn’t seen her the other day, if he hadn’t touched her and felt her skin under his hands, he might have been able to lose himself in the pleasures of Becky’s company. Becky was beautiful and clever, and obviously enamored of him. They were well-matched.
But he had seen her, and everything had changed.
The morning after his brawl with James, fighting a hangover and sore from the punishment he’d found at the end of James’s fists, he resolved to go to the O’Connors’ house and demand an audience with Lexie. If she refused to talk to him, he would talk to Mrs. O’Connor. She’d tell him if Lexie was sick.
The two women had a lot in common, he thought wryly. Despite all her money and her husband’s connections, Mrs. O’Connor wouldn’t be accepted because of her race, and Lexie wouldn’t be accepted because of where she came from. He’d seen the way the two women interacted and knew they were close.
If Lexie told anyone the secrets she carried in her heart, that person would be Mrs. O’Connor.
But before he’d left, before he’d made a fool of himself, he received a note from Lexie. It had been startlingly frank, and sent him into such a downward spiral he had been unable to claw his way out of the bottle for days.
She planned to marry Patrick Buchanan in a matter of weeks.
The same bastard who had accosted her at the Governor’s ball a couple of months ago. Nicholas had wondered at the time why she tolerated his obviously unwelcome advances, and why she hadn’t told him what happened. As time passed, and he and Lexie grew closer, he would sometimes wonder about that. He would wonder about the secret spaces of her heart she never allowed him access to, the distance—the reserve—he sometimes sensed in her as she lay in his arms.
Now he knew, and the knowledge destroyed him. She’d never loved him, because she’d been engaged to Buchanan for the entire duration of their affair.
Why hadn’t she told him? Why take up with him in the first place, if she was engaged? He might have pursued her even if she’d told him, but he would have at least understood he’d eventually be forced to give her back, and he could have reconciled that. If she’d told him, he never would have fallen in love with her.
That was lie. He had fallen in love with her the day he claimed her.
Nicholas swore, knocked the crystal brandy decanter off the table, and was disappointed when the damn thing didn’t break. He wanted to break something, to destroy something as he had been destroyed. In a way, brawling with a man like Campbell had been a respite from his misery, as James was tougher than most of the dandies who frequented the gambling hall but was also less likely to kill him than the lads who frequented the saloons down on the waterfront. It had been a momentary escape, but only for a short while. Nicholas was aware his relationship with James was another thing he would have to repair once he sobered up.
He hoped not to be sober enough for a long time.
He would never be able to get over her if he didn’t talk to her one last time. He wanted to understand why she never told him. He wanted her to understand what she had done to him. He wanted to tell her of the pain and the hurt. He wanted her to
feel
something. He hadn’t imagined the sadness in her eyes, in the way she carried herself, and he wanted to know the cause. He hoped it was him.
She would never talk to him of her own accord, damn the woman. He would have to do something drastic in order to force her.
Cornering her wouldn’t work. She would simply shut down and not talk to him, and this time he didn’t have weeks like before. Approaching her with kindness wouldn’t work. When he attempted cordiality, she rebuffed him. He would have to force her, but Lexie could never be forced.
He raked his hand through his hair, crumpled up the newspaper Mrs. Ferguson had left for him to read, and threw it to the floor. Between the messes he’d made with the decanter and the paper, Mrs. Ferguson would be furious. She was furious with him more often than not these days. As he stared at the mess, the solution came to him. Lexie would never be forced to do something for herself, but she could be persuaded to do something for someone else. Someone she genuinely seemed to care about, because she sure as hell didn’t care about him. Others would force her to speak to him. Even if, for some reason, they couldn’t force Lexie to talk to him, the ensuing brawl would at least be something to remember.
He’d never pull off something like this if he didn’t get sober.
He’d never get his life back if he didn’t claw his way out of the bottle.
He poured out the rest of his whiskey, and almost immediately wanted to pour himself another glass.
He really had become a drunk.
Grabbing the decanter, he dumped the entire thing—crystal, contents, everything—into the trash. He was strangely pleased with himself for not going down on his hands and knees and drinking the alcohol out of the trash like a dog, because a part of him wanted to.
Later, he would tell Mrs. Ferguson to find all of his secret stashes and get rid of them.
Because, dammit, he’d get Lexie back.
Or die trying.
The first chill of autumn clung to air heavy with the scent of fish and brine, and fog kissed the dock as full dark descended on a moonless San Francisco night. He rolled the carriage up as close to the ship as possible—his ship, the
Ava Marie
. He pushed aside the idea that he had once thought to rename it
The Alexandra
. How fittingly appropriate.
A perfect night for a kidnapping.
He descended from the carriage and motioned for his man to follow. One of the stable hands, a strong, silent lad who did as he was told and whose morals were just questionable enough to go along with such a plan, stalked behind him. Both men were dressed in black, their faces masked. The sound of hearty laughter filtered down from the ship and onto the docks, wafting down on the scent of tobacco smoke and fine food.
Silent, sober, he climbed aboard the ship to await his quarry.
For over an hour, he lay in the darkness, unnoticed by the guests who would occasionally come up from below to wander the deck. She would come up. He knew she wouldn’t be able to stay below deck for long. A long ago trauma had left her unable to abide being enclosed for long. He needed for her to be alone, or with a manageable companion.
Fortune, as always, smiled on him that night.
The two women came to the deck together, speaking in low voices to one another. The night was so dark he had a hard time distinguishing their forms, and so he listened as the two women conversed in pained, hushed tones. Even from this distance, though he was unable to make out the words, he heard grief in Lexie’s voice just a clearly as he heard the raucous laughter coming up from below deck. He pushed his concern for her aside.
Rising out of the darkness, he grabbed one of the women from behind while his partner in crime grabbed the other. She kicked and bucked, bit his hand until he bled. She elbowed him in the ribs, and he was sure it would leave a mark.
Christ, the woman was stronger than he’d thought.
“Don’t scream,” he hissed. “I don’t want to hurt you. It’ll be over soon.”
This would be easier if he threw her over his shoulder and carried her down to the carriage, but he knew the moment he released her mouth, she would scream bloody murder and every man below decks would come running. An encounter with James or O’Connor was the last thing he wanted right now.
Later, he would welcome the confrontation.
With his man’s help, he dragged her backwards off the ship. They made quick work of getting her back to his carriage. As Nicholas tossed the woman unceremoniously inside and locked the door, his man climbed into the driver’s seat and set the horses running.
They made their escape as the sound of Lexie’s screams filled the air.
Once at the house—for it would always be his brother’s house and would never be a home without Lexie—he found he didn’t quite have the courage to face her straight away. He hated himself for stooping so low as to kidnap a woman to get what he wanted, for scaring the wits out of her—and he must have, because, as he put her in the back of his carriage, her eyes lit on his masked face and she’d gone still and silent. No screams, no tears. No pleading for her life. Just silence. Ashamed, he’d instructed his man take her to his study, ensure her comfort, and let her sit there for a time while he contemplated what he would do next.
Another hour passed before he found the courage to face the woman he had kidnapped. Expecting to find a hysterical woman weeping in his study, Nicholas was shocked to find Mrs. O’Connor sitting with her eyes closed in his brocade chair with her feet up on the matching ottoman, the picture of calm. Her countenance held no fear. She was just a beautiful woman relaxing in his brother’s study as if she belonged here. He pictured another woman in her place, and his chest contracted painfully. No matter what he did, he found it impossible to banish Lexie Markland from his thoughts.
“You coming in, or are you just going to stand there and stare at me?” she teased without preamble or opening her eyes. If he hadn’t heard the teasing lilt to her voice himself, he never would have believed it.
Nicholas made his way into the room and sat across from her. At the sound of his movement, she opened her long-lashed dark eyes. Even from behind spectacles, they glittered with intellect. He began to wonder if what James had said, that she was the brains behind the shipping empire they had created, was true. If so, she really had made him a fortune.
“Good evening, Mr. Wetherby.”
To cover his astonishment over her lack of surprise, he nodded curtly and said, “I suppose you’re wondering why you’re here.”
“Actually, no,” she answered with an amused smile. Clearly unafraid, she quite lived up to the stories told about her. This was not a woman prone to hysteria or swooning. He supposed she would have to be to be married to O’Connor, given what Nicholas knew—or thought he knew—about the man. “Like I told your man when he brought me in here, you kidnapped the wrong woman.”
“I am well aware of who I took tonight. I made no mistake,” he said, his voice low and dark. He hadn’t intended to sound quite as menacing as he did, but he wouldn’t apologize. Let her fear him.
His words seemed to take her by surprise, and she sat back in her chair. “So...you meant to abduct
me
?”
He thought she would be frightened, but damn him if she didn’t look merely confused. “Yes.”
“Good Lord, why?”
A negligent shrug. “Does there have to be a reason? Ransom perhaps?”
Mrs. O’Connor laughed. “You’re partners with my husband and Jamie—you don’t need my money. And we both know I’m not the woman you want.”
He scowled at her, irritated. He’d expected fear, expected to have to charm a hysterical woman. He had been prepared for that. But this laughing demeanor made him feel off balance, as if he were the one caught and not she. She didn’t seem to care about how potentially dangerous her situation was. She was either mad or the most impossibly brave woman he had ever met. He suspected both.
“Maybe I want to seduce you.”
She laughed again. “I doubt that. Besides, I don’t think you could, in spite of what I am sure are your otherwise considerable charms. I am very much O’Connor’s woman.”
She was teasing him again. Against his better judgment, he found he liked Claire O’Connor, and he fought a stab of jealousy at how she identified herself:
very much O’Connor’s woman
. He wished Lexie felt the same way about him, that she would identify herself as his, because, as Mrs. O’Connor had gracefully put it, he was very much Lexie’s.
He regretted the position he had put Mrs. O’Connor in with his quest for revenge. Her reputation was in jeopardy because of his actions tonight. She wouldn’t be the first married woman he had seduced, and even if she didn’t succumb to him, her reputation would never be the same. She had to know it, but she didn’t seem to care.
Now he had one more thing he needed to fix once he pulled himself together. Belatedly, he realized he’d made a fine mess of everything: his relationship with Lexie, his business, his friendship with James, and now Claire O’Connor’s reputation. Guilt knifed him again and twisted in his gut.
“Revenge,” he said finally. “I did it for revenge.”
Her eyes dancing with mirth, she laughed. “You don’t want to hurt me, and I well know it. Either that, or you’re the most inept kidnapper I’ve ever met, leaving me with a multitude of weapons in your efforts to see to my comfort.”
“You say that as though you’ve been kidnapped before.”
Her beautiful face darkened, her dark eyes inscrutable. “Perhaps I have been, Mr. Wetherby. But no matter. You realize Michael and Jamie must know where I am.”
“I made little attempt to conceal my identity,” he conceded.
“So you understand they’ll kill you if you intended me any harm, and maybe if you don’t.”
Nicholas sat back in his chair and regarded her. He hadn’t noticed her before. When she had been with Lexie, he’d been so focused on Lexie, he had not taken notice of her companion, and O’Connor kept his wife away from the places Nicholas and James haunted. When he’d lived in San Francisco before, she had socialized with Rob and his wife, who had sung her praises, but rarely with him. To be honest, prior to the day he’d met her on the street with Lexie, he’d only ever seen her from a distance, but he found the stories about the native beauty that was O’Connor’s wife hadn’t done her justice. With her large eyes, dark, exotic features, and glittering smile, Mrs. O’Connor was a beautiful woman.
“I’d quite forgotten you’re related to Campbell.” Other than her devil-may-care attitude, he saw little resemblance between this woman and his friend.
“No, you didn’t,” she returned jovially. “That’s how you knew where to find me, is it not?” He had nothing to say in response to her. Weeks before, James had told him the O’Connors would be having a party on his ship tonight, and he had awaited his opportunity to steal her. Nicholas was betting Lexie would talk to him for Mrs. O’Connor’s sake. Even if she wouldn’t, he knew O’Connor would at least insist she come with him when he retrieved his wife.
In the letter he’d sent to his business partner, it was one of the conditions of her safe return.
Mrs. O’Connor studied him for a long time, as though sizing him up, and he suffered the strangest fear she found him lacking. It seemed odd that he wanted this woman to like him, this woman who just this afternoon had meant nothing to him, who had merely been a thorn in his side, an impediment to his relationship with Lexie.
“You know my husband will come for me.” She turned her head and stared out the window. She kept her eyes locked there, as if she found something interesting.
Nicholas sighed and wondered what she was looking at, but when he followed her gaze, he saw nothing. “O’Connor’s love for you is the stuff of legends, if Campbell’s tall tales are to be believed.”
She smiled contentedly, but her gaze didn’t turn in his direction. “If he thinks I’m in danger, he’ll kill you, Mr. Wetherby. It won’t matter what Jamie says. He’ll kill you,” she said without malice or threat. To her, this was a mere statement of fact. It didn’t seem to horrify or even worry her.
Silence stretched between them, and Nicholas became aware of how unusually quiet the night had become; even the crickets had ceased their incessant chirping. Mrs. O’Connor’s eyes slid to his, and she studied him for a time. He watched as understanding dawned on her, crossing her face as the sun crosses the sky. Nicholas wasn’t sure how much of what James said about her was true. According to him, his sister was as fierce as an Amazon, more vicious than any Indian brave, but she was as intelligent as James had said.
“What, so that’s what you
want
? A brawl with Jamie and now you’re trying to bait my husband?” At his careless shrug, she barked, angry now, “Are you daft? Do you
want
to die? Don’t you realize you wouldn’t be the first man he’s killed for me?” It looked like she would say more, but she bit the words back.
