Teresa Medeiros Read online

  Emily trailed her fingers through the cool water of the fountain.

  “I thought of how David had traded his precious kid gloves for a piece of polished amber to send you. Somehow that thought gave me the courage I needed. I sprinted down the beach and stumbled up to the tent. David caught me as I fell.”

  My God, boy, what is it? Where’s Nick? Is it worse than we feared?

  “At first I couldn’t convince him. He was dazed. He couldn’t believe it was all gone—Nicky, the gold, your inheritance. I had to shake him, curse him.”

  Goddammit, David! There’s no time for this. We’ve got to launch the curricle. It’s our only chance.

  A tear rolled off the tip of Emily’s nose and plopped into the water, disappearing without a trace.

  “I dragged him down the beach toward the boat. But he broke away from me and ran back to the tent. I’ve never felt as alone as I did at that moment. Standing on that beach, I felt as if I were the only man alive. The only white man.

  “Then I heard them. They swarmed out of the rain forest and over the tent like tattooed spiders. I screamed a warning and ran toward the tent.

  “Before I could reach it they dragged him out by his arms and legs. He was fighting them with every ounce of his strength. Then he started to yell something at me, but they were all screaming and I couldn’t understand what he was saying.”

  Emily stared at Justin’s profile, mesmerized by its bleak purity.

  “I waved the pistol wildly, not knowing whom to fire at. There were too many of them, and I had only one bullet. Then I realized what he was saying. What he was begging me to do.”

  Shoot me! For God’s sake, Justin, shoot me!

  “He cursed and howled and begged. And I just stood there, crying so hard I couldn’t even aim. They were dragging him into the bush.” His head dropped. “So I shot him.”

  Emily closed her eyes, flinching at the echo of the explosion. Her nostrils twitched at the acrid stench of gunpowder. Then, in the conservatory as on the beach, there was nothing but silence. Silence forever binding them together. Silence forever tearing them apart.

  “When he slumped in their arms, the Hauhaus got very quiet. They just stared at me. I knew they’d come for me then. I taunted them.”

  Come get me! Come on, you miserable sons of bitches! What the bloody hell are you waiting for?

  “Then they just dropped him and melted back into the forest.” His shoulders slumped. “That was the worst of it, you know. When they didn’t come back and kill me.

  “When I lifted David in my arms, the chain was still dangling from his fingers. He’d never let go, not even in all his struggles. I knew then why he’d gone back to the tent. To get the watch—the watch with your photograph in it.”

  Emily rose, unable to bear any more.

  Justin waited until she was at the door, her hand on the crystal knob. “Emily?”

  He looked her straight in the eye, his golden gaze more searing than the sun. “Always remember one thing. I never lied to you.”

  She stiffened her chin to still its quiver. “Nor,” she said softly, “did you tell me the truth.”

  As she pulled the door shut, the last thing she saw was the crumpled bloom falling from his limp fingers.

  Justin slipped through the darkened house in absolute silence. He knew which creaking boards to step over, which occasional table to dodge so as not to rattle the silver-framed photographs clustered on its top. The thick carpet muffled his footsteps. The clock on the landing below bonged twice.

  He felt as if he’d tumbled into one of his own nightmares. The endless corridor rolled out before him, a corridor with a door that grew farther away with each measured step. He feared he might walk forever and never reach it.

  But, at last, there it was before him. He wiped his damp palms on his trousers before touching the knob. He’d never before noticed how cold it was. The chill seemed to shoot up his arm to his thundering heart. He forced his rigid fingers to close and slowly turned it. It moved a quarter of a turn, then stopped. He twisted harder. Nothing.

  “Emily?” he whispered hoarsely. “Emily, please …”

  His other hand clenched into a fist. For one crazy moment he wanted to slam his shoulder against the door, to splinter it beneath his weight. But he knew he’d only find another door behind it—a door thick and impenetrable with suspicion and betrayal.

  His hand fell away. Despair washed over him in inky waves. He had hoped, foolishly, even wildly perhaps, that the darkness might lower the terrible cost of his silence. That Emily might relent and allow him to spin his regrets in the tender, forgiving cocoon of her embrace. He should have known he couldn’t steal with his body what the truth should have bought him. Images from the past night assailed him with fresh grief. Could he have loved her any better if he had known it was their last night together?

  He would have held her, just held her in his arms all night long, memorizing the tilt of her snub nose, the ethereal softness of her curls beneath his fingertips, savoring the warm aroma of her skin for all the cold, lonely nights to come.

  “Good-bye, my love,” he whispered. He pressed his open palm to the polished mahogany of the door, his hand lingering in reluctant farewell.

  • • •

  Emily huddled against the door, her knees drawn up to her chest, and listened to Justin’s footsteps fade into silence. She shoved her hair away from her face with shaking hands, pressing hard against her temples as if she could somehow muffle the agonizing whispers of the ghosts in her head.

  He don’t want you. Nobody wants you.

  I said I didn’t like you. I never said I didn’t love you.

  … since he murdered your father.

  I’ll be back for you. I swear it.

  Trust me.

  Shoot me.

  She rocked back and forth in a knot of aching misery. Tears rolled silently down her cheeks. One by one the ghosts reared their heads in visions seared like photographs onto the blank plate of her memory. Doreen thrust a coal bucket in her hand, taunting her. Nicholas’s elegant lips curled in a sneer. Justin emerged from the waves, his dark hair whipping in the wind, his bronze skin misted with sea drops. Her daddy folded his tall frame to kneel before her so he could button her coat and straighten her bonnet before sending her out in the snow to play.

  Yet, even those spirits were tolerable. The ghost who haunted her now was a child. A child dancing with sweet abandon through the darkened room, her petticoats layered with moonlight. She paused in her dance and bent to peer into Emily’s face, her dark eyes softened with empathy as if she couldn’t quite comprehend that anyone could hurt so much.

  Emily recognized her then. She was the child she might have been had her father not died at the hand of her lover. Trusting, loving, convinced the world was a bright place filled with people of good heart. Believing that someday a man would come, a man as fine and handsome as her daddy, who would love her forever.

  It was that child Justin had touched with his love, that child Justin had wounded with his silence. The woman she might have become could have found it in her heart to forgive him. That woman would have been free of rancor and cynicism, free of the bitterness that raged within Emily now, burning their love to crashing ruins.

  She reached out a trembling hand toward the child’s luminous face. She vanished without even a good-bye, leaving Emily in utter darkness.

  Chapter 32

  If you should ever pause to look back, I pray you won’t think too harshly of me.…

  It was midmorning the next day when Penfeld knocked on Emily’s door. “His Grace requests your presence in the study,” he announced.

  Did the valet’s voice sound strangely thick, or was it her own overwrought imagination? she wondered.

  “Tell His Highness I shall hasten to answer his summons,” she replied.

  She stole a look out the window as she dressed. The same underfootman who had been lurking in the shrubs all morning was still there, whis
tling under his breath and studying the slumbering foliage as if his life depended on it. Emily took her brimming pitcher from its basin, eased up the sash, and poured a stream of wash water down on his unsuspecting head.

  “Damn it all!” he sputtered, shaking himself like a sheepdog. “What in the deuced hell—”

  “Hello, Jason,” Emily called out. “I’m terribly sorry. I didn’t realize you were down there.”

  His gaze shot up to the window; a sheepish smile transformed his freckled countenance. “Quite all right, Miss Emily. I was just inspecting the roses for—”

  “Blight?” she suggested.

  “Aye, blight!” he quickly agreed. “Been a bad year for it.”

  “Let’s be thankful I discovered you before I emptied my night convenience,” she said airily, slamming the window shut.

  When she glanced out again, the dripping Jason was watching her window from the safer distance of the drive. She opened the door to find Penfeld still standing stiffly outside of it.

  “I waited to escort you, miss,” he explained.

  She gave his starched collar a brittle flip. “They’re dressing the prison guard with a bit more flair these days.”

  Refusing to rise to her bait, he accompanied her down the stairs to the study, where she marched in and stood in military posture before Justin’s massive pedestal desk. He glanced at her over his spectacles, then went back to his scrawling.

  His pen scratched across a ledger bound in cloth. “I hope after our talk yesterday, you better understand why I couldn’t face you sooner.”

  “I understand quite clearly. You preferred to stay in New Zealand, wallowing in self-pity and flaying yourself alive with guilt. Far be it for me to deny you your pathetic entertainments.”

  Justin brought his pen to a grating halt and looked up. The feminine allure of Emily’s cream wool frock and ribboned curls was belied by the steely angles of her shoulders.

  He laid the pen down with a deliberate motion. “I realize I have no right to ask anything of you, but I need your assistance.”

  She bent over the desk. “Mending, perhaps? Does your hair shirt have a tear in it?”

  He shot to his feet and slammed his palms on the desk. “No. My whip for self-flagellation is too short to reach my back. Although that shouldn’t be a problem as long as your venomous tongue is available to lash me.”

  He was close enough to count every freckle on her pert little nose. The wicked sparkle of her eyes made his breath come at odds with itself. The last thing he had expected to feel toward her was anger. He was stunned by how invigorating it felt. Driving his fingers through his hair, he sank back into the chair.

  “I need your help nailing Nicky. There’s only one way he could have known I killed your father. The bastard was there. He saw the whole thing. He turned the natives on us, believing we’d both be killed, then took the mine for himself.”

  Emily propped her hip on the edge of the desk and picked up a glass paperweight, toying with it. “Charming fellow. And you thought there were no snakes in New Zealand.”

  “Perhaps I should have chosen my friends with more care.”

  She set the paperweight down with a gentle thump. “Perhaps my father should have as well.”

  He let that one pass with only a dark glance. “The more I think about it, the more I’m convinced it was Nicky’s plan from the beginning. He was the one who spotted David coming into the music hall. He was the one who asked around until he found out David had an inheritance to invest.” Justin leaned back in the chair and propped his boots on the desk. “I’ve made several inquiries this morning. It seems our debonair friend has been dividing his time between a gold-mining empire on the South Island of New Zealand and the Continent—Italy, France, Spain—wherever men of his ilk go to spend their ill-gotten wealth.”

  “But why would he return to England now?”

  Justin leveled his gaze on her. “For the same reason I did. You.”

  Her eyes clouded. “Me?”

  He nodded. “Like myself, Nicky thought you only a baby when your father died. I believe he’s been biding his time, waiting for David’s daughter to become old enough to start asking questions. I think he returned to England to protect his investment.”

  Emily shivered. Now that Nicholas realized she was not a child, but a woman grown, she presented that much more of a threat to him. She was not only old enough to ask questions; she was old enough to inherit. What might have happened to her that night at Mrs. Rose’s if Justin hadn’t intervened?

  “What about you?” she asked. “Why didn’t he kill you in New Zealand when he had the chance?”

  Justin’s throat tightened as he remembered all those lost years spent grieving over Nicky and David, all those regrets. “For all intents and purposes, he did. I’m sure it was only his perverse sense of humor that stopped him from burying me. He didn’t have that much mercy in his black soul.” A mocking smile touched his lips. “It must have been quite a shock for him to realize I’d returned to England, and an even worse blow to discover David’s grown daughter was now part of the equation.”

  “He handled it with admirable aplomb.”

  Justin snorted. “Nicky would. Even when we hadn’t a shilling to split between us, he’d spend his money on clothes instead of food. I’ve yet to see his elegant feathers ruffled.”

  “You’d like to ruffle them, wouldn’t you?”

  “I’d like to see him plucked, skinned, and thrown in the pot. That’s why I’ve invited him to call this afternoon.”

  Emily straightened. “Have you gone mad?”

  “Quite.” He lowered his feet and rose. “At least that’s what I want Nicholas to believe. We must force him to let down his guard by convincing him neither of us is any threat. I can capitalize on my reputation as a lunatic, which, I might add, seems to burgeon with any public appearance you and I make together. So far he’s seen me wrestling with the trained bears at a bordello, carrying you off on my shoulder like a barbarian, and smashing his pretty face over champagne at a countess’s fête.”

  Justin would have sworn it was a sparkle of mirth that warmed Emily’s eyes. “What would you have me do?” she asked.

  He could have answered that a thousand ways, but he choked them all back. Instead, he mustered his courage and folded her hands in his own. “You must portray the naive innocent seeking the truth about her father’s death.”

  She gazed down at their entwined hands. A wry smile quirked her lips. “Innocent, eh? That’ll be a bit of a stretch.”

  Justin dropped her hands and bent to shuffle a pile of meaningless papers. “You must promise me one thing. You’re never to see him outside of this house.”

  “Why not? Are you afraid he’ll compromise my virtue?”

  Justin’s hands spasmed. The papers scattered. Emily drifted to the window as if realizing she’d pushed him too far.

  “You can’t afford to forget that this man is very dangerous.” He came around the desk, softening his voice with effort. “I’m still his legal partner, and you, my dear, are your father’s only heir. We’re all that stands between him and his precious fortune, and we both know to what lengths he’ll go to protect it.”

  Her translucent skin seemed to absorb what little sunlight penetrated the narrow window. Justin stood behind her, aching to brush aside her curls, to lay his lips against the fleece at her nape. He clenched his hands to keep from touching her.

  “I’m not asking you for love, or even friendship,” he said softly. “I’m asking you for justice.” She stood as silent and unreadable as that damned doll she insisted on keeping on her nightstand. Once again he felt that dangerous flare of anger and passion. The deliberate lightness of his tone belied his turmoil. “Think of it this way. If we succeed in proving his guilt, you’ll be a millionairess. You won’t need me anymore.”

  She pivoted on her heel, her smile as bright and cutting as a blade. “I’ll do it.”

  Her ruffled sleeve brushed his ar
m as she walked around him. Before she could reach the door, it opened from the other side to reveal a stalwart Penfeld.

  She turned in a graceful swirl of wool. “It’s safe to call off your dogs. I’ve no intention of running this time.”

  “Nor do I,” Justin replied, jamming his hands into his pockets and rocking back on his heels. “It’s also safe to leave your bedroom door unlocked. I’ve no intention of going where I’m not wanted.”

  Color brightened her cheeks. Penfeld cleared his throat, choked, and doubled over, wheezing. Emily ushered him out, slamming the door behind them so hard that the glass panes of the secrétaire rattled in protest.

  Justin sank back against the windowsill, a thoughtful smile playing around his mouth. Only time would tell if he’d just earned himself a partner or an adversary.

  Later that afternoon Emily paused at a gilt-framed mirror to smooth her skirt and pinch a smidgen of color into her ashen cheeks. Her hands felt like ice as she braced herself to meet again the third actor in the grim drama of friendship and betrayal that had begun over seven years before. Justin had chosen the smoking room in the east wing tower for their reunion, and as Emily entered, it was easy to see why.

  The gloomy room was a study in masculine opulence. Decorated in the Turkish style, it boasted luxuriant Oriental rugs and fat leather chairs studded in brass. The day was already warm and the fire crackling on the hearth made it nearly unbearable. The palm plants scattered throughout the room drooped in the sweltering heat. Emily had barely taken two steps before she felt beads of sweat pop out on her brow.

  Nicholas Saleri hovered near the door, his white-gloved hands clasped around the ivory claw of an elegant walking stick. Emily barely noticed him. She was too amazed at Justin’s transformation.

  He sat hunched in a spidery wheelchair by the fire, wearing nothing but a silk dressing gown and a pair of woolen stockings. His dark hair was rumpled, his brows drawn together in a fierce scowl. Penfeld fussed over him, smoothing a blanket over his legs.

  Emily almost started when Nicky bowed and brought her hand to his lips. “Good afternoon, Miss Scarborough. I must admit your summons gave me a bit of a shock. I would have called on you sooner, but I feared you wouldn’t consent to see me after our little misunderstanding.”