by Nan Ryan
She fell silent. She had never discussed Desmond’s business or net worth with him, had never seen any reason to do so. Uncle Colfax had told her that the earl was comfortably well-off. She had never seen or heard anything to dispute that observation.
“Anyone else have the safe’s combination?” Big Montro asked as he took her arm and urged her on down the banquette.
“Not to my knowledge. But obviously someone does.” She stopped again, turned to him, and said, “I don’t care what Dr. Ledette says, I think someone murdered my uncle. And I think that whoever is responsible for his death, took the will.”
“If that’s true, how did the murderer get into the house? And how did he get into the safe?”
“I don’t know,” she replied. “I don’t know. Someone must have known the safe’s combination.”
“And has a house key?”
“Yes. Someone we don’t know about.”
“But why would anyone want Colfax dead? Furthermore, why would they want the will? What good would it do them?”
Again Madeleine said, “I just don’t know. It’s a mystery that I fully intend to solve.”
“When did the earl ask you to marry him?” Montro asked.
“The summer before last when I came for a visit. Why?”
“I see. When did your uncle draw up the last will and testament?”
“Mmm, let’s see if I can remember. Yes, I recall now, it was in the spring of ’54. He wrote me a letter to tell me he had done it.”
“He drew up the will in the spring of ’54,” Montro repeated thoughtfully. “And Lord Enfield proposed in the summer of ’54.”
“Yes, that’s right.” She frowned and said, “But it had nothing to do with—with—”
“We’re home, Lady Madeleine.”
A week had passed since her uncle’s death. A long, miserable week in which Madeleine had had far too much time to grieve and fret and worry. Much as she hated to admit it, Montro’s questions had raised nagging doubts in her mind.
There was no denying the fact that Desmond could now dispose of everything her uncle owned without so much as consulting her.
But he would never do such a dishonorable thing. He loved her, and besides, he had no need of her fortune. He was a rich man. He had gained great wealth in shrewd futures dealings in cotton, sugar, tobacco and lumber.
Montro was dead wrong about Desmond.
But who had taken the will? And why would anyone have taken it? No one could profit from the theft except—except—
But that made no sense. Desmond wouldn’t have done such a thing. After all, he was going to marry her and she would inherit her uncle’s vast estate. Or, she would have, if the will still existed.
She was, she repeatedly told herself, absolutely certain Desmond had nothing whatsoever to do with her uncle’s death or missing will. Nonetheless, she was greatly troubled and she didn’t know where to turn. She badly needed the advice of an independent attorney with only her interest at heart.
But she couldn’t afford one. She didn’t have any money. All of her uncle’s assets had been frozen, leaving her with only the small sums he kept at the town house.
The courts, strictly following the Napoleonic Code, had given her approximately three months—until the first day of June—to locate and present a will that superseded the provisional one.
Without it she would lose everything.
Thirty-Three
The messenger arrived at the Royal Street town house with an invitation requesting Madeleine’s presence at Lord Enfield’s that evening as the earl lay naked in Dominique’s comfortable bed. The blond nobleman had a purpose for inviting Madeleine to his home for dinner. He needed privacy for what he intended. It was, he reasoned, time he seduced his aloof fiancée. Starting tonight he was going to give her the kind of hot, urgent sex that would leave her limp and sated in his arms.
And tonight’s tryst would be just the beginning. He would continue—day and night—to make passionate love to her until she was so besotted with him she would do anything he wanted, give him anything he asked for. He knew how to break down a woman’s resistance, make her his uninhibited love slave.
And he fully intended to do that to the haughty Lady Madeleine.
Of course he knew such an undertaking might prove to be totally unnecessary. With Sumner’s final will missing, he held all the cards. But he was a cautious man. He didn’t know where the will was and he had no idea who had taken it.
Desmond had to have Madeleine absolutely mad about him and ready to hand over everything she’d inherited in case the will mysteriously reappeared before the three months had passed. Besides, he mused, the prospect of keeping the beautiful russet-haired woman naked and yielding in his bed for the next several weeks wasn’t all that distasteful.
He smiled at the pleasant prospect, then immediately sobered when Dominique came crawling into the bedroom on hands and knees, alternately moaning and purring, pretending to be a sleek feline in heat, eagerly seeking out her mate.
Desmond hurriedly rose from the bed and wrapped a sheet protectively around his body. Shaking his head fervently, he said, “I haven’t time for games, love. I’m already late. I must go.”
The angry kitty rose up to her knees and hissed loudly at him, but he paid no attention.
Montro left Lady Madeleine at Lord Enfield’s Dumaine Street home shortly before eight. She was shown to the upstairs drawing room and left there alone to wait. The servant returned to the lower floor.
Madeleine sat for a time, but when Desmond hadn’t arrived in ten minutes she began to look about for something to read. There was nothing. She rose, walked across the hall to Lord Enfield’s darkly paneled study. Just as she started toward the wall-to-ceiling bookcases, a slight breeze, coming through an open window, blew a piece of paper off Desmond’s desk.
She bent and picked up the paper.
And she looked it.
It was a bill for a large sum of money from a New Orleans jeweler. And it was marked urgent, with a Please Submit at Once stamp across the top. Madeleine frowned. She walked around behind the desk and placed the bill on its top. She started to turn away, but didn’t. Glancing up at the open double doors to be sure she was alone, she picked up some papers, riffled through them and immediately saw, to her shock and horror, that they were all bills. There were stacks and stacks of unpaid bills scattered across the desk top. Notices of intent to foreclose on Desmond’s home. Duns from a dozen banks on overdue loans.
Madeleine’s hands began to shake as she realized that Lord Enfield was completely insolvent.
But the bills were not the only damning documents she found. Mixed in among the numerous bills and duns were shockingly graphic love notes written on scented lilac paper and signed “Dominique.”
Madeleine flushed hotly as she read some of the stunningly shameful sexual secrets shared by a woman who was undoubtedly Lord Enfield’s adored mistress.
Madeleine felt sick.
Her hands shaking badly, she hurriedly put everything back in place, but did not move away. Her mind racing, heart hammering, she stood there in that paneled office as a terrible truth began to dawn.
She remembered all those evenings when Desmond had left her early with barely a good-night kiss. Now she knew why. He had been anxious to get away from her and go to the arms of his lover. At once, Montro’s damning words came back to her. When did your uncle draw up the last will? When did Lord Enfield propose?
In the blink of an eye it was all coming clear. Desmond Chilton was not wealthy! He was deeply in debt and badly in need of money. Pieces of the puzzle falling quickly into place, Madeleine realized that Lord Enfield was after her uncle’s fortune, had been all along. He didn’t love her. She was merely insurance on the Sumner estate. Which he meant to steal! He took the will! He took it and if she looked long enough, she would probably find it right here in his house.
But there wasn’t time.
Desperate to get away before De
smond arrived, Madeleine rushed to the stairs and started down, waving away a servant’s questioning look. She reached the foot of the stairs just as the front door opened and Lord Enfield stepped into the foyer.
“My dear,” he greeted warmly, starting toward her.
“No!” Madeleine threw up her hands in a defensive gesture. “Don’t come any closer.” She was trembling violently and breathing rapidly.
Desmond frowned, baffled. “Darling, darling, what is it? What has happened? You look as if you’ve seen a ghost.”
“Not a ghost, Desmond,” she said, eyes flashing, “a thief. I am looking at a thief!”
Lord Enfield glanced at his servant and said sharply, “Leave us, Rolland!” Then turning his attention back to Madeleine, he softened his voice and said, “You’re obviously very upset about something, dear. Come upstairs with me and let’s get to the bottom of this.” He attempted to take her arm, but she shook his hand off.
“Where is it, Desmond? What did you do with my uncle’s will?”
He gave her a blank look. “Why on earth would you ask me a foolish question like that? You know very well that I have no idea what happened to the will. Are you forgetting, I was there with you when you opened the safe and found it missing.”
“You took it before that night,” she angrily accused. “You took it at just the right time, didn’t you? As if you knew when my uncle was going to die. Did you, Desmond? Did you know?”
“I’m not sure what you’re accusing me of, Madeleine, but I strongly resent—”
“I’m accusing you stealing my inheritance. I’m accusing you of asking me to be your wife only so you can get your hands on the money! I’m accusing you of persuading my dear, trusting uncle to name you executor so that—”
“Dearest, dearest,” he soothed, interrupting, “you should listen to yourself. You’re raving like a madwoman. You’re making no sense. None whatsoever.”
“Why did you ask me to marry you, Desmond? Tell me that.”
“Because I love you very much and I want to spend the rest of my life with you. What other reason could there be?”
“Money,” she stated firmly. “You knew I would one day be very, very rich.”
He snorted and said, “You’re forgetting, Madeleine, I, too, am quite wealthy and—”
“No, you’re not. You have nothing. You need my—”
“I am rich!” he thundered. “Do you hear me? I don’t need your money.”
“I’m glad, because you are not going to get it.”
Desmond’s eyes narrowed and his face flushed. “I don’t know what’s gotten into you, but I do know what to do about it.” He reached out, took her arm and shoved her toward the stairs.
“Let me go!” she shouted, angry and frightened. “It’s over between us, Desmond. I am breaking the engagement.”
“You’re breaking nothing, my spoiled pet,” he said through thinned lips, roughly pushing her up the stairs before him. “I’m going to show you how much I love you. I will make love to you until—”
“You will do nothing of the kind!” she screamed at him, kicking at him, furiously attempting to free herself from his steely grasp. “You’ll never touch me, you deceitful bastard!”
“Ah, but I will,” he promised, struggling to subdue her, angry and worried. “It’s time you learned a lesson. I am the master here and you’d best start getting used to the idea.”
“My, God, you’re evil!” she snarled and, desperate, impulsively leaned over and bit his hand viciously.
He yelped in pain and reflexively released her. She seized the opportunity, spun about and raced down the stairs. He started after her, cursing and threatening what he would do when he caught her. She made it to the front door, burst out onto the street and started running as fast as she could.
Furious, Desmond hurried out onto the banquette and called out, “You little bitch, you’ll pay for this! Do you hear me! Madeleine, get back here this instant!” He jogged a few steps down the street, but soon stopped, winded. Aware that the neighbors were beginning to peer out their windows, he went back inside.
Madeleine never slowed or looked back. She ran as fast her weak legs would carry her, frantic to get away from the monster who had finally revealed himself. Terrified that he was racing after her, she kept running and running.
Even when she realized that he was not behind her, that she was safe, she continued to run. Short of breath, a stabbing stitch in her side, she kept running as tears stung her eyes and her heart pumped furiously.
She hardly realized where she was headed until she reached her destination. She paused beneath the large red canopy in front of The Beaufort Club and struggled to catch her breath.
“Are you all right, miss?” the uniformed doorman stepped forward to politely inquire.
“I—I—Is do you know …if…if…Mr. de Chevalier is at the club tonight?”
“Why, he most certainly is,” the doorman replied. “Shall I take you inside and help you find him?”
Nodding, trying to slow her rapid breathing and calm herself, Madeleine smoothed her flyaway hair and said, “Will you, please?”
“Come with me.” The young man gently took her arm and guided her through the club’s front doorway.
Inside, he paused and stood for a moment on the wide marble lip of the club’s imposing entrance and searched the crowd below for its dark-haired owner. Not spotting Armand, he said to Madeleine, “Wait right here. I’ll find out where the boss is.”
She nodded, tried to smile, and gazed out over the large room while the doorman stepped over to speak with the man in the coat-check booth. In seconds the smiling doorman was back at her side.
“Sam said Armand is taking a little break upstairs in his private quarters. I’ll take you right up, if you wish.”
“Yes, I—I need to speak with him. Tell him it’s Lady Madeleine.”
Unaware and uncaring that heads were turning and people were staring as the tall, uniformed doorman guided her through the crowded, cavernous gaming palace, Madeleine attempted to stop the chattering of her teeth, to still the pounding of her heart.
Reaching the back of the room at last, the doorman indicated a set of wide, curving stairs along the wall, carpeted in lush blue velvet. Beside him, Madeleine ascended the stairs, wondering anxiously if Armand would even agree to see her.
Filled with doubts now, wondering why she had run to him, she was ushered down a wide corridor until they stood before a heavy carved door.
The doorman lifted a hand and rapped firmly.
From inside came that deep, familiar voice, but with a sharp edge to it that she’d never heard before. “Unless the joint’s on fire, leave me the hell alone.”
Undeterred, the smiling doorman called back, “Boss, it’s Lady Madeleine. She needs to speak with you.”
The carved door opened almost immediately and Armand de Chevalier stood before her, smiling. The doorman quickly backed away, leaving them alone. Armand saw the bright tears shining in Madeleine’s green eyes and his smile instantly fled.
“Chérie,” he said softly, his dark eyes wide with worry, “what is it?”
“Oh, Armand.” She began to sob, unable to hold back the tears one second longer, “I—I—” she choked.
“Come to me, sweetheart,” said Armand, gently drawing her into his strong, comforting arms. “Let me hold you, let me help you.”
Thirty-Four
Armand gently guided the weeping Madeleine into the spacious apartment, closing the door behind them. Madeleine clung to him and attempted, between racking sobs, to explain what had happened. But she was so upset, so out of breath and crying so violently, she ran her words together in a burst of confusing revelation, hardly making sense.
“…began to suspect…took the will…found all those bills…has no money…accused him…grew angry and violent…said he was going to…to…”
“Shh, shh,” Armand soothed. “I’ve got you now, you’re safe, Maddie. Don’t cr
y, sweetheart.”
“I’m…n-n-not crying,” she sobbed, burying her face on his chest. “I…I…oh, Armand…I came here because…I wasn’t sure if you’d…what am I going to do?”
“You’re going to have a stiff drink of cognac,” he said with calm authority and guided her to a long black-and-white-striped sofa.
But when he attempted to sit her down, to release her, the trembling Madeleine clung desperately to him and pleaded, “Don’t let me go, please don’t let me go.”
“Never, chérie,” he said softly and, with his arms wrapped firmly around her, Armand ushered her across the room to the long black-walnut bar.
He didn’t go behind the bar. He stepped up in front of it and, keeping her within the safe, protective circle of his arms, reached around her, poured a snifter of brandy and insisted she drink it. Between sobs and coughs she drank the fiery liquid and immediately felt its welcome warmth flow down into her chest and out into her arms. Before she had emptied the snifter, she began to calm somewhat. She stopped crying. She sighed wearily and took the last sip of the brandy before placing the empty snifter on the bar.
“Feeling a little better?” Armand asked, slowly turning her about in the circle of his arms until she was facing him.
Madeleine merely nodded, slipped her weak arms around his trim waist and again laid her aching head on his chest. Armand held her in a close, but unthreatening embrace. She had come to him for solace and that’s what he would give her.
For a long, peaceful moment the couple stood there before the bar, gently embracing, saying nothing, sharing a brief interlude of serenity.
Then Madeleine slowly raised her head. She pulled back and gazed up at Armand. In his dark, beautiful eyes she saw genuine compassion. It touched her heart as nothing had in ages. Made her regret that she had come to the club and upset him.
She drew a shallow breath, raised a hand and laid it on his smoothly shaven olive cheek. “Armand,” she said, “forgive me. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come to you with my problems.”