In the Garden Trilogy

by Nora Roberts

  “This one is. There’ll be others.” He took her hands, kissed them, then just looked down at her in the dusky light of the moon.

  “I love you, Stella. I’m going to make you happy even when I irritate the living hell out of you. And the boys ... Last night, when I saw her in there with them, when I couldn’t get to them—”

  “I know.” Now she lifted his hands to kiss his raw, swollen knuckles. “One day, when they’re older, they’ll fully appreciate how lucky they are to have had two such good men for fathers. I know how lucky I am to love and be loved by two such good men.”

  “I figured that out when I started falling for you.”

  “When was that?”

  “On the way to Graceland.”

  “You don’t waste time.”

  “That’s when you told me about the dream you’d had.”

  Her heart fluttered. “The garden. The blue dahlia.”

  “Then later, when you said you’d had another, told me about it, it just got me thinking. So ...” He reached into the cab of the truck, took out a small pot with a grafted plant. “I asked Harper if he’d work on this.”

  “A dahlia,” she whispered. “A blue dahlia.”

  “He’s pretty sure it’ll bloom blue when it matures. Kid’s got a knack.”

  Tears burned into her eyes and smeared her voice. “I was going to dig it up, Logan. She kept pushing me to, and it seemed she was right. It wasn’t what I’d put there, wasn’t what I’d planned, no matter how beautiful it was. And when I did, when I dug it up, it died. It was so stupid of me.”

  “We’ll dig this one in instead. We can plant this, you and me, and the four of us can plant a garden around it. That suit you?”

  She lifted her hands, cupped his face. “It suits me.”

  “That’s good, because Harper worked like a mad scientist on it, shooting for a deep, true blue. I guess we’ll wait and see what we get when it blooms.”

  “You’re right.” She looked up at him. “We’ll see what we get.”

  “He gave me the go-ahead to name it. So it’ll be Stella’s Dream.”

  Now her heart swirled into her eyes. “I was wrong about you, Logan. You’re perfect after all.”

  She cradled the pot in her arm as if it were a child, precious and new. Then taking his hand, she linked fingers so they could walk in the moon-drenched garden together.

  In the house, in the air perfumed with flowers, another walked. And wept.

  Titles by Nora Roberts

  HOT ICE

  SACRED SINS

  BRAZEN VIRTUE

  SWEET REVENGE

  PUBLIC SECRETS

  GENUINE LIES

  CARNAL INNOCENCE

  DIVINE EVIL

  HONEST ILLUSIONS

  PRIVATE SCANDALS

  HIDDEN RICHES

  TRUE BETRAYALS

  MONTANA SKY

  SANCTUARY

  HOMEPORT

  THE REEF

  RIVER’S END

  CAROLINA MOON

  THE VILLA

  MIDNIGHT BAYOU

  THREE FATES

  BIRTHRIGHT

  Anthologies

  FROM THE HEART

  A LITTLE MAGIC

  A LITTLE FATE

  MOON SHADOWS (with Jill Gregory, Ruth Ryan Langan, and Marianne Willman)

  The Once Upon Series (with Jill Gregory, Ruth Ryan Langan, and Marianne Willman)

  ONCE UPON A CASTLE

  ONCE UPON A STAR

  ONCE UPON A DREAM

  ONCE UPON A ROSE

  ONCE UPON A KISS

  ONCE UPON A MIDNIGHT

  Series

  The In the Garden Trilogy

  BLUE DAHLIA

  The Key Trilogy

  KEY OF LIGHT

  KEY OF KNOWLEDGE

  KEY OF VALOR

  The Irish Trilogy

  JEWELS OF THE SUN

  TEARS OF THE MOON

  HEART OF THE SEA

  The Chesapeake Bay Saga

  SEA SWEPT

  RISING TIDES

  INNER HARBOR

  CHESAPEAKE BLUE

  Three Sisters Island Trilogy

  DANCE UPON THE AIR

  HEAVEN AND EARTH

  FACE THE FIRE

  The Born In Trilogy

  BORN IN FIRE

  BORN IN ICE

  BORN IN SHAME

  The Dream Trilogy

  DARING TO DREAM

  HOLDING THE DREAM

  FINDING THE DREAM

  Titles by Nora Roberts & J. D. Robb

  REMEMBER WHEN

  Titles by J. D. Robb (in order of publication)

  NAKED IN DEATH

  GLORY IN DEATH

  IMMORTAL IN DEATH

  RAPTURE IN DEATH

  CEREMONY IN DEATH

  VENGEANCE IN DEATH

  HOLIDAY IN DEATH

  CONSPIRACY IN DEATH

  LOYALTY IN DEATH

  WITNESS IN DEATH

  JUDGMENT IN DEATH

  BETRAYAL IN DEATH

  SEDUCTION IN DEATH

  REUNION IN DEATH

  PURITY IN DEATH

  PORTRAIT IN DEATH

  IMITATION IN DEATH

  DIVIDED IN DEATH

  Anthologies

  SILENT NIGHT (with Susan Plunkett, Dee Holmes, and Claire Cross)

  OUT OF THIS WORLD (with Laurell K. Hamilton, Susan Krinard, and Maggie Shayne)

  Also available ...

  THE OFFICIAL NORA ROBERTS COMPANION (edited by Denise Little and Laura Hayden)

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Black Rose

  A Jove Book / published by arrangement with the author

  All rights reserved.

  Copyright © 2005 by Nora Roberts

  This book may not be reproduced in whole or part, by mimeograph or any other means, without permission. Making or distributing electronic copies of this book constitutes copyright infringement and could subject the infringer to criminal and civil liability.

  For information address:

  The Berkley Publishing Group, a division of Penguin Putnam Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  The Penguin Putnam Inc. World Wide Web site address is

  http://www.penguinputnam.com

  ISBN: 1-101-14670-2

  A JOVE BOOK®

  Jove Books first published by The Jove Publishing Group, a member of Penguin Putnam Inc.,

  375 Hudson Street, New York, New York 10014.

  JOVE and the “J” design are trademarks belonging to Penguin Putnam Inc.

  Electronic edition: June, 2005

  Contents

  Prologue

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  Nineteen

  Twenty

  Epilogue

  PROLOGUE

  Memphis, Tennessee

  December 1892

  SHE DRESSED CAREFULLY, attending to the details of her appearance as she hadn’t done for months. Her personal maid had run off weeks before, and she had neither the wit nor the will to hire another. So she spent an hour with the curling rods herself—as she had in the years before she’d been kept so lavishly—meticulously coiling and arranging her freshly rinsed hair.

  It had lost its bright gold luster over the long, bleary autumn, but she knew what lotions and potions would bring back its shine, what pots of paint to select to put false color in her cheeks, on her lips.
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  She knew all the tricks of the trade. How else could she have caught the eye of a man like Reginald Harper? How else had she seduced him into making her his mistress?

  She would use them again, all of them, Amelia thought, to seduce him once more, and to urge him to do everything that must be done.

  He hadn’t come, in all this time, in all these months, he hadn’t come to her. So she’d been forced to send notes to his businesses, begging him to come, only to be ignored.

  Ignored after all she had done, all she had been, all she had lost.

  What choice had she had but to send more notes, and to his home? To the grand Harper House where his pale wife reigned. Where a mistress could never walk.

  Hadn’t she given him all he could ask, all he could want? She’d traded her body for the comfort of this house, the convenience of servants, for the baubles, like the pearl drops she fixed on her ears now.

  Small prices to pay for a man of his stature and wealth, and such had been the limits of her ambitions once. A man only, and what he could give her. But he’d given her more than either of them had bargained for. The loss of it was more than she could bear.

  Why had he not come to comfort her? To grieve with her?

  Had she complained, ever? Had she ever turned him from her bed? Or mentioned even once the other women he kept?

  She had given him her youth, and her beauty. And, it seemed, her health.

  And he would desert her now? Turn away from her now?

  They said the baby had been dead at birth. Stillborn, they said. A stillborn girl child that had perished inside her.

  But . . . but . . .

  Hadn’t she felt it move? Felt it kick, and grow vital under her heart? In her heart. This child she hadn’t wanted who had become her world. Her life. The son she grew inside her.

  The son, the son, she thought now as her fingers plucked at the buttons of her gown, as her painted lips formed the words over and over.

  She’d heard him cry. Yes, yes, she was sure of it. Sometimes she heard him cry still, in the night, crying for her to come and soothe him.

  But when she went to the nursery, looked in the crib, it was empty. Like her womb was empty.

  They said she was mad. Oh, she heard what servants she had left whispering, she saw the way they looked at her. But she wasn’t mad.

  Wasn’t mad, wasn’t mad, she told herself as she paced the bedroom she’d once treated like a palace of sensuality.

  Now the linens were rarely changed, and the drapes always drawn tight to block out the city. And things went missing. Her servants were thieves. Oh, she knew they were thieves and scoundrels. And spies.

  They watched her, and they whispered.

  One night they would kill her in her bed. One night.

  She couldn’t sleep for the fear of it. Couldn’t sleep for the cries of her son inside her head. Calling her. Calling her.

  But she’d gone to the voodoo queen, she reminded herself. Gone to her for protection, and knowledge. She’d paid for both with the ruby bracelet Reginald had once given her. The stones shaped like bloody hearts against the icy glitter of diamonds.

  She’d paid for the gris-gris she kept under her pillow, and in a silk bag over her heart. She’d paid, and dearly, for the raising spell. A spell that had failed.

  Because her child lived. This was the knowledge the voodoo queen had given her, and it was worth more than ten thousand rubies.

  Her child lived, he lived, and now he must be found. He must be brought back to her, where he belonged.

  Reginald must find him, must pay whatever needed to be paid.

  Careful, careful, she warned herself as she felt the scream beating at her throat. He would only believe her if she remained calm. He would only heed her if she were beautiful.

  Beauty seduced men. With beauty and charm, a woman could have whatever she wanted.

  She turned to the mirror and saw what she needed to see. Beauty, charm, grace. She didn’t see that the red gown sagged at the breasts, bagged at the hips, and turned her pale skin a sallow yellow. The mirror reflected the tumbling tangle of curls, the overbright eyes, and the harshly rouged cheeks, but her eyes, Amelia’s eyes, saw what she had once been.

  Young and beautiful, desirable and sly.

  So she went downstairs to wait for her lover, and under her breath, she sang.

  “Lavender’s blue, dilly, dilly. Lavender’s green.”

  In the parlor a fire was burning, and the gaslight was lit. So the servants would be careful, too, she thought with a tight smile. They knew the master was expected, and the master held the purse strings.

  No matter, she would tell Reginald they needed to go, all of them, and be replaced.

  And she wanted a nursemaid hired for her son, for James, when he was returned to her. An Irish girl, she thought. They were cheerful around babies, she believed. She wanted a cheerful nursery for her James.

  Though she eyed the whiskey on the sideboard, she poured a small glass of wine instead. And settled down to wait.

  Her nerves began to fray as the hour grew late. She had a second glass of wine, then a third. And when she saw through the window his carriage pull up, she forgot to be careful and calm and flew to the door herself.

  “Reginald. Reginald.” Her grief and despair sprang out of her like snakes, hissing and coiling. She threw herself at him.

  “Control yourself, Amelia.” His hands closed over her bony shoulders, nudged her back. “What will the neighbors say?”

  He shut the door quickly, then with one steely look had a hovering servant rushing forward to take his hat and walking stick.

  “I don’t care! Oh, why haven’t you come sooner? I’ve needed you so. Did you get my letters? The servants, the servants lie. They didn’t post them. I’m a prisoner here.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” A momentary disgust flickered over his face as he evaded her next attempt at an embrace. “We agreed you’d never attempt to contact me at my home, Amelia.”

  “You didn’t come. I’ve been alone. I—”

  “I’ve been occupied. Come now. Sit. Compose yourself.”

  Still, she clung to his arm as he led her into the parlor. “Reginald. The baby. The baby.”

  “Yes, yes.” He disentangled himself, nudged her into a chair. “It’s unfortunate,” he said as he moved to the sideboard to pour himself a whiskey. “The doctor said there was nothing to be done, and you needed rest and quiet. I’ve heard you’ve been unwell.”

  “Lies. It’s all a lie.”

  He turned to her, his gaze taking in her face, the ill-fitting gown. “I can see for myself you’re not well, Amelia. I think perhaps some sea air. It would do you good.” His smile was cool as he leaned back against the mantel. “How would you like an ocean crossing? I think it would be just the thing to calm your nerves and bring you back to health.”

  “I want my child. He’s all I need.”

  “The child is gone.”

  “No, no, no.” She sprang up to clutch at him again. “They stole him. He lives, Reginald. Our child lives. The doctor, the midwife, they planned it. I know it all now, I understand it all. You must go to the police, Reginald. They’ll listen to you. You must pay whatever ransom they demand.”

  “This is madness, Amelia.” He pried her hand from his lapel, then brushed at the creases her fingers had caused in the material. “I’ll certainly not go to the police.”

  “Then I will. Tomorrow I’ll go to the authorities.”

  The cold smile faded until his face was hard as stone. “You will do nothing of the kind. You will have a cruise to Europe, and ten thousand dollars to assist you in settling in England. They will be my parting gifts to you.”

  “Parting?” She groped for the arm of a chair, melted into it as her legs gave way. “You—you would leave me now?”

  “There can be nothing more between us. I’ll see to it that you’re well set, and I believe you’ll regain your health with a sea voyage. In London you’re
bound to find another protector.”

  “How can I go to London when my son—”

  “You will go,” he interrupted, then sipped his drink. “Or I will give you nothing. You have no son. You have nothing but what I deem to give you. This house and everything in it, the clothes on your back, the jewels you wear are mine. You’d be wise to remember how easily I can take it all away.”

  “Take it away,” she whispered, and something in his face, something in her fractured mind gave her truth. “You want to get rid of me because . . . you know. It’s you who’ve taken the baby.”

  He finished his drink as he studied her. Then set the empty glass on the mantel. “Do you think I’d allow a creature like you to raise my son?”

  “My son!” She sprang up again, hands curled like claws.

  The slap stopped her. In the two years he had been her protector, he had never raised a hand to her.

  “Listen to me now, and carefully. I will not have my son known as a bastard, one born of a whore. He will be raised at Harper House, as my legitimate heir.”

  “Your wife—”

  “Does what she is told. As will you, Amelia.”

  “I’ll go to the police.”

  “And tell them what? The doctor and midwife who attended you will attest that you delivered a stillborn girl, while others will attest my wife delivered a healthy boy. Your reputation, Amelia, will not stand to mine, or theirs. Your own servants will swear to it, and to the fact that you’ve been ill, and behaving strangely.”

  “How can you do this?”

  “I need a son. Do you think I selected you out of affection? You’re young, healthy—or were. You were paid, and paid well for your services. You will be recompensed for this one.”

  “You won’t keep him from me. He’s mine.”

  “Nothing is yours but what I allow you. You would have rid yourself of him, had you been given the opportunity. You’ll come nowhere near him, now or ever. You will make the crossing in three weeks. A deposit of ten thousand dollars will be put in your account. Until that time your bills will continue to come to me for payment. It’s all you’ll get.”