Mercy

by Jean Brashear

  No—that wasn’t it. She’d loved Paris, too, had stood in awe of his golden perfection, his favored place as The Son. Her adored big brother. Who she really wanted to murder was Lucas Walker. He’d taken her sister, her beautiful, saucy sister, and slain her as surely as his bullet had stolen Paris’s life.

  Kat couldn’t speak as she watched Tansy’s face settle into resignation. Back into madness. Damn you, Lucas Walker. Damn your soul to hell.

  “Perhaps you could visit Paris when we return,” Armand suggested. “You’ll be able to regale him with our adventure, as well.” As smooth as ever, Armand waltzed into the breach stinging with tear gas and dispelled it with the fresh wind of reason and uncommon grace.

  Kat could almost hate him, too. No one wanted Tansy to wake up. Everyone was afraid of what would happen if Tansy ever did.

  Kat started to speak, to say it out loud. Wake up, Tansy, damn it.

  But Armand caught her intent and shook his head, his green eyes hard as emeralds. “Kat, would you please inform Mrs. Hodgson that we’re leaving now?”

  Dismissed, she fumed. He treated her as an irresponsible girl, while he behaved as if her child of a sister was a princess who would crumble, should the light of day ever land squarely on her illusions.

  Illusions, hell. Delusions. Kat stalked toward the kitchen, not sure who made her angrier, Tansy for being so weak or Armand for protecting that frailty.

  But as Kat returned to the living room and saw her sister’s fair head leaning against Armand’s shoulder in a posture so trusting and vulnerable it could break your heart, all the venom leaked out of her like air from a punctured bicycle tire.

  The thought of her sister being brutalized by Lucas Walker made the gorge rise in Kat’s throat. Kat could stand such a thing; she’d survive. But Tansy had lost half her soul that night when Paris died, and Lucas Walker had savaged the rest.

  Guilt rode Kat hard, never mind that she’d been nine years old and far away when it happened. The bright spirit inside Tansy might have been lost forever, and shame forced Kat to step back from her rage. Perhaps the others were right. Maybe their shared complicity made them all search for the only thing left to do to spare Tansy from remembering.

  Perhaps her father and Mona knew better than she. They believed it was up to those who loved Tansy to guard what was left, even if that meant wrapping illusion around her like cotton batting.

  “Come on, gang.” She roused herself to cheer, false though it was. “Our adventure awaits.”

  Armand led Tansy to the door, where he stopped and gazed at Kat with something she didn’t often see in his eyes.

  Approval. And pride.

  Past the lump in her throat, Kat summoned a smile. Then she looped her arm through her sister’s and led her out.

  They were encouraging Tansy to brave only a matter of blocks, but perhaps that was the way it would be, this opening of Tansy’s world.

  One step at a time. Patience was not Kat’s friend and never would be.

  But for Tansy, she’d try.

  “Where did you find her?” Kat glanced from the efficient but warm saleswoman toward Armand. “She’s too old to be one of your devoted conquests.”

  Armand merely lifted one of the jet-black eyebrows which contrasted with his shining silver hair. He’d gone gray in his early thirties, and the contrast with his youthful bronzed sailor’s skin was striking. He was one of the most handsome men she’d ever met, but there were layers and layers to him beyond his looks.

  “I’d prefer to think of myself in a more benevolent light. I appreciate women far too much to want to ravish them.” He gave her a wry smile. “Seduction is so much more satisfying. A willing woman is a man’s greatest triumph.”

  Kat snorted, glancing from the dressing room door toward him. Tansy’s nerves had fled under the miracle saleswoman’s firm ministrations, and she insisted on surprising both Kat and Armand with each selection. “I see plenty of willing females, but few who get a repeat performance. A commitment problem, my friend?” The more she considered it, the more the idea of Armand languishing for love of Tansy took hold. She would never have thought about it before, but perhaps Armand’s confirmed bachelorhood had its source in a deep romanticism.

  Kat was torn. Tansy and Armand…he would guard her fiercely, of that Kat had no doubt. But what would a world traveler such as him do, chained to such a fragile flower?

  Still, Tansy could not have a better champion. Armand was, despite his air of world-weariness, a deeply decent and honorable man.

  “What’s placed that cat-in-cream smile on your face, Katharina?

  “Oh, nothing.” She nudged him with her elbow. “Look lively, pal. Tansy’s headed our way.”

  Flushed with an inner sense of accomplishment, Tansy approached the chair where they idled, her head high, her eyes fevered in a manner Kat had never seen.

  “What do you think?” Tansy lost her nerve in that instant, her head ducking, her eyes flicking toward them and then away.

  The dress was nothing Kat would ever have expected Tansy to wear, with her penchant for flowing, formless gowns in demure colors. It was a slim column of gold and ivory, beaded from neck to hem with bugle beads and tiny white pearls, a strap over one shoulder only, leaving her other pale, slender shoulder bare in a manner that was both tender and sensual. Tansy’s delicate collarbone stood in relief, the glimmering waterfall caressing her breasts and hips before flowing downward to end in a fall of beaded fringe at her ankles.

  For the first time in her life, Kat saw her sister as a woman, a shy fawn emerging from a slumber as deep as Sleeping Beauty’s. In this gown, Kat could envision Tansy as she might have been, a woman full-grown. Still far more delicate than Kat herself, but bursting with the promise of sensual delights heretofore hidden from the eyes of the world.

  Kat had thought of her sister as a girl for so long that it was startling to see her as a woman. Kat’s own sexual nature seemed overdone in contrast—too much the Valkyrie, when Tansy was the fair maiden. She couldn’t find her voice.

  Armand tried, but even he had to clear his throat first. “Lovely. Truly perfect, Tansy. It accents your natural beauty without overwhelming it.”

  When Tansy’s head rose, her cheeks alive with hectic color, there was on her face a smile so beatific yet so hesitant that Kat was inexplicably moved to tears.

  Tansy quickly shifted her gaze to Kat’s. “What do you think? Is it—will Daddy like it?”

  Kat bit the inside of her cheek and closed the distance between Tansy and her, managing not to say that she couldn’t care less what the old bastard thought. “He’ll burst his buttons he’ll be so proud.” She clasped her sister’s shoulders, feeling the fine trembling in her frame. “You did a fabulous job of picking this out. There’s not a woman in New York who won’t gnash her teeth in envy of how beautiful you are.”

  Tansy reached out and hugged her sister. “I feel beautiful,” she whispered. “And I’m not so afraid with you here.” She pulled away and approached Armand slowly, her head high. “Thank you, Armand.”

  His smile could have lit up the world. “You’re exquisite, Tansy. It is my pleasure. I intend to claim the first dance at the gala, if you’d be so inclined.”

  Tansy dimpled in a way Kat had never seen before and dropped to a curtsy. “I’d like that.”

  Gravely, Armand clasped her hand and bowed with an elegance that would suit a courtier.

  “Shall I wrap this, Armand?” the saleswoman inquired.

  “I—is it too expensive, Kat?” Tansy asked. “I don’t—I’m not sure how much—”

  The dress cost the earth, but Kat was willing to mortgage her soul to help her sister emerge from her cocoon.

  Armand spoke before she could. “Please, Tansy. If you’d consent, I want to make this a gift. It would please me enormously. Will you do me that honor?”

  Tansy’s cheeks flared in bright spots of color. She glanced toward her sister. “Kat?”

  Kat coul
dn’t afford the dress. She wasn’t sure her father could do so, either. Mona made a bundle and had intended to buy it, but—

  Armand’s formidable will assumed center stage. He nodded toward the saleswoman. “I insist on the privilege. Please have this delivered, Mrs. Simone.” Pride and assurance marked his face; a subtle possessiveness leached through his gentle touch on Tansy’s elbow, then he walked toward the cash register to make arrangements.

  Why had she never seen it earlier, this silent love he bore her sister? A shadow crept over Kat’s heart, and she realized it was disappointment. Tansy deserved a man such as Armand; he would take superb care of her. It was just that Kat had always thought she’d have a shot at him whenever she wanted to exercise the choice. Not that she would, of course. He wasn’t her type. But he’d always been there, ever since the day they’d met.

  “Will Mona think it’s pretty?” Tansy asked. “I feel like a princess.”

  Filing away her musings for later perusal, Kat turned her attentions back to her sister, reaching for her hand. “You look like one. And yes, Mona will be so proud.” She pushed herself further for her sister’s sake. “And Daddy will be the proudest of all.”

  “I can’t wait to show Paris,” Tansy exulted.

  Kat squeezed her hand. “I wish Paris could be there, Tansy.” She was surprised to discover that she meant it with every fiber of her soul.

  Her sister’s eyes glowed with certainty. “He will be.”

  Kat refused to let the triumph of this day dim. “Go get changed. Armand’s treating us to the Palm Court for tea.”

  Tansy’s eyes widened, a tiny fear sparking. But in the tradition of this magical day, she only nodded. “I’ll be quick.”

  One step, Kat. Every inch of progress was important.

  When Armand rejoined her, Kat silently relinquished his heart to her sister, ignoring a dull new ache. She smiled and tucked her arm through his. “Come on, hotshot. We’re not through spending your money just yet.”

  Armand laughed. “Two beautiful women on my arm, with spring just around the corner? I certainly hope not.”

  They stood in companionable silence and waited for their fairy princess to emerge.

  Mona raced through the apartment door. “I’m sorry—the printer phoned just as I was leaving, and then Daddy called with a question—” She stopped abruptly at the anger on Fitz’s face. “What?”

  “Bradshaw could have handled the printer, couldn’t he?”

  “Maybe, but you know I—”

  “I know that we were supposed to leave the city three hours ago. Traffic’s going to be murder.” A muscle in his jaw leaped.

  Mona sighed and closed her eyes. Their stolen weekend wasn’t getting off to much of a start. “I didn’t want any of this to happen, but what am I supposed to do? Don’t tell me Bradshaw could handle it—of course he could, but I’ve told you he’s after my job—”

  “Forget it.” Fitz headed for the kitchen.

  She followed him. “Forget what?”

  He grabbed bottled water from the refrigerator and shrugged. “Any of it. All of it.”

  “What are you saying? Don’t you want to go? Fitz, we need this weekend—”

  He rounded on her. “You sure as hell don’t act that way. I passed a big story to the new kid who’s dying for my job, just because you were so set on getting an early start. Hell, I could have had the story done by now.”

  “You don’t understand—”

  His short, sharp laugh hurt her ears. “Oh, I understand just fine, Des. I comprehend that we’re on very thin ice here. The question is, do you?”

  “What?” She couldn’t believe her ears. “Fitz, you can’t be serious. We’re not—we’ve always worked hard. Both of us. We—” The expression on his face was scaring her. “Okay, listen. We’re both tired. The down time will be good for us. It won’t take me five minutes to throw my things in a bag and we’ll be gone.”

  He drew a long sip from the bottle before he answered. “Maybe this is a bad idea.”

  “No. No, Fitz.” She grabbed his arm with one hand. “Don’t do this. I’m sorry. I should have let Jack handle it. I’m just—” Going out of my mind, trying to be there for everyone.

  But then she looked, really looked at him and saw the smudges beneath his eyes. He’d been sleeping poorly ever since that night. He needed a break, and so did she.

  He let out a long sigh. “I’m sorry, too. I just—” His hazel eyes softened as he looked at her. “I want this time with you. Just you. No damn magazine. No Martin. Just you and me, babe.”

  Mona closed her eyes and turned her cheek into his hand, a hand that was as dear to her as her own. “Me, too. I’m really sorry.” She opened her eyes and lifted her own hand to his strong jaw. “Five minutes, I swear it.”

  He grinned the cocky smile of a man who knew her too well. “I’ll believe that when I see it. Come on, I’ll help you.” He slung one arm around her shoulder, and she nestled into his side as they crossed the living room.

  Two hours later as they drove northward for their stolen weekend, Mona glanced again at her husband and tried very hard to forget all she’d left undone at her office. Worked on ignoring the exhaustion, the knot in her stomach. Once past their quarrel, Fitz was lit from within by an almost manic glow, but he refused to divulge their destination. He’d told her to pack casual clothes, mentioning only that she might want to include that deep plum peignoir he’d once all but torn off her, his eyes gleaming in a manner she’d missed more than she’d thought possible.

  On the drive north, the first hour had been strained, but gradually the traffic had eased and each of them had put the tension of their late departure behind them. Fitz’s big hand moved to her thigh, stroking ever higher until she had to cross her legs and squeeze them for relief.

  Mona wanted to cry at the luxury of his touch. Once he and she had been ravenous, had hardly been able to keep their hands off one another, greedily feeding on every inch of skin, every curve, every hard contour. In those days Mona had been late for work more often than not, had missed untold hours of sleep waiting up for Fitz to make his deadline, caring little about anything beyond the glory of his body against hers.

  Marriage had not quenched that flame at first. Fitz would drop by her office and spirit her away for lunch in shadowy hideaways where they’d fondle each other beneath the table, barely able to remember what they’d eaten in their rush to find an elevator, a hallway, once even the women’s restroom in an unfamiliar office building that just happened to be close when they could no longer bear it.

  Though she and Fitz both worked long hours and threw themselves into their careers with abandon, in the secret hours of the night, their bodies still sought each other. Perhaps less often, perhaps less crazed, but the craving was replaced with commitment and caring so strong she’d have sworn it could survive fires, famine and flood.

  When had that ceased to be enough? When had they supplanted long, leisurely Sunday loving with the Times and bagels? Still, she’d accepted it with grace, knowing deep in her heart that they were growing older, that they had more than most people ever dreamed, that they were the best and the brightest and life could go on this way endlessly with no complaint from her.

  And then came the two days that changed everything. Now slowly, insidiously, she was losing her husband. And try as she might—and she did try, God knows—he had gone somewhere she couldn’t follow, had turned inward and refused to bring her.

  So his hand trailing beneath her skirt was more than welcome—it was salvation, little less than a miracle. Mona had survived much in her life, had always accomplished what must be done, had been strong when others were weak.

  But Fitz had saved her. His love had made her whole. Without him, she was quicksand. She’d meant not to ever depend on anyone, but he’d stolen his way past her caution and something shivery inside told her she would not survive the loss of him, though she’d never say that to a living soul.

  Damn
him, she thought as she played with the tawny curls at his nape. He had no right to change the deal. She couldn’t be anything other than what she was.

  Then Fitz sent her a glance so hot her fingers tightened in his hair. “Ow—” he complained, but his grin made promises and his eyes raked her. He kissed the inside of her wrist, then nipped at her skin.

  Mona laughed, uncrossed her legs, letting her skirt ride up high—and raised the ante.

  “Christ, Des—no panties?” he croaked. He closed his eyes and exhaled. Then he swerved, slammed on the brakes and jerked her close, grazing teeth over the tender skin of her throat. At last his mouth slid upward and took hers in a scorching kiss.

  Mona luxuriated in the kiss, glee and power swimming in her blood. It would be all right. They would be all right. Fitz wanted her badly. She wanted him. They had it all, everything important. They loved. They could laugh. Each respected the other’s mind, appreciated their differences.

  And they were great in the sack.

  Mona pulled away, breathless, and pressed her hands to his rugged jaws. “I’m all for pastoral sex, but there isn’t quite room in this car for what I’d like to do.”

  Fitz leaned his forehead against hers, his breath still unsteady. “A few more miles,” he muttered. “God, Des, I love you.”

  She traced a tender line over his lips. “I love you, too—” Her throat closed up. She managed in almost a whisper. “Get me there, Fitz. I need you so much.”

  He shifted into gear and they hurtled down the road.

  “’Night, Kat,” Gregory called. “Sure you don’t want me to stay and finish that last piece?” But in his face, she could read his eagerness to leave, to return to his loved one.

  He would go home to a hot meal, to the warm glow of refuge. Once, a long time ago, she’d had that refuge and thought it normal. “No, thanks.” She waved him away, holding the tape measure in one hand. “If I don’t do some framing now and again, I’ll forget how.”