The Worthington Wife

by Sharon Page

  She stared in shock, but then Cal’s strong arms went around her. His lips closed over hers and she couldn’t be afraid. Not with him kissing her. Not with him making love to her. And she went to sleep in his arms.

  After breakfast, Cal left again. Julia watched him go out to his motorcar from the drawing room window. She’d promised Cal she wouldn’t leave the house alone. His words had chilled her. If Lowry hadn’t been the man who attacked her, then who was it?

  How could it be possible there was a man who had once lured and killed women with dark hair back in 1916, and now, nine years later, was doing it again? She had asked Cal that very question and Cal had given her terrifying answers. That maybe the man had gone to the War, and had only just returned here. Or maybe innocent women had disappeared in other places over the years and no one knew it was the same man behind them all.

  As a new bride, Julia had correspondence to attend to. But she sat, pen in hand, unable to do the duty she’d been trained for. The housekeeper had to telephone her to ask about the menu. Flustered, she made no changes and as she set down the receiver, Wiggins came in.

  “There is a—a gentleman caller to see you, your ladyship.”

  From the sour face on Wiggins, Julia knew the man was not what the butler considered a gentleman. “Did he give his name?”

  “His name is O’Brien, my lady. He visited his lordship before. He is an American. I believe they exchanged heated words.” Wiggins sniffed. “This gentleman was also seen on the grounds two mornings ago, at the wedding reception, but he did not enter the house as a guest. However, he has insisted on speaking to you. He claims he has something to tell you that you would wish to hear about his lordship.”

  She frowned. Curiosity ate at her.

  “I put him in the library until I could speak to you, my lady. Not one of the finer drawing rooms, however there are still objects that may take his fancy and thus disappear.”

  “Wiggins, that is most prejudiced.”

  “He has the look about him of an American criminal, my lady. A ‘mobster,’ as they are termed in colloquial American. I obtained the impression his lordship is not pleased with this man.”

  A mobster? Could it be the man arguing with Cal in London? She was even more curious, but pointed out, “Americans speak English.”

  “Not by my definition, my lady.”

  She had to smile. But she asked, “Wiggins, before you go—his lordship mentioned a photograph that he found. I believe you destroyed it. Why did you do that?” She watched Wiggins’s face carefully. Saw the flicker of fear behind the correct facade.

  “I believed it would spare her ladyship—the dowager, now—a great deal of pain, my lady.” He bowed. “I must return to the wine cellar, my lady. The delivery will soon arrive.”

  She watched him go. What did that mean? But if she’d been attacked by the same man, Anthony and John were innocent. There was no reason for Wiggins to protect them, then.

  She wanted to speak to this man, find out why Cal had been angry with him. Cal had been mysterious—keeping quiet about where he went, about the business he had to do. Was this man involved? What was going on with Cal?

  * * *

  Cal slowly walked along the lane behind Lilac Farm. Above him, a bird cawed, and a breeze sent tree branches shivering.

  He crept along, moving as stealthily as he would have when he’d had to land his plane behind German lines. War had taught him a lot of things about killing and survival—he never expected to use any of that knowledge in the rarified world of the aristocracy.

  But he had to use every skill he had to keep Julia safe. Julia had been attacked here. This was where Genevra had seen a man and a dark-haired woman in a car.

  If he hadn’t been here that morning, that bastard would have pulled Julia into a waiting car—

  Christ, he couldn’t think about that. He couldn’t think about what would have happened if he’d been too late.

  He scanned the ground for some kind of clue. Desperate and crazy, likely enough, but he knew a lot of the criminal element wasn’t all that smart in covering tracks.

  But he kept thinking of Julia. Couldn’t stop his thoughts from going to their wedding night. Which got him hot under the collar. He’d had to leave her the day after their wedding. Gone to see O’Brien and warned the gangster not to reveal the truth of his past to Julia. Warned Kerry that he’d get hurt if he did it. But he saw the smirking appraisal in O’Brien’s eyes and knew the bastard wouldn’t give up so easily. He must figure he had a plum mark in Cal now. He had to know Cal was desperate to keep his wife in the dark about his past. That was the “private business” he’d had to take care of.

  He’d intended to keep Julia happy in bed. Never dreamed it would feel like...like he’d gotten a chance to have real heavenly bliss. Making love to Julia had seared him to his soul. It wasn’t just sex, it was like a special painting that was more than just a canvas—it was a revelation.

  Ahead, Cal spotted the pattern of automobile tires in the dried mud. On the edge, branches were broken down. He walked up to the spot. Someone had parked a car there, hiding it from sight. Why?

  Had it been to spy on Julia? Sunlight reflected off something that glinted. Stooping, he picked it up. A button of onyx rimmed in silver. Not likely from the clothing of the laborer who’d grabbed Julia. Nor had a man like that likely had a car.

  So who had been there?

  * * *

  Julia hurried to the library, her skirts swishing around her calves, her heels clicking. Cigar smoke floated from the open door. From the doorway, all she could see was the back of the man’s head. He lounged on the settee, his arm stretched along the back of it. The electric light gleamed on his hair, slicked down and neatly parted in the middle.

  Julia walked in, saying briskly, “Good morning, Mr. O’Brien. I am Julia, Lady Worthington.”

  The man clamped the cigar between his teeth and held out his hand to her. She recognized him—he was indeed the man Cal had been speaking to in the Black Bottom Club in London.

  He shook her hand firmly, startling her. He definitely did have the look of an American mobster. The newssheets carried pictures of famed American criminals such as Al Capone and Charles Luciano. This man was dressed in the same manner—a pinstripe suit, with matching waistcoat, a white hat on the seat beside him.

  “Hello, Julia.” He grinned, a smug, arrogant grin.

  “I would prefer Lady Worthington,” she said. That smile had put her back up. “Would you care for tea?”

  “Don’t mind if I do, Julia.”

  She could reprimand him over the use of her name again, but she didn’t. He exuded edgy nervousness. His gaze flicked all around the library, and he kept grinning until tea came. Then he pulled out a flask and took a long swallow before taking his cup of tea. She noticed the scar running from his ear to his throat. A war wound, perhaps?

  “I have to say, Julia, sitting down to tea with you is a lot more pleasant than looking at Cal’s mug.”

  “You are a friend of my husband’s, from America?”

  “Cal and I go way back.” He leaned back. “Grew up together. There ain’t nothing I don’t know about Cal. I hear he didn’t tell you much about his past. There are a lot of stories I could tell you...but Cal wouldn’t like that. He wouldn’t want me talking about that stuff with his pretty new bride.”

  She thought of James’s words, but she said politely, “I am sure Cal has just not had time to tell me many stories about his youth.”

  “I don’t think he’d like to talk about that to a nice girl like you.”

  “Mr. O’Brien, I feel you have something you want to say to me.”

  “I could be willing to give away some of Cal’s secrets. For the right price. Wouldn’t you want to know all about Cal’s dirty past?”

  He
smirked. A look that made her shiver in apprehension. She was so curious, but she wouldn’t give this man the satisfaction of letting him talk. “I am afraid you have made a wasted trip. Cal has been nothing but honest with me.” She stood.

  “Wouldn’t you wanna hear about what he did as a bootlegger? Wouldn’t you wanna hear about the Five Points Gang?”

  “Mr. O’Brien, I suggest you leave. I shall summon my butler, Wiggins, to escort you to the door. This house can be quite confusing, when one is in a hurry to depart.”

  She hadn’t even reached the bell when two of the Worthington footmen walked in. “Mr. Wiggins sent us to help the gentleman out.”

  Mr. O’Brien’s expression was livid. “There’s other people who’d be interested in knowing the real truth about the Earl of Worthington. You tell Cal I said that, Julia. How about that? And tell him I’m staying at the Boar and Castle hotel in the little hick village.”

  “The public house,” she corrected automatically.

  He stood, straightened his tie and plopped his hat on his head. “I’ll follow the penguins outside. But you give my message to Cal.”

  She watched him exit the room. After he left, Julia sank to the chair, shaking. What James had told her—it must be true. It explained why Cal had money. It explained...why he was ashamed of that money.

  But Cal had needed money to take care of David. Cal would have been desperate to protect his brother, desperate because of what the earl and countess had done.

  She was still in the library, staring out the window, when footsteps stormed into the room. “I’ve torn a strip off Wiggins. He should have thrown O’Brien out. He should never have let you speak to him—”

  “Why not?” She turned around to confront a white-faced, angry Cal. Then she saw dirt was streaked over his face and his hands were covered in mud. She wanted to tackle Cal about his past, but horror filled his eyes. “What have you been doing?”

  “Doing my lordly duty and traveling around my estate, greeting my tenants.”

  She didn’t believe him. It was the way he kept his blue-eyed gaze right on her as he said it. “You look exhausted,” she said crisply. “I shall ring for tea.”

  “Julia, what did O’Brien say to you?”

  “Very little, since I was not willing to pay him.”

  “Did he frighten you? Threaten you?”

  “Do your friends always behave like that?”

  “He’s not a friend, Julia. And I need you to tell me the truth.”

  “He told me he would be willing to give away some of your secrets for the right price. He asked if I would like to know about what he termed your dirty past. Cal, were you a bootlegger? Did you commit...crimes to make money...to support David?”

  “O’Brien was trying to con money out of you. I was never arrested for doing anything illegal. He probably figured you’d be shocked to know I was poor. But you know all about that.”

  She did. They were married and the future was what mattered now. Impetuously, she said, “Cal, whatever was in the past is behind us. We have both had sorrow in the past and I believe we must focus on the future. We’ll have tea, then I must go out. I want to bring food for the Tofts.”

  “Forget tea, Julia. There’s something I need to do. Upstairs.”

  Mystified, she followed Cal up the sweeping stairs to their connecting bedrooms. He closed his bedroom door behind them and turned the key.

  “Cal—” She broke off as he lifted her off her feet and into his arms.

  “Wrap your legs around my waist, doll.”

  “Around your waist?”

  He set her back on her feet, skimmed her skirt up to bare her legs. She squealed—then prayed it wasn’t loud enough to startle the upstairs maids. He lifted her up, put his hand under her round bottom to carry her.

  She gasped as her husband balanced her on the marble surface of the vanity table on her bottom. Sensually he kissed her neck, his tongue running along her sensitive skin.

  She clung to his shoulders. “Cal, it isn’t nighttime.”

  He laughed, low and gruff. Deeply, he made love to her, rocking her with him as pleasure built. Her nails dug into his broad, strong shoulders. Heavens, she could see them in her mirror, doing this intimate thing.

  “I’d like to paint you like this. The way you look when I’m making love to you. You’re the most beautiful creation on earth, Julia.”

  She gasped at the glorious peak. She cried his name, which ended on a moan. Then he cried out her name.

  He held her in his powerful arms and she pressed her cheek over his heart. She loved hearing the fast beat, knowing she’d done that to him.

  “I’d like to keep you in bed day and night.”

  She flushed. “Cal, I have things I must do.” Then she regretted the prim words.

  “I’ll go with you.” He nibbled her ear as he said it, and she almost melted. “Cal, I have pies for their dinner. I simply can’t wait or I’ll be too late.”

  He smoothed down her skirt, held out his hand.

  Cal’s automobile was still sitting in Worthington’s front drive. He walked around to the right-hand side of the car without thinking. Then growled, “Forgot again.”

  “Could I drive?” she asked, as she went to the driver’s door. “I’ve never driven your motor.”

  He winked at her, and she blushed. But he tossed her the keys. “Sure,” he said.

  It was almost as delightful a vehicle as her Trixie. The engine purred and the car clung to every turn, rumbling with the promise of decadent power—if she dared. But on the winding road, she just didn’t dare.

  They’d crested a hill and were heading down toward the road that led to Lilac Farm. From there, she would turn off to Lower Dale Farm. Like the other roads, this was narrow, winding around rocks, trees, following stone walls that bordered fields.

  She pressed the brake pedal but nothing seemed to happen. The car was going fast—too fast.

  Cal’s hand braced against the mother-of-pearl inlay on the dashboard. “Julia, doll, you have to slow down on this road. You don’t have to prove to me you’re a fast driver.”

  She pushed desperately down on the brake pedal. But it simply sank to the floor, with all the resistance of a dry sponge. She released her foot and tried again, pushing it down. Nothing happened. “Cal, I’m not trying to prove anything. The brakes don’t work!”

  Zoe had taught her how to drive, but she didn’t really know how one of these automobiles worked, and right now, she rather wished she did. “I will try again. Harder. So this motorcar knows I mean business.”

  “Try it, doll. Push down hard.”

  She did, but the brake simply refused to work.

  A stone wall was coming up—one that bordered a farm. The rutted road made a sharp turn in front of it. What if she couldn’t make the turn? They’d crash. Cal, in the passenger seat, would be plowed into the stone wall. The motorcar was filled with fuel. Could it explode?

  She had to make this corner.

  Julia held her breath and stiffened like a board. She thought she’d known fear before. It was nothing like this. She couldn’t even feel her heartbeat—which might mean it had stopped.

  Cal reached over her and planted his hand on the wheel. “Hang on to it. I’ll help you steer.”

  Even from the passenger side, he was steering with aplomb.

  But they were hurtling toward the wall at the bottom of this hill.

  “Stay calm, Julia. We can stop this car. I want you to downshift to a lower gear. But do it slowly. I’m going to steer to the side here and use the rougher grass to slow us down.”

  He moved the wheel firmly and the car rattled toward the edge of the track. She felt the jerk as the wheels left the firm track of the lane.

  “Now gear down.”


  “What will that do?”

  “It slows the engine. We’re going to put on the handbrake.”

  But with the hill they just seemed to go faster. Cal said a very rude word. She didn’t blame him. She was thinking it herself.

  “We’re going to have to do a controlled crash.”

  “Controlled and crash are two words that can’t possibly belong together.”

  He grinned—a wild, confident grin in the face of danger. “See that bunch of bushes over there? I’m going to steer us into them. I want you to duck down. Cover your face.”

  “Those are laurels. You can’t mean you deliberately intend to—”

  Cal put his hand on her shoulder and pushed her down. She had one last view of leafy branches coming at the windscreen at high speed. Snapping sounds came from all around her. Something scratched her cheek and she made sure her hands covered as much of her face as possible. The car lurched and there came more sickening breaking and grinding sounds.

  The car stopped. The sound of the engine ceased.

  Julia parted her gloved fingers and looked between them. Leaves seemed to fill the car. Cal was no longer forcing her down so she straightened. He grabbed broken branches and threw them away. The car and a scrawny laurel brush seemed to have merged in some kind of unholy alliance.

  “Are you okay, Julia?”

  “Yes. Much better than your motorcar.” The glossy front end was crumpled inward. The car had mown over the shrubs with smaller trunks, leaving a trail of destruction.

  Cal was fighting with a branch that jutted into the car on the passenger side and prevented him from opening the door.

  “Goodness, this is my very first motorcar crash.”

  Cal broke the branch with a loud crack and threw it out of the car. “I’d like to think it’s going to be your only car crash.”

  She looked back toward the road. If he hadn’t forced them to crash, they would have gone hurtling down the treacherous hill with the right-angle turn at the end and the stone wall at the bottom. If he hadn’t forced a crash, they would have been...killed.