The Music Box

by Andrea Kane

Gaby stepped forward for one brief instant. "I'm fine." Her small jaw was set with purpose. "And I'm more than ready to do my part."

  "Soon," Bryce promised. "Averley should be back here any minute to report the missing books."

  As if on cue, the steward's footsteps resumed, a bit slower than last time.

  Gaby withdrew into her corner.

  "I don't understand it," Averley began, reentering the study. "The books for that year are nowhere to be found ..." His voice trailed off as he stared at Smythe, his mouth dropping open.

  "Hello, Your Grace. " Smythe nodded curtly. "I see you remember me."

  With a great deal of difficulty, Averley composed himself. "No, I'm sorry, I don't believe I do."

  "I'll refresh your memory," Bryce offered smoothly. "This is Mr. Robert Smythe, the man who sold you-or rather, you posing as Whitshire-the yacht we were just discussing. Oh, and the books you couldn't seem to find amid your records? His Grace is holding them in his hands." He gestured toward Thane, who waved the ledgers in the air. "No surprise that they confirm the date on the title as accurate. So it seems, given the Duke of Whitshire's whereabouts at the time, that he never did purchase that yacht."

  Smythe corrected him bitterly. "Yeah, he did. He just didn't realize he'd purchased it."

  Averley shifted from one polished shoe to the other. "I don't know what you're talking about, Lyndley. I never met this man before in my life. As for the

  discrepancy, I can't explain it. Only the duke can. And unfortunately he's dead."

  "Yes, he is. And he's not alone, is he?" Bryce

  inquired. "William Delmore also died recently. Of

  course, Delmore wasn't permitted the peace of a

  natural death. He was murdered. Tragic, wouldn't you

  say?"

  Sweat beaded on Averley's brow. "Yes, very."

  "Banks tells me that Delmore was in the process of

  buying Whitshire's yacht when the late duke died.

  Speaking of which, how is it that you couldn't remem

  ber anything at all about a yacht whose sale you were

  conducting for His Grace mere months ago? Or have

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  you forgotten that as well?" Bryce held up the pages of correspondence, all written in Averley's hand. "Would these refresh your memory?"

  Averley's gaze narrowed. "Even if I was handling that sale for the late duke, it proves nothing other than that I was doing my job. As for this person's accusations"-he gestured toward Smythe-"they're groundless. And need I remind you that it's his word against mine. With my impeccable record-"

  "A record I've thoroughly discredited with the fraudulent entries I've discovered in this one-year time period alone," Thane informed him icily. "Give it up, Averley. We've established you as a liar and a thief ten times over. And we have more than enough proof to support our claims."

  "Then there's the matter of Delmore's murder," Bryce reminded him. "We have yet to extract a confession for that."

  "A confession?" Averley's eyes nearly bugged out of his head. "To murder? Are you deranged? Rewarding myself with an occasional monetary bonus is hardly in the same realm as killing someone. As for the yacht and whatever other niceties I helped myself to, I more than earned them. And Richard Rowland could well afford them-and a great deal more. The coldhearted bastard never paid me what I was worth anyway. But murder? I don't know what you're talking about."

  "Delmore represented a potential threat to all those lovely niceties you just mentioned. He might have deduced the same ugly truth we just discovered-if he'd been allowed to reach Whitshire and compare his documents to Thane's. If so, he'd doubtless have realized that Richard Rowland never bought that yacht. All the doubts and questions would have led to you-and your undoing. You didn't dare take that risk. So you met Delmore's carriage as it made its way to Whitshire, summoned him to the roadside under some false but believable pretense, and shot him dead."

  A sardonic smile. "That's quite a story, Lyndley. Highly entertaining. Unfortunately for you, there's no way of proving its truth. I don't intend to admit to anything. Only Delmore could lend merit to your ludicrous accusations. And he's dead, so he can't very well incriminate me."

  "Well, I'm not, and I can." Gaby marched out of the corner, her face flushed, eyes ablaze. "Perhaps you have a more vivid memory of your attempt on my life. If not, I'll enlighten you. You tried to kill me a week ago. Fortunately, you failed. So I'm alive and welland extraordinarily eager to incriminate you in precisely the way Mr. Delmore cannot. In fact, nothing will give me greater pleasure than to turn you over to the authorities."

  Averley's whole demeanor changed, his breath coming faster, his fists clenching and unclenching at his sides. "You're bluffing. You have no way of knowing who your attacker was. He was masked, dressed in black."

  "And how would you know that?" Gaby countered, anger and the need for vindication eclipsing all traces of fear. "I never publicly described my assailant. Only Bryce, Aunt Hermione, and Chaunce knew how he was dressed, which means, Mr. Averley, that you've just implicated yourself." She didn't wait for a reply but pressed on. "But even if you hadn't, it wouldn't matter. Your mask did nothing to conceal your identity. I recognized you by the scent of your colognethat special fragrance you import from Paris for you and you alone, except for that one bottle you gave to Mr. Smythe in gratitude for a job well done. And I recognize it from another night-a night on which you murdered dozens of innocent people, including my parents. Do you recall that night, Mr. Averley? Because, luckily, I now do. I remember it all, from your argument with Dowell to his accusations of theft, from your striking him down to the match you lit when you set fire to the coal room. I now remember

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  every moment of the tragic night that has haunted me all these years, the details of which never quite surfaced until the night I returned to Whitshire. Then it all came surging forth, first in my dreams, then in my awareness. You triggered that awareness, Mr. Averley, just as you started that fire. You're a murderer many times over. And as the one living witness to that night, as well as the one you tried to kill for remembering exactly what happened in that coal room, I will attest to your guilt before every magistrate in the country."

  "Damn you." Something inside Averley seemed to snap. "I won't let you do this to me, you audacious chit." He stalked toward Gaby, fury contorting his features.

  Before he'd taken his third stride, Bryce was on him, slamming his fist into Averley's jaw and sending the older man reeling. "Lay a hand on my wife and you'll wish you'd died in that fire." He dragged Averley to his feet, gripping his coat in tight, furious fists. "If you have something to say, say it to me."

  Sweat was pouring down Averley's face. He was cornered and he knew it, condemned by his own deeds, backed into an admission he'd fought thirteen years not to make. "I didn't mean to kill Dowell," he gasped, terrified by the look of sheer animal rage on Bryce's face. "The bastard was blackmailing me. We each threw a few punches. When Dowell went down, he hit his head on a coal bucket." A harsh indrawn breath. "I begged him to get up. I shook him, slapped him. When I realized he was dead, I didn't know what to do. With all those cuts and bruises on him, no one would have believed he tripped. They'd know there was a fight. And they'd know with whom, because my lip was bleeding, my face swollen. Sooner or later they'd figure out what we were fighting about. I couldn't risk it." Another shuddering breath. "I never meant for anyone else to die. I couldn't believe how fast that fire spread...."

  Pausing, Averley shot a bitter sidelong glance at Gaby. "I heard that damned music box playing. I knew she was in there. But she was just a child. I prayed she hadn't heard anything and, if she had, that she hadn't understood. When Lady Nevon took her away, I was relieved as hell. I didn't want to hurt anyone else; I was horrified at the fire, all the lives it had claimed. I just wanted to bury the whole thing, forget it ever happened."

  "Forget it ever happened?" Gaby burst ou
t, her eyes wide with appalled disbelief. "You killed an entire wing of people just to conceal your thefts, and you wanted to erase that crime from your mind as if it had never occurred? How in God's name could you expect to do that? In truth, you should be haunted by your heinous acts every moment of your life."

  "What about Delmore?" Bryce demanded, his grasp on Averley's coat tightening. "That wasn't accidental. That was premeditated murder."

  "It was self-defense," Averley shot back. "So was getting rid of Gabrielle. If everyone had only stayed away, minded their own business-"

  "Then what, Averley? Then you could have disregarded the fact that you'd committed murder? And you could have continued stealing from my family for another decade?" Thane shoved back his chair, leaping to his feet with a revolted expression on his face. "Bryce, I've had enough. Couling is in the hallway with Officers Dawes and Webster. They're awaiting our signal to take Averley away. I'll summon them." He stalked over to the door, yanked it open, and waved for the authorities to enter.

  "Good." A muscle was working furiously in Bryce's jaw, and he flung Averley at the officers with nearviolent intensity. "The bastard confessed to everything. Now get him out of my sight."

  Dawes stepped inside, seizing Averley's arms and locking them behind his back. "With pleasure." He glanced at Gaby, whose expression was composed,

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  though she looked inordinately pale and shaky. "We have your statement, Mrs. Lyndley. But if we need your verbal accounting-"

  "Then we'll both be there to supply it," Bryce interrupted swiftly.

  "No, we'll all be there to supply it," Thane amended, handing the incriminating ledgers to Webster. "Between the three of us and Mr. Smythe here, I think we can put Averley away for the rest of his life."

  "Put him away?" Dawes scowled at his prisoner. "Hell, he'd better hope you're feeling generous. With what you told me, you could ensure he hangs."

  "No." Gaby marched forward, her arms folded across her chest to still the uncontrollable shudders racking her body. "There's been enough killing already. Please-no more. Just throw him in prison." Her voice broke. "And make sure he never hurts anyone again."

  "We will, ma'am," Dawes assured her. "You have my word." He and Webster led Averley from the room.

  "Gaby?" Bryce was beside her in a heartbeat. He drew her into his arms, holding and warming her all at once. "You were astounding. Are you all right?"

  She nodded, feeling her husband's love pervade her, obliterate the darkness of the past hour. "Bryce?" she whispered, her voice muffled by his waistcoat.

  "Yes, sweetheart?"

  "It's over. Do you remember what you promised we'd do the minute it was over?"

  A profound smile curved his lips. "Indeed I do." He tilted up her chin, kissed the tears from her cheeks. "Come, Wonderland. Let's go home."

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  Chapter 18

  "SCREECH IS ANNOYED," GABY ANNOUNCED.

  Grinning, Bryce cradled his wife's warm body against his, very much aware of the distinctly sated, unconcerned tone of her voice. "So I hear-and have been hearing since five A.M." He shifted a bit, drawing the bedcovers up over them in an attempt to shut out the new day-and the unrelenting shriek of Gaby's woodpecker.

  Laughing softly, Gaby kissed the damp column of Bryce's throat. "He's still not accustomed to the fact that I have new sleeping quarters."

  "Or how much time you spend in them." Bryce rolled Gaby beneath him, wanting nothing more than to sink deeper into his wife and make love to her the entire day.

  "Ummm." Gaby sighed contentedly, twined her arms about Bryce's neck. "He'll get over it. He'll have to. Just as I've gotten over my sleepwalking."

  "Those episodes are gone forever, just as I predicted," Bryce proclaimed, feeling utterly smug and

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  thoroughly aroused. "Although you do sleep even fewer hours now than you did before."

  "Fewer, perhaps, but sounder," Gaby reminded him. "My slumber has been heavenly-deep, dreamless, perfect. It's brief, only because staying awake is infinitely more exhilarating, just as I imagined it would be." Gaby shivered as the hardening of her husband's body inside hers made his intentions clear. "Do we have time?" she breathed, already lifting her hips to his.

  "We'll make time." Bryce withdrew, then pressed deeper, penetrating her in exquisite increments of pleasure.

  "But it's nearly nine o'clo- Oh, Bryce." Gaby whimpered as he withdrew again, then reentered her in one deep, inexorable thrust.

  "We'll dress quickly." His voice was thick, husky with passion. "You did ask me to be impulsive, did you not?"

  "Yes." She wrapped her legs around him. "Absolutely, yes."

  "Good." He groaned, his control shattering as she melted and tightened around him all at once. "God, Gaby." He gave in to the wildness, cupping her bottom, dragging her up to meet the frenzied motions of his hips, plunging into her again and again. "I couldn't stop ... if I tried."

  "Don't try." Gaby was about to break apart, everything inside her coiled, poised, waiting. "Bryce..."

  "Now ... right now," he rasped, melding their loins for one fierce, unendurable instant.

  They shattered together, dissolving into a thousand brilliant fragments of sensation, clinging to each other as the passion peaked, then ebbed, banking into the wondrous aftermath that was as magical as the minutes preceding it.

  "I love you," Gaby breathed, her limbs sinking weakly to the bed.

  "Each moment, each day, I fall in love with you all over again," Bryce murmured, kissing her soft, parted lips. "But that's the miracle of Wonderland."

  Gaby lifted her lashes, and the look she gave him was filled with aching tenderness. "One of the miracles of Wonderland," she corrected. "You, my darling husband, provide quite a few of your own."

  A stampede of footsteps intruded on their privacy.

  "Gaby?" Lily knocked soundly on the door. "Are you and Mr. Lynd-I mean Bryce-still asleep? Chaunce said we should leave you alone. But I knew you wouldn't want that. 'Cause the vicar will be here in a half hour for-you know, the rehearsal."

  One glance at the clock, which now read ninethirty, confirmed Lily's announcement.

  "We're awake, Lily." Gaby was already scrambling out of bed. "We're just . . ." Frantically, she searched for an excuse.

  "We're just late," Bryce supplied, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. "But we'll be there in plenty of time. I promise."

  "Oh, good." Lily sounded thoroughly relieved. "Did you hear that?" she declared to whoever else was with her. "They're just late. Let's go wait for them in the chapel."

  The stampede of footsteps resumed, then faded away.

  "We're just late?" Gaby repeated, as she hastened toward the bathroom. "Is that the most original excuse you could conjure up?"

  Bryce's eyes twinkled. "Not original, but incredibly fitting. I borrowed it from Alice's white rabbit."

  The chapel was in chaos when Gaby and Bryce arrived.

  Marion and Ruth were whispering in the rear, repeating the wedding vows aloud in the hope of learning them. Along the right side of the room

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  Goodsmith and Wilson paced up and down, muttering nervously about rings and the proper time to lift the bride's veil for a kiss.

  The rest of the staff was rushing from one end of the chapel to the other, alternately calming down the grooms and reassuring the brides.

  In the center of the room, Chaunce was conducting a card game with the children to keep them occupied, and at the altar, Hermione was conversing with Vicar Kent, probably seeking the help of some higher being to ease the hysteria that pervaded the chapel.

  "We haven't missed anything, have we?" Gaby asked brightly.

  "No, no, of course not." Vicar Kent smiled down at them from his sanctified position. "Although I do wish your aunt wouldn't worry so much. It isn't good for her health."

  Hermione frowned. "My health is fine, Vicar. I'm simply upset that fou
r people I happen to love, each of whom adores his or her betrothed, are getting married tomorrow and are distraught rather than excited about the nuptials."

  "Still," Bryce observed, "Vicar Kent is right. You really shouldn't become so overwrought. Think of how weak you've been."

  "Actually, Aunt Hermione has been much better these past weeks," Gaby informed her husband. "Why, I haven't seen Chaunce fetch her medicine once, have you?"

  "Now that you mention it, no."

  Chaunce and Hermione exchanged glances.

  "Dr. Briers doesn't feel I need as many doses as I

  once did," Hermione explained. "Evidently I'm re

  gaining my strength."

  "How wonderful!" Gaby said, her entire face aglow.

  "Indeed it is," Bryce concurred. "To what does Dr. Briers attribute your recovery? Whatever it is, we'll have to ensure you receive more of it."

  A loud wail from Ruth interrupted their conversation.

  "Ruth, what is it?" Hermione asked, hurrying over.

  "Oh, ma'am, I don't know what to do," Ruth replied, wringing her hands. "I love Wilson so much, but I just know I'm going to say the wrong thing or do the wrong thing and embarrass him."

  "You?" Wilson bellowed from the other side of the room. "It's me who's goin' to ruin things. I'm not used to speakin' my mind to anyone but a shovel. And you're too precious to stutter even one word to."

  "I've whipped this ring out of my pocket a dozen times," Goodsmith announced. "And I drop it each time. What kind of bridegroom drops his bride's ring?"

  "And I trip every time I practice walking down the aisle," Marion chimed in. "I'm convinced I'm going to knock the vicar over and land at George's feet."

  "Please, all of you, stop." Hermione waved away their complaints, pulling her petite form up in that remarkably regal way she had. "You're all just nervous. That's perfectly natural. But I don't want-"

  "What in the name of heaven is going on in here?" Thane demanded, stepping inside the chapel. "I came to attend a wedding rehearsal. Instead, I'm walking into a brawl. What's the matter?"