by Cindy Nord
“That’s right,” added Mister Williamson. “We’re wanting to use the place as a country cottage to escape from the heat of the city during the summer months.”
The words chilled the very air around Annabelle.
“You want to buy Le Belle Maison?” Brennen scanned the strangers and then cut his gaze to her. “But--”
“They don’t even need to see it,” Archibald boomed drawing her attention. “They’re ready to settle things right now.” He nodded toward Owensborough. “I’ve drawn up all the necessary papers already, so after the celebration, let’s plan to meet later to complete the sale.”
Confusion shifted to disbelief until panic swelled in her gut. Annabelle glanced from the others back to Brennen, “What is happening here?”
“We’ve brought Mister Benedict his buyer, my dear,” Wise quipped with an unknowing smile. “Once that blasted lien is settled he’ll be free to return to the wayward life he loves best.”
Her heart plummeted. Surely she’d heard wrong. She smothered another wave of incredulity as she pulled from Brennen’s embrace. “I t-thought you weren’t selling? I mean, after we…we…” The pounding in her chest intensified. “Mon Dieu, y-you’ve planned this all along.”
“I…No. This is all news to me,” Brennen said as he glanced at the visitors.
“News?” Wise blinked in confusion. “But I don’t understand. ‘Member, we talked about this many times over card games.”
“Yes, that’s true, but…I…I…” His hand settled around Annabelle’s upper arm the exact moment he met his lawyer’s gaze. “Wallace, this is all so sudden—”
Sudden? She nearly wept. “T-These people wouldn’t be here if things had changed, now would they?” she asked, her voice a grating whisper. A shaking hand rose to stifle her sob. The Williamson’s, Wise, even Brennen blurred into oblivion as she stumbled back, bumping into Davina and then another guest. Brennen’s hold tightened on her. She wrenched free and shoved through the wedding crowd. How could he? After last night…after we…
What have I done?
“Annabelle!” Brennen hollered. “Wait.”
Tears slipped over her cheeks as she rushed toward the church.
Two steps up the marble risers, he finally caught her elbow.
“Do not touch me,” she snapped, stumbling on the hem of her dress.
He hauled her before him. “Listen to me. I’d no idea they’d be here. Like I told you last night, I’m staying. You must trust me.”
Silence met his ears, yet he attempted a charming grin in the face of her volatile French temper that sparked fast and ran hot.
Finally, Annabelle released a heavy sigh.
The weight in his chest eased back.
“I-I want to trust you,” she whispered, “but those people, their presence…”
“As I shared last night…things have changed for us. They just don’t know how much, yet.” He reassuringly rubbed her arms. “And yes, I did mention to Wallace about wanting to sell, but that was months ago. I’d no idea his partner had found a buyer. I’ll straighten everything out.” He lifted her chin until their gazes locked. “Besides, how could I ever leave a sainted non-nun like you? You needn’t worry.”
On an exhale, she offered him a fragile smile. “I shall…try to believe you.”
His brow arched. “Try?” Jeezus…even her voice teases and tangles me. “Surely, I get more than that, minx?”
Her voice lowered. “Do not forget I know what a scoundrel you are.”
Slipping his arms around her waist, he drew her flush against him. The gray-colored silk fabric bow that draped her backend rustled atop the bustle.
“Come on,” he said, planting a kiss on her forehead. “What do you say we follow Wissner into town, look at our new bricking gadget, and then head for home?”
Home.
He liked the sound of the word.
An hour later, pleased with the modernization of the machine he’d purchased, Brennen made delivery arrangements to Le Belle Maison for the following morning. With this up-to-date contraption, he’d have his lien satisfied in no time. Relieved, he stowed the paperwork into the inside breast pocket of his jacket, climbed aboard the carriage, and picked up the reins. “Looking forward to getting this thing installed. It’ll sure beat making ‘em by hand.”
Nodding, Annabelle opened her parasol, then slanted the sunshade to block the slow-dying rays. “But you can’t deny this summer has changed you.”
“Summer had nothing to do with it…my change was all spearheaded by you.” He placed a kiss on her ever-so-soft lips and then slapped the reins across the gelding’s rump. With skill, he turned the carriage away from the docks and headed down Main Street. Wedding guests were trailing back into town since Wallace and his new bride had sailed off southward on the riverboat.
Brennen pulled the horse to a stop before the law office. The carriage creaked as he glanced around for the partner from Louisville. “Wissner said to meet him here. Guess I’ll wait inside.”
With a smile, Annabelle readjusted her parasol over the fluttering ribbons and quail feathers of her chip hat. “I’ll wait here. There’s a lovely breeze.”
“This won’t take long.” The carriage dipped as he stepped to the ground. “Be right back.”
Brennen tossed the reins over the railing, then retrieved the key.
As he glanced down the street, he saw Wissner emerging from the saloon. The man stopped to chat with the sheriff making his afternoon rounds. Gruden’s long red hair shone in the light of a setting sun. They waved and Brennen nodded back as he inserted the key.
An easy turn of metal and he entered the darkened office.
“Now where would Wallace stow my paperwork?” Brennen pushed up his Stetson as he walked to the desk stacked high with files. He scanned the orderly mess. The purchase agreement for his bricking machine lay in plain sight atop the folders. Lifting the pen from a nearby desk set, he dipped the point into an inkwell and then scrawled his name across the required line.
There. Done. He dropped the paper to the desk. Now to tell Wissner I’m not selling.
Replacing the pen, Brennen spotted a note listing the lawyer’s open cases.
Miss Annabelle Swan caught his eye.
Unease creeping up his spine, Brennen shoved aside the note. The third file down revealed hers. He fingered the cardstock, noted the crimped corner indicating much activity.
Just open the damned thing.
No. If she wanted to share her troubles with him, she’d tell him.
Eventually.
Brennen stared at the file, and with each passing moment, his curiosity grew. Hadn’t they made love, given their selves to each other in the most intimate of ways? Yet, she’d withheld this secret from him, one serious enough to where she’d sought council.
He had every right to know what she was hiding!
On a deep inhale, he flipped open her file.
His gaze narrowed on the fine print of several telegrams between Wise and a Philadelphian agent named Bryant Parker.
Lack of funds.
Investigation on hold.
Investigation? Heart pounding, Brennen shoved aside more correspondences.
An arrest warrant issued by the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania lay before him.
What the hell?
Palms flat on the desk, leaning forward, shock pulsed in sickening waves through him as he read the damning exposé: Murdering Congressman Edward T. Sullivan’s bed-ridden wife. A knife in the back of her stepsister.
Impossible.
The remembrance of Annabelle taking notes atop her wagon that warm day in June flashed into recall…her heartfelt words rolling over him:
“Though one’s tragic tale in life may be different from yours, Monsieur Benedict, the heartbreak felt by another is no less painful.”
On the run… This was why she’d donned the nun’s habit.
Conversation spilled through the half-open door as Wissner entered.
“Why in the hell didn’t someone tell me a murder warrant had been issued in Pennsylvania for Annabelle?” Brennen raged, his scalding words rattling the window as he glared at Wallace’s law partner.
The man’s eyes widened at his roaring fury, and a split-second later Brennen froze as the rotund form of Sheriff Gruden stepped into view.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Hazy light from a late-afternoon sun drifted through the office window of Wissner & Wise, Attorneys at Law. Brennen looked out the glass pane and watched Annabelle conversing with an older couple she’d met at the wedding who’d stopped beside the carriage to visit.
His chest ached at the normalcy of their exchange as if behind him his entire world wasn’t being ripped apart. “You both know she didn’t kill anybody,” he growled, his gaze narrowing on Annabelle’s sweet lips. “Certainly not her own damned sister!”
“Brennen, be quiet,” Archibald warned. The lawyer redirected his words. “Now Sam, come on. You know you don’t want to lock this woman up. We’ve both seen murderers too many times in our life to know she’s no killer.”
Gruden gave a heavy sigh. “I’ll agree there’s probably more to the story than we’re getting, but, regardless what we think…the law is the law. If she’s wanted for murder in Philadelphia, by my oath, I must arrest her.”
“Bullshit,” Wissner retaliated. “All you’re worried about right now is your burgeoning political career.”
“Don’t get snippy with me, Archie. I’m not going to look away just ‘cause she’s got a pretty face. She’s already run once,” he snarled. “Who’s to say she won’t again? No, I can’t dismiss this warrant.”
The damning paper snapped in his clenched hand.
“Of course you can,” the lawyer said, his words hard. “As I recall, you and I have done our share of dismissin’ dozens of things over our years of judiciating together.”
A second stretched into five. “Things were different back then, less civilized,” the sheriff snapped. “And yes, maybe I could overlook the warrant if this were any other year ‘sides an election year. But, by gawd, you damned snake, I’ve got political plans in Lexington that I need to consider.”
“Your ambitions should have absolutely have no bearing here, Sam.”
Brennen’s stomach churned as he listened to the men dicker over Annabelle’s fate as if she were a side of mutton being sold at the farmer’s market. He slid his gaze over her, her tears of contentment last night completed him. Dismissing the fact that he loved this woman with a fierce burn that blistered every part of him, he was good at judging a person.
And he’d long ago determined Annabelle Swan a kind and decent soul.
Far better than I deserve.
Brennen closed his eyes against the sheer possibility of losing her, all because of him and his damned temper. This whole thing was his fault. Had he never looked at her file, he’d have never placed her in this horrific situation.
He inhaled, struggled for calm, for the gambler’s intuition that’d served him well at the gaming tables over the years, insight he desperately needed now. She laughed at something her visitors shared, and his whole body tightened.
Things pertaining to the murder warrant didn’t add up.
Sonofabitch…I’m overlooking something here.
Behind him, the sheriff continue to deal out Annabelle’s verdict as straightforward as he did a deck of cards. “I know Judge Horton as well as you do, you jackass. He’s a good man. He’ll see that she gets back to Philadelphia for a fair trial.”
“There’s no fairness in Pennsylvania for Miss Swan,” Wissner groused, his footsteps shuffling back and forth across the rug as he paced. “That’s obviously why she ran, a fact you know.” He snorted. “Look, if you won’t ignore the warrant, at least convince the judge to keep her here ‘til Wallace returns from his honeymoon?”
“Why should I assume responsibility for this chit?”
Without turning from the window, Brennen curled his fists and growled, “Watch your mouth about her, Gruden, or I’ll bust out your teeth.”
The sheriff snorted. “And you’ll go to jail, too, for trying.”
“Take it easy, Benedict,” Wissner cautioned. “I’m certain this is a lot to take in…but, please, let me do my job and stay out of this conversation. Let me also add, Sam,” he continued, his voice cool, “if you don’t ask the judge for a momentary stay in Miss Swann’s detainment, then I just might have to splash this most-unusual situation across the front of your weekly newspaper. I believe The Monitor is due out again tomorrow. You thinking more about your upcoming political move to Lexington rather than the welfare of any single individual in this town might not sit well with the citizenry of Owensborough. Might cost you a lot more votes down the road.”
“You wouldn’t dare do that,” he growled.
“I would. And besides, you well know people are innocent ‘til proven guilty.”
Brennen narrowed his gaze on the pearls that dangled from Annabelle’s ears. Each time she moved her head, the jewelry glowed a radiant, opaque cream in the fading light. They were the same ones she’d worn that day when he’d bumped into her right outside this office.
Even then, he loved her smile.
He refocused his thoughts on her arrest warrant, recalled the various telegrams sent between her lawyer and the agent. The feeling he’d missed something grew.
With a huff, he turned from the window and nearly bumped into a still-pacing Wissner. Sidestepping the man, he headed toward the desk. As the men argued over what to do with the love of his life, Brennen scanned Annabelle’s file, rereading every missive between Wallace and Parker. Time and again, the only witness proved to be the congressman’s mistress.
He narrowed his gaze on her statements:
I saw Miss Swan flee down the stairs after plunging a knife in her step-sister’s back…
Miss Swan never even stopped when Edward demanded she do so…
Congressman Sullivan has suffered enough during this tragedy…
Word for word, on everything he read, the whore’s testimony remained the same. No deviations. No inflections of fear. No sorrow, or sadness, or horror. Brennen sifted through the half-dozen newspaper clippings.
Again, the exact same statements appeared. His hand crumpled the edges as he glared down at the paper. Why would she repeat the same words, the same comments…almost as if by rote? Had she been prompted? Memorized her responses?
His heart vaulted against his ribs.
Yes. That’s exactly what she’d done.
“All right, Archie,” Gruden grumbled, at last conceding as he cleared his throat. “If you’ll shut your flappin’ hole, I’m willing to ask the judge to keep her here for the duration of time Wallace is away. But, she stays in my jail. No fancy hotel. No going with you, or Mister Benedict. No nothing else…so don’t even ask. This is the best I can offer.”
Brennen narrowed his gaze on a side article unrelated to the murder. The word storm gave him a startling pause. He glanced at the headline: A terrible tempest, the worst in fifty years, ripped through Philadelphia catching her good citizens’ off-guard.
He shifted his gaze to the top of the newsprint. The same afternoon as Annabelle’s supposedly murderous act against her step-sister. He knew first hand she could barely think while a thunderstorm unleashed its fury, let alone plan and carry-out such a diabolical deed as the warrant stated.
By slow degrees, he straightened, and ran a hand through his rumpled hair. What Wallace and Parker had failed to realize in months of investigations, he’d figured out in mere minutes.
“The best you can offer?” the lawyer snapped, “I—”
“She didn’t kill her half-sister,’ Brennen interjected.
Both men’s gazes shifted to him.
“That’s right. She’s innocent,” he stated. The paper rustled as Brennen raised the newsprint. “And by any means necessary I’m going to prove that truth.”
* * * *
>
Annabelle shuddered at the slam of the jail cell door. Snared in the trap of fate, the months of running had finally caught up with her.
She swallowed hard. However easy to place the blame of her confinement on Brennen, this was her fault. She should have trusted him with the truth. In her heart she now knew…he would have believed her.
The deputy turned the key and the lock scraped closed. “You’ll be fine in here, ma’am. Just don’t cause problems and we won’t bother you.” He pointed to the far corner of the cell. A metal chamber pot peeked back at her from beneath a lumpy cot. “The necessary’s right there, and you’ll be fed twice daily. Once in the morning. Once at night.”
He crossed to the half-closed inner door as Brennen’s words reached her from the opposite side. “I’ll have someone bring her more comfortable clothing first thing in the morning. I demand you to treat her with respect.”
“Don’t tell me how to do my job, Benedict,” the sheriff warned. “Oh, and just so you know, she’s allowed one visitor per day. Five minutes. No more. That’s the rules.”
“The rules…” Brennen snorted
“Hey, I didn’t make ‘em.”
A long moment passed before he replied in a voice full of frustration. “Thank you for getting the judge’s approval to keep her here.”
Tears burned Annabelle’s eyes as she tugged her tiny hat from her head. She dropped the stylish fanchon to the floor, the jeweled hatpin following. Foolishly she’d allowed herself to believe in happily ever after, believed she’d outrun the wicked hand of fate. In the end, she’d only opened her heart to a false sense of security.
A numbing ache spread through her. She’d compromised any hope of a future with Brennen, and with her lack of trust, she’d gambled their love…and lost.
Her fingers curled around the metal bar. How could he not despise her? She longed to seek protection inside his embrace, their lovemaking last night and again this morning still warm and vibrant in her mind. Except after the secret she’d kept hidden, doubts built that he’d most assuredly turn away now.