Cachet

by Shannah Biondine

  Morgan met her questioning gaze with a powerful sense of regret. Richelle had to understand what she was up against, make informed choices. Yet he knew he was about to hurt her. "From what you've told me, Cletus usually came home to you, even when he was dead drunk. He knew you were about to give birth. Doesn't it strike you as odd that he'd choose that precise time to disappear for several days?"

  Richelle merely shrugged. "He lost track of time or was sleeping it out of his bloodstream somewhere."

  "Richelle, think. Women and their babes both may die in childbirth. You told me there was no medical help available. Cletus and Cameron would have known that."

  "Men make mistakes when they're drunk, like when you lost your signet. Cletus wasn't—! You want me to believe they wanted me dead! Sara, too? Even the Nash brothers wouldn't be so vicious."

  "I want you to see that it's possible. Quite plausible. Both had a vested interest in making certain Jeremiah Hardwick had no blood heirs to his fortune. If you and Sara had perished, Elaine would have everything now. Elaine and her lover."

  "No, Morgan. No!" But even as she outwardly denied it, Richelle admitted it was probably true. Hadn't Cameron killed a man with his 'creative bookkeeping'? Murdered a stranger and tried to hang her for it? She turned away from Morgan and silently wept.

  The next morning she awakened early. She was dressed and ready to talk when Morgan first opened his eyes. "I've asked myself a dozen times what I ever did to deserve the Nash curse. Cameron's taken everything that mattered from me. And Elaine helped him."

  "I'm afraid so."

  "They took things I can never replace: years of my life, my child, maybe even my father. Cameron and his damned poisons could have killed Papa."

  "Even if that's true, I doubt we could prove it."

  "I don't care. I'm going to stop them, Morgan. They're not taking my father's house. Cameron's not going to stay under that roof. I won't let him win."

  Morgan nodded, his face a hard mask of resolve as he began lathering his face to shave. "I've already got things in motion. I'll handle him."

  Chapter 22

  "Oh, it's you again." There was no welcome in Elaine Hardwick's voice as she opened the Hardwick House front door to find Morgan on the porch. Richelle stepped from behind him. Elaine snorted, "I see you located my stepdaughter. Resourceful fellow, I'll give you that."

  Morgan swung the door all the way open and escorted Richelle inside. He glanced around to be certain there was no sign of Cameron. He'd watched the house and knew this was the cook's day off. Elaine was home alone.

  "We've come to discuss my father's estate," Richelle announced. "I believe you've already met my husband."

  Elaine made no move to sit in the drawing room. She glanced from Richelle to the man beside her. "He's not your husband. He'd only just met you. What are you trying to pull, Richelle?"

  Morgan answered for her. "We're married. Twice, actually. By a Justice of the Peace in Washington as well as the ship's captain en route to New York. Richelle was my wife before she ever returned here. I had business that detained me in New York, so I sent her ahead alone. Had I any notion you and that foul heathen would treat her as you did, I'd never have let her come." He pinned Elaine with an icy glare. "You lied about having seen her. That wasn't kind, Widow Hardwick, nor was it particularly bright. You recognized my ring. You couldn't have unless you'd seen its copy on Richelle's finger."

  "So you're her husband. So what? Cameron and I can run down to the courthouse, too, you know."

  "More likely the jailhouse," Richelle sniggered.

  "I'm managing Richelle's business now," Morgan informed the older woman. "I've investigated Cameron Nash and the operations at the ironworks. Some highly unorthodox business practices take place under his management. Unethical and illegal practices, interestingly enough—with documentation that indicates you're also involved."

  Elaine shook her head. "Cameron worked for my late husband. He manages the factory. I have nothing to do with that."

  "Then why did I find bank drafts and receipts bearing your signature? Let's not toy with one another, widow. I know about the sales to the Confederate Army. I've also learned Cameron's got heavy gambling debts. Several of those are guaranteed by a life insurance policy on you."

  Elaine scoffed, "There's no life insurance."

  "I assure you, there is. Distasteful concept, isn't it?" Morgan sneered. "Finding his only interest in you is financial. But he's what, sixteen years your junior? Young enough to be your son. He can easily find another lover. Several, in fact."

  "Stop this. I don't have to listen to your lies."

  "Remember when you had Jeremiah believing you attended ladies club meetings? You and Cameron met in a hotel across town during those afternoons. Did you realize Cameron was also seeing a maid employed there? She got pregnant and was forced to resign. She and Cameron's bastard are living with relatives in Delaware now."

  "Fascinating," Elaine snapped. "Doesn't Richelle see your interest in her is just the same? All about money."

  Richelle narrowed her eyes at the older woman. "Morgan didn't know who I was before coming to this house. He married me believing I was a poor frontier widow."

  Elaine picked at a fold of her black skirt. "You said this was about Jeremiah's estate."

  Morgan dug in his pocket and removed a bulky envelope. "Here's two thousand dollars, enough to buy you a fresh start. We're offering you a chance to get out unscathed. Against the whole of Jeremiah's estate."

  "If you can prove I'm involved in something illicit, why help me?"

  "Richelle doesn't want to see you go to jail. You can go straight to the devil for all I care." He opened the envelope and withdrew a folded document. "This is a release of your share of Jeremiah's estate. Sign it and pack your things, or your next home will feature bars on the doors. I wouldn't take too long thinking it over. Government agents are due with a search warrant this very day. Sign this and I'll destroy the documents implicating you before they arrive."

  "I can take your word on that, of course."

  He cocked his head at the older woman. "What choice have you?"

  Elaine got a pen from the study and scrawled her signature on the form. Then she hurried upstairs. Richelle followed to watch her pack. Elaine flung open her wardrobe, gathering day dresses along with satin and taffeta evening gowns. She gave her stepdaughter a cold glare and went about the task of emptying her bureau drawers into a small valise. "I always planned to pack like this one day. Rehearsed my steps and the speech I'd give Cameron after I sold the place. No need for that speech now."

  She tossed a small jewelry box at Richelle. "You can have this. Your mother was the one fond of useless trinkets."

  "My mother was the one fond of my father."

  "You've got your nerve, talking to me like that and having that Englishman toss me out like an old shoe! When I first came to this house, you were wearing yesterday's rags and digging in the flowerbeds. Your mother and her crackpot relations had your mind addled like theirs. You spent summers in a whorehouse!"

  "I spent the last week there, too."

  "Your father didn't have a clue as to the proper upbringing for a young girl. You'd be whoring there right now instead of married to that arrogant son-of-a-bitch downstairs if I hadn't made something of you."

  Richelle took a step forward, menace in her tone. "Don't you call Morgan names, Elaine. He's the only thing standing between you and a long stint in federal prison. One word from me and he'll give those government agents the evidence against you."

  Elaine slammed the lid of her trunk. "When I think of the years I gave you."

  "Let's both think about them," Richelle shot back. "You keep talking about everything you gave me and my father, but all you did was keep me away while you bided your time. You pushed me off on Cletus and did whatever Cameron told you while you waited for my father to die." Richelle couldn't hide the total disgust in her voice and couldn't stop herself from taking at least some
measure of revenge.

  "Cameron mentioned our old times. The baby I miscarried was his. If that child had lived, Cameron probably would have forced me to marry him after Cletus died. Then he would have been both husband and father to Jeremiah's kin—with absolutely no use for you."

  Elaine's jaw went slack before she recovered what remained of her false dignity. "I curse the day I ever met you and your father."

  "Not half as much as I do."

  * * *

  As agreed, Richelle left the house after Elaine and returned to the hotel. Morgan poured himself a tall sherry and set to work. By the time Richardson and his men arrived, Morgan was lounging in the drawing room beside a low fire. "It's springtime," one of the agents remarked. "Little warm for a fire."

  "You're right, of course, but I'm an Englishman. We like our hearth warming a house, even in summer. Old habits, as they say. You'll be pleased at what I've gathered for you. Have a look." Richardson pored over the contracts and invoices.

  "You're right, Tremayne. This is bad. You're sure you can get him to tell you about this business?"

  "I'm sure."

  Richardson motioned to his agents. The documents were all returned to the study as the men took up hiding places in the dining room and kitchen. They would be able to overhear what was said in the drawing room without being seen. Morgan appeared to be alone when the front door opened and Cameron walked into the foyer and shouted for Elaine.

  "She's gone out, Nash."

  "She never goes anywhere without telling me. And what the hell are you doing here? We told you your little ladybird flew the coop."

  "Widow Hardwick says you handle financial matters. I told her I'd wait here until you got home. We need to confer, my good fellow. Hope you don't mind that I poured myself a drink. Join me?"

  Cameron nodded and splashed some liquor into a glass, his eyes wary. "I don't know what financial things you mean or why I'd talk to you about 'em."

  Morgan smiled and became the Bargainer. "I've got a confession to make, Nash. I located Richelle. She knows I'm here. I wasn't entirely honest when I came by the house the other day. I did much more than meet Richelle aboard the vessel from London. I married her on it."

  "So, what's that got to do with me?"

  "We're men of experience and commerce, you and I. Men with a distinctive talent and certain tastes in common."

  "Other than those leather boots on your feet, I don't see nothin' in common. You're a friggin' Limey."

  "A talent for attracting ladies with a good deal of coin. When I learned Richelle's father was dying and she's the only child of a wealthy businessman, I jumped at the chance to wed her." He gave Nash a sardonic grin. "Though a good many other wenches over the years have been disappointed that I wasn't the marrying sort." Both men chuckled. Morgan watched Cameron relax and begin to warm to him.

  "You don't see no ring through my nose," Cameron snorted.

  "But I'm sure there will be a wedding band on Elaine's finger soon. Because the will stipulates the women need husbands to manage the estate."

  Now Cameron's brown eyes had a feral gleam in them. "That's what I heard tell."

  "One look at this house and the suit you were wearing, and I knew you'd done well enough. That's why I've a notion that we can do some private business between ourselves." Morgan winked and took another swallow of his drink.

  "That depends on what you're figurin' to give up," Cameron announced, leaning forward. "Your little bitch has most of the old man's holdin's, and that don't seem right. Elaine had to put out for the old coot the past fifteen years. I hardly ever got to see her and had to baby-sit that gal of yours. She was married to my little brother for while. You know that?"

  Morgan nodded and tamped down his anger. "Well, he was never too bright, so I had to check up on her. All the way out to Oregon. Figure me and Elaine earned a lot more than what's declared her share. And I got me a style to maintain. Liquor like this, cards, nice clothes, and such."

  Morgan set down his glass. "I've several irons in the fire myself back in England. Can't say I'd opt to stay on here. Not without the proper incentive. Richelle's told me her father left her a factory. Metals of some kind. She wants to sell it, but I should imagine there'd be profits in metals with a war on. This may not be the time to sell."

  A broad grin lit up Cameron's face. "Limey, you're smarter than you look. That was always my point. Couldn't get her idiot pa to see what he had."

  Morgan rubbed his chin. "I might be willing to sign over Richelle's half of this house. Could even stake you to a few more games of poker with some cash besides, if there's serious money in that factory."

  "There's money, all right. North and South both pushin' to outfit their armies. Any time you got two buyers after the same thing, you get a biddin' match. Gone beyond frettin' over bids, though. Play cards yourself?" Morgan nodded. Now Cameron's eyes positively glittered. "Don't lose no sleep if somebody loses big, do you?"

  "Not so long as it's the other chap."

  Cameron rose and beckoned for Morgan to follow him to the study. "Got somethin' to show you." He pulled the ledger from the desk and began openly bragging how profits had increased. "Hardwick always sold short, worried about his damned reputation. Look what happened since he took sick and I started runnin' things."

  Morgan scowled. "Costs are too low for so many shipments. You wouldn't pull the wool over my eyes, would you, Nash?"

  Cameron nudged Morgan's ribs. Morgan resisted the urge to grab the bastard and choke the life out of him. "Cost figures are right, but cut shipments down to less than half that. I make up duplicate bills of ladin', one for each side. Most outposts are such a mess, the brass don't know what's in munitions stores or sittin' on docks. Anybody wises up they got shorted, I give 'em shippin' credits, rush a few parts out, and shut 'em up."

  "Aren't you the least concerned about what would happen should someone learn you're shipping to the Southerners? That's not exactly cricket, is it? You're outfitting the enemy." Morgan held his breath. Everything rode on this one answer.

  "Don't send the goods direct. Riverboat or rail 'em to a depot or warehouse, then I get a third party to move them. You'd be surprised what you can get away with if you plan it right."

  Morgan scowled. "But your scheme's bloody complicated. Might be simpler to sell and take my cash. I don't need to get involved in all these shenanigans."

  Cameron's expression darkened. "Don't be like the old man. You'd don't want to sell the ironworks. It's like gold linin' your pocket, Limey."

  "Gold, you say? How do I know your arrangements won't blow up in my face as soon as I step in? Don't want trouble with your authorities. And it's not as though you've a reputation for masterminding successful frauds. I've checked on you, and all I heard is that you're an occasionally lucky gambler with some connections."

  "That all, huh? Did you also happen to hear about a blackleg name of Grubstake who turned up dead in Carson City last year?"

  Morgan raised his shoulders in indifference. "I may have. What's he got to do with your factory scheme?"

  "Nothin'. He was somebody I owed big. Poisoned him with his own liquor. Debt erased. Ain't nobody lookin' for me, either, cause somebody else got the blame. I got a middleman at the factory. Any problem's his, not yours."

  Morgan purposely gave no reaction and appeared lost in thought. Cameron's tone became insistent. "Here's our deal: I want the house and five thousand cash. You keep the ironworks. I'll set up a few sales for a percentage of the take. These here are my private books. Set in the factory office don't show none of this. Elaine doesn't know, neither. I get a third off the top. You keep two-thirds. Damned fair, considerin' I laid the ground work."

  "Maybe. I'd have to think about it."

  "What's to think about? I'll still be helpin' you! Kind of like a silent partner." Cameron began to laugh. "What you say, Son? Once I get hitched to Elaine, you'll be my son-in-law. Tarnation, partners and kin! I like it!"

  "There's a detai
l you've overlooked in all this kinship," Morgan announced in a dispassionate voice. "I agree to the percentages and the five thousand. However, I want the stepmother servicing my needs when Richelle's indisposed each month. Elaine's past child-bearing age, so she shouldn't suffer the same indisposition. I know Richelle's first pregnancy was yours, not your brother's. You've had both the women. I want the same arrangement. That would be equitable."

  "Now wait a just a goddamned minute!"

  "Why? You intend to take a cut of my money. I want a cut of your wench. I'm a lusty fellow. Don't like abstinence a week out of every month."

  "You friggin' nuts? I don't care what that lyin' bitch Richelle told you—"

  "Only that you'd forced yourself on her. I could do the same to Elaine, or we could come to a gentlemen's agreement now."

  "Gentlemen's agreement?" Cameron gaped. "You think I'd ever agree to let some other man bed my woman? Christ Almighty!"

  "Come on, Nash," Morgan snorted. "You let Richelle's father bed the blonde for years. But then, he was an 'old coot', as you put it. Probably not much between the sheets, while I'm quite virile. Elaine might not be content with you once she's had a real man plow her field."

  As Morgan expected, the last remark brought Cameron's fist up, swinging wildly.

  Morgan unleashed every ounce of the stoked fury in his soul. He seized the younger man by the shirt and flung him against the wall. "I love Richelle, you worthless son of an infected whore! You and your sniveling brother foully abused her and left her to die on the frontier. Fitting retribution that she survived, while Cletus caught pneumonia and died."

  "My brother—"

  "Shut your face! I've got something for you, on behalf of my wife. Something she should have given you years ago."

  Morgan's knee shot forward and up, connecting with Cameron's groin. Morgan straightened the lapels of his frock coat. He left the study without glancing back at the slumped American writhing helplessly on the floor.

  "He's all yours, Richardson."

  Chapter 23