"Didn't you get enough champagne at the ball, Grandmother?"
Her glass fell to the floor and rolled beneath a chair. "What are you doing in here?"
He lifted his bottle of brandy in response.
"Ah, yes. No doubt drunkenness is the only condition that enables you to bear that hill hellion you married."
"Watch your tongue if you value that scrawny hide of yours. I've company here with me." Saxon snapped his fingers, and Khan slinked into view. "Khan, I'd invite you to eat her, but I'm sure she'd give you a stomachache. I know she's giving me one."
Araminta eyed the wolf warily and then looked back at Saxon. "Quite a show your little wife put on tonight."
"Lord Cavendish—"
"Does not live here," Araminta sneered, her smile like a thin stick glued to her face. "His stand was an influential one, I grant you that. But he will depart for England soon, and I dare say his defense will quickly be forgotten by society. It is my guess your wife's name, as well as yours, will remain sullied."
Saxon slumped further into his chair. "And what of your own place among the aristocrats. Grandmother? Your name too is Blackwell."
She fingered her brooch. "I can return to England, where I retain both my reputation and many old friends." But she had no intention or need to return to her homeland. Despite the duke's lecture, she was intent on continuing with the infallible scheme she had devised at the ball. She and her friends would antagonize Chickadee until she was goaded into threatening every Bostonian alive. In gratitude and admiration for her ingenious strategy, the matrons had accepted Araminta among them once more.
But there was no need for Saxon to know that. "I've no desperate desire to leave Boston, but I am in no way bound to it either," she said. "But you—you must stay here and wallow in your misery. You've nowhere else to—"
"I can go anywhere I—"
"Then go. Go and forever worry about your sister's welfare. And should I return to England... Do you think the cold, wet English fog will agree with Desdemona? No doubt she would soon lie in the family cemetery. Now that's something to consider. I wonder why I never thought of it before. I guess my brilliance comes at exactly the times I need it most!"
The bottle of brandy flew only inches past her face, but Araminta never moved. "Where is your yokel—the cause of your violent fits of late? Has she left you?"
"She'd never do that. She loves me."
"Ha! What is there about you for anyone to love?"
He winced at the question with which she'd tortured him daily years ago. Unbidden, childhood horrors rose. It took every shred of his willpower to crush them down again. "What do you know about love, Grandmother? You've never loved anyone in your whole life."
Deep, horrible pain flashed through Araminta, but she masked it instantly. "Your plan for tonight failed dismally, didn't it, Saxon? Mine, however, succeeded gloriously."
He bolted from the chair, a cobalt storm brewing in his eyes. "What did you do to—"
"Always look for the weaknesses of your enemies, my boy. Find them, and you win the battle. One of the many flaws I find in your wife is her overwhelming determination to defend you in all ways, shapes, and forms. It took but a few insulting comments about you to push her into losing that famous temper of hers. A lady is allowed to become slightly irritated, but never may she lash out as viciously as your... uh, lady did this evening."
"I'll—"
"You can do nothing! I hold you within my palm and can crush you without warning. Without my money, you can never have custody of Desdemona. Try and make your own fortune as you once did foolishly, and I will take her to England and its cold fog immediately. Steal the pitiful, delicate thing away, and she will most likely die within a week if I don't find her first. And I do assure you, I will scour every inch of this earth. And the law will be on my side. My legal counselors will make sure of it."
Saxon searched desperately for an argument that would defend him against her malevolence. But there was none. Her hatred was her deadliest weapon, and it seemed to make her omnipotent. He fell back into the chair.
"It is true, Saxon, that you followed the stipulations of my will to the letter, but your method of following them will bring more misery to you than you ever dreamed possible, because I will never stop forcing both you and that female barbarian to see she does not belong here. Get rid of her! She's an outcast and will never be anything else. No doubt she is in the thick of more trouble even as we speak." Gathering her gloomy skirts, she swept from the room.
*
The next morning, Saxon raced up the sun-washed steps of the city jail, snatched open the door, and whisked inside, failing to see the velvet cording that partitioned the room he'd entered. He tripped over it, landed on his stomach, and slid several feet on the slick, polished floor. When he stopped, one gold slipper was pointed at his face.
"Saxon, I knowed it warn't gwine take you but a whipstitch to git here, but I warn't a-lookin' fer you to come a-skimmin' along on yore belly."
He looked up at her, his eyes nearly popping out of their sockets when he saw she was wearing only the bodice of her gown and her pantaloons. "What happened to your dress?"
"I couldn't do nothin' with all them dang-blasted skirts a-hangin' all over my legs, so I ripped them and my petticoats offen. Had to be real quiet-like when we snuck inter Ruford Sinclair's house. Y'know how he allus has that room whar he keeps his paintin's lit up? Well, last night them winders was dark. I knowed somethin' was wrong so I—"
"Keely—" Saxon jumped to his feet, jerked off his coat, and threw it around her. After a glance around the room, he saw the chief of police sitting at a desk.
"Captain, I'm Saxon Blackwell, and one of your officers came to me this morning to inform me my wife was jailed for theft," he said, never pausing to wonder why Chickadee was not in a cell. "Whatever the amount of her bail, I'll—"
"The charges were dropped fifteen minutes ago," the captain said. "Mr. Sinclair dropped them when we caught the real thieves. Caught them red-handed about an hour ago with several of Mr. Sinclair's paintings."
Chickadee smiled at the officer. "Much obliged fer the breakfast, Mr. Policeman."
"And many thanks to you, Mrs. Blackwell, for bringing the weaknesses of our cell locks to our attention. She broke out twice," the officer informed Saxon. "We finally had to tie her up."
"You ready to go on home now, outlander? Shane, Killian, and Gallagher left afore you come. Thur a mite sore from all the fightin' so I tole 'em to go and—"
"Fighting? What the hell are you doing here, Keely? What happened last night? Why were you at Mr. Sin—"
"Well, I was on my way home, but when we passed ole Ruford Sinclair's place I seed them winders upstairs was dark. I ain't never seed 'em dark, so I knowed fer shore and sartin he was in trouble. But when we got inside? Well, it was so dang dark that Killian knocked Gallagher over the head, Shane mellered Killian, and then it was jist me and Shane agin' the robbers. But when we looked fer 'em? Well, they'd up and left already. Mr. Sinclair was fainted on the floor, but when he come to he thought we was the thiefs, and about that time his manservant come along with about fifteen policemen.
"Did y'know Mr. Sinclair only has one servant, Saxon?" she interrupted her own story. "He prob'ly don't want to pay no more'n that. He's stingy, jist like you said he was. I give him what fer about that too. Tole him it was plumb selfish fer him to keep all them paintin's to hissef. But he was too fitified to listen good. Anyhow, when the policemen come, they tuk me and my friends. Nobody believed our story till the real thiefs was—"
"Fine, fine, little one," Saxon cut her off when he noticed several men looking at her scantily clad legs. "We'll talk more in the coach."
But the drive home was a silent one. Exhausted from the night's activities. Chickadee promptly fell asleep, and Saxon was left to imagine why and how she'd gotten herself into such a fix.
Oh, how the gossip mongers would love this. It wouldn't make a bit of difference to them that she was inno
cent, he thought wearily. They'd harp on the fact that she, Mrs. Saxon Blackwell, had spent the night in jail, and Lord Cavendish's compelling tribute to her would be dismissed and forgotten as speedily as Araminta had said it would be. Nor was there anything he could do about the situation. With a resolute sigh, he forced himself to accept the painful truth.
Chickadee would never be his. This latest escapade of hers was the icing on a cake that already had so many layers, it nearly reached the sky. The girl asleep on his shoulder belonged to another world, one in which he could never join her. Nothing he'd done, could ever do, would change her. She was wild, wonderfully wild, and would stay that way forever.
He reached for his satchel. Her bail money was not the only thing in it. He pulled out an envelope, opened it, and reread the letter that had come from his associate in New York two days ago.
Barton Winslow had fallen. The plan had worked perfectly. The man was penniless.
After replacing the letter, Saxon drew his mountain girl closer to him. "I was a fool to try and change you into Keely Blackwell, for you will never be anyone but Chickadee McBride," he told her quietly and with a sad smile. "And what's wild has to stay wild, little one. You said that yourself when you set free that bear cub so long ago. Now you and I must live by your own words."
He knew she'd fight his decision. But he'd stand firm because, as heaven was his witness, he was doing it out of a love so deep, he had no other choice.
He would send her back to where God always meant for her to be.
*
"It's worser'n the North End," Chickadee said, her voice edged with uneasiness. "He don't live too good, huh?"
Saxon put his arm around her. The train trip was over, and they now stood in front of a dilapidated old building in the worst section of New York. Somewhere within was Barton Winslow. Saxon's detectives had kept a close watch on the man, informing Saxon that this slum, this putrid place, was where Barton had been forced to take up residence.
The wood-planked floors groaned as they entered the dingy dwelling. Mice scurried about, and several times Saxon was forced to swipe at huge cobwebs and step on the falling spiders. A mangy dog crept out of one corner, growled, and then slunk away. The smell was nauseating.
"Which one o' them rooms is Barton's?" Chickadee whispered.
Dusk had begun to fall, making it too dark to see the numbers on the doors. Saxon lit a match and held it out before him. "The one on the end," he replied, leading the way. He knocked loudly at the door.
There was no answer.
"He ain't home," Chickadee said and turned to leave.
Saxon threw down the match and caught her arm. "Keely, wait! I thought you were anxious to come face to face with him? Didn't you once say you wanted to fill his ass with buckshot?"
She bit at her bottom lip. "I ain't got my shootin'-arn."
"Well, you can still give him a piece of your mind, can't you?"
"I... Saxon, I don't know what to say to him," she squeaked and rubbed her arms briskly. "I mean, I used to dream about this day, but now that it's here..."
Saxon pounded on the door again, anxious to get her out of such squalor. There was still no answer, so he reached for the knob and turned it.
"Saxon, wait. Let me thank on what I'm gwine say."
"You've had eighteen years to think about it. We're going to get this over with right now. I don't like seeing you in this filth. Disease might jump out and get you." He attempted to smile but failed. Instead, he pushed the door open and lit another match. The weak light slithered into the small, fetid room.
Inside, a man lay on the floor in his own vomit. Beside him were dozens of empty whiskey bottles. He was dressed in a suit that must have cost a lot of money, but was now torn and filthy. His thinning hair was stark white and crawling with lice, his frame horribly thin, his skin so transparent his veins seemed painted on it.
Chickadee's breath caught in her throat when she saw him. She reached for the door frame for support.
"I'd say you've got your revenge, little one," Saxon ventured. "A man can't get any lower than this." He took her arm and led her closer to Barton.
"I... I changed my mind," she stammered, her eyes stricken with horror. "I cain't do it, Saxon."
His face creased with confusion. "What do you mean you can't do it? Look at him, Keely. There he is, at your feet, just like you wanted him to be. Remember your mother's heartache. Her death. You've avenged it now."
She had to force herself to look at the man on the floor. Whatever sins he'd committed, this pitiful old man was her father. Her mind reeled. "I... Saxon, I was wrong," she said, so softly Saxon almost couldn't hear it.
"You were wrong?"
She covered her mouth tightly to keep from being sick, staggered from the room and out into the dark, littered street. When Saxon caught up with her, she reached for him and threw herself into his arms. "Saxon, you got to hep him! Git him a doctor-man afore he dies in thar!"
He thrust her from him. "You had me destroy him, and now you want me to save him?"
Chickadee looked back at the horrid building that was her father's home. "I was so wrong. I didn't have nary a right to do this to him. What he did to Mama—Saxon, it warn't my place to punish him. I didn't understand that. I didn't figger on a-feelin' this way till I seed him in thar all drunk and sick. Afore today, I allus seed Barton in my mind as jist some rich blackguard. I never had a face to put with what I had him figgered out to be!"
"But he was a rich blackguard!"
"Saxon, we jist cain't let him die in thar! He's already a-gittin cold from the feet up, and iffen—"
"Keely—"
"Saxon, please do this fer me!" She grabbed his hands and brought them to her mouth, kissing them many times before she spoke again. "I ain't never begged fer nothin' in my whole life, but I'm a-beggin' now. Please don't let him die!"
*
Barton Winslow did not regain consciousness to see his daughter, but the doctors were confident he would recover. Upon his release from the hospital, a man representing Blackwell Enterprises would see to his well-being, providing him with a job and a clean place to live.
Saxon, without another word of argument, had done everything Chickadee had begged him to do for Barton. She knew he was baffled over her change of heart, but her love for him had taught her many things, and forgiveness was at the top of the list. The way she saw it, her father had been punished enough for what he'd done to her mother. He'd lost everything he had, and though he was assured of a job, he would never be able to amass another fortune. He'd paid sufficiently for his misdeeds.
Now she could forget Barton Winslow and concentrate on the most important person in her life.
But Saxon gave her little chance to do that in their hotel room that night. He wasn't cold toward her, but neither was he warm. And though he slept beside her, she felt she slept alone. The worry that had begun the moment he'd told her he'd found her father grew steadily within her.
It blossomed to full-fledged foreboding during the trip home the next day. Saxon remained aloof. She felt a tremendous urge to ask him what he was thinking, planning, but her fear of his answer kept her from inquiring. The entire trip passed in silence.
As the train screeched to a halt at the Boston depot, Chickadee could bear the silence no longer. "I love you, Saxon."
He only stared out the window.
"I love you," she said again as the Blackwell coach carried them home.
He carefully avoided meeting her eyes.
"I love you," she repeated as he helped her from the barouche. "I love you," she said one last, desperate time when they entered their bedroom.
Saxon shut the door behind them. He couldn't face her, couldn't allow her to see the echo of her words in his own eyes. "Keely, you hardly said a word during our trip to New York. You were unusually pensive both in the hotel room last night and during our trip home. Therefore, I've reason to believe you realize what our journey to New York signifies, do you no
t?"
Dread enveloped her. "I... I love—"
"So you've said. But it's over now. Everything we set out to do has been done. You're going home."
Chapter 23
"No, please no!"
Saxon turned to look at her, saw her panic, and escaped to the window. "I've already made the arrangements for your return. The Sea Siren is ready, my bankers are seeing to the money you'll need for the trip, and—"
"Saxon, don't make me go!"
He still couldn't face her distress, for to see it would be to see his own.
Her cold palms began to perspire. She wiped them on the front of her gown but could not seem to dry them. "I ain't gwine go, Saxon. I love—"
"Stop!" He whirled on one foot, the heel of his shoe digging into the thick carpet. "You are going, Keely! The agreement we made has come to an end."
Her mind exploded with the fervent hope that this wasn't happening. "You... Saxon—the day you come up with that bargain, you said you needed me and I needed you!"
Dear God, if only he could tell her how true that still was! "I'm well aware of what I said, and it was very true at the time. But it is true no longer. I began divorce proceedings several days before we left for New York."
"Divorce!" The word was like poison in her mouth.
His eyes stung as he continued. "Keely, as I made the arrangements for your departure, I belatedly realized that staying married to you would mean condemning you to a life of loneliness. I humbly apologize for not thinking of that when we first made our bargain. Wed, you wouldn't be free to find another husband. Divorce is the only answer."
"But thur ain't nobody I want but you, Saxon!"
"We are not compatible. We never will be. I want you to find someone who will love you. You need a man who—"
"I need you!" She ran and threw herself into his arms. "Saxon, don't do this to us!"
"There is no us, Keely," he said, trying to pry her from him. "There never was. We've completed all our plans, and it's over."
"But Araminty's will says you got to be married to—"
"I'm aware of that!" he snapped, his guts twisting at the prospect of having any other wife but the girl clinging to him. "I will remarry, as will you."
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