As always whenever she thought of the man Edwina had married, a wave of guilt swept over her. She was certain that, except for her shameful reputation, Edwina would have made the grand match she'd set her heart on. It was, she admitted sadly, her fault that Edwina was married to a man of Hirst's stamp. She had no choice but to meet with him and try to gain some sort of security for Edwina—it was what her mother would have wanted.
Thea was preoccupied at dinner that evening, and Modesty noted it. She waited until they were seated in the front saloon and Thea was halfheartedly reading a Minerva Press novel before she said anything.
Putting down her embroidery, Modesty asked, "What is it, my dear? You were very quiet during dinner and now you are positively scowling at that poor book. Is it so very awful?"
Thea glanced over at her affectionately. She didn't like to think of what her life might have been like if her uncle hadn't insisted that Modesty move in with her and Edwina. Modesty had not let her brood, and Modesty would not let her hide either. She owed this tall, bony, gray-haired woman a great deal.
Shaking her head, Thea said, "No, there is nothing wrong with the book—it is Alfred. He left a note for me this afternoon. He wants me to meet with him this evening."
Modesty's thin lips pursed. "I suppose he wants money?"
"His note did not say, but I cannot imagine that it can be anything else."
"Are you going to meet him?"
Thea sighed. "I don't see that I have much choice. If I don't, Edwina is sure to suffer."
Modesty snorted. "I think you worry too much over that little Madam. She has known exactly what she was doing from the day she was born. Edwina will always land on her feet—have no fear of that!"
"I know you always thought that she was spoiled..." Thea grimaced. "And I'll admit that she is, but I cannot simply abandon her—it is my fault that she is married to that vile creature." Thea's hand tightened into a fist, and she said fiercely, "If only I had not been such a bloody little fool and fallen under the spell of a fortune hunter like Hawley Randall."
"And if you don't stop feeling sorry for yourself and quit blaming yourself for what happened a decade ago, you are going to let him have the final laugh," Modesty said bluntly, though her blue eyes were kind.
"I'm not feeling sorry for myself," Thea said, outraged. "Why should I? I have everything I could want: my own home, my own fortune, a circle of dear friends, and a family that loves me—what more could I want? But I am to blame for what happened. If it hadn't been for me—!"
"Now that's about enough! I know you feel guilty for what happened, but it wasn't entirely your fault. You were out of your depth. Randall took advantage of your youth and innocence, and it was simply tragic circumstances that your brother died—but it wasn't your fault! He chose to fight the duel with Randall. You couldn't have stopped him no matter what you did." Her face softened. "Don't you think you suffered long enough simply for being young and foolish?"
Thea smiled crookedly. "And stubborn. And headstrong. And reckless."
Modesty smiled back at her. "Yes, I agree you are all of those things, but so are many other people. It doesn't," she said tartly, "make you unique."
"Well, that has put me in my place, hasn't it?" Thea replied with a laugh, her dark eyes dancing.
"One hopes so, but I doubt it shall be for long—you being so very reckless and headstrong."
Thea laughed again and stood up. Crossing the room to where Modesty sat with her embroidery, she sank down on the sofa beside her. Hugging her, Thea muttered, "Thank you. I needed that."
"You certainly did," replied Modesty as she calmly started a new color of thread. She glanced inquiringly at Thea. "What are you going to do about Hirst?"
"I don't know. I suppose it depends on what he wants." Her lips quirked. "Rather, how much he wants."
Thea looked at the gilt clock on the mantel. "And I had better have the carriage brought 'round if I am going to make the appointment."
"Are you going alone?" Modesty asked, frowning.
Thea nodded. "You forget that I am twenty-seven and no longer considered in my first blush—not that I ever had a first blush—Randall took care of that. Everyone in London already knows that I am eccentric and considered notorious—why would anyone question my going out to meet my brother-in-law? It is a respectable address, and I shan't be there long." She grinned at Modesty. "I'm taking the carriage and will have a coachman and groom with me. I promise to cause no scandal."
Once she was in the carriage, however, Thea wasn't quite as confident as she had appeared to Modesty. Giving her coachman instructions to stop in front of the number given in the note, she craned her head out the window and surveyed the street in both directions. It certainly looked respectable enough, but she wondered why Hirst had given her this address. He and Edwina lived in a very nice house on Bolton Street. Why couldn't they have met there? Because he didn't want Edwina to know about the meeting? But why not?
Uneasy and not certain why, Thea told the coachman to drive on. Settling back against the blue-velvet squabs, she considered the situation. She wasn't afraid to meet Hirst, was she? Of course not! Then why hadn't she gotten out of the coach and knocked on the door of the house? Because she didn't trust Alfred Hirst one little bit.
Wishing she had brought the note with her, to reread it, she sat there for several minutes as the coach bowled smoothly down the street, thinking about what she was going to do. Go home with her tail between her legs? Certainly not. Her full mouth twisted. Well, that left only one thing to do.
Rapping smartly on the divider between herself and the coachman, she gave him orders to turn the coach around and to park on the opposite side of the street, a few doors down from where she was going. After being helped down from the coach by the groom, she stood there a moment, wrapping her heavy purple velvet cloak around her and taking particular care that the hood was securely over her head. She wasn't, she told herself, trying to disguise herself, it was just that there was no reason to flaunt her presence.
Thea crossed the street and stopped at the base of the steps that led up to the tall Georgian house. Except for a pair of flickering candles in the sconces on either side of the wide door, the place looked deserted, no light spilling out from any of the tall windows. Yet it was the correct address; the house number told her that.
Gripping her cloak tightly in one hand, she mounted the steps. Giving a sharp rap on the door, she waited with a pounding heart. When several seconds passed and nothing happened, she knocked again. Nothing. She was on the point of turning away, convinced that Hirst had been playing a jest at her expense, when the door behind her swung open.
"Ah, Thea, I hoped that it was you," Alfred Hirst said pleasantly. "Please come in. I am sorry that you had to wait so long, but I was busy in the back of the house."
Thea eyed her brother-in-law warily. He was smiling broadly, his bold blue eyes crinkling attractively, his thin lips pink and moist, his face revealing nothing more than polite pleasure at her arrival.
Reluctantly Thea allowed him to usher her inside the house. When the door shut behind her, and he urged her to the back of the house, she stopped and asked, "What is the meaning of this? Why is it so dark? Why are there no candles lit, no servants around?"
Alfred chuckled. "So suspicious, dear sister-in-law. You have nothing to fear from me. This place belongs to a friend of mine and when I mentioned that I wished to meet, er, privately with a, ah, lady, he mentioned that he knew just the place. It is empty because it belongs to a relative of his who lives in the country and has no taste for the city."
Thea remained rooted to the spot, her heart hammering in her chest, too aware of Alfred's big, broad-shouldered form behind her. Swinging around, she demanded, "What is it that you have to say to me that could not be said in your own home? Or a more public place?"
He chuckled again, the sound making Thea's teeth clench together. Whether from fear or disgust she did not know.
"Don't t
ell me you're afraid of me?" he asked incredulously. "Come now, Thea, you have nothing to fear from me. We are allies. We share one goal—to see that Edwina is kept happy. Yes?"
"That much is true," she admitted. "The problem is that we have vastly different ideas of what it is that will make her happy."
He laughed and again urged her forward. "Not so very different. Not so very different, as you shall see. Come along now. I only want you to go to the study—a fire is lit; candles burning—if you look for it, you can see the light coming from beneath the door of the room. It will be much more comfortable than standing here in the dark."
Without a word, Thea marched toward the light she glimpsed, and pushing open the door, she walked into a charming room. A pair of silver candelabra lit the room; the walls were lined with crimson, blue and green-bound books; yellow-chintz-covered, comfortable furniture was scattered about the room. A mahogany desk, its expanse broken by some paper and a quill and ink bottle, was at the far end of the room. A fire burned on the hearth, the firelight casting a golden gleam over a pair of scissors near the edge of the desk.
Feeling less suspicious, Thea stood in the center of the room and watched as Alfred poured a brandy from a tray of liquors and glasses sitting on a long chest against one wall. Looking over his shoulder at her, he cocked a brow, but Thea shook her head.
Brandy in hand, he turned back to her, and murmured, "Won't you be seated?"
"I'd rather stand. What is it that you wanted to see me about? Money?"
He smiled, not a bit fazed. "Well, yes, my dear. It is."
"I told you how I feel. I haven't changed my mind."
He nodded. "Oh, I'm aware of that. I have a proposition for you—if you're interested?"
Her features shadowed by the cowl of the purple-velvet hood, her eyes dark pools in her white face, Thea muttered, "I can't imagine that any proposition of yours would find favor with me, but what is it?"
"How would you feel, if for a, er, certain sum of money, I promised to go away and never bother you—or Edwina—again?"
Thea frowned. "You mean you want me to pay you to stay away from her?" When he nodded, her lip curled. "I thought you loved her—isn't that what you claimed? That she was your heart's desire? That you adored her?"
He shrugged. "I may have in the beginning, but passion has a way of fading, and I can see now that perhaps it might be best for her if we parted."
"You'd break her heart?" Thea asked incredulously. "Desert her and leave her open to all sorts of gossip and whispers?"
"Well, what the hell else do you expect me to do?" he demanded, his cheeks suddenly flushed with temper. "Would you prefer that I stay by her side, and we both end up in debtor's prison? Because that's what is going to happen if you don't loosen the purse strings."
"Oh, you're despicable!" Thea said hotly, her eyes fierce and angry. "I don't know why I even came here."
She swung away, intent upon putting as much distance between herself and Hirst as possible. He caught her at the door, his hand closing around her arm.
"You have to listen to me," he growled. "I need the money. I owe a great deal of money to people who will not take no for an answer. I must have it—and if it means I desert my wife in order to get you to pay the piper, by God, I will!"
Thea wrenched her arm away from him, her hood falling to her shoulders and her black hair tumbling in wild disarray around her furious face. "You dare! Keep your hands off me!"
Alfred stepped back and raised his hands. "I'm sorry—I forgot myself. But you have to listen to me. I have to have seventeen thousand pounds by the end of the week or—" He smiled bleakly. "Or Edwina will be a widow. Do you want my death on your conscience, too? Aren't two men enough for you?"
Thea ignored the jab. "Seventeen thousand pounds?" she burst out, her expression stunned. "That is a fortune in itself." It was indeed, since a gentleman could live off less than four hundred pounds a year.
"I know. The original amount was nothing near that, but the exorbitant interest those bloodsuckers demand has driven it skyward." He sat down in one of the comfortable chairs and buried his head in his hands. "I'm at my wits' end. I do not know what I am to do." He lifted his head and stared at her. "You must help! If not for me, then for Edwina."
"When I last paid off your debts, why was there no mention of this?" Thea asked with a frown. "Surely, you haven't gone in debt that much in just six months."
"I thought I could come around, but the damned cards—"
"You've been gambling? Trying to recoup your losses?"
"What the devil did you expect me to do?" he demanded. "You cut me off. I had to think of some way of coming about."
"It never crossed your mind to stop gambling? To practice a little economy?" Genuine shock was evident in her voice.
"No. Why should I?" he said. "One of the reasons I was willing to many Edwina was because I knew she was your sister—her fortune alone would not have tempted me, but the Garrett wealth..." He smiled faintly. "Now that was something that made her irresistible."
Disgust on her face, Thea regarded him, uncertain of her next move. She could not, she decided tiredly, be the cause of the death of her sister's husband—even though Edwina would be far better off without him. But Edwina loved him, and Thea was committed to seeing that, to the best of her ability, Edwina was happy.
She stood there trying to think of a solution. His offer to leave Edwina for enough money was very tempting, but Thea knew she could never take such a questionable step—even though Edwina might eventually be much happier. It wasn't her decision to make.
"If," she said slowly, "and I am only saying 'if,' but if I were to pay this seventeen thousand pounds, what guarantee do I have that you will not come back to me in a few months with another tale of woe?"
He smiled with all the charm he was capable of. "I knew that you would not desert us! Edwina is fortunate to have a sister such as you." A look that made Thea distinctly wary came into his face. "You know, I should have married you. I have always thought that you were far more interesting than your sister. Do you think we could have made a match of it?"
Thea was only giving half her attention to him. For the last several minutes she had become aware of a feeling of unease. It wasn't just the natural unease she felt in the situation, but something else. The hair on the back of her neck prickled, and she had the unsettling impression of prying eyes.
She looked around but saw nothing to cause her alarm. The room was still pleasant and cheerful; the door through which she had entered was still half-open, the hallway beyond a black hole. She glanced discreetly about her once again, but her gaze came back to the half-open doorway, the feeling of being watched persisting. A chill went through her at the idea that someone might be standing in that darkened hallway spying on them.
It was silly, she knew, and though she stared hard at the half-open door, she saw nothing that confirmed her increasing sensation of unease. Concentrating intently upon her feeling that they were not alone, she was thoroughly startled when Hirst rose to his feet and, kneeling in front of her, took one of her hands in his.
Dropping a kiss on the back of her hand, he said huskily, "You haven't answered my question: Do you think I should have set my sights on you instead of that child, Edwina? If you do, I am sure that we could come to some arrangement between the pair of us."
The import of his words sank in and, nearly knocking him backwards in her haste to get away from him, Thea took several steps toward the door leading to the main hall. "Are you mad?" she cried, greatly agitated, horrified and repulsed both by his words and by his manner. "You are detestable! Why, I would rather embrace a leper than have you touch me."
An ugly look crossed his face. "Perhaps I shall have to change your mind," he said, advancing toward her.
Frightened as she had not been in a decade, Thea ran for the door, but he caught her, his hands closing brutally around her. Swinging her around, he jerked her next to him and bent his head to kiss her.
Memories of her night with Hawley Randall surging through her, Thea fought like a maddened creature, twisting and clawing. Like Hawley, Hirst was bigger and stronger, but Thea was no longer a shrinking, terrified virgin—she was frightened, but she was also gloriously enraged. Ignoring the revulsion that choked her as his mouth caught hers and his tongue forced its way into her mouth, her fingers clawed at his arms, her teeth clamping down on his intruding tongue.
With a snarl, he flung her from him and she crashed into a small table near the doorway. As she scrabbled to keep her footing, her outstretched hand brushed against a heavy marble figurine that sat in the middle of the table. Regaining her balance, instinctively, she braced herself to meet his attack, her fingers clutching the figurine.
This time when he grabbed for her, she brought the figurine down against his temple with all her strength. He gave a funny little sound and collapsed at her feet.
Her breathing labored, her heart banging, she stared down at his fallen form, a thick rivulet of blood flowing from the wide gash on his head. He did not move. He simply lay there, and Thea stared at his still form, utterly petrified, the terrible knowledge that she had meant to kill him and that she had actually done it racing icily through her body. Dumbfounded, she looked at him, unable to believe what she had done. She had killed him. Dear God! She had murdered her sister's husband.
Chapter 3
Thea never remembered how long she stood there staring at Hirst's sprawled form on the floor, but finally something, some instinct for survival, made her move. She was aghast at what had happened, but the strongest emotion in her breast at that moment was a panicked urge to run.
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