Ramsey leaned close, offering her mask. " 'Tis the home of your family, Penelope. Your ancestors."
Penny stared at the mansion, imagining Tess arriving with her new husband, raising her children here, growing old and she felt a pull toward the magnificent structure, a need to connect with it somehow, and a hope that a childhood memory would surface.
"Are you well?"
Her gaze jerked to his and she smiled. "Better than well," she said, linking her arm with his. Behind them, Margaret and Hank followed. Security kept fans back, a select few of the press already inside in a special room, and as they donned their masks and swept through the entrance, Penny stopped short, her grip on Ramsey's arm tightening. He frowned softly, following the direction of her gaze and stared into tbe lifeless eyes of Sloane Rothmere.
Chapter 39
"That was some performance this morning."
Sloane's biting blue gaze rode over her gown, her face, briefly shifting to Ramsey, her manner inspecting, and finding them lacking. Her sight ended on the pear shaped diamond. Her gaze flew to Penelope's.
"I wasn't acting. Have a problem with it?"
The photographers went wild, the flashes blinding, people calling out questions as Margaret and Hank flanked the couple.
Sloane didn't spare them a glance. "Well, I'm still here, aren't I?" Sloane shrugged elegantly clad shoulders. "So you see, you did it for nothing. Now they know you're just white trash."
Penny didn't so much as flinch. "What I am, is happy. And I did it for me, Sloane, not you. You got exactly what you wanted. The world knows where I came from." She tilted her head. * Aren't you thrilled?"
Penny knew she hit a nerve when Sloane's carefully outlined lips tightened. She wanted to do the exposing, be the orchestra-tor of her maliciousness. That the power was gone made her a dangerous woman.
Sloane's gaze shot to the cameras lurking, yet she knew they
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couldn't be heard. She leaned closer, her voice a viperous hiss. "I'll be happy when both of you are shark bait."
Penny felt her skin shift on her bones and had the irresistible urge to rub her arms. There was no conscience there, no heart, only bitterness.
' 'Careful, Sloane, your fangs are showing." Penny continued to smile. "And the only reason you're not rotting in jail is that I haven't pressed charges, yet."
Sloane scoffed nervously. "Like they could stick."
Penny's smile was brittle. "Think so?"
There was change in her just then, a desperate, almost pleading in her expression. "Where is he?"
Penny reared back, arching a brow, cool, patient.
"What have you done to him?" she said, grabbing her arm, nails digging. Penny looked down at her touch, her gaze rising slowly to meet strikingly pale-blue eyes. God, she was pathetic.
Ramsey immediately intervened, peeling her hand from Penelope's body. "Never touch," came with suppressed sav-ageness and Sloane's features slackened briefly, then tightened with sharp beauty. "Enjoy the evening, Mistress," he said with a mocking bow, gently maneuvering Penelope into the grand hall.
"Thank you. I wanted to belt her across the chops so bad I could taste it."
Ramsey's lips curved. "Ignore her, love, she is naught but a mouse in this game." Of times she dropped all reserve and polish and returned, he could only assume, to the child of the streets and he'd lay odds she could dress a few hides if need be,
A tugging on his arm and Ram realized she had stopped, her gaze sweeping the grand room. "You remember," he whispered.
"I see it empty, only the sun lighting it, and a little tape player in the corner." She gestured to the far left, then looked up at him, her eyes glossing. "And Alexander is holding me, humming." She looked back at the room. "And my mother is watching us." Ramsey leaned close and pressed his lips to her temple and she closed her eyes. "This was my home," she
whispered, as if just believing it, then sighed, eager to be inside and perhaps, discover more.
They moved into the ballroom, the guests masked until midnight and already on their way to a having a grand time. Soft lights splashed over the elegantly-costumed people ringing the dance floor, dining from the scatters of tables heaped with huge chunks of beef, whole pigs, several turkeys, and an abundance of fruit, cheese, and vegetable dishes. Lilting strands of Mozart wafted from the orchestra, and dancers swirled, the rustle of petticoats and rich fabrics melting with the music. Profusions of flowers filled dusky lit corners, draped windows and Penny inhaled the pungent fragrance, smiling and introducing Ramsey as they strolled. The guests were immersed, the costumes and aura of the century taking hold. One man waved a turkey leg as he spoke, pausing long enough to tear at the meat like a Viking, while another chased a female servant, trying to steal a kiss.
A liveried servant passed and Ramsey snatched two fluted glasses of champagne from his tray, offering her one. She shook her head, discreetly touching her stomach and Ramsey grinned, draining one goblet afore handing it to a passing waiter, then swept his arm about her waist, leaning close.
"Do you see him?" He saluted her with the crystal. Above her head, his gaze scanned the dancers, catching on a figure poised against the wall, then moving to another who kept looking behind himself.
"No, but I wouldn't even recognize anyone with all these masks."
Ram finished off the champagne. "Relax, love," he whispered, recognizing her impatience. " 'Tis all the more interesting a night."
He^deposited the glass on a waiter's tray.
"You aren't going to tell me what you're planning, are you?"
" 'Twill be best for your safety." His look said 'twas his utmost concern. "Aside that you cannot leave the guests. Your presence will be missed."
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A man approached and Ramsey immediately recognized her acting partner, her costar. An Englishman, Ram recalled.
' 'Don't you look lovely. Positively radiant," he said as Penny leaned out and he peaked a kiss to her cheek. He looked at Ramsey, offering his hand. Ram accepted it, smiling. "We're to mingle, orders from the high-ups. Terrific costume, Ramsey. Press meeting in one hour. Have you met our host?"
Ramsey wondered how this lad could maintain the rigidness of a play when he talked so bloody fast.
"Josh, calm down." It was his first big picture and she could feel the rush of adrenalin in him. They'd worked together before, as teenagers, and their innocent friendship had started the vicious rumors, sending her into privacy.
"I keep trying," he flashed her a boyish smile, "and you always did mother me." Ramsey watched as he drew closer, the energy settling for a moment as Josh Randell stared into her eyes. "Thanks for the chance, Penny. I know your request for me landed me this role."
"Oh, Josh, don't underestimate yourself. If you weren't good, nothing I could have said would have mattered." She gave him a warning look. "And you know it."
He sighed, encouraged. "Save me a dance?"
"Is it in my contract?" she replied and he laughed, turning away and melting into the crowd.
"Miss Hamilton?"
Penny turned to find Justin Baylor standing close, dressed as a pirate.
"Or should I say Blackwell?"
Penny checked for eavesdroppers, then stepped close. "Ah . . . Justin, can I ask a favor?" He simply looked at her and she sighed. "I promise to give you an exclusive about my . .. parentage, if you refrain from asking any questions until this evening is over."
His guarded expression said that was obviously not his plan.
' 'Dire circumstances force us to keep this information private for a bit longer," Ramsey said lowly and Justin realized he hadn't heard him talk before. "I bid you grant us this and we'll see you are the one to reveal the tale, if that is your wish."
Justin glanced between the two. Penelope Hamilton could have ca
lled anyone for that interview, had her pick of the network name draws but she'd called him, personally, and given him the scoop of the decade. But it was the look in O'Keefe's eyes that grabbed his attention and the beat reporter in him knew there was much more to her name than any one would know, unless they told it.
"Exclusive? Not a word about who you are to anyone?"
"You doubt my honor?"
Justin chuckled, eyeing O'Keefe. "I'm a reporter, I doubt everyone. But yes, I'll keep a lid on it. Though if I hear even a hint ..."
Penny sighed, relieved, and Ramsey held out his hand. "Our thanks. Mister Baylor." He bowed lightly and Justin's lips crooked in a half smile. O'Keefe was a strange one, he thought, watching them walk away and deciding he liked him. Real personable guy. And he'd revealed just enough to perk Justin's snooping instincts.
They circled the room, greeting and chatting with politicians and businessmen, costumers, grips, cameramen, script writers, and directors. Beyond the masks there were no distinctions and Penny had to laugh at the Lt. Governor, dressed like a pansy in red satin and scratching at his white wig. But it was Ramsey who intrigued them, his speech, his masculine grace and dignity turning several heads. And Penny noticed their host was nowhere in sight.
"I'd recognize that regal carriage anywhere," a voice said and together they turned to find Anthony, with his date, Clarissa Two Leaf, clad predictably as an Indian princess.
Ramsey bowed to the coin dealer, then looked his friend over from head to toe, chuckling as Antony tipped his feather-edged tricorn. He wore the uniform of a British officer.
"Do we cross swords on the lawn, my friend?"
"Hell, I half-expected you to be dressed as a Continental Marine."
Ramsey smirked. "The uniforms itched."
Anthony blinked, again realizing who Ramsey truly was and
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Chapter 40
Discarding his mask, Ramsey stood in the center of the grand study and stared at the painting.
"What a muck you've left me, woman," he said to Tess's image and did not doubt (he clever woman realized two hundred years afore, that this night would come. Rqunding the edge of the desk Ramsey lifted the painting off the wall, running his fingers over the cloth back, the frame, searching. Twas the only thing Tess was certain would be evergreen and the overpowering feeling he'd experienced the day he saw this portrait again, made him believe her spirit possessed this room, urging him to seek beyond the plain and simple. He let loose a captured breath when his fingers grazed a roughened spot and he tipped the back toward the light, plucking at a break in the thick frame. 'Twas a misshapen square divide in the wood, and he jiggled the piece, then impatiently withdrew his knife from his boot and pried the edge. It gave, the small fitted section splintering a bit.
His gaze darted to the door, afore he worked the block loose. Suddenly it popped free, and he inhaled, relief pouring through him. Bless you, lass. A small velvet pouch lay inside and Ramsey's fingers shook as he removed it.
The door thrust open, hall light streaking in and Ram stilled, not the least bit intimidated by the man standing in the doorway. The time to end this was now.
Phalon scowled with fury, his gaze darting to the blank wall, then to the pouch of velvet in O'Keefe's hand. His gaze shot to the painting. Damn! It hadn't been removed, except for cleaning, to his recollection, in two centuries, so how did this man know there was anything in there?
"I could have you arrested."
Ramsey nudged the phone across the desk. "Please do." When Phalon simply stared, Ramsey calmly replaced the block, then returned the frame to its proper place. He faced Phalon, hefting the sack.
"Whatever is in this house is mine." Phalon crossed to him, flicking on the desk lamp, glaring at the man.
Then O'Keefe opened the sack, withdrawing a single oval of pale-blue.
Phalon wet his lips, watching the soft light cast through the
diamond.
"Did you intercept the stones—" Ram's gaze sliced to Phalon's—"therefore preventing the kidnappers from returning the babe?"
Phalon's eyes narrowed, his features sharp. "What do you mean?''
"Tess left one gem behind."
The Red Lady. And Hamilton was wearing it. "You have no proof of anything, and you have the stones."
"But Alexander was not a stupid man, Rothmere, these stones were photographed, each flaw and silk marked. Only three people knew the ransom had been turned into diamonds. Alexander, Annora . . . and you. And since they've never been cut and were discovered here ..." Ram arched a russet brow, dropping the stone into the bag.
"No one saw you come in." "I did."
Sloane emerged from behind the half open door, a small gun in her hand, its barrel acceptionally long. She held out her hand for the diamonds and Ramsey tossed them to her.
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"No!" Phalon lerched and she pointed the gun at his chest.
"I wouldn't, Daddy," she sneered and Phalon ground his teeth, disgusted with his offspring. Perhaps if her mother had lived ...
"You put this into motion, Sloane. Even Tess had enough compassion to ignore your petty revenge."
"Tess, Tess! Christ, I'm sick of hearing that name! This is your fault. You paid too much attention to her, her career. She was a nobody! I'm your daughter. I AM!" she shrieked.
"But she made something of herself, and you had every advantage—"
"I lived under her shadow! You couldn't see her for what she was, because of that!" She jabbed the barrel at the painting. "Tell him," she said smugly. "Tell him how you've been obsessed with a ghost because she looks like Tess." Her father advanced, the point of the barrel stopping him. ' 'Do you know how much I've hated you?" she taunted. "That's why I did it. Expose Penny and get Tess thrown in jail, then you'd see her for the trash she was."
"Shut up, Sloane."
"Go to hell, Daddy! I've listened to your crap about bloodlines and family and honor when you never had it! Elizabeth, the sainted matriarch," she said dramatically. "The bitch didn't bear heirs, she bore weapons! Your affection were conditions, Daddy, to be levied. The damn Blackwells cared more for family than money, and all you wanted to do was destroy them!" Her stance relaxed, the gun barrel waving as she spoke. "But taking their house wasn't enough, huh?"
"For God sakes, Sloane! Be quiet!"
"You took their baby, too." r
A stretch of silence. Phalon's shoulders drooped. Sloane smiled thinly.
"I didn't want to believe it," came from far off.
Phalon watched as a figure slowly emerged from the darkened corner of his study. His gaze dropped to the tricorn in his hand, then shot to the face. He frowned, confused, and the man slowly peeled off the simple dark mask.
"Alexander," Phalon whispered, joy and horror in his voice.
"How could you do it? She was our baby."
"I—I didn't take her, Alex, I swear. 1 tried to help find
her."
"Liar!" Alexander roared, taking a threatening step. "They knew the passages! They stole her from her bedroom!"
Phalon swallowed, horrified. "No, no, don't you remember, after the drop-off, my men found where they were keeping her, but she wasn't there." She'd escaped, vanished. And there was
blood everywhere."
Alexander shook his head. "I trusted you, Phalon. Annora and I trusted you with our daughter's life, but they never got the ransom. Did they?"
His Adam's apple bobbed, sweat beading his upper lip. "I
killed the kidnappers."
"And you kept the diamonds! You took my house, my land, all that I had left, because you were greedy!" Alexander's fists shook with his fury. "Good God, Phalon, I would have given it all to you just to get my baby back! You had underground connections then. We could have found her." His voice lowered, dark with unfulfilled threat.' 'But you knew Annora would never give you the
letter." Phalon's features went slack. "She would never forgive you for trying to rape her and she was terrified you'd touch our baby!"
Phalon was sickly-pale. "Oh God, Alex, I wouldn't, I—" "No! No more! You wanted to hurt her because she rejected you, because she loved me!" Alex drew a deep breath, twenty-five years of rage unleashing. "And you let her die. You watched her give up and you just let it happen!"
"Don't you think I've lived with that? But it was too late. The child was dead."
Alexander's fist connected with Phalon's face, sending his head back and blood splattering across the walls. Phalon dropped to the floor.
"No, Phalon, she wasn't dead, just lost, and its taken twenty-five years for her to come home."
Phalon scooted back, swiping his nose as Alex loomed over him. "Wha—what do you mean?" "Annora's baby is alive."
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Phalon's eyes widened, and his gaze shot to Ramsey. "No," Phalon whispered, "Not her!"
"Who?" Eyes turned to Sloane, only Ramsey still aware she held a loaded weapon. "A Blackwell is alive?" Her gaze darted between the men, the painting, then slowly coming back to Ramsey. "Penelope," she hissed, her face contorting with fury. "Well, I can fix that." She made to turn.
A panel opened, a figure slipping out, gun first. "I don't think so," he said, yanking the hood from his head. "Drop it, Miss Rothmere."
The gun shook in her hand, her gaze frantic between the men. Behind her Downing entered the room, yet before Ramsey could withdraw his flintlock, she swerved and said, "It was fine til you came," then pulled the trigger.
The shot was soft, an almost soundless thump as it impacted with Ramsey's chest. He staggered, a second shot firing elsewhere as he smacked the wall. He slid to the floor, hearing Penny's scream as she raced into the room.
"Oh Jesus! Ramsey, Ramsey!" she called, her hands skimming over his chest, covering the hole in his vest. He opened his eyes, blinking, then struggled to sit up.
"No, don't move! Someone call the paramedics." Alexander hovered over her, dialing the phone as Mathers picked up the fallen weapon. Downing slapped handcuffs on Phalon, unsympathetic to Sloane's bleeding arm. "Penelope, love, I am fine."
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