For The Love Of Lilah tcw-3

by Nora Roberts

  On an oath, Hawkins heaved his bulk away from the wall. "I told you this job stinks. By rights he should be dead. Instead he plops right down in their laps. He'll have told them everything by now."

  Caufield tapped the tips of his fingers together. "Oh, assuredly."

  "And if he recognized you–"

  "He didn't." Exercising control, Caufield laced his fingers then laid them on the desk. “He never would have waved in my direction. He doesn't have the wit for it." Feeling his fingers tighten, he deliberately relaxed them. "The man's a fool. I learned more in one year on the streets than he in all of his years in higher institutions. After all, we're here, not on the boat."

  "But he knows," Hawkins insisted, viciously cracking his knuckles. "Now they all know. They'll take precautions."

  "Which only adds spice to the game and it's time to begin playing. Since Dr. Quartermain has joined the Calhouns, I believe I'll pay one of the ladies a call."

  "You're out of your mind."

  "Have a care, old friend," Caufield said mildly. "If you don't like my rules, there's nothing holding you here."

  "I'm the one who paid for the damn boat." Hawkins dragged a hand through his short wiry hair. "I've put over a month in this job already. I've got an investment."

  "Then leave it to me to make it pay off." Thinking, Caufield rose to go to the window. There were pretty summer flowers in neat borders just outside. It reminded him that he'd come a long way from the tenements of south Chicago. With the emeralds, he'd go even further.

  Perhaps a nice villa in the South Seas where he could relax and refresh himself while Interpol ran in circles looking for him. He already had a new passport, a new background, a new name in reserve–and a tidy sum gathering interest in a discreet Swiss account.

  He'd been in the business most of his life, quite successfully. He didn't need the emeralds for the percentage of their value he'd cull by fencing them. But he wanted them. He intended to have them.

  As Hawkins paced and abused his knuckles, Caufield continued to gaze out of the window. "Now, as I recall, during my brief friendship with the lovely Amanda, she mentioned that her sister Lilah knew the most about Bianca. Perhaps she knows the most about the emeralds, as well."

  This, at least, made some sense to Hawkins. "Are you going to grab her?"

  Caufield winced. "That's your style, Hawkins. Credit me with a little more finesse. I believe I'll pay a visit to Acadia. They say the naturalist tours are very informative."

  Lilah had always preferred the long, sunny days of summer. Though she felt there was something to be said for the long stormy nights of winter, as well. In truth, it was time she preferred. She didn't wear a watch. Time was something to be appreciated just for its existence, not as something to keep track of. But for the first time in her memory, she wished time would hurry.

  She missed him.

  It didn't matter how foolish it made her feel. She was in love and giddy with it. When the feeling was so strong, she resented every hour they weren't together.

  It was stronger. She had fallen in love with his sweetness, his basic goodness. She had recognized his insecurity and, as she had with broken wings and damaged paws, had wanted to fix it.

  She still loved all of those things, but now she had seen a different side of him. He'd been–masterful. She cringed at the term that entered her head and would have sworn she found it offensive. But it hadn't been offensive, not in Max. It had been illuminating.

  He had taken charge. He had taken her, she thought with a quick flash of excitement. Though she still resented being compared to a difficult student, she had to admire his technique. He'd simply stated his intentions and moved on them.

  She'd be the first to admit that she'd have frozen another man in his tracks with a few well–chosen words if he'd attempted the same thing. But Max wasn't any other man.

  She hoped he was beginning to believe it.

  While her mind wandered, she kept an eye on her group. Jordan Pond was a favored spot and she had a full load.

  "Please, don't disturb the plant life. I know the flowers are tempting, but we have thousands of visitors who'll want to enjoy them, in their natural setting. The bottle–shaped flower you see in the pond is yellow cow lily, or spatterdock. The leaves floating on the surface are bladderwort, and common to most Acadia ponds. It is their tiny bladders that help the plant float, and that trap small insects."

  In his ripped jeans and tattered backpack, Caufield listened to her lecture. Behind his dark glasses, his eyes were watchful. He paid attention, though the talk of bog and pond plants meant nothing to him. He held back a sneer when the group gasped as a heron glided overhead to wade in the shallows several yards away.

  As if fascinated, he lifted the camera strapped around his neck and snapped pictures of the bird, the wild orchards, even of a bullfrog who had come out to bask on a floating leaf.

  Most of all, he bided his time.

  She continued to lecture, tirelessly answering questions as they moved along the trail beside the glassy water. She spelled a weary mother by hitching a toddler on her hip and pointing out a family of black ducks.

  When the lecture was over, the group was free to follow the circular trail around the pond or retreat to their cars.

  "Miss Calhoun?"

  Lilah glanced around. She'd noticed the bearded hiker in the group, though he hadn't asked any questions during the lecture. There was a hint of the South in his voice.

  "Yes?"

  "I wanted to tell you how terrific your talk was. I teach high school geography and reward myself every summer with a trip through a national park. You're really one of the best guides I've come across."

  "Thank you." She smiled, and though it was a natural gesture for her, felt reluctant to offer her hand. She didn't recognize the sweaty, bearded hiker, but she picked up something disturbing. "You'll have to visit the Nature Center while you're here. Enjoy your stay."

  He put a hand on her arm. It was a casual move, far from demanding, but she disliked it intensely.

  "I was hoping you could give me a little one–on–one, if you've got a minute. I like to give the kids a full–scale report when school starts in the fall. A lot of them never see the inside of a park."

  She forced herself to shake off the mood. It was her job, she reminded herself, and she appreciated talking to someone with a genuine interest. "I'd be happy to answer any questions."

  "Great." He pulled out a notebook he'd been careful to scribble in.

  She relaxed a little, giving him a more in–depth talk than the average group required.

  "This is so kind of you. I wonder, could I buy you some coffee, or a sandwich?"

  "That isn't necessary."

  "But it would be a pleasure."

  "I have plans, but thanks."

  He kept his smile in place. "Well, I'll be around for a few more weeks. Maybe some other time. I know this is going to sound strange, but I'd swear I'd seen you before. Have you ever been to Raleigh?"

  Her instincts were humming, and she wanted to get away from him. "No, I hayen't."

  "It's the darnedest thing." As if puzzled, he shook his head. "You seem so familiar. Well, thanks again. I'd better start back to camp." He turned, then stopped. "I know. The papers. I've seen your picture. You're the woman with the emeralds."

  "No. I'm afraid I'm the woman without them."

  "What a story. I read about it down in Raleigh a month or two ago, and then...well, I have to confess, I'm just addicted to those supermarket tabloids. Comes from living alone and reading too many essays." He gave her a sheepish smile that would have charmed her if her senses hadn't been working overtime.

  "I guess the Calhouns have been lining a lot of bird cages lately."

  He rocked back on his heels and laughed. "Pays to keep a sense of humor. I guess it's a hassle, but it gives people like me a lot of vicarious excitement. Missing emeralds, jewel thieves."

  "Treasure maps."

  "There's a m
ap?" His voice sharpened and he worked hard at easing it again. "I hadn't heard."

  "Sure, you can pick them up in the village." She reached in her pocket and drew the latest one out. "I've been collecting them. A lot of people are spending hard–earned money only to find out too late that x doesn't mark the spot."

  "Ah." He had to fight against clenching his jaw. "Capitalism."

  "You bet. Here, a souvenir." She handed it to him, careful for reasons she couldn't quite place not to brush his fingers. "Your students might get a kick out of it."

  "I'm sure they will." To give himself time, he folded it and slipped it into his pocket. "I really am fascinated by the whole thing. Maybe we can have that sandwich soon and you can give me a firsthand account of what it's like to look for buried treasure." "Mostly, it's tedious. Enjoy your stay in the park." Knowing there was no safe way to detain her, he watched her go. She had a long, graceful body, he noted. He certainly hoped he wouldn't have to damage it

  "You're late." Max met her on the trail when she was still twenty yards from the parking area.

  "It seems to be my day for teachers." She leaned into the kiss, pleased with how warm and solid it was. "I was detained by a Southern gentleman who wanted information on flora for his geography class."

  "I hope he was bald and fat."

  She didn't quite manage the laugh and rubbed the chill from her arms instead. "No, actually, he was quite trim and had an abundance of hair. But I turned down his request that I become the mother of his children."

  "Did he make a pass at you?"

  "No." She held a hand up before he could rush by her. And did laugh. "Max, I'm kidding–and if I wasn't, I can dodge passes all by myself."

  He didn't feel as foolish as he might have even a day before. "You haven't been dodging mine."

  "I can intercept them, too. Now what's behind your back?"

  "My hands."

  She laughed again and gave him a delighted kiss. "What else?"

  He held out a clutch of painted daisies. "I didn't pick them," he said, knowing her feelings. "I bought them from Suzanna. She said you had a weakness for them."

  "They're so cheerful," she murmured, absurdly touched. She buried her face in them, then lifted it to his. "Thanks."

  As they began to walk, he draped an arm around her shoulders. "I bought the car from C.C. this afternoon."

  "Professor, you're full of surprises."

  "I thought you might like to hear about the progress Amanda and I are making on those lists. We could drive down the coast, have some dinner. Be alone."

  "It sounds wonderful, but my flowers'll wilt."

  He grinned down at her. "I bought a vase. It's in the car."

  When the sun was setting behind the hills to the west, they walked along a cobble beach that formed a natural seawall on the southern point of the island. The water was calm, barely murmuring over the mounds of smooth stones. With the approach of dusk, the line between the sky and sea blurred until all was a soft, deep blue. A single gull, heading home, soared overhead with one long, defiant cry.

  "This is a special place," Lilah told him. With her hand in his, she walked down the slope of cobbles to stand close to the verge of water. "A magic one. Even the air's different here." She closed her eyes to take a deep breath of it. "Full of stored energy."

  "It's beautiful." Idly he bent to pick up a rock, just to feel the texture. In the near distance an island melted into the twilight.

  "I often drive down here, just to stand and feel. I think I must have been here before."

  "You just said you'd been here before."

  Her eyes were soft and dreamy as she smiled. "I mean a hundred years ago, or five hundred. Don't you believe in reincarnation, Professor?"

  "Actually, I do. I did a paper on it in college and after completing the research, I found it was a very viable theory. When you apply it to history–"

  "Max." She framed his face with her hands. "I'm crazy about you." Her lips were curved when they met his, curved still when she drew away.

  "What was that for?"

  "Because I can see you, waist deep in thick books and cramped notes, your hair falling into your face and your eyebrows all drawn together the way they get when you're concentrating, doggedly pursuing truth."

  Frowning, he tossed the cobble from hand to hand. "That's a pretty boring image."

  "No, it's not." She tilted her head, studying him. "It's a true one, an admirable one. Even courageous."

  He gave a short laugh. "Boxing yourself into a library doesn't take courage. When I was a kid, it was a handy escape. I never had an asthma attack reading a book. I used to hide there, in books," he continued. "It was fun imagining myself sailing with Magellan, or exploring with Lewis and Clark, dying at the Alamo or marching across a field at Antietam. Then my father would..."

  "Would what?"

  Uncomfortable, he shrugged. "He'd hoped for something different. He was a high school football star. Wide receiver. Played semipro for a while. The kind of man who's never been sick a day in his life. Likes to toss back a few beers on Saturday night and hunt on weekends during the season. I'd start wheezing as soon as he put a thirty–thirty in my hands." He tossed the cobble aside. "He wanted to make a man out of me, and never quite managed it."

  "You made yourself." She took his hands, feeling a trembling anger for the man who hadn't appreciated or understood the gift he'd been given. "If he isn't proud of you, the lack is in him, not in you."

  "That's a nice thought." He was more than a little embarrassed that he'd pulled those old, raw feelings out. "In any case, I went my own way. I was a lot more comfortable in a classroom than I was on a football field. And the way I figure it, if I hadn't hidden in the library all those years, I wouldn't be standing here with you right now. This is exactly where I want to be."

  "Now that's a nice thought."

  "If I tell you you're beautiful, are you going to hit me?"

  "Not this time."

  He pulled her against him, just to hold her as night fell. "I need to go to Bangor for a couple of days."

  "What for?"

  "I located a woman who worked as a maid at The Towers the year Bianca died. She's living in a nursing home in Bangor, and I made arrangements to interview her." He tilted Lilah's face to his. "Come with me."

  "Just give me time to rearrange my schedule."

  When the children were asleep, I told Nanny of my plans. I knew she was shocked that I would speak of leaving my husband. She tried to soothe. How could I explain that it wasn't poor Fred who had caused my decision. The incident had made me realize how futile it was to remain in an unhappy and stifling marriage. Had I convinced myself that it was for the children? Their father didn't see them as children who needed to be loved and coddled, but as pawns. Ethan and Sean he would strive to mold in his image, erasing every part of them he considered weak. Colleen, my sweet little girl, he would ignore until such time as he could marry her for profit or status.

  I would not have it. Fergus, I knew, would soon wrench control from me. His pride would demand it. A governess of his choosing would follow his instructions and ignore mine. The children would be trapped in the middle of the mistake I had made.

  For myself, he would see that I became no more than an ornament at his table. If I defied him, I would pay the price. I have no doubt that he meant to punish me for questioning his authority in front of our children. Whether it would be physical or emotional, I didn't know, but I was sure the damage would be severe. Discontent I might hide from the children, open animosity I could not.

  I would take them and go, find somewhere we could disappear. But first I went to Christian.

  The night was moon washed and breezy. I kept my cloak pulled tight, the hood over my hair. The puppy was snuggled at my breast. I had the carriage take me to the village, then walked to his cottage through the quiet streets with the smell of water and flowers all around. My heart was pounding in my ears as I knocked. This was the first step, and onc
e taken, I could never go back.

  But it wasn't fear, no, it wasn't fear that trembled through me when he opened the door. It was relief. The moment I saw him I knew the choice had already been made.

  “Bianca,'' he said. '' What are you thinking of?''

  "I must talk to you." He was already pulling me inside. I saw that he 'd been reading in the lamplight. Its warm glow and the scent of his paints soothed me more than words. I set the pup down and he immediately began to explore, sniffing into comers and making himself at home.

  Christian made me sit, and no doubt sensing my nerves, brought me a brandy. As I sipped, I told him of the scene with Fergus. Though I struggled to remain calm, I could see his face, the violence in it, as his hands had closed over my throat.

  “My God!'' With this, Christian was crouching beside my chair, his fingers skimming up my throat. I hadn 't known there were bruises there where Fergus's thumbs had pressed.

  Christian's eyes went black. His hands gripped the arms of the chair before he lunged to his feet. "I'll kill him for this."

  I jumped up to stop him from storming out of the cottage. My fear was such I'm not sure what I said, though I know I told him that Fergus had left for Boston, that I couldn 't bear more violence. In the end it was my tears that stopped him. He held me as though I was a child, rocking and comforting while I poured out my heart and my desperation.

  Perhaps I should have been ashamed to have begged him to take me and the children away, to have thrust that kind of burden and responsibility on him. If he had refused, I know I would have gone on alone, taken my three babies to some quiet village in Ireland or England. But Christian wiped away my tears.

  “Of course we’ll go. I'll not see you or the children spend another night under the same roof with him. He'll never lay a hand on any of you again. It will be difficult, Bianca. You and the children won't have the kind of life you're used to. And the scandal–"

  “I don't care about the scandal. The children need to feel loved and safe.'' I rose then, to pace. “I can't be sure what's right. Night after night I've lain in bed asking myself if I have the right to love you, to want you. I took vows, made promises, and was given three children." I covered my face with my hands. "A part of me will always suffer for breaking those vows, but I must do something. I think I'll go mad if I don't. God may never forgive me, but I can't face a lifetime of unhappiness."