Tough Prospect

by Laura Strickland

  Mitch couldn’t.

  “And you pressed Father till he made the only deal he could with you.”

  “Gerald,” Tessa said.

  “Quiet, Tess. It’s over. You’re coming home with me.”

  Inside the church, an organ started up. Outside, the wind made the only sound.

  Mitch could have spit. Instead he said carefully, “Tessa’s future isn’t yours to decide. She’s still my wife.”

  “I’ll see the marriage is annulled. You’re not worthy of her. Everyone in this city knows what you are. Trash.” Verdun smiled nastily. “Found in the gutter, weren’t you? And you’re nothing more than a trumped-up bully with your big car, your fancy suit, and your ill-gotten gains. Dorcas”—he turned to the woman beside him, dark-haired and petite—“lend my sister your arm and get her away from him. She’s sitting with us.”

  “Sister-in-law, come.”

  Tessa didn’t move. Neither did Mitch, his hand at her back. He wanted to leap at Gerald Verdun and tear him apart, but he didn’t want to escalate this scene.

  “Is there a problem, sir?”

  A figure in blue edged up. Mitch had been dimly aware that several police officers oversaw the scene. Now one of them—big and strapping—loomed.

  He spoke to Mitch and no one else. Looking into his face, Mitch saw he had a broad, Irish face and bright green eyes.

  Before Mitch could answer, the copper switched his gaze to Tessa. “Mrs. Carter, I regret we meet again under such distressing circumstances.”

  “Officer Kelly,” she said faintly.

  The copper raised his voice. “Perhaps everyone should make his or her way inside, in an orderly fashion. I believe the service is about to begin.”

  Surprisingly, people obeyed. Mourners filed in through the doorway; Gerald Verdun backed down and led his mother away on his arm.

  “Thanks,” Mitch told the police officer—the first time, surely, he’d ever thanked a copper for anything.

  The police officer nodded. Mitch and Tessa went inside, Tessa clutching his arm as if she needed its support.

  “Who was he?” he whispered as they took a pew near the front. “How do you know him?”

  “Remember, I told you we met at the Meadows Club? He’s the automaton.”

  “Ah, yes, the hybrid—Kelly.” The name did ring a bell in Mitch’s mind. Famous head of the Irish Squad.

  “Would you prefer to sit with your family?” he asked Tessa. Gerald Verdun, with his wife and mother, had claimed the first pew, along with another couple who could only be Tessa’s sister and her husband.

  But Tessa shook her head.

  “Sure? You might sit with them and not me.”

  She turned her head and looked straight into his eyes. In her pale face, stark under the little black hat she wore, her eyes looked impossibly green. He could see her emotions—remorse, guilt, and shame.

  “I’ll stay where I am.”

  He hoped she meant that in every sense—that she wouldn’t decide to go home with her mother or brother when this was over. Throughout the service, he could focus on little else. He missed the words and speeches, but watched his wife’s hands from the corner of his eye, gleaning her emotions through them.

  He never went to church and knew little about how to deport himself. Their marriage had been a civil ceremony, performed in private by a justice. Now he got to his feet when the others around him did and sat accordingly also, assisting his wife each time.

  His wife. But for how long? And what, precisely, was an annulment? He wasn’t sure but thought it could only be declared so if the marriage had not been consummated.

  Damn it all, he should have followed his instincts and taken her the other night. Now he might lose her.

  The very thought made him go hot and cold in turns. Just showed what trying to be decent got you…the woman had become his weakness.

  And he hated weakness.

  He half expected Tessa to weep as she had in his arms, in bed. But she remained stoical, a white statue. Not until the service ended at last and they began to file from the cathedral did she falter, her legs failing her as she stood.

  Mitch, ever attentive, caught her before she sank to the floor.

  “Here, now. Do you want to go home?”

  “Home?” Her lashes fluttered before she stared into his eyes.

  Grimly, he elucidated, “My house.”

  “We’re supposed to follow the casket to Forest Lawn.”

  “Supposed to, yes. That doesn’t mean you have to, if you’re feeling ill.”

  “Yes, it does. I have to show…” She broke off as her brother passed their pew. The other couple that had been seated with the Verduns paused, and the woman reached out.

  She had to be Tessa’s sister; the resemblance declared it. Same auburn hair, same lovely face without the green hue of Tessa’s eyes. This woman’s were brown.

  She clutched Tessa’s hand impulsively. “Come ride with us.”

  The man with her, tall and ascetic-looking, spoke, “I have my car just outside. You needn’t remain with him.” Pale gray eyes swept Mitch as they might a piece of trash on the street.

  Would she go with them? Could he, Mitch hold her? No.

  But she said, still faintly, “There won’t be room.”

  “We’ll make room,” her sister assured her.

  Tessa gently freed herself from her sister’s grasp and seized Mitch’s arm. “We’ll follow along behind you. Right?”

  Did she speak to him? He nodded, even as his heart swelled.

  Yet the danger had not passed. When they turned to leave the cathedral, he saw how many people had attended. Friends of the family? Hugo’s past clients? Or just curiosity-seekers?

  As they started away in the wake of Tessa’s sister, Mitch supporting his wife’s weight almost completely, they became the focus of all eyes, passing person after person who stared.

  At the rear of the church, they came face to face with one—a young man. Tessa checked, froze, and faltered again, staring as at a ghost.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Richard, here. And Tessa on her husband’s arm.

  She believed for an instant her traitorous legs—which refused to support her no matter how tight a rein she kept on her emotions—would fail her again.

  She hadn’t seen Richard since before her marriage, and hadn’t expected to meet him now. She’d wanted to see him, had longed to, but this blow on top of all the others threatened to level her. And Mitch…

  She felt him stiffen in every limb and felt the emotions flood him. Anger? Outrage? Jealousy? She couldn’t tell, but she very much feared he’d guessed just who Richard was.

  Mitch Carter might be a brute and a bully; he certainly wasn’t stupid.

  Indeed, he tried to brush right on past Richard with a curt, “Excuse us.” Richard planted himself foursquare, refused to budge, and gazed into Tessa’s face.

  “Miss Verdun, are you all right?”

  Tessa’s heart, upon which her emotions had a stranglehold, failed in her breast. Oh, God, oh, God, did Richard care? The agony in his blue eyes argued so, as did the angry disdain that pinched his face when he glanced at Mitch Carter.

  Mitch supported Tessa with his left arm while his right hand splayed across her back in a gesture of support. Now he drew her closer to him.

  He said, in a voice like that of an automaton, “You’re blocking the way.”

  Richard’s jaw tightened, and his eyes cooled to twin shards of ice. “I just want a word with Miss Verdun.”

  “Her name is Mrs. Carter, to be correct. And who are you to her?” Mitch spoke in a growl.

  “An acquaintance. Her friend.”

  Tessa’s fingers, clamped to Mitch’s arm, sharpened to claws. “Please.” She looked into her husband’s eyes. “Not here. Please.”

  He nodded and shouldered past Richard roughly; they left the cathedral.

  Outside, mourners streamed to their steamcars and the cabs that stood by, some
horse-drawn. Tessa wondered how many would follow to the cemetery. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw that Richard trailed them. She tried to send him a message. Forgive me.

  The cold wind gave her the only reply. Mother had gone with Gerald; Mitch and Tessa barely filled the back of his huge car. Mitch, his face grim, rapped on the glass, signaling Marty, and they pulled from the curb.

  “Was that him?” His voice sounded rough in the enclosed space.

  “What?”

  “Him. The man you say you love.”

  Tessa went breathless. Danger lay in Mitch’s voice, not for her but for Richard. She’d wanted so badly to keep his identity hidden, to protect him. Now it all threatened to explode.

  “No,” she said.

  “Don’t lie to me. Whatever else does or doesn’t exist between us, at least let there be honesty.”

  Amid the numbness that held her, Tessa found a spark. “You want honesty? I daren’t say, for fear you’ll hurt him.”

  “Hurt him?”

  “Lay in wait for him. Beat him up. Break his legs.” She added more precisely, “Have someone break his legs.” He might not soil his hands—not anymore, him being the King of Prospect Avenue and all. She knew he had men for that.

  “That’s what you think of me?”

  “Yes.”

  He took that like a blow; she saw him flinch. “Then why didn’t you go with your brother?”

  “I don’t know.” The truth again. “Maybe because he blames me for Father’s death. You don’t.” Two tears slipped down her cheeks.

  “He blames me, or so he announced. Ah, hell, Tessa, don’t cry. Don’t let them beat you down, understand? Never that.”

  “Is that your philosophy of life?”

  “Damn close.”

  She dabbed at her cheeks and said nothing. They rode in silence for a score of heartbeats.

  “I know you want to leave me, Tessa. You probably want that annulment your brother mentioned. But if you’ll stay with me—”

  She turned her head again to look at him. His narrow face looked tense and his eyes burned.

  “If I stay with you, what?”

  “I promise to protect you. From everything. It will be me and you against the world.”

  “You think that’s what I want?”

  “No. You probably want him, with his gold-colored hair and his handsome face. But does he love you, Tessa? Will he do anything for you?”

  Tessa had once believed so, that Richard was her destiny, her soul mate. Richard, the one man to whom she could give herself. But where had he been before her marriage? Why hadn’t he fought for her?

  She looked at her husband. “Will you? Do anything for me?”

  “Yes.”

  Now, there lay a heady prospect. Tessa had never had a yen for power. A quiet, pleasant life, yes, warmth and laughter in the company of the man she loved. But the idea of commanding a man such as this with all his wealth and contacts—however dangerous—held a certain seduction.

  And what did that say about her? She wondered even as the long car—one in a train of others—pulled off Delaware Avenue into Forest Lawn.

  “I…” She faltered. “I need to get through this. We can talk about the future later.”

  “Will you be coming home with me?”

  “We’re supposed to go back to Mother’s. There’s a reception.”

  “You know what I mean. After that.”

  Again she stared into his eyes, bright and vital, terrifyingly intent. Abruptly, she experienced a flashback to that night in her bed, him with his weight on her and his hand at her breast, kissing, kissing, kissing.

  She must be losing her mind.

  The car halted; Marty came round and opened the door. Thank God. She needn’t answer Mitch, not yet.

  ****

  Three times, during Hugo Verdun’s interment, did Mitch keep his wife from collapsing. They stood in the shelter of a little pavilion that had been erected over the grave, far too close to the other mourners for Mitch’s comfort. The wind whipped the corners of the shelter, and the grave yawned at their feet like the mouth of death. The minister rambled on and on.

  Tessa faltered once when her father’s coffin was lowered into the dark pit and again when the dirt went on. When they turned into the face of the stiff wind, she sagged against him.

  Not until then did Mitch realize he was there—Tessa’s lover had followed from the cathedral. He stood at some distance, staring, and positioned so he could make sure Tessa saw him.

  The man definitely looked like he might be a problem. Mitch would need to do something about him. He just couldn’t let his wife find out.

  Back at the house on Bidwell Parkway, he sat Tessa in a chair and got her a drink, ignoring all the ugly looks directed at him. A good number of mourners had come to pay their respects, though not the young man with the golden hair.

  So, Mitch thought as he placed the drink in his wife’s hand and stood guard over her chair like a mastiff, that’s what attracts her. Now you know. He couldn’t be less like you if he tried.

  Still, he’d had a look at his opponent: an advantage.

  One by one, the callers left. When only family remained, they closed ranks. After a whispered conversation, Gerald approached Tessa’s chair and said, “Carter, you can go. We have business to discuss with our sister, family business.”

  Mitch swept the others with a look. Elise Verdun, prostrate on the settee, looked beyond discussion of any sort, but the others glared at him in a united front.

  He said, “Like it or not, I am family now.”

  Gerald gave him a grim smile. “Not for long. You’ll get back the money you paid for my sister, don’t worry.”

  Mitch narrowed his gaze on Gerald. “From where?”

  “Let us worry about that.”

  Tessa’s sister, Louisa, approached. “At the time of Tessa’s marriage, we were unaware of the repugnant deal Father made with you, Mr. Carter. If we had known, we’d have intervened and raised the money elsewhere to bail him out.”

  “How?”

  “We’d have found a way.”

  “I was under the impression your father had exhausted all avenues before I approached him.”

  Gerald’s nostrils pinched. “I would have mortgaged my life, if I had to.”

  Mitch glanced at his wife; she sat as unmoving as an automaton on shutoff.

  He said, “Too late. The deal is made, and a deal’s a deal.”

  Rage flooded Gerald’s eyes; he took a half step forward.

  “Don’t,” Mitch warned him. “You won’t come out of it very well.” All the while his heart screamed, She’s mine, she’s mine. Mine!

  Louisa’s husband walked up behind her. Louisa said, “We will apply, on Tessa’s behalf, for an annulment. I am certain it will be granted. If you’ve had your way with my sister, it can only have been rape.”

  Mrs. Verdun raised her head from the arm of the settee.

  “So.” Mitch’s lips twisted. “You plan to make this as ugly as possible. Embarrass her as much as you can. If you mean to buy me out, then show me the money; I’ll consider your offer when I believe it.”

  “It may take some time,” Louisa said. “The sale of this house—”

  “I happen to know this house is heavily mortgaged.”

  “Life insurance—”

  “You can’t collect for suicide.”

  “We’ll prove it wasn’t, in fact, suicide.”

  “You said that before, but I don’t see how. The man was found hanging by the neck.”

  Mrs. Verdun began to sob.

  “Then I’ll mortgage my own house,” Gerald retorted. “I’ll—”

  “Stop.”

  The word came from the woman sitting so motionless beside Mitch’s knees. Tessa jerked suddenly to life and rose to her feet, swaying.

  “Tess,” her brother said, “don’t worry. We’re going to take care of you, get you away from him.”

  She looked Gerald in the ey
e. “Do you blame me for Father’s death?”

  Gerald paled. “Tess—”

  “Answer me.”

  His jaw tensed. “No, of course not. But if you had only come to Father when he asked, given him the forgiveness he so desperately needed…”

  Tessa turned abruptly to Mitch. “Take me home.”

  “What?” Even he thought he’d be leaving without her, that it would all end here and now.

  Her eyes, full of pain and panic, sought his. “Take me home, please.”

  “Of course.” He grasped her arm; she shrank against him.

  The outcry from her brother, her sister, and their spouses erupted immediately. They all presented reasons she should stay with them, cast Mitch off, and follow legal channels to dissolve her association with him.

  She withstood the storm like a woman unhearing, her face shuttered. She left the parlor on Mitch’s arm, followed by threats and promises.

  “We’ll get you free of him, Tess,” her sister called after her. “So I do assure you.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  “Stay with me. I know I keep asking you that, but…”

  Tessa spoke the words as soon as her husband closed the bedroom door behind them, and heard him draw a breath, precisely like a man in pain.

  “What?” He sounded strangled.

  “Stay, please.”

  “Here? With you?”

  “Just like the other night. Please, I don’t think I can bear to be alone.”

  Mitch hesitated. “Tell me something, Tessa. Why did you come home with me tonight? This…this was your chance. Why not go with your family?”

  She searched through the feelings in her heart, a tangle of emotions so sharp and hurtful she could barely stand to confront them. She said, “How could I go with them? They despise me now. They despise you, too. So I guess we suit.”

  A wry smile touched his lips. “I asked for honesty, so I suppose I deserve that. Do you despise me, Tessa? ’Cause that’s all I care about.”

  Did she?

  She should. She had. Now her own feelings and her bruised self-esteem pained her so terribly she couldn’t tell.

  She said, “Does it matter? You said you wanted me. Or has that changed too, now that you know what I am?”

  “What are you, Tessa?”