In Good Conscience

by Gardiner, Cat

  Holding her face in his trembling hands he softly smiled, “brought me back to life. We’re not dreaming now, but I have dreamed of holding you every minute of every day since I left you in North Carolina.”

  “Where … where have you been?”

  “Everywhere.”

  She draped her arms around his neck, and buried her face under his chin, her tears pouring out in sobs against him.

  “Oh God! Kiss me, Fitzwilliam, just kiss me!”

  His soft gaze held hers as he lovingly wiped the tear streaks from her cheek with his thumb. Slowly, his lips sought hers in a tender, blissful caress. Her soft trembling lips took his breath away and he pulled her tightly to him. Their embrace nearly suffocated the other as their hunger grew to consuming, mouths claiming and hands reaffirming that they were once again together.

  But her unstable emotions turned on a dime when her head caught up with her heart. Abruptly, she pulled back from him, eyes burning into his. “Who is she?”

  “Who?”

  “The other woman. Do I know her?”

  “Is that what you think? That I faked my death to be with another woman?” Of all the things she would assume he hadn’t expected that!

  “I don’t know what to think!” She stood then angrily wiped the wetness from her face. “All the money you transferred … the mysterious person in West Virginia … and now you’re on this luxurious train … dressed like Mr. GQ without your wedding ring! Who is she? The blonde you were with at the bar? Or is there someone waiting for you in Prague?”

  He stood to his full height, finally able to convey his own disappointment in Wentworth but crestfallen that after everything they went through in Paris, she still didn’t trust the depth of his love. “There is no ‘she’. That woman was another passenger.”

  “Hitting on you or the deed was already done?”

  “Stop this. You know why I did this, Liz. And do you really want to go there? What about you? You didn’t wait even a month to mourn me before you hooked up with Wentworth—and here you are on the most romantic train in the world! And who were you with at the opera last night? Believe me, I understand the loneliness you felt, but c’mon … Wentworth and his slick cowboy moves? You could do better; you deserve better! A guy like that is after only two things—sex and money! For Christ’s sake, he tried to seduce you at my funeral!”

  “You were at the opera? At the funeral?”

  “Of course I was at the funeral. Obviously Morales’s assassins weren’t the only ones deciding to hit on you!”

  “But how did—”

  “Not a week went by and you and he were cozying up! Is that how you honored my memory by renewing your fascination with the cowboy? I would have better accepted you spending time with a good friend and brother like Knightley than that eager Army dick. At least John’s comfort would have been genuine and he would have taken care of you!”

  “What the hell are you talking about? And how do you know about Dave?” She gasped at the sudden realization and her hand flew to her necklace. “You rat! You snake!”

  He raised an eyebrow. “How else was I going to be sure that you were okay? How else do you think I could keep from going crazy from missing you?”

  “For your information, nothing happened between us, not last year and not now! He’s not my type. You are my type, you dumb ass! My only type and it would seem that you don’t trust me either!”

  He took a step to her with his arm outstretched, which she promptly swatted away. Softening his voice he said, “Babe, I have and always will trust you, but you can’t fault me for jealousy, just as I can’t fault you. Even still, if you had slept with him, I admit …” he looked down at the floor and put his hands in his trouser pockets. “I did it to myself. You believed I was dead. As for me, you know there will never be anyone else. It’s just you and always will be. I swam out of Bermuda to protect you, not cheat on you. Damn, don’t you know my heart and the depth of my love by now? The extremes that I’d go to ensure our forever? I died for you—for us—for our future together.”

  “Love me? Protect me? Your death destroyed me. The pain never goes away,” she wailed. Tears rolled down her burning cheeks filled with red anger. “When I did start to consider that you might be alive, what else was I to conclude since you hid in the Iceman vault whatever operation you’d concocted? What happened to our undivided, unconquerable strength when together—not apart?”

  “It was for your own safety, and I expected you to trust me when you did see through the ruse. I near laid it out at the edge of the wading pool. After all, you insist that I’m so transparent.”

  She snapped, “Gee, I’m sorry I missed the clues when your friends told me you were devoured by sharks! What should I have done, demanded a forensic analysis of your mangled re-breather in my critical thinking?”

  He chuckled sardonically, “Yeah. Maybe. C’mon … do you really think I’d allow for sharks to take me down, Liz? I’m a SEAL—we’re taught how to deal with situations like that.”

  “What the hell do I know about big bad SEALs and sharks? You kept that in your Icebox, too! I don’t know anything anymore beyond the fact that you lied and I haven’t stopped crying since that day. You should have told me what your plans were! I would have kept it in the icebox, too.”

  “No. I should not have told you. And what if they grabbed you—tortured you for information about me. You think they would have stopped at torture? Huh?”

  “I never would have said. I would have taken it to the grave!”

  “And you would have! These people would have killed you after they did God knows what to you. And I was not about to take that chance, ever!”

  He took another step to her, but she stopped him with her hand.

  “Does anyone else know that you’re alive?”

  He looked away and tugged at his necktie, loosening it.

  “Tell me! Have I been played a fool by Obsidian?”

  “It was strictly on a need to know, but only one knew the details: your father.”

  “My? My father?”

  “Yes. He’s been helping me. Without him, I couldn’t have pulled this off as seamlessly as I have.”

  “MY FATHER!”

  “Don’t be angry with him. I didn’t give him a choice.”

  “You fucking strong-armed my father to lie to me!?”

  “It wasn’t like that.” It was more like black-mail.

  She stormed past him then pushed the cabin door open. Saying nothing further, she ran down the hall, needing separation and time to think … and to talk herself out of murdering him!

  “This is not going well … at all, jackass,” he said before bolting from the room, hot on her heels.

  ***

  “Stop. Let’s go back to the cabin,” Fitzwilliam said from three feet behind her, but Liz ignored him.

  With each furious step she took toward her stateroom on the other side of the quarter–mile long train, she ruminated to herself: He lied to me! He broke my heart. He didn’t want my help! He listened in to my conversations. He didn’t trust me with his plan or my constancy! He enlisted my father! Who also lied to me! Oh, but Fitzwilliam is alive! He’s not cheating. He ended Diablo’s focus. He looks so tired. He’s going to be a daddy.

  Her emotions were all over the place, barreling through her brain with the same ferocity as the train raced through the snow-covered mountain pass beside her. In her haste to beat a path far from her husband and the unsteady rocking of the carriage, she stumbled in those damn heels that pinched her feet and fell against the window. Of course, he was right there catching her waist in his firm grasp and then her tears came again.

  “Liz, where’s your cabin?” he defeatedly asked.

  “At the rear of the train.”

  With a swift motion, she was in his strong arms again. She said nothing but buried her head into his neck, taking in his soothing scent. She was back where nothing and everything made sense, except for the one fact that made her feel whol
e: she was home and that made perfect sense.

  He kissed her forehead and said, “Please don’t fight me until we get to your cabin, okay?”

  “Fine,” she replied, then kissed his neck, reconnecting to him.

  “You look beautiful tonight, but your hair may take some getting used to.”

  She snorted at how easily they slipped back into their comfortable repartee.

  “And you look like you’ve been through hell, but … hot as ever.” Her fingers ran down his necktie. “Italian silk; nice choice.”

  He chortled.

  She pointed to her door and he opened it and gently set her on her feet. Her eyes fell to the turned-down bed and fresh bottle of champagne; Salvatore had left her a snack of chocolate-covered strawberries for when she returned later tonight.

  “You still didn’t answer my question,” he innocuously stated, gaping over the grand suite elegance when he let go of her waist.

  “What question?”

  “Who are you travelling with in such luxury? It’s very unlike you to spend this kind of money on accommodations. Is someone sharing this stateroom with you?”

  “No one. It’s just me. Jane and Charlie gave me this trip so that I could visit the damn bank in Geneva and get away from my parents.”

  “Because of your mom?”

  She threw up her arms and walked away from him.

  “In my defense, I didn’t know she was back until the day before the funeral when I showed up at Longbourn to elicit your father’s help. Had I known before I left for Bermuda, I might have maybe … done things differently, considered another way.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you had to go through that alone.”

  Again she snapped unable to control the bite laced in her tone. “She was only one of a long list of painful things I had to work through—alone—thanks to you.”

  “I’m not sorry for how I chose to keep you safe, Liz.”

  “You should be.”

  Mentally and emotionally exhausted, not to mention still in shock at his very presence, she was ill-prepared for this argument. She plopped down on the edge of the bed, ignoring her stomach’s growl and the enticing pull of the strawberries, which would only make her vomit anyway.

  Glancing up at him, her gaze softened. He looked so tired, so beat down. “What are we doing, Fitzwilliam?” She let out a deep breath. “None of it matters, does it? All that matters is that you’re here—with me now—back from the dead.”

  He crossed the room and knelt before her; his strong hands pushed her skirt up over her thighs and hips. He shifted to move his muscular form between her spread legs and caressed her skin with gentle thumb strokes. Damn, it felt so good to feel his touch again. The imprint of his physical touch made long ago, tickled with renewed life. She quietly moaned at his tender ministrations and, allowing her heart to dictate her actions, rested her forehead against his.

  “I want to hate you for what you did and remain angry with you for not including me or trusting me, but I love you so much I can only try to forgive you, because you’re here.” Her right hand trembled as her fingers tucked below his suit jacket and rested upon his firm pec and beating heart. Life coursed through his body; he wasn’t dead. And she had to move past her anger—had to listen to her heart not her head, just as her sister had advised.

  “I’m sorry for all the pain I caused you, and … and I’m sorry you ever got involved with me,” he said with a distressed mien.

  “Please don’t say that. You’re the best thing that ever happened in my life and I’d do it all over again.”

  His index finger lifted her chin and he softly kissed her lips.

  “What now?” she whispered when the connection broke.

  “Now, I kiss every inch of my wife and we don’t leave this cabin until Prague.”

  He deposited kisses to her chin, cheek, and then the hand that had just pressed against his chest.

  “And what happens in Prague?”

  “It’s my last stop in revenge. I’m going to face Morales head on.”

  “Good. Because …”

  She took his hand in hers then rested it firmly against her tummy. “You need to kill him. We have to protect our baby and its future, Fitzwilliam.”

  “Baby?” His large hand cupped and squeezed her belly, connecting mentally with the life growing in her womb. “Oh, babe. Really?”

  Nodding, her grin spread as wide as his. “Yes, Daddy, I’m about six or seven weeks pregnant.”

  Leaning back on the bed, propped up by her elbows, her heart swelled when he rested his head on her belly, kissing it in loving pecks.

  “I promise you both, our future will be safe … and happy … and far, far away from Obsidian’s reach.”

  Her stomach growled in his ear and she laughed.

  “You need to eat; you’ve lost too much weight. Call the porter.”

  In the breaking and mending heartbeats of reunion, he was back to dictating and calling the shots. And you know what, she didn’t care, not one iota! He was alive and so was she! And they were together!

  ***

  “Mrs. Thornton?” Salvatore asked through the door, having responded to the press of the call button beside her bed.

  Fitzwilliam looked surprised and was clearly ready to say something but she didn’t wait, instead she opened the cabin door.

  Bearing a tray of covered dishes, the porter entered. “Oh! I am sorry, I did not know that you had company.”

  With a smirk, her husband stood. “I’m Mr. Thornton.”

  “Very good, signore! You have surprised your wife after all. When she informed me that you would not be travelling with her, it was nothing to cross your name off my carriage passenger list, but it was not so easy to remove the sadness from her eyes.”

  Fitzwilliam turned his head to look at her and their eyes met; something tender and wonderful passed between them for a second until he asked Salvatore, “Are you saying this reservation had been made for Mr. and Mrs. John Thornton?”

  “Si.”

  The steward went about his business and, again, Fitzwilliam looked to her this time with a quizzical brow. He pulled the tie from his neck then sat on the bed in deep thought.

  She walked to him and stood with her back to the porter, barely hearing the door click behind him after he laid their meal out on the table.

  “What is it?”

  “You’re traveling with one of the passports from the safety deposit box, aren’t you?”

  “I guess. I don’t know. Before giving the stack to Rick, I only glanced at the first one in the pile before becoming annoyed at Lucy Steele’s face. Maybe Jane gave me a passport and a forged British Driver’s License from the pile.”

  “She did. And you said that your sister made this reservation?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, I’m pretty certain that Rick may have been involved in my business dealings in Venice, and someone took care of my business in Cadiz, and in Paraguay a woman on a dirt bike showed up with a couple of throwing stars.”

  “Boy … you have been everywhere. What are you saying?”

  “I’m saying they know. Obsidian knows and they’ve been helping me for the last 3 days, and the fact that your father put me on the exact train as you means he’s betrayed my confidence to your sister and reneged on the deal we made.”

  “Good! Then he is my friggin’ hero! Coming clean by his own guilty conscience.”

  He smiled thoughtfully. What a turn of the key. Traitor to country and to his son-in-law, yet redeemed father in a matter of minutes.

  “But, really, I don’t think Obsidian knows. In fact, I met with Rick last week. He didn’t know and even told me how he and Charlie feel guilty over what happened the night of the dive,” she said.

  “No. They know,” he confidently stated and looked down at his hands clasped between his legs. She could see the wheels turning and burning in his mind just as they were in hers.

  “If they know, then
it would appear that my sister is the only one with big enough balls to put me in your path!” She was trying to hold her temper at bay, too tired to mentally fight with each chicken-shit member of Obsidian. “It would seem that everyone has had their piece of fun at Liz Darcy’s expense. Is that what people you care about do in this business—lie? Your own cousin!”

  He sighed. “I know it seems that way, but they’re not playing with you. They love you, and I doubt they knew what to say … ‘Um, sorry, Liz. We were wrong. He dicked us all and he’s been running around South America blowing up shit.’ Even your sister couldn’t come right out with it. She had to send you on a five-star vacation so you could see me with your own eyes.”

  “True. They’re going to kill you, you know.”

  He finally gazed up at her with a chuckle on his lips and a head shake. “I didn’t expect anything less. What a mess.”

  “Your mess.”

  Gliding his arms around her hips he pulled her into him and down onto the bed. “Mrs. Darcy Thornton …” he murmured. “Will you ever forgive me? Please?” He kissed her earlobe in a delicious suckle.

  “I don’t know, Mr. Darcy Thornton. You have a ton of making up to do.”

  “Starting now. For the next 24 hours there are only two things I care to think about or discuss: you and me and how to redeem myself.”

  “Three things: you and me and our baby, and then when we arrive in Prague, I want to know every other thing, like where and what you’ve been up to for the last four weeks. I want that Iceman vault opened and aired out. Then, I’ll consider forgiving you.”

  “Fine, and I want to hear everything that happened between you and your mother.”

  “It was awful and weird, and Dad lied … yet again. Oh, how I wish you had been there.”

  “I wish so, too. Babe, I will never leave you again—not like that. You have my word.”

  “Prove it.”

  “That’ll have to take forever to prove.”

  “I’ll hold you to it,” she said breathlessly.

  Rolling on top of her he kissed her with searing, truthful lips that told her that after Prague the future was theirs where happiness and peace awaited. No tears, no fears, and no Obsidian.