by Jill Morrow
“Blast,” he muttered, peering through a bare spot in the bushes. “I can’t make out a word they’re saying.”
“Shhh.” Amy raised a finger to her lips.
The cadence of Catharine’s voice rose and fell on the breeze from the ocean as she stared down at her hands in her lap. Adrian did not interrupt. He merely shifted position to face straight ahead, practically motionless as he looked across the waves.
“What do you make of it, Sherlock?” Jim whispered, gaze fixed on the tableau before them.
Amy moved closer to get a better view. “I’ve never seen my . . . Catharine . . . sit quite so still or talk so much to anyone. She trusts him, that’s for sure.”
Adrian’s white shirt contrasted against the dark sky, making it easier for Jim to catch the sag of his shoulders as Catharine’s voice trailed away. Silence descended between them, so dense and complete that they might have been sitting miles apart. Catharine reached out, her fingers floating on the air for a moment as if they couldn’t decide whether or not to land. Finally she rested a hand on Adrian’s shoulder.
Adrian slowly raised his hand to cover hers. Then he turned and drew her near, rocking her so closely against him that there was no longer any glimpse of ocean between them. He murmured into her hair, his words obscured, but even the poorest eyesight could make out the way his hand stroked Catharine’s back.
Jim lurched forward, suddenly nauseated. Amy gripped his arm.
“You don’t understand,” he said, staring wildly at her. “I have to stop them. There’s Constance to think of, and Grace and Ted . . .”
She held on tight. “No, you don’t understand. You can’t stop anything here.”
She was right. He was powerless to alter whatever secret Adrian and Catharine shared, could do nothing to change the emotions that fueled their actions tonight.
He wanted to wail as Adrian planted a gentle kiss on Catharine’s cheek.
“I have just as many questions as you do,” Amy whispered. “But we won’t get the answers now. We’ll have to stow this away until its proper time.”
Proper time? Could there ever be a proper time to watch a man destroy not only his life but the lives of those who loved him? A lump caught in Jim’s throat as Adrian’s arm encircled Catharine’s waist. Her head dropped to his shoulder; together they faced the sea.
“Let’s go,” Jim said harshly, turning back toward Liriodendron. “I don’t need to see what happens next.”
Amy hesitated, obviously tempted to stay. Then she slid her hand against his cold palm and allowed him to lead her toward the house. “You can’t leave Liriodendron yet,” she said, and his head snapped toward her. How had she known that he wanted nothing more than to pack his bags and escape to a hotel in town?
“I’m not leaving,” he said.
“Good. First of all, Mr. de la Noye is your friend, and you don’t know the whole story.”
“I don’t want to know the whole story.”
“Yes, you do. Secondly, I can’t go through this wedding tomorrow without you. Thank you for saving me tonight.”
He stopped, not even caring that they stood in clear view at the center of the lawn. “You’re welcome,” he said. “Amy, I won’t hold you to your promise. You don’t have to let Mrs. C speak through you at the wedding. You have every right to refuse after what happened in the dining room tonight.”
“I know, and you’re a peach to say it, but I’ve got to do it. I hate to admit it, but we’ve got to find out why she’s come, what she wants. She might have the answers we need. Jim . . . has it crossed your mind that Mr. de la Noye could be my father?”
It seemed almost illegal to utter the words out loud. “Yes, damn it,” he said, staring at the ground. “Of course it has.”
“Then you see why I’ve got to finish this. I’ve got to find out, and I don’t think we’re going to get the whole story from those two down on the rocks, do you?”
He jammed his hands into his pockets. “You’re sure you’ll be okay?”
She hesitated. “No. What I’m sure of is that you’ll do everything possible to protect me.”
Jim cleared his throat. “I’ll do the best I can.”
“That’s saying quite a lot,” she said softly. “You’re a good man, Jim Reid. Now, I need a drink. Join me?”
Surely Adrian would stride through that gap in the hedge, virtuously alone. But the leaves of the bushes fluttered in the breeze, almost teasing in their silence.
“Come,” Amy said, extending her hand.
Casting one last futile glance toward the rocks, Jim followed her to the house.
CHAPTER
38
February 1898
Cassie shot up in bed, yanking the sheet up to her chin with one quick, defensive tug as the front door of the cottage banged shut.
“That will be Mrs. Vickery,” Adrian murmured from beneath the quilt. “She told me this morning that she’d leave dinner for us.”
“Adrian! Didn’t you lock the door?”
“Of course I did. She carries a ring of keys, remember?”
“But what if she walks down the hall and—”
“What’s this? Miss Walsh has a conscience?” A slow grin spread across his face; it had been years since she’d seen Adrian Delano in such good humor. “Both bedroom doors—yours as well as this one—are closed. If she decides to pry, then she deserves whatever offensive sights meet her eyes.” His arm curled about her, hauling her back down beside him. “Although,” he whispered, “I can vouch for the fact that there is nothing offensive whatsoever about any part of you.”
A shiver danced up her spine as he kissed the nape of her neck. His left hand absently stroked her belly. A flush traveled from the top of her head to her toes as his lips moved to her earlobe. The truth of the situation splashed across her mind like a glass of icy water: she was lying naked in bed beside a man who wasn’t her husband.
“Adrian.” She twisted in his arms to face him. “What have I done?”
Adrian paused as Mrs. Vickery’s efficient footsteps clicked through the front room toward the kitchen. Then he scooped Cassie close, easing her head to rest against his chest. “What have you done? You mean other than make me the happiest I’ve ever been in my life?”
“But at what cost?” To her utter embarrassment, her voice broke. His heartbeat skipped at that, but his arms remained wrapped securely around her.
“At no cost,” he said quietly.
Mrs. Vickery had begun to sing, a dreary rendition of “Annie Laurie” that only served to make the situation seem even bleaker than it was.
“But . . . but my plans,” Cassie started. “How can I marry Peter now that you and I . . . knowing that . . .”
Adrian continued to stroke her arm, but she felt his muscles tense. “Knowing what, Cassie?”
“I’m positively ruined, and—”
The stroking stopped. “That wasn’t my doing,” he said. “I won’t ask you about it now, but I won’t take the blame either.”
She didn’t refute his words. She might have found an artful way to feign virginity with Peter Phillips, but there was no point in even trying to fool Adrian. In truth, she didn’t even want to.
“So, then,” he continued, “what exactly has changed for you?”
She lifted her head to stare at him. Despite his rumpled hair and the evening stubble on his cheeks, his gaze was direct. He knew. He could read her heart as if there were words etched upon it, but he would make her say them out loud all the same.
Mrs. Vickery’s singing stopped quite suddenly. Cassie froze. “She can’t find me here,” she said. “The talk—nobody will want me!”
“Cassie . . .” he prodded.
The lugubrious song began again, this time accompanied by the clatter of dishes and silver. Mrs. Vickery was apparently setting the tiny kitchen table, her attention captured by the minutiae of daily responsibility.
Cassie once again met Adrian’s questioning look. “Oh,
all right,” she whispered, peeved. “How can I marry Peter when I’m in love with you?”
He lifted her chin with his finger. “You can be such a fool, Cassie Walsh. Do you honestly think I would ever let that idiot have you?” He kissed her, briefly silencing the words that bubbled to her lips.
“Adrian . . .” she said as they parted, but he kissed her again, so deeply that she couldn’t help but lose herself in it. His body pressed the length of hers, as perfect a fit as if he’d been created for the sole purpose of making love to her. She wanted to tell him how wonderful he felt—that the only other time she’d been with a man had been the most horrible experience of her life. But it seemed a waste of words when his mouth felt so good, when the slightest brush of his fingers almost made her forget who she was. She hardly recognized her own sigh as she slipped beneath him, molding herself to each part of him as if she believed they could become one person.
What was done was done. She couldn’t turn back the hours, undo what had passed between them. Nor could she lie and claim that he’d taken unfair advantage of her. She’d fallen willingly into bed with Adrian Delano. Even now, it was she who guided his hand to her breast as the room became nothing more than a rustle of soft sheets and quilts. Adrian’s lips traveled down her neck as her nipple grew hard beneath his fingers.
They pulled away from each other as footsteps paced down the hallway toward the bedrooms.
“Dear God!” Cassie squeaked.
Adrian’s head swiveled toward the door. “Ah. So Pinkerton’s should employ our dear Mrs. Vickery after all.”
“What cheek, prying like this!”
“Merely a benefit of her position, I suppose.” Adrian leaned over the side of the bed to fish his trousers from the floor. Down the hall, the door to Cassie’s bedroom creaked open. Mrs. Vickery’s footsteps grew faint, muffled by the carpet as she entered the room. “Stay quiet, darling,” Adrian said, landing a light kiss on Cassie’s forehead. “I’ll be right back.”
She sank beneath the quilts as he pulled on his trousers and reached for his shirt. Benefit of her position? Had he forgotten that she came from that class as well? She dragged a pillow over her head, remembering the times she herself had “discovered” clandestine information while dusting a room or delivering a tray.
The door to the other bedroom tapped shut again. Adrian slipped his arms through his suspenders and ran a hand through his hair. Cassie dove beneath the bedclothes as their bedroom doorknob rattled from the outside. Mrs. Vickery was a more determined snoop than she herself had ever been. She heard Adrian unlock the door and open it a crack.
“Good evening,” he said. His voice grew distant as he stepped into the hall, closing the door firmly behind him. Cassie could only imagine the discomfited expression on the housekeeper’s face.
Occasional words floated through the closed door: “nap,” “tired,” “thank-you-for-dinner.” Mrs. Vickery wouldn’t dare ask questions, but Adrian included an offhand alibi all the same. Those words carried through the heavy door loud and clear: “I wish I possessed my cousin’s vitality. She’s spent the afternoon with Marjorie Phillips, but I expect her back at any moment.”
Their footsteps retreated down the hall. Cassie emerged from her nest of quilts, topsy-turvy and out of sorts. Adrian would escort Mrs. Vickery to the door, see her safely down the walk before returning to the bedroom. They could only hope he’d done enough to quell the housekeeper’s suspicions.
But Cassie herself wouldn’t have believed their charade had she been in Mrs. Vickery’s shoes. In addition to the thinness of their story, her coat hung on the coat rack in clear view, and her fur muff was probably still on the front-room floor, exactly where she’d left it.
Then there was Adrian. If his bare feet and general disarray hadn’t given him away, then his general air of contentment would have. No nap on earth could confer such satisfaction. Cassie pushed a lock of tangled hair back over one shoulder. Mrs. Vickery knew very well how Adrian had spent the past few hours, and the identity of his bedmate was an easy deduction.
And, as Adrian entered the bedroom, she saw from his preoccupied expression that he had reached the same conclusion.
“How much time before word travels, do you think?” she asked, hugging her knees to her chest.
“There’s no evidence of anything untoward.”
“Gossip doesn’t rely on evidence. Of course, you’ll deny everything if Peter hears . . . won’t you?”
His brow darkened. “Damn Peter.”
“I wish I could. But now I need him more than ever.”
“Marry me,” Adrian said, slamming the door behind him.
Her stomach dropped. “I can’t!”
He stepped toward the bed, eyes glittering. “Why not? Is Peter so much better?”
“No, of course not!” She scowled. “Peter’s awful, a total dunce. But I don’t care about him. You’re different, Adrian. I care about you too much to force you into a situation that will surely ruin your life.”
Adrian raised an eyebrow. “You couldn’t force me if you tried, Cassie Walsh. I know exactly what I’m getting into. I proposed to you, not the other way around. Listen to me: you’ve taken every pleasure in informing me that I’m spineless, that I should decide what I want and then fight for it. Well, I’ve decided. I want you. Marry me, Cassie.”
Her mouth tasted like ashes. “Your parents would never allow you to marry the cook’s daughter.”
“My choice of wife is my decision to make.”
“Oh, brave words.” She clutched the sheet about her as she pulled herself up to her knees on the bed. They were nearly eye to eye now, and that made her words flow more easily. “How cocky will you feel when your parents cut you off without a penny?”
He gripped her upper arms, drawing her into a long kiss. Her sheet floated down to the bed as her hands caressed his face. “Let them cut me off,” he whispered, kissing her eyelids. “I can practice law somewhere besides my father’s office. I can do anything with you beside me.”
He would make a very fine lawyer. He would infuse his arguments with boldness born of conviction. But even the best attorney could not sway jurors whose opinions had been hardened before the trial even began. Cassie searched for the words to explain this but found they would not come. She shivered as his eyes swept across her naked body. How to express sentiments that she herself didn’t even want to hear?
“Marry me, Cassie,” he said again, holding her gaze as he unfastened his suspenders.
She said nothing, merely waited until he’d undressed completely before lifting the bedclothes so that they could disappear beneath them together.
CHAPTER
39
Jim stayed in bed as late as he could the next morning, pulling the blankets over his head to avoid the sun’s rays when they intruded through his window. He stubbornly ignored the rumbling of his stomach as the breakfast hour drew near, paying little attention to footsteps passing outside his bedroom door as others descended to the dining room in search of sustenance. But try as he might, he could not ignore the siren call of coffee, that rich, fragrant aroma that lingered on the air even after breakfast ended and everyone was set free to prepare for the afternoon’s wedding as each saw fit. Resigned to his own addiction, he hastily dressed, grabbed his toiletries, and padded down the hall in slippered feet toward the bathroom.
He couldn’t wait to get out of this place. Liriodendron made men do strange things. There was Bennett Chapman, acting more and more as if he took daily showers in the Fountain of Youth . . . Nicholas, muttering to himself as he passed through the hallways, dry and nasty as an old turnip . . . and Adrian. Jim opened the hot water spigot all the way and watched as water splashed against the porcelain bowl of the sink. There were no words for Adrian. He’d never in a million years suspected that his mentor could entertain a dishonorable deed, much less commit one. Worse, the unspeakable behavior would follow them straight off Aquidneck Island and back to the de la Noyes’
comfortable Brookline home.
He glumly twisted off the top of his Pepsodent tube, not even noticing when a glob of paste fell from his toothbrush into the sink below. He could always find a legal position elsewhere. He’d have to, considering that he wouldn’t be able to look Adrian in the eye once the man deserted Constance and the children. Still, the friendship would be hard to replace. He already mourned the loss of someone he’d looked up to for as long as he could remember.
What a treat it would be to shove everything into his suitcase and leave Liriodendron right now. But that was not to be. He couldn’t justify anything getting in the way of his professional obligation . . . not Adrian’s fall from grace, not even Miss Amy Walsh.
With a sigh, Jim hung his shirt on the hook behind the door and halfheartedly reached for the soap. Amy presented yet another set of worms to cram back into the can where they belonged. Of course he’d noticed last night’s flirtatious glances when they’d slipped into the dining room for a swig of brandy from Bennett’s alcoholic contraband. He’d caught that wiggle of her little derriere as she bent to fetch the decanter kept stashed from sight in the buffet cabinet. He had to admit he hadn’t looked away. But he’d done nothing more than look—had merely drained his glass in one gulp and bid her a hasty good night. She was pretty damn alluring, but somebody had to hold on to his scruples in this cavernous den of iniquity.
He’d just lathered up when a knock sounded on the bathroom door. “Damn,” he muttered beneath his breath. There went all expectations of sneaking unnoticed back to his room. He could only hope his visitor was a housemaid.
“Out in a jiffy,” he said, slapping soap lather onto his face.
“I look forward to it,” Adrian replied.
Jim stopped mid-scrub, staring at his image in the mirror as if it could tell him how to avoid a face-to-face meeting with the person he least wanted to see. But his reflection looked just as flummoxed as he himself felt.