Bragg stared. “So now it is ‘Calder’?”
She flushed. “Please. You almost sound jealous, Bragg.”
“Jealous? Francesca, have you lost your mind? I am not jealous of my brother. Not in the least.”
She sincerely doubted that. In fact, whenever she mentioned Hart’s name it seemed to set Bragg off. Even though it was misplaced, Francesca hoped that some of Bragg’s jealousy involved her. It felt as if that was the case. “Well, that is good.” She smiled but turned away so he would not see, looking out her window, and said, “As you have nothing to be jealous of.”
He was silent.
She stole a glance at him.
He turned and caught her eye. Their gazes held, and it seemed potent.
Francesca turned away, breathless. Sharing a case was wonderful, but she wanted so much more. Perhaps she should take on another investigation—one of her own.
She tensed at the thought. She remained afraid now, afraid of what she would find if she dared to delve into Bragg’s life. Besides, it felt wrong. If he wanted her to know something, he would tell her directly; she felt sure of it.
And they were friends now. That much was clear. Surely when the time was right, he would tell her whatever it was that was holding him back.
“So what is distracting you, Francesca?” he asked softly.
She jerked, startled.
“You have seemed very anxious today. What is it? Can I help?”
Francesca hesitated and then blurted, “Oh, Bragg! It is family matters.”
“Oh.” He hesitated. “I am happy to lend a shoulder,” he said with a small smile. “Even though I know you despise weepy females.”
They were on 61st Street. From where they idled in the creeping traffic Francesca could see the Montrose house. She imagined using his shoulder to cry upon. Perhaps she should engage in some theatrics. She sighed, knowing she could not be that coy. “Well, I do believe Evan is still carrying on with his mistress.”
“He is not married,” Bragg said.
“But he is engaged! His affair should end!” She stared at him.
Bragg said, with a smile, “From your point of view, perhaps. I doubt he feels compelled to be loyal to Miss Channing until after his vows are said.”
“But … is that how you would think?” She was stunned by what he had said. It did not sound like the man she had come to know so well.
“No, that is not how I think, not at all. But it is how many men think.”
Oddly, she felt relieved. She didn’t need to know Bragg better to know that he would be the most loyal and faithful of men.
“Is that the extent of your worries?”
“Hardly.” She looked away, afraid he might guess that he was at the top of her list. Then, abruptly, she half-turned and faced him. “Bragg? I had to tell Connie about Montrose.”
He whirled his head. “What!”
“Bragg, the gig!” she shouted.
He turned his attention to the road, slamming on his brakes. The gig had eased out from behind another carriage, right in front of them. Bragg looked back at her. “You don’t mean what I think you do, do you?”
“She has been suspicious, I am certain, and then she asked me directly what I knew. I could not lie.”
“Oh, Francesca.” He shook his head.
“You do not think I did the right thing?” She gripped his arm. Their gazes locked. “But how could I lie to Connie?”
“I do not know. Perhaps you might have been evasive. What I do know is that it is better to stay out of the private lives of other people, especially married ones.” His gaze was somber. It washed over her now.
“I told her yesterday afternoon. Bragg, I have called the house repeatedly, and I cannot reach her! Yesterday she was not taking calls; this morning, no one answered. I am worried. I probably shouldn’t be, but I am.” She smiled grimly.
“I am worried, too,” he said, not words she wanted to hear.
She glanced at him. “I had hoped you would say something encouraging.”
“Your sister is not as strong as you are, Francesca, and she loves Montrose deeply.”
“Connie is very strong,” Francesca began, but even as she spoke, she wondered if she believed her own contention. “She has been determined to follow in Mama’s footsteps ever since she was a child, and she is doing a wonderful job of it.”
“Perhaps your mother has been the determined one,” he said.
“What?”
“I suspect your mother has wished for her eldest daughter to be a perfect copy of herself.”
Francesca stared. “Well, of course she has, but Connie has wanted Mama’s way of life, too.”
He said, “Life has a way of making those who least wish it face their worst fears.”
She gazed at his strikingly chiseled profile. “Bragg, that is so dark.”
“I have found it to be the truth,” he returned, and there was something in his tone that made her stare.
She swallowed. “Have you been forced to face your worst fears?”
He did not look away from her eyes. “In part.”
She inhaled; she did not like his answer, oh no. Worse, she saw something dark and sad, perhaps even tragic, there in his own gaze, and it frightened her. Her impulse was to reach for his hand.
Fortunately, he was driving, and his hands were occupied, so she did not.
He smiled a bit then. “Connie has you, and her family; she will be fine.”
Francesca didn’t know whether he really meant it or not. “Montrose threw me out of the house. He told me I am never welcome there again.”
Bragg shifted and gazed unwaveringly at her. He did not speak.
She flushed. “It is very hurtful.”
“I am sure that it is.”
She became angry. “I had hoped for some sympathy from you.”
“You will not find it where Montrose is concerned.” He gazed rigidly at the road.
Francesca looked away. She was aware of an enmity between Montrose and Bragg. “Is this because you still have feelings for Eliza yourself?” She had to ask. Many years ago, when Bragg was in Columbia University, he had a torrid affair with Eliza, just before her marriage to Burton. And even after all of these years, they had remained friends.
Eliza Burton had a penchant for involving herself with spectacular men, Francesca thought sourly.
“I am fond of Eliza. But she is only a friend. We have been through this before,” he said. He gripped the leather-bound steering wheel and stared straight ahead. “But I am also fond of you.”
Francesca did not know what to say, and she wasn’t given a chance to respond. He said, “I feel protective of you, Francesca. And Montrose is a cad. Has he not proven that? You should not admire him now.”
“Yes, he has proven himself reprehensible, Bragg. But he has been hurt, too. I am sure of it.” She would not mention that he had even said so.
“God! You defend everyone. Now, you defend Montrose!”
“No, I do not defend everyone, just those whom I care about. How could it be otherwise?”
He turned and leveled a stare at her. It seemed heated.
“And you know I care for him only as I do for Evan,” she said hotly.
He looked back at the road. “You are a unique woman. With your studies and your liberalism, your passionate views about reform—yet for a bluestocking, somehow, you attract the most virile men. Oddly, you seem to surround yourself with them.”
Francesca could only blink at him. What was he talking about! Montrose was her brother-in-law, and she had only just met Hart, who was an acquaintance, and it had only been two weeks since Bragg had walked right into the forefront of her life.
They were approaching the intersection at 62d Street. Francesca forgot all about his odd statement. She had to speak to Connie.
Bragg said, as if reading her mind, “Do you want me to stop?”
She hesitated. She desperately wanted to go up to that door—but what i
f Montrose was at home? She did not feel up to facing him yet again. She said, “He was so angry, Bragg.”
“You are afraid of Montrose?” He was incredulous.
She nodded. “I know. It is silly. I know he would never hurt me, but his temper—it was stunning.”
“Do you want me to go ask to see your sister?”
She faced him. “Yes. Please. I will wait in the car. Simply tell her she must see me!”
Bragg abruptly veered to the left. A coachman behind them shouted at him. He ignored it.
Francesca twisted her hands in her muff. She really hoped that she would not have to see Neil again; she hoped he was not at home.
Bragg turned into the short driveway that belonged to her sister and Neil. He drove through the arch and into the interior courtyard, where he stopped the car. One coach was parked in the drive. Francesca prayed that meant that Connie was home and Neil was not.
“Wait here,” Brag said, jumping out.
“Bragg?”
He paused before striding up the three short front steps.
“Thank you.”
He nodded and used the knocker.
Francesca hesitated, watching, and there was no answer. God, was she truly afraid of Montrose in a temper? Yes, she was, but such cowardice would not do. After all, he would never strike her—even though his words had hurt her more than any physical blow. She slowly got out of the car.
Bragg glanced at her. “Courage in company?” he asked. A smile registered in his eyes.
“Will you still respect me?” she countered.
He did smile then. “I shall always respect you, Francesca, and I do not blame you for being afraid of Montrose, given the situation. I would be furious with you if I were him. Actually, I am surprised he did not try to throttle you.”
She could not help herself. “And if he had?”
He paused, his golden eyes intent. “Are you seeking a champion, Francesca?” he asked softly.
She felt herself warm inside. “And if I am?”
His answer was a smile. The moment of locked gazes became a long one. Francesca heard herself sigh.
He gave her a look, perhaps amused, and used the door knocker again. “Is no one home? What of the staff?”
Instantly Francesca became alarmed. “Try one more time. If there is no answer, then something is terribly wrong, and we shall have to try to find a way into the house!”
“Breaking and entering is a crime,” he said mildly, banging now with his gloved fist. “But I doubt that would deter you.”
“It would not. But why is there no answer?” Francesca asked, wringing her hands. “This is too strange, and I have a horrid feeling of dread.”
“I am sure there is a reasonable explanation,” Bragg began, squeezing her hand, when suddenly the door was thrust open—and they were faced not with a servant, but Montrose.
He towered over them, in his shirtsleeves, unshaven and unkempt. “You!” he said to Francesca. And he began to slam the door closed.
Bragg blocked it with his hip. “We wish a word with your wife, Montrose,” he said coldly. “Do let us in.”
“Get a warrant,” Montrose said harshly.
“I shall,” Bragg said calmly.
Montrose stared.
Bragg stared back.
Montrose turned his eyes on Francesca, and they were filled with rage, frustration, and despair. “I am afraid,” he said, biting off each word in his anger, “that my wife is not receiving callers. Not here, not today.”
“Why not?” Francesca gasped. “What have you done with her?”
“What have I done?” he roared. “You! You are the one, God damn it, Francesca! Your meddling is to blame!”
“Where is Lady Montrose?” Bragg cut in.
Montrose turned to stare at him. “I don’t know,” he said.
“What?” Francesca whispered, in growing horror. “What did you say?”
“I don’t know!” he shouted. “Connie has taken the girls and they have simply disappeared!”
TWELVE
Francesca felt the ground tilt wildly beneath her feet. She felt Bragg grip her arm, but she only had eyes for Montrose. “No. Connie cannot have disappeared. That is impossible.”
“And you are to blame,” Neil ground out, jabbing his hand at her. He turned and stalked into the entrance hall, not bothering to close the front door.
Francesca finally looked at Bragg, still in shock. “She must have taken the girls out for the day. I am sure of it.”
Bragg’s gaze was soft with compassion. “Francesca,” he began, as softly.
Montrose whirled. “An outing? She has left me, Francesca; she has stolen the girls and left me!”
Francesca did not dare approach him. He seemed unhinged in his rage. “Neil,” she spoke very calmly, “I know my sister. She would never do such a thing. Connie is very proper.”
He cried, “She took a trunk for herself and one each for the girls! She has left me, Francesca. And I do not know where she has gone.” Suddenly he turned his back on her, his shoulders shaking.
Francesca’s instinct was to rush to him and comfort him. Bragg detained her with his hand.
She glanced briefly at him. “She will be back, Neil. I am certain of it.”
He made a harsh, disparaging sound.
Francesca finally shook Bragg off. She felt his displeasure but ignored it and slowly crossed the room. “Neil? Why don’t you go to your rooms? I will send a servant up with a supper tray and a glass of brandy.” She knew cognac was his favorite drink.
He glanced at her. “I am hardly hungry. And I have dismissed the servants for the day.”
Their eyes held. She saw his panic now, so clearly, and his desperation. “I will find her, Neil. She will be back.”
And the anger in his eyes changed, turning into something softer. He shook his head. “I have treated you in the worst way, and you think to be kind? And to offer me hope?”
“Yes, I do,” she said.
He stared. “Francesca, I so wish you had let my life alone.”
“I wish you had not had an affair with another woman.”
“You have no idea what my life is like, what I feel in my heart, not for anyone, including your sister.”
“But how complicated can it possibly be?” she asked, meaning her every word.
“Very,” he returned flatly.
She stared again. It was obvious that Neil did care deeply for, and perhaps even loved, her sister. It was as obvious that something was terribly wrong in their relationship and that it was hardly as simple as his having had a wandering eye.
Neil was the one to turn away, and his head was hanging. “I have a terrible feeling about this,” he said.
“Don’t.” Francesca touched his arm. “Don’t predict the future; don’t predict the worst.”
“I cannot help myself.” He looked directly at her. “I fear that my marriage is over,” he said.
Bragg’s Daimler motorcar idled in the large circular driveway in front of the Cahill mansion. Francesca sat with her hands inside of her fox fur muff, this one matching the trim upon her tan coat. Her mind would not stop. Neil was wrong, Connie had not left him, and if she had, it was temporary. The sister Francesca knew would never do such a thing.
Bragg took her arm and pulled her hand from the muff and clasped it. “She will turn up, sooner rather than later,” he said, his gaze searching.
Francesca turned to him gratefully. “Please don’t hand me fodder. Tell me what you really think.” She clung to his palm. It felt strong, amazingly so. This was a man, she thought, whom she could depend upon.
“I have already told you. I think Connie is fragile, more so than anyone suspects, and I am worried about her.”
“Bragg!” she cried, her heart racing with alarm.
“But I am not worried about her welfare. She is in a hotel somewhere with the girls, a lavish suite, warm and comfortable and well fed.”
Francesca prayed that h
e was right. “Well, I cannot imagine where else she would go. But why didn’t she come home, here?” she asked as he released her hand.
“Pride. And the desire to put a distance between herself and her husband.” His gaze slid over her features slowly.
Francesca became distracted. She felt flustered, and it seemed to reach right into her heart. “I am not going to say a word to Mama or Papa, for they will be far too worried. But I shall recruit Evan, and Joel, and we shall begin canvassing every single hotel in this city.”
“You could do that,” Bragg agreed. “But perhaps you might want to give Connie some privacy now.”
She stared. “You are joking, right?”
“No, Francesca. Clearly she wishes to be alone. When she has a need to be with her family, I have little doubt that she will make her whereabouts known.” He smiled. “It is only a suggestion.”
He was right. Francesca sighed. Then she said, peevishly, “Why are you always so wise?”
He grinned. “I am a bit older than you.”
“Only eight years.”
He narrowed his gaze. “I do not recall telling you my age.” She did grin, too. “I am a sleuth, remember?” “How could I forget?” He rolled his eyes theatrically and she laughed.
He sobered. “You become too serious and too intense when there is a crisis. I do not like seeing you so worried. You cannot carry the world upon your small shoulders, Francesca.”
“I can try,” she said, aiming for levity. But he did not smile at her remark. She hesitated, then said, “I feel the same way about you, Bragg.” And her words were not a spontaneous utterance.
Their eyes held. He hesitated, then, as if he had not heard her, “I am going to have another chat with my half brother. If you have need of me, even tonight, Francesca, do not hesitate to call. I will be answering my telephone.” He got out of the roadster and went around the front in order to open her door for her.
She smiled at him before getting out. “I appreciate that, Bragg.”
“Say hello to your parents for me,” he said.
Francesca murmured an affirmative and walked to her door. She felt him watching her as she did so. It was a good feeling, having him watch her walk to her door to make sure she got safely inside, and she thought about the extent of his concern for her family and herself. Was it really due only to their friendship? She refused to believe so.
Brenda Joyce - [Francesca Cahil 02] Page 18