by Anne Stuart
Customs was a simple matter. She had no luggage. She rented a car with little trouble, and by seven o’clock that night, she was heading out toward the Hamptons and Sean’s country cottage, that was more like a small mansion.
The traffic was deadly, but Cass ignored it. The talk radio program was about men who loved too much, and for a moment she thought of Diana, and how Richard’s devotion to her must have driven him to murder. She turned off the radio, letting the air-conditioned silence wash over her.
Sean was throwing a party. She shouldn’t have been surprised—Sean was happiest with an audience, and Mabry was happiest providing that audience. She parked the rental car three streets over, behind a Jaguar that in other days she would have coveted, and walked to the cottage, bracing herself as she stepped into the noise and light.
Sean was holding court, surrounded by a group of old friends, new acquaintances, hangers-on, and the like. He spotted her immediately, waved an airy hello, and continued with his anecdote. She stood and stared at him for a moment, assessing. He looked vibrant, alive, robust. He wasn’t going to die, damn it. He’d always known he was invincible, and he’d convinced her of that fact as well. He’d just needed time away from Richard Tiernan. As did she.
Mabry appeared beside her. “I’m glad you changed your mind, darling. I’ve called the apartment several times, trying to talk you into coming, but I’ve always gotten the machine. I was beginning to worry.”
“I was visiting friends upstate,” Cass murmured absently, the lie coming easily. She still hadn’t decided what she was going to tell Sean and Mabry, how much she was going to warn them. Maybe she simply wouldn’t say anything at all.
If only Richard would stay in England. Take his children and hide, where no one could find him. Where she wouldn’t have to see him again, but she’d know he was alive and well, and that his children were loved. There was no reason on earth for him to return and offer himself as a sacrifice to the bizarre ritual of execution. But then, none of his actions had made any kind of sense to her. Including his determined seduction of her.
There was no other word for it. She’d never been seduced in her life, but that was what Richard Tiernan had accomplished. He’d come on to her, mentally, emotionally, and physically, and he’d taken her on all those levels. She just wondered how long it would take her to reclaim herself.
Why hadn’t Richard told the truth? He’d been convicted of premeditated murder, and the cold calculation of it had worked against him. If he’d told the truth, that he’d picked up the knife in a moment of blind rage after learning his wife was pregnant by another man, surely he would have gotten off with a lighter sentence.
There was no understanding why he did the things he did. She could only hope and pray he’d have enough sense to run, farther and faster, taking his children with him.
She glanced at Mabry. “Have you spoken to Richard in the last few days?” she managed to ask in a casual voice.
“Richard’s not the type for trivial phone conversations,” Mabry said wryly. “I imagine he’s enjoying his solitude.”
“I imagine so.”
“By the way, I have a little surprise for you. Actually, not so little nowadays, but I think you’ll be pleased.”
“I don’t know if I’m in the mood for surprises,” she said slowly.
“You know Sean. He loves mixing things up. What made you decide to come here after all?” Mabry asked curiously, pushing her perfect sheath of white blond hair away from her strong-boned face. “You never liked these free-for-alls.”
It had seemed so very simple when she’d left England. She’d find Sean and tell him the truth about Richard.
Now she wasn’t so certain. “I was worried about Sean,” she said with a faint smile, avoiding the issue. “Besides, it’s off-season. I mistakenly thought things would be quiet around here.”
“You should have known better. Your father’s determined to live life to the fullest.” Unspoken, the knowledge of how short that life could be hung between them. “You can sleep in your old bedroom, though you’ll have to share it. We’ve got a full house this time.”
“Who’s here?”
“The usual suspects,” Mabry said lightly. “Pick the most unlikely houseguests you can imagine, multiply that by ten, and you have our current guest list. It makes for an interesting cocktail hour.” She drifted away, graceful as ever, and Cassidy watched her go.
Even in the best of times, Mabry made her feel oversized and rumpled. After a transatlantic trip and a monumental case of jet lag, Cassie felt like a bag lady. She wanted nothing more than to disappear to her room, to her shower, to a peaceful night’s sleep. Mabry had already made it clear that that was an unlikely prospect.
If she wasn’t going to tell them the truth about Richard, then she had no real reason to be here. No reason not to run away, back to Maryland. She would never have to see Richard Tiernan again. Never feel his cool, elegant, murderous hands on her flesh again, never know the deadly delight of his mouth . . .
“Penny for your thoughts.”
She didn’t want to turn. She couldn’t believe that she recognized that voice. But there was no avoiding it. She managed to plaster a bland, social smile on her face before she turned. “General Scott.”
“Your family was worried about you,” he said. “They were afraid you might have gotten into trouble.”
“I never get into trouble,” she said with deceptive calm. “I must say I’m surprised to see you here. In the enemy’s camp, so to speak.”
“Oh, I don’t consider your father the enemy,” he said blandly. “Not at all. Merely misguided, and even on that I’m not so sure. I think we both want to make sure Richard gets what’s coming to him, though our motives aren’t the same. Your father wants to make a fortune on his book. I simply want revenge.”
Cassie looked at him, trying to control the little shiver of fear that slid beneath her backbone. The general was dressed in civilian clothes, in a suit that fit his trim, middle-aged body to perfection. He was tanned, fit, with a determined gleam in his blue eyes and a set to his chin, and Cass had no doubt he was a man who wouldn’t allow defeat. “What if your revenge is misplaced?” she found herself asking, ignoring what she knew in her heart.
His expression darkened to one of profound disappointment. “He’s managed to fool you as well, has he? He was always good at getting women to believe in him. To do what he wanted. My poor Diana was just one in a long line of vulnerable women. What did he tell you? That she was spoiled, neurotic, faithless?”
“He said she was insane.”
The words fell into the noise of the party like crystal drops of acid. Amberson Scott didn’t even blink, and yet he seemed to grow, to intensify, like a deadly summer storm. “If she was,” he said finally, “then he made her that way.”
He reached out a blunt hand and gently touched her hair. A father’s touch, paternal, soothing, and Cassie found herself longing for it, longing for the parent she had always dreamed of and never had. “Don’t let him do the same to you, Cassidy,” he murmured. “He’s destroyed too many little girls. Don’t let him destroy you as well.”
“Amberson.” A pale gray lady appeared by his side, and for the first time Cass recognized General Scott’s wife. Diana’s mother. A ghost of a creature, with none of her late daughter’s fragile beauty or her husband’s vivid personality.
“Essie, you haven’t met Cassidy Roarke. Our host’s daughter. Cassidy, this is my wife, Esther.”
Cassie just managed to drag forth a polite smile. It wasn’t reciprocated. Essie Scott looked at her out of gray, lifeless eyes, murmured something scarcely intelligible.
And suddenly Cassie needed to escape. From the general’s formidable presence, smothering and intractable and yet oddly appealing, and from his wife, with her dead eyes. “I really need to see my
father,” she murmured. “If you’ll excuse me.”
“Of course, my dear,” the general said. “We’ll see you at breakfast.”
“Breakfast?” Cassie said, trying to hide the horrified disbelief that washed over her.
“You know your father. He was kind enough to invite us to be houseguests for the weekend. As well as Mark Bellingham. Now all we need is to entice Richard from the apartment in New York, and we’d really be an odd assortment.” There was no humor in the general’s voice. “He is still in New York, isn’t he, Cassidy?”
“I assume so. Where else would he be?”
He wasn’t a man who could be lied to. “Where, indeed?” he echoed. “You should get some sleep, dear girl. You look like you have a monumental case of jet lag.”
She had schooled her reactions enough not to betray anything. “You don’t get jet lag from a drive down from Connecticut,” she said.
“I thought I heard you say you were visiting friends in upstate New York.”
“I have friends all over.”
“I’m sure you do. And I’m sure you know how to protect yourself. You wouldn’t let anyone use you. Hurt you. Would you, Cassidy?”
“Sonny,” the pale lady, already forgotten, hissed. The general ignored his wife.
“I’m a survivor, General Scott,” Cass said. “I know how to take care of myself.”
“I’m glad to hear it. Quite often one finds that the person you most want to trust is the one who’ll betray you. Remember that, child.”
Cassidy, five feet nine in her size ten stocking feet and a ripe one hundred and thirty-five pounds felt far from childlike. But there was something about the general that made her feel fragile, delicate, and very feminine. She wasn’t certain she liked the feeling.
“I’ll remember,” she said coolly, wanting to move away from him.
But he’d caught her hand in his, and he was stroking the back of it. A soothing, paternal stroke, that nevertheless made her want to snatch her hand back, to run. “If you want to talk to me, I’ll be here,” he said, so quietly his wife couldn’t hear.
Cassidy looked at him, startled. There was an oddly seductive air to him, and yet she knew perfectly well that he had no interest in seducing her. Perhaps it was just the natural aphrodisiac of power and charisma. She was drawn to it, even as it roiled her stomach.
“You’re very kind, General,” she said stiffly.
“Tell me where he is, my dear,” he said, his voice urgent.
She didn’t pretend to misunderstand. This was a man who’d lost his beloved daughter to a murderer’s knife, who believed his grandchildren had been wiped out as well. It was no wonder he was so intent on revenge, no wonder that he’d mounted a very powerful one-man crusade to have Richard Tiernan die at the hands of the State.
If he knew he could salvage something out of this, that his grandchildren were alive and well, would he let go of his vengeance? Would he settle for having his grandchildren back, and drop his need to see Richard crucified?
She opened her mouth, ready to tell him the truth, ready to trust him. And then it was too late, as a human whirlwind dashed between them, flinging herself into Cassie’s waiting arms.
“Francesca!” Cassie caught her half sister, staring down at her with mixed shock and pleasure. “When did you get here?”
“A few days ago. I was going to surprise you, but I couldn’t wait anymore,” she said cheerfully. Francesca O’Rourke was thirteen years old going on thirty-five, with Sean’s irrepressible nature and the astonishing beauty of her mother, the Contessa Alba Finanieri O’Rourke da Rimini. “Mabry said Sean was sick, and I wanted to come and see for myself. Besides, Mother’s thinking of remarrying, and you know how tedious people are when they think they’re in love.”
Cassidy could feel the sudden flush that covered her fair skin. Francesca didn’t notice, but she was certain the general was far more observant. He was also just as likely to guess why. “Very tedious,” she said lightly. “What do you think of Sean?”
“Oh, he seems fine. A little tired, of course, but then, he’s getting old.”
“He’s younger than I am, young lady,” the general remarked in an avuncular tone brimming with indulgent humor.
Francesca turned and tucked her arm through the general’s, smiling up at him with innocent adoration. “But he doesn’t have time for me. He never has, for any of us. Cassie can tell you that much. I think I’ll adopt you instead, Uncle Amberson. At least you’re interested in me.”
Uncle Amberson. The phrase struck Cassie as extremely odd, but the general was beaming down at her irrepressible younger sister with a fond smile. Essie Scott stood in the background, pale gray, her expression unreadable.
“I take it you’re my roommate,” Cassie said, for some reason wanting to reach out and yank Francesca’s hand away from the general’s. “Why don’t you come with me and help me get settled? I want to hear about school, about your mother, about everything.”
“My mother’s a bore, school’s a bore, everything’s a bore,” Francesca announced with an impish grin. “I’ll come with you, and you can tell me all about your love life.”
Once more the color swept over Cassie’s face. Once more the general watched.
If it weren’t for the jet lag, the exhaustion, the emotional upheaval, she thought. If it weren’t for a number of things, she’d be more in control. Right now all she felt capable of doing was flinging herself down on the bed in her room and crying.
“No love life,” she said flatly. “I never meet the right kind of man.”
Francesca moved away from the general, graceful, with her endless, coltish legs beneath the white cotton shorts, the halter top exposing her tanned shoulders and still flat chest. “Then I’ll tell you about my love life,” she said cheerfully. “Ciao,” she called over her shoulder to the general.
“Ciao, my child,” he murmured, and Cassie could feel his eyes, following them as they left.
“So tell me about Richard Tiernan.” Francesca couldn’t even wait until she’d closed the door to their room. Fortunately Cass had her back to her half sister, so she had a moment to school her reactions. By the time she’d shut the door and sunk down on the twin bed, she knew she looked bland enough to fool the most discerning eyes.
“What about Richard Tiernan?”
“Is he a monster? That’s what the press here say, and that’s what Uncle Amberson says. Sean says to wait until his book is published, and Mabry said I should ask you.”
“Why do you want to know?”
“He seems to be the center of our mismatched family right now. He was the main reason Mother didn’t want to let me come, but when she had to balance sending me into the arms of a child murderer against having time alone with her teenage lover, you can guess what won out.”
“Teenage lover?” Cassie echoed.
“Well, actually Carlo’s in his mid-twenties, but he’s still young enough and pretty enough to be her son. But we’re not talking about Mother, we’re talking about Richard Tiernan. Did he do it?”
“Francesca,” Cass protested wearily.
“Come on, Cassie. You’ve never lied to me, at least as far as I know. You’re the one member of my family I can count on to tell me the truth. Mabry had a funny look in her eye when she talked about you, and I’ve been around enough to recognize what that means.”
“Francesca, you’re only thirteen!”
“Women mature early in Italy,” she said with great solemnity, throwing herself down on the bed beside Cassie and stretching out her long, slender legs. “So tell me the truth, Cassidy. Have you fallen in love with a child murderer? Uncle Amberson seems to think so.”
“He’s not your uncle,” Cass snapped. “And no, I haven’t fallen in love with a child murderer.”
“Let
me rephrase that. Have you fallen in love with Richard Tiernan?”
She was too tired, too emotionally overwrought for this, Cass thought, looking down at her little sister’s dark, vibrant eyes. Francesca was right—she’d never lied to her, a bastion of truth in a family full of secrets. She couldn’t start now.
“If I have,” she said carefully, “it would be a very great mistake.”
Francesca digested this, nodding sagely. “Isn’t that the way it usually is? As far as I can tell, falling in love seems to be a major mistake. Look at the messes my mother is always getting herself into. Did you know Uncle Amberson is afraid Richard is going to kill you?”
Cass bit her lip. “The general is very bitter.”
“Who can blame him? He’s lost his daughter and his grandchildren—it’s no wonder he wants a blood vengeance. We Italians can understand such things.”
“You’re half-American,” Cass pointed out wryly.
“Not if you ask Sean. According to him, I’m half-Irish, half-Italian, a very dangerous combination.”
“I tremble at the thought of you reaching puberty,” Cass said.
“Not for another couple of years, thank God,” Francesca said cheerfully. “The da Riminis are late bloomers. So what are you going to do about this Richard Tiernan?”
“Nothing.”
“Do you think he did it?”
Cass could see the dark, haunted eyes, the elegant fingers clutching the glass of whiskey. She could still hear his low, husky voice, telling her what she hadn’t wanted to hear.
“I don’t know,” she said. And realized that despite everything, it was the truth.
Francesca nodded. “It’s all very sad,” she said. “I’m doing my best to make Uncle Amberson feel better. He laughs when he’s with me. He says he feels like he has a daughter again.”
Cassidy looked at her sister, at the adolescent, boyish frame and the wisdom and caring of an ancient. That clawing sense of anxiety was building once more, smothering her, and she couldn’t pinpoint its cause. It probably had no cause, other than the massive upheaval her life had undergone.