by Jo Goodman
Rhys did not even hesitate in his answer. He gathered the letters and put them in his vest pocket. “No,” he said and walked away before Kenna could realize she had the power to make him change his mind.
Kenna returned to the warehouse and wept bitter tears in the privacy of the office. When she was unable to cry any longer and the ache in her head became unbearable she left word with Mr. Grant that she was going home. On the way there she decided what she was going to do.
It did not take her long to find the guest list among Rhys’s papers. Stuffing it in her reticule, she informed Alcott that she was going to the Cloud’s home, then eschewed the offer of a driver and took the carriage out herself.
The accident happened while she was crossing the common. A horse and rider coming hellbent from the opposite direction veered too close to the carriage causing Kenna to pull the reins sharply to one side. Startled, her horse reared, tipping the carriage dangerously. Before the buggy could right itself it hit a rut in the rough path and twisted as the axle broke. Kenna hadn’t the time to shout as she was hurtled from her seat. She gasped for air, weakly trying to raise her head as people who saw the accident came running. The last thing she saw before she lost consciousness was the distant, retreating figures of the horse and rider who had caused the mishap.
Someone in the crowd recognized her and set off to get Rhys at the wharf. By the time he arrived, Kenna had already recovered her wits and was resting her head on a blanket someone had found in the carriage. Her smile was meant to reassure Rhys as he knelt beside her. It fell a little short of the mark.
“Nothing’s broken,” she said. “Oh—except the carriage axle.”
“I don’t give a damn about the carriage. What about you?”
“I’m fine.” She clutched her reticule to her stomach.
“Really. No one would let me move until you came, but I can get up now. I’m just a bit shaken, but otherwise fine.”
Rhys ran his hands over her quickly but thoroughly, judging for himself that she was all right. He told her to lie still while he spoke to the people around them, gathering some information about the accident. It was an unsatisfactory inquiry. No one had clearly seen the rider whose recklessness had caused the accident; their attention had been diverted by Kenna’s efforts to keep the carriage under control. Rhys thanked them for their assistance and asked them to let him know if they remembered anything that would help him identify the rider. To a man they apologized for the rider’s inconsiderate, incautious behavior as if it reflected badly upon themselves in particular and Boston in general.
When the crowd had dispersed Rhys unhitched the horse from the wrecked carriage and tethered it to the reins of his own mount. “Can you ride, Kenna?”
“Yes.” She sat up slightly, propping herself on her elbows.
Rhys grimaced. “I suppose I should have asked you that before I sent everybody away.” He scooped her up into his arms. “I find I am not so level-headed when you are involved. Are you certain you’re all right?”
“Yes.”
He nodded and helped her onto his horse then took his place behind her. Immediately upon returning home he carried her to their bedchamber. In spite of her protests to the contrary Kenna was glad of his attention. She could not deny the trembling in her legs.
It was not until she was resting comfortably in bed that Rhys began questioning her. He learned nothing from Kenna that he had not learned from those who had offered their assistance.
“It could have happened to anyone,” she said when he continued to glower.
“It didn’t. It happened to you. Why did you have to set off in such a rush for Alex’s?”
Kenna did not bother to defend herself. What good would come of telling him that she was not rushing anywhere? “I was angry with you and I wanted to show the Lescauts and Deveraux the guest list. I want answers, Rhys. I cannot be happy here while my family is miserable because they think I’m dead. If the Lescauts can tell us something then we deserve to know.”
“Did you have to go alone? Couldn’t you wait until I could go with you?”
“I didn’t want to wait for you and I didn’t want to argue about it in case you put me off. I have no patience about this, Rhys. Either we discover the truth or—”
“Or what?”
“Or I will write to Nicholas myself and tell him I’m alive. You said yourself that Nick was no longer a suspect. What can be the harm?”
“I did not precisely say that your brother was no longer suspect,” Rhys corrected. “I said I simply did not know any more. And the harm is clear. He will tell Victorine. She will mention it to Janet who will tell Raillier. In hours all of Dunnelly will know and before long, all of London. And six weeks later, long enough for a ship to cross the Atlantic from London to Boston, there will be more incidences like today. Only they won’t be accidents!”
“Then we had better identify the real murderer, Rhys, because I may take it in my mind to present myself on Nicholas’s doorstep!” She didn’t mean it. As soon as the words were out she regretted them. She had no intention of leaving Rhys, but the look on his face told her he believed she could. By the time she started to deny it she was talking to an empty room.
Kenna was sleeping when Rhys returned to the bedchamber. There were tear stains on Kenna’s flushed cheeks and a near empty glass of brandy on the nightstand. She would sleep quietly through the night, he thought, and proceeded to go through her reticule for the guest list. When he found it, he left as quietly as he had come then saddled his horse and rode furiously to Beacon Hill.
Rhys brushed past Widdoes when he opened the door and called to Tanner as he was about to step into the music room.
“Rhys! Good to see you. We were just about—”
“I want to see the Lescauts,” Rhys said brusquely. “And Devereaux.”
If Tanner was surprised by Rhys’s impatient manner, he did not show it. “Of course. Madeline and Etienne are with Alexis. I was about to join them. You’ve missed Michael, I’m afraid. He left today.”
That stopped Rhys in his tracks. “Left?”
Tanner nodded. “Yes. This morning. He booked passage back to London.”
Rhys followed Tanner slowly into the music room. “Wasn’t that rather sudden? I thought he was staying with you as long as the Lescauts.”
“We thought so, too. But Madeline says Michael always intended leaving Boston for London. He simply neglected to mention it to us.”
Etienne stood, holding out his hand to Rhys. “How good it is to see you again. I could not help but hear you were discussing Michael. It was a matter of finances, comprenez-vous? The passage to England was less money if he departed from Boston rather than New Orleans.”
“We tried to lend him the money,” Madeline said. “But he wouldn’t hear of it. He accepted passage to Boston instead.”
“Come, sit down,” said Alexis, pouring Rhys a tumbler of scotch, “Where is Kenna?”
Rhys accepted the drink but remained standing. “Kenna is sleeping. There was an accident this afternoon. Her carriage overturned.” He raised his hand to stop the questions they all voiced at once. “She’s fine.” He gulped back two swallows of scotch. “God, I wish Michael were here. I needed his help.”
Alexis’s eyes were watchful, following Rhys’s movements as he paced the floor. She knew a helplessness that was foreign to her and looked to Tanner for guidance.
“Rhys,” Tanner said.
The single utterance had an immediate calming effect on Rhys. There was a strength in Tanner’s voice that edged his concern and Rhys stopped pacing the floor. Although he knew there was nothing either Tanner or Alexis could do, they would listen, and for now that was enough. His hope for a chance at the truth still rested with the Lescauts. And so he told them everything, beginning with events leading up to the death of Robert Dunne. He sparing himself nothing, relating Kenna’s threat to leave him if he could not single out the one person responsible for all that had happened.
When he finished speaking there was a heavy silence in the room. Rhys reached in his pocket for the guest list and handed it to Madeline. Etienne edged closer to his wife to see the paper. “If you could remember anything—anything at all—that would help me, I would forever be in your debt.”
Madeline waved Rhys’s statement aside. “Nonsense,” she said briskly. “Sit over there, Rhys.” She pointed to the empty space on the sofa beside Alexis. “I cannot think while you hover.”
Rhys sat down but could not completely relax. He sat on the edge of a cushion, leaning forward and saying nothing when Alexis poured him another two fingers of whisky. Madeline and Etienne went through the list, commenting on names they recognized, people they knew, and whenever possible, the manner in which they were dressed one evening ten years earlier. When they encountered Michael’s name, they both registered surprise. They sighed, agreeing with Rhys that Michael’s presence would have been helpful, acknowledging his eye and his memory were superior to their own. In the end they could tell him nothing.
“I’m so sorry, Rhys,” Madeline said. “I wanted very much to be able to help you. That night…oh, but it was très horrible, n’est-ce pas? So much confusion. Some things I recall so clearly, but others, not at all.”
“It is much the same with me,” Etienne said heavily. “In truth, Rhys, I had no knowledge of your presence at the masque until you caused such a stir carrying Kenna into the house. I did not recognize Nicholas before he pushed back his hood and announced his father’s death. I could not imagine how Michael could be of help to you until I saw his name on the list. I do not even recall that he was there that night. He certainly never spoke to me.”
“Nor me,” said Madeline.
“You mean none of you spoke of the circumstances of Lord Dunne’s death after seeing Kenna again?” That seemed odd to Rhys. He would have thought, human nature being what it was, that they would have talked among themselves.
“Etienne and I discussed it privately. But Michael said nothing about it.” Her eyes traveled from Rhys to Alexis and Tanner. “Did he mention anything to you?”
“Nothing,” said Alexis.
“No,” Tanner replied. “I found Deveraux to be the sort of man who keeps his own counsel.”
“Yes, I remember him that way also,” Rhys said. “Damn! I wish I had spoken of this with him Saturday night. How many hours is he out of Boston now?”
Alexis looked at the mantel clock, an excitement growing in her. “Ten. At approximately eight knots that would put his ship some eighty nautical miles from here. A little over ninety land miles,” she translated for the Lescauts. “With a strong wind in the sails I would say he is already more than a hundred miles from Boston.”
“Can the ship be caught?”
Alexis glanced at Tanner. He was with her. She could see in his dark emerald eyes that he had already accepted the challenge. “It can,” they said simultaneously.
Rhys’s heart lightened and for the first time since he entered the room he truly felt some hope. If he could speak with Deveraux, even if the man could tell him nothing, at least he would have the satisfaction of knowing he had done everything in his power to find the truth for Kenna. “I’ll speak with one of my captains immediately.” He stood, anxious to be on his way.
Tanner stepped in front of him and put a hand on his shoulder, pushing Rhys gently back into his seat. He was glad his friend did not require more persuasion than that. Not only would have he regretted using force, he wasn’t at all certain he would win. “I think you’ve misunderstood, Rhys. When Alex and I said Deveraux’s ship could be caught we did not mean to imply that any ship in your fleet was up to the task. Not only that, but there is the matter of the Harmony’s course. There are several general routes the ship might take. Plotting the wrong one would make your pursuit as hopeless as catching a shooting star.”
“Then there is no way,” said Rhys. He wanted to hit something. Instead he squeezed the tumbler in his hands until his knuckles whitened.
Alexis eyed the tumbler. “Tanner is not saying that, Rhys. When we saw Michael off this morning I spoke with the Harmony’s captain. Just small talk while the Lescauts were escorting Michael to his cabin. Rhys, I know what route the Harmony is taking.”
Rhys laughed and though his tone was rough there was genuine enjoyment in the sound. He dropped the tumbler, took Alexis by the shoulders and kissed her cheek. “I should have known your small talk was like no other woman’s.”
“But, I will not tell you,” she finished, immediately dampening Rhys’s enthusiasm.
“What?” He could not believe what she was saying.
“I will not tell you because you still haven’t a prayer of catching the Harmony.”
“However,” Tanner added quickly, “the Artemis can.”
“The Artemis?”
“The Garnet schooner you saw your first day in Boston,” Tanner explained. “The one that you said could chase the wind. She can. And Alex and I will prove it by going after the Harmony.”
Rhys was stunned. “I couldn’t ask you to do that.”
“You haven’t,” Alexis pointed out. “We offered.”
“But your guests.”
“We don’t mind,” Madeline said. “Do we, Etienne?”
“Not at all. Do not be so foolish as to turn them down, Rhys. You are a master of campaigns on the land, but Tanner and Alex, well, they have few equals at sea.”
Tanner anticipated Rhys’s next question. “My sister and brother-in-law will see to everything here. Alex and I will not be gone long and they’ve shouldered the sole responsibility for the line before.”
Rhys surrendered. “You’ve no need to waste more time convincing me. You’ll bring Deveraux back so I can talk to him?”
“We will.”
Rhys did not doubt it. Their confidence washed over him like a healing spring rain. An hour later he was bidding them farewell from the docks as the Artemis’ sails caught the invisible force of the wind.
It was a few minutes before midnight when Rhys returned home. Kenna was sitting up in bed, a cold compress over her eyes. At the sound of the door closing she dropped the compress.
“I thought you would be sleeping,” he said quietly, shrugging out of his jacket.
“Mrs. Alcott woke me when she brought me a late supper. She told me you had gone. I wasn’t able to sleep after that.” She hesitated, twirling a strand of hair between her thumb and forefinger. “I was hoping we could talk.”
“And say what? I heard you clearly this afternoon, Kenna. You did not mince words about your intentions.” He yanked off his boots, taking a perverse pleasure in seeing Kenna flinch as they dropped to the floor.
“I didn’t mean it, Rhys. I spoke in anger. What I said about presenting myself on Nick’s doorstep…it wasn’t true. I wouldn’t leave you.”
Rhys did not respond to her statement. He finished undressing and put on his nightshirt. He did not join Kenna. Instead he took blankets and a pillow from the base of the wardrobe and walked into the dressing room.
“Where are you going?”
“I’m sleeping on the daybed in here.”
“But why?” she asked anxiously.
He stepped into the doorway. “Because I am so angry with you, Kenna, that I may very well strangle you if I come within arm’s reach.” He disappeared into the room again and Kenna could hear him snapping out the sheets and thumping the pillow.
“Please don’t do this, Rhys. Won’t you say something? Don’t you believe me?”
He stepped in the doorway again. “Did Mrs. Alcott mention where I went this evening?”
“No, I don’t think she knew.”
Rhys spoke in brief, hard sentences. “I went to talk to Madeline and Etienne. They couldn’t remember anything that would help us. Michael Deveraux wasn’t there. He’s already left for London. But what does that matter? Tanner and Alex departed not above an hour ago to bring him back. They abandoned their guests, abandone
d their business, just to make certain my wife doesn’t leave me.” It was an exaggeration but Rhys found he wanted to hurt her as much as she had hurt him. “And now she says she didn’t mean any of it. Be certain to tell them that when they return. Oh, and make your apologies to Michael. I’m sure he’ll be very happy about having his voyage home interrupted.” He pulled the door to the dressing room shut, effectively ending conversation.
Kenna had no more tears to weep. She blew out the bedside lamp, then tossed and turned, alternately pressing the compress to her eyes then staring blankly at the ceiling. An hour passed, then another, and she was no closer to falling asleep than she had been when Mrs. Alcott first told her Rhys was gone. When she could stand it no longer, she threw aside the covers, strode across the cool floor to the dressing room, and flung open the door.
Rhys had not had any better luck going to sleep and he knew better than to blame it on the discomfort of the daybed. His entire body jerked when Kenna barged in. “Kenna! What’s wrong?” He sat up. He had discarded his nightshirt and the sheet slid down his naked chest, folding around his waist.
Kenna threw up her arms. “My husband is sleeping in another bed, a full foot too short for him, and he asks me what’s wrong!” She dropped her hands to her hips and peered through the dark, trying to make out Rhys’s outline. She could see the muscular expanse of his chest where it rose above the white sheet and her heart stuttered. “I want to know one thing, Rhys,” she demanded. “Does this mean you don’t love me any longer?”
She held her breath in the terrible silence that followed. It seemed to her that Rhys had no intention of answering her question and every second that passed served only to confirm her worst fears.
“No, Kenna. It doesn’t mean I don’t love you any longer.”
She released her breath and her hands fell from her hips to lie uselessly at her sides. “Well…” One foot rested on top of the other and she swayed slightly, feeling all at sea of a sudden. “That’s all I wanted to know. I’m glad. I mean…thank you. Good night.” She backed out of the room, closing the door quietly behind her.