'Til Death Do Us Part

by Amanda Quick

  “My sister is very good at organizing things.”

  “It’s a talent,” Calista said.

  There was considerable admiration in her tone.

  “I’m sure you’re right,” Trent said. “But she has employed her gift to a fare-thee-well in my household and I confess there are times when it is difficult to appreciate her abilities. For some time now I have hoped that she would find some other way to satisfy her passion for organization and management.”

  “You mean you wished that she would marry and turn her attention to running her own household.”

  “Well, yes, to be quite truthful. I love my sister but I find it oddly exhausting to have every detail of my life so precisely organized.”

  This time Calista’s smile was genuine. “Are you trying to tell me that your life lacks a bit of spontaneity? You surprise me, sir. You are a writer, after all. One would think that you would experience all the surprises a man could wish for in your work.”

  “I find my writing deeply gratifying. As I told you, it is a drug of sorts. If I go for long periods of time without it I become irritable and restless. But that is only one aspect of my life.”

  “I do understand,” Calista said quickly. “I was merely teasing you a little. I realize that you are concerned for your sister’s happiness. As it happens, she is also worried about you.”

  “If I could only make her see that I am content with my circumstances.” Except that he wasn’t, he thought. Not now that he had met Calista. That realization was accompanied by a jolt of inspiration. “Among other things, Eudora has organized a truly astonishing conservatory. It is quite beautiful at the moment. Would you care to see it? My address is not at all out of the way and there is nothing like a stroll through an indoor garden to clear one’s thoughts.”

  Calista hesitated, and for a heart-stopping moment he was afraid she would decline the invitation. It was only then that he realized how desperately he wanted to see her in his house, even if it was only for a matter of a few minutes. He was certain that she would look very good under his roof—right at home, in fact.

  And then she smiled again and there was a lovely flush on her cheeks. He started to breathe again.

  “Yes,” she said. “I would enjoy that very much.”

  57

  “YOU WERE RIGHT,” Calista said. She stopped halfway down an aisle formed by rows of palms and turned slowly to take in the interior of the conservatory. “Eudora has done wonders in here.”

  The iron-and-glass room was a meticulously arranged world furnished in a thousand shades of opulent, verdant green. But all Trent wanted to look at was Calista. She riveted his senses. There was a kind of magic about her, he thought. He did not want to look away.

  Until the shattering moment a few days ago when he walked into her office and encountered her for the first time, he would have said that he was too old and too set in his ways to experience such a passionate reaction to a woman. The kind of risk she made him want to take was best taken in fiction where no lasting harm would result to either the writer or the reader.

  He forced himself to concentrate.

  “I can assure you the whole damn place is organized,” he said. “Medicinal plants and herbs to your left. Decorative flowers and shrubs to your right. Creepers and vines on the trellises at the rear. Palms and other exotics to mark the aisles.”

  She smiled. “I see.”

  “You will note the markers on each plant. All cross-referenced, of course. And then there is the stillroom. It is a wonder of scientific apparatus. My brother helped her furnish it with the latest equipment.”

  Calista laughed. “You mock your sister, but you will admit that she has great talents.”

  “Yes, she does. But I fear she is wasting them on me.”

  Calista walked slowly toward him. “I believe that Mr. Edward Tazewell appreciates her abilities.”

  “So Eudora tells me. Evidently he considers her brilliant and she admires his engineering mind. She also thinks that he is a devoted and loving father.”

  “Yes.”

  “What do you really know about him, Calista?”

  “There are limits to how much anyone can know about another person,” she said. “But Andrew investigated Tazewell, just as he does all of my clients. Tazewell is a widower who studied engineering and mathematics. His two young daughters adore him, which I take as an indication of his good character as a parent. Like you, sir, he invests in properties and has been quite successful.”

  “Is that so? Properties?”

  “Perhaps you would like to discuss that business with him.”

  “Huh.”

  “But Tazewell’s real passion is for invention. He holds a number of patents for various sorts of calculating machines.”

  Trent grunted. “None of which have been successfully manufactured and sold.”

  “Eudora is convinced that he is a man ahead of his time.”

  “That is rarely a good position in which to find oneself.”

  Calista smiled. “Eudora and Edward Tazewell will not starve, if that is what you fear. I know you wish to protect your sister forever but that is not possible. I’m afraid that happiness always comes with risk.”

  The vibrant atmosphere of the conservatory whispered around him, hot with the raw energy of life. And in the center of the intoxicating whirlpool stood Calista.

  “I am discovering that truth with you,” he said.

  She walked closer to stand in front of him, rose on tiptoe, and brushed her lips across his. “And I, with you.”

  When she stepped back, her eyes were luminous with feminine invitation.

  He caught one of her hands in his. Without a word—he had no words now—he drew her back along the palm-studded aisle, through the arched entrance of the conservatory, and down a hallway.

  At the foot of the stairs he stopped and turned to face her.

  “The servants?” she whispered.

  “I gave them the time off while Eudora and I stayed with you at Cranleigh Square.”

  She was in his arms before he could ask her if she would go upstairs with him. The answer he wanted was in her kiss. She put her arms around his neck and the gathering storm broke.

  He half carried her up the staircase. It was a struggle because he was trying to peel off the layers of clothing that separated him from her warm, silken body. He got the bodice undone by the time they were a third of the way. The entire gown was lost at the halfway point. The petticoats and small bustle followed in short order. He thanked whatever providence was shining down on him at that moment that there was no corset with which to contend.

  Calista was not idle. She managed to get him out of his coat early on and flung his tie across the bannister. And then she fumbled with the buttons of his shirt.

  When they reached the top of the stairs she was in her chemise and stockings, her shoes having been left behind on one of the steps. His shirt was undone and he, nearly so. A glorious excitement set fire to his blood.

  He grabbed her hand and ran down the hall with her. They were both laughing by the time he got to the doorway of his bedroom.

  He scooped her up into his arms, carried her to the big four-poster bed, and fell on top of her.

  “Like falling into heaven,” he said against her throat.

  “What?”

  “Never mind.”

  He kissed his way down her soft, sleek body, thrilling to the feel of her beneath him. Her scent was a drug to his senses.

  When he had rid himself of his low boots and the last of his clothes he sank himself deep into her welcoming heat.

  She wrapped her stocking-clad legs around his waist and held him tight and close; held him as though she would never let go.

  Her release shivered through her a short time later. The irresistible currents swept him away and for a moment
he thought himself lost. Then he realized that he was anything but lost. He was exactly where he wanted to be; where he needed to be—in Calista’s arms.

  58

  SOMETIME LATER HE became vaguely aware that Calista was no longer tucked against him. He opened his eyes to the fading afternoon sunlight and found her standing beside the bed.

  “I was just about to wake you,” she said.

  “I wasn’t asleep. Just resting.”

  “The hour grows late.” She tied the tapes of her petticoats with quick, efficient movements. “People will wonder what has happened to us.”

  “Damn.” He groaned and sat up on the side of the bed.

  Evidently the passion that had so thoroughly relaxed him had produced the opposite effect on Calista. She appeared astonishingly energetic as she went about the business of getting dressed.

  “I rescued our clothes from the stairs,” she said.

  She tossed his trousers at him. He grabbed them out of the air and removed his watch from one of the pockets. He groaned again when he saw the time.

  “You’re right,” he said. “I suppose we must return to Cranleigh Hall before everyone becomes alarmed.”

  Not the words he wanted to speak at that particular moment, he thought. But nothing more suitable came to mind. He watched Calista adjust her stockings.

  The sight of her elegant leg almost did him in again. But he summoned his willpower and got into his trousers. He picked up his shirt and smiled.

  “What is amusing you, sir?” she asked with some suspicion.

  “The thought of you collecting our clothes from the stairs.”

  “Thank heavens there was no one around to witness the scene. Really, it looked quite . . . quite scandalous.”

  “How odd. It did not feel scandalous.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “You are laughing at me.”

  “Not at all.” He crossed the room, caught hold of her chin, and kissed her lightly. “I was just amused by the thought of our clothes scattered along the staircase. It would certainly have made an impression on the other members of our families.”

  Calista gave him a repressive glare. “You’re right. But that being said, I am very grateful that we are alone.”

  “So am I.” He smiled again. “I was correct about one thing, you know.”

  “What was that?”

  “I knew you would look very good in my house. You look even better in my bed.”

  He found his tie draped over the newel-post at the bottom of the stairs. He slung it around his collar and knotted the strip of silk while Calista retrieved a missing glove from the bottom step.

  When he chanced to catch sight of himself in the mirror above the console in the front hall he noticed that he was grinning.

  “Trent?”

  He met her eyes in the mirror. She looked unexpectedly serious.

  “Mmm?” he said.

  “Eudora thinks that the reason you lost your first love—a young woman named Althea—was because of the acid scars. Your sister is convinced that your heart was broken and that is why you have never married.”

  He turned around and put his hands very firmly on Calista’s shoulders. “I love my sister but she has a flair for the melodramatic. Yes, I was very fond of Althea—but not so fond of her that I did not leave England and set out to see the world. And yes, perhaps I would have married her eventually had matters developed in a different way—and if she had been willing to wait, which I very much doubt. But it was not my scars that put an end to our association.”

  “What, then?”

  “When word got out that my inheritance had vanished her parents whisked Althea off to London. She was launched into Society and was very soon engaged to a wealthy young man. As far as I know, they are happy. More to the point, so am I.”

  At least for now, he thought.

  59

  EUDORA TOOK A dainty bite of mashed potatoes and gave Trent and Calista a knowing look.

  “While the two of you were out interviewing the medium and apparently enjoying some healthy exercise in the excellent weather,” she said, “I went through the portion of Kettering’s household journal that covers the past six months.”

  Calista concentrated on forking up a bite of salmon. “How very efficient of you.”

  “It wasn’t like I had anything better to do,” Eudora said. She smiled. “You will be pleased to know that the expenditures for the items he purchased from Mrs. Fulton’s mourning goods shop are all there, but aside from those, most of the other entries are quite ordinary—the sort of expenses one would expect given Kettering’s financial status. Bills to various tailors, and so forth.”

  Trent ate some of his salmon while he contemplated that information. He discovered he had worked up an appetite that afternoon in his bedroom. In spite of the dangerous situation in which they were all embroiled, he was savoring everything on his plate. Something to do with Calista being seated at the opposite end of the table, he decided. He could easily become accustomed to the sight of her there. He met her eyes and smiled.

  She blushed and concentrated on her potatoes.

  Andrew was the only one at the table who seemed oblivious to Eudora’s innuendos concerning the afternoon’s activities. He was busy cleaning his plate with enthusiasm.

  Trent focused on Eudora’s comments.

  “I suppose it would have been too easy to find payments to a hired killer listed amid the bills to his tailor and the fishmonger,” he said. “What about expenses that were entered as miscellaneous?”

  “Nothing like that,” Eudora said. “I can report, however, that although he was decidedly stingy with his servants, Kettering appears to have been rather generous to his wife. Her quarterly allowance is quite handsome.”

  Calista paused her fork halfway to her mouth, and frowned. “Well, it was her money, after all.”

  Andrew looked thoughtful. “That small fact needn’t have stopped him if he had been inclined to be less than generous. We know that her father’s will protected Mrs. Kettering to some extent but that does not mean that she actually controlled the money on a day-to-day basis.”

  “True,” Trent said.

  “No, indeed,” Eudora said. “My mother’s second husband succeeded in going through her inheritance in a matter of a few short months.”

  Calista gave that some thought. “So, what does Kettering’s unexpected generosity to his wife tell us?”

  “That he wanted to keep her quiet?” Andrew suggested.

  “I agree,” Trent said. “For whatever reason—perhaps simply to maintain peace in the household—he was willing to give Anna Kettering a sizeable allowance.”

  Calista tapped her fork absently against her plate. “Perhaps he had other reasons. It occurs to me that a large quarterly allowance could mask a wide variety of expenses.”

  “Yes, it could.” Eudora put her fork down so quickly it clanged on the delicate china. “What if Kettering used the allowance money to cover the expenses of the hired killer?”

  “Huh.” Trent pondered that.

  Andrew was equally thoughtful. “But why bother to conceal such expenses?”

  “Because they could constitute evidence in a court of law,” Trent said. “If the hired killer is ever captured and he names his employer to the police, a record of a series of payments from Kettering would be damning.”

  “So he concealed the killer’s fees as his wife’s quarterly allowance?” Eudora said. “That is an interesting theory.”

  “At this point it is only a theory,” Trent said.

  He watched Eudora help herself to some more vegetables. It was not just his appetite that had increased of late, he realized. She was eating more heartily than usual, too. It was as if both of them had been hibernating for some time and had finally emerged from their dark cave.

  It was good to
be among friends, he thought. Good for the body and the soul.

  “There was only one other expense that caught my eye,” Eudora said. “Kettering purchased a house in Frampton Street—Number Six. Evidently it was an investment. But there is no record of any rent having been paid by a tenant and no indication that it was sold.”

  Trent, Calista, and Andrew looked at her. Eudora smiled somewhat smugly.

  “You were saving that bit of information as a surprise?” Trent asked.

  “Sorry,” she said. “Couldn’t resist.”

  60

  TRENT AND ANDREW sat at a table in a small neighborhood pub at the end of Frampton Street and watched the front door of Number Six. They were the only customers. The balding proprietor was happy to chat so long as he got paid for his time.

  “Aye, there’s a lodger at Number Six,” he said. “Never comes in here. You won’t see him out and about much during the day. Never had a good look at him. He sometimes leaves his house after dark but he goes out the back and through the alley. Good neighbor, though. Never had any trouble at Number Six.”

  “Does he ever have visitors?” Trent asked.

  “Not as far as I know.” The proprietor rocked a little on his heels. “Well, except for one night earlier this week. It was after I closed up for the day. I was upstairs with my wife. We were in bed. Heard a hansom stop in the street. My wife was curious to see which of our neighbors was coming home at such a late hour. She went to the window. When she saw the passenger go up the steps to Number Six, she called me.”

  “Was the visitor male or female?” Andrew asked.

  “Male. Carried a black satchel, the sort of bag a doctor carries. He stayed about half an hour or so. When he left he seemed to be in a bit of a hurry. No surprise, I suppose, given the late hour.”

  “Do you happen to know why the lodger at Number Six needed a doctor late at night?” Trent inquired.

  “None at all.” The proprietor rocked back and forth a few more times. “Expect he had an accident or maybe came down with a fever. I’ll tell you one thing, though. Doctors don’t make calls at two in the morning—not unless they’re well paid for their services.”