Prince Charming

by Julie Garwood

  “Do you have any idea of the danger you were in?”

  He hadn’t raised his voice. For as long as she’d known him, Lucas had never shouted. He didn’t need to, she realized. The razor edge in his voice was just as effective as a good bellow. She almost flinched in reaction. She caught herself in time.

  “Start explaining, Taylor,” he ordered. “Don’t leave anything out.”

  She didn’t know where to begin or how much to tell him. She was still in such a panic inside she could barely think straight.

  She gripped her hands together, implored him to be patient with her, and then told him almost everything.

  “I went to visit my sister’s children,” she began. “Marian died eighteen months ago. She’d been plagued by consumption for several years, and a sudden cold spell that swept through Boston . . .”

  “Yes?” he prodded after a moment of waiting for her to continue.

  “Marian wasn’t very strong. She caught cold, and it settled in her chest. She died after a month of illness. George, her husband, has been raising his daughters.”

  “And?” he prodded again after another minute of waiting.

  “George took ill several weeks ago. Since there was another outbreak of cholera in the area, we believe that is what he died of, but we can’t be certain. Mrs. Bartlesmith wrote us with the news.”

  “And who is Mrs. Bartlesmith?”

  “The babies’ nanny. She promised to stay with the little ones until I could get to Boston.”

  “Go on,” he told her when she paused again.

  “I went to the address I’d been writing to, but Mrs. Bartlesmith wasn’t there. The woman who answered the door was very sympathetic and tried to be helpful. She didn’t know what had happened to the nanny or the babies. She made me a cup of tea and then spent a good hour digging through her papers until she found the name and address of a couple named Henry and Pearl Westley. They had worked for my brother-in-law. The wife cooked and the husband did odd chores around the house. The Westleys had hoped the new tenants would hire them on, but the woman told me she didn’t want them around. She said she could smell the whiskey on both of them. She told them she wasn’t in need of their services, but Pearl Westley insisted she keep her name and address in the event she changed her mind.”

  “And so you went to the Westleys looking for the children,” he supplied.

  She nodded. “I didn’t expect to find them there. I just hoped the Westleys might know where Mrs. Bartlesmith took them.”

  “So you went to Fort Hill?”

  “Yes. It was clear across town, and by the time I got to the address, it was dark. I thank God the driver didn’t leave me stranded. He warned me to be quick and promised to wait for me. Henry Westley opened the door. He told me Mrs. Bartlesmith had died. He wouldn’t say how or when. His wife was there. She hid in the other room. She kept yelling at her husband to get rid of me. Both of them were drunk. Pearl Westley’s voice was terribly slurred. She sounded scared. He wasn’t scared though. He was . . . insolent, hateful. He shouted back to his wife that there wasn’t anything I could do, that it was too late. He acted extremely defiant.”

  “Did you go inside?”

  “No. I stayed on the porch.”

  “Thank God you had enough sense not to go inside the house.”

  “It was a hovel, not a house,” she corrected. Her voice shivered with renewed fear. “Henry and Pearl both pretended they’d never heard of the babies. They were lying, of course.”

  “Did you hear or see anyone else inside?” he asked her again.

  She shook her head. “There might have been someone upstairs, but I didn’t hear anyone else.”

  She started crying. She hated herself for showing such weakness in front of her husband, but she couldn’t seem to control herself. Lucas started to reach into his pocket in search of the handkerchief he was pretty certain he left back in the hotel room, but she waylaid his intent when she reached across the seat and grabbed his hand.

  “I’m not an alarmist, Lucas. I could hear the fear in Pearl’s voice. And I could see his insolence. They know where the girls are. You’ll make them tell you, won’t you? You’ll find my nieces for me.”

  “Yes, I’ll find them for you,” he promised, his voice a soothing whisper. “Couldn’t Mrs. Bartlesmith have taken the children to one of your relatives?”

  She shook her head. “Why would the Westleys pretend they’d never heard of the little girls? They both worked for my brother-in-law. Of course they knew. They’re hiding something. If any harm comes to the babies, if they’ve been hurt or . . .”

  “Stop it,” he ordered. “Don’t let your imagination control your thoughts. You have to stay calm.”

  “Yes, you’re right,” she agreed. “I have to stay calm. I’ll do whatever you tell me to do. Just let me help.”

  She straightened back against her seat and folded her hands together in her lap again. She was trying to act composed. It was an impossible feat.

  “I want you to stay right where you are with the doors locked,” he told her.

  She didn’t argue with him. She didn’t have any intention of hiding inside and leaving him all alone to deal with the Westleys. They were vile and unpredictable people. Lucas might need her assistance, and she needed to be there so she could give it.

  She didn’t want to lie to him, and so she kept silent. A moment later she turned to look out the window to see if they were near their destination yet, and when she saw the houses they were passing looked disrespectable and dilapidated, she knew they were close to the Westleys’ house. The scent in the air had turned sour. They were close all right. Taylor gripped her hands in anticipation. And then she began to pray.

  “Did your grandmother know your sister’s husband died?”

  “Yes,” Taylor answered. “I told her as soon as the letter arrived.”

  “And then what did you do?”

  “I wrote to Mrs. Bartlesmith after Madam had formulated her plan.”

  He waited for further explanation and when Taylor didn’t continue, he prodded her again.

  “What was the plan?”

  “You.”

  He didn’t understand. His frown said as much. She wasn’t going to enlighten him. He would understand everything later, after they’d located the babies.

  “When I was a little girl, Marian protected me. She was like my guardian angel. I will do whatever is necessary to protect her daughters. They’re my responsibility now.”

  “What did Marian protect you from?”

  “A snake.”

  “Malcolm.” He remembered she’d referred to her uncle as a snake when they were leaving the bank.

  “Yes,” she whispered. “Malcolm.” She didn’t want to talk about her vile relative now. She wanted only to concentrate on the little ones.

  “What’s going to happen to your nieces now that both their parents are dead? Will their father’s relatives take them in or were you considering taking them back to England?”

  She didn’t give him a direct answer. “The little girls are going to need someone who will love and cherish them and raise them to be good and kind and gentle, like their mother. They need a protector. They must be kept safe from all the snakes in the world. It’s their right, Lucas.” And my responsibility, she silently added.

  Would she consider taking them back to England, he’d asked. Not bloody likely, she wanted to shout. She was going to go as far away from England as possible. She didn’t tell Lucas her plan. Oh, she knew there were dangers lurking in the wilderness, and Lucas would tell her it wasn’t a fit place for babies. God only knew she’d already considered every potential problem. Yet no matter how she looked at it, she came to the same conclusion. The twins would be better off living on the frontier than back in England under Malcolm’s watchful gaze. He was the far greater threat. She felt sure that age hadn’t robbed him of his appetites. Snakes, after all, remained snakes until the day they withered up and died. And Malcolm
, ten years junior to Taylor’s own father, was just shy of reaching fifty. He had plenty of years of debauchery left in him.

  The vehicle was slowing down. Taylor glanced out the window again to see if she recognized the area. The moonlight was bright enough to read some of the signs. The houses, or rather shacks, were so close together they seemed to touch. The streets were deserted, perhaps because of the lateness in the hour, of course, but also because it had started to drizzle, and with the moisture came a blustering March wind.

  The Westleys’ home came into view. Light radiated through each window on both the lower and the upper floors. The Westleys were still there, for she spotted a figure through the thin window covering on the second floor. Someone was darting back and forth.

  She almost wept with relief. They hadn’t been able to run away yet. “They’re still there,” she said. “Look. There’s a woman in the upstairs window. She’s scurrying back and forth.” Like a rat, she silently added.

  “Looks like she might be packing,” he replied. He eased the door open and gently pushed Taylor back against the seat. “No matter what you see or hear, stay inside. Promise me.”

  “Yes,” she agreed. “I’ll stay inside,” she promised. “Unless you need me,” she hastily qualified.

  He started to get out. She grabbed hold of his arm. “Be careful,” she whispered.

  He nodded, got out of the vehicle, and then closed the door behind him. Taylor leaned out the window. “I wouldn’t trust. our driver if I were you,” she whispered. “He’s sure to take off while you’re inside.”

  “He isn’t going to leave,” he promised. He leaned forward, brushed his mouth over hers, then turned and walked up to the side of the perch where the disgruntled looking driver sat.

  “My wife’s waiting inside until I come back.”

  The driver shook his head. “Best get her out then. I ain’t waiting on anyone in this part of town. It ain’t safe.”

  Lucas acted as though he hadn’t heard his protest. He motioned him to lean down so he could hear what he was next going to say.

  “When you wake up, you can take us back to the hotel.”

  The driver wasn’t given time to ponder the meaning behind the remark. Lucas struck him hard across his jaw with his fist. The man slumped down in his seat.

  Taylor couldn’t see what was happening with their driver. She concluded Lucas had been able to convince the man to wait for them. She watched as her husband crossed the dirt road. He went up the front steps of the house, crossed the rickety porch, but when he reached the door, he didn’t knock. He tried the doorknob first, then put his shoulder to the task of breaking the barrier down. He disappeared inside.

  She started praying. Lucas was gone a long time. It seemed an eternity. Twice she reached for the door handle. And twice she stopped herself. She’d given her word to stay put, and unless she heard a shot fired, she knew she would keep her promise. Unless, of course, Lucas came back empty-handed. If he hadn’t found out where her babies were, then she would take a turn trying to find out. Taylor pulled the gun out of her pocket and rested it in her lap. She realized her hands were shaking, but she didn’t honestly know if it was fear or anger causing the tremors.

  She heard a crash followed by the sound of glass breaking. She pictured a vase slamming down on top of Lucas’s head. She couldn’t sit still another second. She unlatched the door and jumped down to the pavement. She started forward, then stopped when Lucas appeared in the open doorway.

  Taylor hadn’t realized how worried she was about his safety until she saw he looked quite all right.

  “Thank you, God,” she whispered.

  She heard the driver let out a loud groan. The man sounded ill to her. “We’ll be leaving in just a moment, my good man,” she called out. She didn’t turn around to look up at the driver when she gave her promise. Her attention was fully directed on her husband. She was trying to discern from his expression if he had good or bad news.

  He wasn’t giving her any hints. He’d just reached the roadway when a figure suddenly appeared in the doorway of Westley’s house. It was a man, and when he shifted his bulk into the light, Taylor could see Henry Westley quite clearly. Lucas had obviously punched the man in his nose, for blood trickled down from the injury and covered his mouth and his chin. She watched as he wiped the blood away with the back of his left hand. His right hand was behind his back. He was staring at Lucas, a look of hatred on his face, and when he raised his right hand, she spotted the gun. What happened next seemed to take place in slow motion, yet only a second or two passed before it was over. Westley brought the gun up and took aim. His target was Lucas, his intent unquestionable. He was going to shoot him in his back.

  There wasn’t even time to shout a warning. Taylor took aim just as Lucas suddenly whirled around. He fired a scant second before she did. Taylor’s bullet struck Westley in his left shoulder. Lucas was more accurate. He shot the gun right out of his hand.

  The gunshots shook the driver out of his stupor. He straightened in his seat, grabbed hold of the reins, and was just about to slap the horses into a full gallop when Lucas reached the carriage. He swung the door wide, literally tossed Taylor inside, then followed her. The door closed on its own when the vehicle rounded the corner on two wheels.

  Taylor straightened in her seat across from her husband. She was so rattled she didn’t even realize she was still holding her gun in her hand. She was pointing the weapon at her husband. He reached over and took the gun away from her before the vehicle hit a bump and she accidentally made a eunuch out of him. Taylor watched him without saying a word. He put the gun in his pocket, then leaned back against the cushion and let out a long, weary sigh.

  “How did you know?”

  She’d whispered her question. “Know what?” he asked in a much louder tone of voice.

  “That Westley was going to shoot you,” she explained. “I didn’t even have time to call a warning . . . but you knew he was there. Was it instinct? Did you feel him behind you?”

  He shook his head. “You warned me.”

  “How?”

  “I was watching you. Your expression told me all I needed to know,” he answered. “And when you raised your hand—”

  She didn’t let him finish. “You shot him before I did.”

  “Yes.”

  “I should have killed him.”

  “You could have, but you didn’t. It’s simple, Taylor. You chose not to.”

  “As did you,” she replied.

  “Yes,” he answered. “But for an altogether different reason.” He went on to explain before she could question him. “You didn’t kill him because of morals I suppose and I let him live because I didn’t want to get involved with the authorities. Killing him would have made things complicated. Boston is different from the mountains.”

  “How?” she asked.

  “You don’t have to answer to anyone in Montana. It’s still . . . uncomplicated.”

  “You mean lawless.”

  He shook his head. “No, not lawless. But the law’s different out there. Most of the time it’s honest. Sometimes it isn’t.”

  Lucas was stalling because he didn’t know how to tell her what he’d just learned. It was going to break her heart, and he couldn’t think of a way to ease the torment he was going to cause.

  “I hate the smell,” she blurted.

  “What smell?”

  “Guns. I hate the smell after you’ve fired. It stays on your hands and your clothes for hours. Soap doesn’t get rid of it. I hate it.”

  He shrugged. “I never noticed it,” he admitted.

  Taylor took a deep breath. Her voice was strained when she whispered, “Did you find out anything?”

  “Yes,” he answered. He leaned forward and took hold of her hands. “The woman taking care of the children . . .”

  “Mrs. Bartlesmith?”

  He nodded. “She’s dead,” he told her then. “But it wasn’t cholera. According to Westley’s w
ife, the woman keeled over and was dead before she hit the floor. She had a history of heart problems.”

  “What about the babies?”

  “Westley admitted they cleared the house of all valuables and sold off everything. They also took the little girls home with them.”

  “I see,” she whispered. She gripped Lucas’s hands.

  Lucas couldn’t stand to witness her pain. “Listen to me, Taylor. We’re going to find them. Do you understand what I’m saying? We will find them.”

  “Oh, God,” she said. She could tell he hadn’t told her everything and she was suddenly too frightened to ask.

  “They aren’t with the Westleys any longer.”

  “Are they still alive?”

  “Yes.” His voice was emphatic. She took heart.

  “Then where are they? What have they done with my babies?”

  Lucas let go of her hands and pulled her into his arms. He settled her on his lap and held her close. He wasn’t simply offering her comfort. Honest to God, he didn’t want to see her expression when he told her what the bastards had done.

  “We’re going to find them,” he promised once again.

  “Tell me, Lucas. Where are the babies? What did they do to them?”

  He couldn’t soften the truth.

  “They sold them.”

  11

  The world is grown so bad that wrens make prey where eagles dare not perch.

  —William Shakespeare, Richard III

  She didn’t get hysterical. For a long while she didn’t say a word. In truth, she was too stunned to show any reaction to the news. Then anger such as she had never felt before took control. It invaded her mind, her heart, her very soul. She became rigid with her fury. She wanted to kill Henry and Pearl Westley, and in those horrible moments of desolation and whitehot rage, she thought she might be capable of cold, premeditated murder. She would rid the world of such vile, contemptible animals and send them to the fires of hell where they belonged.

  Reason finally prevailed. The devil would certainly thank her for the gift of two more souls, but then he would also own her soul as well. Murder was a mortal sin. Dear God, she wished she didn’t have a conscience. She wanted to make the Westleys suffer the way she was suffering, but in her heart she knew she couldn’t become both judge and jury and kill them.