Almost a Lady (23 page)

"Of course I killed them,” he answered proudly, turning away from her.
“Though it wasn't really murder, as you and those other
Pinkertons
believe.
You can't consider eradicating evil to be murder."

"And you think . . . you're Gideon, don't you?” The flesh of her wrists and ankles burned as she yanked them against the restraints. She felt
a stickiness
spread over her skin and knew they'd begun to bleed. And still she fought, hoping the added wetness of the blood would help her slip a hand or foot free.

Chatham
laughed,
a sound that sent chills down her spine. “My dear, you are even worse off than I imagined if you believe I think myself to be the great Gideon. You cannot be someone who existed so long ago. No, I am merely carrying on with his—work, his calling. Gideon rid the world of whores and sinners, and I am doing the same. It's God's will."

He turned back to her, a long silver sword glinting in his hands.

"But if you're killing people,” she continued, wanting to keep him and that blade as far away as possible, for as long as possible, “doesn't that make you a sinner, too?"

He stopped, his body tensing, the weapon in his hands trembling with rage. “No,” he snapped. “You don't understand. You don't see. I'm blessed, sent here on a mission: to cleanse the world of offenders such as yourself."

"What about Charlie? Was he a sinner, too?"

His bushy brows knit and the sword dropped a fraction at his confusion.
“Who?"

"Charlie Barker. The Pinkerton agent killed on that passenger train."

"Oh, him."

Chatham said it as though the man had been of no consequence. A man with a wife and three children, who worked hard every day of his life, meant nothing to this maniac.

"I hadn't intended to hurt him. He wasn't a sinner, as far as I could tell. But he was one of you, wasn't he?
A Pinkerton agent.”
He put the point of the blade to the ground and leaned forward, using the length of the weapon to prop up his ample weight. He shrugged a shoulder, indifferent to a man's death. “He knew too much, that's all. He'd found out about my actions because of Yvonne and would have tried to stop me. So I had
Outram
take care of the problem. I will not be thwarted,” he added sharply.

He was insane. He thought he was killing for God and had no compunction over slaughtering anyone who got in his way or threatened to hinder his plans.

She had to keep him talking. Every moment he remained over there was another moment that her heart beat and her lungs were allowed to draw air. Another moment they had to find her—if anyone was even looking.

"Why Yvonne?” she queried. “She wasn't like the other girls."

"Yvonne was a whore,” he declared with vehemence. “I thought she was pure, but she was as corrupt as the rest, dallying with that young man outside her parents’ home. That's when I realized there were sinners in my own circle. I won't be so shortsighted from now on, I assure you. I'd decided you would be next, even before I realized you weren't who you claimed to be.” He raised the sword in both hands, once again aiming it skyward and stalking toward her. “You're just one of many. I intend to continue my duty to God. I will not be stopped."

He stood above her now, the sharpened blade drawing her full attention as she envisioned it plunging into her breast, stealing her life. Oh, God, she didn't want to die. She didn't want to leave Erik and Brandt, not now.

She loved Brandt and she'd never even told him. She'd agreed to marry him, but she'd never actually spoken the words. Possibly because she hadn't realized until just this moment how true they were. She
did
love him, and she
did
want to spend the rest of her life with him, even though he'd badgered her into accepting his proposal.

And now it was too late, because she was going to die. She would never get the chance to tell him how much he meant to
her,
never get the chance to be the best wife she knew how to be.

"What about
Outram
? Will you leave him to rot in prison?” Her voice rose in panic.

"Sometimes one must be sacrificed for the benefit of all.” His face hardened and he scowled down at her. “No more questions. Let's get on with it."

Willow jerked at the manacles until her joints screamed in agony. It was over. He was going to kill her and there was nothing she could do to stop it. She squeezed her eyes closed and began to pray. Tears slipped down her face and into her hair as he began to chant.

"
Asperges
me,
Domine
,
hyssopo
, et
mundabor
:
lavabis
me, et super
nivem
dealbabor
. . ."

She wasn't here. He'd searched every inch of Chatham's town house and found
not hide nor
hair of either of them.

Dammit
, where could she be?

She had to be all right. He had to find her, and she had to be safe. He couldn't live with himself if Chatham hurt her, not when Brandt had been the one to leave her open to this threat.

Hell, he couldn't live without her. He
couldn't.
Willow was the only woman he'd ever loved, the only woman he ever
would
love, and he didn't want to think about a single day passing without her in his world.

He
had
to find her.

He started up the wide staircase again, his hand on the newel post, when he felt the wood beneath his fingers give. Moving down a step, he tested the large cherry-wood sphere. When pushed in one direction, the piece didn't budge. But when pushed in the other, it slid almost an inch to the side. At the same time, he heard a low squeak.

Rounding the banister, he began looking for the source of that sound. Behind him, the front door sprang open, much the same way it had when he'd kicked it in not ten minutes before. Robert entered, followed by half a dozen armed
Pinkertons
.

"Where are they?” Robert demanded.

"Damned if I know. I've searched all the rooms; they're nowhere to be found.” He indicated the newel post he'd investigated moments earlier. “But I think there is something odd about this staircase."

"Like what?” Robert closed the distance between them and followed Brandt as he continued his search for the origin of the noise he'd heard.

"I don't know, but I'm going to find out.” He ran his hands over the polished railing, the progressively increasing height of the wall beneath the stairs, even the floorboards.

He did this for the next few feet of space, and then paused as he sensed a slight protuberance.

"What is it?” Robert queried.

"This part of the wall.
It sticks out a bit.” He tested every inch of the silk covering and discovered seams at the top and bottom. And on the far left, what appeared to be the opening of a doorway, a fraction of an inch ajar. As though the movement of the newel post had released a hidden latch that kept the secret entrance closed.

As Brandt slid the panel open, he heard voices.
Muted and impossible to decipher, but voices all the same.
One of which he thought was Chatham's. The other he prayed was Willow's, because that would mean he'd not only found her, but she was still alive.

He inclined his head, signaling Robert, who in turn gave silent, hand-gestured orders to his men. Even with the flicker of light glowing from below, the decline was dark as a tomb, and it took a moment for their eyes to adjust. With Brandt in the lead, they made their way down the uneven stone steps.

Brandt didn't have a weapon, but he didn't need one when he stepped out of the stairwell and saw Virgil Chatham standing over a tied and defenseless Willow with a
downthrust
sword aimed directly at her heart.

An animal-like snarl burst from his lips as he hurtled himself into the bastard, grabbing his arms and tackling him to the ground. Brandt tossed the long blade away and began to pummel the soft flesh of Chatham's face. Blood spurted from his nose, split lip, and the slice Brandt's diamond-studded Union Pacific ring made along his cheekbone.

In his peripheral vision, Brandt saw Robert's men surrounding them while Robert released Willow's arms and legs from the iron shackles and drew her into his embrace. Brandt continued to deliver powerful right hooks to the worthless piece of refuse curled into a ball on the floor.

One of the Pinkerton men put a hand on his shoulder. “We've got him, sir. You can stop, we've got him."

His punches?
slowed
. Gasping for breath, Brandt straightened and stared at the man beneath him, fury still washing through him in waves. He wanted to kill him. With his bare hands, he wanted to strangle the life out of Virgil Chatham. For daring to touch Willow, for scaring twenty years off his life, and for murdering all those other women.

Instead, he settled for kicking the bastard straight between the legs and hearing his howl of pain as he writhed on the floor and clutched at his damaged goods.

He left the Pinkerton agents to take Chatham into custody and moved to Willow's side. Shuddering in relief, she lifted her tearstained face from Robert's shoulder and immediately threw herself into Brandt's arms.

"Thank God,” he breathed into her hair, squeezing her tight and rocking back and forth as he might with a distraught child. “Thank God you're all right. I'm so sorry I left you. I should have known he would try something like this. I'll never leave you alone again, I swear.” He was babbling and he knew it, but he'd never been so frightened—or so relieved—in his life.

Pulling slightly away, Willow framed his face with her hands and held his gaze, her violet eyes burning into his own, which were beginning to feel a little misty.

"I love you.” She said the words so
softly,
he feared he'd heard her wrong. He blinked and leaned close, hoping she would repeat herself so he could be sure.

"I love you,” she said once more. “I was so afraid I wouldn't get the chance to tell you that. And I really do want to marry you, for all the right reasons."

Wrapping her arms around his neck, she hugged him again. And this time, neither of them loosened their hold until Robert cleared his throat and told them Virgil Chatham had been taken away.

Brandt shrugged out of his jacket and draped it around Willow's bare shoulders, then scooped her up and carried her out of the dank cellar room. Once they reached the main floor of the house, Brandt settled Willow on the edge of a medallion-backed sofa, found a blanket to cover her with, and then returned her to the cradle of his arms.

"I'm taking her home,” he told Robert as he moved toward the door at the front of the house. Their things—or Willow's, at least—should have been transferred back to them Astor House by now.

The vehicles Robert and his men had arrived in stood at the curb. He opened the door of the nearest and stepped up, Willow still held securely against his chest.

"Where's Erik?” she asked, rifting her face and squinting a bit at the bright light of day after being trapped in the underground prison for so long.

"He's fine,” Robert put in, standing in the doorway of the carriage. “He's back at my office with Mrs. Girard."

"I want to see him."

Robert reached in a hand to pat her leg beneath the thick afghan. “You go back to your room with Donovan. I'll fetch Erik and bring him over directly."

She nodded and returned her head to Brandt's shoulder.

"Take care of her,” Robert said quietly, reflecting the somberness of Brandt's expression.

"You can count on it."

This time when Willow awoke it was without pain and to the sound of soft voices drifting in from the other room. She stretched languorously and snuggled back into the pillows, listening to Erik regale Brandt with another of his larger-than-life stories. Brandt interrupted to make the occasional comment or remind Erik to keep his voice down so he wouldn't wake his sister, but otherwise feigned interest in every word Erik uttered.

After a few more minutes of just lying there, gathering her strength, Willow sat up and threw her legs over the edge of the bed. She found her robe hanging in the wardrobe and shrugged into it, tucking her hair behind her ears as she entered the adjoining room.

Brandt was sitting on one of the stuffed armchairs before the hearth, watching Erik run from one end of the settee to the other, jumping, twisting, and talking all at once. And in the chair facing away from her sat Robert. Only the back of his head was visible, but she easily recognized him from the color and cut of his hair.

Brandt spotted her first and leapt to his feet. “How are you feeling?” His hands cupped her elbows to avoid her bandaged wrists, and his eyes, dark with worry, examined her for evidence of damage.

"Fine.
I'm fine.” She squeezed his arm and smiled to reassure him. Truly, she felt wonderful. The time she'd been held captive by Virgil Chatham had been a nightmare, yes, but it was over now. Two murderers had been arrested and would pay for their crimes. She had been frightened but not harmed and was safe now. They were
all
safe.

And though it sounded foolish, she was almost grateful for her experiences this afternoon because they had prompted her to think about her life and make some important decisions and realizations.
The most vital being that she loved the man standing in front of her, looking so concerned about her welfare.

She tapped a finger between his eyes, smoothing his wrinkled brow. “Don't look so worried,” she told him lightly.

Glancing over his shoulder, she saw Robert waiting a few feet away, seeming equally fretful.

"Will you two please
stop?
Take a lead from Erik,” she said, moving to her brother's side. He stopped dancing on the sofa cushions and threw himself into her arms. Willow hugged him tight and sat to arrange his small frame on her lap. “You're not worried about me, are you?"

He shook his head, rubbing the silky material of her robe between his fingers. “Soft,” he murmured. And then he lifted his head and focused on the bruised abrasion at her temple. “Does it hurt?” he asked, touching the spot lightly.

"
Shh
,” she whispered, leaning close as though sharing a secret. “We don't want to upset Brandt and Robert again. And it doesn't hurt.” She raised her voice for the men's benefit and grinned at Brandt, because she hadn't licked her lips before telling that little white lie.

It
did
hurt, if truth be known. How could it not when she'd been cracked in the skull not once but twice with a rather impressive walking stick? But it wasn't overly painful and would heal soon enough, which made it hardly worth fussing about.

"Is everything all right?” she asked Robert, wondering at his presence.

He nodded but made a motion with his eyes in Erik's direction that made Willow suspect he didn't want to talk in front of the child. It was probably time to put Erik to bed, anyway. According to the mantel clock and the black outside the hotel room windows, it was after nine o'clock.

"Let me just put Erik down for the night,” she said, standing and letting Erik slide to his feet on the floor.

"No, I don't want to,” he whined. “I don't want to. I want to stay with you.” Erik put up a fuss about going to bed, but Willow firmly informed him that he'd had quite enough excitement for one day. And even if
he
wasn't tired, Brandt certainly must be, so they were all retiring for the night just as soon as Robert left in a few more minutes. He huffed, sticking out his lower lip in a pout while she led him into the bedroom and arranged a makeshift bed out of the chaise lounge, but he didn't argue further.

Once he was settled and covered and muttering beneath his breath about not being allowed to stay up longer, Willow turned back to the sitting room, closing the connecting door behind her.

"Chatham has been arrested and will stand trial with his valet for murder,” Robert said as soon as she'd returned. “The police have someone working with
Kyne
to get information about Chatham's crimes and hopefully gain a written confession. We think the servant killed Charlie on Chatham's orders."

"He did,” Willow agreed. “Even though Yvonne Xavier wasn't a prostitute, Chatham killed her because he thought she was no better than a whore. He apparently saw her in some man's embrace and decided that was enough of a transgression to require her to die."

She rolled her eyes in disgust. Robert knew all about her and Brandt's theory concerning Chatham's fixation with the biblical figure Gideon and his belief that he was killing sinners in the name of God.

"Charlie must have figured out what was going on,” she continued. “He got too close and made Chatham nervous, which is when he ordered
Outram
to get rid of him."

"You may have to testify,” Robert warned her. “And the police will want to question you about what occurred in that cellar, as well as what you learned from Chatham."

Willow inclined her head. She'd known that and was prepared to do whatever was necessary to keep both Chatham and
Kyne
behind bars for the rest of their lives.

"Other than that,” Robert said cheerily, “I only stayed to make sure you were all right, and to keep Donovan, here, from disturbing you.” He cast a glance behind him at a scowling Brandt. “He attempted to ‘check’ on you more than once, as well as threatening to call in another physician, and I was afraid ‘checking’ would include waking. I thought you needed your rest."

"Thank you, but he's only practicing,” she told Robert, grinning at Brandt's deepening frown. “He did tell you we're getting married, didn't he?"

"He mentioned something along those lines, but I didn't believe him,” Robert teased.
“'My Willow?’
I said.
‘Never!
She's much too smart to fall for a wastrel like you.’ But he insisted, and now that you've supported his story, I guess I have no choice but to accept his word."