Brenda Joyce - [Francesca Cahill 04] (4 page)

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BOOK: Brenda Joyce - [Francesca Cahill 04]
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Hart was purposefully putting her on the spot. He was purposefully referring to the fact that she and Bragg were in love—which he thought was lust and nothing more. She felt
like slapping him—but she had done that once and would
never
do so again. “The only rush I get is one of fear,” she snapped. “Fear, Hart, not excitement,
fear
.”
He laughed. “I somehow doubt that.” He turned to Lucy, who was wide-eyed. “She enjoys danger. Soon, no doubt, it will become an addiction—if it hasn’t already.”
“Calder, do you wish to upset Miss Cahill?” Grace finally spoke with quiet censure.
Hart looked at his stepmother. “If my brother can’t keep her in line, then someone should.”
Francesca found herself rushing to the rescue even though she was angry with Hart. “He hasn’t upset me, Mrs. Bragg. I am sure that he doesn’t wish to be abrasive. It is just a character defect.” She smiled sweetly at Hart. “And do not blame Bragg—Rick—for my actions. That is completely unfair.”
He sighed and looked at the ceiling. “Of course you defend
him
.”
Bragg stepped between them, but he faced Hart. “This was an extremely pleasant gathering until you arrived, Calder. As always, you enter a room and do your best to cause trouble.”
But Hart was speaking. “Oh, so now the fact that you allow her to engage in police work is my fault?” Hart shook his head.
“That’s enough,” Rathe said firmly. “Company is present—and the two of you haven’t changed at all. It’s like watching you both when you were boys. What’s next? Fists and blows?”
Grace looked at her, Francesca. The older woman’s eyes were wide and intent and … . accusing? But just what could she be accusing her of?
“I’m sorry,” Bragg said instantly, to his father. “And you’re right. We’re acting like children.”
“I apologize.” Hart actually seemed sincere. “In fact, I give up.” He looked directly at Francesca. “If you wish to endanger yourself, it is not my affair.” He shrugged. “If you and Rick wish to rush around the city together, chasing murderers,
so be it.” He did not smile. His eyes had become black. “Who knows? Next time instead of a mere burn, perhaps one of these madmen will place a bullet in you.” His gaze locked with hers.
“I think I had better go,” Francesca said tersely.
“I’ll walk you down,” Lucy said quickly, rushing to her side. “Mother, please watch the children for me, just for a moment.”
“I think Francesca can find her way downstairs,” Bragg said firmly. Then he gave her an odd look. And there was a question in his eyes.
“I did want to speak with you, but it can wait until later,” Francesca said. She truly wanted to escape, and as much as she liked Lucy, she wasn’t ready for a tête-à-tête with his sister. Perhaps she would call Bragg later on the telephone and fill him in on what had happened at the Channings’.
“Rick will lend you his Daimler,” Lucy said, whipping her coat off a wall peg. “Isn’t that right, Rick?”
“Peter will take you home.” Peter was his man, and Francesca had come to realize that he was a jack-of-all-trades. “Lucy, Francesca has a burned hand. My understanding is that she is supposed to be at home for the entire week.” He spoke quite calmly. “Do not try and subvert her good intentions.”
“And to think I was under the impression that she was to remain in bed,” Hart murmured.
Francesca flushed, even though his meaning had to have been innocent.
“I am merely walking her to the roadster,” Lucy said demurely. “At least we can chat a bit.”
Bragg capitulated. “Fine. But mind your manners, Lucy.”
She shook her head. “I am a grown woman, Rick, not a child.”
“I know.” His smile was an affectionate one. “Mind your manners,” he repeated.
She groaned and rolled her eyes.
Francesca turned toward his parents. “It was so nice to meet you.” Then she glanced at Hart. He wasn’t even looking
at her. He was studying his fingernails, as if an insect had appeared upon them, making them a fascinating sight indeed.
“It was a pleasure, Francesca,” Rathe said, smiling. Grace also smiled at her.
Lucy grabbed her arm and dragged her into the hall. “Well, you survived, and admirably, I think.” She grinned.
Francesca was now weak-kneed. She realized she had been perspiring. And she might never forgive Hart for trying to humiliate her in front of the Braggs. “Do you think so? I mean, do you think your parents like me?” She and Lucy entered the elevator cage.
“What’s not to like?” Lucy asked, hauling the cage door shut. She faced her. “So? What is going on?” she demanded, her hands on her hips.
“What?” Francesca had not a clue as to what Lucy was speaking about, but her tone caused no small amount of apprehension.
“Are you in love with my brother?” she cried.
The question was like a blow—right between the eyes. “What?”
Lucy grabbed her arm. “Are you in love with my brother?” she repeated. “And if so …
which one?”
The elevator began to descend. Francesca was certain she had misheard. “I beg your pardon?”
Lucy was staring, her eyes eager and wide. “Are you in love with Rick … or Calder?”
Francesca could not believe her ears.
What was she talking about?
Lucy shook her head, suddenly amused. “Wait—you don’t know?”
“What are you talking about?”
Was
she mad? Yes, Francesca was in love with Bragg—for she hadn’t known he was married when they had met and begun working together on the Burton Abduction. He had been a perfect gentleman, but she had fallen hopelessly in love with him as they tried to decipher clue after puzzling clue. For he was everything she admired in a man. In fact, even now, those who knew him and his marital status had to admit that if he were eligible, he and Francesca would be perfect for each other.
Hart had said that, too.
What was Lucy thinking? Hart was only a friend, and often an insufferable one, at that—as he had just proven moments ago.
“I am talking about the fact that Rick clearly admires you in a way that is not platonic. But Hart obviously cares about you, too, which is something I have never seen before. And while you clearly adore Rick, I see the way that you look at Calder. But, of course, most women are mesmerized by Calder.” She shrugged. “I know I am being very blunt—”
“You are!” Francesca cried, suddenly panic-stricken. The elevator had stopped, but she did not notice. All she could
recall now was the way Hart had looked at her at the Channing ball when she had been wearing that horrid and provocative red dress. She was the least fashionable woman that she could think of, as she preferred navy blue skirts and white shirtwaists or a tailored ensemble. When Hart had seen her in her new and extremely daring red gown, a gown that had not suited her at all, as she was
not
a siren, he had looked at her the way a man looks at a woman that he wants. It was precisely then that he had, finally, found her alluring. It was in that single moment that a dangerous and ugly beast had raised its head between them—one that would not now go away.
Francesca wished the moment had never happened.
She regretted ever wearing that red dress.
“We can get out now,” Lucy said very quietly.
Francesca was jerked out of her thoughts. Her gaze met the other woman’s and quickly skidded away. Lucy was
wrong
. She was wrong about
everything
.
“I have upset you. I am sorry.” Lucy took her hand and led her out of the elevator. “I didn’t mean to. I should have kept my thoughts to myself. I apologize. I just never expected this.”
Francesca managed to nod. She said, “Rick is married and Hart is a terrible ladies’ man. Neither one is for me.”
Lucy opened her mouth, clearly to refute Francesca’s words. But then she smiled and closed it. “Are you free for lunch tomorrow? Or perhaps a glass of champagne? We could stop by at the Fifth Avenue Hotel—it is one of Rick’s favorites. I do so want to get to know you better before I return to Paradise.”
Francesca wanted to hug her for changing the topic, but within herself she remained aghast, no, horrified. “Either one would be lovely,” she said, barely relieved to be discussing something as simple as a social engagement. They stepped outside.
“There’s Peter. Isn’t he a sweetheart?” Lucy was speaking of Bragg’s man. The huge six-foot, six-inch Swede had seen them. “Peter!” She waved. “Miss Cahill needs a ride!”
Peter nodded and walked over to the front of the Daimler to crank it up. Lucy smiled at Francesca and gave her an impulsive hug. “I am so glad I decided to bring the children to New York,” she said.
“I have been hoping to meet you—and your parents,” Francesca admitted.
Lucy grinned, as if she truly knew why. “Have a wonderful day. And, Francesca? I really did not mean to upset you.”
Francesca smiled weakly and got into the car. Peter had the motor started, and he climbed into the driver’s seat beside her, handing her a pair of goggles. Francesca put them on, then turned to glance back at police headquarters.
Lucy was exchanging words with a very disreputable- and dangerous-looking man who was clearly a thug of sorts. She seemed angry—he seemed amused. Actually, he seemed more than amused, for his grin was lascivious and even cruel. What was this?
Flushed, Lucy whirled away.
The hoodlum seized her by the arm, whirling her back around.
Lucy cried out, trying to shake him free.
Francesca ripped off her goggles and pushed open her car door just as Peter started to drive the Daimler forward. The roadster was braked, and Francesca stumbled out. “Lucy!”
Lucy and the brawny shaggy-haired thug both turned toward her. He released Lucy and fled down the block.
For one moment, Francesca hesitated, torn over whether to chase the thug or go to her new friend. In the end, her better judgment won out, and she hurried to Lucy. “Are you all right?” she gasped.
Lucy jerked away from her, smiling—and it was forced. “Oh, I am fine!”
Francesca was disbelieving. “Who was that? What did he want? Did he hurt you?”
“What—what are you talking about?” Lucy asked, wide-eyed.
“What am I talking about?” Francesca echoed. “That lout
in the heavy brown tweed jacket. He grabbed you; you seemed to be arguing—”
“I don’t know what you are talking about,” Lucy said abruptly—coldly. “Now, I am afraid I must go, as the twins and Roberto are waiting.”
Francesca recoiled.
Lucy seemed to realize how cool she had become. She smiled and touched Francesca’s sleeve. “I mean, I’ve never seen that man before. He must have mistaken me for someone else.” She smiled, but it seemed forced. “So, until tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow, then,” Francesca managed, but she knew a liar when she saw one, and Lucy was lying through her teeth.
Not only that, but there had been fear in her wide blue eyes, real, raw fear.
 
Francesca slipped into the house and found the front hall empty, with the exception of Jonathon, the new doorman.
“May I take your coat?” he said.
“Where is everyone? Has anyone noticed that I have not been at home?” Francesca asked quickly, speaking in a very low tone as she handed him her hat, gloves, and coat. He had not batted an eye earlier when she had left, her manner rather furtive. However, she had been gone most of the afternoon. Francesca felt that she was doomed.
His eyes wide and serious, he said, “There has been a bit of a fuss. I do believe Mrs. Cahill requested your presence some time ago, upon returning from her luncheon.”
Francesca moaned.
He managed to keep a very straight face, although his blue eyes were fascinated.
There would be no avoiding her mother now. However, a confrontation could be delayed—perhaps even until the morrow. Francesca dashed across the hall. It was a large room with black-and-white marble floors, high ceilings, and huge Corinthian columns, spaced at intervals. The staircase was alabaster, wide and graceful, carpeted in red. She raced up it, not at all in a manner that was ladylike or dignified.
The family rooms were on the third floor. All of the rooms used for entertaining were on the first two floors. Francesca saw no one as she rushed up the corridor and toward her bedroom. She hurried through the door, sighing with relief.
And then she saw her mother sitting on the sofa in front of the fireplace.
“Francesca, I would like to speak with you.” Julia did not turn.
Briefly Francesca closed her eyes. Then, with some despair, she started forward. “Hello, Mama. I only went out to take some air.”
“I do not recall taking air being a part of Dr. Finney’s instructions,” Julia Van Wyck Cahill said far too calmly, finally turning to look at her. “I am dismissing the new doorman.”
Francesca hurried forward. “Mama, that’s not fair! You certainly did not intend for him to be some sort of gaoler, did you?” She reached for the back of the couch.
“He is smitten with you. You will have him so thoroughly wrapped around your finger that you will soon be roaming about this city in the middle of the night—while in the midst of another criminal investigation!” Julia was not angry. Tears sparkled on her dark lashes. Francesca blinked. Julia was never emotionally out of control.
Then Francesca took a steadying breath, sitting on the velvet sofa beside her mother. “Please do not fire Jonathon on my account.”
Julia looked at her and sighed.
Eagerly Francesca said, “I am just fine, Mama. Really. You don’t have to worry so.” But silently she thanked God that her mother was completely unaware of the several times she had been sleuthing in the middle of the night—although Bragg and her brother had caught her out and about.
“You have been gone for hours, Francesca.” Julia faced her grimly. “What am I supposed to do with you?”
Francesca saw how worried her mother was and did not know what to say or do. When Julia was her forceful, dominant self, it was much easier to wage a futile battle for her
cause. Now she felt terrible. “I did need some air,” she said. “Everything will be fine, Mama; please don’t worry about me.”
“How can I not worry about you? You have been involved in three,
three
, criminal investigations! I just cannot understand what you think you are doing! I am very proud of you, Francesca, as you have turned into a beautiful woman.” Julia took Francesca’s good hand in both of hers. “I was so pleased to see you in that red gown at the Channing ball. You were stunning and elegant and you turned every male head there.”
She became uneasy. She did not want to discuss the Channing ball now, for several reasons. “I am not comfortable in that dress.”
“And then,” Julia said, as if she had not heard her, “you disappear! You leave your table and simply disappear, and the next thing I know, I come home to find Maggie stabbed and Dr. Finney tending your burned hand, with policemen all about the house and a paddy wagon outside!”
“I am sorry,” Francesca said simply. There wasn’t anything else that she could say.
“I know you are sorry. But I also know you believe you were right in lying to us, in sneaking about, all in the cause of saving Maggie Kennedy’s life.”
Francesca stared. “Should I have let her die? Been murdered?”
“The case was in the hands of the police!” Julia cried. “You should have left it to them! And I am very angry with Rick Bragg for allowing you to become involved! I intend to give him a piece of my mind.”
Francesca saw that Julia meant her every word. She cringed inwardly. “He isn’t very happy with me, either,” she managed. “He doesn’t want me involved, Mama.”
“What am I supposed to do? You are too old to punish. This is my house, but you do not respect my rules. Should I toss you out? Disown you? That is what other parents might do!”
Francesca froze. Then, “Mama, you’re not serious!” She adored her family, no matter the problems, most of which
were caused by her mother’s desire for her to be a conventional young lady.
“If only you could be more like your sister!” Julia despaired. Then, “I will not toss you out, because then you would truly have the freedom to continue this insane sleuthing of yours. Not to mention that your father would toss me out. Francesca, do you respect me?” Julia asked.
She was already tense, or she would have stiffened. “You know that I do.”
“Then will you respect my rules?” Julia asked simply.
Francesca hesitated. “Mama, if someone is in trouble—or danger—how can I turn my back on him or her? How? It is not in my nature to ignore a man or a woman in trouble!”
“And that is the real problem,” Julia said with a sigh. “Your passionate, compassionate nature. Compassion is a wonderful thing. So is charity. We give thousands of dollars every year to dozens of different causes. You know that. We are compassionate people. But your version of charity is to help some desperately troubled man or woman with your own two hands. I am desperately afraid.” She stood. “Can you blame me?”
“No.” Francesca also stood.
“Why did you really go out? Where were you?” Julia asked.
Francesca hated lying to her parents. And because of Evan’s engagement, they would quickly learn of the vandalism that had occurred at Sarah’s studio. Suddenly Francesca thought of the ruffian who had so frightened Lucy Savage. What was Lucy hiding? “I decided to visit Sarah.” She wet her lips and sighed. “Someone broke into her studio and did their best to destroy it, Mama.”
Julia stared. Then, “Is Sarah all right? How is Mrs. Channing?”
“They are both terribly upset but, other than that, fine.”
Suddenly Julia looked at her daughter with utter suspicion. “What happened at the Channings’ is a police matter,” she said firmly.
Francesca hoped her mother could not see her cringe. She
hadn’t told Bragg about the crime, and she had told the Channings that she would report it. But then, his family reunion had interfered with her better intentions.

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