Brenda Joyce - [Francesca Cahill 05] (15 page)

“Yes, I have learned all of this from Inspector Hickey,” Farr said. “And there are no leads as to where Miss Neville is now?”

“Another neighbor saw her return home Monday at six
P.M.
,” Bragg said. “She did not have her keys, and Miss Holmes let her in. She has not been seen since. And the coroner has determined that Miss Conway died sometime on Monday.” Bragg shrugged.

“Perplexing,” Farr murmured. “Well, at least the press has not got wind of it. Miss Conway was a bit of a celebrity, and the moment a newsman learns of her murder, it will be headlines. Which will surely make our jobs more difficult.”

“Yes, I agree.”

Farr stood. “If you need anything from me, let me know.”

Bragg also stood. “Brendan? There is one other aspect of the case which I think you should know about,” he said. It was always better to make an adversary think he was one’s ally until there was no other choice.

Farr raised his heavy brows and waited.

“Until recently, Miss Conway was the mistress of Evan Cahill.”

Farr didn’t blink. And then recognition showed in his eyes. “Miss Cahill’s brother? The gentleman engaged to Miss Channing?”

“Yes. I am keeping it quiet, as I am not sure yet if he is somehow involved.”

Farr started. “You don’t think—”

“No.” Bragg cut him off. “Evan is not capable of murder. But the newsmen of this town would love nothing more than to speculate upon his involvement, and out of respect for his family, I do not wish to make this information public.”

“I understand,” Farr said, not batting an eye.

Which worried Bragg. Because Farr knew how closely he and Francesca worked together, and Bragg felt certain that he disapproved, but whether it was of Bragg’s friendship with Francesca or her involvement in police affairs he
could not be sure. “Thank you,” Bragg said in dismissal.

“Keep me posted,” Farr returned. He turned and halted in his tracks.

Bragg looked up and froze. In fact, he forgot to breathe. Leigh Anne stood in the doorway.

Their gazes met, locked.

She was ethereal in her beauty, a tiny woman with fair and flawless skin, a perfect little body with a waist small enough for a man to span with his hands, and with sultry emerald green eyes that always seemed to whisper bedroom thoughts. Her hair was thick and long and raven black. She wore it neatly pinned up now beneath a smart black hat. She wore a suit trimmed in mink, that matched her eyes exactly. She smiled at them both. “Rick. I hope you do not mind?”

His heart beat then, hard and fast. But he knew what she intended. She intended to make their marriage public now by coming to his place of business. And by doing so, she had him by the balls. He had to acknowledge her, introduce her. It was another way of weasling back into his life.

He glanced at Farr and saw that he was, like all men, instantly bewitched. “Why would I mind?” Bragg asked with a cold smile. “Brendan, I do not believe you have met my wife.”

When Farr was gone, the door closed solidly behind him, Bragg turned and faced his wife, leaning against it. She smiled uncertainly at him. He knew it was an act meant to throw him off-guard. But she had already succeeded in her clever plans. She had won this round.

“Rick? I had somehow thought you might call on me. It seems like we have so much to discuss.” Her emerald eyes never left his face.

He felt defensive. “I am extremely busy, Leigh Anne.”

“I know. I have been reading all the newspapers. The city adores you. You are their hero, Rick,” she said softly, her eyes shining now.

“I am nobody’s hero,” he ground out.

“You are the knight in shining armor meant to bring the villains in the police department to their knees.”

“Is that why you have come? To congratulate me on six successful weeks in office?” he asked sarcastically.

“Is there a chance that we might have one decent and civil conversation?” she retorted.

He felt guilty then. “I am sorry. I am tired and overworked, not to mention preoccupied.” He did not move from where he stood against the door.

She hadn’t moved, though, either. “I hope some of your preoccupation is over me.”

“It is not,” he lied.

Her face fell. She turned away from him. He could not see if her expression changed, as he suspected it did. He watched her from behind as she gazed around the office. If only she had become old and ugly in the past few years. The thought was not a charitable one, but it was an honest one. Instead, she remained as petite as ever, although her small hips seemed more curved and womanly now.

She walked over to the mantel where he kept a dozen family photographs. When she had finished studying them, she faced him with a smile. “I understand that Rathe and Grace are in town,” she said, referring to his father and stepmother.

“Is this why you have come down to my office? To discuss my family?”

Her smile faded. “Will you always be so hateful and so angry with me?”

He itched to lay his hands on her slim white throat. He itched to squeeze the very breath from her. Instead, he shoved them in his pockets, trembling and appalled. “We had an agreement, you and I. You were to remain in Europe, and I was to provide handsomely for you. I upheld my part of the bargain; you have broken yours.”

Her mouth tightened. It was the color of rosebuds. “I beg your pardon. My father lies at death’s door. Of course I would come home. And it was not a part of your bargain
that you would take a mistress and flaunt her about an entire city.”

He stiffened. “Francesca is the last person I care to discuss with you. But she is not my mistress. I love her too much to treat her with such disrespect.”

Leigh Anne’s eyes widened.

“Have you forgotten the man that I am?” he demanded.

She shook her head. “She led me to believe that she was your lover, Rick. And no, I know the man you are. Honest to a fault. There is no one more virtuous. I just wish, still and foolishly, that your honesty had extended to our marriage as well, that it had extended to me as it does to everyone else.”

He exploded. He reached her in two strides, grabbed her small shoulders, unintentionally lifting her off her feet. And in holding her, he was reminded that she was not fragile, and that appearances were deceiving. “You dare to accuse me of dishonesty where you are concerned?” He saw red.

She clung to him. “You are hurting me!” But her eyes darkened, becoming almost black.

He became oddly paralyzed, with her suspended in the air, her skirts enveloping his thighs. Their gazes locked. He could not help but notice her lips were parted and that small breaths escaped them.
When he made love to her, her eyes would turn black with heat, but the moment she climaxed they would turn smoke green
. He set her down instantly.

She did not back away. Breathlessly she said, “I refuse to retract how I feel and what I believe.”

She had told him that he had broken every single promise he had made to her. She had expected a life in a mansion, a life with servants and teas, balls and soirées. Instead, he had turned down a position with Washington’s most prestigious law firm, opening up his own practice to serve the city’s poor. Instead of buying a mansion not far from his parents’ home, they had let a small, run-down flat just a stone’s throw from the city’s rat-infested tenements and knife-wielding gangs. “I do not want to rehash the past,” he said tightly.

“But I do,” she returned as firmly.

“Good God! Is that why you have come? I am sorry, Leigh Anne, sorry that after we were married I could not go through with our plans! I am truly sorry! But nothing will change the decision I made four years ago—just like nothing will change the fact that you left me, without a word of warning.”

“I warned you. I tried to tell you again and again how unhappy I was—but it was a bit difficult getting through to you, now wasn’t it?” Her eyes darkened, but no longer with excitement and desire. “I mean, you left for that shabby practice of yours at dawn, and when you came home, somewhere around midnight, even if I was awake, you were asleep on your feet. Oh, except for your ability to make love to me! You were always too tired to talk about us and our future—but never too tired to make love!” Tears filled her eyes.

If he allowed himself to feel guilty, she would win. “Very well. I refused to listen, and I used you selfishly.”

She sighed and laid her delicate palm, encased in a fine kidskin glove, on his arm. He flinched. But oddly, he did not shake her off. “You hardly used me, Rick. That is not what I said or meant, and you know it.”

There had been so many heated nights and mornings
. . . .

“I never turned you away, because I wanted to be with you as much as you wanted to be with me,” she added frankly, allowing her hand to finally drop from his arm.

The gesture was a caress of sorts. He stiffened, aroused inexplicably, and he paced away. He reminded himself that he hadn’t been with a woman since he had arrived in New York, about to accept a politically important appointment. It had been almost two months, during which he had been tormented by his desire for Francesca. But he knew he was fooling himself.

Leigh Anne had always had the ability to arouse him with a mere look, a single word, a soft breath.

“Leigh Anne.” He cleared his voice. “I have a dozen things I must get through today. What is it that you want?”

“You know what I want.”

He whirled.

But she wasn’t playing the seductress now. Her look was direct and steady and resolved.

“Refreshen my memory,” he managed.

“I want to resume our lives, Rick.”

“Why? Why now?” he demanded, even though he already knew. Now that he was in a position of prominence and power in New York City, and perhaps on his way to the U.S. Senate, she intended to be his wife again. For she knew he could offer her a life of glamour and prestige now and, if all went well, eventually one of wealth and power, too. This had nothing to do with love and everything to do with avarice. His wife remained a selfish, calculating bitch.

She smiled grimly. “When we were separated, I carried the oddest notion with me. It was that I would always be the one woman you loved, and that there would never be anyone else. That notion was, somehow, comforting. It was my anchor.”

He could not imagine her speaking truthfully now, and he could not imagine where she was leading.

She sighed. “Rumors of your love for Miss Cahill reached me in Boston, Rick. I was stunned, I told myself the rumors were wrong, but I could not put what I had heard aside. In fact, I was distressed, extremely so.”

He did not believe her. He wanted to laugh in a disparaging manner, but somehow he did not.

“And I decided to come to New York to find out for myself if the rumors were true. And the moment I saw the two of you together, when you were coming out of Grand Central Station, I knew I could not allow you to love another woman. I was jealous. I am jealous. Erroneously, I had thought I would always be the only one capable of holding your heart. The only one who really had your heart. Well, that is apparently not the case. But we are still married, and I will fight for my rights as your wife.”

“A pretty speech,” he said coldly. “I am almost moved to applaud.”

“Rick! I am speaking to you from the heart!”

“Then so shall I. I love Francesca Cahill, and I want a divorce.”

She stared, her mouth trembling, more beautiful than ever, appearing fragile, vulnerable, hurt.

“So the impasse remains,” he said, aware of being cruel.

She inhaled, hard. “Not necessarily,” she said.

He stiffened, sensing a devious blow. “No? You want a marriage; I want a divorce. Surely you do not have a way out of this dilemma?”

“I do.” She wet her lips, the tip of her tongue small and pink and very moist and flitting nervously about.

He stared.

“Allow me to resume my place in your life as your wife for one year, and if, after that time has passed—a time in which we share all that every husband and wife shares—if you still wish for a divorce, I shall give it to you.”

He was stunned. “No! Absolutely not!” Was she insane? Did she think he could tolerate her in his life, his home, his bed, for an entire year? What clever ploy was this? He strode to the door, flinging it open. “Good day, Leigh Anne.”

She did not move. “Very well. Then we shall make it six months.”

He started, staring again.

She wet her lips nervously another time. “Rick, I will put it in writing. Six months of marriage, and if you still feel this way, you shall have your divorce. With your connections, that means in seven months or so you would be a free man—free to wed Miss Cahill, if that is what you really want.”

His heart beat hard, urgently. For one moment he saw Francesca in his mind, but he could not think about her now. He felt as if his entire life were at stake. In seven months he might be free of this witch. All he had to do was accept this amazing bargain. Of course, he would have his lawyer draw up a contract. He did not trust his beautiful little wife for a moment.

While she, clearly, believed he would change his mind after the prearranged time. But of course, he would not.

“Rick? This is fair. It gives us a chance to find out if we should really part ways, or if we should honor the vows we once made and stay together instead.”

Her words were another blow. When he had made his marriage vows, he had intended to keep them forever. He was the kind of man who married only once and forever. Very cautiously he said, “Six months as man and wife. Six months and not a single day more.”

“Yes.” Her face was pinched with tension now. It only made her more beautiful.

It was hard to think clearly—he sensed a fatal trap. But in seven or eight months he would be free, finally. All he had to do was keep a clear mind and remind himself of the liar and adulteress that she really was.

And how hard would that be? He had been aware of those facts for four long, painful years.

He smiled.

She tensed, her eyes widening.

“I’ll do it,” he said.

T
HURSDAY
, F
EBRUARY 20, 1902—NOON