Cheryl Holt (30 page)

Obviously, the pieces were designed for women, and she refused to contemplate why he’d have so many, telling herself that they were definitely
not
an indicator of how often he gave expensive gifts to females.

She tried on a bracelet, liking how the gold encircled her wrist, when he spoke from across the room.

“Did you find something you like?”

She spun around, and she blushed, embarrassed at having been caught, but her flush deepened when she saw that he was leaned against the door frame and naked but for the towel swathing his loins. His shoulders were so wide, his waist so narrow. He was a fine specimen of a man, and she shivered with excitement. Whatever transpired between them, they could work through it—if she could eventually lure him back to her bed. With a spouse as attractive as he was, what else could possibly matter?

“Where did you get all these things?” she asked.

“People give me presents”—he shrugged as if receiving priceless artifacts were a common occurrence—“and I buy items that are beautiful. You can have the lot of it if you wish.”

She understood that he was rich, that she was now rich, as well, but his wealth had seemed abstract. She was married to a man who had a drawer full of precious gems, who’d relinquish them with a smile and a wave, and she struggled to envision herself being so nonchalant about their fortune, but the image wouldn’t gel.

It was a further sign of how she was an imposter, of how she’d stepped into shoes she could never fill.

“Where would I wear such a fancy trinket?”

“Anywhere you desire,” he replied. “You’re a countess. That type of conduct is permitted. Some would say it’s necessary.”

As if the entire situation was absurd, he grinned, and she grinned, too, praying that they could generate such levity throughout the day. It was better than fighting like cats and dogs.

“I don’t want anything.” She felt awkward, as if she’d been scrounging like a pauper on the side of the road.

“I insist,” he declared in a lofty tone that demanded compliance.

She almost bristled at his arrogance. If they were to have any hope of marital harmony, he’d have to temper his domineering attitude, but for the moment she decided to make him happy. If she declined, they’d have a spat, and she was determined to get through breakfast without arguing.

Besides, it was the first gift he’d offered her, and she wasn’t about to reject it.

“All right.” She turned to search, sure that she could locate an appropriate bauble in the dazzling pile.

She sifted and sorted, and she could sense his hot gaze on her. He was curious, eager to see what she’d choose but too nervous to approach and watch.

Everything was too ornate for the modest individual she pictured herself to be, and finally she reached to the rear of the drawer and pulled out a ring. She deemed it too flashy, and she was about to pitch it into the jumble when she froze.

The ring had a gold band and an unusual setting of stones in the shape of a bluebird. It was an exact replica of the ring James displayed on his finger to flaunt his
downfall, an exact copy of the drawing that had been distributed throughout her neighborhood shortly after the ring’s exalted owner had reported it missing.

Her heart began to pound, her ears to buzz.

“What have you found?” he queried. “Is it extraordinary?”

“Yes. Yes, it is.”

She tipped it toward the window and peeked inside the band, knowing without looking that Lady Barring-ton’s initials would be etched there. But still, when they became visible, she nearly collapsed to the floor in a shocked heap.

The ring! The accursed, dreadful ring—that had killed her father, ruined her brother, and destroyed her family—was casually thrown into a drawer in Alex’s dresser.

How had it come to be there? How long had it lain, year after agonizing year, with no one daring to inquire?

The enormity of the discovery was too much to absorb, and her mind couldn’t wrap itself around the facts. The ring was in her husband’s drawer. In his drawer . . . in his drawer. . . .

It was such a hideous, bizarre conclusion that she couldn’t deduce what her next move should be. He was behind her. Waiting . . . waiting . . .

Was he dangerous? He hadn’t ever seemed to be, but if he’d stolen the ring, of what else might he be capable? If she interrogated him, what would happen?

She whirled to face him.

“This is an interesting piece.” She held it out for him to view; then she clutched it in her fist, gripping it tightly so that she wouldn’t drop it.

“I always thought so.”

“You did?”

“Yes. It’s very unique.”

Even though her world was being smashed to bits, she sounded so calm, so composed. “Can you recall how you came by it?”

“I haven’t the vaguest. I’ve had it for ages.”

“Really? For ages?”

“What is it, Ellen?” He started toward her. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m fine.”

He was crossing toward her much too rapidly. With each step he took, she took one back, sidling toward her bedchamber, though what she intended when she arrived was anybody’s guess.

“Ellen! What’s the matter? Speak to me!”

“It’s so peculiar.”

“What is?” He halted, recognizing that he shouldn’t try to touch her.

“Do you remember when I told you about my brother?”

“He’d gotten himself in some trouble over a theft.”

“Not just any
theft,”
she stated, “but of a very valuable ring.”

“A ring?”

“Yes, and I’m positive it’s an odd coincidence, but this is the same ring. It even has Lady Barrington’s initials on the band. See?” She showed it to him, then snatched it away, before he had a true opportunity to study it.

“What are you implying?”

“Why is it in your dresser?”

He frowned, then gasped. “You can’t think I stole it.”

“I’m not sure what I think. I’ve merely posed a simple question, and I’d like a simple answer: What is it doing in your drawer?”

“How the hell should I know?”

“Yes,” she murmured, “how the hell should you?”

“Give it to me, Ellen. Give it to me right now.”

“No.”

“I’m not asking you; I’m telling you.”

He stuck out his palm, expecting her to meekly surrender it, but she couldn’t. If she turned it over to him, she was convinced it would disappear. Her proof—that James had been innocent, all along—would vanish without a trace.

“This ring killed my father. Were you aware that’s why he died?”

“No, I wasn’t.”

“He couldn’t bear the shame of James being pronounced guilty, and all this time the ring was in your dresser.”

“Ellen, let me explain—”

“Explain? Are you actually supposing you could
explain
this in any logical way?”

“Before you go off half-cocked, screaming about felonies and whatever else, listen to me, and listen good.”

He advanced, and she retreated farther. “I need to confer with my brother.”

“I thought your brother had been transported.”

Too late, she realized her error, but she didn’t care what he suspected. James was the only one who could help her, who could advise her as to what they should do.

“He’s in London,” she admitted, “and I mean to—”

Quick as a snake, he clasped her wrist and pried at her fingers. She struggled to free herself, and when she couldn’t, she scratched the back of his hand, digging in with her nails so deeply that she drew blood.

He hissed with pain, and before he could recover,
she yanked away, then raced to her room to slam and lock the door. She sagged against it as he stormed to the other side and pounded with all his might.

“Ellen! Stop this nonsense! At once!”

His fist vibrated through the wood, and she staggered away, wondering if she’d ever really known him.

“Ellen!” he shouted again. “Open up!”

“I can’t. I can’t.”

Tears streamed down her cheeks, so many that they blinded her, and she tried to swipe them away, but they kept coming. She couldn’t believe he was the one—refused to believe he was the one!—yet she was holding the evidence.

He’d said that he’d had the ring forever, that he couldn’t recollect from where it had originated, and he had so many trinkets. Had he stolen the others? Was he naught but a petty thief?

She’d heard of people who seemed perfectly normal but who were plagued by a horrendous compulsion to steal. Was he such a person? Had the strange impulse spurred him to take the ring? Was that all it had been?

If so, how sad that such a paltry act could have wreaked such havoc.

She ran to the hall and down the servants’ stairs, desperate to be outside before he chased after her. He couldn’t follow without his clothes, would have to dress before proceeding, so she had many minutes as a head start, but where—precisely—was she to go?

Nicholas left the mews and stomped toward the mansion, glad to be home and to have escaped Lydia’s clutches.

Despite his plans with Suzette, Lydia had forced him
to escort her to the country. He’d accompanied her against his will, not giving two hoots about Rebecca or where the jilted girl might be hiding.

The instant Lydia’s attention had been diverted, he’d sneaked away. He wasn’t her slave, and he wouldn’t be treated like one. Lydia had to learn that she could only push him so far. His courtesy had been exhausted, and fiancée or no, she would not control him.

He had his own problems—problems that were much more dire and pressing than Lydia and her annoying sister. Suzette had to be fuming, and he had to put out that fire, but first, he had to deal with his new sister-in-law.

The entire trip to Lydia’s house, she’d harangued about Ellen and Alex. Typically, Nicholas would have ignored her, but for the fact that a name kept creeping into her rant: James Drake. Ellen Drake’s brother.

Lydia had mentioned him once previously, but Nicholas had disregarded her comments, not comprehending the man’s relevance. But Nicholas was swiftly growing uneasy.

After so much time, he’d forgotten about James Drake, but his suddenly being repeatedly thrust at Nicholas was like having a ghost walk over his grave.

He remembered the peculiar conversation he’d had with Lydia, when she’d quizzed him about earlier sins and had subtly threatened him over prior indiscretions.

As he was discovering, nothing was an accident with her, so there had to be a reason she’d alluded to his past. She could be a vindictive, spiteful shrew, and he couldn’t let her ascertain his connection to James Drake. She might use the information as an excuse to withhold funds or—God forbid!—to decline to marry him, at all, and he couldn’t risk such a calamity.

He was through the rear gate when, to his great astonishment, Ellen Drake rushed onto the verandah and careened across the yard, as if the hounds of hell were on her heels. What could have occurred? Alex was renowned for his sexual prowess, so her wedding night couldn’t have been that bad!

She was so distraught that she nearly bumped into him. She was a fright, crying and mumbling, and she lurched to a halt.

“Oh . . . oh . . . Mr. Marshall. I didn’t see you standing there.”

“I’m your brother now, Ellen. You must call me Nicholas.”

“Yes, yes . . . of course.” She was confused and alarmed, and she continually glanced over her shoulder, as if she anticipated pursuit at any moment.

“What is it, dear? What’s happened?”

She looked beyond the gate to his fast, sporty gig, the horse still hitched and not overly tired.

“Is that your carriage?” she inquired.

“Yes.”

“Would you mind terribly if I imposed on you by asking for a ride?”

“Certainly, Ellen. We’re family.” He was teeming with curiosity. What was amiss? “What’s mine is yours. Where is it you wish to go?”

“I need to speak with my brother immediately. I must visit an address down by the docks.”

“Your brother?” His heart plummeted to his shoes. The criminal was supposed to be in Australia! What was he doing in England? “I didn’t realize you had relatives in the city.”

“He’s lived in London for over a year.”

Gad! Why hadn’t he been apprised? What good was the law if they couldn’t keep a dangerous felon from slipping in? “The docks, you say? It’s not the best neighborhood.”

“I know. It’s quite a distance, too, but it’s dreadfully important.”

“Well, it must be vital.” He took her arm and led her to the alley. “You’re in a fine fettle. Why don’t we get going, and you can tell me all about it on the way.”

He helped her up, then climbed in beside her. As he did, he peeked at the house, and he was relieved to note that no one appeared to have seen her exit. He clicked the reins, and in a few seconds they were off.

Alex listened to Ellen’s retreating footsteps, and he hammered his fist several more times, though she’d fled and wouldn’t have answered even if she’d been there.

The only thing the pounding accomplished was to set his head spinning. His hangover roared to life with a vengeance, and he tottered to his dressing chamber and began yanking on his trousers.

He wasn’t about to chase after her wearing just a towel around his privy parts. She’d already goaded him into behaving like a deranged lunatic on too many occasions, so he wasn’t about to parade down the halls with his bare arse displayed for his employees.

He’d catch up with her soon. After all, how far could a woman travel on foot? He’d be on horseback, so he’d have no difficulty in overtaking her, and after she ran for a bit, perhaps she’d calm and return on her own. She had no money, so where did she assume she could go?

Her sole item of any value was the ring, which she
could sell for cash if she had an inkling as to how to locate a villain who’d buy it. Which she didn’t.

He cursed with disgust. That bloody ring! Hadn’t it caused enough trouble? Enough misery? Why hadn’t he disposed of it as he’d always planned? What had he been thinking, having it lying about where anyone could stumble upon it?

Obviously, he hadn’t been
thinking
. That was the problem.

“What a mess!” he grumbled.

He tugged on his jacket, then marched toward the stairs, calling for his horse to be saddled.