Honor (28 page)

“You know him better than I.”

“I do. Charming as he is on the surface, he’s unprincipled and has led quite a lawless life.”

“He sounds more intriguing by the minute.” Theo shook her head. “Life is too short to settle for crumbs.” She rose and paced the parlor. “You know what will happen if you do settle, don’t you? Robert will disappoint you again and again. You’ll make excuses for him and tell yourself that you love him in spite of his faults, but each time he fails you, you’ll die a little inside. And make no mistake, sweet Portia, he will fail you. Such men always do.” Theo stopped. “Soon you will feel nothing inside except bitterness and resentment. I’d hate to see that happen to you.”

Honor closed her eyes and rubbed her forehead where a headache was forming. “I’m so torn.”

“You’re home now,” Theo said. “Take all the time you need to make a decision. You know I will support you, whatever you decide.”

Honor rose and kissed her aunt on the cheek. “That means a great deal to me.” When she returned to the sofa, she said, “What about you, Aunt Theo?”

Theo frowned. “What about me?”

“Is there a new man in your life?”

Theo’s dark eyes suddenly filled with sadness. She smiled with forced brightness. “No, there is no one. Did I tell you that Wes has a son, a little heir to the Saltonsall shipping dynasty? Wes’s father couldn’t be prouder. He tells everyone who’ll listen that he couldn’t ask for a better daughter-in-law than Selena. Rumor has it that she’s expecting another child.”

But was Wes happy? Honor doubted it.

“You know you should have married him,” she said softly.

Her aunt stiffened. “Don’t reproach me,” she snapped with uncharacteristic ire. “I did what was best for him. Someday he will realize that, when he’s old with his grandchildren gathered around him. Now, if you’ll excuse me, it’s time for my afternoon drive. Will you come?”

“As tempting as your offer is, the thought of terrorizing Boston in your motorcar holds little appeal. Besides, I have a great deal of thinking to do.”

“I understand,” Theo said.

Half an hour later, Honor watched in some trepidation from the doorway as her aunt, covered from head to toe in duster, hat, and goggles, went rattling off in a puff of exhaust down Commonwealth Avenue. When the car disappeared from view, Honor went back into the house to decide what to do about her marriage.

Honor returned to New York five days later to tell Robert that their marriage was over and that she had decided to leave him.

Unlocking her apartment door and stepping inside, she called out, “Robert? I’m home.”

Silence.

Where was he on a Saturday at four o’clock in the afternoon? Even if he had decided to go to his office, surely he wouldn’t be working this late.

“Tilly?” Honor called, carrying her suitcase into the parlor and setting it down.

No answer.

She paused and listened for a footstep, a door closing, a voice. Nothing. Absolute silence filled the apartment.

Frowning, Honor went into the kitchen, for that was where she usually found Tilly, preparing the evening meal. She scowled when she found nothing but unwashed dishes in the sink, for Tilly was too conscientious to neglect her duties. The maid had obviously left quickly.

“Where have they gone?” Honor muttered to herself, heading for her bedchamber.

She stepped through the open door and stopped cold. Every drawer of Robert’s bureau had been pulled open and emptied, the top stripped bare of the brushes and combs he kept there. Honor’s heart raced. She walked slowly into the room, fighting to make sense of this. She stopped when she noticed the open armoire door.

His half of the armoire was empty.

Knees shaking, Honor walked around the room one more time, searching for any sign that Robert had ever been here at all, but she found not a shoe, not a shirt, not a note of explanation.

A note. Surely he had left her a note.

Honor frantically searched the bedchamber. When she found nothing, she systematically combed every other room in the apartment.

Nothing.

Returning to the parlor out of breath and in a daze, she sat down on the sofa to think.

“There has got to be a reasonable explanation.”

Perhaps he had gone on another business trip for Nevada LaRouche. If so, why had he taken all of his clothes? Why was Tilly missing?

Honor trembled as a thought too horrible to contemplate assailed her. What if Robert and Tilly had met with foul play? What if Gordon Graham had hired some thugs to kidnap and murder them in retaliation for Genevra’s divorce? As much as she wanted to be rid of Robert, she didn’t wish him to come to harm.

“There would be signs of a struggle,” she reminded herself. “Furniture would be overturned. Clothes would not be missing.”

Honor spent the next several hours talking to her neighbors. They stood in their doorways and listened out of curious or suspicious eyes. No, they hadn’t heard anything out of the ordinary. No, they hadn’t seen anything out of the ordinary. No, they didn’t know where her husband and their maid could have gone.

The doorman, however, reported that he hadn’t seen Robert in several days.

Dusk had fallen while Honor knocked on doors and asked the same desperate questions over and over, and now, as she stood in her parlor, staring out into the gathering darkness, she decided she needed some help.

Honor’s heart sank when she saw that every downstairs window in the Delancy mansion blazed with light. A line of carriages waited ahead of her cab to let their passengers disembark beneath the porte cochere. Whenever the front door opened, faint strains of music poured out along with more golden light, illuminating smiling ladies in Worth gowns and dazzling jewels, and dashing men in white tie.

Growing impatient, Honor stepped down from her cab, asked the driver to wait, and walked to the front door. Party or no party, she would see Nevada LaRouche.

Ignoring the embarrassed, curious glances cast at the wrinkled, dusty traveling attire she had worn since this morning, she eased past a young woman dithering with her skirts and entered the expansive foyer that had so impressed Robert.

LaRouche, handsome in his severe black evening clothes, stood near the ballroom door conversing with several of the newest arrivals. He looked up, those remote blue eyes boring right through Honor as if she were a stranger. He did not smile. He excused himself and strode toward her.

Honor stepped back a pace, suddenly overwhelmed by the uncharacteristic coldness emanating from him.

“Good evening, Mrs. Davis,” he said, a noticeable hard edge to his soft drawl. Before Honor could reply, he slipped an insistent hand beneath her elbow. “I need to talk to you. My study is this way.”

Honor let him guide her down a long corridor. When they stopped at a closed door, she pulled away. “Where is Robert?”

A puzzled frown appeared between his brows. He opened the door and indicated that Honor should precede him. “I don’t know. Isn’t he at home, with you?”

“When I returned from Boston this afternoon,” she began, entering the room where a light had been left burning, “he wasn’t at the apartment.” She shivered. “All of his clothes are missing, and the doorman hasn’t seen him for several days.”

“I think I know why.” LaRouche closed the door. “Please sit down.”

Honor’s frayed nerves finally snapped. She balled her hands into fists and took a menacing step toward Nevada LaRouche. “I don’t want to sit down! I want to know what in God’s name has happened to Robert!”

His hands shot out, grasping Honor’s arms with a touch that was both firm and gentle. “Easy, ma’am. I know you’re worn out with worry, but if you’ll just sit down, I’ll try to ease your mind.”

“Then you do know what’s happened to him.” Honor’s knees buckled, and she sagged against him, feeling suddenly drained. Before she could fall, LaRouche eased her down into a corner of the leather sofa. “I just want to know what has happened to him.”

She had to find Robert to tell him their marriage was over.

LaRouche sat down beside her, angling his lanky body sideways so that he faced her. “Something happened while you were away.”

She looked at him. “Something to do with Robert?”

LaRouche nodded. “I had to fire him.”

Honor ignored the sinking feeling in her stomach. “Why? I thought you were pleased with Robert’s work.”

“I was, until I caught him selling confidential information to our competitors.”

“Dear God!” Honor stared at him in disbelief. “Robert? Doing something dishonest?” She laughed—a high, shaky sound, so unlike her. “That’s absurd. You must be mistaken.”

“I wish I was.”

She shook her head. “I can’t believe it. That position meant everything to him. He wouldn’t risk losing it by doing something so—so underhanded.”

“I couldn’t believe it either when my people told me. I liked Davis and thought he was a loyal employee. We took our time investigating so as to give him the benefit of the doubt, but the evidence against him was overwhelming.”

While Honor listened, LaRouche related what Robert had done. “I had no choice but to give him his walking papers.”

“When?”

“Three days ago.”

While Honor was in Boston.

“What did he say?”

“He denied everything at first, but we had him dead to rights. He asked for another chance.” LaRouche looked away. “You understand that I can’t work with a man I don’t trust.”

“Of course.”

“He asked for a reference, but I told him I couldn’t give him one. I did agree not to blackball him.”

Honor knew that a man as powerful as LaRouche could have seen to it that Robert never worked again. Filled with bitterness and shame at what her husband had done, she said, “Why didn’t you?”

His blue eyes warmed with unexpected heat. “I didn’t want to see you tarred with the same brush.”

Honor struggled to keep her features composed and not to betray her inner turmoil. “If you didn’t drive him away, why did he leave?”

“He’s a proud man. Perhaps he was too ashamed to face you, or maybe he thought I’d change my mind and have him arrested.” A knock on the door caused LaRouche to snap, “What is it?”

The door opened to reveal his butler. “Begging your pardon, sir, but your guests are asking for you.”

“Hold the fort a little while longer.” When the butler left, LaRouche said, “Will you stay? We can talk some more after my guests leave.”

Honor moistened her dry lips with the tip of her tongue. “Why would you want to have anything more to do with me? After the unspeakable way my husband repaid your generosity, I’m surprised you let me through the door tonight.”

LaRouche leaned back. “Now, hold on one minute, there, ma’am, I knew you couldn’t have been a party to his betrayal.”

His vehement assertion brought a faint blush to Honor’s cheeks. “When you saw me walk in just a few minutes ago, you looked as though you wanted to escort me right out the door.”

“That was because I thought you had come to plead for him, and it made me angry.”

Honor didn’t dare ask him why. “If I had known what my husband was doing, I would have reported him to you myself.” She paused. “Wifely loyalty has its limits, Mr. LaRouche, especially when it’s undeserved.”

Tension danced between them. “I figured you’d feel that way.”

Honor looked down at her clasped hands. “I appreciate your confidence.”

“You’ll stay then?”

A self-conscious hand went to her hair to find that it was beginning to come down. No wonder all the ladies had given her strange looks. “I’m not dressed for the occasion.” It was as good an excuse as any.

“You look fine to me.”

She ignored the warmth in his voice and rose. “I—I can’t stay.” She couldn’t possibly accept his hospitality after what Robert had done. “I’m exhausted after my trip, and I have to be alone to sort all this out.”

He had risen with her and regarded her with concern in his eyes. “You sure you’ll be all right?” When Honor nodded, he said, “I can’t leave my guests, but I will have my driver take you home.”

“There’s no need. I have a cab waiting.”

Once they were back out in the foyer, now quiet and devoid of guests, LaRouche said something to his butler, who then stepped outside the front door.

Honor said, “A mere apology can’t compensate for my husband’s betrayal, Mr. LaRouche, but I am sorry. If he’s caused any financial loss to your company, I shall do my best to repay it, though it will take a while.”

“Don’t talk nonsense.” LaRouche startled her by taking her hand and bringing it to his lips. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“No, but he is my husband, and I feel his shame as acutely as if it were my own.” Before LaRouche could comment, Honor bade him good-bye and left.

When she arrived at the Osborne, she discovered that Nevada LaRouche had ordered his butler to pay her cab fare.