Say You Love Me (37 page)

“Don’t he though?” James grinned. “But, then, the English
are
much more dependable.”

Warren just snorted at that added dig, but Edward said, “Give it a rest, you two. This is a time for well-wishing,” and then he added gruffly, smiling at Kelsey, “A pleasure to meet you, m’dear. I’m sure you’ll make a fine addition to the Malory fold.”

“Yes, she will,” Jason said quietly.

Derek glanced at his father, in his usual spot by the fireplace. Jason’s expression was guarded, but Derek couldn’t blame him for that. Their last words hadn’t been at all pleasant.

“Might I have a word with you, Father?”

Jason nodded and led the way to his study. Derek brought Kelsey with him. And they came upon Molly coming down the hall, which saved him having to fetch her.

“Would you join us, please?” Derek asked
her, indicating the study, which Jason had already entered.

Molly nodded stiffly and preceded him, moving to stand beside Jason. Derek felt guilty for causing her wariness. She was his mother—but he still hadn’t quite gotten used to that fact.

“I was angry, I’ll admit,” Derek began. “But there’s no room for that with the happiness I’m feeling now.” He brought Kelsey’s hand up to his lips, in case there was any doubt about what had caused his happiness. “But with those hot emotions no longer clouding my thinking, I’ve realized a few things.”

He had to pause to clear his throat. That damn lump was starting to rise again. And Molly’s expression had softened. She had smiled at Kelsey. She was now smiling at Derek.

“Oh, hell,” he said, and crossed the room to gather Molly into his arms. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to cause you any distress. I was just so shocked, and felt so—deprived.” He leaned back to look at her. “I
know
you’ve always been there when I needed a mother. I just wish I could have called you Mother. But I think I understand why you felt that wasn’t necessary.”

“Not unnecessary, Derek,” she replied gently. “Just better for you—but I’ll admit now that I might have been wrong to make that decision. I missed so much because of it. And now, knowing how you feel, I’ll probably always regret it—”

“Don’t,” he cut in. “There have been too many regrets already. And at least I know now. I’ll understand, though, if you still don’t want me to call you Mother.”

She burst into tears then, and hugged him tight. “Oh, Derek, I’ve always loved you so! You can call me any bloody thing you like.”

He laughed at that. Jason chuckled as well. Derek looked over her head at his father, and saw something he never had before. Jason really and truly loved Molly Fletcher. It was there in his eyes as he looked at her.

“I don’t suppose you two have thought about getting married yourselves?” he asked.

Jason gave a long-suffering sigh. “She still won’t have me.”

Molly humphed as she wiped her eyes. “
That
isn’t necessary,” she said. To Derek she added, “Your father and I live very happily as we are, I’ll have you know. There’s no need to stir up a hornet’s nest just for a silly piece of paper, no need a’tall.”

“I plan to work on it,” Jason said, winking at Derek.

Derek grinned. “Sort of figured you would.”

“But I won’t be changing my mind,” Molly said, then smiled at Jason. “Although I won’t mind your efforts to try.”

Later that night, when Derek took Kelsey back to the inn to pack her things—she would be moving into Haverston until the wedding—he said, “You know, my Uncle Anthony had
a good point tonight at dinner. I really don’t dare risk getting you angry with me—ever.”

Kelsey grinned. “Your uncle was being silly. Shooting husbands doesn’t
really
run in my family. Now, tossing them into fireplaces is another matter.”

Derek laughed, pulling her into his arms. “I’ll remember that, luv. But I don’t plan to ever make you angry with me. Madly in love with me is how I’ll be keeping you.”

“Hmmm, that sounds nice,” she said, kissing his cheek, then his neck. “Can I have a little demonstration, d’you think?”

He groaned and sought her lips for a very heated kiss. “Your wish is my command,” he said huskily a few minutes later. “And that’s one request that I’ll never get tired of hearing.”

She looked up at him with love gleaming in her gray eyes. “Then show me, Derek. Show me now.”

He did, with the greatest pleasure.

ALL I NEED IS YOU

By Johanna Lindsey

the sequel to
A Heart So Wild

What happens when a New York sophisticate has a run-in with a female bounty hunter?

Find out in Ms. Lindsey’s captivating romance from Avon Books

New York, 1892

It was actually a beautiful night in early spring, the
night Damian Rutledge III’s world fell apart. Everything had gone right that day: the flowers had been delivered to Winnifred shortly before Damian arrived to pick her up, the engagement ring he’d designed had been finished that morning. They had even reached the restaurant on time, for once the heavy city traffic not interfering with his schedule. And dinner had been superb. He was going to ask the big question as soon as he took Winnifred home.

Her father had already approved the match. His father had been delighted. They made a perfect couple, he the heir to Rutledge Imports, she the heir to C.W. & L Company. It wouldn’t be just a marriage, but a joining of the two largest import companies in the city.

But then Sergeant Johnson of the 21st precinct had showed up at their table as they were finishing dessert. The policeman had re
quested a few private words with Damian. They had walked out to the lobby.

Damian had been in shock ever since.

He wasn’t sure if he’d asked the sergeant to escort Winnifred home. He had raced to the offices of Rutledge Imports. The lights were all ablaze. The office was usually closed by 5 p.m., but occasionally one or another of the employees stayed late to catch up on paperwork, including Damian’s father…but rarely this late of an evening. Even the cleaning crew was usually finished by this time. But then the only ones working there now were members of the New York City police department.

There were two ornate flagpoles, one on each side of the door in the large, high-ceilinged office. The body was still hanging from one of them. Every July, for the entire month, an American flag was hung from each flagpole. Throughout the rest of the year, the poles supported an assortment of hanging plants. The plants on the one pole had been tossed aside, leaving dirt and broken leaves on the cream-colored carpet, and now supported the body instead.

If the walls weren’t made of brick, a body that size couldn’t have hung there, dangling some six inches from the floor. But no, these poles were made of steel and reinforced in the brick, so they would never sag. Two hundred pounds hanging from the one, and it hadn’t bent at all.

So close to the floor, yet so far away. Shoes might have made a difference, might have al
lowed the body to get support on tiptoe, at least for a little while, but the shoes had been removed. Yet the arms weren’t restrained either. Those powerful arms could have easily reached the flagpole to keep the pressure of that single rope off the neck. The chair, too, that had been placed just under the flagpole, was still there; it hadn’t been kicked over but was still in reach.

“Cut him down.”

No one heard Damian. Three men had tried to stop him from entering the office, until they heard who he was. The men were too busy sifting through what they deemed evidence to pay attention to a choked voice. Damian had to shout to be heard.

“Cut him down!”

That got their attention, and one uniformed officer blustered indignantly, “Who the hell are you?”

Damian still hadn’t taken his eyes off the body. “I’m his son.”

He heard several mutterings of sympathy as they cut Damian Rutledge II down—pointless, meaningless words that barely penetrated his shock. His father was dead, the only person on the face of the earth that he really and truly cared about. He had no other relatives. His mother didn’t count. She had divorced his father when Damian was still a child and had gone off to marry her lover, causing quite a scandal at the time. Damian had never seen her again and had no desire to. She had been, and would remain, dead in his heart. But his father…

Winnifred didn’t count either. He’d planned to marry her, but he didn’t love her. He had been hopeful that they would get along splendidly. After all, he could find no fault with her. She was beautiful, refined, and would make a fine mother for the children they would have. At present, though, he couldn’t even call her his fianceé, could think of her as little more than a stranger. But his father…

What few friends he had didn’t count either. After his mother’s rejection and abandonment, he’d never let anyone get really close. It was simpler that way. It kept emotional pain out of his life. But his father…

“—obvious suicide,” he heard next, then, “There’s even a note.” And this was shoved in front of Damian’s face.

When he was able to focus on the words, he read, “I tried to get over it, Damian, but I can’t. Forgive me.”

He snatched the note out of the policeman’s hand and read it again…and again. It looked like his father’s writing, if a bit shaky. The note also looked like it had been stuffed in something, a pocket or a fist.

“Where did you get this?” he asked.

“On the desk—in the center of it, actually. Hard to miss.”

“There is fresh stationery in that desk,” Damian pointed out. “Why would this note be crumpled if it was written just before…?”

He couldn’t finish the sentence. The policeman he’d looked at merely shrugged.

But another suggested, “He could have been
carrying that note around for days, while he made up his mind.”

“And brought his own rope, too? That rope didn’t come from this office.”

“Then obviously he did bring it along,” was the easy reply, then, “Look, Mr. Rutledge, I know it ain’t easy to accept when someone you know takes their own life, but it happens. Do you know what it was that he couldn’t get over, as the note says?”

“No, my father didn’t have
any
reason to kill himself.”

“Well…looks like he felt differently.”

Damian’s eyes turned a wintery gray, pale as shadowed snow. “You’re just going to accept that as fact? You’re not even going to look into the possibility that he was murdered?”

“Murdered?” The man all but smirked. “There’s easier and much quicker ways to kill yourself than dangling from a rope. Know how long it takes to actually die from hanging? It ain’t quick unless the neck snaps, and his didn’t. And there’s easier and much quicker ways for murder to be done than by hanging.”

“Unless you want it to look like suicide.”

“A bullet in the head would have done the trick if that were the case. Look, do you see any signs of struggle here? And there is nothing to indicate that your father’s hands had been tied, so that he couldn’t prevent the hanging. How many men do you think it would take to hang a man his size, if he didn’t want to be hung? One or two wouldn’t have
managed it. Three or more? Why? What motive? Did your father keep money here? Anything of value missing that you can see? Did he have enemies that hated him enough to kill him?”

The answers were no and no and no, but Damian didn’t bother to say it. They had drawn their conclusions based on the evidence at hand. He couldn’t even blame them for settling on what looked so obvious. Why should they dig any deeper just on his say so, when they could finish their paperwork on this and go on to the next crime? Trying to convince them that
this
was a crime that needed further investigation would be a waste of his time and theirs.

He still tried. He spent two more hours trying, until each policeman had come up with an excuse to leave. Sure, they’d look into it, they had assured him, but he didn’t believe it for a minute. Sop for the grieving relative. They would have said anything at that point just to get out of there.