Simmer All Night (41 page)

* * *

I'm gonna strangle Christina Delaney.

Cole swung the ax, cleaving a log cleanly in two. The hardheaded, mule-stubborn, muscle-minded woman. She wouldn't see him. Wouldn't speak to him. Wouldn't respond to the letter he'd slipped under her door.

"Give me your answer on Sunday," he grumbled, setting up another log. "Just because I said I wouldn't try to change you didn't mean I'd let you walk all over me."

He split the log with two solid strokes. "Backed off because you looked pale," he muttered. "Weak." He'd thought to give her a day of rest, then hash the rest of their relationship out in private.

"That's what you get for thinking, Morgan," he mumbled.

He cut three more logs before heaving the ax blade into the ground. Leaning on the handle, he gingerly touched the cut below his eye he'd received Wednesday afternoon. Damned Jake had a wicked right hook.

Cole hadn't defended himself at first. He knew he deserved the beating for touching Christina. He deserved it for being so stupid as to mention the possibility of a baby in front of her mother and brother. But when Jake proved unwilling to allow a couple punches to settle the matter, Cole had thrown a few jabs of his own. All in all, it had been a satisfactory fight.

He wished like hell he could find the same satisfaction with Christina.

What really chapped him about her behavior was that the ban didn't extend to anyone else. All day long folks were in and out of her bedroom. Her mother, her brother, Thornbury, Lana and the children, even Welby. Yet, every time he tried to gain entrance, a footman was there to bar the way. Cole about blew his top yesterday when Christina refused to see him for the third time that afternoon.

Feeling better for the exercise, but still muttering beneath his breath, Cole stacked the wood on the woodpile, grabbed his shirt to use as a towel, then slipped it on for the trek to the manor house and the bath that awaited him.

He was taking a shortcut through the statue garden when he came upon an exceedingly glum Jake Delaney sitting on a bench throwing pebbles at Adonis's private parts. "What has you down in the mouth?" Cole asked.

Jake scowled and threw another stone. "Scotland. Rowanclere Castle."

Cole didn't even try to smother his laugh. "Gonna take a trip, Jake?"

"You're an ass, Morgan,"

Still grinning, Cole took a seat beside him. Jake sighed heavily, threw another rock, then said, "Chrissy gets every bit of her stubbornness from Mama."

"She's sending you after the Declaration?"

"Yeah. Even though we've already located one of them."

"Really? When? Where? No one told me about it."

"The fellow who owns Castaway Bait Company had one. Apparently it had been passed down through Drew Coryell's family. Remember Roger Mayfield's daughter Hannah?"

"The pretty one? Didn't he bring her to the Historical Society meetings a few times when he was president of the group?"

"That's her. Anyway, a few years back she was briefly—very briefly—married to Coryell. He'd shown her the document. So once she found out the Historical Society was searching for missing copies of the Declaration, she looked up her old flame and convinced him to give it to her."

"That's good news," Cole observed. "As long as we have one copy, finding the others aren't as important."

"Not according to my mother," Jake replied, giving the grass beneath his feet a vicious kick. "She's bound and determined for me to track down the one that woman supposedly stole from Bennet, or Wilcox, I should say."

It was all Cole could do not to chortle aloud at the gloomy note in Jake's voice. "You'll enjoy Scotland. I hear the lassies are lovely up there. And when you find the woman who bested Wilcox, give her my regards, will you? I tell you what, Jake, that man was downright crazy. It shames me to think Texas produced a fellow like that."

Jake nodded glumly. "He certainly had more than a few spokes missing from his wheel. Makes you wonder what sort of home he grew up in to make him want to create a copy of it in a crypt."

"Maybe he was born bad," Cole replied thoughtfully. "Or, could be losing both his folks so young made him that way. Doesn't really matter, though. One way or another, this world is well rid of him."

"Can't argue with you there."

The two men sat quietly for a moment as Cole pondered the events of recent days. Details yielded by the scrapbook uncovered during a search of Harpur Priory following the impostor's death had shocked them all. The man's evil hadn't begun with murdering the real Lord Bennet and taking his place. Newspaper clippings told of crimes committed by a young John Wilcox while handwritten notations kept up a running tally of killings he carried out in the process. According to the articles, the Texas Rangers had been hot on Wilcox's trail, so the decision to take the real Lord Bennet's place had likely been an easy one. What was one more murder in a long list? Especially when it brought the killer significant wealth and a life of ease at the price of a little homesickness.

Cole cleared his throat, then voiced a nagging concern. "I just hope Chrissy doesn't suffer too much knowing she fired the shot that ended up killing him."

Jake winced. "Uh, I told her you killed him."

Cole considered the lie for a moment, then nodded. "Good. Let's keep to that story. Chrissy doesn't need to shoulder that burden, and besides, I wish I had done him in myself. It's one of the bigger disappointments in my life that he died before I could finish the job for him. And now that I've heard the whole story of what he did to Chrissy and to the children in order to protect his true identity, I wish he'd died a much harder death."

"Me, too," observed Jake. "Although, I understand being gut shot is particularly painful."

"Yes."

The two men's gazes met and they shared a satisfied smile. After that, the conversation turned to Jake's travel plans. "Have you been able to discover exactly where in Scotland you'll find this Rowanclere Castle?"

"Yes," Jake said with a groan. "My grandfather thinks he's heard of it. He thinks it's up north. Up in the mountains."

"The Scottish Highlands." Cole winced. "That's too bad."

"Why do you say that?"

Cole clapped him on the back, biting back a laugh as he stood. "I heard it can get awfully cold in the Highlands. I know how much you like ice, snow, and bitter wind."

Jake sneered and made a rude hand gesture. "Go chop some more wood, why don't you."

Cole walked away grinning, feeling better than he had in days. "And no wonder," he murmured, glancing toward the western sky where the sun was beginning to set. "Tomorrow is Sunday."

* * *

Chrissy stared at the gown hanging on the wardrobe door and smiled wistfully. It was a beautiful dress. Made of satin and silk, beaded and bustled, it was the height of fashion for any well-born lady.

It was a gift from her grandfather, and how he'd obtained such a fine piece of work in such a short amount of time left her marveling at his influence. In fact, he'd managed all the arrangements she'd requested with seemingly minor effort. Chrissy appreciated his efforts mote than she could say. Anything to make this day easier was a great help.

Chrissy was nervous. As she sat at her dressing table fixing her hair, her foot beneath her robe tapped a mile a minute. Even her hand trembled as she poked another pin into the hairstyle she was attempting. "You're a mess, Chrissy Delaney," she said to her reflection. "You know you're doing the right thing, so why be scared?"

The knock at her door became a welcome distraction. "Yes?"

The door cracked open and her mother stuck her head inside. "May I come in?"

Chrissy's spine straightened in an automatic defensive response, but she forced a smile. "Certainly. Please." Then in a conciliatory gesture, she added, "I could use some help with my hair."

Elizabeth brought a dress bag in with her, and she hung it in the wardrobe before approaching Chrissy. "I'd love to assist you in styling your hair."

Chrissy wanted to ask her what was in the bag, but she didn't feel comfortable doing it. She and her mother had been tiptoeing around one another since the conversation last Wednesday.

The desire to make things right with her mother was a physical ache inside Chrissy. Now, as Elizabeth pulled the pins from Chrissy's hair and picked up the hairbrush, she searched to find the right words to say.

Elizabeth spoke first. "You have such beautiful hair." She paused for a moment, then added, "I think you should wear it down today."

"What?" Chrissy's eyes rounded in shock. How many times had her mother fussed at her for leaving the house without putting up her hair? "But Mother, that's not..."

"It is you, sweetheart. It's right for you. I understand that now. Let's brush it till it shines, shall we?"

Chrissy didn't know how to respond, so she sat quietly until Elizabeth put down the brush and reached into her pocket, removing a white satin ribbon. "Is this all right with you? We can add a flower or two to make it more festive."

"Um, yes. That's fine."

Chrissy watched in the mirror as her mother threaded the ribbon through her hair. "So very beautiful," Elizabeth repeated. "It's the same color as your father's was when he was younger. Same texture, too. I always envied you your hair."

"You did?"

"I envied many things about you, Christina. That's a terrible thing for a mother to admit, isn't it? I watched you bloom from a girl into a young woman and I began to feel old. That's a pitiful, poor excuse for my behavior, isn't it?"

Chrissy had to consciously stop her mouth from gaping open. Elizabeth smiled sadly, then met her daughter's gaze in the mirror. "I was jealous. You were so close to your father. Much closer to him than to me, and I was jealous of both of you. I just wanted to be your moon and stars, but you looked to your father for that."

"Mama, I never knew... I didn't mean to hurt you."

"Oh, I know that." Elizabeth tied the ribbon in a bow, then fluffed the loops. Placing her hands on Chrissy's shoulders, she said, "I've done quite a bit of thinking since Wednesday. Cole opened my eyes to many things. I want to apologize to you, my daughter, and I want to try to explain."

Emotion welled in Chrissy's eyes and she blinked back tears. "Mama, I've done a lot of things wrong, too. I know I've been a trial for you. I'm sorry that I—"

Elizabeth gave her shoulders a squeeze. "Hush now. This is my apology, my explanation. You see, Christina, I wanted to protect you. I've heard it said that what bothers a parent most is seeing her own faults repeated in her children. With you, it was like looking at myself twenty years younger, making the same mistakes I made. I ran away with a man, remember. I was a Scandal. It brought me the happiness of this family, but it also brought me much loneliness and pain. I didn't want you to have to go through what I did." She paused for a moment, then added, "I sound defensive, don't I?"

"You sound honest," Chrissy said.

Elizabeth reached for her daughter's hand and tugged her to her feet, then led her toward the bed where she sat down beside her. "I've always tried to be a perfect mother, so the challenges you gave me made me feel like a failure."

"Challenges?" Chrissy said ruefully. "Don't you mean trouble?"

Her mother laughed. "Semantics, but I won't argue that one. My dear, what I've come to realize these past few days is that maybe instead of trying to be a perfect mother, I should be happy being a good one. Maybe then you and I could be friends."

"Friends?" Chrissy's smile was tremulous. "I like the sound of that."

"I love you, Christina Elizabeth Delaney, and I'm sorry I haven't told you so often enough. I'm sorry my actions have caused you to doubt my love. I'm sorry my words have sometimes been cruel and have given you reason to doubt yourself when you should've had no doubts. Cole said it well the other day. You are like me, true, but it is our differences that make you so special. I was wrong to think you needed to change, honey. You're fine just the way you are. You're wonderful just the way you are."

The tears spilled despite Chrissy's best efforts. "Do you mean that, Mother?"

Elizabeth gave her hand a squeeze, then rose from the bed and walked to the wardrobe where she removed the dress bag. "I know your grandfather went to a lot of trouble to provide you this gown, honey, and it is an extremely beautiful dress. However, I thought this design might suit you better and your grandfather agrees. I made it myself. If you'd like to wear it today, I'd be honored."

She removed the cloth cover, revealing her gift. Chrissy's breath caught. "Oh, Mama. I can't believe you... oh, I love it. I love you. This is gorgeous. It's perfect. It's..."

"You, honey." Elizabeth's smile beamed as she added, "It's the perfect bridal gown for Chrissy Delaney."

* * *

"This had better be good," Cole grumbled as he followed Jake and Welby out of Hartsworth's front door. "What does the earl want with me this morning anyway? Why couldn't it wait? I'm trying to track down Christina. She wasn't in her room when I knocked, and today is the day she promised to talk. She and I have a few things to settle, you know."

"Quit your whining, Morgan," Jake said. "This is important, and it won't take long."

"What's it about?"

Welby said, "You Texans aren't blessed with an abundant amount of patience, are you?"

"You think not? I've waited since Wednesday on Christina, haven't I? That took the patience of an entire church full of saints. And I'm no saint."

Jake snorted. "That's obvious, considering you bedded my sister before the wedding."

Cole stopped short. "Are we going to fight about this again, or are you going to quit bringing it up every time I see you? Which is it, Delaney? One or the other."

Jake rolled his eyes and kept on walking. Welby said, "Please, Morgan, we're almost there."

"Where?"

The viscount pointed, "Just over the hill."

Cole scowled, impatience tugging at his gut. He sensed a conspiracy of one sort or another afoot here. "Jake better not be trying to dump the Declaration hunt back on me. I am not going to Scotland."