Part 8 (2/2)

He would be a murderer.

”I take it I am interrupting?”

Francesca whirled as Hart stepped into the room.

Chapter Thirteen.

SUNDAY, FEBRUARY 16, 1903 - 11:00 P.M.

His timing was simply uncanny. Francesca looked at him, overcome with dismay. He stared carefully back and then turned to smile at Lucy. ”The two of you are shouting-andcausing some concern in the front hall.” Francesca was horrified-had they been overheard? And what had Hart heard? ClearlyLucy was equally worried- frantically so. She ran up to her stepbrother. ”Did they hear whatwe were arguing about?” She practically ripped off his sleeve. He eyed Francesca again, his composure unshaken-unflappable. ”The walls are thick, andno, I don't believe the actual text of your argument was audible. But I did happen to overheara sentence or two from this doorway. What is it that Francesca will not let you ask me?” Hisgaze moved to and locked on Francesca again. She leaped forward, to his side. Had she been able to step directly between him and Lucy,she would have. ”Calder, it's so late! Shouldn't you be on your way?” She smiled brightly,desperately, at him. ”Isn't Rourke ready to take Lucy back to the hotel?” ”A book, Francesca,” he said softly. Then, in a normal tone, ”I am taking Lucy back to thePlaza. Rourke has been playing doctor again. He wishes to stop by the Channing residenceand will take a cab.” Francesca could only stare, consumed with dismay. Hart and Lucy alone in his carriage?She would beg him for his help, and Francesca would not be there to intervene. She told herself that Hart would not rush out and murder Craddock the moment Lucy askedhim to. In fact, he would probably hire an a.s.sa.s.sin. She was not relieved. b.l.o.o.d.y images began to dance through her mind. ”We should go; it is late!” Lucy cried, glancing at Francesca. Her eyes were wild, the eyes ofa desperate and frightened woman. In them was a warning that Francesca had better mindher own affairs. So quickly, then, their friends.h.i.+p had evaporated-Lucy was not going to letFrancesca get in her way now. ”Francesca?” Hart's silken voice washed over her in cashmere-soft waves. She gripped his hand. Her mind raced. ”What if I told you I wished to share a scotch withyou, outside in the moonlight-alone?” He started. ”Are you thinking to seduce me in order to keep me from taking Lucy back?” Of course he guessed her intentions. She didn't bother to deny it. ”Yes.” He stared at her. Then, ”That is very tempting, Francesca.” She stared back, speechless. ”I don't know why you are so frightened. But I can guess.” His expression changed,hardened. ”This is clearly about Rick. Or Leigh Anne. As for what Lucy wishes of me, I havenot a clue. Have no fear, Francesca. Your problems are not as overwhelming as you thinkthey are. In the end, life has a way of leveling out the playing field.” She was ready to cry. Now she had an image of Hart holding a smoking gun. It was followedby an image of him standing before a judge in a packed courtroom, the verdict: guilty. ”Chin up,” he murmured, and he leaned forward, about to kiss her cheek. She started. He had never done more than kiss her hand; what was he doing? At the last moment, he changed his mind, smiled with some degree of self-derision, andabout-faced. Lucy gave her another warning glance and ran out of the room behind him.

SUNDAY, FEBRUARY 16, 1902- MIDNIGHT.

It remained horrifically cold. Francesca stepped out of the drive and onto Fifth Avenue, hugging her fur-lined coat to her. It did not help. She was s.h.i.+vering madly. She was not about to go to bed, where she would never sleep. By now, Lucy had asked Hart to do the unthinkable. Francesca felt certain he had agreed. When he had told her he would commit murder for a person he loved, she had believed him because he had meant it. She had to stop him from murdering Craddock. She looked up the avenue for a cab and at this late-or early-hour saw nothing except two private coaches. She began to s.h.i.+ver and shake. She would never find a cab, because to make matters worse, it was a Sunday night, which was a night most people uptown spent at home. She was going to have to walk. It was only ten blocks, but ten of the coldest blocks in her life. A gusting wind from the north did not help matters. When Francesca paused outside of Hart's door at No. 973 Fifth Avenue, she felt blue. There was no more feeling in her fingertips and toes. She estimated it was half past midnight, so that the entire house should be asleep, except for a doorman. Her knock was promptly answered by Alfred. ”Miss Cahill,” he said, as surprised to see her as she was to see him. Francesca stepped quickly inside. ”You are up late, Alfred.” ”I was about to say the same thing about you.” Alfred seemed rather fond of her, and she had stumbled upon Hart terribly drunk one afternoon and made him lock up all of his employer's liquor. As Alfred had not been dismissed, clearly it had worked out. ”Dear G.o.d, you are blue. Here, let me take that,” he said, reaching for her coat. If he was shocked that she was calling in the wee hours of the morning, he gave no sign. ”I'll keep it.” She hugged her coat to her body. ”This is an emergency, Alfred. I must speak with Calder. If he is asleep, I must ask you to rouse him.” Alfred smiled. ”Mr. Hart never sleeps until one, sometimes two. Rather amazingly, he is up by five or six. He is in his library doing his paperwork, Miss Cahill.” Francesca was surprised. There was so much she did not know about him, she realized. But she was relieved. Doing paperwork was innocuous enough. ”He enjoys his businesses, then?” ”I believe so. There is always a negotiation that is crucial and in progress,” Alfred remarked, leading her down the front hall. ”He has a meeting over breakfast at the Union Club this morning at seven,” he said. Francesca avoided glancing at the beautiful adolescent girl with the dove as they pa.s.sed it. ”Is anybody else up and about?” she asked carefully. ”Everyone retired some time ago.” He seemed about to say more but checked himself. They turned down a corridor with paintings lining the wills. There was a tapestry that seemed to be ancient, perhaps from the period of the Norman Conquest; she saw a Rembrandt, a Sargent, and an abstract that appeared to be nothing more than childish lines. Above it was a t.i.tian. His collection was truly spectacular. Why would he want a portrait of her? Alfred knocked on a pair of beautifully finished doors that were ajar. ”Mr. Hart, sir,” he said quietly. Francesca had already stepped up behind Alfred, so she could gaze inside. Hart was sitting behind a huge desk that was probably eighty-odd inches long; legs as thick as her torso and beautifully sculpted in swirls supported it. The top was leather, she thought, but as most of the desk was covered with folders, files, and papers, it was hard to say. He had been sitting with his elbows on the desk, hands clasped, forehead on his hands. Francesca knew she was catching him in an extremely private moment-she could imagine what he was contemplating. Oddly, her heart leaped in the most erratic way. He straightened and looked up. Their gazes locked. He shot to his feet. Papers fell to the floor. ”Francesca?” He was wearing his white dress s.h.i.+rt, which was open to the middle of his chest. The bow tie he'd worn earlier dangled about his collar. He still had on his black evening pants, but he'd removed the c.u.mmerbund. She somehow smiled, not the easiest task. ”I hope that is an 'I am pleased to see Francesca' 'Francesca?' and not a 'do not disturb me' one.” Her smile seemed to fail her. His s.h.i.+rtsleeves were rolled up, revealing strong, muscular forearms. Of course, she already knew that his hands were large and strong. But now, with him dressed so simply, she saw how broad his chest and shoulders were, how lean his waist, how narrow his hips. And she could not help noticing that his thighs, which were very muscular, strained against the expensive wool of his pants. And he smiled, recovering. ”I am always pleased to see you,” he said in his lazy drawl-as if he had not just knocked over his papers like an awkward schoolboy. He stepped out from behind his desk, glancing at a huge antique bronze clock, set on another desk, this one small and for show and beneath a window. ”It's half past midnight,” he said. ”The neighbors will talk.” She had to smile, because he had no neighbors. He smiled back, but his gaze was inordinately watchful now. ”Alfred? Bring us two brandies-the Louis Quatorze.” ”I won't be that long,” she said, oddly nervous now. He smiled and it filled his dark eyes. ”If you like scotch, you will like brandy, especially this brandy, which is from a very private and restricted reserve.” Alfred smiled far too widely for a servant, then backed out of the room, closing the doors behind him. The sound was oddly final. ”I suppose I could experiment with a brandy,” Francesca said, more nervous now than before. An hour ago, she could think of nothing else but convincing Hart not to do the unthinkable. Now, she despaired. Why hadn't she waited until the early morning to confront him in his den? He suddenly grinned. ”Frankly, I imagine that there shall come a day when you will wish to experiment in many ways,” he said. ”What does that mean?” She stiffened, suddenly wondering what his master suite was like and, more specifically, his bed. ”You have been caged up like all proper young women. I think that you have one wing out of the cage, Francesca, and nothing will stop you from flying freely now.” She stared. Her heart turned over, hard. ”Conventions are tiresome, and even ridiculous, at times,” she agreed. ”And unfair-as women must follow one set of rules, men another.” ”I happen to agree with you completely,” he murmured, settling one hip on the edge of his desk. ”Hart. We have to talk,” she said, finding his posture far too provocative. ”So now it is 'Hart.' You do know that whenever you are angry or upset with me-or nervous-'Calder' gets left by the wayside and I become 'Hart.'” ”I'm upset,” she said. Their gazes held, and she simply had no wish to look away. ”Very upset.” ”You were very upset an hour ago,” he agreed, his gaze intent upon her face. ”What happened when you left? Did Lucy...” She stopped. ”What did she say?” He reached out and caught her left hand. ”She told me everything,” he said softly, while Francesca stiffened. Then he reeled her toward him. ”You are so worried, Francesca.” She stared at him. With him sitting on his desk while she stood, they were almost eye-to-eye and nose-to-nose. ”Why are you smiling? What did she tell you? And then what happened!” she cried. ”And to think that last night I a.s.sumed it was Rick you were worried about.” He smiled, and he was obviously pleased. ”Do not be boorish, now!” She tried to shake her hand free of his, and when she failed, he let it go. She straightened, asking, ”Did she ask you to ...” She stopped. Her gaze had moved past his left shoulder. Sitting in the center of his desk, amid his papers and files, was a gleaming black gun. ”What's that?” He stood, glanced behind him. With no apparent urgency, he walked around his desk and slipped the gun into a drawer. She watched him lock it. And he looked up. His eyes were so dark and so grim-Francesca wasn't sure she had ever seen him this way. She had been frozen; now she came to life. She raced around the desk and grabbed his s.h.i.+rt with her good hand, her bandaged hand on his chest. ”Please. Please do not do this!” He slid his own palm over her back. ”Calm down. The sky is not falling-yet.” ”I can't calm down,” she gasped. And even though she was afraid, terribly so, his gesture felt like a caress. ”Why was that gun on your desk?” ”Francesca, unlike you, I am a very deliberate person. I never act on impulse. I was considering my options,” he said. He still seemed unshaken, but no trace of his trademark amus.e.m.e.nt could be seen. ”Lucy is being blackmailed,” he continued calmly. ”This fellow Craddock has recently threatened her children. And you and now I are the only ones who know.” He added, ”First thing tomorrow, she and the children are moving into this house, where they will be safe.” ”You are so calm,” Francesca remarked rigidly. ”How can you be so calm?” ”Calm? A woman I consider my sister is suffering greatly. My calm is only surface-deep.” She was hardly rea.s.sured. And as their eyes held, she sensed but did not see a huge well of anger within him. It was so contained, so controlled. ”This is out of control,” she whispered. ”I begged her on Sat.u.r.day to go to Bragg.” ”I am not sure that going to the police is the best thing to do,” he said. ”There may not be any love lost between Rick and me, but even I should pity him were he put in a position of having to arrest his own brother-in-law.” Francesca wet her lips. ”So what is the answer?” ”Craddock's demise would help,” Hart said as calmly. ”I knew it!” Francesca cried, her fists now clenched. Had she ever been this angry? ”She dared to ask you to remove Calder, didn't she? She hasn't told her husband a word- G.o.d forbid he should be the one to commit murder-but you, you she does not hesitate to go to!” ”Yes, she asked me to remove Craddock.” He could not seem to stop studying her. ”How could she!” ”Easily. We grew up together, Francesca. We share no blood, but we share a family-and a history. In a way, she is my sister, and there are times when I almost forget that we do not share a single drop of blood.” Francesca found herself grabbing his hands. ”What did you say? Did you tell her you would do it?” His hands tightened on hers in return; their gazes held. ”Francesca, Lucy is in trouble. Who will help her if I do not? Frankly, she should have told Shoz. He would have ended this little matter before it ever began. But she didn't. And he is in Texas-we are here. If I do not help her, who will?” ”There is still the police. There is still Bragg. The one thing about him, he will see that there is justice-” ”Her husband was wrongfully incarcerated once,” Hart said, interrupting. ”I know you are a supreme romantic, but justice is a rare and capricious thing, Francesca. I am afraid for Shoz as well. I am afraid that, no matter the record of his life these past twelve years, Lucy may be right. If Craddock is blackmailing Lucy, Shoz has something to hide. Are you telling me that you think Rick would sweep this under the rug ... if Shoz is guilty?” ”I think there would be a way to prove him innocent!” ”As I said, you are a terrible and hopeless romantic,” he said softly. His tone was almost tender, but she could hardly remark that now. ”So the answer is to murder Craddock?” He stared. ”That is one answer,” he finally said. ”I am begging you, Hart, begging you not to do this! Please, Hart, please, do not compromise yourself this way! What Lucy is asking of you is wrong. It is that simple. Murder is wrong!” she cried. ”So that is the extent of your concern? You wish to protect a convicted and violent felon froman illegal fate? A fate which, I might add, he does deserve?” He watched her carefully now. ”No,” she said huskily, watching him as closely, ”that is the least of my concerns.” And shespoke the truth. Once, not so long ago, she would have been incredulous and disbelieving ifanyone had ever suggested she might be thinking in the way that she now was. How strangelife was. He waited. She breathed hard. ”What if you can't get away with it? What if you are the one to be triedand convicted in the end?” His gaze moved from her eyes, wandered over her face, then came back to her eyes. ”I amflattered, Francesca,” he said, with no mockery at all. ”This is not about flattery! Do you wish to be a sacrificial lamb?” His gaze narrowed. It was brilliant with intensity now. ”Actually, I have no intention of everstanding trial for any crime, my dear. How much do you care, Francesca?” ”Oh, stop it! Of course I care-or I wouldn't be here! There has to be another way, Calder;there simply has to be!” Oddly, the tears she had refused to allow to well for the past hoursuddenly came, blurring her vision. She almost felt as if her own life were at stake. He pulled her into his arms. ”Don't cry.” The tears fell freely now, but she refused to make a sound. It crossed her dazed and strickenmind that she was actually in Calder Hart's arms. Her cheek was actually on his chest. ... Herheart lurched and her body stilled. The tears stopped. She was afraid to move. With the one eye she was capable of using, as her other eye waspressed shut against his now wet s.h.i.+rt, she could see a large swath of dark skin, dusted withpitch-black hair. She could see the hard and muscular swell of the one side of his chest. Shebecame aware of the firm, strong beat of his heart. He had both hands on her back; even so, he held her rather loosely. Every fiber of her being was on the highest alert. If she made one movement, she felt likeshe would snap. Still, she s.h.i.+fted and looked up, slowly pulling away. She saw the notchbetween his collarbones, the underside of his strong throat, the cleft of his chin. His hands tightened, and then he released her. He stood up so quickly that she almost fell face first onto his desk. Francesca gripped the edge to save herself, for one moment so thoroughly dazed she didnot have a coherent thought. ”Were those tears for me?” he asked. She stared at her white knuckles, and she nodded. He did not speak and he did not move. Francesca dared to straighten and turn. ”If you care about . me at all-if you care aboutLucy, Shoz, your family, yourself-you will not remove anyone!” ”I believe you already called in your marker, did you not?” She was relieved he had become his callous self. She had-although she could not recallhow and when. ”This is not about markers,” she said, after a pause. ”And you know it.” ”Touche.” He shoved his hands into his trouser pockets. It only strained the fabric moretightly over his groin. ”No one has been removed yet; no murder trial is pending.” ”I can't let you do this, Calder,” she said heatedly. And she was aware of flus.h.i.+ng and forcingher gaze to hold his. ”And I mean it.” ”G.o.d help the man whom you love enough to marry.” His brief smile vanished. ”I think thefirst order of business is to interview Craddock. Thus far, he has been toying with afrightened woman; it is time he dares to toy with me.” Relief swamped her. ”Thank G.o.d! But how will you find him? I have put out a reward, and wehave yet to locate him.” He started; then amus.e.m.e.nt began. ”You have offered a reward for him?” She nodded. ”Don't forget, my sidekick can get around the worst wards downtown.”

He eyed her. ”Have you forgotten that is where I also grew up?” he asked softly. For a moment, surrounded by his art and his wealth, there alone in his huge house, facinghim-a wealthy and powerful man-she had. He smiled a little at her. ”Leave this to me now, France-sea.” His tone was patronizing. ”Ihave already hired one fellow whom I have worked with in the past. I am fully confident thathe can locate Craddock. We will find him- although perhaps not by Tuesday at noon.” She decided to ignore the fact that he had almost patted her on the head and told her to gohome. ”So you will confront him Tuesday, then, if you have not already done so?” ”Yes.” He nodded approvingly. ”That would be step one.” She froze. Comprehension seared her. She stood unsteadily. ”And what is step two?” He stared at her and did not answer. She did not move. But the words came out, unbidden. ”And then you will kill him?” ”Yes.”

Chapter Fourteen.

MONDAY, FEBRUARY 17, 1902 -BEFORE 8:00 A.M.

Bragg was just stepping out the door when Francesca arrived at his town house on Madison Square. He saw her as she stepped out of the cab, his eyes widening with surprise.

She rushed forward, tripping in her haste. He caught her, steadying her. She didn't think she had ever been happier to see anyone, and she clung to him. He would stop Hart from carrying out his mad scheme.

”Francesca? What's wrong?”

She embraced him and, leaning her cheek against the wool of his overcoat, she was aware of how much comfort and relief there was. There was no one she trusted more than this man, and she decided that she was going to make sure she never forgot that-especially around Hart.

She had intended to go to Bragg last night after leaving Hart's mansion. But Hart had insisted he escort her home personally, and she had been effectively waylaid.

His hand found her nape. ”Francesca?”

She stepped back a little so their eyes could meet. ”There is trouble, Bragg. You have to stop Hart-before he kills.”

Bragg's eyes widened in shock. For one moment he did not respond, and then he released her, his face hardening. ”I do not like the sound of this.”

”I am so afraid,” she returned.

”I can see that. I was on my way to headquarters, but let's go inside and you can explain yourself.”

His choice of words took her back, but then she decided she was overwrought. She followed him back into the house and heard a woman's raised voice in the kitchen. It had to be the new nanny, Mrs. Flowers.

Guilt seized her. She hadn't seen the children since Thursday, when Bragg had brought them both by to visit her.

”And I have grown tired of your interference. Is that clear, my good man?” the crisp British voice asked.

Francesca looked at Bragg, imagining a tall, thin woman with a ramrod-straight bearing, spectacles, and the character of a marine sergeant. ”Poor Peter,” she whispered.

”Cats and dogs,” he said, remaining terribly grim. ”Do you wish to see the girls and meet the nanny your mother hired?”

”Of course,” she said, pasting a smile on her face. She moved past him, trying to momentarily shove aside her worries about Hart and what he intended to do. In the light of day, she was very angry at Lucy for placing him in this position, no matter how understanding she tried to be.

Francesca paused in the kitchen doorway. Dot was on the floor, playing in a mess of cooked cereal. Katie was actually eating the very same oatmeal at the table. Both girls saw .Francesca at the same time. Katie almost dropped her spoon, her brown eyes going wide.

Dot clapped her hands and began to scream at the top of her lungs, ”Frack! Frack! Frack come!”

Francesca saw Katie look down and pretend indifference to her arrival. She ate now with care. But at least the six-year-old was eating. The first week with Bragg-which was right after her mother's death-she hadn't eaten at all, and she was as thin as a rail to begin with.

Francesca swooped down on Dot, lifting her into her arms, taking in the scene by the stove.

Mrs. Flowers was hardly tall and mean-looking. She was a tiny woman with curly dark hair and quite pretty features, just slightly plump. She did wear spectacles, but they somehow added to her pretty face. She could not be even five foot tall, Francesca saw, hiding a smile, and it was truly absurd for her to be confronting the Swede, who was six feet, six inches.

Still, Mrs. Flowers stood facing Peter, her hands on her curved hips. He, of course, towered over her. His expression was one of resignation; no, he appeared to be suffering greatly and resigned to that.

”Katie shall go to school today, and that is that. There. Have I made myself clear, Mr.

Olsen?”

Peter looked helplessly at Bragg.

Francesca hesitated. Was school a good idea? Of course, Katie should be in school, but the school would be a new one, and she had just lost her mother. Her behavior remained sullen and hostile, as well as aloof.

But before Francesca could speak, Mrs. Flowers faced them. ”I have had years of experience, sir. I am fully aware of all that Katie is going through. But she must return to a normal routine. He shows me no respect. I cannot work here if my authority is not absolute, Commissioner.”

Bragg said, ”It is absolute, Mrs. Flowers. Peter, do you not agree?”

Peter grunted and walked to Katie. ”Kat? A bit more?”

Katie shrugged, her gaze darting to Francesca, who was being strangled by Dot. Peter took that as an affirmative, and he took Katie's bowl to the stove to refill it.

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