Chapter 10 #2
The chief of police halted and faced Bragg. “Yes, sir?”
“There’ll be no search—none—until we have the warrant. When we do have it, I’m in charge.”
Nothing flickered in Farr’s eyes. “Yes, sir, I understand. Hollister may be in court. If so, we won’t have a warrant until late tonight or first thing tomorrow.”
Bragg nodded. “Just as long as we are clear.”
“We are very clear,” Farr said.
Bragg walked him watch out. Then he stood.
O’Donnell was going to be a problem and he knew it.
His worry had no bounds. He had to protect the girls and Leigh Anne, but he was going to have to wait for O’Donnell’s next move.
And then there was Hart. He could not help it—he was also worried about his brother.
Connie was very nervous as she was led down the corridor of Hart’s huge home. She clutched her reticule tightly, reminding herself that she was fortunate to have found him at home. She had been prepared to travel to his offices on Bridge Street, however, for her sister’s sake.
Connie followed Alfred, certain that her sister would not be very happy with her now.
Had Fran known what Connie intended, she would have talked her out of it.
Neil had advised that she not stick her nose into this affair, but she had tartly reminded him that Francesca was her beloved sister.
She had to do what she thought was right.
She had to convince Hart to break off his engagement to Fran.
Alfred knocked on the library door. Connie braced herself, because she was most definitely cornering the lion in his den. Hart was an enigma. He could be terribly charming and impossibly seductive, but he could also be blunt, rude and very difficult.
Hart appeared at the door, appearing uncharacteristically disheveled.
He wore no jacket and no tie. His shirt was unbuttoned by two holes at the throat, revealing some dark hair there, and his sleeves were haphazardly rolled up to the elbows.
“I said I did not wish to be disturbed,” he said harshly.
Then he saw Connie. There was no mistaking the fact that he flinched.
“I do beg your pardon, but Lady Montrose insisted she must see you, sir. As she is Miss Cahill’s sister, I thought I must allow her in.”
Hart looked past Alfred, as if he were no longer even there. “This is not a good time,” he said, and there was no mistaking his warning.
Connie’s trepidation increased. “Good morning,” she whispered hoarsely. Then she cleared her throat. “I know it is terribly early, Calder. I do apologize, and I could certainly come back later, if you insist. But I must speak to you, sooner or later, about Francesca.”
An endless moment passed. Never taking his eyes from her, he said to Alfred, “That is all.”
His words were very final and Alfred hurried away, not bothering to ask if they wanted tea or coffee.
Hart smiled at her, but it was a mere stretching of his lips. He gestured grandly—or mockingly—for her to come in. Connie knew that it was a mistake seeing him now, when he was so irritated and annoyed, but she hurried past him, breathing hard.
“Do I frighten you?” He laughed, walking past her toward his desk.
“Actually, this morning you do,” she managed to say, her gaze riveted on him.
She could understand Francesca’s attraction, for once, briefly, she had felt it herself.
Even now, there was something mesmerizing about his presence.
Maybe it was the way he moved in such a predatory manner, as if he could barely control his own energy and strength.
It was far more than his dark good looks, far more than his wealth and power.
Perhaps it was his arrogance that was so fatally attractive to women.
“You are staring.” He cut into her thoughts, lifting a glass from the desk.
Connie was shocked to realize he was drinking.
He smiled at her, but it was taunting. “I’d offer you a drink, but I feel certain you would decline.”
And she knew then what made him irresistible. It was his anger, his wounded anger. It rippled through the man, making him unpredictable and dangerous. That was what the ladies found so fascinating, she decided. “Calder, are you all right?”
He saluted her and drank. Clearly he had no interest in providing her with an answer.
She bit her lip, wondering if she should have followed Neil’s advice and stayed out of this affair. Then she took a step toward him. “Francesca told me everything last night,” she said. “I am sorry for your loss.”
He put his glass down and she saw that his hand was shaking. “Really? Forgive me, my lady, if I simply do not believe you.”
She was thoroughly taken aback.
He smiled, but it came out a sneer. “Lady Montrose,” he said, his tone as soft as silk, “we both know you are loyal to your sister. You must be thrilled that my mistress—excuse me, my ex-mistress—and my bastard are dead.”
Connie hated being there. “Calder, I could not wish anyone dead, and especially not your child.”
He shook his head. “As if you hoped my bastard would survive. And what then? Francesca and I should live happily ever after, with such a constant reminder of my black past?”
Why was he doing this? Connie wondered. She could see now that he was in pain.
Fran had said he was grieving for his child, and she certainly understood that.
“Francesca told me she would have raised the child with you,” Connie said carefully.
“You know how Fran is. She would have welcomed your child into her home.”
He stared at her, his face stricken, and then he turned away from her, his body so rigid she thought it might snap. “Why the hell are you here?” he demanded, his back to her.
He needed comfort, she thought, and only Francesca could give it to him. Now was not the time to ask him to take a very high road, indeed. He was already down. How could she beg him to put Francesca first and break his engagement to her?
Because she loved her sister and she could not stand by and watch Francesca’s life go up in flames.
Connie walked up to him, shaking with fear. She laid her purse on a small table and put her gloved hand on his back. “I am sorry for your losses,” she repeated, meaning it. “I am very sorry, Calder.”
He whirled, clearly astonished by her gesture. Then his dark, gold-flecked eyes narrowed in suspicion. “What are you doing?”
She backed up. “I want to help.”
“Are you thinking to seduce me?” he asked, angry and incredulous at once.
She was so shocked by his words that she gaped.
She covered her mouth with her hand. Suddenly it was beyond amusing, and she was so nervous she laughed.
“Calder! My sister loves you! I happen to love Neil! I was only offering you comfort!” She laughed again, helplessly, and then the laughter turned to tears.
He stared, noting the tears slipping down her cheeks. Finally, slowly, without anger, he said, “Women never offer me anything other than their bodies, Lady Montrose. Except for your sister, of course. So please forgive me for failing to appreciate your kindness.”
She looked at him through her tears. He finally seemed sincere.
He was odd, she decided, if he could not accept a simple gesture of sympathy from a woman without jumping to erroneous conclusions.
Then she realized that odd was not the right word.
He was jaded and terribly cynical—making him as different from her hopeful, optimistic sister as night and day.
How did Francesca manage a relationship with such a dark man?
“I understand,” she said. “It doesn’t matter.
Calder, I know this is not the best of times, but I am terrified for my sister. ”
As if he hadn’t heard her, he walked behind his desk. Connie watched him rummage through the jacket hanging on the back of the chair there. When he returned, he handed her a handkerchief, his initials embroidered on it.
She accepted it, wiping her eyes.
“Why are you here?” he asked harshly.
She finished drying her tears. “I know you are very fond of Francesca. I think you are even in love with her. I have been so happy for her—for you both.” She prayed he would understand what she was about to say.
He waited.
She swallowed hard. “Calder, I can’t stand by and watch my sister become a social pariah. If you really care for her, if you love her, you will surely break the engagement, so she does not go down in the flames of this scandal with you.”
She thought she saw grief, anger and frustration all cross his face, shadowing his eyes. She knew she saw resolve. He finally said, “You are too late. I broke the engagement this morning. Your sister is finally free.”
He strode past her to the door. There, he opened it widely, clearly wishing for her to leave.
Connie’s heart beat madly. She understood his anguish now. Clutching her purse she went to the door. There, she dared to pause to face him, even though her instincts urged her to escape.
“Francesca has told me how good you really are. I can see that now. Thank you, Calder, thank you for protecting my sister.”
His jaw ground down. “Get out.”
Connie fled.
Albany was cold. As Francesca and Joel traveled from the train station in an open horse-drawn buggy that was being passed off as a cab, she wished she had brought a coat with her.
Although the sun was shining in a mostly cloudless sky, the pastures surrounding their route were muddy, and according to the loquacious cabdriver, last night it had snowed.
“Might snow tonight, too,” he cheerfully added.
He turned to look at Francesca, several front teeth missing from his smile. “Ye need a coat.”
“I have become rather aware of that,” Francesca said. “How far are we from the courts?” They continued to pass through a very rural area consisting mostly of dairy farms. Black-and-white cows grazed contentedly beside the road.
“Maybe five miles. The city’s spread out, but all that’s important is real close to itself.”