Chapter 12
Francesca stared up at the elegant and imposing front entrance of Hart’s home, past the pair of life-size limestone lions there, still stunned and shaken. The breakup with Hart had been hard enough to bear; now she knew she had hurt Andrew and Julia to no end. Yet there had been no other choice.
She slowly went up the front steps. A part of her was ready to rush into Hart’s arms and tell him what had just happened, for she found so much comfort in his strong embrace, but she did not know what her reception would be.
And even if he was pleased to see her, he had his own problems now.
He did not need any additional burdens. Francesca realized that she was not going to tell Hart what had happened a few moments ago.
Besides, facing him now was no simple or easy task.
She needed all of her courage and all of her conviction.
Trepidation rising in her, Francesca waited for the door to be opened. Alfred did not seem surprised to see her, but then, Francesca didn’t think Hart would tell his butler that he had ended his engagement. In fact, Hart might not have said a word to anyone. That would be a relief, indeed.
Alfred ushered her into the front hall. There, in the glow of the overhead chandelier, Francesca saw that he was worried. “I know it is late, but I need to speak with Calder. Alfred? Is something amiss?”
“I am afraid so,” he said seriously. “It is Mr. Hart, Miss Cahill. I am afraid he is in one of his moods.”
“What kind of mood?” Francesca asked warily.
When she had first met Hart, Alfred had let her in on one of his employer’s secrets.
Hart would frequently dismiss the entire staff, so that he was alone in the huge house.
Fearing for his employer, Alfred would retreat to the kitchens but not leave.
Hart, unaware he was not as alone as he had intended, would then wander the halls, staring at his art while drinking heavily.
Francesca still did not understand what dark despair drove him to such strange and solitary behavior.
Alfred, of course, had also witnessed his extreme temper, and his moments of cold, cruel reserve. Francesca did not think he could have dismissed the staff to indulge himself in an alcoholic binge, as his house contained too many guests. But with Hart, one simply never knew what was coming next.
“It is hard to say, Miss Cahill. He did not go to his offices this morning. He spent most of the day in the library, refusing all callers except one. I am afraid he was drinking. He seemed very distressed. Early this evening he went up to his rooms and I have not seen or heard from him since. I sent up a supper tray, but he would not answer the door and I did not dare take it inside.”
Now Francesca was worried, very much so. “Was he inebriated when he went up to his rooms?”
“Mr. Hart can hold his liquor. So I would say, no, he was not.”
“Who called?”
“Your sister.”
Francesca was very surprised, and instantly, she was suspicious. If Connie had called on Hart to interfere in her relationship, she was in for a major set-down. Francesca was beginning to feel as if the entire city was aligned against their future together. “Is anyone home?”
“At this hour? No,” Alfred said. “I do not expect Mr. Rourke back until much later. As for Mr. D’Archand, it is hard to say, but he also keeps late hours. Mr. and Mrs. Bragg will not be back until next week.”
Francesca hesitated, trying to decide what to do. Alfred said, “Miss Cahill? I spoke to the police as we discussed. But I have seen the newspapers. We all have. How deeply in trouble is Mr. Hart?”
Instantly Francesca forgot her own worries and fears. “Alfred,” she said reassuringly and firmly, “Hart is innocent. I am going to prove him innocent. But I am very moved that you care so much for him. And thank you for your loyalty,” she added carefully.
He clearly understood. “We are all concerned,” Alfred said. “He is a good employer, even with his moods.”
Francesca was brought back to her own dilemma. “Alfred, can you tell Hart I am in the library and that it is urgent that I speak with him? I mean, I should understand if you are reluctant to go upstairs.”
Alfred smiled grimly. “I have had to corner the lion in his den many times over the past six years,” he said. “I will tell him you are here.”
Francesca’s heart began to beat far too swiftly for comfort.
As Alfred went upstairs, she went to the library, her nervous anxiety escalating wildly.
In just a few minutes, she was going to face Hart.
She was afraid he had not changed his mind about her.
She began to gather all of the arguments she would make.
Then she reminded herself not to argue about their relationship—she would discuss the case with him instead.
Francesca was standing in the center of the large room, trying to remain calm, when she felt him come to the threshold of the room. She slowly turned.
Hart leaned on the wall in the open doorway, appearing disheveled.
There was a five o’clock shadow on his jaw, and wisps of short, dark hair curled randomly against his temples and forehead.
His white shirt was unbuttoned well past the throat.
The shirt was in dire need of a pressing and his sleeves were rolled haphazardly up.
She forced a smile, her heart pounding. “I have just returned from Albany,” she said brightly. “I found Judge Gillespie.”
His expression remained impassive and impossible to read.
She faltered, wringing her hands. “He is Daisy’s father, Calder. Her real name is Honora Gillespie.”
“What are you doing here?”
She stiffened in dread. “Hart, don’t you want to hear what I have found out?”
“Not really.” He launched himself off the wall, his strides long and leisurely, at odds with the tension she sensed. He did not quite approach; he circled around her and walked toward the glass doors that opened onto the night. “I told you quite a few times that I do not want you on this case.”
When he behaved like this, she was afraid. She was afraid it was too late, that he no longer cared and that she had already lost him. “I am not abandoning you in your time of need.”
He faced her, his gaze raking over her features, shooting back to her eyes, where she was afraid all of her hurt and confusion showed. “But I don’t need you, Francesca. Haven’t I made myself clear?”
She was terribly taken aback. “We both know you do need me—or at least, you need my sleuthing services. Even if you do not want me involved in this case, it’s too late.
I am involved—not because I told Rose I would find the killer, but because I am not letting you down.
Not now,” she said, swallowing hard, thinking of a future apart from him, “and not ever.”
“You are exasperating,” he warned.
She shook her head. “No, Hart. You are the stupidly exasperating one!”
His brows rose in some surprise. “Now I am stupid?”
She was aware that she was losing all control of her emotions.
“Do not even think to turn my words around. You are a difficult man. At times like these, you are beyond difficult, beyond unreasonable. And you are arrogant! We have been friends, partners and lovers for some time. But you decide without consulting me that it is over, just like that?”
“Welcome to the world of men,” he said, but he never looked away, his gaze terribly intent.
She shivered. “What does that mean?”
“It means you are naive enough to have no clue that when a rogue is done, he is done, and it is never a two-way street.”
She was going to break down, Francesca thought as his meaning became painfully clear. She fought to keep her composure about her, and her pride. “Fine. Jilt me, then. Papa feels certain I will find someone else, someone better, and maybe he is right.”
His face darkened. “Oh ho! Do you think to madden me with jealousy? I set you free this morning, Francesca, and damn it, your father is right. One day there will be someone else. I will be first in line to send you a wedding gift,” he snarled.
“Don’t send me any presents!”
He gave her a long look and turned away.
She hesitated, then gave in to her impulses and ran after him. She seized his arm, forcing him to face her. “When you pursued me, when you seduced me, when you made me fall in love with you, then it became a two-way street, Calder. I am not like the other women you have chased.”
Reluctantly, he said, “No, you are not like any other woman. I will concede that. Don’t do this, Francesca.”
She shook her head. “Don’t do what? Don’t make this hard for you? Don’t make you hurt, the way I am hurting? How well do you know me, Calder?” she demanded. She was very angry now.
“Very well,” he said more quietly, his gaze riveted on hers.
“If you know me so well, then you know I would never give up on you. If you really are tired of me, if you really wish to end our engagement, we both know, in the end, I will have to concede defeat. But I am your friend. I am your best friend, goddamn it. In times of danger, in times of need, friends stay the course! So end the affair, if you will. That only means you are a coward! But I am not leaving this case. I am going to find Daisy’s killer.
And when you are free of all suspicion, well, you can wander these halls all by yourself.
No, better yet, you can find some whore to warm your bed and I will be the first to line up and congratulate you on a life well done! ”
He smiled without any mirth whatsoever.
“Nothing I have said is amusing,” she snapped. She had the feeling she had gone too far but she had meant her every word.
“I have done nothing to deserve a woman like you.”
Relief overcame her and her knees buckled. Hart reached out to steady her. She clung to him in return. What did this mean? she wondered frantically. Was he finally going to give in and change his mind?
He did not try to release her. “I hate hurting you this way. I hate myself today.”