A Heart for the Taking (53 page)

“Sam, you didn’t,” Letty exclaimed. “When we had not even told Chance?”

“I know, I know. It was hasty of me, but I wanted the truth to come out as soon as possible, and I assumed that before any word could trickle back here, we would have seen Chance and explained.” He glanced over at Chance. “Do you mind?”

Chance shook his head. “Indeed not. It is precisely what I would have done.”

Fancy smiled across at Letty. “They are very alike, are they not?”

“I have always thought so,” Letty said, her eyes traveling caressingly from one man to the other.

Dinner that evening was a merry occasion, a joyous celebration, and while they all knew that there was going to be one almighty scandal and unpleasant days ahead when the truth came out, for the moment they simply treasured this intimate time together. After they had eaten, the ladies, both of
them exhausted by the events of the day, sought out their own rooms, while Sam eagerly led Chance off to his office to discuss how they were going to handle the affair and the more practical business of Chance taking his place as the rightful heir to Walker Ridge and the vast, far-flung Walker fortune. It was easily decided between them that Jonathan’s portion, which had come to him from his father, would be immediately and completely split off from Sam’s estates. As Sam’s son, Chance would one day be the master of Walker Ridge and in control of the majority of the Walker wealth.

It was a rather dazed and bemused Chance who eventually joined Fancy in their rooms. She was waiting for him in bed, and he shed his clothes and joined her. After settling her comfortably in the crook of his arm, he muttered, “Well, Duchess, it would seem that you made a much better marriage than you ever knew.”

Demurely Fancy said, “Perhaps now that you have discovered that you are the heir to the Walker fortune, it is you who regrets our marriage. After all, what is a mere baroness to a Walker of Walker Ridge? Just think: if you had waited, you might have been able to marry a true Duchess.”

Shifting her so that he was looking down into her smiling face, he said huskily, “You are the
only
Duchess I shall ever want. You are my life, and fortune or no, I would still want you for my wife. Only you, my own sweet, tart-tongued little Duchess.” He kissed her, and Fancy promptly forgot about everything but the delight of her husband’s ardent embrace.

*     *     *

The interview the next morning with Constance in Sam’s office was most unpleasant. She tried to deny everything, casting vile aspersions on both Morely and Annie. But in the end, staring into Sam’s and Chance’s implacable features, she realized that she was beaten, that she had lost. The truth was already on its way to Williamsburg, and there was nothing she could do about it but accept defeat and retire from the field.

But she refused to be completely cowed. Her lips tight
and grim, she demanded, “And what do you intend to do with me? Lock me in my room? Pretend I do not exist? You cannot bring charges against me—you have your precious son. All I did was deny you his whining youth.”

“I believe,” Sam said levelly, hiding his distaste, “that you should immediately consider taking a trip to England. I am sure that you can find some pleasant village in which to settle. I shall, of course, make certain that you receive all the monies that you are entitled to under my father’s will.”

Her face went white. “You are banishing me? Sending me away from Walker Ridge?”

Gently Sam said, “Would you prefer to stay and face the scandal? Have your former friends stare at you in horror when they learn what you did?”

She closed her eyes in anguish. No. Of course not. That was unthinkable. Sam’s suggestion was the only solution. In a colorless voice she said, “Very well. I shall go to England. Immediately.” Glaring at Sam, she asked, “What about Jonathan?”

“You need not worry about your son. He shall have all that he is entitled to under our father’s will.” Sam smiled coolly. “Everything else shall go to my own son, Chance.”

Her hands clenching in impotent fury, Constance shot a venomous look at Chance, who stood silently beside his father. Her lip curled. “Do you really think that this backwoods jackanapes will be able to usurp my son’s position here in the Colonies?”

“I think you forget,” Sam said softly. “This backwoods jackanapes, as you call him, is
my
son. He is the rightful heir to Walker Ridge.”

Her face twisted with hatred, she swung around and fled the room.

Chance let out a low whistle as the door banged behind her. “The lady,” he murmured, “has no love of us, I think.”

“Do you know,” Sam replied with mock astonishment, “I believe you are right.”

Both men chuckled, relieved that the ugly scene was behind them. After a few minutes’ more conversation, they
went in search of their wives. Since the morning was fine, they found the ladies strolling contentedly in the rose gardens, a few hardy blooms still showing their brightly petaled heads.

Both looked up expectantly, and after greeting his mother and wife, Chance said quietly, “She is leaving for England.”

“Thank goodness,” Fancy exclaimed. “Now if Jonathan will only prove to be as accommodating.”

*     *     *

Unaware of the calamity that had befallen him, Jonathan returned home to Foxfield Monday evening in a rather smug frame of mind. He had gone visiting to a friend’s plantation, a good day’s ride from Foxfield, and had thoroughly enjoyed himself. The trip had proved timely. His friend had been entertaining relatives from Philadelphia, rich, influential relatives who just happened to have their charming daughter with them. Their charming daughter who was their only child. Jonathan had been much taken with the young heiress, thinking she would do very well as a bride for him, and it was apparent that she found him equally attractive.

Striding up the steps to Foxfield, he had been whistling to himself, happily contemplating the future with his lovely bride at his side. She didn’t have a title, it was true, but she was close at hand, and her family was well connected. Before she returned with her parents to Philadelphia, Jonathan intended to have won her hand.

Entering his study, he tossed his hat and gloves on a nearby table, then poured himself a glass of port. Seated behind his desk, his boots propped upon the shiny surface, he slowly drank his wine, savoring the future. The Thackers would take care of Chance for him; he was going to marry a delightfully naive young heiress; and soon enough Sam would die and he would be in complete control of all the Walker wealth. He was very pleased with himself.

He noticed the missive from his mother lying on a silver salver on the corner of his desk, and recognizing her handwriting, he sighed. Now what the devil did she want?

His contented mood vanished when he read the news con
tained in his mother’s note. He swore viciously as he flung the note down.
Annie returned.
Constance had not gone into detail, but from her jumbled words it was obvious that the worst had happened.

Jonathan frowned blackly, his mind racing. But all was not lost, he thought suddenly, relaxing slightly. It was Constance who had committed the crime, not he. It was his mother who had ordered Annie to dispose of the baby; he’d been a mere child himself and utterly blameless. And as for learning the truth and not saying anything ... His agile brain quickly came up with a likely reason for his silence: he had been stunned and appalled by what he had learned, and while he’d had every intention of telling Sam and Letty, he had naturally wanted to protect his mother. He had only been holding his tongue until he could get her safely away and shielded from the worst of the scandal. He smiled. That should take care of anything Annie might have said concerning his knowledge of the affair. And as for Chance ... He smiled nastily. The Thackers were going to take care of Chance for him. With Chance dead, he would still be the heir.

He rang for Simmons. Perhaps his valet had heard from the Thackers and Chance was already dead. Wonderful thought, that.

Simmons entered a moment later. Bowing, he asked, “Yes, master? Is there something you wanted?”

There was a note in Simmons’s voice that made Jonathan look at him sharply, but seeing nothing except bland politeness on the man’s face, he demanded, “Have you heard any word from those rascally cousins of yours?”

Simmons looked suitably saddened, although there was a gleam in his eyes that was at variance with the expression on his sallow features. “You have not heard, master? Everyone has been talking about it.” With relish, he added, “It seems that my poor misguided cousins attacked Master Chance and his bride at their plantation some days ago and were both killed. Such a tragedy.”

Jonathan’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t like Simmons’s atti
tude at all. And the news he had imparted was devastating. Thackers dead. Chance alive.

A malicious glitter in his eyes, Simmons said softly, “While you have been gone, there has been great excitement, sir. Master Chance and his bride arrived on Friday with news of their narrow escape, but that was nothing to the news that Master Sam announced just yesterday to all of us connected with Walker Ridge: apparently information has come to light proving that Master Chance is Master Sam and Mistress Letty’s only child.” The malice more open, he continued pleasantly, “It seems your mother tried to get rid of the child at birth. Who would have suspected her of such a dastardly act? Everyone is quite stunned—no one can talk of anything else.” Complacently, he ended with, “Master Sam has written to the Walker relatives, explaining all to them, and has notified his attorney in Williamsburg. I believe that your mother left for Richmond to catch a ship for England only this morning. Such a pity that you could not be with her in her hour of need.”

Jonathan’s face was white by the time Simmons finished speaking. Good God! That bastard Chance had moved swiftly. The news was no doubt already spreading like wildfire through the colony, and before the end of the month everyone would know. There was no way to conceal Chance’s real identity now. Jonathan swore and slammed his fist upon the desk.

Glaring at Simmons, he snapped, “I know that I should not have trusted those worthless cousins of yours. I should have taken care of things myself.”

Simmons looked innocent. “Oh? Were the Thackers working for you?” He smiled. Wolfishly. “That is not something that you would want for public knowledge, is it?”

“And what do you mean by that?”

“Oh, just that I think that I have worked for you long enough and that I would like to try my hand at something new. Of course,” he added lightly, “I would need a stake ... um, something like double the amount you were going to pay my cousins to kill Chance Walker for you.”

“Are you trying to blackmail me?” Jonathan thundered, his eyes bright with rage.

Simmons rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Ah, no. I am simply looking out for my own future. And since yours has changed so dramatically during these past few days, I think it behooves me to watch out for myself. I mean, after all, you are no longer in line to inherit much, are you? And as for speaking of my, er, disposal of my former employer ... I am afraid that if you were to mention it, why, I would just have to mention your little arrangement with my cousins.” Letting his satisfaction show, he smiled and added sweetly, “Quite a change in circumstances, is it not?”

“By God, you are not going to get away with this. I will see you dead before I pay you one penny.”

Simmons shrugged. “Whatever you say ... but I would like my money within the hour. My bags are already packed and I plan to be gone from here before dark.”

Jonathan stared at him, knowing that he was trapped. So angry he couldn’t think straight, he bounded up from behind his desk and stalked over to the large hunting print that hung on the wall and concealed the safe where he kept a large of supply of gold. “I will pay you this time, you damned blackmailer, but never again.” After pushing aside the picture, he swiftly opened the safe and, reaching inside, extracted a small bag of gold from the several that lay stacked together. His back to Simmons as he started to shut the safe, he growled, “You will take what I give you, and if I ever see your murderous face again—”

Simmons had stealthily closed the distance between them, and as Jonathan started to turn around, he suddenly felt the other man’s presence ... and the sharp bite of a knife at his throat.

“No,” Simmons said softly as he kept the blade of his knife against Jonathan’s neck, “I will take exactly what I want.”

A swift, vicious slash and Jonathan fell to the floor, his throat cut nearly to the bone. His life blood pouring out, he dimly heard Simmons say, “So thoughtful of you to keep so
much gold on hand. I am certain that it will take me a long way from here.”

Coolly stepping over Jonathan’s dead body, Simmons helped himself liberally to all the bags of gold. Smiling, he quickly exited the study, locking the door behind him. It would be hours before Jonathan’s body would be discovered. Ten minutes later Simmons was on a horse, riding swiftly away. Now where, he wondered, would he go? Spanish territory? He had heard New Orleans was a most sinful city. He smiled. It sounded like just the place for a fellow like him.