A Most Unusual Match (11 page)

R
esolution pushed through her in a furious gust. “My name is Theodora Langston. My mother's maiden name is Pickford. She's a vaudeville singer, and I have no idea whether or not she's still alive. I live on Staten Island with my paternal grandfather because my mother deserted my father a month after I was born. My father didn't know what to do with a baby, so he dumped me on Grandfather and left, too. His name is Richard, and he's a professional gambler now. Nothing matters to him but the next hand, or the next roll of the dice, certainly not his daughter. So you might say I understand better than most how you felt when your mother abandoned you.”

“You might say that,” Devlin responded after a prolonged tense moment. “So…your grandfather reared you? His name was Langston, I take it?”

“Yes. Charles Langston.” Most men were awkward with female emotions, particularly dramatic displays of it. Thea shrugged aside his curt tone, her relief over finally sharing the truth filling her with giddiness. Confession apparently
was
good for the soul.
All right, Lord. I'll try.
“My father used to send me souvenir cards from wherever he happened to be. Grandfather was ashamed of him, but never
gave up hope that one day his son would return home.” She chewed her lip a moment. “I did. The last card arrived two months after my tenth birthday. But at least I knew my grandfather loved me. Then Edgar Fane entered our lives.”

“Ah. The serpent in the garden. Why didn't he recognize you here, Thea?”

He still spoke in that strange, carefully neutral tone, perhaps to calm her? Grateful, Thea struggled to emulate it. “He'd come to the island to visit one of his friends, met my grandfather at a lawn party. Grandfather liked him.
Everybody
always likes him. I never met him or I'd probably have been equally gullible. But I'd been trying to take over the reins of the publishing company Grandfather owned. I spent all my days in the City. The imprint was prestigious, but small. Times were bad—we still hadn't recovered from the Panic of '93 and Grandfather was concerned for my future.”

Her voice wobbled, and without comment Devlin wrapped his hand around her forearm in a warm clasp. “There was the threat of bankruptcy. That we'd lose everything. There's no other family—Grandfather lost his wife and three other children in a ferry accident when I was three. Edgar Fane persuaded him to sell a piece of land Grandfather owned near Central Park—promised him top dollar. He also persuaded him to sell Porphyry Press. ‘It will still be your company,' he promised. And he told Grandfather not to worry, he would take care of everything. His father is one of the richest men in America. Our lives, and our financial security, would be safe. We believed him!”

“His stock-in-trade,” Devlin said. Shifting, his arm came around Thea's shoulders, a sturdy buffer despite the anger rife in his voice. “I understand, Thea. Try to relax.”

“Not the worst!” she cried, twisting free of the comfort she craved but wouldn't accept. “You still don't understand the worst of it. Devlin, Edgar Fane is not just a criminal. He's
evil.
He paid Grandfather in cash, told him that way Grandfather would know the money was real. But it wasn't. It wasn't real!”

Arms wrapped around herself, she hurled each angry word. “He paid with counterfeit bills, and when Grandfather went to deposit the money the police and S-Secret Service arrested him. They arrested my grandfather and put him in jail. And now Edgar Fane has done the same thing to me and he's the one who's guilty. He's a filthy counterfeiter, and a liar. And if he's responsible for what happened to Mrs. Gorman then he's a murderer, too. I wanted to catch him, wanted justice! Why couldn't they see…” Her voice thickened, and in an outpouring of impotent rage she suddenly turned to pound her fists against Devlin's chest instead. “I loathe Edgar.
Hate him.
Him and the police and the Secret Service because they should have known. They should have known he was a liar. Nobody believed me, because I turned into a liar, too. I hate myself….”

“I believe you, Thea.” Dev folded his hands over hers, stilling the blows, prying open the fists. “I believe you.”

 

Thea continued to struggle, and Devlin reacted instinctively, stanching the anguished fury of words with his mouth. “I believe you,” he whispered again and again against trembling lips, his voice hoarse. “I believe you…. I need you to believe in me.” When at last she melted against him, her arms lifting to slide around his neck, Dev forgot about the danger, forgot about circumstances, forgot everything but the incendiary joy consuming him.

This woman was meant to be
his.

He kissed her eyelids, tasting the bittersweet saltiness of
her tears, her hot damp cheeks. Heard the soft gasps, felt the frantic need in her that met and matched his own.

In the darkness behind him the faint sound of clip-clopping hooves and the soft sputter of buggy wheels rolling along the street drifted into his ears. When the horse snorted, Devlin jerked his head up, then on a muffled groan yanked himself free of Thea's embrace and took two backward steps.

By the time the buggy rolled past, his head was almost clear enough to manage a single sentence. “I didn't mean to do that.”

In the starlight he watched her blink rapidly, watched the incandescent softness freeze into a brittle woman with haunted eyes. “I didn't either,” she said, but she touched her lips with fingers that trembled.

Watching her, Devlin inhaled a sobering breath of night air. “If I can keep my hands to myself, will you listen to me?” he asked. “It's important.”

He felt like a man on a rack. For most of his life nothing, not even StoneHill, had filled that misshaped, ill-defined piece of Devlin that forever seemed to be…listening. Waiting. Searching for whatever it was that would fit itself into that misshapen piece, and make him whole.

Uncle J. told him more often than Dev cared to hear that likely the “feeling” would pester him the rest of his life. “You'll always have a home, and the horses, and I know you love 'em as much as a man can. It's a crying shame you lost your folks when your head weren't no higher than a Shire's knees. The thing is, lad, you can't spend your life looking for 'em.”

And just when Dev thought he'd finally found the missing piece, he learned that the woman he'd passionately kissed was the granddaughter of Charles
Langston.

When Thea learned Dev was an operative for the
organization she hated probably as much as Edgar Fane, he would lose her as surely as the sun rose in the east. If he couldn't convince her to trust him now, and she ran for the sanctuary of Staten Island, she might unwittingly run into the arms of a murderer.

Thea wanted to know if God would forgive a liar.

Are You teaching me a lesson here?
Or was this one of life's crueler ironies, that the woman with whom he was falling in love would never be able to return it?

Grimly he tried to think of a solution other than the perpetuation of his own lie by omission. Couldn't let her go—couldn't share his own deception.
Is there a truth that stays the same, and no matter how a person twists and turns things about, the truth remains?
Thea had asked. Dev didn't have an answer she'd like, but it was the only one he had to offer: he'd do whatever he had to, including withholding his identity as a Secret Service operative, to keep her alive.

Watching her, he ran a hand around the back of his head, then gave her a crooked smile. “Remember the first time we kissed, and I said you tasted of temptation?”

Solemnly she nodded.

“Well…now more than ever, I want to give in to it.” He held his hand in front of her face to show her the tremor in his own fingers. “See? But I can't give in. I know I have a lot of flaws, but I wasn't raised that way, Thea. You're a lady, and you're in more trouble than I think you realize. I want to help, not take advantage of you.”

“I'm the one who's been taking advantage of you. That first day, when I chased you down, I—I wanted to use you, to get close to Edgar Fane.” She focused on some distant point over Dev's left ear. “I might have been a lady once, but not anymore. Perhaps I should try out for the stage.”

“Don't be—” He swallowed the words then, impatient
with them both, glared at her. “We'll discuss this, thoroughly, later. Right now we don't have the luxury of time. When Edgar Fane learns you've been released, do you think he's just going to dust you off like a piece of lint on his suit coat?”

“He's leaving day after tomorrow. He thinks I'm in jail. By this time next week he'll have forgotten I exist.”

“Not likely. As I heard it, you more or less engaged in a slanging match in front of the entire Saratoga Springs Police force. Why did you do that, Thea? You believe him evil, then why provoke him?”

“I hadn't found another way to convince people who he really is. Why else would I risk my reputation and my future? It's imperative to find proof that will hold up in a court of law. Don't you see? At the very least, he's a counterfeiter, Devlin, and there's no telling how many other lives he's destroyed like he did my grandfather. But he may be guilty of worse. He said I hired someone to murder Cynthia. What if that's what
he's
done? We have to find out, Devlin. We have to.”

Her voice had risen; quick as a blink Devlin covered her mouth with his hand. “Shh. Sounds carry at night.” Touching her was a mistake. His palm felt branded by the imprint of her lips, and leashed desire strained to stifle further words with another kiss. In the blink of an eye his pale, defeated waif had once again transformed into a fire-breathing dragon. She was also using her agile brain and reaching the same conclusions as Devlin.

He was proud of her—and terrified for her. “Come over here, under this tree. The trunk should muffle some of our words, and we'll be better hidden from those houses.” Once there, he planted both hands against the rough tree trunk, trapping Thea without touching her. “At this moment you
have no evidence to prove he's a counterfeiter, and no proof other than instinct that he killed Mrs. Gorman, right?”

“No.” A long sigh stirred the air. “Devlin…I'm not going to run away. Do you need to stand so close?”

“It's the best I can do, when I promised not to kiss you again.” With a rueful half smile he dropped his arms. “Listen. We don't know everything that happened today, but while I was at the station, in between explaining why you couldn't have been party to a murder, I listened, analyzed reactions. I'm quite renowned for my observation skills, remember,” he added, hoping to coax at least a small reciprocal smile before he had to whip up the fear again.

“I haven't thanked you, for saving me.”

“Shh. I promised I'd be watching, didn't I?”

“Promises are usually only words.”

“Not,” Dev said, “for me. I spent a score of years, waiting for what turned out to be an empty promise, as empty as the word of the woman who was supposed to be my wife. I bear the scars of betrayal as much as you do, Theodora. So hear me when I tell you I don't make very many promises. But those I do—I keep.”

Thea reached out and brushed light fingers over his bicep. Devlin twitched in surprise. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt your feelings,” she said. “But I still need to thank you.” And there came the smile, when he least expected it. “I'll listen now, and keep quiet. I believe you were bragging about your gift for reading people?”

Amazing, when he was terrified for her life and weighted with guilt, that she could make him feel lighter than a handful of sun-warmed hay. “Good with people, better with horses,” he qualified. “Let's see, where was I? Oh, yes, while, ah, giving my deposition I…um…overheard Chief Blevins order one of his men to initiate a watch on Fane, but to be discreet about it. Do you understand
the significance? The police were supplied with sworn testimony that legally required them to arrest you. But that doesn't mean they believed every word Fane told them, even though he's the son of Thaddeus Fane and could raise an almighty stink. They'll be risking their own livelihoods, maintaining surveillance.”

“Even so, they won't stop him from leaving. He's guilty, Devlin.”

Frustrated because she was right, he nonetheless pushed his point home. “You have to let the law do its job, Thea. It's an imperfect system, and yes, mistakes are made. But your one-woman crusade can also be perceived as vigilante justice.”

“I don't want to hang him myself. I just want—” She stopped. “It's not fair. I waited for months, but—” Again she stopped midsentence, once more wrapping her arms around herself in that heartbreaking posture of defensiveness and insecurity.

“You've accomplished more than you realize, but you must consider the consequences of your actions. What might Fane do to the woman who's out to prove him a liar, a cheat—and a murderer?”

“He doesn't know who I really am.” The words emerged haltingly. “We never met on Staten Island, remember. To him, I'm just another avaricious skirt out to snare him for a husband. He believes the police didn't listen to me at all—he was gloating about it, Devlin. Why risk harming me when he's already beaten me?”

“When he learns you've been released—and he will—he won't feel victorious. He'll be enraged. Now we have an arrogant, angry man convinced he can do anything he wants. Anything. And the second killing will be easier.”

U
nable to resist the need, Devlin unwrapped her arms from their protective shield. Urgently he rubbed his thumbs over her knuckles. “You can't stay here any longer. You're in too much danger. Yes, Fane is leaving Saratoga—but his absence makes for a good alibi. One evening you'll be strolling along—and the next morning your body will be found in the bushes. Wherever you go, Fane can have you followed. If you retreat to Staten Island he'll connect you to your grandfather in a heartbeat, and learn your real name. You've already discovered this man will stop at nothing to achieve his ends.”

“I hadn't thought that far ahead,” Thea admitted, her fingers nervously flexing in his.

“Mmm. You haven't been able to. I have.” The possibilities frankly terrified him. “Thea…I don't want anything to happen to you.” Nerves, hot and sharp as nails, blistered his spine. “Here's what I've come up with. I want you to come home with me, to StoneHill. Mrs. Chudd, too. And of course we'll arrange for your grandfather to come down. He and Uncle J. would have a grand old time together. My aunt loves to cook for crowds—it's one of her few vanities. And I'll introduce you to the most magnificent horses and
the most beautiful piece of land on God's green earth. Most important of all, you'll be safe. Even with all his money and power Edgar Fane won't know how to find you. He won't even know where to look because he doesn't know I exist.”

“I—I…what are you saying, Devlin? This is too much.” In a frantic motion she tugged her hands free, then abruptly grabbed his again, clutching them with fierce strength.

“You can't just sweep up my whole family and our problems and deposit us in the middle of your life. Despite what you say, what's to keep Fane and his band of hired henchmen from learning about you? Someone could follow
you
to StoneHill as easily as they could follow me to Staten Island.”

“Chief Blevins has assured me today's events are vaulted within the walls of the Police Department. Nobody else will know I was there at all.”

“I don't trust them.” Shrouded in the night shadows beneath an old oak tree, all Dev could see was her poignant silhouette, resolute and alone.

“I know you don't. But I do. Trust
me,
Thea.” He invested every ounce of confident authority he could muster into the words. “You and Mrs. Chudd will travel to Virginia in perfect anonymity.”

“I think I could trust you, Devlin. I do. It's just…” She hesitated, then finished awkwardly, “Going to Virginia wouldn't be, well, proper.” Proper?
Proper?
She'd been arrested and tossed in jail; he'd jeopardized the entire Hotel Hustler operation for her sake and she was turning prudish? Hampered by the one secret he was honor bound to maintain, Dev's frustration got the better of him. “Ha! When have you ever been proper? If I were a wagering fellow, I'd bet your grandfather's had his hands full over the years.”

“You'd lose.” Her head drooped. “Growing up, I always tried too hard to make people like me. I tried, endlessly, to please them, especially Grandfather. I've spent my entire life atoning for the prodigal son who never returned home, and the tawdry actress daughter-in-law from the Bowery who never wanted me.” A wavering catch-breath seared Devlin's ears. “I've never behaved like I have with you, not for my entire life. As for Fane, apparently I'm almost as good an actress as my mother. Now Grandfather might spend the rest of his life being ashamed of his only granddaughter.”

“Sorry,” Devlin said after a moment. “I'm a cad, I spoke out of turn. What you think about yourself—it's not true about the Theodora I've come to know. That woman is admirable. She's strong-minded, idealistic, principled— No, don't shake your head. You've been playing a part, yes. But from almost the moment we met, you tried to tell me as much of the truth as you felt you could.” His mouth was dry as the dust on his boots, but he'd talk the rest of the night to undo the mess he'd made with his thoughtless words. “Let me finish telling you about this woman. She doesn't cower from her fear, she faces it head-on. She fights for what she believes. Your grandfather will be proud of that woman, Thea. He deserves the opportunity to meet her. Come to StoneHill. I can keep you safe—it's the only place where you'll
be
safe, until we—” he barely caught the slip “—until the authorities can deal with Fane.”

To distract them both he gave in and slid his hands up her arms to her neck. Tenderly, he stroked the soft skin as he tipped her chin up with his thumbs. “I don't want to lose you, Thea,” he whispered again.

“Devlin, please don't say things like that,” she said, and faint starlight shone on fresh tears welling in her eyes.
“You don't understand. I don't want to dream, to hope. It hurts too much.”

Groaning, he cupped her face. “Do you think I don't know that? We're both of us two abandoned strays, fearful to trust an outstretched hand. But I'm willing to risk another smack, because it couldn't hurt worse than your ending up like Cynthia Gorman.”

Her forearms rested lightly against his chest, her palm directly over his heart. “I agree I'm a threat to Edgar Fane. I know I can't stay here. But I can't let him walk away, free to destroy someone else's life. For me that would be an act of cowardice.”

“We've talked the subject to death.
Stalking Edgar Fane is not your job.
Leave him to the authorities. They want him off the street every bit as much as you do. I know you've little use for them but the Secret Service's mandate is to track down counterfeiters, and—”

“I will not talk about the Secret Service!” Before he could react, she'd ripped herself away and walked several paces down the street before whirling back around. “I told you, you don't understand! How would you feel if your uncle went into town one day and didn't come back, because some officious lout from the U.S. government had had him tossed in jail? My grandfather is seventy-four years old! But until last November he'd been as strong as you or I, full of vigor and confidence. Now he's a broken man, and it's all because the Secret Service didn't care about the truth.”

“Thea…” Dear God, it was more than a man could take. Dev stood, every muscle taut, while the woman he'd fallen in love with verbally assailed the agency he'd sworn an oath to defend and serve. An agency he'd pledged his loyalty to, regardless of the personal cost.
God? I don't know what to do….

“Devlin, forgive me.” The words bridged the broken glass distance between them, but with every soft syllable, more shards punctured his heart. “You can't possibly understand what I'm talking about. You…I never believed a man like you existed. I'd give anything—almost—to accept your offer, and come to StoneHill. But I—I can't.”

A man like him.
Trapped, defensive, for the first time he could remember Devlin couldn't think his way out of a predicament. “Can't, or won't?” he repeated the question he'd tossed at her once before. Only this time the answer mattered, too much. “What will it do to your grandfather when he receives an impersonal visit from one of those operatives you despise, whose sad duty it is to explain how his stubborn, headstrong granddaughter got herself murdered? I can't follow after you indefinitely, like a shadow with strings, trying to protect you from yourself
and
Edgar Fane. I have a life, Thea, and people who depend on me. Horses who trust me to take care of them.”

Except all of them had fended quite adequately for themselves without him.

Thea was not the only one with a choice to make.
If he told her he was a Secret Service operative, he'd have to turn in his badge.
The prospect no longer made him flinch, but the illumination smeared Devlin's spirit like soot.

“All right.” The statement floated across on a sigh. “All right, Devlin.”

“No, it's not all right. Nothing's right about this whole infernal situation.”

“I'll come with you to StoneHill.”

Devlin's jaw dropped. He shook his head. If a dozen rocks had rattled loose from his brain and rolled onto the ground he wouldn't have been more incredulous. “You'll…come? Just like that, you change your mind?”

“A woman,” Thea replied with knife-edged sweetness,
“who upon reflection doesn't change her mind, doesn't possess much of a mind at all. Although, given your response, I have to wonder if I'm losing mine altogether, agreeing to your quixotic proposition. I'm sure Mrs. Chudd will—mmph!”

He silenced her with a kiss.

Some things in life you learned to live with, some things you stood your ground. And some things you held on to, any way you could, regardless of consequences.

 

“And leave tips for all the household servants with Mrs. Surrey,” Edgar instructed Simpson.

The secretary nodded his head while simultaneously slitting open the afternoon mail with an ivory-handled letter opener. “Unused frames were packed up this morning, except for one.” Simpson finished opening letters and arranged them in a perfect stack, then glanced up at Edgar. “Do you have further instructions for that frame, sir?”

“We'll deal with it later.” Tired of it all, he waved a dismissive hand. “Do you have our train tickets? Verified that one of the family's rolling stock has been added?”

“I have the tickets, and received confirmation while you ate lunch that your father himself arranged for The Wanderer to be made available.”

“Good.” Abruptly he dismissed his secretary to focus his attention on the Saratoga Springs Police Department, who had proved to be most cooperative.

He must remind Simpson to send along a memo to his parents, requesting them to send another expression of gratitude. Humming beneath his breath, he placed a call to headquarters. “Good afternoon, Chief Blevins,” he said cordially some moments later. “My train leaves in a couple of hours. I won't have the opportunity to do so in person, but I wanted to thank you again for your handling of Miss
Pickford's interrogation and subsequent arrest. I've had my secretary draw up a list of local attorneys, should the— What's that? I'm afraid we have a bad connection.”

“…and the matter of Miss Pickford…you must understand…no longer at liberty…discuss…”

A moment later Edgar banged the telephone receiver down, kicked over a nearby spittoon, then stalked out into the hallway. A maid dusting furniture squealed in fright when he approached, ripped the dusting cloth from her hands and threw it across the room, then lifted her completely off her feet. “Get out of my way!” he snarled in her face. “And shut up.”

“Mr. Fane,” Simpson spoke somewhere behind him, “two Jockey Club members have arrived to wish you farewell. Dodd has seen them to the formal parlor in the south wing. Shall I inform them you'll join them in…a quarter of an hour?”

Edgar dropped the paralyzed maid, who gathered her skirts in bone-white fingers and fled for safety. A moment later a door slammed. Slowly Edgar turned around to his blank-faced secretary. “You're a good man, Simpson. How long have you served in your current position?”

“Three years and five months, sir.”

“Find the maid. Extend my apologies. Offer a month's wages as compensation. Is that sufficient to retain your loyalty as well as your services?”

“Yes, Mr. Fane.”

Edgar nodded. “I'll see the Jockey Club gentlemen. And Simpson? After you soothe the maid, I need you to run one final errand for me. It concerns Miss Pickford.”