Cates, Kimberly (57 page)

Norah's
blood chilled with the certainty that he meant what he said. Her stomach
churned at the twisted air of both pleasure and regret in his features.

"You
shouldn't have interfered in my game, Norah."

"No!
N—Norah!" Cassandra struggled, fought against her bindings. "If you
shoot her someone will hear!"

"There
is no one within miles
to
hear. I made certain of that."

Norah
skittered back, searching for a weapon, any weapon to use against him—seeing
her death glimmering in his gaze. Desperate, she searched for words to help
Aidan's daughter survive the dark fate written in Richard Farnsworth's eyes.

"Cassandra,
whatever happens, your papa will find you. He'll find you and make you safe.
Richard can't touch your soul, angel. Remember that."

"Farnsworth
won't be touching anything at all."

Deep,
vibrating with primal fury, the familiar masculine voice cut through the
chamber.

"Aidan!"
Norah gasped out, her gaze flicking to the open cottage door. "You found
us! Thank God!"

Her
glad cry was cut off as Farnsworth grasped her by the hair, yanking her back
against his chest. The pistol he'd wrested from her grasp jammed against the
soft cord of her throat where the fragile beat of her pulse thrummed close to
the skin.

But
her eyes were filled with Aidan, standing in the doorway, his hair a wind-spun
tangle about his lean cheekbones, his face that of a Celtic warrior whose lady
had been threatened.

His
fingers gripped a pistol. His eyes simmered with violence. "I'm the one
you want, Farnsworth. Not Norah. Not Cassandra. You want a sonofabitching
wager? Take this one: I'll kill you for what you've done tonight. Tear you
apart a piece at a time."

"You
may attempt it, of course. As long as you don't mind sacrificing your bride,
Kane. It's an intriguing dilemma, I must admit—one that should prove vastly
entertaining. Who is to be the sacrifice? Your bride or your daughter? Either
way, I win."

"Go
to hell, Farnsworth."

"Undoubtedly.
However, before I do, I'll see you trapped in a prison far worse than the
devil's domain. Put the pistol down, Kane, or I swear I'll pull the trigger."
Farnsworth yanked Norah's head back even farther, exposing the fragile curve of
her throat, the sinister nudge of the gun against it.

"Don't
do it, Aidan," Norah pleaded, her eyes locking with Aidan's agonized green
ones. "He'll kill you anyway. And Cassandra... you have to help
Cassandra."

"Quite
a noble plea, stepsister. You attempt to kill me, but you are ready to fling
yourself on the sacrificial pyre for love of this whore-chasing bastard."

Norah
saw Aidan's fingers flex, white-knuckled on the pistol butt, seconds spinning
out into eternity, his mouth twisting in an agony so great it shattered her.

"What's
it to be, Kane?" Farnsworth goaded. "I would as soon get this over
with. I'd not want to keep your daughter waiting for our bridal night too long."

Norah
felt Aidan's hell sear her own soul, knew there was only one way she could end
it, force her stepbrother's hand so that he couldn't torture Aidan with this
demonic choice. She braced herself to wrench against his hold, goad him to pull
the trigger.

But
at that instant Aidan let his pistol thud to the floor.

"No,"
she whimpered. "Aidan, no! Why did you—"

"I
can't let him hurt you, ladylight."

"I
must say this tender display astonishes even me," Farnsworth said with a
sneer. "Such noble self-sacrifice and all that rot. But then, you've had a
woman's blood on your hands before, haven't you, Kane?"

"That
woman made her own choices."

"That
woman?
That's
a rather vague term, isn't it? We'd not want poor Cassandra to be stumbling
over the path of our conversation, would we? He's talking about your mother,
beloved. And she didn't have any choices from the minute your bastard of a
father jammed his wedding ring on her finger. Tell me, Kane, how did it feel to
know that your wife hated you? What did you think when the poison she gave you
spread through your veins? Did you realize that, Cassandra? He made your
mother's life such hell that she tried to poison your father?"

"Papa—"
Cassandra's voice was broken, shattered.

"She
poisoned him because it was the only way she could escape him. But the bastard
didn't die. He came after us, chasing us. Because of him, the coach overturned.
Because of him—"

"It
wasn't Papa's fault! It wasn't!"

Norah
could feel the pounding tension in Aidan, see him struggling desperately to
find some opening, some way to hurtle himself at Farnsworth without endangering
her.

"It
was his fault, damn it! He killed Delia as much as if he'd put a bullet in her
breast! He was a drunken bastard, flinging away a fortune at cards. A sadistic
sonofabitch, who dragged her to Ireland, chained her to his castle in the
middle of nowhere, saddling her with a child she never wanted."

Despite
the danger, Norah could see the welling of hurt in Cassandra. "My mother
was taking me with her! That night in the coach—"

"Cassandra,
don't listen to him!" Norah choked out. "Don't believe—"

"She
hated you, you blind little fool!" Farnsworth raged. "Hated you
because you were a part of him—a reminder of how she'd thrown herself away on
Irish scum. All the nights she lay in my arms, she cursed the day you were
born. When she agreed to run away with me, she said she had to take you with
us—but not because she wanted you. She was taking you because she knew that you
were the only thing that mattered to Kane—that by stealing you away she would
rip out his heart. And Delia deserved that pleasure, that taste of vengeance
for what Aidan Kane had put her through."

"Farnsworth,
you..."Aidan nudged a step toward them, white-faced. A gasp of pain tore
from Norah as the gun jabbed deeper. But Farnsworth was warming to his subject
now, a feverish anticipation shuddering through him.

"Tell
her, Kane. Tell your spoiled little daughter the truth about her precious
father."

"What
truth is that?"

"That
by eloping with her, I'll be sparing her the agony of suffering the
consequences of being your spawn. That for eight years, not a decent drawing
room in London would taint itself with your presence. Not a single decent woman
would allow you to touch so much as the hem of her gown. That you are a
gambler, a cheat, who has dueled a dozen times over the cast of a dice or the
favors of a pretty harlot, a drunken wastrel with a dozen mistresses clamoring
for his attentions. Can you smell the stench of vice on him, Cassandra? Know
that he's done things that would sicken you?"

"I
don't believe you!" the girl raged.

"Tell
her, Kane. Tell her it's true."

Aidan's
hard gaze flashed to his daughter, his features a study in agony. Every muscle
was tense, coiled, as he moved toward her. "Cass, I... it is true. Every
word."

"Papa—"

Farnsworth's
avid gaze was feasting on Aidan's destruction.

"I
am everything Farnsworth says I am, girl. That's why I kept you at the castle,
so you would never have to know. But you grew up, Cass." Aidan's voice
cracked as he searched for some way, any way, to break Farnsworth's hold on
Norah.

The
bastard was so damned calm and cold with murder in his eyes. Only when he'd
spoken of Delia had there been another emotion in that handsome face, one Aidan
recognized all too well.

Obsession.

He
could use it against Farnsworth, cripple him in ways that were all too familiar
to him. And yet the cost—oh, God, the cost...

His
eyes flicked for a moment to his daughter, crumpled on the bed, every nerve in
his body screaming in denial. No. He couldn't tell her. Yet how could he
compare the wounds his words would inflict on her to the fate Farnsworth had
planned?

Aidan
let mockery curve his lips, contempt fill his eyes. "You loved her, didn't
you? Loved Delia? You poor besotted fool."

Farnsworth
stiffened. "She was the most glorious woman in the world. A treasure a man
like you could never understand."

Aidan
laughed. "Plenty of men understood my wife. More than I could count. She
was a harlot who collected men's hearts like some women collected slippers,
always hungry for some new diversion."

Farnsworth's
face whitened. "Don't you dare malign her that way! She went to other
men's beds because it was the only way she could escape the misery of being
married to you! Once we fell in love, she didn't want anyone else, need anyone
else!"

"Is
that what she told you?"

"She
loved me! Only me! We were going to build a life together, someplace you could
never reach us."

"I
wouldn't have cared if you and Delia had set up housekeeping in the next
bedroom. Hell, it would've been a relief! At least I would've had some idea
which man was going to come skulking out of her chamber at night. Delia knew
that. She knew I wouldn't have given a damn if she'd run away to play a
harlot's service to a whole regiment as long as she left Cassandra
behind."

Aidan's
blood chilled, dread coursing through him as something wild and frightening
shivered to life in Farnsworth's eyes. Aidan knew a stark terror that the
desperate gambit he was making to save Norah's life might be the impetus that
made the sadistic bastard pull the trigger.

"Delia
had to repay you for the misery you made her suffer. The girl belonged to her.
Once we arrived in France, we were going to throw her away, Kane. Hurl her on
the steps of some poorhouse so our lives wouldn't be tainted by your
spawn."

The
words sickened Aidan; the fact that Cassandra was hearing them nearly killed
him. But he forced himself to plunge on, praying that he could goad the bastard
into making a mistake, praying for the slightest opening so he could fling
himself at the Englishman and kill him.

"You
were willing to risk my fury in order to grant Delia this crazed revenge? Such
grand passion the two of you shared, Farnsworth. It touches my heart."

Aidan's
pulse raced, every muscle in his body coiled, ready as he steeled himself to
fling out the words that would drive Farnsworth over the edge. That would give
Aidan a chance, the slightest chance, to overpower him.

"Of
course, I have one tiny question regarding this magnificent love affair of yours.
If Delia...
loved
you so desperately," he said, contempt dripping
from the word, "why was it that the very afternoon before your grand
escape, I found her in the tack room with a strapping young stableboy between
her thighs?"

"No!"
Farnsworth's eyes were wild, his face contorted, hideous, the pistol shaking in
his hand, tearing at Norah's soft skin. "You're lying! I don't believe
you!"

"She
was making that pretty little sound she made when she was near her peak,
clawing at his shoulders. She laughed when I stumbled upon them. Now I know she
wasn't laughing at me, she was laughing at you."

"I
don't believe you!"

"You
poor bastard. You were just another one of Delia's besotted fools."

A
cry of rage ripped from Farnsworth's chest as he waved the pistol wildly in
Aidan's direction. That split second was all Aidan needed.

He
hurled himself headlong at Farnsworth just as Norah wrenched free of his grasp.
The two men slammed into the cottage wall with a force that sent rotted
thatching raining down on their backs, silting their eyes. The lamp sputtered
and smoked. Cassandra's cries echoed in Aidan's ears as his fists cracked into
Farnsworth again and again.

He
outweighed the Englishman, yet Farnsworth fought with the strength of a madman,
a man obsessed by a woman who had bewitched him, then made him her fool.

He
heard Norah scrambling past them and felt her desperation, glimpsed Cassandra's
face—her innocence shattered, as broken as she would have been had Farnsworth
worked his will on her. But Aidan had destroyed his daughter with his words,
hurt her in a way Farnsworth never could.

Aidan
slammed his fist into Farnsworth's jaw, heard the bones snap. The man's jaw
shifted at a stomach-wrenching angle as it broke.

There
was murder in Farnsworth's eyes now, a crazed animal rage, the thirst for
blood. Farnsworth's fist drove into Aidan's half-healed ribs. Agony streaked
out as a sickening, cracking sound split the air.

Aidan
fell back, fighting against waves of dizziness, but Farnsworth had already
snatched up a thick length of board and begun swinging it toward Aidan with
deadly force.

Aidan
hit the dirt and rolled, but he couldn't entirely escape the blow. Solid wood
connected with his shoulder. It stunned him, froze him for just a heartbeat.

In
that moment Farnsworth's fingers grappled for his throat.

Aidan
fought like a madman, feeling Farnsworth's hands close like a hunting beast's
talons, cutting off breath, draining away his strength. Aidan clawed at the
bastard's wrists, trying to break his grasp, his lungs burning, his mind
tormented with images of Cass, of Norah, at Farnsworth's mercy if Aidan failed
them.