Dark Obsession (41 page)

Grayson’s command had her pushing to her feet, but no sooner had the words left his lips than he whisked an object from his coat pocket.

Metal gleamed in the rain. The pistol. His arm swung upward, taking rigid aim at Chad.

Nora fell back to her knees. She must protect the child—this child who was now as much hers as he had ever been Charlotte and Thomas’s. But she must also prevent her husband from committing an irrevocable mistake, one that would destroy them all.

‘‘Nora, I said go.’’

‘‘I won’t leave you. Not unless you give me that pistol.’’

Jonny struggled in her arms, and it was all she could do to keep hold of his slippery clothing.

‘‘Damn it, Nora, get him out of here.’’

The child seemed suddenly crazed, pushing against her, trying to pry loose from her arms.

‘‘Jonny, please stop. It’s all right, we’re going back to the house now.’’ Fisting bunches of his shirt to restrain him, she struggled to her feet.

He went stiff, every limb refusing to budge.

‘‘Nora!’’ A hoarse warning from Gray.

‘‘I’m trying. He won’t come with me.’’

Grayson glared at the man opposite him. ‘‘What did you tell my nephew to make him act this way?’’

‘‘Not a thing.’’

‘‘Damn you to hell.’’

Chad shrugged. ‘‘Yes, probably.’’

‘‘Why? Tell me that much.’’ The pistol trembled in his hand, then steadied with a forward jerk.

Nora’s heart fractured inside her. ‘‘Grayson, don’t do it.’’ Tears streamed, mixing with the rain on her cheeks. ‘‘If you pull that trigger, your worst demons will have won. You’ll have done the very deed you’ve condemned yourself for all these months.’’

Jonny struggled. She summoned the last of her strength to hold on, to him and to all she held dear. ‘‘You’ll destroy everything good inside you. You’ll destroy
us
.’’

‘‘The worst has already come to pass.’’ His face turned toward her, a mask of pain and regret. The pistol’s barrel drooped. ‘‘My brother is dead. Dead by Chad’s hand.’’

‘‘Then the guilt is his. Don’t make it yours.’’

‘‘Too late. He and I already share it.’’ He repositioned the pistol, his aim dead-on.

Terror spiraled through her and broke from her lips. ‘‘Charlotte! Thomas! You brought us to this. If you ever sought to help us, help us now.’’

Jonny chose that moment to shove loose. Breaking away, he scrambled across the headland and threw himself in front of Chad.

In horror Grayson felt his hand tighten around the pistol, felt his fiinger fllex on the trigger at the exact moment his nephew stepped in front of the man he intended to kill.

Nora’s scream racked his soul. As if controlled by strings, his arm jerked to his side, fingers flinging the gun to the ground. A ribbon of lightning robbed him of sight; the crack of thunder deafened him.

Had the gun fired? He felt no sting in his palm, no burn from the powder. Or had he grown too numb to feel?

His body swayed. He swore his heart stopped beating.

‘‘Jonny!’’ He stumbled forward, hands scrubbing tears and rain from his eyes. He tripped, fell to his knees, scrambled to his feet. Through spinning relief he saw the boy still upright, arms outstretched as if to shield the man behind him.

But Chad was no longer standing. He was crouching, head bent over Jonny’s shoulder, arms clutching the boy from behind, hands sweeping his small torso. ‘‘Are you hurt? Jonny, say something, damn it. Please.’’

Then silence. Until Jonny pushed out of Chad’s arms and squared his shoulders. ‘‘He . . . he didn’t do anything, Uncle Gray. I d-did. It was . . . my fault.’’

Each word, stammered in a voice Grayson hadn’t heard in nearly a year, pummeled him physically, painfully. Miraculously. Relief and elation rode a tumultuous tide of remorse, of guilt. He shoved his feelings aside and focused on what mattered most—the boy.

‘‘No, son. No.’’ His throat closed around all the things he wished to say. Pushing to his feet, he reached for his nephew. ‘‘It wasn’t your fault.’’

‘‘It
was
. I’d heard you and Papa arguing that day. It made me so angry.’’ Jonny sidestepped toward the cliff.

Grayson’s insides ran cold. He held out his hand, afraid to move another muscle lest he frighten the child over the edge. ‘‘Jonathan, come here. Come to me. Please.’’

He received a shake of the head in reply. ‘‘I was so angry at both of you. I thought I should be earl now instead of waiting, that I could do a far better job than either of you. So I took Papa’s watch—the Clarington watch—and came out here to prove I could be the earl.’’ He backed closer to the edge, looking out over his shoulder at the thrashing ocean below.

‘‘Please don’t go any farther.’’ Grayson didn’t understand what Jonny was trying to tell him. What had the cliffs to do with being Earl of Clarington? Trying to ease toward his nephew without being obvious, he forced his clenched jaws open. ‘‘Come here and tell me what happened. Yell at me, call me any names you like, but please come away from the cliff.’’

Jonny went still. His face was grim, hard, aged beyond his years. ‘‘I did what Papa said you and he used to do as boys.’’

‘‘Good God.’’

The stunned utterance burst from Chad, who now knew as well as Grayson what Jonny meant. As boys, all three of them used to challenge each other to lean out over the precipice, a foolish game of courage they were damned lucky to survive. Thomas had always tried to lean out the farthest, his way of proving his worth as the Clarington heir despite their father’s disdain.

Grayson held up a hand behind him, forestalling any intentions Chad might have to rush forward and intervene. Behind him, he heard the soggy drag of Nora’s skirts as she pulled to her feet. Her soft sobs rode the wind, then quieted.

She had always known exactly what to say to Jonny, known in ways Grayson could never fathom. But this was between him and his nephew, was something no one else could mend.

He took an infinitesimal step closer. ‘‘It was brave of you, Jonny. But leaning over cliffs is not the way to be a nobleman. Your courage is needed for far more important matters. Matters I’d like to teach you about, if you’ll allow me.’’

‘‘You don’t understand, Uncle Gray.’’ Where Jonny’s features had appeared older moments ago, now they crumpled like a child’s as he began to cry. ‘‘I dropped Papa’s watch over the edge. I didn’t mean to—it slipped. It caught on a root and when I tried to reach it, I nearly fell.

‘‘I clung to the vines and held on a long time. I don’t know how long. But finally Papa came and found me. He dragged me up, and then he tried to reach the watch. He said I must have it because it belonged to all the Earls of Clarington. And then he . . . he . . .’’

Jonny pivoted so quickly Grayson’s heart hit his throat. ‘‘It was here,’’ the boy cried an instant before he dropped to hands and knees and scooted to the brink.

Grayson lunged and dove, scrambling after him. Mud and earth oozed through his fingers and sucked at his legs. Rocks and pebbles slid from under him, showering down the cliff face.

His hands clamped around Jonny’s legs, but pulling only succeeded in dislodging more earth and rock. He felt himself slipping. From somewhere above, Nora shouted his name, a sound framed in anguish. His head went over. His shoulders. His torso slid. The blood rushed to his brain, dizzying. The void seemed intent on swallowing him . . . and his nephew, dangling below him.

‘‘Jonny,’’ he ground out, ‘‘do not move.’’

‘‘I have it, Uncle Gray. I found it. The watch. It’s here and I have it.’’

‘‘To hell with the watch!’’

A weight came down on his legs, anchoring him in place. Hands fisted on his coat. ‘‘I’ve got you, Gray. I’ll pull you up.’’

But as Chad tugged, Jonny began to slip from Grayson’s grasp.

‘‘Stop! I’ll lose him.’’

‘‘Then I’ll reach around you and grab him.’’

That meant Grayson would have to relinquish his hold on his nephew. A chilling suspicion that Chad might push them both over nearly sent a protest from his lips. Only the realization that Chad could easily have made his escape in the past few moments but hadn’t led to a renewed surge of faith in his friend.

A faith he had no choice, for now, but to heed.

‘‘Hold on to him for all you’re worth,’’ Grayson shouted up at him, ‘‘and don’t worry about me.’’

‘‘Nora, lean on Gray’s legs. Hold his coat.’’

Across Grayson’s legs, Chad’s greater weight was exchanged for hers, but not before he slipped another inch on slick earth and rock. Nora snugged down harder, curling her fingers around his coat. ‘‘Gray, I’ve got you. I swear I will not let you go.’’

He believed her. Good God, he believed her all too well, knowing that if he and Jonny went over, she’d likely go with them. Sorrow engulfed him, along with the wish that if anyone met the sea tonight, it would be him alone.

Chad leaned out over him, reaching, stretching. Still too far away to grasp the boy.

‘‘Please help us.’’ Nora’s plea was little more than a breath, yet it reached Grayson’s ears and ran through him, giving him the strength to hang on to his nephew’s ankles.

‘‘I’ve got him!’’ With a grunt Chad heaved. Jonny seemed to hover an instant in Grayson’s vision, then surged up and over him, barely skimming his back as Chad drew him onto solid ground.

And then Grayson was sliding, slipping. Like a rabid animal the black Atlantic foamed on the rocks beneath him. Sea and sky streaked in his vision as his mind reeled, all sense of direction lost. Only the sudden smack of his chin against firm ground assured him he wasn’t falling, that he had been dragged back up onto the headland.

Exhausted, shaking, gulping in breaths that knifed his lungs, he rolled. The last drops of the abating storm splattered his face and plastered the hair back from his brow. For one hideous moment he felt alone in a wet void. Empty. Barren. His trembling arms lifted, groping at the air. ‘‘Nora? Jonny?’’

In an instant Nora was in them, her weight thudding against his chest. ‘‘I’m here. Jonny’s safe. It’s all right.’’

‘‘Thank God, oh, thank God.’’ Relief scoured through him, and for a moment all he could do was lie there while the blood resumed flowing through his veins. Holding Nora tight with one arm, he lifted the other. ‘‘Jonny?’’

A small body jarred his side. ‘‘I’m sorry, Uncle Gray. I’m sorry.’’ His hand opened against Grayson’s chest, and he felt the small round weight of his brother’s pocket watch pressing against his heart. ‘‘I’m sorry...."

‘‘I know, son, I know.’’
All too well.
He stroked his hand up and down Jonny’s small back, absorbing the boy’s shivers into his own body. ‘‘It’ll be all right now.’’

‘‘How can it? I was angry, but I didn’t mean for Papa to die.’’ The boy’s voice shredded, then re-emerged in hiccupping sobs. He lay rigid against Grayson, his tears pooling warmly through Grayson’s wet shirt. ‘‘I never meant for it to happen.’’

Nora slid an arm around him. ‘‘No one believes you did.’’

‘‘It was an accident and nothing more, do you hear me?’’ Grayson shut his eyes and hugged the two of them tight.

Minutes passed as Jonny sobbed against him, asked for forgiveness, cried his father’s name. His hands fisted in Grayson’s shirt, pulling, pushing, delivering sharp little punches to Grayson’s side as he struggled with emotions breaking free for the first time. Grayson let him, finding contentment in the knowledge that they were all safe, in the feel of their bodies snuggled against him, soothing the crushing fear of the last moments.

Gradually the fight drained from Jonny’s limbs. Grayson nudged his tearstained face. ‘‘It was
not
your fault.’’

‘‘I—I didn’t wish to ever tell you.’’

‘‘And so you kept silent,’’ Nora finished for him.

The truth of her statement burned through Grayson. As unbearable as his own remorse had been all these months, it had been nothing compared to what the child had suffered, and all alone besides.

Continuing to hold them close, he sat up. ‘‘Your father loved you, Jonny, more than anything else in his life. Everything he did, he did for you. For your future. We argued that day because we had both made mistakes. Grievous ones. But more than anything he wanted to right those mistakes for you, to see to it you had everything in life you could ever want or need.’’

He nestled the child closer, pressed a kiss to his damp brow. ‘‘I want the same for you. I intend to see that everything your father wanted for you comes to pass. And I promise you we’ll keep his memory alive. We shall never forget him.’’

‘‘Or your mother,’’ Nora added gently.

It was then Grayson remembered Chad. He crouched not far away, wet hair spiked where he’d raked his fingers through it, eyes glazed and staring. Even in the darkness, his lips were white, bloodless.

‘‘He simply flew up into my arms,’’ Chad said to Grayson’s unspoken question. ‘‘I barely tugged. I hadn’t even got proper hold of him. I . . . don’t understand it.’’ His fingers shot through his hair again.

A shiver swept Grayson’s shoulders. He traded a glance with Nora, and a flash of understanding passed between them. She smiled and crept out of his embrace.

‘‘It’s all right, Chad. ‘‘ She patted his shoulder. ‘‘We were none of us thinking too clearly. I believe necessity merely endowed you with a strength you never knew you had.’’

‘‘I suppose you’re right. What else could it have been?’’ He didn’t look convinced. He stood, moved closer to Grayson and Jonny, and eased to a crouch again.

‘‘I can attest to how much your father loved you, Jonny. Before he died, he’d made up his mind to be strong for you and fix all that had gone awry.’’ His gaze angled to Grayson. ‘‘We told ourselves we were indulging in a bit of privateering. The sort of smuggling that’s been a Cornwall tradition for centuries. Almost too late we realized there was nothing quaint or conventional in what we were doing. In the end we couldn’t go through with it. That’s what he tried telling you that day.’’