Deadly Kisses (15 page)

Hart came into the room. “This is a pleasant surprise,” he
said, his tone carefully neutral. Francesca's tension increased. “Would you care for a Scotch?”

“No, thank you,” Francesca said tersely. She went to the door and closed it.

He glanced briefly at her as he poured one Scotch. “Are you certain? This case just arrived and you have yet to try it.”

She wet her lips. “Yes.” She had no intention of pretending that nothing was amiss.

He smiled, his face terribly blank, as if they were strangers and nothing more. He obviously intended to play a game with her now. But then, Hart had never been an easy man to be with. In moments like these, he retreated with such icy calm behind such a wall of reserve that it was frightening to try to reach out to him. Francesca thought she understood. He was suffering and he did not want her to see. He must be suffering even more than she imagined.

I don't want your goddamned child.

Francesca did not want to think of that. He had spoken in shock and anger and she would never believe that he had meant his words. She started to approach. Not looking at her, he drained the glass and poured another one. Francesca refused to be intimidated, even though it was clear he was not pleased by her presence.

Holding the refreshed glass to his chest, he said casually, avoiding eye contact, “How was your day?”

She could not smile, but she did not want to play this game anyway. “Terrible.”

His brows arched.

“But probably not as terrible as yours.” She exhaled. “I know all about the child.”

His eyes widened and their gazes clashed. Instantly, he turned away.

Francesca wanted to run to him and take him in her arms,
but she knew he would reject her. “Calder,” she said quietly, in a plea. “Let me help you.”

He did not move, not for a long instant. Then, not answering her and not looking at her, he asked as quietly, “How did you find out?”

“Annie and Mrs. Greene both heard your argument with Daisy on Thursday. They have amended their earlier police statements. The police know, Calder.”

He turned. He was not smiling now. His face was strained, but his feelings remained so skillfully disguised that she could not read them. She was about to approach when he saluted her with his glass. “I should have known you would find out. It will be your epitaph, Francesca—No Clue Left Unturned.” He was not mocking; he was resigned.

She was taken aback by that odd note of defeat. “I really did not make any discovery, as both women came forward.”

He made a harsh sound and drained that drink, too. “I am sorry. You are the last person I should lash out at.”

She started toward him.

He stiffened. “Don't.”

She froze. “I am so sorry,” she said, meaning it.

His eyes grew shadowed. “Only you, Francesca, would be sorry that my bastard is dead.”

Tears threatened. “Just let me help you through this. You can feign apathy, but I know you cannot be indifferent, Calder. I know you are in mourning.”

As if he had not heard her, he said, “Is my arrest imminent?”

“Why are you doing this? Why are you treating me as if we are polite acquaintances? We are lovers, we are friends,” Francesca cried. “Another woman was carrying your child and she is now dead! Surely you wish to discuss this with me!”

“You must know—is my justice-driven brother preparing to arrest me?” he asked sharply.

“No!” She inhaled, shaking. “Hart—he did say you should get a lawyer.”

Hart laughed. The sound was ugly, but Francesca recognized it—his pain was there, ready to erupt. Deter mined not to be pushed away, she walked over to him, her trepidation huge. He watched her very warily now.

“I know you did not kill Daisy.”

“Do you?”

She paused before him, ignoring that provocation. “I am going to prove you innocent. If being nasty makes you feel better, then so be it. I will be your whipping boy.”

He studied her, his face hard and set. “You heard them. I didn't want the bastard. I have motive, Francesca, lots of it, and I am sure the police will find opportunity, as well.”

“Stop it!” She took his face in her hands, ignoring his tension. “I know you didn't mean it.”

“I meant it,” he roared at her.

Francesca cringed, releasing him.

He whirled away from her, pacing, then faced her again. He was shaking. “Why won't you stop being so goddamned loyal? When will you realize that your family and friends are right? You have made a mistake. I am no good. You have all the proof you need, do you not?”

She shook her head in protest. “You are a good man,” she cried.

“I can think of nothing worse,
nothing,
than bringing an unwanted bastard into this world. Do you understand me?”

She had never seen him with so much rage and anguish. “I understand,” she managed to say, because it was hard to stand her ground, “that
you
were an un wanted bastard.”

His look was murderous. “Please leave, Francesca.
Please leave.
”

Francesca was afraid. But she could not walk away when he was suffering so terribly. “Calder, stop,” she whispered
desperately. “I am here because I care. I know that from your perspective, learning Daisy was pregnant was the worst fate you could imagine. But you are not your father! Had your child survived, he or she would have been loved—by both parents! I am certain!”

He stared at her. “You have chosen to believe the best about me from the first. You have chosen to ignore my reputation and my past. When are you going to learn from your mistakes? The past is here, Francesca, in the present. My mistress and my child are dead, and I am the prime suspect.”

“I am not making a mistake,” she said, and she finally felt a tear falling, but the tear was for him. “I know you better than anyone. You are like a stray dog, Calder, all bark and no bite. One kind caress and the tail wags!”

“Am I supposed to be touched by your loyalty? Damn it, Francesca, I did not want you involved in this from the start!”

“I know what you are trying to do,” she cried. “You are being cold and cruel, thinking to push me away. Undoubtedly you hope to protect me from the scandal! Well, this is not the first time you have tried to make me turn away from you. I won't do it. I am not a coward. I will see you through this crisis. I will prove you innocent.”

He smiled at her now, chillingly, and stalked her. “And when I am a free man, when Daisy's killer is be hind bars? Then what will you do, Francesca?” he purred.

She wet her lips. “I am here for you, Calder, no matter what happens. If you are waiting for me to tell you that, when this is over, I am leaving you, you are in for a disappointment. I won't pretend that I was not crushed by what has happened today. I know it is odd, but I felt betrayed. Maybe I was even jealous. I could not stand the idea of another woman carrying your child. But Daisy is the past. I am the present, your present, and I am not going anywhere.”

He stared at her.

“And you can argue until your voice turns raw, but I know you would have loved this child,” she added stubbornly.

He said, “You should run. Right now, as far as you can, as fast as possible. You should run from me.” He turned toward the door, which she had closed. “Just go.”

Something in her heart tightened. “No.”

Speaking very calmly, he said, “You need not stay on the case. I am going to hire a lawyer and I already have a cadre of private detectives at my beck and call.” He looked right at her.

She was shaking. “Even if I wanted to, I could not walk out that door, not now, not when you need me the most!”

“I am fine.”

She choked on the stupendous falsehood of his words. “You are very close to being accused of murder! And you might fool the rest of town, but you can't fool me. You are suffering with guilt, and grief, and God only knows what else! I am staying on this case and I am staying with you.”

He folded his arms across his broad chest and studied her. “And if I do not want your help? If I do not want you here? What if I tell you that
I
have changed my mind, that
I
no longer wish to be committed to you?”

His words stabbed through her heart like a knife. She wet her lips and dared to approach him.

She was aware of having become too physically close to him; as always, his body had a magnetic effect. “We need to talk about this, quietly and sincerely,” she whispered.

He suddenly touched her cheek. Her pulse picked up a different beat, slow and deep, sending waves of heat through her body. “I have finally succeeded,” he said slowly, “in pulling you down completely with me. And this is hardly the first time. Is this what you want, your reputation destroyed by your association with me?”

“I don't care about the scandal that is inevitable,” she said, but her heart flipped, because she did care about how it would
affect her family. And she saw the lost little boy in his dark eyes, waiting for another blow, waiting to be abandoned once more. She smiled just a little. “How many times do I have to tell you that I am not going anywhere?”

He took her hand. She stood still, her skirts brushing his thigh, and electricity seemed to leap between them as he answered. “Last night, I did not want you involved. Today, I am even more certain that you should be protected from all of this. I think, for once, I am capable of being selfless and putting you ahead of my own needs.” He was grim as he raised her hand and pressed a lingering kiss there.

Francesca gasped, the mere kiss shafting through her. “Don't you dare tell me it is over,” she gasped.

“Another woman was pregnant with my child. The police are preparing to charge me with her murder—and the murder of my own child. This is a very good time for us to part company.”

“I know you didn't murder anyone. All I have to do is prove it,” she declared.

He stood there staring at her, and when he finally spoke, his tone was raw. “Francesca, I didn't want to bring a bastard into this world. I can think of nothing more reprehensible, more irresponsible, but dear God, I never wanted this child dead.”

“I know,” she whispered. “I know all of that.”

And his arms went around so suddenly she was surprised. Pressed against the solid and muscular wall of his body, she felt small and female and fragile, dwarfed by his power and his heat. He murmured thickly, “When will you stop believing in me? How could I possibly have found you?”

“I will always believe in you,” she whispered against the fine wool of his suit. Not far from her lips, his heart pulsed, hard and strong. She had never needed to be in his arms more than she did at that moment, because there, the world was reduced to just the two of them, and nothing and no one else existed. “We may be engaged, and we may be lovers, but we are also friends. Friends
fight for each other, Calder. People who care about each other do not jump ship at the first sign of a storm,” she said, and she looked up.

His gaze was searching. “I have never known anyone as loyal or as brave as you, Francesca,” he whispered roughly, touching her face and then stroking her lips with his thumb. “I must tell you, if you decide to leave me, I will understand.”

Francesca shivered, her body already rigid with sexual tension. His thumb remained posed near her lower lip. “We are going to get through this, one way or another, together.”

He choked, as if the distress he harbored was too much to bear, and he claimed her mouth. Francesca closed her eyes, accepting his hungry, urgent kisses with an answering passion, sucking back on his lips, his lapels in her fists. All worry, all fear and all thought vanished.

He held her head in his large hands and took her mouth, opening it, fusing with her. Francesca held on tight, straining against him, for him. Their mouths met and mated deeply and greedily, again and again, while her body raged for far more than a kiss. His hard hands moved up and down her back, shaking with his tension, and against her mouth, he said, “I have missed you.”

She had missed him, too, but she could not speak. She cradled his face in her hands, kissing him, desperately and explosively.

He understood. Lifting her into his arms, he carried her to the sofa. As he laid her down, Francesca reached for his hand, guiding it down her body.

His smile was knowing, and his hand quickly slipped beneath her clothes. Francesca gasped wildly when he touched her wet and burning flesh.

Hart made a sound, hard and thick, his skilled fingers rubbing against her.

Francesca struggled with her skirts and petticoat, fighting a sob of extreme pleasure.

His eyes blazed. “I don't know if I can wait much longer, Francesca,” he said harshly.

“Don't wait,” she whispered. Their eyes met and she loved the blinding heat in his gaze. “Just hurry.”

He gave her a look and bent between her legs, pressing one hand just above her sex and pushing his tongue against her.

And she surrendered to the exquisite pleasure building in tidal waves inside her. His clever tongue knew every fold, every peak, every valley of her sex, and in a moment, Francesca was sobbing her release and his name.

When she had floated back to earth and the sofa, she instantly recalled the past few hours. Refusing to dwell on reality, she opened her eyes. Hart knelt beside her, one hand remaining possessively between her legs. In the frenzy they had just shared, he had somehow jettisoned his jacket and his tie was askew. He was breathing hard and watching her intently.

Francesca's heart lurched with renewed need and great resolve. She reached out and seized his tie. “I seem to need you again,” she whispered with a small, promising smile. She felt as seductive as the most infamous and desirable courtesan. “But I will be fair.” She jerked on the tie.

He smiled slightly, allowing himself to be pulled down so she could kiss him, slowly and lazily, using her tongue with great skill against the mobile seam of his lips. As she teased, she held the tie like a leash so he could not move—at least, as long as he played along. With her left hand she reached for his belt.