Lisa Bingham (19 page)

What would she have done without him? He’d saved her life!

As their terror subsided, their awareness bloomed. Louisa didn’t know who made the first move or who surrendered. She only knew that in the space of a heartbeat, they were kissing, their embrace fierce, their emotions unfettered. When he reached for the rest of the buttons to her gown, she did not resist. Her own hands were trembling as she stripped his shirt from his shoulders.

When John drew her own bodice away, she felt the chill against the bare skin of her shoulders. She shuddered as his hands, large and callused, grazed her back, then slid down the length of her corset.

“You are so beautiful,” he murmured into the hollow of her throat.

“No.”

“Yes, yes. I’ve never seen a woman so vibrant. So passionate, so loving, so seductive.”

Her laughter was rueful. “Then you’ve clearly been blinded by love.”

“No. I’m seeing clearly.” He drew back, framing her face in his hands. “You’ve changed me, Louisa.”

When she tried to shake her head, he kissed her again, then trailed his lips over her cheek, down the curve of her throat to the sensitive hollow between her collarbones.

“I’ve never felt like this with any other person before. It doesn’t even matter to me that you’re pregnant. I only know that I—”

Louisa’s blood turned to ice and the sensual spell that had filled her body with an enervating energy swiftly drained away.

Pregnant?

“Pregnant!” She uttered the word aloud.

When he straightened, she could only gape at him in horror.

John thought that she was pregnant?

Ice seemed to flow through her veins and she woodenly took a step back, then another and another until she’d put several yards between them.

“You think that I’m pregnant?”

His expression became guarded. “Aren’t you?”

“What would make you think such a thing?”

He waved a hand helplessly. “It’s the only explanation for the way you’re always huddled over the chamber pot.”

She stiffened in fury. “I can assure you there are many other reasons for my apparent malady, none of which will result in the birth of a child.”

Suddenly, the ramifications of his belief hit her like a slap in the face. Not only did John think she was a woman of loose character, he also believed that she had wed a man without informing her husband of her condition.

“Get out,” she said softly.

“Louisa, you have to understand—”

“I already understand more than I care to.” She shuddered as the full impact continued to seep into her consciousness. John was no better than any of the others. He’d judged her by her appearance and had decided that she was a wanton woman. Worse yet, she had fallen into his arms like a ripe apple.

“Leave my house. Now.”

“Louisa—”

When he tried to take her in his arms, she ran to her bedside table, removing the derringer that he had given her so long ago.

“I want you out of this house and off my property within ten minutes or I’ll summon a constable. Whatever obligations you feel you had toward my husband are finished. If I catch sight of you ever again, I’ll have you charged, do you understand?”

“Damn it, you were nearly killed!”

She gave a scoffing laugh. “Don’t you dare turn an accident caused by the disrepair of this building into something for your own gain. I’m through with listening to you, do you hear? I don’t believe there ever was a threat against me—and frankly, if there is, I don’t care. I simply want you gone!”

He opened his mouth, clearly intent on arguing. But at the last moment, he apparently changed his mind. Turning on his heel, he strode from the room.

As soon as he was gone, Louisa sank to her knees, her body shaking convulsively. Dear sweet heaven above, was she forever doomed to being treated badly by men? Was there something in her character that made them think she could be so ill-used? Or that she could be so lacking in moral fiber? Was it merely the color of her hair? The fullness of her figure? Or was there something more, something buried deep in her character, something lacking in her spirit?

Heartache gripped her chest like a crushing vise. Sobs shook her body, making her sick and feverish and weak.

For the first time since coming to America, she actually regretted the fact that she hadn’t chosen a simpler life and married her childhood friend.

W
hen Louisa awakened the following morning, she still didn’t feel well. The aches and pains she’d experienced for days had intensified. Added to that were the strained muscles in her shoulders and arms from having John pull her back through the window.

Shuddering, she tried not to remember her near-fatal accident. Today she would meet with the workmen and insist that each of the railings be tested thoroughly.

Sighing, Louisa forced herself to swing her legs over the side of the bed. Her head swam with dizziness and she was forced to sit hunched over until the sensation passed.

More than anything, she wished she could spend the day in bed. But since this would be her first full morning at Winslow Manor, she wanted to ensure that everyone present knew she was in charge. She mustn’t show a hint of weakness—not when she was about to live so closely with Boyd and his disapproval.

Standing, she steadied herself against the bedpost, then crossed to her dressing table. Sinking onto the cushioned seat, she wished that she found her reflection more encouraging. In her opinion, there was nothing worse than a redhead who wasn’t feeling well. Her skin was deathly pale. Dark circles were carved beneath her eyes and her cheeks were gaunt.

Ringing the bell that would summon Chloe from the neighboring rooms, Louisa took the brush and began to stroke her hair. But when she looked down to see tufts tangled in the bristles, she gasped. Dropping the brush, she ran her fingers through the tresses, then offered a horrified cry when many of the strands came free in her grasp.

Louisa’s eyes filled with tears. Horror swept through her body. What was happening to her? For days now she’d tried to convince herself that it was merely the strain of arriving in America or in assuming the duties of her new family that had affected her health. But she knew now that there was far more to her condition. Something was wrong, terribly wrong.

A knock sounded at the door and she struggled to assume a blank face. “Come in.”

But it wasn’t Chloe who stood on the other side. John Smith stood in the doorway, his trunk slung over his shoulder, his rifle in his hand.

“I came to offer my goodbyes.”

She steeled herself against the instantaneous joy that had rushed through her at the sight of him.

Remember what he’s done to you. Remember what he’s been thinking of you all along.

“I believe I made my views quite clear when I told you to leave last night, Mr. Smith.”

“Since I don’t have a horse of my own, I had to wait for someone from the staff to take me into Boston.”

It was a weak excuse at best, but Louisa didn’t bother to point out that fact. It would require more energy than she had.

“Goodbye, then.”

Her spine remained ramrod straight, despite the effort it cost her, but John didn’t immediately leave.

“I thought I’d ask you to reconsider and let me stay.”

The idea was tempting, so tempting, but Louisa managed to answer firmly, “I don’t think such an arrangement would ever work out, Mr. Smith.”

“Then come with me.”

His audacity caused her mouth to fall open. He wanted
her
to go with
him?
To drop her life and her responsibilities and run away with a man who had…who had…

Who had treated her no better than any of the other men she’d encountered in England.

No. She wouldn’t deign to consider the idea. Her only real mistake had been in falling in love with this man.

So why was she so tempted to accept his offer? Why did every instinct in her body urge her to run into his arms and leave this place now?

“I don’t think I would care to do that, Mr. Smith.”

Liar.

“Then at least promise me that you’ll see a doctor. You look like hell.”

“Perhaps the strain of an imagined pregnancy is catching up with me.”

He had the grace to flush. “I’m sorry about that. I jumped to conclusions when I should have come to you personally.”

She tipped her chin, giving him her best haughty stare. “Perhaps your first mistake was in presuming
anything
of a personal nature about me, Mr. Smith.”

Rather than responding to her comment, he said again, “Promise me that you’ll see a doctor.”

“I hardly see how my health is any of your affair.”

“Promise me.”

She pressed her lips together. As much as she might wish for the opinion of a physician, she knew now wasn’t the time. She mustn’t appear weak. Not yet. Not until Boyd had learned to accept her and Beatrice didn’t rely so heavily on Louisa to oversee the refurbishment of the castle. And then there was Evie…

Evie needed Louisa, and Louisa had made it her goal to bring the girl’s properties back to fruition.

“Goodbye, Mr. Smith.”

He turned as if to leave, then stopped. Dropping his trunk to the floor, he crossed the room in a half dozen quick strides. Before she could react, he’d cupped her head in his hand and bent to place a searing kiss on her lips. Then, without another word, he released her and closed the door behind him.

“Mr. Smith! This just arrived for you.”

The last thing that John wanted was to be delayed as he left the Winslow estates. After his row with Louisa the night before, he’d made his peace with himself. He would be leaving this place—and Louisa--without a backward glance. She was the one who had chosen this life and it was now up to her to see it through. The time had long since come for him to return to Oregon and wash his hands of the whole affair.

“Mr. Smith?”

Sighing, he stopped at the bottom of the stairs and turned.

“Yes?”

The maid curtsied and handed him a familiar envelope. “Telegram, sir.”

As he took the message in his hand, Neil felt a familiar surge of foreboding—and with it came the realization that his association with Louisa Haversham Winslow was not over yet.

Neil’s knock on the door of the honeymoon suite of the Plymouth Hotel had barely faded away before the door swung wide and he found himself staring into a pair of eyes that were oh, so familiar.

Dear heaven above, Louisa and her sister were incredibly similar in build and coloring. But in looking at Phoebe, Neil was forced to acknowledge just how sick Louisa had become. Compared to her sister, she now looked gaunt and pale—a mere shadow of her twin.

“Mr. Ballard! How good of you to come so quickly.”

“Miss…” He paused, wondering just what to call her. This was the true Louisa Haversham, but he knew her as Phoebe Gray.

“Mrs. Cutter,” she said with a small smile. “For now, I think that’s the most logical solution, don’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He swept the hat from his head and stepped into the hotel suite.

As if on cue, the far door swung wide and Gabe Cutter stepped into the room. He’d been swiping shaving cream from his chin, but at the sight of Neil he threw the towel onto a settee and strode forward.

“Ballard. It’s good to see you.”

Neil nodded in his direction. “Your telegram stated that you had information concerning Horace Haversham.”

Gabe crossed to a table where a holster and revolver had been folded next to a pair of saddlebags. “That’s right. Horace Haversham is on his way to Boston—as is Oscar.”

“The two of them?”

“That’s right.”

Neil shook his head, his mind whirling. Throughout his stint as Louisa’s bodyguard he’d continually wondered why there had been no attempts on her life.

A rustle of skirts caught his attention. “How is my sister, Mr. Ballard?” Cutter’s wife asked.

“She’s fine…that is—” He broke off, his mind still focused on the information Gabe had given him. “You’re sure that both of the Haversham men are on their way to Boston?”

“They should arrive within days of each other. From what I was able to determine, Horace booked passage on a steam sloop, but Oscar is only a few days behind.”

“So Horace is planning something. And he wants his brother to be here when it happens.”

Phoebe clasped her hands together. “That’s the same conclusion we came to a few days ago. That’s why we altered our plans and came here immediately.”

“Have there been any attempts on my sister-in-law’s life?” Cutter asked.

Neil shook his head. “None whatsoever.”

Gabe strapped the holster to his hips. “Then I think it’s safe to say that Horace must be planning to make his move as soon as Oscar arrives.”

Neil looked at the man in amazement. “How did you get all of this information? I thought you’d left Oregon and were planning a leisurely trip east.”

“We were.” Phoebe and her husband exchanged glances. “Until another attempt was made on my life.”

Gabe’s expression grew fierce. “With the help of some friends of mine, we were able to track down the man responsible. Before his…unfortunate demise, he had the forethought to confess everything he knew.”

Neil had no doubt that Gabe had managed to wrestle the admission from the man himself.

“Apparently Oscar Haversham hired a man named Phillip Badger to oversee his plots. It was Badger who hired the first assassin sent to kill my wife. When he didn’t receive a report from his henchman, he arranged for a second man to complete the job.”

“The same gunman who offered his confession to you.”

“That’s right.”

“What about Louisa? Did he have any information on the plans made against her?”

“No, but he did offer me Badger’s address. It’s right here in Boston.”

Neil felt a hot wave of anger rush through him, followed by an icy chill of determination. “Where is he?”

Gabe gestured toward Neil’s pistols. “Are they loaded?”

“Yes.”

“Then why don’t you and I find ourselves some mounts and have a chat with Mr. Badger.”

“On three,” Gabe said with a grin.

Neil wasn’t even willing to wait that long. “Three!” he called out, lifting his foot and bringing it smashing down on the doorknob.

The force splintered the lock, causing the door to fly open and bounce against the opposite wall. Within seconds, the two men were inside the hotel room, guns drawn.

A pair of figures sprang up from the bed, one a woman who clutched a blanket in front of her and screamed. The male reached for the nightstand, but before he could retrieve the pistol that lay there, Neil had grabbed him by the hair and placed the muzzle of his own revolver at his temple.

“Don’t give me an excuse to shoot.”

The man held his arms out, his hands wide.

“Where is he?”

“Wh-who?”

“Horace Haversham.”

Badger closed his mouth, pressing his lips together mutinously, but when Neil pulled back the hammer, he sagged against him.

“H-he’s arriving in Boston later this afternoon.”

“Did he hire you to kill Phoebe Gray?” Gabe snarled.

Badger dared a slight nod. “I was to arrange it.”

“So you hired a henchman to follow her west?”

“Yes. Some old fellow who was making the voyage on the same ship said he’d do it for me.”

“He wasn’t successful, was he?”

“No. When he didn’t report, I contacted an old friend to look into things.”

“Then you hired him to kill Phoebe Gray, didn’t you?”

Badger didn’t reply, but it was obvious that Gabe had guessed correctly.

This time it was Gabe who grabbed a fistful of the man’s hair and yanked his head up.

“Anyone else?”

“N-no! He’s an ace tracker. I figured he could take care of the job!”

“Well, you thought wrong,” Gabe growled. “He’s facedown in the Snake River right now—that is, if the wolves haven’t already picked his bones clean.”

Badger paled.

“What about the other sister?”

“I don’t know what you—”

Neil dug his revolver into the man’s skin, making him cry out. “We haven’t got time for your lies. Tell us what we need to know and tell us now!”

Badger licked his lips. “Originally she was supposed to be taken care of quickly, but Haversham changed his mind. He didn’t want her dead until he could get to Boston.”

“Who?” Neil growled. “Who did you get to do the job?”

Badger began to laugh. “You’d never expect a woman to do the job, would you?”

“Who?” Neil shouted.

Badger’s face contorted into a grimace of rage. “Go to hell. Do you think you scare me? I’m a dead man anyway. I knew that the minute Haversham said he was coming to Boston. Do you think he’s going to leave any witnesses to his plots?” He laughed bitterly. “The man is feeding on rage, don’t you see? He won’t last until his brother and his nieces are dead. Then he’ll turn on the rest of us!”

Without warning, Badger lunged toward the table, grasping his revolver. Before either Gabe or Neil could react, he turned the pistol on himself and fired.

Louisa clasped her hands together as Dr. Browne opened the door of Evie’s bedroom. Bitsy—who’d been banished from the room for the examination—went racing back to the bedside of her beloved Evie.

“How is she?”

Gesturing to Louisa, Browne ushered her into the adjoining sitting room and motioned for her to take a seat.

“I’m very concerned about your stepdaughter, Mrs. Winslow.”

Louisa’s grip tightened so fiercely that her knuckles turned white.

“Can you help her?”

He nodded. “Yes, I think so. But…” He took a place on the settee beside Louisa and reached out to cover her hands with his in a comforting paternal gesture. “Mrs. Winslow, what exactly do you know about your stepdaughter’s condition?”

Louisa’s shoulders rose in a helpless shrug. “Very little, I’m afraid. I’ve been told that her mother went mad. Some say that Evie witnessed her mother’s suicide,” she began.

When she’d finished relating what she knew, Dr. Browne patted her hand, then leaned back in the settee. Stroking his goatee, he seemed to digest the information, then stood.

“I’d like your permission to take Evie’s tonic with me. Before I offer a diagnosis, I need to make a few tests to see what the tonic contains.”

Louisa’s heart pounded in her chest. “Yes, of course. Do you think she’s been improperly treated?”

Browne took a deep breath and held up a cautioning hand. “As I said, I would like to study the liquid before I make a definite statement on the matter, but from my preliminary exam, I would say that your daughter displays all of the symptoms of being drugged, and quite heavily.”