Shades of Gray (8 page)

Kat rubbed her
fingers over the yellow nightdress she wore.  “Does this gown belong to that
woman?” she asked.

Laura fluffed
a second pillow and placed it behind Kat’s head.  Her lips pursed the same way
Gray’s had when he talked about something uncomfortable.  “It does,” she
answered, her voice flat and matter-of-fact.

“Since the
woman’s portrait is in Gray’s room, she must have meant something special to
him.”

Laura stared
down her nose at Kat.  She lifted a brow and sighed as though she was asked to
choose between divulging a deathly secret or forced to walk the plank.  “Her
name is Daria,” she admitted.  “She was Gray’s wife.”

Apparently
this information was the lesser of the two choices.  Kat gave a wide-eyed
blink.  How does a person respond to news like that while wearing the woman’s
nightdress and lying in her husband’s bed?

Kat
swallowed.  She would need clarification.  “Was?”

Laura gathered
the soiled bedding.  It was clear she would be exiting the room and
conversation within minutes.  “Yes,” she said.  “Daria passed away.  It was a
difficult time for all of us.”  She moved to the door, holding the linens in
front of her like a shield.  “I feared for Gray’s sanity during the time.  Many
people in town actually thought he had gone insane.”

“It must have
been difficult for him,” Kat said, offering the only words of comfort she could
think of.  “Was her death sudden?”

Laura placed
her hand on the knob.  A faraway looked filled her eyes and she looked as
though she relived a traumatic part of the event.  “Daria was murdered,” she
finally whispered.  She pulled the door open and stepped into the hallway.  “It
looks like we’re in for a bad storm.  I need to secure the windows in the rest
of the house.  I’ll look in on you later.”  Tears welled in her eyes as she
pulled the door closed.

Kat stared at
the closed entryway.  The temperature in the room seemed to fall tremendously,
and she shivered.  Within a few brief seconds, the warm and cozy space had
transformed into a cold and sterile tomb.  It was no wonder that Gray had no
desire to remain here.

Kat swept her
gaze from the door to the dresser top.  Although filled with personal items,
the heart of the possessions was missing.  Laid in the bottom of a drawer,
Laura had hidden the main reminder of happier times.  Gray had kept it out of
sight but within easy reach.  He was not as ready as his mother to move on from
the past. 

Kat thought
about the image in the frame.  Love and longing was clearly evident on Daria’s
face.  But why would a woman show that much raw emotion?  Those types of
intimate expressions were generally reserved for only one person, not shared
with an artist.  Kat paused in thought.  Laura said Daria had been murdered. 
Portraits can record more than an image frozen in time.  Was it possible that
the portrait revealed more than a drawing of a pretty woman? 

Kat flipped
back the covers and hobbled to the dresser.  She cast a quick glance over her
shoulder and then tugged the drawer open.  The sound of wood grating against
wood seemed to be loud enough to be heard throughout the house.  Diving deep
into the clothing, she pulled the frame into the opening.  Tilting it backward,
she inspected the lower right hand corner.  There was no signature, only a
smudge of grey paint. 

She lowered
the portrait, resting her hand on a stack of white shirts.  Who was the
artist?  Closing the drawer, she returned the frame to where she saw Gray place
it several nights ago.  She repositioned the glass containers and limped back
to bed. 

Lightning
flickered outside her door, and thunder rattled the windows.  She crawled into
the center of the mattress and snuggled down into the blankets.  A gnawing
thought unnerved her.  Was the artist Daria’s murderer or were the townspeople
correct?  Had Gray discovered an unfaithful wife, gone insane, and killed the
woman he loved?

Chapter 9

Gray climbed
the front stairs to the Mullins’ estate.  Scaling the risers two at a time, he
gained momentum as he mounted the landing.  The sculptured lion’s head,
prominent on the mahogany door, held no intimidation.  He clasped the matching
handle and twisted it free of the latch.  There was no need for the bronze ring
hanging from the doorknocker’s mouth.  He would announce his own entry.

“Reece!” he
shouted.  His throat strained with the intensity of his yell.  “Whaire are ya,
man?  Show yourself.”  He stormed through the foyer and started up the stairs. 

“Sir,” a voice
called from behind him.  Abrupt and shrill, the pitch in the woman’s tone was
distinct and authoritative.  She was clearly accustomed to being in charge and
having her orders carried out to the letter.

Gray stopped
on the third step and turned.  Below him, a middle-aged woman stood on the
ground floor, her hands locked on her well rounded hips.  She shifted her
shoulders as though she tried to shake the last of her meal into place.  She
flicked a quick glance down the hallway and then redirected her attention back
to Gray. 

“Please, sir. 
I must ask that you lower your voice.  It’s bad enough that you have entered my
master’s home uninvited.  I must insist that you remain civil while under his
roof.  May I ask what business you have here?”

“You may
not.”  Gray raced down the stairs and hurried in the direction the housekeeper
had looked.  There could be only one reason why someone with as much control as
she obviously had would peer over her shoulder. 

His arm
brushed against her shoulder as he passed by.  He turned the corner and scanned
the rooms as he moved toward the end of the hall.  The clicking sound of
leather heels striking marble floor assured him that her quick steps followed
behind him as closely as a summer shadow.

“Please. 
Sir.”  Nervousness entered her words, and she sounded as though she begged for
his compassion.  “I must insist that you not go about the house unescorted. 
There is a protocol that must be followed.”

Gray poked his
head into another room and paused.  So far there was no sign of Reece.  The
duteous housekeeper stepped between him and the remaining door, located a few
steps further down the hall.  She licked her tongue across parched looking lips
and dabbed a cloth to her flushed face. 

“If you would
be so kind to wait in the foyer, I will inform Mr. Mullins that he has a
visitor.”  Her hazel eyes seemed to float amidst a sea of pasty skin.  She
breathed hard, waiting for his response.

He couldn’t
help but admire her dedication to her position, but Reece would not have the
advantage.  Gray touched his hand to her arm and leaned in.  “If you would
prefer a moment to busy yourself elsewhere, I will make it plain that you are
not at fault for my intrusion.” 

Her brows drew
together and her shoulders slumped.  He patted her cheek, stepped past her, and
moved down the hall.  Rage and vengeance called his steps to the door on the
right.  His muscles tightened and he snatched the handle as though he gripped a
venomous snake.  Twisting the metal sharply, he imagined hearing the last gasps
of a stretched throat collapsing beneath his grasp.  He flung the door open and
barged in.  

Air swirled
into the area and stirred the musty stench of the room.  Although the drapes
were pulled open, all of the windows were closed.  Circulation was apparently
of little concern.  A brisk, cross breeze would not cool Gray’s temper.  He
glanced around the room, looking for the occupant.  As though relying on a
sixth sense, he knew Reece was here. 

The floor’s
polished wood glistened in the sunlight.  The little woman, who stood behind
Gray, huffing her breath like a neglected teakettle, should take pride in her
work.  Anchored on the side of the room, an ornate desk with spiraled legs and
an intricate basket weave design held the center of the space.  Crouched behind
it, the top of Reece’s head poked above a scattered pile of loose papers. 
Hopefully, the man wasn’t searching for a pistol. 

Gray would
watch for the first sign of metal.  He preferred a less cowardly way to settle
disputes, preferring his fists to repeatedly impact his opponent’s ribs.  He
almost hoped Reece would do something foolish.  His hands clenched, readying
for an assault. 

Reece stood to
his feet.  His hair hung loose around his shoulders like a new mop head, and
his shirt lay open at the neck.  From his disorderly appearance, he looked as
frazzled as his servant.  His focus stayed on his desk and he continued to pull
papers from the open drawers. 

“I’m sorry,
sir,” the servant hurried to apologize.  “I tried to stop him.”  She moved in
front of Gray and cast him a disdainful glare. 

Reece flicked
his hand and waved her off.  “It’s okay, Milly.  I’ll see to our guest now.”

With a quick
bob, Milly turned to leave, smirking at Gray as she closed the door.

“I see that
your temper is as crude as ever,” Reece said.  He flopped onto his chair and
sifted through the papers on top of the stack.  “Are you aware that your words
become almost unrecognizable when you are irked?  When will you Scots learn to
annunciate clearly?”  He laid his hands on a small mound of pages and stopped his
sorting.  “Where’s my fiancée, Grayson?”   

“She is safe,
which is not how I found her.”

“Found her? 
You fire a rifle at me and then keep me from my property.”  He slammed the desk
drawer closed and made no effort to catch the falling pages.  Reece stood
behind the desk.  His nostrils flared and his breathing became short and
ragged.  He brought his hands behind his back and seemed to tuck them into his
waistband.

Gray crossed
his arms over his chest and squared his shoulders.  Intimidation and unscrupulous
behavior had always been Reece’s means of strength.  Machiavellian in practice,
Reece made an added effort to not only gain the upper hand, but to cripple his
opponent in the process.  It was no wonder he had to import a bride from an
ocean away. 

No local
father, even those who were destitute, would allow their daughter to entertain
the thought of a future with Reece Mullins.  As much as this was a commonality
among the town residents, this shared repulsion had not stopped the residents
from believing Reece when he accused Gray of killing Daria.  Gray had added
mass coercion to Reece’s deceitful practices.    

“I’m here to
talk about Kat. . . Katherine.”

Reece’s chin
dropped to his chest and his brows shot upward.  An evil grin spread across his
sallow face.  “Kat, is it?  Nicknames, so soon?  How quaint.  And what does she
call you?  Laddie?”  He laughed, thoroughly amused.

Gray walked to
the desk and leaned his weight on balled fists.  His arms and neck bulged with
explosive energy, anxious to be deployed.  He considered his words and spoke
with precision.  “You’ll leave her alone.  If it’s her fare you want, I’ll pay
it.  Tell me the amount.”

Stepping
backward, Reece pushed the chair from behind him, distancing himself from
Gray.  Wood scrapped across the waxed surface.  With one shove on the man’s
shoulder, Gray could send Reece backward over the chair and headlong through
the window. 

Reece must
have read Gray’s thoughts, for he kicked the chair to the side and stepped to
the middle of the desk.  “Oh, you’ll pay,” Reece said.  “But, not for her
fare.”

Gray’s jaw
twitched and he twisted his fists, grinding the paper into the desk.  The pulp
squeaked and creased into a crumpled wad, the integrity of the page no longer
decipherable, much the way he intended to leave Kat’s relationship with Reece. 
From where Gray stood, he could leap over the desk and end Reece’s life before
he could utter a sound.  Did he really think a Plantation desk would protect
him?

Reece leaned
forward, seeming to welcome the challenge, and the side of Gray’s mouth pulled
into a smile.  “There’s no need for your visit,” Reece said.  “The chit will
return to my house and serve my purpose, and you will not prevent it.”  His
eyes met Gray’s and flickered with devilment.  “Just like last time,” he
sneered.

Gray launched
himself over the top of the desk, his hands cupped in front of him.  Reece
pulled his hand into the open, a heavy object in his fist.  Ready for the black
barrel that Reece drew from behind his back, Gray shoved him backward, slamming
his arm against the window pane.  The glass shattered, and the pistol fell to
the floor.  Gray kicked the weapon to the side.  It skittered to a stop in the
center of the room.  If there was to be a fight, it would be fought on a level
battlefield. 

Mental
calculations registered in Reece’s eyes as he seemed to consider his next
move.  Gray was two inches taller and with a longer reach, but Reece was
shiftless and willing to fight by any means handy.  He swung his free hand and
Gray ducked, twisting Reece’s arm behind his back.  Shoving his adversary’s
face into the desk, Gray pushed his hand into Reece’s spine and yanked his
caught wrist upward.

Gray leaned
forward, his lip snarling.  “Perhaps you misunderstand the reason for my visit. 
I didn’t come here to bargain for land.”  His voice held level.

Reece squirmed
beneath him, and his feet shuffled on the floor as though he tried to gain his
footing.  “Then give me back my property and you may leave,” he ground out. 

Gray leaned
into the other man, pushing harder.  Reece grunted and swung his free arm up
and over his shoulder.  He stabbed the air blindly.  Out of the corner of
Gray’s eye, light glinted off of a reflective object.  He jerked backward. 
Pain sliced through his bottom lip.  He released his hold, and Reece twisted
his body away from him.  Red liquid dripped from the wide shard of broken glass
he held in his hand.  There was no need for Gray to touch his mouth.  Blood
flowed freely down his chin and onto his shirt.

“Katherine
will be my wife,” Reece choked out between short breaths.  “And you will
deliver her to me.  Do you understand, Scot?”

Gray glared at
him, his fists already balled.

Reece flicked
a glance to Gray’s half-cocked arms.  “And if you don’t,” Reece continued. 
“Everyone will learn the truth about Daria.”

Gray lowered
his head, shouting a war cry as he ran.  His shoulder caught Reece at the base
of the ribs, lifting the man off his feet.  Air huffed from Reece’s chest, and
they both fell to the floor.  Gray straddled the weasel of a man and pounded
his pinched face with both fists. 

Blackness
flashed across Gray’s vision and eclipsed Reece’s bruised face, wobbling
beneath him.  Gray shook himself and opened his eyes.  Twin pistol barrels
merged into one.  Gray raised his gaze over the leveled gun.  Reece’s hazel
eyes crossed as he sighted his target.  Gray leaned back and caught his
breath.  So this was how it would be.  He swung his arm across Reece’s chest,
catching the barrel with the back of his hand.  Tossing it to the side, he
grabbed Reece by the shirt, and yanked his shoulders off the floor.  Reece’s
eyes widened.  He cast a quick glance in the direction of the discarded weapon
and then stared up at Gray.  Fear was prominent in Reece’s startled, hazel depths.

Gray shook him
to make sure he was alert.  “Women are not chattel.”  He spoke in clear and
distinct tones.  “I may not know how to clip my words to sound like a beetle
the way you do, but every Scotsman knows the difference between property and
treasure.  We also know to load a pistol before aiming it.”  He shoved Reece’s
shoulders back to the floor and stood to leave.  “Kat will return to you if it
is her choosing, and not until.”  Satisfied with their meeting, Gray moved to
the door and Reece staggered to his feet. 

“Give me the
mineral rights, Grayson, or I’ll take everything from you.  Everything!  Do you
hear me?”

Without
turning around or acknowledging Reece’s demand, Gray threw the door open and
stepped into the hallway.

“The rights,
Grayson!” Reece roared from inside the room.  “GRAYSON!”

Gray exited
the house and stepped onto the front steps.  He touched his finger to his lip. 
At least, the swelling had squelched the blood flow.  Wiping his hand on his
shirt, he looked at the stone-carved lions resting on either side of the
staircase.  He smiled slowly, despite the sharp pain in his lip.  The creatures
were as terrifying as their owner.