Strangers at Dawn (37 page)

She took a step toward him and looped her arms around his neck. “Make love to me, Max,” she whispered huskily. “Take me to bed and make love to me.”

Something inside Max quietly died. She should have slapped him for his taunts and insults; she should have ordered him from her room. Instead, she had lowered herself to the level of a prostitute.

He had no intention of taking it further. He was going to yawn, stagger to the bed, and let events overtake them. But the need to hurt her as much as she had hurt him was driving him hard, and when her lips touched his, his arms came around her in a crushing embrace.

His mouth was hot and hard and cruelly demanding. This wasn’t what she expected. She hadn’t drugged him. All she’d done was unleash something wild in his nature that she hadn’t known existed.

She went limp in his arms, hoping that would placate him, but his mouth roamed down her throat to the soft swell of her breasts. He dispensed with her dressing robe and tore open the front of her nightgown, then slipped it from her shoulders so that it slithered to the floor.

“Look at you,” he said, “ripe for me.”

He filled his hands with her breasts, then laved her nipples with tongue and lips and teeth till she was shivering with need.

His mouth was on hers again, his tongue thrusting and withdrawing in a way she had never imagined a man could kiss a woman. His hands moved over her, touching, taking, and she was moaning her pleasure into his mouth.

With his mouth still consuming hers, he lifted her in his arms and carried her to the bed. There was no tenderness in him, no gentleness, no giving. He was so aggressive in his masculinity that she should have been afraid. She was anything
but afraid. He had stirred something in her as well, something she hadn’t known existed until now.

He loved her as he’d never loved her before, demanding total control of her body. And all that was feminine in her nature beat through her blood in answering fire. He allowed her no modesty, and she felt no shame. With his hands and mouth he learned every inch of her intimately, and she abandoned herself to pleasure. To want like this drove everything from her mind but him.

He stripped out of his clothes and kneeled above her. She looked up at him, helplessly lost in sensation. As their eyes locked, she sensed his hesitation.

“Max?”

He spoke harshly, “Let’s not spoil things with words.”

For a moment, a look of pain softened the harsh tension in his face. “My God,” he muttered, “what am I doing?”

He suddenly wrenched himself away from her and flung himself to the other side of the bed. With his back to her, shoulders hunched, he tried to even his harsh breathing.

He did not look at her. “I apologize,” he said. “No man should treat his wife in that shameless way. I don’t know what came over me.”

The hurt spread through her in waves. His words turned what to her had been a beautiful experience into something sordid, and she was ashamed.

“It was the … the brandy,” she said.

He sighed and drew the coverlet over them. “Was it the brandy? I wonder.”

She turned on her side, away from him.
It was the laudanum,
she thought, but she hadn’t ingested any laudanum or brandy. So what was her excuse?.

She lay there quietly, listening. The laudanum had started to take effect. Max’s chest was rising and falling; his breathing was soft and even. She waited until she had command of her emotions, then she slipped from the bed and began to dress.

W
HEN THE DOOR CLOSED SOFTLY AFTER HER,
Max was up like a shot. He dragged on his shirt and trousers, then his coat, and picked up his boots. Once he reached the landing, he listened. As he’d hoped, she’d taken the servants’ staircase. She’d have to retrace her steps because he’d had the foresight to lock the door into the back hall. It would slow her down and give him time to get there first.

When he got outside, he put on his boots. Peter Fallon came out of the shadows to meet him. “All set?” asked Max.

“I’m not much good with a gun.” Peter held up the pistol Max had given him.

“Then you’d better take care,” said Max, “because Sara will be armed and I bet she knows how to use a pistol.”

Peter said incredulously, “She’d shoot me?”

“Not if she knew it was you, but how could she tell in the dark? Remember, your job is to follow her and see that no harm comes to her. Don’t enter the dower house. Wait outside until I call you.”

“You’re sure she’ll go to the dower house?”

“I’m sure,” said Max savagely.

S
HE ENTERED THE DOWER HOUSE SO STEALTHILY
and soundlessly that he was almost caught in the light of her lantern. He was positioned just inside the doorway behind a massive beam that still supported part of a ceiling. He’d been right about the pistol. He caught the gleam of it as she passed him.

He quickly pulled back when she turned her head. She was careful, looking every way to make sure she wasn’t being followed. Most women would have been terrified to come out alone at night after someone had already attacked them. But Sara must think the risks were worth it.

He knew why she was here. There would be a small cell, a hiding place for a priest, or a body, but he hadn’t a clue where to look. He’d already gone over the house and tried every nook and cranny. He’d pulled on decorative bricks and metal rods and handles; he’d examined the floor for a trapdoor. Anything. There was nothing.

Without Sara, he would never find it.

He had a few bad moments when he lost sight of her. She’d moved past the great stone fireplace to the back of the house. He would give her a minute or two, he decided, then he’d go after her. But she wasn’t gone for more than a few seconds. Careful Sara. Once again, she’d been checking to make sure that she was alone.

Her steps took her to the stone hearth, to the fireplace with the inglenook on either side, and here, she put down her lantern and pistol. Max’s heart picked up speed. In his own search, he’d come back to the fireplace time and again. It seemed like the logical place. But he hadn’t had any luck. He hadn’t found a door or anything out of the ordinary except the decorative bricks high on the walls of the inglenooks. He’d tried to twist or turn and pull every one, and he’d been stymied.

Sara had moved into the inglenook on the left of the fireplace. He didn’t know what the hell she was doing. She seemed to be climbing the wall. She must be out of her mind. She was going to overbalance. Her arm reached up for a handhold. There was a sound of metal sliding on metal, then a dull thud, and Sara jumped down.

So that’s it,
thought Max. There was a sequence to the mechanism for opening the door. Sara had used her foot, waited a second or two, then pulled on one of the decorative bricks. Ingenious. No wonder neither he nor the officers of the law who had searched the house had found it.

It was time to make his move, before she got to her pistol.

“Sara,” he said, and stepped into the light.

He gave her credit for cool nerves. Or maybe she was just frozen like a terrified rabbit.

“It’s Max,” he said, and slowly, slowly, began to cross the distance between them.

She stood her ground. The nearer he got, however, the more he could see the emotions flash in her eyes-shock, fear, and finally, the ironclad control that never failed to rattle him.

Her chin went up. “You didn’t drink the brandy I gave you.”

“You mean the laudanum.” He couldn’t keep the bitterness from his voice. “No, I didn’t drink it.”

Her eyes faltered. “Then what …? You wanted to humiliate me. The laudanum had nothing to do with it.”

He might have felt ashamed if he weren’t still burning from the knowledge that she’d tried to drug him. If her pride was bruised, his was crushed. “I wondered how far you would go to keep me in that room.” He made a bow that was so exaggerated it was insulting. “Even I didn’t expect you to go that far, Sara. What can I say except that your eagerness made me forget the respect I owe my wife?”

Her brow lifted. “Then my sacrifice was in vain, was it not?”

Her contempt stung, but this had gone on long enough. He picked up her pistol and pocketed it. He looked at the fireplace, from inglenook to inglenook. There was no entrance to a secret chamber.

“Where is it, Sara?” he asked.

Her head drooped. “On the other side of the fireplace. But before you go in there, I want to confess that I and no one else murdered William Neville. Do you understand? I murdered William.”

No shock registered on Max’s face. He said casually, “Oh, I understand more than you think.” He picked up the lantern. “Don’t even think of running away.”

She let out a choked laugh. “Where would I go that the
Courier
would not follow? You should be proud of yourself, Max. You vowed to find the final resting place of William Neville, and you’ve succeeded.”

“Sara-”

She turned her back on him. He stared at that rigid spine for a long moment, then uttering a soft oath, he walked around the fireplace. The opening was on the floor hard by the wall. It wasn’t necessary to enter it. He went on his knees and lowered the lantern through the opening. The room was about six feet square. Several people could have hidden in it, but it wasn’t high enough for an adult to stand upright. There were cobwebs in plenty. But there was nothing else.

This was not William Neville’s final resting place.

He went back to Sara. She was sitting on the floor with her knees drawn up to her chin. Her head was resting on her knees. She looked up at him.

“So you found him,” she said tonelessly.

“No, Sara. The room is empty. No William Neville. Nothing.”

For a moment it seemed that she didn’t understand. Her face was frozen. She didn’t breathe. Suddenly she came to life. With a little cry, she scrambled to her feet and ran to the opening in the wall. Max followed her.

“Take the lantern and have a look,” he said.

She took the lantern from him, went down on her knees, and lowered it through the gap in the floor. When she pulled back and set the lantern down, her shoulders were heaving.

She sat down, knees drawn up, with her back against the stone wall. Her face was showing her fatigue. “What does it mean?” she whispered.
“What does it meant”

Max longed to
pull
her into his arms and tell her that everything would be all right. But it wasn’t all right. Until she
told him the whole truth, until they knew what had happened to William, she would never be free.

He said quietly, “William came to the dower house that night.”

She nodded, and used the sleeve of her coat to wipe the tears that had begun to leak from her eyes.

“Tell me what happened.”

“I’ve told you most of it already. I was upstairs nursing Anne. William had sent for me that morning. Anne was miscarrying. He’d beaten her, you see. She needed someone to nurse her. I think William felt guilty. He always felt guilty when he was sober. That’s why he didn’t stay. He couldn’t face me. He went to get the doctor, then he went to the local tavern to fortify himself with drink. I made up my mind, then, that I would kill him before I’d let him lay a hand on Anne again.

“He arrived home drunk and in a furious temper. He’d heard I was going to marry Francis. He knew what that meant. The marriage contracts were being drawn up. I’d instructed my lawyers to provide for Anne so that William could never touch the capital. He’d heard about it and was crazy with rage. He had gambling debts, he said. He had to have the money right away. But this time, I couldn’t help him. He wouldn’t believe me and threatened to hurt Anne.

“I barred him from going up the stairs. If I’d been thinking straight, I would have had a pistol and put a bullet in his brain. But all I had was my own strength. And, my God, I used it.”

When she put her face on her knees and began to weep in great wrenching sobs, he put a hand on her shoulder to draw her into his arms, but she violently shied away.

Max let his hand drop. His face was starkly white.

She scrubbed her face with her hands. “I was no match for him, of course. He felled me with one blow and threw me against the fireplace wall.” Her voice tightened, but she
did not waver. “I picked up the poker and went after him as he climbed the stairs.”

Max felt his world tilt on its axis. He looked at what was left of the staircase, a few stumps that had once supported, he imagined, a solid, intricately carved oak staircase. He could see William climbing the stairs. What better way to hurt Sara than to take his vile temper out on the sister she loved. The fury pumped through his blood and lodged in his throat.

She stared down at her hands.
“I
hit him,” she said, “on the back. Then he turned and came after me. I remember hearing Anne crying out and something fell and shattered on the floor upstairs.” She wouldn’t look at Max, couldn’t look at him, so she closed her eyes. “I hit him again and again. Suddenly, I realized he wasn’t going to get up and come after me, so I threw the poker away.”

She took a long, steadying breath and cleared her throat. “I don’t know how long I stood there petrified, staring down at him. Finally, I went down on my knees to check his injuries. There was a deep gash on his forehead, and the blood was soaking into his neckcloth. I think he must have fallen against the fender. I don’t know. I felt his pulse. Nothing. I couldn’t hear him breathing. My one thought, then, believe it or not, was to save him.

“I was panic-stricken.” She scrubbed her face again, and waited a moment before going on. “I ran to the kitchen, to the pantry where Anne kept the medicine box. I was looking for smelling salts. I gathered towels and a basin of cold water and a bottle of brandy. I couldn’t have been gone for more than a few minutes. When I ran into the hall, there was no sign of William.”

When it looked as though she wouldn’t say more, he said quietly; “Then what made you think William’s body was in the priest’s hole?” Still no response, so he went on, “Did Anne kill him?”