The Scoundrel's Bride (44 page)

“Yes,” Henrietta said tearfully. “He’s with my husband at our home. E.J. sent me away, he said he didn’t want me to hear their conversation.”

Morality’s heart clenched in fear.
Zach. Oh, dear Lord
!

Zach was in terrible danger.

“Mrs. Marston, you must take me to your house. Immediately!”

The older woman dabbed at her eyes. “But I don’t know—”

Morality grabbed her arm and tugged her toward the door. “You must. We’ve no time to waste, Mrs. Marston. Hurry, please!”

As Morality rushed her outside, a crack of thunder deafened her ears. Thunder sounding entirely too much like a gunshot.

The women rushed through town. Henrietta led the way through back alleys, claiming that was the quickest way home. Fat raindrops splattered the walk as they climbed the front steps to the big white house built atop the highest hill in Cottonwood Creek.

Morality’s heart pounded as Henrietta opened the front door. Taking a deep breath, she followed the older woman inside. Their heels clicked against the hardwood floor and the sound echoed through the wide, high-ceilinged entry hall. Morality listened intently for voices, praying to hear Zach’s. Silence hung as heavy and as ominous as the sky outside.

Henrietta disappeared inside one room, but reappeared before Morality could follow. “They are upstairs,” she said, nodding toward the staircase. “E.J. prefers to have his meetings in the privacy of the cupola.” She gestured for Morality to precede her, and they started up the stairs.

Halfway up the second and third flights, Morality’s spine began to tingle. She felt a prickling sensation on the back of her neck. Her steps slowed and the unthinking panic that had guided her actions abated as her mind went back to work.

Oh, Lord, she prayed. I think I might have made a big mistake
. After taking a bracing breath, she glanced back over her shoulder.

“You stupid girl.” Henrietta Marston wore an evil smile, and her eyes glowed with a hellish, demonic light.

In her hand she carried a Colt revolver pointed at Morality’s back.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

ZACH GLARED AT STEPHEN and Rosalee Carstairs. “What do you mean, she isn’t here? Have you looked outside lately? There’s a storm bearing down on us.” He glanced out of the window at the churning clouds and muttered a string of curses beneath his breath. “Where did she go?”

“Looking for you. She’s upset. She needed you.” Rosalee turned to her husband, her eyes wide with worry. “We should have stopped her, Stephen. Oh, I can’t bear this!”

A sense of impending danger pricked Zach like a bull-nettle necklace. Grimly, he said, “Why don’t you folks tell me what happened.”

The storm outside couldn’t match the tempest gathering inside Zach as he listened to the tale the Carstairs related. He took the news of his father’s identity like a punch to the gut, and then he realized what his mother had tried to tell him in those last few moments of her life. Not “win,” as in “fight to win,” but “Win.” Ed
win
.

His gaze rested on Rosalee, and he saw clearly the resemblance between this woman and his wife. Poor angel. What was she feeling? She must be confused and angry and thrilled all at once. Her mother. And wasn’t it crazy how her problems had become intertwined with his? Mothers and fathers and strange twists of fate. Life took surprising turns sometimes.

As he listened to the story of Harrison’s evil acts, a cold fury settled in his bones. Hell. No wonder Morality had run. God
damn
that Harrison.

“I’m going after her,” Zach said, even as the sky opened up and a deluge of rain fell to earth. “I reckon she’s at my office, snug and dry, but it won’t hurt anything for me to check.”

Neither of the Carstairs protested his decision as he lifted an oilskin from a hook beside the door. Rosalee laid a hand upon his arm. “You’ll see that she’s all right? You’ll take care of my daughter, protect her?”

He nodded. “With my life, Rosalee. With my life.”

E.J. MARSTON handed his grandson back to his daughter, saying, “It sounds like the rain has stopped. I’d best be going before it begins again. You know how these storms often roll through in waves.”

Ginnie pressed a kiss to her baby’s forehead, then said to her father, “I’m glad you stopped by, Papa.” She paused for a moment, then added. “This estrangement between us has weighed heavily on my heart.”

“Yes, mine also.” He nodded solemnly. “It’s strange. The events of the past weeks have caused me to question a number of things about my life. Business that was important to me before no longer is, and other things I paid little attention to have come to mean so much.”

“Now if we could get Mother to see the light.”

E.J. snorted. “Now you are hoping for a miracle, Virginia.”

She lifted her shoulders. “Well, miracles can happen.” She pinned him with a steady gaze and added, “Just ask Morality Burkett.”

E.J. grimaced. “Don’t rush me, girl. I’m making an effort, but a man doesn’t change a thirty-year way of thinking overnight. Now, I’d best be on my way. This lull in the storm won’t last long.”

ZACH DISCOVERED an unlocked door and an open file drawer at his office, but no Morality. He tried Eulalie’s house, the Mercantile, and then Virginia Drake’s house.

“I haven’t seen her, Zach,” Ginnie said. “My father was here up until a few minutes ago, and his buggy was out front. I doubt she’d have come in if she recognized it.”

“You might try Louise’s. There’s a meeting of the Literary Society at her house. Morality might be there.”

He rushed over to Joshua’s. “I may be wrong, Mr. Burkett,” Permelia Scott said over her cup of tea. “But I might have seen your wife walking with Henrietta Marston toward Season’s House. I can’t be certain, because the women I saw were walking in an alley, and I can’t picture the congressman’s wife in an alley.”

Icy fear crept over Zach. Harrison had blackmailed one of the Marstons, and Harrison was dead. Somebody had killed Reverend Rake-It-In, and Edwin James Marston had the strongest motive.

Morality was with the man’s wife, headed toward their house.
Oh, hell
. Morality may well be with the killer.

“TELL ME where the letter is!” Henrietta demanded, one hand gripping the mahogany banister that encircled the opening in the cupola’s floor, the other keeping the gun pointed at Morality’s heart. “Tell me now!”

Morality fixed her gaze on the gun.
Delay
, she told herself.
Delay long enough and someone might find you
.

“You’re dead anyway, you know. But if you don’t tell me where the letter is, I’ll go after that boy you think so highly of. What’s his name, Patrick?”

Morality gasped. “He’s a child! You couldn’t hurt a child!”

Henrietta smiled a demon’s smile. “Sure I can. I paid two men to kill Sarah Burkett and her bastard. I don’t mind doing the deed myself, either. I shot your uncle, damn his cold, extorting heart.”

The ramifications of her confession widened Morality’s eyes. This woman was responsible for Zach’s mother’s death—not his father as he’d always thought. And Henrietta Marston had killed Reverend Uncle. This woman
was
evil enough to do all Morality’s loved ones harm. “Why? Why did you do it?” she asked, not really wanting to know, but it was the best way she could think of to buy time.

“Why?” The politician’s wife cackled like a fairy-tale witch. “Edwin loved his servant girl. He sulked for years after we sent her off to Texas. Then he got caught up in those stock-fraud shenanigans in Virginia, and we had to leave the state. I knew that if the bitch were still in Cottonwood Creek when we came to Texas, it would be only a matter of time before he took up with her again.”

A sneer contorted her face. “That’s why he never liked the bastard, you know. The baby cost him his Sarah. I wouldn’t stand for having the child within a hundred miles of my family, and time has proved me right. Just look at how that Burkett Bastard has influenced my Virginia since he came to town. I’m thrilled he’ll soon be dead.”

“You can’t do this.”

Henrietta ignored the interruption. “Or were you asking about your uncle? We can’t forget him. He was dead the moment he attempted to blackmail the congressman, but I simply waited for a time I could kill two birds—pin the murder on the bastard. It almost worked. It would have if that damnable Eastern financier hadn’t interfered.”

Morality sent a quick prayer of thanks heavenward for the fortuitous presence of her mother’s husband.

“It doesn’t matter,” Henrietta continued, the evil glow in her eyes flaring brighter. “I’ll get him yet. I’m thinking he just might commit suicide in his grief over his loving wife’s death.”

She’d kill Zach and make it look like suicide. Morality prayed for the right words to reach this woman.

Henrietta waved the gun about. “Once I have the letter and you and your lovey are both dead, this nastiness will all be over. We’ll win the election and return to Washington. There’s a war coming, you know, and the war will be our ticket to the White House. I feel it in my bones.” She aimed the gun at Morality’s heart. “Where’s the letter, Miracle Girl?”

A streak of red lightning cut across the cupola’s summer window as Morality took a breath to speak. She’d had an idea, and she prayed the risk would pay off. “My mother has it. She’s read it too, Mrs. Marston. Both she and her husband have read the letter. I’m not the only one who knows that Zach is your husband’s son. It’s all over. They’ll have told everyone by now. I’m certain the news has traveled as fast as this storm.”

“That’s a weak lie, Miracle Girl. You don’t have a mother. Everyone knows that.”

“I’m telling you the truth. Rosalee Carstairs is my mother and she knows all. It’s over, Mrs. Marston!”

“No.” She shook her head. “I have to think. I need time to think.”

She looked wild, half out of her mind, and Morality thought it worth the gamble to try for the stairs. She edged toward them.
So far, so good
. A little closer.
Please, Lord! Only a few steps away, now. You’ll have to be careful. She’ll have a shot at you even if she doesn’t follow.
As quietly as possible, Morality moved to the stairs.

“Stop right where you are.”

Morality’s heart sank as Henrietta made a show of cocking the pistol. Then the older woman reached behind her, and her hands fumbled for a latch along the blue glass wall. The door whipped open and a cold, wet gale blew inside. “Get out there.” We’ll rename it the widower’s walk in your honor after the wind blows you away.”

Morality knew she wouldn’t last five minutes outside. Lightning struck all around them, and the winds buffeted the house, shaking the very walls. She’d have no protection. It was now or never.

She sprang toward Henrietta Marston.

E.J. MARSTON thought about his daughter as he drove his buggy from her home to his. He also thought about his son.

Zach Burkett had grown to be a powerful man. From the moment he’d learned of the extortion attempt, E.J. had believed his bastard son had masterminded the plot, using Harrison to do his dirty work. The pieces fit together nice and neat; Harrison worked on Louise, Burkett played the part of bad-boy-turned-good, and the girl, Morality, gave the act the appearance of being legitimate. It had all the markings of a well-planned, well-executed act of revenge, and E.J. had no trouble believing Burkett had set it up.

It was just the sort of plan that he, himself, might have concocted. Of course, he’d never have stooped to murder, and Burkett had up and admitted to that particular crime.

Be honest, Win
, his conscience prodded. If, as rumor had it, the men whom Burkett had killed were the same men responsible for Sarah’s death, then he might well have pulled the trigger, too.

But circumstances were different when it came to Harrison’s murder. Killing a man in cold blood couldn’t be compared to defending the life of a loved one. That’s why he’d pushed so hard to have Burkett convicted. A thimblerigger wasn’t owed a fair trial.

It had been during the trial that he’d first come to suspect he’d been wrong about his son. He’d watched Burkett watching his wife, and he’d been reminded of Sarah. The love shining in his son’s blue eyes was a replica of the look Sarah Burkett had once bestowed upon him. The young housemaid he’d seduced had loved him, and he’d loved her in return. But not enough.

He’d given her up. He’d given up love for a political career.
Damn me for the fool that I’ve been
.

Having recognized Sarah’s light in the eyes of her son, E.J. had known that Zach was innocent. Harrison’s killing had been cold-blooded murder. A son of his might be able to do it, but no son of Sarah’s ever could.

The wind picked up, signaling the arrival of yet another wave of rain as E.J. approached Season’s House. Within minutes thunder boomed, lightning lighted the sky, and pea-sized hail bounced in the grass. He held his hat down and fought both the wind and the hill. He was soaked to the skin by the time he climbed the front steps and opened his front door.

E.J. shrugged out of his jacket and hung it on a hall tree before heading for his study and a whiskey. Out of habit, as he crossed beneath the domed opening that was Season’s House’s crowning glory, he lifted his head to wish upon the stars painted on the cupola’s ceiling.

Henrietta was struggling with another woman, with Morality Burkett. “Good God!” he shouted, his voice rising above the sound of the storm. “What is going on up there?”

HAIL POUNDED the earth. Gales of wind ripped signs from buildings and limbs from hundred-year-old oaks. Gusts upended water barrels, sending them spilling and rolling down the street to careen wildly against anything in their paths. On the bayou, riverboats banged against one another, and the ominous crash and crack of wood sent deckhands rushing out into the fury to secure the lines.

Zach fought the wind and the rain and the hail. Most of all, he fought time. He had to get to Season’s House. Fast.