The Third Heiress (23 page)

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Authors: Brenda Joyce

BOOK: The Third Heiress
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“I’m sure I don’t want to hear it,” Jill said, meaning it.
“I’m giving it anyway.” He met her gaze. His was, as usual, far too penetrating. “Timing is a funny thing. Sometimes chances present themselves only once. The brave know when to seize the moment.”
“I’m not brave.”
“No?” He smiled, and it was genuine. “That’s a crock, Jill.”
She looked away from him. His arm remained extended across her chest, his hand remained on her door. She wasn’t brave. He was wrong. She was a coward, because he was different from Hal in every way, and she was afraid, afraid of a one-night stand, afraid of more, afraid to get involved, afraid to trust and be hurt. “Damn it,” she breathed, feeling close to tears. “May I please get out of the car?” she asked.
“No. I’m taking you home. And you can go to bed all by your lonesome, if that’s what you want.”
“That’s what I want,” she shot back, faster than any machine gun.
“Yeah?” Skepticism filled his tone. And his easy smile appeared again.
She pushed at his arm; he dropped it.
“Of course,” he said softly and the traffic finally started to move, flagged on by two policemen, “this is one of those times in life when the opportunity is not limited. If you know what I mean.”
Jill twisted to meet his eyes. “I’m not your type.”
He started and laughed. “Like hell you’re not.”
He had turned his attention back to the road. With both dread and anticipation, Jill saw that they were not far from Lexham Villas. Oh, shit. If only he hadn’t spoken with such utter conviction.
“You know,” Jill said, squirming to the farthest corner of her seat, “you spoke about everyone’s agenda but yours.”
He steered the Lamborghini smoothly around the corner and to the sidewalk in front of her flat. The engine purred; he cut it and faced her. “Damned right I have an agenda,” he said. And he was staring right into her eyes. “And mine isn’t hidden, now is it?”
Jill stared back.
Neither one of them moved.
T
he night was black around them. Jill didn’t breathe and she didn’t move. But neither did he.
Now what? Jill thought, her heart hammering against the walls of her chest. Should she … or shouldn’t she? And why was she even having an internal debate?
“Jill.”
She had to look at him. His tone had been half question, half command. Their eyes met and held. “I’ve gotta go,” she blurted, and then, unthinkingly, she leaned across the small distance separating them and she kissed his cheek.
Not a peck. But a caress of her mouth on his beard-roughened skin.
He smelled great.
Jill pulled away, fumbled with the door, thrust it open, and leaped out of the car. She slammed it closed, waved, and dashed across the sidewalk up the path to her house, as if her clothing were on fire.
As she fumbled with her keys, shaking, she heard the Lamborghini’s engine roar to life. But the sleek monster car did not pull away. Jill was aware of it idling on the street behind her.
She finally shoved open her door, stepping inside while hitting the lights, and as quickly closing it. As she locked the door, she glimpsed his night-blackened silhouette inside the sports car through the tiny window and parted curtains. Only then did she hear him drive away.
She leaned her forehead against the smooth wood. Now why in hell had she done that? Like a fool, she was sending the wrong signals, all right, she was leading him on and just asking for trouble.
Worse, her flat seemed more than empty. It felt lonely, too.
T
he following morning was bright and clear. As Jill made herself a huge plate of scrambled eggs, she refused to think about what had happened last night, instead trying to decide how to resume her search for Kate Gallagher. Maybe she would go back to Uxbridge Hall. Lucinda would probably have some suggestions about how she should begin.
But one question haunted her. Who had stolen the Gallagher letters? In the light of day, she thought both men had good cause for not wanting to let a skeleton out of the Collinsworth closet.
“And that is just too bad,” she said to Lady Eleanor, who had appeared in the kitchen and was now waiting patiently for her food, sitting on the kitchen counter, her eyes on Jill. “Because Kate has a story to tell and I am going to tell it.”
Lady E. began daintily cleaning her paws.
Jill only hoped, and fervently, that Kate’s story was a happy one.
The telephone rang. Jill couldn’t imagine who would be calling her, except perhaps for Lucinda. She started when she recognized William Sheldon’s voice.
He was brief and to the point after a polite but restrained good morning. “I was wondering if you could come by the house, Miss Gallagher. I would like a word with you and I will be at home until noon.”
Jill went on alert. She could not imagine what he wanted. “I would be more than glad to.” She was afraid to ask what this was about. Had he heard about her disturbing his wife last night?
“Can you stop by this morning?” Lord Collinsworth asked. “You are in Kensington, are you not? Would eleven be convenient?”
Jill agreed. As she darted back upstairs to change, her breakfast halfeaten and forgotten, the ringing of the phone halted her in her tracks again. Alex’s image came to mind as she quickly picked it up. “Hello?”
“Jillian, are you all right?” KC cried.
Jill gripped the phone. “I’m fine. Is something wrong, KC? Is Ezekial okay?” It was the middle of the night in New York, but KC was not big on sleep. Jill could hear her TV in the background.
“Ezekial is having a grand old time hissing at Chiron and then putting himself just out of poor Chiron’s reach.”
Jill smiled, relieved. She could imagine how Ezekial was toying with the little dog. And then, abruptly, her relief vanished. “That’s not why you called.”
“You need an answering machine. I tried to get through to you several times yesterday and last night.” KC sounded distraught.
Jill’s relief was replaced by anxiety. She reminded herself that KC knew how to make mountains out of molehills better than anyone she knew—she was a born dramatist with a touch of hysteria thrown in for good measure. “What happened?”
“Jillian, I called because someone was snooping in your apartment yesterday morning.”
Jill started. “What?!”
“I had just taken Chiron out for a walk and when I returned I saw this fellow letting himself out of your studio. It wasn’t your sublet, Jill. I pretended not to see, of course, and went right on into my own apartment. The moment he was gone I ran downstairs—and saw him driving away in a BMW. I got half of the license plate number, Jill. Then I went over to your place. Nothing appeared to have been touched,” KC finished breathlessly.
Jill was in a state of disbelief. “KC, he’s probably a friend of Joe’s.” Joe was the new sublet.
“Jill, I spoke with Joe. He’s upset. He said no one has keys except for himself. This guy, Jill, was acting totally weird—all sneakylike.”
Jill stared blindly at the parlor where she stood. “But this makes no sense,” she finally said. “Someone broke into my apartment? But why? It’s a crummy building. I don’t have good stuff—and Joe isn’t exactly loaded.” Joe was an aspiring actor, i.e., he was a waiter.
“He probably picked the lock. I looked at it. He was a pro, Jill. The lock isn’t even scratched.” From KC’s tone of voice, Jill knew she had something else she wished to say.
Then Jill stiffened. Alex had said he could pick locks. Then she felt a vast rush of relief—Alex was in London, not New York City. Wasn’t he? “When was this?”
“Yesterday morning at seven-thirty.”
That would have been at half past noon yesterday. Alex was not the intruder. Not unless he had taken a Concorde over first thing and then returned immediately afterward—in time to help her search the Sheldons’ last night. And why was she suspicious of Alex? He had no reason to snoop in her apartment. “This must have been a mistake,” she finally said. “I mean, I have nothing valuable, we live in a dump. Did the guy look like a drug head? Did you call the police?”
“I did, and they said you would have to go down to the station in person to file the complaint. I didn’t get a good look at him, Jill, he kept his head low and he had a hat on. He was of medium height and build and his hair was dark brown, I think. But he was clean and sober. I’m sure.”
Jill did not know what to think. “This is bizarre,” she finally said.
“Jill, this man was not a burglar. This has something to do with your quest.”
Jill froze. “My
quest?
”
“Your search for the truth about Kate Gallagher,” KC said firmly.
Jill stood very still. “That’s a strange choice of words.”
“But you’re searching for the truth. And that, Jillian, makes it a quest.”
“I guess you’re right,” Jill said slowly. “How do you know this guy is a part of my quest?”
“I can feel it, Jill. It was so weird. The minute I saw him, I thought of
her
. Not you—her.”
Jill was silent, her anxiety having increased, trying to tell herself to dismiss everything KC was saying as nonsense. But she couldn’t. She said, “You haven’t had any more dreams lately, have you?” She heard how wary her own tone was.
“No. Jill, I had to do a big spread for you.”
Jill stiffened. A big spread meant that KC had done another layout with tarot cards. “You’ve told me, from time to time, that the cards can be wrong.”
“No. The cards are never wrong. It’s the reader who screws up,” KC rebutted impatiently.
“What do you want to tell me?” Jill asked with dread.
“There’s a man, Jill. I keep seeing him. The King of Swords reversed. And he’s in your path big-time.”
“Big-time,” Jill repeated.
“He came up with the karma card—and with the Lovers,” KC said.
“KC, I am not about to have an affair,” Jill said. And of course, she was thinking of how close she had come to leaping into bed with Alex.
“The Lovers are karmic, too. It doesn’t mean you’ll have an affair with this guy, but you did, once, in another lifetime. Of course, you could get involved again, in this lifetime—”
“KC,” Jill said sharply, wanting to cut her off. She did not want to hear any more.
But KC wasn’t through. “He’s brilliant, Jill. Brilliant and strong, powerful,
the best at what he does. He’s probably an air sign. Or he has a lot of air in his chart.”
Jill glanced at her watch. If she didn’t leave now, she’d be late. “KC, I have to go.”
“I think you’ve already met him,” KC said in a rush. “And if you haven’t, you will. Soon. There’s no avoiding this guy and I’m so worried!”
Jill was standing, but she did not hang up. “What did you see?”
“Something’s wrong with him,” KC said, sounding choked. “His communication. It’s not okay.”
Jill just stared at the phone.
“He’s not being honest with you,” KC said passionately. “He can’t be honest with you. And you cannot trust him.
Jill, don’t trust him
. If you do, something terrible will happen, I saw it in the cards, I felt it too, it’s so strong—Jill, you should come home!”
Jill did not move. KC’s words echoed. There was no mistaking her panic. Finally she said, “I can’t go home. Not yet.”
“G
ood morning, Miss Gallagher.” William Sheldon stood up behind his massive, leather-topped desk.
Jill had been ushered into a large library with a high, domed ceiling painted pastel green. One wall was covered entirely in floor-to-ceiling books. A huge fireplace with a green marble mantel and a stunning gilded mirror above it dominated the central wall. Huge paintings, mostly eighteenth–and nineteenth-century landscapes, were hanging on the adjacent walls. There were several seating areas in the room and William’s desk was at one end. Most of the furniture was covered in old and faded fabrics, gold brocades, dark green silks, darker blue velvets, and beige damask. Behind his desk the entire corner of the room was taken up by huge windows that looked out onto the rose gardens. Those gardens were carefully tended and in a rainbow riot of blooms.
“Good morning,” Jill said nervously, smoothing down her knee-length black skirt. But she could hardly focus on the upcoming interview. The King of Swords reversed. A man who was powerful and brilliant, a man she could not trust. Was it Alex? Or was it Thomas?
Something terrible will happen …
“Miss Gallagher?”
Jill started. William was gesturing for her to sit down in one of the chairs in front of his desk. Jill hastened to obey.
His smile was cordial. Jill crossed her legs. She never wore high heels, but today she had chosen her single pair of two-and-a-half-inch pumps, which appeared spanking new from lack of use. She had wanted to convey ladylike elegance, and if she’d had her mother’s pearls with her, she would have put them on, too. She was very nervous.
And to think that if she’d had all of her dreams come true, this man would have become her father-in-law. It was unbelievable.
“I understand that you were here last night, with my nephew,” he said. Gold cuff links winked from the sleeves of his shirt.
Jill was already tense, now her tension increased. “We didn’t think we would disturb anyone,” she said. Then, “Lord Collinsworth, I apologize,” she blurted out. “I apologize for everything, especially for what happened to Hal.” That was not what she had intended to say. She had intended to be quiet and dignified.
He clasped his hands in front of him and looked down at them. “Yes, we are all sorry, Miss Gallagher. Thank you.”
“If I could change what happened, I would,” Jill continued earnestly. Jill tried to ignore the small stabbing of guilt. She wasn’t sure it would ever go away.
He glanced up. “But no one can undo the past, can they? I have lived a long and fruitful life. But I also find myself filled with regrets, for choices not made, paths not taken, roads not traveled.” He smiled grimly at her. “That is life, Miss Gallagher. It is never as one expects.”
“Yes.” Jill hesitated. “Why did you ask me here?”
He seemed to sigh. “My wife was very distraught last night.”
“I know. I’m so sorry.” He was going to chew her out.
“It would be better if you and she did not cross paths again. I must implore you, Miss Gallagher, to avoid my wife. She is not well, she is grief stricken, and seeing you seems to set her back. She spent a sleepless night last night, complaining about her heart. It was her worst night since the funeral.”
Of course Margaret Sheldon hated the very sight of her. Jill swallowed. “I don’t want anything to happen to your wife,” she whispered. Was she being banned from the premises permanently? Jill knew it was awful of her to worry about being able to finish her search for the letters, but she could not seem to help herself. “We were looking for some very valuable letters, Lord Collinsworth.”

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