The Third Heiress (41 page)

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Authors: Brenda Joyce

BOOK: The Third Heiress
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“Very well, thank you, Miss Bennett.” His smile was brief, and even as he spoke to her again, his warm gaze was on Kate. He stared at her big belly. “Please give us a few moments of privacy.” He smiled at Kate. He could not take his eyes from her, she thought, not even for a moment. How it warmed her.
She felt herself blushing. Miss Bennett disappeared as Edward pulled her into the parlor—and into his arms. They kissed for an endlessly long time.
“I am shameless,” Kate whispered. “I am thinking of what it would be like to go upstairs.”
He stared at her, at once incredulous and horrified. “You are about to have a child!”
“I know.” Kate cast down her eyes.
Edward finally settled himself in a large armchair. Kate brought him a
glass of brandy. “What subterfuge did you speak of?” she asked with dread.
Edward drank. “My father lied. He was not ill. He sent for me only to keep us apart. I have told him about the child, Kate—and even that has not swayed him. He still refuses to permit us to marry.”
Kate nodded, sitting on the sofa, her hands clasped in her lap. She was not surprised. Six months ago, she had been devastated when the earl had refused to allow Edward to marry her. She had even approached the earl herself—only to find herself subjected to such condescension and disrespect that it was one of the singularly most disheartening experiences of her life. “It doesn’t matter. I met Collinsworth once, do you not remember?” To this day, Edward did not know that she had actually raised the subject of their suit, merely that they had been introduced. “I do know the kind of man he is. He will never change his mind about me. Indeed, I do think this is as much a war between you and him as it is about his finding me far too inferior to be a wife for you.”
Edward stood, reached her with two strides, and dropped to his knees, taking both of her hands. He leaned forward, his cheek against her belly, closing his eyes. Then he looked up at her. “I no longer care that he shall disown me. Let my brother inherit the bloody earldom! I have you. I have decided. We shall marry immediately, and that is that.” He smiled at her.
Kate stared in disbelief. She was trembling. “Oh, Edward,” she began. Her love for him knew no bounds. She knew what soul-searching this had cost him.
“We will hardly be lacking, Kate. Thank God for your fortune.” He smiled, but it was grim. “Perhaps we should even move to America?”
“Edward,” Kate said, her tone uneven, tears filling her eyes. “Do you remember the very first time you gave me that grand tour of Uxbridge Hall?” She smiled through her tears.
“Why are you crying?” he asked with apparent dread. “I am going to marry you, Kate.”
The tears tasted salty on her lips. “Darling. You told me about the house and its history. You told me about the earldom—which would one day be yours. You were such a proud peacock. You told me tales about your brothers, about all the mischief the three of you caused as children. You even spoke fondly of your father, dear—you spoke of his votes in the Lords in favor of the child labor laws. And then you told me about some of the family’s holdings—the mines in Cornwall, for example, and the new shafts you were installing. The increased ventilation, you said, would
save a dozen lives every year! You were so excited about those shafts! And then you spoke of the responsibility you had to your people. You called them ‘your people,’ Edward, as if you were a prince and this, your kingdom. Your eyes glowed as you talked of the possibilities of this new century—and how the time had come to take the earldom and modernize it. I was already in love with you, but that day, when I realized how you felt about your heritage, your responsibilities, your obligations, that day my love became irrevocable. I was so proud of you.”
He remained kneeling at her feet. His eyes were almost black. “I do not like what you are saying.”
“Your brother, Henry, is a rake,” Kate cried tersely.
“Then the earldom shall remain as it is—and Henry can do as he will with it.”
“He will gamble away every penny and every pound he can lay his hands upon!”
Edward shrugged—as if he did not care. Kate knew he cared.
“I cannot marry you, Edward.” She stared and their gazes locked. Tears slid down her cheeks.
He was stricken.
“Please understand,” Kate whispered. “I cannot take your life away from you.”
“You are my life. I will not give you up.” Edward was savage.
“I have never said you should give me up, because I cannot give you up.” She slid her hand into his hair, threading her fingertips through the thick, dark strands. “If we married, one day, you would hate me for what I have stolen from you. Your birthright.”
“No.” His mouth was twisted, grim.
She wet her lips. “Then how about this? I could not live with myself, knowing what I had taken from you.”
“Oh, God.” Edward sat beside her, taking her into his arms. “Only you, Kate, would deny me, only you would have the courage and love to do so.”
“Yes. It is because I love you so much.” She refused to weep. But she could not stop the tears from streaming down her cheeks.
“Don’t cry. You know I will not marry anyone else. You shall give me my heir, dear.”
Kate looked at him. She intended to give him his heir, but she was not deluded. That old bastard could disinherit Edward if he did not marry elsewhere, and Kate knew it. What if their time together was limited? No!
She would fight for her love—for their future. And as terrible as it was, maybe God would smile upon them, and the earl would pass away, leaving Edward the earl—and free to marry as he chose.
“Yes,” she said, holding his face in her hands. “I shall give you your heir, perhaps sooner than we think.”
He blinked.
“The doctor says I should deliver anytime now, dear.”
“Oh, I am so pleased—and so terrified,” Edward cried, embracing her.
And as she held him, she prayed that their child would be a son. It was, perhaps, their only hope.
J
ill had just stepped out of the house and was locking the front door when a tan Mercedes sedan halted in front of her gate at the curb. She recognized the vehicle immediately. She was on her way to see the handwriting analyst, Arthur Kingston, but now she approached the street slowly. A chauffeur in a dark cap remained inside the car as Thomas alighted and smiled at her.
Jill halted in her tracks and stared, unable to smile at him. Why was he there? What could he possibly want?
“Hello, Jill. How are you? Alex rang me last night and told me what happened to Mr. Barrows’s cat.” His expression seemed genuinely concerned.
“His.” Jill could not return his brief smile. Had Alex been shouting at Thomas last night on his cell phone? Was Thomas the one responsible for the murder of Lady E.?
As upsetting as the notion was, it was also a relief because that would make Alex innocent of the crime. Unless he had known about it.
“I would have phoned, but Alex said you were already asleep.”
“Thank you. I’m a bit better today. What a terrible prank.” She started down the walk, Thomas falling into step beside her.
“Have you spoken to the police?” Thomas asked. He glanced around. “This is a nice neighborhood. Whoever was responsible deserves to be punished.”
“A detective stopped by earlier.” Jill wasn’t about to tell Thomas anything. They paused by the Mercedes. “To what do I owe the honor of this visit?” Jill asked.
“I called this morning but I couldn’t get through. Your machine didn’t pick up. I thought you might like to have lunch.”
Jill blinked at him. “I can’t,” she finally said. “I have an appointment.” She forced a smile, wondering what he wanted. “I’ll take a rain check,” she lied.
He seemed to accept that. “Where are you off to? I’ll give you a lift.” He smiled.
“You don’t have to bother. I can take the underground.”
“Don’t tell me you have already become fond of the tube?” His smile widened. “Come, Jill. It’s my pleasure. It’s the least I can do, considering what you went through last night.”
“I like your subway system,” Jill said. “I’m a straphanger—remember?”
He stared at her.
Jill smiled. She did not want him to know where she was going or, more important, why. On the other hand, Alex had probably told him every single detail of their trip to Stainesmore. That notion upset her greatly.
A flicker of annoyance finally crossed Thomas’s features. “Actually, I want to speak with you, and I’d prefer we weren’t standing on the street.”
Jill tensed. “That’s okay.”
“I spoke with Alex recently.” His regard was direct. “He told me about your trip to Stainesmore.”
Jill’s pulse rate increased. She had been right. “What did he say?”
“He says you are more convinced than ever that you are Kate Gallagher’s great-granddaughter.” Thomas smiled, amused. “Of course, you don’t have any proof.”
“I am certain we’re related. Just like I’m certain she was murdered.”
“That’s a terribly wild accusation,” Thomas said calmly.
She folded her arms. “I’m sorry, Thomas, if my search for the truth about Kate’s disappearance, if my wild accusations, are disturbing to you and your family.”
He regarded her and finally said, “Is there a reason you want to muddy my family’s name?”
“So you understand that your family was involved in the tragedy?”
“I understand that my grandmother and Kate were best friends.”
He either knew nothing, or he was a fantastic actor. “Kate was Edward’s mistress, Thomas. She had his bastard son.”
“That’s absurd!” A flush covered his cheeks. Jill had wondered when he would lose his composure. “My grandfather probably kept a mistress or two—most men did back then—but I doubt he was having an affair with his wife’s best friend. I did not know him, of course, but I know of him. He was a great man, with a vision, and he ran the earldom admirably. It’s ludicrous to think he would have become involved with this Kate Gallagher of yours.”
Jill did not respond. She wasn’t going to tell him that Edward had been involved with Kate well before his marriage to Anne and that she was certain of it. Nor was she going to tell him that Edward was her number one murder suspect. “Is this why you came to see me? To discuss Kate Gallagher?”
Thomas’s eyes widened abruptly. “Actually, Alex suggested that I make you an offer. Whatever you might unearth about Kate Gallagher, I’m open to the possibility that it might be damaging to our family name. I’d like to avoid the circumstance. So I’m offering you two million U.S. dollars, Jill, in cash.” He smiled at her.
Jill froze. She could barely understand what was happening. Her mind had gone numb. “What?”
“Forget about Kate Gallagher and go home. She’s been deceased a very long time. I’ll wire the money into the account of your choosing.” He smiled at her again.
He wanted to pay her off. Pay her off, shut her up, send her home. “Did you kill the cat?” she heard herself whisper.
His eyes widened. “I beg your pardon?”
“Did you kill Lady E.?!” Jill cried, as a new and devastating comprehension seared her brain. Thomas had said, “
Alex suggested I make you an offer.
” Had he?
“Lady E.? Is that the cat?”
“You damn well know it’s the cat, don’t you,” Jill accused, fists clenched, her heart pounding with deafening force. Alex wanted her paid off? This could not be happening.
“Let me correct you, Jill, on several points.” Thomas was angry, and his voice had become as hard as his eyes. “My family does not stoop to such hideous devices as beheading pets. We have no need to lower ourselves in such a way. And my grandfather was a great man. He hardly slept with his wife’s best friend. I suggest you keep your views to yourself.”
And Jill was shaking. “I don’t want your money.” She had to be clear, she had to make sure she hadn’t misunderstood—surely she had misheard! “Alex suggested that you pay me off?”
“Yes. Alex is unquestionably loyal to me and mine, and never mistake that,” Thomas said coldly. He leaned closer. “Do not misjudge him. He wants this finished as much as I do. How much would it cost me for you to end this investigation of yours and go home?”
Jill could not answer.
Of course this is what Alex, brilliant, clever Alex, would suggest and advise.
How could she have ever thought to trust him? He was a total liar—stabbing her in the back, not once but many times. But this, then, would be the very last time. KC had been right.
Jill was sick to her stomach.
“I don’t want your money,” she finally said, numbly. “I want the truth—and I want justice.”
“Justice,” Thomas echoed, as if he’d never heard the word.
Jill turned and hurried down the block, unable to see where she was going, almost running—she had to get away from him—far away—from them all. And it was only when she reached the corner that she realized she was crying and that was why she could not see.
J
ill sat alone at a table in a small, dark pub on the corner of a street in Soho, the name of which she could not remember. She had just consumed her third pint of ale. She had hated ale for her entire adult life, but now, she supposed, she was starting to become fond of it.
Alex was not to be trusted. KC was right.
He was a traitor, to her, to her cause. He was not her friend. He wanted her paid off, shut up, sent home.
Jill leaned her head upon her arms on the scarred, dark wood table. How could her heart hurt her like this? Alex meant nothing to her, nothing. She had to focus on that.
Jill smiled sadly, the silky texture of her shirt against her mouth.
Pay her off, send her home.
Is that what Alex had said? Is that how he had said it? Tears burned the closed lids of her eyes. And to think she had thought them to be friends, and had been on the verge of falling in love with him.
Abruptly Jill sat up ramrod-straight, wiping her eyes, grim. Her pulse raced. That last thought had come out of nowhere, and she didn’t like it, not one bit.
Jill refused to dwell on it. She was overtired and very frightened and so terribly alone. She could not think clearly. It was as simple as that.
Good night, pumpkin.
Jill inhaled, her father’s melodious tenor so strong and clear in her
mind. She gripped her elbows more tightly, trying to envision her parents and find comfort in the memory, but somehow failing. Instead, Alex’s face loomed in her mind. It was ugly.
Jill wished they had never met. But wishing desperately to undo the past would not solve anything. It would not bring justice, it would not reveal the truth. It would not change history, giving Kate a happily-ever-after ending to her life.
Jill flagged down a heavyset waitress, signaling for another pint. The handwriting samples had not matched. Edward Sheldon and Jonathan Barclay were not one and the same man.
She looked up at the clock on the wall by the bar, which was filled with an after-work crowd of drinkers. It was six o’clock. She’d been at the pub for almost two hours—she’d walked aimlessly through London after leaving Kingston’s suite, filled with disappointment that the handwriting samples had not matched.
Jill almost felt like throwing in the towel. Hadn’t Alex said no one was better at leaping to conclusions than she was? Perhaps Kate wasn’t her great-grandmother after all. Maybe Edward hadn’t been her lover. Maybe Kate had disappeared of her own free will, for reasons she, Jill, would never discover. Perhaps, she, Jill, had been making up a fantasy she was determined to believe.
Maybe she should give up and go home.
Jill straightened grimly. She wasn’t a quitter. She had never been a quitter for a single day in her life.
A gauntlet had been thrown—not once, but twice. Lady E.’s murder had been one warning, and then Thomas had tried to pay her off with two million dollars so she’d go home. Wasn’t that reason enough to stay? She was making the Sheldons very uncomfortable, that much was clear.
She needed a new lead. There were so many pieces to this particular puzzle, but there was one Jill had thus far overlooked.
Marisa had to know about Hal’s obsession with Kate.
Marisa just might have the answers Jill was looking for.
J
ill saw four sedans and one limousine parked in the Sheldons’ driveway and she hesitated. She had called Marisa’s home only to learn from a housekeeper that she was at the Sheldons’ for the evening. Jill estimated that there were at least eight guests present; she had assumed Marisa would be at the Sheldons’ alone.
But it was too late to turn back. The taxi she had just stepped out of
had driven away. Now Jill almost wished that the security guard had turned her away instead of recognizing her and waving her through a moment ago. It was crass to crash a party, period. Undoubtedly she was going to be tossed out on her ear.
Jill shivered, because the night air was cool out and she was wearing a jersey tank top under a cardigan and a matching knee length skirt. She was about to turn and walk back out onto the road when Kate’s image flashed in her mind. Her eyes were wide and filled with urgency.
Someone had killed Kate. Hal had probably known who the murderer was, given his obsession with her and her life. Marisa would probably know, as well. Jill turned back around and hurried to the front door before she could think twice about it.
The moment the butler opened the front door and Jill was admitted into the foyer, her courage failed her again. She could see into the living room where she had first met the Sheldons, and perhaps forty ladies and men had congregated there, the women in beautiful designer cocktail dresses or equally stunning skirted suits, the men in business attire. Most of the women wore diamonds, emeralds, or sapphires. Many guests held delicate flutes of champagne, and waiters in white jackets were passing silver trays containing hors d’oeuvres. Jill glimpsed caviar and toast points.
She did not belong there. She never had, but especially not now, not tonight.
And then she saw him.
Jill froze as a servant she recognized asked her for her cardigan, mistaking her for another guest.
His back was to her. He was speaking with a mixed group, and a tall, willowy blond in a mismatched print silk dress that screamed Ungaro was by his side.
Jill’s eyes widened. The blond was touching his arm. Surely she was not his date?
“Miss Gallagher?”
Jill started, meeting the servant’s benign gaze. “I was hoping to speaking with Marisa Sutcliffe,” she managed, still stunned and aware of herself trembling.
The servant seemed to realize that she was not a guest after all, and he seemed taken aback.
Oh, God, Jill thought, because at that moment, Margaret entered the foyer, stunning in a tuxedo pants suit with a starburst diamond and pearl pin on one satin lapel. The pearl was half the size of Jill’s palm. “I had
better go,” Jill mumbled, turning to flee. She felt off-balance as she did so and she thought, I must be drunk. Now she only wanted to leave.

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