Midnight Star (Star Quartet 2)

“Ma’am, Mr. Del sent me,” he said, swinging toward her. “He needs some papers from his desk. Insurance papers.”

Chauncey nodded and walked back into the house. She’d been in Delaney’s library only once, and she’d thought then how very English it looked with its paneled walls, bookcases, and huge maghogany desk. She walked to his desk and pulled the top drawer open. Her hand stilled. By God, she thought, what a fool I’ve been! She found the insurance papers quickly and sent Lucas on his way.

She returned to sit behind the impressive desk. She opened each drawer, thumbing carefully through the papers and letters within. Nothing about her father. In the bottom drawer was a locked wooden box. She picked it up and shook it. There were papers inside. Slowly she pulled a pin from her hair and fit it into the lock. It finally clicked and she raised the lid. For a moment she was afraid to examine the papers and letters. She realized that she didn’t want to confirm that Delaney was guilty. There was a folded piece of paper on top, and resolutely she pulled it free. It was obviously a copy of a letter he had written some four months earlier. It was to Paul Montgomery. She read it slowly, the neat black script blurring as the truth became obvious. She studied each copy of the bank drafts to her father over the past months. Huge amounts of money going to him. Delaney was innocent. Paul Montgomery had lied about everything.

The money never reached her father.

Chauncey sat back in Delaney’s high-backed leather chair and closed her eyes. It was all too incredible; incredible but true. Paul Montgomery had cheated her father of all the money.

No wonder he’d acted so strangely when she told him she was coming to San Francisco! He knew she would discover the truth. He knew she would realize Delaney wasn’t the scoundrel he’d wanted to convince her he was.

Paul Montgomery is the one who wants me dead.

But to kill her simply because she would discover that he was a crook and a liar? She rubbed her hand wearily over her forehead.

You’ve got to tell Delaney. Everything.

She moaned softly. Dear God, she loved him. If she told him the truth, he would despise her, send her back to England without a second thought. He would hate her for her deception. And she wouldn’t blame him a bit.

She sat staring blindly toward the thick tomes in the bookshelves against the opposite wall. She heard the front door open, footsteps on the marble entryway, masculine steps. Delaney. She quickly stuffed the papers and letters back into the box and shoved it into the bottom drawer.

“Whatever are you doing in here, love?”

She gazed at him clearly for the first time. She would willingly die for him. His face was shadowed in the dim light, except his beautiful eyes, like clear honey, filled with tenderness for her.

The enormity of her situation hit her hard. She couldn’t seem to speak, only stare at him, memorizing his features. She couldn’t bear to see the tenderness change to outrage, to utter fury, to hatred.

“Chauncey? Are you all right?”

I’ll make him love me, make myself indispensable to him, then confess the truth. I’ll conceive his child. He wouldn’t send me away then. Oh God, another deception.

“I’m fine, Del,” she said. She rose from the chair and walked as in a dream toward him. She stopped inches away from him and looked up into his face. Slowly she glided her fingertips over his jaw. “You are so beautiful,” she whispered.

Delaney blinked, and one mobile brow shot up. His thoughts throughout the morning had veered to her and her strange behavior of the night before. He didn’t understand her. She had changed.

“Am I now?” he said, his eyes locked to hers. “What brought this on?”

What if he discovers the truth before I tell him? What about Paul Montgomery? I don’t want to die!

“Oh no,” she said, unaware that she’d spoken aloud. She knew now there was no choice. She had to tell him the truth. She stopped abruptly. No. She wanted one more day and night with him, with the husband who cared for her, laughed with her, loved her so completely with his body and soul.

“Are you feeling all right?” She felt his hands stroking gently over her arms.

“Yes,” she said. She leaned forward, resting her forehead against his shoulder. “Aren’t we still on our honeymoon?”

“For the next twenty years, I’d say.”

“Must you go to the bank today? Or back to the warehouse?”

“What did you have in mind, sweetheart?”

She stood on her tiptoes, fitting herself tightly against him. “I want you to stay . . . with me.”

“I think that can be arranged,” he said, and gently kissed her.

* * *

“Mr. Saxton! We’ve got him!”