Midnight Star (Star Quartet 2)

So Chauncey had read the papers in his desk and knew he was innocent. He thought about her nearly uncontrolled outburst over the fire at the warehouse. Had she been responsible? Her revenge against him? But she discovered the truth. Very slowly he opened the bottom drawer in his desk and pulled out the box containing all the records and correspondence. He examined the lock closely; she’d done a good job of it, but it had been picked. The papers inside were neatly in place, but he knew. He knew she’d read them.

She hated you so much she was willing to marry you to gain her revenge.

That hidden part of her, always puzzling to him, always elusive, was now explained. He closed his eyes a moment against the pain, anger, and utter outrage he felt. He rose very slowly from his chair, placed the box under his arm, and walked upstairs to their bedroom.

Chauncey was seated before her dressing table, Mary braiding her thick hair into a fat plait to be wound atop her head.

“Leave us, Mary.”

“Oh, Mr. Del! Certainly, sir.” It was the time of reckoning; Mary knew it. She sent her mistress a quick encouraging smile. Very quietly she left the room, closing the door firmly behind her.

In the mirror Chauncey saw the box under his arm, and grew very still. She’d been so careful. He couldn’t know!

“Good morning,” she said in a bright voice, turning on the brocade stool to face him. “It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it? Not a bit of fog. Lucas was telling me that during the summer—”

“Shut up,” he said very calmly.

She searched his face. It was closed to her, expressionless, but she felt the fury radiating from him.

“You know,” she said dully.

“Yes, I know. Perhaps I know more than you do, wife.”

She flinched at the emphasis he’d placed on “wife.” Sarcastic and cold. She rose and clasped her arms over her breasts. His eyes, always filled with humor and tenderness for her, were narrowed and glittered like molten gold. “Del, please, you must listen to me. You can’t really understand, you can’t—”

“I’d suggest that you keep your tongue between your teeth, Chauncey, and listen to me instead. You know,” he continued in an even, detached tone, “I never could really understand why you chased me so assiduously. Indeed, from the moment you arrived in San Francisco, you were searching for me. Tell me, why did you decide to go to such lengths as to talk me into marriage?”

She found herself wringing her hands, and quickly flattened her palms against her dressing gown. “I understood that you were going to marry Penelope Stevenson. I couldn’t allow that. The money from both families was too much. I couldn’t have . . . ruined you. But, Del—”

“Ah, perfectly understandable,” he interrupted her, his tone one of polite interest. “You staged that charming accident with your mare, only it backfired on you. You let that much slip, remember? I was very flattered, I suppose, that you would go so far to get into my house, to be close to me. I just had no idea how deeply the waters ran.” He raised a stilling hand. “No, I am not finished yet, wife. Let me tell you that I am not quite a fool, though through your eyes I may appear to be the most gullible creature alive. But had you faked an injury, I would have seen through it, so even your concussion and cracked ribs worked in your favor. After all, what is a little honest pain compared to the prize you wanted? Remember your nightmare? I held you in my arms, wanting nothing more than to ease your fear and make you happy. Ah, and think of our wedding night. Did your skin crawl when I, your sworn enemy, touched your body? Took your innocence? Because I was your sworn enemy, was I not?”

“Yes.” I have to make you understand! “I wanted to tell you everything, I swear it! Please, just listen to me for a minute. It all began in London when I was living with the Penworthys. I overheard my aunt tell my uncle that my father hadn’t died of natural causes, but rather committed suicide. I went to see Paul Montgomery to demand the truth. It was then he told me about you and what you had done to my father. Of course I believed him! I’d known him all my life!”

“Did you come here to kill me or just ruin me?”

“I never wanted to kill you, I couldn’t! I am not that . . . kind of person.”

“Ah, my dear, perhaps not. But you are the most cold-blooded bitch it has ever been my privilege to encounter. No, please do not try my patience further with your protestations. You did set fire to the warehouse, didn’t you? I can see the answer in your eyes. How very . . . driven you were, to risk your own life to hurt me.”

“It was an accident, Del! When I was standing in the warehouse, I knew you couldn’t be guilty, but guilty or not, I couldn’t do it because I loved you! I couldn’t hurt you. I thought the match was burned out, but it fell on those awful fireworks!”

“And then”—he placed the box carefully on a tabletop—“then you read the correspondence. Yesterday, I would gather. I wondered at your . . . sweetness and enthusiasm, my dear. You became a positive wild thing in my bed. No, don’t interrupt me, Chauncey. I don’t believe I could stand hearing how you really wanted to make love to me, to prove to yourself and to me that you’d forgiven me what I’d never done!”

“But it’s true!” She crossed the few feet between them and clutched at his lapels. “Del, please, I know that what I’ve done makes it difficult for you to trust me now, but I believed Paul Montgomery! I—”

He took her hands from his coat and shoved her away. “All you had to do was ask me, Chauncey, confront me.”

“Confront you! And if you had been guilty, what would you have done? Admitted everything to me and begged my forgiveness? Marched to jail? I doubt that, Del! More likely you would have had me removed permanently!”

“Yes,” he said slowly, “I suppose I would have had you killed, killed just like Montgomery probably murdered your father.”

Her eyes widened with shock, and she whirled away from him, holding her arms tightly around her body. “Oh God, no!” Her voice was a thread of sound, anguished and disbelieving.

“I deduced it only a while ago. I couldn’t believe that Montgomery would want you dead simply because you would discover that he’d swindled your father. No, it had to be something more. I don’t understand why you didn’t figure it out, my dear. Your mind, I have discovered, is quite creative.”

“It didn’t occur to me,” she said, raising her head. “It still seems impossible.” Her eyes were dazed, haunted. “He killed my father all because of money? A man he’d known for years and called friend? An ‘uncle’ who never forgot to send me gifts at Christmas?’

“And now this man wants you dead. It seems believable enough to me. He has to be pretty desperate to have followed you from England. With you gone, my dear, he could return to London and live quite well his ill-gotten gains. I imagine he isn’t too happy that you married me, for if you had been killed in Plymouth, your aunt and uncle, not I, would have inherited all your money. Doubtless he would have managed to get his hands on a goodly portion of your funds before turning over the rest to the Penworthys. But regardless, he would have been safe. At least he would think himself safe. My brother, Alex, has already written to the Duke and Duchess of Graffton telling them of Montgomery’s perfidy. Odd, isn’t it, that he would lose aft