“She isn’t a bad girl, Irene,” he said patiently. “I know, love, that you’ve had problems, the two of you, but I’ve never seen her behave viciously or maliciously.”
“There will be talk, awful talk. You speak of a quiet divorce. It won’t be possible, Ira. We’ll be dragged through scandal.”
“You know as well as I that the woman is the one blamed. And Byrony will be seen as deserting not only me but also her child.”
“People will wonder why she left, and of course, she won’t be here to blame. I don’t like it, and unlike you, I don’t trust her. She will always be there, and we will always wonder and worry.”
Ira sighed deeply, and thrust his hands into his trouser pockets.
“We must protect Michelle.”
Ah, his baby. He would do anything to ensure that she was safe. Anything. “What are you saying, Irene?” he asked finally, meeting her eyes.
The jealousy she felt toward Byrony threatened to choke her. She couldn’t simply blurt out what she wanted to do to the little bitch. She was a threat. She would be a threat forever. She’d seen Ira softening over the months toward her. She’d been terrified that he would treat her as his wife indeed.
“She mustn’t leave,” Irene said.
“She will leave, Irene. She won’t stay here, not after—”
“I realize that.” She rose from her chair and walked into his arms. She rubbed her cheek against his shoulder, feeling the tension in his body begin slowly to ease. He hugged her to him, and she felt his desperation, his fear, his love.
“I think she should die.”
He shoved her away, his face pale with shock. “I am not a murderer,” he said.
“And when she spends the money, do you really believe she won’t return? Won’t continue to threaten us? Ira, for God’s sake, think of Michelle.”
“I am not a murderer,” he repeated.
She knew him well
, knew he wouldn’t change his mind. She wondered vaguely if she could cause Byrony’s death. He was gazing at her with something akin to horror in his eyes. She felt herself go pale, and quickly said, “No, no, of course neither of us could do it.” She threw herself against him and sobbed softly. “I’m so afraid, Ira. So very afraid.”
“I know, my darling, I know.”
I love him, she thought, but he is sometimes weak. I must protect what is ours. I must protect my child. “Ira,” she said, gulping down her sobs, “I think I know what we must do.”
That night, Brent lost nearly a thousand dollars to James Cora. He tried drawing to an inside straight, but couldn’t manage to bluff his way with the damned three of diamonds he’d been dealt. He drank steadily, and occasionally cursed vilely, for no particular reason that James Cora could see.
“My dear fellow,” Cora said, leaning back in his chair as Brent scraped up only about a hundred dollars from the center of the table. “Surely you could have won a bit more if you’d been paying the least attention. Three kings. Lord, I only had a pair of jacks. Colin over there was ready to go the limit with his queens and eights.”
“I’m a fool,” Brent said in the very precise voice of a man who’d drunk too much and was trying to act sober.
Cora laughed, lit one of his thick cigars. “Woman trouble, I’ll wager. No, don’t try to deny it. I’ve far too much experience, you know. Lord, what Belle hasn’t taught me.”
“She’s a bitch and a liar.”
“Ah. I trust you’re not referring to Belle? No, of course not. Do I have the pleasure of knowing this paragon?”
Brent got a belated hold on himself. “No, you don’t.”
“You lie as poorly as you’re playing tonight, old fellow. Look, one woman’s as good as the next. I’ll continue taking your money, but you really aren’t much sport. Go see your Celeste. When you plunge that sex of yours into her, just shut your eyes. You’ll see anything you want. Elephants, birds, anything.”
Brent grunted, and drank the rest of his whiskey.
“Keep swilling that rot, and you’ll barely be able to stiffen your tongue.”
Brent laughed, he couldn’t help himself. “You’ve a big mouth, Cora.”