Deadly - Deadly Desire Part 11

She must not think now. She loved him and, more important, she trusted him-he would never hurt her.

"Francesca?"

She nodded and looked down at his hand.

He inched it lower. Her silk robe and gown clung damply to her pubis, and she might as well have been naked. His middle finger had reached the top of her cleft. It pressed there, strong and long, unmoving.

Her body became limp. Lax. His finger pressed lower. If he went just a bit farther, she was going to die all over again, finding G.o.d and heaven and release. "Bragg," she whispered.

But she had moaned his name, and the moan shocked her. It was a s.e.xual plea, long, low, and deep.

He moved his hand lower and his middle finger began to rub back and forth in an expert circular motion. She cried out, beginning to shake.

"I love you," he said harshly, and he kissed an aching nipple. "Come for me, Francesca."

She managed to meet his gaze, already spiraling along the paths of untamable pleasure, guiltless ecstasy. And he knew.

He bent and began licking and tugging at her nipple, while his finger continued its devastating work. Suddenly her gown was whipped up, his hand now on her naked flesh.

She was slick, slippery, wet. He palmed her entire s.e.x, then began to rub her with his thumb.

She exploded, arching off of the bunk, her cries deep, harsh, loud.

When she came back to earth this time, he was holding her tightly in his arms, her face was against his chest, he had one leg wrapped over her, and she felt every inch of his arousal against one thigh. "You have to go," he said. "And I mean it."

It was hard to think clearly. "No." She tried to look up at him, but his eyes were screwed tightly shut. "I love you, too, Bragg." And as her mind began to function, fear began spiraling down her spine.

He gripped her shoulders, straightening. "That's just it," he said. "I'm not sure that you do

love me. Because if you did, you would understand that if this goes much further, I will neverbe able to forgive myself." She stared. Because, my dear, I am sick of it, him, the two of you! I am sorry I will not be at your wedding, the first one to toast the police commissioner and hisnew, second wife. Francesca hated Calder Hart then, with all of her being, for daring to come between themthen, now. "What is it?" he asked quickly, sitting and moving away from her. "Where do we go from here?" she had asked him, not too long ago. "I don't know. " She slowly sat up. "I do love you," she said. It was the truth. "I have loved you from themoment we first met and engaged in a debate. You have no idea how much I admire you.There is no one I respect more." Something flitted through his eyes; he did not speak. Francesca suddenly turned partially away from him. Tears were coming, fast and hard, butwhy? She had just experienced mind-shattering pleasure in the arms of a man she admiredand loved more than anyone. And he loved her enough to try to protect her from ruin. Therewas no reason for her to be on the edge of grief. Hart was there in her mind, mocking her. You want Rick as your husband, but I am the man you want in your bed. I want to take you to my bed very much. . . . Your friends.h.i.+p is more important to me thans.e.x. "Francesca? Are you crying?" Bragg's voice was tight with surprise and fear and perhapseven guilt. "No," she lied, the very first blatant lie she had ever told to him. She began to stand. CalderHart had nothing to do with this. It was Leigh Anne. She was the reason Francesca was grief-stricken, because she was thereason they might not find lifelong happiness. Bragg caught her wrist. "I'm sorry." His tone was agonized. "This is my fault. I should havesent you away-" "No!" She whirled and put her finger to his lips. "No. Never say you're sorry, not to me. Younever have to say you're sorry, not to me." But why was she crying? The tears werestreaming down her face. "What is it?" Bragg asked, his gaze riveted on hers, with real apprehension. And the truth struck her then. "You're right, Bragg. You've been right all along." He stood abruptly, his eyes wide, anxious. "I'm confused," she whispered, shaken to the very depths of her being. "I love you, but..." "But what? " "But I'm not ready. It's so simple. I'm afraid."

Chapter Sixteen.

TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 18, 1902 - 8:00 A.M.

The train was slowing as it entered the Ninety-sixth Street tunnel, and as quickly as one could blink, the morning became the night. Francesca hesitated as she stood, swaying from side to side, in the doorway of her compartment. Had she slept a wink all night? She did not think so. Perhaps it served her right.

She was frightened by her sudden confusion, but she was relieved that she had not gone through with her original intentions. She could still become Bragg's lover, at any time. She still wanted to be his lover. Because she loved him so much. But she was afraid-she was afraid because he was married, because his wife wanted to meet with her, and because

once she took that fateful step, there would be no undoing it. How had her life become socomplicated? She felt as if her life were a total shambles. And perhaps it was. Suddenly his door slid open and their gazes met. She recalled the way he had held her andtouched her and she flushed, looking nervously away. Still, those memories were enough toleave her breathless. "Good morning," he said, his tone noncommittal. His tone was so carefully modulated that her gaze flew to his. She could tell nothing from hiseyes. "Good morning," she said, and she coughed to clear her throat, as she was so hoa.r.s.efrom tension she could hardly get such a simple salutation out. "Are you all right?" he asked, his gaze never leaving her face. She hesitated, then smiled too brightly. "I am fine!" Good G.o.d, she had sounded like acheerleader! He studied her, unsmiling and grim. Her heart lurched with dread. "I am almost fine," shewhispered, an amendment. "I lost all control, Francesca. It won't happen again." His jaw flexed and a steelydetermination filled his eyes. She didn't know what she wanted him to say or do now, but telling her that he would neverhold her and make love to her again was hardly rea.s.suring. She wanted to protest, and sheopened her mouth to do just that. But she was speechless, for she simply did not know whatto say. Worse, she no longer felt that the answers were simple and easy ones. The path of theirfuture seemed to be b.o.o.by-trapped with pitfalls and land mines, not to mention the specterof his wife. "Last night was my fault, entirely so," she heard herself say. Before he could respond, the conductor began to shout, "Grand Central Depot. Last stop,Manhattan. Grand Central Depot! Last stop! Manhattan." They looked at each other. The train was slowing down vastly now. As the conductor continued to call out the last stop, Bragg finally smiled slightly, and sheknew he meant to be rea.s.suring now. But she was not rea.s.sured. How could she be? He pulled out his pocket watch. "In two hours Hart shall confront Craddock." A new and different fear gripped her. "Will you stop him now?" His gaze met hers. "No. Let's see what he can find out." Francesca could hardly believe her ears. Images of Hart confronting Craddock and thesituation escalating into violence filled her mind. "Bragg, don't let him go." "Hart is usually extremely effective. I will be lurking close enough to the rendezvous to helphim-or hinder him, as the case may be." She was hardly satisfied. The train had come to a halt. "You will also let him do dirty work you would not deign to do?" She was trembling. His response was as sharp as the lash of a whip. "No, Francesca. But I am bound by theletter of the law, and he is not." He turned his back on her. She froze, bewildered and torn, uncertain of what to think and of even what she was feeling.She seized his arm from behind, forcing him to look at her. "I'm sorry. That was unfair ofme." "Yes, it was," he said quietly, and their gazes locked. And Francesca knew that the one thing she never wished to do was argue with this man.She smiled a little at him, and finally, his expression softened, too. The platform was visible outside of the window behind Bragg's silhouette, along with thewhite tiles of the walls, other pa.s.sengers awaiting a train on the parallel track, andconductors and baggage men in their blue uniforms. "Peter will meet us on Fourth Avenue,"Bragg said. Francesca nodded. A few moments later, they were hurrying along with the crowd of disembarking pa.s.sengers, Bragg carrying both her valise and his smaller duffel. They crossed the huge main lobby ofthe terminal, which had been completed recently. And then they were pus.h.i.+ng throughswinging gla.s.s-and-iron doors. Outside, it was snowing, the skies heavy, threatening andgray. Francesca saw the Daimler first, sandwiched between two gleaming black carriages. Thenshe saw Peter, standing by the hood, his hands shoved in the pockets of his baggy blackovercoat. Two policemen in uniform stood not far away. Bragg stumbled. She glanced at him and saw shock on his face; she quickly followed his gaze. A very small, stunningly beautiful woman stood beside Peter. She had dark hair and fair skinand the face of an angel. "h.e.l.lo, Rick," his wife said. Bragg stopped in his tracks, still holding both of their bags. Francesca also halted, her heart seeming to have stopped. Oh, my G.o.d. It had begun. Theending of everything she treasured, the ending of their love. Bragg was starkly white. "Leigh Anne?" She should have told him, Francesca managed to think. She suddenly knew she had madethe worst mistake of her life. Leigh Anne came forward, smiling. "You seem surprised to see me, Rick. How are you?"She paused before him and Francesca thought she was only five foot tall, a pet.i.te perfectchina doll with sea-green eyes and thick black lashes. She laid a small gloved hand on hisarm and strained up on her tiptoes and somehow planted a soft kiss on his jaw. Bragg pulled back. "Of course I am surprised." He was flus.h.i.+ng now. He wet his lips. "LeighAnne, this is-" "I know. This is Miss Cahill." Leigh Anne finally turned to Francesca, her hand extended."How do you do, Miss Cahill?" she asked politely, her eyes wide and innocent. Noaccusations seemed to lurk there. Francesca could not speak, but she finally managed to breathe. It sounded as if she wasfrantically gulping oxygen, which, perhaps, she was. "Surely Miss Cahill told you that I was on my way to New York?" Leigh Anne asked, turningher soft smile on Bragg. "What?" And he finally looked at Francesca. Leigh Anne said patiently, "I sent Miss Cahill a note. Surely she told you?" Bragg stared at her, stunned again, while Francesca felt her cheeks blaze with fire. "I... I canexplain," she gasped. His stare widened. "You knew? She sent you a note? You did not say a word?" She could not think of, much less summon up, a coherent reply.

"Please. Do not be angry with Miss Cahill, Rick; I'm sure she intended to mention it. It must have slipped her mind, Rick," Leigh Anne said quickly.

His wife was defending her? Was this really happening?

Or was this a dream? A horrid, ghastly nightmare?

Bragg's gaze slammed back to his wife. "What is this about, Leigh Anne?"

She stared back at him for a long moment, and there was no sign of anger or hatred upon her perfect face. Pain filled Francesca. "It's been four years," Leigh Anne said simply. "Don't you think it's time we spoke?"

He stiffened. He was darkly red, now. "Peter. Hail Miss Cahill a cab."

His words were a b.l.o.o.d.y blow. "I can hail my own taxi," she heard herself say thickly.

He did not look at her. "I cannot imagine why you wish to speak to me," he said to Leigh Anne.

"You knew I was in Boston. Surely you knew I would come to New York, sooner or later." Her green eyes never wavered from his face. They were direct, searching.

"Actually, I hadn't thought about it at all," he said harshly.

"Well, I can see my timing is poor," she said, with a rueful smile. "I did not come here to

upset you, Rick. I went to the house and happened to catch your man as he was leaving topick you up. I am staying at the Waldorf-Astoria," she said. "If you change your mind aboutspeaking, you may find me there." Francesca felt tears blur her eyes, and she was horrified. But she could still see the wayLeigh Anne stared at him- and the way he stared back. Bragg seemed extremelydistressed, while Leigh Anne seemed entirely unruffled. She was a woman of extremecomposure, Francesca thought grimly, but then, she had the advantage of surprise. And a cab was waiting, having pulled up alongside Bragg's motorcar. Bragg turned, his gaze impossibly hard. "Your cab is here," he said to Francesca. She hesitated, a dozen responses coming to mind, and in the end, she said nothing. It wasin that moment that her heart began breaking. She could not manage this; she simply couldnot. She had never imagined that it would be so impossibly painful to come face-to-face withhis wife. She tried to take her valise from him, but he did not release it; instead, he set his duffeldown, switched her valise to his other hand, and gripped her elbow. He steered her acrossthe curb and in front of the Daimler to the side of the hansom, where Peter stood. Peter opened the taxi door. Bragg looked at her. "I was afraid to tell you," she said, aware of the tears now s.h.i.+mmering in her eyes. His jaw hardened. She opened her purse and handed him the note. He finally released her elbow, unfolded it, and read it. Then he handed it back to her. "I don't want it," she whispered. "You are so angry." His expression did not soften. "I am furious. But not with you." And finally, a light sherecognized came into his eyes. "I am angry with you, Francesca, but not furious with you. Wewill most definitely talk about this at another time." "I am so sorry. As you said, I have the worst judgment." She felt as if she were begging nowfor his love. He hesitated, and finally, he softened. "Sometimes that is true. We will talk about this later."His gaze did not waver from her face. He added, "Don't worry." There was really no relief. She nodded anxiously. "Will you be all right?" He was incredulous. "The woman I am married to-a woman I despise-suddenly walksback into my life and you ask me if I will be all right?" She s.h.i.+vered. "How can I help?" He was too much of a gentleman to point out that she had done enough. "We have anoperation to see to, Francesca. Peter will take you directly to Hart, and I will follow." Heglanced over his shoulder and so did Francesca; Leigh Anne stood on the sidewalk,motionless, watching them, her hands inside a silver fox m.u.f.f that matched the huge collarand lapels of her chinchilla coat. She had to know. "Will you speak to her?" His face closed. "No." * * * He did not have time for this. He did not have time for her. What did she want? Bragg got out of a cab, paid the driver through the window, and hurried up the broad frontsteps of the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel. As he entered the s.p.a.cious high-ceilinged lobby with itsgleaming wood floors and Persian rugs, he faltered. Leigh Anne stood at the front desk, collecting her key. She smiled, perhaps in thanks, andthe clerk appeared smitten. She turned away; the man stared after her helplessly, withlonging. It had always been that way. Nothing had changed. His little wife knew how to manipulateand entrance men, just as she had manipulated and entranced him from the moment they had met.

He was trembling. What did she want? What could she want? Why was she here? They hadn't seen each other in four years, although he had seen her once, that single time when he had gone to Paris to bring her home and had found her instead in the company of another man. G.o.d d.a.m.n her, he thought, shaken.

She could still shake him, enrage him, distress him the way no other person could.

And she still had the perfect beauty of a little angel. She could be in one of the religious or mythological paintings hanging in Calder's home. She had not aged a single day. And he could still look at her and wonder if, somehow, he was entirely to blame for it all.

Which was absurd.

She had left him.

After blackmailing him.

She saw him and froze.

He gathered his determination and hatred around him the way one would a heavy cloak in the midst of a freezing day and stalked to her. "I have urgent matters to attend to," he said briskly. "But I can give you ten or fifteen minutes."

"That is terribly kind of you," she said, without any sarcasm at all. Her green eyes held his.

Instantly he looked away. Her eyes hadn't changed, either; they were the color of emeralds, the color unusual, dark and intense. Heavy black lashes fringed them, and they were wide and almond-shaped. When she stared, she had a look of absolute innocence, of extreme naivete. He was not going to fall into the trap he once had. There was not an innocent bone in her body.

Once, there had been. On their wedding night.

Hot slick memories and images of pale porcelain skin and dusky nipples, heavy black hair, swinging like a cape, hit him hard then. Soft, breathy cries of sheer pleasure echoed in his mind.

She laid her tiny hand on his arm. He jumped away. "My room is on the sixth floor," she said.

He nodded, his heart pounding as if he'd just made love. And following her to the elevator, he refused to think about her body, which had once been as perfect as her face. Small and fragile, but only in appearance; in fact, strong and impossibly flexible, impossibly eager.

Why was he recalling the only thing they had ever had in their marriage? Because he was intelligent enough now to know he had married her for s.e.x and not for any other reason.

In the elevator, they were the sole occupants. He stared at the floor indicator as it inched from 1 to 2 to 3 to 4 and then 5. And finally, it stopped on 6, and the light above the arrow's tip lit up. He loosened his tie. He was perspiring.

She had stared at the tips of her shoes the entire time; now, she smiled uncertainly at him and stepped from the elevator after he opened the cage. He ignored her smile and her glance; it was all an act, a perfect act, for she was a perfect actress. For even now, he marveled at her aura of dignity and calm.

What did she want?

His heart lurched and then sped. The note she had sent to Francesca he dismissed. It was irrelevant now; he intended to handle his little wife, and he was not going to allow her to come close to Francesca and do what damage she might there. He would protect Francesca from his wife's scheming and manipulations.

"You have changed, Rick," she said softly, leading him up the hallway.

"I am the same man you married."

She did smile, and it appeared guileless. "I think I married a boy. I am definitely walking up this hallway with a man."

He steeled himself-did she intend to flatter him or disparage him? And he did not reply.

But he had not been completely honest with Francesca. This woman had done more than break his heart. She had ripped it from his chest, only to tear off pieces and feed them to the waiting lions.

Callously. Cruelly. Selfishly. Which was why he so hated her. It was why he could not stand being near her. It was why he intended to put her on the next train to Boston. He had been completely, helplessly, head over heels in love with his wife. Even when he had spent long nights at the office, poring over cases, she had always been there with him, on his mind. Coming home each evening, even when she was already asleep, had been the best part of his day. Leaving every morning, usually just after dawn, had been the hardest. He realized he was sweating. The carpeted hallway was empty. As he waited for her to unlock her door, he took off his coat, detecting her perfume. It had changed. It was sweeter and spicier. It seemed to envelop him; he also could detect her natural scent, the scent of a s.e.xual woman. He s.h.i.+fted his weight, hardened his jaw, wondering how many lovers she had taken in the past four years. For him, there had been three-a brief fling to a.s.suage his broken heart and restore his manhood, a mistress he had kept in Boston, and his last mistress, whom he had kept in Was.h.i.+ngton. In his own way he had loved both of his mistresses; he had been genuinely fond of them, for each had been a strong, intellectual, and beautiful woman. They remained friends. And just a month ago he had found the woman of his dreams-Francesca-and last night he had been desperate to make love to her, but today, standing there in the endless hallway of the elegant hotel, he was acutely, hatefully aware of his wife, who had come to the city to destroy him. There could be no other reason. She glanced at him over her shoulder, smiled again, her lips rosebud pink without the aid of any rouge, and stepped inside a pleasant room with a four-poster bed, a small dining table and two chairs, a sofa, an ottoman, and a fireplace. "A suite was too expensive," she murmured, removing her chinchilla coat. His reflex was automatic, he jumped to take her coat, and as he did so, their hands brushed. He leaped away; she arched an eyebrow at him. "I hardly have leprosy, Rick," she said. "Forgive me for not welcoming you home with open arms," he muttered, opening the closet and hanging up her coat. He threw his own coat over the back of one of the chairs and folded his arms across his chest. She glanced at his chest, or was it his arms? Then she glanced lower, at his hips. His resolve hardened. "When are you returning to Boston?" "In a few days, I suppose," she said, turning away to fiddle with a vase full of flowers. She began to rearrange them and he sensed she was nervous, even though her manner indicated otherwise, and he was viciously pleased. "Should I send for some refreshments? Have you eaten breakfast?" she asked, not turning. He caught her wrist and turned her around. "My time is limited," he said harshly. "So let's not beat around the bush." "You act as if you hate me," she said, her gaze wide and on his. Her glance slipped to his mouth. He released her and said nothing. He was a gentleman, and he simply would not respond in the manner that he wished to. She nodded, hurt changing her expression, and for a moment she appeared as vulnerable as a small child, which she was not. "Should I order breakfast?" she asked. "We ate on the train." She looked at him and this time he did not look away. Her eyes continued to mirror hurt, but that was simply impossible. "She is very beautiful," Leigh Anne finally said, removing a very elegant hat and placing it carefully on a bureau. She sat down as carefully in a chair-her toes just reached the floor; her heels did not. She clasped her small hands in her lap. "Yes, she is very beautiful." He did not want to discuss Francesca with her. Sultry images from the night before flashed through his mind. To his amazement, he felt guilt intruding. "I have heard she is also clever, that she solves crimes," Leigh Anne said quietly. "Is that what you wish to talk about? Francesca?"

"Do you love her?" "Yes." He did not hesitate. She looked down. She did not speak. He was not going to feel guilty, as if he were the one with the parade of lovers, as if he were the one betraying her and their marriage. "Is that why you have come to the city? To discuss my relations.h.i.+p with Francesca?" She looked up. Her mouth, which was extremely full, was trembling. "My husband is in love with another woman. Should I merrily go about my business and pretend that naught is amiss?" "We ended our marriage four years ago!" he cried, and it was an explosion. His fist hit the table. The vase jumped but did not overturn. Leigh Anne paled. "Yes, you should have continued your affairs and pretended nothing was amiss!" She stared up at him. Her bosom heaved. "We have ended our marriage? Since when? I receive your checks every month. I send you my bills. I have never received divorce papers, Rick." Divorce. How easily they had segued into the topic he wished to broach. He leaned forward, aware of shaking now. "That can be easily rectified." She gasped. Then, "Is that what you are thinking? Now you think to divorce me? After all that you have done? Now you think to divorce me?" She was on her feet, her mouth quivering, her eyes filling with tears. Her small body was trembling. "My father is at death's door. My mother is incompetent and you know it. And then there is Charlie, my uncle's b.a.s.t.a.r.d. She is a hoodlum, Rick, uncontrollable, wild, without any social graces! And I am supposed to find her a husband! She has been left in my household, for me to raise! Now you would divorce me?" The tears finally fell, drop after drop. And to make matters worse, Leigh Anne was as beautiful when she was crying as when she was not. He grabbed her in sudden fury. She stiffened. "Don't even think of starting with me, now," he ground out, almost shaking her. Her shoulders were small and fragile beneath his hands-he felt as if he could crush them into dust if he tried. "I want a divorce. I have made up my mind. I shall marry Francesca, whom I love. And you, you can then do as you please, freely. f.u.c.k the whole world, Leigh Anne, and I shall not care!" "You're hurting me," she whispered, her eyes filled with fear. "Stop." "I'm hurting you? You walked out on me, my dear, not the other way around." But he eased his grip. He was seeing red now, red and white, for she was impossibly porcelain, impossibly beautiful, and her fear only heightened her beauty. "You broke every single promise you ever made to me!" she cried with a gasp. "Let me go!" "I broke promises?" He pulled her off her feet. Her small body could so easily be crushed by his larger one. He felt every inch of her now, against his own anger-wracked frame. "You swore to love and cherish me until death, Leigh Anne. Through better and for worse." "You also swore to love and cherish me until death, Rick, and you promised me a wonderful life! A wonderful life! You promised me that Georgian mansion with the cast-iron fence, the one we both fell in love with, the one just two blocks from your parents'! There were gong to be family dinners on Sunday nights! And what about the two children we were going to have? There was going to be supper parties, once a week, I do believe. Our first guest list would be your partners at Holt, Holt and Smith! You promised me a home, a family, an entire life-and then you reneged on every single one of your promises," she gasped, the tears falling in a ceaseless stream now. "And you are hurting me. d.a.m.n it. Let me go." He held onto her for one more minute, through the haze of anger and pain, acutely aware of her fragility and femininity, and even her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, crushed against his chest. And then he released her, as she had asked, but he made a mistake in doing so, and she slid down his body before her feet hit the floor.

Unfortunately, he was a virile man, one denied the pleasure of the bedroom for the past twomonths, and his reaction was reflexive and instantaneous. She felt it, backed away, and became utterly still, freezing in the process of beginning to rubher arms where he had gripped them. He hated himself. "You still think I'm beautiful," she whispered. "I am a man, Leigh Anne, not a eunuch," he said roughly. "You still want me," she said. He laughed without mirth and shook his head. "There is only one woman I want, and she isnot you." Leigh Anne stiffened. Her eyes blazed. "That's not what your body says." "I get hard in my dreams," he ground out. "And what does that mean? It means I have beenin public office for well over a month and I have been living like a monk for even longer thanthat." "Deny it if it makes you feel better," she whispered. "But you could never take your hands offof me. I don't think anything has changed." "I don't care what you think," he said, turning away. When she did not speak, he glanced at her. "I am not giving you a divorce," she said. He faced her. "Then we will have a bitter battle on our hands." He did not want to think aboutthe fact that Francesca was against his divorcing as well, but for all the right reasons. He stared, struck then by the utter and most basic difference between the woman he hadonce loved and the woman he now loved. Leigh Anne remained selfish to the core;Francesca was selfless. She did not have a single selfish bone in her entire body. His heart turned over, hard and painfully. "I understand that you have an excellent reputation," Leigh Anne said softly, staring directlyat him. She smiled a little, her gaze intent. "I understand that you are highly thought of andthat, in some circles, the talk is that you will be groomed to run for the Senate." He knew exactly where she intended to go, and he became even more tense, if possible. "I can help you, Rick," she said. He stared. What game was this? "I don't want your help." "No? I can help you win the Senate. While a divorce will end your career-forever. No one inthis country would ever forget it-you would be a political pariah. But to run for the Senate,why, you need a gracious and elegant wife at your side. Someone to shake hands with thewealthy who will support your run with their funds, someone to host those fund-raisingdinners and even mere political affairs. You need a wife to smile at the gentlemen who willback you and to campaign at your side. You need me, Rick." "I may not run for the Senate ever," he said. She shrugged. "I am not giving you a divorce. Not now, not ever. I am sorry you have fallen inlove with someone else, but now I am doing what I have to do," she said. "For it would ruinme, too, or have you so coldly forgotten that a divorced woman is a social pariah?" His heart beat hard. He could see Francesca so clearly now in his mind's eye, smart,beautiful, impossibly determined-mulishly so. When he had thought about her after theyhad first met, while they were falling in love but blissfully ignorant of it, his thoughts had madehim smile, and they had made him want to cheer and laugh. Now, he thought of her and feltlike weeping. He could not let Leigh Anne stand in their way, but hadn't he known, on some level, thatLeigh Anne would never complacently let him leave? And hadn't he also known that the pullof his political future was simply irresistible and not to be denied? Because he had so muchto achieve; so much remained to do! Cleaning out the hornets in the corrupt nest that wasNew York's police department was only a beginning. He gripped the back of a chair. "You will never campaign at my side. We are separated,and that is not going to change."

She smiled, a soft, secret sensual smile, and did not say a word. His knuckles turned white. "This isn't about my future, is it? This is your way of punis.h.i.+ng me.Why? It's been four years. We've both moved on with our lives. Why? Why stand in my way?Why did you really come back?" Her beautiful green eyes became moist. "Isn't it obvious?" she asked. "Nothing about you is obvious," he said harshly. "I still love you, Rick," she said. "And I will not let another woman have you." Francesca could not concentrate. Her cab had arrived and now sat in the driveway beforeCalder Hart's huge home. She did not move. She couldn't move. Leigh Anne Bragg's lovelyface was engraved on her mind, as was Bragg's furious one. Grief weighed her down. The sense of loss was acute. The fear was even greater-it felt likepanic. Nothing was ever going to be the same again, she thought in terror. Leigh Anne hadreturned, and her every instinct told Francesca that she meant to stay. You can let him divorce her, a small voice inside of her head said. That option remains. Francesca covered her face with her hands. They were shaking. She wanted to cry. Shewould not. And divorce was not an option, because she could not steal him away from hisdestiny. But there will not be a happy ending, Francesca. I will tell you about women like Mrs. Rick Bragg. . . . She didn't want him-but you cannothave him. Hart's voice was so strong and resonant that she blinked and opened her eyes, expecting tofind him standing outside the cab, peering inside. But he wasn't there, of course; no one wasthere. There was only the bleak and dreary day, the wind and the snow. It was coming down fast and furious now. "Miss? That's seventy-five cents," the cabbie said, staring at her over his shoulder. Francesca tried to smile and handed him a silver dollar. She shook her head when he triedto offer her change, already pus.h.i.+ng open her door. How was she going to survive? Andwhat did Leigh Anne really want? Why had she really come to New York? She wants Bragg, you fool, she heard her mind answer her. What woman would not? More despondent now, Francesca crossed the drive to Hart's house. The huge stag on theroof seemed to be gazing knowingly down at her. It said, I told you so! As she rang the door's bell, she told herself to forget about Leigh Anne now. There was workto do, a criminal to apprehend. Besides, she was his wife. To her shock, Hart thrust open the door himself. He was in his s.h.i.+rtsleeves and an openvest, looking as if he had just gotten out of bed. He saw her and his eyes widened-andthen his face hardened into a barely controlled mask of anger. "Where is my brother?" hedemanded. Francesca had never been greeted so rudely. But the words were hardly out when she knewsomething was terribly amiss. "I don't know," she began. Hart grabbed her arm and dragged her inside, slamming the door closed behind her. "Ialready know he went to Fort Kendall, Francesca," he said dangerously, his black eyesflas.h.i.+ng. She inhaled, hard. She was ready to become undone now, and this was not the time or theplace. "And you have been crying." Now he gripped her by both shoulders. "What's wrong? Didn'tthe two of you enjoy the night you spent together on that train all by yourselves?" She could not move. She could hardly speak. Hart was furious-and he was furious with her."We didn't," she began breathlessly. He released her. "I hardly care. So spare me the sordid details of your little love affair," hesaid harshly. But he was looking at her mouth, her hair. His gaze moved into the opening ofher coat and over the front of her tightly b.u.t.toned jacket. She knew he was searching forsigns of recent love-making. Francesca swallowed. "Leigh Anne is here."

He stiffened. And his expression changed. She would not bawl like a cow. "She met us at the train," she whispered unsteadily. The urgeto cry was overwhelming; she choked on a sob instead. "Poor Francesca," Hart murmured, and he pulled her against his chest. There was nomockery in his tone. She buried her face there on one hard plane and wept. He held her, stroking her back. She heard him say, "I am sorry, my dear. I am very, very sorryfor you." She thought that he meant it. She gripped his vest until her knuckles turned numb. She felthis s.h.i.+rt growing wet beneath her cheek. She also felt him stroking her nape beneath herhat. The tears ceased. Where he was stroking her, her skin tingled. Instantly grief was replacedby something else, something she did not want, something she truly feared. That was whenshe became acutely aware of his heart, pounding in a rhythm that was strong and insistent,but not at all slow. His hands moved to her upper arms, holding her in such a manner that she could not move.For one instant, she felt every inch of his body, a body of strength and power. And then hepushed her an inch, no two, away. He was staring searchingly at her now, looking so terribly grim. She felt her cheeks flush.How could she deny that she felt a terrible attraction to him? After last night, she had neverbeen more in tune with her body. This man merely had to walk into the room to make herbreathless. "Are you feeling better?" he asked quietly, never moving his gaze from hers. "Yes." She tried to breathe normally, and failed. "I fear you have been right. Hart! She is sobeautiful." "She is not as beautiful as you," he said quietly. Francesca stiffened. "You are being kind-" "I am not a kind man. Wipe your tears. Unless you wish for the entire family to know what hashappened in the past twenty-four hours." He seemed about to go. He turned back to her."Oh. Your mother is furious. Apparently I was not supposed to miss the train." She flushed. His gaze remained even. "I covered for you, Francesca. I told Julia a meeting caused me tomiss the train and that I was planning to accompany you and Rick." "Thank you," she managed. "I shall collect another time. Now where the h.e.l.l is Rick?" Suddenly his expression changed."No. I see. He must be with Leigh Anne. d.a.m.n it!" "Hart, what happened?" She grabbed his wrist. "What happened?" His brows slashed upward; he was incredulous. "One of the twins wasabducted, Francesca, right out of her nanny's hands, this morning after breakfast."

Chapter Seventeen.

TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 18, 1902 -JUST BEFORE NOON.

Francesca gasped.

"That is right," Hart said grimly. "The nanny takes the twins for a walk every morning after breakfast. She left at nine. She was back before half past. Craddock walked right up to her, grabbed Chrissy from the baby carriage, and leapt into a waiting vehicle."

"Oh, my G.o.d." Francesca grabbed him. "Lucy?"

"Is in hysterics," he said. He started down the corridor and Francesca followed, running to keep up with him.

"What about his note? I thought he intended to collect more money, today at noon!" she cried.

"Apparently he changed his mind. The good news is that he wanted money, and I can only a.s.sume he still wants money and that murder is the last thing on his mind."

"Calder!" She grabbed the back of his vest.

He whirled so quickly that her nose crashed into the wall of his chest. She backed up. "There was a gruesome murder at Fort Kendall in 1890. It was never solved. Shoz escaped a week later, while Craddock took over this murdered man's position among the inmates. Craddock is extremely dangerous," she said, trying to keep her voice down.

"He will not be dangerous for very much longer," Hart told her. "My private detective is on his tail-we learned where he has been staying until last week. Have no fear-I shall dispose of him the moment he is found-one way or the other."

Their gazes locked and she knew he meant his every word. Somehow, now, she could not blame him. She thought about the beautiful blond twin, and then she thought about Lucy.

Anguish filled her.

"What do we do now? Wait for word from your detective? From Craddock himself? Surely there will be a ransom note," Francesca said.

"I guarantee it," Hart said harshly. "The only thing we can do is wait. But we do need Rick now. The one thing he is, is astute."

As he spoke, his front doorbell rang. He stared at her. "That must be my oh-so-virtuous brother." The look he gave her was a dark one, filled with innuendos, and she knew he was thinking about the night she had just spent with Bragg on the train. He whirled and rushed back down the hall.

Francesca set chase and saw Alfred admitting Bragg. Hart did not slow as he entered the front hall; Francesca halted by the reclining nude with the dove, at the hall's far threshold.

She trembled and could barely breathe as she set her eyes upon him.

Bragg looked extremely upset. No, he looked grim, horribly so. Whatever had happened after she had left Grand Central Depot, it had not been a pleasant experience. What had happened?

"Did you enjoy your journey upstate?" Hart purred.

"Don't even think to begin," Bragg warned unpleasantly. "I am in no mood to spar with you."

"Craddock abducted Chrissy this morning," Hart returned coldly.

Bragg turned white.