That muffled turn of the key was Justin’s downfall. He slammed out of the room and climbed the stairs two at a time, not caring anymore who heard him traverse the darkened corridors to Emily’s room. His thigh struck a table, overturning it. The photographs toppled and struck the floor in an explosion of shattering glass. His long strides devoured the carpet until he stood outside her door once again. Sometimes he felt he’d spent half his life there.
Justin didn’t waste time knocking or toying with the knob. And he definitely wasn’t in the mood to beg. So he simply lifted his leg, and in one powerful motion, kicked the door down.
Chapter 34
Someday you’ll hear my voice whispering on the wind.…
Emily pressed her palm to her thundering heart. Justin stood in the doorway, the splintered door lying like an altar of pagan sacrifice at his feet. The shattered lock dangled from its mooring. He stretched out his arms and braced his weight on either side of the door frame. His lazy grin never reached his eyes.
“Hello, darling. I thought you might need some coal for your fire. Or has someone else been stoking your flames these days?”
His clothes were rumpled. His untrimmed hair hung in shaggy disarray. His eyes were red-rimmed and wild from desperation and lack of sleep. He was everything the polished and urbane Nicholas Saleri could never be.
She broke away from his compelling gaze, forcing herself to remain cool, knowing there was only one way to earn any peace for either of the men she had loved.
She slipped an airy note into her voice. “If you must know, Nicholas has asked me to marry him.”
The wild look in Justin’s eyes deepened. “What a tidy way to wrap up your inheritance! He marries you, takes you back to his mansion in New Zealand. And how long do you think it will be before the new Mrs. Saleri suffers a tragic accident? A week? A month? I know Nicky. Once he has your money, he’ll have no further need for you. You’ll only be an encumbrance to him. He’ll dispose of you just as he did David and me.” Justin crossed to her. “Have you forgotten what a monster he is? My God, he plotted your own father’s death.”
She lowered her lashes before he could see his own agony mirrored in her eyes. She had to use all of her wiles and passion to convince this man she hated him. She closed her eyes, summoning back all those feelings of anger and abandonment she’d fought so hard to vanquish.
When she opened them, she knew they sparkled with furious contempt. “He wasn’t the one who pulled the trigger though, was he? Or the one who lied about it for seven years.”
Justin ran a hand through his hair. A cynical laugh escaped him. “Nicky always was a randy little bastard. He’ll probably let you live for a little while. At least until he tires of your skills in bed.” He lifted a mocking eyebrow. “And we both know how considerable those are.”
Emily drew back her hand and slapped him. He stared at her, giving her a harrowing glimpse of his utter helplessness before his eyes hardened to polished amber.
With one smooth motion he shoved her back against the wall. His powerful hands cupped her throat and his voice lowered to a husky growl. “If you think I’m capable of murder, you’re bloody right. Because as God is my witness, I’ll kill you myself before I’ll let him have you.”
He ground his lips against hers in a brief, raging kiss, then he was gone, leaving her heart as splintered as her door.
She slid down the wall to a sitting position and pressed her mouth to her knee to muffle her anguished sobs.
• • •
“Sir, sir! Please! You must wake up.”
Someone was shaking him. Groaning, Justin batted the persistent hands away and rolled to his side. His fingers struck something cool. He pried his bleary eyes open to discover it was the taloned foot of the settee. He vaguely remembered collapsing in the study in the wild hope of silencing the torment in his head long enough to let him sleep. But it was stupor, not sleep, that had finally claimed him.
David’s face had danced through his restless slumber. In his dreams he had reached for him, but David had vanished, just like Emily.
“Sir, please! You don’t understand. You have to get up!”
The genteel hands lost their patience. They fastened on Justin’s lapels and jerked him up, shaking him like a rag doll. The round moon of Penfeld’s face finally penetrated the shrouded gloom of the library. The valet looked dangerously near tears and that fact, more than any other, stirred Justin to consciousness.
“Penfeld? My God, what is it, man? What’s wrong?”
The valet’s plump lip quivered. “She’s gone, sir. For good this time, I fear.”
Emily stood on the deck of the steamer and watched the coast of England melt into the dawn mist. Every rhythmic chug of the engine’s pistons, every wave riding against the iron hull, carried her farther away from Justin. She pulled up her hood, drawing it like a cool veil over her seething emotions. As Nicky rested his hands on her shoulders, her gloved hands clenched on the rail.
“It’s only a matter of time now, cara mia. Once we find that land grant he tampered with, we’ll have the evidence we need. We can take it to the authorities and, with your testimony, have him put away for life. He’ll never harm either of us again.” He gave her shoulders a reassuring squeeze. Emily shuddered. “Don’t be afraid, love. I’ll take care of you now. Once we’ve put this ugly business of the past behind us, we can discuss our future. But first we must bring your father’s murderer to justice.”
Emily faced him. “Yes, Nicky,” she said, standing on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. “That’s really all I ever wanted. Justice.”
As her bedroom door flew open, Olivia Connor, the Duchess of Winthrop, rolled over and sat up in her modest tent bed.
“Opening the door instead of going through it? How dreadfully conventional. You disappoint me, son.”
Justin strode across the room and flung himself to his knees beside the bed. He wrung her hands in his desperate grasp. “Please, Mother. I need your help.”
Her rag-wrapped curls bobbed knowingly. “It’s the girl, isn’t it?”
“Isn’t it always?” His beseeching eyes searched her face. “Father’s fastest ship. I have to know. What is it? Is it a steamer? A sailing ship? Think hard, Mother. Emily’s very life may depend on it.”
She absently twirled a ringlet around her finger. A slow smile dawned on her face. “I should have thought of that sooner.” She beamed up at him. “Why, the fastest ship would be the Olivia, of course!”
Sailors scurried like ants over the polished deck of the graceful clipper known as the Olivia. They scrambled up and down ramps, staggering beneath the crates and barrels of supplies for the long journey ahead. They shimmied up the towering masts to secure the sails, all the while casting their new master some very uneasy looks. Even the most grizzled and salt-beaten of them was aware that London gossip reputed him to be a madman. Should they bid a tearful farewell to their mistresses and wives? Was he about to send them all on a dark voyage of destruction? They found it even more perplexing that their young captain stood straddle-legged on the deck, bellowing instructions as if he’d been born to command.
Justin was well aware of their trepidation, but there was damn little he could do about it now. He was determined to have the ship outfitted and asail by nightfall if it took every sailor in London to do it. The sea had brought him Emily, and he was more than willing to harness the sea to keep her.
As he stalked to the prow of the ship, the cool moist air filled his lungs. A blanket of fog had hung over the harbor all day. The slender spars rose like ghostly fingers into the darkening sky. The massive bosom of the clipper’s figurehead jutted over the water.
Justin reached up and ran his fingers over her carved cheek. “Wish me luck, Duchess,” he whispered. “I’m going to need it.”
“Sir?”
Justin swung around to see a figure emerging from the fog. A carpeted satchel swung from his hand. A heavy woolen pea coat had replaced his frock coat, and
a parrot-green bandanna hung at a jaunty angle around his neck. But even those things did not shock Justin as much as the dangerous-looking rifle slung across his back.
“Penfeld?”
The valet clicked his heels and gave him a snappy salute. “Aye, Cap’n, reporting for duty.”
A rush of helpless affection blurred Justin’s vision. God seemed to have dedicated himself to making amends for giving him Frank Connor for a father.
“Ah, Penfeld, I can’t ask you to follow me halfway across the world, searching for a woman who may not even want me to find her.”
“Pish posh, sir, if I may be so bold as to say so. I’ve discovered civilization isn’t to my taste. I’ve come to believe a bit of adventure, like a cup of hot tea, warms the blood and keeps a man’s heart thumping.” He reached into the deep pocket of his coat. “Forgive my presumption, but I stopped at a shop on my way to the harbor. I thought you might have need of this.”
Justin almost ducked as a long-barreled pistol came sailing at his head. He caught it between two fingers and ran his hands over the sleek metal. It was the first time he had held a pistol in his hands since he had killed his best friend with one.
The valet’s eyes sparkled with a determination to match his own. Justin gave him a roguish grin and tucked the pistol into his waistband.
He strode down the deck and threw an arm around Penfeld’s shoulders. “Come on, you old tar, there’ll be no slackers among this crew. There’s work to be done and bonnie fair maidens to be rescued.”
Emily sat in a chair on the deck of the small steamer they had booked in Melbourne, watching Nicholas shave. He insisted on shaving outdoors, where the light was better. A white towel was slung around his neck and his shirt was half unbuttoned to reveal the smooth muscles of his chest. He leaned over the round mirror clipped to the railing and puckered his sensual lips.
Nicholas was talking. He was always talking. He talked incessantly, always about himself. She wondered why he’d bothered to rid himself of her father and Justin in such a clumsy manner. If they had remained his partners, it would have taken him only a few years to bore them to death. At least she’d been spared fending off any romantic advances. She understood now why he was satisfied with only chaste pecks on the cheek. No man that much in love with himself could have any desire for another. He seemed content to satisfy his own selfish pleasures with the mirror.
Her fingers dug pale cresents into the page of her book as she fought the temptation to plant her boot in the middle of his tight derriere and shove him over the side. Perhaps he wouldn’t be as fortunate with the sharks as Barney had been. She’d gladly cut off her entire hand and toss it after him if it would whet their appetites. She caught him watching her in the mirror’s shiny surface and hoped her expression didn’t reflect her bloodthirsty musings.
“What should I wear to dinner tonight, pet?” he asked. “The silk jacket or the paisley?”
“Oh, the silk,” she said mildly. “It so complements your complexion.”
He swore in Italian. “I’m not tanning, am I?” He tilted his chin for a critical perusal. “The sun always draws out the olive in my complexion.” He slipped a tie around his neck and knotted it in crisp folds.
Emily fantasized about pulling the ends tight and drawing out the purple in his complexion.
A faint shudder raked him. “Too much sun is lethal for the skin. I should hate to look as old as Justin does.”
Emily closed her eyes. Justin’s bronze complexion floated in her memory. She imagined seeing the tiny lines around his eyes crinkle in laughter, tracing the chiseled grooves around his mouth with her tongue, running her fingers through the sun-streaked silver in his dark hair. A wave of longing, more potent than the sea, rushed over her.
She opened her eyes. “Don’t fret, Nicky. Looking old is one thing you’ll never have to worry about.” With that cryptic reassurance she buried her nose in her book and went back to basking in the warm rays of the sun.
The clipper’s sleek bow sliced through the jade-colored waves, scattering whitecaps in its path. Justin stood at the prow, his foot braced on a coil of hemp. He leaned forward as if his very posture could somehow hasten the magnificent ship’s speed through the endless vista of sky and sea. Her sails rippled and snapped above his head, capturing the wind in billowing canvas clouds. The ship’s navigator had assured him they were making excellent time and should reach the North Island by nightfall.
In the weeks they’d been at sea the sun had bronzed his skin and gilded his hair with a net of silver. He wore no shirt, and his worn dungarees hugged his hips and thighs like a second skin.
With the gold hoop once again dangling from one ear and the pistol wedged in his waistband, he knew he looked like the worst sort of pirate.
The primitive spirit of adventure that had sent him to New Zealand the first time roared through his veins. It had taken Emily to bring it to life, to pull him out of the emotional coffin he’d buried himself in. He had to find her. He’d promised David he’d take care of his daughter, and he intended to do just that, at the expense of his pride, or even his life.
All that mattered to him now was that she was still alive. He had tracked her and Nicky to Melbourne, where they’d switched steamers. He still had no idea why Nicky had veered off for the North Island instead of taking Emily to the palatial kingdom he’d built for himself on the South.
The balmy wind whipped his hair around his shoulders. Closing his eyes, he breathed deeply, savoring its salty tang. Its heat and scent had haunted him through the long, cold nights in London, nights softened only by that too-brief idyll when Emily had loved him.
As he opened his eyes, hope stirred within him like the faintest curl of a child’s fingers reaching toward the sun.
The breaking waves slapped at the hull as Justin and Penfeld rowed the wooden dinghy toward the shore. Justin’s men had already boarded the modest steamer anchored off the western coast of the North Island only to be told a man and woman had gone ashore at sunset.
They followed the curve of the shoreline, not wanting to warn anyone of their approach. Justin’s restless gaze raked the shadowy forest. Was Emily there somewhere? Waiting for him?
He pressed a finger to his lips, silencing Penfeld’s oars. The dinghy drifted around a narrow finger of sand. A chill touched him to see the familiar bluff and David’s cross silhouetted against the violet sky. Penfeld removed his hat in a gesture of respect and clutched it to his chest.
The bottom of the boat scraped against land. In silent accord they climbed out and dragged it up the sandy slope, hiding it between two towering dunes. Penfeld reached around and drew his rifle from its sheath, handling it with surprising grace.
“Stay put,” Justin commanded. “No matter what you hear, I want you to stay put. You’ve got to be ready to take her away from here if something goes wrong. Do you understand?”
“But, sir—”
Justin shook a stern finger at him. “That’s an order, Penfeld. Disobey it and I’ll … I’ll … dismiss you.”
“Aye, sir,” he replied with obvious reluctance. He settled down with his back against a dune and the rifle cradled in his folded arms.
Justin picked his way along the shadows of the dunes until he came to the rim of the open beach. He squatted in the sand, remembering another night, another beach. There was no sign of the natives now. The glittering carpet of beach rolled out before him. A primitive fear knotted his gut as he braced himself to step onto that shimmering stretch of sand and sea, naked to any eyes that might be watching from the forest.
Then he saw it, a light shining through the trees from the hut just as the light had once shone from David’s tent. This time he would not be too late. His hesitation wouldn’t cost him the life of someone he loved.
He burst from the cover of the dunes and pounded down the beach, sending chunks of wet sand flying in his wake. Cold sea spray battered him. The beach unfurled in a sparkling ribbon, mocking him with the serene
beauty of the rising moon silvering the indigo swells.
A ghost stepped out from the shadows. Nicky, luminous in a white linen suit and a wide-brimmed panama hat. Justin stumbled to a halt.
He stared, mesmerized, at the graceful flick of Nicky’s fingers as he struck a match and touched the flame to the end of his cigarette. The sickly sweet aroma of burning hemp filled the air, and Justin knew it wasn’t tobacco he was smoking.
Nicky held out a gold case and raised one mocking eyebrow. “Cigarette? As I recall, you sometimes indulged.”
“Why couldn’t you have left us alone, Nicky? We were happy together. Why couldn’t you just walk away when you found us?”
A beatific smile curved his lips. “And give up the sheer pleasure of watching you destroy each other? You’ve always misread my intentions. I never wanted to kill you, Justin. I just wanted to watch you bleed.”
“Where is she? What have you done with her?”
“Nothing.” Nicky took a deep draw from the cigarette; his eyes glittered. “Yet.”
With one smooth motion Justin drew the pistol from his waistband and pointed it at his old friend, his hands oddly steady. “I want to see her.”
Nicky slid the cigarette case into his pocket and held up both hands. “Please don’t shoot me. I’d never get the bloodstains out of this suit, and you know how expensive Egyptian linen is.”
“Take me to her.”
He dropped his hands, giving Justin a beleaguered smile. “I’ve always found your singleminded sense of purpose quite dull. I told you. She’s safe for now. At least until I tire of her.”
Justin started for him. “You ruthless bastard.”
Nicky’s low laugh rippled. “Ah, so that’s the way of it. I thought so. I wonder what your precious David would say if he knew you’d been tumbling his sweet little Claire between the sheets. I don’t think that’s quite what he had in mind when he asked you to take care of her. But I do hope you rode her hard and broke her in well for me.”
Teresa Medeiros Page 36
