It was a time for change. He could not go on like this. Laura’s disappearance was like a punch to his damn heart. He was falling in love with her and had absolutely nothing to offer her as enticement to take a chance on him.
And once again, you are manacled to Annabel.
Closing his mind to the words reverberating in his head, Adam alighted the carriage and paid the driver. He had to focus and deal with one problem at a time. Right then, Monica took priority. He approached her front door and knocked.
The soft tap of footsteps came from the other side and Adam tensed, preparing for what he was about to see. Lord only knew what sort of state Baxter’s beating had left her in.
“Who is it?”
He stared at the door as his anger hitched up a notch. He had never known Monica to check who called on her before opening the door. “It’s Adam.”
A second or two passed before a lock clanged back and a key turned.
The sight of Monica’s abused face and glazed eyes stole the air from his lungs. Nausea rose bitter in his throat as he stepped inside, words momentarily failing him. A purple-gray bruise shone on her cheek, and an angry laceration showed scarlet above her eye.
She closed the door. “Do not ask me how this could have happened. Nothing you say will be any more than what I have already told myself.”
He reached out and ran his thumb over her injured cheek and a single tear escaped her eye.
He brushed it away. “He will pay for this.”
She covered his hand with hers and lowered it. “Come, let’s take a seat in the parlor.”
Adam’s blood boiled with suppressed rage. Whilst he was in Bristol, an invisible demon had spread its wings over two people he cared about, leaving them bereaved or beaten in its wake. This was undoubtedly God’s punishment for Adam selfishly pursuing his dreams over everything else. Well, now he understood His message loud and clear. Nothing was circumstantial. Everything happened for a reason.
They entered Monica’s parlor and sat side by side on her upholstered settee. She winced and clutched her hand to her ribs as if she struggled to find a comfortable position.
“When did this happen?” He spoke the question from between gritted teeth.
“The day before yesterday.”
“Have you seen a doctor?”
“There is no need.”
“There is every need. Look at you.”
She met his eyes and hers darkened with irritation. “I can look after myself. Baxter’s a coward. A bully. He made a critical mistake coming to my home. The police will soon find him.”
“They know he did this to you?”
“Yes, unfortunately for Malcolm, he came here so angry, so steered by frustration, he did not foresee I might have neighbors who care about me. I did not take his beating lying down. I fought back and made as much noise as possible. He only got away because my neighbor is twenty years his senior. If his son would have been home he wouldn’t have been so lucky.”
Adam stared as he balled his hands into fists. “Well, much credit to your neighbor. Is he all right? He was not hurt?”
She shook her head. “No, they grappled at the doorstep before Malcolm fled, but no punches were thrown. Thank goodness.”
Adam nodded. “That is something, I suppose.” He looked toward the window. “However, despite your neighbor’s efforts to accost Baxter, there is no guarantee the police will follow this through. On the other hand, I will.”
“Let the police take care of it, Adam. Malcolm’s days are numbered. Do not let him number yours.” They fell into momentary silence before Monica spoke again. “Have you spoken to Laura?”
His heart picked up speed. “Do you know where she is?”
“I have no idea where she is staying at the moment, but I know where she will be”—she glanced at a wall clock above the mantel—“in two hours.”
Adam frowned, anticipation churning up a storm inside him. “Where?”
“The cemetery.”
Of course. Bette. “Bette’s funeral is at two?”
“Yes, I insisted Laura take some money from me, and I think a doctor friend of hers also helped so she could at least give her friend a decent burial. You should go to her.”
He clenched his jaw. “I will.”
The confirmation seemed to relax something within her and Monica shifted back against the settee and slumped against the cushions.
Adam frowned. “What did Baxter want? What did he say to you?”
She met his eyes, her gaze wary. “It does not matter.”
“I know he asked after Laura. I will find out one way or another, so you might as well tell me.”
“What happened in Bristol?”
Change of subject. Shame burned inside him, but Adam forced his eyes level with hers. “The part was given to another.”
“I’m sorry.”
“After what has happened here, I am glad. This is where I am needed. My time would be wasted in Bristol.”
Monica nodded. “And what of an investor? Did you find one?”
The knowing look in her eyes was filled with accusation and he looked past her toward the window. “Yes.”
“Were conditions attached?”
Adam pushed to his feet and approached the window. “Why don’t you just spit out whatever it is you are really asking me? You know I went to see Annabel, don’t you?”
“I guessed as much, yes.”
He turned. “I did what had to be done.”
“I see.” She stared. “And do you feel better for it?”
Self-hatred furled inside him, but Adam held her gaze. “That is neither here nor there. I did what I did, and now my play will soon have a willing director. Annabel will see that happens and after the play is shown, I will not have to go down this godforsaken route again. My work will speak for itself.”
“And you will tell Laura as much?”
He glared. “I do not need your judgment on this, Monica. I am doing enough of that myself. You know what my writing means to me. I have to get my play onstage if my life stands any chance of taking the turn I desire.”
“If you truly believe that, you have nothing to fear from telling Laura, do you?”
He tilted his chin, knowing his defiance was weak and his gumption even more so. “Like I said, I have done what was necessary. Laura will understand.”
Monica exhaled a heavy breath. “Then I wish you luck and hope you do the right thing. Laura’s lovely, Adam. She is special. I would like to think I do not need to tell you that.”
His heart was lead in his chest. “You do not.”
“I pray this hunger for an investor does not ruin whatever might be going on between the two of you. Sometimes there are more important things in life than ambition. I would hate for you to jeopardize what could be the best thing that has ever happened to you for the sake of your career.”
Their eyes locked and silent understanding hummed between them. They had become firm and honest friends, and he could not deny Monica’s words were said with concern. He inhaled a long breath. “I need to go.”
“Where?”
He stood. “There is something I need to do before I go to the cemetery.”
She gave a satisfied nod and smiled. “Give Laura my love. I will be thinking of her.”
He closed the space between them and kissed her gently on the cheek. “I will be back to check on you tomorrow. Get some rest.”
Leaving the room, he strode through the hallway and out onto the street. He closed Monica’s front door firmly and put on his hat. He drew in a shaky breath. He needed to find Baxter. The bastard did not deserve to roam free for another damn second. Scowling, Adam marched along the pathway toward Laura’s old address.
His determined footsteps pounded the pavement, his mind void of anything except how good it would feel to have his hands around Baxter’s neck. On and on he strode until the bustle of the town center lessened and the residences grew in number. He had no idea if his rationale
would lead to wasted time, but as Baxter relentlessly pursued Laura, it was possible he did others in the alley too. Hopefully, Adam would find him there or if not, someone would be able to tell him where else Baxter was likely to be found at this time of day.
Eventually, the richer residences gave way to less extravagant red-brick houses. Adam slipped into the alley where Laura once lived. The stench fueled his resolve, and the pitiful laundry hanging above him on lengths of rope reminded him again of a life Laura lived without complaint or fear. The passion to fill her life with laughter and love, abundance and applause, burned inside him. Determined, he stormed forward, his hands fisted at his sides.
The alley was empty but for some raggedly dressed children kicking stones back and forth to one another. He reached the door of Laura’s house and knocked.
No sound came from within. Cursing, he was about to turn away when the material at the window twitched. Narrowing his eyes, he whirled back and rapped his knuckles against the door a second time.
“I mean you no harm, I just have a few questions I would like to ask. I am here about Malcolm Baxter. Do you know him? I am not asking for money, just information.”
The door swung back on its hinges and Adam stared straight into the ugly and twisted face of Malcolm Baxter. “What the hell do you want?”
“I want you.”
Baxter sneered. “Never took you for a nancy boy, Lacey. I thought you would want a female whore rather than me.”
The rage that tore through Adam’s blood rendered him incapable of thought or speech. He lunged forward and gripped Baxter’s lapels. With an almighty roar, he yanked the son of a bitch off his feet and tossed him onto the cobbled street.
Baxter stumbled and cursed but did not lose his footing. He lifted his fists. “Come on, then. I’m ready for you this time. If you think you’ll get a second chance of damn near strangling me, you can think again.”
The children’s cheers reverberated from the soot-coated walls around them. “Fight! Fight!”
Each time he inhaled, Adam’s breath caught like broken glass in his throat. His mouth was coated with the bitter, arid taste of vengeance, and his vision was tinged crimson with fury. He took a moment to absorb the sight of scum lower than filth. This ended now.
He charged forward and slammed his fist straight into Baxter’s nose. Bones snapped and blood flew.
“Jesus Christ!” Baxter hit the ground.
Adam ripped at Baxter’s collar, raising his fist a second time. He caught him a beautiful blow to his scrawny, woman-beating jaw. The nose was for Monica; the jaw, Laura. The third would be for him. Smiling, Adam raised his fist again.
A police whistle pierced the air, sending the growing crowd of adolescents scuttling together in a huddle. The copper was built like a bear—big and broad and decidedly hairy. He dragged Adam off Baxter with a hand at the back of his jacket.
“Right, you’re nicked, sunshine.” He glared into Adam’s face before his eyes widened with surprise. “Well, I never. Mr. Lacey? What in God’s name do you think you’re doing?” He released Adam’s collar and looked at Baxter, who attempted to stem his bleeding nose with the sleeve of his jacket.
Adam clenched his jaw. “He had it coming. I want this man arrested for battery and assault.”
The policeman scowled. “I think the man who gave the beating was you, Mr. Lacey, don’t you?”
“In an effort to right a wrong, yes. This man beat my friend, sir. In her home.”
The policeman’s eyes darkened. “A woman?” He reached down and gripped Baxter by the arm and yanked him to his feet, heedless of the blood pouring from his nose. “Is this true?”
Adam’s heart hammered as he glared. Baxter grunted and sniveled, coughed and spluttered something unintelligible that might have been admission or argument but was too garbled to understand. The policeman’s face twisted with contempt and spun Baxter around, pushing his free arm, the one not held to his nose, up his back.
He looked at Adam. “I will take this gentleman in for the time being, Mr. Lacey, but the woman involved will have to come to the station and press charges for us to take this further. In the meantime, it will be my duty to retain Mr. Baxter at her majesty’s pleasure for a day or two.”
Adam nodded, satisfaction seeping like a balm into his stomach. “It is appreciated, sir. I will make sure the woman concerned comes to the station later today.”
“Right you are. Come on, Baxter, there’s a nice cell waiting for you.”
Baxter huffed and cursed as he was frog marched away with blood dripping from his nose onto the stones.
It was not until the children patted Adam on his back and congratulated him on a job well done that he blinked from his stupor. He leaned down and picked up his hat. He brushed it off and put it on, shaking out his bruised fingers, clenching and unclenching the aching joints. With a wink to the kids, he marched from the alley. He had a funeral to attend.
Laura stood at the graveside and the vicar’s words floated over her.
“Miss Windsor will be missed. A woman who knew hardship in life but will now find eternal peace in the Lord’s open arms. . . .”
As she trembled with grief, Laura struggled to contain the need to scream and shout and throw herself over Bette’s coffin and beg her friend to wake up, to come back to her so Laura could atone for the mistakes she’d made. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t forgive herself that she’d lost focus of Bette’s needs and dashed headlong into a love affair with a man she found too irresistibly exciting.
Tears slipped one after the other down her face, but Laura didn’t move to wipe them away. Instead, she stood ramrod straight, her gaze trained on Bette’s coffin. Dr. Penders stood to one side of her and a neighbor from the street where she and Bette lived on the other. A neighbor whom Bette had helped out more times than Laura could count on her fingers and toes. As she had everyone and anyone she could. Always protective and caring. God could only have taken Bette because He needed her elsewhere.
Behind her, the shuffle of feet and murmur of voices occasionally broke the subdued quiet. She had yet to speak to any other grievers but guessed they’d be people who’d heard of Bette’s death through the grapevine and came to either pay their respects or hoped for some fare after the burial. Laura glared ahead, tears burning.
If it was the latter, they’d have a long wait coming. There were as many unfamiliar faces as there were familiar, so any strangers hoping for a free meal had wasted their time. She planned to leave for Saltford on the next available coach. There wouldn’t be a wake. There wouldn’t be a gathering at the doctor’s for people who barely knew Bette, yet claimed they did well enough to mingle and offer condolences.
“And so we surrender Bette into your safekeeping, my Lord . . .”
Laura’s heart lodged painfully in her throat as the undertakers stepped forward and slowly lowered the coffin into the ground. A sob hitched and she pressed her handkerchief hard against her mouth to stem another as inch by painful inch the coffin dropped lower. Dr. Penders’s arm came firmly around her shoulders. Either holding her tightly for comfort or firmly to stop her from falling, she couldn’t be sure. The single yellow rose she held trembled.
Her vision dipped and rose in sickening waves. Her legs shook and her heart broke. The coffin disappeared out of sight and panic roared up inside her.
No. No. Bette, don’t go. I need you. Please.
She rushed from the doctor’s embrace and dropped to her knees at the graveside. Her beloved friend was so far down in the ground. She would be cold and lonely. Bette hated the cold, hated to be alone for more than an hour or so. . . .
“Bette, I’m sorry. So, so sorry.” Laura squeezed her eyes shut and just as she faltered and tipped to the side, two strong arms came around her and held her tight.
“I am here, Laura. I am here.”
His voice enveloped her in a comforting cocoon.
“Adam.” She sobbed against his chest, her fingers clu
tching his arms in desperation. “Oh, God. Bring her back. Please.”
“It is all right. Everything will be all right.” He rocked her as his breath whispered like kisses across her temple.
He made no move to lift her from the ground, and spoke no words telling her to pull herself together and stand. Instead, he came down onto the grass beside her and positioned her between his open legs, cradling her in his arms like a child. Her tears dried and her breathing steadied as the scent and strength of him seeped into her skin.
Moments passed. Awkward coughs and whispered words blew around them on a soft breeze, but still they stayed entwined in one another’s arms. After what seemed like hours, the vicar left, and so did the doctor and other mourners until it was just her and Adam. Alone.
“How did you know I’d be here?” She ran her finger over the sleeve of his jacket.
“I saw Monica.” He drew in a shaky breath. “She told me Bette would be buried here at two.”
Laura pulled back and looked into his eyes. He brushed some fallen hair from her face and kissed the tip of her nose. Deep inside, a voice warned her to move away from him, to enforce the distance now, rather than have it thrust upon her later when it would undoubtedly hurt more. Yet, it was impossible.
“I’m glad you came.”
“I am sorry I was not there for you.”
“Monica said she’d come too.”
He closed his eyes. “She could not.”
Laura stared at his closed lids and her stomach tightened. Something had happened. “Adam? What is it?”
He opened his eyes and pulled her head down to his shoulder. “It does not matter. Let’s just be here for Bette. Everything else can wait.”
Unease prickled the hair at the back of her neck. “Tell me.”
His heart gave harsh thumps. A heavy exhalation shuddered through him. “Baxter went to Monica’s house.”
A ball of red-hot fire ignited in her heart. “I see.”
She pulled from his embrace and pushed to her feet. Stepping forward, she grabbed a handful of earth from the pile at the foot of Bette’s grave. She stared down at her friend’s coffin. The wood was dull and unvarnished, but the pewter name plate somehow glinted under the rays of the weak and hazy sunshine. It was no longer Bette in that box, merely her body. Her soul had risen, and Laura shivered as it breathed into her, strengthening her weakening spirit.
The Temptation of Laura Page 19
