Pure Sin

by Susan Johnson

  Lucie’s gaze returned to Flora from a quick perusal of the running game in progress. “Are you going alone?” the young child asked, familiar with war parties. “Papa never goes alone.”

  “No, Georgie, Alan, Douglas, and Henry would all come along too. I wouldn’t be alone, and Spring Lily will take care of you until we return.”

  “I’ll be right back!” she shouted to her friends before returning her attention to Flora. “May I go back and play now?” she politely inquired. “We’re playing horse race and I’m winning.”

  Trauma was averted.

  Lucie had been raised in the midst of a large, extended Absarokee family; she was assured of her father’s love; her nanny would defend her against demons from the depths of the stygian gloom. And successfully, Flora reflected with a smile.

  She was a child secure in her varied worlds.

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Adam and James entered Helena alone, intent on the simple mission of persuading Isolde to leave. She was staying with Harold and Molly Fisk, Adam discovered after they’d arrived. A sensible precaution, he thought. But, then, she always knew how to protect her interests.

  That meant he’d have to deal with Isolde in a more civilized manner than he wished. His first impulse had been to tie her up, toss her into the stage for Salt Lake City, and have the driver see that she transferred at that point for the East. Knowing Isolde’s resilience, she’d no doubt be back on the return run, he ruefully acknowledged, so he’d have to make his position extremely clear this time.

  Deathly clear.

  After he and James settled in at the Planters House, they bathed and dressed. While Adam called on his wife at the Fisk mansion, James had his own agenda—gathering information on Ned Storham’s current whereabouts.

  Both men wore their guns.

  It was late morning and very warm, even up on the hill where the wealthy had built their homes. Adam’s face was grim as he walked up the brickwork path to the front door; the task of running Isolde out of the territory would have been more easily done in a private setting.

  That was precisely why she was ensconced at the Fisks.

  Molly came forward in a welcoming flurry of navy silk and rustling petticoats when Adam was announced, crossing the formidable space of the drawing room in a breathless rush.

  “How absolutely wonderful to see you again. Wasn’t I just saying yesterday how splendid it would be if Adam were to come into town?” she exclaimed, turning to the other two occupants of the room for confirmation.

  Henrietta flushed in her excitement and stammered an inaudible greeting.

  Isolde calmly said, “How nice to see you again, Adam.”

  “Come in, come in, dear boy,” Molly asserted, guiding Adam with a hand on his arm. “Can I get you tea?” One look at Adam’s expression, and she said, “Perhaps a bourbon and branch water? Is it too early?”

  “A double, please.”

  “Ice would be nice today, wouldn’t it?” she added, responding to his abrupt reply. “Sit down and I’ll have one for you in a jiffy.”

  And after a fussing interval with a maidservant, she turned back to them all with a smile. “You must tell us about Saratoga,” she said as the maid handed Adam his bourbon. “I hear your racers won some very good money.” What she really meant was “Tell us about Lady Flora.” Isolde had already been quite explicit. But, of course, there were always two points of view.

  “We went out to test Magnus and some of our other young ones, and they performed well,” Adam replied, wondering how long he could manage to be polite. Or if he even cared to.

  “Harold says we’ll definitely go for the season next year. Henrietta’s dear papa always goes to the Spa; he says it’s a marvelous place to do business. And wasn’t it a shame about poor Frank Storham? They just buried him yesterday. Not that I had any fondness for the man,” she hastened on, “for he always drank more than was quite acceptable. But, well … he’s dead,” she maladroitly noted. “It does make one consider the frailty of life.”

  “James mentioned his death to me,” Adam said. “The Storhams seem to put themselves in dangerous positions. And, then, Frank did always have an unsteady gun hand.” He spoke without inflection, his face a mask.

  “Ned’s saying you killed him,” Isolde casually said, smiling at Adam over the rim of her teacup.

  “Ned can say anything he pleases,” Adam replied, “but since he wasn’t in Saratoga, it would be difficult to take his accusation seriously.”

  Now that he’d found love, he wondered how he could have suffered Isolde’s bland malice for so long. She was completely without compassion or feeling. He had no illusions about her friendship with Ned Storham. She and Ned in combination couldn’t be improved on for cold-blooded greed.

  “Who would possibly believe Ned Storham anyway?” Henrietta hotly interjected. “He’s an uncouth bully. Auntie won’t have him in the house,” she declared.

  “How sweet,” Isolde cooed. “The darling girl is defending you, Adam. Another conquest?” she queried, her voice fragrant with spite.

  “I’m afraid Henrietta’s right,” Molly affirmed, stepping in to mitigate Isolde’s contentious venom. “I’ve told Harold he can’t invite the man to the house, regardless that Ned Storham has large deposits in Harold’s bank. He’s much too vulgar.”

  Henrietta smiled at Isolde with a stabbing triumph.

  “He must be a very tedious man,” Isolde coolly said, “but, then, so many are rough-and-tumble out here. Will dear Henrietta be coming out at court anywhere?” she deftly went on, plunging her retaliating stiletto with precision. “I know how difficult it can sometimes be to find a sponsor.” What was left unsaid was the contrast between the parvenu nature of Henrietta’s American fortune and Isolde’s ancient ducal lineage.

  “I’ll be coming out in London,” Henrietta proudly retorted, the subtlety of Isolde’s thrust lost upon her. She was proud of her father’s money, and it wasn’t new to her, for he’d had it as long as she could remember. “I’m just eighteen.”

  Adam smiled faintly. Henrietta’s riposte was masterful. He supposed Isolde, at twenty-seven, did seem aged from her vantage point, he thought, recalling Henrietta’s flirtatious comments on the attraction of “older” men.

  “How bright the world looks at eighteen,” Molly tactfully declared, mildly unnerved by the hostility in the air. She’d forgotten how antipathetic the Serres’ marriage was. “I imagine we all remember those blissful days.”

  “I hadn’t met you yet,” Isolde said to Adam, her gaze icy.

  Deciding not to respond in kind, Adam neutrally said, “I don’t think I even saw France for most of my eighteenth year.”

  “Which accounts for your interesting barbarism.” Isolde’s voice was sugar sweet.

  “What part of it do you find interesting, madame?” Adam coolly inquired, the sudden snapping of his temper almost audible in his chill rebuke. Draining his bourbon, he set his glass down, stood abruptly, and turning to his hostess, said in a voice so cold, “Would you please excuse my wife and me? We have business to discuss, and my time is limited.”

  Molly stood as if propelled from her chair, glanced at her niece, who understood that tone of voice too and was already rising, and stammered, “Of course … I understand.… Henrietta, come.”

  In seconds Adam was alone with his wife for the second time in a month.

  His anger showed. In his clenched fists, in the heated depths of his eyes, in the rigidity of his spine as he stood limned by the pale light of the lace-curtained window behind him.

  “Will you shoot me with that gun?” Isolde coldly asked, all pretense of civility gone, the hatred in her eyes flagrant.

  “It’s a thought,” he bluntly said. “Several of my friends have persistently encouraged me.”

  “James, I suppose, the hateful man. You won’t, of course. You’re too ethical.”

  “At least one of us is.”

  “Ethics are for bourgeoisie.” />
  “The Serres outrank your family, Isolde, and they’re aware of the term. But I didn’t come here to argue philosophy with you. I’m here to tell you to leave Montana and don’t come back.”

  “I still have rights as your wife, Adam. It’s not going to be that easy. And I didn’t journey through this dusty, hot, miserable country to abruptly leave again. By the way, I took some of my things from the ranch last week. Apparently you haven’t been there for some time. Mrs. McLeod was difficult, as usual.”

  “Cloudy misunderstands your charitable nature,” he sarcastically drawled. “I’m surprised she let you in the door.”

  “I explained I wouldn’t be staying at the ranch.”

  “Incentive, then, for her tolerance. But you won’t be staying in Helena either. I want you to return to Europe.”

  “How authoritarian you’ve become. I’m afraid I can’t accommodate you. I have other plans.”

  “Ned Storham can’t help you.”

  “Perhaps I disagree.”

  “He’ll be dead in a few days.”

  “Or you will.”

  “Don’t count on it.”

  “But I am.”

  He sighed, relaxing marginally, all this very old battle ground, none of it useful to the purpose of his visit. “Suit yourself,” he said. “I’m not here to negotiate or argue.” He paused for a moment, wanting to be certain she was listening, so there wouldn’t be any mistaking his message, and then, moving closer, he quietly said, “Either be on the stage for Salt Lake City tomorrow morning, or I’ll see that you are.”

  She looked up at him with bland eyes. “You don’t frighten me.”

  “That’s because I’ve always been too pleasant. I’m very serious now. Don’t discount my sense of purpose.”

  “You’re not even going to offer me more money to leave you in peace with your new paramour?”

  “No.” He was done buying, paying, cajoling, looking the other way, ignoring the fact that his life was passing by while other people were enjoying happiness. By the merest stroke of fate, because of a duty visit to Judge Parkman’s one night, he now had an opportunity to possess what other people possessed: a family, love, peace and contentment, happiness, perhaps more children if the spirits were kind. “No,” he firmly repeated, his hand unconsciously moving to his Colt. “Not a penny more.”

  “You sound very dramatic.” Her ladylike pose hadn’t altered, her hands lightly clasped in her lap, her perfectly coiffed head tipped slightly to one side as though she were listening intently, the tips of her perfectly aligned shoes peeking out from beneath her rose-colored tea gown.

  “If you’re not on the stage tomorrow, you’ll be the recipient of some real drama, Isolde. Be warned.”

  “Such brute purpose, darling. Should I quiver in fear?”

  His teeth shone briefly white in a grim smile. “Fine. Pleasant journey, Isolde.” And he walked from the room.

  “We’ll see whose journey is more pleasant,” she softly said as the door closed behind him, and leaning over, she picked up her teacup with a satisfied smile.

  When Adam exited the room, he found Molly waiting in the foyer, nervously wringing her hands. Her sigh of relief brought a genuine smile to Adam’s face.

  “I wouldn’t do the deed here, Molly,” he pleasantly said. “Rest easy, although it’s damned tempting right now, considering she just told me she expects me dead in a few days.”

  “Ned Storham’s deal with your wife,” Molly unreservedly declared. “I didn’t want to take her in, Adam. I hope you know that. But she’s your wife. I couldn’t say no.”

  “I understand all the myriad ramifications, Molly. No need to apologize. I was wondering, though,” he went on, smiling down at her, “what your plans were for the evening.”

  “What would you like my plans to be?” she asked with a smile of her own. She’d always had a soft spot in her heart for the rakish Comte de Chastellux, and if she’d been twenty years younger, she would have been tempted to forget her marriage vows for a night or two with the charming rogue.

  “If you were to take a ride out to the hills west of town to view the sunset this evening before dinner, I feel sure Isolde would prefer staying home. Take Henrietta too.”

  “How long should we be gone?”

  “An hour should be enough.”

  “I hear you’ve fallen in love at last,” she gently said.

  “For once the gossip is right,” Adam admitted with a faint smile. “So I’m trying to set my life in order. I paid Isolde in Saratoga to leave the country. I was surprised to hear she’d come to Montana.”

  “I imagine her pregnancy motivated her journey,” Molly matter of factly asserted.

  “Is she telling everyone it’s mine? It’s not, of course. Should I place a disclaimer in the local paper?” he sarcastically murmured.

  “No need, my boy,” Molly soothed. “She had a miscarriage.”

  Ever suspicious of Isolde’s machinations, he asked, “Did she tell you that?”

  “We’re not on such intimate terms, darling, but unlike your wife, who thinks servants are subhuman, my maids talk to me. I know everything that goes on in my household. Isolde was bleeding heavily when she arrived several days ago. But I’m informed now the countess’s health is fully restored.”

  “It couldn’t be something else … I mean … how—”

  “No,” Molly interjected, curtailing Adam’s embarrassed query. “I’m absolutely sure.” She smiled. “Would you like the details?”

  “No,” he quickly replied, breaking into a beaming smile. “Jesus, Molly, do you know what you’ve just given me?”

  “Freedom?” she archly said, her eyes amused. “A new—” her sentence ended in a startled gasp as Adam pulled her into his arms and kissed her soundly.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Fisk,” he said with a wide grin as he steadied his hostess on her trembling legs. “I shall be eternally grateful,” he solemnly pronounced, the gravity of his declaration mitigated at the last by a throaty chuckle.

  “Thought you should know,” Molly cheerfully noted. “Knew you’d be pleased. The countess has a real art of irritating.”

  “I’ve noticed that,” Adam said, his grin irrepressible. “Why don’t I have you to lunch this afternoon to celebrate Isolde’s imminent departure? Say the Planters House at two?”

  “I suppose this means I have to change my plans for Henrietta,” Molly teased.

  “You’re welcome to bring her along.”

  “Such pretense, Adam, from a man of your intelligence.”

  “You didn’t really think you had a chance of implementing those plans, now, did you?” he softly queried.

  Molly shrugged. “Harold told me I was crazy.”

  Adam smiled. “He was right, darling. What about Ellis Green?” he playfully suggested. “He has plenty of money for Henrietta’s papa.”

  “Maybe I should invite him to dinner.” Her statement was simultaneously thoughtful and teasing.

  “But not tonight.”

  “No. We’ll dine alone tonight. Harold prefers a quiet dinner.”

  “That would work extremely well for me,” Adam murmured with a faint smile. “At two, then?” And bowing over her hand, he took his leave.

  Before Harold Fisk went home from the bank that day for his midday meal, he tracked Adam down. When he’d run into James earlier that morning, he’d learned Adam was in town. He found James and Adam inspecting the condition of a stout carriage at the livery stable.

  “Needing a stagecoach?” Harold queried, walking into the stall where the coach was parked.

  “I hope so,” Adam said with a brief smile. “I saw Molly this morning.”

  “And our houseguest, I’ll warrant.” Harold’s mouth was a straight, grim line.

  “My condolences on having to put up with her.”

  “Can’t say she’s very pleasant, but, then, she never was.”

  “Isolde may be curtailing her visit,” James said.

 
“None of my business, I’m sure,” Harold quickly replied, then, swiftly glancing around as if spies were on his trail, he added, “Actually, she’s partly the reason I came looking for you. Just found out word of Ned Storham’s travel plans. Seems the two of them came up from Cheyenne together. Not a pretty picture,” he declared, wiping his forehead with his handkerchief. His face was visibly flushed even in the cool, shaded stable interior. “You know everyone fights his own battles out here,” he prudently noted, “but I thought you’d like to know Ned’s on his way to the Musselshell.” He took another quick look around before he murmured, “No one will interfere and no one will miss him.”

  “I appreciate the information, Harold,” Adam said, although he’d already received news of Ned’s direction from his men in Virginia City. But the offer of carte blanche was reassuring. Not that he couldn’t adequately defend his position, but it never hurt to have other influential men on your side.

  “Seems to me your land claim is as legal as they get,” Harold emphatically stated. “Our damned governor couldn’t even get a private act of Congress passed.”

  “My father had personal friends in Washington,” Adam noted. “He wanted my mother happy and her clan protected.”

  “Well, just wanted to say good luck. The men with Ned are mostly scoundrels. They’ll run.”

  “That’s what I was thinking,” Adam said.

  “And our weapon arsenal is first-rate,” James added.

  “Good … good … glad to hear it.” Banker Fisk was noticeably agitated. Ned Storham had a great deal of money in his bank too, and it wouldn’t look right—his choosing sides. There were those who privately looked askance at Adam’s half-blood heritage, although none of them would openly acknowledge their feelings. The Comte de Chastellux was too powerful. “You know Judge Parkman will cover you if any Storham heirs make trouble.”

  Adam smiled. “So he said. I received a message at the hotel. Thank you, Harold.” He put out his hand, genuinely appreciative of Harold’s efforts when he had many other wealthy depositors to appease.

  “I’ll be saying good-bye, then. Bring Lady Flora to dinner—later.” He nervously smiled.