Damn her to hell. He knew what she was. How could he still care so much? How could he want her so badly that his insides felt hollow and numb?
How could he still love her more than life itself?
* * *
"How dare you come here to my place of business?" Richard Hamilton demanded. "Are you mad?"
Archie folded his arms and leaned against the closed door. "Ye wanted her dead. She's dead. Now I want my money."
"Where's your proof?"
"Proof's lyin' in the alley behind McCrady's Tavern. Somebody will find her before the day's over. Jest another dead whore with her throat cut."
"You're positive it's her. No mistakes?"
"I followed her from her house."
"What was she doing near McCrady's?"
"How the hell should I know?" Archie hawked and spat on the floor near Hamilton's shoe. "You want Falcon killed, it will be twice the price. Cleanin' up yer shit is getting to be a habit."
Richard raised an open palm. "Keep your voice down. For God's sake. There are clerks working in the next room."
"Pay me what you promised."
"I got you out of jail. Have you forgotten that?"
"Lots of folks around here probably like knowin' you hired me to do murder."
"Shhh. I'll get your money. Just be quiet."
"Damn straight I'll get my money."
"If you'd just step aside and let me—"
"You ain't leavin' this room until I've got what's comin' to me."
"You arrogant ass! Do you think I keep cash here? It's in a strongbox in the back office."
"Send somebody to fetch it." Archie hiked up his trousers and pulled a knife from a sheath strapped to his leg. "Wouldn't cause me no lost sleep to do you right here, Hamilton. Ain't bothered to clean my blade yet."
"All right. Don't hurt me. I'm not a violent man." Richard raised his voice. "Dyce. Come in here."
Archie stepped back as the door swung open. His eyes widened as he stared into the barrel of a flintlock pistol.
"Ye needed somethin', Mr. Hamilton?" Dyce asked.
"Shoot him," Richard ordered.
Dyce raised the gun, took aim at the center of Archie's forehead, and pulled the trigger. As Archie toppled backward, Richard shouted, "Help! We're being robbed!"
* * *
An hour later, Richard was back in his home. Shaken by the incident with Archie Gunn, he ordered hot water for a bath. His coat and trousers were spattered with the creature's blood. His shoes, made especially for him in France at an astronomical cost, were ruined.
"Burn the clothing," he instructed his man Daniel.
"And take away my shoes. Dispose of them. Sell them. Give them away. I don't care. I never want to lay eyes on them again." Richard shuddered, remembering how Gunn had spat on the floor of his office.
Richard was not a coward or a weakling. Running a shipping business meant dealing with coarse and ruthless men. He'd served in the militia during the Southern campaign of the Revolution, and he'd seen men die. But he'd not tolerate unseemly behavior where he worked and lived.
When the bath was ready, Richard dropped his towel and climbed into the tall china tub, letting the hot water and soap soak away the contamination. "Harder," he instructed when Daniel used a long-handled brush to scrub his back.
He cleaned his hands and nails meticulously, scouring and buffing until his fingertips were sore. And when Richard was certain that his hair and skin were immaculate, he got out of the tub and commanded Daniel to empty the dirty water and repeat the entire process.
It was midmorning when Richard, freshly shaven, hair cut and styled, dressed in new clothing from head to foot, entered his wife's apartment on the second floor of the house. "Good morning, Glory," he said.
The nurse mumbled a few words of greeting, gathered an armful of laundry, and made herself scarce.
Richard approached the bed. "Gabrielle, it's your Richard. How are you today?"
His wife stretched and yawned and rubbed her eyes. She was wearing a pink flowered dressing gown and chemise. Her hair was plaited in two braids with thin, pink ribbons woven into the sections and left to dangle below in a dainty waterfall.
He produced a handful of tiny pink roses. "For you, my precious," he said. "Smell the fragrance." He held the flowers close to her.
She rewarded him with a smile.
"And I brought you these," he added. "One, two, three." He dropped three macaroons into her lap. "Your favorite."
"Like cookies," Gabrielle said.
Richard sat on the edge of the bed, took her hand, and raised it to his lips. He kissed it gently. "You are beautiful today," he said.
"I wanted you to come yesterday." She pouted.
"I did, darling. I had breakfast with you, and I came to read to you last night and tuck you in. Don't you remember?"
"No."
He smiled and stroked the cat. "Puddums remembers."
Gabrielle retrieved her hand and nibbled a macaroon. "Maybe I do." She giggled, and crumbs spilled from the corners of her mouth. "I do," she proclaimed. "You wore a funny hat with a feather and we ate gingerbread."
Richard swallowed, pushing back the flood of emotion that threatened to drown him. "Things are not going as we planned, Gabrielle. That island bitch has been most annoying. I had to pay to have her disposed of. Again. She seems to have lived a charmed life."
"Island bitch," Gabrielle repeated. "Puddums doesn't like her." She took hold of the cat's head and moved it from side to side. "No, she doesn't."
Richard removed his coat, folded it, and hung it over the back of a chair. Then he loosened his stock. "But now that she's gone, Will must see reason. I thought he had to die, but now that Mason's gone, there's no need. Will can marry our Julia, just as you've always wanted."
"Marry our Julia." She giggled and popped another macaroon in her mouth, chewing slowly.
"Nicholas's death was a tragedy. We never wanted that. Either of us." He unbuttoned the cuffs of his white lawn shirt. "If Will marries Julia, he'll inherit everything when we're gone. It will make things right."
Gabrielle nodded. "More cookies?"
"Later. I'll make Glory fetch you some from the kitchen."
"Puddums likes macaroons."
"I hate violence," Richard said. "You know how it upsets my constitution. My bowels won't work properly for days."
"No shit."
"Shh, don't use that word. A lady doesn't know such words, let alone say them in the presence of a gentleman." He removed his shoes and stockings. "She saw me, Gabrielle. That time I left you to go to the Outer Banks. I couldn't take the chance she'd identify me, tie me to the wreckers."
"Kill her." Gabrielle pushed the cat away and bared one sagging breast. "Time to play," she said, giggling.
"He'll marry our baby, and all will be right again," Richard said as he slid into bed beside his wife. "He'll marry her, or he'll end the same way as his red-haired whore."
Gabrielle reached for his stiffening member. "Playtime," she repeated. "Ride a cock horse to Banbury Cross."
* * *
Will stood staring at the half-open door. When he began to swear, Delphi's grandson picked up the breakfast tray and backed toward the cellar stairs.
"Wasn't my fault, Mr. Will. When I come down with the grits and eggs, they gone. I didn't let them out. I swear, I didn't—"
"No, Clyde, it's not your fault," Will said. "But I think I have a good idea whose fault it is." He hurried up to the hall passageway in time to hear loud knocking.
Clyde opened the door. "It's Mr. Griffin, sir."
"I can see who's there," Will said. "Go on. Return to whatever it was you were doing before you fed the prisoners."
"Didn't feed them. They was—"
Will pointed toward the back of the house. The boy picked up the tray and fled. Will looked at Griffin. "What's wrong? Not something to do with Angel, is it?"
The Welshman nodded. "I'm afraid it is. She came with me—to Charl
eston. She had clothing to purchase. Last night, she asked me for money, a great deal of money."
"Did you give it to her?"
"Yes, sir, I did. Lady Graymoor said that she was to have whatever she wanted."
"Get to the point. She's run off, hasn't she?"
Griffin's forehead beaded with sweat. His lips thinned, and his pale expression grew waxen. "A man came to the house just minutes ago. Concerning Miss Angel."
"What did he say?"
Griffin took a breath, and his chin quivered. Tears clouded his eyes. "He said she's been murdered."
"That's not possible. She was with me last night."
"They say it happened sometime before dawn. Near the waterfront."
"How?" Will asked.
"Her throat was cut. Maybe a robbery." Griffin ran a trembling hand over his head. "What will I tell my lady?"
"I want to see the body," Will said.
The black hollow in his gut expanded, threatening to swallow him. He had the sensation of standing next to hell's gate. And he knew that so long as he didn't accept Angel's death, the blackness had no power over him. "I don't believe it. Have you seen her?"
"No. I came right here. I thought you should be the one to identify the body."
"Where is she?"
"McCrady's Tavern."
Will rushed out of the house. He ran down the street, legs pumping. Passersby stared at him. Twice, acquaintances called out his name, but he didn't stop until he reached the tavern.
A crowd had gathered outside. Will shouldered his way through. A woman's body, covered by a stained sheet, lay on a table near the open hearth. Will's thudding heart skipped a beat when he saw bare feet and the hem of Angel's cloak peeking out from under the linen shroud.
"Hey, you can't...," the proprietor began, then he recognized Will. "Oh, Mr. Falcon, it's you. I've sent for the sheriff, sir. I—"
Will took hold of the corner of the sheet. He gritted his teeth and lifted the covering. He stood still and stared down at the still face of the young woman, then turned away and called for a drink. "Rum. A double."
"Do you know who she is?" the innkeeper asked.
Will took the leather jack from a freckle-faced barmaid and downed the fiery liquid in one swallow. "She's one of the prisoners we brought back from the Outer Banks. She escaped sometime last night. Her name is Tamsey Blunt."
Chapter 27
It took three full days for Will to satisfy Judge Cooper and the council that he'd had no part in the prisoners' escape or in Tamsey's death. At the official hearing, a seaman testified that he'd seen a single woman boarding the Alma May, a merchant vessel pulling anchor sometime before dawn on the morning after the murder.
Due to the condition of the body, Dr. Madison estimated the death to be sometime between midnight and six A.M. A rice merchant testified that as far as he knew, the Alma May hailed from Rhode Island and was bound for a half dozen small ports in the West Indies.
Since the missing woman seemed the prime suspect in the murder, Judge Cooper issued a warrant for Bett's arrest on the charge of murder. But the general consensus in the courtroom was that the deceased had already received justice for her crimes of piracy. As for the accused, she was well out of the court's jurisdiction and would probably never again set foot on South Carolina soil.
Early on Thursday morning, Will and three of Delphi's relatives were the only witnesses to Tamsey Blunt's burial in St. Michael's churchyard. Will paid for the funeral and a round of drinks in Tamsey's name at McClary's from his own pocket. By noon, Will had borrowed a horse from Lizzy's stable and was well on the road to Nottingham Plantation.
The thought of how close he'd come to losing Angel haunted him. He couldn't imagine a world without her.
But neither could he pretend there weren't obstacles between them. His anger at Bett's escape had cooled with the passing days. Secretly, he was glad she had gotten away, and he had no doubt who was responsible. But Lizzy's decision to adopt Angel and make her her heiress troubled him.
When he'd asked Bett who Angel was, the woman had assured him that she was her natural daughter. And if Bett was telling the truth, Angel couldn't be Lizzy's lost Elizabeth.
There wasn't a dishonest bone in Angel's body. She'd no more deceive Lizzy than he would. So why had Angel changed her mind? Surely if she was Elizabeth, she would have retained some memories of her earlier life, wouldn't she?
He rationalized that the temptation was probably too great. Angel was human. Who was he to accuse her when his own reputation hadn't been spotless? Had he been a bastard runaway at twelve, instead of Nicholas Falcon's son, his own life easily could have taken another course.
He loved Angel.
It was that simple. He was mad for her—couldn't live without her. He didn't doubt that Angel would lead him a merry chase, or that taking her to wife would severely limit his business contacts in Charleston and elsewhere. But the world was wide, and he could always find a ship to command.
And she was more important than anything else. Whatever it took, he would find a way to make her happy.
The hatred he'd felt for Edward Mason had faded away with the man's death. Curiously, he was glad he hadn't been the one to end Edward's life. Whatever he'd done, he would face a higher justice.
Will felt as if a weight had slid off his shoulders. He was free of the need to take revenge for his father and for the loss of Falcon Shipping. Falcon House, with all its family history and memories, no longer seemed reason to fight to hold on to a lifestyle that he couldn't afford. He'd do what he could for Delphi, Sukie, and the other servants. But it was time to shake off the past and move forward with his life—with Angel at his side.
* * *
"I don't understand why we're going to Lady Graymoor's party at all," Julia protested. "This is ridiculous. You know that woman isn't Elizabeth Butler. It's a farce."
It was the afternoon of the day following Tamsey Blunt's interment, and Richard, Julia, and Julia's maid were traveling by coach to Nottingham. Richard's man Daniel rode up front with the coachman, and two footmen followed on horseback. The day was hot, the road dusty, and the atmosphere worsened by Julia's peevish mood.
Richard closed his eyes and leaned back against the seat, trying to block out Julia's complaints. The carriage bounced and rattled, making it impossible to relax. They'd gotten such a late start and the road was so bad that he knew they'd be forced to spend the night at an inn and continue the journey in the morning.
"...Mother doesn't do well in the heat. You know how I hate leaving her in Charleston alone."
"Please, darling, stop whining. You're giving me a headache," Richard said, not opening his eyes. "We owe it to Will to maintain the friendship with Lady Graymoor. Even I'm not wealthy enough or well-positioned enough to snub the countess."
"No one will come. We'll be the only people there. I'll look a fool. Everyone will think he's throwing me over for a bride with a greater fortune."
"If he wanted you for your money, then he isn't worthy of you. But they aren't wed yet. Anything could happen. Will could regain his senses, or Lady Graymoor could decide against taking this nobody as her heir."
"It's not that I dislike Angel. But she isn't right for Will. Once the—"
"Taste of forbidden fruit?" Richard supplied.
"Father!" Julia flushed.
"Forgive me, that was crude and uncalled for." He clasped her hand. "I wouldn't insist that we go if I didn't think it was the correct thing to do. You know your mother and I love you very much, Julia. I'd never do anything to hurt you."
Her voice softened. "I know that, Papa. Truly, I do."
"Good. Now, pinch your cheeks, or whatever you ladies do to look your best, and carry on. No matter what happens, things will work out for the best. They usually do."
"They didn't with Mama."
"No, they didn't with your mother, God keep her. But she's unaware of how she is. The burden falls on us, I'm afraid."
"She's not a burd
en. I didn't mean that," Julia insisted. "You know I don't mind caring for her. It's just that you've been cheated of a wife in your later years."
He sighed. "And you of a mother."
Julia dabbed a hankie at her eyes. "No one could have a better father than you, Papa."
Richard smiled. "I hope you'll always think that, my dear. Just remember that everything I've ever done, all my efforts have been to make life better for you."
"I know that." She sniffed. "I'll try to make the best of this."
For the next few miles, Julia was blessedly quiet, giving him time to think, to muse over his conversation, two days earlier, with Dyce Towser. Naturally, he'd been greatly disturbed when he'd learned that Archie Gunn had eliminated the wrong whore, and that Angel was still alive.
"How could Archie have been so stupid?" he'd demanded of Dyce. "To kill a totally different woman and not know the difference?"
Dyce had grinned. "Ye said it. He was stupid and greedy. He followed her from the house, and she was wearing Angel's cloak. It was dark, and he was scared. A man what ain't got iron balls can lose his nerve."
"You'd better not fail me, Dyce."
"I won't. Ye get what ye pay fer. I ain't a fool. Ye should have brought me here in the first place."
"I needed you in the islands. Now I need you here. I want Angel dead," he'd told Dyce. "I'll kill her myself, if I must. But if I do, you're not only out of a job, you'll be occupying the same cell as all your companions."
"I'll do the job." The man had seemed to take orders seriously. "I'll take care of them both for you, Mr. Hamilton," Dyce promised.
He'd threatened to have Dyce emasculated if poor Gabrielle showed any signs of pain or fright. Richard had given Glory and the staff two days off, and no one would expect a substitute nurse to show as much vigilance as a family retainer.
Dyce would steal into the house tonight by way of the servants' entrance, go up to Gabrielle's chamber, and place a pillow over her face. Gabrielle slept soundly at night, since Glory always dosed her with laudanum. She would awake to the sound of heavenly trumpets.
Not only would Gabrielle sluff off her earthly bonds of madness tonight, but Julia would be free. His daughter could enjoy her future as a wife, no longer weighed down by the responsibilities of an invalid mother.
Falcon's Angel Page 26
