Lexie.
O’Connor was the reason Lexie wasn’t with him now, and Nicholas had been hoping a brawl with a man like him would help alleviate the ache. Given O’Connor’s reputation in regard to his family, Nicholas knew he would accommodate his desire to fight. Nicholas would fill the gaping wound Lexie left in his heart with sex and violence. That had been his plan, at least.
The only thing he wanted—really wanted—was Lexie. Sex and violence wouldn’t fill the void any better than booze had.
“So, what, he would come here with guns blazing?” he mocked.
She stood up and walked toward his windows, passing his desk. She paused for a moment, her fingers lingering over his sister-in-law’s blown-glass paperweight, and for an instant, sadness marred her features. She turned to gaze out the window, and the moment passed, but her seriousness did not.
“Yes,” she answered, keeping her eyes locked on the darkness outside.
He gave a breath of wry laughter, preferring not to think about the sorrow in her eyes. “We live in a civilized society, Mrs. O’Connor. A man of his standing has to be rational. If he knows you’re here, maybe we’ll brawl, maybe he’ll barter, but he won’t kill me outright. This is San Francisco, not Arizona or Nevada or even Sacramento.”
“You kidnapped me, Mr. Wetherby. That doesn’t seem like a civilized act to me.” She allowed the words to sit between them for a moment, keeping her gaze locked on something outside his window. “And if you want civilized, you’re better off challenging James than you are challenging my husband. He’s more savage than I am.” She gazed out into the darkness for a long time, and, frowning into the dark, made a small gesture with her hands and shook her head tightly.
Frowning at her words, he came to stand beside her and looked out at the darkened garden. “What the hell are you looking at?”
She turned toward him. Her expression earnest, she said, “I could lie to you and tell you ‘nothing,’ but I won’t insult you by doing so. My husband’s man is here. He wanted to know if he should kill you.”
“What?” he demanded, looking out at his brother’s property and seeing nothing but shadows. He couldn’t imagine this bespectacled woman had the ability to see something he could not. “No one’s out there. I think you’re lying.”
“Am I?” she asked with a shrug, as though she didn’t care one way or the other if he believed her. Having spent just this small amount of time with her, he was certain she didn’t. It made her statement all the more believable. “There would be no purpose to it, since I sent him away. I’m in no danger with you.”
He graced her with a roguish look, one that had sent the hearts aflutter of a countless number of women, married or not. He ran his hands up and down her arms, trying to make his touch seductive, but rather than the lust he normally saw in women’s eyes when he attempted a seduction, he saw only amusement.
“Are you not?” he asked, his voice low and seductive.
She took a step back from him and gave him a congenial pat on the arm, as if dismissing him. “No. You don’t want me any more than I want you.”
He was surprised by her honesty. In fact, he liked her all the more for it. In a different set of circumstances, he could fall for someone like Claire O’Connor. As it stood, he had to admit she was right. He wanted a different dark-eyed beauty, and she was O’Connor’s, just like she said she was. He wished someone would love him like that.
“You and I would be a scorching couple.”
“If we weren’t in love with other people, I suppose that would be true,” she responded, gracing him with a nod. He had to concede her the point. “My husband will come for me tomorrow.”
“I guess I should prepare for guests.”
She gave a breath of laughter, but said nothing as she turned away and returned to her chair. “Why don’t you just tell her you love her and marry that girl? It would be a far sight easier than self-destructing, don’t you think?” she asked, putting her feet up on a footstool and resting her hands on her belly. “Though I must admit, I’m pleased to find you sober. I’m told you haven’t been for quite some time.”
“Campbell needs to keep his mouth shut.”
“Jamie’s not the only one who’s noticed. You know this town talks. The difference between Jamie and the gossip hounds is that he’s worried you’ll fall into ruin, and they’re delighted by the idea.”
“And you, Mrs. O’Connor? Where do you fall?”
“I have no desire to witness my business partner destroy himself, if that’s what you mean. Bad for business and all.”
“Of course.” He hadn’t intended to sound as bitter as he did.
Her lips twitched into the ghost of a smile. “Besides, my brother cares about you. You must be worth something to have commanded his loyalty. Regardless of our partnership, I’m pretty certain your friendship with Jamie is the only reason you’re breathing right now.”
Every moment he spent with her, he felt like a bigger horse’s arse.
He sat down across from her and sighed heavily. He wanted to fight, to argue, to find a way to release the rage. He had tried to lose himself in women, but he didn’t want any of them when the only thing he could think of was Lexie. None compared to her. He had tried picking fights, but it alleviated the ache for a short time only. He had tried to drown himself in drink, but he hadn’t been able to forget Lexie. Instead, he had succeeded in hurting everyone around him, except for the one person who deserved it.
The understanding gentleness he received from O’Connor’s woman seemed somehow unfair. Her kindness was undeserved, given what he had done to her and her brother.
“She doesn’t want me,” he said flatly. The admission pained him.
“I wouldn’t say that.”
He bristled, and he embraced his anger as a way to replace the hurt. “You wouldn’t, would you? She’s marrying Buchanan next week, all because she can’t go back on her word. Moved the date up, even. She’d rather be with a bullying tyrant than be with me.”
He hated her in that moment.
“Give me some credit. She’s been in my household for almost four weeks now, and I think I understand a woman’s heart a far sight better than you do.” She regarded him with serious eyes and released a gusty sigh. “I will say this, however. It’s complicated, this problem she’s gotten herself into.”
“Complicated?” Nicholas demanded. “She had a choice. She could have stayed with me, but she left. I wanted to work it out, I wanted to talk to her, but she refused. You yourself turned me away. Then, after, what, three weeks with you, she writes to tell me she’s marrying the Buchanan bastard in days. She’s going back to where I found her, going back to a man who will beat her.” His chest constricted painfully at the thought of another man touching her, especially one he despised as much as he did Buchanan. That man would beat her, use her vilely.
She’d be lucky if he treated her with casual disregard, for she would be nothing more than another doxy to him. Anyone who frequented any of the gambling halls in Sacramento had seen the results of his handiwork on the working girls. Nicholas hated Lexie so much he should want her to be hurt like that—she deserved such a punishment after the torment she’d put him through.
Instead, the idea tore his heart out.
Darkly, he said, “I shouldn’t even care if he does.”
“Why not?”
“Because I want her to suffer!” The truth erupted from him, and once spoken, couldn’t be taken back.
“Like you’re suffering.”
“Yes, goddammit!”
“Would you still want her to suffer if she were carrying your child?”
Rage died as shock overtook him. “What?” He stood up and took her by the shoulders. “She’s pregnant?”
“I think so, yes.”
“That’s not possible!”
Mrs. O’Connor stiffened, a gasp escaping her. Finally, something shocked her. “It’s not?”
“I took great care to ensure
that didn’t happen!” He was surprised by how much he revealed to this woman he hardly knew, but even as the words escaped him, he heard Lexie’s voice—Make love to me, Nicholas—and he remembered a time when he hadn’t been so careful.
Mrs. O’Connor relaxed and smiled faintly.
His child. Lexie carried his child. The thought made him want to shout for joy, even though it terrified him, too. He would fight for them—both of them, his woman and his child. Forget her excuses. He loved her, he wanted their baby, and she had given him far more than her word. The promise she had made to him with her body far outweighed any promise she had made to Buchanan. He wanted to have a family of his own.
He wanted his Lexie back.
But he couldn’t leave the darkness alone, not entirely. “It may not be mine.”
“Can the child be anyone else’s?” she asked.
He wanted to be angry, wanted her to be angry, so he said, “She’s been living with you. A man like O’Connor has needs, does he not?”
Any other woman would have raged at him, but Claire O’Connor was no ordinary woman. Instead of rage, her hearty laughter greeted him. “You mean to insinuate Lexie’s baby is my husband’s?” The jovial nature of her question took him by surprise, and stole his words from him. This baby was his. His and Lexie’s, a love child in every sense of the word. “I guess my husband was a busy man, then.” She gave her own belly an affectionate pat, and Nicholas was instantly ashamed. Good God, he had kidnapped a pregnant woman. O’Connor had to be furious. It should have delighted him. Nicholas wanted a good fight. He had been infuriated with the O’Connors for allowing Lexie to stay with them, blamed them for her departure even, but they had nothing to do with it. This was between him and Lexie, and he was the only one who could fix it.
“No, I guess I don’t,” he said with a sigh. Tired and lost, his entire body ached. How could she go to Buchanan when she carried his baby? How could she go to Buchanan when Nicholas was the one who loved her?
“Why don’t you just tell her you love her? Claim what’s yours.”
“I don’t want to discuss this with you.”
She gave him a delicate, feminine shrug. “I’m sure you don’t, but you need to talk to someone, because you haven’t made very good decisions by keeping your own counsel.”
Nicholas frowned at her assessment, but he had to admit she was right. He had been self-destructing since Lexie left, punishing himself for his failure to make her love him as he so desperately loved her. “So, what would you have me do? Since you know best.” His tone was snide, but he wanted to know her answer.
She took no offense, as though nothing he said or did would disturb her equanimity, while he, her kidnapper, was a mess, so filled with rage he had been unable to function like a normal human being for weeks now. Maybe that’s how it is when you’re loved by someone and you know it, Nicholas thought bitterly.
“Convince her to stay. She loves you, but you’ll have to do some convincing. Your behavior these last few weeks hasn’t helped matters.” She stood up and walked to the door. “My husband is going to be quite peeved you took his woman and left him with the one who spends her free time weeping and mooning over you.” She looked up the staircase, stared into the darkness there, and said finally, “I can’t tell you how you’re going to do it, how you’re going to make up for the hurt and get past her pride, but I can tell you one thing for certain.”
His voice had mellowed when he asked, “What’s that, Mrs. O’Connor?”
Gracing him with a small smile, she said, “Well, if I know my husband at all, if it’s a fight you’re looking for, it’s a fight you’ll be getting.” She swept from the room and made her way upstairs. He heard her open the door to one of his guest rooms, as if she had stayed here numerous times. And when the door closed, he was finally, tortuously, left alone with his thoughts.
Chapter 18
True to her word, O’Connor brought the fight to him the next morning.
He was awakened early by insistent pounding on his door, which quite nicely matched the pounding inside his skull. He pulled on trousers and stumbled downstairs, bleary from lack of sleep and itching for a drink, only to find Mrs. O’Connor, fully dressed and perfect, standing in his foyer.
“Goddammit, Wetherby, let me in!” a deep voice with a heavy Irish brogue roared.
Nicholas glanced over at Mrs. O’Connor. “Why the hell didn’t you answer the door?” he demanded.
“Not my door to answer, and I’m not your maid,” she said with a shrug, flashing him a bright smile. She was quite entrancing when she smiled. “Besides, I wanted to find out what happens with the two of you. More fun for me this way.”
Forget brave. The woman was clearly mad. He swore under his breath. Turning to the door, he opened it and faced an angry O’Connor.
They had met on numerous occasions, but for the last year, the majority of their correspondences had been done through letters, so Nicholas had forgotten—or chosen not to remember—how enormous O’Connor was. He had a body built for brawling: huge hands, long arms for a good reach, broad chest, tall. And, if the expression on his face was anything to go by, O’Connor had come to fight. Belatedly, Nicholas realized O’Connor was not a man he would normally care to take on, even if O’Connor did have at least ten years on him.
“My wife, Wetherby,” O’Connor said by way of greeting. With one big hand, he pushed past Nicholas and made his way into the foyer.
O’Connor stopped short when he saw his wife, his face gentling. Love—real love—crossed O’Connor’s face, and envy stabbed at Nicholas. As Mrs. O’Connor looked up at her husband, Nicholas truly understood that the love between the two of them was deep and real. She hadn’t lied to him when she said she was O’Connor’s and Nicholas wouldn’t be able to seduce her. He realized how utterly ridiculous his suggestion had been that Lexie’s baby belonged to O’Connor, and why Mrs. O’Connor had laughed so heartily.
O’Connor loved his wife, and only his wife.
Just as he loved Lexie, and only Lexie.
Lexie watched as O’Connor reached for his wife. Claire’s face lit with love for her husband, and Lexie was sick with envy. But it was the love burning in his eyes that broke her heart the most. She would never know what it was to be loved like that, to be treasured as O’Connor so obviously treasured Claire. She caught sight of Nicholas before he saw her, and she watched as he regarded the O’Connor reunion with a dark expression, as if the sight of love so freely expressed repulsed him in some way.
She wanted to hate him.
But even though his handsome face—the face she adored—was a mask of disdain, a pained expression had settled into his turquoise eyes. She wanted to touch him, to tell him how much she loved him so he would understand how much she cared for him before she married Buchanan. But somehow, that seemed unfair—more unfair than marrying Buchanan, even—as if to express what he meant to her before she married would be a betrayal to both of them.
Then those eyes turned to her, and her breath was stolen from her lungs. For a moment, however brief, they may as well have been the only people in the room. Nicholas looked happy, genuinely happy in a way she hadn’t seen before. All because she was here.
Even as her heart swelled with happiness, her stomach twisted with savage regret. Everything she had ever wanted was right here in this room. Despite everything—the women, the brawling—Lexie had to acknowledge she loved Nicholas. He had filled her heart with a happiness she still didn’t believe had ever been hers, a light that had given her such joy though it now infused her with an emotional pain so powerful it was a physical presence in her heart. She loved him despite the fact they could never be. Loving him would, in the end, destroy them both.
Before she even had time to react, Nicholas lay sprawled on the floor, O’Connor standing over him. With a cry, Lexie ran to his side and knelt down beside him. She turned to frown at O’Connor, who stood above them, flexing his fists and glaring at Nicholas, who rolled
over and glowered up at O’Connor.
“That was for taking my wife,” O’Connor said simply. He turned to Claire, who cast a sympathetic glance at Nicholas before smiling up at her husband. She, out of everyone, was the least surprised by his conduct. Lexie was mortified O’Connor and Nicholas had come to blows. Claire, on the other hand, seemed amused. “Good holiday, wife?” O’Connor asked.
“Best sleep in five years, husband,” she returned.
Lexie barely paid attention to the exchange as she looked Nicholas over for injuries. She noticed a small trail of blood at the corner of his mouth and a number of fading bruises—the reward of his brawling over the last few weeks, no doubt—but otherwise, he was unhurt. When their words finally registered, Lexie glared at O’Connor and said in a harsh whisper, “You knew she was in no danger?”
Fury bubbled and seethed inside her. O’Connor and James Campbell had spent the better part of the previous evening explaining how, for Claire’s safety, Lexie must return with him to Nicholas’s house. She never would have come, otherwise. Even though she told them Nicholas was a good man who would never hurt a woman, O’Connor had railed at her, fought with her. His temper hadn’t been assuaged. She had only agreed to come because he had demanded she come along as ransom.
She’d come because Campbell told her O’Connor would kill Nicholas if she didn’t, and O’Connor always got what he wanted.
The man had the audacity to wink at her and give her an impish grin, dimples playing as amusement lit features she normally found quite intimidating. For that brief moment, despite how angry she was with him, she understood what Claire saw in her husband. His gaze shifted between Claire and Nicholas, who sat on the floor rubbing his chin. “If I thought for even an instant Claire was in any danger, you’d have a lot more to worry about than a just a sore jaw.”
The Marker Page 23
