Almost a Lady

by Heidi Betts

  An animal-like snarl burst from his lips as he hurtled himself into the bastard, grabbing his arms and tackling him to the ground. Brandt tossed the long blade away and began to pummel the soft flesh of Chatham's face. Blood spurted from his nose, split lip, and the slice Brandt's diamond-studded Union Pacific ring made along his cheekbone.

  In his peripheral vision, Brandt saw Robert's men surrounding them while Robert released Willow's arms and legs from the iron shackles and drew her into his embrace. Brandt continued to deliver powerful right hooks to the worthless piece of refuse curled into a ball on the floor.

  One of the Pinkerton men put a hand on his shoulder. “We've got him, sir. You can stop, we've got him."

  His punches? slowed. Gasping for breath, Brandt straightened and stared at the man beneath him, fury still washing through him in waves. He wanted to kill him. With his bare hands, he wanted to strangle the life out of Virgil Chatham. For daring to touch Willow, for scaring twenty years off his life, and for murdering all those other women.

  Instead, he settled for kicking the bastard straight between the legs and hearing his howl of pain as he writhed on the floor and clutched at his damaged goods.

  He left the Pinkerton agents to take Chatham into custody and moved to Willow's side. Shuddering in relief, she lifted her tearstained face from Robert's shoulder and immediately threw herself into Brandt's arms.

  "Thank God,” he breathed into her hair, squeezing her tight and rocking back and forth as he might with a distraught child. “Thank God you're all right. I'm so sorry I left you. I should have known he would try something like this. I'll never leave you alone again, I swear.” He was babbling and he knew it, but he'd never been so frightened—or so relieved—in his life.

  Pulling slightly away, Willow framed his face with her hands and held his gaze, her violet eyes burning into his own, which were beginning to feel a little misty.

  "I love you.” She said the words so softly, he feared he'd heard her wrong. He blinked and leaned close, hoping she would repeat herself so he could be sure.

  "I love you,” she said once more. “I was so afraid I wouldn't get the chance to tell you that. And I really do want to marry you, for all the right reasons."

  Wrapping her arms around his neck, she hugged him again. And this time, neither of them loosened their hold until Robert cleared his throat and told them Virgil Chatham had been taken away.

  Brandt shrugged out of his jacket and draped it around Willow's bare shoulders, then scooped her up and carried her out of the dank cellar room. Once they reached the main floor of the house, Brandt settled Willow on the edge of a medallion-backed sofa, found a blanket to cover her with, and then returned her to the cradle of his arms.

  "I'm taking her home,” he told Robert as he moved toward the door at the front of the house. Their things—or Willow's, at least—should have been transferred back to them Astor House by now.

  The vehicles Robert and his men had arrived in stood at the curb. He opened the door of the nearest and stepped up, Willow still held securely against his chest.

  "Where's Erik?” she asked, rifting her face and squinting a bit at the bright light of day after being trapped in the underground prison for so long.

  "He's fine,” Robert put in, standing in the doorway of the carriage. “He's back at my office with Mrs. Girard."

  "I want to see him."

  Robert reached in a hand to pat her leg beneath the thick afghan. “You go back to your room with Donovan. I'll fetch Erik and bring him over directly."

  She nodded and returned her head to Brandt's shoulder.

  "Take care of her,” Robert said quietly, reflecting the somberness of Brandt's expression.

  "You can count on it."

  This time when Willow awoke it was without pain and to the sound of soft voices drifting in from the other room. She stretched languorously and snuggled back into the pillows, listening to Erik regale Brandt with another of his larger-than-life stories. Brandt interrupted to make the occasional comment or remind Erik to keep his voice down so he wouldn't wake his sister, but otherwise feigned interest in every word Erik uttered.

  After a few more minutes of just lying there, gathering her strength, Willow sat up and threw her legs over the edge of the bed. She found her robe hanging in the wardrobe and shrugged into it, tucking her hair behind her ears as she entered the adjoining room.

  Brandt was sitting on one of the stuffed armchairs before the hearth, watching Erik run from one end of the settee to the other, jumping, twisting, and talking all at once. And in the chair facing away from her sat Robert. Only the back of his head was visible, but she easily recognized him from the color and cut of his hair.

  Brandt spotted her first and leapt to his feet. “How are you feeling?” His hands cupped her elbows to avoid her bandaged wrists, and his eyes, dark with worry, examined her for evidence of damage.

  "Fine. I'm fine.” She squeezed his arm and smiled to reassure him. Truly, she felt wonderful. The time she'd been held captive by Virgil Chatham had been a nightmare, yes, but it was over now. Two murderers had been arrested and would pay for their crimes. She had been frightened but not harmed and was safe now. They were all safe.

  And though it sounded foolish, she was almost grateful for her experiences this afternoon because they had prompted her to think about her life and make some important decisions and realizations. The most vital being that she loved the man standing in front of her, looking so concerned about her welfare.

  She tapped a finger between his eyes, smoothing his wrinkled brow. “Don't look so worried,” she told him lightly.

  Glancing over his shoulder, she saw Robert waiting a few feet away, seeming equally fretful.

  "Will you two please stop? Take a lead from Erik,” she said, moving to her brother's side. He stopped dancing on the sofa cushions and threw himself into her arms. Willow hugged him tight and sat to arrange his small frame on her lap. “You're not worried about me, are you?"

  He shook his head, rubbing the silky material of her robe between his fingers. “Soft,” he murmured. And then he lifted his head and focused on the bruised abrasion at her temple. “Does it hurt?” he asked, touching the spot lightly.

  "Shh,” she whispered, leaning close as though sharing a secret. “We don't want to upset Brandt and Robert again. And it doesn't hurt.” She raised her voice for the men's benefit and grinned at Brandt, because she hadn't licked her lips before telling that little white lie.

  It did hurt, if truth be known. How could it not when she'd been cracked in the skull not once but twice with a rather impressive walking stick? But it wasn't overly painful and would heal soon enough, which made it hardly worth fussing about.

  "Is everything all right?” she asked Robert, wondering at his presence.

  He nodded but made a motion with his eyes in Erik's direction that made Willow suspect he didn't want to talk in front of the child. It was probably time to put Erik to bed, anyway. According to the mantel clock and the black outside the hotel room windows, it was after nine o'clock.

  "Let me just put Erik down for the night,” she said, standing and letting Erik slide to his feet on the floor.

  "No, I don't want to,” he whined. “I don't want to. I want to stay with you.” Erik put up a fuss about going to bed, but Willow firmly informed him that he'd had quite enough excitement for one day. And even if he wasn't tired, Brandt certainly must be, so they were all retiring for the night just as soon as Robert left in a few more minutes. He huffed, sticking out his lower lip in a pout while she led him into the bedroom and arranged a makeshift bed out of the chaise lounge, but he didn't argue further.

  Once he was settled and covered and muttering beneath his breath about not being allowed to stay up longer, Willow turned back to the sitting room, closing the connecting door behind her.

  "Chatham has been arrested and will stand trial with his valet for murder,” Robert said as soon as she'd returned. “The police have someone work
ing with Kyne to get information about Chatham's crimes and hopefully gain a written confession. We think the servant killed Charlie on Chatham's orders."

  "He did,” Willow agreed. “Even though Yvonne Xavier wasn't a prostitute, Chatham killed her because he thought she was no better than a whore. He apparently saw her in some man's embrace and decided that was enough of a transgression to require her to die."

  She rolled her eyes in disgust. Robert knew all about her and Brandt's theory concerning Chatham's fixation with the biblical figure Gideon and his belief that he was killing sinners in the name of God.

  "Charlie must have figured out what was going on,” she continued. “He got too close and made Chatham nervous, which is when he ordered Outram to get rid of him."

  "You may have to testify,” Robert warned her. “And the police will want to question you about what occurred in that cellar, as well as what you learned from Chatham."

  Willow inclined her head. She'd known that and was prepared to do whatever was necessary to keep both Chatham and Kyne behind bars for the rest of their lives.

  "Other than that,” Robert said cheerily, “I only stayed to make sure you were all right, and to keep Donovan, here, from disturbing you.” He cast a glance behind him at a scowling Brandt. “He attempted to ‘check’ on you more than once, as well as threatening to call in another physician, and I was afraid ‘checking’ would include waking. I thought you needed your rest."

  "Thank you, but he's only practicing,” she told Robert, grinning at Brandt's deepening frown. “He did tell you we're getting married, didn't he?"

  "He mentioned something along those lines, but I didn't believe him,” Robert teased. “'My Willow?’ I said. ‘Never! She's much too smart to fall for a wastrel like you.’ But he insisted, and now that you've supported his story, I guess I have no choice but to accept his word."

  With a wide smile, he came forward and put his arms around her waist for a quick hug. “Congratulations. I hope you'll be very happy. All three of you,” he added, with a nod at the bedroom where Erik slept.

  "Well,” he continued, “I'd best be going.” Grabbing his hat from the low table before the settee, he twisted the band of the bowler and moved for the door. “If you need anything, be sure to let me know."

  "We will, thank you."

  As soon as Robert departed, Willow turned and walked straight into Brandt's arms.

  "I hope we don't have many more days like this one.” Brandt feathered his fingers through her hair, careful to avoid the bump on the side of her head.

  "Mmm,” she murmured in languid agreement. Her lids felt heavy even though she'd just awakened from a rather lengthy nap.

  "I think we need a happy day for a change,” he continued, pulling her with him onto the settee. He propped his legs on the low table in front of the sofa and arranged hers over his lap, tucking her head into his shoulder. “So when do you want to marry me?"

  She lifted her face and smiled at him. For the first time in as long as she could remember, she was truly, completely content.

  Wrapping her arms around his neck and placing a warm, hard kiss on his lips, she curled her fingers into the smooth chambray of his shirt. “Any day you say,” she whispered softly. “Any day you say."

  Epilogue

  Two months later. . .

  "I still can't believe you and Brandt are getting married,” said Megan McCain, one of Willow's best friends and her matron of honor, as she stood behind Willow at the cheval glass and adjusted the long folds of diaphanous veil covering the auburn waves of her hair. “When Lucas and I asked Brandt to stop in Jefferson City to check up on you, we never expected this."

  Willow couldn't quite believe it either. Oh, not the part about falling in love with Brandt. That had been inevitable, even in the beginning, when she'd fought so hard against it. But she couldn't believe she was standing in this opulent hotel room, readying herself to be married. The stiff satin encasing her body from the tips of her toes to just above her breasts should have assured her of the situation, but instead it only made her feel more stupefied.

  Brandt was downstairs, she knew, waiting for the ceremony to begin. Probably chatting with Lucas and Caleb and his sisters’ husbands, and keeping Erik out of trouble, she hoped. Though Erik seemed to have found a kindred spirit in Caleb and Rebecca Adams's son, Zachary. The two boys had been playing together ever since Brandt's friends had arrived in New York three days earlier.

  Willow hadn't known the Adamses before now, but from the moment she'd met them, she'd liked them immensely. Megan was Caleb's younger sister, and though she was married now, with a child of her own, they still seemed very close. Having lost out on family ties during her own childhood, kith and kin meant a lot to Willow, and she felt that these people, who weren't actually related by blood, were about to become the next best thing. Brandt had assured her this was so.

  Right now, she wished she could imagine her soon-to-be husband pacing and tugging at his collar, as nervous as she. Brandt, however, was the calmest groom she'd ever encountered. And any time she'd mentioned this apparent tranquility of his—in complete contrast to her own belly full of butterflies—he'd simply smiled that sexy, charming smile he reserved only for her and said he had nothing to be anxious about; he was marrying the woman of his dreams.

  Well, she was marrying the man of her dreams, but that didn't keep her from feeling queasy and clammy and ready to jump out of her skin.

  The queasiness, she admitted, could be due to something else entirely. She wasn't positive, since they'd been quite careful about preventing such things, but she had been feeling a touch nauseous in the mornings of late and was a few days overdue for her monthly courses. This wasn't something she wanted to share with Brandt until she was certain, but it was just as well they were getting married now instead of later.

  As though sensing Willow's thoughts about babies, a low whimper sounded from the bed behind them, and Megan turned to shush her two-month-old daughter, Tessa. She had a dark crop of hair just like her mother's, but Megan insisted she'd inherited her father's stubborn chin.

  The door behind them opened, and Willow whirled back around to see Rebecca Adams carrying a lovely bouquet of pink, red, and white roses, with a few bright yellow daisies added to the mix.

  Willow smiled at the woman she'd heard so much about from not only Brandt but Megan. Rebecca had light brown hair pulled back in a chignon and a bright, ready smile. And though she wasn't wearing them now, a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles had perched on her nose last evening while she'd helped Willow add one small adjustment to her otherwise perfect gown.

  Willow had also gotten to meet all five of Brandt's well-meaning but nosy sisters in the past few weeks, and all she could say was that she was glad they lived a ways off in Boston.

  The only reason she wasn't surrounded by them now was because she'd asked that they please plan the wedding, from which minister should perform the service right down to the type of flowers that should be woven into her veil. After waiting so long for their near-hopeless brother to finally tie the knot, they had not only seen to every detail of the ceremony but had talked all five of their husbands into paying all the expenses—including a short honeymoon in Paris, of all places.

  Erik was to take turns staying with each of them so he could play with and get to know all of Brandt's nieces and nephews. This prospect delighted Erik, as he suddenly found himself surrounded by more friends and family than he could count.

  When she'd learned of his sisters’ machinations, Willow had laughingly told Brandt that their honeymoon might be the perfect time to brush up on her French. He'd agreed that would be just fine, as long as she stuck to her former version of the word headache and never learned the proper translation.

  "Everyone's waiting,” Rebecca told them, breaking into Willow's thoughts. She handed Willow the bouquet, tied with a strip of yellow ribbon that matched the centers of the daisies, as well as the spring blossoms threaded through the bride's hair. �
��Are you ready?"

  Willow's heart stuttered in her chest. Why was she so nervous? It was Brandt, she reminded herself. She loved him, wanted to spend the rest of her life with him. Of that she had no doubts whatsoever.

  But this was a big step. She'd testified in the cases against Virgil Chatham and Outram Kyne and seen them both convicted, so that pressure was out of the way. And even though she and Brandt were remaining in New York and she was staying with the Agency, she knew that their marriage would change things. She would work and travel less, spend more time at home with Erik and Brandt. Maybe even with the children she and Brandt would have together.

  She was looking forward to that, she thought, placing a hand low on her abdomen and wondering if her suspicions were correct. A year ago, she would have scoffed at the idea of becoming a mother. Now, she almost craved it. Which was why the prospect of cutting back on her Pinkerton duties didn't bother her as much as it probably should have.

  Willow took a deep breath and let all the tension seep from her body. Now that she thought through the changes taking place in her life, she realized she was no longer as anxious as she had been. In fact, she felt quite calm, anticipating the hours to come.

  "One thing,” she said, and moved to the nightstand beside the bed. Lifting up the hem of her skirt, she slipped the pearl-handled stilleto into her garter. The blue one with the bells that Brandt liked so much.

  There. She always felt better when she was armed.

  Straightening the folds of her gown, she turned to the other two women. “Do I look all right?"

  "You look beautiful.” Rebecca gave her a strange look and asked tentatively, “Do you always carry a knife in your garter?"

  "Not always,” Willow answered, keeping a straight face. “Sometimes I carry a gun."

  Megan chuckled. “It's not the weapon that caught my attention. I'm curious about the bells.” And then she gave Willow a wink. “Can I borrow those things after you get back? Lucas would love them."