by Faye Hall
Before he could ask what she meant, Lotte turned away from him and ran toward the house.
* * * *
Lotte ran toward the house, desperate to get away from the forceful figure of Devon Munroy and the turmoil he was putting her already frayed emotions through. This hadn’t been part of her plan. She had come to the Munroy estate for revenge, to find proof against Elizabeth for the murderous crimes she had committed. She had come there to destroy the life Elizabeth had built for herself. The same life Lotte had been robbed of the night she was shot and left for dead in her father’s old cottage.
Lotte knew she would still want to indulge in her visits to Devon’s study to look upon the man he had become, but she assumed they would under a shroud of secrecy as they had been these last few years. She had not dared to hope that she would be allowed the occasion to surrender her passions in this man’s arms. She certainly never assumed Devon would want to carry on an affair with her for everyone to see, for his wife to see.
Lotte couldn’t lay complete blame on Devon for the path her plan was taking. He wasn’t some brutal man, forcing his affections on her. Lotte accepted his attention of her gratefully, holding them close to her heart as they made her remember better times, times when she didn’t have to live constantly aware of the danger her life was still in.
Working at the Munroy estate, knowing Devon was always so nearby, was already starting to become more than Lotte could bear. She could feel the control she once thought she had so much of crumbling around her. Her very being yearned to damn everything to hell and surrender to anything and everything Devon wanted from her. Lotte wanted to feel his arms around her again, to feel his kisses upon her skin again, to hear him whisper her name as they each surrendered to the desires that survived inside of them even after all these years apart.
Lotte wanted to tell him the truth, tell him everything that had happened. Sadness filled her with this last thought. She couldn’t tell Devon the truth now. She began to wonder if she would ever be able to. So much had happened these last four years. They were both different people now; so far away from the two innocent minds that first acquainted themselves at the waterhole that afternoon.
But it was more than just their own selves that were different. Other things had changed too. Devon was a married man now, with cattle stations and fields to manage, while she…
Tears welled in her eyes as she reminded herself that, to Devon, she was a nobody, nothing more than a hired whore he met a few weeks back at the Pioneer Hotel.
Lotte wiped a tear from her cheek. She never wanted it to be this way. She wanted Devon to know the truth and not just look at her as some hired wench to sate his lust on. But Lotte knew that wasn’t possible, at least not yet. For now, her true identity had to remain a secret until she could make Elizabeth pay for all the lives she had taken.
Composing herself, Lotte went to Elizabeth’s room, returning to her duties, hoping they would distract her from her most recent encounter with Devon. Sorting through her mistress’s clothes, needing to ready clothes for Elizabeth’s return, Lotte stumbled upon a wad of folded letters at the back of the drawer with her undergarments.
Carefully taking them from the drawer, she unfolded one to read.
Don’t try to outsmart me, Elizabeth. I know what you are. I know the people you have killed. You will pay me the money as instructed by the end of the month or I go to the police. I will tell them about everything, including the men your father shot in Victoria to get that gold.
Men that were shot in Victoria? What men? Lotte had been told about the gold their fathers had stolen back in Victoria, but she was never told anyone was killed.
Hearing a carriage pulling up in front of the estate house, Lotte quickly replaced the letters exactly where she’d found them, except for the one she had read. She wanted to take that one with her to show Patrick and see if he could make any sense of it.
“Lotte!” she heard Elizabeth yelling for her as her mistress entered the house.
Quickly laying out the clothes for Elizabeth, Lotte left the room and hurried to go attend to her.
“You forgot to get the lace stitched on my gown, you stupid girl!” Elizabeth yelled at her. “I told you I wanted to wear the pink gown this evening, not the cream gown!”
Lotte held her tongue in check, remembering she was nothing but a servant in Elizabeth’s eyes. “I’m picking your pink gown up from the best seamstress in Brandon within the hour, Mrs. Munroy. You need your cream gown for your late lunch meeting with Mrs. Falco.”
Elizabeth looked at her confused. “I have no lunch date with Mrs. Falco. She’s booked out for months.”
“She’s expecting you at her estate at two PM, and she despises pink gowns,” Lotte replied matter-of-factly. When Elizabeth continued looking at her confused, Lotte grew nervous. “I took the liberty of arranging the appointment for you, Mrs. Munroy.”
Elizabeth’s gaze narrowed. “You expect me to believe a servant could persuade a woman as important as Audrey Falco to agree to a lunch meeting?”
“Her handmaiden owed me a favor. She penciled the appointment into Mrs. Falco’s diary,” Lotte explained.
“Then what are you waiting for, you stupid girl!” Elizabeth cursed at her. “Get me dressed!”
* * * *
Waiting until Elizabeth was on her way to the Falco estate, Lotte took a carriage into town to collect her mistress’s pink gown from the girls at the Pioneer Hotel. She hadn’t lied to Elizabeth. She had taken the gown to the best seamstress in Brandon, for she knew of no better than Abby.
When she arrived at the hotel she showed her brother the letter she had found, hoping he could help her understand exactly what was going on.
“Where did you get this?” Patrick asked her, his voice stern as he held the letter firmly in his hand.
“I found it in Elizabeth’s clothes drawer, tied up in a pile with a heap of others,” Lotte said. “What do you think it means?”
Patrick stumbled for a moment. “You were never supposed to know any of this, Lotte.”
“Any of what?” she asked.
Patrick let out a heavy sigh. “There was a man traveling on the stagecoach our father robbed with George Fanti and Jack Munroy. His name was Charles Davern. George Fanti shot him when they took the gold. He thought Charles died, our father even told him he did, but he didn’t. He was saved by a young aboriginal woman. Years later, Charles Davern tracked George down up here in Brandon. He threatened to reveal the truth about everything, about the gold, about the shooting, everything.”
“I don’t understand. How did this Charles Davern manage to find George after so many years and so far away from Victoria?” Lotte asked.
Patrick hung his head, rubbing his forehead as he often did when trying to think. Finally, he lifted his line of sight back to his sister.
“Our father contacted Charles and told him that George had moved up here to Brandon,” Patrick replied.
“What?” Lotte exclaimed.
Patrick nodded. “Father made George believe he’d shot Charles Davern dead that day in Victoria, but in truth he left an aboriginal woman to care for him. By the time Charles was healed and out of danger, our father had moved here to Brandon and left George and Jack to return to Brisbane. Father apologized for everything and returned his share of the gold, but it wasn’t enough. Charles wanted justice and punishment for the man who had shot him. Father did the only thing he could—he told this man where to find George Fanti, for it was he who pulled the trigger.”
Lotte looked at her brother, trying to absorb all she had just learned. Of all the things she thought to be told, this wasn’t it.
“Lotte, our father was a good man,” Patrick pleaded with her to understand. “He righted the wrongs he’d done in his life. George threatened our mother and all father’s children if he didn’t go through with the robbery that day. Our father did what he had to do to protect the family.”
Lotte felt sad at her brother�
�s words, knowing they were true. Everything her father did was for his family.
“But George was his family too, wasn’t he?” she finally asked.
Patrick shook his head. “George hated our father. He thought he was a weak man because he never settled things with violence, and because he was so blind he couldn’t even shoot a gun straight.”
Lotte thought for a moment longer, clarity of the situation coming to her. “So these letters were written by Charles Davern?”
“Charles Davern is dead, Lotte,” Patrick explained. “He was shot not long after arriving in Brandon a few years back.”
“So who wrote the letters?” Lotte asked. “And who shot Charles Davern?”
Patrick shrugged his shoulders. “I honestly don’t know the answer to either of those questions. Father never told me.”
“We have to find out who’s blackmailing Elizabeth. They may have what we need to prove she’s a murderer.”
Patrick stood studying his sister. Lotte knew he didn’t approve of what she was doing, still she hoped he would be able to help her.
“Please, Patrick,” she appealed to her brother once more.
“I’ll ask around,” he finally answered. “There are a few people I know who might be able to help you find the information you need.”
Going to her brother, Lotte hugged him tight, lightly kissing him on the cheek. “Thank you, Patrick.”
“Be careful, Lotte. I beg you. If this blackmailer you seek is hunting Elizabeth, I don’t want you getting in his way when he finally comes for her.”
“I promise I won’t do anything foolish,” Lotte tried to reassure him.
Leaving her brother, she went up to Abby’s room to collect Elizabeth’s pink gown.
* * * *
That evening, after Lotte dressed Elizabeth and again sent her on her way, this time to the Mossom’s dinner party, she returned to Devon’s study, her excuse being bringing him his evening meal.
“I never sent for you or for any food,” Devon said firmly as he opened the door to her.
Lotte smiled nervously. “Yet I am still here.”
Devon didn’t budge. He just stood in the doorway, his gaze unwavering.
“Why are you here?” he asked.
“I told you—”
“I mean in my house, in my life,” he interrupted her. “Is it because of who I am and because of my money?” he asked. “Is it because I am the son of Jack Munroy that you keep coming back to haunt me?”
Lotte shook her head slowly as she studied the obviously confused man before her. “I don’t care who you’re the son of, Devon.”
His stare narrowed. “But what if I wasn’t the son of a wealthy man?” he asked, his tone sounding somewhat distant. “What if I was nothing but a servant?”
“Then I would still have come to you, Devon.”
Walking past him and into the study, Lotte set the tray of food down on his desk, very aware of the familiarity of her words to him. “Your wife has already gone out for the evening, and the cook said you hadn’t eaten yet.”
His stare was dark and brooding as he followed her. “Thank you for bringing me my meal, but it isn’t food that I want.”
Lotte grew nervous under his unwavering stare. “Then what do you want, Devon?”
His steps slowing, he stopped in front of her, his hands reaching out to touch her, his fingers grazing her breast as he went to the buttons of her blouse and began to slowly unfasten them.
Her hands immediately went to his, trying to stop him. “What if I don’t want this, Devon?”
“Then I will leave you be,” he said, his words soft yet serious. “Tell me to stop, Lotte, and I will.”
There was silence between the two as they stood there, mere inches separating them.
“Please let me,” Devon implored her. “I want you, Lotte.”
“I’m not her, Devon.” Lotte’s words were being pulled from her. “I’m not the woman you used to love, no matter that I share her name.”
His hands stilled momentarily before he shook hers off and continued unbuttoning her blouse.
“I know you’re not her, Lotte, but I find myself not caring anymore,” Devon replied, his words firm. “It’s you I want.”
Unbuttoning her blouse completely, he pushed the fabric away from her, revealing her lightly covered breasts. Hesitantly, he cupped a single breast in the palm of his hand.
“I want you, Lotte. Here, now, I want to feel your body against mine.”
Lotte could feel herself surrendering to this man. “D-Devon, I… I…”
His mouth went to her neck, his warm lips caressing her skin, forcing gasps of pleasure from her.
Her hands went to his shoulders, her fingernails piercing his skin. “Please, Devon,” she begged him. “Please, don’t stop—”
Her words were cut off by his lips passionately embracing hers, his hands on her rear, holding her tightly against him, forcing her to feel his throbbing shaft through his trousers. Her desire for this man engulfing her, Lotte lowered her hands, struggling with the fastenings on his pants. Finally succeeding in unbuttoning them, she reached inside his trousers, taking his jerking shaft in her hands and stroking it affectionately.
“Jesus, woman!” Devon gasped, and she could hear his breathing quickening. His hands still on her rear, he lifted her up, her legs resting on his hips as he carried her to his bed.
Being laid down on the cool sheets, Lotte watched as Devon quickly pushed his trousers from his hips before nestling himself between her thighs and plunging his manhood deep inside her.
“Devon.” Lotte moaned, her passions consuming her. Unspeakable pleasures engulfing her, she allowed her passions to shatter around him. She pushed him over so she was straddling him.
“Honey, you need to stop,” Devon pleaded with her. “Y-you need to s-slow down.”
But Lotte couldn’t stop, nor did she want to. Sitting astride him, Lotte felt the moment Devon surrendered to his own release, and again she was overcome by shattering emotions. Gasping for breath, Lotte fell against Devon, their bodies molded almost as one.
“I want you to stay with me, Lotte,” she heard him mutter. His fingers caressed the long strands of her hair as they lay spread against her naked back.
Lifting her head, Lotte looked at him. “You know I can’t do that, Devon.”
Devon’s hand stilled. “You can’t or you won’t?”
Sliding off him and to the floor, Lotte reached for her scattered clothing and began to quickly dress. “It isn’t like that.”
“It isn’t?” he asked, as he too reached for his clothing and began to dress. “Then what is it like?”
Standing, Lotte struggled to straighten her clothes and fasten buttons. “Devon, we can’t. We shouldn’t.”
Devon stopped dressing. “Exactly what can’t we do, Lotte?” he asked sternly.
She sighed heavily. “We can’t be seen together. If we are to do this, we have to do so in secrecy. There is no other way allowed to us,” she pleaded with him.
Devon’s hand gripped her wrist firmly, turning her back to face him.
“What did you say?” he asked, his eyes narrowing as he studied her.
Finally finishing straightening her simple servant’s garb, Lotte joined her gaze to his. “Elizabeth can’t see us together, Devon. Even you can’t be ignorant to what will happen if she does.”
Devon didn’t answer her. He just stood still, his stare never faltering, his hold on her wrist still firm.
Pulling her wrist free from his hold and turning away from him, Lotte walked toward the door. Her hand resting on the door handle, she turned back toward him. “I would rather hold you under a shroud than not at all, Devon.” With that, she left, shutting the door behind her.
On her way back to her room, Lotte passed one of the errand boys who handed her a folded piece of paper. Cautiously, she opened it.
We have to talk. Meet me at the waterhole.
Patrick
“What is it, Patrick. What has happened?” she asked when her brother was finally in sight. “Has there been another murder?”
Patrick shook his head. “Not yet at least, but I fear there will be.”
“Did you find the blackmailer?” Lotte asked.
“Not yet. But I’ve been talking to some people who knew George Fanti and those who used to work for Jack Munroy. Apparently, our uncle was blackmailing Devon’s father, making Jack believe he would hang for killing a man back in Victoria. George threatened to go to the police unless a marriage was arranged between Devon and Elizabeth.”
Lotte was unaffected by what her brother told her. “Most marriages around here are arranged by the parents, Patrick, be it from blackmail or business transactions. I don’t see—”
“Jack Munroy apparently discovered the truth though. He found out it was really George who shot Charles Davern and not our father,” Patrick interrupted his sister. “Jack threatened to call off the marriage and reveal the truth.”
“So why didn’t he?” Lotte asked.
“He died before he could.”
Lotte thought for a moment. “Can you be sure this information is reliable?”
Patrick nodded. “There were some blackmail letters found by Jack Munroy’s servants in his belongings after his death.”
“Did the police ever find who killed Jack Munroy?” Lotte asked.
Patrick shook his head. “It was assumed it was nothing more than a hunting accident, so no one ever looked for a killer.”
“What happened to Charles Davern?” Lotte asked. “Did George kill him too?”
Patrick shrugged. “Nobody could tell me that. Elizabeth’s driver mentioned that Elizabeth went to see Charles Davern when he arrived here in Brandon. He said he saw a young boy run from the estate house moments after a gunshot was heard.”
“Why would Elizabeth go to see Charles Davern?” Lotte asked. “Do you think it was her who killed him?”
