The Third heiress

by Brenda Joyce

  "The British Library?" His brows were high. "If you're interested in museums, why, I could have recommended far better ones than that."

  "Actually I went there for a reason. Kate Gallagher."

  His expression did not change. In fact, his expressions were usually flat, impassive, giving very little away. "Kate Gallagher? The girl in the photograph?"

  She nodded, suddenly eager to share her afternoon with someone, even if it was him. "You won't believe what I found." She recited the short paragraph to him, having memorized it effortlessly. "Isn't that amazing?"

  Alex sat down in a plqsh chair covered in red and gold brocade, stretching his long legs out in front of him. "What's amazing is that you went to the library in the first place. And no, I don't understand. What is so amazing about what you have found?"

  "Kate was from New York. My family was from New York. The photo was important to Hal. Kate and I have the same last name. I don't know what Hal was thinking, but I can feel it in my gut that this woman is my ancestor."

  He shook his head, clearly dubious. "You're overtired, and you have quite an imagination. That's what I think. Enjoy your drink." He held his glass up to hers. "Cheers."

  "Do I?" Jill almost wished she could reveal to him Hal's last dying words. "You are such a skeptic," Jill said, still enthused about her discovery. "She was a guest of Anne's in September of 1906. They were to make their debut together. There are too many coincidences here, Alex."

  Alex's gaze was steady. Jill realized she had never called him by his name before, and oddly, that made her cheeks heat. "I don't think there are any coincidences at all," he said finally, taking a large sip of vodka.

  Jill was instantly deflated. "No, you're wrong."

  "You're very romantic, Jill, that's what this is about."

  Jill looked at him. "I'm not romantic. My neighbor's the romantic one. New Age, and all that. She's the one who believes life has a master plan for everyone." Jill grew silent, thinking about life's master plan. It sucked.

  Alex smiled. "That's a nice thought. So what does the Universe have in store for you?" He was sprawling in his chair now.

  Very surprised, she shifted to look at him. KC had said Hal was not her destiny, but she was not about to tell him that. Especially since KC was wrong.

  "Well?"

  "My neighbor says Hal led me to Kate."

  Alex regarded her unblinkingly. "That's pushing it."

  "Maybe she's right." Abruptly Jill drained her drink. "I'm really tired," she said, standing. She didn't feel like sparring anymore.

  Alex stood up, but slowly. "FU refill that for you," he. said, taking her glass from her.

  Jill was about to refuse, but changed her mind. Why was he being civil? Or did he wish to detain her? When Alex had filled both their glasses, she accepted hers. "Thanks,'* she said. "Another one of these and Fm guaranteed to pass out."

  He almost smiled. They drank. For the first time since arriving in London, Jill began to ever so slightly relax as the scotch invaded her bloodstream. "Who is Marisa?"

  Alex looked at her.

  "Marisa is—was—Hal's childhood sweetheart—^the woman we all expected him to marry," Thomas said from the threshold of the room.

  At the sound of his cool, patrician voice, Jill almost dropped her scotch. She tensed even as she stepped away from Alex, turning with dread to face him. He strolled into the room. "I hope I am not intruding." His glance was directed at her, not Alex.

  Jill stared at him speechlessly. They had all expected Hal to marry Marisa? She and Hal had been childhood sweethearts? Jealousy filled her. But hadn't she suspected something like this? "Were they engaged?"

  Thomas was making himself a drink. He turned. "How could they have been engaged? Didn't you tell us that Hal asked you to marry him?"

  Jill could not look away from him. She hadn't told Thomas that—she had told Alex and Lauren. Obviously there were no secrets in the family.

  "Jill was at the British Library this afternoon," Alex told his cousin.

  Thomas drank his scotch while regarding them both. He had removed his jacket, but still wore a custom-made shirt, a Valentino tie, and black trousers. He had very broad shoulders and slim hips. "I know. I couldn't help overhearing."

  Jill did not answer, watching him. To have overheard, he must have been standing in the doorway for some time—spying upon them. Jill was angry. She felt violated. And standing there beside Alex, with Thomas staring at her, she felt cornered, she felt trapped. She did not like the look in his

  eyes—it was the look of a suffering animal, made mean with pain and ready to lash out.

  He wanted to lash out at her—hurt her, punish her, for Hal's death. Jill was certain.

  His golden gaze remained on Jill, unwavering. "So you have had an ... interesting afternoon?" His tone was civil, nothing more.

  She lifted her chin, expecting an attack. "It was very interesting."

  His stare remained. "So you are a history buff—like Hal."

  "No."

  Both dark slashing brows lifted. "Then why the library?"

  She wet her lips. "Didn't you overhear my reasons for being there while you were standing in the doorway, listening to my conversation with your cousin?"

  It was hard to tell if he smiled, and if it was pleasant or not. "Actually, I do believe you said that you think this woman, Kate Gallagher, is an ancestor of yours."

  "I do."

  "Who is Kate Gallagher?" he asked after drinking from his scotch.

  "Your grandmother was a friend and host to her in 1906," she said with some defiance and some trepidation.

  "So?"

  "Hal had a photo of the two women in his room. We share the same last name, and Hal asked me to marry him, and I find the whole thing too extreme to be a coincidence." She knew she was baiting him. But she could not help herself.

  His expression was more than amused. "So you claim. Hal never told us that he was thinking of marrying you." His gaze went to her hands. "I don't see a ring on your finger."

  "We didn't have time to go shopping for a ring," Jill said firmly.

  "Ah, yes. Dancing must be an exacting ... er .. . profession." His tone told her he didn't think it a-profession at all.

  "It is," she said flatly. "I have trained six, even seven days a week, my entire life. I started ballet when I was four—at six I was training three, four hours a day. I was seventeen when I was accepted at Juilliard, eighteen when I joined the

  New York City Ballet. Being a member of the corps there is even more demanding. I can't begin to describe what it is like. A few years ago I gave up ballet for the stage."

  "Are you trying to impress me?" he asked.

  Jill finally flushed, with anger. "I know what you think of me. And I don't care. I also think very little impresses you," Jill said. She stopped. She had been about to descend to his level and tell him that what undoubtedly impressed him, other than his blue-ribbon pedigree and his wealth, was himself. But she was not about to become as ugly as he was.

  He smiled at her. "Go ahead. Speak your mind. Miss Gallagher. Tell me what you think."

  "I don't think so," Jill said. She set her half-empty glass down. "I'm going to bed."

  "Hal never told you about Marisa," Thomas said too softly.

  Jill faltered. Instinctively, she knew Thomas was about to deliver a brutal blow.

  "I'm right." Thomas stepped closer to her. "He didn't tell you anything, did he?"

  Lips pursed, she shook her head. She didn't want to hear this. But she knew shQ had to.

  "Hal knew Marisa for most of his life. Our families are close. In essence, Hal and Marisa grew up together—they were childhood sweethearts. They started seriously dating when Hal was in his final year at Cambridge, and he only waited so long because of her age—she was only sixteen. They've done everything together—skied the Alps, safaried in Kenya, toured China, hiked India. They broke up a few times, but they always got back together. Always."

  Ji
ll didn't move. Her heart drummed heavily, loudly, in her chest. Biut Marisa had married someone else, she managed to think.

  "Thomas." Alex stepped between them. "Leave it alone. She's splitting tomorrow."

  "No," Thomas barked.

  And dully, Jill thought that Alex wasn't a complete bastard after all.

  Alex gripped her arm. Jill leaned into him as he propelled

  her toward the door. "Come on," he said. "Enough is enough. Let's end one rotten day."

  "It was Marisa who saved Hal's life," Thomas shouted from behind them. Jill faltered. And she pulled away from Alex to turn and stare across the room at Thomas.

  "Yes," he gritted. "Marisa saved Hal's life."

  Jill was trembling. "What do you mean?"

  He stared. "You don't know, do you? About the drugs and alcohol?"

  It was a moment before Jill could understand him. "Hal didn't drink. He didn't do drugs, either."

  Thomas laughed, harshly, bitterly. "This entire family was in denial, refusing to see what was happening to Hal before our very eyes," he said. "He would come home at dawn, sleep all day, reek of alcohol, be sniffing away, but we all believed him when he said he was tired, he was working too hard, he had a cold, we believed excuse after excuse, for years and years. We all closed our eyes to what was going on. But one day Marisa found him, out cold, and it was an overdose. Cocaine, speed, and alcohol. She got the medics, she was with him in the hospital, and she held his hand for the three months he was locked up in an in-patient hospital clinic. And she continued to hold his hand the following year, when he became an outpatient—which was during the year of her own divorce. It was Hal's battle, but she was with him, in spite of her legal battles, fighting for him, every step of the way." He was still shouting. He was also close to tears.

  Jill was shaking. She hadn 't known. She was in shock.

  "And you didn't know," Thomas cried.

  Jill just looked at him, his anger engulfing her, and it went through her dazed mind that Hal had kept the most important fact of his life hidden from her, and that Marisa had saved Hal's life.

  While she, Jill, had ended it.

  Jill closed her eyes, but only for a moment. When she opened them, they were blurred. "Why didn't Hal marry her?" she managed. "When was this?"

  "He cleaned up two years ago. But Marisa was in the midst of an ugly divorce. She has a child, a son, and that Ital-

  ian fortune hunter she married was trying to gain custody just to have leverage against her. She and Hal were seeing each other during the divorce until it tore them apart. When Hal left for New York a year ago, it looked like Marisa's divorce might go on for years, maybe more, because of the custody battle." He smiled grimly. "But the divorce came through two months ago.'*

  Jill reeled. Thinking, Oh', God, he had been on the verge of leaving her to go back with Marisa . . . "No," she cried. "He loved me. He. left her. He was with me, in New York, these past eight months—"

  Thomas cut her off. "Bloody right he was in New York with you. And I think the reason is obvious." His gaze slid over her body in a brutally chauvinistic way.

  "I have had enough," Jill cried, turning so quickly that she slammed into Alex's chest, face first.

  "You've always known how to be cruel," Alex said over her head, to his cousin, his hands^ closing around her shoulders.

  Jill pushed away from him, rushing to the door.

  "I'm not through," Thomas said, his strides sounding as he hurried across the room after her. He caught her arm from behind, whirling her around. Jill made a small sound—that of a tiny animal, caught by its much larger, dangerous predator—a sound of pure fear.

  "You're here now for the same reason you went after Hal in the first place," Thomas said, his eyes filled with fury. "And don''t you deny it!"

  "I have no idea what you are talking about," Jill gasped.

  "Don't," Alex said, hard, slamming one hand down on Thomas's wrist, forcing him to release Jill.

  Jill backed up against the door.

  "Why are you protecting her? Or has she gotten to you, too?" Thomas cried to Alex.

  "I'll ignore that. I'm going to ignore everything that has just happened, because you are drunk on grief," Alex said harshly. "Thomas, you are not yourself!"

  Thomas turned his gaze on Jill, who remained frozen against the door, ignoring his cousin—perhaps not even hav-

  ing heard him. He was livid. "You went after Hal because you are a fortune hunter. And you're here now for the very same reason."

  Jill was so stunned she could not even react.

  "You're here to get a piece of Hal's trust. The next thing we know, you'll be claiming you're pregnant with his child."

  Jill managed to find the words she so desperately wanted. "You are wrong," she said. "You are wrong." She shoved Alex aside and fled the two men.

  Three

  J

  ILL FELT LIKE A DEAD PERSON.

  She slowly stepped into very skinny, gray stretch pants and a fitted black pullover, feeling as if her body had run out of fuel. Her limbs seemed to be weak and useless. She had just gotten up after a sleepless night. Terrible doubts about her own relationship with Hal had tormented her hour after hour and she ha
  Thomas had to be wrong.

  But the facts were inescapable.

  Jill finished dressing. She had never been more grim—or more glum. Now she understood why Hal's family hated her. It wasn't just that she had been driving the car, or that she was a dancer. They all assumed her to be a fortune hunter. It was unbelievable.

  Jill had never once in her life met a fortune hunter in the flesh. How dare they think her to be such a conniving piece of trash. But even her anger failed to replace the hurt. It was the most awful of accusations.

  Marisa had saved Hal's life. She, Jill, had ended it.

  Had Hal loved Marisa? Or had he loved her, Jill?

  Jill sank back down on the bed, her head in her hands.

  exhausted. Her mind wouldn't quit, worse, she feh like crying again. KC was right. She needed drugs. Just for a few days, maybe a few weeks.

  Until she adjusted to being alone again, until she adjusted to the fact that she would never have the answers she would always seek.

  There was a knock on Jill's door. Jill assumed it was a housemaid and she looked at the clock beside the bed. It was almost noon. Not that she cared. Her system had taken a beating, and although she had been in London for two days now, she had yet to adjust to the time change. Nor did she want to. Jet leg meant she had already lost the morning, and that was fine with her.

  Tonight she was going home. She could not wait, even though it meant leaving Hal behind—a vast ocean separating them. Even though it meant she wouldn't be able to visit his grave for years and years.

  She did not kilow how she felt anymore. A part of her that still believed, hated leaving Hal, would hate being so far away from him. But she could not bear being among the Sheldons anymore. She could not stand up to any more brutal discoveries about Hal's life—she was afraid to learn that there were more secrets he had kept from her.

  Jill grabbed her purse and leather jacket, having just applied a beige-hued hpstick, and answered the door. To her surprise, Lauren stood there, impeccable and elegant in pressed blue jeans, a navy blue Escada blazer, a white button-down shirt, and J.P. Tod's loafers.

  "Good morning," Lauren said, her hands in the pockets of her blazer. She didn't quite smile, but she wasn't scowling like the day before yesterday. "When you didn't come downstairs I thought I should check on you."

  Jill did not relax. "Hoping I died in my sleep?" she said, before she thought the better of it.

  Lauren stared. "That's very unfair."

  "You're right. But let's no
t pretend. You didn't come upstairs to check oh my health." Jill knew she was being terribly rude, but she was also being honest. She was too tired to play games anymore.

  Lauren followed her down the hall. "Jill. We spoke last night at length about you.*'

  Jill faltered, and on the landing, she turned to face Hal's sister.

  "Thomas regrets his terrible outburst. I'm here to apologize for us all."

  Jill could not believe her ears. And she did not believe, not for a New York minute,, that Thomas had had a change of heart. He believed she was a trashy fortune hunter. He blamed her for Hal's death. What was going on? "Okay," Jill said cautiously.

  Lauren's hands remained in her pockets. "I'm sorry, too. This is very difficult. I don't mean apologizing. I mean everything. But Hal was dating you, and you did bring him home— " Suddenly tears filled Lauren's eyes, her nose mmed red, and she could not continue. "Oh, God!" She turned away, her shoulders shaking.

  Tears filled Jill's eyes as well. Here, at least, was common ground. Jill dug into her purse for a tissue, laid her hand tentatively on Lauren's shoulder. Lauren shook her head, continuing to cry. Jill waited, and when she finally repressed the sobs, Jill handed her the tissue. Lauren wiped her eyes carefully—avoiding mascara.

  When she looked up, it was to meet Jill's own eyes, which remained moist. "Thank you."

  It was a moment before Jill could speak. "Maybe he didn't love me completely, but I loved him with all of my heart and all of my soul."

  Lauren stared.

  Jill put her purse strap over her shoulder. "Thomas is wrong about me," she said impulsively, immediately regretting her words. Something was up, and she didn't want Lauren to know that she suspected anything.