Бренда Джойс – Deadly Kisses (страница 1)
Praise for Brenda Joyce’s Deadly series
“Joyce’s latest ‘deadly’ romance is truly a pleasure to read, given its involving plot, intriguing characters and the magic that occurs as the reader becomes immersed in another time and place.”
—Booklist on Deadly Kisses
“If this is your introduction to Francesca Cahill, you’ll be just as hooked on the series as longtime fans. Joyce skillfully pulls you into her characters’ tangled lives as they pursue a killer. The ‘Deadlies’ keep you coming back for more because you care about the people and you can sink your teeth into their complicated lives as they twist and turn with mystery.”
—RT Book Reviews on Deadly Kisses
“As Francesca searches for clues and struggles with her complicated feelings for two different men, readers will follow her from turn-of-the-century New York’s immigrant tenements to its wealthiest mansions. Fans of Joyce’s Deadly romances will find the seventh in the series to be another entertaining blend of danger and desire.”
—Booklist on Deadly Illusions
“Just when you think you have it all figured out, Joyce turns it all around, leaving you with a cliff-hanger, and eager for Francesca’s next adventure.”
—RT Book Reviews on Deadly Illusions
“Joyce excels at creating twists and turns in her characters’ personal lives.”
—Publishers Weekly
“An elegant blend of mystery and romance simmering with sexual tension.”
—Booklist on Deadly Promise
“The steamy revelations…are genuinely intriguing, and just enough of them are left unresolved at the book’s end to leave readers waiting eagerly for the series’ next installment.”
—Publishers Weekly on Deadly Love
BRENDA JOYCE
DEADLY KISSES
This novel is dedicated to my sister, Jamie.
I miss you.
Jamie Lee Allen
1965–2005
Courageous in life.
Forever in Peace.
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER ONE
Monday, June 2, 1902,
New York City—Before Midnight
“FRANCESCA, I THINK IT’S wonderful that you have volunteered to chair the Ladies Citizen Union Funds Committee,” Julia Van Wyck Cahill remarked, handing off her ruby-red velvet mantle to the doorman. Slim, beautiful and elegant, and wearing a very famous ruby pendant that had belonged to a Hapsburg princess, she stood with her daughter in the front hall of their Fifth Avenue home, beaming with pleasure.
Francesca, however, was preoccupied. She handed off her own light wrap, a turquoise satin to match her evening gown. “Mama, I did not quite volunteer. I do believe you and Mrs. Astor decided among yourselves to make me cochair.”
Julia’s blue eyes widened as she feigned innocent ignorance. “Darling! Whatever makes you say that? My dear, you are the youngest lady to ever chair the committee, and I know you will be superb, Francesca—you always are.”
In truth, Francesca did not really mind being named the chair, as her current investigation was so routine. A neighbor had realized that certain items in her attics were missing, including several valuable family heirlooms, and having read all about Francesca’s last case in the city’s numerous newspapers, she had requested Francesca’s sleuthing services. Francesca was almost certain that Mrs. Canning’s son-in-law was the thief.
“It is a good cause and someone has to raise funds for the party.” Francesca sighed. “I simply wish you had asked me first if I had the time to give the position all of the effort and attention it deserves.”
Julia took her arm. “I’m sorry, dear. Of course, I should have asked.”
Francesca knew very well what her mother was about. Julia was a great society hostess, and she had been aghast by Francesca’s new profession. Even with Francesca’s success, she remained opposed to her daughter’s involvement in any investigation, although she seemed relieved that Francesca finally had a case that was neither life threatening nor scandalous in nature. Francesca knew her mother wanted her so preoccupied with fundraising for the Citizens Union that she would have time for nothing else other than her fiancé.
At the thought of Calder Hart, her heart skipped uncontrollably. But then, Hart had that effect on her, from the time they had first met, when she had refused to admit her attraction to and fascination with such a notorious man. He was one of the city’s wealthiest millionaires, yet he had come from humble beginnings, born out of wedlock on the city’s poverty-stricken Lower East Side. Until recently, in spite of his reputation as a womanizer, he had been considered the greatest catch in town, with almost every socialite vying for his attention for their debutante daughters. Hart, however, preferred to attach himself to infamous courtesans and divorcées, shying away from any serious involvement. Francesca still had to pinch herself from time to time, in order to realize that it was real—she, Francesca Cahill, who owned an equally notorious reputation as an eccentric, a bluestocking and a sleuth, had somehow snagged Calder Hart. These days, when she walked into a supper party or a ball, knives were sharpened and daggers were drawn behind her back. Once, the whispers and gossip had hurt her feelings; now she rather enjoyed the attention. But then, usually Hart was at her side, whispering in her ear, reminding her to revel in the limelight.
All was not perfect, however. Her father was dead set against Hart. An entire month had gone by since Andrew Cahill had broken off their engagement and he did not seem any closer to coming around, never mind that Francesca’s mother was so angry she refused to speak to him unless it was absolutely necessary. In fact, Julia continued to gloat about the engagement to her society friends, as if it had not been terminated.
Francesca had come to realize she could not imagine a future without Hart in it, and she was determined to win Andrew over to their cause. Her father was one of the great progressive thinkers and leaders in the city. He was also a great humanitarian, and Francesca admired him immensely. She could not imagine eloping behind his back, although she and Hart had discussed it. This was the first time in her life that she had not been able to gain her way with her father.
Hart had suggested they not push Andrew Cahill just now. Calder was out of town right now, and Francesca missed him terribly.
As if reading her daughter’s mind, Julia said softly, “When will Calder return to the city, Francesca?”
“In a day or two, Mama. He is in Boston, tending to his business affairs.” Hart’s fortune had been amassed through shipping, insurance and the railroads. He was also a world-renowned art collector, with one of the most extensive and valuable privately owned collections in America.
Several months ago, Hart had commissioned her portrait and Francesca had been hugely flattered. The portrait had been a nude, and she had been daring enough to pose for it. Last month, the painting had been completed—and it had also been stolen. With Francesca too upset to think clearly enough to investigate the theft, Hart had put private investigators on the case. But there had been no leads; it was as if the portrait had vanished into thin air. If it ever surfaced publicly, Francesca knew she was finished. She had quite a few enemies, although many of them were now in prison.
Francesca did not want to worry about the missing portrait now. Instead, she thought about her reunion with Hart. She could barely wait to be in his arms, being soundly and thoroughly kissed. “Mama, I am going to bed. It was a pleasant evening,” she said, kissing her cheek.
“Yes, it was, wasn’t it?” Julia seemed pleased.
Andrew Cahill stepped into the spacious front hall, having been outside giving instructions to the coachman for the next morning. Francesca smiled at her father as he handed off his top hat, white gloves and scarf. Dressed in his tuxedo, he was a short man with a rotund build and excessive side whiskers. “Papa? Did you enjoy the affair tonight?” Her sister, every bit as successful a society hostess as Julia, had held a charity supper to raise funds for the vast new public library, soon to be erected on Fifth Avenue and Forty-Second street. There had been a hundred guests, with champagne, caviar, dinner, dessert and dancing, all in the ballroom of the Waldorf-Astoria Hotel.
“Of course I did,” Andrew said, his expression somber. “It is a fine cause and I look forward to the day the library opens. Francesca, I should like to talk to you in the study before you retire for the night.”