Бренда Джойс – Deadly Vows (страница 2)

For one moment, she had the chance to watch Rick before he saw her, and warmth stole through her. She would always care deeply about him. He was tall, golden and very striking in appearance, but it was so much more than that. He was even more committed to reform than she was; he had spent the past decade in Washington, D.C., as a lawyer, representing the indigent, the mentally incompetent and the poor. He had turned down a partnership in a prestigious law firm to do so. In January, he had been appointed by New York City’s new reform mayor, Seth Low, to clean up the police department, which was notoriously corrupt. A recent study estimated that the police took in four million dollars every year from gambling, prostitution and other vices—all from illegal payoffs. Even small merchants like grocers and shoemakers gave their local roundsman a dollar or two a week for protection.

In the six months since Bragg’s appointment, he had done his best to break the stranglehold of graft and corruption in the department, mostly by reassigning, demoting and promoting the force’s officers. But he was caught between the warring forces of politics and progressivism. Mayor Low had begun to back away from Bragg’s reform policies, afraid of losing the next election. The city’s progressive elites and clergy had begun to howl for even greater efforts from Bragg. The German Reform Movement, allied with Tammany Hall, kept pushing back. Bragg remained on a terrible seesaw. But he was determined to clean up his police force. Consequently, he’d made far more enemies than friends in a very short time.

She doubted there was a man alive whom she admired and respected more. Except, of course, for her fiancé.

Bragg turned and smiled, coming forward with long strides to greet her. “Francesca, am I intruding?” He kissed her cheek as she took his hand. “I know this is your wedding day.”

Releasing his hand, she smiled into his eyes. He hadn’t forgotten. “I hope so, as you are on the guest list. I would be crushed if you were not present.”

He studied her, his smile fading.

She realized he looked very tired. “You could never intrude. What is wrong?”

“Thank you for meaning that. You seem very happy, Francesca.”

She became wary. Bragg had not hidden the fact that he disapproved of Hart entirely. “I’m a bride. Of course I am happy, although I am also nervous.” Suddenly she knew why he was there. “You haven’t come to share the details of a new case with me, have you?”

“No, I haven’t.” He was somber.

Her smile vanished and he caught both her hands. “My feelings about this wedding have not changed,” he said with urgency. “I am so worried about you.”

She tried to tug her hands free and then gave up, as he wouldn’t let her go. “I am marrying Calder this afternoon.”

“Three weeks ago, Hart was in jail, at the top of our list of suspects.”

She pulled free. “No, he was at the top of your list. I never doubted his innocence.”

“He has you mesmerized.”

Hart and Bragg were bitter rivals in every possible way. No two brothers could be more different. They had been raised in the poverty of the city’s worst tenements—until Rathe Bragg, Rick’s father, had taken them both in. Now, Rick sacrificed the pursuit of the finer things in life in order to help others; his life was dedicated to the reform of society and government. As police commissioner, he lived on a very modest income—and did not care. Hart had taken away an entirely different lesson from his childhood. He was a millionaire, and he displayed his wealth with shocking arrogance. While Hart gave lavishly to several charities and the arts, his ambition had been to acquire power and never suffer poverty and powerlessness again. He had amassed a fortune through hard work and superior intelligence, mostly in shipping, insurance and the railroads. An objective observer would label the one brother the epitome of selfless virtue, the other, selfish and self-serving.

Francesca knew it wasn’t true. Hart had his noble side, and she knew that firsthand. With her, he had been nothing but selfless and good. She had come to believe that his arrogance was a facade.

None of that mattered now. She hated the animosity between them. Unfortunately, she knew that a great deal of that rivalry was fueled by her past with Rick and her current relationship with Hart. And that was hardly fair, as Rick had been separated from his wife and since had reconciled with Leigh Anne. “I am far more than mesmerized, Rick. I am in love.”

“You have no doubts?”

“I cannot wait to become Hart’s wife.”

“And that is what worries me so much.” Dismay was reflected in his unwavering amber gaze.

“A woman of the world—someone as jaded as Hart—could manage him. But you are as romantic as you are intellectual. And in spite of his courtship, you remain so naive. I shudder when I think of how you trust him, and worse, of your expectations!”

He was echoing the sentiment she had overheard in the past few weeks. “I am hardly going to expect the worst of our marriage. I believe my expectations are fairly realistic,” she said. A knock sounded on the open salon door, interrupting them. She gave him a dark look, turning away. Did he have to do this now?

One of the doormen entered, holding a small box wrapped in white paper with a pretty blue ribbon. Francesca knew it was a gift from Hart. She glanced at Bragg.

Rick scowled, shoving his hands in the pockets of his tan trousers as she thanked Jonathon. She went to a desk and unwrapped the gift. The traditional jeweler’s velvet box a bride might expect was not within, but she hadn’t expected tradition—not from Hart. Instead, she withdrew an antique penknife with a two-inch blade and an ivory handle. The card lying below was scrawled with the initials CH.

“My God, he sent you a knife,” Bragg said.

“Something old, something new.” She laughed. She loved the gift! It was perfect for her. The small knife fit perfectly in the palm of her hand, the better for hiding it when in dire circumstances.

Francesca replaced the knife in the box. This was one of the reasons she loved Hart so. Another man would have sent her jewelry, but not Hart. He understood her so well.

“You are most definitely under his spell.”

She nodded. “Yes, I am. And I hope to be under his spell for a long, long time.”

He returned quickly, “In the short time you have known him, he has hurt you so much—I have witnessed your pain firsthand.”

She wanted to deny it, but she could not. “Please, Rick, not today. Simply wish me well.”

But he barreled on. “You must know that Hart is in the newspapers on a nearly daily basis, Francesca. The city’s newsmen continue to exploit the details of his sordid affair with Daisy Jones.”

She tensed. “I know that gossip still rages about her murder. And I know what they are saying about him—that, regardless of the killer’s confession, some in town have decided to believe Hart guilty. These past two weeks, I have been out and about almost every night, at my mother’s insistence. I have heard the ugly whispers—as I was meant to. They even say he will tire of me.” She managed a shrug, as if she did not care, but she could not smile.

He was silent for a moment, and she knew that he thought, as those matrons did, that Hart would wander, sooner or later. “I was at the Wannamaker affair,” he finally said. “You were not. I heard the horrid gossip myself. They want to hang him, Francesca, and by association, they will hang you, too.”

She knew Rick was here, causing conflict, because he cared so much about her. “It is payback for all the years he has defied and mocked society and everyone in it.”

“He is despised. When they whisper about him, they will also whisper about you.”

“I realize that. I grew up in society and I am well aware of how vitriolic it can be. Of course I do not enjoy the gossip. Of course I wish it would end. We will definitely go through a rough patch. It will be some time before society forgets about Daisy’s murder. But he is innocent, has been proven innocent, and I will stand by his side steadfastly. That is what a wife does for her husband.”

“He broke off his engagement with you when he was accused of Daisy’s murder,” Bragg said harshly. “And he broke your heart. I know you haven’t forgotten. He was selfish then as he is selfish now. Think, Francesca!”

She trembled. “Of course I haven’t forgotten. But he was trying to protect me from the scandal—and from himself.”

“You have become adept at making excuses for him!” His tone was urgent. “You know, as I know, that he will hurt you again and again, in little ways, if not the biggest possible way. God only knows what demons live within him. He is selfish and cruel. I have seen him deliberately try to hurt you! You deserve someone kind.” He took a breath. “I am not asking you to end your engagement. But I am asking you to delay the marriage. I cannot understand this mad rush to the altar.”

She trembled, finally tearing her gaze from his. “Why are you doing this?”

He said, “You know why. Because I have never stopped caring about you.”

She blinked back sudden tears. Once, long ago, he had been the man of her dreams. And maybe, if his wife had not returned, they would be together now. But she had fallen madly in love with Hart. She hadn’t thought it possible to love so deeply, so intensely. And she had made her choice months ago. But his comments hurt now, and she didn’t dare analyze why. It was a moment before she could speak. “I can hardly delay now.”