A Most Unusual Match (15 page)

“T
hought it better to deliver the news in person,” Fred Lawlor finished. With a grunt of exertion he helped Devlin load the final sack of grain into the back of the farm wagon. “Sorry.”

Devlin rotated his head to work the kinks out of his neck muscles. “We knew all along StoneHill was only a temporary refuge. Now that Fane's putting all the pieces together it makes sense, him using Thea's father to lure Thea out of hiding. It's also probable he hopes to catch me, as well. But his motivation's never been that of a spurned lover seeking retribution. I told you about Thea's suspicions about Mrs. Gorman's death? This would indicate her suspicions hold merit. For some reason, the blackguard had her murdered. Might even have done the deed himself.”

A chill he couldn't ignore iced down his spine. “It's imperative to discover how Fane unearthed Richard Langston. He's trying to get rid of all witnesses who can implicate him in the Cynthia Gorman murder. Since he can't know what Thea's told me, I'm on that list as well. This is no longer about catching a counterfeiter….”

Lawlor glanced around to ensure nobody else was in earshot. “That's our assessment about Miss Langston, yes.
We're not convinced of the threat to you personally. Appropriate actions are being evaluated in Washington. Devlin, you have to lay aside any personal feelings for this woman. Her protection, and securing proof that Fane is guilty of murder, is beyond our mandate, my friend.”

“Obviously you don't understand something, Lawlor. This woman is going to be my wife. Nothing—
nothing
—is going to stop me from doing everything in my power to protect her. Have I made my position clear?”

“Completely.” The other man lifted his hands in a placative gesture and backed away. “Take it easy, Devlin. I'm sorry. Until today we had no idea the two of you…you never mentioned…I—” He cursed under his breath, then offered a weak smile. “The one time I saw her, I should have guessed. Smart as a whip, isn't she? Pulled the wool right over our eyes, calling you by a fake name. Well, this will make for an interesting report tonight.”

“No,” Dev refuted, the word flat and final. “Until Edgar Fane is no longer a threat to Miss Langston, keep her name completely out of your daily reports. I've been working on my report for Chief Hazen, and will supply all mandated details. I'll also shoulder the consequences of flouting policy. Calm your conscience, all right?”

“Dev, I—”

“Subject's not open for discussion. I want to solve this case, now more than ever. But my first priority is my fiancée's safety.” As long as he lived Devlin would never forget Thea's face when he led her out of the Saratoga jail. “All it would take is one careless word, and you know it. Give me your word, Fred, or Thea and I will disappear. Completely.”

Lawlor's mouth thinned, but he quit arguing. “Much as it galls me to admit it, I see your point. You have my
promise. If something changes, I'll do what I can to alert you. That's the best I can offer, Devlin.”

“All right.” Fred Lawlor was not a quick thinker, nor swift on his feet. But in the two years Dev had known him, Fred had kept his word. A careful, if pedantic Secret Service operative, he'd served honorably for fifteen years, and Dev also valued his insight. “Tell me the rest of why you came, then. I have to get back to StoneHill.”

“Some of it's good news. A burglar arrested two days ago swears six ways to Sunday he was sent to Steven Clarke's residence in Philadelphia, not to rob the place, but to fetch counterfeit bills hidden in the Edgar Fane painting given to Clarke by Fane, just before they both left Saratoga. Fool of a burglar got too greedy and kept some of the bills for himself, along with half the Clarke's family silver. Bills recovered all bear the Hotel Hustler's mark. Operatives and police departments from Washington to Chicago are piecing evidence together to tie in the Hustler's work with paintings Edgar Fane donated to unsuspecting recipients. But…” He hesitated.

Ah, yes. Now for the bad news. “But we still need an operative to go in undercover,” Dev finished for him. “The word of one no-name thief would never be sufficient to prosecute the son of Thaddeus Fane.” He'd known ever since he heard about Thea's father what this personal visit from Lawlor was leading up to. “We've got to find some of those bills in Edgar's possession. It's possible Richard Langston's the next delivery boy.”

“Won't be as workable as Saratoga. Jekyll Island is an exclusive haven for America's millionaires, not a world-famous tourist destination.” Scowling, Lawlor kicked the wagon wheel. “Plenty of other southern resorts where Fane could pass the winter. But no, he has to take himself and
Richard Langston down to a blasted private island off the coast of Georgia.”

“He needed someplace where Langston couldn't easily bolt,” Devlin said thoughtfully, scanning the horizon.

Swollen clouds inched over the mountains to the west, blocking the sun. A gust of wind, smelling of rain, set the dead leaves heaped at the base of the two sycamores flanking the hardware store into a cyclonic frenzy. It was early November; back at StoneHill, he'd left a cheerful Thea swathed in one of Bessie's aprons, with Bessie barking instructions on how to make the best apple pie in the state of Virginia.

“I'll still be able to take care of my horses,” Thea promised Devlin, waving flour-dusted fingers at him. “I might even squeeze in an hour to help Nab oil hooves. I plan to be an indispensable part of your life, Mr. Stone.”

“You're indispensable, just by being you, Miss Langston.”

Thea's face lit up like it did on those few occasions when he'd stolen a kiss. Over the past month his fiancée had flowered into full bloom, flitting between house, stables and Stuarts Crossing like a hummingbird. No more haunted shadows, no more vertigo spells, no more secretive, fleeting glances at Devlin when she thought he didn't notice. The insecure young woman who felt unworthy of love whisked through the days, radiant with confidence, soaking up life at StoneHill like a sponge. She and Bessie were planning a spring wedding, when dogwood blossoms covered the farm in drifts of white flowers. Edgar Fane, Thea had promised him three weeks earlier, had been exiled permanently from her life. “God gave me my very own miracle—the love of a wonderful man. What God brought together, I refuse to allow Edgar Fane to tear asunder.”

Whirling abruptly away from Lawlor, Devlin slammed the wagon's tailgate shut and hooked the latches, his thoughts black as a crow's wing. He glanced over his shoulder. “The reason you delivered the news in person is because someone wants me to be that man on the inside.”

Lawlor had the grace to look uncomfortable. “We know it's a fair risk. Obviously you can't go in under your real name this time. But he doesn't have a photograph, only vague, hearsay descriptions of Mr. Stone. You still have an advantage over all the other operatives, because you don't have to pretend to be a well-heeled gent.”

“So did you bring along specific suggestions from Washington?”

“No. I was told to gauge your reaction, and hear what you had to offer. We're still doing research on Jekyll Island itself.”

Devlin chose to interpret that as a compliment. “Give me twenty-four hours, Fred. I have a few ideas, but I need to think through them.”

Resigned, his fellow operative shrugged back into his Norfolk jacket, donned his bowler and, using the wagon as a screen, handed over a thin sheaf of papers before climbing into his buggy. “That's everything we've collated since our last meeting, including the little we know about Richard Langston. It doesn't make for pretty reading, Devlin, especially since the man's Miss Langston's father.”

On the twenty-minute drive back to StoneHill, Devlin chewed over his own strategy, and prayed his newfound trust in God would not be misplaced.

That evening, while Thea helped Bessie in the kitchen, and Jeremiah, muttering imprecations, retired to the study to do paperwork, Devlin asked Charles to join him in the parlor. “There's something I need to tell you,” he said. “But
you need to know up front that under no circumstances can you share this with Theodora.”

“I've never been in the habit of keeping secrets from my granddaughter, Devlin.”

“You will, once you understand that the repercussions from enlightenment might cost her her life.”

A
week later, Thea joined Devlin in the family parlor for a rare moment alone with him. Despite Saratoga, or perhaps because of it, at StoneHill they practiced as much propriety as they both could muster. Cozy trysts in the parlor after everyone else had retired were avoided. Well, mostly. A giggle escaped as Thea sneaked down the hallway. A round harvest moon glazed the windowpanes in a pearlescent sheen, and she blew the man-in-the-moon a kiss, her heart equally bright and swollen with love.

Devlin rose from the settee. “Sit here, across from me,” he said. He gestured to the overstuffed chair her grandfather preferred, near the old-fashioned parlor stove, almost three yards away from the settee. “This is going to be hard enough…”

Laughing, Thea obeyed, wrapping herself up in her Scottish plaid shawl. But after he started talking, the bubbly urge to laugh fizzled and she squeezed her hands tightly together in the shawl's long fringes while she listened to her beloved regretfully inform her of a trip he had to make to Georgia. He would leave in two days.

“There's a breeder, near Savannah, with whom I've been corresponding for several years. He's given me first right
of refusal on a yearling colt, a Holsteiner. If you and I were already married I could take you with me. Since we decided to wait until next spring to wed—”

“A decision I think I regret…”

“—and since I need to make this trip immediately, I'll make it as fast as possible. Thea, love…I don't want to go….” Finally his words lagged, the light eyes half-hidden behind the screen of his lashes.

“A ‘have to' instead of a ‘want to'?” Thea finished, hoping to lighten the mood. “As you know, I've learned a lot these past months, distinguishing between the two.” The tips of his mouth barely lifted. Thea fought a brief internal skirmish, and switched tactics. “I'll miss you terribly, of course. But I know how much the Holsteiner breed means to you. I have to agree they're as…as elegant an example of horseflesh as I've ever seen. It's just, well, could you explain the urgency of traveling to Georgia right now? Bessie tells me this time of year the weather down here can turn nasty between the tick and tock of the clock.” And Thanksgiving was less than two weeks away.

“Trains these days can handle bad weather.” He heaved a sigh, flexing his shoulders as though they were weighed down with a sack of stones. “The breeder needs the money now, but I won't pay for any horse sight unseen, especially a Holsteiner. Thirty years ago, while America fought a nasty civil war, Europe struggled with turmoil of their own. The Holsteiner's reputation suffered from some poor breeding practices, and a resulting lack of quality. In this country there's very few stock I'd want to add to StoneHill, but this breeder in Georgia owns some of them. I don't want to lose the opportunity.” Leaning forward, he searched her face, his gaze still cloudy. “You know I love horses. But do you have any idea how much I love you? I'd give my life for you, Thea.”

“As I would you,” she replied, suddenly understanding. Desertion and betrayal left lifelong scars. Proprieties be hanged, she rose to join him on the settee. The heavy velvet drapes had been pulled, exchanging moonlight for coziness. Intimacy, however, eluded them; the hissing parlor stove tossed wavering shadows about the room; on the side table the milk glass lamp cast a feverish glow over the furniture. A life-size portrait of Devlin's father stared down at her, his expression grave rather than kind.
Don't worry,
she promised Eli Stone,
it might take years, but one day he'll learn to trust me enough to travel in peace.
“I'll miss you,” she told Devlin, “every hour of every day. But I will be here when you return.”

“It's not that.”

He looked so miserable she rushed the words. “And I promise not to weep, or slide into feeling unloved, or afraid. My faith in God has never been stronger, even when I was a child. I know you've postponed several other trips over the past month because you were concerned about—”

“I'll have words with Jeremiah.”

“He knew I was fighting guilt about stifling your freedom, and offered good counsel.” She nudged the tough, muscular shoulder with her own, love and admiration prickling her skin. “Jeremiah said you'd go when you were convinced I'd be safe, and not before, so there was no use pestering you, or fretting. So I didn't, and now you're ready. We're both ready.” Softly she stroked his forearm. “I'll be waiting right here, for you to come home. Don't worry about me, Devlin. Go buy us a colt.”

Devlin dropped his head in his hands. “God, help me,” she thought he said in a throttled undertone.

Frowning, Thea ventured hesitantly, “Devlin? Do you want me to ask Grandfather to chaperone and the three of
us will all go? We'd have a delightful excursion, traveling to Georgia together.”

“Not this time, sweetheart. I can't.” Abruptly he turned and with a hoarse groan wrapped his arms around her, pressing kisses against her hair, her forehead. “Thea…I love you. No matter how long it takes, I will come back to you. Believe in me, Thea.”

Believe in him? “I do, I do. Devlin…you're going to see a man about a horse. If the weather holds and the trains run on time, you'll be home in a week, won't you?” Despite her resolve, uncertainty stirred. Thea stared down at her lap, trying to ignore an emotion she hadn't experienced since she'd given Edgar Fane's fate into the Lord's hands.

“I'll try,” Devlin said after an uncomfortably long interval. “Don't hold me to a promise I might not be able to keep. We've both had too many of those in our lives.” His fingers tightened. “Too many broken promises,” he repeated, almost reverently caressing her cheekbones, the line of her jaw. His gaze, dark, intense, bored into Thea's. “But I can promise that no man will ever love you as much as I do. God as my witness, Thea, nobody but God Himself loves you more.”

The single kiss Devlin pressed upon her lips tasted of desperation as well as love, but Thea closed her mind to all the questions and held on to him with equal fervor.

 

Three days later she was in the barn with Jeremiah, helping Nab soothe an unhappy Suffolk punch gelding while Jeremiah examined the animal's mucous-crusted nostrils. Outside the wind whistled and roared, blowing up a Canadian cold snap, Nab warned everyone, “…'cuz my joints is aching something fierce. Whoa, boy, easy on now.” He glanced at Thea. “You watch his hindquarters
now, Miss Thea. He don't got a notion of how strong he is and how little you are. He just knows he's miserable.”

“I don't like the look of this,” Jeremiah said. “I'm pretty sure it's nothing but catarrh, but I'm not willing to risk a case of pneumonia, or strangles. Devlin will nail my hide to a tree in the back forty for sure if I don't call in the veterinarian, but I'll feel seven sorts of a fool if it turns out to be a simple cold.”

“Do you want me to place a call on the telephone for you?” Thea asked. “Dr. O'Toole's information is in that ledger you keep in the harness room, isn't it?”

“Be a kindness if you did. Would you mind bringing back some leg bandages, as well? Might as well get the fellow as comfortable as possible while we wait.”

Glad to have a task, Thea slipped away after giving Muggers's muscled withers a final pat. Moments later, however, she returned with bandages but the alarming report that the ledger was nowhere in the harness room. The oversize leather binder contained not only names and telephone exchanges, but also all the information on every single horse at StoneHill, from bloodlines to health histories. Due to its importance, the ledger was never removed from the harness room, where—until this moment—it resided on a small table situated below the wall telephone Devlin had installed six years earlier.

Jeremiah straightened, wiped his hands on his old dungarees and glared across at Nab. “I remember now. Confound the boy. Devlin himself took it up to the house before he left, to copy out all the bloodlines of our Holsteiners. In all the hubbub to get to the depot in time, looks like he forgot to bring the ledger back.”

“I'll run up to the house and retrieve it,” Thea volunteered. “I can make the call from the house telephone, then I'll bring the ledger back where it belongs.”

“First thing when Devlin returns I'll string
his
hide to a tree,” Jeremiah growled. “If you can't place your hand on it immediately, honey, try his desk. It's a mess, but I believe he stuffs telephone numbers in one of the cubbyholes. Come on, Nab, we may as well give this fella's legs a rubdown before we wrap 'em up.”

Smiling, Thea stuffed her arms back into her coat and dashed outside into the wind. Once Devlin returned home, she'd have to poke a bit of fun at him over his extraordinary lapse. The evening before he left he certainly had been distracted, rushing around to prepare for a train trip that would probably, he grumbled, last twenty hours or more.

“I hope that Holsteiner colt is worth it,” Thea said to him just before he'd ducked into the carriage, and a strange flicker came and went in his eyes.

“Sometimes it's hard to tell what's worth the trouble, until it's too late.”

For the next quarter of an hour, while she and Bessie searched Devlin's bedroom and the study without success, Thea chewed over his portentous aside. “I'll take the library,” Bessie offered finally. “Your grandfather's dozed off reading a book on Middle Eastern history, of all things, but I'll rouse him if we need another pair of eyes. You're Devlin's bride-to-be, so you go paw through his desk. Won't even let me straighten the papers on it when I clean, so mind you leave them as mussed up as you find them.” She paused with her hand on the brass doorknob. “Year before last, when Devlin was gone, Jeremiah lost a horse to pneumonia. I don't want my man enduring that again. You find that veterinarian's number, y'hear?”

She bustled off toward the library, and Thea returned to the study, eyeing the massive walnut desk with trepidation. Full of drawers, cubbyholes and locked files, strewn with books and papers, an adding machine and several other
contraptions, the thing hulked like a bad-tempered grizzly disturbed in its hibernation. And the ledger was nowhere in sight.

“After we're married,” Thea announced to her absent fiancé, “we're going to tame this beast.”

When gingerly sifting through the mess on the felt-covered desktop produced nothing, Thea knelt on the floor to tug on one of the drawer pulls on the two pedestals—and discovered the entire drawer swung open to disclose yet
more
cubbyholes and a stack of smaller drawers, along with slots for files. The ledger would have fit neatly in one of the file holders, except…it wasn't there. Nor was it inside the opposite pedestal, which also pivoted open. Aggravated, Thea blew hair out of her eyes and glared at the upper half of the desk. Behind the stacks of magazines and papers and letters were more drawers and cubbyholes. The two center drawers looked wide enough, and perhaps deep enough, to hold the ledger. She pulled the bottom one open, in her frustration yanking a bit too hard. The entire drawer flew out, scattering the pile of letters, one of which slid inside the empty space behind the drawer.

When Thea reached to retrieve the envelope, her fingers brushed against what felt like a circular indentation in the wood. Mildly curious, she pressed against it, and with an almost inaudible snick, a hidden panel popped open. “Oh, how clever,” Thea murmured, wondering if Devlin even knew of the secret drawer's existence. This desk, he'd shared, was one of the few things his mother had left behind at StoneHill, because his father had loved the intricate patterns of inlaid wood on the top and side panels. Completely diverted, Thea shoved aside the envelopes so she could pull the hidden box behind the panel completely out. Perhaps Devlin's mother had left behind something all those years ago—a note would be romantic, but even a
haberdasher's bill with his mother's signature would give Devlin a piece of history he'd lost.

What Thea discovered was a sheaf of folded papers tied together with string, the bundle practically filling the bottom of the drawer. A thrill of excitement fluttered beneath her breastbone and her fingers eagerly untied the string. The papers fell open, and instead of a long-dead woman's script she recognized Devlin's distinctive handwriting. Unlike his hopelessly cluttered desk, his penmanship was neat, precise and eminently legible. Thea liked to tease him that he would have made an excellent schoolmaster on the strength of his letters alone.

Her gaze fell upon the words halfway down the first page—and Thea's world exploded in a haze of shock.