At the Midnight Hour (22 page)

His hands were already unfastening her jeans, and she didn’t stop him. She wanted him too much. She would give herself over to him at last, follow the will of her heart. And...

The thought penetrated like a painful chill in her oversensitized mind. And would he love her? This man that claimed there was only lust? This man that even after all those burning kisses, could look at her with eyes so cold she thought she didn’t know him at all? He wouldn’t love her. He would take her now to slake his hunger, and turn away the minute he was satiated.

He had the control. And she would just be the foolish woman that had given her body and heart, while ignoring her mind.

She closed her eyes, willing herself to have the strength to pull away. But when she opened them again, it was to find his eyes burning into hers with raw, ragged need.

And she knew then, as the first of the tears stung her eyes, that this time she wouldn’t pull away. Because she only knew one kind of love, and that was to give all of herself. So she put her body and her heart in his hands, and hoped she had the strength to handle a second loss.

Slowly, she drew his head to her with her hands, and found his tongue with her own. He groaned against her mouth, delving into the moist recesses and sucking on her tongue as her hips arched against his. He didn’t need the hint. With impatience, he pulled off her jeans, cupping her mound with his palm while his tongue explored her mouth.

With his fingers, he slowly outlined the rim of her panties, then dipped one finger beneath the cotton to find her warm, moist folds. She gasped, moving against his hand, feeling the tension twist voluptuously inside her.

His first finger penetrated, sliding in slow and languorously while she shuddered against him. It had been so long, so very long. Her body cried out against the abstinence, longing to be filled, to be loved. He pushed deeper, and she cried out his name.

Her panties disappeared and then she pulled him back down, embracing the warmth of his chest against her breasts as her hands found the front of his jeans. With one finger she outlined his rigid form, shivering with anticipation. In a matter of minutes, they’d wrestled off his jeans, freeing him to her touch.

She sighed, enjoying the heavy weight of him in her hands. Raising her hips, she guided him into her.

He gritted his teeth at the first penetration, the muscles on his neck cording with the effort at control. She was so tight and delicate, he didn’t want to hurt her. But she was gasping beneath him, arching up against him while her legs wrapped securely around his waist. He sank in deeply, and felt her teeth sink into his shoulder with her passion.

He thrust again, creating a smooth, demanding rhythm that made her cry out his name. Deeper, faster, he plunged into her. He felt her hips arch one final time, her body trembling like a fine wire, then abruptly she collapsed beneath him, her body convulsing around him. With a dim roar, he let his own control go, and poured himself into her as his head fell against the curve of her neck.

She held him tight, her hands warm and sure on his back. The first of the tears escaped from her lashes to mingle with sweat on her cheeks, but she didn’t say a word. She just held him, and wondered how long it would last.

* * *

The brisk air forced them to recover their clothing sooner than either would have liked. In silence, they pulled on their jeans and sweaters, not quite meeting each other’s eyes. And suddenly, one arm through her sweater, Liz knew she had to tell him about the note and the diary.

For the first time, she wondered how he would take it. She hadn’t told him in the beginning because she hadn’t trusted him. Of course, she trusted him now. But would she be able to make
him
realize that?

“Richard,” she began hesitantly, pulling the sweater down over her head. “Richard, what would you say if I told you that I’d found the diary?”

Richard froze in the motion of pulling on his coat.
“What?”

Liz took a deep breath, and forced herself to stand tall. “I found Alycia’s diary,” she said levelly. “It was hidden in the floor of my room—or I guess, Alycia’s room.”

“When?”

She paused, then swallowed. “A few days ago.”

He didn’t say anything, but a muscle suddenly twitched in his jaw. “Anything else?” he asked quietly, too quietly.

“There was a note,” she whispered. “A note from Alycia that appeared on my bed. It said I should leave. I compared the handwriting with the handwriting in the diary. It wasn’t really from her.”

“How reassuring,” he drawled darkly. His eyes landed upon her face, the depths suddenly icy steel. He didn’t have to ask why she hadn’t told him. She hadn’t trusted him.

She, of all people, had believed she couldn’t tell him... because he’d killed his wife. The realization hurt more than he’d ever expected. He felt as if daggers had been stabbed into his chest and he had to grit his jaw just to breathe.

“Richard—”

“Don’t bother,” he said curtly, cutting her off. “I understand completely. After all, half this town thinks I killed Alycia, you might as well think it, too.” And then, because he was hurt and he hated the pain, he gestured casually to the ground, where minutes before they’d lain. “And don’t think you have to explain on account of what just happened. Lust is lust. It needs no more explanation than that.”

She winced, her head falling to hide the stricken look on her face. She’d known that was coming, known what he thought about what had just happened, but it was harder than she’d ever imagined to hear it from his lips when her body was still warm from his touch.

She’d hurt him, but his repayment was more than adequate.

“We should go back to the stables,” she whispered woodenly. “I need to see to the horse.”

Richard just nodded, his face closed off and grim. Goliath was tied nearby, so they rode the horse double, trying not to touch too much even as the horse’s gait threw them together. Liz was grateful when it came time to finally slide down off the beast.

It turned out that the groom had already taken care of Honeysuckle. Richard, however, walked over to the discarded saddle with a frown on his face. The groom had thrown the girth aside, as it was now in two pieces. But Richard ran a finger over the separated ends, noting that three-fourths of the leather wasn’t ragged and frayed, but clean-cut, as if sliced. He looked up sharply to find Liz staring at him with bleak eyes.

Someone had obviously tampered with the saddle, and there were only two people who rode Western: Richard and Liz.

R
ichard remained glacierlike on the way back to the house. He was still hurt, and the pain infuriated him. She should not have been able to hurt him; he’d sworn never to be that vulnerable again. Lust was lust. He’d had her, now he would move on.

But he didn’t feel finished as he stormed behind her into her room. He felt tightly strung, deeply wounded. And looking at the fresh renovations of the room, the fury washed over him once more. Someone had come into this room, under his roof, and placed an intimidating note on her bed. Someone had shot at her on his property, someone had tampered with her saddle in his stables. That he’d been so remiss only fueled his anger higher.

He took the diary without a word, not even muttering a single syllable as she offered a brief recap of its contents. He merely waited for her to finish, then whirled with the small volume in his hand. Refusing to notice Liz’s look of hurt and regret, he thundered down the hall.

He had only one destination in mind.

He didn’t bother with the preliminaries of knocking as he bore down on Blaine’s room in the upper level of the house. Instead, he slammed the door open with all the force of a five-year-old rage. He had a moment of grim satisfaction, seeing the way Blaine bolted upright in bed in the shadowed room, with shock and fear rippling across his playboy face. Then Blaine’s face settled into the wariness Richard knew so well as Richard stepped fully into the room.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing,” Blaine demanded, “barging into my room like this?”

“You thought you could get away with it again, didn’t you?” Richard growled low and dark, taking another menacing step toward the bed. “You thought I’d simply stand back and let you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Blaine replied tersely, throwing back the covers and reaching for his robe while his own jaw set. “And at ten in the morning, I don’t really feel like playing games, Richard.”

Richard didn’t reply, his sharp eyes skimming around the room.

“Liz is still alive, you know,” he mentioned almost casually. “Too bad she’s such a good rider, isn’t it?” He moved closer to the bed.

Blaine’s eyes narrowed with shock and confusion. “Something happened to Liz?” Blaine asked sharply, quickly belting his dark green robe.

Richard nodded, his keen eyes unconvinced by the display in front of him. “You can stop the pretense,” he stated coolly. “I’m not buying the act. Five years ago, I didn’t question you, Blaine. Five years ago, I stopped pursuing the truth. I thought it was better to leave the matter in peace. But it’s not five years ago anymore, and it’s not Alycia we’re talking about now. It’s Liz. And so help me God, Blaine—” he moved closer, towering over Blaine as his voice sunk to a menacingly velvet whisper “—if you so much as touch her again,
I will kill you myself.
”

Blaine’s face paled, but he didn’t back down. He stood there firmly, his own blue eyes sparking with rage.

“You and I have never gotten along,” he began, earning a sarcastic laugh from Richard, “but I’m telling you now, I never tried to harm Liz. For God’s sake, she’s the best thing to ever happen to this household. You think I don’t know that?”

Richard opened his mouth to reply, but Blaine didn’t let him.

“Furthermore,” the younger brother stated, drawing himself up straight, “I did not kill Alycia. I don’t know what you think, and I don’t know what you believe, but I’m not the one who killed her, Richard. And you of all people ought to know that.”

Richard’s face darkened at the accusation, his hands balling into fists at his sides. Far from retreating, Blaine’s own muscles tensed, his eyes daring his brother to go through with it.

And Richard wanted to. At that moment in time, nothing would have given him more pleasure than to slam his fists through his younger brother’s golden face.

For a long tense moment, they glared at each other and let the room fill with the tension. Abruptly, Richard thrust the leather-bound diary between them.

“I know you were blackmailing Alycia,” he growled, throwing out a wild card. “The diary says it all.”

Blaine looked at the book with shock, but Richard’s statement appeared to receive equal bewilderment. “What the hell are you talking about?” Blaine snapped. “And why the hell would I blackmail Alycia? If anything, she could have blackmailed me.”

For a moment, Richard stiffened, and felt the dagger of pain once more. He knew what Blaine was talking about. Andrew, of course. Alycia could have made a mockery of them both over that. Abruptly, his gaze narrowed and his jaw clenched with fierceness. Andrew was his. His! He wouldn’t give up the boy now. Damn it, after the past five years, the least he deserved was his son.

“Andrew’s mine,” he said coldly, his eyes like unsheathed steel. “You had Alycia. That ought to have been enough.”

The words were so brittle, so laced with venom that Blaine winced. “Damn it,” he retorted vehemently. “I’ve never tried to interfere with Andrew. I’ve never even suggested a paternity suit. You only have to watch the kid to know he’s you all over again. Hell, Richard, I remember how you acted when you were six...” He trailed off, raking his hand through his hair, and then it appeared he just couldn’t take any more.

“I loved her, Richard. Do you even know that?” he demanded bitterly, his blue eyes stark. “She’s the only woman I ever loved, and she was a total bitch. Oh, yes, Richard, I realize that, as well. I asked her to marry me, but she had to have you, she had to have the real money. When I came to your wedding, I thought someone might as well skin me alive and salt the wound. I tried to be happy for you, brother. I tried to stand back, but I really loved her. Even when she used us both and played us for fools, I still loved her. I suppose it just goes to show you truly did get all the brains in the family.” He paused and looked at Richard stonily, his eyes level. “And I never forgave you for what you did to her.”

Richard stared at his brother for a long moment, struggling to accept the truth laid out so baldly before them for the first time. He swore, and realized suddenly that he hated the fact that his brother didn’t believe in him. Damn it, they’d been brothers once. Blaine would get into trouble, Richard would think of a way out. They’d grown apart, but they hadn’t been enemies—not until Alycia had come, and they’d both fallen in love and learned of hatred all at once.

“I didn’t kill her,” Richard said stiffly. He could see the disbelief on Blaine’s face, and it needled the pain a little deeper. “I swear to you, Blaine, I was in my lab that day. I’m not saying I didn’t hate her. I’m not saying there weren’t times she drove me to such rages, I could almost feel my hands around her neck. But I never so much as bruised her pinkie. I swear it.”

Blaine sighed heavily and turned away. He took two steps, and dragged his hands through his rumpled blond hair once more. He laughed harshly, and swore at the same time. “So, if you didn’t kill her, Richard, and I didn’t kill her, who did? And why didn’t we ever think of this sooner?”

But they both knew why. Liz Guiness had never arrived as the nanny before, and forced them to look at things a different way.

“I don’t know who,” Richard said darkly. He frowned, and this time his fists knotted with frustration. He began to pace the room, long restless strides that didn’t begin to ease the knot inside his chest. He had to figure this out. He had to get to the bottom of this. Liz’s life depended upon it. He slapped at the diary with one hand, deeming it a hateful thing. “Damn useless book,” he muttered. He turned sharply, pinning Blaine with his gaze as a new thought struck him. “Did you cut up the oil painting?”

In reply, Blaine lowered his head. “I was angry,” he said quietly. “I loved her, and she’d basically fed on my heart. I hated her for that. But, Richard, I cut up the painting nearly three years ago.”

Richard could understand his brother’s rage only too well, and once more he began to pace as he digested this piece of news. “Did you leave a note on Liz’s bed signed from Alycia?” he prodded. Blaine looked startled, and Richard took that as a no. “What about the blackmail? Did Alycia ever talk about that?”

“I didn’t know. Every now and then she’d ask me for money or wheedle me into buying her something. I didn’t think much of it. Except for Jillian, we’re all rather loose with that sort of thing.”

“And Parris?”

Blaine shifted uncomfortably, and once more his jaw set. “So you know about him, as well.”

Richard looked at him darkly. “Alycia liked to tell me things.”

Blaine laughed, that bitter, humorless sound. “Oh, we did pick a winner with her. An absolute prize.”

“But you still associate with Parris.”

Blaine shrugged. “How could I condemn him for my own crime? Besides, Alycia had already scorned me by then. She told me I didn’t have enough backbone.” He looked Richard in the eye, leaving no doubt who she’d compared him to. “Parris, though—” Blaine frowned and looked at Richard intently “—he hates you, you know. He thought he was going to save Alycia from you, and then one week later she was dead. He never could see the truth about her. In his mind, she was the angel, and you were the brute who killed her.”

“Does he hate me enough to go after Liz?” Richard asked. “Could he think it’s revenge?”

Once again, Blaine looked uncomfortable. “He’s my friend, Richard, I’ve known him since college. But then... I don’t know. Alycia did strange things to him. She did strange things to us all.”

“And Greg?”

Blaine looked more relaxed. “Greg’s the only man I’ve ever met who wasn’t affected by her. He used to give Parris and I both a bad time for falling for her so hard. Alycia never cared for him much. They used to engage in the most intense verbal sparring, but I was never sure who won.”

“And Jillian?” Richard finished, making mental notes of everything. The culprit had to be someone staying in the house, which would include Jillian, Parris, Greg, Mrs. Pram and Dodd. Dodd was ruled out, as he’d only started as cook three years ago. But that left Blaine’s three friends and Mrs. Pram. None of whom he was willing to dismiss offhand.

“I don’t know,” Blaine said at last. He shook his head, and began his own restless pacing. “For crying out loud, Richard, these are my friends we’re talking about. We’ve all been together for ten years now. Hell, Parris and I survived Alycia. Greg is surviving Jillian’s interest in me. You know how we became the gang, Richard? It was one night in Princeton, when we all went out with our dorm and got roaring drunk. The five of us sat outside in the hall and sang ‘Ninety-nine Bottles of Beer On the Wall’ until four in the morning.

“At five, Greg told us about walking into his parents’ bathroom and finding his father hanging from the shower head. I talked about the day the cops came to tell us Mom and Dad were dead and Mrs. Pram looked at us and said we should have been better boys. Then, Jillian confessed her father had declared bankruptcy, and her mother had sold her diamonds to pay her tuition. Her father thought if they could just hold out a little longer, her sickly grandparents would finally die and they’d be all set. Parris talked about coming home to find his mom passed out on the sofa from the alcohol and the drugs—she overdosed our junior year. Finally, Alycia had this real touching story of how she was actually adopted. Her real parents had been nobility who’d been viciously murdered in a coup d’état.” Blaine looked at Richard flatly. “That, of course, was a lie. Then again, she said that night she’d always thought she would die young. I think sometimes that was the only true statement she ever uttered. It doesn’t matter.” Blaine shook his head, looking at Richard with intense eyes.

“At the end of that night, Richard,” he said quietly, “we swore to be friends forever. Through ten years, we’ve stuck to that. It’s the only decent commitment I’ve ever made.”

“Someone’s trying to kill Liz,” Richard said just as quietly, his own eyes unrelenting. His anger had disappeared, though, his pacing stopped, his fists unclenching. He’d never learned so much about his brother as he had now. He’d never realized that not only had they shared a love for the same woman, but a loneliness, as well. Blaine had found his friends, Richard had found his work. Odd, when they could have at least recognized each other.

Now Blaine hung his head and sighed deeply. “I’ll keep tabs on them,” he said finally. “I’ll keep my ears open.”

Richard nodded curtly. “That leaves just Mrs. Pram.”

Blaine raised an eyebrow. “Hell, Richard, Mrs. Pram hates everyone. If she could murder, I think she would have killed us all.”

“But she particularly disliked Alycia.”

“True enough.”

And, Richard thought to himself, Mrs. Pram seemed none too happy with Liz. He glanced down at his watch. It was now nearly eleven, midday approaching. He had a lot of work to get done, he realized, if he wanted everything in place by nightfall.

He trusted Blaine to keep an eye on his friends, but Richard had no intention of leaving anything to chance. First, he would remove Liz and Andrew to safety, and then he would put his genius to work. He hefted the diary in his hand, and nodded thoughtfully to himself.

Tonight. Five years had already been long enough.

He nodded at Blaine curtly, then, already lost in his own thoughts, disappeared down the hall.

* * *

Back in her room, Liz stepped out of the shower and tried to shake the uneasiness away. A glance at the clock revealed it was only ten-thirty, but the room seemed to be growing darker. She glanced out the window, only to find storm clouds moving in.

Great, just great. Now the sky matched the mood of the house. She shivered, and unconsciously pulled on her thickest sweater, as if that could somehow protect her from the encroaching storm.

If only Richard would come to his senses and realize she truly believed in him. If only he would calm down enough so she could talk to him once more. Her nerves were on edge, muscles jumpy from a tension she didn’t fully understand yet. She just knew that at the moment, she would give anything to be back in his arms.

And all of a sudden, pulling on her worn jeans, she missed Maddensfield and her family. She missed those golden days when everything had seemed so simple and sure, when dreams had lived and lovers had loved, when it had seemed everyone would grow old, laughing. The days when she could run with her brothers through tall fields, chasing summer’s exhilaration with coltish legs, brace-filled teeth, and—