Crimes of the Heart

Crimes Of the Heart

BY

Laurie LeClair

Copyright 2002, 2013 by Laurie LeClair

All rights reserved. This work is not transferrable. Any reproduction of this work is prohibited without the permission of the author due to the infringement on the copyright. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the creation of the author or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or people, living or dead, is coincidental.

Dedication

As always to Jim.

Her dream man just walked through the door.

Jewel Wainwright’s breath caught in the back of her throat and her heart hitched. Devon Marshall stood in a brilliant beam of autumn sunlight in the foyer of her vacant childhood home.

The tall, angular boy she’d known and loved had evolved into a lean muscular man, rendering her senseless. The sun brought out the mahogany highlights in his brown hair, just as it always had. But, the color seemed darker, richer somehow and she longed to run her fingers through the thick, wavy mass, disrupting the orderly style he now wore it in. A sweet rush swept over her as she recalled the soft texture and clean scent of his hair. She curled her fingers into her palm, halting the impulse to touch the dark strands, to touch him.

He moved forward. A knot tightened in her middle. Would he discover her? When he headed toward the arched entrance to the formal living room, she sighed inwardly.

What was he doing here? She stepped deeper into the shadows of the long hallway, hoping to continue to go undetected. Feeling for the doorjamb, Jewel clutched the wood for support as she tip-toed backward into the kitchen. She planted her back against the wall.

With a shaky hand she covered her mouth and drew in several short, ragged gasps. Years of doggedly building up her self-reliance and resilience melted away. Just seeing him again transported her back to the rebellious teenager she’d been: A young woman who had craved attention and found the dangerous aspect to their forbidden affair far too appealing.

No, it can’t be him. Not here. Not now.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she tried to dislodge the image of him. She failed. From nearly twenty feet away she’d succeeded at memorizing the angles and planes of his well-honed features. In her mind, she’d imprinted every powerful muscle clothed in his black shirt and jeans. Breathless anticipation had her imagining the carefully banked desire that used to reside in his green eyes whenever he gazed at her.

Oh, and his hands, settled on his hips, brought the most delicious recollections filtering through her. Long fingers, padded with calluses from all the hard work he’d performed in the stables, had touched her with such reverence, such intimacy. Heat suffused her, blazing trails through her bloodstream and warming places that had been cold for ages.

His footsteps echoed through the barren Victorian home, revealing to her where he’d decided to go. The library. “Of course,” she whispered, recalling the vivid memory twelve years ago when her father had banished Devon from the property because of her. It had been the last time she’d seen him.

An ache gathered behind her heart. The evidence proved his intentions beyond a doubt. He’d needed her to exact his revenge against her father. He didn’t want her. He only wanted what she could do for him in furthering his cause.
So why hadn’t he played out his last card?
she wondered even today. Shaking her head she rid herself of the nagging question.

But one thought prodded her. Would anyone ever want her for who she was deep down inside? Or would she always be someone’s trophy? Just like mother was.

Voices floated to her from outdoors, reminding her why she’d come here today. The estate auction. A dart of pain jabbed her as she realized she had no claim over any of her family’s property and hadn’t since she’d been eighteen. But, she planned on remedying that in just an hour.

The bidding would most certainly run high for her mother’s antique silver hairbrush, comb, and tray set. Jewel had prepared for that, dipping into her nest egg.
I’ll finally have something of my mother’s to cherish.

The heavy sound of Devon pacing the long room in the west wing of the house intruded on her intention. He’d created more distance away from her. With that assurance firmly in her mind, she quietly crossed the now dilapidated kitchen she’d had many fond times in and swore the scent of baking sugar cookies still hung in the air.

Carefully opening, and then closing the squeaky screen door behind her, Jewel cringed at the noise. She hoped Devon hadn’t heard her and prayed she wouldn’t have to face him anytime soon.
How can I look at him without revealing everything he needs to know?

***

Devon stilled, and then turned sharply. Silence reigned, heavy and oppressive. The metallic squeal didn’t sound again. Relaxing, he raked a hand through his hair and blew out a breath.

“You’re imagining things, Marshall, just like the rose scent you swore you detected a few minutes ago. Jewel’s scent,” he muttered under his breath.

Being in the house again dug up long buried sensations, never mind the thoughts of Jewel with her long, glossy black hair, heart-shaped face, violet eyes, silky perfumed porcelain skin, perfect cupid lips, and soft sighs.

“Hey, Devon, you in here?” His lawyer’s gravelly voice vibrated through the house and jarred him from his heated mental exploration of the one and only woman he’d ever cared for. The woman who’d chose to stay here with her family instead of leaving town with him. But that had never been in the initial plan of vengeance, nor had hurting Jewel.

“In the library, Gil!”

His steps clopped on the hardwood flooring as he sought out Devon. A few minutes later, Gil Lambert strode into the barren room where the surrounding shelves stood woefully missing its dear occupants.

Devon smiled at the disheveled appearance of the man. Tousled salt and pepper hair and a rumpled navy suit were at odds with the keen, perceptive attorney.

He halted in front of Devon, holding out a manila envelope. “The papers are signed. The place is all yours now. You staying for the sale of the contents of the house?”

Taking the packet of documents, the tight band around Devon’s chest eased.
It’s finally mine. God, I’ve waited a lifetime for this. And this is only the beginning in getting back what my father deserved
. Searching the questioning gaze directed at him, he asked, “Yeah. So why don’t you look happy about it?”

“Do you want my professional or personal opinion?”

“Give it to me straight.”

Gil paused, obviously collecting his thoughts. “You came storming back into town when you found out this property was on the auction block.”

“I’m entitled to it.”

His lawyer held up his hands palm side out. “Whoa now! There’s no denying the Marshalls owned this place long before the Wainwrights did.”

“You mean
stole
, don’t you?”

“Old man Wainwright and your father were partners. All right, even twenty years later there are still some gray areas about how Wainwright got his mitts on the place after your father died, but…”

Devon balled his hands into fists. “Say it! But no one gives a damn because my father was married to another woman when he got my mother pregnant with me and supposedly embezzled a hundred thousand dollars from his partnership with Wainwright.”

He received a curt nod. “Then there’s your relationship with his daughter.”

“Jewel? How…how did anyone find out about us?”
Did they know it all? The forbidden affair?
He blocked the rest of that thought, unwilling to delve too deep.

“Put you two in the same room together back then and people were bound to suspect something. You gave away more with just one look than most couples do in years. They figured it out.”

“Gossiped about is more like it,” Devon muttered under his breath. “Even if they did know, what does that have to do with my buying back what’s rightfully mine?”

“She stills lives in town.”

His heart lurched in his chest. He’d speculated, but never really imagined it. As nonchalantly as he could, he asked, “How’s she doing?”

“Fine, considering.”

The paper crinkled in protest as he tightened his grip on the envelope. “What’s that supposed to mean? Is she all right? Is she seeing someone—” He cut himself off, feeling like a fool for giving an inkling away about how interested he was in her life and what had become of her.

“As far as I can tell she never even dated.”

Two opposing reactions swirled inside Devon as he eased his firm grasp on the paperwork. One part of him cheered at the thought; he refused to picture her with another man, not after their passionate, forbidden affair. But, the other half of him, the part of him that recognized the lonely existence they had unknowingly shared these last twelve years, throbbed in a tender spot in his core.

Confusion took hold of Devon. “Then why isn’t she running the place? You never did explain to me why she let the property be taken away from her family.”

Gil’s razor-sharp, blue gaze sliced through him, clearly trying to convey a message Devon wasn’t receiving. “She didn’t have a choice in the matter.”

Frowning, he said, “Of course she did. All she had to do was pay the back taxes on it when the son-of-a-bitch left it to her after he croaked last year.” A deafening silence ensued, alerting Devon to the simmering anger just below the surface of the usually self-contained attorney. Alarm bells rang in Devon’s head. “He did leave it to her, didn’t he?”

“No.” The short, clipped answer lent credence to the man’s bottled up emotions.

A current of shock raced through him. “You’re joking, right?”

Gil shook his head abruptly, and then tunneled his hands through his hair, causing it to stand on end even more.

Trying to make light of it, Devon said, “So, she just took the money and ran…”

The dark look the lawyer shot him made the hairs on the back of Devon’s neck stand on end.

Dear God, what had happened to Jewel after I was tossed out of here?
He braced himself as he demanded, “Tell me.”

“He disowned her.”

Jewel sat ramrod-straight in a folding chair among a sea of frenzied antique hunters. Awaiting the arrival of her mother’s things as the auctioneer proceeded to sell off the family heirlooms proved torturous to her. The numbered biding paddle clutched in her hands was her way of reminding herself not to break down and cry in a public place. Cool, calm, collected.

She’d adopted the persona years ago as the small town’s gossipers had dug their fangs into her. Eventually the talk died down, but not before a lot of scars had formed inside her. And now with Devon back they would start all over again. She cringed inwardly at that piece of knowledge.

Suddenly, she became aware of the hushed whispers all around her and several heads turning to look at the back of the outdoor assembled group. Devon. It could only be him, she figured as a few nearby attendees shot sideway glances at her.

Outwardly she remained focused on the balding, heavyset auctioneer who had just announced the next lot of items to be sold, her mother’s personal things.
Just a few minutes more than I can buy the set and be gone.

But inside all her senses became attuned to Devon. She felt his heated stare on the back of her neck, like a laser finding its target and zapping it. In the slight afternoon breeze, she could imagine it carried the clean, soapy scent of him to her. And surely that was the cadence of his rich, honeyed voice floating above the others…

Devon jammed his hands into his pockets, having deposited the packet of papers in his car minutes earlier. A burning sensation began in his belly and moved to his chest as he grew aware of the audience’s fascination with him being here
. Don’t they have anything better to do than speculate about me?
he wondered as he overheard several snide remarks.

He should be used to being treated like this; he’d been a topic of ridicule all the years he lived in this place. It hadn’t come easy to let it roll off his back then, and it appeared nothing had changed in that regard.

Within seconds of arriving, Devon had easily picked out Jewel, being drawn to her like a magnet.
Maybe she had been in the house, leaving the scent of roses behind.

Now he stared at the back of her head, silently begging her to turn around and face him. He longed to see the changes time had wrought, to read her expressive violet eyes, and to witness her reaction to seeing him again. Would she be happy or upset?

But first he had some things he needed to find out. What had she supposedly done in order for her old man to eliminate her from his will? “Why not just tell me the rest? Why all the mystery, Gil?”