Deceit (7 page)

She could take one of the rental cars and drive up the coast, but somehow exploring SwanSea’s grounds appealed to her more, and she’d noticed that not many people were taking advantage of the grounds that lay beyond the pool house and the tennis courts. She quickly dressed, slipping a violet cotton camisole over her head and tucking it into the waistband of a violet and periwinkle circular skirt. With sandals completing the outfit and her hair in a thick braid down her back, she left the room.

In his suite, Richard disgustedly flung his razor into the bathroom sink and leaned toward the mirror to view the tiny amount of blood oozing from the nick on his jaw. Too much caffeine, he supposed. Now that he thought about it, he seemed to remember the doctor, during his last checkup, bluntly telling him to cut down on the coffee. Oh, well.

Splashing water on his face, he cleaned the last vestiges of shaving cream from his cheeks and throat, then reached for a towel. A minute later, he strode into the bedroom where he downed yet more coffee, and as a concession to his churning stomach, ate a cold piece of toast.

A fitful night’s sleep had driven him from his bed early. He’d worked awhile, read the paper, and dressed. What now, he wondered, definitely edgy and restless.

He hadn’t had a vacation in eleven years, and he was learning that relaxing was certainly easier said than done. As a matter of fact, it took a great deal of determination. SwanSea offered any number of activities, but somehow nothing was holding his interest.

Just being here was a social advantage, and the business contacts he could make, if he were so inclined, held great potential. The prospect of the art auction was also something to anticipate. Even though his collection was purely for investment purposes, he had developed something of an appreciation for art over the years.

Still, taking everything into consideration, he couldn’t help but ask himself what the hell he was doing here.

Suddenly he laughed out loud—a cutting, self-mocking laugh that turned back on him—because, deep down, he knew exactly what he was doing here. He'd known since the first moment he’d learned Liana would be here.

He was set on a course which he could not alter and from which he could not deviate. And if destruction lay in his path, so be it.

He strolled onto the balcony and surveyed the grounds. A woman with a wheat-colored braid down the center of her back caught his attention. "Wait up. Liana!”

Liana turned to look back toward the house and saw Steve hurrying to catch up with her. She sighed. She supposed she’d been lucky to get this far without someone stopping her.

“Hi,” she said to him when he drew even with her. “Haven’t you heard? You’ve got the day off.” He grinned. “I heard, but I made Clay say it to me twice just to be sure.”

She laughed lightly. “So what are you going to do with your unexpected vacation?”

“I haven’t decided yet.” He glanced down at the toes of his aged tennis shoes, then over her shoulders, and finally looked at her. “Listen, Liana, there’s something I want to tell you.”

“Okay,” she said, wondering at his uneasiness. She had known him for about a year now, and normally, Steve was the epitome of an easygoing, self-confident young man.

“It’s about your accident.”

“What accident?” she asked blankly.

“When you fell down the stairway.”

“Oh. Okay, what about it?”

He planted a hand on one narrow jean-clad hip. “Well, I’ve been
thinkin
g about it. At first I thought I must have inadvertently brushed against the light in some way to make it fall, but now I’m not so sure. I think it’s possible that the light could have been rigged to fall.”

Her eyes widened in surprise. “Why would anyone do that?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know, but I checked out the light and one of its legs . . . Well, it just looks possible, that’s all.” He shrugged again. “I felt you needed to be aware that maybe the accident wasn’t an accident after all.”

“That doesn’t make sense. What would anyone gain by causing it to fall? Everyone involved wants this shoot to be a success.”

“That’s true,” he admitted grudgingly.

She lay a hand on his shoulder, “Steve, you need this day off more than I do.”

“Maybe, but do me a favor and be careful. And you might spend some time thinking about who would like to see you hurt. ”

She shook her head. “I don’t have to think. There’s no one.”

“Liana—”

“Steve, I appreciate your concern, but this wonderful place must have your imagination working overtime. I know it does mine.”

He hesitated, then broke into a reluctant grin. “I guess you’re right. Sony, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“You didn’t. In fact, it makes me feel good that you were worried about me. But enough’s enough. Go have a good time. Lord knows, Clay will work us hard enough tomorrow. ”

“You’re right about that. Okay then, see you later. Just don’t take any more falls. ”

“I promise.”

Liana watched Steve walk back toward the house, then for some unexplainable reason, she lifted her gaze to a third-floor balcony. Richard stood there, watching her.

Her mind went blank, instinct took over. She turned and ran.

Leonora Deverell. Born 1877. Died 1898.

Liana lightly brushed her fingers over the letters, the only decoration on the small, simple, boxlike house that was Leonora Deverell’s crypt. An oversized, heavy-looking concrete urn stood to the left side of the doors, empty. There should be flowers in it, she thought.

She knew from reading various articles on SwanSea that Leonora Deverell had been Swansea’s first mistress, and she seemed to recall that Leonora had been seventeen when she had married the wealthy, powerful Edward Deverell. A year later, her son, John, had been bom. Then three years later, Leonora, after a sudden, brief illness, had died.

“How sad,” she murmured.

“What’s sad?” Richard asked.

She slowly turned, accepting completely that he was there. Running from him would have been an invitation to a man like Richard, and she’d called herself a fool many times during the past two hours for doing just that. But if she’d learned one thing over the years, it was that once something had happened, it couldn’t be undone.

She had known he would come. In a way, she’d been waiting.

And where he was, there was danger for her.

With pulses racing, she met his gaze squarely. “What took you so long?”

He smiled. “SwanSea is a pretty big place, and by the time I got downstairs, there was no sign of you.”

That’s how she’d wanted it. She’d struck out blindly, away from the people, away from him. She’d walked across rolling green meadows dotted by wild aster and goldenrod. Bluebirds and blackbirds had swooped above her, darting between tall pines and majestic firs. At one point, two white-tailed deer darted across her path. She’d been enchanted by everything she saw, but she hadn’t remained at any one place for longer than a few minutes. Leonora’s crypt had been the only sight that had enticed her to come closer, to linger.

She should have kept moving.

“So how did you find me?”

“I looked in the most isolated places.”

A nod acknowledged his discernment.

“So what do you find so sad?” he repeated. 

“The fact that Leonora Deverell died at such a young age.”

“It happened over ninety years ago, Liana. ”

“I don’t care how long ago it happened, it’s still sad. Leonora had a little boy and a husband who loved her very much.” All the things she as a young girl had once yearned for, but had had to face that she would never have.

“How do you know her husband loved her?” he asked with amusement.

She shrugged and conceded, “It’s an assumption.”

“Based on what?” When she didn’t answer, he went on, “I’m not trying to get into an argument with you, Liana. I’m just really interested in what has given you the idea that a man you never knew loved his wife.”

She was sure his reasons for asking
were
argumentative, but in this instance, she didn’t care. Perhaps if she put her feelings into words, it would help her understand why she was so drawn to this forlorn, forgotten place. “Well, first of all, Leonora was the first Deverell to die after SwanSea was built, so Edward had a choice of where he could locate the family cemetery. He placed her crypt as far away as possible from the house so that he wouldn’t have to see it and be reminded of his pain.”

“I don’t know many people who would place a cemetery where they could look out the windows of their house and see it,” he said dryly. “It’s just too depressing.”

He cocked an eyebrow. “Because he thought her so special?”

“I think so. ”

“Then, why is his crypt bigger than hers?”

“Her death was unexpected. The workmen would have had to throw this up literally almost overnight.” She poked at the base of the crypt with her toe. “See? The masonry is crumbling. Shoddy workmanship. And look at this.” She reached for the big heavy lock on the two doors and tugged. “This is almost rusted through. A good tug would break it.”

“Why
are you so interested in this place?”

“I don’t know,” she said, equally baffled. “SwanSea has such a unique character and atmosphere to it. I sensed sadness in the gazebo, and here I sense tragedy.” Her head turned in the direction of the house, though she couldn’t see it. “There have been times of shadows as well as times of sunlight here.”

His amusement took on an edge of fascination. “Are you normally so sensitive to places?”

She shrugged. “I can’t remember another place affecting me as much. It’s almost as if I were familiar with SwanSea before I ever came here.” He gazed at her, baffled. “I would never have thought you such a romantic. ”

“A romantic?” She shook her head. “I’m definitely not.” The two most important men in her life—her father and Richard—had seen to that. They had extinguished all traces of the starry-eyed dreams in her and in return had brought her immeasurable heartache. She glanced back at the crypt and the markings on it. “Leonora. It’s a pretty name, don’t you think?”

“Yes, but then so is Liana.”

He trailed his fingers down her cheek. The touch was so light, she barely felt it, yet small frissons of heat coursed through her, causing equal parts pain and pleasure. How on earth could she have gotten so caught up with the life of a long dead woman, she wondered suddenly, when her own life demanded such energy and effort from her?

“I looked up the name Liana once,” he said. “It’s from a French word meaning to bind, to wrap around—you know, sort of like a creeping vine that strangles the life out of something. I remember thinking at the time how appropriate the name was for you.”

Color flushed her skin. He just wouldn’t let up. “My mother chose my name. She was French and died when I was very young. ”

“I didn’t know that. But then if I tossed everything I
don’t
know about you into the Seine, the river would flood Paris.”

She had begun to feel an oppressive weight, and it had nothing to do with the cemetery. With no particular direction in mind, she began to walk, and he fell in beside her.

“Is your father alive?” he asked.

“No, he’s dead now too.” What irony, she thought, that he didn’t know. But then again, what did it matter? She was all alone, and that was the way she liked it. She didn’t want to be bound to anyone ever again. Most of all, she didn’t want to be responsible for anyone else’s pain. She glanced at him. He’d obviously learned his own protective defenses, and they appeared quite formidable. There didn’t look to be a soft, unprotected place in him. She would be willing to bet that he allowed nothing to affect him emotionally.

They had both learned well. How very pathetic. Suddenly she wondered if he had anyone close to him. “What about your parents? I don’t believe you ever mentioned them. ”

“They’re alive and happily retired. ”

“Retired from what?”

“My father owned a drugstore in Chicago. He worked hard all his life, but never could seem to get anywhere. ”

“Did it ever occur to you that the one drugstore might be all he wanted?”

He slipped his hands into his trouser pockets and bent his head, studying the ground in front of him as they walked. “Just lately it has.”

“But you were unable to understand that when you were younger?”

“I’m still not sure I do entirely. I seem to be driven to acquire. Businesses. Art.” He cut his eyes to her. “Other things.”

“Do you think this drive stems from the fact that your father owned only one drugstore?”

He hesitated. “Partly.” Then he added, “I’ve bought my parents a place in Florida. They’re content.” He seemed to shrug, then his head came up and he looked at her. “So why aren’t you working today? Did you wake up with a headache?”

“Yes,” she said, deciding to let him think she had a hangover. It was easier to go with his perception of her than fight it. All at once, a sense of desolation swamped her. The sad ending to Leonora’s promising young life. Richard’s festering hatred. Her own interminable sadness. It was all too much.

Abruptly, she changed directions and headed back toward the house. With Richard doggedly following her footsteps as he seemed bent on doing, she thought grimly, it would be better to be around people. Hopefully he would soon lose interest in her. Maybe he would even come to understand that it would be better for him to put their past behind him. As she had.

Sure,
Liana. Sure.

She didn’t believe for a minute that Richard had lost interest in her, Liana reflected the next morning. It was more as if he had put her on hold while he spent the afternoon playing golf. But he had been in the dining room last night, again with his attractive assistant, Margaret, and he had watched her every bit as intently as he had the night before. This time she coped without the champagne.