Honor (19 page)

“I did,” she replied, slipping the locket and broken cord into her skirt pocket, “but they all broke eventually.”

She tried to gather her scattered wits and failed. She turned and blindly started down the path, only to be stopped in her tracks by a gentle restraining hand on her arm. She stared straight ahead at distant sunlight slanting through the trees like a direct road to heaven, burning off the fog. “Did my husband tell you everything?”

“Yes,” LaRouche said softly at her elbow.

Was nothing sacred to Robert in his attempt to ingratiate himself with this man? “I see.”

He released her. “I know it must have been terrible for you to lose your father that way, and I’m sorry. But I’m not like the man who swindled him.”

Honor composed herself and turned around. The sympathy in his eyes almost undid her, but she refused to let it touch her heart. “Aren’t you?” she blurted heedlessly. “You’re a wealthy, powerful man—”

“I may be wealthy, thanks to Delancy, but powerful?” He shook his head. “You flatter me, ma’am.”

Honor plunged on. “Don’t deny that you harbor a grudge against me for helping Lillie Troy. And don’t deny that you said I owed you a debt of gratitude for helping me the night of Hartford Fogg’s dinner party. How do you expect me to repay that debt, Mr. LaRouche? Unless, of course, you’re planning to ruin my unsuspecting husband.”

He rocked back on the heels of his cowboy boots. “Is that why you think I hired him, to get back at you for helping Lillie?”

“Didn’t you?”

He looked genuinely shocked. “No, ma’am, I did not.” He stroked his long mustache and studied her with that unsettling intensity. “I hired him because I heard he’s a damn fine lawyer.”

That unexpected admission stunned her into silence.

“Don’t you think your husband is good enough to be hired for his abilities?”

She bristled. “Of course I do. I’m relieved to hear you appreciate his talent.”

“I’ll admit that I was annoyed with you for helping Lillie.” He shook his head. “That woman has given me more headaches—”

“Annoyed? That day in your office you said that you didn’t take kindly to people who tried to cheat you.” Honor swallowed hard. “You threatened to get even.”

Shock and surprise mingled on his features. “I only said that to scare you a little, ma’am. I didn’t think you’d take it to heart. I’ve got more important things to worry about then petty vengeance against Lillie and her lawyer.” His gaze locked with hers. “If I really wanted to get even, you’d know it.”

Honor shivered at his implied threat.

“Cold?”

She suspected he knew damn well that she wasn’t, but he took off his tweed jacket anyway and slipped it around her shoulders. The garment, still warm from the heat of LaRouche’s body and smelling pleasantly of damp wool, hugged her like a strong embrace. She fought the seductive comfort of it.

He suddenly loomed too close, and she stepped away. “I also know that you’ve broken the law.”

His long mustache twitched with the effort of suppressing a smile. “I reckon I’ve broken all sorts of laws in my lifetime, ma’am, some more serious than others. Which specific one did you have in mind?”

She clenched her teeth at the teasing mockery in his voice. “I heard that you helped Damon Delancy and his wife flee the country when she was about to stand trial for violating the Comstock Act.”

The amusement in his eyes died. “Hold on, there. As I told the police, Delancy never told me what he was planning until it was too late for me to stop him.”

“Oh, come, come, Mr. LaRouche. Do you really expect me to believe that? You were his partner and his closest friend. I’m sure he told you everything.”

“Not in this case, ma’am. Whether you believe it or not, it’s the truth.”

“They did break the law. It was only a misdemeanor, but—”

“Misdemeanor?”

“A crime less serious than a felony.”

He shook his head, frankly puzzled. “I’m not a lawyer, ma’am, and I don’t know what those words mean. You’ll have to explain them to me.”

So while LaRouche listened, Honor explained that misdemeanors were crimes such as unlawful entry and adultery, while felonies included more serious crimes such as murder.

“I guess they did commit a crime,” he said, “but I don’t blame them for running. I’ve never known a man to love a woman more than Delancy loves the doc.” His lip curled in contempt. “He couldn’t risk having her go to prison for breaking some stupid law.”

“As stupid as it may be, it’s still the law, and the three of you conspired to break it.”

His eyes narrowed. “Does it matter that the doc saved lives and didn’t deserve to go to prison? Does it matter that her little boy would have lost his mama for Lord knows how long?”

“Five years. That would have been her prison sentence if convicted.”

LaRouche looked appalled. “You call that justice?”

Honor sighed. “I’m not saying that all laws are good or just. But your friends should have stayed and fought.”

“They did what they thought was best.”

Arguing with him was pointless. Honor looked around. “The sun’s coming up. As much as I enjoy arguing with you, Mr. LaRouche, I have to get back. My husband will wonder where I am.”

Honor turned and walked down the path. LaRouche shortened his long stride to fall into step beside her.

She broke the tense silence with “I’m sorry about Dr. Wolcott.”

He stopped. “What do you know about Sybilla?”

Honor faced him. She felt a small jolt of triumph that she had finally succeeded in throwing the remote Nevada LaRouche off-balance, quickly followed by shame when she saw the pain she had raised in his eyes. “I know she was murdered.”

“How’d you find that out?”

Honor looked away, debating whether to tell him. “I had my clerk investigate you.”

He grew as still as a stag sensing danger. Not a muscle quivered. Only his eyes narrowed.

Honor regarded him defiantly. “I’m not ashamed of what I did. You threatened me with retribution, Mr. LaRouche, and I needed information that I could use against you if I ever had to protect myself or my husband. Surely you can understand that.”

“You would use a man’s misery against him?” he said, his voice ragged and dangerous.

“I would never do that,” she quickly replied. “Personal tragedy was not the kind of information I sought.” She shrugged. “It was in all the newspapers, and my zealous clerk found it.” Her gaze faltered. “I wish he hadn’t.”

“Why?”

She looked up at him. “It’s a very sad story.”

A bit of color returned to his face. “It was, but it’s in the past. As much as it hurts, there’s nothing I can do to change it.” He started walking slowly down the path. “I’ll always miss her, but she wasn’t the kind of woman who’d want me to pine away.”

Honor thought of her father and her vivid recurring dream of the gallows and the chessmen in the snow, and felt an unwanted bond with the enigmatic man walking beside her. “When you lose someone you love so tragically, it haunts you for a long, long time.”

“The pain goes away. Eventually.”

“Oh, no, it never goes away. It lessens, but it’s always there.”

“You miss your father, don’t you?”

“Every day of my life.” She couldn’t tell him that her pain went beyond a simple loss.

Suddenly the house loomed before them out of the fog. Honor handed him back his coat and thanked him coolly. “Well, now that we’ve laid all our cards on the table, Mr. LaRouche, does my husband still have a position, or has his outspoken wife ruined his career?”

He gave her a slow, wolfish smile. “If having your husband work for an outlaw doesn’t compromise your high principles, Mrs. Davis, he’s got a job for as long as he’s able to do it to my satisfaction.”

Honor felt rare heat burn her cheeks. “I may not approve of some of your actions, but as long as you don’t expect Robert to do anything illegal, I’m sure we’ll get along.”

He grinned and inclined his head in a courtly nod. “Yes, ma’am, whatever you say.”

Then he put on his coat and strode off toward the stables.

Still trembling with relief from her confrontation with Nevada LaRouche, Honor quietly returned to her room.

Just as she reached for the doorknob, a voice whispered, “Mrs. Davis?” and Honor turned to see Genevra Graham hurrying down the hall toward her. Before Honor could say another word, the other woman slipped a piece of paper into her hand, held a warning finger to her lips for silence, and disappeared back down the hall as quietly as a wraith.

Once inside her own room, Honor unfolded the note.

Mrs. Davis, please meet me in the guesthouse at six o’clock tomorrow morning.
Tell no one.
It is a matter of life and death. Genevra Graham.

An image of the frightened woman and her vigilant, disapproving, husband flashed through Honor’s mind, followed by the desperate underlined words,
“Tell no one.”

Honor put the note in her pocket and went to wake her sleeping husband.

Nevada LaRouche stood at the tall study windows and watched his guests play a spirited Saturday afternoon game of croquet on the front lawn.

Honor Davis claimed most of his attention.

The woman played to win. She wasn’t hapless, like Herron’s shy wife, or a halfhearted player like Genevra Graham. Honor studied her opponents’ moves as well as her own and whacked that poor wooden ball with competence and determination. When she scored, she grinned and clasped her hands in childlike glee, much to the chagrin of her husband, who was losing.

Watching the dappled sunlight rain down on her, LaRouche was glad he had followed her outside this morning. With tiny beads of dew caught in her wild black hair and her black eyes filled with ageless mysteries, she had reminded him of an Indian medicine woman who had once saved his life.

He had been a fool to threaten Honor Davis. He should have known such a strong-willed woman would fight back with all of the weapons she could find. Except the tragic loss of the woman he loved.

He smiled to himself. So the tough lady lawyer had a weakness after all.

Her admission that she had investigated him knocked the starch right out of him. He hadn’t been expecting it. He was learning that Honor Davis was a woman of many surprises.

Watching her lift one hand to absently brush a stray tendril of witch-black hair away from her alabaster cheek, he wondered if a man could ever share a simple, uncomplicated friendship with a woman of such strength and passion. He’d have to get her to accept him first, and considering the lady’s contempt for lawbreakers, he had about as much of a chance of accomplishing that as a prairie dog had of surviving in a nest of rattlers.

He had to admit that he enjoyed Honor Davis’s company. He liked talking to her. Hell, he especially liked teasing her and watching her get all fired up. She belonged to another man, so they would never become lovers. But then, he wasn’t looking for a dalliance, and he could tell she wasn’t the dallying kind. She would want a man free and clear.

Suddenly he caught her staring at him. She hurriedly looked away and turned her attention back to the wooden ball at her feet.

He smiled slowly to himself and decided it was time he showed Honor Davis how an outlaw played croquet.

At six o’clock the following morning, while everyone else was still sleeping, Honor went to the guesthouse, a small stone lodge not far from the main house, where extra guests stayed when they outnumbered the bedrooms.

Inside, she went directly from the small foyer to a receiving room furnished with several sofas and chairs. Even in the dim early morning light seeping through the windows, she could see the room was empty.

“Hello?” she called. “Is anyone here?”

There came a rustling of silk and a light tapping of footsteps, and Genevra Graham emerged from an adjacent room. Her frightened eyes darted anxiously to the doorway beyond Honor’s shoulder. “Did anyone see you?”

“No,” Honor replied. “Everyone sleeps late on a Sunday, and I was very careful.” She paused. “A note slipped into my hand, a clandestine meeting… Why all the mystery, Mrs. Graham?”

The poor woman was trembling uncontrollably. “I—I want to divorce my husband.”

Honor knew that even though society leader Alva Vanderbilt had legitimized divorce among her set when she divorced William K. Vanderbilt just the previous year, women like Genevra Graham still thought twice about undertaking the dissolution of their marriages.

She must be desperate, Honor thought.

She went to her and grasped her cold, stiff hands. “Come sit down and tell me why.”

Once they were seated, Genevra Graham cast a nervous glance toward the door before proceeding. “Gordon and I used to be very much in love, even though he is so much older. When he found out that I once had a”—she took a deep breath—“an abortion and never told him, that love quickly turned to hatred.”