Teresa Medeiros (28 page)

Arian flinched as if he’d struck her, but she refused to buckle. “If what you’re saying is true, then why wasn’t Tristan convicted of your son’s murder? Why wasn’t he sent to prison?”

“His attorney, the father of that renegade lawyer he has now, forced them to dismiss the charges during the preliminary hearing. His defense was simple—no
body, no murder. To this day, my son is still listed as a missing person.”

A waiter approached and Arian was forced to bite her tongue until he finished refilling their cups and drifted to the next table. “But why? Why would Tristan want to murder your son, Mr. Lize?”

“Greed. Ambition. An insatiable hunger for power.” The magician lowered his voice to an urgent hiss. “Don’t you see what he did? He wormed his way into our affections, knowing that it was Arthur’s brilliance that held the key to everything he’d ever wanted. Arthur was always the leader, Tristan the follower. Ask anyone. Lennox hasn’t invented so much as a mouse trap since Arthur died. The groundwork for the microprocessor that made him so filthy rich had been laid before my son disappeared. My only consolation has been knowing that Arthur must have taken the secret of that other breakthrough to the grave with him. That’s why Lennox has spent all these years searching for it.”

“The magic competition,” Arian whispered, her misgivings chilling to dread.

“That’s right. And all the bizarre conventions, symposia, and contests that came before it. He pretended to be a professional skeptic to infiltrate the ranks of the true believers. But I have every reason to believe he hunted for genuine magic in vain.” Arian would have almost sworn his gaze flicked to her amulet again. “Until now.”

“Until me?” she echoed, already knowing the answer he would give her.

“Precisely.” The old man cocked his head like a bright-eyed bird, his expression winning, almost tender. “Oh, the press may brand you a fraud, but I know the truth. I saw the evidence with my own eyes. First at the magic competition when Lennox’s goons were tossing me out of the building, then at the Halloween party. You have powers, Arian. Spectacular, miraculous powers, and Lennox can’t wait to get his hands on them. And on you.”

Arian shielded her face with her hat brim, not wanting the old man to guess Tristan had already had his hands on her. Even now, with doubts swirling through her head and her dreams crumbling to dust, the memory still had the power to evoke a shiver of raw desire. Could a murderer’s hands be capable of such tenderness, such exquisite patience and skill?

Wite Lize passed her his napkin to use as a handkerchief, obviously believing his revelations had driven her to tears. His sympathy was even more grating than his bullying. “How did he manage to bewitch you, my poor dear? Did he whisper words of love in your ear? Pledge his eternal devotion?”

We’ll be married the Saturday before Thanksgiving
.

Arian stiffened, remembering words that were more dictate than proposal.

Try not to think of it as a wedding, but as an acquisition or a business merger … you’ll have what you wanted. And I’ll get what I want
.

Tristan’s own words damned him. She supposed she should be grateful that he hadn’t insulted her with honeyed endearments or promises he never intended to keep. But she’d been so wrapped up in her girlish fantasies of wedding bells and everlasting love that she’d failed to heed his unspoken warning.

When Arian drew off her sunglasses and leveled an unflinching look at Wite Lize, her eyes were hot and dry. “You’ve made yourself quite clear about what Tristan wants from me. But what about you, Mr. Lize? What do you want?”

The old man reached across the table and cupped his gnarled hand over hers. “I need you, Arian.”

I’ve searched the world over for you
.

Linnet’s hoarse whisper drifted across the centuries from another place, another lifetime, but it still made Arian’s skin crawl. She jerked her hand out of Lize’s reach, wishing she’d never taken off her gloves.

The old man failed to take offense. His words tumbled
out, propelled by his eagerness to win her to his side. “Lennox is a very powerful man. He’s spent the last ten years discrediting me, making everyone believe I’m nothing but a half-daft old geezer. That Hobbes fellow is the only ally I have left and even he’s losing interest.” His eyes took on a crafty slant. “But if Lennox’s own fiancée turns against him, the police might listen. They might reopen the case and put him behind bars where he belongs.”

Arian rose to her feet and drew on her gloves with a brisk snap. “I’m sorry I cannot help you, Mr. Lize, but my first allegiance is to my betrothed.”

Lize’s hopeful expression crumbled. He wrapped his hands around his cup as if to keep them from curling into fists and surveyed her from beneath his bushy eyebrows. “Loyalty is an admirable trait in a wife. I hope Lennox doesn’t give you cause to regret it.”

“So do I,” she murmured, turning away from the table.

“Miss Whitewood?” Wite Lize didn’t even bother to look up. He simply sat gazing into the bottom of his teacup, as if to divine both the past and the future in its dregs. “He never denied it, you know. Not even to his own attorney.”

Arian stormed off the penthouse elevator, thankful for once for the unnatural chill of the air. She kicked off her heels and tore off her hat, sending it sailing in a futile attempt to cool her fevered brow. She wished she’d never left the climate-controlled environment Never let Wite Lize pour his poison into her ears. Jerking off her gloves, she wadded them into an untidy ball.

It did not improve her bleak mood to discover her wedding gown had arrived from the bridal shop. The dazzling satin creation hung from a metal rack, its lace veil fluttering in the draft from the air-conditioning like a mocking ghost of all her dreams.

She wished she had chosen black, she thought bitterly.
Black for treachery. Black for mourning. Black for—

“I think your bathwater’s getting cold.”

At the matter-of-fact male voice, Arian clapped a hand over her thundering heart and spun around. Copperfield was leaning against the bedroom doorjamb, his expression nearly as wary as her own.

“I went for a walk,” she blurted out. “To get a breath of fresh air.”

“You don’t owe me an explanation. You’re Tristan’s fiancée, not his prisoner.”

“Not yet anyway,” she mumbled.

Copperfield padded into the living room with a graceful stealth that reminded Arian more of his ancestors than she cared to admit. But her expression betrayed her.

“You needn’t look so nervous. I’m not going to scalp you.” He held out a single manila file with a pen clipped to its edge. “I just need to get your signature on some legal documents.”

“Very well.” Arian took the file and sank down on the settee, eager to be rid of him so she could return to her tortured musings.

She automatically flipped to the last page, having grown accustomed to signing both releases and receipts in the past three weeks without having the faintest idea what they contained. But her eye was caught and held by the heading at the top of the page.

“Prenuptial agreement?” she ventured, rolling the foreign word off her tongue.

Copperfield shrugged, but seemed to be having difficulty meeting her eyes. “It’s a standard prenup contract. Nothing out of the ordinary. I’m sure there’s a French equivalent. I just don’t know what it is. It simply means a binding agreement signed prior to the wedding to protect both parties.”

“From what?”

Cop tugged at his ponytail, looking more uncomfortable
by the minute. “From unforeseeable circumstances—marital discord, general incompatibility.” He hesitated before gently adding, “Infidelity.”

Dragging her bewildered gaze away from his, Arian flipped back to the first page and began to read. Cop draped one arm across the back of the settee, but his casual posture failed to mask his desire to be anywhere else in the world but where he was.

When Arian finally turned to the last page and lifted her head, she did not even try to hide the tears welling in her eyes or the defiant jut of her jaw.

Cop sighed. “He was more than generous, Arian. I even advised him against some of the more extravagant stipulations, but he insisted on them. In the event of a divorce, not only will he allow you to keep the million dollars you won from the competition, but you’re also to receive a chateau in the south of France and alimony of three hundred thousand dollars a year for as long as you live, even if you should choose to remarry.”

The tears trembled on Arian’s lashes, but did not fall. “Are you familiar with the phrase ‘till death do you part,’ Mr. Copperfield?”

His wince was so subtle she might have imagined it. “I am.”

“Where I come from, that vow is binding. It can’t be dismissed by a man’s whim or a signature on a scrap of paper.”

Cop sprang to his feet, pacing in frustrated circles around the spartan coffee table. “Prenuptial agreements are merely a precaution, Arian. They don’t make divorce inevitable.”

Arian tapped the paper until it rattled. Cop stopped pacing as if riveted to the rug by her passion. “This paper gives Tristan Lennox the right to stand before God and man on the morrow and pledge his life to me. To come to our marriage bed and consummate that pledge, then to dismiss me as if I were no more than a common whore. Does it not?”

Cop stretched out his hands, pleading for her understanding. “It’s only a formality. It would be unheard of for a man with Tristan’s wealth to enter into a marriage without protecting his assets—”

“Does it not?”

“It does.” Cop closed his eyes, sighing in defeat, but they flew open in shock at the furious scratch of pen against paper.

Arian signed her name through a blur of tears. Murder she might have forgiven Tristan, but this …? This was a betrayal of everything she’d ever believed in. To make a woman your mistress might be a sin, but to make a mistress of your wife was an abomination. She would sign the hateful thing, then she would fling it back in Tristan’s face along with his ring, his proposal, and the shattered fragments of her love.

As she crossed her t with an angry flourish, she noticed the line above Tristan’s typed name was blank. A thoughtful frown quirked her lips.

When Arian rose from the settee, Copperfield was thrown off balance by the wicked glitter in her eyes and the dangerous brilliance of her smile. Remembering the destruction her temper had wreaked at the Halloween fete, he lurched forward to block her path.

“Now, Arian, it’s not as if I’ve never been tempted to turn him into a pollywog myself.”

“Don’t be silly,” she replied, sidestepping Cop with airy grace to summon the elevator. “I’m just going to get his signature on this document. You did say it was important, didn’t you?”

Copperfield stopped just short of plastering his body across the elevator doors. “That would be a
very
bad idea. Tristan is in a meeting right now. He won’t like being disturbed.”

Arian’s smile sharpened as she boarded the elevator. “Then I shall make every effort not to disturb him.”

*  *  *

Intercoms beeped, telephones pealed, and heads popped out of doorways as Tristan Lennox’s reclusive fiancée barreled through the corridors of Lennox Enterprises, ablaze with righteous wrath in her red Chanel suit and stocking feet. The office grapevine was ruthless in its efficiency, so ruthless that Tristan’s freshly hired assistant was already rounding her desk to block Arian’s path when she burst through the office door, still clutching the prenuptial contract in her white-knuckled hand.

The severe creature in the tweed suit and schoolmarm’s bun towered over Arian. “I’m sorry, miss, but Mr. Lennox isn’t in right now.”

Arian had already suspected as much, but she dodged the woman and threw open the doors of Tristan’s office anyway. She might have been at a loss had the assistant not betrayed herself with a furtive glance back at the outer offices. Elbowing her way past the woman, Arian marched back the way she had come, noticing for the first time another set of towering mahogany doors at the far end of a broad corridor.

The assistant trotted after her, her mouth pursed as if her high heels were pinching her lips as well as her toes. “Mr. Lennox is in the annual meeting of the executive board. He left express orders that he was not to be disturbed for any reason whatsoever.” When Arian ignored her, the woman’s tone chilled to ominous threat. “Please don’t make me call Security.”

Arian swept open the double doors to find herself the immediate focal point of over a dozen pairs of eyes. Some were young, most old, yet they all radiated a sort of shocked expectancy, a greedy anticipation of thrills to come. The board of Lennox Enterprises might reek of old money, but they were nothing but voyeurs of life. They would never be accused of witchcraft, nearly drowned, cast headlong into another century, discover the man they loved was possibly a murderer and most definitely a heartless knave, and have their own fragile
hearts broken into smithereens. How Arian envied them their dull, complacent lives!

Tristan sat at the far end of the long table, his leather throne proclaiming him king of this lofty court. His expression was wary, revealing nothing.

The assistant elbowed Arian aside. “I’m terribly sorry, Mr. Lennox. I tried to stop her, but she wouldn’t listen.”

Tristan raised a hand. “That’s all right, Mrs. Flanders. I’ll take care of it.”

The woman lingered, nearly licking her sparse lips in anticipation of Arian’s comeuppance, but a pointed glance from her employer sent her scurrying for the door with an offended huff.

Tristan consulted his watch, his tone as mercilessly pleasant as Arian had known it would be. “Forgive me, darling. Did we have an appointment I forgot?”

Arian parried his bland smile with a tender one of her own. “No, precious. We didn’t have an appointment. We
had
an engagement.”

Alerted by her honeyed tone, Tristan cocked a warning eyebrow. “Is this something we could discuss later?” He indicated the eager faces that lined the table, the files and papers scattered across its gleaming surface. “As you can see, we’re in the middle of something important.”