Authors: Brenda Joyce

The Third Heiress (27 page)

BOOK: The Third Heiress

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Kate faced Anne. “Darling, I am going to the cloak room.”

“Now? But we have just arrived.” Anne became anxious. “You are not ill, Kate?”

“Hardly,” Kate said. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell Anne about the gentleman, but something held her back. “I will return in a moment.” She squeezed her hand and raced away, far too swiftly to be genteel or ladylike. But she had no intention of obeying Lady Bensonhurst, not about anything.

In the corridor outside of the ballroom she paused, taking a few deep breaths, struggling for composure. She
had
to learn the identity of that man.

“May I be of assistance?”

At the sound of the deep, cultivated voice directly behind her, Kate froze. She knew who it was even though they had never before spoken. Slowly, she turned.

And looked into the most amazing pair of amber eyes she had ever seen. Long lashes fringed them. He did not smile, but neither did she.

A long, silent, breathless moment passed.

He came to life. “I beg your pardon.” His smile flashed, but it was brief. He bowed. “We have not been introduced, and I find myself behaving like the proverbial ass.”

Kate smiled and laughed. “That is hardly possible, sir.”

“No?” He was smiling now, too, but his brilliant amber eyes were unwavering on her face. “I assure you, it is. I am not usually so lacking in either words or wit. But your beauty has rather robbed me of the ability to speak.”

“That is too kind,” Kate began, realizing she was speaking like an ass herself.

He bowed again. “I am Lord Braxton,” he said.

Kate extended her hand. “Kate Gallagher, my lord.”

“Kate.” His gaze took in her upswept red hair as he took her hand and kissed it. There was no mistaking the pressure of his mouth, even through the delicate silk of her white glove. “How the name suits you.”

Kate smiled. “It is a very common name.”

“But there is nothing common about its current owner.” He smiled.

She was about to tell him, again, that he was too kind. What was wrong with her? “Thank you,” she said. “I take that as high praise, coming from the source that it does.”

His smile vanished. “So this source seems rather uncommon to you, as well?”

She could hardly believe her ears. “Yes,” she said, quite huskily. “Very uncommon.”

“I am exceedingly flattered. I do believe, Miss Gallagher, that we have laid eyes upon one another a previous time.”

“Yes,” Kate said, not about to play games. “In Brighton.”

He stared. After a moment he said, “Do you know how many ladies would deny recollection of that day?”

“But I am not like other ladies—as you have so recently pointed out.”

“No, you are nothing like the other ladies, that was evident the moment I first laid eyes upon you, when you raced the waves as would a Grecian goddess.”

Kate felt herself blushing. She was at a loss for words—when she, Kate, always had a flip reply at hand. “Do you now compare me to immortals, my lord?”

“Indeed, I do, and with no apology,” he said.

Kate stopped smiling. If anyone was to be compared with a mythical deity, it was him, not herself.

“You are beautiful when you blush,” he said, low. Suddenly he took her gloved hand and pressed his mouth to it again. Kate’s heart turned over again and again. Her knees became stupendously weak. When he met her gaze again, his eyes were brilliant. “I am being very bold, and well I know it. When may I take you driving in the park?”

“Tomorrow?” Kate said, her heart turning over yet another time.

“Tomorrow would be perfect,” he said. “And tonight? Will you dance with me?”

“Yes,” Kate said. Her gaze was direct. “There is nothing I wish to do more.”

They were both smiling now, like besotted fools. Kate did not know how long they stood there like that, with him clasping her hand in both of his, grinning at one another. Suddenly she realized that they were not alone. Ladies and gentlemen were passing by them in the hall, and numerous necks were being craned in order to get a good look at them. She had been so immersed in his presence that she had not even noticed the other guests trafficking about them. He seemed to break free of the spell, too, glancing around. “We have been remarked,” he said rather wryly.

“I am always being remarked,” Kate murmured as wryly.

“Of course. No one could fail to notice you, my dearest lady.”

His endearment made her heart jump wildly, and then it fell, a long, endless free fall, at a breathtaking speed, the impact at once frightening and exhilarating. Kate looked at his stunning face, at his brilliant eyes, and thought, amazed, Oh, God, I have just fallen in love!

“Are you well?” he asked sharply.

She had just fallen in love
. She stared at him, for one moment, incapable of speech. “Yes,” she whispered. “I am fine.” But she wasn’t fine. She was stunned, dazed, exhilarated. She felt as if they were cloaked in a magical mist.

He smiled, took her hand in both of his, clasping it tightly. “We should return to the ballroom, before we are excessively gossiped about.”

“Yes,” Kate said, wanting to stand there in the corridor with him all night. His touch on her elbow was slight but Kate also thought it was proprietary as he walked her back into the crowded ballroom. “Until the dance, then,” he said.

“Until the dance,” Kate replied, knowing the wait would be endless. She watched him bow a final time and stride away, pausing to enter a group of dashing gentlemen all of whom were about his own age. Kate had seen Anne standing with a group of young ladies, but she made no move to go to her, she could only stare after Lord Braxton. Oh, God. She had never thought love would feel this way. She felt as if she were floating in the clouds. She was so happy and so excited she could hardly stand it.
Oh, dear, dear God
.

“Well, we can see where she’s set her red cap.”

Kate was used to people talking about her behind her back, loudly enough so she could hear. She stiffened, about to walk away.

“She doesn’t have a chance of snagging the Collinsworth heir. Edward Sheldon would never marry so far beneath him, and even if he would, his father would never, ever allow it.”

Kate turned and was confronted by two plump matrons in tiers of diamonds. “Who is Collinsworth?” she demanded, seized with sudden panic.

“Collinsworth?” The white-haired lady smiled at her. “Why, he is one of the wealthiest earls in this land, my dear. And his son, Edward Sheldon, the Viscount Braxton, is his heir. Were the two of you not introduced?”

Kate stared blindly at her. Her pulse was deafening. Viscount Braxton … Collinsworth’s heir … the wealthiest earl in the land. No. Everything would turn out right, it would, because she believed in true love, and she had just found what she had been waiting a lifetime for.

Kate turned.

Edward was watching her, clearly aware that something was wrong. His gaze was concerned, questioning.

For the life of her, Kate could not summon a smile. Nor could she go back from the precipice she now stood upon. Her heart told her that.

THIRTEEN

T
hey reached York at teatime. Alex parked the Lamborghini in front of the Ole Whistler Pub, a stone structure with wood beams that seemed out of place amid the taller brick buildings surrounding it.

Pedestrians on the sidewalk were gawking at the silver monster as they got out. A group of dirty-looking teenagers in jeans and leather had turned to stare, cigarettes hanging from their lips. Jill couldn’t stop thinking about Janet Witcombe’s shocking allegation that Edward had been Kate’s lover.

They sat down at a scarred wooden table, across from one another. The dining room was half-full, and there was a bar in the back where several customers, male and female, were sipping pints. Jill’s mind continued to race.

“Is it too late to stop at the hospital?” Jill asked. She believed the old lady’s every word. Her heart lurched each time she thought about the lovers.
How had it happened? How?

And she had to wonder, had Edward been involved in Kate’s disappearance?

“Nope. Okay, Jill. Spit it out. What’s on your mind?” His gaze locked with hers.

“Your mood is very good. It seems to be getting better with every passing minute,” Jill remarked somewhat sourly.

“It’s the air.” Then he checked himself. “Maybe it’s also the company.”

She had been slumping, now she sat up straight as a board. Their gazes met. Alex did not look away.

Okay, Jill thought, aware of her racing heartbeat and his too intent blue eyes. This is it. The test. Tonight they would be alone together in the same house. Would she go to JAIL, or would she pass GO? Her mind leaped ahead. To an image of herself in Alex’s strong arms. And to another image, of them entwined in bed, with Alex over her, all lean hard wet muscle … Jill shut off her thoughts, agitated now.

He was going to make another pass at her. Jill had not a doubt. Because Alex was one hundred percent male, and he had made himself very clear.

Pass GO, she thought, realizing she was gripping the edge of the table. Stay focused on her search for the truth about Kate. Don’t think about him or his body or what one wild night would be like.

“What did you mean by that comment at the nursing home? That if Edward were Kate’s lover, it explains a lot?” she asked very grimly.

Alex stared. “Have you thought this through, Jill?”

“What do you mean?”

“If Kate had a child—which survived—and that child was your grandfather, fathered by Edward—then you are Edward Sheldon’s great-granddaughter.”

Jill stared at him, speechless.

“Of course, we don’t know that Kate’s child was fathered by Edward, and we don’t know that that child was your grandfather.” He stared at her. “I think we have to take what she said with a heavy dose of salt.”

Jill remained stunned.

At that moment, their waitress appeared, setting down their teacups, saucers, and plates, smiling at Alex. Alex and Jill fell silent while she placed a platter of scones and a basket of jams in front of them, that followed by another platter of tea sandwiches. The white porcelain pot of tea was last to arrive.

While Alex poured the tea, his gaze on her, Jill picked up a cucumber sandwich and ate it, not really hungry, avoiding his eyes. Was Edward her great-grandfather? She could not digest the thought. Maybe Janet was wrong. Maybe she hadn’t remembered accurately. Maybe it was better if she let this entire matter drop.

Jill was suddenly scared.

Worse, she couldn’t put her finger on why—but she knew she could not let her search for Kate Gallagher go. Not yet, anyway.
Because something terrible had happened to her
.

Jill recalled KC’s dream about Kate’s fear. She wished KC hadn’t had it.
And now she was wishing that Edward hadn’t been Kate’s lover. How could he
not
have been involved with her disappearance?

Alex was sipping his tea.

“Would that make us cousins?” Jill asked abruptly.

“No.” His vivid blue gaze locked with hers. “I’m not related to Edward at all. Anne was my great-aunt. But that would make you a distant cousin, many times removed, of Thomas and Lauren.” He looked away, reaching for a scone. “Of Hal, too.”

Jill froze. Her gut reaction was to be appalled, until she thought of how distant a cousin Hal might have been. “I don’t know what to think.”

Alex gripped her hand, hard. “Jill. We have no proof that Edward fathered your grandfather. If Kate was wild, Edward might have been one of several men—or maybe there weren’t even any men at all. This is all wild hearsay and speculation.”

“But she did disappear.” Jill pulled her hand away.

“Yes, she did,” Alex agreed somewhat gravely.

Jill stared at the plate of small tea sandwiches. Her brain felt like it was ringing—as if some heavyweight boxer had punched her one time too many. She had to face it. She already felt the truth. She had felt for some time now that Kate was her great-grandmother. She didn’t just feel it, she somehow knew it, and even now, thinking about it, the hairs on her nape stood up. Oh, God. There had not been a lot of time between Kate’s arrival in England and her disappearance. If Edward had been her lover, then he was the father of her child. What had happened to mother and child, dear God?

She didn’t want to jump to conclusions, but if Edward was about to marry Anne—Kate’s best friend—she could only assume that he had engaged in a massive cover-up of his affair. Maybe Kate had run away out of hurt and anger, Jill thought.

Jill suddenly realized that Alex was watching her closely, a strange expression on his face. She couldn’t read it, and the moment he met her gaze, it changed, becoming benign. What had she just seen in his eyes? Jill stared, pricked with unease. It had been very different from the look on his face earlier.

“Are you okay?”

“Not really.” She didn’t lie. Shivers swept her. Maybe she was so upset she was being paranoid. That notion was comforting. But in that moment, she thought about the split second when she had seen a vicious look in Lauren’s eyes—directed at her. “Alex, I want to find out when Anne and Edward became engaged.”

He absorbed that. “Well, we do know that they were not engaged in October of 1908, because that clip about Anne’s birthday party would have mentioned it.”

“And that was the last time Kate was seen,” Jill said, at once sad and glum and confused. “I guess that means that Kate and Edward were carrying on before he was engaged, which is good news by my book.” She saw his expression and added hastily, “If they were carrying on.”

“I brought my Libretto. I’m happy to show you how to get on the Net and get into those archives. You might wind up searching through old files all night, Jill.”

“That’s okay,” Jill said, pushing her plate away. “Edward didn’t love her. He was using her. Otherwise he would have married Kate, not Anne.”

He reached for her hand again. Jill tensed and became motionless. His hand was warm and strong. The contact didn’t just feel good. There was something electric when he touched her, it made her heart flutter and lurch at the very same time. And when was the last time she had been held? Even this way?

There had been no one to hold her when Hal died. No one except KC, and Jill hadn’t let her friend comfort her that way.

“You’re getting too involved. Try to stay objective. Even if she turns out to be the ancestor you are looking for, she lived and loved a very long time ago.”

Lived and loved
. Jill looked up into his penetrating eyes. Alex’s choice of words often provoked her in ways she could not identify. “I feel like I know her,” she finally said. “I can’t help being involved.”

“My gut tells me loud and clear that could be a big mistake. And my gut is usually right.” His glance was a warning one, but it was also brief. His tone lightened. “You done already?”

“Yeah. I guess I wasn’t as hungry as I thought.”

He signaled for their check. “We might as well go on to the hospital, because the roads get narrow between here and the coast. Driving in the dark will slow us down even more.”

Jill nodded, watching him finish his scone. Her temples throbbed. She felt overwhelmed. But she had come to Yorkshire for a new lead, for clues, for information—and leads certainly seemed to be popping out of the woodwork. The problem was, the leads she now had weren’t the kind of information she had ever expected to find.

She continued to watch Alex. In the end it was fortunate that she had let him come with her, because he had the laptop and she would be able to stay up all night, if need be, to find what she was looking for.

Jill froze.
The laptop
.

“What is it?” Alex asked sharply.

She stared at his handsome face without seeing him. Whoever had deleted the Gallagher files would have been a moron not to copy them first. And neither Alex nor Thomas fell into that category, not by a long shot.

Jill wondered if copies of those letters were filed away in one of the folders in his Libretto.

She intended to find out.

A
pparently the name Preston was hardly unknown. Although it took twenty-five minutes to get from the hospital’s front doors into one of the hospital administrators’ offices, the moment they stepped inside, a gentleman in a suit came forward, hand extended, greeting Alex warmly.

“Mr. Preston, this is a pleasure. I do believe we met once briefly before, at a fund-raiser your uncle held in London for the hospital’s research program.” The administrator’s name was George Wharton. The name plaque outside of his office said so.

Alex shook hands and introduced Jill. “Fortunately, I have a good memory,” he said. “I attend quite a few charity events, but I do recall this one, a black tie at the Connaught.”

“Your family has always been a huge supporter of this hospital. Anything I can do for you, shall be a pleasure,” Wharton said, smiling.

Jill thought it was mildly interesting that the only hospital in York that had existed a century ago was supported by the Collinsworth family. On the other hand, it was the city’s largest hospital, so she wasn’t about to make too much of it.

Alex explained their predicament—that they were hoping to locate records from 1908.

“You are fortunate once again. We have extensive files, downstairs in the basement. I’ll have someone show you down, and you can browse as you wish.” Wharton did laugh nervously. “Being as the patient whose records you are looking for is long since dead, I don’t have to worry about violating anyone’s rights. In fact, I’ll show you down myself.”

They left the office, taking the elevator to the basement, Wharton and Alex chatting about the hospital’s research into children’s leukemia. As they stepped out into spotless corridor, Jill said, “Dr. Wharton, has the Sheldon family always supported this hospital so extensively?”

“It’s a family tradition and the earl would be the first to tell you so,”
Wharton said, leading them to a stainless-steel door that was not locked. He pushed it open, revealing a cavernous basement that was filled with row upon row of wall-sized file cabinets. “His father was the one who first took a serious interest in us, contributing generously to our cause and actually lifting the hospital out of near bankruptcy. Back then, it was strictly an oversized maternity ward.” He smiled at Jill.

Jill managed a smile back, Alex thanked him again, and Wharton left.

“This is odd,” Jill blurted. “Edward was the one who started the family tradition of supporting this hospital? Edward?”

“Jill, my family is involved in dozens of philanthropic projects. Our work is cut out for us. Let’s get started.”

Jill quickly walked over to the first row of cabinets. “These are alphabetized—but there are years listed on here, too,” she said, staring at files labeled Williams—Woolverton, 1980—1995.

An hour later they found something. Alex had extracted a very old folder from a file cabinet and he said, “Bull’s-eye. Here is a patient named Katherine Gallagher, Jill. She was admitted May 9, 1908.” He paged through the contents and extended a birth certificate toward her. “Peter Gallagher, born May 10, father unknown, mother Katherine Adeline Gallagher.”

Jill seized it, shaking. “But we don’t know for sure that this is our Kate Gallagher—but if it is, she had a son named Peter!” Her mind was spinning. “This could be my grandfather’s birth certificate. Oh, God—if only I knew for certain that he was born in York!”

“Hold your horses,” he said, as calm as she was not. “She was here for three days. Attending physician, date of admission, departure, it’s all here,” Alex said, studying the file’s contents.

“This really doesn’t tell us anything,” Jill almost wailed. Then she stiffened. “Alex, this is our Kate! She named her son after her deceased father!” Jill cried.

“Relax. Maybe. Here’s the bill. There’s got to be a copy of the receipt.”

Jill tensed. “Who paid her bill?” she cried, gripping his strong, muscular arm.

He smiled at her. “That’s what I like about you—you’re a bright cookie.” His gaze returned to the file. “Well. Here it is. Can you read that scrawl?”

BOOK: The Third Heiress

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