'Til Death Do Us Part (27 page)

“E
UDORA
WAS
RIGH
T
,”
Calista said. “Anna Kettering has a lover, someone who is trying to protect her.”

Trent considered that for a moment, adding the new information to the plot outline he was building.

“That would explain a few things,” he said, “such as how she managed to move her husband's body into that chamber in the mansion.”

Calista exhaled softly. She sounded exasperated. “But aside from that interesting fact, we did not learn much from the medium.”

Trent lounged in the corner of the carriage seat and considered his impressions of Florence Tapp. “We did pick up one additional piece of information. As of today, Anna Kettering has not canceled her appointment for a séance tomorrow night.”

“She was in a panic when we saw her. It's likely that she forgot about the appointment in her haste to leave London.”

“Perhaps.”

“What are you thinking?” Calista asked.

“London is a very large place. It would be quite possible for a woman
of some means and the assistance of a close friend or a lover to lose herself in the city—at least long enough to keep that appointment tomorrow night.”

“Do you think that Anna Kettering really believes the medium can put her in contact with her father's spirit?” Calista asked.

“Judging by Miss Tapp's description, I'd say yes. Anna was willing to book a private séance. That indicates something more than casual curiosity. In addition, Tapp said that Anna is quite frightened. Yes, I think that Anna Kettering wants very much to believe the story the medium is telling.”

“What does that signify? Florence Tapp invited you to book a private séance, too.”

“Research,” Trent said.

“Hah.”

“I perceive that you are somewhat skeptical of the séance business.”

“It's all rubbish and you know it.”

“Nevertheless, Florence Tapp seems to be doing rather well at her trade.”

Calista waved that off with one gloved hand. “Tricks and illusions.”

“What of it? When you think about it, a successful séance is a form of storytelling. One creates a small, intimate theater in which the members of the audience take active roles in the play. For that to happen, the medium must be very good at inducing people to set aside their doubts and common sense. She must coax them to believe. If they fail to do so, the script falls apart.”

“It's a wonder any séance practitioner can keep an audience coming back.”

“You are overlooking a very important aspect of the business,” Trent said. “A medium has one crucial factor working for her when she
conducts a séance—the members of the audience
want
to believe that the performance is real.”

“Yes, I suppose that is true. What do you think Florence Tapp plans to reveal to Anna Kettering tomorrow night, assuming that Anna keeps the appointment?”

“I suspect that Tapp has scheduled a private appointment with Mrs. Kettering for the purpose of obtaining a better understanding of the client. I'm sure that after that séance—if the client shows up for it—Tapp will know considerably more about Anna Kettering than she does now. I think we should pay another visit to the medium the morning after she meets with Anna.”

Calista drummed her fingers on the cushion. “I doubt that Mrs. Kettering will risk revealing that she's married to a killer. But even if she did, where would that leave us?”

Trent watched the street through the window. The day was bright and sunny, a radical change from Florence Tapp's gloom-filled parlor. In spite of the dark mystery twisting around them, at that particular moment he was intensely aware of the simple pleasure of being alone with Calista. He was in no rush to return to her household. Eudora and Andrew would both be waiting with questions. Mr. and Mrs. Sykes would be bustling around inquiring if anyone wanted tea.

In short, there would be no privacy at Cranleigh Hall.

“We have some nice, shiny answers but we need more,” he said. “Nestor Kettering is dead. His widow has deliberately disappeared. Now we must identify the hired killer.”

“This cannot go on indefinitely,” Calista said. She clasped her hands very tightly together. “We are playing a dangerous game with a madman who has become an expert at the same game.”

“It's not the same game for him, not this time.”

“Why do you say that?”

“He is accustomed to being the hunter,” Trent said. “But this time someone is hunting him.”

She watched him with her brilliant eyes. “I do not know how to thank you, Trent.”

“It's all in the name of research, remember?”

She gave him a wry smile, which was probably all that his weak attempt at humor warranted.

He wondered—not for the first time—what would happen to his relationship with Calista when the killer was no longer a threat. He told himself not to think too far ahead.

“Is there any pressing need for you to return to Cranleigh Hall?” he asked.

“I have no appointments, if that's what you mean. And no particular task. Eudora is probably deep into my files now, creating cross-references and so forth.”

“My sister is very good at organizing things.”

“It's a talent,” Calista said.

There was considerable admiration in her tone.

“I'm sure you're right,” Trent said. “But she has employed her gift to a fare-thee-well in my household and I confess there are times when it is difficult to appreciate her abilities. For some time now I have hoped that she would find some other way to satisfy her passion for organization and management.”

“You mean you wished that she would marry and turn her attention to running her own household.”

“Well, yes, to be quite truthful. I love my sister but I find it oddly exhausting to have every detail of my life so precisely organized.”

This time Calista's smile was genuine. “Are you trying to tell me that your life lacks a bit of spontaneity? You surprise me, sir. You are a writer, after all. One would think that you would experience all the surprises a man could wish for in your work.”

“I find my writing deeply gratifying. As I told you, it is a drug of sorts. If I go for long periods of time without it I become irritable and restless. But that is only one aspect of my life.”

“I do understand,” Calista said quickly. “I was merely teasing you a little. I realize that you are concerned for your sister's happiness. As it happens, she is also worried about you.”

“If I could only make her see that I am content with my circumstances.” Except that he wasn't, he thought. Not now that he had met Calista. That realization was accompanied by a jolt of inspiration. “Among other things, Eudora has organized a truly astonishing conservatory. It is quite beautiful at the moment. Would you care to see it? My address is not at all out of the way and there is nothing like a stroll through an indoor garden to clear one's thoughts.”

Calista hesitated, and for a heart-stopping moment he was afraid she would decline the invitation. It was only then that he realized how desperately he wanted to see her in his house, even if it was only for a matter of a few minutes. He was certain that she would look very good under his roof—right at home, in fact.

And then she smiled again and there was a lovely flush on her cheeks. He started to breathe again.

“Yes,” she said. “I would enjoy that very much.”

“Y
OU
WERE
RIGHT
,”
Calista said. She stopped halfway down an aisle formed by rows of palms and turned slowly to take in the interior of the conservatory. “Eudora has done wonders in here.”

The iron-and-glass room was a meticulously arranged world furnished in a thousand shades of opulent, verdant green. But all Trent wanted to look at was Calista. She riveted his senses. There was a kind of magic about her, he thought. He did not want to look away.

Until the shattering moment a few days ago when he walked into her office and encountered her for the first time, he would have said that he was too old and too set in his ways to experience such a passionate reaction to a woman. The kind of risk she made him want to take was best taken in fiction where no lasting harm would result to either the writer or the reader.

He forced himself to concentrate.

“I can assure you the whole damn place is organized,” he said. “Medicinal plants and herbs to your left. Decorative flowers and shrubs
to your right. Creepers and vines on the trellises at the rear. Palms and other exotics to mark the aisles.”

She smiled. “I see.”

“You will note the markers on each plant. All cross-referenced, of course. And then there is the stillroom. It is a wonder of scientific apparatus. My brother helped her furnish it with the latest equipment.”

Calista laughed. “You mock your sister, but you will admit that she has great talents.”

“Yes, she does. But I fear she is wasting them on me.”

Calista walked slowly toward him. “I believe that Mr. Edward Tazewell appreciates her abilities.”

“So Eudora tells me. Evidently he considers her brilliant and she admires his engineering mind. She also thinks that he is a devoted and loving father.”

“Yes.”

“What do you really know about him, Calista?”

“There are limits to how much anyone can know about another person,” she said. “But Andrew investigated Tazewell, just as he does all of my clients. Tazewell is a widower who studied engineering and mathematics. His two young daughters adore him, which I take as an indication of his good character as a parent. Like you, sir, he invests in properties and has been quite successful.”

“Is that so? Properties?”

“Perhaps you would like to discuss that business with him.”

“Huh.”

“But Tazewell's real passion is for invention. He holds a number of patents for various sorts of calculating machines.”

Trent grunted. “None of which have been successfully manufactured and sold.”

“Eudora is convinced that he is a man ahead of his time.”

“That is rarely a good position in which to find oneself.”

Calista smiled. “Eudora and Edward Tazewell will not starve, if that is what you fear. I know you wish to protect your sister forever but that is not possible. I'm afraid that happiness always comes with risk.”

The vibrant atmosphere of the conservatory whispered around him, hot with the raw energy of life. And in the center of the intoxicating whirlpool stood Calista.

“I am discovering that truth with you,” he said.

She walked closer to stand in front of him, rose on tiptoe, and brushed her lips across his. “And I, with you.”

When she stepped back, her eyes were luminous with feminine invitation.

He caught one of her hands in his. Without a word—he had no words now—he drew her back along the palm-studded aisle, through the arched entrance of the conservatory, and down a hallway.

At the foot of the stairs he stopped and turned to face her.

“The servants?” she whispered.

“I gave them the time off while Eudora and I stayed with you at Cranleigh Square.”

She was in his arms before he could ask her if she would go upstairs with him. The answer he wanted was in her kiss. She put her arms around his neck and the gathering storm broke.

He half carried her up the staircase. It was a struggle because he was trying to peel off the layers of clothing that separated him from her warm, silken body. He got the bodice undone by the time they were a third of the way. The entire gown was lost at the halfway point. The petticoats and small bustle followed in short order. He thanked whatever providence was shining down on him at that moment that there was no corset with which to contend.

Calista was not idle. She managed to get him out of his coat early
on and flung his tie across the bannister. And then she fumbled with the buttons of his shirt.

When they reached the top of the stairs she was in her chemise and stockings, her shoes having been left behind on one of the steps. His shirt was undone and he, nearly so. A glorious excitement set fire to his blood.

He grabbed her hand and ran down the hall with her. They were both laughing by the time he got to the doorway of his bedroom.

He scooped her up into his arms, carried her to the big four-poster bed, and fell on top of her.

“Like falling into heaven,” he said against her throat.

“What?”

“Never mind.”

He kissed his way down her soft, sleek body, thrilling to the feel of her beneath him. Her scent was a drug to his senses.

When he had rid himself of his low boots and the last of his clothes he sank himself deep into her welcoming heat.

She wrapped her stocking-clad legs around his waist and held him tight and close; held him as though she would never let go.

Her release shivered through her a short time later. The irresistible currents swept him away and for a moment he thought himself lost. Then he realized that he was anything but lost. He was exactly where he wanted to be; where he needed to be—in Calista's arms.