Deadly Vows. Brenda Joyce
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for hiding it when in dire circumstances.
Francesca replaced the knife in the box. This was one of the reasons she loved Hart so. Another man would have sent her jewelry, but not Hart. He understood her so well.
“You are most definitely under his spell.”
She nodded. “Yes, I am. And I hope to be under his spell for a long, long time.”
He returned quickly, “In the short time you have known him, he has hurt you so much—I have witnessed your pain firsthand.”
She wanted to deny it, but she could not. “Please, Rick, not today. Simply wish me well.”
But he barreled on. “You must know that Hart is in the newspapers on a nearly daily basis, Francesca. The city’s newsmen continue to exploit the details of his sordid affair with Daisy Jones.”
She tensed. “I know that gossip still rages about her murder. And I know what they are saying about him—that, regardless of the killer’s confession, some in town have decided to believe Hart guilty. These past two weeks, I have been out and about almost every night, at my mother’s insistence. I have heard the ugly whispers—as I was meant to. They even say he will tire of me.” She managed a shrug, as if she did not care, but she could not smile.
He was silent for a moment, and she knew that he thought, as those matrons did, that Hart would wander, sooner or later. “I was at the Wannamaker affair,” he finally said. “You were not. I heard the horrid gossip myself. They want to hang him, Francesca, and by association, they will hang you, too.”
She knew Rick was here, causing conflict, because he cared so much about her. “It is payback for all the years he has defied and mocked society and everyone in it.”
“He is despised. When they whisper about him, they will also whisper about you.”
“I realize that. I grew up in society and I am well aware of how vitriolic it can be. Of course I do not enjoy the gossip. Of course I wish it would end. We will definitely go through a rough patch. It will be some time before society forgets about Daisy’s murder. But he is innocent, has been proven innocent, and I will stand by his side steadfastly. That is what a wife does for her husband.”
“He broke off his engagement with you when he was accused of Daisy’s murder,” Bragg said harshly. “And he broke your heart. I know you haven’t forgotten. He was selfish then as he is selfish now. Think, Francesca!”
She trembled. “Of course I haven’t forgotten. But he was trying to protect me from the scandal—and from himself.”
“You have become adept at making excuses for him!” His tone was urgent. “You know, as I know, that he will hurt you again and again, in little ways, if not the biggest possible way. God only knows what demons live within him. He is selfish and cruel. I have seen him deliberately try to hurt you! You deserve someone kind.” He took a breath. “I am not asking you to end your engagement. But I am asking you to delay the marriage. I cannot understand this mad rush to the altar.”
She trembled, finally tearing her gaze from his. “Why are you doing this?”
He said, “You know why. Because I have never stopped caring about you.”
She blinked back sudden tears. Once, long ago, he had been the man of her dreams. And maybe, if his wife had not returned, they would be together now. But she had fallen madly in love with Hart. She hadn’t thought it possible to love so deeply, so intensely. And she had made her choice months ago. But his comments hurt now, and she didn’t dare analyze why. It was a moment before she could speak. “I can hardly delay now.”
“Why not?” he demanded.
She looked up somehow. “He would be terribly hurt if I did so—and I am in love.”
His achingly high cheekbones flushed. “And he would recover, if you batted those blue eyes at him. Right now, you have my brother enthralled.”
“I want to marry him today, Rick.” There was a warning in her tone.
“Do you? I saw worry and doubt in your eyes—do not try to deny it. I know you too well.”
She hugged herself. It was a moment before she spoke. “I admit I am apprehensive. Hart is a difficult man. I fully expect our marriage to have its ups and downs, as most marriages do. My expectations are realistic.”
“Ups and downs?” He was incredulous. “When he causes you pain, he does so deliberately—and it is a knife to your heart. I know. I have seen. Francesca, I want to protect you from him!”
She backed away. “Please don’t do this today. I am not delaying our wedding. I wouldn’t dream of it. In fact, I can’t wait to be his wife, no matter that you have upset me.”
He grimaced. “I am sorry. I simply care too much. Very well. But I will kill him if he doesn’t reform and become the husband you deserve.”
She inhaled, relieved. “So you will wish us well? I need your blessing!”
He reached for her, and as inappropriate as it was, she went loosely into his arms. “I wish you well with every breath I take, and I always will. Francesca, you deserve to have all of your dreams come true.”
She smiled at him. “Thank you, Rick,” she said softly. “So I will see you at four?”
Warmth finally showed in his eyes. “Yes, you will see me at four.”
CONNIE SAILED THROUGH the heavily polished front doors of the house. Surprised, she halted midstride as Bragg nodded at her in greeting. As he left, Francesca walked over to her blonde sister and the two of them paused to watch him crank up his black Daimler motorcar in the driveway below the house. A moment later he had put on his goggles and was motoring down the long, graveled driveway toward the open iron gates at its west end.
The doorman closed the front door and Francesca faced her elegant, perfectly groomed sister. Julia had raised her in her own image: Connie was a proper lady, a caring mother and wife, and the perfect hostess. Like Julia, she was an adept socialite. “I see you are already dressed for the wedding,” Francesca teased, fully aware that Connie would rush home to change into something even more elegant than the blue pin-striped suit she was wearing.
Connie’s eyes widened. “Hardly. Francesca, what was Rick doing here?”
Francesca took her sister’s arm and led her back into the salon she and Rick had just vacated. “He came to wish me well,” she said a bit too firmly.
Connie gave her a disbelieving look, then walked over to the mahogany doors and closed them. She turned. “You aren’t on another case, are you?” It was a mild accusation.
“No, Con, you need not worry on that score.”
Connie sighed. “I believe I feel sorry for him.”
“Connie, don’t!”
“Why not? He was in love with you until his wife materialized out of thin air. And I see the way he looks at you. Everyone does.”
She was uncomfortable now. “Con, he loves Leigh Anne.”
“Does he? He is certainly fulfilling his duty toward her, and they make a striking couple. But I must say, the few times I have seen them together, I have noticed how tense their relationship is.”
Francesca shook her head. “You know that Leigh Anne has suffered a terrible carriage accident. She will never walk again. They are going through a very difficult time. Yes, Bragg is fond of me. I am fond of him.” Her heart lurched as she thought about Hart. She bit her lip and looked at her sister. “But, Connie, tonight I am going to be Hart’s wife.”
Acute desire came suddenly. She had spent hours in his arms—and in his bed. But he had refused to entirely do the deed. For some blasted reason, he insisted on being noble with her.
Connie’s smile was knowing. “As your sister, I know you have somehow