Blind Trust (11 page)

Darcy hesitated. She felt his fingers move against her wrist, insistence in the hard, callused tips despite the unhurried tone in his voice. She felt unable to move. He was looking down at her now, and his green eyes were grave.

“I'm waiting,” she said, the breath leaving her so that the words came out softer than she'd wanted. And he continued to look at her, catching her glance, not allowing her to look away.

Then, behind her, she heard the door open. Darcy turned, Tavish's fingers still around her wrist, and her eyes met her husband's. Claude stood in the doorway, tense and furious.

The shock was so great for all three of them that no one spoke for a moment. Then Darcy moved forward.

“Hello, Claude. Mr. Finn and I were just discussing how empty the Van Cormandt house is with this new emphasis of Cora's on outdoor sports. Why,” Darcy said, “if Mr. Finn didn't run me down in here looking for a book, we wouldn't have spoken to a soul all afternoon, and that truly would have made us disagreeable company this evening.”

“I was desperately in need of company,” Tavish agreed lazily. “Poor Mrs. Statton was quite bewildered at my cries of joy upon finding her here.”

“Perhaps you should have stuck to your original intention and slid down a slope with Miss Valentine,” Claude said. “Cries of joy would be more appropriate there, I believe.” His face was paler than Darcy had ever seen it, his full, pursed mouth now a line slashed across a forward-jutting chin. She'd so rarely seen Claude lose his temper, and never in public.

He turned to her. “I think it's time you retired to your room, Mrs. Statton,” he bit out.

She almost did it—she almost bowed her head and retreated. But Darcy was filled with a new courage, and her chin lifted. With absolute, regal calmness, she said, “I've spent too much time in my room this afternoon. I believe I'll stay here with Mr. Finn, for just a little while.”

“You will do as I say, madam!” The words were forced out of his mouth, tiny explosions of air.

“I will do as I choose, Mr. Statton,” Darcy answered serenely, despite her trembling knees. “And I choose to remain.”

Their gazes locked, her resolute gray one with his furious yellow one. Darcy willed herself not to surrender. She told herself to hold on from one second to the next. And Claude averted his eyes at last. He turned on his heel and walked out.

As swiftly as it had arrived, courage rushed out of her. Darcy walked on unsteady legs to the couch. She sank down into it.

Tavish was by her side in a moment. “Mrs. Statton? Can I help you? Or shall I go?”

Darcy found that she could not speak. She dropped her head in her hands and burst into tears. She was dimly conscious of him dropping to his knees in front of her, murmuring. And when she raised her head, ashamed and confused, all that rang in her ears was the sound of him saying “Darcy.”

“I must apologize,” she whispered.

“No,” he said, pressing her hand briefly. He handed her his handkerchief, and she wiped her eyes. “You must not. I must thank you.”

“Thank me?”

“You helped me, Mrs. Statton, very generously. I am in your debt.”

Of course, Darcy thought. She had successfully diverted Claude from wondering why Tavish had been in Ned Van Cormandt's study. Why had her reaction been so swift, so instinctive?

“If I did so it was only so I could speak with you myself,” she said slowly. “And if you are in my debt then you can tell me why you were searching the desk of your host.”

He sat back on his heels. “I see you've recovered, Mrs. Statton.”

“I've a duty to Mr. Van Cormandt,” Darcy answered evenly. “If his guest is a swindler or a thief, I cannot conceal the information. And I have a duty to my father. I know you have dealings with him.”

“So you think I'm a swindler?”

“I don't know what you are, Mr. Finn. That is why I have asked the question you've refused to answer.”

Tavish wondered what to do. He couldn't tell her the truth, of course. But she had stood up to her husband, a formidable task—for God's sake, Claude Statton was enough to make anyone quail—so he could not refuse. He knew if he avoided her question again she would go straight to Ned Van Cormandt; her threat was not idle. Darcy Statton was a match for him.

He couldn't tell her the truth. But he would have to tell her part of it.

“I'm investigating railroad stock manipulation for the federal government, Mrs. Statton.” Thank the Lord he was an Irishman and used to improvisation.

Darcy looked dubious. “A government agent?”

“Have you heard of the Interstate Commerce Commission?”

“I've heard my husband rail against it, yes. It was formed last year to enforce the Interstate Commerce Act.”

“Authorized to investigate railroad management, including the examination of company books and papers.”

Darcy smiled slightly. “But does this include the covert examination of such papers, Mr. Finn?”

“At times it does, Mrs. Statton. There's a secret consortium made up of men here in New York. I was sent here to discover who they are, and what they are doing.” He held up his hands. “You can check me out, Mrs. Statton. I have an office in the Pinkney Building, near the main post office downtown. There are other federal offices in that building. You can come down and ask about me.”

“I see. I didn't know Ned Van Cormandt was involved in railroads.”

“That, Mrs. Statton, is what a blind pool is all about.”

“And my husband? He
is
involved in railroads, as you know. So he is under investigation as well.”

“I didn't say he was.”

“But is he?”

“If he were, you would hardly expect me to admit it.”

“No, I suppose you would not.” Darcy looked at him. “But he is, I'm sure.”

“Mrs. Statton, I hope you realize how important secrecy is in this case.”

“Most assuredly. And my father?”

“Your father?”

“Mr. Finn,” Darcy said impatiently, “if you have decided to trust me with so much information, you must not now be coy and retreat. You have approached my father with a business proposition. My father is counting on this proposition. Are you planning to take money from him, or just lead him on? Or are you planning to exploit his connections with men you are investigating? When you disappear without a trace one day, what will happen to my father?”

“I will not take money from your father.”

“But you would lead him to … to take his money out of another interest that might be harmful to him in the long run.”

He gave her an interested look. “He is planning to back out of another business interest?”

“I don't know,” Darcy hedged quickly. “I am just imagining the consequences of what you're doing. As you should!”

“Mrs. Statton,” Tavish said impatiently, “I am after bigger game than your father.”

“But you would trample on him in the process. Mr. Finn, my father is not wise in the ways of business. He is innocent of wrongdoing, I'm sure. He is a gentleman.”

Tavish looked grim. “As are they all, Mrs. Statton.”

Her eyes flashed. “So his character is not a consideration for you. Mr. Finn, my father has known scandal and ruin. It almost destroyed him. He is a good man. Don't destroy him altogether. Leave him out of this.” The word was forced from her reluctantly. “Please.”

Tavish shook his head. “You plead for your father and not your husband?”

“My husband,” she said with difficulty, “in whatever he has done, has done it with full knowledge, with planning and cunning and premeditation. I cannot plead for a man like that. But I'm not pleading for my father, you see. I am only asking for what is right. I don't know if morality is part of your code, but I urge you to consider it.”

“I cannot make any promises, Mrs. Statton,” Tavish said reluctantly.

“Then neither can I, Mr. Finn.”

The words sank in as he met her cool gaze. Tavish found himself speechless, a rare occasion for him.

“You see,” she went on deliberately, “you forget that I'm holding the cards, Mr. Finn.”

Darcy watched him carefully. He didn't move, but something in his eyes caused a shiver to slowly trace its way up her spine. For the first time, she saw that this man could be dangerous.

“Never threaten a poker player, Mrs. Statton.”

She held her ground. “I merely state the obvious.”

He stood up abruptly. “You're saying that you'll expose me?” His skin seemed bloodless, tightly stretched across the bones of his face. She watched him, fascinated—he was losing his temper, a bad tactical error. “Pledged to Claude Statton, you speak to me of morality? You married the most despicable man in New York, you sit at his table, you simper on his arm, you take his money for your gowns, and you talk to me of right and wrong?”

Fury coursed through her, and she shot to her feet. “How dare you! How dare you judge me! My marriage is none of your business, Mr. Finn, but your activities with my father
are
my business. Therefore, I will cheerfully and with all good conscience expose you if you do not accept my conditions.”

“I don't accept forced conditions.”

“Fine. Then accept the consequences.” She started past him, but he grabbed her arm.

“You are being a fool, Mrs. Statton. This is a dangerous game. It goes beyond stock manipulation or fraud. It could involve blackmail and … other crimes.”

Her head jerked up. “Blackmail?” Blackmail such as her father's? Was Claude blackmailing others, too? Tavish Finn couldn't know about Edward, could he? “I must go,” she murmured.

Furious, he kept his hand on her arm. “You're not going anywhere until we settle this.”

Her eyes flashed at him. “Until I capitulate, you mean. You don't intimidate me, Mr. Finn. I don't care who you represent and who you are trying to capture—it could be the devil himself and I still would not be afraid.”

They stood, toe to toe, eyes blazing. Darcy's hands had curled into fists that shook against her dress.

And then, as her hot words hung between them, something changed. She saw the hard, flat look leave his eyes. Something else entered them, something she knew in her limbs and her heart before her mind knew what it was. The moment had come. Despise him or fear him, it was here.

“And one more thing,” she said weakly, needing to stall.

“Yes?” he asked, his eyes never leaving her lips.

“I don't simper.”

“No,” he said. “You do not simper.”

Then he reached for her, grasping her hard by the arms, and pulled her to him. He said something; she didn't know what. His hands were impatient, almost rough, and his mouth was hot and greedy as it found hers.

Before, she had felt bloodless lust, cold fingers, shaking limbs, hands that despised what they touched, eyes closed from the fear of meeting her gaze. Never had she felt this.

Rushing desire flowed through her, almost lifted her off her feet. Barely aware of what she was doing, she rose up on her toes to encircle his neck, and her mouth opened against his. She felt hard lips and tongue and teeth, a confusion of senses, a roaring, tumbling rush in her ears.

When they broke the kiss and she stumbled backward, he reached for her. His hands grasped hers.

“Darcy—”

“I must go,” she said numbly.

“Wait.”

“No, I hear the guests returning. I hear them. I must go,” she said urgently. She had to be alone. “Let me go!”

“As you wish,” Tavish said, dropping her hands. “But only for now, Darcy.”

She looked at him. He expected a mute appeal, a pleading glance, asking him to go no further. He expected fear in her eyes and a relinquishing of her will to his. But he saw none of that. Her eyes met his boldly. There was no fear; there was only honest acknowledgment of the importance of what had passed between them.

“Yes,” she agreed quietly. “For now only.”

S
HE KNEW OTHER
women in her set had affairs. Unhappy as she'd been with Claude, she'd never understood it. It seemed so unnecessary, a sad attempt to inject some daring into a society life, replacing one pair of trousers and a tall silk hat with another. And then there was her mother, who had broken the rules altogether and taken her passion seriously. Darcy had always despised that worst of all.

Now, for the first time, Darcy pictured the cause, instead of the effect, of her mother's decision. She thought of Amelia posing for James Fitzchurch in her blue velvet gown. What did her mother feel as she looked across the room into his eyes? Did her heart beat wildly, did she think she had found something profound, something with a force so great it could detonate a life locked since birth in a careful, cast-iron plan?

As she sat across the long table from Tavish Finn for each splendid Van Cormandt meal that sat untouched on her plate, Darcy wondered. Could this be it, could this be the same, awful force? Her husband was at the same table, she knew the danger of that, and yet the effort it took for her to stop her eyes from seeking out Tavish's was painful. Was this why women risked so much? Was it for this, this man who was avoiding her eyes just as assiduously as she was avoiding his, for if they looked at each other, would not the whole world know?

As she went from room to room, as she participated in tablaux vivantes and smiled at Ambrose Hartley's sallies, as she ate and drank and talked, Darcy felt as though her old life was slipping away. It was carried away on a strange, hot wind that moved against her cheek, insistent and impossible to ignore. She could not stop it or control it. The earth had tilted on its axis just a few more degrees, and everything was new.

She was consumed with the physicality of her feeling. Her body seemed suddenly important, suddenly so much more
there
than it had ever been. She felt her fingers tremble and her heart beating and her skin heating up with his presence in a room. She always knew where he was standing, or sitting, who he was conversing with, how he moved his hands, but she didn't have to watch him, it seemed. The back of her neck could feel him behind her. Her thighs pressed together underneath her gown to prevent herself from squirming with the nearness of him. His presence was immediate and total, and it consumed her every moment.