Wait Until Midnight

FIFTEEN

The carriage rolled back toward Corley Lane through fog-bound streets. The interior of the vehicle was drenched in shadows because Adam had not lit the lamps. He told him-self that Caroline would appreciate a degree of privacy after what must have been a nerve-shattering experience.

His temper still smoldered. He looked at Caroline, trying to think what to say. She sat there across from him, a warm shawl draped around her shoulders, her face averted. She seemed lost in her memories.

Part of him wanted to offer sympathy but another part longed to remind her that she must not give credence to anything that had happened at the séance. On the other hand, what if the possibility that her lost husband had spoken to her from beyond the grave had provided her with some comfort? Who was he to rip that from her?

He could have strangled Irene Toller with no remorse whatsoever, he decided. How could the woman live with herself? It was one thing to stage a séance as entertainment or even as a cynical means of defrauding the foolish and the gullible. Business was business, after all. No one knew that better than he did. But to deliberately open the flood-gates of a woman's grief was intolerable.

Adam vowed to himself that before this affair was finished, he would see to it that Irene Toller was exposed as the charlatan she was.

"I regret that you were forced to endure that sad experience," he said eventually.

"Do not concern yourself, Adam" Her voice lacked all expression. "It was certainly not your fault."

"Yes, in fact, it was my fault." He flexed one hand on the seat cushion. "I should never have allowed you to talk me into taking you with me tonight."

"No, no, you must not blame yourself," she said quickly. "I am all right, truly."

"You are distraught."

"Not in the least." Her voice rose. "I assure you."

"No one could go through such a harrowing event and not be affected"

"It was all a bit—" She hesitated, as if unsure of the correct word. "Odd, I admit. But I promise you that my nerves are quite steady. I certainly will not sink into a fit of hysteria or melancholia."

"I do not doubt that for a moment" In spite of his simmering anger, admiration welled up inside him. "We have not been long acquainted, Caroline, but I must tell you that I am in awe of your fortitude and resilience."

She opened her fan, closed it and then opened it again in a nervous gesture that seemed quite unlike her.

"You flatter me," she mumbled.

He was making the situation worse for her by talking about it, he thought. But he could not seem to stop now that he had started.

"You must remind yourself that Irene Toller is a complete fraud," he said quietly.

"Yes, of course."

"She took advantage of your widowhood to resurrect strong emotions."

"I am aware of that." She folded her fan and then clasped her gloved fingers very tightly together in her lap. "It is a common trick of the medium's trade."

He clenched his hand into a fist and rested it on his thigh. "It is a cruel business, in my opinion. It rests entirely on deception"

She cleared her throat. "There has never been a notice-able lack of people who are only too happy to be deceived."

The carriage clattered past a row of gas lamps. The weak glare briefly illuminated Caroline's taut features. He worried that she might be about to burst into tears.

"You no doubt loved your husband very much." He groped for the proper words. "My condolences on your loss."

She stiffened. "Thank you. But it has been some time now. I have quite recovered from my grief."

The situation was deteriorating rapidly. If he had an ounce of sense he would close his mouth and keep it shut until they reached Corley Lane. But somehow the knowledge that she might be looking forward to someday joining her dead husband was turning a dagger in his belly.

"I suppose that the thought of your beloved Jeremy waiting for you on the Other Side offers a certain measure of consolation," he heard himself say.

"Enough." She opened her fan with a violent snap. "Not another word, I beg you. I cannot abide any more of this conversation."

"Forgive me." He seemed to be repeating himself frequently tonight, he reflected. He could not recall having apologized as many times in the past year. "The subject is obviously quite painful for you. I give you my oath, you will not be subjected to any more séances. It was a mistake to allow you to become more deeply involved in this affair."

"It was not a mistake," she said brusquely. "It was my decision."

"I will expose Irene Toller at the first opportunity."

"No, you must not do any such thing." Caroline sounded genuinely horrified. "Only think of the risk, sir. You might well jeopardize your own secrets if you allow yourself to become distracted by such a small, unimportant matter. You must be cautious."

"Toller should be punished for the cruel deception she practiced tonight," he said, unmoved. "I cannot allow her to get away with what she did to you. To play upon your grief in such a fashion is unconscionable."

Caroline gave a small choked cry. She was, indeed, about to break down in tears, he thought. Alarmed, he reached for his handkerchief.

When she saw the square of white linen in his hand, she. sighed, as if in surrender.

"That will not be necessary, sir," she muttered. "I am not prostrate with grief. I suppose I may as well come straight out with the truth. I can see that there is no other way to convince you."

"Convince me of what?"

"Irene Toller is not the only one skilled in deception. There was no Jeremy Fordyce. I invented him."

He sat there for a moment, ruefully amazed at his own amazement. He should have expected that she would surprise him yet again, he thought. Nevertheless, he had not anticipated this particular turn of events.

He knew very well why he had failed to perceive the fiction. He had wanted to believe that Caroline was an experienced widow. It had been so convenient to think of her as a woman of the world who was no longer confined by the rules that dictated the behavior of unmarried ladies under the age of thirty.

"You were never wed?^" he asked carefully.

"I'm afraid not. After the disaster in Chillingham three years ago, I concluded that my life would be a good deal more comfortable if I were perceived to be a widow rather than an unmarried woman. After we moved to London, I adopted the name Mrs. Fordyce for both professional and personal use."

He made a mental note of the change in location of the scandal. "Would you mind telling me your real name?" She hesitated. "Caroline Connor."

"I see." He contemplated the fact that it was late at night and he was alone in a carriage with an unmarried lady who should never have been allowed out of the house in the evening without a chaperone. Yes, it certainly had been far more convenient to believe that she was a widow.

"I realize that you are not pleased by my news, Mr. Hardesty," she said. "But surely you must know how dread-fully restricted life is for an unwed woman of my age. Things were easier in the country. The rules of propriety are somewhat more relaxed there. But here in town, a single woman is easy prey for those who would spread malicious gossip. When one adds to that my involvement in a great scandal and the fact that I am an author of sensation novels, well, you can see the enormity of my problem. It was so much simpler to let Caroline Connor disappear."

He thought about how often Julia, before her marriage, had railed against the restraints Society imposed upon young ladies. "I am aware that the proprieties can be annoying. But I would remind you that there are some very good reasons for those restrictions. The world is a dangerous place for women. There are any number of vicious rogues at every level of society who do not hesitate to take advantage of females."

Her gloved hand tightened fiercely around her fan. "And the most dangerous ones are those who move in the most elevated circles," she said in a voice that was barely above a harsh whisper.

There was a short, tense silence. He said nothing but the part of him that was always on the alert to take note of the unusual or the unexpected registered her vehemence. Evidently the scandal in which she had been embroiled had involved a gentleman who inhabited exclusive circles.

She exhaled deeply. "You may trust me when I tell you that I am well aware of the realities of the world, sir. I appreciate your concern but you need not waste your energy lecturing me on the proprieties."

She had every right to call herself whatever she wished in order to live her life on her own terms, he reminded himself. "I beg your pardon," he said quietly.

"Forgive me for snapping at you. As you can see, the subject is an unpleasant one for me."

"You have made your point. Unfortunately, this sudden change in your marital status only serves to make an al-ready complicated situation considerably more difficult."

"Nonsense," she said hastily. "Nothing need change between us."

He almost smiled at that. "Come now, we both know that you are not that naive"

She winced and turned her head toward the window. "Are you angry?"

Was he? He was not sure. "Let's just say that you have put me in an exceedingly awkward position."

"There is absolutely no need for you to take that view." She was anxious now. "The world believes me to be a widow and I see no reason to disabuse anyone of that notion. You may continue to treat me exactly as you did be-fore I told you my secret."

"Do you really think that is possible?"

She made an exasperated little sound. "It is not as though I am a fragile flower. You said yourself that the subjects and themes of my novels imply considerable experience of the world."

"You may be a lady of some experience," he admitted, "but you nevertheless have a reputation to protect"

"On the contrary." Bitterness laced the words. "Caroline Connor had a reputation to protect. But it was ripped to shreds three years ago. Mrs. Fordyce has nothing to worry about in that regard."

'That is a matter of opinion."

She gave him a reproachful look. "Who would have thought that you would prove to be such a prig and a high stickler, sir?"

The accusation caught him off guard. He found himself smiling slightly. "I assure you, I am even more astonished than you are to discover that side of my nature."

She folded her arms beneath her breasts and tapped the pointed toe of one high-heeled shoe. "Well, I suppose that it is my turn to apologize. I never intended to place you in what you term an awkward position, sir."

"I realize that was not your objective." He hesitated. "You have a right to your secrets, Caroline, just as I have a right to mine."

"On that we are agreed."

He struggled to deal with the dangerous brew of passions she stirred within him. He felt an almost overwhelming urge to take her into his arms and kiss her until she was breathless, until she forgot the bastard who had ruined her in Chillingham. But he also wanted to do something that was far more reckless, something he had never done with any other woman. For some obscure reason that he could not explain, he felt compelled to balance the scales between them. He had unintentionally prodded her into revealing some of her secrets. He wanted to repay her by revealing one of his own.

"Will you come with me to another part of town?" he asked. "There is something I want to show you"

"Now? Tonight?"

"Yes" He did not know what had possessed him; he only knew that he could not turn back. "I promise you that you are in no danger from me."

She seemed startled. "I do not fear you."

Perhaps she would refuse to accompany him. Perhaps that would be for the best. Nevertheless, he found himself waiting as though his entire future depended on what she said next.

"Very well," she said quietly. "My aunts will be out quite late tonight. They will not be home to worry and fret if I am late."

Before he could change his mind, he stood, raised the trapdoor and gave Ned a familiar address.