Chapter Ten

Mitch Carter wanted to strangle someone, and he didn’t much care who. He figured he could start with his mother-in-law, a vapid and utterly thoughtless woman who seemed to see nothing wrong with allowing the blame for her husband’s death to rest on her daughter’s shoulders.

Yeah, that would make a good start.

But Mitch didn’t suppose watching him murder her mother would do Tessa any good, and anyway he had far too much self-discipline. A man had to have control; otherwise virtually nobody would be left alive.

But he hated this house with its fusty, ruined grandeur, the spaces on the walls where paintings had been, the empty tables in the parlor where trinkets had once sat. Hugo Verdun had sold them all to pay his debts.

Right before he sold his daughter to him, Mitch Carter, for the same reason.

He couldn’t deny that, while sitting there watching her suffer. Seeing her curl up into a ball as her damned mother nattered on and on about what Hugo’s state of mind had been, his remorse and grief.

All because of him, Mitch Carter—a disease in matrimonial form.

The worst part was he didn’t know how to help, how to eliminate Tessa’s pain. And all the while he couldn’t keep from loving her so much it made him ache.

The doctor had been and gone, directed to the house on Bidwell Parkway by those back at Mitch’s household. He’d prescribed bed rest for Tessa, but she refused to go home. He’d also prescribed a draught to calm her and had taken Mitch aside to say, “You will need to keep an eye on her. She may also try to harm herself. If I were you, I would not leave her alone.”

Now, late in the afternoon, he didn’t know how to move forward. Relatives and acquaintances had begun arriving, many of them friends of Tessa’s—none of them male, not so far.

Yes, even at a time like this, he thought of that.

Mrs. Verdun wept, she wailed, she mourned and lamented. With every new arrival, she went over it all again—how her dear husband had sought forgiveness from his daughter for the dreadful position in which he’d placed her. How he had despaired and must have reached a point, during the night, of no return.

All the while Mitch, on his feet, paced and watched his wife shrink in upon herself.

At last he interrupted his mother-in-law, still in full spate. “Enough.”

“What?” Elise Verdun turned surprised eyes on him, precisely as if she’d forgotten he was there; perhaps she had.

“Stop with your ranting. Look at your daughter. Can’t you see what you’re doing to her?”

“My husband—”

“Was a selfish bounder who cost you everything. I’ll be damned if he’ll take my wife’s peace of mind too.”

“How dare you? My sainted Hugo is barely cold.”

“He can’t take responsibility for his actions. That’s convenient. But I won’t let you blame her.”

Everyone in the room now stared at him, their mouths agape.

One of the older gentlemen—an uncle, Mitch thought—stepped forward. “Now, look here. I won’t let you speak to Elise this way.”

“You think I’ll stand here silent while she destroys my wife? Go ahead and hit me if you want.”

The man withdrew fastidiously.

“Brute!” said one of the women. “Tess, you have my sympathies!”

Mitch looked at his wife. She stared at him with bruised, helpless eyes.

He went to her and hunkered down in front of her chair. “Come along, now. We’re going home.”

“I can’t leave.”

“You can, and you will.”

Very gently he took her hand and urged her up. She sagged as if boneless, and she made eye contact with no one as he led her out. Before they reached the door, indignant whispers started up behind them.

The long steamcar still waited at the curb. Marty stood alongside, smoking a cheroot. He stubbed it out and came to attention when he saw them.

“Where to, Boss?”

“Home.”

Mitch half lifted Tessa onto the seat. He couldn’t tell if she felt ill or numb. Inside the car she held tight to herself, utterly silent.

Not sure what to do, Mitch sought desperately for words. He could think of none. Mere minutes brought them home to the house on Prospect. He climbed out ahead of her and held out his hand. Ignoring him, she attempted to climb out on her own and stumbled.

He caught her up in his arms. She weighed virtually nothing, this woman who now made up the center of his world.

The same woman who hated him.

Inside, he carried her right up to her room, where he deposited her on the bed. Immediately, she once more curled up into a ball.

It was then the miracle occurred.

“Don’t leave me,” she said.

****

“Would you like me to bring back the doctor? Or send for one of your friends?”

Mitch’s voice again. It had become a kind of anchor in the midst of Tessa’s pain. Something about his calm reassured her. She shook her head.

“Maybe another of those drinks,” she suggested.

He rang the bell and, when the mechanical maid appeared, asked for scotch.

Tessa, still curled into a ball on her bed, didn’t look at him. She didn’t want to. For some curious reason, she just wanted him there.

If she didn’t look at him, she could pretend he wasn’t Mitch Carter, the husband who’d been forced on her, the man she was supposed to hate. Maybe she could pretend he was Richard instead. But he sounded nothing like Richard—felt nothing like him, either.

Mitch Carter had a surprisingly nice voice, soft and strong.

Maybe she didn’t hate him. Maybe she hated her father—a terrible thing to say, with him dead—and herself.

The scotch arrived. The bed moved as Mitch sat down on the edge of the mattress.

“Here.”

He helped her sit up and once more tipped the glass to her lips. She shuddered.

“Are you cold?”

“Yes, cold right through.”

“Let me call the maid. She can get you into warmer clothes.”

“No. Don’t leave.”

“All right, I won’t.” He shifted her on the bed and tucked her, fully dressed, beneath the covers. It felt comforting. Even more so when he brushed the hair back from her face and said, “Listen to me, Tessa. What your father did isn’t your fault. He chose that act, and for selfish reasons. There isn’t a more selfish thing a man can do than commit suicide. Do you understand?”

“If I’d just gone to him—”

“He would have found some other reason.”

“Now I have to live with this. I don’t know if I can.”

“People can live with all kinds of things. You’d be surprised.”

She took the glass in her hands and drank from it. She gazed into his eyes. “Stay with me.”

“Eh?”

“Tonight. I don’t think I can stand to be alone.”