Nora Roberts - Suzanna's Surrender

She paused to drink again, for her throat was dry and the memory bitter. “She defended me against him, knowing as even I knew he barely tolerated me, a female. When he left the house after the argument, I was glad. I prayed that night he would never come back. The next day, my mother told me we were going to take a trip. She hadn't told my brothers yet, but I was the eldest. She wanted me to understand that she would take care of us, that nothing bad would happen.

“Then, he came back. I knew she was upset, even frightened. I was to stay in my room until she came for me. But she didn't come. It grew late, and there was a storm. I wanted my mother.” Colleen pressed her lips together. “She wasn't in her room, so I went up to the tower where she often spent her time. I heard them as I crept up the stairs. The door was open and I heard them. The terrible argument. He was raging, crazed with fury. She told him that she would no longer live with him, that she wanted nothing from him but her children and her freedom.”

Because Colleen was shaking, Coco rose and walked down to take her hand.

“He struck her. I heard the slap and raced to the door. But I was afraid, too afraid to go in. She had a hand to her cheek, and her eyes were blazing. Not with fear, with fury. I will always remember that there was no fear in her at the end. He threatened her with scandal. He screamed at her that if she left his house, she would never lay eyes on any of his children again. She would never ruin his reputation. She would never throw an obstacle in the path of his ambitions.”

Though her lips trembled, Colleen lifted her chin. “She did not beg. She did not weep. She hurled words back at him like thunderbolts.” Fisting a hand, she pressed it to her mouth to smother her own tears. “She was magnificent. Her children would never be taken from her, and scandal be damned. Did he think she cared what people thought of her? Did he think she feared his power to have society shun her? She would take her children and she would make a life where both she and they could be loved. And I think it was that which drove him mad. The idea that she would choose another man over him. Over him. Fergus Calhoun. That she would toss his money and power and position back at him, rather than bow to his wishes. He grabbed her, lifting her from her feet, shaking her, screaming into her face while his own purpled with rage. I think I screamed then, and hearing me, she began to fight. When she struck him, he threw her aside. I heard the crash of the glass. He ran to it, roaring for her, but she was gone. How long he stood there while the wind and rain poured in, I don't know. When he turned his face was white, his eyes glazed. He walked past me without even seeing me. I went inside, over to the broken window and looked down until Nanny came and carried me away.”

Coco pressed a kiss to the white hair, then gently stroked. “Come with me, dear. I'll take you upstairs. Lilah will bring you a nice cup of tea.”

“Yes, I'll be right there.” Lilah wiped her cheeks dry. “Max?”

“I'll come with you.” He slipped an arm around her waist as Coco led Bianca's daughter from the room.

“Poor little girl,” Suzanna murmured, and let her head rest on Holt's shoulder as he drove away from The Towers. “To have seen something so horrible, to have had to live with it all of her life. I think of Jenny –”

“Don't.” He put a firm hand over hers. “You got out. Bianca didn't.” He waited a moment. “You knew, didn't you? Before Colleen told us the story.”

“I knew she hadn't committed suicide. I can't explain how, but tonight, I knew. It was as if she was standing right behind me.”

He thought of the sensation of having a hand on his shoulder. “Maybe she was. After a night like this, it's hard for me to convince myself the picture falling off the wall was a coincidence.”

Suzanna closed her eyes. “It was beautiful, what your grandfather wrote about her. If we never find the emeralds, we have that – we'll know she had that. To love that way,” she said on a sigh. “It hardly seems possible. I don't want to think of the tragedy or sadness, but of the time they had together. Dancing in the wild roses.”

He'd never danced with her in the sunlight, Holt thought. Or read her poetry or promised her eternal love.

When they reached the cottage, Sadie leaped out the back window of the car to race around the yard and sniff at the flower bed she'd planted for him. When Holt leaned across her, Suzanna looked down in surprise.

“What are you doing?”

“I'm opening the door for you.” He shoved it open. “If I'd gotten out to do it, you wouldn't have waited.”

Amused, Suzanna stepped out. “Thank you.”

“You're welcome.” When he reached the house, he unlocked the front door, then held that open. Keeping her face sober, Suzanna inclined her head as she slipped past him.

“Thank you.”

Holt just let the screen slam shut. Brow lifted, Suzanna scanned the room. “You've done something different.”

“I cleaned it up,” he muttered.

“Oh. It looks nice. You know, Holt, I've been meaning to ask you if you think Livingston is still on the island.”

“Why? Did something happen?”

His response was much too abrupt, Suzanna noted and moved casually around the room. “No, I've just been wondering where he may be staying, what his next move might be.” She ran a fingertip down one of the candles he'd bought. “Any ideas?”

“How should I know?” “You're the expert on crime.”

“And I told you to leave Livingston to me.”

“And I told you I couldn't do that. Maybe I'll start poking around on my own.”

“Try it and I'll handcuff you and lock you in a closet.”

“The urban counterpart to hog – tying,” she murmured. “I wouldn't have to try it if you'd tell me what you know. Or what you think.”

“What brought this up now?”

She moved her shoulder. “Since we have a little time to ourselves, I thought we could talk about it.”

“Look, why don't you just sit down?” He pulled out his lighter. “What are you doing?”

“I'm lighting candles.” His nerves were stretching like taffy. “What does it look like I'm doing?”

She did sit, and steepled her hands. “Since you're so cranky, I have to assume that you do know something.”

“You don't have to assume anything except your ticking me off.” He stalked to the stereo.

“How close are you?” she asked as a bluesy sax filled the air.

“I'm nowhere.” Since that was a lie, he decided to temper it with part of the truth. “I think he's in the area because he broke in here and took a look around a couple weeks ago.”

“What?” She catapulted out of the chair. “A couple of weeks ago, and you didn't tell me?”

“What were you going to do about it?” he countered. “Pull out a magnifying glass and deer – hunter's hat?”

“I had a right to know.”

“Now you know. Just sit down, will you? I'll be back in a minute.”

He stalked out and she began to pace. Holt knew more than he was saying, but at least she'd annoyed a piece from him. Livingston was close, close enough that he'd known Holt might have something of interest. The fact that Holt was wound like a top at the moment made her think something more was working on him. It shouldn't be difficult, she thought, now that she already had him irritated, to push a little more out of him.

The candles were scented, she noted, and smiled to herself. She couldn't imagine that he'd bought jasmine candles on purpose. Especially a half a dozen of them. She traced a finger over the calla lilies he'd stuck – not very artistically – in a vase. Maybe working with flowers was getting to him, she thought. He wasn't pretending so hard not to like them.