Deliciously Wicked (23 page)

T
he following morning they received word that Colin had still been unable to locate Henry. It was Sunday and Henry should have been home since work was not required that day.

“Where could he have gone?” Meg asked.

“Perhaps he is staying out of sight until he feels it is safe to make a new life for himself,” her father said. “I still have a hard time believing he could kill someone. He was so mild mannered.”

Gareth took a bite of his egg, and added nothing to the conversation.

“It is driving me mad. He deserves to be punished, but more than anything I wish to know why he locked us in that storeroom. I still can't put those pieces together,” Meg said.

A footman entered the room and handed her father an envelope. “This just came for your, sir.”

“Thank you.” He cracked open the wax seal and read the note aloud. “‘If I am not to have it, then no one will.'”

“What does that mean?” Meg asked.

But Gareth was already on his feet and heading out the door.

Meg stood. “What is it?”

“The factory,” her father said numbly.

“He's going to do something to it,” Gareth said, then left the room.

Meg followed. “Why would he send a note?”

“To get attention,” he yelled. Then he sprinted down the front steps of Piddington Hall and down the driveway toward the factory.

Meg picked up her skirts and chased after him. It didn't take long before she felt a pinch in her left side, but she ignored it and kept running. Every step, she felt twigs and pebbles press against the tender soles of her feet. It didn't seem as if she'd ever make it there. Down the hill and then to the main factory door. Gareth already stood inside.

“What do you suppose he's going to do?” Meg asked. Her breath was labored and her heart was beating so quickly, she had to put her hand to her chest to hold it in.

“I don't know.”

There was no sign of Henry anywhere on the factory floor. Meg ran to the storeroom—no sign of him there either. Then they ran into the downstairs office, the room where she and Gareth had spent so much time working on the chocolate boxes.

They found Henry there pouring lamp oil all over the table and the floor. The slippery liquid lent an eerie sheen to the wood planks.

Meg became sharply aware that they had nothing with them to restrain him, no weapon of any sort to negotiate with him.

Gareth held his arm up behind him. “Meg,” he said evenly. “Get out of here. Go call for the fire brigade.”

“You're too late!” Henry yelled. “This oil”—he held up the bottle—“it's all over everything. Upstairs, all over your father's office. All over the storeroom, the machines, the floor, the supplies. Everything. One little flame and all of this”—he motioned around him—“will be gone.”

Meg knew what they needed to do was stall him. Distract him until they could think of something else. Perhaps her papa would have enough foresight to call for the authorities.

“You won,” she said.

“Meg, leave now,” Gareth said.

She took a step to stand in front of Gareth. Her husband instinctively put his arm around her waist and pulled her against him.

He leaned down by her ear. “Please, Meg,” he said. “I don't think I can save you from this.”

She closed her eyes briefly, but said nothing to Gareth. “You won, Henry,” she said. Her voice was shakier than she would have liked. She gave a false laugh. “You are far more clever than all of us. We didn't even realize you were the one until yesterday when we found Munden's body.”

Henry laughed. “I am clever. More than you could even pretend to be. You were lucky.” He pointed a match at them. “Both of you. I'll admit, you frustrated my efforts on more than one occasion. But I figured out a way to win nonetheless.”

“One thing I'm still unclear about though,” Meg said. She squeezed Gareth's hand.

“What is that?”

“Why? Why did you do all of this. Why compromise us and then try to set Gareth up as a thief?”

Henry snarled. “That was not supposed to happen. It was supposed to be us.” He pointed at her. “You and I. We were supposed to be the ones locked in the storeroom. I knew your father had sent you to the factory to retrieve his ledger book. I paid someone to lock us in there so that we would have to marry. That way I knew I would get the factory.” He looked around him. “And all of this would be mine. Rightfully so since I built this place.”

Meg bit her tongue. He'd done nothing more than organize paperwork as far as she was concerned. This factory was a product of her father's hard work. His ingenuity.

“But you weren't here,” she said. “That night in the storeroom, you were never here.”

“No. The bloody carriage broke a wheel on my way here and I was stalled. But that fool that I hired saw you go in the room and slammed the door. So that foiled my plans. That's when I came up with the idea of stealing the chocolate boxes. If I could make Gareth out to be a criminal, then when you were compromised with him, you would be forced to see another way out to save your reputation. I knew the lowly Irishman wouldn't do the honorable thing. So I would be able to sweep in and gallantly offer to do so.”

“But that didn't work out either, did it?” Gareth asked. “By the time you were able to do that, she turned you down.”

Henry glared at him.

“Do you want to know something ironic, Sanders?” Gareth asked. “Up until yesterday, upon Piddington's death, this factory would have been yours to administer.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Sanders asked.

“Piddington's will,” Gareth said. “The business was to become a company with you in charge. The factory would have been yours.”

Henry looked from Gareth's face to Meg's face, searching for confirmation. Then without warning, he dropped the candle, and flames engulfed his body. He screamed and ran toward them.

“Move!” Gareth yelled at Meg.

They ran out of the office and Gareth pulled the door closed in an attempt to block the flames from the rest of the area.

She ran toward the main door, then stopped and headed for the stairs to her father's office.

“What are you doing?” Gareth asked.

“My mother's photograph. It's the only one we have of her.”

“I'll get it. You go. Outside. Gather as much water as you can. Find a way to call for the fire brigade. With any luck we'll be able to save the rest of the factory, but I think we'll lose this building.” Before he let her go, he pulled her tightly to him and kissed her. “Go. I'll meet you outside.”

Wood cracked and fire began to climb up the walls surrounding the downstairs office.

Gareth headed for the stairs. Tears sprang to her eyes as she ran toward the front door. She had sent her
husband up a flight of stairs while the room below him was engulfed in flames. He'd climbed the stairs as quickly as he could, while holding his shirt up to cover his nose and mouth.

Once outside the full impact of her foolishness hit her. The picture didn't matter. She loved her mother, but nothing was worth as much as Gareth's life. He could be killed. Her heart beat rapidly. She didn't know what she'd do without him. She wasn't ready to lose him. She wasn't finished yet. Wasn't finished learning things about him. Wasn't finished loving him.

And now she'd sent him off to his death. The sun beat down brightly and all around her seemed like any other day. She turned back to face the building, so certain she'd never see him again.

“Meggie, what has happened?” her father's voice asked from behind her.

She turned and fled into his arms. “A fire. Gareth is still in there. I sent him for Mama's picture, Papa. I sent him in there.” She buried her face in her hands.

“Gareth is a strong man, do not fret. He'll be safe. Stay out here. I've already sent for the police and the fire brigade.” He headed for the factory door.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

“To retrieve your husband. All will be well, Meggie. Be strong, my child.”

She stood on the grass for what seemed hours. No tears, no words, merely utter certainty that both men in her life would never return. Both men that she loved. The realization hit her so quickly, she nearly cried out. Her hand flew to her mouth.

Smoke was billowing out of the windows of the factory in angry puffs. And embers were flying out of the
right side of the building. She wiped her hands on her dress for what must have been the hundredth time. Wondering what she should do, what she could have done differently. One silly decision and she'd lost everything she held dear.

She almost didn't notice the factory door opening and her father coming out with Gareth's limp body slung over his shoulder. Not an easy feat no matter the size of her father.

“Is he…?” She couldn't bring herself to say the words.

Her father laid her husband on the ground and she sat down and pulled Gareth to her so that his head nestled in her lap.

Her tears slid down her cheeks and landed on his forehead. She felt his neck and wrists and found a pulse, but it was faint. He was breathing, barely, but he would not wake up. She shook him, screaming his name, but no response.

Then she pounded on his chest, pleading with him to wake up, but no response. She leaned over him and cradled his face.

“Please,” she whispered.

Her father stepped up to her and handed her a shirt drenched in water. “Pour some in his mouth and wipe his face with this,” he said. He coughed violently. “I'll be all right,” he assured her.

She squeezed the shirt over his mouth and a few drops slid in, but mostly they poured down his chin. She did that a few more times before wiping the cool, wet fabric across his smudged skin.

It was so unfair that the moment she realized she loved him he'd be taken away from her. The very thing
she'd been most afraid of, and here it was, in her lap. She'd fallen in love with him, and now she was going to lose him. The pain threatened to tear her heart in half. And that wasn't even the worst part, she realized, no, the worst was that she'd never gotten to tell him. Tell him all the wonderful things about him that made her love him. And now she never would. He'd die in her arms before she could tell him anything.

“I love you,” she whispered into his hair. She smoothed kisses on his head and wiped the blackness off his face. “I love you,” she said again. “Oh, Gareth, don't leave me. Not now. I'm not finished with you!” she screamed.

Then he sputtered and coughed and she leaned him up. She squeezed more water onto his lips. “I'm not finished with you yet either,” he said, his voice hoarse and dry.

She laughed and hugged him closely to her breast. “I'm so sorry I sent you in there. That was so selfish. So foolish. That picture, it's not worth losing you. I held on to my mama so long, so afraid to ever hurt the way I did when I lost her. And in doing so, I nearly killed you. I nearly took the life of the man I love. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“Do you really?” she asked.

“Oh yes. I've known for quite some time now.” He coughed. “I didn't want to ask you to love me in return. I had already taken too much of you.”

Laughter and tears came together then and she held his head close to her, kissing him all over his face. “I was so afraid I'd lost you. So afraid I'd never be able to tell you how I feel. I can't believe I only realized it
today. But it has been there. I don't know for how long, but it's been there awhile. Loving you, and I didn't even realize.” She shook her head. “I won't waste one single day.”

He sat himself up and reached into his pocket. Then he pulled out the photograph of her mother. The frame was bent and black fogged the glass, but he wiped it on his pants leg and handed it to her. “I can deny you nothing,” he said.

“Then I shall be careful in what I ask of you.” She vaguely noticed that the authorities had arrived and already the fire brigade had begun spraying water at the building. “My papa,” she said, then turned to find him.

He stood speaking to one policeman. He wore no shirt and his face was smudged, but aside from that he seemed stable.

“He saved me,” Gareth said.

“Yes, he did. Carried you out on his shoulders. I've never seen anything like it. I always knew he was strong, but you're nearly as tall as he. And his leg is not fully healed.”

“Help me up,” Gareth said.

She did as he instructed, and together they walked to her father's side.

“I believe this is yours, sir,” Gareth said and handed the photograph to him.

Her father's eyes sparkled with tears. “You shouldn't have gone for it.”

“Papa, it's my fault. I sent him back for it. I know how much you miss her and the thought of losing this last bit, I couldn't bear it. But it nearly got both of you killed. I'm so sorry.”

“Meggie, you did what you thought was right. No
one can think straight under these circumstances. Loving her was the greatest thing I've ever done. And to know you have found that…” He put his hand over his heart. “That is the greatest gift.” He shook Gareth's hand firmly, then embraced his daughter. “Enjoy every day.”

Loving Gareth as she did put her heart in extreme danger, but it was worth the risk. Almost losing him today confirmed that. Loving him for even one day made the risk worth it.

As if hearing her thoughts, Gareth pulled her into his arms. “I love you,” he said.

“And I you, my dear husband.”

“W
e solemnly swear to unravel mysteries by ferreting out secrets at all costs,” they all said in unison.

“Now then, I believe we all agree that our attempts to entice the Jack of Hearts have thus far been futile. We must step up our efforts if we are to snare the thief,” Willow said.

“Agreed,” Meg said. It was so nice to be back to the regular aspects of life. The plans to rebuild the part of the factory lost in the fire were in full force. Gareth, her father, and she were working hand in hand on every decision. Now that the mystery of the stolen boxes had been solved, she could focus her sleuthing attention back on the Jack of Hearts.

“I must interject something first,” Amelia said. “It is simply too scrumptious to keep to myself.”

“Amelia, honestly, it wasn't—”

But Amelia did not let her finish. “Willow met Detective Sterling last evening. We had a dinner and invited both.” She closed her eyes and a full smile appeared. “But neither Colin nor I expected quite the show those two put on.”

Charlotte laughed heartily.

“You did not tell him you were the one sending him the letters, did you?” Meg asked.

Willow pursed her lips. “I could not help myself with all the boasting of his skills. He is despicable,” she muttered.

“Oh, I would have paid great money to have seen that,” Charlotte said.

“Indeed. It was not a night I will easily forget,” Amelia said.

“Nor I,” Willow said in disgust.

Meg laughed. One thing was for certain. No matter what life brought, adventure was never too far off. And the Ladies' Amateur Sleuth Society was expert at detecting it. Solving the mysteries was grand entertainment and excitement at every turn. But she never would have expected that love would be the greatest of all her adventures.