Annie's Song by catherine anderson (1)

Prologue

HOOPERVILLE, OREGON

SUNDAY, APRIL 6, 1890

When he was sober, Douglas Montgomery was bearable to be around, but when he drank, Alan Dristol was afraid of him.

Why, Alan wasn’t certain. As far as he knew, Douglas had never done anything truly vicious to anyone. But even so, Alan couldn’t shake the feeling that he might.

It was an unsettling thought because it forced Alan to examine his own character. If he didn’t like Douglas, why did he associate with him, let alone drink with him? It was a question Alan had asked himself a dozen times, and the answer, though unpleasant to admit, was that he was afraid to tell Douglas no. No—such a simple word. But saying it to someone like Douglas wasn’t simple.

Slowing his horse’s pace, Alan squinted against the bright morning sunlight to study the backs of his four companions as they rode along in front of him. Douglas Montgomery, a head taller and broader across the shoulders than the others, led the group. As though to emphasize his authority, he frequently sank spur into his gelding’s flanks and continually jerked on the poor beast’s reins. Observing the mistreatment, Alan felt a little sick. The gelding was well-behaved, and there was absolutely no need for Douglas to handle it so harshly.

Shifting his gaze, Alan observed James Radwick, Roddy Simms, and Sam Peck, the other three young men who preceded him. They had been his best friends since way back when he still wore knickers, and he felt he knew them nearly as well as he knew himself. He suspected each of them feared Douglas as much as he did. What a pitiful lot they were, forsaking everything they’d ever been taught, following along behind Douglas last night like ducklings in a queue, visiting the brothels with him, then drowning their guilt in drink, only to pay the price this morning with fierce headaches. Christ. It was Sunday. Their families would be at church right now, wondering where they were. Did none of them have a will of his own?

Wheeling his mount sideways in the road to block their way, Douglas swept off his gray felt derby and wiped the perspiration from his forehead with his sleeve. It was an uncommonly dry April; there had been little rain the last two weeks, and the road was dusty. He grimaced at the dirt that came away on his white cuff. “I say we sober up with a swim,”

he said with a challenging air. “Last one in is a mama’s boy.”

Misty Falls and their favorite swimming hole were nearby.

Scarcely able to believe he had heard correctly, Alan glanced in that direction. Douglas loved to do wild, crazy things, the more daring, the better. But coming on the heels of last night, this was too much. “A swim? Have you lost your mind? We’ll freeze our asses off.”

“Jesus, Alan, you’re such a little mollycoddle. It’s hotter than blazes out here. I’m sweating and so are you.”

“Fully clothed and dry, yes, I am sweating,” Alan conceded.

“But I won’t be if I get in that swimming hole.”

“The water in that pool is melt off from the snow in the mountains,” Roddy pointed out. “It’ll be uncomfortably cold, Douglas, without a doubt.”

“Uncomfortably cold? Are you a man, Roddy? Or a mewling girl dressed up like one?”

Roddy’s face flushed with humiliation, but he said nothing in defense of his manhood. None of them ever stood up to Douglas.

With a snort of disgust, Douglas spurred his gelding off the road and into the drainage ditch that ran alongside. Waving his derby, he let out a caterwaul as his horse sprang up the bank.

Alan looked dubiously at his three friends, knowing without asking that none of them wanted to go swimming. Sadly enough, he also knew they’d kowtow to Douglas’s whim because no one had the guts to buck him.

“Well?” Roddy said.

Sam sighed. “Sometimes I wish it was just us again, that we’d never gotten involved with him.”

“I’ll second that,” James put in.

Alan shared the sentiment, but it seemed a moot point. The fact was, Douglas had not only joined their group but had taken over. The four of them turned their horses and headed reluctantly toward the falls. As if in forewarning, the wind suddenly picked up, brisk and refreshingly cool on Alan’s face.

Against wet skin, he knew it would feel icy.

Instead of taking the trodden path, Douglas cut through the woods to reach the swimming hole, and it was rough terrain.

Madrone, laurel, stunted oak, and twisted fir tangled together like an old woman’s arthritic fingers to block the way, their stout, gnarled trunks shooting up from thick clumps of undergrowth. It was impossible to see the ground. Afraid his horse might stumble into a chuckhole and break a foreleg, Alan slowed his pace to a cautious walk. His friends, fearful of getting on Douglas’s bad side if they dallied, made no such concession. The cost of a ruined horse aside, Alan felt they showed no humane regard for their mounts by pushing them across such uneven ground. But he was only a follower, not the leader. Whatever Douglas insisted upon, the others did, no questions asked, their horses and everything else be damned.

Arriving last, Alan heard the voices of his four companions drifting back to him through the pine and fir trees. Whoops and hollers. Despite his resentment of Douglas, he smiled, imagining Sam, Roddy, and James leaping naked into the freezing water. Crazy fools. They’d get pneumonia for this day’s work, and all only to humor Montgomery. Blast the Montgomerys. Blast their fancy house up on the hill. Blast their money. Sometimes Alan wondered if their self-appointed leader didn’t come up with these outlandish suggestions just to see how far he could push them.

Breaking through the trees at last, Alan was surprised to note that no one had entered the water yet. He cupped a hand over his eyes to see what all the commotion was about and determined that there were five figures near the swimming hole, his four companions and a slightly built girl. Douglas had taken possession of the girl’s shawl and was holding it beyond her reach. Typical. Any time Douglas got a chance to bully someone, he took it. Though it disturbed Alan, he supposed the teasing was harmless enough.

Then he recognized the girl. Annie Trimble, the town moron.

Though nearly twenty and well past girlhood, she cut a childish and pathetic figure in her shapeless blue frock, black stockings, and high-button shoes smudged with dirt. Because his mother was a frequent visitor to the Trimble home, Alan knew that Edie Trimble tried to keep her daughter tidy, but Annie ran wild in the woods so much it was an impossible task.

His heart caught at the panicked expression on her small face as she grabbed wildly to reclaim possession of her shawl.

Because Annie frequently forgot articles of clothing in the woods, her folks were strict with her about bringing her things home. Alan knew she’d get a scolding, or worse, if she went back to the house without her wrap. Her father, the judge, didn’t believe in sparing the rod, and, given Annie’s affliction, he used a firmer hand with her than he ever had with his three older daughters.

Alan didn’t fault the judge for that or think him cruel. A girl of Annie’s limited intelligence was difficult to control, and her parents were to be commended for keeping her at home. Most people would have committed a child like Annie to an asylum.

If not for the fact that the Trimbles managed to keep the girl pretty much out of sight when they had callers, they might have been ostracized by polite society. A good many individuals found someone like Annie off-putting. Despite that, Annie’s parents had not institutionalized her, choosing instead to keep her existence obscure.

Why the Trimbles bothered, Alan couldn’t say. Money was certainly no object; they could easily afford to foster the girl out, and given the judge’s political aspirations, it was a wonder they hadn’t done just that. Though it was a well-known fact that Annie had been of normal intelligence until a childhood fever affected her mind, there were still those individuals in town who whispered behind the Trimbles’

backs, claiming one of Edie Trimble’s uncles was mad and that mental imbalance ran in their family. Talk like that could destroy a politician’s credibility.

Damn it. Douglas had to know Annie didn’t understand he was only playing with her. That was evident in her frantic attempts to reclaim possession of the shawl. The poor creature was several bricks shy of a full load, and anyone could see it.

The bewildered expression in her large blue eyes was a dead giveaway, not to mention the odd way she tipped her head whenever Douglas spoke to her. She clearly didn’t grasp anything he said.

“Haven’t we outgrown this sort of behavior?” Alan called out. “Come on, Douglas. Leave the poor girl alone.”

“Saint Alan speaks,” Douglas retorted. “As if you’ve never made sport of her?”

He had Alan there. “We’ve all been guilty of tormenting Annie a time or two, but that was when we were kids. Grown men don’t do such things.”

“Yeah. Come on, Douglas,” Roddy cajoled. “Leave her be.”

Douglas didn’t appear to be listening. Leaning forward, he grinned broadly at Annie and dangled her shawl just beyond her grasp. “You want it, sweet thing? Come and get it, then.”

As he lured her ever closer, Douglas swept his gaze over Annie’s frock, which was damp, probably from the waterfall farther upstream. Everyone who lived in and around Hooperville knew that Annie had a penchant for lounging about on the rocks surrounding the falls. Why, God only knew.

The continual mist that rose off the cascading water was icy cold, but it didn’t seem to discourage her, no matter the weather.

The wet cloth of Annie’s dress, soft from many washings, clung to her body, revealing far more than it concealed. The feminine curves beneath were delightfully ample and unfettered. Smelling trouble, Alan swung down from his horse.

Surely Douglas couldn’t be thinking what Alan feared he might be. To even entertain the notion was unconscionable.

But, then, who had ever claimed Douglas had a conscience?

To look at Douglas, one would think him to be a nice young man with his neatly trimmed, tawny hair and laughing brown eyes. He had everything going for him, money, privilege, and an impressive education from an exclusive eastern college.

But all of that wasn’t enough, not for him, and it probably never would be. There seemed to be a need within him for power, a need to control others. That need had long since manifested itself with Alan and his friends and was now being unleashed on Annie.

Only Annie wasn’t capable of fighting back.

Alan took one look into her bewildered blue eyes and turned on Douglas. “Damn you! She isn’t right in her mind, Douglas, and you know it. Pick on somebody who can give back as good as she gets.”

“Her mind may be tetched, but the rest of her is in fine form,” Douglas countered. “Holy revelations, I can see her titties plain as day.” Giving a low whistle that boded ill for Annie, he added, “Makes my mouth water just looking at

‘em.”

Alan turned to his friends for help. Hands buried in his pockets, Sam bent his head and shuffled the toe of one boot in the reddish dirt, as if he thought ignoring the situation would make it disappear. Roddy snickered, and James’s ruddy face had turned scarlet. Despite their embarrassment, neither seemed able to drag his gaze from Annie’s bodice. Reluctantly, Alan took a quick look himself. It was true that her nipples stood out in sharp relief. To make matters worse, her skirt clung to her thighs. Disgusted with himself for even noticing, Alan tore his gaze from the forbidden. Like a cold fist, fear for Annie clenched his guts.

“Your mama’s crazy, girl, for letting you traipse all over the countryside half-dressed,” Douglas said softly, still dangling the shawl as bait.

“Mentally she’s still a child, and not a very bright one at that,” Alan reminded him in a voice gone high-pitched with anxiety. “I’m sure her mother dresses her that way because she runs about in the woods so much. She trusts in the common decency of anyone who may encounter her, and rightly so. She isn’t fair game, Douglas, and you know it. Give the girl her shawl and let her go home.”

“I’ll give it to her,” Douglas assured him. “All she has to do is come and get it. Come on, love. Come and see Douglas.”

Clearly oblivious of the carnal bent of her tormentor’s thoughts, Annie lunged for the garment. The instant she came within his reach, Douglas caught her around the waist. She didn’t scream, but the terrified little panting sounds she made seemed even worse. Alan’s stomach lurched. He didn’t like this. He didn’t like it at all. The expression on Douglas’s face was evil. Evil and cruel. His whiskey-colored eyes gleamed with unholy excitement.

Alan stepped forward. “Let the girl go, Douglas. I mean it.”

“Girl?” His prey ensnared, Douglas discarded the shawl to press his hand over Annie’s well-rounded posterior. Judging by the way his fingers sank in, the bite of his grip was deliberately cruel. “You’re blind, my friend. No girl this, but a woman fully grown.”

With a low laugh, he tried to steal a kiss. Shoving ineffectually at his shoulders, Annie, her sable hair hanging in silken tangles down her slender back, her eyes clouded with confusion, managed to arch her back and avoid his mouth.

Douglas settled for nibbling along the column of her throat.

“Damn, she’s sweet,” he murmured as he claimed a handful of breast with the same biting grip he had used on her backside.

Rage surged through Alan. He’d be damned if he’d stand aside and watch the girl be hurt. This had gone far enough. He curled a hand over Douglas’s well-muscled arm. “I said let her—”

Whatever else Alan meant to say was cut short by the flash of a knife. He stared in mute astonishment as Douglas released Annie to assume a fighting stance and threaten him with the weapon, which seemed to have come out of nowhere.

“Don’t you ever interfere with me,” Douglas warned with deceptive softness.

Alan’s knees nearly buckled at the thought of that blade ripping open his middle. His only consolation was that in his anger, Douglas seemed to have forgotten Annie. Alan wanted to yell at her to run but knew that if he did, Douglas would remember what he had been about and grab her. He could only hope Annie had enough sense to flee of her own accord.

“Come on, Douglas. You’re drunk,” Alan observed shakily.

Run, Annie. Get the hell out of here! Alan felt sweat trickling down his spine. From the corner of his eye, he saw Annie casting about frantically for her wrap. Her breath came in shallow little pants, the sounds like those of a mewling kitten. She was obviously afraid and wanted to get away. But she wasn’t about to leave without her shawl. With a sinking sensation, Alan realized that, to her, the wrap was of utmost importance. If she returned home without it, her father would punish her. The poor thing didn’t comprehend the extent of the danger she was in. No surprise, that. He doubted any other man had ever even looked at her lustfully, let alone laid hands on her. She couldn’t anticipate something beyond her experience. In that moment, Alan’s definition of the word innocence took on new meaning, Annie its epitome.

Fixing his attention on Douglas, Alan decided to try to reason with him. If nothing else, he might at least gain some time for Annie. “Just calm down, Douglas. You don’t want to run afoul of the law, do you? Mess with an idiot girl, and you sure as hell will. She’s old Judge Trimble’s daughter, for Christ’s sake. Retired or no, he’ll see you hang by your balls from the flagpole on Main if you touch her.”

“How will he know? She can’t tell, remember?”

Because it was inarguably true, the observation made Alan’s blood run cold. Annie couldn’t talk. Even if she recognized them, she probably didn’t know their names and couldn’t repeat them if she did. He dared a quick glance in her direction and saw her tugging to free her shawl from an exposed tree root. Jesus. Her parents had trained her well. So well that she was prepared to risk her hide rather than leave that worthless length of wool behind. Alan knew Annie had borne the brunt of cruel teasing for most of her life. She had no way of knowing this time was different, that Douglas had more on his mind than simply tormenting her. Far more.

James, who’d lowered himself onto a fallen log, rose to a half crouch, his gray eyes filled with incredulity, whether at the knife or at Douglas’s lurid suggestion, Alan wasn’t certain.

“Surely you aren’t serious, Douglas,” James cried. “Whether she can tell or not, there’s the moral aspect to consider.”

“What moral aspect?” Douglas laughed. “You four are such namby-pambies. I don’t know why I waste my time with any of you. She’s probably hungry for it. Hell, she’s eighteen or nineteen if she’s a day. Most girls her age are already married and have a child or two. This may be her one big chance to have some fun.”

Fun. The word hung in the air, ugly and discordant. Alan prayed he could hold Douglas’s attention, if only for a moment. Behind him, Annie had finally tugged her shawl free.

As if he had eyes in the back of his head, Douglas reached back and caught her wrist as she turned to flee. She staggered under the force of his grip. When she saw the knife he wielded, her face drained of color. Alan guessed it had finally sunk into her dim little mind that Douglas might be truly dangerous.

Punctuating his warning to Alan with the sharp tip of his knife, Douglas asked, “Any of you want to take me on? If so, make like a frog, and hop on it.”

None of them was that foolish. Douglas was capable of killing. The glint in his eyes testified to that. He continued to wave the knife, his cold smile promising reprisal should any of them challenge him. When he was satisfied no one had the courage to do so, he returned the blade to its sheath on his belt and fixed his attention on Annie. She twisted helplessly, prying at his fingers to loosen his grip.

“You can’t do this,” Alan cried.

“Who’s going to stop me?”

Not Annie, certainly. She was a slightly built girl, Douglas a strapping six feet plus. With an agile twist of his body, he threw her to the ground, pushed up her skirts, and raped her as effortlessly as he might have a child.

One

Holding a lantern high to light his way, Alex Montgomery strode briskly along the alley that led through the stable. The pungent odor of fresh manure blended with the dusty smell of alfalfa hay to lay heavily on the crisp night air. Nickers of welcome drifted to him from the shadowy stalls. Under other circumstances, Alex might have stopped, but he didn’t have the time or inclination to hand out sugar lumps to the horses tonight.

Jerky splashes of golden light from the lantern and the quick motions of his shadow playing across the plank walls indicated the depth of his anger. Grinding his back teeth to keep from roaring, he reached the end of the corridor and kicked open the planked door to the tack room. As he hoped, his brother Douglas lay sprawled on a pile of scattered straw along one wall, one of his favorite places to sleep off a drinking binge.

Swallowing before he spoke to control the anger in his voice, Alex said, “Wake up, little brother. We need to talk.”

A whiskey jug in one hand, the other shading his eyes, the boy groaned and rolled over, presenting Alex with his back.

“Go ‘way. It’s the middle of the night.”

Seven in the evening could scarcely be termed the middle of the night, and observing Douglas with the whiskey jug reminded Alex that it was high time he stopped thinking of his twenty-year-old brother as a boy.

“Wake up, I said.” Alex moved farther into the room and hung the lantern from a rafter hook. “There has been a very serious accusation lodged against you, young man, and I want to get to the bottom of it.”

Douglas groaned again. “Can’t we discuss it later?”

Planting his hands on his hips, Alex spread his jean-clad legs and jutted his chin. “Old Judge Trimble just paid me a visit. His daughter Annie has been raped, and Alan Dristol claims it was you who did it.”

That seemed to get Douglas’s attention, and he flopped onto his back to peer out from under his cupped fingers. Hope filled Alex. Lies, it was all lies. A horrible misunderstanding that could be cleared up with a few words from his brother. No Montgomery man would ever stoop so low as to force his attentions on a female, let alone one as helpless as Annie Trimble. Besides, why would Douglas bother? He was a handsome young man from an affluent family. Nearly every girl in town vied for his favor.

Douglas blinked as though trying to assimilate what had been said. “Alan claims what?” After a moment, he drew back his lips in a sneer. “That traitorous little bastard. Just wait till I get my hands on him.”

Like wet, icy fingers, the words snuffed out Alex’s last spark of hope. For a moment, he simply stood there, mired in disbelief. There wasn’t a trace of pity for Annie Trimble in Douglas’s voice, nor had he denied the accusation.

Dust from the straw floated up to sting Alex’s nostrils. A searing sensation washed over his eyes. “Tell me you didn’t do it, for God’s sake,” he demanded hoarsely. Even as he spoke, he heard the ring of desperation in his tone.

“I didn’t do it. Now, then, can the rest of this discussion wait until morning?”

“No, it damned well can’t.” Alex stepped closer, his body taut, his temples suddenly throbbing. “A girl has been raped.

How can that possibly be left until morning? Old Judge Trimble is beside himself, and who can blame him? I want the truth, Douglas, and I want it now. What in heaven’s name happened? Why would Alan say such a thing?”

“Because he’s a chicken-livered little turncoat, that’s why. I had too much to drink and things got out of hand. That’s all.”

“That’s all?” It seemed to Alex that the lantern light pulsated, glowing brightly one second, dimming slightly the next. “Dear God, Douglas, the girl has been violated.”

“It’s not like I did her any permanent harm.”

Permanent harm? “We’re discussing a rape, for Christ’s sake.”

“Rape.” Douglas huffed under his breath as though the charge was preposterous. “By definition, rape occurs when a man forces his unwanted attentions on a female. Annie Trimble got exactly what she’s been angling for.”

“What?”

“Only look at how she dresses and comports herself!

Wearing naught but a thin camisole and bloomers under her dress, no corset or petticoats to conceal her shape. Flitting about like a wood nymph, unchaperoned! She’s been issuing an invitation to every man in Hooper County since she first developed bubbies. What’s a fellow to do, pretend he’s stone-blind? I was drunk, I tell you. A man can only withstand so much temptation. Her mother should know better than to let her run around dressed like that with no one to attend her.”

“My God,” Alex whispered. “You did it, didn’t you? You raped that poor girl.”

His jaw muscle ticking, Douglas angled his forearm over his golden-brown eyes. “You’re such a bleeding heart, Alex.

Annie Trimble’s brains may be baked, but she’s right as rain from the neck down. She wanted it as much as I did. And even if she didn’t, what does it matter? She can’t remember her own name, let alone what happened to her five minutes ago. The way you’re acting, you’d think I diddled Amy Widlow, the preacher’s daughter.”

“Amy Widlow, Annie Trimble, wherein lies the difference?

Rape is rape.”

Once again, Douglas gave a derisive snort. An unholy urge came over Alex to jerk him up from his bed of straw and shake him sober. Instead he simply stared, praying this was a bad dream. Douglas had always been a hellion, but for all his unruliness, he had never done anyone serious harm. Because he hadn’t, Alex had fooled himself into believing he never would. He’ll grow out of it, Alex had assured himself time and again. He’s just high-spirited. Now Alex knew better. No matter what his age, a man either had the ability to feel compassion or didn’t. It wasn’t something that could be taught.

What burdened Alex the most was that he might have saved Annie Trimble this heartbreak if only he had opened his eyes sooner; if he hadn’t refused to accept the glaring truth, that Douglas was no damned good and never would be.

Folks in Hooperville claimed Alex and his brother were almost exact lookalikes. It was a resemblance Alex had always taken pride in. Now all he wanted to do was note the differences between them and shout to the world that they were only half brothers, sired by Bartholomew Montgomery but born of different mothers. Alex’s own mother, Sarah, had died of food poisoning shortly after Alex’s third birthday. As a renowned breeder of thoroughbred horses, Alex had always placed a lot of stock in bloodlines and grasped at that now as an excuse, assuring himself that Douglas must have inherited a bad strain from Alicia, Alex’s stepmother.

The bitter taste of shame rose up his throat. Rape. It was an ugly word, and one that he had never dreamed might be connected to him. His own brother? He couldn’t credit it, yet there Douglas lay, his every action testimony to his guilt.

“How could you?” Alex drove shaking fingers into his hair, started to pace, and then swung back around to stare. “What kind of monster are you? To harm a helpless little girl like Annie Trimble?”

“She isn’t a little girl.” Gingerly touching a scratch along his neck, which Alex had failed to notice until now, Douglas added, “And not helpless, either.”

Alex dropped his arms to his sides and knotted his hands into throbbing fists. “Yet you claim you didn’t force her?

From the looks of that scratch, I’d say she fought you with all her might.”

Giving his head a shake as if to clear it, Douglas pushed to a sitting position, yawned lazily, and draped his arms over his bent knees. His white dress shirt was smeared with reddish dirt.

Like most of the earth in the foothills around Hooperville, the earth near Misty Falls was a rust-red clay. Alex felt sick. And defeated. Since the accidental deaths of his father and stepmother fourteen years ago, for which he had always blamed himself, he had done everything he knew to atone for the loss and give his little brother a decent upbringing, to instill in him the values and morals that their sire would have taught him had he lived. His efforts had gone for naught.

Under that handsome exterior, Douglas was as rotten as a week-old string of fish, and nothing Alex ever did was going to change him.

“What a miserable excuse for a man you’ve turned out to be,” Alex whispered. “Thank God our father isn’t alive to see it.”

Narrowing his eyes against the light, Douglas met Alex’s accusing gaze. “Would you listen to yourself? Annie Trimble is a moron, for Christ’s sake. So I had a little fun. You can bet she doesn’t even remember it now. I don’t see what the big fuss is about.”

Alex didn’t feel himself move. The next thing he knew, he had his brother by the throat and pinned against the wall.

Though tall and well-developed, Douglas had never turned his hand to an honest day’s work. His frantic efforts to dislodge Alex’s grip were in vain. His face went from breathless red to purple before Alex realized what he was doing and relaxed his stranglehold.

“God help me, I could throttle you. My own flesh and blood, and I could kill you without a second’s hesitation.”

Douglas squirmed between Alex’s work-hardened body and the rough planks of the wall, his thighs hugging Alex’s knee where it was lodged threateningly against his groin.

“You’re crazy!” Douglas croaked.

Wanting to do far worse but holding himself in check, Alex settled for giving his brother a hard shove. Douglas’s shoulders hit the wood with a jarring impact. Whiskey breath gone sour from sleep blasted Alex in the face and drove home the point that this young man, whom he’d loved so dearly and singularly, had become a rowdy, conscienceless drunk. “Not crazy, Douglas. The way I see it, I’ve just regained my sanity.

I’ve made excuses for you and bailed you out of trouble all your life. But not this time. If they hang you for this, I’ll be in the crowd to watch the trap fall.”

“I just had a little fun, I tell you.”

“At poor Annie’s expense.”

Alex released his brother as though the touch of him was contaminating. Never had he come so close to killing a man.

Though he had glimpsed Annie Trimble only a few times and always from a distance, he kept picturing her, small and fragilely built, a fey, harmless creature who frequented the surrounding forests, more shadow than substance, always skittering into the trees to hide when she encountered strangers.

How must her parents be feeling tonight, knowing that she had been so cruelly attacked? And not by just anyone, but by Douglas Montgomery, whose brother’s wealth had always made him invulnerable to the law.

Oh, yes. Alex had become adept at doling out bribes. Over the years, he had learned that nearly anyone could be bought if the offer was substantial enough, and he had gotten Douglas’s ass out of a sling more than once by crossing palms with money. But not this time. This time Douglas had gone beyond the boundaries of decency. His offense was one that not even Alex could excuse, the brutal rape of a girl who couldn’t even comprehend the meaning of the word.

The rage within Alex was frightening in its intensity, and he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that if Douglas didn’t get the hell away from him, his life would be forfeit.

“Get out,” he said softly. “Go to the house, get some money from the safe and what clothing you want. Then get out. If I ever lay eyes on you again, I won’t be responsible for my actions.”

“Out?” Douglas echoed. “You’re kicking me out of the house? Don’t be absurd, Alex. I’m your brother.”

His brother. Alex gazed at Douglas’s sharply chiseled features, so very like his own, at his tawny hair and burnished skin, at the broad set of his shoulders. How could two people be so much alike on the outside and so wholly different within?

“I don’t have a brother,” Alex said succinctly. “As of now, my brother is dead to me. Get out of my sight before I make that sentiment a reality.”

For the first time in Alex’s memory, Douglas’s cocky attitude deserted him. His face twisted with an emotion that could only be panic. “You don’t mean it.” He pushed from the wall and shrugged to straighten his shirt. “Where will I go?

What will I do?”

“I don’t care.”

“But I—” Douglas broke off and gave a shaky laugh.

“Come on, Alex. Give me a chance to make things right.

Everybody gets a second chance.”

“You’re out of chances.”

Slack-jawed, Douglas just stood there gaping. “For Christ’s sake. Take away my allowance for a month! Confine me to the house! Do anything you want, but don’t kick me out.”

“Those are punishments for children, Douglas,” Alex said tiredly. “You didn’t take a club to some farmer’s pumpkin patch this time or set fire to an outbuilding.” In a twinkling, Alex recalled the many pranks his brother had perpetrated over the years, most of them harmless but always with an underlying viciousness he had refused to recognize.

Kerosene-soaked sacks of shit placed on people’s front porches and set aflame so the unsuspecting inhabitants would run outside to stomp out the fire. Outhouses moved after dark to sit directly behind their sewage pits so visitors would step off into the putrid sludge. Harmless pranks, Alex had always told himself, but in truth, he had known differently. “The damage you wrought today can’t be recompensed with money, Douglas. Can’t you comprehend that?”

The muscles around his brother’s mouth began to twitch.

“But it can be fixed.” He lifted his hands in supplication.

Yesterday, Alex might have pitied him, but now he felt nothing. Absolutely nothing. “To make things right, I’ll even marry the little idiot, Alex. Just say the word.”

“Marry her? I wouldn’t wish that fate on a dog, let alone a retarded girl.”

With that, Alex spun and left the tack room. As he gained the alley, he paused only long enough to say, “If you’re not out of here before I return from the Trimbles’ house, I’ll hand you over to the law myself.”

“The Trimbles’ house? Why in hell are you going there?’’

Why, indeed. “To try and make amends,” Alex said softly,

“though God only knows how. Being a Montgomery doesn’t give you license to destroy other people’s lives, Douglas.

You’re finished in these parts. Clear out before they set the hounds on you.”

The lee of the high porch steps protecting her from the chilly night breeze, Annie huddled behind the holly bush, her back pressed firmly against the brick foundation of the house. Safe here. No one could sneak up on her from behind. Hands couldn’t grab her unexpectedly. The only way anyone could approach her was from the front.

She tried to see through scalding tears as she scrubbed compulsively at her legs with the hem of her white nightgown.

Dirty, sticky, ugly. She couldn’t bear to have anyone look at her, not her mother with that aching sadness in her eyes, or her father with that burning anger. She had done nothing wrong, nothing. Yet the way they stared at her made her feel as though she had. Here, in the darkness, she didn’t have to endure the accusing expressions on their faces. She took a shuddering breath and held it trapped at the base of her throat to prevent herself from sobbing.

The branches of the holly bush swayed in the breeze. The muscles in Annie’s arms and back twitched and knotted with relentless tension. Moonlight frosted the front yard with silver, lending the shadows eerie outlines and making the harmless seem threatening. When the airless pounding inside her head finally forced her to breathe, she did so with a frantic gulp to swallow back any sound she might accidentally make.

Someone might hear, and then Papa would come with the strap to make her be quiet. Her whole body already ached. She didn’t think she could bear to get a licking, not tonight.

Even the air around Annie seemed filled with menace.

Though she knew it was silly, she kept looking up, half afraid the bad man who had hurt her might swoop down from out of nowhere. That was how it had seemed to happen this morning.

She had stopped to gaze at her reflection in the water, and suddenly his face had appeared beside hers.

She should have left her shawl and run. She realized that now. Stupid, stupid Annie. Perhaps that was why her parents looked at her the way they did. They were angry because she had lingered there to fetch her wrap. At the time, that had seemed the thing to do. Alan had been there, after all. Because his mama visited hers all the time, she had felt safe. There had been no reason not to. People tormented her a lot, but no one had ever really hurt her.

Not until this morning.

Sinking her teeth into her bottom lip, Annie trembled at the remembered pain. That man. She had seen him before. He lived in a house even bigger than hers, the one on the hill with all the horses in its fields. From a distance, she had seen him out riding. He didn’t look mean. She’d had no reason to think he might hurt her.

He could be out there in the darkness somewhere. Annie yearned to close her eyes against the memories that swamped her, but she didn’t dare. Her eyes were her only defense.

Why had he hurt her like that? The question had bedeviled her all day and evening, and there was no answer for it. She had done nothing wrong, nothing to make him mad at her. She remembered the glitter in his eyes. Pretty eyes, the color of Mama’s Christmas toffee. He had laughed as he hurt her.

Annie didn’t think she’d ever be able to get the pictures out of her mind.

She locked her arms around her bent knees. Her stomach ached, and she felt raw and torn inside. Though Mama had helped her bathe away the stickiness, she still felt so dirty, as if his touch had left a stain that could never be washed away.

When she thought of the things he’d done to her, she wanted to vomit.

A movement in the darkness caught Annie’s attention. She leaned forward to peer through the prickly leaves. The shadowy figure of a man on horseback was coming up the driveway. As he drew nearer, a litany resounded inside her head. Don’t let it be him. Please, God. Please, please, please.

She tried frantically to recall the words to the prayers her mother had taught her when she was little, but they all jumbled in her mind. As if prayers would help. They hadn’t this morning.

The man drew his horse to a stop near the hitching rail and swung from the saddle, the toe of one suede boot gaining purchase on the ground as he caught his balance and drew his left foot from the stirrup. Dressed in tan corduroy knee breeches and a gray serge suit coat, his face concealed by the brim of a matching felt fedora, he wasn’t immediately identifiable. Tall and heavily muscled across the shoulders, he had a similar build to that of the man who had hurt her but was outfitted much more casually. The cuffs of his knee breeches were red-plaid flannel, the black stockings that skimmed his muscular calves were common ribbed cotton.

He looped his horse’s reins over the rail and swatted away the horsehair that clung to his pant legs as he strode toward the porch. At the bottom step, he paused. Annie saw his chest expand as he drew a deep breath and straightened his shoulders, a gesture that hinted at nervousness. Then he swept off his hat.

The tawny glint of his hair in the moonlight was unmistakable. Panic chased all rational thought from her mind.

One look at that face, which would haunt her nightmares for years to come, and Annie forgot all her well-conceived plans to remain hidden with her back protected on all sides. It was he! She had to get away. But if she moved, she was afraid he might see her.

As though he sensed her eyes on him, he squinted against the light that spilled out the windows and across the porch. His toffee-colored gaze routed through the darkness that shrouded her, and he leaned forward slightly to peer through the holly leaves. His face was partially in shadow, and when he spoke, Annie had difficulty making out the words. As if he realized she didn’t understand, he inched closer and repeated himself.

With his movement, light from the house played across his face so she could see his lips.

“Hello, there.”

Hello, there? After what he had done to her, Annie could scarcely believe he was greeting her as if nothing had happened. Remembering how quickly he could move and the punishing grip of his hands, she was terrified that he might grab her again. She made fists in the dirt and dug in with her heels to crab-walk sideways. The silence that pressed against her ears became a soundless drumbeat as he reached to part the branches that formed a bower around her.

No, no, no. Annie could almost feel his weight crushing the breath from her. The bruises he’d left on her body throbbed as her pulse picked up and sent a rush of blood to the surface of her skin. She shook her head in denial as the claw of his huge hand reached toward her.

Scrambling madly along the brick foundation of the house, she ignored the tearing of her flesh where the holly pierced her nightgown. Twisting onto her hands and knees, she butted her way through a section of rose bushes, not caring that the thorns grabbed her by the hair. She had to get away before he caught her and hurt her again.

Two

e shrubbery for another glimpse of the girl, Alex remained frozen, one foot resting on the bottom step of the Trimbles’ porch. The thickness of the greenery foiled him.

A soft panting sound drifted to him, and the bushes swayed.

Leaning his weight backward, he saw a flash of white. The next second, she burst from the foliage, her slender shape seemingly afloat on a cloud of zephyr.

“I won’t hurt you, Annie! Don’t be afraid.” Before his words could die away, she had disappeared into a thick stand of trees that bordered the yard. “Damn.”

Convinced that it wasn’t safe for her to be alone out in the woods at night, Alex nearly went after her. Then he thought better of it. She clearly believed him to be Douglas, and her terror of him would lend her speed. Even if he could catch her, he doubted he could make her understand that he meant her no harm. Poor little thing. Her lot in life had been cross enough to bear without Douglas adding to her woes. Alex didn’t want to compound her troubles by scaring her half to death. She probably couldn’t comprehend what had happened to her today or understand that it was unlikely to occur again.

He shook his head and continued up the steps. Dear God.

Just the thought that the poor little creature believed he was her rapist made Alex want to rush back home and give Douglas the beating of his young life. The unleashed anger made him rap his fist against the Trimbles’ door with more force than he might have otherwise. Blood was thicker than water, and for that reason Alex didn’t want to see his brother dancing at the end of a rope. But, on the other hand, if Douglas was caught, he had whatever he got coming to him, in spades.

Edie Trimble, the judge’s wife, answered Alex’s knock. He was mildly surprised not to be let in by a servant, but then he realized tonight was extraordinary for this family, a time for discretion and hushed whispers. Having a mentally retarded child was undoubtedly difficult enough. If word got out that the girl had been raped, the gossips would never let the Trimbles hear the end of it. The staff had undoubtedly been given the evening off to make sure that didn’t occur.

Alex thought it was a pity that the Trimbles had to be concerned with such matters at a time like this. But he couldn’t really blame them, either. As accepting as the majority of people were of handicaps, there were always those few narrow-minded individuals. Even though Annie was never taken to town and her parents reputedly kept her out of sight when they had callers, Alex had heard that Edie had still been snubbed more than once by other ladies of her station because of her daughter. Rumor also had it that the Trimbles’ other three daughters visited home infrequently, not because of the distance, as the Trimbles maintained, but because their husbands felt uncomfortable being around Annie.

Though impeccably turned out in a green alpaca shirtwaist, her graying sable hair swept up and twisted into a tidy knot atop her head, Edie looked exhausted. Her blue eyes were puffy from weeping, and her delicately sculpted face was pale, the skin drawn tautly across her high cheekbones, her finely drawn mouth pursed and bracketed by deep crevices. She was startled to see him but managed to hide it fairly well, the only telltale sign a nervous plucking of her fingers at her skirt.

“Mr. Montgomery.” She inclined her head as she addressed him, her manner stiff and formal. “To what do we owe this ...

honor?’’

That last word sounded as though it nearly gagged her to utter it. Not that he blamed her. The Montgomerys couldn’t be at the top of her list right now. He imagined it was her fondest wish to claw his eyes out. If Annie were his daughter, that was how he’d feel. Enraged. Violent. Wanting his pound of flesh.

“I came to speak with your husband,” Alex managed. “I trust he’s at home?”

She nodded and opened the door more widely, beckoning him into the foyer, albeit with obvious reluctance. Feeling like a weevil in the flour sack, Alex turned his hat in his hands, wishing to God he were anywhere but there. What did one say to the parents of a girl his brother had violated? I’ve come to make amends? As if he could. An apology wouldn’t begin to undo the damage that had been wrought. He’d felt ashamed a few times in his life, but this took the prize.

Usually self-assured and oblivious to what others might think of him, Alex regarded the fine cut of Edie Trimble’s gown and found himself wishing he had taken the time to dress a bit more formally. Bad enough to be the brother of a rapist without appearing tasteless, to boot.

Ah, well. It was too late now. Though blessed with substantial amounts of money and a home that could encompass this one on its first floor, Alex spent most of his time with the hired hands, working his horses or the fields.

When he socialized, which was rarely, he preferred the company of common people who eked their livings from the soil. Unless he planned a trip to town, he usually dressed in blue denims and a sensible shirt, collar open, sleeves rolled back to the elbows. Before coming here, he had washed up, shaved, thrown on knee breeches, and a suit jacket, and called himself presentable. With all else that had been on his mind, he’d forgotten that Trimble was a man who placed a lot of importance on appearances. After having been a judge for over thirty years, he didn’t even keep livestock on his place, let alone stoop to getting his hands dirty.

“The judge is in his study,” Mrs. Trimble informed him, her manner faultlessly gracious but frosty.

Acutely aware that she hadn’t offered to take his hat, Alex followed her from the foyer into a long, door-lined hallway.

Halfway down the corridor, she paused and tapped lightly on gleaming oak. “Judge? You have a caller.”

An indiscernible grumble came from within. Mrs. Trimble opened the door and moved back to let Alex enter. As he stepped into the room, some of his tension eased. It was a study very like his own, with large, comfortably stuffed chairs positioned strategically around colorful tapestry rugs. A room where a man could relax and feel at home. Leather-bound books lined gleaming oak shelves along three walls, the fourth boasting a river-rock fireplace. Firelight flickered cheerily in the grate, the only other illumination that of two gas jets above the mantel.

The judge sat behind his desk, his white court shirt rumpled, the collar open, his crimson tie loosened. A tendril of smoke drifted up from an ashtray near his elbow, the smell of it sharp.

Alex settled his gaze on the cigar. Even after fourteen years, just the sight of one made him think of his father and filled him with sadness.

“Alex,” Trimble said wearily. “I take it you’ve spoken with your brother?”

It didn’t take clairvoyance to realize the judge expected him to launch into a tirade, denying Douglas’s involvement in the attack on his daughter. Alex only wished that were the case.

“Yes.” Gazing at the books along one wall, he tried to make out the titles. The gold lettering blurred and danced in his vision, as jumbled as his thoughts. He didn’t know where to start, or what to say. “I, um...” He swallowed and scrubbed his mouth with the back of his hand. Then he slapped his pant leg with his hat. “Douglas did it,” he finally blurted. “I’ve come to offer my abject apologies for the injury he has done your daughter and make amends in any way I possibly can.”

In response to that, the judge said nothing.

Alex rushed on. “If you intend to prosecute, I won’t stand in your way. But you’d better be quick about notifying the sheriff.

I’ve kicked my brother out of the house, and he’s probably hightailing it for parts unknown about now.”

Resting both elbows on his desk blotter, the judge rubbed at his temples. “Prosecute?” He gave a bitter laugh. “Ah, yes, one would think so. It seems the natural thing to do, doesn’t it?

But in situations like this, matters of right and wrong become blurred.” At that admission, he laughed again, but there was no humor in the sound. “A judge for over half my life, and for the first time in my memory, there seems to be a very wide area of gray between the black and white.”

The pain in the judge’s voice made Alex fix his gaze on the floor. Safe territory, that. No accusing eyes stared back at him.

He could think of nothing he might say, so he took refuge in silence.

Finally, the judge resumed speaking. “I appreciate your offer not to interfere. He is your brother, after all. But I’m not sure restraint on your part will prove necessary.”

Forcing himself to look up, Alex said, “I’m afraid I don’t follow you.”

Trimble lowered his hands and met Alex’s gaze. “I know it may sound heartless, but there is far more to be considered here than the injury done to Annie.” The judge shoved back his chair and came to his feet. For a man of small stature, he had a large presence, his eyes a piercing sapphire-blue, his features a striking blend of character and strength. Alex had always admired him and applauded the fairness of his decisions on the bench. He was a hard man, but just, a person people instinctively trusted.

“Scandal, Alex, a politician’s nightmare,” he said softly. “If what happened today gets out, the backlash could be extreme.”

Looking a little shamefaced, he shoved his hands deep into his trouser pockets and studied the toes of his highly polished black shoes. “Not just to Annie, but to me and the rest of my family.”

Alex was still confused but refrained from saying so.

With a sigh, the older man took a turn before the crackling fire, his gaze fixed on the stone hearth, his manner dejected.

“Douglas should be hanged for what he did to my little girl today. There’s no question in my mind about that. But to what gain? Annie has been violated, and I can’t undo that. For that reason, I’m inclined to do nothing. As I’m sure you know, I’ve retired from the bench to try my luck at local politics and possibly go on from there to serve in some capacity at a state level. A scandal of any sort could ruin me.”

It seemed to Alex that the scandal would besmirch the Montgomery name, not Trimble’s. “Your daughter has been raped. You can’t be blamed for that or in any way held accountable. If anything, public sympathy will be aroused.”

“Ordinarily, yes. But our Annie isn’t normal. She’s fetched, no question about it, an affliction brought on by a high fever in early childhood. Unfortunately, people being given to gossip as they are, there have been those who have speculated about her idiocy, hinting that it could be inherited.” He pinned Alex with a direct, intense gaze. “How many mad politicians have you voted for recently?’’

There was nothing Alex could say to that. No one could question the judge’s sanity, but if gossips painted him as having madness in his family, the voters’ faith in him might be shaken. All it would take to ruin his chances at the polls was a seed of doubt.

“We’ve kept Annie out of sight as much as possible so folks won’t talk. If Douglas’s attack on her is made public, all our efforts to keep her out of the limelight will have gone for naught.”

Alex nodded. “So you intend to keep this hushed up, then?”

“I do.”

Even though it was his brother’s salvation, Alex felt it was a misguided decision, and he was disappointed in the judge for having made it. If Douglas would attack one girl, there was nothing to say he might not victimize another. The only way to ensure he didn’t was to prosecute him to the full extent of the law.

When Alex pointed that out, the judge replied, “Douglas Montgomery’s threat to society isn’t my problem or my responsibility. I have to think of my family and myself, of our future. Going into politics has been my lifelong dream, and I’ve worked toward that end my entire career. Why should I let your brother’s actions snuff that out? I can’t afford the scandal, I tell you, and at best, there would be a nasty one. Even if Annie were normal, which she isn’t, the gossip would spread like wildfire. In her case, the talk could be even more vicious. I can’t take that risk. I won’t. Out of sight, out of mind. That has been my motto in raising Annie, and it will continue to be.

“In addition to the damage to my reputation, I also have to think of the consequences for her. Until now, she’s been left alone by the young men in this area. But once word of this gets out, who’s to say? Soiled goods, and all of that.”

Alex found that line of reasoning appalling, and his feelings must have shown, for the judge’s gaze turned fiery.

“Damn it, just you think about it, Montgomery. My daughter is a moron. All her life, she’s been a target for torment. Why do you think she skulks away to hide in the woods whenever she spies people? Children throw stones at her. At every opportunity, they play cruel tricks on her. Today your brother simply carried the abuse a step further. If it becomes public knowledge, another young man may figure it can’t hurt to do the same. To protect her, we’d have to keep her locked up, and if it comes to that, we may as well institutionalize her. My wife would be heartbroken if that happened.”

Alex could think of nothing to say. Absolutely nothing except, “I’m sorry, Judge. I’m so very sorry.”

The older man sighed again, the sound incredibly weary.

“Yes, I know you are. But sorry doesn’t undo what happened today.” As if he suddenly realized how harsh that sounded, he added, “Don’t take it so personally, Alex. It’s a sad fact, but true. A man can choose his friends, but not his relatives.”

“No.” Alex looked helplessly around the room, searching his mind for something, anything he might do to set things right. There was nothing. He had said what he had come to say.

‘“If there is anything I can do, anything at all...”

The judge shook his head. “I wish to God there were, son.

As it is, we can only pray her dimwittedness gives her quick release from the memories.”

Recalling the way Annie had clawed her way through the bushes to escape him a few minutes ago, Alex had reason to wonder if terror wasn’t more reflexive than anything else, an instinctive emotion inherent in morons and geniuses alike. He wished she might forget quickly, but somehow he doubted she would.

His throat felt parchment-dry. The faint scent of wood smoke coming from the hearth blended with the acrid smell of the cigar. “If there should be complications, please feel free—”

“God forbid!”

Alex didn’t blame the man for rejecting all thought of a pregnancy, but that being a natural consequence of what Douglas had done, it was a possibility neither of them could completely eliminate. “All the same, please contact me if problems of that nature should arise. I’ll happily lend assistance in any way I can.”

The judge gave a disheartened nod. Coming abreast of Alex, he reached up to pat his shoulder, his expression reflecting his utter dejection. “I appreciate your coming over. It took guts.”

More than he could know. Alex felt heat crawl up his neck.

It wasn’t in him to hang his head, but he wanted to. “You know how to reach me.”

“Rest assured I’ll be in touch if it should prove necessary.”

There seemed nothing more to say. Alex exited the house, his mind swimming. Incredible though it seemed, Douglas had once again gotten off scot-free. Alex knew he should feel relieved. But he didn’t. It wasn’t fair that Annie should be the only one to pay for the wrongs that had been committed this day. Not fair at all.

Three

FOUR MONTHS LATER

AUGUST 16, 1890

Saturday. Pressing her forehead against her knees so her mother could scrub her back, Annie mouthed the word exactly as she had seen her mother say it and tried to think how it might sound. Some words were easy because she could remember hearing and saying them when she was a small girl.

But Saturday was more difficult. In her recollection, she’d never heard the word spoken. Not that it mattered if she imagined the sounds wrong. Her mama slapped her mouth whenever she tried to talk. Annie wasn’t sure why and had long since ceased to wonder. The rules were different for her than for other people, and she had come to accept there were lots of things she wasn’t allowed to do.

She didn’t really care. Not anymore. When she went up to her secret place in the attic to play, she could do anything she wanted. Except for her pet mice, no one was up there to see and tattle on her. In the attic, she could dress up like a lady in old clothes from the trunks. She could have tea parties just like her mama did and pretend she could talk. Sometimes she even danced. And when she grew bored with doing all of that, she could sketch with the pads and pencils she’d sneaked from Papa’s study. The attic was a lot of fun, and being able to do forbidden things there made up for not being able to do them the rest of the time.

Saturday. Annie mouthed the word against her knee again and promised herself that the very next time she went to the attic, she’d practice saying it in front of her mirror. In her younger years, before she had completely mastered lipreading, she had believed the word Saturday meant “bath” because her mother always said it with great emphasis as she shoved her into the tub. Now Annie realized Saturday was the day preceding church day, and in preparation, everybody in the family had to bathe.

Since Annie hadn’t been allowed to attend church in a very long while, she didn’t think it was fair that she had to take a bath right along with everyone else. In the morning, she wouldn’t be allowed to put on a pretty dress like her mama and three sisters always did, and when it came time for everyone to leave for services, she would be left behind with the servants.

Who was going to notice if her ears were clean, let alone care?

Certainly not her.

As if guessing her thoughts, her mama grabbed her ear-lobe and gave it a hard pull. Like a turtle, Annie drew her head down close to her shoulders and squeezed her eyes closed. She hated this part. Hated it, hated it. To scrub her ears, her mother always wrapped a cloth around her fingertip then shoved the lot into her ear hole. Even when the ministrations didn’t hurt, which was rarely, they were highly irritating. Annie wished she were allowed to scrub her ears by herself, but for some reason, her mother didn’t believe her capable of doing a thorough job. Annie had learned long ago not to resist. It only earned her a cuffing, and in the end, her mother shoved the washcloth in her ear, regardless.

Thump, thump. The sharp rap of her mother’s knuckles on the top of her head brought Annie’s eyes open. Knowing what was expected of her, she raised her face and suffered through the suffocating experience of having it washed. Then, obeying the motion of her mother’s hand, she rose, streaming water, so her torso and legs could be scrubbed. Annie knew the ritual by heart and turned this way and that.

Suddenly her mama stopped scrubbing. Annie peered through the wet strands of her dark hair, wondering what was the matter. Her mother’s blue eyes were bugging, and her mouth hung open as if someone had knocked the breath out of her. Annie looked down at herself, half expecting to see something horrible. But as far as she could tell, there was nothing wrong. She turned her gaze back on her mother, silently questioning.

As if in answer, her mother’s lips formed the words, “Oh, dear God, you’re increasing.”

Increasing? It was a word Annie was unfamiliar with. As she struggled to sound it out inside her head and determine its possible meaning, she saw that her mama was staring at her stomach. Embarrassed, Annie tried to suck in the slight bulge.

She had noticed the thickening of her waist a lot lately and had determined only that afternoon that she should cut back on her eating. Spending so much time wandering in the woods, she had oft observed the wild animals as they prepared for their winter sleep and had figured out by herself that too much food made creatures fat. Annie could only suppose that she’d been snitching too many cookies and sweetbreads from the kitchen.

Her bulging stomach seemed a small problem to Annie, one that she could easily cure. But her mother seemed to think the problem was much more serious. After staring at her for a moment, she dropped the wet washcloth to the floor and covered her face with her hands. By the jerk of her shoulders, Annie knew she was sobbing. She didn’t know what to do, and before she could think of anything, her papa stormed into her room, the tails of his nightshirt flapping around his bare, hairy ankles.

Annie crossed her hands over the juncture of her thighs and sank back into the water. Her papa never entered her bedchamber while she was bathing.

“What the blazes is the matter?” he asked.

Annie fixed her gaze on her mother, hoping to watch her reply so she could learn the answer to that question herself.

But her mother’s hands still covered her face. Whatever she said to Papa made him grow pale. He turned aching blue eyes on Annie.

“Dear God, no.”

He moved slowly toward the tub. Grasping Annie’s arm, he drew her to her feet. Annie couldn’t recall the last time her father had seen her without clothes, and an awful hot feeling washed over her. She bent forward at the waist and splayed her hands over her private place again. In response. Papa gave her a hard shake. She glanced up just in time to see him say, “Stop that! Stand up, girl, so I can look at you.”

Annie didn’t want him to look, but look he did. She was thankful that the humiliation lasted only for a moment. Then he released her arm and, cupping a hand over his eyes, wheeled away. Growing alarmed at their behavior, Annie clamped both palms over her stomach. She’d seldom seen her parents so upset. Surely she wasn’t as fat as all that.

Saying something over his shoulder that Annie couldn’t catch, her father left the room. Her mother wiped at her cheeks with shaky hands, then lifted the towel, beckoning Annie from the tub. Shivering, she stepped into the warm folds of flannel and drew the cloth around her body. Her mother gestured at the fresh nightgown she had laid out for her on the bed. Then, clearly expecting Annie to dry - off and dress by herself, she scurried from the bedroom. After tugging on her gown, Annie crept to the door and cracked it open. She felt the vibration of her father’s footsteps in the floor before she saw him coming down the hall. To her surprise, he had thrown his clothes back on and was hastily buttoning his shirt. His shoelaces flopped as he walked, but he didn’t seem aware that he had forgotten to tie them. She watched as he descended the stairs. A moment later, she felt the walls tremble as he slammed the front door on the way out.

Annie couldn’t imagine where he might be going. On Saturday evenings, he always retired early and read in bed until he fell asleep. In her memory, he had never gone out after retiring unless something bad had happened.

Afraid her mother might catch her spying, she eased the door closed. Pressing her back against the wood, she hugged her waist and went back over all that had happened. Her parents couldn’t be this upset because her waist was thickening.

Unable to make sense of things, she turned down the lamps then hurried into bed by the dying glow of the wicks. Even though the summer night was warm, the sheets were cool, and she shivered, snuggling deeply under the quilt. As darkness settled, she closed her eyes, determined to go to sleep.

Whatever her father was so upset about, it didn’t concern her.

Surely not. Lots of people were far fatter than she, and no one got into such a dither about it.

Alex took a slow sip of brandy, savoring its taste as it flowed over his tongue. This was his favorite time of evening, his workday finished, supper over, the quiet hours before bedtime stretching before him. The fire popped cheerily, its amber flames and most of the heat rushing upward to the open chimney vent. Winter or summer, Alex always liked to build a fire at night, for warmth during the cold months, for mood when the temperatures grew sultry. Very little heat radiated from the flames, but the friendly glow flickered into the farthest corners of his study.

After doing a little paperwork, he hoped to catch up on his reading. A week’s worth of newspapers from Portland were stacked beside his chair, none of them so much as unfolded. At both the horse farm and the rock quarry, spring and summer were his busiest times of year, beginning with the foaling season and not ending until harvest time in September. In between stretched week after week of backbreaking toil, filling orders for crushed rock, attending mares in labor, caring for foals, tilling the fields, then planting and irrigating. The chores seemed endless, the leisure hours few. On those rare occasions when he found spare time, he usually spent it at the rock quarry conferring with his foreman.

Stretching out his long legs, Alex crossed his ankles, Basking in the glow of the fire, he felt as lazy as a cat, Drowsiness slipped over him like a downy comforter, and he allowed his eyes to close, his snifter cupped loosely in one hand and perched on his chest.

“Sir?”

At the sound of his butler’s voice, Alex jerked erect. Brandy sloshed over the front of his shirt, and he swore under his breath.

“I am sorry to disturb you, Master Alex, but James Trimble is in the foyer, and he insists he must see you about a matter of great urgency.”

Alex set the snifter on the marble table beside his chair and rubbed his hand over his face. Trimble? He glanced at the mantel clock and saw that it was only ten after seven. Giving himself a shake to wake up, he pushed to his feet and began tucking in his shirt. “Show him in, Frederick.”

Black coattails floating behind him, the butler pivoted and exited the study. A moment later, the gleaming mahogany door swung back open and Trimble stepped inside. With one glance, Alex knew something was wrong. The judge’s left shoelace was untied, and his right stocking lay in folds around his ankle, his pant leg riding above it. His shirt was buttoned straight, but only one tail had found its way into his trousers.

“Dear God, Judge, what’s happened?”

The older man made a beeline for the sideboard, never breaking stride until his hand curled around the brandy decanter. Without so much as a by-your-leave, he sloshed a generous measure of liquor into a glass and downed it in one gulp. Given the fact that the judge had called at his home only one other time, that being the evening of his daughter’s rape, Alex found his behavior rather odd, to say the least. He watched with a raised eyebrow as the man poured himself more brandy.

After taking another belt, he finally turned toward Alex.

“She’s pregnant.”

The words took Alex completely off-guard. Four months had passed with nary a word from the Trimbles, and he’d thought the possibility of a pregnancy long past. His knees buckled, and he barely guided himself into his chair. Eyes burning, his throat frozen with shock, he could only stare at the older man. After several endlessly long seconds, he finally said, “You’re just now discovering it?”

The judge waved his hand, accidentally sloshing liquor over the edge of his glass. He didn’t seem to notice the spill on the Persian carpet. “Her mother never told me.”

He broke off and closed his eyes for a moment. “She hoped the cessation of her flux didn’t mean anything.” He raised his lashes to fix Alex with an anguished gaze. “She was wrong.

Annie’s breeding, no doubt about it.”

Alex sank back in his chair. “Damn.”

“The question now is what do we do? I believe she’s too far along to terminate the pregnancy without endangering her life.”

Alex knew there were disreputable physicians who, for a price, would perform such procedures, but the thought sickened him. His brother’s child? His own niece or nephew?

Even if a termination were possible at this late date, he wouldn’t allow it. To him, children were an unattainable dream and precious beyond measure.

As if reading his thoughts, the judge downed the remainder of his brandy and said in a shaky voice, “My Annie isn’t capable of raising a child, Montgomery, and my wife and I are too old to take on such a responsibility. We’ll be doddering old fools before it ever reaches its majority.” He shook his head.

“If she weren’t so far into the pregnancy, I’d have it terminated without batting an eye. Probably that’s why Edie wouldn’t admit the possibility to me.”

“You’re forgetting my responsibility in this. Has the thought occurred to you that I might be willing to raise the child?”

“That isn’t an alternative.”

“Why the hell not? Because of your political career?” Alex snorted. “There are ways to get around a scandal, Trimble.”

Though the admission came with difficulty, Alex knew this was no time to mince words. “I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors that I’m sterile. They’re true. Mumps in my early twenties.” Feigning a casualness he was far from feeling, Alex shrugged. “Because I’m unable to father children, I have no intention of taking a wife. If nothing else, I’d be willing to marry Annie and claim this child as my own.”

The judge shook his head vehemently.

Alex rushed on to argue his point. “Aside from the young men who witnessed the rape, and I doubt they’ll talk, no one will know the babe isn’t mine. Given Annie’s affliction, there might be some speculation about why I’d marry her, but that would reflect badly on me, not you. After an acceptable period of time, I could claim irreconcilable differences and seek a separation. Annie could return home to be with her mother.

It’d be the perfect solution for all involved. This is my brother’s child we’re discussing, after all. I’ve a responsibility for its welfare as well as for Annie’s.”

“No.”

With that pronouncement, the judge slapped his glass back down on the sideboard. Like a blind man, he made his way across the room toward the fire, hands groping for support on the chair backs he passed. When he reached the hearth, he grasped the mantel and pressed his forehead against the rock.

Alex was shocked when he heard the man sob.

“If you ever breathe a word of this,” Trimble whispered raggedly, “I’m ruined. Swear nothing I say will go beyond this room.”

Alex shot a glance at the door to be certain it was securely closed. “Of course you have my word.”

“I know you think I’m a hardhearted bastard for wishing we could do away with the babe, but you aren’t aware of all the facts. Our Annie, she—” He broke off and heaved a jerky breath. “Well, you’ve heard the story. About the childhood fever that affected her mind?’’

“Yes.”

The judge brushed his cheek against the shoulder of his jacket. “She was stricken with a fever. That isn’t a lie. When she was five or six, somewhere around then, and her strangeness began after that, coming on slowly, growing progressively worse as time wore on until she became what she is now.”

Alex didn’t know what to say or if the judge even expected a reply.

“The thing is,” he went on, “I’m not absolutely sure her affliction was caused by the fever. Edie insists it was. And because spreading that story has made it possible for us to keep the girl at home without it reflecting too badly on our family, I’ve pretended to believe it. But the truth is, one of Edie’s uncles went mad. Stark raving mad. The mental imbalance began in childhood, just as Annie’s did, and he grew progressively worse until he had to be physically restrained and institutionalized.”

Alex clenched his teeth, not wanting to hear this.

The judge slowly straightened and turned to face him, his blue eyes sparkling with tears, his face pasty white. “Until now, the truth was never that important. I just bided my time and prayed Annie would never get so bad I’d be forced to send her away. It’d kill her mother to put the girl into an asylum.

Even the best of them are horrible places.”

Alex had heard the stories.

The judge lifted his hands. “But now—well, I can’t continue to bury my head in the sand, not with a child on the way.

Annie’s affliction could be hereditary. Knowing that, I can’t allow you or anyone else to adopt her child. A few years hence, it might go mad.”

Alex dropped his gaze, shamed to his core that he voiced no objection. Madness. Dear God. Not even he would want to take the risk of being saddled with a child like that.

“Now you see the problem.”

Alex pushed up from his chair and started to pace. He wished to hell Douglas were here right now to witness the pain and heartache he had inflicted, not just on Annie, but on everyone around her.

The judge pinched the bridge of his nose. “The way I see it, I’ve only one option, and that is to send Annie away until the child has been born and can be put in an orphanage. I’ll see to it that those in charge understand that it should never be adopted out.”

Alex nodded. It seemed to be the only alternative to him as well. “Where will you send Annie? Have you relatives who might take her in?”

The judge shook his head. “A couple of elderly aunts who are too feeble to be of help. My brothers died of influenza back in the seventies, and Edie was an only child, conceived during her mother’s change of life when she thought she had become infertile. Because of the uncle, her parents thought it best never to have other children for fear the madness might be hereditary.”

In light of that, Alex was dying to know why the judge and Mrs. Trimble had had four daughters, but he bit back the question. It was none of his business, after all. “Then you’ll have to foster Annie out to a home of some sort?”

“Yes, and that’s where you come in. I’ll need a bit of help financially. Care for her will be expensive, especially for that long a period of time.”

“Name the amount. I told you in the beginning that I’d help in any way possible, and I meant it. As it happens, money is something I have plenty of, and I’ll happily pay all the expenses.”

The judge rubbed a hand over his face. “I’m comf t

ortably se

but, contrary to what folks believe, my financial resources aren’t inexhaustible.”

His heart going out to the other man, Alex clasped his shoulder. “You know, James, not that I doubt your judgment, but wouldn’t it be wise to have Annie’s condition confirmed by Dr. Muir before we go off half-cocked?”

“She’s pregnant, no doubt about it. Her waistline is already beginning to thicken.”

Alex recalled the many times he’d thought a mare to be with foal only to discover later that it wasn’t. “Sometimes looks can be deceiving. Trust me on that. We may be panicking over nothing. The girl could be putting on a bit of weight, nothing more.”

“If only that were so. Dear God, if only it were.”

Alex shared that sentiment. It would be better for all concerned if Annie wasn’t carrying Douglas’s child, especially for the babe’s sake. An orphanage. The thought of his own flesh and blood being stuck in an institution and labeled unadoptable made him heartsick.

The judge drew himself up and took a bracing breath. “Well, I guess I’ll go get Dr. Muir.”

“Tonight?” Alex couldn’t conceal his surprise. It seemed to him that calling in the doctor could wait until morning, for Annie’s sake, if nothing else.

“Edie is so upset, I want this settled as quickly as possible,”

the older man explained.

“I see.”

“While we’re on the subject of Edie ...” The judge ran a finger under his collar, clearly uncomfortable with what he meant to say. “I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t mention anything we’ve discussed tonight in front of her. About her uncle, I mean. I, um ... well, the madness in her family, it isn’t something we talk about.”

It wasn’t something they talked about? Considering the fact that their daughter might be mad, Alex found that bit of information peculiar in the extreme.

Four

Doing his best to conceal his anger, Daniel Muir eased himself down onto the edge of Annie Trimble’s bed and took her hand. The wariness in her wide blue eyes caught at his heart, and for at least the dozenth time since Alex Montgomery had fetched him from town, he had to swallow his ire at her parents. How two people as good and charitable as James and Edie could be so callous in their dealings with their youngest daughter was beyond him. If the girl was indeed pregnant, she’d be no less so in the morning. But they had insisted her condition be confirmed tonight.

Daniel didn’t believe in frightening his patients, and there was no mistaking the fact that Annie was afraid of him. Small wonder. He’d attended the girl no more than half a dozen times in her entire life, only once since the fever that had rendered her mentally impaired, and was a virtual stranger to her. Now here he was, waking her from a sound sleep to examine her. Behind him, Edie stood guard, wringing her hands, wailing, and weeping. That alone was bound to terrify the girl. To make matters worse, James was across the room, wearing a path in the gleaming hardwood floor. For two highly intelligent people, they were sorely lacking in horse sense.

“Well?” James said impatiently. “Is she, or isn’t she?”

Enough was enough. Daniel rose from the bed and drew himself to his full height, which was diminutive, at best.

Leveling a glare at the distraught couple, he barked, “Out! I haven’t examined her yet and don’t plan to with all of this going on.”

Edie jumped. James spun to a stop and fixed him with a startled gaze.

“You’re upsetting the girl,” Daniel said more gently.

“Please, step out into the hall. When I’ve come to a determination, I’ll call you back in.”

“Well,” Edie said with an indignant sputter. “I never!”

At the moment, Daniel didn’t particularly care if he had offended Edie Trimble. His patience with the woman was in short supply, and it was all he could do not to lace her up one side and down the other. Moron or no, Annie still had feelings, and her mother, of all people, should appreciate that. Raped, no less, and Daniel hadn’t been summoned to examine her?

Edie had to have known the girl might have had internal bleeding or, barring that, could have contracted an infection.

Yet he hadn’t been brought to the house. It was almost as if Edie were afraid to let him examine Annie for fear of what he might conclude. Why, that was the question, and it was one for which Daniel had no answer.

After showing the Trimbles to the door, Daniel sighed and turned back to regard Annie. She watched him nervously, her eyes the size of dinner plates. Trying his best to look harmless, he walked slowly back to the bed. Resuming his seat on the edge of the mattress, he took her hand again and gave it a kindly pat.

“Do you remember me, Annie?” he asked softly.

Keeping her gaze fixed on his mouth, she tucked in her chin and rubbed her cheek against the shoulder of her nightgown.

Daniel took stock of her finely sculpted features, thinking what a shame it was that a fever had incapacitated her. Though the older Trimble girls were all married and, because of the distances they had to travel, visited home infrequently, Daniel recollected each of their countenances quite clearly. Of the four sisters, Annie was without question the loveliest. A person had to look closely to see that, of course. She had an uncommonly thick mane of sable hair that clouded in silky, unruly waves about her face, nearly obscuring what was an almost cameo-perfect visage. Her mother wasted little coin to clothe her, probably because the girl ruined her garments running in the hills. The result was that Annie went about in shapeless, unflattering frocks made of low-quality fabric. To make matters worse, no one had bothered to teach the child any social graces. To be fair to the Trimbles, maybe she was incapable of learning, but Daniel still thought it a shame they hadn’t at least made an effort to give the girl some polish. As it was, her manners and behavior were those of a six-year-old.

“When you were a very small girl, I used to hide candy in my pockets when I came to see you, but I don’t suppose you can remember that.”

Her gaze flicked to the breast pocket of his jacket. Grasping the lapel, Daniel turned the inner compartment out, glad that he always carried treats to win over his younger patients.

Leaning forward slightly, he released his hold on her small hand and said, “Go ahead. Help yourself.”

Her finely arched brows drew together in a frown. Instead of reaching for the candy, she placed a palm over her abdomen and shook her head slightly.

“Not in the mood for a sweet, hmm?” Taking care not to make any sudden moves, Daniel drew back the quilt and placed a hand beside hers on her stomach. “Tummy ache?” He kneaded gently with expert fingers. As her parents had forewarned, her abdomen was slightly distended. He took gentle measure of the swelling, then pulled the quilt back up to her waist and smiled at her, “Everything seems to be in fine order to me.”

The distrust in her eyes told Daniel that unless he used restraints, an internal examination would be nigh unto impossible. Undaunted, he bent to open his black bag and withdrew his stethoscope. He hadn’t been working in this profession for over forty years without learning his way around shy patients. After cupping the stethoscope’s receiver between his hands to warm it, he placed it just beneath her collarbone and made a great show of listening to her heart, gently flattening his palms against her chest as he did so.

When she didn’t protest, he moved the instrument lower, then lower still until he had it positioned over her small breast.

While pretending to listen, he quickly palpated the area, his heart sinking when she winced and he felt how swollen she was.

Without doing a thorough exam, he couldn’t be absolutely positive she was pregnant, but the distension of her abdomen and the tenderness in her breasts were two undeniable counts against her. He sighed as he returned the stethoscope to his bag.

Given the cessation of her menses, he felt ninety-nine percent sure her parents were correct in their diagnosis. He didn’t relish the thought of relaying the news to them. Edie would no doubt shriek and carry on, which would only alarm the girl all the more.

Straightening, he regarded Annie with saddened eyes. What was to become of her? he wondered. A home for unwed mothers, at best. Possibly a nightmarish stint in an asylum.

The thought nearly broke his heart. She was a wild little creature, accustomed to running free in the woods. Being locked up anywhere would be hard on her, especially when she couldn’t be made to understand it was only for a few months.

Acting on impulse, Daniel smoothed her dark hair back from her face. The loveliness of her delicate features made his breath catch. He drew a piece of hard candy from his breast pocket and enfolded her hand around it. “Maybe you’ll feel like a sweet in the morning, hmm?”

Long after the doctor doused the lamp and left her room, Annie lay still, staring at the shadows on the ceiling. The candy in her hand was beginning to melt, and it felt sticky against her palm. Dimly she could remember the doctor coming to see her when she was small. His hair had been black then, not gray, and his face hadn’t been so lined. But try as she might, she couldn’t recollect his bringing her sweets. That he had done so tonight was a puzzle. She hadn’t missed the concern in his expression when he felt her stomach. If her growing fat had everyone so worried, why would he bring her a treat that would only make her grow fatter?

There was a strange feeling in the air tonight, like right before a lightning storm. Occasionally she felt vibrations emanating from the floor and walls and wondered what made them. Doors opening and closing? Footsteps? She wanted to sneak from her room and peer over the banister to see what was happening downstairs, but she was afraid her mother might catch her. Sometimes Annie could watch the goings-on without getting into trouble, but she sensed that tonight wasn’t one of those times.

Rolling onto her side, she placed the piece of candy on her bedside table. Then she licked the stickiness from her palm, savoring the sweetness and hoping such a small amount of sugar wouldn’t make her any fatter. She’d never seen her parents so upset, not even the time she’d run up to the front of the church to touch the organ.

Drowsy, Annie drew the quilt up to her chin and closed her eyes. Tomorrow, she vowed, she wouldn’t eat anything but a small breakfast and dinner. In no time at all, she’d be thin again, and her parents would stop looking at her so sadly.

Alex had a pounding headache, and Edie Trimble’s shrill voice made the pain explode behind his eyes. He sat before the hearth in the judge’s study and wished himself far away from here. A woman’s tears always made him feel a little panicky, probably because he hadn’t been around many females.

Maddy, his housekeeper, a stalwart old gal of fifty-three, wasn’t given to tearful displays, and he could scarcely remember much about his stepmother, Alicia.

“Please, James,” Edie pleaded. “Let me take care of her here.

She won’t understand if we send her off to a strange place to stay with people she doesn’t know.”

The judge raked a hand through his thinning hair and cast a flustered glance at Dr. Muir. “Daniel, say something.”

The physician shrugged. “What can I say? Edie is absolutely correct. The girl won’t understand, and she’s bound to be upset if you farm her out to strangers.”

His temper fraying, the judge threw up his hands. “What else can I do?”

Daniel rubbed his chin. “Keeping her at home isn’t possible?”

“What of the scandal?” the judge cried.

“Ah, yes, the scandal.”

By the physician’s tone, it was abundantly clear he was unsympathetic to James Trimble’s concerns about his political career. Personally, Alex was of the same bent. If Annie were his daughter, he liked to think her welfare would be his first priority, his professional endeavors second.

“Perhaps I can do some checking around and find a suitable home in which to place Annie,” Alex offered.

Edie turned tear-swollen eyes on him. Alex pushed up from his chair and braced an arm on the mantel. “The ideal thing would be to find a grandmotherly sort to care for her, someone who’d be willing to take Annie in for the duration of her pregnancy. I’m sure that we can find such a woman if we look hard enough.” To emphasize his point, Alex held up his hands.

“The girl is only four months along. We have some time to play with.” Looking to Edie, he said, “As for her being confused and upset by a change of residence, there’s nothing to say you can’t go with her and stay until she’s settled in.”

Edie touched a hand to her throat. She looked to the judge for confirmation. “Could I do that, dear?”

Trimble nodded. “I don’t see why not. The trouble will be finding such a woman.” Flashing Alex a hopeful look, he added, “If we could, it’d be ideal, the answer to everything.”

Feeling guilty beyond measure because his brother had caused all of this upheaval, Alex was quick to say, “Leave it to me. Dealing in horseflesh as I do, I’ve made acquaintances in other towns. I’ll begin writing inquiries in the morning and will post them Monday. It may take a bit of time, but we’ll find someone who’ll take Annie in.”

Edie stepped into her husband’s arms and dissolved into another bout of tears. Though he sympathized with her, Alex was eager to get out of there. Once again assuring the Trimbles that he would begin making inquiries come morning, he escaped into the hall and made a bee-line for the foyer. He was outside on the porch before he realized the good doctor was right behind him.

“A bad bit of business, this,” Daniel Muir observed.

To Alex, that seemed an understatement. He couldn’t forget, not for an instant, that Douglas was responsible. “Yes, it is that.

God knows, I wish I could undo it, but I can’t.”

As they descended the front steps, the doctor took off his jacket, hooked it by the collar with his thumb, and slung it over his shoulder. “It’s fair to middling warm tonight, isn’t it? I was about to suffocate in there.”

Accustomed to working out of doors during the heat of the day, Alex hadn’t noticed the stuffiness. He looked up at the starlit sky. “We could do with some rain.”

“Isn’t that just the way of it? We complain of the wetness all winter, then come mid-August, we pray for a downpour.”

Drawing up beside his horse at the hitching post, Alex observed, “Human nature is contrary.”

Muir glanced toward the house. “You aren’t telling me anything I don’t already know. Those folks are certainly a puzzle, and that’s a fact.”

Believing he referred to the judge’s concern about his political career, Alex said, “It’s not always possible to understand another man’s priorities.”

“True.” Squinting to study Alex through the moonlit gloom, Muir said, “Take you, for instance. I took you for a smart man, always on the lookout for an opportunity. Now, an opportunity’s knocking, and you’re passing it up.”

“Pardon?”

“Little Annie. Her breeding, and all,” the doctor clarified.

“There you stand, creeping up on thirty, not yet married and convinced you can’t have children. Seems to me you’d jump at the chance to marry that girl and claim Douglas’s child as your own. You can’t get much closer to having your own child than your own brother’s.”

Knowing how it must appear to the doctor, Alex looked away, unable to explain because he’d given his word not to repeat what Trimble had divulged to him. “Yeah, well, as much as I’d dearly love to have a child, Doc, I have my reasons for hesitating.”

Muir sighed. “Edie’s mad uncle, you mean?” The physician stepped around the hitching rail to his horse. After tightening the belly strap, he looked at Alex over the saddle. “Oh, yes, I’ve heard the stories. And I’m telling you, Alex, that girl isn’t mad. I was with Edie when Annie was born, and I was the attending physician all during her early years. She was right as can be until that fever struck. There’s not a thing wrong with that girl that she’ll pass on to her children. I guarantee you that.”

Alex curled a hand over the rail and gripped with such force his knuckles ached. “You could be wrong.”

Daniel chuckled. “Water may start running uphill, too. I don’t say it lightly, Alex. I realize the consequences if I’m wrong. But I assure you, I’m not. That girl was as bright as a new penny before that illness struck.’’

“You’re certain it’s not hereditary?”

“Dead certain.”

Alex swallowed and glanced toward the house, his mind racing with possibilities. “I don’t know. If I married her, it’d cause a heap of talk, her not being right and all. People would think me lecherous, and who could blame them?”

“That’s probably true. If you’re sensitive to gossip, I guess you’d best stay clear of the situation.”

Alex drew a deep breath. “And that’s not to mention the responsibility I’d be taking on. A girl like Annie. Well, she’s bound to be a handful.”

The doctor smiled. “She’s a docile little thing, happy as a clam with her simple pleasures. With your money, you could hire a live-in nurse to look after her and scarcely realize she was in the house. There’s Annie’s welfare to consider as well.

Moving to your place might unsettle her for a bit, but it’d be a sight less upsetting than if she’s sent away to God knows where. Living with you, at least she could wander in the woods she’s so familiar with, and when she took a fancy, she could mosey home to see her mama. Not that you’re responsible for the misfortune that’s about to befall the poor little thing, but if you were to marry her, you could make things a hell of a lot easier on her.”

Alex fixed his gaze on the dark woods that bordered the Trimbles’ yard. “I don’t know, Doc.” He took a deep, bracing breath. “If you’re wrong about the girl—” He broke off and shrugged. “A child with mental problems? I didn’t do such a great job of raising Douglas, you know. Look how he turned out. To consider bringing up a child with an affliction—well, just the thought makes me run scared.’’

The doctor conceded the point by inclining his head. Then he delivered the killing blow. “And if I’m not wrong and the child is normal? It’ll spend its entire life in an orphanage, with no hope of being adopted.” The doctor mounted his horse, laying his coat over the saddle horn. “Just you think about that, young man. If you can turn your back, more power to you. I hope you’ll be able to sleep nights.”

With that, the good physician spurred his horse and rode down the drive toward the road.

Feeling as though someone had kicked his feet out from under him, Alex stepped to the porch and sat down. Crickets sang in the darkness. The moon hung like a gigantic silver dollar over the mountains, its glow frosting the distant treetops.

From inside the house came the muted sound of Edie Trimble’s weeping.

Closing his eyes, Alex tried to sort his thoughts, but the doctor’s last words hung foremost in his mind. How could he turn his back on his brother’s child and sleep nights? He had the financial resources to hire a live-in nurse to care for Annie, and the doctor was probably correct that in his monstrosity of a house, he probably wouldn’t even realize the girl was residing there. The child could be born in wedlock. It would have the Montgomery name, as was its birthright, and all the advantages that came with it. Though it might take Annie a few days to adjust to living in a different home, she’d eventually settle in, and it would be much easier on her, not being entirely separated from her family and all that was familiar to her.

After circling the problem for several minutes, Alex pushed to his feet and climbed back up the steps. Not bothering to knock at the front door, he let himself inside and traversed the dimly lit corridor to the judge’s study. The Trimbles looked up in surprise when he reentered the room, Edie with bleary, swollen eyes, her husband with bewilderment.

“I thought you’d gone,” the judge said.

Feeling unaccountably nervous, Alex raked a hand through his hair. “Yes, well, I had a long talk with Dr. Muir, and I’ve been thinking that there’s another solution to this problem.”

Alex met the judge’s gaze. “Despite what you mentioned earlier, sir, I’ve decided the best thing for everyone concerned is for me to marry your daughter.”

Before either of the Trimbles could protest, Alex rushed on.

“I’ll hire a competent live-in nurse to care for her. On occasion, she’ll be able to come here for visits, and both of you would be welcome at my place any time. The child will have my name.” Alex waved a hand. “It’s the perfect situation, if you think about it.”

All the color had drained from Edie’s face, and she pushed unsteadily to her feet. Alex expected her to agree with him wholeheartedly. Instead, she cried, “No!”

It was the last thing he expected her to say. “Why, for God’s sake?”

“Because,” she cried, turning to the judge. “I won’t have it, James. After the baby is born, I want Annie to come back home where she belongs. I don’t want strangers caring for her the rest of her life. She’s my child and my responsibility.”

Alex was too exhausted to argue. “Shortly after the child is born, Annie and I could separate. We could put it out and about that there were difficulties within the marriage that couldn’t be resolved. She could return home. I’d raise the child.”

Edie pressed the back of her wrist to her forehead and started to pace, her agitation apparent in every rigid line of her body. The judge watched her for several seconds, then he looked at Alex, his gaze filled with questions. Well aware of what he must be thinking, Alex softly said, “I’m aware of the risks, Judge. I’m willing to take my chances. If it should happen that there’s something wrong with the child, I’ll see that it’s kept quiet and have it institutionalized, just as you originally planned. No gossip, no scandal. We’ll say the child died or that I sent it away to relatives.”

The older man shot him a warning glare, then glanced at his pacing wife, clearly afraid she might have overheard. He relaxed slightly when she continued circling the study, apparently oblivious of the exchange.

“I don’t know,” he said under his breath. “If word got out, it could ruin me. I really think it’s best if we simply—”

“I’m not giving you a choice,” Alex inserted.

The judge’s pupils dilated, turning his irises nearly black.

“Is that a threat?”

“A promise,” Alex corrected. “Fight me on this, and you can kiss your chances for public office goodbye.”

The man’s neck turned dull red. After staring at Alex for a long moment, he returned his gaze to his wife. “Edie, it’s the best solution we’ve come up with yet. Annie wouldn’t be with Alex forever, only for a few months.”

Mrs. Trimble shook her head vehemently. “No. I’d rather do as we planned earlier and find someone out of town to care for her until she has the child.”

That made absolutely no sense. His patience fraying, Alex settled onto a chair and fixed the judge with a relentless gaze.

“There’s more to consider here than just Mrs. Trimble’s wishes,” he said carefully. “My plan would be better for Annie, certainly. And the child won’t be put into an orphanage.”

Edie whirled on Alex, her eyes sparking with anger. “The child is not your concern, Mr. Montgomery! None of this is.”

It was all Alex could do to keep his temper. “I disagree. The child is very much my concern, and if there’s a way to avoid its being raised in an institution, that’s what we have to do.”

“Edie,” the judge said softly, “why don’t you go to the kitchen and prepare some tea?’’

She made fists in her skirt. “Tea? You’re deciding my daughter’s future, and you expect me to brew tea?”

“Yes.” Though softly spoken, the judge’s reply was an unmistakable order. “I’m still the man of this house.

Ultimately, I must make the decision, and you must abide by it.”

Turning a murderous glare on Alex, Mrs. Trimble swept from the room, her cheeks spotted with crimson, her mouth drawn into a tight line.

Immediately after her departure, some of the tension in the study dissipated. Alex took advantage of the momentary privacy to relate to the judge what Dr. Muir had said, namely his assurances that Annie’s affliction had been caused by a high fever.

“And if he’s wrong?” the judge asked.

“What if he isn’t?” Alex countered. “A perfectly normal child stuck in an orphanage and tagged as unadoptable? The way I see it, I have to take the chance. And, like it or not, you’re going to take it with me. This is your grandchild and my niece or nephew we’re talking about. We owe it at least this much.”

Trimble considered that for a moment, then he finally nodded. “Just so long as you’re going into it with your eyes open. Muir means well, and I’m sure he believes what he’s saying, but that doesn’t mean he couldn’t be wrong.”

“Let’s pray he isn’t.”

That settled, the two men discussed the particulars, and within five minutes, both had agreed that a marriage between Alex and Annie should take place as quickly as possible.

When Edie returned to the room, the judge gently informed her of their decision about the marriage, which both men hoped would take place within the week, the only prerequisite being that Alex find a competent live-in nurse.

When his wife began to protest, the judge cut her short with,

“That will be enough, Edie. This is best. Trust me on that.”

Defeated, Mrs. Trimble sank onto the settee beside her husband and folded her hands tightly on her lap. “But, James, he knows nothing of how to handle her.”

“Neither would a nurse in another town,” Alex pointed out.

“At least then I might have exercised some control in matters,” she shot back. “Putting our daughter into inexperienced hands could undo all the years of training I’ve worked so hard to instill in her.”

Alex rubbed his temple, silently cursing the headache that throbbed behind his eyes. Though he couldn’t understand the woman, her concerns still had to be addressed. “Mrs. Trimble, I’ll happily allow you to confer with the nurse I hire, if that’s your worry. You can instruct her in Annie’s care, just as you would have a nurse elsewhere.”

Some of the rigidity eased from her slender body. “You truly wouldn’t mind?”

Alex dredged up a smile, albeit a weak one. “Of course not.

It isn’t as if this will be a marriage in fact. It’s a convenient arrangement, nothing more. If anything, I’ll be grateful for your input and experience in dealing with Annie.”

For a long moment, she searched Alex’s gaze. Then she finally returned his smile. “Perhaps this will be a workable situation, after all,” she conceded.

“I certainly hope so. Otherwise, I wouldn’t offer,” Alex assured her.

“Annie is a difficult girl,” she hurried to add. “She must be made to follow strict rules, you understand, or she becomes intractable. You may pooh-pooh my worries, but the fact is, if Annie becomes uncontrollable, it will necessitate her being committed to a sanitarium, and as her mother, I want to avoid that at all costs.”

Finally, Alex began to understand what drove the woman.

As upset as she had been about Annie’s being sent away, at least then she would have had some control over her care. Her objections to Alex marrying Annie stemmed from fear, nothing more. “I give you my word that I’ll adopt all your rules for Annie and strictly enforce them,” Alex promised her.

“And you can spend as much time as necessary instructing the nurse I hire so she will carry on with Annie exactly as you would if you were there to supervise.”

Edie heaved a relieved sigh. “Thank you, Mr. Montgomery.

That makes me feel much more at ease with this situation.”

Hoping that was the end of it, Alex rose from his chair, only to sit back down again when Edie Trimble launched into a long list of instructions regarding her daughter’s care. Annie was never to be taken to town; crowds of people unsettled her.

Pencils or pens were taboo; the girl might injure herself with them. Never, not under any circumstances, was Annie to be allowed to make sound; once she got started, it was impossible to silence her, and the din she could raise was earsplitting.

By the time the woman wound down, Alex’s head was swimming and he seriously doubted he would be able to remember anything she had told him. Even so, he promised to observe each and every rule to the letter. Anything to get out of there.

Before taking his leave, Alex shook hands with the judge on their agreement and promised to begin his search for a live-in nurse immediately. As he left the house, he paused in the foyer to gaze at the second-story landing, wondering which door along the upper hallway led to Annie’s room. As ashamed as it made him feel to admit it, until that moment, Alex hadn’t given much thought to Annie’s reaction to all of this.

Recalling her terror of him four months ago, he could only pray she had forgotten all about Douglas and what he had done to her. If not—well, it didn’t bear thinking about.

Five

The wedding date was set for one week later, and Alex arrived on the Trimbles’ doorstep at precisely ten o’clock on the appointed morning to make Annie his lawfully wedded wife. The plan sounded simple enough: a quick marriage, a few months of looking after Annie, and then he would send the girl back to her parents. What could possibly go wrong? It seemed to Alex the answer to that question was everything.

The instant he stepped into the house, he began to have doubts, a whole host of them.

Like a curious child who’d been sent upstairs while guests were present, Annie sat on the landing that overlooked the foyer, her small face bracketed by mahogany balusters, her eyes wide with bewilderment as she watched all the goings-on below. Reverend Widlow, the minister who was to officiate at the ceremony, had arrived just seconds before Alex and was being shown into the parlor by a servant. Two hired men were carrying one of Annie’s trunks downstairs. Maids were scurrying to and fro. Anyone could see that something out of the ordinary was about to occur.

As Alex stepped into the foyer, Annie went absolutely still, and every drop of blood seemed to drain from her face. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that she believed him to be Douglas. Given her intellectual disabilities, he could think of no way to disabuse her of the notion. As people were so fond of reminding him, he was the “spittin’ image” of his brother.

To Alex, the resemblance didn’t seem quite that pronounced, but to Annie, who undoubtedly recalled everything about Douglas in a nightmarish blur, the differences between them might not seem so apparent.

Afraid of making her panic, Alex came to a dead stop. Even at a distance of twenty feet, he could feel her fear. Electrical, it hung in the air between them, raising goose flesh along his spine.

Six-two in his stocking feet, he stood a head taller than most men. For a score of different reasons, there had been a number of times when he wished he were smaller, but never quite so much as in that moment. Before entering the house, he’d removed his hat, so he couldn’t jerk it off now to make himself look shorter. Judging by the stark terror in Annie’s eyes, slumping his shoulders wasn’t helping much, either. He was a big man. There was little he could do to disguise that fact.

With a girl like Annie, who had every reason to be frightened, that was a definite strike against him.

If she’d been able to communicate, he might have been able to reassure her. As it was, all he could do was stand there and try to convey with his gaze what he couldn’t express with words, namely that he was not cut from the same cloth as his brother. He would never dream of harming her, or allow anyone else to, for that matter.

“Hello, Annie,” he said softly.

As he spoke, her attention shifted to his mouth, and an expression of total bewilderment crossed her face. Alex’s heart sank, for he had hoped she might understand a few words, at least. Seeing that she didn’t, he shoved his hands into his trouser pockets and made tight fists.

The way she stared at him made him feel like a monster. A very large monster. He flashed what he prayed was a harmless-looking smile, but his face felt so stiff he feared it was more a grimace. Deciding she might realize he wasn’t Douglas if she got a better look at him, he moved a bit closer.

For some reason, he hadn’t imagined her as being so small.

Narrow shoulders, tiny feet, fragile limbs. He doubted she’d tip the scales at a hundred pounds fully clothed.

Over the years, he had met a number of women he might have described as delicate, but even that seemed too sturdy an adjective for Annie. She put him in mind of handblown crystal.

Her face was heart-shaped, her features finely sculpted and as close to perfect as any he’d ever seen. Her short, straight little nose slanted from between dark, elegantly arched brows.

As he drew closer, she shifted her position slightly. By her tenseness, he guessed she meant to bolt if he made any sudden moves. A smothered smile spread warmth through his chest when he saw she had lifted one knee slightly. From her vantage point, she was decently covered. But looking at her from the ground up, such was not the case. Like most bloomers, hers had an opening at the crotch, and she wore no petticoats to obstruct his view.

He jerked his attention back to her face. Scalding heat inched up his neck. Looking into her eyes, he tried to ascertain if she’d noticed where his gaze had wandered. Those eyes.

Startlingly large and the color of a cloudless sky on a hot summer day, they were completely guileless.

A practical man to the marrow of his bones, Alex had never believed in all the nonsense men spouted during courtships. While looking into a woman’s eyes, the closest he’d ever come to drowning was when he broke out in a sweat, and that from lust. But Annie’s eyes were different. He didn’t feel as though he were drowning, exactly. But close. Mighty damned close. Sort of like a fish gaffed through both gills, her big blue eyes the line that was hauling him in.

She was such a helpless little thing. And so horribly vulnerable. Marrying her was the lesser of two evils, no question about that. But even so, he hated to be instrumental in bringing her more pain. It was like having a wobbly fawn in his rifle sights and pulling the trigger.

As he studied her, Alex noticed a bit of blue on a baluster to her right. To his surprise, he saw that she’d wrapped her hair ribbon around the post in a perfect spiral, similar to that on a barber pole or a peppermint stick. He wondered if she liked candy canes and made a mental note to buy her several the next time he went to town.

Sweets for the sweet...

“Alex, my good man.”

The unexpected greeting made Alex jerk. He turned to see James Trimble emerging from the parlor. Given the reason for this gathering, he couldn’t fathom why the man was grinning so broadly. As far as Alex could see, this was no occasion to celebrate.

“James,” he said evenly.

By way of polite greeting, Alex knew he should probably say something more, but for the life of him, he couldn’t dredge up a pleasantry. What could he say? That he was glad to see him? Frankly, he wasn’t. Over the last week, he had come to like Annie’s father less with each successive encounter. For years, he had admired the man. Now, after getting better acquainted with him, he knew him for the self-centered, insensitive bastard he really was. And those were his fine points.

Drawing up beside Alex, Trimble hooked his thumbs under his jacket lapels, rocked back on his heels, and said, “It’s a fine morning for a wedding, wouldn’t you say? Yes, indeed, absolutely perfect.” When Alex didn’t concur, his smile faltered, and with a true politician’s knack for equivocation, he amended, “A trifle warm, perhaps. But at least we can count on it not to rain. Not that we couldn’t use a good downpour.”

The way Alex saw it, it was not, by any stretch of the imagination, a fine morning. As far as that went, it had been a rotten week as well. He was about to marry a girl without her consent. Whether Annie understood that or not, he did. Night after night, he’d lain awake to stare at his ceiling, telling himself that the end would justify the means, that he was doing the right thing. But was he? It was a question Alex couldn’t answer with any certainty, not without a crystal ball and a seer to foretell the future. Not that he believed in such bullshit.

He gave his future father-in-law’s attire a scathing glance.

With a total lack of regard for the significance of the occasion, Trimble wore a loosely cut tan sack suit over a lightly starched white shirt and a V-necked, rose-colored cotton sweater. His matching tie was an even deeper shade of pink. It was a decidedly casual outfit, more appropriate for entertaining guests out on the lawn than for a wedding, even one as informal as this.

Conversely, Alex had been uncharacteristically particular about what he wore this morning. He’d ended up choosing a dark gray tailored suit and a heavily starched white shirt, the front of which was so stiffly polished it threatened to crack when he moved. Since he detested the smell of shirt enamel, a blend of wax and spermaceti that filmed his nostrils and clung bitterly to the back of his tongue, he couldn’t help but resent the other man’s informality.

With another broad grin, James slapped Alex’s arm. “Got the bridegroom jitters, do you? Step into the parlor. I’ve got just the cure.” With a conspiratorial wink, he leaned closer.

“My special stuff. Peach brandy, the likes of which you’ve never tasted.”

As he was drawn toward the parlor, Alex looked back over his shoulder at Annie. Her big blue eyes were still riveted to him. He flashed her another smile, hoping to reassure her.

Before he could read her reaction, James led him through the archway into the other room.

Brandy and pompous asses. Over the next few minutes, Alex decided it was a particularly nauseating mixture. Neither Trimble nor the minister seemed to realize the magnitude of what they were about to do. Alex could think of nothing else.

True, his intentions were good, but that would not lessen the impact all this would have on Annie. Shortly after this mockery of a wedding took place, she would be carted away from the only home she’d ever known by a man who terrified her. The more Alex thought about that, the more inclined he was to agree with his housekeeper, Maddy, that this entire arrangement was a sin against God and all that was holy.

Finishing his brandy, the minister drew his watch from his pocket. A tall, portly man with thinning black hair the exact same shade as his suit, he made Alex think of funerals. He realized why when he noticed the man was wearing a black collar instead of the customary white. “Well, James?” he said.

“Let’s get on with it, shall we? As I mentioned when we talked earlier in the week, I’ve a busy schedule. I managed to fit this in, but only just barely. I’ve two christenings and another wedding to do this afternoon, plus a funeral yet this morning that I didn’t plan on.” He gave a raucous laugh. “That’s the trouble with dying parishioners. They never choose a convenient time.”

A muscle began to twitch under Alex’s eye, a purely nervous reaction to anger, one of the few outward signs he hadn’t learned to control over the years. This wedding, he realized, was nothing more than a bothersome chore for both these men, an irritating necessity to be gotten out of the way with as little fuss as possible.

“When it comes to busy schedules, no one understands better than I.” James set his half-empty snifter on the mantel.

“Well, Alex? Has that brandy given you enough false courage to say the two most dreaded words in the English language?”

He guffawed and winked at the reverend. “I’ve never known a bachelor yet who could say ‘I do’ without getting a case of cold feet, myself included.”

Alex tightened his grip on the glass and set his back teeth to prevent himself from saying something he might regret. While James stepped to the archway to hail his wife, Alex gazed into the fireplace.

Had the good reverend been informed of the reasons for this sudden marriage? Given James’s confident manner, Alex had a nasty suspicion that his future father-in-law had ensured the minister’s cooperation by making a substantial donation to his church. Stained-glass windows and fancy steeple bells didn’t come cheap. The thought sickened him. Money spoke with eloquence; no one knew that better than he. But men of the cloth were supposed to be above taking bribes.

Kitchen smells drifted into the parlor from somewhere at the back of the house—cinnamon, vanilla, and yeast dough—to mix nauseatingly with the sticky sweetness of his brandy. For a dizzying instant, he could have sworn the roses on the wool rug were moving. He blinked, craving the bracing effects the liquor might provide, but half afraid his stomach might rebel if he drank the rest of it.

Annie ... She was definitely not a cherished daughter. A well-kept secret, more like, one that was about to be spirited by sleight of hand from one household to another. And in a few months, after her child is born, she’ll be spirited back home, he reminded himself.

That thought, along with the remainder of the brandy, bolstered his flagging determination. A week ago, he had made a decision for the good of Annie and her child. All his reasons for reaching that decision still stood. He could not allow his niece or nephew to be branded as unadoptable and raised in an orphanage. He absolutely could not.

When Edie Trimble entered the parlor, dragging her daughter behind her, Alex clenched his hand around his empty glass with such force that the crystal nearly shattered. Her eyes gigantic in her pale face, Annie glanced first at him, then at the minister, and lastly at her father. She was clearly not accustomed to being in the presence of guests, least of all a man who so greatly resembled her rapist. Plucking frantically at her mother’s fingers to loosen her grip on her wrist, the girl dug in with her heels and put all her weight, slight though it was, into balking.

Edie rewarded Annie’s efforts by digging her fingers into her forearm and giving her a hard shake. “Stop that!” she fairly shrieked.

Annie flinched and threw up her other arm to shield her face.

It was patently obvious to Alex that Edie might have slapped her had there been no one else in the room. His gaze shifted to the red fingerprints the woman had left on the girl’s arm. With precise movements, he placed his snifter on the mantel and turned toward the minister.

“Let’s get this business over with,” Alex said with ill-concealed distaste.

Edie, perfectly turned out in a pink shirtwaist and a rose-colored skirt that coordinated nicely with her husband’s outfit, cast him a startled glance. Alex met her gaze. He didn’t give a rap if she guessed what he was thinking. Just because he had never struck a woman and had no intention of starting with her, that didn’t mean he was above entertaining the notion.

As he strode toward the minister, he gave Annie’s shabby blue frock a long look. A man of Trimble’s means could certainly afford to dress his daughter in something better, especially on her wedding day. Farce or no, this was still a wedding. The toes of the girl’s black shoes were worn down to rough leather. Her white ribbed stockings, revealed from the shin down by the schoolgirl length of her frock, were grass-stained. He’d seen orphans turned out more nicely.

At his approach, Annie began to struggle against her mother’s hold again. He drew up several feet shy of where he had originally planned to stand. With her hair in a wild tangle of dark curls around her face and dressed as she was, she looked more like a child than a woman. A terrified child.

Not wishing to frighten her by staring, Alex tore his gaze away and focused his attention on the minister, who had opened his prayer book and was leafing quickly through the pages to find his place. His black suit had seen better days, he noticed, and standing so close to the man, he detected the acrid smell of stale sweat emanating from his whipcord jacket.

Given the warm morning, the rank odor was almost overwhelming. It was enough to turn Alex’s stomach, and he wasn’t pregnant. He shot a concerned glance at Annie.

Evidently unnerved by his scrutiny, she bent her head, concealing her face behind the thick curtains of her dark hair.

Alex wondered what she was thinking, if she had any inkling at all of what was about to happen. When her mother released her wrist, she glanced longingly over her shoulder at the door.

Then, obviously afraid to test Edie’s temper by running, she began to fidget, scuffing the toes of her high-top shoes against the nap of the rose-patterned rug and tugging nervously on the buttons of her bodice. He had to smile when she suddenly intertwined her fingers, turned her hands palm out, and extended her arms to pop her knuckles. A knuckle-popper himself, he understood how soothing the popping sensation could be when a person was nervous.

“Annie, stop that!” Edie scolded.

“Leave her be,” Alex inserted in a low voice.

Edie’s eyebrows, so very like her daughter’s, shot nearly to her hairline. “I beg your pardon?”

“She’s not hurting anything.” Glancing toward the minister, he said, “Widlow, given the circumstances, let’s skip the unnecessary parts and get down to business.”

More than happy to oblige, the reverend found his place and marked the spot with a tattered red ribbon. Smiling vacuously at no one in particular, he coughed to clear his throat and, in a singsong voice, began the nuptials.

When the moment finally came for Annie to say “I do,” Edie Trimble caught the girl’s face between her hands and none too gently prompted her to nod her head. The minister never gave so much as a pause and rushed to finish the short ceremony.

Forgoing the privilege of kissing his bride, Alex gave her a wide berth and followed his parents-in-law and the minister to a small parlor desk, where the marriage documents awaited their attention. After scrawling his name on the appropriate line, Alex stepped back so Annie might approach without feeling threatened. Duly witnessed by those present, her mark, which her father helped her to make, sufficed where her signature was required.

Just that simply, they were married. Alex could scarcely believe it. Ignoring the beaming faces of the minister and Annie’s parents, he fixed his gaze on his bride. Still hovering near her mother, she stood with her head hanging again, a dejected posture that was beginning to wear on his nerves even as it caught at his heart. It occurred to him that she might be growing weary, and given her condition, that couldn’t be good for her.

He met Edie Trimble’s gaze. “So all would be ready after the ceremony, I instructed my driver to park my carriage out front and see to the loading of the trunks. If we head directly for Montgomery Hall, Annie will still have most of the day to settle in before you have to leave her there alone tonight.”

Edie caught her lower lip in her teeth and glanced uneasily at her husband. Standing slightly behind Alex, James Trimble coughed nervously. “Dear God, did I forget to mention that we’ve had a change of plans?”

Alex shot the man a look. “A change in what plans?’’

“Well, you see, Alex, I forgot to check my calendar when we arranged for the wedding to take place this morning.” He glanced at the minister. “As I’m sure you gathered from our earlier conversation, Reverend Widlow was booked solid every other day this week, so we couldn’t reschedule for another time.”

“What exactly are you saying, Trimble?”

“I’m hosting a garden luncheon this afternoon. Edie is going to have her hands full, I’m afraid. You’ll have to manage without her until tomorrow.”

“Manage without her?” Alex knew his voice was rising, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. “My managing without her isn’t the problem, James, and you damned well know it. If Edie will be busy today, I’ll leave Annie here until tomorrow.

When she makes the move to Montgomery Hall, she should have her mother with her. We all agreed on that.”

James tugged on his ear, then glanced at the floor, the wall, everywhere but at Alex. “Well, you see, it’s a little more complicated than that. Some of my guests are from out of town, and I’ve invited them to sleep over. Annie’s room will be occupied.” He lifted his hands in a gesture of helplessness. “I thought she’d be staying at your place.”

Silence settled over the room, an awful, tense silence broken only by the monotonous ticking of a pendulum clock standing against one wall. When he had first seen James this morning, Alex had thought his attire too casual. Not so. The man was dressed perfectly for the garden party he planned to host.

A garden party that obviously took precedence over his daughter. It seemed that just about everything took precedence over Annie, Alex thought scathingly. Funerals. Garden parties.

Overnight guests. Damn him. It wasn’t that Alex had expected a fancy wedding with all the trimmings. The very idea was ludicrous. But it seemed to him there was a principle involved here, one that James Trimble had overlooked. Respect. When it came to his daughter, that seemed a commodity he had in pitifully short supply.

“Let me clarify what you’re saying,” Alex said softly, “Edie can’t accompany Annie to help her get settled in at Montgomery Hall, and it’s impossible for me to leave her here?”

James nodded, looking aggrieved. “It’s not as if I deliberately arranged things this way, Montgomery. It’s just one of those”—he coughed again—”unavoidable wrinkles.”

An unavoidable wrinkle. Alex had long since pegged James Trimble as being self-centered and insensitive, but this exceeded even his expectations. He had an unholy urge to grab the pompous little bastard by his lapels and shake him until his eyes bugged. If it hadn’t been for the fact that such behavior on his part would frighten Annie, he might have done just that.

Turning his gaze to Edie, Alex managed to say in a relatively calm voice, “You promised me that you would accompany Annie to Montgomery Hall to help me get her settled in, Mrs. Trimble. Surely you can come, if only for a couple of hours.”

Edie glanced guiltily at Annie, then at her husband, and began wringing her hands. “I know I promised, Mr.

Montgomery, but that was before I learned of the garden party.

James needs me here to be his hostess. This luncheon is so very important. To his political career, you understand. I simply—” She broke off and swallowed. “Well, with an entire houseful of company coming, I can’t possibly be gone for two hours.”

“What do you expect me to do, madam? Grab your daughter by the hair and drag her out of here?”

James settled a thoughtful gaze on Annie’s bent head. “I have it. Edie, run along upstairs and fetch the laudanum.”

“Laudanum?” Alex bit down hard on his back teeth. After a stinging silence, he finally said, “I won’t have the girl drugged.

She’s pregnant, for Christ’s sake. It might be harmful to the infant.”

“Nonsense! Make her groggy, nothing more.”

Evidently uncomfortable with the building tension, the minister chose that moment to thrust out a hand to James. “I do have to be going, Trimble. The funeral, you know.” Turning toward Alex, he added, “It’s been my pleasure, Mr.

Montgomery. I wish you and your bride every happiness.”

Alex was too outraged to reply. Ever conscious of appearances, James hastily excused himself to see the minister out to the foyer. As the two men departed, Alex waited for Edie Trimble to answer his question. “Well?” he finally prodded. “Is that your plan, Mrs. Trimble? That we dope the girl with laudanum? Or that I simply drag her out?”

“It won’t be necessary for you to drag her anywhere. Nor must we resort to laudanum. I will see her comfortably settled inside the carriage myself. After that, it’s only a short drive to your place. When you arrive, you can turn her over to the nurse’s care. I’ll be there tomorrow afternoon, just as we originally planned. You’re behaving as though this is a great inconvenience to you.”

Alex could see that trying to reason with these people was useless. “Tussling with a hysterical girl won’t prove to be any great inconvenience for me. I’m more than capable of handling her. My only concern is how she may feel about it.”

She dug her teeth into her lower lip, looking miserable.

“James is very ... exacting,” she said in a whisper, clearly afraid her husband might overhear. “He insists I be here for this gathering, and I can’t go against his wishes. If I did—well, he’d be dreadfully angry!”

And that would be catastrophic? It would have done Alex’s heart good to see Trimble get so mad he ruptured a vessel. His patience gone, he gestured toward the doorway. “My driver is waiting. If you can help me get your daughter into my carriage, I’d greatly appreciate your doing so. She looks tired, and I’d like to get her home so she can rest.”

“Certainly.”

With that, Edie curled an arm around Annie’s shoulders and guided her from the room. Alex followed, wondering with every step how the woman planned to get the girl into his vehicle without a tussle.

James, who had just bidden the minister goodbye, was still in the foyer when they emerged from the parlor. Muttering under his breath, he dashed into his study to get something before joining Alex and the women on the porch. “I do hope you understand about the sleeping arrangements for tonight,”

he said to Alex. “It wasn’t intentional, I assure you. When I scheduled the wedding for this morning, I totally forgot the luncheon.”

Alex might have believed the judge had made an honest mistake if it hadn’t been for the fact that he’d promised Annie’s room to one of his guests. If not for the wedding, his daughter would have been occupying the bedchamber. Alex understood, all right. Perhaps a little too well. And since it made him so blisteringly angry, he preferred not to discuss it with the bastard.

Descending the steps, he opened the carriage door and then stood aside. To his surprise, Mrs. Trimble led Annie down the steps and to the vehicle without incident. Glancing at the girl, who was eyeing the strange carriage with wide-eyed curiosity, Alex decided she was probably too dimwitted to comprehend what was about to happen.

Gathering up her skirt, Edie Trimble made as if to enter the carriage. Caught off-guard, Alex hurried forward to lend her assistance. At his sudden movement, Annie lurched backward and nearly tripped on the step behind her. Only his quick reflexes saved her from a nasty tumble. Grabbing her arm, he steadied her until she caught her balance. The instant she had done so, she shrank away from him. Mindful of her fear and the reasons for it, Alex released her.

Turning back to assist Mrs. Trimble, he said, “You’ve decided to come, after all?’’

“Good heavens, no.” Edie sank onto the front carriage seat, then leaned forward to see around Alex’s shoulder. Patting the spot beside her, she said, “Come along, Annie. We’re going for a little jaunt. Won’t that be fun?”

A tight sensation closed around Alex’s throat. Edie Trimble couldn’t possibly be planning to trick the girl. To do such a thing would be indescribably cruel. Yet, as Alex stood there and watched, that was exactly what Edie did. Pretending she meant to accompany them on a ride, she lured Annie into the vehicle, waited for Alex to enter and take his seat, and then exited the carriage by the opposite door.

For all her dimwittedness, Annie seemed to realize her predicament quickly enough. She took one look at Alex and then tried to bolt after her mother. Left with no alternative, at least none that came immediately to mind, Alex forestalled her by blocking her way with his arm and jerking the door closed.

As he hastily fastened the latch, James Trimble closed and locked the other door behind them. Like a lamb herded into a chute, Annie had been trapped, neatly and with a minimum of fuss, just as her mother promised.

Trimble rested a folded arm on the edge of the open carriage window, his face creased in a smile. “You see, Alex? Nothing to it.”

Glancing at Annie, who was frantically rattling the door handle, Alex was sorely tempted to plant a fist in her father’s mouth. He might have done just that if he hadn’t heard the door latch click. Reaching past Annie, he re-locked the mechanism to keep her from making good an escape.

As Alex sat back in his seat, James added, “And if all else fails, there’s always this.” He thrust a thrice-folded length of leather through the window and into Alex’s hand. “Just the sight of it is usually enough to keep her in line. On the rare occasion that she gets stubborn, don’t hesitate to use it.”

Dumbfounded, Alex had already closed his hand around the leather before he realized what it was. A razor strop. Annie recognized what he held at almost the same moment he did.

She ceased her attempts to unlock the door and shrank back against the seat. The look on her face was one that he doubted he would ever forget. Not just fear. As unpleasant as that was, he expected it. No, what broke his heart was the shattered trust he saw reflected in her eyes. Like any child, she’d believed in her parents, and they’d both just betrayed her.

Suddenly the carriage lurched. The motion was all it took to send Annie into a full-blown panic. She dived for the door again, her slender fingers clawing frantically at the lock.

Before she could get a good grasp on the latch, Alex was upon her.

As he closed his arms around her body, it struck Alex just how slightly built she actually was. In the everyday course of his work, he frequently grappled with stubborn horses six times his weight, and it took all his strength to control them.

With this girl, he had to make a conscious effort to hold back.

Afraid of hurting her, he didn’t want to exert undue pressure with his grip or embrace her too forcefully.

Annie had no such compunction. With the flexibility of a contortionist, she somehow managed to slip from his hold, not once but repeatedly, twisting and bending her body in places that Alex had heretofore believed to be humanly impossible.

As a boy, he’d once tried to catch a greased pig at the county fair. Trying to hold on to this girl was every bit as frustrating.

Not to mention humiliating. She was half his size, for Christ’s sake.

In the end, Alex realized he had no choice but to play catch-as-catch-can, taking advantage of any opportunity that presented itself. The carriage was moving at too fast a clip to take any chances. If she managed to get a door open and tried to jump, she could do herself a serious injury.

Barely saving his face from being lacerated by her fingernails, Alex caught both her wrists in the grip of one hand, wrapped an arm around her midriff, and, with no slight difficulty, turned her so that she sat between his spread thighs with her back, pressed to his chest. By angling one leg across both of hers, he brought a quick halt to her digging the heels of her shoes into his shins. Not in time to entirely save his shinbones, but at this point, he was thankful for small blessings. The girl had at least twelve elbows, he felt sure, and half again as many knees.

During the struggle, the only sound Annie had made was a shallow panting. Alex scarcely noticed her silence until after he had subdued her, and even then he didn’t ponder on it overmuch. He was too busy slumping in the seat and striving to catch his breath.

Kerwhack! The sound splintered inside his brain. Pain, its center point the cleft of his chin, radiated along his jaws and exploded in his temples. Spots danced before his eyes.

Momentarily stunned by the blow, he blinked, trying desperately to clear his vision.

“What the—”

In a blur, he saw Annie tuck in her chin and hunch her shoulders. In barely the nick of time, he shifted sideways so that when she reared back again, her head connected harmlessly with his shoulder.

The little minx! He’d taken blows from the fists of stout men and felt less dazed. Hovering somewhere between outrage and amazement, Alex gaped at her, not quite able to credit her daring. Poleaxed! And by a slip of a girl. Jesus. He could easily break her neck with one well-placed blow. Didn’t she comprehend that?

Evidently not. Realizing her target had moved, she flung her head sideways, nailing him on the ear.

“Ouch! You little—”

Whoever said the earlobe had no feeling?

“Annie, don’t—”

Kerwhack! Agony lanced along his cheek. He hooked his chin over her shoulder to minimize her swing. Her temple promptly connected with the side of his skull, causing her more discomfort than it did him, he felt sure.

“Annie... Whoa, there, love. I’m not going to hurt you. Stop it, now.”

Kerthunk— kerthunk— kerwhack! Alex clenched his teeth, beginning to feel as if his brains were marbles in a bag and someone was giving them a shake. He bit down hard to stifle a curse. Whether she understood him or not, it went against his grain to use bad language in front of a female.

As if she realized the futility of trying to bludgeon him with her head, she tensed her body in one last, valiant effort to break free of his hold. Then she shuddered, the force of it vibrating through him and conveying her terror more eloquently than words.

Alex closed his eyes, swamped with equal measures of guilt and regret. After what Douglas had done to her, it was criminal for her to be put through this. Her parents should be shot, and he along with them.

“I won’t hurt you, sweet. Just calm down.”

She shuddered again. Then she went limp. He wished he knew of some way to ease her fears. But there was nothing he could think of to say or do. Nothing.

After a few minutes, the rhythmic sway of the carriage seemed to lull her. Judging it to be safe, Alex dared to straighten. He half expected her to lambaste him with her head again, but nothing happened. Eyeing the dejected slump of her thin shoulders, he decided that sheer exhaustion had claimed its victory.

Studying the back of her bent head, he couldn’t fail to notice the sweet curve of her neck where her sable hair had parted.

The skin there looked as soft as silk. Remembering her sitting on the landing earlier, he smiled slightly. Despite the vague, confused expression in her large blue eyes, she had a lovely little face.

A beautiful shell, that was Annie. There was no way he could accurately determine what degree of intelligence she might possess, but he guessed she had the mind of about a six-year-old, and not a very smart six-year-old, at that. It seemed such a waste. Such a terrible waste.

Lulled by her stillness and preoccupied with his thoughts, he relaxed his hold on her slightly. Sensing a chance for escape, she gave a sudden jerk and twisted violently in his arms. He grappled to reestablish dominance. In doing so, he shifted his grip on her ribs and encountered a breast. Long after he moved his hand, the fleeting impression of feminine softness seared his palm.

Right as rain from the neck down, Douglas had once said of her, and now that he’d had his hands all over her, Alex was in complete, though reluctant, agreement. Annie Trimble might be sorely lacking between the ears, but nature had generously compensated for the deficiency. Hidden under the shapeless frocks she wore, the tempting curves of her body weren’t apparent to the eye. They were, however, very apparent to the touch.

In proportion to her size, her breasts weren’t as small as he had originally thought, and despite her pregnancy, she still had a slender waist, accentuated by gently rounded hips. Judging by what he’d seen in the foyer, a chemise and bloomers were the only underthings she wore. Except, of course, for stockings. During their tussle, he’d felt a garter encircling one of her thighs. A very soft, warm thigh.

His throat tightened, and a sheen of perspiration broke out on his brow. Jesus Christ. Only a lowdown blackguard would get notions about a girl like Annie. Thoroughly disgusted with himself, Alex tried to recall the last time he had spent an evening in town with a sporting woman. From spring until fall, he didn’t have much time for that sort of thing. Usually, he didn’t notice the lack. Not so with this girl stuck to him like a label to a bottle.

Evidently still hoping she might escape, Annie squirmed again. Alex nearly groaned. There wasn’t enough room between them for a flea to wiggle.

The thing to do, he told himself, was look out the window, enjoy the passing scenery, and concentrate on something else.

Trees. Mountains. Anything. It was a simple case of mind over body. The instant he got the girl to Montgomery Hall, he would turn her over to Mistress Perkins, the nurse he had hired.

And from that moment on, he would endeavor to see as little as possible of her.

Out of sight, out of mind, as the old saying went.

Six

Annie had seen the slate-roofed, stone house from a distance, but, intimidated by its size, she had never ventured too close.

Outlined against a backdrop of forest green, it stood four stories high, including its attic floor, atop a grassy knoll crisscrossed with white fences. Its exterior was saved from severity by generous touches of white trim: a columned porch with an overhanging balcony, shutters at all the windows, and curlicue woodwork, the likes of which Annie had never seen, along the eaves.

Stone walls with white coping bordered the front lawn, the driveway entrance marked by white-topped gate pillars that had lanterns sticking up out of them. Lanterns, of all things. To Annie, that seemed completely crazy. Lights outside? When her papa had to go outdoors after dark, he just carried a lamp.

As the carriage shook and jiggled its way along the drive, she gazed at the house through a blur of tears, her panic mounting. Her mama and papa had given her away ... As relentlessly as a knife, the thought kept slicing through her brain. They must not love her anymore. Because she was growing fat, she guessed. So they had given her away. And to this man, of all people.

Oh, God ... Annie gulped and held her breath, terrified she might accidentally make a noise. The stranger had Papa’s strop. It was lying there, within easy reach, on the seat beside him. One wrong move, and she would get it for sure.

She knew this wasn’t the same man who had hurt her up at the falls. When he stood below her in the foyer, she’d gotten a good look at his face. Tiny lines fanned out from the corners of his thickly lashed, toffee-colored eyes, an indication he was older than the other fellow by several years. And she thought his sun-burnished features were a little sharper as well. But, otherwise, the differences were so slight they were scarcely noticeable. The same whiskey-colored hair, shot through with streaks of gold. The same straight nose, jutting from between tawny brows, a perfect offset for his high cheekbones and squared jaw.

The resemblance was too marked to be a coincidence, that was for sure. Except for the difference in ages, he looked enough like the other man to be his twin. That had to mean the two were close relatives, maybe even brothers. Just the thought made her stomach turn.

Brothers .. . Annie figured that brothers were probably a lot like sisters, living in the same house and bearing a lot of similarities to one another, not just in looks, but in other ways.

If one brother was nice, the other probably was. If one brother was mean, the other might be as well.

Annie knew for a fact that this man had a close relative, possibly a brother, who was very, very mean. That scared the stuffing out of her. To make herself feel better, she kept reminding herself that he could have hurt her already if he wanted. And so far, he hadn’t. But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t if the mood struck.

The carriage rocked to a stop. Filled with dread, she stared at the house, stricken by yet another thought. The other man, the one from up at the falls, might be in there. Waiting for her, maybe.

Her heart gave a sickening lurch, and she glanced around, searching for any way she might escape. No matter what, she couldn’t go inside that house.

As if he sensed what she was thinking, the stranger tightened his arm around her. It was all Annie could do not to scream, and she began to tremble so that her teeth started to clack. She couldn’t hear the sound. But she guessed that he probably did. If so, he would know how afraid of him she was.

Bullies were always meaner when they thought she was afraid.

Keeping a firm grip on her wrists, the man released her with his other arm to grab the razor strop and open the carriage door.

Before Annie guessed what he meant to do, he stuffed the strop in his pocket, caught her to his chest, and exited the conveyance. Clasped in his embrace as she was, her feet dangled uselessly several inches above the ground.

She thought about giving him another sharp kick on the shins or smacking him in the mouth again with her head, but she quickly discarded the idea. Now that he had her here, there was no telling what he might do to her if she made him mad.

As if she weighed no more than a rag doll stuffed with goose down, he carried her up the flight of steps to the house. Then, never turning loose of her, he somehow managed to open the door and fling it wide. After taking three long strides into the entrance hall, he drew to a stop and lowered her feet to the floor. Because he continued to hold her with one arm clamped around her ribs, Annie didn’t think about trying to run. Even if she managed to get away, where might she go? He would find her if she went home.

His house was bigger than it looked from outside. Lots bigger. Oak wainscoting adorned the lower walls of the entry hall, above which rose a landscape mural done in the colors of early autumn. Midway to the opposite end of the hall, a gleaming oak staircase swept up from the rust-red tile floor to a second- and third-floor landing.

Awestruck, Annie stared up at the mural. The leaves falling from the trees looked absolutely real, as did the small stream that wove lazily through a stand of cotton-wood. The focal point was a rearing black horse, similar to those she’d seen outside in the pastures, forelegs striking the air, luxurious mane lifted by the wind, tail streaming.

Never had she seen anything so beautiful. Living in this house, one would never grow weary of the winter rain, for a feeling of sunshine had been brought indoors. Looking at the painting, she could almost feel a warm breeze touching her cheeks.

With a start, she realized the warmth she felt was the stranger’s breath. He had leaned around to watch her expression, the pride in his own unmistakable.

“Well, do you like it?”

For a long moment, Annie stared up at his dark face, acutely aware of his height and the breadth of his shoulders. Then, with a shiver, she jerked her gaze from his, fighting down another surge of panic.

A tremor in his chest told her he was speaking again, and by the force of the vibration, she guessed that he was calling to someone. Like chipmunks from their holes, a butler and several uniformed household staff emerged from doorways along the hall. When they spotted Annie, they politely inclined their heads and withdrew again.

A moment later, a stoutly built woman in a black dress appeared on the second-floor landing. Annie had never seen anyone quite like her. Like a huge black crow, she swooped down the curving staircase. As she gained the first floor and walked toward them, she spread her hands in a gesture of welcome.

Annie gaped at her. The only cheerful thing about the woman was the end of her hooked nose, which was apple-red.

She wore her steel-gray hair skinned back so tightly into a chignon at the nape of her thick neck that she looked squint-eyed.

“So this is our little Annie,” she said with a broad smile that showed decayed front teeth. Flicking a glance at the man, she added, “My, my. That hair of hers is certainly in a tangle, Mr.

Montgomery. Doesn’t her mother ever tend it?’’

Annie couldn’t see the man’s face to tell what he said in reply, but she felt the vibration of his voice thrumming through her shoulder blades. Mr. Montgomery, the woman called him. She filed the name away in her memory.

The woman smiled at whatever it was he said to her, “Ah, well, no matter. I’ll have her set to rights in no time.” Turning her attention back to Annie and stretching out a plump hand, she said, “I am Mistress Perkins, your nurse. We’re going to get along wonderfully, you and I. Oh, yes.”

Annie was almost grateful for the solid length of the man’s body behind her as she shrank from the nurse’s touch. The woman’s smile was friendly enough, and she seemed nice. But there was something about her that made Annie nervous. Her eyes, she decided. With no trace of warmth, they gleamed like polished chips of black rock.

The man grasped Annie firmly by her shoulders. She felt his chest give another rumble. Then he handed her over to Mistress Perkins. Initially, Annie was relieved to escape his clutches. But not for long. The nurse’s grip on her arm was biting as she pulled her up the stairs and along a corridor. At any second, Annie expected one of the closed doors to fly open and the man who had attacked her to leap out. Not being able to hear, she had only her eyes to forewarn her. At every shadow, she jumped, which made Mistress Perkins grip her arm all the harder.

The woman led her into a bedchamber that looked as if it had once served as a nursery. In one corner stood a wooden rocking horse, its paint faded and completely worn away in spots. Positioned along two of the interior walls were a battered but serviceable armoire, a matching chest of drawers, and a rice-carved four-poster bed. The third wall was taken up by a massive rock fireplace. Only one window let in sunlight.

Before it sat a scarred pedestal table where she presumed the young occupants of the nursery had once taken their lessons.

Shortly after she and Mistress Perkins entered the room, a wiry man in work clothes arrived bearing one of Annie’s trunks. A few minutes later, he reappeared, huffing and puffing from the climb, carrying another trunk balanced on his shoulder. Immediately after he left, Mistress Perkins locked the oak door, dropped the key into her skirt pocket, and began rifling through Annie’s things. Once she located a brush and hair ribbon, she motioned for Annie to sit on one of two straight-backed chairs at the table.

Accustomed to doing as she was bidden, Annie sat down to have her hair brushed. After the woman dispensed with all the tangles, she set herself to the task of plaiting Annie’s long tresses, pulling and twisting at the strands until Annie felt as if the hair at her temples was about to part company with her scalp.

At her beseeching look, Mistress Perkins flashed a cold smile. “We’ll get along fine, missy. Just fine.” Then she wagged a finger. “Just don’t try me. I have no patience with nonsense.”

Annie curled shaking hands over the edges of her chair.

“You sit tight. When I’ve finished with the unpacking, I’ll ring for our lunch.”

Annie didn’t want any lunch. Or any dinner, either. Her only thought was to get out of this place, and to do that, she had to get skinny so her mama and papa would want her back.

She hugged her waist and watched as the older woman took all her things from the trunks and put them away in the bureau and armoire. Watching her work drove home to Annie that Mr.

Montgomery had plans to keep her here for a long, long time.

Why was the question. The possible answers made her stomach feel sick.

Her fear rekindled by the thoughts plaguing her, she glanced at the locked door and then at the window. Her heart sank when she saw there were iron bars on the opposite side of the glass. Nursery windows on upper floors were often barred to prevent little ones from accidentally falling. But she wasn’t little. If Mr. Montgomery had no intention of doing anything horrid to her, why would he lock her up?

As promised, Mistress Perkins rang for lunch as soon as she finished unpacking Annie’s things. Shortly after a maid delivered the food, the stout nurse took her place at the table and became so intent on her meal of sliced roast beef, vegetables, and freshly baked bread that it took several minutes before she noticed Annie wasn’t eating. When she finally did, she wiped the corners of her mouth, placed her crumpled linen napkin beside her plate, and pushed up from her chair.

“What a bother. I wasn’t told you couldn’t feed yourself.

Trust me to land a job where I must play nursemaid to an idiot.”

The woman speared a piece of meat and pushed it at Annie’s mouth.

“You have to eat, missy. If you don’t, you’ll take sick, and that’ll look bad for me. Understand? I can’t be losing this position.”

Normally, Annie would have felt sympathy for the lady.

The servants at her parents’ house needed their jobs as well, and she knew by things they said that employment was hard to find. But in this instance, she couldn’t afford to be charitable.

No matter what, she had to get skinny. And she had to do it fast.

When, after a nudge with the fork, Annie refused to open her mouth, Mistress Perkins got an unholy gleam in her eye and jabbed. Annie blinked, at first with pain, then with disbelief. One of the tines had punctured her lip. She could feel blood trickling down her chin.

“The nice thing about idiots, missy, is that they can’t carry tales. If Alex Montgomery notices ought amiss, I’ll tell him you did the injury to yourself.” Arching a black eyebrow, she added, “You’ll not be difficult. Not with me. Do you understand?”

Annie understood, all right. This woman was as vicious as she was ugly.

Rebellion was usually completely foreign to her nature, but this had been no ordinary morning. In the space of two hours, she’d been tricked by her mama, betrayed by her papa, and roughly handled by a man who frightened her half to death.

And now she was being jabbed with a fork? An awful, hot feeling washed over her. Short of grabbing the other fork and jabbing the woman back, there was little she could do but take the abuse.

And take it, she would. Nothing this woman or Alex Montgomery did was going to make her eat. Nothing.

When another jab with the fork tines didn’t encourage Annie to open her mouth, Mistress Perkins chose other forms of persuasion that wouldn’t be quite so evident to her employer. She pulled Annie’s hair, slapped her sharply on the back, and then resorted to pinching her in places where the resultant bruises would be hidden by her clothing.

Through it all, Annie sat there glaring up at the nurse with her teeth tightly clenched.

Just before dawn the next morning, Annie slipped from her bed and crept across the room on her tiptoes, wincing every time she felt a floorboard give beneath her weight. One of the disadvantages of being deaf, of which there were many, was that it could be very difficult to sneak about. She couldn’t tell, with any accuracy, whether she was making noise. It was ever so bothersome, especially when she wanted very much to do something and was afraid she’d be punished if she were caught.

Like right now ...

Reaching the window, Annie carefully inched the table to one side. When there was adequate room before the double-hung panes, she unfastened the lock and braced the heels of her hands against the lower sash bars. Quietly, Annie, quietly. Momentarily forgetting her run-in with the fork yesterday, she caught her lower lip in her teeth. At the ensuing pain, she opted to bite the inside of her cheek instead. She wasn’t sure why, but in her experience, to do something exactly right, she had to hold her mouth just so, and biting the inside of her cheek seemed to work best.

Slowly, she pushed the window open, almost afraid to breathe. She could only hope that Alex Montgomery was one of those fussy sorts who kept the window jambs in his house well-oiled. If not, she was probably making enough noise to wake the dead.

Not that the dead were her concern. It was Mistress Perkins she didn’t want to wake up. Last night before retiring, the crazy woman had tied her to the bed, of all things, with strips of linen. From things the nurse had said, Annie knew she believed her to be hopelessly stupid. And maybe she was. But even a dummy was smart enough to untie knots.

Fresh air wafted through the iron bars, molding Annie’s zephyr nightgown to her body. Before she allowed herself to relax, she “listened” for any movement coming from the room adjoining hers. Nothing. No footsteps vibrating through the floor. No tingles at the nape of her neck. Nothing. She allowed herself a satisfied smile. The fat old thing was still asleep.

Grasping the bars and letting her hands slide down their length, Annie knelt on the wooden floor. Ignoring the grit that pricked one bare knee, she fastened her gaze on the heavens.

Dawn. To her, it was the most beautiful part of the day, and unless she was sick, which was hardly ever, she never missed watching it. Right now the sky looked blue-black, just as it did in the dead of night, but she knew by the lackluster glimmer of the stars that day was about to break.

It never ceased to amaze her when it happened. Catching her breath, she watched as a rose-pink crack zigzagged across the horizon. A few minutes later, glorious shafts of light spilled forth from it, lending everything they touched a magical luminance. When the mountains became visible, their peaks were wreathed by a low-hanging mist the color of pale pink rose petals. Then, like a smile that slowly gained radiance, the light beams streaking the sky began to turn a brilliant gold.

Awestruck, Annie tightened her hands on the iron bars, thinking that, in place of music, God had given her the sunrises. Even without her ears, she heard the song in her heart, but it was no less moving for all that. Beautiful music made of light.

Closing her eyes, Annie remembered all the sounds that usually came with first light, the crow of a rooster, the strident outbursts from little birds, the distant barking of a dog, the whisper of the morning breeze as it picked up. Those sounds were forever lost to her, and yet she had filed them away in her memory, hers to recall and enjoy whenever it pleased her.

As she opened her eyes, a movement in the yard below caught her attention. She focused on a flash of gold that rivaled that of the sunbeams: Alex Montgomery’s hair. She knew with absolute certainty that it was he by the way he walked, his strides long and sure, the muscles in his thighs bunching and stretching the cloth of his biscuit-colored riding breeches.

Moving alongside the house as he was, he presented her with a frontal view. He wore a white cotton shirt, the sleeves rolled back over his thickly roped forearms, the front hanging open, the tails loose around his narrow hips. Annie had never seen a man’s bare chest, and she stared with curious fascination. Instead of pale bubbies with pink tips like hers, he had sun-burnished ones that not only looked hard but rippled peculiarly when he moved. In the center of each was a brown splotch about the size of a copper penny. Upon closer inspection, she saw that he also had golden hair on his chest, short, furry-looking stuff that she felt sure had to itch. It ran clear to his bellybutton, then narrowed into a line that dived under his belt.

As he passed beneath her window, which gave her a rear view of him, he began shrugging out of his shirt. Craning her neck, she stared in startled amazement as he wadded the white cotton in one fist. Across his back, under bronze skin that gleamed as if it had been rubbed with oil, muscle worked, bunching in one place, flattening out in others.

Leaving the yard, he went to a small outbuilding near the stables. Beside it stood a rusty old pump, the spout of which was positioned over a weathered washstand. After tossing his shirt over a nearby fence, he worked the pump handle until water spewed forth, then thrust his head and shoulders under the flow. Annie shuddered, imagining how cold it must feel.

When he straightened, he shook himself like a doused raccoon and rubbed the water from his eyes.

His hair stood out from his head as if someone had stirred it with a whisk. She couldn’t help but smile at how silly he looked. He quickly remedied the situation by raking his fingers through the darkened strands. His upper torso still sparkling with droplets of water, he grabbed his shirt and put it back on, evidently not caring that the cotton absorbed the wetness and clung to him like a second skin.

Mesmerized, Annie watched him brace a hand on the top fence rail and vault over it without any apparent effort. There was a brown horse in the enclosure. When the beast saw him, it flung its head and repeatedly struck the earth with a front hoof. Alex approached the animal slowly. When he came within about ten feet of it, the horse pivoted on its hind legs and galloped away. Making no sudden moves, Alex followed.

As before, just when he had almost closed the distance between himself and the animal, it bolted.

Again and again, Alex made his approach. Annie’s sympathies were all with the horse. While Alex wasted no energy, the animal kept breaking into a gallop, and in its panic was making unnecessary circles inside the fence. Soon its coat glistened with sweat, and its sides heaved with exhaustion.

Annie realized that Alex intended to keep approaching the animal until it no longer had the strength to run from him. The poor horse seemed to realize it as well and watched him warily, its body aquiver with overexertion.

To Annie, it seemed a cruel game, and seeing him put the animal through such an ordeal cemented in her mind that he wasn’t a very nice man.

At the thought, Annie’s throat tightened. She pushed to her feet with a suddenness that made her head swim. Turning her back on the window, she hugged her waist and swung her gaze to the locked door. At her back, sunlight spilled through the window, throwing the striped pattern of the iron bars across the floor. Trapped. That was how she felt.

Perhaps it was simply memories of that day at the falls getting the best of her, but she could almost see Alex Montgomery entering this room and stalking her, just as he did the horse, with that same relentless determination, until she was too spent to run anymore.

Unable to stop herself, she glanced back at the window.

Through the bars, she saw that the inevitable had finally happened. The horse stood with its rump pressed into a V of the fence line, trembling but no longer able to resist the touch of its master’s hands upon its body.

Seven

For the remainder of that day and the two following, Alex studiously avoided the upstairs nursery but met daily with Mistress Perkins to be updated on Annie’s progress. Edie Trimble visited, and after a lengthy stay, she seemed satisfied with the nurse’s credentials and performance.

Mistress Perkins, a kindly, middle-aged woman, had come to Montgomery Hall with glowing letters of recommendation and appeared to be the epitome of efficiency. She informed Alex that Annie was settling into her new routine quite nicely, and that he shouldn’t have a moment’s worry about her welfare. From now on, she said, that was her concern.

Alex was more than willing to leave the woman to it. He couldn’t forget his physical reaction to Annie in the carriage, nor could he forgive himself for it. The farther he stayed away from the girl, the better.

Fortunately his was a large, rambling old house, and as Dr.

Muir had predicted, Annie’s presence there could be virtually ignored. Alex went on with his usual routine, working days in the stables and fields or at the rock quarry, spending the evenings doing accounts or taking his leisure in the study.

On the third evening, he had just settled into his favorite chair with a snifter of brandy and a recent issue of the Portland Morning Oregonian when a piercing screech reverberated through the room. He shot straight up in his seat, the hair at the nape of his neck standing on end. The screech was soon followed by screams.

With a curse, Alex rushed from his study into the hall where he collided with his housekeeper Maddy, who had also been alarmed by the noise. After a bit of scrambling to regain their balance, the two of them made for the stairs, Alex gaining a considerable lead in the ascent; Maddy, plump and short of leg, huffing for breath behind him. When Alex reached the nursery door, he found it locked from the inside.

Rapping sharply on the thick panel of oak, he yelled,

“Mistress Perkins! What the blazes is—”

“Help me!” the woman shrieked. “Oh, God, have mercy!

Help me, please!”

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” Maddy cried, and quickly crossed herself.

Alex shouldered her plump form aside. Rearing back, he gave the door a sharp kick. The thick slab of oak stood fast.

Prodded by the screams coming from the room beyond, he withdrew several steps and put all his weight into butting the door with his shoulder. Upon impact, he reeled backward with such force he nearly had to peel himself off the adjacent wall.

“Son of a bitch!”

Maddy pressed her hands to her temples. “Dear God, what’s happenin’ in there?”

From the sound of things, ail hell had broken loose. Alex eyed the door, grimly determined. All his life, he’d heard stories of men kicking their way into locked rooms, and he was a larger man than most. There had to be a trick to it.

Focusing on the doorknob, he backed up as far as the opposite wall would allow, took two steps to get momentum, and planted his foot directly beneath the brass backplate. The wooden frame splintered, the door gave way, and Alex entered the nursery in a staggering rush. He swayed to a stop only a few feet shy of Mistress Perkins and Annie, who seemed to be locked in mortal combat.

Such was the confusion of writhing bodies that it took Alex a moment to figure out what was going on. When he finally did, his eyes widened in amazement. Annie, the docile little creature whom Dr. Muir had assured him would never cause any trouble, had her teeth sunk into Mistress Perkins’s finger, her intent apparently to relieve the woman of the appendage.

The nurse, dancing about in agony, was slapping her charge about the head and shoulders in an attempt to get free. Before Alex could step in, the woman evidently decided mere slaps weren’t going to work and resorted to using her fists.

“Say now!” Alex shouted.

He leaped into the fray, not at all certain whom he meant to save—Annie, who was being bludgeoned, or Mistress Perkins, who was in danger of being dismembered. Dimly he realized that Maddy skirted the battle, grabbing clothes here, arms and hair there, her shrill Irish brogue adding to the din. There ensued a four-person bout, Annie and Mistress Perkins in an inseparable tangle, Alex and Maddy trying, without much success, to separate them. Just as Alex was finally managing to pry Annie’s clenched jaws apart, the frantic nurse missed her mark and dealt him a blinding blow to the nose.

Freed at last and holding her injured finger, she staggered backward, her black eyes blazing. “You little she-bitch!”

“Now, just one minute!” Alex cut in. “I’ll have no talk like that.” He swiped at the blood pooling on his upper lip. “What in blazes prompted the girl to bite you?’’ Turning, he saw that Annie had fled to a far corner of the room, where she huddled on the floor with her back pressed to the wall. He shifted his gaze back to the nurse. “Well?”

“Nothing prompted her! With no provocation, she attacked me.”

Wiping at his nose again, Alex studied the hefty woman, his instincts telling him that there was more to this than she was revealing. “How, exactly, did your finger come to be in Annie’s mouth?”

“She bit it.”

Recalling his own experience with Annie, Alex had no difficulty believing she might bite, but he found it rather peculiar that she’d latched onto a finger instead of a more accessible body part. “What did you do? Stick your finger out to accommodate her? I’m sorry, Mistress Perkins, but something about this strikes me as odd.”

“I was feeding her! That’s all. Correct me if I’m wrong, but I believe that’s my job. And while I was about it, the little bitch bit me!”

Alex didn’t lose his temper often, but then he very seldom got his nose bloodied. “You’ll watch your language, madam, or be dispatched without references for your trouble.”

“Dispatched? Without references? I have several letters of reference, sir, as you well know, and if those won’t suffice, I can write others. There are always fools like you who don’t bother to check them out.”

Stunned, Alex stared at her. Then he winced, for he had indeed been a fool. Due to lack of time, he hadn’t verified this woman’s credentials.

She gave a shrill laugh. “As if I’d stay on in this position!

The girl’s mad! You’ll never find someone to take care of her.

Mark my words on that, sir. I was trying to make her eat, nothing more. She’s been refusing to take her meals. What was I to do, let her starve?”

“If you were having a problem with Annie, you should have come to me. As it is, you’ve let the situation get out of hand, and I’m left with no choice but to let you go. I can’t allow someone in my employ to strike my wife, no matter what the provocation.”

“Your wife? Ha! As for this position, I’ll gladly quit and walk every step of the way back to town rather than spend another night in this house!”

“That won’t be necessary. I’ll arrange for your transportation.” Drawing his handkerchief from his pocket, Alex clamped it over his bleeding nose and glanced at Maddy.

“Can you see to the girl while I take care of matters downstairs?”

Her grizzled red hair gleaming in the lamplight, her face pale by contrast, Maddy threw an uncertain look at Annie.

Then she straightened her round shoulders and nodded. “Go ahead, Master Alex. We’ll manage, I’m sure.”

Alex wished he felt as certain. He hated to leave Maddy to cope alone, but he saw no other alternative. Motioning for Mistress Perkins to precede him, he exited the room.

Alex had just seen Mistress Perkins off in the carriage and was heading back up the front steps to the house when Maddy appeared in the open doorway, her ample frame outlined against the backdrop of light that spilled from the entrance hall.

Planting her hands on her hips, she gazed after the departing conveyance.

“It’s a good thing she’s gone, and that’s a fact! I’d have taken her apart with me bare hands, let there be no question about it!”

Since the death of his mother when he was three, Alex had regarded Maddy, with her kindly green eyes, as more of a parent than a housekeeper. In his recollection, he’d never seen her in such a temper. Heavy-breasted and wearing a dark blue dress with a white bib apron, she put him in mind of a small schooner with a high wind billowing her topsails.

Gaining the porch, he gazed down at her face, trying in vain to read her shadowed expression. When her Irish was up, Maddy could be a corker, no doubt about it. Alex could only be grateful that Mistress Perkins had made good her getaway.

“I’m not exactly pleased with how the woman handled the situation myself,” he admitted. “Striking Annie with her fists was uncalled for. But I suppose, in her frenzy, that she might not have realized what she was doing.”

Maddy crossed her plump arms. “That beastly woman has been downright cruel to that poor girl, no frenzy about it.”

Maddy had an excitable streak and quite often overreacted.

Alex couldn’t help thinking she must be doing so now.

“Mistress Perkins was out of line, Maddy, but I think the word cruel is a little too harsh. Annie was about to relieve her of her finger.”

“She was cruel!” Maddy insisted. “I am appalled that such goings-on have been allowed to occur in this house.

Absolutely appalled.”

“I admit it was a nasty scene, but let’s not make it into something worse than it actually was.”

“Worse than it actually was? The woman is a fiend. How could ye neglect to check her references? I can’t believe ye’d be so careless.”

Caught off-guard by the attack, Alex couldn’t immediately think of a response. When he finally spoke, his tone was defensive. “I needed a nurse, if you’ll recall. There wasn’t time to correspond with her former employers. She seemed respectable enough and kindly.”

“Kindly? I wouldn’t entrust a mongrel dog into that witch’s care. A nurse, ye say? What ye really wanted was a keeper, and anyone would do, just as long as the lass was kept quiet and out of yer way till her babe was born.”

“Maddy, you know that isn’t—”

“Ye give yer mares better care. There isn’t a lowly stableboy in yer employ whose references ye haven’t checked.

God forbid that an injury should befall one of yer blasted horses.”

“I believed the woman was competent, Maddy.”

“But ye didn’t make certain. Therein lies the shame of it.”

She wagged a rigid finger under his nose. “I told ye from the start that no good would come of this. Feebleminded or no, the girl’s not a piece of breedin’ flesh to be passed back and forth between ye and her parents as the mood strikes. It’s a sin against God and all that’s holy.”

He thrust a hand through his hair. “Let’s calm down a bit, hmm?”

“What ye’re really sayin’ is that I should calm down. Well, calm isn’t how I’m feelin’. If ye were still a lad in knickers, I’d wear out yer hinder with a hickory switch for this piece of work.”

In Alex’s opinion, dancing to the tune of a hickory switch might have been less lacerating than hearing Maddy’s words.

“I made a mistake, Maddy. I don’t deny that. But you know it wasn’t intentional.”

“The road to hell is paved with good intentions.”

“Yes, well... I promise you it won’t happen again. I’ll make sure the next nurse is of sterling character.”

“The next nurse? Why not just put the lass in a horse stall?”

At Alex’s stunned expression, she went on, “Well? She’d not be a bother to ye that way. When her labor comes on, ye can have Deiter deliver the babe like he does all the foals. Ye’ll get yer heir. Annie can be packed off home. Everyone but the lass will be happy. Isn’t that essentially what ye’ve got in mind, anyhow? Why fancy it up by hirin’ a nurse?”

Alex’s temper snapped. “That will be quite enough. This is an ugly predicament, true, and I wish it had never happened.

But it did, the girl is pregnant, and I’ve tried to remedy the problem as best I can. What more can you ask of me?”

“That ye be a husband to the lass?” she suggested with scathing sarcasm.

“Besides that.”

“Well, barrin’ that, yer payin’ the wee thing a bit more attention wouldn’t hurt. That nurse ye hired has been tryin’ to shove food down the girl’s throat! That’s how her finger came to be in Annie’s mouth. The woman deserved to get it bit clean off, if ye ask me.”

“Shove food down her throat?” Alex repeated in amazement.

“And that isn’t the half of it. Pinchin’ the poor wee thing all over her person. Every time I think of it—” She hauled in a shaky breath. “Well, words can’t describe me anger. The lass has so many bruises, she looks like a bolt of polka dot. All under her frock, of course, where they can’t be seen. Ye should look at her back where that horrible woman has been slapping her.”

“Bruises?” Alex’s heart caught. “Jesus. How badly is she hurt?”

He started to step past Maddy, but she caught his arm.

“Don’t race up there like chaff in a high wind. Ye’ll frighten the lass.”

Knowing she was right, Alex withdrew from her grasp but made no further attempt to enter the house. A long silence fell between them, during which time Maddy made a visible effort to calm down. When Alex felt she had regained at least a margin of her composure, he said, “Should I have Henry fetch Dr. Muir?”

“I don’t think she’ll be needin’ a doctor, no. I can tend her.

But there is another small wrinkle ye need to iron out.”

“What’s that?”

“The reason she’s been refusin’ to eat is because she thinks she’s gettin’ fat. Somehow ye’ve got to make her understand it’s a baby thickenin’ her waist, not too much food.”

Alex studied his housekeeper’s round features. “How can you possibly know what Annie thinks?”

“Well, I got it from Annie, of course.”

“The girl can’t talk.”

Maddy raised her chin. “Not like we do, that’s a fact. But she can get her point across if pressed.”

“How?”

“Come upstairs and see for yerself.” With that, she spun and headed for the stairs, muttering angrily under her breath every step of the way.

Not wishing to startle Annie, Alex entered her bedchamber after Maddy. Still hiding in the shadowy corner, the girl sat with her arms hugging her bent legs, her blue frock tucked modestly around her ankles. Apparently exhausted, she rested her head on her knees. So he might see better, Alex stepped over to light the bedside lamp before crossing the room to her.

At his approach, she straightened and fixed him with a wide, wary gaze. In the depths of her blue eyes, he read several emotions: fear, no small amount of distrust, and a dreary hopelessness.

Christ. He had brought her into his home to give her his protection. A fine job he’d done of it. She’d been pinched, pummeled, and God only knew what else. Little wonder she looked at him the way she did.

Hunkering down in front of her, he took a moment to study her, searching carefully for signs of abuse. As far as he could tell, there were none. Aside from the fact that she had dropped a bit of weight that she could ill afford to lose, she looked well-scrubbed and healthy, her dark hair confined in tidy plaits that fell to her waist.

“Maddy tells me that Mistress Perkins has been treating you badly, Annie,” he began. “Would you care to tell me about it?”

In response, she gave him the usual uncomprehending look, her gaze fixed intently on his mouth. Alex got the feeling he might as well be speaking Greek. The girl obviously didn’t understand the simplest sentences. That she had somehow managed to communicate with Maddy stretched credibility to the utmost. Yet Alex had never known his housekeeper to lie.

Intent on seeing the girl’s bruises, he reached to draw the neckline of her frock slightly aside. At his movement, she shrank against the wall, her eyes going dark with fear. His hand hovering in midair, Alex made a fist in frustration. As limited as her mental capacities seemed to be, she clearly had no difficulty remembering what Douglas had done to her and believed he might do the same.