37

Chaucer Haversham rode into Harper’s Station like some kind of visiting dignitary, tipping his hat politely to each of the armed men he passed on his way. Malachi Shaw at the station house. Ben Porter in front of the store. Lee Dunbar at the bank where Helen, Claire, and Maybelle had decided to wait things out—Helen to stay close to the Pinkerton, and the healers to be on hand in case their services were required.

Amos stiffened as the man who’d instigated all of Grace’s hardship guided his horse toward the telegraph office. Sheriff Tabor shadowed him and deputies rode behind, but that offered small comfort. Amos adjusted his grip on the rifle he’d borrowed from the marshal. Whatever Haversham thought to accomplish by coming here, Amos intended to see he left unfulfilled.

“Good day to you, sir,” Haversham said as he drew his horse to a halt in front of Amos. “I’m here to see Miss Mallory. Would you be so kind as to fetch her for me?”

“I’m afraid Miss Mallory is unavailable.” Amos widened his stance as he eyed the man in the black tailored suit. Sunlight glinted off a silver ring on Haversham’s little finger as he lifted his hand to tip his hat to Amos just as he had done to all the others, who were now closing in on their visitor, surrounding him on all sides. Feeling the strength of their numbers, Amos grinned. “I’d be glad to convey a message to her on your behalf, if you would like.”

“I’m afraid that would be quite unsatisfactory.” Haversham met Amos’s gaze with eyes as smug as they were falsely solicitous. “You see, I’ve come to offer my most heartfelt apologies. I understand that a man formerly in my employ harassed Miss Mallory in recent days and caused her some manner of distress.”

“Some manner of distress?” A muscle ticked in Amos’s jaw. “Lockhart tried to kill her. And me.”

“Well, you can imagine my relief at learning that he was unsuccessful,” Haversham continued, his gentility so sickeningly sweet it was all Amos could do not to retch. “I would like to express my deepest regrets to the lady and assure her that I had nothing to do with the incident.”

“Then why are you here?” Amos glared up him, not believing a word that passed his lips. “If you’re so removed from this incident, as you claim, how is that you came to be in Seymour on the very day that your employee abducted and attacked Miss Mallory? Doesn’t seem very removed to me. Seems more like you had a vested interest in the matter.”

Haversham sighed. “I can see that you’ve already painted me guilty by association. Understandable, given the situation. But in truth, I followed Milton Lockhart to Seymour in order to stop him from doing anything . . . untoward. Milton could get rather fixated on things, you see, and when he realized how upset I was about the theft of a pair of books from my library, he took it upon himself to get them back. I insisted that we wait to get a court order, but he wouldn’t hear of it. As soon as he learned of Miss Mallory’s location, he set out to retrieve my property.”

The way he emphasized the words my property set off alarm bells in Amos’s head.

“And now, I really must insist on seeing Miss Mallory.” Haversham dismounted and strode forward until he stood directly in front of Amos. “She may meet me of her own accord, or I can have the sheriff drag her out and throw her in jail, if that is her preference.”

The marshal pushed his way through the deputies to flank Haversham from the rear. “Tabor? What’s he talking about?”

Sheriff Tabor dismounted as well, then reached inside his jacket and pulled out a paper folded in half. “He’s got a writ. Signed by a judge. It compels Grace Mallory to produce two novels marked with Tremont Haversham’s seal.” Tabor unfolded the paper and held it up to his face. “Oliver Twist and Guy Mannering,” he read. “She’s to return them to their rightful owner, Mr. Chaucer Haversham, or face arrest on charges of theft.” He handed the paper to Malachi. “I got no choice, Shaw. The law’s the law. Best if she just hands over them books. Then we can send this jackanapes on his way.”

“That jackanapes shouldn’t be sent on his way. He should be arrested for murder.” A feminine voice laced with steel echoed behind Amos.

Grace! Amos wanted to shout at her to get back inside, to stay as far from Haversham as possible. He’d nearly lost her yesterday. He couldn’t bear to think of anything happening to her today.

But Haversham couldn’t harm her. At least not physically. He was only one man, unarmed by all appearances, and surrounded by no less than seven men who’d not hesitate to put him down should the occasion call for it.

“Ah, the lovely Miss Mallory.” Chaucer Haversham removed his hat with a flourish and sketched a gallant bow. “What a delight to finally meet you in person. Let me say—”

“No. I won’t let you say.”

Amos nearly choked at the startled look on Haversham’s face as Grace marched past Amos and planted herself directly in front of her nemesis. Shy, quiet Grace Mallory had not only interrupted a conversation, but she’d placed herself directly in the center of attention. Every eye was locked on her, and she held herself like an avenging angel ready to pronounce judgment.

Clutching the books Haversham sought against her chest with folded arms, Grace raised her chin and stabbed him with an icy stare. “You killed my father.”

Haversham darted a glance toward Sheriff Tabor as he straightened and replaced his hat on his head. “I assure you, I did no such thing.”

“You might not have pulled the trigger yourself, but you ordered it done.”

He shook his head, a condescending smile sneaking onto his face. Amos wanted to smash it with his rifle butt. “My dear girl, I fear you’re laboring under some misguided notions.”

“I’m not your dear anything,” Grace ground out, “and everyone here knows you are guilty.”

Haversham made a tsk sound. “Miss Mallory, perhaps you are unaware, but in this country a man is presumed innocent until proven guilty.” He opened his arms and gestured to the men encircling him. “And since none of these fine, upstanding lawmen are rushing forward to take me into custody, I must assume that proof of my guilt does not exist. However, proof of your guilt does.” He nodded toward the books she held. “I believe those belong to me.”

Not for long. Satisfaction filled Amos at the thought of the arrogant rogue finally getting his comeuppance.

Grace thrust the books at Haversham, but as he closed his hands around them, she kept a grip on her end. “God knows the truth,” she said in a low voice that only those standing closest could hear. “And if justice does not find you in this life, Chaucer Haversham, it will find you in the next.”

With those words hanging like sharpened swords in the air, Grace released her hold on the books, turned around, and walked back toward her office.

Such courage and conviction. Amos grinned at her as she came alongside him. She was extraordinary.

“Oh, Miss Mallory?” Haversham called to her retreating back.

Grace slowly pivoted to face him.

“It seems the books have been damaged.” He ran his finger along the inside cover then held the volume up for her inspection.

Amos had helped her glue the endpapers back into place earlier, but the paste had not had time to dry completely, nor was there any way to hide the slit that Amos had cut along both spines.

Nonplussed, Grace met the man’s stare. “Yes. I believe my father intended to restore them, but he died before he could finish the job. I’m afraid you’ll have to be satisfied with my efforts.”

Haversham’s eyes narrowed, his gentlemanly veneer slipping. “Did you remove anything from the books, Miss Mallory?” His voice tightened to fit though his clenched jaw. “The court order specifies the books and any foreign contents contained therein are to be turned over to me.”

Sheriff Tabor nodded. “That’s true.” He looked at Grace. “You remove any foreign contents from them there books, Miss Grace?”

A slow smile spread over Grace’s face. “No, sir. I never removed anything from those books of a foreign nature. Everything I saw inside the book was written in English.”

“Good enough for me. Take yer books and skedaddle, mister.”

Haversham lunged forward and grabbed Grace’s arm. “You conniving—”

The sound of seven guns being cocked simultaneously cut off the rest of his words. In a flash, Malachi had Haversham’s arms pinned behind his back. The instant Grace was free of the man’s grip, Amos pulled her into his side, leaving the sheriff to collect the books that had fallen to the ground in the scuffle.

“You see that, Tabor?” Shaw asked as he fastened a leather strap around Haversham’s wrists.

“Unhand me, you cretin!”

“Yep,” the sheriff replied, completely ignoring Haversham’s protests. “Assault on a female. I’ll charge him and keep him locked up until the judge comes to town.”

Haversham struggled against his bindings until Ben Porter laid his big hands on the man’s shoulders and forced him to be still.

“This is outrageous!” Haversham cried. “I barely touched her. No judge will find me guilty.”

“Maybe not.” Lee Dunbar limped into the circle, revolver in one hand, crutch in the other. “But the judge won’t even hear your case for . . . what, Tabor, a week?”

The sheriff rubbed his chin. “More like ten days, I’d say. Circuit judge only comes once a month.”

“Plenty of time for me to return to Philadelphia and make my report to Whitmore, then,” Dunbar said. “Excellent.”

Haversham paled as the truth finally sank into his brain.

He had lost.