“Are you really so naive?” he asked. “Do you think either one of us can simply take this to your bank and get the money? You’re likely to have all manner of police waiting for us in that event, to say nothing of that fellow who follows you everywhere. Nath and I won’t be taken in so easily. We have too much to lose—Nathan especially.”
“Then you’ll want cash.” She should have realized they wouldn’t trust her. She didn’t trust them.
Brigham shrugged.
“I want the gown,” Lydia went on. “All of it. Every scrap and furbelow. I don’t want to be at your beck and call the rest of my life.”
“Quite understandable. But we’re at an impasse, don’t you think? The gown’s here, but your money isn’t.” He went to Nathan’s wardrobe, opened it, and showed her the yellow gown hanging on the inside of the door. “See? The way Nathan tells it, this gown puts you in Miss Bailey’s brothel the night two women died. Not the sort of thing you’d want common knowledge.” He took the gown off its hook, fingered the fabric idly, and then tossed it under the bed. “Your parents would be horrified. Nob Hill would be talking about it for years.”
“That’s why I’ve come,” she said quietly, then added more forcefully, “But don’t think I care overmuch for my reputation. My conscience is clear. I did nothing to cause the deaths of either Charlotte or Ginny.”
“You didn’t? I understand you threw the doctor out when Charlotte was giving birth.”
Lydia gasped softly. “Nathan told you that?”
Brigham smiled. “I told you there weren’t many secrets.” He struck a casual pose, resting his arm against the mantel. There was a decanter of liquor and a tumbler half filled with the same liquid near his fingertips. He circled the rim of the tumbler with his forefinger. “Anyway, it’s Nathan’s reputation I’m more concerned about than yours. He’s the one in need of protection. This is not the first time he’s been involved in a murder like this.”
“The newspapers say Ginny’s death was a suicide,” she said, struggling for calm.
“Nathan says he knows differently. He says it was murder. You can forgive him for tying one on tonight, can’t you? He’s been afraid for weeks that you’d go to the police. That’s why we decided it was necessary to confront you with the gown. Nathan wants to be certain you’ll maintain your silence.”
“Then you don’t want money for the gown.”
Brigham shook his head. “No, I’m afraid the gown was merely the bait to get you here, Lydia, and get you here alone. We can’t give it up, or what’s to keep you silent then?”
“My word.”
“Not good enough. But I’ve thought of something.”
Lydia knew what was coming, had suspected it all along. The only surprise was that it was coming from Brigham and not Nathan. She stood. “You’ll have to believe I’m not going to say anything.” She started to go, dodging Brig’s arm as he stuck it out to stop her. He caught her easily, drawing her arm up and behind her. Her struggle was brief, and when it was over Brigham was holding her derringer. She hadn’t even felt his hand inside her pocket.
He let her go and examined the gun. “You should have used this immediately. Else why carry it?” He aimed it at her. “There’s only one agreeable solution short of killing you,” he said. “And that’s to take you out of the country. It wouldn’t be abduction, not in the strictest sense, not if you were my wife.”
“Yourwife?” she asked. “Not Nathan’s?”
“I’m notthatconcerned about his protection. I still want you for myself.”
Lydia glanced toward the bed again. “He didn’t pass out, did he? You drugged him.” She called herself all manner of fool for not realizing it immediately. “You two have a peculiar sort of partnership. Each with your eye toward the main chance. You’ll work together when it suits you, work alone when it suits you more.”
“That’s always been our nature. We’ve been friends for a long time, Lydia. This won’t change anything.”
“Why am I so important to either one of you?” she demanded. Her voice broke and she fought back agitation and fear in order to have control again. “Is it all for the sake of some ridiculous wager set between you?”
Brigham didn’t answer her question. He asked one of his own instead. “Are you in agreement, Lydia? Will you freely marry me?”
“Not you. Not Nathan. You’re insane to think I would.”
He sighed, dropped the derringer in his pocket, and backed Lydia against the bed. The mattress caught her knees and she sat down abruptly. “You’re going to make things difficult, aren’t you?”
She stared at him, unable to look away.
Brigham took off her hat and tossed it aside. “Undo your hair,” he said flatly. She shied away when his fingertips brushed her cheek. “Don’t do that again.” Lydia opened her mouth to scream, but the hand he clamped across her lips cut off the sound. “That’s something else you should have done right away. It’s too late for that now.” Hauling her up in his arms, Brig pushed her toward the mantel. He lifted the tumbler of liquor he had fiddled with earlier and didn’t waste a moment telling her what he expected her to do, or ask her permission. The hand that covered her mouth shifted quickly to pinch off her nose. It didn’t matter if Lydia’s lips parted to scream or draw a breath, the end was the same. Brig poured the liquor down her throat. She coughed and sputtered, tried to spit it out, but was forced to swallow most of it. “It will take a little while to feel the full effects,” he told her, easing his grip slightly. “Nathan fought it, but you can see that it did no good. And he had even less of the stuff than you.” The hand at her waist slipped under her baggy flannel shirt and cotton camisole and slid upward to her breast. Her skin was cool to the touch. “What we do until you pass out is up to you. Afterward, it will be up to me. You could take down your hair now and save me the trouble later.”
“I don’t think so,” she said, pressing the barrel of her derringer against his ribs. “Feel that? You’re not the only one with light fingers.”
Brig’s eyes widened slightly but he didn’t remove his hand from her breast. His thumb brushed her nipple, raising it to pearl-like hardness. There was amusement in his voice, not anger, not fear. “You don’t think much of my marriage proposal, do you?”
“And you don’t think much of my threat.”
