Free The Handmaiden's Necklace by Kat Martin Page A

forced him to accept. My shot bounced off a rib and lodged in an area around his spine. Oliver Randall will never walk again.”
    She tried to feel something, tried to make herself abhor what Rafael had done. But she knew the code of honor a highborn Englishman lived by. Knew that if Rafe ever discovered the truth, he would make Oliver pay.
    “I’m sorry,” she said finally.
    “For Randall? Don’t be.”
    “For all of us. For the years we lost. For the damage that was done.”
    “Randall destroyed our lives, Danielle. Mine as well as yours. You might not believe it, but it’s true.”
    “Well, now he has paid, so it’s over. Thank you for telling me. I was afraid…”
    “You were afraid of what, Danielle?”
    Her chin went up. “I was afraid you had come to destroy my plans for the future. My chance of finding happiness with Richard.”
    “You believed I would go that far, that I hated you that much?”
    “Didn’t you?”
    “I never spoke a word to anyone about that night. Not once in all of these years.”
    “But you never denied the rumors. You cried off two days after it happened. By breaking our betrothal that way, you made it clear that I was guilty.”
    Something moved across his features. She thought it might be regret. “There is no denying my role in what happened. If I could change things…if I could do it over, I would.”
    “But we can’t do that, can we, Rafael?”
    “No. We can’t undo the past.”
    Danielle rose from the sofa. “Goodbye, Rafael.” She started walking toward the door, her heart still beating fiercely, fighting an urge to weep.
    “Do you love him?” Rafe called suddenly.
    Danielle just kept walking, out through the parlor doors into the entry. Lifting her skirt up out of the way, she concentrated on climbing the stairs, one by one, up to her room.

Seven
    R afe sat on the horsehair sofa in the parlor of his suite at the William Penn Hotel. Thinking of his meeting with Danielle, he propped his elbows on his knees and rested his head in his hands.
    “That bad, was it?” Emerging from the bedroom, Max Bradley strolled up beside him as silent as a wraith. He always seemed to appear without warning. Rafe still wasn’t used to it.
    “Worse,” he said, leaning back against the sofa, stretching his long legs out in front of him. “I’ll never forget the look on her face when I told her I had finally discovered her innocence in the affair. My God, if she hated me before, she loathes me completely now.”
    “Are you certain? Or do you just hate yourself?”
    Rafe sighed, knowing it was true. “There’s no denying the guilt I feel for not believing her that night. I wish there were something I could do to make it up to her.”
    Max walked over and poured himself a brandy. He was nearly as tall as Rafe, several years older, and thin to thepoint of gaunt. His face was weathered and hard, the deep lines hinting at the sort of life he led. Thick black hair, always a little too long, curled over the back of his plain brown tailcoat.
    Max poured a glass of brandy for Rafe, walked over and handed him the drink. “You look like you could use this.”
    For the first time Rafe realized that Max was speaking with an American accent. In France, he’d spoken French like a countryman. He was a man who stayed mostly in shadow and he never slipped out of whatever role he played. In Max’s line of work, such talents were invaluable.
    Rafe took a swallow of brandy, grateful for its inner warmth. “Thank you.”
    “You said Danielle came here to be married.”
    “That’s right.”
    “Have you met the man?”
    “Briefly. From what I’ve been able to find out, he’s a very successful businessman, a widower with a daughter and a son.”
    “Is your lady in love with him?”
    One of Rafe’s dark eyebrows went up. “Danielle is no longer my lady, and I have no idea. She wouldn’t tell me.”
    “Interesting…” Max took a long draw on his brandy. “In that case, I suppose