Free Deadly Illusions by Brenda Joyce Page B

dashing, and until his fall from Cahill grace, he had been a premier catch. Francesca smiled up at him, searching his eyes. “You seem very well.”
    He laughed and shrugged. Then, “I haven’t been at the tables in over a month, Fran.”
    She cried out in surprised delight. Evan had a passion for gaming and, to her dismay, she had learned that his debts exceeded a hundred thousand dollars. That had been one of the causes of friction between him and their father. Recently, the man to whom he owed the vast sum of money had threatened his life. Francesca had borrowed fifty thousand dollars from Hart to pay him partially back, and Hart had called on the creditor as well, to make it clear that Evan’s life would not be forfeit for his debts. Since then, there had been no more threats and no more assaults. But on several occasions in the past Evan had lapsed into his old habit of gambling. Francesca was thrilled that he had managed thus far to stay away from the nightclubs. “That is wonderful,” she said. “And there is no temptation?”
    He gave her a dark look. “There is always temptation, Fran. I will be tempted until my dying day.” Then he lightened. “But the countess is keeping me quite busy and very distracted.”
    An image of the radiant, auburn-haired widow came to mind. “Has it become serious?” Francesca asked lightly. She happened to like the flamboyant countess, but she did not quite trust her. Bartolla Benevente had once meddled in her private affairs when she had been infatuated with Rick Bragg.
    Evan hesitated, running his hand through his dark hair, and paced over to the wall of windows, which looked out onto Madison Avenue. Francesca followed him. Below, the street was filled with carriages and trolleys; the city was doing business in full swing. Pedestrians—mostly darkly clad gentlemen—hurried up and down the street. She suddenly thought about Hart and the evening ahead and she smiled.
    Then she thought about Daisy and she frowned, her heart skipping with fear.
    â€œI don’t know,” Evan finally said, facing Francesca directly. “I am in love, but…I have been in love before.”
    How mature his assessment was. Francesca was impressed. “Yes, you have. And you do gravitate to the Bartolla Beneventes of this world.”
    He smiled a little at that. “Yes, I do. She would make a good wife.”
    â€œI doubt she wishes to wed a law clerk.”
    â€œYes, I agree, and I have thought about that. She urges me frequently to make up with Father.”
    Francesca met his gaze and touched his arm. “You do what you need to do, Evan. I am very proud of you.”
    He shook his head, his expression self-deprecating. “And how are you? You seem radiant, Francesca, but then I look into your eyes and I see that you are worried. Is everything all right?”
    Now it was Francesca who hesitated. It crossed her mind to tell Evan about the awful conversation with Daisy, but she had no wish to dwell on the painful subject. “I am on another case,” she said, an attempt to distract herself. Then she gave up. “I ran into Daisy a few hours ago.”
    Evan started. “Daisy? You mean that lovely creature whom Hart…you mean—” he coughed “—Hart’s, er, Daisy Jones?”
    Francesca hugged herself. “I know that he was keeping her as a mistress, Evan. You need not be discreet with me.”
    Evan stared, his forehead creased. “Fran, it is over?” Doubt filled his tone.
    She knew she should not have raised the subject. “He broke it off with her when I accepted his proposal.”
    Evan spoke with care. “What I love most about you is your loyalty and trust.”
    â€œWhat does that mean?” she asked with dread.
    â€œFran, I don’t know how to say this, but he keeps her still!”
    She stiffened. “If you mean she continues to live in his