Free Brenda Joyce - [Francesca Cahill 04] by Deadly Desire Page A

asked, driving forward.
    “She really has no clients. Sarah has not sold her art.” She wet her lips. “Yet.”
    He gave her a long look.
    She faced him. “Do not be angry!” she cried.
    “I shall try not to be. What is it that you are not telling me?”
    “I had nothing to do with this,” she warned.
    Suddenly he pulled over to the curb, a bit forceful on the brake. “Oh, ho. Let me guess. Hart is involved in this!”
    Her heart lurched and fell. Then it beat like a drum. “Bragg, he isn’t really involved.”
    “Why are you white?” he demanded.
    “All right! He is Sarah’s client. Her only one. Recently, he commissioned a painting from her!” she cried, praying he would not ask about the commission, yet knowing he would find out, sooner or later, and she had better tell him the truth.
    Bragg stared at her. “That’s it?”
    She hesitated, licked her lips, and nodded. “Not exactly.”
    He waited.
    She closed her eyes, wishing she could disappear, at least for a moment or two. But then, none of this was her fault. She turned and looked at him. “I had nothing to do with this—really.”

    “Somehow, I doubt that.”
    “The painting Hart commissioned? It is a portrait.” She swallowed. “Of me.”
     
    Francesca trailed behind Bragg as he strode into the same large, overdecorated salon that she had been in earlier. Lucy was at her side. Bragg hadn’t said another word since he had learned of Hart’s commission, much to Francesca’s dismay. He was clearly angry. Lucy had tried to engage him in conversation, and his replies had consisted of monosyllables.
    Now Francesca tore her gaze from his rigid shoulders and glanced at Lucy. The redhead gave her a soft, sympathetic smile, then leaned close and whispered, “Don’t worry. I am sure things will work out. He is jealous.”
    Francesca tried to smile back and failed. Bragg had whipped around to glare at them, so she could not tell Lucy that he had nothing to be jealous of.
    Mrs. Channing had led the way into the parlor, and now she sank into a huge, thronelike chair, which dwarfed her. She had not stopped talking since they had arrived, and she was going on and on about how distressed Sarah was, how maddened someone must be, and why would anyone do such a thing?
    “I do need to speak with Sarah,” Bragg said firmly.
    Mrs. Channing’s hands fluttered nervously. “She is coming down, Commissioner. She has already been sent for.” Tears filled her eyes. “My poor dear has been so happy. You know, with the engagement and all. And to have some madman come along and ruin it all this way!”
    Francesca turned to Lucy. “The engagement to my brother was a recent one.”
    “How wonderful,” Lucy said. “Shouldn’t he be here?”
    Francesca hesitated, wondering what to say. “He doesn’t know what has happened,” she finally said.
    Lucy’s look told her everything. She knew that the match was not about love.
    “Have you employed anyone new recently?” Bragg was asking Mrs. Channing.

    “No. We have had no change of staff this year, certainly not that I can remember.”
    “I should like a list of your entire household. With mailing addresses for everyone,” Bragg said. “Both current and previous. I should also like for each servant to list his or her previous employment and spouses, if there are any.”
    Mrs. Channing blinked. “Oh.”
    Francesca understood. He wished to determine if any of the staff had suspicious or criminal backgrounds or connections. It would be a laborious task indeed.
    “Commissioner?” Sarah said softly, from behind Francesca.
    She turned. Sarah was terribly pale, but she had clearly composed herself, as her bearing was ramrod-straight. Her cousin, the Countess Bartolla Benevente, stood beside her, a flamboyantly beautiful auburn-haired woman clad in a gown more suitable for evening than day, with a huge sapphire necklace about her throat. Bartolla had her arm around Sarah. Tall and statuesquoe, the countess