Free Deadly Kisses by Brenda Joyce

worried. And not just because you are about to put yourself in all kinds of danger once again. Francesca, this scandal will be too much to bear!”
    â€œMama! Hart is innocent!”
    Julia gave her an anguished look. “When the scandal breaks, it won’t even matter.”
    Â 
    F RANCESCA DECIDED TO TRY to catch Hart before he left for his offices, which were at the tip of Manhattan on Bridge Street. Hart had recently built a huge home for himself a dozen blocks farther uptown from the Cahill home. It had cost millions, and it rose up out of the wilderness of upper Manhattan like a royal palace. Sweeping lawns and lush gardens surrounded the house, and farther back on the property was a large pond, tennis courts and a redbrick stable. When Francesca had first met Hart, he had been living alone. She hadn’t been able to understand how any human being could reside by oneself in such a huge home, with only staff for company, or why anyone would even want such a secluded and lonely existence. Had Hart not been so arrogant, she would have felt sorry for him.
    He did not live alone now. His stepfather and step mother, Rathe and Grace Bragg, had recently returned to the city, and were currently building a new and very modern home of their own. They had moved in with Hart some time ago. His nephew, Nicholas D’Archand, had also moved to the city and was attending Columbia University, and from time to time his various stepbrothers or his stepsister would also appear. Francesca was thrilled for Hart. He might deny it, but she felt strongly that being surrounded by family was the best thing possible for him.
    Now, with the coach Hart had bought for her parked in front of the house, Francesca rapped on the front door. Hart worked long hours and slept little, but often he would work at his home in the early mornings. Still, it was a quarter to nine now and she was afraid he was already gone.
    Alfred greeted her almost instantly. “Miss Cahill!” He beamed, clearly pleased to see his employer’s fiancée and no longer trying to hide his feelings about their union. “Do come inside.”
    â€œGood morning, Alfred,” Francesca said, dashing into the huge front hall where a great deal of Hart’s art collection was displayed, including a shocking nude sculpture and a very sacrilegious Caravaggio. “Have I missed Calder?”
    â€œI am afraid so. In fact, Mr. D’Archand has already left for the day and Mr. and Mrs. Bragg are in Newport for two weeks. However, Mr. Rourke is in residence. He arrived two days ago and he has yet to leave,” the dapper, balding butler replied.
    Francesca bit her lip, debating whether to send Hart a note. She had too much on her agenda for that day to travel all the way downtown to Lower Manhattan—even on an elevated railway, the trip would take a good forty-five minutes or so.
    â€œShall I summon Mr. Rourke? He is in the breakfast room.”
    â€œAlfred, that’s quite all right.” Francesca smiled. “I am on an investigation. I will show myself into the library and write Hart a note.” Hart should be told of Kurland’s visit. Thus far, Francesca had tried to avoid letting Hart know how bothersome and even malicious the newsman was. She had been afraid that Kurland would reveal the extent of her past relationship with Rick Bragg, but that did not matter now. Mama was right. If a scandal broke, it could destroy everyone. “But I do have a question or two I should like to ask you.”
    Alfred seemed surprised. “Of course, Miss Cahill.”
    â€œYou were here, were you not, when Mr. Hart arrived home last night?”
    â€œI most certainly was. I let him in.”
    That was a relief, Francesca thought. “Do you recall the hour?”
    â€œIt was a minute or two after the hour of eight o’clock—I happened to glance at the clock in his study, which is where he went directly upon