Capture The Night by Geralyn Dawson Page A

of. I’ll always believe that she was behind whatever happened to Nicole. In my grief following the death of Nicole’s mother Anne, I was easy prey for a woman like Bernadette. She hated Nicole, and was a poor stepmother to her. That’s something I’ll always regret, that my daughter knew so little of a mother’s love.” He closed his eyes as remorse overcame him. Softly he added, “I waited so many years to remarry, and when Celeste told me we were expecting a child, I swore not to make the same mistakes as I had with Nicole. I wished so much more for Elise; it made my grief over Celeste’s death that much more difficult to bear.”
    Corot stood and straightened his jacket. “I’ll begin an investigation of Bernadette Compton immediately.”
    Julian waved a hand. “Sit back down, Pierre,” he said, carrying the two empty glasses toward the cabinet. “There’s no need to rush off. Even as I set you and your men upon Mary Smithwick’s heels, I sent my own people after Bernadette. They will find her eventually, and I intend to question her quite thoroughly.”
    Corot eyed Julian, who tipped the brandy decanter and splashed the amber liquid into the snifters. “Don’t kill her, Julian,” Pierre said.
    “Now, how could I possibly kill Bernadette Compton, or should I say, Bernadette Compton Desseau?” An evil smile stretched across Julian’s face as he handed Corot his drink, then lifted his own glass in salute. “You know my beloved second wife, Bernadette, drowned at sea over twenty years ago. It would be rather redundant to kill someone who’s been legally dead for years?”
     
    MADELINE HAD lost her perception of time. An hour had passed, maybe two. Enough time that she no longer gagged at the fetid stench permeating the hold. Long enough that she’d developed a craving for water. She was more uncomfortable than worried. Lillibet would look for her after Rose’s nap, and when Madeline turned up missing, Lil would certainly suggest a search of the hold.
    At first, Madeline hadn’t been content to wait. She’d shouted for help until it pained her already hurting throat. Giving up on that, she’d talked to an unresponsive Brazos until her mouth was as dry as—no, she wouldn’t think about the corpse. She wouldn’t wonder as to its identity or worry over the sinister possibilities its presence suggested.
    Instead, she’d continue to talk in gentle, soothing tones to the man who so recently almost choked her to death.
    Brazos no longer rocked; he sat with his head buried against his knees. The only movement she noted was the frequent quiver of a muscle beneath her hand as she stroked him, her touch a constant offer of comfort.
    “Oh, Brazos,” she murmured softly. “You are a tortured man. I sensed you had secrets, but now…” Her voice trailed off. Madeline knew that his mysteries were of a different nature than those she kept confidential. The proof sat physically before her, and mentally, he was worlds away.
    Yet, as he had shown her the night of the storm, her touch, the sound of her voice, must in some way reach through whatever terrors lived in his mind. She curled her fingers in his silky hair, and with her thumb wiped away a rivulet of sweat that dripped down the whisker-rough surface of his face. During the past hour, she’d given Brazos’s situation considerable thought.
    “You’re not afraid of the dark, Brazos. I've heard you above deck on the blackest of nights talking and laughing with the sailors.” Standing behind him, she massaged the tight muscles at his shoulders, gladdening at the slight give she felt beneath the linen as the tendons relaxed.
    “I’m certain it has something to do with being inside closed places. You never go below deck, not even at midday, when the sun is shining and the lamps are lit. But you’re not really afraid of enclosed spaces, are you? Fear isn’t the proper word for what holds you in its grasp.” Her fingers stilled, and her hands moved