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“Positive.”
“Then evidently he misunderstood whoever purchased it. Is there a note?”
“None.”
“That’s odd.” Ariana’s brow furrowed.
“Or intentional.”
“Trenton, why would someone pretend to be your wife in order to send you a volume of Shakespearean plays?”
“You tell me.” Trenton opened the book, pointing to the underlined section. “Read that passage.” He waited while Ariana read. “The page was marked with that.” He gestured toward the crushed rose.
The color drained slowly from Ariana’s face. “A rose … That was Vanessa’s favorite flower, the scent she always wore. And the section from Othello …”
“Is about death … or, to be more specific, murder. Not merely a rose’s, but a woman’s.”
“This has to be a mistake … a horrible coincidence,” Ariana whispered.
“Oh, it’s no mistake, misty angel.” Trenton’s penetrating cobalt stare bore into Ariana. “The merchant described my wife as an incredibly beautiful woman with masses of red hair and splendid green eyes.”
“Oh my God.” Ariana sank down onto the sofa, feeling lightheaded.
“My sentiments exactly. If you didn’t buy this for me, who did? And why?”
“Red hair and splendid green eyes …” Ariana swallowed past the lump in her throat. “Trenton, that’s not really a description of me. My hair and eye color are not nearly so vivid. That sounds more like …”
“Vanessa,” he finished for her.
“Was the merchant reliable?”
“He was nervous as hell. He said something about his vision not being what it used to be.”
“Could his description be wrong?”
“What do you think?”
Ariana laced her fingers tightly together. “The question is, what do you think?”
“Honestly? That this was someone’s attempt to torture me.”
“Baxter.”
“You said it, not I.”
“I find it hard to believe my brother would be so cruel,” Ariana reasoned aloud. Seeing Trenton’s jaw tighten, she amended, “I didn’t say he wasn’t selfish and greedy. But despite whatever else he may be, Baxter is not a sadistic man.”
“Obviously you’ve been in his company this afternoon,” Trenton said bitterly.
“What you’re implying is unfair and untrue. Meeting with Baxter altered nothing, Trenton. I’m not as easily influenced as you evidently think.”
“What did the bastard tell you?”
“Nothing I didn’t already know.”
“He admitted blackmailing me?”
“He had another term for it, but yes.”
