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In one lightning move, Trenton caught Baxter by the collar, dragging him up by the throat until his own knuckles turned white. “I wouldn’t suggest it, Caldwell,” he got out between clenched teeth, hearing the appalled gasps around him. “I’d like nothing better than to tear you limb from limb.”
“Then do it, you bastard,” Baxter spat back. “At least this time we’d have evidence of your crime.”
For a moment, Ariana was certain that her brother had breathed his last. Then, slowly, Trenton relaxed his hold, shoving Baxter away as if he were a hideous viper. “I wouldn’t give you the satisfaction,” he hissed. He jerked around to face Covington, who cowered beneath Trent’s, brutal stare. “Your answer?”
James swallowed, feeling an unnatural silence permeate the room. Despite their attempts to remain discreet, the three of them had put on quite a show for his curious guests. Whatever he did now would be witnessed by a roomful of influential people. He weighed his decision carefully, trying not to hear the quiet, heart-wrenching sobs of his precious Suzanne, who was openly weeping in her mother’s arms. For while her happiness meant the world to him, there were other things to consider: his own position in society, his standard of living, his entire future. In the end, there was no choice to be made.
“All right, Kingsley, I’ll do as you ask. But only out of respect to your father’s memory,” he hastened to add, feeling hundreds of censuring eyes bore into him. “You have your answer. Now get out before I have you thrown out.”
Trenton nodded. “Done.” He cast a scathing look at Baxter, who had turned chalk white, his expression dazed. “I suggest you tend to your sister, Caldwell.” For the first time he allowed his gaze to shift to Ariana, taking in her ruined gown, tear-streaked cheeks, and contorted stance. “Her ankle is badly sprained.”
“Get out,” Ariana whispered. “Just … get out.”
Trenton gave her a mock salute, his features grim. “I shan’t trouble you again, my lady.” He turned on his heels and was gone.
Ariana watched him leave, feeling a sharp pain that had nothing to do with her ankle. Was this truly the compassionate stranger who had so gently examined her injury? How could she have been so wrong about someone?
“James … you can’t really mean to—” Baxter was saying.
“You’d best take your leave as well, Baxter,” Covington interrupted him. “I’ll see to the guests.”
Ariana acted, seizing her brother’s taut, trembling forearm. “Please, Baxter. We’ve provided enough gossip for one night Please … let’s go home.”
Baxter stared down at her with unseeing eyes. Then he turned abruptly and stalked from the room.
Ariana blinked after him, wondering what she should do. Her brother’s reaction didn’t particularly surprise her, for it was typically Baxter. No, her dilemma was not born of emotional distress but of simple pragmatism: She didn’t think she could make her way to the front door unassisted.
Easing forward gingerly, she attempted to hobble, then whimpered at the pressure it exerted on her ankle.
“I’ll accompany you to your carriage, my dear,” James Covington offered. “Come.”
Ariana had no choice but to accept his assistance, though she was not at all certain she forgave his severing Baxter’s betrothal. Silently, she leaned against him, allowing him to escort her to the Caldwell carriage, where Baxter sat slumped and brooding.
“Oh … Ariana … did I leave you there?” he muttered, affording her a mere cursory glance.
“It doesn’t matter,” she replied, sliding onto the seat and nodding her thanks to Covington.
With a helpless shrug, the older man moved aside and gestured for their driver to commence.
The ride home was agonizingly quiet.
“Baxter …” Ariana tried at last.
“What do you want, Ariana?”
“Why would he return after all these years?”
“To ruin me; why else? He killed Vanessa, nearly destroyed our family, and now he intends to complete the task.” Baxter leaned back, throwing his arm across his eyes.
Ariana winced. Since the age of twelve she’d listened to the sinister recounting of how Trenton Kingsley had charmed her older sister Vanessa: courting her with gifts and promises, leading her to believe they had a wondrous future together, compelling her to fall deeply in love with him.
And then … terrifying her with his bizarre possessiveness and violent threats, stripping her of joy and laughter and finally her will to live.
Forcing her to take her own life.
Or taking it himself.
The accusations were never proven and no charges were brought. But Baxter still believed, despite the passage of time, that Trenton Kingsley was, unequivocally, a murderer.
