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There were no more secrets in this house. Ella, the woman who’d been in charge of the infant Alex Moody, had been taken away with Sylvie. Now it would be only she and the housekeeper and two maids inside, the three gardeners outside, and Berry, who’d so faithfully taken care of Beau’s precious yacht for so many years.
She didn’t want to think about what Lister had planned to do with the infant he’d had kidnapped, it both scared and sickened her. All she knew was Lister needed the infant to test his drugs. For his father. She realized how reprehensible that was, wondered at herself that she hadn’t stopped it earlier. It was all a mistake, meant to slay Lister’s dragons, not Beau’s. Beau hadn’t asked for any of it. Would he have if he’d been able? She didn’t know, didn’t want to know, ever.
Hannah sighed and walked back into the King’s Bedchamber. She paused in the doorway, looked at Beau sitting motionless in his wheelchair, his head down, as if he was studying his slippers. There was no use lying to herself, it was time to face the truth. Lister was not coming back with any more drugs, any more promises. Beau was gone forever now. She was all he had, and she’d never leave him, as long as she lived.
She looked around his precious King’s Bedchamber. She realized she hated this room. An exact copy of a centuries-old room, faded, pathetic, really. She wanted a soft carpet beneath her feet, not the wide oak planks. She wanted that absurd harpsichord out of here, and those bed hangings, she would burn them. Yes, she would change everything.
Hannah looked toward the Hercule Poirot she’d been going to read to him. No, let him sleep. She walked to the closet and began collecting Beau’s clothes. She would donate the lot to charity.
B. B. Maddox opened his eyes, raised his head. He watched Hannah as she took his clothes out of the closet. He thought she seemed tired, noticed how thick she looked around the middle. Why was that? She’d been so slender. He opened his mouth to ask her what she was doing with his clothes, but his head fell against his chest once again, and he slept.
EPILOGUE
THE CLIFFS OF MOHER
WEST COAST OF IRELAND
FRIDAY, SUNSET
“There’s no more beautiful spot on this blessed earth,” Liam said against Elena’s hair. “And glory be, it’s stopped raining. Now, girl, get ready for the show.”
“You’ve become a romantic.” Elena leaned up, bit his earlobe, and snuggled into him as they watched the huge orange sun slowly sink into the ocean. Tourists and locals alike fell silent, watching the spectacle, and let out a collective gasp when the sun at last disappeared, falling into the ocean. Liam helped Elen
a to her feet, brushed the dirt off her jeans. He cupped her face in his hands, kissed her cheek, her mouth. “You ready for a pint at the pub and a lively fiddle? This romantic is going to dance a jig with you.”
Elena, marveling at the vagaries of fate, put her hand in his. He would have to teach her how to dance an Irish jig.
