Almost a Lady by Heidi Betts Page A

ways?"
    Tears rolled from the girl's eyes, into the dark hair at her temples. She nodded weakly.
    "Do you regret your wicked ways?” he asked again, his voice gaining strength.
    "Y-yes,” she managed, teeth chattering with fear.
    "For your sins you must pay. To God you must repent. Repent. Ask God to forgive you your trespasses."
    "For . . . give me."
    "The Lord cannot hear you. Speak louder, my child."
    "Forgive me."
    "Beg His forgiveness for your sins.” His words echoed through the dungeon room.
    "Forgive me."
    "Forgive us, Lord, for we know not what we do!” From inside the cloak, he produced a long sword, its golden hilt engraved with a crescent moon. He grasped the weapon in his white - knuckled hand.
    "Again, my child."
    Her chest heaved with the effort to speak. “Forgive me.
    " Misereatur vestri omnipotens , Deus, et, dimissis peccatis vestris , perducat vos ad vitam aeternam . May almighty God have mercy upon you, forgive you your sins, and bring you to everlasting life ."
    Raising the sword, he looked down into her terrified eyes. “Amen,” he said, and drove the sharp point home. Life's blood poured from her body as her heart beat its last.
    He removed the blade from her chest, wiping it clean with a soft linen cloth.
    "This child of God has been forgiven, Outram . Take her home."

Chapter Nine

    Willow stormed into her room at the Astor House hotel, slamming the door closed with a clatter that reverberated off the walls. She hurtled her parasol across the room, just missing the flowered porcelain vase on the floor beside the fireplace.
    Moving from the sitting room into the bedroom, she continued to vent her frustration. Hat, gloves, shoes, all were thrown in one direction or another, their flight punctuated by curses aimed at Brandt Donovan.
    The only thing that didn't receive the full force of her fury was the portfolio of photos that Robert had given her, which she tossed with uncommon gentleness onto the bed.
    With an angry yank, she pulled open the jacket of her gown, hanging it and the matching skirt in the mahogany claw-footed wardrobe. Petticoats and corset soon followed, along with her silk stockings.
    By the time she stood in only her knee-length chemise, her anger had dissipated somewhat. But she still hated Brandt Donovan with a passion. Her foot tapped impatiently on the thick mulberry carpeting, arms across her chest.
    Why did he have to be the only person in the state of
New York
reasonable enough to agree to Robert's ultimatum? Any other man would have fought it tooth and nail, too proud to work with a female operative.
    But not Brandt. He made it perfectly clear that he didn't like the idea of being on a case with a woman, but he wasn't going to let that small inconvenience keep him from doing his job.
    When he had turned to her and asked, “Where do we begin?” she'd wanted to smack the smug smile off his face. It had taken all of her willpower to bite her tongue and remain silent while Robert filled Brandt in on the Charlie Barker case. As soon as Robert had dismissed them, she'd stalked out of the office to the hotel without a backward glance.
    Brandt claimed to be a detective; let him discover where she was staying.
    Not that she cared to ever see him again. Her investigation would go much more smoothly without that boorish oaf getting in the way.
    She wrapped the red satin robe about her shoulders and moved to the bed for the file. Propping fluffy pillows behind her back, she crossed her legs and began sorting through the contents of the envelope.
    She spread the photos in an arc at the foot of the bed, paying little attention since she'd seen the crime scene firsthand. Then she started reading the enclosed profile of Charlie Barker. It included a wide range of facts: age, date of birth, family, details of his murder. But nothing that hinted as to why he'd been killed.
    Willow worried a thumbnail, clicking it against her front teeth, staring at all the information before her. She