Deception (Infidelity #3)

I closed my eyes. “I don’t believe I would’ve spoken that way to my father. Alexandria isn’t me.” And you aren’t her father. I didn’t say the last part, though if Alexandria had been present, she would have. “Alton, let’s finish dinner. You’ll feel better in the morning. Traveling always makes you irritable.”

His volume rose. “You’re turning this around on me?”

It was a no-win conversation. “Perhaps we should go upstairs?”

It wasn’t a proposal I wanted accepted, but then again, after as much as he’d drunk, I had hope that he’d fall asleep after only a few minutes.

His laugh was an octave higher than normal. I turned his direction while the shrill sound sent chills down my spine. “Sometimes,” he said, enunciating each word, “I wonder why I spend my nights with you when there’s a spitfire in need of taming down the hall.”

Blood no longer flowed through my veins. It stilled, falling to my feet, leaving me dizzy and dazed. The fork I’d been holding fell to the table, the clink going unnoticed as Alton’s tormenting grin and gray eyes dared me to respond.

Just briefly, my eyes met the young girl’s with the water. Silently, I tipped my head, motioning for her to go into the kitchen. As the door swung shut, I turned back toward my husband. “What did you just say?”

His brows rose, disappearing under his graying hair. “You heard me. Sending Alexandria to her room doesn’t seem to work. Spanking her ass doesn’t work. Charles wanted me to turn you into an acceptable wife.” He shrugged. “I did. Someday Bryce will thank me.”

I didn’t remember reaching for the steak knife lying beside my plate. I didn’t remember standing. Of all the things Alton had said and done to me, I’d never argued. I’d never fought back.

Before his inebriated mind could process it, I was behind his chair, the blade of the knife firmly pressed against his throat.

“You ever touch my daughter like that and I’ll kill you. I will kill both of us.” The knife grazed his skin as I applied pressure. “You don’t even need to be asleep. I’ll slit your throat or poison your brandy. You’ll never see it coming, but I swear to God, you’ll die, and before you do I’ll cut off your cock with a dull knife. That, Mr. Fitzgerald, is a promise. I’d willingly spend eternity in prison or in hell. It wouldn’t be any different than what I live every day.”

Defensively he reached for my hand. With strength I never knew I had, I held tight to the knife and turned it. The tip was now buried a few millimeters in the soft notch at the base of his throat.

“Say it again. Come on, Alton. We’ll end this farce right now.”

Blood dripped from his skin onto the white shirt, a small trail making a growing stain.

“Laide.”

His wits returned as he squeezed my wrist, causing the knife to drop onto the floor, blood still visible on the blade. In less time than I could fathom, he stood. Suddenly, I was bent over the table, glasses and dishes crashing as their contents covered the table and floor. My hands were secured tightly behind me as my cheek smashed into a dish of something soft.

The Montague staff was too well trained, too frightened of Alton, and too well paid. No one would enter the dining room. No one would stop whatever was about to happen to me.

My stomach twisted as Alton’s erection probed my backside. Painfully he twisted my wrists, leaned his lips next to my ear, and loudly whispered, “That’s what I’m talking about. Maybe she did get some of that spirit from you after all.”

With each word he rubbed himself against me and gathered both of my hands in one of his. Pulling my hair, he lifted my face, the sauce that had been my pillow dripped from my cheek. His menacing tone continued and his Cognac breath soured my stomach. “Maybe I have my hands full, after all.”

I didn’t have a response. All I could think about was that I’d won. He wouldn’t see it that way, but I’d fought and kept his attentions on me. My victory came in Alexandria’s safety.

“Keep me satisfied, Laide. I like the idea of what I’m going to do to you after your little stunt.”

I felt him stand taller, humming as he assessed his wounds. He tugged my arms farther, eliciting a whimper I tried to suppress.

“You made me bleed.” He laughed. “Yes, this is going to be fun.” With his lips once again near my ear, he whispered, “If I bleed, so do you.”



The night was one I’d rather forget, but Alexandria was worth every minute.

I’d made a promise, and on some level, Alton knew I’d keep it.

Though I wasn’t plunging the knife into his neck, my plan for this evening would have a similar result. I’d tried everything. Alexandria wouldn’t listen, and I didn’t blame her. She was happy. I could hear it in her voice.

My daughter wasn’t me. She was Russell through and through. She didn’t care about Montague. She didn’t love Bryce. And with each passing day, Bryce’s discontent with her decision was becoming more evident. Instead of getting closer to my goal, as I’d thought we were a few weeks ago, we were farther and farther away.

The realization that Alton had somehow influenced Alexandria and Lennox’s meeting was the final straw. No longer wearing rose-colored Montague glasses, I saw the writing on the wall. Hell, I could read it, even the fine print. Alton believed he’d won.

I wasn’t sure why I hadn’t taken this course of action sooner. Perhaps I wanted to believe in fate. I wanted to believe in the fairytales Alexandria loved as a child. I wanted to believe the promise my mother made—if I did all I could, it would all work out.

The reality wasn’t as pretty. The answer had been at my fingertips all along. A few calls to Dr. Beck’s office, more complaints about my migraines and the medicine arrived. That combined with the last prescription, the one I’d yet to use, gave me plenty of pills.

I’d fought my best fight. Now the finest thing I could do for Alexandria was to die.

The answer was so simple.

My death was one of the few outs for Charles’s will. If I died, the estate automatically reverted to her. Of course, Alton would fight. He’d fight her. But he wouldn’t win. She not only had her grandfather’s will on her side, she had Lennox Demetri. I didn’t know him, but I had faith that if he were anything like his father, he’d help her get what was hers.

Nevertheless, my daughter’s finest weapon wasn’t a piece of paper or a man. I took great pride in seeing that Alexandria’s greatest weapon against Alton and the atrocities of Montague Manor was what she’d always possessed—her own determination.

Spitfire.

I smiled and let my wish go audibly from my lips, “Rain down hell on him, darling.”

With my face washed and wearing my favorite nightgown and robe, I opened both bottles of pills, emptying them into a glass. There were more than I expected. But they were small. For twenty years I’d been an expert swallower. These pills would be nothing.

I started to pour myself a glass of water, when something from my memory came back. If I were going to leave this world, the last liquid to pass my lips would be a glass of Montague Private Collection.

I lifted the phone near the bed and called the kitchen.

“Yes, Mrs. Fitzgerald?”

I suddenly wondered if I’d have to keep that name in the afterlife. I supposed it depended where I landed. Surely, God wouldn’t make me keep it. Satan would think it was proper punishment. “Yes, bring a bottle of Montague cabernet to my suite—1986.”

“A bottle, ma’am?”

“Did I stutter?”

“No, ma’am. One or two glasses?”

Stupid girl. The entire staff knew that Alton was gone, out of town until Labor Day weekend. “One,” I replied, hanging up the receiver and relishing the idea that for once I didn’t give a damn when Alton would be home.

As I waited, I paced the sitting room, uncharacteristically giddy over my future, or lack thereof. I couldn’t remember ever feeling as certain about a decision. The weight of the years disappeared. If I’d known the serenity I’d feel, I would have decided this course years ago. Then again, Alexandria might not have been able to handle it years ago. Perhaps my calm came in believing that now she could.

A knock.