Deadly Vows Read Free Page B

unease. Connie cried sharply, “Fran, do not open it!”
    Francesca took the envelope, thanking Jonathon. “That is all,” she said. She waited for him to leave and turned it over. The back was blank.
    Connie came over to her. “I know you. That must be the beginning of an investigation. It is your wedding day, Fran. Do not open it!”
    â€œI am not going to start an investigation today, Con,” Francesca said calmly. She walked away from her sister, ostensibly to stand in the light coming through a window.In fact, she did not want her sister to see the contents of the envelope until she had done so first.
    A printed invitation was inside. It read:
    A private preview of the works of Sarah Channing
On Saturday, June 28, 1902
Between the hours of 1:00-4:00 p.m.
At No. 69 Waverly Place
    Francesca felt her heart drop as if to the floor. Her knees buckled. She could only stare at the invitation in horror.
    â€œWhat is it?” Connie cried, rushing forward. “Has someone died?”
    Francesca quickly held the card to her bosom so her sister could not see. She looked at Connie, but her mind spun and she did not see her sister at all. Instead, she saw the portrait Sarah had painted of her last April, at Hart’s request. In it, she was stark naked, seated on a settee.
    Her stolen portrait had surfaced.
    Someone had just invited her to view it.
    She inhaled. Francesca had no doubt what this terrible in vitation was about.
    â€œFran? Let me get you a glass of water.”
    Francesca sat down, hard, in the closest chair. Her sister knew that Hart had commissioned her portrait and that it had been stolen, but she did not know that it was a nude. Only a handful of people knew.
    Her heart thundered. If that portrait were ever displayed in public, she was ruined. Her family would be more than horrified and shamed—they would be ruined by association with her.
    Of all days for the thief to come forward. What did he or she want?
    â€œCon, no, I am fine!” Francesca leaped to her feet. Itwas only half past eleven. She could be at 69 Waverly Place in an hour—maybe less, considering a great deal of the city was already gone for the summer. Surely she could be at the church by three, with plenty of time to dress for her wedding.
    No one must ever see that portrait!
    Connie faced her, her eyes wide. “What is it?”
    Francesca managed a smile. “I need a favor, Con, a huge favor—”
    â€œNo. Whatever is in that note, it can wait.” Connie was frowning. Her mild-mannered sister was becoming angry.
    She kept smiling. “I need you to bring my dress, my shoes and my jewelry to the church. I will meet you there at three.”
    â€œAbsolutely not,” Connie cried, horrified.
    â€œConnie, if I do not take care of this—this matter now, I will be in terrible trouble!”
    â€œTake care of this matter after you are married.”
    â€œConnie, I am going downtown. I will be at the church by three, I swear. Nothing can keep me away!”

CHAPTER TWO
    Saturday, June 28, 1902
12:00 p.m.
    R ICK B RAGG STARED at his Victorian home, the engine of the Daimler idling, but he did not really see the quaint brick house. Instead, the interview he’d just had with Francesca kept replaying in his mind. He was very afraid for her.
    He knew Hart would eventually destroy her. His brother had a black, selfish soul. He was cruel and self-involved. From time to time he could rise to the occasion, briefly showing the honorable side of his nature, but in the end, he always reverted to serving only his own interests and ambitions. Francesca was selfless. Hart was selfish. No match could be worse.
    But he was hardly an impartial observer. Bragg was afraid to recall the past he had shared with Francesca. He feared that too many old feelings would return. He knew he must not think of the time they had first met, when he had been smitten with her—and she had returned his