Titles by Jayne Ann Krentz writing as Amanda Quick
’TIL DEATH DO US PART
GARDEN OF LIES
OTHERWISE ENGAGED
THE MYSTERY WOMAN
CRYSTAL GARDENS
QUICKSILVER
BURNING LAMP
THE PERFECT POISON
THE THIRD CIRCLE
THE RIVER KNOWS
SECOND SIGHT
LIE BY MOONLIGHT
THE PAID COMPANION
WAIT UNTIL MIDNIGHT
LATE FOR THE WEDDING
DON’T LOOK BACK
SLIGHTLY SHADY
WICKED WIDOW
I THEE WED
WITH THIS RING
AFFAIR
MISCHIEF
MYSTIQUE
MISTRESS
DECEPTION
DESIRE
DANGEROUS
RECKLESS
RAVISHED
RENDEZVOUS
SCANDAL
SURRENDER
SEDUCTION
Titles by Jayne Ann Krentz
SECRET SISTERS
TRUST NO ONE
RIVER ROAD
DREAM EYES
COPPER BEACH
IN TOO DEEP
FIRED UP
RUNNING HOT
SIZZLE AND BURN
WHITE LIES
ALL NIGHT LONG
FALLING AWAKE
TRUTH OR DARE
LIGHT IN SHADOW
SUMMER IN ECLIPSE BAY
TOGETHER IN ECLIPSE BAY
SMOKE IN MIRRORS
LOST & FOUND
DAWN IN ECLIPSE BAY
SOFT FOCUS
ECLIPSE BAY
EYE OF THE BEHOLDER
FLASH
SHARP EDGES
DEEP WATERS
ABSOLUTELY, POSITIVELY
TRUST ME
GRAND PASSION
HIDDEN TALENTS
WILDEST HEARTS
FAMILY MAN
PERFECT PARTNERS
SWEET FORTUNE
SILVER LININGS
THE GOLDEN CHANCE
Titles by Jayne Ann Krentz writing as Jayne Castle
SIREN’S CALL
THE HOT ZONE
DECEPTION COVE
THE LOST NIGHT
CANYONS OF NIGHT
MIDNIGHT CRYSTAL
OBSIDIAN PREY
DARK LIGHT
SILVER MASTER
GHOST HUNTER
AFTER GLOW
HARMONY
AFTER DARK
AMARYLLIS
ZINNIA
ORCHID
The Guinevere Jones Titles
DESPERATE AND DECEPTIVE
The Guinevere Jones Collection, Volume 1
THE DESPERATE GAME
THE CHILLING DECEPTION
SINISTER AND FATAL
The Guinevere Jones Collection, Volume 2
THE SINISTER TOUCH
THE FATAL FORTUNE
Specials
THE SCARGILL COVE CASE FILES
BRIDAL JITTERS (WRITING AS JAYNE CASTLE)
Anthologies
CHARMED
(with Julie Beard, Lori Foster, and Eileen Wilks)
Titles written by Jayne Ann Krentz and Jayne Castle
NO GOING BACK
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Copyright © 2016 by Jayne Ann Krentz.
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Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Names: Quick, Amanda, author.
Title: ’Til death do us part / Amanda Quick.
Other titles: Until death do us part
Description: First edition. | New York : Berkley Books, 2016.
Identifiers: LCCN 2015037168 | ISBN 9780399174469 (hardcover)
Subjects: LCSH: London (England)—Social life and customs—19th century—Fiction. | Man-woman relationships—Fiction. | Stalkers—Fiction. | BISAC: FICTION / Romance / Suspense. | FICTION / Mystery & Detective / Historical. | GSAFD: Romantic suspense fiction. | Mystery fiction. | Historical fiction.
Classification: LCC PS3561.R44 T55 2016 | DDC 813/.54—dc23
LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2015037168
FIRST EDITION: April 2016
Export edition ISBN: 978-0-451-48806-0
eBook ISBN: 978-0-698-19361-1
Cover photograph: Elisabeth Ansley / Trevillion Images.
Cover design by Rita Frangie.
Endpaper art by Anneka / Shutterstock Images.
Title page image of lace © jeangill / istock.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Version_1
For Frank: always and forever
Contents
Also by Jayne Ann Krentz
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Chapter 47
Chapter 48
Chapter 49
Chapter 50
Chapter 51
Chapter 52
Chapter 53
Chapter 54
Chapter 55
Chapter 56
Chapter 57
Chapter 58
Chapter 59
Chapter 60
Chapter 61
Chapter 62
Chapter 63
Chapter 64
Chapter 65
Chapter 66
Chapter 67
Chapter 68
Chapter 69
Chapter 70
Readers Guide
About the Author
1
“I’VE GOT TO get rid of her, Birch.” Nestor Kettering reached for the brandy bottle and refilled his glass. “I can’t abide the sight of my wife. You have no idea what it’s like living with her in the same house.”
Dolan Birch shifted a little in his chair and stretched out his legs toward the fire. “You are not the first man to marry for money and find himself dissatisfied with the bargain. Most husbands in your situation would find a way to coexist. It is quite common for couples in Society to lead separate lives.”
Nestor contemplated the fire. Dolan had invited him for a late-night brandy following another evening of cards at their club. The result was that they were now sitting together in the small but quite elegant library of Dolan’s town house. Anything to avoid going back to Number Five Lark Street, Nestor thought.
They had considered stopping at a brothel but Nestor had not felt any great enthusiasm for the notion. The truth was, he did not like brothels. He worried that the women carried disease. Furthermore, it was no secret that the prostitutes frequently stole their clients’ watches, tiepins, and money.
He preferred his women to be respectable, virginal, and, above all, devoid of close family connections. The last thing he wanted was to be confronted by an irate father or brother. He chose his mistresses from London’s spinster class—innocent, well-bred women who were grateful for a gentleman’s attentions.
Thanks to Dolan Birch, for the past year he’d had access to a steady supply of young, attractive governesses who met his criteria. He lost interest once the conquest had been made, but that was not a problem. The women were easy to discard. No one cared what happened to them.
Dolan’s town house was not nearly as large as his own mansion, Nestor reflected, but it was a good deal more comfortable because there was no wife hanging about. Dolan had inherited the house upon the death of his wife, a wealthy widow. The woman had expired in her sleep soon after the wedding—and shortly after she had redrafted her will leaving the house and her handsome fortune to her new husband.
Some men had all the luck, Nestor thought.
“I do not know how much longer I can abide Anna’s presence,” he said. He swallowed more brandy and lowered the glass. “I swear, she drifts through the house like some faded ghost. She actually believes in spirits, you know. Attends a séance at least once a week, regular as clockwork. She seeks out a new medium every month or so.”
“Who is she trying to contact?”
“Her father.” Nestor grimaced. “The bastard who trapped me with the terms of his will.”
“Why does she want to contact him?”
“I have no idea and I don’t give a bloody damn.” Nestor set the brandy glass down hard on the table. “I thought it would be so easy back at the beginning. A beautiful bride and a fortune to go with her.”
Dolan contemplated the fire. “There is always a catch.”
“So I have discovered.”
“Your wife is quite beautiful. Most men would say that you are extremely fortunate to have such a woman in your bed.”
“Bah. Anna bears a striking resemblance to a corpse in bed. Cold as hell. I haven’t been with her since I cut short the honeymoon.”
“The chaste ones sometimes are quite cold. One must seduce them.”
Nestor snorted. “Anna was no virgin when I married her. Another reason why her father was so eager to marry her off, I suppose.”
Dolan set his glass aside and propped his elbows on the arms of his chair. He put his fingertips together. “There’s an old saying to the effect that if you marry for money, you will earn every penny.”
“I cannot escape her. If she dies, the money goes to distant relatives in Canada, and believe me, they will be waiting to pounce on the inheritance.”
“Some in your position would have her committed to an asylum,” Dolan mused. “If she is declared insane, she will lose control of her fortune.”
Nestor groaned. “Unfortunately, her father considered that possibility. If I have her committed, the result is the same as if she dies—the money goes to Canada.”
“Have you considered renting or buying a house in the country and sending her there to live?”
“Of course,” Nestor said. “The problem is that she won’t obey me and there is no way to force her to do so. She says she does not want to live in the country.”
“But she does not go out into Society.”
“No, but London is where most of the mediums are located.”
“A good thrashing might change her mind.”
Nestor grunted. “I doubt it.” He tightened one hand into a fist. “As I told you, she controls her own inheritance. If she leaves me, she can take the fortune with her. Damn it, there must be a way out.”
Dolan was silent for a long moment.
“Perhaps there is,” he said at last.
Nestor went still. “Do you have a suggestion?”
“Yes, but there is a price.”
“Money is not a problem,” Nestor said.
Dolan drank some brandy and lowered the glass. “As it happens, it is not money that I require in exchange for my services.”
A shiver of unease gave Nestor pause. “What do you want?”
“I am, as you know, a businessman. I wish to expand one of my enterprises, and you are in a unique position to be of assistance to me.”
“I can’t imagine how,” Nestor said. “I don’t have a head for business.”
“Fortunately, I do, so I don’t require your business skills. It is your other talent that I wish to utilize.”
“What other talent?”
“You have a gift for charm and seduction,” Dolan said. “Your skills in that department are really quite extraordinary.”
Nestor waved that aside. It was the truth. He did have a talent for seduction.
“What do you want from me?” he asked.
Dolan explained.
Nestor relaxed. He smiled.
“Shouldn’t be any problem,” he said. “That’s all the payment you require in exchange for getting Anna out of my life?”
“Yes. If you are successful, I will consider your account settled.”
“Then we have a bargain,” Nestor said.
For the first time since his wedding night, he glimpsed a spark of hope.
2
SHE BELONGED TO him.
He was locked inside a cage the size and shape of a coffin. A dark thrill heated his blood like a powerful, intoxicating drug.
When the time came he would purify the woman and cleanse himself with her blood. But tonight was not the time. The ritual had to be followed correctly. The woman must be made to comprehend and acknowledge the great wrong that she had done. There was no finer instructor than fear.
He huddled inside the concealed lift, listening to the sounds of someone moving about in the bedroom on the other side of the wall. There was a narrow crack in the paneling. Excitement sparked through him when he caught a glimpse of the woman. She was at her dressing table, adjusting the pins in her dark brown hair. It was as if she knew he was watching and was deliberately taunting him.
She was passable in appearance, but he had seen her on the street and had not been particularly impressed with her looks. She was overly tall for a woman and her forceful character was etched on her face. She was dangerous. It was all there in her unnerving eyes.
No wonder h
e had been sent to purify her. He would save her from herself—and save himself in the process.
She was not the first woman he had saved. Perhaps this time he would finally be cleansed.
The lift had been installed inside the thick walls of the old mansion for the purpose of conveying an elderly, infirm lady from one floor to another. But the woman had died a few years ago, leaving the big house to her granddaughter and grandson. He had been told that neither of them made use of the device. Having been locked inside the cage for what felt like an eternity, he understood why. The air was close and still and the darkness was almost as absolute as that of the grave. Almost.
He was free to descend in the lift at any time. It was operated by an arrangement of ropes and pulleys that could be controlled from either inside or outside the compartment. He knew how it functioned because he’d had a helpful chat with one of the many tradesmen who came and went from the mansion on the days when the woman held the outrageous parties she was pleased to call salons. The truth was that the only difference between her business and a brothel was the pretense of respectability that she succeeded in giving the social gatherings.
The tradesman had informed him of the usefulness of the lift for conveying heavy items between floors. The man had also mentioned that the woman never made use of the lift. Evidently she had a fear of being trapped inside the cage.
The woman rose from the dressing table chair and moved out of sight. A moment later he heard the muffled sound of the bedroom door opening and closing.
Silence.
He slid the cage door aside and opened the wooden panel. The wall sconce had been turned down low but he could make out the bed, the dressing table, and the wardrobe.
He moved out of the lift. The heady exhilaration he always experienced at such moments roared through him. With every step of the ritual he came closer to achieving his own purification.
For a precious few seconds he debated where to leave his gift. The bed or the dressing table?
The bed, he decided. So much more intimate.
He crossed the room, not concerned with the soft thud of his footsteps. The guests had begun to arrive. There was a fair amount of traffic in the long drive that led to the front steps of Cranleigh Hall. The rattle of carriage wheels and the clatter of hooves created a great deal of noise.
When he reached the bed he took the velvet pouch and the black-bordered envelope out of the pocket of his overcoat. He opened the pouch and removed the jet-and-crystal ring. A fashionable item of memento mori jewelry, the stone was engraved with the gilded image of a skull. The woman’s initials were inscribed in gold on the black enameled sides: C. L. When the time came a small twist of her hair would be tucked into the locket concealed beneath the skull stone. He would add it to his collection.