With that he left her, and Regan walked through the front door. It took only moments to find Margo as she sat in the library.
“Just in time,” Margo smiled graciously, but her eyes were red. “You’re the third visitor I’ve had this morning.”
“Where’s my daughter, and where is Travis?” Regan demanded.
“Dear little rich Jennifer is asleep, and so is her beloved father. Of course, Jennifer will wake; Travis will not.”
“What!” Regan yelled. “What have you done to my family?”
“No more than you’ve done to my life. Travis drank enough opium to kill two men. He’s upstairs sleeping until death.”
Regan had reached the doorway when a shot from outside made her stop. Paralyzed, she looked down the hall toward the door. Margo rushed past her and jerked the door open, and Farrell entered, half carrying, half dragging Wesley’s bleeding body.
“I found him lurking around outside,” Farrell said, pushing Wes into a chair, a pistol in his hand.
“What are you doing here?” Regan gasped, going toward Wesley.
“Leave him!” Farrell said, grabbing her shoulder. “Did you think I was going to give up so easily, after all the years I’d been searching for you? No, Margo and I planned all this long ago, while the rest of you were playing with that stupid circus. Wesley here will die of his wounds received in an unfortunate hunting accident. Travis’s body will never be found, and his dear little daughter will inherit everything. I will, of course, marry the little heiress’s mother, who will be so distraught over her husband’s death that she’ll commit suicide. I will then return to England, the sole beneficiary of your estate, and Margo will generously agree to be Jennifer’s guardian and care for the Stanford plantation until she comes of age—if she lives that long. Now do you see why I’m here?”
“You are both mad,” Regan said, backing away from him. “No one will believe so many deaths are accidental.” She turned and started for the stairs at the end of the hall, but Farrell caught her.
“You’re mine now,” he said, advancing toward her, his body stained with Wesley’s blood.
Regan’s hand went out, and she turned over the candelabra on a low table. Immediately, the curtains over a nearby doorway went up in flames. Margo’s scream filled the air as she grabbed a small rug and began beating at the flames.
“Release her,” said a voice from the end of the hall.
“Travis!” Regan cried, fighting to free herself from Farrell. Travis looked horrible, as if he’d just been violently ill.
“I thought you put him out of the way,” Farrell yelled at Margo as she fought the fire.
“It took me a while to get all the opium out of my system,” he said, holding on to the stair banister.
“Stop talking,” Margo screamed, “and help me put out the fire. It’s spreading!”
Farrell tightened his grip on Regan and put the pistol to her head.
Wesley, nearly forgotten and slumped in a chair behind Farrell, used his draining strength to pull a knife from his boot, and with one lunge he plunged it between Farrell’s shoulder blades. The pistol flew upward, fired into the ceiling, and Farrell fell forward.
Regan reacted instantly as she ran toward Travis and the stairs. “Get Wesley,” she commanded. “I’ll get Jennifer.”
Regan found her sleeping daughter quickly, pulled her from the bed, and ran down the stairs in time to meet Travis working hard to get his brother out of the house. Neither man had much strength, and it seemed forever before they were in the fresh, sunlit morning air and out of the smoke-filled house.
Travis gently put Wesley on the grass. “I’ll get horses and a wagon,” he said.
“Travis!” Regan said, touching his arm, her eyes going to the house. A flame leaped out of the first-floor window. “We can’t leave Margo in there to die. She has to come out.”
Travis gave her cheek a quick caress and then ran back to the house. Minutes later he came out, Margo thrown over his shoulder as she kicked and clawed, cursing him vilely.
He dumped her on the ground. “That goddamn house isn’t worth anyone’s life, not even yours,” he said as she glared up at him.
Regan was bent over Wes, binding the gunshot wound in his side.
Travis had barely glanced away from Margo before she leaped up and ran toward the house. “My daddy is in there!” she was screaming.
Travis saw the first flames touch her skirt and knew he could not save her. Quickly, he grabbed his daughter, who was watching everything wide-eyed, and buried her little face in his shoulder.
Within seconds, Margo’s whiskey-soaked dress burst into flame, and Regan turned away as Wes’s arm went around her, pulling her to sob onto his shoulder.