The Tall, Dark Alibi
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Kelsey Roberts
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16.4K
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19
THE ROSE TATTOO. Everything was strangely familiar... though somehow Kendall Butler recognized that The Rose Tattoo and some of her old friends weren't exactly the same. But the raven-haired hunk standing before her was definitely the man pictured in the locket she'd been admiring... just before everything went blank. Jonas Revell didn't know how she was, or how she'd suddenly appeared, and until he did, he planned to keep her close — even if she had to pose as his mail-order bride to stay that way. He was already accused of the murder of one woman — his bride of four hours — and it looked mighty suspicious that he'd found another so quickly... especially one who tempted him so much.
Prologue
Jonas Revell climbed the stairs at a slow, deliberate pace. His footsteps echoed through the darkened interior of his new home on East Bay. Just thinking of the house and its purpose brought a dark scowl to his face. Damn, but he hated what he was about to do, what he had already done.
The chimes from the hall clock signaled the late hour. It felt much like a curse this night. How Jonas wished he had stayed in England, or perhaps settled someplace other than Charleston, as his father had suggested. Either of those options would have saved him from the task at hand, he thought with a dejected sigh.
His mind produced vivid images of the evening past. Images of Cecelia in her ornate, white gown and hand-embellished veil. The beautiful Cecelia Grisom had made an expectedly beautiful bride. Her wide eyes had followed him quietly throughout the long, nerveracking day. Yes, she was a beautiful bride. His bride.
Jonas hesitated on the landing, mustering the strength for the difficult task awaiting him. His proud heritage, as well as his sense of duty, urged him on. The British portion of his genealogy insisted that he seal his pact with the Grisom family. Yet the seeds planted by his half-Navajo mother made him lament the loss of his free will.
That same sense of duty had been the driving force behind the construction of this home and the commissioning of the locket. Taking in a breath, he recalled the look in Cecelia’s eyes when he’d slipped the necklace around her throat. His brow furrowed. Cecelia had shown no emotion, and though he was quite accustomed to his wife’s lack of response, it had punctuated their association. With just a small dose of conceit, Jonas pondered her reaction. Or, more accurately, her lack thereof. He prided himself on his rather well-deserved reputation with the women of Charleston. He shied from utilizing the description of “lady” in reference to his companions, since he had a strict policy against pursuing the tittering, manipulative young women so common in Charleston society.
Cecelia’s reaction to Jonas was something that had caused him some measure of curiosity during their brief courtship. She showed absolutely no interest in him. Her eyes followed him, but there was a distance in her gaze.
Jonas stiffened. He couldn’t help but wonder if her guarded expression was because she knew. Or maybe she simply sensed. His fingers reached out and gripped the knob to the bedroom door. He hesitated again, bating what he was about to do, what he had to do. There was no alternative, no other option.
A few seconds later, Cecelia’s final scream reverberated through the house.
