Prologue:
Suitor
She belonged to him the moment he laid eyes on her.
She was sixteen years old then, little more than a slip of a girl with the fire of a thousand suns burning beneath her breast. Even then, her ability to turn the head of every man who came across her, young or old, was great. Her father, the eminent but somewhat unorthodox Doctor William Styles was immensely proud of his only child and raised her with the belief she possessed the intellect to do whatever she wanted with her life. Mason found such thinking over indulgent since the reality of women was far different than Styles's hopes for his daughter.
They met in the Caribbean Island where Styles was conducting research for a book Randall was certain he would never publish, but used as an excuse to travel the world with his daughter. Randall never forgot the sight of the sixteen year old beauty, running with the natives in the crystal coloured waters, freed from the propriety every other father would have enforced in the company of half-naked heathens. Styles never cared for such things because his daughter was not like other girls.
She has a head on her shoulders, he used to say. She is not silly.
To that Randall could not disagree because Alex, as she preferred to be called, did not wish to make her debut into society and found all the womanly arts boring and trivial. Instead, she worked side by side with her father, watching him cut into bone, staring in wide eyed amazement at how he could reassure a patient with eye contact alone, how an amputation would not ruin their lives but save it instead. Styles was not just her father, he was her mentor, and from him she learned how to be a healer.
They parted company for a time when Styles moved on to England, deciding his daughter had come of age. For the better part of the next decade. William Styles opened a small practice in London, using his influence and family name to win his daughter a seat at the London School of Medicine. Randall followed her progress carefully, knowing as a woman of questionable background, there were bound to be prejudices. He watched in interest at how she handled them and was unsurprised when she graduated six years later.
As soon as Alexandra became a doctor in her own right, Styles promptly abandoned his practice and they were off again, this time she was more than just a casual observer in his research work. She took part in the studies, assisted him with his writings, and made her father happier than he had ever been in his life. Randall suspected the bond would be difficult to break but knew that Styles's love for his beautiful, intelligent daughter would make no sacrifice for her too great.
It was heart-warming to see how close they were and Randall felt a hint of envy knowing his relationship with his very proper family had never even imagined this kind of affection. Alexandra adored her father and they journeyed across the roof of the world into China before crossing the heat of the Gobi Desert, before disappearing into the savage world of Arabia. Randall had no doubt this would have continued until one of them dropped dead had he not intervened first.
They met again a year later after she graduated, in Cairo, where the Giza was being overrun by treasure hunters posing as archaeologists, who had discovered the awesome plunder of the great pyramids. This time, Randall was astonished by how womanhood had affected Alexandra Styles. The woman who now stood by her father's side as the ever-dutiful daughter was magnificent where the young girl he had remembered was merely breathtaking. Her ability to dazzle him was a fire he could not shake and refused to.
He had waited a decade for her and was unprepared to wait any longer. He wanted her at his side always, to worship her like the goddess she was. The madness that overtook him when he saw her again was all consuming and though he was older than her, Randall was certain he could make her happy. He merely required the chance to prove it. The house he built for her awaited them both in England. Randall constructed it almost four years before, certain she would accept his proposal. When she had been in England, there had been dinner engagements and parties where Alexandra arrived at his arm as a friend of the family.
While the women hated her and said snide things about her parentage, every man in the room burned with envy. When he approached William Styles for her hand, there was no reason to believe the old man would be anything but receptive to the offer.
Except he was refused.
He was too old for Alexandra, Styles said and more importantly, she did not love him. Randall remembered listening in growing rage as Styles made some obligatory speech to accompany the refusal, claiming he wished for something better for his daughter. He wanted for Alexandra the same kind of love he felt for Alexandra's mother, when Styles finally gave his blessing to any suitor. There would be no convenient marriages for Alexandra, Styles was adamant on this point. Randall was then given the indignity of the news Alexandra merely saw him as a friend, never more than that.
Certainly not someone to whom she could give her heart.
Randall came away from the meeting like a man possessed, knowing Alexandra could love him if she was pried away from her father. Even as he left the suite of rooms occupied by father and daughter, dark thoughts were already starting to enter his mind, providing a salve to his intense humiliation and his all-consuming desire.
Randall was certain the refusal was based on her father's selfish desire to keep his beloved daughter close to him instead of how Alexandra really felt. He believed she could love him. Randall became incensed by Styles's callousness, to hide such a flower in the dark. It became his mission to free Alexandra from this captivity so she could take her place at his side, in the house built for her, where his children could grow inside her.
The vision was almost beautiful in its perfection.
It was a simple matter to arrange, a wad of money to an upturned palm and a quiet whisper in the right ear. Cairo at that time was for the buying and there was enough villainy in its bazaars and meandering streets to satisfy any desire. No matter how dark the intention. Randall was unaware of the specifics of the actual process, he was only aware of the end result. He knew nothing about the poison or when it might be administered, he only knew that within 3 days of his meeting with Styles, the man was dead.
Randall was on hand to console Alexandra who had been nothing short of devastated by the loss of her beloved father. He remained close by, taking care of the arrangements to have the body returned to England and all the other unpleasant chores following a death. For the first few days, she walked around in a stupor of grief, unable to believe Styles was dead. Randall felt remorse for her sorrow but she was free now and perhaps someday he might tell her of how he delivered her from her slavery.
Then the most curious thing happened.
The night before they were to return to England together, she vacated the suite at the hotel and disappeared. Randall searched Cairo for days before learning she had jumped a steamship back to Europe. He spent the next few months pursuing her across the continent, always arriving there a few days after she departed. Eventually, he learned that despite her sizeable inheritance, it could not assure her a position in any medical facility in Europe. Randall was correct in assuming her background would keep her from gaining employment anywhere, despite her considerable skills.
In truth, he preferred it this way. Alexandra was to be his wife and nothing else. He wanted her to adore him and worship him as she had done her father. Randall would not tolerate patients stealing the time she should be spending with him. It was one thing to indulge her fantasies as a doctor but another thing entirely when it came to her role as his wife. He was aware this among other things, would require putting an end to when he found her, but there was plenty enough time for that.
Suddenly, her letters of inquiry across the various medical establishments around Europe came to an abrupt halt. Randall was almost beside himself as he searched everywhere for the elusive Alexandra Styles. Finally, out of desperation, he learned the name of her father's solicitors in London. Using his family's considerable influence, he wrestled the truth from her solicitors. The solicitor did not know exactly where she was, but the bulk of her inheritance had been liquidated and wired across the Atlantic, to America.
Randall was astonished Alexandra would travel to the one continent she never set foot upon. Contacting the notable Pinkerton Agency in New York, he invested considerable money tracing where in the United States, Alexandra might have disappeared. After almost two months of silence, he was finally rewarded with the information in his hotel room at the Wardorf Astoria. Alexandra Styles was currently practising medicine in a small town out west, in a particularly unsavoury part of it called the Territory.
She bought herself a home and established a clinic and was doing what she always wanted. He supposed her father would have been proud. Styles always like practicing his vocation to the primitive masses. No doubt, the man would have delighted in knowing his daughter followed the same path.
Randall Mason gazed out the window of his train compartment, watching the herds of cattle in the distance, grazing on the dry grass of the sparse landscape while the mountains stared with equal indifference. Eagle Bend was only an hour away and after that, it would be merely a stage coach journey to the town of Four Corners. He had no doubt Alexandra would be happy to see him although he questioned why she would hide herself in such a remote location.
In any case, Randall hoped she was not too attached to anything in this provincial village. It would only make it so much harder when she was forced to leave it behind.