Ladies of Intrigue

by Michelle Griep

  “What?” His brows shot skyward. “I never said I was going east. Quite the opposite, actually. I’m traveling west.”

  His declaration rattled around like rocks in a can, making noise but no sense whatsoever. She stared into his eyes, yet no hint of meaning surfaced in those green pools.

  She shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

  “Clearly.” He drew closer, entwining his fingers with hers. “Colonel Crooks received orders that the encampment is to be struck and moved to Dakota Territory. The fort there is in need of a doctor, and he’s offered me the position.”

  “But … but that’s even more wild than here, and it’s a far cry from teaching at a medical institution. That’s not your dream.”

  “You’re right. Not quite. But this is.” He slid to one knee. Slowly, he lifted one of her hands to his lips, pressing a kiss from one knuckle to the next then repeated the action with the other.

  Her knees weakened. His warm breath caressed all the way up her arm. What on earth was he doing?

  He lowered her hands and lifted his face. His eyes glowed—no, his whole face, from the cut of his square jaw up to his fine, strong brow.

  “My dream, Miss Emmaline Nelson”—his voice deepened, laced with an urgency she’d never before heard—“is that you would not only be my assistant but my wife.”

  The world stopped. Sound receded. All she could hear was her breath rushing in, rushing out. It took all her concentration to keep her lungs pumping. Had she heard correctly, or was she imagining things? Was this real?

  He squeezed her hands. “What do you say?”

  James stood on a cliff’s edge, holding his breath. One word from the woman in front of him and he’d fall into her arms—or plummet to his death. She blinked at him, yet said nothing. Not even a murmur. Oughtn’t a woman in love say something?

  An ember of doubt flared in his gut. As a lad, on the cusp of adolescence, he’d mustered his courage to ask a girl to dance once. He’d often wished she’d snubbed him with a loud rejection, but she’d simply turned her back and walked away, leaving him standing alone, abandoned like an old shoe, pity shining in the eyes of the dancing master—and snickers assaulting him from the other boys attending the lessons. It was mortifying, humiliating.

  And that same feeling seized his heart now.

  Would Emmy do the same?

  Slowly, he rose, his legs as weak as if the winter sickness revisited him. Emmy’s eyes did not follow the movement. Her gaze remained fixed on the hands he’d so recently kissed.

  “Emmy?” He cupped her face, lifting it to his. This might be it, the last time he held her. The thought lodged bitter at the back of his throat.

  He gulped for air, prayed for wisdom, but mostly memorized every freckle and curve on her face. If she declined … his heart skipped a beat. God, help me.

  “I love you, Emmy, with everything that’s in me.” He choked then cleared his throat and tried again. “I know you dreamed of a home in Mendota, the one you shared with your father, but dreams can change, can’t they? Is it possible, in some small way, that I could be your new dream?”

  Her eyes filled, shiny and luminous. A tremble quivered across her lower lip. Beneath his fingers, her skin warmed, flushing her cheeks like the first blush on a spring rose.

  “Yes,” she whispered, barely discernable.

  But it was enough.

  Sweet mercy! It was enough.

  He pulled her against him, and when her mouth touched his, a tremor shook him. Hard. She breathed out his name, again and again. Ahh, but he’d never tire of hearing her say it.

  “Yes, yes, yes!” She emphasized each word with a kiss, running her fingers up his back and twisting them into the hair at the nape of his neck. She leaned into him, hungry, searching—

  “Emmaline Abigail Nelson!” Thunder boomed from the open door. “Get in the carriage. Now!”

  He froze.

  Emmy whirled. “Aunt! This isn’t what you think—”

  “What I think is that it was a mistake to have allowed you to stay here in the first place.” Rosamund Nelson eyed him like a buck to be shot through the heart then gutted, leaving his innards to dry in the sun. “And you, sir, are responsible.”

  With a light touch, he drew Emmy to his side, facing the dragon. In spite of the situation, he grinned. How could he not, when the woman he loved had just agreed to share her life with him? “You are 100 percent correct, Miss Nelson. I have been—and will continue to be—responsible for this woman, for she is soon to become Mrs. James Clark.”

  Aunt Rosamund threw her hands wide, chasing after words as if she gathered an overturned crate of mice. “Well … I … Emmaline? Is this what you want? You would give up dinners, dances, society for the hard life of a doctor’s wife?”

  She turned to him, and this time, there was no hesitation, just a brilliant smile. “Yes, Aunt. There is nothing I want more than to be the doctor’s wife. This doctor.”

  “Well!” Aunt Rosamund sputtered. “I never!”

  Tucking Emmy under his arm, James smiled over the top of her head at the woman. “Then I pray that God will bring to you a special someone. As long as you’re still breathing, there’s always hope.”

  Hope, indeed. With Emmy nestled against him, it was time to start planning a new hope, a new direction, and together, a new dream.

  A dream that would last a lifetime.

  A House of Secrets

  Dedication

  To the One who knows the secrets of my soul.

  Acknowledgments

  Thank you to those who polish my stories to a fine sheen:

  Elizabeth Ludwig, Ane Mulligan, Julie Klassen, MaryLu Tyndall, Shannon McNear & Chawna Schroeder.

  And a huge shout-out to you, readers, who make this all worthwhile.

  Chapter One

  St. Paul, Minnesota

  1890

  He’s late. Are you worried?”

  The question floated across the sitting room like an unmoored specter, haunting Amanda Carston about the constancy of her fiancé. A smile quirked her lips. Good thing she didn’t believe in ghosts.

  “Come away from the window, Mags. Watching for Joseph won’t make him appear any sooner.” She rose from the settee, smoothing wrinkles from her gown. “He’ll be here.”

  Maggie turned from the glass, letting the sheer fall back into place. “But it’s your engagement dinner. And the Pioneer Press photographer will be there. How can you possibly be so calm?” She drew near and pressed her fingers against Amanda’s forehead. “Are you feeling ill?”

  “Don’t be silly.” Amanda batted her hand away, frowning. Being late for a dinner party was the least of her concerns this weekend. Coming up with a service project idea by Monday—her first as the new Ladies’ Aide Society chairwoman—vexed her more.

  Maggie’s brow creased. “You are worried. Don’t pretend.”

  Slamming the lid on her chairwoman woes, she smiled at her friend. “I am sure Joseph’s aunt is used to delaying a meal even with important guests in attendance. A city attorney’s schedule is rarely predictable.”

  “Ahh, but it’s not his aunt who alarms me.” Light from the gas lamps glistened on the pity filling Maggie’s eyes. “What of your father, dearest?”

  This time doubt didn’t float in. It fell heavy on her spirit like a tempest, and her smile faded. Father would be disappointed at her tardiness. But truly, they all would have been late if he’d had to swing by from the office to pick up her and Mags. Must something always thwart her efforts to please her father?

  She whirled and strode from the sitting room. “Let’s bundle up so we may leave for Aunt Blake’s as soon as Joseph arrives.”

  Maggie’s footsteps echoed into the foyer, and by the time they slipped into their cloaks and secured their hats with a final pinning in front of the big mirror, the knocker pounded against the door.

  “No need to trouble yourself, Grayson.” Her words halted the butler’s trek down the grand
staircase. “I’m certain it’s Mr. Blake. Don’t expect us until late.”

  Ignoring his scowl and his “highly improper,” she swung open the door to the man of her dreams—

  And a police officer.

  “Joseph?” she murmured.

  A smile flashed across his face, brilliant in the dark of the October eve. He reached for her hand and pressed a kiss against the back of her glove, the heat of his mouth warming the fabric. “Don’t panic, my love. Just a bit of business left over from the office. Please allow me to introduce Officer Keeley. Officer, my fiancée, Miss Amanda Carston.” He leaned in scandalously close, breathing warmth into her ear. “Soon to be Mrs. Joseph Blake.”

  She arched a brow, unsure if she ought to censure him or wrap her arms around him. Instead, she nodded at Mr. Keeley. “Pleased to meet you, Officer.”

  He tugged the brim of his hat. “The pleasure is mine, Miss Carston.”

  Behind her, Maggie cleared her throat.

  “My apologies, Miss Turner.” A sheepish grin curved Joseph’s mouth. “May I introduce you as well? Miss Turner, meet Officer Keeley. Officer Keeley, Miss Turner, my fiancée’s confidante and partner in crime.”

  Amanda stepped closer to Joseph, speaking for his ears alone. “Does your aunt know to set another place?”

  He winked down at her. “The officer won’t be joining us for dinner. He’s along to help me attend to an unfinished matter beforehand. Now shall we?”

  He offered his arm, and Amanda wrapped her fingers around his sleeve. Unfinished business? Whatever it was must be important, but tonight of all nights? She puzzled over the mystery until the feel of his muscles riding hard beneath her touch drove her to distraction. Inhaling his familiar fragrance of sandalwood and ink, she was hard-pressed to figure out which made her more weak-kneed—the intimacy of knowing his scent, or his husky voice caressing her ear.

  “You look lovely tonight,” he whispered.

  Her cheeks heated. Good thing Maggie and the officer walked ahead—and what a pair they made. Him tall. Her short. A canyon of difference between a suit of blue and the golden gown of a railroad tycoon’s daughter.

  Joseph helped her into the carriage, and she settled next to Maggie, the men on the opposite seat. The driver urged the horses from the circular drive onto Summit Avenue, and just as she opened her mouth to ask Joseph about his unfinished business, the carriage turned left.

  Left?

  She peered out the window. Indeed, they headed east, not west, rolling past the old Grigg place. Despite being in the company of a strapping fiancé and a lawman, she shuddered at the eerie sight. At the front of the lot, half-burned timbers reached into the night sky, dark on dark, like blackened bones trying to escape from a grave. Beyond the remnants of the gatehouse stood the ruins of a once-grand home, bricks holding in secrets like a jealous lover, guarding rumors of foul play. If the city was going to do nothing about this blight, then maybe … perhaps …

  The seed of a glorious idea took root. This just may be the service project she’d been looking for. Indeed, the more she thought on it, the larger the idea grew.

  Until the carriage turned left yet again. She squinted into the darkness as they traveled farther from their engagement announcement. “This isn’t the way to your aunt’s.”

  “No, it isn’t. As I’ve said, a small bit of business first. Merely a short detour.”

  Joseph’s words pulled her gaze to him. “Where are we going?”

  “To Hannah Crow’s.”

  Amanda’s jaw dropped. Maggie gasped, her fingers fluttering to her chest. Officer Keeley took a sudden interest in looking out the window. Clearly he was in on this—whatever this was.

  “Joseph Blake!” she scolded. “Why on earth are you taking us to a brothel?”

  Like an arc of lightning, blue tinged and life threatening, the flash in his fiancée’s eyes struck Joseph—with humor. The little firebrand. He stifled a grin. He could get used to such passion, but he sure hoped not. Her fiery spirit was what attracted him to her in the first place.

  “I thought you might like to see the culmination of a year’s worth of work,” he said.

  “Mr. Blake.” Amanda’s friend clutched her hands to her chest, eyes wide. “Surely you’ve never set foot in such a place?”

  Amanda studied him a moment more, then leaned sideways, lips twisted into a smirk. “Don’t fall for his dramatics, Mags. He’s playing us with as much finesse as his violin.”

  Keeley elbowed him. “You’ve met your match in that one, sir.”

  Indeed. Why was God so good to him? He folded his arms and relaxed against the seat, memorizing how the passing streetlights bathed half of Amanda’s face in golden light, the other dark. The contrast was a perfect picture of what lay beneath … pluck and humility. Softness and steel.

  “I suppose she’ll suit,” he drawled.

  She swatted his knee. “You, sir, are a scoundrel.”

  He caught her hand before she could pull it away and kissed her fingertips. “Ahh, but I am your scoundrel, hmm?”

  Color deepened on her cheeks. “Not if we never make it to our betrothal dinner. Father could always change his mind, you know.”

  Joseph rapped the carriage wall, urging the driver to up his pace, then faced Miss Turner. “My soon-to-be wife is somewhat used to my unorthodox ways, but I can see you are not. In answer to your question, Miss Turner, while I am well versed in Hannah Crow’s business, I have never entered her establishment. My aim is to shut her down, and I’ve finally found a way. That’s why Officer Keeley is with us tonight.”

  “Wonderful news!” Amanda beamed at him—a smile of which he’d never tire.

  Miss Turner frowned, eyeing the policeman. “Are you expecting trouble?”

  “Don’t fret, miss.” Keeley tipped his head at her. “I’m merely a formality, a witness to the delivery of a document.”

  The grind of cobbles beneath the wheels changed to a gravelly crunch as the carriage eased off Summit and onto Washington Street. Miss Turner balanced a hand against the side of the carriage as they lurched around a corner, or did she clutch it for courage? Amanda’s gaze found his, and he searched the blue depths. Was she afraid as well?

  Nothing but clear admiration blinked back. “I am so proud of you, even if your timing is a bit off.”

  Law and order! With regard such as this, he could conquer more than a brothel—he could take on the world. He leapt out of the carriage before it stopped and patted his coat to make sure the injunction still rode inside his pocket. This was it. Finally. A night he wouldn’t soon forget.

  He and Keeley climbed the stairs to Crow’s House of Hair. Hair products, of all things. The sign, the business, the audacity fooled no one. More went on behind those velvet drapes than the production and distribution of supposed growth elixirs—and everyone knew it. Sorrow punched him hard in the gut for the women trapped inside, chained by desperation and lost hope. He bit back a wince. The thought that Elizabeth had died as such nearly drove him to his knees.

  He swallowed against the tightness in his throat and reached to ring the bell, but his finger hovered over the button. Something wasn’t right. Lifting his face, he narrowed his eyes above the doorframe. The House of Hair sign was gone.

  Keeley nudged him. “What are you waiting for?”

  Exactly. So what if the sign was missing? He shook off a foreboding twinge and punched the button.

  No answer.

  He stabbed his finger on it again.

  And … nothing.

  Keeley shouldered past him and pounded the door so that it rattled in the frame. “Open up! We know yer in there. Don’t make me bust down this—”

  The door swung open. A glass chandelier rained beams of light onto a woman buttoned tight from toe to neck. Hannah Crow could be anyone’s saintly aunt. Prim and proper on the outside—but that grey silk encased wickedness and greed.

  Joseph stared at her angular face, refusing to look past her. One glimpse o
f a young girl tangled in her web would undo him, despite standing on the brink of this victory.

  Oh Elizabeth. Would that you’d been able to escape such a fate.

  “Mr. Blake.” Mrs. Crow dipped her head, a nod toward respectability—the closest she’d ever get. Then her dark gaze glittered, little lines spidering out at the creases of her eyes. “Bit late for you to be calling. Is this business or pleasure?”

  “Entirely my pleasure.” He handed over the injunction.

  Hannah’s eyes scanned back and forth, top to bottom, and in case she didn’t understand all the legal jargon, Joseph added, “According to a recent addition to ordinance 245.1, your conditional use variance is null and void. In essence and practicality, madam, this is the end of your business.”

  “Well, well …” She lifted the paper high and released the document to the October breeze.

  Keeley growled. “Even if that paper blows to kingdom come, Mrs. Crow, I seen you take it. I seen you read it. I’ll swear to that in court.”

  She smiled at him as she might a mark with no money, her chipped eyetooth reminding Joseph of a sharpened fang. “No need, Officer. There will be no hearing. That ordinance means nothing to me. My home is no longer a business, just a humble abode.”

  A genuine smile tugged at Joseph’s lips. “Nice try, Mrs. Crow, but that won’t help you. This property is zoned for business, so either way, you’re finished.”

  Her hand disappeared inside a pocket, and she pulled out a folded document, offering it to him with a feline stretch.

  What sorcery was this? He yanked the paper open. Snippets of phrases pummeled him back a step. Emergency city council meeting. Dated the previous day. Zoning changed to residential. Signed by Willard Craven.

  A slow burn ignited, from stomach to throat. Craven! He should’ve known.

  Wheeling about, he stalked toward the carriage and called over his shoulder, “We’ll see about this.”