With his briefcase in hand, he found the car and driver he had arranged for and gave the man the proper directions. He hoped this business wouldn't take too long. He didn't like leaving Michaela behind, especially not with Portia residing under the same roof. With that little cat around, anything could happen, and most of his flight had been taken up with worrying if Michaela would even be there when he returned.
He glanced at the address he'd scribbled on the back of one of his own business cards. Geoffrey Yelvington. The old boy was in for a bit of a shock this afternoon.
They met at Yelvington's cotton gin, in the small office that adjoined it. He didn't offer his hand. Christopher had no desire to take it even if it had been offered. He disliked the man immediately. Yelvington was coarse, completely without manners. His self-serving agenda was all that concerned him. He was young and handsome, but a seemingly permanent half sneer gave him an unpleasant appearance. For the first time in his life, Christopher felt his self-control slip a little, however briefly, and he wanted to knock that smirk off the younger man's face. For Michaela. Because he couldn't abide the notion of this man having anything to do with her.
His choice to come here and settle this matter had been the right one. It was clear that a life with Yelvington would have only added to her misery.
Christopher managed to keep his distaste of the man in check and presented his offer without preamble. "Who I am is of no consequence to you. The reason for my visit is," he informed Yelvington. "I've come to buy you off."
Yelvington had the audacity to laugh. "Buy me off? For what?"
Christopher hid a grimace. "You have some business with the Dunne family. I've come to buy you out of that promise."
"Did that old bag Mrs. Dunne send you?"
"It doesn't matter who sent me. Price is all that should matter to you."
"Price?" Yelvington's eyes literally sparkled with greed. He moved the toothpick he'd been chewing from one side of his mouth to the other, his eyes never leaving Christopher's face. "What makes you think you have enough?"
Christopher stared back at the man. "Whether I do or don't remains to be seen."
"The Dunnes sure don't."
"But you fully intend to take what they do have."
Yelvington's eyes were hooded now. The remark had made him angry. "Maybe I don't care about the money. Maybe it's Michaela I really want."
Christopher had expected resistance. "No, I'm quite sure it's the money you are after," he replied. His tone carried a warning, a very softly spoken but nonetheless unmistakable warning. He didn't intend for Yelvington to ever have Michaela. He would see him dead first.
As Yelvington took in Christopher's formidable gaze, his sneer died. Apparently, he realized now that Christopher was a man to be wary of.
With a snort of displeasure, he turned away and stared out the glass front of his office, watching the workers down in the gin. But he wasn't really watching them. He was considering Christopher's offer. Christopher knew it because he'd seen it a hundred times before in the past, would probably see it a hundred times more in the future.
Christopher waited. Yelvington's capitulation would come. Soon. The offer was too tempting for the man to pass up. He knew it. They both knew it. They were simply playing the game.
After a time, Yelvington took the toothpick out of his mouth, tossed it onto the dirty floor of the office, and ground out, "I don't believe I can be bought this time, mister."
"That's too bad." Christopher's voice was calm, full of self-assurance. There was no doubt in his mind that he would accomplish what he had come for. Yelvington could be bought. For the right price. "I can be very persuasive. And dangerous if called for."
Yelvington whipped around to face him. "Just what the hell is that supposed to mean? You threatenin' me?"
Christopher never broke eye contact with him, and his voice was controlled when he answered. "Oh, I assure you it's no threat. A threat might imply a bluff. And I don't ever bluff."
Yelvington gave another derisive snort, but he didn't turn his back on Christopher again. He was getting nervous. Christopher could see it in the line of perspiration above his brow, in the way he didn't quite know what to do with his hands.
"Your choice. Be bought, or lose your case against the Dunnes altogether."
"My only case with the Dunnes is getting Michaela back."
"And the portion of the Dunne business that was offered to you in the bargain," Christopher reminded him.
Yelvington stepped forward, obviously hoping to intimidate Christopher by coming toe to toe with him, his eyes full of fire. "Just who the hell are you, and what interest do you have in all this?"
Christopher didn't back away, didn't even flinch, though the man's close proximity was anything but pleasant. "Enough interest to make your life miserable if you don't agree to my terms."
"Are you a damn lawyer come to bargain?"
"Worse."
Yelvington's eyes narrowed, but he didn't back off just yet. "The only way I'll give up is if Michaela is dead."
"That can be arranged, as far as you are concerned, at any rate."
When Yelvington didn't respond, Christopher laid his briefcase on the man's rickety desk and flipped the latches, very deliberately drawing a fat manila envelope from its recesses. He paused for a moment to slap it against the palm of his hand, then slowly handed it to Yelvington.
Yelvington just stared at him for a moment, his eyes full of hate. And something else, something that would seal the deal despite all his bluster. Greed.
Christopher was careful not to smile when Yelvington finally took the envelope and opened it to examine the contents. The game wasn't over yet. Not quite.
"Cash? That's it. You expect to buy me off with this paltry sum?"
"That is no paltry sum, and you well know it. You wouldn't get a quarter of that out of the portion of Mr. Dunne's business that was offered you, not even in the next five years."
Yelvington stared down at the envelope for what seemed like an eternity. Christopher knew he was weighing his choices. The offer was more than Yelvington could have hoped for, but right about now he would be considering the consequences of demanding more. Dare he blow the entire offer by doing so? Or should he take what was there and be done with it?
"Double," he finally said.
Christopher gave a slight nod of his head. Yelvington started to smile, but it quickly faded when Christopher pulled a legal document from his briefcase and pushed it across the desk toward him.
"First, there is the small matter of your signature at the bottom of this document."
Yelvington frowned at the papers.
"No tricks. Just a precaution," Christopher assured him.
"First the money," Yelvington demanded.
Christopher shook his head and handed him a pen. "Call in two witnesses from your gin."
Yelvington glared at the pen for a moment, then went to the door of his office and barked an order. Within minutes, two grimy workers came in and stood staring at Christopher in open curiosity.
"Witness my signature," Yelvington barked, then snatched the pen from Christopher's outstretched hand and scrawled a signature in the appropriate place. When he was finished, he threw the pen down on the desk and stepped back so that his men could do the same.
As soon as the men had affixed their respective signatures to the document, Christopher put the written agreement back in his briefcase. Yelvington jerked his head toward the door and the two workers left.
Christopher placed his pen back in the briefcase, extracted another fat envelope from inside, then closed the lid and took the briefcase in hand. Before he handed the envelope to Yelvington, he hesitated, danger in his eyes, his jaw set in determination as he stared directly into the other man's eyes. He wanted to be sure there was no mistaking his meaning now.
"Just one more thing. If you ever so much as attempt any other claims against the Dunnes, particularly against Michaela, I shall personally see
to it that you regret it for the rest of your life. Starting with a man's first priority, this business."
Yelvington was no longer smiling. Still, despite Christopher's threat, his gaze kept wandering to the envelope Christopher held, the greed in his eyes apparent.
"Have I made myself clear?"
"Crystal," Yelvington ground out.
"Good. Very good. And if you're a good boy, I'll go away and leave you alone."
Yelvington didn't say anything, just glared hard at him.
Christopher threw the envelope onto the grimy floor at Yelvington's feet and turned away. But Yelvington wasn't quite finished either, and he stopped him at the door.
"Just out of curiosity, being that we're friends and all now, what the hell is it to you?"
Christopher didn't bother to turn back to him, just quipped back over his shoulder, "She's family now. And no one harms my family."
"Family?"
Christopher glanced over his shoulder to study the other man. Yelvington was still standing where he had left him, his jaw clenching and unclenching in anger. Christopher smiled. He rather enjoyed the man's discomfort. Obviously, the idea of Michaela belonging to someone else disturbed him.
"She's my wife." Christopher broadened his smile, tipped his hat, and then stepped through the door, leaving behind a furious Yelvington.
Out in the car, he couldn't seem to wipe the smile from his face. Why he had deliberately baited the man by telling him that Michaela was his wife was beyond him. Perhaps because he had wanted to see that greedy smirk slide from Yelvington's face. Because he wanted the man to well and truly know that he could never have Michaela. Or perhaps he really wished Michaela was his wife.
Christopher eased back in the seat as the driver pulled out of the sandlot. It felt good to know that Michaela was free now. Or, at least, she was halfway there. There was still one small bit of business he intended to take care of before he left Louisiana, the last thing that stood between her and her true freedom.
Twenty minutes later, he stood on the doorstep of the rambling wooden house that belonged to Mrs. Dunne. It was no mansion, but it was large. Michaela's father had done well for himself, until he'd made some unfortunate business investments, at any rate. Texas had become the new hub of the industry, leaving only a few cotton farmers left in Louisiana. Apparently, Mr. Dunne hadn't known how to flow with the industry.
After a brief knock, an attractive older black woman answered the door. When he asked for Mrs. Dunne, she asked him to wait while she fetched the woman. He stood on the porch, feeling impatient. He considered it rude not to have been asked into the parlor, but the unsociable nature of it was no real surprise coming from a woman like Mrs. Dunne. She was not a woman given to trusting easily.
A small woman finally appeared behind the screen door, hard brown eyes staring up at him from a pinched face. He stared back, a bit surprised. Michaela bore no resemblance whatever to her mother. Perhaps because she was so kind and caring, while Mrs. Dunne was so brittle and cold.
She made no move to open the door or invite him inside, just stood there behind the screen, almost glaring at him, her mouth pulled down in what he was certain was a perpetual frown.
"Who are you, and what do you want? If you're a bill collector, I already told you I can't—"
"No, Mrs. Dunne. I assure you I'm no collector," Christopher interrupted, pulling his hat from his head as he spoke.
Her eyes narrowed. "How do you know my name? What brings you here?"
"I believe we might have some business together."
Her eyes widened with sudden realization. "Of course. You're that man. I should have known by your voice."
Christopher nodded. "Christopher Standeven at your service."
"Why have you come?"
"To inform you that your daughter is well. Not that you asked."
She frowned harder. The deliberate blow had struck home. "What do you expect? Her father is dead, and she runs off. I didn't know how to find her. The ungrateful girl needs to learn that marriage to Geoffrey Yelvington isn't as bad as all that. He's a fine, upstanding citizen, a businessman, a prime catch."
"I fear I must disagree with you on that point."
She glared at him through the screen. "Many women marry out of convenience."
"What a positively archaic notion."
"I did it! It was my duty to my family, and I bore it proudly."
He swept a slow, critical gaze over her. "Yes, it would seem so," he murmured, unable to withhold the sarcasm. She didn't appear to have a proud bone left in her body. In fact, she appeared shrunken, beaten down in spirit, and bitter.
"Some of us aren't as privileged as you, Mr. Standeven," she quipped, affronted by his remark.
"Forgive me. I've had a trying day, and it doesn't seem to be getting any better. I've traveled most of the morning. I don't suppose you would be kind enough to offer me a seat, perhaps a glass of cold tea?"
She stared at him for a long time, then finally moved aside and pushed the screen door open so he could enter. "In there," she muttered in her gravelly, unforgiving voice, pointing toward a small room at the front of the hall.
He thanked her and took a seat on a chair that was much too small for his tall frame, as were all of them.
"I'll have Betsy bring a tray," she said, then left the room.
She reappeared a few minutes later, carrying the tray herself. She set it down on the table between them and took a seat, pouring him a tall glass from an icy pitcher.
"Lazy negro doesn't know to stay in the house for five minutes," she grumbled.
Christopher felt his eyes narrow in agitation at the use of the word negro, but decided not to express his opinion of the woman's slanderous comment. He despised the American term. Always had. It was demeaning and disrespectful of another human being.
"What about the police, Mrs. Dunne?"
She stared at him over the top of her glass.
"Why didn't you make more effort to find your daughter?" he reiterated.
"It was hard enough for me. My husband had just passed on. I had a business to attend to. I hadn't a clue as to the running of it. Fortunately, my daughter's husband has helped a great deal in that regard."
"Your daughter?"
"Louisa. She's been a dear to me these past months." Her voice softened for a brief moment, but then her eyes hardened again, and she clamped her mouth tightly shut as if she had said too much.
Christopher wondered why she had never shown a tiny portion of that softness to Michaela. Perhaps Michaela's aspirations had kept her from it. Maybe Mrs. Dunne was jealous that her youngest daughter might get to do all the things that she'd never done herself.
She rocked a little in her chair—a nervous habit—her eyes shifting back and forth. "I didn't need the added burden of worrying about Michaela. She's always been flighty."
She glanced over at Christopher, who quietly listened as he drank his tea.
"I told the police, but they didn't do much. I didn't care. It was Michaela's decision to leave. What could I do about it but let her go. It was Geoffrey who pushed me. He got nasty about it, informing me that I could be in a lot of trouble, telling me I could lose everything my husband had worked so hard for."
"Fortunately for Michaela, to sacrifice herself to a loveless marriage is no longer her reality," Christopher said.
He watched as Mrs. Dunne's eyes narrowed in confusion. "What do you mean?" she demanded in her hard voice.
"I imagine you'll be pleased to know that you are free of any debt to Mr. Yelvington."
She frowned all the harder. "What are you getting at?"
"I've paid the debt. Michaela is now free to do as she pleases, and the Dunne family is no longer obligated to Geoffrey Yelvington in any way," Christopher took great pleasure in telling her. Now the woman had no power over Michaela. None whatsoever.
Openly distrusting, Mrs. Dunne stared at him as if she didn't fully believe it. "What do you want from me?"
> "Actually, there is one small favor."
"I could have guessed. What's in this for you? Are you sleeping with my daughter?"
Christopher was careful not to let his sudden rage show. He didn't like Mrs. Dunne, or her crude manners. "That is none of your business. But for Michaela's sake, I must assure you that her reputation is sound."
Mrs. Dunne gave a little snort of disbelief. "I find it hard to believe that a man would travel all this way to pay off a debt he didn't owe if he wasn't getting something into the bargain."
"Yes, I expect you wouldn't believe it," he murmured.
Mrs. Dunne ignored his biting remark, still intent on the favor he wanted.
Christopher set his half empty glass of tea on the table between them, his eyes on Mrs. Dunne's face. "I merely want her books. All of them."
Mrs. Dunne looked stunned. "Her books?"
"Yes, that is all I require."
She was speechless for a moment, then, "How do I know I can trust you? How do I know you're not lying about who you are? How do I know you won't steal them and sell them for your own gain?"
Christopher allowed a small smile. "Interesting. You never approved of Michaela's writing, yet now you count her books worthy of theft."
Her face flushed red with anger. "Nonsense!"
"I can pay you for them. Whatever you like."
Her eyes dropped, and she ran her tongue out over her lips. Greed again. Damnable greed. Was there a place on earth that was safe from it?
"You see," Christopher continued. "I only want her books, to take them back to Michaela where they belong. It will be you who gains from the transaction."
Her eyes darted back to his face. "There are bills. Funeral costs. Only for the sake of them."
Indeed! "The price, if you please."
"Thought you already paid for them when you paid off Yelvington."
His eyes narrowed. He liked this woman less and less. "What I do, I do for Michaela. No one else."
"She's your whore. I knew it!"
Christopher lost his temper then, almost got to his feet, and barely managed to force himself not to. "I won't have you slander her that way!" Blast it all, he was furious enough to break something. If he already had the books in his possession, he'd leave this evil place. But he didn't yet, and he wouldn't leave without them. "Michaela is a lady of the highest order, and she shall remain so! Such a prize could never have been borne of your loins!"
The Whisper Of Wings Page 24
