Rory smiled as though she actually expected him to be glad of such tidings. For her sake, he wished he could have been, but he felt nothing but a lump of dread settling into his stomach.
"A chance to do what?” Zeke demanded. "Get yourself killed?"
"The demonstration will be perfectly safe. We've decided to take the balloon out of the city this time, launch it in the countryside past Morningside Heights."
"And where will you end up? Back in the ocean again? Or maybe impaled upon some farmer's fence?"
"Not all my flights end in disaster. In fact, very few of them do."
"It only takes once. Damn it, Rory—" It was on the tip of his tongue to inform her that he wouldn't allow it. He wouldn't permit his bride to keep risking her neck in those damned fool balloons. But one look at the stubborn tilt to her chin told him how little effect such an order would have.
Perhaps the time for words was past. Action was needed. Leaning back in the carriage seat, he steeled his jaw, knowing what he had to do. He averted his face from Rory, fearful she might be able to read his intention.
He didn't know precisely what she would do when she discovered his plan. He was only sure of one thing. She wasn't going to like it.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The morning after the funeral, Rory awoke to the sound of a commotion on McCreedy Street. She had left her windows open the night before, these first few days of May already proving unseasonably warm, with the promise of a long hot summer to follow.
She awoke feeling miserable, her hair damp with perspiration, her muscles stiff, still aching with the tensions of yesterday. Although she had not been acquainted with Mr. Addison, his funeral had proved a sad affair, and sadder still the way she had parted from Zeke.
He had left her at the door to her flat, brushing her lips with a brusque kiss, a curt promise that he would call upon her tomorrow. She was surprised that Zeke had said nothing more about the balloons. She could tell how much he had wanted to forbid her going up again and had braced herself for a terrific row. Knowing how forceful Zeke could be about getting his own way, his forbearance had been astonishing, almost disturbingly so.
Equally astonishing was the fact that he had not continued to press the idea of marriage upon her. It occurred to her that perhaps he was beginning to have second thoughts. She had sensed his impatience with her after the funeral about the disagreement they had had over Mrs. Addison's suggestion.
Perhaps Zeke had good reason to be annoyed. She had no right to be so disappointed because he showed no inclination to pick up Addison's cudgels, run as a reform candidate for mayor. And it wasn't as though she meant to plan his life for him. She only knew that she hated it when Zeke talked as though nothing mattered but self-interest and the power of money. He was capable of entertaining feelings so much finer than that.
Yet never had the differences between them seemed to yawn so wide. If they were that unsuited to each other, it was better to realize it now, but it had been hard to convince herself of that after spending a lonely night in her bed, aching with the need to feel Zeke's arms around her.
With a low groan, she shielded her eyes from the stream of sunlight pouring through her window. As she sat up, coming more fully awake, the clatter in the street below seemed to have intensified. She sprang out of bed, her heart skipping a beat. She had told Zeke that she had to go to the warehouse today, that if he wanted to call upon her, he had best be up early. Wouldn't it be just like him to come pounding at her door before she was even dressed?
Yet when she rushed to the open window, her mouth drooped with disappointment. It was not Zeke's fancy equipage rattling down the street that had caused Finn McCool to set up such a wild barking and all the children to abandon their balls and hoops and come running.
It was nothing but a delivery van, drawn by a set of matched bays. Even pulled up to the curb, it still blocked off half the narrow street. Despite her disappointment, Rory couldn't help gawking herself as she glimpsed the fancy monogram on the van's side. B. Altman and Co., a very exclusive Fifth Avenue department store.
No wonder some of the housewives broke off stringing up their wash to cluster together, pointing and speculating. As for poor Miss Flanagan, she nearly fell out her front window, straining for a better view as two smartly uniformed attendants swaggered around to open up the back of the van.
Not in living memory had anyone on McCreedy Street received a delivery from Altman's. Like Rory, most of her neighbors shopped on the ground floor at Stern Brothers. As she watched a considerable array of bandboxes being unloaded, Rory wondered whose rich uncle had died, when she was beset by a sinking suspicion.
The van attendants, their arms overburdened, were struggling up the walk leading to her building.
"Oh, no," she murmured. "He didn't! He couldn't-." She ducked back from the window and scrambled to find her dressing gown. She was just shrugging into it when she heard the rap at her door.
She fought off a cowardly inclination to pretend she wasn't at home. Tying the sash about her waist, she trudged to answer the summons.
Inching the door open, she said, "Yes? What do you want?"
"Miss Aurora Rose Kavanaugh?'
She could hardly see the little man who inquired after her name, the boxes balanced all the way up to his chin. When Rory acknowledged his greeting, he grinned with relief.
"Delivery for you." He edged his way past into the flat. She opened her mouth to protest, tell him it was some sort of a mistake, but the poor man's arms were fairly breaking with the need to set down his load. The other attendant, who followed right behind, was equally strained.
Besides she knew it was no mistake. Nor did she need to see the arrogantly scrawled name on the order slip to guess whose signature it was.
Damn the man! Now what was he about? She supposed she should feel relieved. At least this proved that Zeke was not that angry with her. Yet with each fresh load of boxes that was carted into her flat, she became more dismayed. She wanted to tell the attendants to stop, but she felt much like a sorceress who had forgotten the words to the magic spell and could find no way to get the genie back into the lamp.
By the time the two men had tipped their caps to her and departed, her settee, the parlor table and all her chairs were stacked to overflowing.
Distractedly running her fingers through her hair, Rory opened a few of the boxes, but soon she had no desire to pursue the activity any further. She winced at the sight of the costly silks, luxurious furs. Good God above! There had to be enough here to outfit every debutante on Fifth Avenue for the season.
Her parlor was crammed so full, she could barely find room to walk across the carpet, and she would have been prepared to wager that half of McCreedy Street still lingered outside, peering up at her apartment window.
It seemed disastrously appropriate that Zeke himself should arrive in the van's wake. The sun glinted off the sides of his shiny landau and the gleaming black coats of horses and liveried servants.
A dark blue Prince Albert coat straining across his shoulders, his top hat tipped to an arrogant angle, Zeke descended to the pavement, swinging a gold-tipped walking stick. The crowd fell back, as much in awe as if he had been visiting royalty. Rory had a strong urge to drop a flowerpot of geraniums on his head.
It was fortunate she never allowed herself to be much upset by gossip, for Zeke had provided the Catholic Ladies Sewing Circle with enough fuel to see them through a summer of meetings. By the time he had made his way upstairs, there was no need for him to knock. Rory already had the door open.
Their gazes clashed across the threshold. Although Zeke removed his hat respectfully enough, his jaw was tipped to that familiar belligerent angle. In that instant, Rory realized neither of them had managed to shake off the tensions of yesterday. Rather like two armies, they had merely fallen back to regroup for a fresh skirmish.
Zeke didn't wait for Rory to greet him, but strode past her into the flat. His gaze skated over the array of
packages.
"I see Altman's has already been here."
Rory closed the door. "Been here and nearly buried me. What the devil is all this stuff, Morrison? If this is your way of trying to make up for the misunderstanding we had yesterday, it really wasn't necessary."
"This has nothing to do with yesterday. This is your trousseau."
Her trousseau? Rory stiffened. Now she understood why Zeke hadn't troubled himself to bring up the subject of marriage again. In his usual roughshod fashion, he was taking her assent for granted.
He poked beneath the lid of one of the boxes with the tip of his walking stick. "I told Altman's to send a little of everything. If there's anything there you don't like, just send it back and exchange it."
"I can't imagine there's anything left to exchange it for. I must have the contents of the entire store in here." She placed her hands upon her hips. "Besides, I don't recall your ever asking me to marry you."
"Then your memory is faulty, my dear " Zeke shoved a pile of boxes off a chair with his cane and sat down. "I intended to make it formal yesterday, but the mood didn't seem to be right.” He forced his lips into a semblance of a smile. "In any case, I don't want to waste any more time, so come here."
He patted his knee, and Rory choked on an angry gasp, realizing that he had the brass to be suggesting she perch herself upon his knee. He was acting nearly as badly as the night when she had first met him, when he had demanded she become his mistress.
Taking a deep breath, she struggled to keep her temper. It wasn't easy when Zeke stood up flashing a diamond beneath her nose. The thing was blinding, the stone larger than some of the rocks she had skipped over the waters of the Hudson.
"My mother never wore anything but a plain gold band," she said.
"Well, I can do better than that for my wife. Put it on." When she made no move to obey his order, he reached for her hand. Rory whipped both of them behind her back.
"No, Zeke, you are not being fair. You promised to let me have more time to give you my answer."
"I've given you plenty of time and it makes no difference. You know I always get what I want." When she resisted his effort to gain possession of her hand, he pinioned her arms instead, plundering her mouth with a kiss that was rough and demanding, slowly deepening to become fire-hot. Rory strove to hold her body rigid as stone. But she was not a rock. Curse herself how she might, she responded, melting against him.
He traced the curve of her cheek, the line of her temple with his lips, murmuring, "What more does it take to convince you, woman? I'm not the sort to go down on one knee and spout poetry. Besides I never thought you'd be so silly as to want that."
"I'm not. I just wish that you would- you've never even said that you love me."
"I told you how much that I want you. It's the same thing."
"No, it isn't." She wrenched herself out of his arms. "Maybe you just want me the same as you wanted to be rich, to own a house on Fifth Avenue."
"That's ridiculous, Aurora Rose."
"Is it? I just wish that I could be sure you believed in something besides the power of your money."
"Are you still expecting me to become the kind of champion Addison was? I'm no dream chaser, Rory. I told you that at the outset."
"But I am," she said, "which is likely the biggest obstacle between us. Now, if you will excuse me, I have to get dressed. I did tell you that I have to go to the warehouse this morning."
"There is no point in your doing that."
Rory had been marching toward her bedchamber, but she paused, taken aback by the terse note in his voice.
"What do you mean by that?"
"I mean you won't be able to get into the building. I've already been down there myself this morning. The locks have all been changed."
"The locks?" Rory repeated numbly. Locked out of the warehouse? A sick feeling churned inside her, but she was not surprised. Hadn't she been dreading this day for months, knowing she was so far behind on the rent? The warehouse owners had at last reached the end of their patience.
She raised desperate eyes to Zeke. "Oh, Zeke, I have to do something. The government contractor is scheduled to come back tomorrow." It cost her a great deal to make such a request, knowing how Zeke felt about her balloon company, but she swallowed her pride. “Isn't there anything you can do to help me?"
"I'm afraid not, my dear." He lowered his gaze, as though he were unable to meet her eyes. "You see I am the one who had the locks changed. I bought the warehouse."
Rory stared at him with incomprehension. "You? You bought it?" A shaky laugh escaped her. "Great heavens and are you now planning to evict me?"
She wished he would smile, tell her this was all some sort of horrible joke, but the set of his mouth remained firm.
"It won't make any difference, you know," she said with far more conviction than she felt. "I'll simply move my business elsewhere."
"You can't do that either. Hell, Rory, your crazy company is so far in debt to the banks, it won't be difficult to buy up your notes and have your equipment impounded."
Rory stared at him, disbelief warring with a feeling of stark betrayal. She could hardly comprehend it. Her worst nightmare was coming true, but it was not some stranger responsible, some cold-hearted banker, but Zeke, the man she loved.
"No," she choked out at last. "I suppose nothing is too difficult for the great Mr. J. E. Morrison."
"Rory." He tried to take her hands, but she pulled away from him. "Damn it, Rory, be reasonable. I told you that when we were married, you wouldn't have to worry about that ridiculous company anymore."
"I knew you didn't approve, but at least I thought at least would try to understood how much that ridiculous company means to me. If you truly cared for me-." One tear escaped to trickle down her cheek. She dashed it angrily aside. "How could you do this to me?"
Although he looked uncomfortable, Zeke folded his arms across his chest. "It's for your own good."
"My own good?" Rory cried bitterly. "No, Mr. Morrison, I don't believe you were thinking about me at all, only what you wanted. Just because you are afraid to have any dreams, you can't bear for anyone else to have them either."
He flinched at that, but Rory was too caught up in her own misery to care. She paced off a few agitated steps. She wanted to fling herself at Zeke, rail at him, plead with him. But Kavanaughs didn't beg, and she could tell from the implacable set of Zeke's jaw that it would do her no good.
"You won't get away with this. I'll fight you." But even as she made the threat, she knew it was hopeless. He had wealth, power on his side, and a ruthless obstinacy she couldn't hope to match. The tears flowed freely down her face now, too swiftly for her to stop them.
In sheer frustration, she gave a stack of the boxes a savage kick, sending them flying across the room. "You can just take your damned trousseau and get out of here. I never want to see you again."
Zeke swore, but he attempted to gather her into his arms. "Blast it all, Rory, I'm only trying to prevent you from breaking your neck. Stop acting as though I was some kind of a monster."
"You are a monster!" She struggled wildly to break free of his embrace, her grief tumbling out in a rush of bitter words she didn't mean, trying to hurt him as he was hurting her. "Everything Tessa warned me about you was true. You do ruin people's lives. No wonder your mother died grieving for you."
Zeke couldn't have looked more stunned if she had dealt him a blow to the face, but Rory was beyond the point of caring. When his arms dropped to his side, abruptly releasing her, she sagged onto the chair. Burying her face in her hands, she gave vent to a flood of hot tears.
A deathlike silence settled over the flat. She felt a tentative touch upon her hair, but shrank from it. Then she heard Zeke fling something on the parlor table. His footsteps echoed across the room, and then she heard the slam of the door as it closed behind him.
Rory glanced up, tears yet streaming down her cheeks. Good, she thought savagely. He was gone. But in
stead of fiercely rejoicing, she only wanted to weep anew, as though her heart would break.
Sniffing, she groped for her handkerchief, her vision clearing enough to see what Zeke had left behind. If he had had the effrontery to leave that diamond ring, she would—
But she paused, sitting frozen as she focused on the object glinting upon the parlor table. It was not the diamond, but a heavy metal ring of keys.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
With a curt command, Zeke Morrison bade his astonished coachman to whip up the team and go back to Fifth Avenue or hell, Zeke didn't care which. Trembling, the man was quick to obey, leaving Zeke to stalk off down McCreedy Street alone.
Hours later, Zeke was still wandering aimlessly, not knowing where he was going, caring even less. At first, his footsteps had been propelled by anger. Damn Aurora Rose Kavanaugh! And damn himself as well for being such a fool over her.
If she was so eager to break her neck, then let her. He should have flung the keys to the blasted warehouse at her instead of just dropping them on the table.
But such a mood could not last for long. His rage soon spent itself, leaving a tight ache in his chest, a sensation of vast emptiness that slowed his steps. So Rory had rejected him and he was alone again. It always came to that in the end. He had known that ever since the day he first ran away from the orphanage, maybe even from the day he was born, left to die by the woman who bore him.
But he had always managed to convince himself that it didn't matter. He was strong enough to stand alone. He had a talent for survival, a knack for raking in the greenbacks. What more did he need?
He also had a knack for lousing up every relationship that had ever mattered to him. First his mother, then his sisters and now Rory. Zeke jammed his hands deep into his pockets. As afternoon shadows lengthened along the pavement, his thoughts returned to that scene in Rory's flat.
Go more gently, Sadie had always tried to warn him, and he had tried with Rory. He honestly had. But for too much of his life, he had been used to coming out of his corner, ready to lead with his right. You never asked, you just took, because if you asked, the answer would probably be no.
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