And he wanted her. She could see it in his eyes.
Lillian looked at Charles again. A more civilized veneer covered his expression, but it didn’t dilute the intensity of the desire she saw there.
How in the world did she find herself in such a situation? All she’d wanted was to help her father in his grand project and give herself some purpose greater than the frivolous pursuits that seemed to occupy most of her friends and acquaintances. Instead, she felt drawn to these two very different, very desirable men.
Charles’s hand settled over hers in the crux of his elbow. Languidly, his fingers traced hers ever so slowly. Lillian shivered in delight. If that was what a simple touch did to her, how much more exquisite would it feel to have his touch on more intimate areas of her body? Lillian’s pulse sped up.
She felt a warm, powerful presence at her other elbow. Conn. Somehow, without conscious agreement, the three of them stopped walking. Charles’s fingers continued their wooing of her hand. She had never realized how erotic such a simple touch could be. Her breast pressed against his biceps. Under her riding outfit, the gentle pressure caused the fabric of her chemise to rasp over her hardening nipple.
Conn, the heady, spicy scent of him teasing her nostrils, stood close enough that her skirts drifted against his legs. His hand settled against her lower back. With elaborate care, his palm glided up her spine. Lillian closed her eyes.
She spared a fleeting thought for Aileen. How did their little tableau appear to her?
It felt good to be touched by a man again. It had been so long. Erotic imaginings paled in comparison to the real thing. How could she have waited to experience it again? She knew how. Since Stephen’s death, no one else she met made her long for the intimacies of the marriage bed. Charles and Conn did.
Lillian opened her eyes in time to see the men exchange a look filled with meaning. For some reason, it woke her to what was happening. Two men touched her, intimately, boldly. And she let them. Reveled in it.
She’d teased Aileen about taking both men as lovers, she’d even fantasized about it, but had she meant it? Could she really cast off the shackles of good society, of good breeding, of simple decency and wallow in a hedonistic affair of the flesh? Should she?
But then, this wasn’t just about her. Conn’s and Charles’s feelings mattered, too. Maybe she should concentrate on her work, not her desires.
It was an effort to pull her hand away from Charles’s arm, to step away from Conn’s delightful caress. But she did it. Taking a deep breath, she faced them.
“We should start back.”
“Don’t run, Lillian,” Charles said softly.
Instead of answering, she took a step to rejoin to Aileen without them. They were men. You couldn’t expect them to think rationally at such times. She wasn’t sure she was thinking very clearly right now.
Conn moved a single step to the side, blocking her. Charles flanked him, forcing her to face them both.
She quirked her brow, hoping to brazen them out. They were unmoved.
“Lillian,” Charles said. “I’ve always held you in high esteem. As soon as I saw you again, I hoped you might be ready to leave your mourning behind. I realize it has only been a few days since your arrival, but I hope you’ll give this a chance.”
“And I.” Conn’s nod was brief, decisive. “You’ll return to Boston, to your life there. That doesn’t leave us much time together. Why not enjoy it?”
The very conclusion Lillian had so recently come to. Life is short, and easily ended. Why not grab its pleasures when she could? She didn’t allow herself to waver, though. Conn and Charles deserved better.
“Fine, then. You force me to be blunt.”
“Please do,” Conn said. “Truth is truth, no matter what pretty words you wrap it in. I prefer mine bare.”
“Ah, Conn,” Charles said. “Straight to it, as always.”
“Gentlemen. Please.”
“Pardon me, my dear. Please, continue.”
“Yes. Thank you.” Lillian sucked in a deep breath. “I find both of you very appealing. Very appealing,” she repeated for emphasis. Charles’s lips quirked slightly, as always ready with a smile or a laugh. Conn watched her with controlled focus. Neither appeared to be the least deterred.
“And it’s because of that that I find myself in something of a quandary.”
“How so?” Charles again.
“Because I find you both so attractive, I feel it’s better if I…hold myself back from my preferences.”
“I don’t understand,” Conn said. “Speak plainer.”
Embarrassment fueled a spurt of temper. “Fine. I can’t choose between you, so I’m not going to choose either of you. You’re friends, and I don’t want anything I do to strain that. Add to that the fact you have to work together, and with me for the next few weeks, and surely you see how impossible any relationship between two of us would be. Is that plain enough for you, Conn?”
Conn frowned. Ignoring her question, he addressed her statement. “Why must it be a choice?”
She couldn’t help it. Her jaw dropped in shock. “I beg your pardon?”
Conn patiently repeated, “Why must it be a choice? Charlie and I aren’t asking you to choose.”
“Then are you saying…are you actually suggesting…both of you?”
“What we are suggesting,” Charles said, “is that you give us a chance. Nothing more.
“Whatever happens between us will all be up to you, Lillian. Conn and I are drawn to you. You feel the same for us. Why not see where that takes us? Conn and I have been through a lot together. We are friends, yes. But if it’s a choice between one of us not having a chance with you and neither of us having a chance, we’d rather change our options. Don’t worry about coming between us.”
Conn laughed softly at that, but Lillian didn’t understand what amused him. She looked from one man to the other. What they were suggesting was unheard of. At least, she had never heard of such a thing. A woman who let more than one man court her was a terrible Jezebel. Everyone knew that. A flirt was little better than a jilt. Charles and Conn wanted something far more intimate than posies and poetry, though.
They stood silent and waited for her to decide.
They really seemed to want this. If she could have an affair with both men, with no recriminations, what an adventure.
She wanted this, didn’t she? Her resolve firmed. Yes. She did. All she had to do was reach for it.
Straightening her spine, she looked straight at them. “All right, Charles. Conn. If you believe no one will be hurt, then yes. Let’s see where this takes us.”
They smiled.
Chapter 8
“A good doctor is worth more than gold in a rail camp. He is called on to set bones, stitch wounds and treat fevers. Without him, minor injuries can fester enough to kill a man. Aside from the head cook, he is the busiest man in camp.”
— Charles Lowell Adams, Dispatches from The Iron Road, Great Western Rail Company
“Mr. Yorke, have you put in the order for a new shipment of beef for the cookhouse?”
“Yes, Mrs. Cabot.” Seated on the other side of the desk in her private car, he consulted his notes. “It will take a number of days for the order to be filled, then transported here via the next supply shipment.”
Lillian set her coffee cup back on its saucer and moved it away from the invoices awaiting her approval. She inked her initials on the bottom right-hand corner and flipped to the next sheet in the stack. “Good. It is entirely unacceptable for the company to receive meat in such a disgusting state. The Great Western Rail Company pays good money for its supplies. Maybe it’s time for us to look for new suppliers.”
“I am certain it was just an anomaly,” Yorke said.
“Still, it wouldn’t hurt to explore our options. I’ll speak with Mr. O’Brien in the morning. I’d like to hear his thoughts on the matter. After all, he is the one who must deal with the provisions on a daily basis.”
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br /> “He is…”
Yorke’s voice trailed off as Lillian looked up and quirked her brow. She could mentally complete the sentence for him. “He is only the cook.” Yet again she was reminded of why she disliked the man so much. Yorke was the most priggish individual she’d ever met in her life. Only a fool would blindly make decisions without making every effort to understand a situation. Lillian liked to think she wasn’t a fool.
“We are bound by the employment contract to provide the non-Chinese workers with their meat and potatoes, Mr. Yorke. I will not have the Great Western Rail Company become known for its shoddy treatment of the men. Shoddy treatment can quickly become shoddy work in the minds of investors, and the people we hope to attract as our clientele. And that, sir, will not do.”
“Yes, Mrs. Cabot.”
Lillian sighed. Even when the man tried to be agreeable, he sounded like it killed him to be civil to her. When her father hired him, he was bright, eager, attentive. While she didn’t like his obsequious manner, she admired his work ethic and dedication to her father. For some reason she couldn’t fathom, his attitude toward her had shifted in recent months. Instead of polite and correct, he could barely conceal his animosity. The only time it wasn’t obvious was when her father was in the room with them. Since the quality of Yorke’s work remained the same, Lillian never spoke of it. For her father’s sake, she must contrive some kind of working relationship with his hostile aide-de-camp.
Yorke made it so blessed difficult, though.
A rustle of fabric drew her attention to the settee. Aileen sat, craft basket at her feet, fingers flying as she worked on her embroidery. The young woman’s wan face and tired eyes made Lillian notice the hour. Goodness, it was past ten o’clock! No wonder Aileen seemed weary. After their outing with Charles and Conn, she must be exhausted.
Lillian set aside her pen. “I think we should call it a night, Mr. Yorke. It’s been a very full day, and tomorrow promises more of the same.”
He nodded and began to stow his papers in a sturdy leather satchel. Lillian picked up a bound stack of documents and handed them to him. “Please include these in the next mail delivery to my father.”
“Of course.” He tucked the packet under his arm and picked up his satchel. “Good night.” Without a glance at Aileen, he nodded to Lillian and strode to the door. As soon as he opened it, a cacophonous roar of screams and yells rolled into the car.
“My word,” Aileen said, placing her embroidery hoop on the cushion beside her and getting to her feet.
Immediately, Lillian stood and crossed the room to join Yorke. Motionless, he stared into the night. As she reached his side, Lillian realized what had so captivated the secretary. People ran everywhere. Where it should have been dark, it was light, the tent town lit by more than moonlight. A distinctive orange glow cast the scene in devilish silhouette. Something was on fire. Something big.
“Goodness.” Lillian brushed past Yorke and started to descend the wrought-iron steps to the ground.
He jolted into action. “Mrs. Cabot!” She ignored him and hurried toward the tents. “Mrs. Cabot!” Yorke grabbed her elbow, yanking her to a stop.
She whirled on him. “What is it?”
“You must stay here. It is too dangerous for you to go into the camp after dark.”
“Stay here? When we don’t even know what’s going on? When people may need help?”
Aileen, a shawl draped around her shoulders, hurried to join them. Seeing her made Lillian notice how frigid the night was. Aileen held out a second thick, woolen shawl. Gratefully, Lillian wrapped it around herself, forcing Yorke to release her arm.
“Mrs. Cabot,” he snapped. “At least allow me to find out what’s going on before you race headlong into the unknown.”
“By all means, please find out what has happened. Aileen and I are still going to see if we can help.”
He began to sputter another protest. Impatient with his dithering, she walked away. The muddy ground, ruts and divots frozen by the cold, made the going even more difficult than it was by day.
“Maybe it would have been better to wait to find out what has happened,” Aileen said, her voice breathless as she hurried to match Lillian’s longer stride.
“Perhaps,” Lillian said. “But do you really think I’d let that man know he might be right about anything?”
They shared conspiratorial grins. “Heaven forbid,” Aileen said.
By then, they had reached the first row of tents. Seeing the confused rush of men, Lillian experienced a strange sense of déjà vu. It was like the excitement that filled the air when Conn fought that brute, Rueben. However, this time the air was fraught with anxiety and fear, not the anticipation of bored men eager to be diverted by fisticuffs and wagering. Large, rough-looking rail workers jostled the two women in their haste to get wherever they were going. It was easy to surmise their destination was the fiery glow at the center of the tent town.
The first trickle of fear icing her spine, Lillian began to run, pulling Aileen behind her so they wouldn’t get separated.
It was a vision of hell.
Once full of orderly rows of tents, the heart of the action was a seething mass of humanity, of yelling men and crying women. Lillian barely noticed them. All her attention centered on the conflagration. She’d seen this particular collection of canvas-topped shacks unloaded from the hell on wheels and marveled at the ingenuity of the construct. Flames engulfed the structures in a bonfire of giant proportions. Flaming scraps of canvas dangled purposeless from thick wooden poles, waving in the heat-driven wind of the blaze like hellish moss on a barren forest of the damned.
Someone had thought to stall the spread of the flames by taking down the neighboring tents. Orphaned ropes and piled canvas littered the ground. Something inside the conflagration crashed down, sending up a spray of sparks. The wind caught the embers, ever so gently wafting them out over the rest of the camp.
But all was not chaos. Some of the men formed a ragged bucket brigade, and more workers ran to join them. With surprise, Lillian saw Conn at the head of the line, directing the men. His voice, loud and strong, penetrated the cacophony. “Keep those buckets moving, boys! Rueben, get your lads in another line, or I’ll hand you your arse again!”
Aileen touched her arm. “Look,” she said.
Lillian followed her gaze to a group of women. About a dozen of them huddled together, some on the ground, many wearing just their nightclothes. Charles crouched beside one woman and held a tin cup to her lips. At last, Lillian thought. Something she could do. She headed for the group. Before she reached them, she noticed a young woman standing close to the burning tents. Too close.
“Miss,” Lillian called. The other woman didn’t respond. Fearing that the conflagration could collapse at any moment, sending up another dangerous hail of sparks, Lillian hurried to the woman’s side. Putting her arm around the woman’s thin shoulders, Lillian forcibly guided her away. Aileen, concern plain on her face, took the woman’s other arm. She moved jerkily, like a clockwork figure, but allowed Lillian and Aileen to lead her to join the other women. She didn’t resist when Lillian, afraid she would simply fall down, urged her to sit on the ground. Lillian knelt and began to search her unexpected charge for injury.
The young woman’s feet were bare. Her skirts, indecently short, exposed slender calves and the curve of her knees. Black soot covered her face and arms, pale streaks of clean skin glistening through the darkness where tears or sweat left their trails. It was difficult to make out her specific features, but Lillian thought she was probably quite a lovely woman. Lovely girl, she mentally amended as she more closely examined the young person she held.
Lillian surveyed the other women. Some wept, and others watched the fire with cold, cynical expressions. They were dressed like the girl. Or rather, barely dressed. It wasn’t difficult to surmise what service these women provided to a camp full of men.
A long, angry red welt marred the girl’s left forearm,
which was exposed by her sleeveless bodice. Lillian handled the arm gently to get a better look at the burn.
“Poor lass,” Aileen said. “What’s your name?”
The girl looked at her uncomprehendingly for a moment, then whispered through stiff lips, “Meaghan.”
“Meaghan,” Lillian repeated. “Don’t be afraid. You’re away from the fire, you’re safe. We’ll get you mended in no time.”
“Lillian!”
At the sound of her name, Lillian met Charles’s startled gaze. He rose, bucket in hand. “What are you doing here?” He stalked toward her, a fierce glow in his eyes that had nothing to do with the fire.
She realized he was angry with her. “I came to help, of course.” Still holding Meaghan’s arm, Lillian felt a shiver wrack the girl’s slender frame. She took off her shawl and wrapped it around her, careful not to touch the burn. Gently, she guided Meaghan’s hands until the girl held it in place on her own.
“Help? It’s not safe.”
Lillian ignored that and looked pointedly at the bucket he held. “Is that water?” A chain secured the tin cup to the rope handle. “May I have some for this girl, please?”
Charles’s eyes flicked to Meaghan, and some of the temper left his face. He set the bucket down and crouched beside Lillian to offer the girl a cupful of cold water. Lillian looked around. Conn and his bucket brigade were having some success. The flames had diminished significantly, although the heat almost made their proximity unbearable. A number of men pulled what they could out of the wreckage, beating the licking flames out with strips of canvas scavenged from nearby tents.
Their initial shock waning, it was evident the exposure was beginning to discomfit the women. Their concerns seemed more physical, rather than any sense of outraged propriety. Lillian scanned their faces until she found what she needed. Leaving Meaghan to Aileen and Charles, Lillian rose and approached a woman the others had gravitated to. Older than Lillian, she was attractive in an unsubtle manner, from the skeins of blond hair that tumbled around her shoulders to the ripe curves shown to advantage in a surprisingly well-cut gown. She noticed Lillian’s approach, but didn’t move to greet her.
The Railroad Baroness Page 7
