by Ingis, Gail
“I don’t think that’s your concern.”
He nodded, eyes fixed on the crease. “I know. But the tension of the misunderstanding between us doesn’t help one’s digestion.”
Pity welled up in her for his obvious discomfort. “It’s not exactly a misunderstanding.”
“No, absolutely not, but I hate that my reprehensible behavior is a source of discontent between us.” He glanced at her, his eyes compassionate. “I am allowed to dislike what he does. You’re a fine and gentle lady who doesn’t deserve to be treated disrespectfully.”
“Thank you,” she whispered and smiled. “Maybe not so gentle.”
“Maybe, but I don’t know you—yet.” His eyes twinkled. “There’s great release in forgiveness.”
She laughed. “We will indeed be spending a good deal of time together in the coming weeks, and I also don’t wish to quarrel with you.”
“Then it is settled.” He flashed a charming smile and held out his hand. “Truce?”
“Truce.” His smile did strange things to her stomach. She placed her hand in his, and butterflies fluttered in her belly. He gave her hand a light squeeze, increasing her confusion—wanton emotions she ought not to feel.
Rork chuckled, running his fingers through his hair. “I cannot describe my relief.” He sat back and gazed at her, mentally caressing her profile. A delicate flush crept into her cheeks. His eyes moved to the landscape beyond as they sped by. Smoke billowed from the engine and wafted between tall oaks and maples. Black ash speckled the windows. I want her. He knew it was an impossible dream.
“I should go,” she said quietly.
He all but drowned in the liquid depths of her eyes. Lord, that I was at liberty to change the sadness in her eyes to happiness.
She smiled. “I need you to move, Mr. Millburn.”
Her smile alone had the power to throw his mind into disarray. He stared at a small dimple playing next to her lips. Such a kissable mouth.
“Mr. Millburn.”
He forced his addled senses to obey. “My apologies.” He moved and stood, offering his hand. Her gloved hand seemed fragile engulfed in his. An overwhelming desire to protect her swept through him as he helped her up. “I’ll see you to your compartment.”
“Thank you.”
He followed her from the dining car, admiring her slender waist and the gentle sway of her hips as she negotiated the narrow passage.
Outside her compartment, she turned and smiled up at him. “I’m glad we reached a truce.”
Truce? But he wanted more—he wanted her. He clamped his lips to avoid saying something that could sabotage their tenuous friendship. Still, he would rather have a truce than her rigid anger.
The train lurched as it swept around a bend, throwing her against his chest. Instinctively, his arms enfolded her. Their eyes met. He closed his eyes, savoring her perfume winding erotically through his head, and he savored the sensation of her body pressed hard against his. The train lurched again. He tightened his hold, and she gasped. He opened his eyes and instantly regretted it. She ran her tongue across her lips.
“Why do you let Hank treat you so badly?” he whispered.
“I-I don’t know. I don’t think it’s your place to pass judgment.” She shoved his chest and wriggled from his embrace.
He opened his arms. “You’re quite right. I’m sorry.” He bowed and spun on his heel and walked away. He glanced over his shoulder, and his belly contracted. She was watching him. What is that in her eyes? Is it longing?
Chapter 9
New York crackled with tension, and cloying smoke stifled the hot air. Leila stepped onto the wooden platform of the train depot. She pressed a lace handkerchief to her nose.
Cornelia followed and looked around, a gloved hand covering her nose. “Is New York always like this?”
Trepidation coursed through Leila, and she shook her head, scanning the low buildings surrounding the depot. “Something is wrong.”
Rork joined them. “I wonder what that noise is in the distance.”
“New York is pretty divided about this war. Perhaps people are protesting,” Hank said, taking a long swig from his hipflask.
“They’re protesting rather violently. Look at that.” Rork pointed at a plume of black smoke mingling with dark storm clouds.
Cornelia bit her lip. “Perhaps we shouldn’t go to your Tiffany’s, Leila.”
Hank took Cornelia’s arm. “Well, darlin’, we need to book into the St. Nicholas Hotel, and you girls need to occupy yourselves while we do that.” He flicked one of her golden curls. “Can’t let a little unrest bother your pretty head.”
Cornelia glared, pulled her arm from his grasp, and moved closer to Leila. “I just think we should be wise.”
“I agree, but Tiffany’s is on Lower Broadway, far from that smoke,” Leila said, noting her friend’s rejection of Hank. “We’ll hire a buggy.”
“You can’t go alone.” Rork walked to a four-wheeled buggy and nodded at the driver. “Good day, sir. I’d like to hire your vehicle to convey us to Tiffany’s.” Arrangements made, he returned. “All set. Shall we, ladies?”
Leila put her hand on Hank’s chest. “Come with us. We can check into the hotel later.”
Hank pushed her away. “I’ll meet you at the hotel later this afternoon.”
Leila’s mouth tightened. He always avoided outings involving her. “Shall we go then?” she said too brightly, her smile fixed. She avoided the sympathy in Cornelia’s eyes. Leila slid a glance at Rork as he handed her into the open four-seater carriage. His face was grim. Settling back, she fanned her face. “This heat is oppressive.” She looked across at the ominous, billowing smoke. “That smoke curls around the humidity and makes the air smell like burning manure. It is hot and clammy besides.”
The carriage took off toward Broadway. Rork sat opposite, next to Cornelia, who leaned forward. “Where are you going from here, Leila?”
“St. Louis to St. Joseph is the farthest west that train travels. The wagon we need is in Atchison. We must take a ferry or train from St. Joseph for Atchison, the gateway to California. Coach or wagons are the only means of travel to California.” Leila pouted. “Hank doesn’t want me to join him.” She swiped her hand in the air. “Apparently, because I’m a lady I can’t handle the rigors or dangers of a wagon trail.”
Cornelia expelled a breath. “I know the sentiment all too well.” She smiled. “My father has a similar philosophy. He insists I’m unable to help in the war effort because I am a woman. He would not be persuaded, so I had to take it upon myself to do the right thing.”
Leila glanced at Rork, who seemed preoccupied with the buildings. She leaned toward Cornelia. “I had to do quite a bit of convincing to get Hank to allow me to come on this trip. He expressed disappointment in my desire to travel with him and insisted that I remain in the Catskills.”
“How did you manage to convince him?”
“I simply arrived at the station.” Leila fiddled with her hair, smoothing down loose ends. “Cornelia, you’ve been to New York several times. How come you’ve never been to Tiffany’s? It’s quite popular.”
“I don’t see what the fuss is about. It’s just a shop.”
“It’s not just any shop. It is an emporium famed for its stationery, fancy goods, watches, and more. You’ll see, the merchandise is unusual and lovely. You will want to buy a trinket or two. Once we get there, you’ll understand why it’s so magical.” She smiled. “Wait and see. You will love Tiffany’s.”
“I’m not sure about that. I hate shopping, but I’m looking forward to a new experience. If you love it, I probably will too. I will be happy to change my mind. After Tiffany’s would it be possible for us to make a stop on the way back?”
Leila nodded. “Where do you want to
go?”
“I promised to meet Dr. Smith at the Colored Orphan Asylum on Fifth Avenue.”
“Of course we can stop there.” Leila took Cornelia’s hand. “You are so caring and noble.”
The driver turned to them. “Sorry, folks, but the traffic is stopped, so I cain’t get ya any closer. Tiffany’s ain’t more than a block from here. I’ll get close to the entrance when the traffic clears a bit and wait for ya.”
Leila jumped from the buggy and yanked Cornelia’s hand. “Let’s go.”
Rork laughed and followed. “I can’t believe how excited you are about shopping.”
Leila smiled. “Men don’t understand.” She pulled Cornelia, who struggled to keep up.
“You can keep pulling my arm, Leila, but I can’t walk any faster.”
Leila glanced at her friend. “We don’t have much time to get our fill of Tiffany’s.”
“What do you want specifically?”
“Nothing, I just want you to see it. And perhaps I’ll buy Hank a gift.”
“You’re a thoughtful wife.” She squeezed Leila’s hand.
A stone settled in Leila’s heart. She wasn’t sure Hank would even like a gift. He never gave her gifts, not since they were married. He’d probably ignore a gift from her. “Besides,” Leila said, trying to brush away doubt, “it gives me an excuse to do a little shopping for myself.”
“Let’s hurry.”
Rork chuckled. “Tiffany’s isn’t going anywhere.”
Leila squeaked and sidestepped dung. “The streets reek of horse droppings. We’ll be a mess by the time we get there.”
They soon reached the elaborate portals of Tiffany’s. “At last.” Out of breath, Leila pushed through the turnstile doors of the brick building.
Cornelia gasped. “Oh my, you’re right. This shop is divine, and there’s so much to see.”
A short, balding man wearing a dark suit approached. “Ladies, sir, welcome to Tiffany’s.” He smiled. “I’m delighted you’re visiting our emporium. How may I help you?”
Glass jewel cases glittered in the light, sending shafts of color dancing across the walls. Leila scanned the exquisite diamond jewelry, gold watches, and sterling server sets on display. “I’m interested in purchasing a gift for my husband.”
“Certainly, madam. I’m Claude Christi, and I’m here to help you.” He bowed. “And you are, Miss . . .”
“Mrs. Dempsey.”
“Dempsey? Like the writer?”
Leila giggled. “Yes. I’m his wife. Do you know him?”
“Not personally, but I’ve read his work in Harper’s. He’s very imaginative. Perhaps you would like a timepiece that suits his personality?”
“I had something more, shall we say, frivolous in mind.” Leila clasped her hands at her chest. “Is this place not a dream, Cornelia?”
“It certainly is.”
“I have the perfect gift in mind for Mr. Dempsey. Right this way, ladies.” He placed a hand on Leila’s elbow and steered her toward the back of the shop. Rork and Cornelia followed. Leila glanced over her shoulder. “Aren’t you glad we came, Cornelia?”
“It’s wonderful.” Cornelia leaned over a showcase displaying necklaces. “This locket is beautifully made and so delicate.”
Leila spied a gold jewel box. “Oh, Mr. Christi, my husband would love that for his cufflinks. And I’d like that locket over there for my friend.”
Cornelia put four fingers of her gloved hand to her mouth. “Thank you, but you really shouldn’t.”
“I want to. I’ll take both items, Mr. Christi.”
“We really ought to go, ladies.”
“We just have one more place Cornelia wants to visit.” Leila put her hand on Rork’s arm. “Please, Mr. Millburn.”
He laughed and shook his head. “How can I resist? One smile from you and I melt. But we do have to meet Hank at the hotel.”
Leila paid for her purchases. “Here, let me put the locket on for you.” Cornelia turned, and Leila put the simple gold chain with a small heart locket around Cornelia’s neck. “There.” She stepped in front of her. “That looks lovely.”
Cornelia’s eyes gleamed with tears, reflecting the myriad of colors in the shop. “I shall treasure it. I’ll put my miniature of Michael in it.”
Leila’s mouth quivered. “Oh, my dear friend, I cannot imagine the pain of losing the one you love."
Cornelia hugged her and whispered, “You deserve better than Hank, my sweet friend.” She leaned into Leila then glanced at Rork before whispering, “This man, I think, likes you a great deal.”
Leila’s eyes widened. “Don’t be silly, Cornelia. How can you even suggest it?” But she couldn’t help her heart racing.
Cornelia chuckled and patted her arm. “There is such a thing as divorce.”
Leila shook her head. “I-I can’t afford to think like that.”
Cornelia tossed her head. “Oh, tish, this is the nineteenth century, and women are becoming emancipated.”
Not me. Leila stared at her hands.
Rork joined them, smiling. “Ladies, I hate to interrupt your tête-à-tête, but we really must go.” He urged them from Tiffany’s. “Miss Hancock, did I hear you have an appointment? Where to?”
“The Colored Orphan Asylum.”
Leila’s stomach fluttered as Rork held her arm. “It’s on Fifth Avenue and Forty-Third Street. Cornelia wants to visit a Dr. Smith and offer to do volunteer work.”
Admiration gleamed in his eyes. “I applaud your humanitarian sentiments, Miss Hancock.”
She blushed. “I like working with the less fortunate, but my actual goal is nursing. Working with Dr. Smith will give me experience.”
“Very well, the orphanage it is.” He hustled the girls to the buggy, thankfully parked outside, and issued directions to the driver.
Handkerchief held to her nose, Leila canted her head. “You seem tense, Mr. Millburn.”
“The smoke has increased in volume,” he said, looking north at a cloud of black smoke. He took out his pocket watch and flipped it open. “It’s almost one o’clock. We need to hurry if we’re to reach our hotel at all.”
Leila nodded, and the corners of her lips turned down. There was a dull roar in the distance. “The noise is also getting louder.”
“I agree. Driver, please hurry.”
“Goin’ as fast as I can, sir.” He flicked a whip across the two bays, and they picked up the pace, cutting a path through the crowded streets.
Rork pulled his hat off and raked his fingers through his hair. Unease swelled through him, and his eyes darted from left to right. They neared Twenty-First Street. Instinct set his nerves on edge.
They picked up speed on Fifth Avenue. Suddenly, the buggy jigged, and the driver swore. Men milled around them, brandishing sticks, guns, and knives, while screaming abuse. “Get the rich bastards, lads.”
They surged toward the buggy, spooking the horses. “Aye, strip ‘em o’ their fine clothes.”
“Move, dammit.” Rork shouted at the driver.
The driver sawed at the horses’ mouths. “I cain’t keep ‘em nags under control.”
“Damn.” Rork clambered onto the driver’s seat then shoved him aside and grabbed the reins and whip. He flicked the reins and sent the whip singing over the horses’ ears, galvanizing them into action. He glanced over his shoulder at the girls.
Cornelia clung to the buggy.
Leila swung her lace parasol like a sword, fighting off men who tried to rip her from the buggy. “Get your hands off me, you miserable knave.”
Rioters snatched at the horses.
“Hang on.” Rork cracked the whip from left to right. The tip sliced open faces and arms. Neighing, the horses broke free under Rork’s f
irm command and took off. The smoke grew denser, choking them.
“There’s the orphanage,” Leila shouted.
Rork looked down. Leila was kneeling on the seat, her face against his shoulder. Her bonnet, held on by the ribbons, bounced on her back, and her hair unraveled, falling to her waist. God, she’s beautiful. He tore his eyes away and concentrated on getting the team through the gates to the orphanage.
He leapt down and ran to the horses’ heads, grabbing the halters and calming them with a soft voice. “Easy does it.” They trembled, foam coating their mouths. Their red-brown coats gleamed with sweat. Rork leaned his forehead against one horse’s soft nose. Damn that was close. How the hell do I get everyone out of here, though? The horses calmed, and he walked to Leila.
She flopped back against the squabs, panting, and looked at Rork. “Lord, I thought we would never escape.”
His belly jolted as her eyes settled on him. “I don’t think it’s over.” He reached out and put his hands around her tiny waist, lifting her from the buggy.
She stared up at him, her hands on his forearms. “Once again you saved my life. Thank you,” she whispered.
“It’s a pleasure, but we’re not out of trouble yet. I can hear a crowd approaching. Perhaps we’ll be lucky and they’ll pass the orphanage.” He released her and turned to Cornelia, holding out his hand. “Are you all right, Miss Hancock?”
She took his hand and stepped down, leaning against the buggy, her eyes wide as she tried to tuck blond curls into place. “I-I’m a little shaken. Thank you for getting us to safety, Mr. Millburn.”
