by Bird, Peggy
He caught Rosemary’s grimace, as the younger lady opened her mouth to speak.
“I owe you an apology, Mr. Cooper. That I will readily admit to. I have been masquerading as a secretary. I am not Phoebe Wyatt, but rather I am Rosemary Fitzpatrick, a member of this household, and a debutante.”
“Why would you invent such a ruse?”
She shifted in her seat. “Because I could sense you weren’t ready to meet F.P. Elliott. Or at the very least, F.P. wasn’t ready to meet you. It was the only way I could think of to comply with your request for a formal introduction with the author.”
“So the gentleman from last night wasn’t Mr. Elliott, either? The man Mrs. Fitzpatrick called George?”
Rosemary pleated her soft lilac skirt with her fingers and lowered her eyes to her lap. Henry noticed that even though Rosemary was wearing a modest day dress, it was far superior in construction and fabric than the attire she wore when she posed as Phoebe Wyatt. He lamented the loss of the straw hat.
“No, sir, he was not Mr. Elliott. The man who tried to pose as Mr. Elliott last night is my father. He is not an author, but rather a banker. He was going to adopt the ruse of F.P. in order to meet the ridiculous rules you have stipulated, since the real F.P. is not currently available. My father is aware of how much the author wants to continue the contract with your company.”
Ridiculous rules? Perhaps spunky Phoebe had left the premises, but spirited Rosemary seemed to have taken her place. “But certainly such a farce is no longer needed. I’m here, at your home, where I assume the great F.P. is hiding out in one of the upper rooms. I can meet him on his turf. Surely, even the most reclusive of people wouldn’t object to a five-minute interview under those conditions.”
Henry caught the quick exchange of eye contact between Rosemary and her mother. Rosemary’s eyes darted from her mother to the window, to her lap again, and then to Henry. He sat patiently, waiting for an answer, still wondering what in the hell was going on in this peculiar household.
“Oh, good, tea’s arrived.” Mrs. Fitzpatrick rose as the teacart was wheeled into the room. “How do you take yours, Mr. Cooper?”
“With a dash of milk, please,” he answered. Mrs. Fitzpatrick fussed with the cups of tea, seeming to take an inordinate amount of time doing so. The silence became a fourth presence in the room.
His eyes moved back to Rosemary, annoyed she had found an extra measure of time to invent yet another excuse.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Cooper, but Uncle Frank just took some pain medication and has retired for an afternoon nap.”
Henry’s body reacted as if he was in the middle of a long fencing match. He’d just been dealt a riposte, following his attack. He decided to retreat, for now at least, and to attempt to harness the rip of anger coursing through his body.
“Touché, Miss Fitzpatrick.” To be polite, he drank some of the tea and then stood, the ladies rising with him.
“I will take my leave, since I’m getting nowhere here today. I will remind you there will be no contract extended to the author without a face-to-face meeting, regardless of how long it is postponed. But I will caution you, Miss Fitzpatrick, my father wants my report as soon as possible on which authors to keep. And I’m assuming F.P. Elliott wants to remain on the roster at Cooper and Son Publishing. I’d hate for this apparent stumbling block to be his downfall.”
Henry’s eyes flitted over the young woman’s physique briefly. He decided to switch topics, to throw her off balance a bit. “Have you any interest in swordplay, Miss Fitzpatrick?”
Her startled glance amused him. “What? You mean fencing, as you were doing the other day?”
“Exactly. It’s much better to have a real opponent rather than merely an imaginary one. And I feel you’d be a worthy adversary.”
Henry caught the spark of interest in her eyes. “You’d be willing to teach me? What do I need to do?”
“Borrow some boy’s clothing and come to my office tomorrow morning. And since you’re no longer a working-class woman, I’ll expect you to bring along a chaperone. The first lesson will be no longer than an hour.”
Henry retrieved his coat and hat and left the brownstone. He was eager for the following day to arrive. Rosemary was an excellent wordsmith and could counter and parry with him verbally. That much he already was well aware of. But how would she be with a real sword in her hands? He couldn’t wait to find out.
• • •
“That went well, don’t you think?” Charlotte Fitzpatrick clapped her hands together, eliminating the silence that had pervaded the room since Mr. Cooper had so abruptly taken his leave.
“No, I don’t, Mother. Things are coming to a head much more quickly than I anticipated. I must do something. I can’t continue to delude Mr. Cooper.”
“But we’ve just cleared up everything. You’ve told him you’re not Phoebe Wyatt, but rather someone in his social strata, someone he may now consider wooing, and that your father is, in fact, your father, and not F.P. Elliott. I think our discussion went extremely well.”
Rosemary stared in amazement at her mother. “Have you forgotten the reason for all the deception in the first place? Who F.P. Elliott really is? I haven’t yet revealed the biggest duplicity of all. That F.P. and I are one and the same.”
Her mother tapped her finger to her cheek. “Ah, yes, I did manage to forget such a little detail. But he has offered to teach you fencing. I’m sure the proper time to tell him will happen while you’re learning to handle a sword. Just think of it. You’ll be able to spend more time with Mr. Cooper as he teaches you fencing, which I assume is one of his hobbies. You’ll be creating lasting memories together.”
“I may use the sword to slit my wrists if I can think of no good way to explain who the author really is. Little detail, my foot.”
Her mother tried to lighten the mood. “I think it will be loads of fun to learn fencing, don’t you? I’ve always admired the grace and athleticism of a pirate.”
Rosemary stood, and shook her head. “And when have you ever crossed paths with a pirate, Mother? Yes, that’s just what I want. To become a pirate. Maybe it’s the solution to my dilemma. I’ll jump aboard the next ship that comes into New York’s harbor and become a pirate.” She cast one last withering glance at her mother. “I’m going to head to the garret and write for a while. I didn’t get much accomplished this morning.”
A pirate, indeed. Her mother certainly had a maddening way of picking up on the most insignificant detail and overlooking the big picture. Rosemary climbed the stairs as she thought. There were no pirates in her dime novels. They were westerns, with cowboys and Indians and wild animals and damsels in distress. There was no room for pirates. But her Harry Hawk story was set in Texas, and it was close to the Spanish Main, where so many pirates roamed in the early part of the century. What if the damsel was to find herself at the end of a sword rather than at the end of a gun? Hmmm. Perhaps her fencing lessons could be used in her story, after all.
She took her pinafore from its hook on the door, donned it over her lilac day dress, and settled in behind her desk before taking a deep breath, pushing aside all thoughts of her precarious predicament. She took out a fresh sheet of paper, dipped her pen in the new bottle of ink and sat for a moment, remembering where she had last left her hero. She closed her eyes, waiting for her muse to enter the room so she could begin to compose the next installment of Harry Hawk’s story.
Henry Cooper’s face slid into her line of vision instead. His head of dark hair, tied back so properly into a queue, his snapping eyes when he didn’t get the answers he was searching for, that mouth of his pursed in thought. She let her mind drift. If he were to let down his hair, so it swirled about his face in the wind as he stood on the bow of a ship, if his eyes snapped as he used his sword as if it were a body part, slaying his foes left and right, if he turned and pressed himself and his tender lips up against her in triumph once he had vanquished his enemies …
A moan of desire
escaped her as she imagined the scene. Finally, she would be able to wrap her arms around him and feel the sculpted body lurking beneath his clothing. She would return his kiss, capturing his bottom lip between her teeth, and teasing it as she feasted on him as if he were a confection for her to devour. She sucked, she taunted, she could not control her body as she responded to his touch …
Rosemary’s eyes opened in a flash, and she gasped as the vision of the pirate who resembled Henry took shape in her head. Ah, yes, what a brilliant idea! Her pen flew across the page as her heroine, Penelope, was spirited away by a pirate. She’d need to pay close attention to her fencing lesson tomorrow so she could get the terminology and the moves correct. Penelope was going to fall in love with either a pirate or a cowboy. She’d let Penelope make her own decision.
Her senses were still jangling from her vivid, imagined encounter with Henry when she stilled her pen and took a breath. What if her mother was right this time? Her mother’s record as a matchmaker may have been off with Ginger and Jasmine, but she had been uncannily accurate with Heather and Halwyn. What if Henry’s offer to teach her how to fence was merely a ruse so he could spend more time with her? What if he were interested in courting her now that he realized she was a respectable member of society?
Somehow, she thought tomorrow’s fencing lesson could be the start of a new phase of her life. Perhaps her debutante ball had been a fiasco, but it didn’t mean she’d have to sit on the sidelines all season while her friends paired up and began to plan their weddings. She wasn’t the first young lady to have fainted at a dance, but she would overcome her initial setback if it were the last thing she ever did. And she could think of no better way to overcome her debacle of a debut than to capture the interest of the man who’d caused her to faint. What a story it would be to tell their children! But she was getting ahead of herself. He hadn’t even expressed an interest in her yet. In fact, he had firmly rejected her when she had thought he was going to kiss her.
Rosemary’s mind swirled with questions. Questions having nothing to do with her story. She set down her pen and thought about how things would change if they should spend time together socially, instead of under the guise of business. It would be totally acceptable since he was a Boston Brahmin, despite his appearance, and she was a member of one of New York’s best families. If Henry were to become interested in her as a potential life partner instead of merely a business partner, would he be more accepting of the fact she was masquerading behind a pen name? Maybe Dorcas’s idea wasn’t so farfetched. It was worthy of consideration.
Suddenly, calling an end to the charade of Phoebe Wyatt became a blessing rather than a curse. It might be the true answer to her problems, as both Dorcas and her mother had suggested. Make Henry Cooper fall in love with her before she revealed herself to him completely. And keep all random thoughts of their potential children to herself.
She cleaned her pen and put the paper away. She’d get no more writing done today. Not with images of Henry’s lips and his black hair swirling around his face running through her mind.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Harry mounted his horse and brought the young woman down from his shoulder to rest in his lap. He put a steadying arm around her as he kicked his horse into a trot. At the jarring movement, the woman opened her eyes and locked on his. Cornflower blue eyes, Harry thought, as he eased his grip on her slightly.
“Howdy, ma’am,” He tipped his hat.
“You saved me,” she replied in a whisper. “Thank you.”
“You are making me earn my keep. Your daddy hired me to make sure the railroad got through Indian territory with no trouble. I never thought the Indians would take you and hold you for ransom, but they always look for the weak link.”
“And I’m the weak one?”
He narrowed his eyes. “Well, you are just a mite of a thing.”
“Oh.”
Harry noticed her hands forming into fists. Maybe she wasn’t so weak after all. Just tiny.
For the first time since he had arrived in New York, Henry was actually excited about his day. He enjoyed running his own business, true. His father was taking a hands-off approach so far, which was to Henry’s liking. Except for the elusive F.P. Elliott, all the authors he wanted to continue to do business with had fallen in line, and production of the popular novels was once again up and running. The business was making money, and even though he had expressed to his father his lack of interest in the publishing world, he was proud of what he had accomplished.
He was just getting started. He admired what the contingent of Boston liberal authors had done with a monthly magazine. The production side of his house could easily accommodate another publication on a monthly basis. Of course, he’d have to set up a subscription service for the new magazine and get all the bookkeeping for that part of the business in place. It would mean more work in the portion of the company he was least entranced with, but he was certain he could find somebody to handle it.
Despite his growing interest in publishing, being the head of a company was nothing compared to besting an opponent in a fencing match, and he had regretted the lack of a sparring partner. His body cried out for some physical activity. Holding imaginary confrontations wasn’t nearly as satisfying as having an actual dueling partner. With his impetuous suggestion to Rosemary Fitzpatrick yesterday, he had found a way to combine his two worlds.
It provided him with an unfair advantage, but it was the best he could come up with right now, since none of the young men he’d met through his affiliation with the Cabots had expressed more than a mild interest in his hobby. Not Rosemary, though. She’d leapt at the opportunity to be shown the basics of fencing. But he outweighed her by a substantial margin. When he’d picked her up and carried her to the divan on the night of the Cotillion, he’d realized how tiny she was. He’d noticed before then, certainly. Her miniscule waist, her petite stature. But when he’d wrapped his arm around her back to carry her, he’d gotten a true sense of how small she really was.
But she wanted to learn to fence. He’d caught the gleam in her eyes when he’d mentioned it, so how could he possibly take back his impulsive offer? He had been a fencing teacher during his final year of living in New Orleans with his uncle and had enjoyed directing the young men under his command and marking their progress. He especially had appreciated it when their moves had begun to rival his own. A few of the young boys had become almost as good as he was, and were worthy opponents. The clanging of their swords, the sound of their feet as they moved back and forth, and their labored breathing as they sparred, was as inviting to him as a formal ball. He grimaced as he thought of the debutante ball of a few nights ago. Maybe more inviting.
He paced the room as he waited for Rosemary’s arrival. All thoughts of production and profits fled his mind as he picked up his épée and cut through the air with it. In his mind, Rosemary stood in front of him, dressed in her brother’s breeches and smelling of patchouli, brandishing her own sword. They lunged and parried, and she was a well-matched partner to him, meeting his every advancement with a sparkle in her eye.
Aha! He executed a swift envelopment, seizing her blade and leading it in a full circle. She was defenseless against his weapon. Henry could claim the victory.
And to the victor go the spoils, which in this case would be to claim her mouth and kiss her, as he’d been wanting to do for weeks. Why was she taking so long to arrive?
• • •
Wearing a pair of riding breeches under the skirt of her day dress, Rosemary halted, in a moment of indecision, at the door to the publishing house offices. If she went through with this fencing lesson, things would change with regard to her relationship with Henry. She still desperately wanted to have the lesson, but it would mean getting into a state of semi-undress in front of Henry Cooper. Who was her employer, after all. She had decided to meet him again by herself, even though she was breaking all kinds of etiquette rules by not having a chaperone. But if she was to get u
ndressed in front of Henry, she wanted no outside observers.
Was she brazen enough to go through with it? This type of behavior just wasn’t done—in polite society, anyway.
Would he find her attractive with fewer clothes on? Was this the real reason for her hesitation?
What if he rebuffed her yet again?
She had determined her best course of action was to make him fall in love with her, but was this really the best way to garner his affections? To undress and become physical with him, but not in a sensual way? Or maybe she should entice him in a sensual manner. Perhaps she’d be better served to leave her skirt on and try to charm him with her feminine wiles.
If she had any remote idea what feminine wiles were.
She desperately wanted to turn around and go back home. But Henry was on the other side of the door. A few doors and a staircase were all that separated them. With his long, dark hair, his olive complexion, and his warm, dark chocolate eyes. She could no sooner turn away from their meeting than she could turn back the time on her chatelaine. He tormented her nights, especially when she pictured him brandishing a sword, backing her up against a wall with it, and then taking her as his prize.
No! She wouldn’t turn and run from him. She was no coward. What she needed to do was to follow through with her new plan to have him fall in love with her, and then reveal to him her true identity. Rosemary prided herself on being able to control every situation she found herself in. After all, she’d been making her own money since she was fifteen, and her paychecks were getting larger and larger as her fan base grew. She had no desire to halt her career now, and Henry Cooper held all the cards to her future as a novelist.
She needed the assurance that she could get what she wanted from him. And the way to accomplish her mission was to have him become infatuated by her. Completely enamored by her. She would take full advantage of every opportunity to be close to Henry, and would make him fall in love with her.
