by Bird, Peggy
But she had never planned on returning his feelings. Yet every time he kissed her, she forgot her well-ordered machinations as she melted against him. It was as if her body was not her own anymore, and she had lost all control. Not only over her wayward body, but her thoughts as well. They kept running off course. Henry was turning her into a simpering woman, similar to Penelope. Good Lord, she’d nearly broken down and bawled in front of him! She could hear herself in her head sighing, Oh, Henry, just as her heroine had done with Harry Hawk.
Penelope may be willing to flaunt herself in front of men, which could lead to trouble, but Rosemary was nothing like her damsel in distress.
Or maybe she was. Her thoughts swirled as she searched for Dorcas, eventually finding her in a small shop. When Dorcas asked why she finished so soon, Rosemary was unable to relate to her friend the reason for her hasty retreat from Henry’s office.
Henry was on to her; she was sure of it. When he had removed her glove the other night at the theatre, he had noticed the fresh ink stains on her fingers. She had caught his raised eyebrow as he’d stared at her fingers, and could sense he had been putting the pieces of her deception together in his head. Despite her clumsy attempts to draw his attention away from her fingers by brushing his arm with her breast or leaning in to give him the opportunity to catch her scent, she had been able to tell he had a suspicion that she was really the author of the dime novels. She had already deceived him twice, once parading herself in front of him as Phoebe Wyatt. Then again by having her father pretend to be F.P. Elliott. And here she was, trying to deceive him once again. Oh, Lord, what must he think of her? It didn’t take a genius to put the pieces of this puzzle together.
And the more she got to know Henry, the more she realized he was the closest thing to a genius she had ever met. She was a goner.
The best thing to do would be to turn in her last novel, reveal to Henry exactly who the author was, and leave him behind, both as a publisher and as a suitor. But what she really wanted to do was to turn around on the sidewalk and go back into his warm embrace. To feel his tongue invade her mouth again, and counter each thrust of his body with one of her own.
Her body screamed at her not to entertain the notion of leaving him even as her mind weighed the advantages. If she were to take her writing somewhere else, where could she go? If F.P. Elliott were revealed to be a woman, would there be any other publishing house willing to take her on? Women were only supposed to write sonnets and love stories, not westerns with hard-boiled, tobacco-spitting men and guns and arrows. Or pirates.
Rosemary ran her hand over her eyes, clearing them of all moisture. This was simply a mild setback, both in her career and in her life. Larger things were on the horizon. If Henry Cooper was as small-minded as his father, she didn’t want to work with them, anyway. Cooper and Son, my foot. And she certainly wouldn’t be happy with him as a life partner if his ideas mirrored his father’s, despite her body’s insistence that she really thought otherwise.
Perhaps her agreement to a courtship had been premature. She’d call it off tomorrow when he came calling for tea. She ran her finger over her bruised lips and closed her eyes, remembering how her body had responded to his touch.
“Look out!” Dorcas screamed and pulled on Rosemary’s arm.
The noise and the contact made her eyes pop open. She had nearly walked in front of a heavy wagon full of supplies that was pulled by two horses who weren’t going to stop for anything. The driver gave her a hard stare as he passed.
“Watch where you’re going, miss.”
Rosemary shook herself as the wagon rolled by. That was her problem. For the first time in her life, she didn’t know where she was going. Perhaps she was more a damsel in distress than she’d originally thought.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The following afternoon, Penelope and Harry boarded the supply train for its return visit to the port of Galveston, Texas. Despite the fact she was leaving her father, Penelope jumped onto the train without hesitation. She wrapped an arm around Harry’s as they stood at the caboose, and waved a farewell.
As soon as her father drifted out of sight, her hold on Harry tightened. “Oh, Harry. This is so exciting!”
Her head rested on his broad shoulder, making Harry very nervous. He unhooked her arm and led her inside the train cab. Galveston was still hours away, and Harry had to gird himself against Penelope’s charms during their long trip. But Harry had faced down Screaming Eagle, hadn’t he? Surely he could withstand Penelope and her machinations for a few hours.
As they sat down to dinner that evening in a Galveston hotel’s rowdy dining hall, Harry noticed a band of ruffians giving Penelope the eye. They were on the shoot, and Penelope was their target.
What had become of his steely self-control? Henry really couldn’t blame Rosemary for dashing out of the office, tears filling her eyes. He’d made a right mess of things, acting as if he was a cave man, backing her up against the wall and then laying claim to her tempting lips. What had he been thinking? Obviously, thought was not present and accounted for when it came to dealing with Rosemary. He removed the leather strip from his hair so he could weave his fingers through the strands. Yes, when it came to Miss Fitzpatrick, his response was to tear his hair out. He groaned his frustration.
She was a society woman, not some common trollop or working-class woman, and he had destroyed the fragile friendship they had been developing. He had just been getting used to the idea they were of the same standing in society, and now he had shattered her trust in him. She’d make certain to never be alone with him again, and he was sure he’d seen the last of her as a sparring partner.
All well and good, he admonished himself. He hadn’t come to New York to find a partner, either for matrimony or fencing. Rather, he was here to make his mark on the publishing world. He was far too busy to deal with such a scheming, conniving woman anyway. Convinced she was the author, he wondered again why. Why did she feel the need to hide the facts from him?
Henry ran his hands over his face as he sat in the large office chair and stared at the mounds of paperwork he needed to get through. A snippet of their conversation the night of the play crept through his mind. She’d asked if his views on women in the workplace mirrored the views taken by his father. Did she truly think he was so narrow-minded as to parrot his father’s feelings? Was that the reason behind her deception? It would explain why she covered up the author’s true identity. She wanted to take the full measure of him first.
He sighed as he picked up the first document on which he needed to focus. It was time to tuck Miss Fitzpatrick away in his mind and get on with business. A quick perusal of the document revealed he could not be so lucky. It was the contract between Cooper and Son and F.P. Elliott, still unsigned. What should he do? If he stuck to his original idea of meeting all the authors before extending a contract, he and Rosemary could continue this peculiar dance of theirs a while longer. That is, if she agreed to continue to see him socially. After today’s encounter, he wasn’t so certain she would. However, he had been amused at how quickly she took his dare when he suggested fencing to her the first time. Maybe he could dare her to continue their lessons, even if their social outings were at an end.
Surely, she must realize he didn’t have a bit of his father in him. How could he show her? Bringing up his background and his tormented relationship with his father was not something he wanted to do. It was too complicated, trying to explain why he had been sent away immediately following his mother’s death. No, he didn’t want to open up and expose his vulnerability when he was with Rosemary. When he was in the same room with her, the only thing he wanted to do was to touch her, taste her, drink in her fragrance. Perhaps there was a more subtle way around the situation. His mind kicked over ideas as his fingers tapped on the desktop.
Henry again riffled through the stack of paper on his desk. He’d much rather be on the production floor, grabbing the first copies of whatever book was being produced, inha
ling the new book smell and the aroma of fresh ink, plotting a promotional course of action for each new book. But his sister, Marguerite, with her head for numbers, would be able to plow through his piles of papers in an afternoon. And would love the challenge.
An idea began to percolate in his head. His father would never allow his daughter into the company in Boston. But what if Henry invited her to join him in New York? She could come for a visit first, experience the city, and meet Rosemary, among others. Surely his father would allow her to come for a visit. Henry could then outline the part of the business he’d want her to take over, and the two of them could run the New York branch of Cooper and Son. Cooper and Family. Cooper Publishing. His father would be furious with them both, but if they turned a tidy profit, what could he say? Maybe they wouldn’t even tell him Marguerite was a partner in the company. She could be a silent partner, and the business could still be called Cooper and Son. As much as the idea appealed to Henry, he’d really want his father to know the success of the business was due, in large part, to two women—Marguerite and Rosemary. But first things first. He had to convince Marguerite to move from Boston.
As the nebulous idea began to take shape in his head, he grabbed a piece of stationery and a pen. He’d share his idea with Marguerite and see if there was any interest. If she chose to make a trip to New York and took him up on his business offer, Henry could show Rosemary by his actions he did not harbor the same notions about women in the workplace as his father did. And he wouldn’t have to say a word. Then, perhaps, Rosemary would reveal her real self to him. He could expose her any time he wanted to by simply being steadfast in his determination to meet the author before signing the contract. But it was extremely important for Rosemary to trust him enough to impart the information on her own. She made him nervous about their future, yet excited, off-balance. He wanted her to feel the same way about him.
• • •
The following afternoon, Rosemary drifted into the parlor at her parents’ home. Her mother glanced up from her embroidery, and her eyes went wide as she took in Rosemary’s appearance.
“What are you doing, dressed in such a fashion? Your divine Mr. Cooper will be here shortly for tea, and you’re dressed as if you’re about to clean the parlor.”
Rosemary brushed her hand over her navy muslin dress, over which she still had her ink-stained pinafore. She had been working all morning on her latest story. She sighed softly and returned her mother’s gaze with steady eyes.
“First of all, Mr. Cooper is not my Mr. Cooper. Second, he is far from divine. And third, I have decided it would be for the best to not see him any further, except for business. I believe he’s aware of my feelings, especially after yesterday, so I don’t expect him to show up this afternoon.”
Charlotte Fitzpatrick shook her head. “But I don’t understand. I thought things were progressing as we planned. Mabel Wentworth told me yesterday she thought she witnessed you and an unnamed gentleman exiting from the coat closet at the theatre the other evening, seeming somewhat disheveled. And you know if Mabel would relate the story to me, it’s all over town by now. I have to admit, it was a stroke of genius on your part to have an illicit kiss in a public place. But now you must marry the man before Mabel has a chance to sully your reputation. Do I need to have your father talk to Mr. Cooper?”
Rosemary’s stomach tightened, as if it was in a vise and someone just turned the lever. She had bigger things to worry about than her reputation, but Mabel Wentworth had destroyed more than one young woman’s chances at a successful marriage. Oh, dear.
She ran her hands over her hair, which she had pulled back hurriedly when she’d risen from her bed in the morning so she could write down her thoughts before they left her mind. As she touched her locks now, she realized she had unconsciously pulled them into a queue, in the same manner Henry wore his. She untied the length of ribbon she had used and shook her head, letting her hair cascade around her face. She wanted no reminders, subtle or otherwise, of the man whose touch drove her wild.
“The man unsettles me, and I’ve decided it would be for the best not to encourage him any further.”
Rosemary didn’t miss the gleam that came into her mother’s eye or the broad smile on her face.
“Even better, if the man unsettles you. It does make for a lively life together.”
Rosemary sighed again, and sat beside her mother. “You know better than most that behavior such as what I indulged in with Mr. Cooper the other evening was most unlike me. That’s what I mean about him being unsettling. I’m not a person given to such illicit thoughts and deportment. I’ve always left scandalous behaviors to Jasmine and Ginger. All I ever wanted to do is to write my books in my garret room and make a modest living from that, so that I can live a quiet, scholarly life. But every time I’m with Henry, and he kisses me, all my plans for my orderly future head out the window, and I can’t remember what it is that I truly want from life.”
Charlotte reached for her daughter’s hand. “Let me put this in terms you will understand, if I may. You know how it is when you’re writing a story and sometimes the characters take control of your story line? How you thought the story was going to unfold one way and suddenly, it veered off in a totally different direction?”
Rosemary’s eyes closed for a second. “My stories do that a lot.”
Charlotte squeezed Rosemary’s hand before she let it go. “Well, now it’s happening to your life. You’ve got a hero, a swashbuckling one, I might add, and he’s commandeering your life story. So handle it as you do when you’re writing, and follow the story line until it is totally unveiled. You know how frustrated you get when you try to force a story that has a mind of its own. So don’t fight it. Now go change your dress and fix your hair, so you’ll be a fitting heroine when your divine Mr. Cooper comes to call.”
Rosemary opened her eyes and stared at her mother. Unfortunately, she made a lot of sense. “But what if Henry turns out to be of a similar mind to his father? What if he won’t tolerate me as one of his authors because he thinks women need to be at home, raising children and whiling away their days mastering embroidery?”
She glanced down at the embroidery her mother had set aside while they talked. “Sorry, Mother.”
Charlotte picked up the hoop, which stretched the fine linen being worked on, and gave it a sharp, critical look. “I don’t think I’m whiling away my days, nor do I think it’s a waste of time to learn how to sew. Your sister Jasmine is proof of that, since she now is becoming known as a fine dress designer. But it’s not the right path for you, I’ll readily admit. Did Mr. Cooper do more in the closet than kiss you?”
Rosemary squirmed in her seat. “Well, I returned the kiss. That’s what I mean about my body betraying me. He makes me weak all over.”
“Was it the first time you’d kissed each other?”
Rosemary stood, and began to pace in front of her mother. “No, Mother, and I know what you’re going to say. He kissed me during our first fencing lesson, again in the closet, and then yesterday, when I went for my next lesson.”
“In front of Dorcas?”
“Dorcas left us alone as soon as we arrived. She, uh, wanted to do some shopping.”
“I see.” Her mother set the hoop down and stared at her daughter.
“I told him then he was being outrageous, that I would cease the fencing lessons, and that I’d be certain to have a responsible chaperone for our future outings, if there were to be any. But I’d rather not see him again except to hand over my latest novel. How can I possibly be attracted to a man who has no tolerance for women in business, despite how well he kisses?”
“You need to adjust your thoughts, my dear. His father is the small-minded pig, not Henry. You don’t yet know what Henry’s beliefs are. I told you I could chaperone you yesterday, but you thought Dorcas and you could handle things. We’ll just have to make certain that you are not alone with the man again. Especially now that Mabel is spreading the word. Bu
t there’s no need to curtail seeing Mr. Cooper, since you have admitted an attraction. Go, change your clothes, and I’ll happily sit with you two this afternoon. I have some questions of my own for the divine Mr. Cooper.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Not wanting to cause a fuss, Harry hurriedly downed his meal, eager to leave the dining hall.
“Get a wiggle on, Penelope, and finish your dinner.”
“What’s the rush, Harry?”
“Those men are getting roostered.”
Penelope glanced over at the table of men, one of whom wore an eye patch. “Oooh, they look like pirates! How exciting.”
Rosemary’s heartbeat rose when the knock sounded on the door. Although outwardly she was a model of decorum, sitting demurely in the parlor with her ankles crossed and her hands folded, she longed to assume the Parry #1 stance Henry had taught her. This meeting was going to be as much a fencing match as if they had weapons in their hands, and she had to be sharp, be on her toes. She chewed on her lower lip as she sat alone in the parlor and awaited his arrival into the room.
The butler showed Henry in, and Rosemary’s eyes locked with his for a moment. He scanned the room and got a huge smile on his face when he realized they were the only ones in the parlor with just a teacart for company. His shoulders visibly relaxed as he came forward and took her hand. If he noticed her ink-stained fingers as he bent over them, he did not acknowledge it.
“Miss Fitzpatrick, how lovely to see you again.”
“Mr. Cooper.” Rosemary could hear the stiffness in her voice, but couldn’t control it. She had no idea how this afternoon would go, so it was best to be on guard. En garde.
