If that was punishment, she’d gladly have died from it on the spot. Humiliation blistered her skin as effectively as leaping flames. She couldn’t resist a glance at the lips she’d kissed, a look at the broad expanse of hair-covered chest she’d been pressed against only seconds before. His face and body were beautiful, his words cruel, and his actions a constant puzzle.
He drew her with his looks and his nearness and his heat, yet repelled her with distrust and cynicism. At least when Gaylen and her father turned her aside and spurned her, she’d known the finality of their intentions by their actions.
Nicholas had her head in a spin with his confusing words and his inconsistent behavior. He’d kissed her like a man starving for the taste of her, yet just as quickly, he’d ended it and seemed prepared to continue their encounter as though the kiss had never happened.
She had no defense for her actions, no explanation for being in his rooms. She stood before him at his mercy, praying he harbored a shred of compassion.
“Did you find what you wanted in Stephen’s letters?”
She met his gaze for only the briefest of seconds. “Partially.”
“Anything else you’d like while you’re here?”
His sarcasm wasn’t lost on her. She shook her head.
“Oh, come now, surely there’s something else. Don’t go away empty-handed.”
Instantly the desire pounding through her veins freed itself in a new form. She had no right to feel anger toward him. None whatsoever. This was his home and these were his private rooms and possessions. Regardless, it welled up, a consuming rush of rage that started a new pulse in her veins. “All right,” she said.
Gaining new courage, she looked up to find smugness in the glint of his deep brown eyes and the tilt of his freshlyshaven chin.
“I’d like the results of the search you did on my background.”
His stony expression revealed nothing. “What makes you think I had your background checked out?”
“Everything I know about you.”
He glared at her a minute longer. Had she gone too far? He was unpredictable and his emotions so deep she never knew where she stood with him. But he’d never harmed her. She didn’t believe he would.
“Why would you want to see the file?” he asked. “You know who you are and where you came from.”
She glanced away, idly noting a pigeon on the sill outside the window. “Because I want to know what you know, that’s why.”
From the corner of her eye, she saw him straighten, as though coming to a decision.
“Very well. I have business to attend to now, and you have to go fetch your mother. But…I’ll have the papers for you later.”
Sarah couldn’t have been more surprised. She drew a blank for anything to say.
“Is that all?” he asked. “I need to finish dressing.”
“Yes, I—thank you.” She turned and fled from the room as quickly as her leg allowed, not slowing her pace until she was safely ensconced in her rooms.
The cook had been practicing recipes all week. Nicholas and Gruver packed two crates with delectable meat and vegetable dishes, pastries and sweet breads, and loaded them into the carriage. Nicholas would take the excess food to the Cranes, rather than allow it to go to waste.
The plan also gave him the opportunity to call on his employee and see how the man was faring.
Thomas Crane greeted him at the door, his arm no longer wrapped against his side, but his ribs still obviously tender. A welcoming grin spread across the man’s narrow face. “Mr. Halliday! Come in.”
Nicholas and Gruver carried the cartons into the small house and placed them on the table, which had been draped with a colorful patchwork covering. The splash of color surprised Nicholas, and he glanced around, noting the bright orange kitchen curtains he could have sworn were satin.
Periwinkle blue swagged from the window in the other room. The fabrics were new and shiny, inexplicably out of place, yet adding a festive touch to the Cranes’ otherwise drab home.
“Doc says another week, and I’ll have this wrapping off and be good as new,” Thomas said, pointing to his side.
“That’s what I wanted to hear,” Nicholas said with a smile.
“I didn’t expect you,” Thomas said, then turned and called for his wife.
She appeared in a doorway, carrying a tiny girl. When Nicholas saw the child wore a dress made of a deep purple sateen, he glanced at Gruver, then at Thomas, trying not to show his puzzlement.
A grin twitched at Gruver’s lips. “I’ll wait outside, sir,” he said and left.
“Oh, Mr. Halliday!” Mary Crane lowered the child to the floor and self-consciously smoothed her hair into its neat bun. “Would you care for a cup of coffee or perhaps some tea?”
“I—” he started to object, but she cut him off.
“It’ll be no problem. The water’s hot. Do you like tea?”
“I do. That will be nice.”
“Have a seat, then,” she said, gesturing to the table. She moved to pick up a crate, but he stepped forward and placed them both where she instructed. He then settled himself at the table and Thomas gingerly sat across from him.
“I thought you might like to invite the other workers over and set out a feast,” he said. “Our cook has been practicing on us, and I’m afraid she’s gone overboard.”
Mary placed three cups on the table, then peeked in the crates with a murmur of pleasure. “What a thoughtful idea!” she exclaimed. “We can have a party! I even have a pretty new dress!”
“That Mrs. Halliday is a blessing,” Thomas said. “An angel of mercy, she is. Mary says prayers for her every night, don’t you, Mary?”
His wife nodded enthusiastically. “Oh, I do.”
“You give her our best,” Thomas added.
“Mother?” Nicholas asked uncertainly.
“Of course, her, too,” Mary said with a quick wave. “But Tom was referrin’ to your sister-in-law.”
“Claire?”
“Yes, sweet Claire,” she replied. “Why, she came every day while I was down with the fever. She took care of the little ones, and when Elissa caught the fever, too, why Claire did everything a mother would have done for her.”
Nicholas stared at his empty cup.
“We’re grateful for the food you sent, too, sir,” Tom hastened to add. “And the material she gave Mary to share with the other workers has given all the youngun’s new clothes. They’re so proud to show up to school in all those fine bright colors. Mary’s been savin’ her dress for something special, and now she’ll have it.”
Mary Crane poured the tea.
Nicholas studied the squares of fabric she’d turned into a tablecloth. Claire had given her all this material?
A dim memory came to him. He’d been dealing with shock and grief at the time, but now he recalled opening the trunks that had been salvaged and stored by the railroad. Dozens of bright evening dresses with low-cut bodices and lingerie of mere lace had confounded him. That was when he’d locked the trunks, instructed the railroad to ship them home and asked the hospital nurses to buy her the clothing and items she’d need for the trip.
Mother had said something about Claire needing new clothing right away, and it had been logical. She’d packed for a honeymoon, after all, not mourning.
She’d given all her clothing to the iron workers’ families?
That thought brought him back to the situation at hand. And she’d nursed Thomas’s wife and child while they were ill. He felt like an idiot for not knowing. Why had she kept it a secret?
He drank his tea, exchanged pleasantries and hurried out to the carriage as soon as he could make his excuses.
“You knew about all that?” he asked, jerking a thumb over his shoulder.
Gruver nodded, a smile hiding behind his rigidly controlled set of lips. “I, uh, brought her here a few times, sir, and—” he swiped a hand across his mouth “—and I—uh, I carried the trunks in.”
“Why didn’t anyone say anything to me?” Nicholas asked with a scowl.
“Didn’t figure it was my place, sir,” his driver said, waiting with the carriage door open, his gaze on something in the cloud-filled sky.
“From now on I’d like a report of each place you take Mrs. Halliday.” He stepped up into the carriage.
Gruver didn’t close the door. “Both Mrs. Hallidays, sir?”
“No, just the young Mrs. Halliday.”
“Yes, sir.”
The door closed, the carriage dipped as Gruver climbed aboard, and Nicholas idly studied the row of shabby houses his workers lived in. Why had Claire possessed all those outlandish dresses? If they were simply her tasteless preference, he’d love to know her reason for giving them all away.
And the fact that no one had told him of her saintly visits irked him to no end. That behavior, combined with finding her in his room this morning, made her as deserving of suspicion as he’d always believed. Claire was trying to pull something.
But what?
Sarah’s head swirled with confusion until she could barely think what she was going to do next. Waiting for Gruver’s return, she paced the width of the circular drive in front of the house, trying to ignore the ache in her leg, oblivious to the dark clouds gathering overhead.
Nicholas catching her in his room had been her worst nightmare come true. Her collapsing against his bare chest and kissing him had been better than any dream she’d ever had. But it still didn’t make sense.
Oh, he’d been angry. Even his kiss had been angry. Why hadn’t that repelled her? Why hadn’t that stopped her?
Why had he done it?
Of all the days to have everything happen at once! Worry over Claire’s mother coming had prevented her from sleeping for the past two nights. Sneaking into Nicholas’s office once and his rooms twice had given her a false sense of confidence. She’d thought the return of the letters would pose no problem.
Actually, some tiny little speck of relief presented itself. She’d been discovered. He would never trust her. She’d never be able to do anything like that again.
And she never wanted to.
But the kiss. Lord, the kiss. The first time had been an accident, and could have been forgotten as a slip on both their parts. This one had been no accident. She’d seen it coming by the desire in his eyes and the aggressive stance of his body.
And she’d stepped right into it. Welcomed it.
Enjoyed it.
The sight of his bare torso had made her palms itch to touch him. His scent when he came near gave her the scandalous desire to wrap herself around him and mold herself to him and—
Sarah stopped pacing and placed her palms against her quivering stomach. What kind of woman was she that she desired the man so badly? She’d already gotten herself into more trouble than she’d been able to handle by allowing one man to override her common sense. She’d permitted shameful liberties with Gaylen. Had that and falling from her father’s grace turned her into some kind of strumpet?
Her face flamed with shame. Was she one of those foolish women who thought she loved every man she’d ever known? Nicholas wasn’t even lovable.
Her fluttering heart contradicted that thought.
She was an idiot to even be thinking of him with wanton ideas at this moment. She was going to the train station to face the woman who could seal her fate with the Hallidays.
Could they have her thrown in jail for impersonating a family member? Would they?
The clomp of horses’ hooves and jingle of harnesses alerted her to the elegant black carriage being drawn up the drive by a lustrous black team. Gruver jumped down and opened the door, lowering the steps. “Sorry I’m not on time, ma’am. Mr. Halliday got a late start this morning.”
How well she knew! She accepted his hand. “I know, Gruver. We still have time.” Before he could shut the door, she leaned forward. “Gruver. My leg is giving me a problem this morning. I don’t know how much walking I can do on it. I’ll need you to have a porter page Mrs. Patrick. Once you’ve located her, bring her to the carriage where I’ll be waiting.”
He tipped his hat. “Yes, ma’am.”
The door closed and she leaned back, her heart hammering. The ride to the station was far too short, even though it was nearly an hour’s drive. She rehearsed the words she would say when Claire’s mother climbed in looking for her daughter.
Gruver left her waiting and went in search of their visitor. Sarah feared she would faint or throw up. She opened the shade and gulped in heavy, rain-laden air. Beneath her uncomfortably stiff corsets and black gabardine suit, she perspired.
The black bonnet would keep the woman from seeing her face until she’d been settled and Gruver had climbed aboard and pulled them away from the station.
She heard the porter’s page. His voice rose above the other station sounds and rang in her head like a death knell.
She peered into the throng of people on the platform, heard the hiss of steam from an engine. The sound of crashing metal and the lurching sensation of that awful night came back to her in a rush, and she closed her eyes against a sense of vertigo.
Forcing herself to breathe deeply, she didn’t open her eyes until she’d quashed the nightmarish memories. Two men in black with an oddly draped form between them broke apart from the crowd, and Sarah hurriedly latched the leather shade and sat back against the seat.
Boots on cinders outside alerted her to their nearness. Her stomach quaked.
The door opened.
She looked at her lap.
Someone grunted.
Another male voice grunted, and a strained curse followed.
Fabric rustled, the carriage rocked, and Gruver’s blackclad rear end appeared directly in front of Sarah’s face.
At that she looked up.
He had backed into the carriage and, with both hands under the woman’s arms, pulled her inside while a profusely sweating black porter tried to wrestle her limp legs through the opening.
Was the woman dead?
Sarah stared at their awkward burden. Gruver’s hat fell off, and the porter stepped on it as he got her lower body inside the coach. They hauled her onto the opposite bench, and situated her there, her legs stacked on the leather seat, one arm fallen and her hand nearly touching the floor.
Immediately the porter backed out. Gruver stepped to the stairs, picked up his hat and, winded, used his thumbs to pop out the crown.
The woman’s hat hung to one side, her gray-shot wild red hair tangled in the ribbons. Her mouth gaped open, and an unladylike snore gusted forth. The smell of liquor assailed Sarah all at once, and she gaped from the drunken woman to Gruver.
He appeared decidedly embarrassed—for her!
He thought this was her mother, of course.
Sarah looked at her again, trying to see some resemblance to the young woman she’d met so briefly on the train. Same brassy red hair. Same pale, freckled skin.
Claire’s mother was intoxicated!
“Uh, I’m sorry, Gruver. Is the porter still out here?”
He glanced aside. “Yes, ma’am.”
She fished in her reticule and pulled out a few coins. “Tip him, please.”
Gruver took the money.
A minute later, the sounds of luggage being strapped on the back became evident. Mind awhirl, she stared at the unconscious woman. Gruver placed the step inside, his worried gaze darting to their passenger, and closed the door.
The rank smell of liquor drifted to Sarah and turned her stomach. Perhaps the poor thing didn’t travel well and drank to dull the experience. Her unconscious state didn’t suggest someone who’d had a few nips for the road, however. But it could be worse, she assured herself. At least no one but Gruver had seen her like this.
After nearly an hour of listening to her irritating snore, they arrived home.
Gruver appeared in the doorway in his misshapen hat, a look of dread on his face. “Upstairs?”
“I’m a
fraid so,” she replied. “I’m so sorry,” she said again.
“It’s not that she’s fat or nothin’, ma’am,” he said. “It’s just that she’s such—”
“Deadweight?”
He nodded.
“If there were some other way…” she said. “But I don’t want to leave her here—or downstairs—until Nicholas comes home.”
“No,” he agreed sympathetically. “Don’t you worry, Mrs. Halliday. I can get her, and Mr. Halliday will never have to know.”
“Thank you, Gruver.”
She helped him maneuver her out of the coach and as far as the foyer. There, he shot Sarah an apologetic glance before awkwardly hoisting the woman over his shoulder. He clamped both forearms securely beneath her ample derriere and carried her up the stairs, her head and arms dangling, her hat flopping.
Sarah raced ahead to the room they’d prepared, and flung open the door. Mrs. Patrick landed none too gently on the mattress seconds later.
Gruver straightened and grimaced, the back of one hand in the hollow of his back, and watched Sarah remove the woman’s shoes. “I think I’ll rest a few minutes before I bring the trunks up.”
“Of course! Bless you! I’ll see that Penelope and Mrs. Pratt fix you something special for dinner—for the rest of the week.”
He grinned and backed from the room.
Sarah turned and stared at Claire’s mother in abject horror. Now what?
By late afternoon, the woman still hadn’t awakened, and Nicholas’s other guests began arriving. The Gallamores arrived first: Monty and Ellen, a couple in their sixties. Sarah had them settled just as Mrs. Pratt announced the Kleymanns. Quinn was several years older than Kathryn, and they were expecting their first child.
Monty Gallamore and Quinn Kleymann ensconced themselves in Nicholas’s study, and their wives rested from their trips.
Sarah was in the kitchen double-checking on dinner when Nicholas arrived unannounced.
“Evenin’, Mr. Halliday,” Mrs. Pratt and Penelope chorused. They’d hired extra help for the week, and two new women studied Nicholas surreptitiously. He obviously held a reputation in his town.
Cheryl St. John Page 13
