by Rue Allyn
“Edith, is something wrong?” His deep voice stroked her ears and made her shiver.
“No.”
“I hope you don’t plan to stand there all night. I’m famished.” He sniffed the air. “Is that pork chops I smell?”
“Smell?” Smell! She had to get closer to him. He couldn’t smell the cocoa oil Tsung had dabbed on her ears, wrists, and neck. “Why yes. Pork chops and baked apples.”
Edith advanced to his end of the table, marched to his right shoulder, leaned close to Dutch, and set the platter beside his right hand. “Allow me to serve you.”
Before he could object, she shifted to his left side, leaned forward, bringing her ear as close to his face as she dared, and grabbed the serving tongs. She lifted an apple and two chops onto his plate, set the tongs down, and stood up.
Dutch inhaled deeply. “Mmmm, what a delicious scent.”
Edith stood frozen in place waiting for him to remark on the cocoa aroma that mixed with the smell of pork and apples.
Nothing.
Drat. What was wrong with the man? He simply sat there. He didn’t even eat.
“Edith?”
“Hmmm?”
“Are you going to eat, too?”
She felt her face heat. She’d been so preoccupied with exerting her femininity that she’d forgotten to behave normally.
“Why yes.” She minced to her own place, picked up her plate, and returned to his side. “I will have a bite or two.”
She set her plate next to his then repeated her earlier performance, loading chops and apples onto her plate. Surely he had to smell the cocoa now. She paused, bent over the table, waiting for a comment. When none came she took another serving, then a third.
“Are you sure you only want a bite or two?”
She looked at Dutch then followed his gaze to her plate. “Oh my. I do seem to be rather hungry.” She dropped the tongs onto the platter and stood slowly.
After a lengthy pause, Dutch cleared his throat. “Well then. We’ll eat as soon as you sit down.”
She jolted into motion. This attraction business was more complicated than Tsung or Madame Duval had led her to believe. Nor did the unexpected tendency to woolgather help at all.
Dinner was sheer torture. She couldn’t taste the food. The memory of Dutch’s lips on hers flavored every bite. Nor could she seem to string two sensible words together, as he asked about her day and tried to make conversation.
At last he pushed his plate away and leaned back in his chair. “We have some time this evening before I have to go out. We could go over what you know about your sister and perhaps make a better plan to find out where she is.” He sipped at his tea.
Setting her knife and fork on her empty plate, she hesitated, drawing her brows together. Edith repeated what little she knew about the supposed murder from the newspaper article found among Grandfather’s documents. “I don’t know much that I haven’t already told you. One of the maids at the bordello spoke about a woman who lived there about a year and a half ago and murdered her lover, a photographer. The timing is right for when Kiera would be in San Francisco and fits with the speculation that she earned a living taking photographs for Duval.”
“I recall hearing about that murder, and Cerise Duval would not hesitate to cook up a false accusation against an innocent who was in her black books in order to cover up a crime that Cerise had a hand in. She’s trying to do something similar to me and my brother Trey.”
“Are you saying that Madame Duval murdered this man and framed Kiera?” Edith’s eyes went wide.
He shook his head. “I’m saying that it is likely Duval framed your sister; whether Cerise actually committed the murder or not is impossible to tell. She’s certainly capable of murder when it suits her.”
Edith blinked. Why hadn’t that idea occurred to her? “That’s an interesting idea and bears more thought. Meanwhile, perhaps you’d tell me about your business and your family.”
His eyes narrowed and he looked as if he wanted to ask more, then he shrugged. “The business is import and export, which is pretty self-explanatory. Although my father is alive, we’re estranged. So, my only family is my brother Trey. He’s a little more difficult to explain. He’s nineteen years old and thinks he’s thirty. He won’t let anyone tell him what to do or how to do it.”
Sympathetic warmth stole through Edith’s body. “He sounds a great deal like Kiera. She always went her own way. In defiance of Grandfather she bought her camera with pennies we saved. Then she learned to take photographs. He was furious when she ran. She was his favorite. Sometimes I think he admired her for defying him. I was the one he punished for helping her get that camera. I took that beating and many others gladly to protect my sisters. I don’t know if … how he’ll take her return.” Edith stopped abruptly. She was about to mention the will, and that would never do.
Dutch’s lips lifted upward and he nodded. “Trey and I didn’t have the best childhood, but we managed. Father Conroy showed me how to get out of the gutter.”
Dutch paused.
Knowing the wisdom of choosing one’s words carefully, Edith waited and sipped her tea.
“I owe him pretty much everything. In fact, I’m supposed to accompany him tonight and should be going now.”
Edith’ cup rattled as she set it abruptly onto the saucer. He was leaving, and she hadn’t gotten his response to her attractions. She had to do something.
As Dutch passed her on his way to the hall, Edith leapt to her feet. Her napkin fell to the floor. “Drat.”
She bent for the cloth at the same time as Dutch. Their heads thunked together.
“Ow!”
“Oof!”
“I’m sorry.”
Standing up, Edith smiled and rubbed her head. “I have an alarming tendency to meet you head on in the most literal sense.”
Dutch grinned, and a considering light rose in his eyes. He lifted the napkin linking his hand to hers. “You have a spot of apple on your cheek.
He used the cloth to draw her nearer, then leaned forward and licked at the corner of her mouth. “Mmmm. Delicious. You smell like chocolate and daisies.”
Edith held her breath.
His lips feathered across hers.
She swayed dizzily, and felt herself settle firmly against his chest.
“Edith,” he whispered, nibbling kisses along her throat to her ear where he suckled on the tender lobe. “You intoxicate me.”
She felt somewhat drunk herself. “Dutch,” she whispered.
“Mmm?” His lips trailed down to the pulse that pounded near her collarbone.
She tunneled her hands into his hair and gently turned his face to hers. “Kiss me.”
A slow grin spread on his mouth. Passion sharpened the planes of his face and brightened the blue of his eyes. “I plan on it.”
His hands framed her cheeks. Then his lips covered hers. Edith couldn’t think. The taste of him was dark and sweet and hot. She wanted to sink into him, press herself around him and never stop.
Her hands wandered over his shoulders, across his back, and down. She felt his muscles bunch and ripple. Weak, she leaned into him. He was hot, so very hot. Heat and desire began and ended with him.
She couldn’t get enough, raising herself on her toes, pressing herself closer, tighter.
Dutch supported her back with one arm and slipped the other between them. “Let me.”
His hand stroked her breast through her clothing.
“Please.” She nearly wept; his touch was tender, exquisite. She wanted much more but couldn’t find the words to tell him.
Cool air tickled her breast as he opened her bodice. Hot kisses followed. She sighed and pressed her lips to his hair. “That feels wonderful.”
He raised his head
. “Do you want me?”
Couldn’t he tell? She nodded.
Still kissing her neck, he lifted her in his arms, turning toward the hallway and the stairs beyond.
“Harrumph. Dutch me lad? Excuse me.”
Edith opened her eyes at the intrusion of a strange voice.
In the kitchen doorway loomed a Catholic priest, his face full of disapproval. She squeaked and pushed at Dutch’s arms while trying to rescue her bodice at the same time.
“Edith, don’t … ” Dutch shifted, trying to maintain his balance.
“Ah, Dutch, we have company.”
“Huh?” Dutch raised his head and looked over his shoulder. “Uh oh.”
Edith still wriggling in his arms, he stumbled forward.
“Mewweorw.”
“Damn,” Dutch grunted.
The world spun, and Edith landed in a heap atop Dutch where he sprawled on the floor.
“Who is that?” asked a stunned Edith, as she sat fingers hurrying to secure her bodice.
“Mista Dutch? Missee Edie. You okay?” Tsung rushed past the priest.
Dutch groaned. “That damned kitten.”
“Don’t curse, lad.”
“Sorry, Padre.”
“Kitten?” Edith lifted herself off of Dutch. “What kitten?”
Dutch sat up running his hands over the back of his head. “That. Blamed. Kitten.” He ground out the words pointing toward the stair he’d been about to climb.
Edith’ gaze followed the aim of his accusing finger tip.
“Fluffy,” she cried.
One tiny paw raised, the kitten cowered against the lowest step. Uncaring of her disarray Edith went to pick up the frightened creature. The cat shivered in her grasp. She examined it. The only sign of injury came with a pitiful mew when she probed the raised paw. “You poor thing. Tsung, I’ll need short, thin sticks and strips of cloth. Her leg seems to be broken.” Edith swept into the kitchen, cooing tender phrases to the injured cat.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Dutch sat on the floor and glared after the three departing females. He didn’t know whether to curse the kitten or kiss it. At the cost of an aching head and bruised shoulder, he’d been saved from being caught in flagrante delicto by Father Lucas Conroy, vigilante, moral conscience of San Francisco, and Dutch’s mentor.
“So lad, did you forget we were to go together to the meeting tonight?”
Dutch stood and dusted his clothing. “No sir, but I was somewhat distracted and forgot the time.”
“Distracted? That’s a new name for it.” The priest glanced toward the kitchen. “Well yes, I can see how you’d be a mite absent-minded. Nonetheless, I think we should talk.”
Dutch swallowed his dismay. “But the meeting?”
“That will wait until we’ve sorted things out here. I’ll ask for tea, shall I?”
Dutch bit the inside of his cheek to keep from shouting at the other man. “As you please, I’ll be in my study.” He stalked off, hoping for enough time to get his explanation straight.
Alone in his study, Dutch balanced on the edge of the chair and propped his elbows on the table he used as a desk. He cradled his head in his hands and stared at the pattern of the wood grain in the table top, as if the answers to all his troubles lay written in the squiggles and swirls of the pine boards. All he had to do was decipher them correctly.
What had possessed him to kiss Edith again, and what excuse could he possibly give Father Conroy? Had the madness all started with those kittens or in those moments at Duval’s when he first touched Edith, an innocent in whore’s clothing? Maybe it had been that evening when he’d had his first decent meal in months. Lord, that chicken had been almost as delicious as Edith. And wasn’t that an insane thought to compare a woman of Edith’ unplumbed depths with fried chicken. When he’d lost his mind hardly mattered. He’d behaved insanely and would have to apologize, again. It was the right thing to do. Worse, he would have to explain who Edith was and why he had been kissing her. One thing was certain. He couldn’t tell Father Conroy about finding Edith in a bordello. They’d find themselves hitched in the time it took the priest to recite the marriage ceremony.
The quiet thought that marriage might not be so bad fled when a soft knock interrupted his thoughts.
He lifted his head. He had no explanations for his behavior that would satisfy Father Conroy but knew well the futility of trying to evade the priest when he was determined on a course of action. So Dutch resigned himself to suffer the coming inquisition.
“Come in.”
He stood giving up his sturdy chair to Father Conroy and seating himself in the spindly chair on the opposite side of the table.
“I’ve not seen much of you since before the Arrowhead incident. How’ve you been, lad?”
Dutch shrugged. “Not surprising. I hear the Chinaman his kept you and the committee busy?” As a diversionary tactic the question was weak, but preoccupied by guilt and Edith it was the best Dutch could do.
“Aye, we’ve been causing the Tong boss a bit of trouble, but I doubt we’ve been quite so busy as you. What’s this I hear about you visiting Duval’s bordello and carrying on with prostitutes?”
“It isn’t what you think.” So much for trying to hide how I met Edith.
“And you’d be reading my mind now? I’m asking, Dutch, and trying very hard not to jump to any conclusions about the young lady in your kitchen and what you meant by kissing her then stomping off in a temper. You’re acting like a boy caught stealing sweets.”
“I wasn’t stealing. Edith is a perfectly respectable woman who’s run into a little trouble.”
Father Conroy raised a brow. “And what kind of trouble would that be? Even with her supposed troubles, if she’s respectable, you’ll be telling me her name and family. We’ll leave the matter of kissing for later.”
Dutch hunched his shoulders and tried to think of how to explain who Edith was and why she was here.
“Best to begin at the beginning, lad.”
“You’ve heard of the auction Duval held a few days back?”
“Most of San Francisco has heard of that auction, and most of San Francisco claims you were the winning bidder.”
“I was, and I wasn’t.” Again Dutch searched for words.
The padre snorted, folded his arms across his chest, and raised both brows. “I’m waiting.”
“I went to the bordello because I received a note from the judge that he had information about how the flesh peddlers are gaining access to Trahern-Smiley ships. He implied Trey was involved.”
“And you believed this?”
“No, but where Trey is concerned I take no chances. You know that.”
“Aye, that I do.”
“The judge did have information about Trey, and I’ve been able to verify some. It seems that without telling me, my brother decided to hire on as a driver for the Chinaman and left San Francisco on the day of the auction with a wagon load of women bound for the Sacramento area. I haven’t been able to determine why Trey would do this, since he knows how dangerous the Chinaman is, or why Trey would keep his actions secret from me. But given that Duval managed to convince the Chinaman that Trey and I were responsible for the incident on the Arrowhead, I’m worried that Trey’s been set up.”
“Hmm. Were it not for the confirmation you received that Trey hired on with the Chinaman, I’d say the whole story was a ruse by the judge to extort money from you. He did want you to pay him for this information, did he not?”
“Of course. But I haven’t paid him yet because I haven’t verified the entire story.”
“Good, lad. Now how does this involve you in the auction?”
Dutch explained how he’d been hoodwinked. He glossed over the details of what happened in the private room wit
h Edith but explained that she’d hit her head after proving she wasn’t a prostitute. He’d been forced to bring her home with him rather than leave her to Duval’s less than tender mercies.
“So this woman, Edith of no last name, has been living in your house for close on a week without a chaperone?”
“Tsung has been here all the time.”
“Not if you had time to involve yourself in a kiss like the one I witnessed tonight.”
“I swear nothing untoward has occurred between Edith and me.” Dutch wondered to himself how long before something would happen. He seemed completely unable to resist her.
“You didn’t see fit to send me a message asking for help.”
“I tried to contact you just after the auction.” Dutch felt his neck heat. He’d only tried once.
“Your message must have gone astray. I’m concerned about you. Innocent or not, having this woman in your house could undo all your hard work of the past ten years.”
“I’m keenly aware of that, but what else was I to do? The shelter run by the mission is over-crowded already. I could not reach you. Smiley is out of town visiting his in-laws. Anyone else who might have a proper home where Edith could stay would refuse because of her association with Duval and my involvement in that.”
“’Tis a conundrum, truly, but I know you’ll do the right thing. You always have.”
Dutch felt the blood leave his face. Those words, do the right thing, could only mean that Father Conroy expected him to marry Edith. Lord knew Edith was attractive, and any man would want to have her in his bed. But even less than one week’s acquaintance had shown Dutch how unsuited she was as a wife. At least the kind of wife he wanted. She was obstinate and independent to extremes as well as soft-hearted and overly generous. How could he marry someone who, out of sheer stubbornness, might spend him into the ground by taking in strays? Kittens today, orphans, beggars, and worse tomorrow, to say nothing of her connections to a woman accused of murder. She might or might not inherit something from that grandfather of hers, but who knew if the inheritance amounted to anything? She’d been reticent to the point of secretiveness about her family’s finances. Besides a rich wife could be more of a burden than a poor one. Regardless, he wasn’t ready for marriage yet.
