“Oh, yes, I love to play. In fact, my dream is to—” She stopped abruptly.
“Dream is to…” he prompted.
She smiled. “It doesn’t matter, Max. I found you.” As always, she made him feel like a knight willing to slay dragons for his lady. He bowed low after seating her before the grand piano.
“Play well and long, sweetheart. We need to keep these good people occupied so I have a chance to search.”
She smiled as though without a care in the world, but he saw concern in her eyes. “Be careful, Max. I love you.”
His heart thumped and he wanted nothing more than to kiss her delectable lips. He settled for kissing her hand.
A collective sigh hummed through the audience.
Minister or not, these women found Max romantic, Abby thought with a smile. She supposed he could ask them to help him search the house and they would gladly comply. He had them eating from the palm of his hand.
Carefully she placed her music on the stand in front of her. Wasn’t this where she wanted to be—in front of an audience with applause ringing in her ears? She gazed longingly to the back of the room where her husband stood. After leaving home to be independent, she now found herself pointed in quite the opposite direction. The reason for that smiled and winked at her.
In order to relax, she gently caressed the keys, flexed her fingers, then began Handel’s Water Music, which she had played since childhood. She closed her eyes and let the music flow over her, blocking all else from her mind—except Star. This piece, which reminded her of springtime and beautiful days, she mentally sent to Star, that her days now might be filled with beauty and joy.
Abby continued playing for the better part of an hour. Between selections, she would bow from her seat while the audience politely applauded, which also gave her the chance to glance toward the back of the room where the door to the salon remained closed. She’d run through her repertoire and still Max hadn’t returned. She was just about to begin again, when Mrs. Dillon stood.
“Thank you, my dear, for the lovely afternoon. We do so appreciate you gracing us with your presence and your music.” She smiled at her friends before continuing. “I know you will appreciate our generosity, too, when it comes to your orphanage.”
Abby felt guilty deceiving the woman about the orphans, but knew it was necessary. Now she was in a panic, for Mrs. Dillon appeared to be done with her, but Max wasn’t back.
“Ah, Mrs. Dillon?”
“Yes, dear?”
She stood, nervously wiping her hands down the front of her dress. “I thank all of you very much for your generosity. If you don’t mind, I would love to do one more selection for you.”
While Mrs. Dillon looked hesitant, her close circle of friends began to applaud enthusiastically. Abby seated herself and shuffled her music. The only piece she hadn’t played was her own composition, and her hands shook when she began. Though she reminded herself the audience didn’t know it wasn’t by a real composer, it was the first time she would hear her composition in its entirety, rather than by measures in her head.
Within the first dozen measures, Abby began to relax and enjoy her music. In fact, she became so engrossed that when the door at the back of the room slammed shut, it startled her so much she missed a note. She completely quit playing when her gaze locked with John Dillon’s.
His mouth was a slash of anger. His eyes burned first into her, then quickly swept the room.
“John?” Abby heard fear in Mrs. Dillon’s voice. The woman moved closer to the other ladies, away from Abby.
“Mother.” John spat, storming to the front of the salon.
Abby had never heard so much contempt in a single word. She jumped to her feet, but Dillon was too quick. He reached across the piano, scattering her music when he grabbed her arm in a bruising grip. He swiftly dragged her to the back of the room. He made no excuses to his mother or the other ladies in the room.
“Let go!” She wished she still had her knife, but she’d given it to Max for a wedding present to show her complete trust in his ability to protect her. Now she pulled back, but her heel caught on the leg of a chair and she tripped. Not missing a step, Dillon yanked her along behind him into the foyer.
“Where is he?” The menace in his voice was unmistakable.
Abby trembled, a mental image of Star, battered and bruised, forming in her head, but she refused to give Dillon the satisfaction of knowing he scared her.
“Who?”
He slapped her. She cried out as the brute force of his anger focused on her.
“You’re a dead man.”
Dillon spun toward the deceptively calm voice, drawing Abby in front of him. She felt the cold steel of his revolver pressed against her temple.
Until the day she died, she hoped she never again saw the lethal look that masked Max’s face. It was a death warrant for Dillon.
“You invaded my house,” Dillon hissed, “you and your whore, and now you expect me to just stand by and let you destroy me?”
“You destroyed yourself when you chose to cheat my family.” The deadly click of Max’s gun echoed in the silence. “Now let go of her.”
“Go to hell!” Dillon backed through a door to his left, dragging her with him. He slammed it shut, threw the bolt and moved toward the terrace doors.
Abby once again tried to slow him down by swinging her foot out to trip him. “You’re not going to win,” he jeered, pushing her away as he swung the door wide.
Abby tried to catch herself, flailing her arms to counteract Dillon’s violent shove. She fell, hitting her head on the wooden arm of a chair and pain exploded in her brain.
* * *
Max watched in agony as Dillon dragged Abby through the door. The terror in her eyes took ten years off his life. But when her gaze met his, something even more frightening happened. She looked at him with total trust and love, confident he would save her from danger. He only hoped to live up to her expectations.
He slammed a shoulder against the door. It didn’t budge. He knew Phoenix and the San Francisco police surrounded the house, but he had no patience. He pulled his gun and shot at the lock.
His heart stopped when the door swung open. Dillon was nowhere to be seen, but Abby lay in a crumpled heap near the hearth.
“Abby.” He knelt beside her, feeling for a pulse. The steady beat did little to soothe his nerves, and his hands itched to strangle Dillon.
“Max?” Her eyes fluttered open; then a groan escaped. “Did you catch him?”
“Shh, don’t worry.” He gently lifted her from the floor and laid her on the settee.
“But Max…your fortunes, the money.” She struggled to rise, then groaned and fell back against the cushions.
He bent and kissed her sweet mouth. She was banged and bruised and she still worried about him.
“Phoenix will take care of it.”
There was a knock on the door. His contact entered, followed by Mrs. Dillon.
“Done?” Max didn’t ask for details, not wanting to distress the ladies. Since he hadn’t heard a shot, he assumed Dillon had been apprehended without gunfire.
Phoenix nodded once, then left. Mrs. Dillon fluttered around the back of the settee, wringing her hands and tsking. “I just don’t understand.”
Max hated to be the one to explain, but it had to be done. “Your son was responsible for the theft of a fortune in cash and merchandise from a company in Boston.” There was no sense in telling her it also involved murder.
The lady’s hand went to her throat. “Oh, dear.” With a sigh, she appeared to resign herself to her son’s disgrace. “It has been so hard, since Mr. Dillon died. I did my best by John, but he was such an angry, destructive child. He was never able to handle money, so I refused to turn over the family businesses to him. I see now that the allowance I gave him didn’t compensate for his self-esteem. I fear by indulging him, I only made it worse.” She glanced between Abby and Max. “Is there anything I can do to make amends?
”
Max stood. “I’d just gotten his safe open when he appeared. I would like your permission to go through the contents and see that it is all returned to its rightful owners.” He turned to help Abby from the settee. “If you don’t mind, though, I would like to take my wife back to our hotel first. She’s had quite a scare.”
“Of course.” Mrs. Dillon looked regrettably at Abby. “I am so sorry. I tried my best by that boy.”
* * *
Max spent the better part of two days sorting through Dillon’s personal papers, finances and crooked dealings. Though the paper trail led him to most of his father’s merchandise, there was no way to collect any compensation since everything had passed through several hands. He found the majority of the money, though, secure in an account at Sutro & Co. and it had since been forwarded through draft back to Boston. Max wired Monty and his father, then Keven O’Brien, Abby’s father, knowing that they all would be waiting word, although for different reasons.
He signed off on the last of his correspondence and slid his portfolio into the desk compartment. He’d been working aboard the Pullman so Abby could rest at the hotel. He wanted her away from any more of his problems. With this latest case closed, they would leave for Boston in the morning. It would be good to return to the coast and settle into a routine with his bride.
His gaze fell on the shaft of papers tucked into one corner of the desk. Abby’s music. Mrs. Dillon had sent it over by special messenger. He carefully smoothed the crumpled sheets, sorting the penciled scores from the printed ones. He recalled the music that had filtered through the doors while he had searched Dillon’s study.
His wife was a virtuoso. While he recognized many of the pieces she’d played, the energy she’d given the concertos moved her well beyond the normal parlor soiree. And this music…he thumbed through the penciled score. In addition to fingers befitting an angel playing a harp, she apparently had the mind of a Beethoven or Bach.
With sudden inspiration, he jotted a note on a slip of paper, grabbed the sheets of music and headed for the hotel. He didn’t know a lot about music other than that he appreciated it. Among his many contacts, however, was a man who knew the conductor of the Washington Symphony. He hopped onto a cable car that would take him to his hotel, plotting what he hoped would be a grand surprise for his wonderful wife.
* * *
“Good evening, Mr. Grant.” The concierge smiled his greeting.
It was nice not to be in disguise, and to be able to enjoy fine hotels and service. While he appreciated the Pullman car, he definitely didn’t want to live in one for long.
“Good evening to you, Stephen.” He handed over the stack of papers. “Would you please see that this is wrapped carefully and sent by special carrier to this man?” He wrote the name and address.
“Of course.” Stephen bowed then handed Max a folded piece of paper. “This arrived just minutes ago. I haven’t had time to deliver it upstairs.”
Max flipped the yellow Western Union paper open and quickly scanned the contents. He laughed. “Better send up a bottle of champagne, Stephen. I’m sure my wife will want to celebrate this.”
“Another bottle, sir?”
Max’s brows dipped in question, wondering what kind of mischief Abby had been into during his absence.
“Mrs. Grant ordered a bottle along with a fine steak dinner and all the trimmings for when you returned.” He coughed discretely. “I do believe she thought you would be later, sir. She also ordered a bath, which I am sure was delivered not more than five minutes ago.”
Max almost groaned as he hurried for the stairs. “Hold off on that meal, Stephen.”
“How long, sir?”
Max hesitated, one foot above the other on the stairs. He grinned. “I’ll send word.” He took the stairs two at a time, fumbling in his pocket for his key before he reached the landing.
He quieted his breathing and silently let himself into the room, locking the door behind him. He heard Abby humming in the other room. He took off his coat and pulled his shirt from his trousers, unbuttoning it as he went. The sight that greeted him when he entered their bedroom froze him at the threshold.
Abby stood in the copper hipbath, water glistening on her bare skin. Her back was to him, and his gaze slid from the pile of beautiful red curls atop her head, along the curve of her neck and spine. His fingers itched to span her narrow waist and slide over her satiny hips.
“It isn’t polite to interrupt a lady in her bath.” She gave him a seductive smile over her shoulder. He saw his reflection in the mirror on the bureau, knowing she’d seen him gawking at her. Well, she was his wife, after all.
“Perhaps I thought to join you.”
She slowly turned. Her rosy breasts bobbed, nipples distended and waiting for his kiss. Water droplets from her bath glistened on her skin like a thousand diamonds. Without knowing how he got there, he was suddenly next to the tub.
She reached out and slid his shirt from his shoulders, her hands caressing his chest. Her thumbs circled his nipples, and he felt his manhood pulse for release. In a slow, tortuous manner, she slid her hands down his stomach, tucking her fingers beneath the band of his trousers. Max still had a hard time believing she was his—that she loved him and continually gave herself to him in passion. Monty had tried to tell him what love was like, but…
“Before you scatter my wits well beyond my ability to collect them, I thought you would like to know that Monty sent a telegram. Sarah has delivered a baby girl.”
She squealed at his news, throwing her arms around his neck and plastering her wet, naked body against his bare chest. He forgot everything else he intended to say. He was more interested in getting her to bed.
He put his hands on her buttocks to lift her out of the bath. She locked her legs around his waist. Her hot center rubbed against his bare stomach and it was just about his undoing. Then she licked his ear and that was his undoing.
“Max,” she whispered throatily. “That means Monty and Sarah have three children and we have none. I don’t think that’s quite fair, do you?”
The simplest mathematics were beyond him at that moment. He tilted her back on the bed, kissing her throat and her shoulder, working his way to her breasts. He mumbled against her soft mounds, “You have to remember they’ve been married longer than we have.” He sucked the tip of one breast into his mouth.
Abby gave a little sigh, and he was heartily glad she liked his ministrations.
“Well,” she said, sliding her fingers across his back and then around the band of his trousers to the fastenings. “I think we can catch up with practice.”
He groaned when her cool hands touched his hot skin. “Lots of practice,” he whispered just before his lips covered hers.
Epilogue
Max really knew how to impress a lady, Abby thought while she dressed for the evening. He’d reserved the entire top floor of the Willard Inter-Continental Hotel in Washington for both their families to celebrate their wedding, and tonight they would attend the renowned Washington Symphony.
She clasped the slender gold chain around her neck, a miniature pocket watch nestled at her breasts. It was another of the many presents he’d given her since their return to Boston two months ago. Her father had been delighted with their marriage. Her mother had finally reconciled herself to the loss of Dilbert Crabtree when she discovered Max’s lineage.
“Unca Max!” Two-year-old cherub, Tabor, followed closely by his brother, Alex, came flying through the door that connected their suite to Monty and Sarah’s. She’d fallen in love with Max’s nephews the moment she met them. She hoped her babies looked as much like Max as Alex and Tabor did their father. She watched Max grab both youngsters, one under each arm, and turn in circles. He laughed, and the boys squealed in delight.
“I’m sorry.” Sarah followed close behind her sons, baby Abigail in her arms. Abby still couldn’t believe they’d named their daughter after her, but Monty had said it was in hopes she woul
d grow to be independent and full of strength and determination. Just like Abby.
“You know they’re no bother,” she answered as she clucked the baby under the chin and smiled at the giggles coming from across the room. She turned and watched Max fall onto the bed, the youngsters pouncing on his stomach and eliciting a groan.
“Max is going to make a wonderful father,” Sarah said.
Abby’s hand slid to her stomach. The wonderful surprise she had for Max was still a tightly guarded secret. “I am just so happy he has made amends with his own father.”
Max had finally understood his father’s terrible loss when their mother had died so early in their marriage. By choosing a dangerous profession, he’d worried his father even more, and he’d lashed out in anger instead of love. Now that had been resolved, and the senior Grant, along with his wife, Jessica, and Max’s four sisters were all closeted down the hall in another group of suites.
Sarah headed over to corral her sons. “Come here, rapscallions, your nanny is waiting with your supper.”
“Whom are you talking about?” Abby laughed, taking in the tangle of arms and legs on the bed.
“It does appear that in the Grant family, there are no men but only bigger boys,” Sarah replied, herding the boys through the door and closing it behind her, leaving Abby and Max in peace once again.
“Are you adverse to foregoing your suffragist’s dream and instead being married into the Grant family, madam?” Max slid his arms around her and pulled her close, nibbling on her neck. She watched their reflection in the mirror—his hair tousled and his eyes sparkling with good humor.
“What good is writing a book for independent women if it means giving you up, wonderful husband of mine? Besides, Mary Wollstonecraft did say that love, as an heroic passion, appears only once in a lifetime.”
He laughed. “I should have known you’d find a way to toss one of your fearsome four into the conversation.”
“You wouldn’t have regrets, would you, if I said we were going to add to the family populace late this winter?”
Song of My Heart Page 29
