Suddenly weak-kneed and wilting under that hot stare of his, Hannah looked down as she fought for control. He probably looked at all women this way, the cad. Steeling herself with such thoughts, she raised her head to stare boldly into his black eyes. “I have not allowed you any closeness. I think you’ll find you have taken your liberties with me.”
Twisting his mouth into a wry expression, he dipped his head to her. “Touché, my sweet. But you’ve enjoyed every moment of it, haven’t you?”
Why, the high-handed, conceited—! Hannah grabbed up the velvet box, plopped the jewels into it, snapped it shut, and slapped it down on the nightstand. Stepping up to him, she pointed a finger at his chin. “I am not—nor will I ever be—your sweet. You play at seducing me with your kisses and your baubles, but we both know what you’re doing. You’ve even said what you’re about. You mean to use me to satisfy some … some imagined insult—”
His face like a thundercloud, Slade grabbed her wrists and yanked her against him. “Nothing was imagined. And it was no mere insult. The name Lawless is—”
A timid knocking on the room’s open door cut off his next words. With him, Hannah jerked her head in the direction of the sound. Olivia stood there, wide-eyed, fearful.
The downstairs maid started to say something, but Slade loosed Hannah and turned to the thin, brown-haired girl. “Be-gone. Your mistress will be with you in a moment.”
She bobbed a curtsy. “Yes, Mr. Garrett. I didn’t mean—”
“No.” Hannah slipped around Slade and put a hand out to the maid. The poor child froze in place, looking close to tears. “Please stay, Olivia. Mr. Garrett was just leaving.” She turned to glare pointedly at him.
His black eyes shot daggers at her. “As you wish, my sweet.” He eyed the open boxes scattered about the room. “I trust everything is to your liking? I guessed at your exact measurements, of course. But then again, I had a fair idea as to your contours, having held you in my arms more than once. Until tonight, then?”
Stunned at his insulting forwardness, Hannah regarded him with an icy stare. Slade turned on his heel and strode to the door, causing Olivia to flatten herself against the wall when he drew even with her. And then, with a turn to his right, he was gone.
Hannah slumped, a marionette whose strings were suddenly loosened. So much for her grand scheme to seduce him. He’d seen right through that. She put her fingers to her pounding temples and sat heavily on the bed, not caring if she crushed anything delicate under her.
“Miss? Are you all right?”
Hannah looked up, realizing she’d forgotten Olivia. The maid’s thin hands crunched and recrunched her starched apron. Hannah waved her in. “I’m fine. Please come in.”
Watching Olivia step into the room, Hannah realized something. Slade Garrett had almost blurted out his reason for hating the Lawless name. And he would have, too, had Olivia’s knocking not cut him off. Interesting. So, he could be goaded into showing his hand. Perhaps that should be her tack—instead of seducing him, she should concentrate instead on that quick temper of his. Liking that idea, and smiling more to herself than to the maid, Hannah nevertheless focused on the girl. “Close the door, please.”
“Yes, miss.” She did as ordered and then stood quietly, her hands folded in front of her, her expression hesitant.
Hannah tried to reassure her. “I’m surprised, but glad, that it’s you who answered my bell, Olivia.”
“No more surprised than I am, miss. I was polishing the silver when you rang for Mrs. Wells. But she ordered me up, saying it would be a warm January day in Boston before she’d come back in here.”
Hannah grinned, liking this girl more and more. “I feel the same way by her. Olivia, would you like to be my lady’s maid?”
The straighter she stood, the more Olivia’s eyes widened. “Me, miss? Are you sure? I’ve never been—I thought Mrs. Wells—”
“Not anymore. Not unless there are warm January days in Boston, which I doubt.” Hannah paused. May as well see what she was made of. “And not since I pulled a gun and threatened to shoot her.”
Olivia fought hard not to giggle, but finally it got away from her. “I heard as much, miss. We all did. Belowstairs, that is.”
Hannah bit down on the inside of her cheek until she no longer felt like giggling herself. She looked down at her sleeves and tugged on them. “Did you, now? And what do you think about that?”
“I was hoping you’d prove to be a good shot, miss.”
Hannah looked up, nearly choking on the laughter in her throat. She’d judged this girl correctly. Finally, someone in Boston she could come to trust. Genuinely happy for the first time since she’d stepped off the train four days ago, Hannah folded her hands together in her lap. “Before you decide, I think you should know that things could get … up-and-downish. You should also know I’ll be the one causing the ups and downs. Now, having said that, do you want the position? Oh, and I promise not to shoot you—either way you decide.”
“I appreciate that, miss. But don’t worry about a few ups and downs along the way. My life … and working here, I’m used to it.” She looked down at her hands twisted together in front of her and then looked up, now projecting a sincere attitude. “Even though you didn’t ask … I can keep a secret. I think you’re going to need someone who can.” Then, taking a deep breath, she plunged ahead. “I’ve never been a lady’s maid, but I’ll try my best.”
A sudden warmth flooding her, Hannah stood and clapped her hands together. “Well, I can’t ask for more than that, Olivia. And thank you. I’ll arrange it all with my aunt later. Oh, before I forget, tomorrow I need you to post a letter for me—without anyone knowing about it. But, right now, I need help getting dressed for this evening. Are you up to the task?”
Olivia’s eyes lit with glee. “Oh, yes, miss. This is so exciting. I just know you’ll be the most beautiful lady in the room tonight.”
* * *
“Good God, man, surely you’re not serious. That drowned little mouse of a sobbing waif from the other night? You intend to marry her?”
Slade looked from his formally attired reflection in his cheval glass to Dudley Ames, who was similarly dressed for the evening’s entertainment at Cloister Point. “As it turns out, that drowned and sobbing little waif is none other than Miss Hannah … Wilton … Lawless.”
Slade watched in amusement as Dudley sucked in a huge breath that appeared to be inflating his eyes. Slade turned back to the mirror, making an adjustment to his gray neckcloth. “Her name does have the effect of a stomach punch, does it not?”
Dudley performed an ungainly flop onto the nearest unfortunate chair. “And here I thought your disdain for the services of a valet capped the climax.” He shook his large head and stared at his polished shoes. Then he bolted forward in the dwarfed chair. “Wilton and Lawless together can only mean one thing, Garrett.”
“Nothing slips past you, does it, my friend?” Slade drawled.
Waving off the insult, Dudley jumped to his feet, pacing the room and questioning Slade, as if he were on trial. “Does she know who you are—I mean, really know who you are—to her?”
Slade gave a final tug to his silk waistcoat as he recalled Hannah’s fainting reaction upon first learning his name. He turned to Dudley. “I have reason to think so.”
“Then, why is she here?”
Slade put his hands to his waist. “There’s only one reason why she’d show up in Boston at this particular time. You know what it is, as well as I do.”
Dudley gave that due and frowning consideration. “True. But you’d think the mother would come for her inheritance and not the daughter.”
Slade stared in silence at Dudley. But then he gave a careless shrug. “Perhaps the mother … wasn’t able.”
Dudley nodded. “And so she sent her daughter in her stead. Yes, that could be. But do you know if Hannah knows you know why she’s here?”
Slade stared at his pacing friend’s back, trying to deci
pher the you-knows and she-knows. When he felt sure of the relationship, he called out his answer. “Yes.”
Dudley whipped around, pointing a finger at him. “And you’ve actually ventured over to Cloister Point alone and unarmed? And she’s even residing there?” He shook his head. “Unbelievable. And neither one of you is dead yet?”
“Dudley, my mutton-chopped friend, I know you hate to hear it—because becoming one would please your mother too much—but you’d make an imposing lawyer. Rest assured, Learned Counselor, that the lady was alive when I left her a mere hour ago. And here I stand. So, obviously neither one of us is dead.”
“Hold on right there, Garrett. Something’s just occurred to me. Not about Mother, but about you.” The red-haired senator’s son put his thick finger to his wide lips and frowned in concentration. A moment later, he wagged that same finger at Slade. “You’re telling me that, in no more than”—he counted them out on his other hand—“four days, you’ve come to care enough about this girl to marry her? You can just throw aside all the years of hating J. C. Lawless?”
Slade laughed and shook his head at the openly suspicious Dudley. “Care about her? Hardly. Nor do I intend to. But I do mean to see that she falls desperately in love with me. And that, my serious friend, is the beauty of my plan. Trust me, I’ve not forgotten or forgiven J. C. Lawless.”
Dudley approached Slade, laying a hamlike hand on his shoulder. “I see your game now. You can’t do this. It’ll destroy you, as surely as it did your mother. And hurting this innocent girl won’t change anything. It won’t bring your parents back. And it won’t change the truth of their lives. Or yours.”
A cold shadow fell over Slade, turning him to emotional stone. He wrenched away from Dudley’s touch. “You go too far. Don’t presume on our friendship, lifelong though it is.”
Black eyes bored into brown. Then, slumping in defeat, Dudley stepped back and let out a labored breath. He paced a step or two and ran a hand through his short-cropped hair.
Finally, he spoke softly as he turned to Slade. “You have my apology. But as your ‘lifelong friend,’ no one is more qualified than me to say these things to you. What you’re doing is wrong. And you know it.” He thinned his lips in judgment.
When Slade remained unyielding, he heaved out his breath. “All right. I’ll not bring it up again.” In the ensuing silence between them, Dudley appeared to regroup. He gave a so-be-it nod of his head and shot Slade a playful look. “This ruse of yours could be the season’s amusement. Especially if you lose your heart to this girl. Frown if you like, but it is possible, Fate being the jokester she is.” Dudley then grinned. “Who knows? I may even prove useful to you somehow. Wouldn’t that surprise Mother?”
“Surprise her? It would put her in her grave.” The balance restored, Slade moved to his étagére, plucked his top hat off it, plopped it on his head at a jaunty angle, and turned to Dudley. “Let’s see. Do I have everything?” He patted himself down, stopping his hands at his chest. “Hold on—what’s this? No heart there. Well then, how can I lose it? Come, Dudley, let’s go engage the enemy.”
* * *
Hannah clamped her jaws shut to keep from saying the pretty words. She’d rather die first. Especially galling was having to admit that the blasted man seated conveniently next to her as her dinner companion was correct. She looked around her at the glittering ladies. Seeing them proved that her own gowns would have been woefully inadequate for this company.
Slade Garrett leaned over to her, speaking softly. “Oh, come now, Hannah, my sweet. Admit it—in one of your own gowns, you would have stuck out like a laying hen among songbirds. Thanking me for caring enough to save you from being a laughingstock won’t kill you.” He straightened up, sipping at his wine and keeping his amused gaze on her.
“Are you enjoying your game, Mr. Garrett?” Hannah spoke loudly, purposely drawing the attention of the diners closest to them. Smiling for them, but glaring rigidly at him, she amended, “Of course, I mean this wonderful game hen.” She stabbed her fork into the headless, plucked, gutted, and baked bird on her plate. “Exquisite, isn’t it?”
Slade dipped his head in acknowledgment that the battle was begun. With a smile resembling the curved slash of a scythe, he very deliberately set his wine glass on the white linen tablecloth. Then, revealing only to her the dangerous black lights dancing in his eyes, he otherwise became the perfect gentleman. “I’m sure the … little brown bird is exquisite. Normally I would devour such a hen. But I find, my dear, that in your presence I’ve lost my appetite.”
After allowing for an insulting space of time to elapse, he added, “For anything but you, that is. Could my affected state be because of your lovely new gown? I see that I was right about this dress. I thought when I purchased it for you that it, just like your eyes, changed color with every motion you make.”
Hannah sat openmouthed at his public and damning confession. Around her, a few of the younger men raised their glasses to her in a hearty and concurring toast. But older heads joined the feminine heads in bending together, repeating Slade’s words. Their whispers telegraphed the length of the table. Tipsy gentlemen rapped on the table with their knuckles, repeating a jolly “Hear, hear.”
Not everyone was amused by Slade’s forward words. To her left, Aunt Patience gasped. Hannah turned to her. The older woman was pale and clearly incensed at her niece’s part in this public scene. Biting at her lip, Hannah started to turn back to her hated dinner companion, but instead her attention was caught by the man across the table from her. Dudley Ames. He persisted in aiming a sappy, besotted grin her way, just as he’d been doing from the moment she’d been properly introduced to him tonight.
The huge man was sitting forward in his chair, his elbow propped on the table, his chin resting in his huge hand. With his other hand, he jabbed his finger to her right, as if pointing out to her who her enemy was. But Hannah knew. She turned her head. Slade Garrett’s attention remained riveted on her.
Hannah raised her chin a notch. He was wooing her publicly, staking his claim. And doing so boldly, insinuating he already enjoyed the lady’s favors. Thus, he insured that no other man would approach her. Or help her.
Her heart picked up its beating pace as a hush settled over the gathering of avid Brahmin. She knew without looking away from her adversary that all heads were now turned her way. An extended silken rustle told her the titillated diners were actually leaning in over the table, the better to hear her reply.
Under cover of the tablecloth, Hannah twisted her linen napkin into knots, and wished it were instead his neck in her hands. “Imagine my … delight, Mr. Garrett, over your very public appreciation of my gown. I’m afraid I must disappoint you, however. You see, I—for one—don’t particularly like this creation. I’m wearing it only because I am forced to, as you well know. And thanks to your meddling in my bedroom, I have nothing else to wear.”
CHAPTER FIVE
Good Lord. She hadn’t meant to blurt out her last words. They weren’t what she meant—at least, not the way they sounded. Her hand covering her mouth, she stared wide-eyed at Slade. She’d just confirmed his innuendo.
A drawn-out silence first met her words, but then a determined clattering of silverware and a rash of loud conversations broke out. Servants appeared from nowhere to retrieve the decidedly fowl course. On their heels came others, these serving each diner the vegetable dish, asparagus in a cream sauce.
Well, no one could say she hadn’t gotten in the last word. Even if she had, to put it mildly, lost this round. Hannah picked up her fork and despondently cut her asparagus. Peeking to her right, she saw Slade mimicking her actions. Did he have to sit so close? Would she never have respite from his stinking bay rum scent and hatefully handsome face?
As if he’d heard her thoughts, he leaned over to her. “I’m still waiting for you to thank me.”
Gritting her teeth to keep from screaming and stabbing him with her fork, Hannah gritted out, “You’ve alread
y humiliated me. I’ll not repay you by thanking you for having my own clothing spirited away, leaving me with nothing to wear but your charity.”
“Charity? You’ve a king’s ransom around your pretty neck alone.” He put his fork down and fingered the emerald necklace at her throat. He made deliberately sure—in her opinion—that his fingers caressed her bare skin.
Hannah raised her chin and leveled a cool stare in his direction. He withdrew his hand. But only to rest it on the back of her chair. For a moment, black eyes blazed into blue-green eyes. With his face only inches from hers, and his voice no more than a gritty rattle, he whispered, “Have I made you angry?”
Damn him. Her breathing constricted by the tight bodice, she gathered as much air into her lungs as she could. Slade’s gaze went immediately to the exposed swell of her bosom. Hannah redirected his gaze to her face by clutching her knotted napkin to her chest and all but whispering, “Have it your way, then. Anything to get you to leave me alone.” She inclined her head regally. “I thank you, Mr. Garrett. I am eternally grateful.” She snapped her head up, hoping her eyes reflected the blaze of fury in her heart. “There. Are you happy?”
“No.” Moving his hand from her chair, he ran his knuckles up the column of her neck and leaned over her, whispering into her ear. “I’ll not be happy until your name is Garrett and you’re … mine.”
With his warm breath feathering over the sensitive shell of her ear, a sudden light-headed feeling swept over Hannah, washing away her fighting spirit. She gripped the table’s edges and whispered, “Stop this. I beg you. You’re making of me a public spectacle. And I don’t appreciate it.”
He put his warm hand on her bare shoulder and squeezed gently. But the smile on his mouth didn’t quite reach his riveting black eyes. “The daughter of J. C. Lawless—such a famous outlaw—afraid for her reputation? I would think you’d be used to being a public spectacle, if not the curiosity these Brahmins find you.”
Hannah's Promise Page 8
