by Renee Ryan
Ignoring him, she picked at her fingernails.
“Pearl, I’m talking to you.”
“What was the question again?”
“My money,” he ground out. “Where. Is. It?”
Eyes still lowered on her hand, she lifted a shoulder again. “All gone.”
“I don’t believe you.” He reached for her, intent on shaking the truth out of her, but he stopped his own pursuit in time. He was a man of control, not one ruled by base emotion.
Never render evil for evil.
Refusing to sink to Pearl’s low level, Marc took a slow, steadying breath. He circled his gaze around the hotel. All activity had stopped. The sudden hush—the stares, the questions, the unmistakable fascination—made him inwardly cringe. He needed to conduct this conversation where Pearl couldn’t wage more chaos.
“Go back to your business,” he said, connecting his gaze with the closest patrons, the ones unabashedly watching him in return. “There’s nothing to see here.”
When no one moved away, he wrapped his fingers loosely around Pearl’s arm, resisted the urge to tighten his hold and then lowered his voice for her ears only. “Come with me. We’ll finish this in my office.”
She brushed up against him. “Why not in your suite of rooms?”
His stomach rolled. “My office is private enough.”
“Private. I like the sound of that.” The smell of stale whiskey wafted out of her and his stomach heaved again. He held his breath as she ran her finger along the top button of his vest. “We used to do our best talking in private. Remember?”
Revulsion continued moving through him. Though this woman was his wife, he didn’t love her—had never loved her. He knew that now, knew he’d married her for all the wrong reasons. In the hope of saving her from herself.
He’d been young and idealistic. Foolish. He’d told himself he could change her into a woman of integrity. But Pearl was no Laney O’Connor.
Laney. He was so stunned and twisted up in his anger, he’d nearly forgotten about her waiting for him in his office. He’d been on the verge of asking her to become his wife, to merge her future with his for all time.
An impossible dream now. He was already married.
He’d nearly turned the woman he loved into an adulterer.
The depth of his sin weighed heavily on his soul. He looked up and saw Laney standing near the edge of the crowd, her eyes round, her expression hurt, her bottom lip quivering.
In one word she managed to cast her remaining hope at his feet. “Marc?”
He wanted to reassure her, wanted to tell her everything would be all right. But he loved her too much to lie to her.
How could Pearl LaRue still be alive? And how could he ever make Laney believe he hadn’t betrayed her like this, hadn’t intentionally withheld information about his marriage?
The most he could hope for now was that he didn’t destroy the woman he loved completely.
“I’m sorry,” he said, willing her to believe him, to see his love for her in his eyes, even if he could never act on his feelings.
Her eyes clouded with warring emotions then went blank. “Who is this woman?”
Before he could answer, Pearl pushed around him and wove through the crowd. Stopping inches away from Laney, she placed her hands on her hips and glared. “I’m his wife. Who are you? Another one of his projects?”
Fast on Pearl’s heels, Marc stepped between her and Laney. Too late, the damage had been done. The pain shimmering in Laney’s eyes, in her unshed tears, was real.
“She’s your...wife?” The silent plea in her eyes begged him to deny the truth.
He reached out to her, needing to touch her, to assure himself she was real, that what they’d shared was real.
Stepping away from him, she lifted her chin. “You’re married.”
How could he hurt the only woman he’d ever wanted in his life, the only one he’d ever truly loved? Because she deserves the truth. “I thought she was dead.”
Eyes blinking rapidly, Laney looked from him to Pearl and back again. “She doesn’t look dead to me. And you don’t look surprised to see her alive.”
Maybe he wasn’t. He’d truly believed Pearl was dead, but she’d always been like a cat with many lives. By now, she had to be well past the usual nine.
Laney’s lips lifted into a tight smile. “Please excuse me, Mr. Dupree, I have to finish my shift.”
This was the women he’d met that first night. Desperate and closed off, hiding behind her bravado.
He’d done that to her. He’d betrayed her trust, after only just earning it.
“Laney, wait.”
She kept walking, head high, chin jutting forward. Marc stifled the urge to beg her to stop, to listen to him. But after what he’d just done to her, he owed her this moment of dignity.
Pearl’s snicker tore through him like a dirty, jagged blade. “Your little girlfriend doesn’t seem too happy to meet me. I’m shocked at you, Marc. Did you forget to tell her about us?”
In a voice barely above a whisper, he snarled out his warning. “Don’t you ever speak to Laney again. Don’t even look at her. You got that?”
He must have communicated his threat well because Pearl closed her mouth.
“Let’s go.”
Rage threatened to explode as he steered his wife toward his office. Too many questions ran into one another in his head to make coherent speech possible.
But the words would come, and he would get his answers.
He shouldered into his office, waited for Pearl to join him before banging the door shut behind them. He didn’t see the need to waste time with pleasantries. “All right, Pearl, start explaining. I was told you died in that train wreck.”
She spun around and gave him a saucy grin. “As you can see, I’m very much alive.”
Her expression turned calculating. Reeking of smoke and stale liquor, she sidled up to him. “You’ve aged well, husband. I’d say you’re more handsome than ever.” She touched his cheek, ran her finger along his jaw. “That suppressed wildness in your eyes makes a woman want to tame you.”
He clutched her roving hand. Before releasing her, he added enough pressure to get her attention without hurting her.
She blessed him with the look that had once made him pity her, made him want to take care of her and ease her burdens. But that was before he’d learned to recognize the hardness, the hint of cruelty behind her smile.
Naive and far too trusting for his own good, he’d thought Pearl glamorous and worldly. Now he saw the cunning, the bitter heart, the self-absorption he’d missed before.
“You haven’t changed,” he said, realizing the truth as he spoke the words.
“Oh, but I have, my darling.” Her voice lowered to a husky drawl. “I could show you some of the new tricks I’ve learned. Just say the word.”
The sinful woman in her shone like a tarnished nickel in a handful of gold. He saw it now, the cold soul, the undisguised hardness of heart.
“You used to enjoy my company.” She moved forward, stopping inches from him. “Remember?”
He moved away. “Don’t start. We may be married, but I’m not going to be intimate with you. Not now, not ever again.”
She looked at him for a long moment, her eyes turning dark with hatred. “Always such a man of control. Just like that brother-in-law of yours, the one who’s now a U.S. marshal. The holier-than-thou duo, that’s what I used to call you behind your backs.”
He didn’t respond.
“Want to know how I made you believe I was dead?”
He knew she was goading him now, toying with his mind, but after years of wondering what she’d done with his money he needed to know the truth. “Yes, Pearl. Tell me how you faked your own death.”
Her eyes filled with artifice and obvious intent to hurt him.
Marc simply waited for her to give him her worst.
She sat on his desk, scooted back a bit then dangled her feet over the edge
. The gesture revealed dirty, bare feet. Where were her shoes?
“Did you know the Pinkerton agent you hired actually found me that very first month of searching?”
“No.”
Laughing, she swung her feet back and forth. “He was very good at his job, among other things.”
Despite his raging emotions, Marc held perfectly still. “Go on.”
“I had a lot of money back then.” She tapped her finger against her chin and slid a glance at him from the corner of her eye. “It must have been several thousand dollars, if I recall.”
“You took five thousand, nine hundred and eighty-three dollars of mine.”
She threw her head back and cackled. “I figured you’d know the exact amount. The money meant more to you than I did.”
“Let’s not rewrite history, Pearl. You knew who I was, and what I wanted out of life. Now, you were telling me about the Pinkerton agent.”
“Oh, yes. By the way, got anything to drink around here?” She hitched her dress above her ankles, opened the top desk drawer with her toes. “What? No whiskey?”
“No.”
“You always were predictable and boring. I hated that the most about you.”
He could tell her a few things about hatred. “Just finish your story.”
“Well. That Pinkerton... Oh, what was his name?” She shrugged. “I can’t remember. Anyway, he was very official at first. He even went so far as to cuff me.” She grinned in an ugly manner. “But he wasn’t expecting my special brand of persuasion. I wore him down quickly enough.”
Marc couldn’t believe what she was saying. It was too absurd to contemplate. “You seduced a Pinkerton agent.”
“With my wiles and, of course, your money. We had three lovely months together. When he was called back to Chicago, I gave him twice the rate you were paying him to help fake my death.”
“You bought off a Pinkerton agent?” It was unbelievable, mind-boggling. Pinkertons were known for their honesty. That had been the reason he’d hired one in the first place.
“Everybody has a price, darling.”
He thought of Laney, of her determination to forge her own way in the world for herself and the children of Charity House. “Not everyone.”
“I’d wager even your pretty little girlfriend has a price.”
Marc moved fast. Before she could stop him, he wrapped his hand around her arm. “I told you to leave her out of this.”
Pearl didn’t even have the good sense to look scared. “Let me go.”
“Why should I? You’re dead. And not just to me, but to the world. That’s the trouble with faking your own death.” He tightened his grip. “No one is looking for you or wondering where you are.”
She snorted at him, her eyes full of contempt. “You never could bluff with me. Face it, Marc, you don’t have it in you to hurt a woman. Not even me.”
Two warring desires battled one another in his head. Get rid of Pearl or do his duty by her. He wanted to be free of the woman, for good, but not enough to go against everything he believed.
He was guilty of many sins, but he wouldn’t sacrifice his integrity, not ever again. He released her arm with great care. “Where’s the rest of my money?”
“Like I said, it’s gone.”
“You went through six thousand dollars in five years?”
“Four years, actually. I ran out a year ago.”
“And you’re just coming to me tonight? Why now?”
She picked at her dirty, ragged fingernails again, no longer able to meet his eyes. “I didn’t need you before now. If you remember, I do have several rather enjoyable ways of earning money for myself.”
Silence filled the moment as she measured him from below her lowered lashes. “Give me a little more money and I’ll be out of your life again.”
She hopped off the desk and stumbled, before a coughing fit bent her over at the waist.
Marc moved to her side. “Are you sick, Pearl?”
“I’m...” She coughed again, harder and longer. “Fine.”
No, she wasn’t fine. Nor was she drunk, well, not completely. She was ill. Extremely ill. And highly medicated. He guessed with laudanum.
No matter the nature of their relationship, Marc wouldn’t abandon her. He’d vowed to stay with her in sickness and in health, till death parted them.
He no longer wanted anything to do with Pearl, but they were married. He would never love her, not the way a man should love his wife, but he wouldn’t let her suffer alone.
“Let’s get you something to eat and then I’ll set you up in your own room. We’ll talk about money after you’ve rested.”
“Now you’re talking sense.” She smirked up at him. “I knew you couldn’t resist me for long.”
Chapter Twenty
Cracking open the registration book, Laney thanked God that helping guests and addressing their various problems required her complete concentration. Though outwardly calm, her heart ached. Numb from the pain, she couldn’t even collect enough anger to hate Marc Dupree.
She couldn’t comprehend why he’d given her a reason to hope for a future, with him, when all along he’d been married.
Agony stole her composure, making her hands shake. Or had she misunderstood? Had he planned to ask her to be his mistress instead of his wife? Had she been one request away from becoming just like her mother?
How could Laney have been so foolish to fall in love with a married man?
Focusing on the guest in front of her, an elderly gentleman in an elegant suit, she positioned a friendly smile on her face. “How may I help you, sir?”
“Can you tell me what time the restaurant closes this evening?”
“Ten o’clock.”
“Lovely.” He turned toward the open doors. “Thank you, miss.”
“My pleasure.” She smiled after him, just as the hair on the back of her neck stood at attention.
Turning her head, she caught sight of Marc escorting his wife out of his office, his hand in a solicitous hold on her elbow.
With a gulp, Laney forced down the anguish choking her. The ache in her heart multiplied as Laney watched him steer the woman into the elevator. He was taking her to a room. To his room?
Again, she wished she could summon up at least some hatred but, again, she simply couldn’t do it. The pain in her heart was real, and yet the love Laney felt for Marc wouldn’t let go of her. Love didn’t work that way, she realized. It didn’t come and go on a whim, or even at the introduction of an unknown wife.
Laney willed Marc to look at her. As though hearing her silent plea, he turned his head in her direction. She’d already discovered she had few defenses against him, so she wasn’t surprised when the expression on his face fractured the last of them.
The pure sorrow in his gaze joined with her answering despair. In that moment Laney knew that no matter what happened in the future, a part of her would always live inside Marc. She’d given him a piece of her soul. And he’d left a part of his with her.
His expression never altered, his silent pledge shouting over the divide between them. But he had a wife—a wife!—and that meant they could be nothing more than friends, perhaps not even that.
Determined to survive the loss with dignity, she turned away and focused on another patron’s request. Out of the corner of her eye she watched the elevator door shut.
For a heartbeat, she considered fighting for Marc. But she knew she wouldn’t. Marriage was sacred. With God’s help she would find the courage to live the rest of her life alone.
One step at a time.
For now, she focused on doing her job.
She even managed to answer several more questions without thinking about anything other than the individual guests in front of her. So focused on shutting out the world she didn’t notice when Marc returned. “We need to talk.”
She tried for calm, but her broken voice betrayed her despair. “I’m working.”
“Rose will take over for you.�
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Without saying a word, the other woman moved into place, scooting Laney out of the way with a none-too-subtle shove of her hip.
Laney glared at the woman, but Rose just smiled at her with sympathy. “Go on, dear, Mr. Dupree will explain everything to you. Give him a chance.”
Laney sighed, wanting to do anything but give him a chance. Putting her resolve in place, she faced the man who’d given her such lovely hope one moment and had shattered her heart in the next.
* * *
Marc reached out to take Laney’s elbow but the look she shot him quelled that idea. Relenting, for now, he allowed her to walk ahead of him. He wished he knew what she was thinking, then thought maybe he didn’t want to know, after all.
She moved inside his office, heading straight to the fireplace. The moment he shut the door, she broke the silence. “You don’t have a photograph of your wife. You never spoke of her. Why?”
He wanted only truth between them. “I thought she was dead.”
He raised his hand to touch her, but she jerked out of his reach as soon as he laid his fingers on her back. “Don’t.”
He knew she hurt, could feel her pain as sure as his own. He tried again, resting his hand lightly on the top of her shoulder. “Look at me, Laney.”
She shook her head, then dropped her chin to her chest. “I...I can’t.” Her words came out in halting, choked syllables. “If I look at you, I might be tempted to forgive you.”
“Would that be so terrible?”
“You know the answer to that.”
“I don’t want to keep talking to the back of your head. At least turn around and face me.”
She slowly did as he requested, but she kept her gaze firmly locked on the floor.
Marc exhaled. “I love you.”
Her gaze shot up. “Don’t say that.” The anger and suffering mingling together in her eyes hurt him more than if she’d kicked him in his gut. “Don’t lie to me, Marc, anything but that.”
“I’ve never lied to you.”
“What about your wife? I don’t recall you mentioning her. Not once.”
“I thought she was dead.” He repeated the words as if they would eventually make sense to them both.
