Angelfire

by Linda Lael Miller

  Bliss tried to imagine Jamie in such a state and failed roundly. “I don’t believe you!”

  “If you’ll only open the door, I’ll explain everything,” Walter called plaintively.

  “I can’t open the door!” Bliss responded, arms folded in annoyance. “My devoted husband locked it when he left.”

  “The blackguard!” Walter shouted. “That’s inhuman!”

  “At least,” Bliss called back, “he can be trusted with a confidence! That’s more than I can say for you, Walter Davis!”

  Walter said something, but it was plain enough from his tone that he wasn’t talking to Bliss. A possibility struck her, and remembering Jamie’s vow to “blister” her if she ever tried to run away again, she raced for the bedroom. She drew the drapes back into place and had just put the chair where it belonged when Jamie came in and tossed his hat onto the bed. He was shrugging out of his coat when he said, “Meetin’ men be’ind me back, are you, Duchess?”

  Bliss knew he was teasing, but she was in no mood for one of Jamie’s mercurial mood changes. “If I was going to take up with another man,” she said in a stilted voice, “I wouldn’t pick Walter.”

  “You’d be right not to,” Jamie agreed, sitting down on the edge of the bed and pulling off his boots. “Got no social graces, that one. Called me a name in the ’all just now—and me just mindin’ me own business.”

  Bliss did a slow, simmering burn as Jamie stretched out on the bed, cupped his hands behind his head, and uttered a long sigh. “Did you strike poor Walter?” she demanded.

  Jamie grinned but didn’t open his eyes. “Aye, Duchess. I did at that.”

  Bliss decided to change the subject. Since Walter had betrayed her, she wasn’t quite so sympathetic as she might have been. She sat down in the same chair she had stood in only minutes before and said coolly, “I was certain you’d spend the whole day with Peony. And possibly the night, too.”

  “Were you now?” Jamie responded with sleepy disinterest, settling deeper into the mattress.

  Twiddling her thumbs and biting her lower lip, Bliss struggled to contain her impatience. It was during this inner tussle that something occurred to her: the key to the suite was probably in the pocket of Jamie’s coat. If she were to let herself out when he was sleeping, and lock the door behind her, then Mr. McKenna would have a generous dose of his own medicine. He would learn, with no harm done, how it felt to be held captive.

  “Jamie?” she ventured softly when the meter of his breathing had fallen into a regular rhythm.

  “Hmmmm?” he responded, in the way of the barely conscious.

  Smiling to herself, Bliss took an extra blanket from the chest at the foot of the bed, shook it out, and gently covered her husband with it.

  He muttered a few inaudible words and Bliss couldn’t resist placing a light kiss on his forehead, even though he was a scoundrel of the first water. Then, making every effort to behave normally—for if she’d learned one thing about Jamie it was that he was often most alert just when he appeared not to be paying attention at all—she collected his coat and hat from where he’d thrown them and strolled idly out of the bedroom.

  She waited several long minutes before thrusting a hand into one of Jamie’s coat pockets. On the first try, she brought out the key, along with the note she’d left for him that morning on the mantelpiece. Even though she remembered precisely what she’d written, Bliss unfolded the paper anyway, and scanned it with her eyes.

  I will always love you, Jamie, she read. I’ve got to say good-bye and we both know why, so I won’t belabor the point. I do hope you’ll be happy. Forever, Bliss.

  Her throat thick, Bliss refolded the note and put it back into Jamie’s pocket. After collecting her cloak, she slipped out of the suite and locked the door behind her.

  “Hello,” said a ragged, familiar voice as she withdrew the key.

  Walter’s grandfather, the senior Mr. Davis, was standing behind her, his skeletal hand on the knob of the door leading into his own suite. He showed his piano-key teeth in a smile that made Bliss want to dash back inside her own rooms.

  “You’re—standing,” she observed stupidly. Until that moment, she’d thought Mr. Davis was permanently confined to his invalid’s chair.

  “Yes,” the old man conceded with a nod. “I can, for short periods of time.” His misted eyes went over her with a disconcerting thoroughness. “Going out?”

  Bliss forced herself to smile pleasantly. After all, it wasn’t Mr. Davis’s fault if he wasn’t very personable. “I thought I’d take a walk.”

  Mr. Davis seemed to be looking at—no, through—the door, and seeing something there that he hated abjectly. “It seems to me,” he said presently, “that your husband takes a great many chances with your safety.”

  Bliss was about to answer lightly, but then she remembered the whip, sent as a wedding present, and shivered a little.

  Mr. Davis had not missed her reaction. “Something wrong, my dear?”

  Bliss wanted to get away from the sight of this old man, and the mood he created. “Certainly not,” she said with a bright smile.

  Her neighbor seemed a bit wobbly; his hand began to tremble on the knob, and his legs looked unsteady as well. He was about to speak when the knob of Bliss’s door rattled ominously and Jamie called out, “Duchess!”

  Bliss smiled and dropped the key into the pocket of her cloak, standing back from the door. “Yes, dear?” she sang sweetly, forgetting all about Mr. Davis and his peculiar remarks.

  “Open this damn door!” Jamie bellowed.

  “Oh, but I couldn’t do that,” Bliss replied. “I must consider your—your safety.”

  She heard Jamie’s sigh, could envision him resting his forehead against the door in frustration. “All right, Duchess,” he said. “You’ve made your point. Now let me out of ’ere.”

  “I will, of course. At suppertime, or thereabouts.” With that, Bliss turned and strolled down the hallway to the stairs. When the door of the suite began rattling on its hinges, she quickened her pace.

  By the time Bliss had reached the lobby, she was beginning to regret the rashness of her actions. Alas, there was no going back, so she hurried out into the fresh air and walked rapidly away from the hotel without any particular destination in mind.

  She passed a series of noisy pubs and began to feel uneasy when she noted that there were loose women beneath every lamppost. They looked at her fine dress and cloak with kohl-blackened, disdainful eyes.

  Bliss had just turned to start back toward the hotel when she collided hard with a burly man who smelled of rank sweat, beer, and strong tobacco. The automatic “Excuse me,” froze on her lips when she looked up into that face.

  Bert Dunnigan looked alarmed, until he’d ascertained that Bliss was alone. Then he smiled. “Well, if it isn’t McKenna’s pretty little bird. What’re you doin’ way down here, lass?”

  Bliss took a step backward. Her throat felt as though she’d just swallowed a whole potato and her heart was hammering. Her mind was filled with fear and the knowledge that this man and his confederates had meant to kill Jamie that day on the road, and would have succeeded if it hadn’t been for Cutter and Dog.

  Dunnigan reached out with a grimy hand to caress Bliss’s cheek. “What’s the matter, darlin’? Cat got your tongue?”

  Bliss gathered enough presence of mind to slap the offending hand away. How she wished she hadn’t been so bent on teaching Jamie what it meant to be locked away in a hotel room!

  She took another step backward and came up against a steely structure of muscle and bone that could belong to only one man. Relief swept over her.

  At the same moment, Bert Dunnigan lost his expression of superiority and began retreating himself. Clearly, facing Jamie without his compatriots to back him up was not a prospect he favored.

  Jamie took Bliss’s shoulders in his hands and moved her aside. There was an easy, companionable smile on his face as he looked Dunnigan over and said, “I�
��ve been ’opin’ to see you again, mate.”

  Bliss swallowed and clasped a lamppost in both hands for support. Her eyes were wide as she watched Jamie back Dunnigan slowly into the street.

  Dunnigan held his hands out. “No hard feelin’s now, McKenna,” he said quickly. “We was only doin’ what Pipher paid us to do.”

  Jamie’s knife sprouted in his hand like a plant from fertile ground. “So it was me old friend that set you bleeders on me like a pack of dogs?”

  Dunnigan nodded, sweat beading on his forehead, his eyes never leaving the glistening steel blade. “It was him, all right.” He came up hard against the back of a wagon just then, and the point of Jamie’s knife rested against his jugular vein.

  “Tell me more,” Jamie said evenly.

  “He wants you—you and the Ryan woman—”

  “He’s ’ere, isn’t he?” Jamie broke in, his patience clearly waning. “In Auckland?”

  Dunnigan swallowed and nodded again. “Yes, but I don’t know where, McKenna. I swear to God I don’t know where!”

  Bliss had crept forward without realizing it, and a chill swept over her as she looked at Jamie’s taut profile. For an instant, at least, he had wanted to kill Dunnigan, then and there, and let his blood drain out in the street.

  “Tell Increase I got the weddin’ present ’e sent,” he said moderately.

  Dunnigan went pale. Obviously, he’d known about the whip that had been delivered as a gift.

  A smile spread across Jamie’s face, and it was terrifying to see. Bliss began, in fact, to have a sense of the trouble she’d brought upon herself. The blade made a slight nick in Dunnigan’s flesh; blood appeared in a crimson V.

  “And give ’im this warnin’, Dunnigan,” Jamie went on when he’d given the man a few moments to reflect. “If I see the old bastard, I’ll kill ’im—but only after I’ve fed ’im that whip of ’is, inch by inch.”

  Dunnigan was nodding frantically. “I’ll see he gets the message, McKenna,” he vowed.

  “Good,” Jamie said. He lowered the knife, and Dunnigan turned and ran, as hard as he could.

  Bliss thought that idea was a feasible one, given the mood Jamie was in, and she fled in the other direction, skirts held high, cloak flying behind her, heart pounding. She’d traveled some distance before she dared to look back and see whether or not Jamie was gaining.

  He was nowhere in sight.

  Confused, concerned, and relieved, all at once, Bliss slowed to a walk. She was gasping for breath and casting the occasional glance backward when she walked directly into the arms of the man she was trying to avoid.

  “How did you do that?” she demanded. Such was her consternation that she set aside all thought of the peril she might be in.

  Jamie grinned. “Cut through the alleyways is all. Surprised, love?”

  “Not in the least,” Bliss said stubbornly. “How did you get out of the suite?”

  “I’ve picked a lock or two in my time, Duchess.” The fact that the brogue hadn’t come into evidence was encouraging. “You almost caused us to miss our train, you know.”

  “Our—our train?”

  Jamie’s hand rested easily on the small of her back, and he propelled her along as he walked. “You didn’t think I was going to take a chance on the open road again after what happened last time? Unlike some people I could name, Duchess, I don’t go around making the same mistakes over and over.”

  Bliss swallowed, unsure whether this was a reference to her latest exploit or not. She was taking no chances. “I wasn’t going to run away, you know. I just wanted you to realize what it’s like to be held prisoner.”

  Despite the smile on his lips, there was a fathomless grief in Jamie’s eyes, for just the merest flicker of a moment. “Did you think I didn’t know?”

  Bliss thought of the scars on his back and dropped her eyes. “I would have come back and let you out. Honestly, I would have.”

  “Aye,” Jamie responded. His voice sounded taut, and he was gazing straight ahead.

  “You don’t believe me!” Bliss accused.

  Jamie’s gaze sliced toward her, sharp as that knife he carried. “Should I? This morning, you were off to the States with nary a look back.”

  Bliss sighed. “Only because my husband is in love with another woman,” she said patiently.

  Unexpectedly, Jamie stopped, and one of his hands rose to grasp her chin. His blue eyes glittered as he rasped, “I’ve ’ad all I can take of that nonsense, Bliss. I’ll not ’ear another word about Peony, is that clear?”

  “I’ll tell you what that is, Jamie McKenna!” Bliss cried, boiling over. She tried, and failed, to twist free of his hold on her chin. “It’s mighty damn convenient for you!”

  “So it is,” Jamie agreed insolently. “So it is, Duchess.” With that, he caught Bliss’s elbow in his hand and started thrusting her down the street again.

  There was something in his manner that warned Bliss not to press him. She bit back all the angry things she wanted to say and, as best she could, matched her strides to his long, angry ones.

  She was exhausted by the time they reached the hotel.

  Jamie was not inclined toward mercy, however. He dragged her into the lift, knowing she hated it, and tipped his hat to the operator.

  When they had reached their floor and the metal door clanged open, Walter was waiting to step inside the lift. His right eye was blue and purple, and swollen shut, and he backed away at the sight of Jamie.

  “You really did hit him!” Bliss marveled, outraged.

  Jamie’s smile was lethal. “And I’d do it again,” he assured her.

  Walter slid along the wall as Jamie and Bliss passed him in the hallway, then he dived into the lift. Jamie chuckled to himself, pausing in front of the door of the suite. Jagged wood and a hanging knob indicated that he had not picked the lock at all, but forced it, probably with the heel of one boot. Bliss’s mouth rounded into an O.

  “Some locks are easier to ’andle than others,” Jamie observed dryly. Then he pushed the door inward and executed a sweeping bow. “After you, Duchess,” he said.

  Bliss had serious misgivings about proceeding into that suite, but she didn’t have any viable alternatives. After drawing a deep, shaky breath, she entered the rooms where she had spent so many hours as a virtual captive.

  She lowered her head. If she were to be entirely honest, those had been some of the happiest hours of her life.

  “I suppose now you’re going to make good on your promise and—and blister me.”

  Jamie had gone to pour himself a drink at the liquor cabinet along the far wall, and Bliss couldn’t read his face because his back was turned to her. He took a thoughtful sip of his whiskey before replying, “I suppose I should. A man’s got to keep ’is word.”

  “Not necessarily,” Bliss pointed out hopefully.

  At that, Jamie gave a hoarse chuckle and turned to look at her. There was no sign of amusement in his eyes, only a haunted, mystified expression. “God ’elp me, Duchess, I couldn’t lay a ’and on you even if I caught you tryin’ to cut me throat.” He pushed his hat to the back of his head and looked away. “I’ll thank you not to put me through another day like this one,” he added presently. “I’m not as young as I used to be.”

  Bliss started toward Jamie, meaning to embrace him, but he sidestepped her. Oddly, that hurt more than any “blistering” could have.

  Before anything more could be said, two stewards appeared to carry away the trunks Peony and her maid had packed for Bliss earlier.

  Barely ten minutes later, she and Jamie were in a carriage, riding toward the railway station. After Jamie had bought their tickets, they boarded the train.

  It was the first time in Bliss’s life that she had ever set foot inside such a conveyance, let alone been a passenger. In a way, she supposed, it would make up for the missed experience of sailing over the seas in one of Her Majesty’s steamships.

  She looked at Jamie from under lowered
eyelashes as he ushered her into the dining car and seated her at a table before removing his hat and joining her. He seemed so tired and beleaguered that Bliss longed to comfort him.

  “I didn’t get a chance to thank you for rescuing me from that dreadful man,” she said.

  Jamie glared at Bliss over the top of his menu, and she was too intimidated to press the point. A waiter appeared, wearing a suit every bit as grand as the one worn by the president of that retail establishment in Auckland, and Bliss studied his shiny buttons and velvet-smooth coat with wide eyes as Jamie gave their orders.

  “Thank you for consulting me as to what I might like to have for supper,” Bliss said with a sniff. “Maybe I don’t want broiled fish. Did you ever think of that?”

  “And maybe,” Jamie replied evenly, “I could take you back to our sleepin’ car and raise welts on your backside after all. Did you ever think of that?”

  Bliss subsided, and when the fish arrived, she ate it without complaint, even though it did taste like a blend of kelp and driftwood.

  When Jamie had had all the dinner he wanted, which wasn’t much, judging by the food he left on his plate, he stood to leave without so much as a word of explanation to Bliss.

  “You’re just going to leave me here?” she asked, feeling a bit panic-stricken. She’d never been on board a train before, and she had no idea where to go when it was time to leave the dining car.

  Jamie paused, his expression absolutely unreadable, and said, “I’m off to the club car, Duchess, where a man can smoke and ’ave a drink in peace.”

  Resentment flared within Bliss. It wasn’t as though she hadn’t had a hard day herself. “I’ll just come with you, then,” she said, about to rise from her chair.

  But Jamie held her firmly in place by laying one hand to her shoulder. “Sorry, Duchess,” he said with the slightest hint of a smile in his eyes. “No women allowed.”

  Bliss knew all her freckles were standing out on a field of bright pink. “No women—that’s preposterous!”

  Jamie shrugged. “Maybe so, dear ’eart, but such is the way of it. If you try to go in there, they’ll throw you out on your pretty little—ear.”