She guzzled her drink, feeling warmer. Lighter. Rain dripped from his hair, beading on his naked back below the towel. Drops slid slowly down his spine. His skin glistened in the firelight, and she swallowed hard against the impulse to touch him.
Warmth tingled through her core. She straightened in her seat, regaining her senses. The man was bad news. His wanderlust was no secret, as was his commitment to bachelorhood—Tessa had told her as much. Still, Daisy found her mind drifting….
“So,” she said, “how long have you been working with the Markelson Law Firm?”
“My position is only temporarily. Markelson offered me this case after my resignation from Kressler and Associates.”
“Resignation?”
“Forced resignation,” he clarified boldly.
“Oh.” She lowered her gaze. What on earth had he done to earn a forced resignation?
“Let’s talk about you, Mrs. Lansing.”
“What about me?”
“I saw you with Andy,” he said. “While you were entranced.”
She turned to him, feeling struck. “You were supposed to wait on the porch.”
“I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“I’m sorry you were startled, but if you’d waited outside—”
“I wasn’t startled.”
She eyed him skeptically. “You watched me transfer Andy’s thoughts into a sketch, and that didn’t startle you?”
“No, Mrs. Lansing, it did not,” he said with a slow shake of his head. “It scared the hell out of me.” He smiled at the truth in it, and then she smiled too. “It’s an extraordinary ability,” he said. “How did you learn it?”
“I did not learn it,” she said.
“It just came to you naturally?”
There was nothing natural about it. The ability to transfer people’s thoughts to paper was borne of something else. She blinked back the memory of blinding smoke and flames.
“I’ve always been artistically inclined,” she said quickly. “The discovery of my extraordinary ability came later.”
“Are your parents artistic, as well?”
“I never knew my parents.” She lifted her chin against the pain of her childhood. “I was raised in the orphan asylum until I was nine. After that I was placed out with several families in Troy.” She fiddled with her hands. “When I was a girl, I used to imagine my parents were great artists.” On a fortified breath she added, “So, I am certain I inherited the artistic aspect of my talent from them.”
“So am I.” He smiled.
Her heart skipped a beat, and she smiled too. He was so charming. The compassion in his handsome face—or the whiskey she’d drank—filled her with longing. Heat slithered through her chilly bones. It had been so long since she’d felt such yearnings—since she’d allowed herself to feel them. Lawry had done his best to tame her desires, but unlike Lawry, she knew Jackson could handle them. She stared into his eyes, her gaze trailing to his mouth. His lips looked so soft. So inviting. She’d never see him again.
She barely felt herself leaning toward him, barely felt his light breath on her face as she moved closer and pressed her lips to his. She heard a sharp intake of breath before his mouth softened against hers. She leaned into the gentle pressure of his lips, closing her eyes. He smelled of leather and rain, and everything wonderful.
He eased his mouth from hers, his breath soft and warm as he lingered a mere inch from her lips. “I’m not sure why you did that, Daisy, but I caution you not to do it again.” The husky tone of his voice told her why.
The irresistible impulse to kiss him had stunned her as well. Heat blazed in her cheeks as she drew away. “I—”
“You’d better get some sleep.” He ran a hand through his hair. “You take the cot. I’ll make a bed here on the floor.”
She fumbled for her stockings, scrambling around. “We have to be up at first light,” she reminded him. She tossed the stockings on the cot. “It’s a long walk back to town, if we can’t get the wagon out.” But tomorrow’s tribulations wouldn’t surpass her folly tonight, and she found herself rambling. “I’m attending a meeting tomorrow for Misty Lake’s Overseers of the Poor.”
“Of course you are,” he said with a smile.
She smiled too, feeling better. “My involvement is what led me to the idea of a day home. Membership support is crucial for the success of my plan. I suppose I have to prove myself as well, if I want people to trust me with their children.”
“You’ll be home in plenty of time for your meeting,” he assured her.
She crawled onto the cot, wincing at the thought of whatever else might be crawling there with her. She lay on top of the musty blanket, wide awake, listening to the rain battering the roof. She stared across the room at Jackson, mesmerized by the amber glow of firelight licking his bare back, his broad shoulders. The taste of his kiss was still fresh on her lips, and she pressed her fingers to her mouth, wondering how she would ever forget it.
* * * *
Daisy awoke to the sound of a slamming door. She bolted upright. Clutching a blanket to her chest, she searched the dim room for Jackson.
“Whoa, there!” Jackson stood with his arms raised in surrender beneath the towering shadow of Cuffy and his rifle.
She flung her feet to the floor, shoving them into her shoes. “Cuffy! Don’t shoot!” Daisy raced to Jackson’s side. “It’s me, Mrs. Lansing!”
Cuffy narrowed his eyes. “Mrs. Lansing?”
She nodded furiously. “Yes, yes. Please put down that gun.”
Cuffy lowered the rifle. “Whatcha doin’ in my place, Mrs. Lansing?”
“I’m sorry, Cuffy. We got stranded in the storm.” She grabbed Jackson’s arm. “This is Mr. Jackson Gallway.”
“How do, Mr. Jackson.” The small pair of antlers on Cuffy’s cap bobbed with his eager handshake.
Jackson exhaled in relief. “I was just heading to get my wagon,” he said. “It’s stuck a quarter mile or so up the mountain, and I could use some help getting it out.”
Cuffy puffed his massive chest. “I’m strong as an ox. I can get yer wagon out for you.”
Jackson turned to Daisy. “Get your things.”
She complied quickly, then hurried outside to join them.
“You have the sketch?” Jackson called over his shoulder.
“Good heavens,” Daisy said as she circled back to get the case, which contained the sketch she’d drawn. She chased after the men, who’d wasted no time as they led the horse up the muddy trail.
The rain had stopped sometime during the night, but the morning sun was no threat to the streams of water trickling down the rutty trail.
When they reached the wagon, Cuffy assessed the situation, then wedged a few strong branches under the mired wheel. With a few deep grunts, he and Jackson pushed the wagon free. Daisy couldn’t be more grateful to the gentle giant who stood with mud up to his thighs.
“Thank you so much, Cuffy,” she said.
Cuffy wiped his forehead with his flannel sleeve. “It wasn’t nothing,” he replied. “Not for me,” he added with the candor of a child.
Jackson struggled to catch his breath. “We’d appreciate it, Cuffy, if you wouldn’t mention to anyone that you helped us today,” he said between breaths. He placed some coins in Cuffy’s large hand.
Cuffy’s eyes widened with gratitude. “No, sir, I won’t.”
Daisy smiled in relief. “Thank you again, Cuffy,” she said as he helped her board the wagon.
The long ride back to town was slow and awkwardly quiet. Jackson stared straight ahead, his concentration fixed on the challenge of driving. Oh, why had she kissed him? Her embarrassment came in second only to her fear she’d not make it home undetected—though it would serve her right after her shameful behavior.
She pushed away thoughts of her folly. “Do you think Andy is safe?” she asked.
“I believe he is. For the time being,
anyway. His future safety will depend on the authorities and their willingness to consider my new evidence.”
Daisy nodded, hoping Jackson could convince them. “Please let me know if I can do anything else.”
“You’ve done more than enough,” he said. “I owe you my thanks.”
She accepted his gratitude with a smile, then turned back to the road ahead.
They finally emerged from the woods, and a mix of relief and disappointment greeted her at the end of the trail. The warmth of the sun intensified as they clattered down the main road back to town.
Jackson stopped the wagon when they reached the fork in the road where they’d met yesterday. “I’d drive you home but—”
He turned toward the sound of rambling wheels around the bend.
“This is fine,” she said, standing. Her heart pounded. “If anyone stops me, I’ll tell them I was out sketching ferns.”
He helped her down as the sound of the distant carriage grew louder.
“Have a safe trip to Troy,” she said, turning.
He reached for her arm. “Thank you again for your help.”
His gentle touch held her in place, as did the gratitude in his eyes. A tentative smile curled his lips, and Heaven help her, she wanted to kiss him again. “Of course,” she uttered, wanting so much to say more. “Good-bye.” She walked as quickly as she could. He snapped the reins, and the wagon rolled past her, ambling down the road toward the livery. Clumps of mud still trailed in its wake.
A few minutes later, a purple carriage buzzed by. Felice Pettington and her maid, Myrtle, gave haughty waves. Daisy’s relief at their timing helped divert her focus from the aching sadness that lingered when she thought about Jackson on his way back to Troy. And how this perfect stranger had affected her more in one single day than her late husband had during six years of marriage.
* * * *
The meeting was about to come to order. The loud chatter waned to a quiet din as the members of Misty Lake’s Overseers of the Poor began to take their seats in the stuffy meeting room in the town hall.
Daisy settled in her seat, pleased by the turnout. Attendance was better than she’d expected after last night’s storm. Last night’s storm… She exhaled a long breath, but the memory of kissing Jackson remained.
She forced her thoughts to the present and the matter at hand. This meeting was important to her future, and she had to focus on securing support. Straightening her shoulders, she recited in her mind the presentation she’d prepared about her plans for the day home.
“I’m looking for Mrs. Lansing.”
Daisy spun toward the familiar voice, her pulse pounding.
“I see her. There she is over there!” Cuffy’s booming voice echoed through the room as he stooped through the entranceway. Heads turned, all eyes following the giant man as he zigzagged through the rows of chairs, antlered cap and all, looking as proud as Lucifer.
She shot to her feet. From the corner of her eye, she saw Felice Pettington and the equally snide Gertrude Hogle creeping closer. Daisy’s heart pounded faster in the room’s sudden silence as Cuffy charged toward her. He reached into his tattered coat.
“I found this in my bed after you and Mr. Jackson left this morning.” He whipped out Daisy’s stocking. The filthy thing dangled from his fist as he flaunted his find like a bagged goose. He leaned close. “And I didn’t tell no one I helped ya’ll with the wagon.”
Daisy stared stunned. The deathly silence of the room lapsed into gasps, which quickly droned into murmurs. The buzz of the crowd intensified, growing louder, but the only words Daisy heard were the ones in her head.
She was ruined.
Chapter 4
Daisy’s dream for the day home was as dead as her reputation. No one would entrust her with the care of their children now. Tears welled in her tired eyes, but she brushed them away. She had to fix this.
During the long ride to Troy, she’d convinced herself she could. Her head swam with the memory of the stunned faces of those who’d witnessed Cuffy’s surprise appearance at the meeting yesterday—her ears buzzed with their gasps and hushed innuendos. Her stomach lurched. Those not present for the scene were sure to hear all. Felice Pettington would see to the task. Daisy uttered a curse at the loss of all she’d hoped so hard to attain.
The memory of the Palmers, the couple who’d taken her in and then tossed her away, incited her anger. To be rid of her in the wake of that horrible night, they’d shamed her into marrying a man more than twice her age. She’d had little choice in the matter, but she’d paid her penance for the scandal she’d caused by using her entranced drawing so frivolously.
And now here she was, being punished for using it to help a child. It was all so unfair… She glanced out the carriage window, felt the crush of her past all around her. Memories crowded the sidewalks and streets, surrounding her like an angry mob. Every familiar sight and sound was a reminder of the fire and all she strived so hard to forget. The lost lives, the guilt. Her life had been spared, but surviving the tragedy had changed her forever.
The carriage rolled to a stop, and she lifted her chin. The street lamps lining Troy’s Washington Square glowed softly in the early evening dusk as Daisy climbed from the carriage and made her way to the impressive brownstone. Inhaling a breath, she trudged up the stairs as though facing the gallows, and then rang the bell.
“Good evening,” she said to the elderly housekeeper who’d answered the door. “I wish to see Mr. Gallway.”
“I’m sorry, miss…”
“Mrs.” Daisy snapped. She forced a smile, reclaiming her manners. “Mrs. Lansing,” she said, calmly.
“I’m sorry, Mrs. Lansing, but Mr. Gallway is…” She glanced over her shoulder at the wide parlor doors. “Presently engaged.”
“But he’s home?”
The woman blinked. “Well, yes, but—”
“I must see him immediately,” Daisy said as she brushed past the sputtering woman and into the wide foyer.
“But he has instructed me not to disturb him.”
“Then you shan’t,” Daisy said. She tossed her wrap to a chair by the umbrella stand and marched down the hall.
“Mrs. Lansing…”
Ignoring the harried housekeeper chasing behind her, Daisy pushed open the heavy doors and charged into the room.
Jackson shot to his feet, eyes wide. “Mrs. Lansing.” His surprised expression deepened the stark blueness of his eyes. Her heart skipped a beat. She’d almost forgotten how handsome he was. She managed to drag her gaze from him, glancing to his companion. The young woman lounging on the settee straightened, fluffing her skirts. Her pursed lips were painted with red lipstick, and her cheeks were flush from more than rouge.
“I tried to stop her, Mr. Gallway,” the housekeeper said, clenching her hands.
“It’s all right, Josephine,” he assured her before she slipped from the room.
Jackson strode toward Daisy. “I haven’t yet had an opportunity to review your late husband’s will.”
Two glasses of bubbling champagne sat on the table. “Yes, I can see you’re a busy man.”
He frowned at her sarcasm.
“But that’s not why I’m here,” she said. “I have an urgent matter to discuss with you.”
He stiffened, sobered by her tone. “What’s happened? Are you all right?”
The concern on his face almost made her feel sorry for the blow she was about to strike him. The lipstick stain on his cheek chased her sorrow away.
“I’m fine,” she said. “But I must speak with you.” She glanced past him to the woman on the settee. “Privately.”
The woman’s frown of displeasure at the interruption deepened.
“I’ll see Miss Swootz to her carriage,” he said. “Have a seat.”
He escorted the flamboyant Miss Swootz to the door, murmuring his apologies as Daisy settled into the seat the woman had vacated. The strong smell of perfum
e filled Daisy’s senses, fueling her ire. Had she really expected Jackson Gallway to be sitting home alone in front of the fire, nose buried in a book?
She huffed at the ridiculous notion of it, glancing toward the two champagne flutes. Despite all common sense, her body stirred at the memory of kissing him. The feel of his warm mouth on hers…the sting of his hasty rejection.
As though standing on the ledge of some dark precipice, she squeezed shut her eyes, praying for the strength she needed to jump—to deliberately plunge into the depths of future regrets.
Jackson returned to the room moments later, closing the doors quietly behind him. “Now, what’s the matter?”
She took a deep breath, straightening her spine. “I am ruined,” she said.
He blinked. “What are you talking about?”
“The entire town of Misty Lake knows we spent the night together.”
“How?”
Her temper flared at the note of skepticism in his tone. Did he think she was lying? “What difference does that make?”
“We were discreet. The situation cannot possibly be as bad as all that.”
“It is worse, I assure you,” she said. “Cuffy made a surprise visit to my meeting yesterday.”
“Cuffy?” He narrowed his eyes. “What happened?”
“He had my stocking. He—”
“Your stocking?”
“I’d forgotten it, and he found it in his bed.”
“Christ,” Jackson muttered. He sank into a chair across from her, completely deflated.
“He meant no malice of course, but everyone knows,” she said, staving back tears.
“That crazy coot.” Jackson moved to the settee to console her. “It’s all right,” he said, clasping her hand.
She relaxed, welcoming the familiar scent of him. Her body melted in the heat of his nearness, the solid grip of his hand. She nodded in relief. “I must admit I was afraid you wouldn’t understand.”
“Of course I understand.”
She placed her hand atop his, feeling so grateful. Hopeful. “Neither of us expected to marry under these conditions, but it’s the only recourse—”
“Whoa.” Retracting his hand, he shot to his feet. “Who said anything about marriage?”
The Lady Who Drew Me In Page 4
