A Gentleman's Bargain

by Patricia Waddell

  For all intents and purposes, Chinatown was a city within a city. You were either a citizen of the new Orient or you were an outsider. Outsiders were allowed to shop in the markets, gamble, patronize brothels and opium dens, but they were never allowed to breach the invisible wall that encircled Chinatown.

  Garrett walked into the bank knowing that if Donald Aldrich was involved with Chen Loo he was in trouble up to his neck. The Chinese drug lord ran most of the opium dens in the city and it was rumored that he engaged in white slavery. White women were prized in China and it wasn't uncommon for those with pale hair and light eyes to turn up missing. With ships leaving the port daily, it was easy to smuggle young American virgins out of the country.

  The thought that Claire could have stumbled upon her brother and inadvertently been exposed to such a thing was enough to turn Garrett's blood cold. By the time he left for home, Garrett was more determined than ever to keep Claire away from her brother. He'd do anything within his power to keep her safe, and he was a very powerful man.

  Chapter Twelve

  The clock was chiming seven when Garrett walked into the foyer. As expected, Claire was waiting for him. She was standing on the staircase, her hand resting on the polished mahogany banister.

  Garrett stared at her and something inside him flickered like a candle in a draft. He realized it was nice to walk through the door of his home to find Claire waiting, as if she was anxious to see him. For the first time in his life, Garrett had a flashing image of himself as an older man, coming home to a wife and family. It disoriented him for a brief moment and he wondered if he hadn't been caught in the very web he'd woven to satisfy his grandmother.

  The image vanished as quickly as it had come and for the moment Garrett had to admit that Claire was more interested in her brother than the man who'd brought her to Nob Hill. Feeling vaguely disappointed, he put his gloves and hat on the foyer table and walked to where Claire was standing. “Did you miss me today?"

  Claire's hazel eyes went wide for a scant second before she gave him a disgusted look. “No."

  The reply was direct and to the point, but Garrett could tell she was lying. He took a step upward, then a second, until he was standing just below her. His hand reached out and tenderly caressed the one resting on the banister. When she tried to pull away, he stopped her. He could see the anger in her eyes, but there was passion, too. In that instant, he knew that she was playing dual roles; she was pretending to like him for the sake of others, and pretending to dislike him for her own sake.

  The realization hit Garrett with the force of a Kansas tornado. Claire was falling in love with him. He'd seen the look before, a mixture of desire and hope and female expectations. If the emotions belonged to any other woman, he would politely destroy them, but he couldn't bring himself to say the lethal words to Claire, and deep inside himself Garrett knew that he was pleased. If Claire loved him, she wouldn't leave him, and he didn't want her to leave.

  “Grams is dressing for dinner,” Claire said, unaware of Garrett's thoughts but acutely conscious of his hand holding hers lightly in place. “We can talk without being interrupted."

  “We can talk after dinner,” Garrett said. “I need a drink."

  Without further explanation he turned and walked into his library. His craving for a drink had little to do with postponing their conversation and everything to do with the sudden revelation of Claire's feelings for him. Garrett knew she'd been attracted to him from the start, but now that he suspected Claire might feel more than desire, he was forced to evaluate his feelings for her in return. The very thought that he might actually be falling in love with the young lady from Cincinnati was enough to demand a large dose of Dutch courage.

  As he strolled into the library, Garrett felt weakened by the knowledge that he indeed felt more for Claire than a manly desire that was getting harder and harder to control. Absently he lifted the lid off a crystal decanter and poured himself a drink. What had happened to his well-laid plan, his scheme to eventually charm Claire into his bed, and then into the cottage on Bartlett Street where he could enjoy her body with no infringements on his heart?

  Claire hesitated in following Garrett, but only for a moment. She'd waited the entire day and she wasn't going to wait another minute.

  Being careful not to walk too quickly because the cane felt like a third leg, she followed Garrett into his inner sanctum. Mrs. Smalley had cleaned the room that morning and the fragrance of beeswax lingered in the air. A large vase of fresh flowers decorated a corner table and helped to soften the decor of the masculine retreat. It was the first time Claire had entered the room and she felt Garrett's presence as strongly as she'd felt it on the stairway when he'd touched her hand.

  Garrett kept his back to her as he replaced the lid on the liquor decanter and took a sip of whiskey. The sound of Claire settling herself into a chair told him that she planned on staying until he'd told her about his morning visit with Hiram Wilson. He didn't want to lie to Claire, but he didn't want to tell her the truth, either. Knowing how stubborn she could be, Garrett feared that she'd hire a carriage to take her to Chinatown and start knocking on doors until she found the one her brother was living behind.

  When Garrett turned around it was to discover that the library door was closed against unexpected visitors and Claire was looking at him with that same determined stare she'd used the night of the Beltons’ charity ball. He'd kissed her then, and he wanted to kiss her now.

  “Mr. Wilson believes that your brother may be living in Chinatown,” he said as he sat down behind his desk.

  Claire didn't show any outward signs that she was disappointed at the way Garrett had turned what Hiram Wilson had said was fact into a possibility. She knew he wasn't happy over the news the investigator had given him that morning. If Donald was nearby, then Claire could begin to sever her relationship and Garrett didn't want to upset his grandmother. Bringing their engagement to a plausible end wasn't going to be easy, especially since everyone assumed they were deeply in love and anxious to marry.

  “You say that as if living in Chinatown is a rarity,” she replied. If she picked her words carefully, she might be able to learn more about the man called Chen Loo.

  “It is, if you're not Chinese,” Garrett replied. “Chinatown is a very tight-knit community. Unless you speak the language and have some idea of Oriental customs, most people would find living there awkward. Does your brother speak Chinese?"

  “Not that I know of,” she told him, then got a thought. “A lot of Chinese worked on the railroad, perhaps Donald learned the language so he could communicate with the workers."

  “Perhaps,” Garrett mused. “Still, it's unusual for a Caucasian to maintain a residence there."

  “What else did Mr. Wilson have to say?” she urged. “Is Donald well?"

  “We have no reason to believe otherwise,” Garrett replied. “Hiram is still investigating the lead he got from a man who worked with your brother. It may be a few days before we find out anything else. Until then, be patient."

  “I want to see my brother,” Claire reminded him. “If he's in the city, Mr. Wilson should be able to obtain an address."

  “He's working on it,” Garrett lied without blinking. His conscience had no problem with the falsehood if it kept Claire out of Chinatown. “As soon as we know where Donald is, I'll take you to him."

  “Promise."

  “I promise,” he said. What he didn't say was that the first time he called on Donald Aldrich, Claire wouldn't be with him.

  Claire knew she couldn't push the conversation any further without admitting that she'd been eavesdropping that morning. This was the second time she'd overheard something, the first by accident, of course. In spite of her worries for her brother, Claire found herself thinking about Evelyn Holmes. Had Garrett visited her recently or had he actually turned his mistress over to Christopher Landauer's safekeeping? Were men so callous of heart that they'd share women like they shared unsavory jokes and a
bottle of whiskey? Claire didn't like to think so, but she was learning that she knew very little about the male gender. Certainly not enough to form any real conclusions about their actions and reactions.

  Forcing her thoughts back to her brother and her need to find a way out of the bizarre arrangements she'd made with Garrett, Claire looked directly at her employer. “The next time Mr. Wilson talks to you about my brother, I want to be present."

  Garrett considered the firmly spoken request before replying. “If it's convenient. Hiram doesn't always arrange an appointment with me. If he has information he thinks I should know, he finds me wherever I am. It's the way we've worked together in the past."

  “You mean if he comes to your office, I'm to rely on you to tell me what I need to know."

  “I'm wounded by your lack of trust, Claire,” Garrett said, pretending to be offended. “I thought we were friends."

  Being told to be patient when she'd been looking for her brother for months didn't set well with Claire. “I'm not your friend, Mr. Monroe. I'm your employee. Donald is my brother and I want to see him as quickly as possible. He's the only family I have and he's very important to me."

  “I know how important your brother is to you, Claire,” Garrett said more seriously. He got up from the desk and walked to where she was seated. “You've trusted me this far. Can't you trust me the rest of the way?"

  Garrett's words carried a double meaning and they both knew it. He wanted her to trust him so he could seduce her. For days she had imagined that their encounter at the Fourth of July dance had meant as much to Garrett as it did to her. Now, as she sat looking up at him, her eyes fixed on his tall frame encased in a dark suit, all her dreams seemed obtainable. His eyes had softened to a warm, silvery gray and his face was the face she dreamed about every night. He was looking at her as if her trust was important, as if it had held real value to him.

  Don't be fooled by looks, Claire told herself. Garrett doesn't want love. He wants a pliable female to fool his grandmother, then he wants a mistress.

  “I trust you to keep your word,” Claire said, using the truth to hide her real feelings. She did trust Garrett. She trusted him to take care of his grandmother and his own desires. Beyond that, she trusted him to break her heart.

  Garrett sensed that Claire's answer wasn't an answer at all. There was something in her gaze, something that hadn't been there earlier. He searched her face. Her amber eyes were clear and bright, framed by dark lashes tipped in gold. Her hair was done in loose curls and she was wearing the cameo he'd given her. This time it was pinned to a pale peach blouse, tucked into a dark gray skirt. Garrett realized the only time he'd seen Claire without the cameo was the night of the Fourth of July dance. Her dress hadn't allowed for it then. Her faithful wearing of the gift reaffirmed his suspicions that Claire had come to care for him. Genuinely care.

  But how did he feel about her?

  He stood there looking at her and felt threatened by the realization that his desire encompassed more than physical lust. He liked being with Claire. He enjoyed her company the way he'd never taken pleasure in a woman's companionship before. He'd come to think of her as a friend, someone who shared his concern for Grams and the little day-to-day things that filled up his life. Had her presence in his home fooled him into thinking that his feelings were love, or had Claire actually wormed her way under his skin and into his heart?

  How did a man know he was in love?

  The sound of Grams and Mrs. Smalley talking beyond the library's closed doors ended the short silence that had existed since Claire had voiced her trust in him. Garrett looked toward the door. “It's time for dinner. Tell Grams I'll be there momentarily."

  Claire came to her feet, using the cane to balance herself. She'd tried walking without it upstairs, but her ankle was still too weak to take her full weight. With some reluctance she left the library, wanting to ask Garrett if she could read the report Hiram Wilson had given him, and knowing that she didn't dare ask.

  As usual, dinner was a mixture of well-cooked food and interesting conversation. Grams told Garrett that she'd agreed to sponsor the expansion of a medical clinic that provided care for the less fortunate of the city. Dr. Baldwin had brought the charity to her attention and Garrett agreed that it was worthy of whatever monies his grandmother allotted to its cause. Claire listened as the conversation turned to Christopher Landauer and his anticipated proposal of marriage to Belinda Belton.

  “Ada's buzzing like a bee short on summer and long on honey,” Grams said. “Lord knows, I'll be glad when Belinda marries, if for no other reason than it will give Ada something else to talk about. Of course, I can't say I'm thrilled at the prospect of Christopher actually marrying the girl."

  “I thought you liked Belinda,” Garrett remarked as he refilled Claire's wineglass.

  “I do,” Grams told him. “It's Christopher I have my doubts about. Some men aren't suited to marriage and your friend is one of them."

  “Funny,” Garrett replied. “I would have said the same thing about myself not too long ago.” He looked at Claire. “But then, life is full of surprises."

  Claire's heart jumped into her throat. Garrett continued to look at her and Claire felt as if his eyes had taken her captive. His gaze was warm and she suddenly felt as if the whole world had vanished, leaving only her and Garrett. All the hopes and dreams she'd woven over the last two months filled her heart to bursting and Claire knew that she couldn't let go of the small sliver of hope that kept those dreams alive, the hope that Garrett might one day return her affections.

  After dessert, Garrett moved away from the table with his usual catlike grace. He seemed unusually tall and intimidating as he helped Claire come to her feet, smiling as he handed her the cane. Once again his eyes seemed to swallow her whole and she felt the implacable masculinity radiating from him.

  “I'll be glad when that cane is cast aside and you can dance,” he said in a soft whisper. “I miss holding you in my arms."

  Claire stared at the smooth buttons on the front of his shirt. It was all she could do to summon the pride that had kept her from walking across the hall and into Garrett's bedroom more nights than she could count. Taking a breath, she looked up into his silver gray eyes.

  “I miss dancing, too” she said.

  Garrett's smile took on a boyish quality. “Do you?"

  Claire steeled herself against the overwhelming urge to kiss his handsome mouth. She was conscious of his long, tanned fingers as they came to rest atop her hand, holding the cane. His midnight black hair gleamed in the light of the chandelier. She knew every line of his aristocratic face but she memorized it once again, loving the dark lashes that framed eyes the color of a summer storm. She remembered the way his mouth had felt warm and moist against her own, and the way his tongue had teased her into returning his kisses. She recalled with crystal clarity the way his hands had felt on her body, strong but gentle, and the memory made her wish all the more than he might want what she wanted—years of love and happiness, a contentment that lasted through the good times and the bad and the sound of children scampering about the house.

  He was standing so close Claire could smell his cologne and the faintest hint of the wine he'd drunk with dinner. Her mind reeled with confusion and she was torn between her love for him and the knowledge that her brother was only a few miles away.

  Then Garrett stepped back to give her room and Claire felt disappointment wash over her.

  “I have some papers that need my attention,” he said. “Enjoy the rest of the evening, but go to bed early. Your ankle isn't completely healed yet and the Gromwells have invited us to a party next week. We'll dance again, soon."

  He left her with a lazy smile and the unspoken promise of another night, waltzing in his arms. Claire joined Grams in the front parlor. It was their habit to read or sew after dinner, but Claire found her mind wandering toward the library. She knew Garrett was reading the report Hiram Wilson had left with him. By the time Gram
s retired, Claire was too nervous to sleep.

  In spite of her ankle, she decided to take a short walk in the garden. Stepping outside, cane in hand, Claire looked up. A waning moon glowed with soft silver light and stars twinkled with the brightness of a million tiny candles against the black blanket of the night sky. The air was warm as Claire made her way down one of the garden paths to the marble bench where she and Garrett had sat that first day. The day he'd slipped the emerald ring on her hand and kissed her for the first time.

  Sitting in the quietness of the garden, Claire rolled things around in her mind. She was vulnerable to Garrett in so many ways. Her body, her heart, her very soul seemed to be his for the taking. And she wanted to give them. She longed to be able to touch a small part of his heart, to make him smile and laugh, to give him children. Another part of her feared that her dreams were just that—dreams—unattainable fantasies that could never come to pass.

  And then there was Donald. Had the seven years since she'd last seen her brother brought about circumstances and changes that would make him a stranger to her? Could the high-spirited young man who'd left Cincinnati with a pocketful of hope be a man of criminal means now?

  No. Claire refused to believe that her brother was capable of such things. Donald was like their father, strong of mind and true of purpose. Whatever Mr. Wilson had discovered, there was more to the story than he'd told Garrett. Claire was sure of it.

  Several hours later, up in her room, Claire was still certain that there was more to her brother's life than the suspicions and assumptions Mr. Wilson had reported to his employer.

  Libby had helped Claire undress and change into a soft white cotton gown with tiny flowers embroidered at the collar and cuffs. Her hair was down, and she brushed the long tresses then pushed the thick mane over her shoulder. Without pins to hold it in place, her hair reached her waist, but Claire wasn't thinking about how tempting she looked. She was thinking about the papers in Garrett's library.