A Touch of Scarlet

by Renee Ryan

  “You don’t mean that.”

  “Yes, I do.”

  Both breathing hard, they stared at one another in stiff silence.

  “Your mother requests another chance to state her case, and I’m inclined to give it.”

  “What does Grandfather have to say about this?”

  “He’s in agreement with you.”

  Good. That was good. “You must realize Mother only wants to come home because she misses her life as a prominent member of New York society.”

  Disapproval moved in her father’s eyes. “When did you become so cynical?”

  Elizabeth could pinpoint the exact moment. When her mother had shown her true nature. The words she’d flung at Caroline, with the bulk of New York society watching, had been unconscionable. She’d called Caroline a fraud, a liar, and a cheat.

  For out of the abundance of the heart the mouth speaketh.

  “Katherine St. James is not a good person.” There, she’d said the words that had been on her tongue for weeks. Instead of feeling better, Elizabeth felt worse. She felt shameful, as if passing judgment made her no better than the woman she criticized.

  “There is good in all of us, Elizabeth, even in your mother.”

  Once upon a time, she would have agreed. “That remains to be seen.”

  Shaking his head, her father gave her a look of profound sadness. He was clearly disappointed in her.

  Well, she was disappointed in him.

  Marcus St. James had always been able to see the good in others. When faced with an offense, he was slow to anger, quick to forgive. His greatest strength had become his greatest weakness.

  “Why show mercy to a woman who withheld it from your sister?”

  “Your mother deserves grace, as does every child of God.”

  “What of Libby?” The tears that burned in her throat sounded in her voice. “How can you claim Mother deserves grace when she withheld it from your sister?”

  Elizabeth could not emphasize the connection enough.

  “You are missing the very point of grace.” Her father took her hand and linked their fingers as he’d done when she was a child. “It is unearned and freely given. The Bible is clear on this.”

  There was no argument in the face of such truth. “I’m sorry, Father.” There weren’t enough words in the English language to express her remorse. “I cannot find it in my heart to forgive her, not after what she’s done.”

  Sighing heavily, he released her hand. “We are called to look past a person’s behavior and to see them as God sees them.”

  Elizabeth had looked into her mother’s heart. She’d seen ugly intent. “I don’t believe she’s changed.”

  “Maybe she hasn’t.” He executed a small, nearly imperceptible nod of agreement. “She has been my wife for twenty-five years. I won’t turn my back on her completely.”

  The more her father argued in her mother’s favor, the more stubborn Elizabeth became on the matter. “She can’t come home.”

  He acknowledged her words with a slight bow of his head. “No, she cannot. Not yet.”

  “Never. As a point of honor, she can never come home.” Even if Elizabeth sailed to England and made a life for herself among the British, her mother did not belong in this home anymore.

  “She has been secluded from her family and friends for months, Elizabeth, long enough to contemplate the error of her ways.”

  “You can’t be thinking of letting her come here to state her case.”

  “No, I will go to her.”

  “Oh, Father. You are too good, too trusting.” He was setting himself up to be hurt again.

  “I leave at the end of the week,” he said. “When I return, we’ll discuss your trip to England.”

  “I thought the plans were complete.”

  “I am thinking of going with you.”

  “I think that’s . . . a lovely idea.” Her father could use the change of scenery. It would do him good to get away from New York, St. James House, and the memories that plagued him.

  For the first time in a week, the thought of sailing to England didn’t carry so much weight. Elizabeth’s mood lightened considerably. But then she looked at her father again.

  His eyes were full of pain, and Elizabeth ached for him. He’d done nothing wrong, except fall in love with a woman he never really knew, a woman who could very well fool him again.

  “There is nothing I can say to dissuade you from going to Mother?”

  “She is my wife.”

  He said this as though it were explanation enough. Perhaps it was. Elizabeth thought of the wedding vows Jackson and Caroline had recited barely a month ago. They’d promised to love one another in sickness and health, in good times and bad. In betrayal?

  Her father took her hands, squeezing gently. “Try to understand why I am making this trip. I will listen to your mother’s pleas. After twenty-five years of marriage, I owe her that much.”

  It was more than the woman deserved.

  Elizabeth was suddenly exhausted. She’d given her opinion. There was nothing more to say. “I wish you Godspeed.”

  Once she was back in her room and alone with her thoughts, she prowled around like a caged animal. Her mind was still in the study with her father. He’d asked her to show her mother grace.

  It was an impossible request, one that revealed the true condition of Elizabeth’s own heart.

  Was she like her mother after all?

  Was she cold and heartless? The question terrified her because she feared perhaps, maybe, she was both.

  She knew she was supposed to forgive her mother. But a moment ago, when her father had given her insight into the pain he carried, Elizabeth had seen another casualty of her mother’s deceit.

  How was she supposed to forgive that?

  Retrieving her Bible from the nightstand, she flipped to the conversation between Jesus and Peter about forgiving others. The book fell open to the exact page she wanted, the binding giving way because Elizabeth read the passage nearly every night.

  She ran her fingertip over the text, paused at the passage she wanted. Peter had just asked Jesus how many times he was supposed to forgive someone who sinned against him.

  Till seven times?

  Jesus’s reply still confounded Elizabeth: I say not unto thee, Until seven times: but Until seventy times seven.

  Mulling over the words, she shut her eyes. She’d heard several sermons on the passage. Jesus had been speaking in hyperbole, his point being that forgiveness was required of all His children.

  “Lord,” she whispered. “I can’t forgive my mother.” I can’t.

  Despair washed through her.

  Everyone told Elizabeth she was good. They said she was sweet, kind, and caring. She wasn’t good. She wasn’t sweet or kind or caring. She was angry and bitter.

  She was her mother’s daughter.

  “I am not my mother.”

  She wasn’t like her father, either.

  Frustrated with herself, she set aside the Bible and sank into her favorite chair.

  If she was honest with herself, she would admit that her change in mood wasn’t solely because of her conversation with her father. The shift had begun after Luke kissed her. She’d been shocked, and a little thrilled, and then he’d ruined the moment with his typical overprotective, brotherly behavior.

  Jumping to her feet, she took another pass around the room. All but marching now, her arms swinging so hard the purse still wrapped around her wrist slapped against her thigh.

  Frowning, she loosened the strings and tugged off the offending bag. The crackle of paper prevented her from flinging the purse across the room. She retrieved her list, pausing over entry number seven: Kiss a man under the moon and stars.

  She went to her writing desk, dipped her quill in the inkpot, and struck through the words. Drawing her bottom lip between her teeth, she rewrote the entry: Kiss a man properly under the moon and stars.

  Other entries needed revising, as well
. She continued making her way down her list, adding specifics where she’d failed to do so earlier.

  With or without Luke’s help, Elizabeth’s rebellion was about to begin in earnest.

  Chapter Twelve

  Unwilling to let the headstrong woman walk home alone, Luke had followed Elizabeth back to St. James House. He’d maintained a respectable distance so she wouldn’t see him and thereby misinterpret his motives.

  If she’d caught sight of him, no doubt she would have had a few things to say to him, none of them flattering. She could label his behavior any way she wished—overprotective, rude, high-handed, masculine conceit—Luke didn’t much care. It was not in his nature to allow a woman of his acquaintance to walk alone on the streets of New York, regardless of the hour.

  The moment she disappeared inside the mansion, he’d turned around and retraced his steps to his own home. As he entered through the back door, he had only one desire: forget he’d ever kissed the confounding woman who’d shown up on his doorstep unexpectedly.

  Reckless, improper, risky . . . those were a few of the unflattering terms that came to mind concerning Elizabeth St. James.

  He banished the woman from his thoughts and went in search of a moment of peace. He found himself standing in his library once again, Elizabeth still in his head.

  Battling unwanted sensations, Luke sank into the chair behind his desk and shut his eyes against the memory of the very sweet, deceptively innocent woman.

  The images came, anyway.

  Kissing Elizabeth had been a mistake. And yet, pressing his mouth to hers had felt as natural as taking a breath, as if he’d finally come home. For those brief moments, with his lips skimming hers, Luke had let his heart lead the way.

  Even now, the lingering scent of jasmine and sandalwood teased his senses, making him yearn to drag Elizabeth back into his arms, to kiss her properly this time, and to . . .

  Petrol-powered engines.

  Mass production lines.

  Manufacturing standards.

  Luke forced his mind to concentrate on his automobile company, rather than picturing the way Elizabeth had looked the moment he’d lifted his head from hers. She’d appeared both shocked and wildly pleased, which had brought him great satisfaction and . . .

  Capital gains.

  Sales projections.

  Competitive pricing.

  Those were the things that must occupy his thoughts, nothing else. Nothing. Else.

  Rolling his shoulders, Luke shoved Elizabeth to a quiet corner in his mind, pulled open a desk drawer, and retrieved the contract Richard St. James had sent over by messenger two days ago.

  Focus eluded him yet again. This time, it wasn’t the kiss that overwhelmed his thoughts. It was Elizabeth’s dreaded list. Or, more accurately, the first seven items on her list. He shuddered to think what else she’d included beyond those.

  Perhaps he should have read the dratted thing to the end. At least then he would know just how far she meant to go. She’d already taken a serious step in the wrong direction, with no small help from him.

  Luke would be lying to himself if he said that Elizabeth’s proposition didn’t intrigue him. Helping her experience adventure was precisely the sort of endeavor his former, rowdier self would have relished. Pity, really, but Luke had to think of his sister’s future, not his own wants. Until Penny was happily settled, he would not think, do, or say anything to bring disgrace upon the Griffin name.

  Course set, he put the disturbing Elizabeth St. James out of his mind and set about making his automobile company a reality.

  He studied the legal agreement that would set wheels—literally—in motion. He absorbed one word, one sentence, one page at a time, pulling his focus in tight and filtering out everything around him. He savored the idea of owning his own company and looked forward to controlling his destiny. The day was nearly here when his legacy would no longer be tied to his father’s.

  Focus, he ordered his wandering mind.

  He absorbed the legal language as if it were as fundamental to his existence as air. It was tiring, meticulous work, and he let the task consume him. This was why he’d come home, to take his life in a new direction, to create a company that fit his sensibilities and penchant for taking risks.

  Or so he told himself.

  Running the London offices had suited his skills and personality just as well. With an ocean between them, he’d been free of his father’s grip as surely as he would be when he started up his own company.

  Luke had come home for other, more personal reasons. He’d missed his life in America. He’d also missed his sister and mother, his friends, even a certain woman with blue eyes and pale-blonde hair and . . .

  Focus.

  Satisfied the terms of the contract met his parameters, he gathered up the pages and stuffed the entire document inside a leather satchel. Pulling out his pocket watch, he flipped open the lid and calculated that he had just enough time to finish shaving, don the rest of his business suit, and drive across town for his morning meeting with Richard St. James.

  An hour later, Luke arrived at the building on Forty-Second Street and pushed through a pair of heavy gold-plated doors. Although Richard owned the entire thirteen-story building, St. James Industries took up the top four floors. The rest were leased to other businesses.

  Richard’s office was on the thirteenth floor and required Luke to take an elevator. As he stepped inside the metal cage and gave the attendant his destination, he thought of Elizabeth. She’d claimed she felt trapped in her current life and accused him of not understanding why. Problem was, he did understand. He was even sympathetic to her plight.

  Enough to help her spread her wings, as if she were a bird set free from her invisible cage?

  No, not if it meant ticking off items from her ridiculous list. There had to be another way to help her experience adventure without putting her future in jeopardy.

  If he didn’t come up with a counterplan soon, Luke feared she would seek out someone else, a man, perhaps, one who didn’t appreciate the risks. The possibility of anyone but Luke kissing Elizabeth under the moon and stars unraveled all sorts of unwanted emotions inside him.

  The elevator came to a grinding halt.

  “Here we are, sir, the thirteenth floor.” The attendant released latches and then slid aside a series of wrought-iron doors.

  Luke exited the contraption and proceeded down the hallway. He’d nearly made it to Richard’s office when he came face-to-face with Marcus St. James heading in his direction.

  After they greeted one another with a handshake, the older man stepped aside so Luke could pass. Luke hesitated. “You won’t be joining us for the meeting?”

  “My presence isn’t necessary.”

  This was true. The deal was practically done. All they had left to do was sign the contract.

  Nevertheless, Luke would like to hear Marcus’s thoughts on several details regarding the start-up of the company. He respected the way the other man’s mind worked. Much like a brilliant chess player, Marcus St. James was able to calculate risks and see potential pitfalls five steps ahead.

  When Luke said as much, the older man smiled. It was the first genuine smile Luke had seen on his face in months.

  “Make no mistake, my boy, I have several opinions to share. Unfortunately, an unexpected matter has come up that requires my immediate attention.” Even though his voice was perfectly cordial, the strain in the man was hard to miss.

  Luke looked closer, seeing the lines around his eyes and the additional streaks of gray in his hair. Clearly, the recent months had been as hard on Marcus St. James as they had been on his daughter.

  “I’ll schedule another meeting at a more convenient time,” Luke said.

  “I’ll be out of town through the end of next week, perhaps a shade longer.” Mr. St. James paused. “I’ll contact you as soon as I return, and we’ll set something up then.”

  Luke nodded. “Very good.”

  Since b
oth had places to be, they went their separate ways.

  After giving his name to Richard’s secretary, an older woman with kind eyes, graying hair, and a stern demeanor, Luke was told to go in straightaway. “No need to knock,” she added. “Mr. St. James is expecting you.”

  Upon entering the cavernous room, the sound of a pen scratching across parchment paper mingled with the tick-tick-ticking of a clock.

  The dark wood paneling on the walls, the leather furniture worn to a fine patina, and the intricately designed rugs all spoke of a commitment to quality. The high ceilings gave the room a feeling of grandeur and permanence, much like the man at the helm of St. James Industries.

  Luke stopped in front of the large mahogany desk bracketed by a wall of windows on the left and a row of bookshelves on the right. He cleared his throat.

  Richard St. James set down his pen. A lifetime of experience showed in the startling green eyes that met Luke’s. “You’re on time.”

  “It never occurred to me to be anything but punctual.”

  “Admirable.”

  “Efficient,” Luke corrected, not wishing to start their business association with misconceptions, no matter how small.

  A half smile tilted the older man’s mouth. “Did you have any concerns or questions regarding the contract?”

  Appreciating the straightforward approach, Luke answered with equal frankness. “Your attorney sufficiently addressed my issues and made the requested changes.” He dug inside the satchel and, with a firm grip, produced three copies of the contract. “I am prepared to sign the document at your earliest convenience.”

  He placed the stack of papers on the desk.

  “Well, then, have a seat and let’s get down to business.”

  Luke did as requested, choosing the wingback chair on his left.

  “Though I’m looking forward to our association, I have to wonder”—Richard’s eyes showed no emotion as he leaned slightly forward—“why did you come to me with this venture instead of your father?”

  Perplexed as to why the man was raising the question now, when there’d been ample opportunity during their previous meetings, Luke thought through his answer.