He strategically unfolded the parchment. “Us.”
“Us?”
“Yes. You know, you and me. Me and you. Us.”
She swallowed, and for some reason she was now envisioning him completely naked. She envisioned those hard, bronzed muscles and that lone scar on his chest that her finger had trailed and grazed. She brought her hands together to prevent fidgeting. “What about us?”
He eyed her. “You have no thoughts on the matter, despite agreeing to court me?”
“Not rational thoughts worth listening to,” she confided all too honestly. “If you must know, Matthew, my thoughts as of now are wandering into the realm of indecency, given the amount of time that has passed since we last saw each other.”
He grinned, the edges of those handsome eyes crinkling. “I’ve already undressed you at least sixteen times in the past fifteen minutes. So we’re even.” Still grinning, he casually returned to reading the letter he held.
She let out an exasperated laugh, rolling her eyes. By God, this combination of debonair yet raw man was utterly fascinating. He was still the Matthew she’d once known and adored, and yet...he wasn’t.
She made her way toward him, watching him read his correspondence, that grin fading as his expression returned to that of being serious. She paused beside him and the sideboard stacked with letters. “Are you really reading?”
He glanced up from the letter. “No. Not at all.”
She smiled. “You seem beautifully content with yourself and life, Matthew. Are you?”
He tossed the letter onto the desk and shifted toward her. “I am, luv. And I have you to thank for it. You and only you.”
She felt as if her heart would burst knowing it. “So how goes fatherhood?”
He huffed out a huge breath, deflating both cheeks, and leaned back. “He’s a handful, that one. I’ll introduce you to Ronan another time. He’s over at the office right now, helping out with the trays. We’re setting up for the next press. It’s something he likes to do and, more important, it keeps him out of trouble.”
“I see.” She hesitated and couldn’t help but ask, “And have you been keeping yourself out of trouble, Mr. Milton, since I last saw you? For I will confess, it seems the women of New York have been dithering on and on about you.”
He leaned in. “They can dither on and on all they want. I’m all about Bernadette. Didn’t you know?”
Her heart squeezed. Unable to stay away, she stepped toward him. Reaching up, she cupped the warmth of that shaven face she had missed so much.
He froze, as if startled by her touch.
“Matthew. I am so proud of you and all that you have accomplished. I want you to know that.”
He lowered his gaze to hers. “Thank you. I’m still adjusting. It’s overwhelming to go from having nothing to...everything.” Gently taking her hands, he removed them from his face and squeezed them hard before releasing them. He stepped back. “No more touching, luv. I’m trying to survive this. It’s not easy.”
“No. It isn’t.”
She set her chin, intent on proving to him and herself that she could survive this. Though, who knew for how long. “So. Tell me more about your new life. Whatever you did not scribe about, that is. What did I miss?”
He rubbed at his chin before letting his hand drop back down to his side. “Everything. It’s all a blur of events.”
“Ah, yes. A blur wrapped in a glorious cloud of expensive cigar smoke. Apparently, you have joined in on puffing cigars like the rest of upper New York male society. I can smell it on your clothing.”
He eyed her. “I only smoke on occasion. Because as much as I enjoy it, they’re expensive as hell and I feel like I’m burning money. Quite literally.”
Despite all of his success, he was still Mr. Practical. Bless him. Bless him for being a man still worth swooning for. “Anything else?”
He was quiet for a long moment and lowered his gaze. “Dunmore departed back to London a few days ago.”
She paused and nodded. “I know. The prison chaplain informed me of his release.”
“He...called on me. Before leaving New York.”
Her brows went up. “Did he? And?”
“It was brief, but civil. He came to thank us for our mercy. Eerily, he spoke in a whisper the whole time. It was as if he thought he was still in Sing Sing.” Matthew sighed. “Whether he is reformed or not has yet to be seen, but I will say he is not the same man.”
Bernadette swallowed and nodded, remembering Matthew’s letters pertaining to the inhumane suffering Dunmore had seen. Guilt still dug into her over it. Despite everything.
Matthew sighed again. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have mentioned it, but I thought maybe you would want to know.”
She tried to smile and push past all that had been. “Thank you. I’m glad you told me. Perhaps he endured enough to understand the suffering he had imposed.”
“Indeed.” Setting his shoulders, he cleared his throat. “I, uh...don’t mean to bring an end to our beautiful tête-à-tête, but I’ve got a meeting with the mayor in less than forty minutes. He isn’t all that pleased with a recent commentary I published about him. I tried to reschedule it, knowing you were coming, but that only brassed him off more. I don’t want to go, but I have to.”
Wonders never ceased and neither did he. She loved knowing that he was doing far, far more than making money. He was using the paper to expose the government for what it was. “Bravo. I’m glad to hear it. I actually read that commentary you’re referring to.”
“Oh? And?”
“It was well worth the ink. I know the mayor through the Astors, actually. All in all, he is a good man. He simply has too many voices in his head. Those voices being the council who never want to do much of anything unless it involves an opposition dinner. He does listen to his wife, though, whom I like very much. I donate to her charities all the time. She is what I call moral divinity on carriage wheels, looking to make changes. My advice is that if you ever have problems with the mayor, you bring her into the conversation. He adores her above all else and she always sides with the humanitarian aspect and not any other. Use that adoration to muscle him in. Mr. Astor does it all the time.”
Matthew’s brows rose. “I’ll remember that. You follow politics, do you?”
She shrugged. “Not often. Male politics are always superficial, at best, supporting mostly business and not the real people of this nation. Which is why I genuinely admire the mayor. He steps outside of all things superficial.”
He heatedly held her gaze for a long, pulsing moment. He shifted toward her. “I’d like to see you again. When can I? Soon?”
Smug satisfaction hugged her. “I have a few dinner parties and a charity event to attend this week, but I do suppose I can fit you into my schedule somewhere.” She lifted a flirtatious brow. “What were you looking to do? Will it involve clothing?”
He stared. And yes, it was one of those stares, which seemed to say “I want you naked.”
She tried not to preen too much. “I suppose that answers my question. You may want to ask yourself if either of us is capable of sainthood. Which is what we are attempting here. I will wager one hundred dollars that by the end of this week, one of us will topple the other. ’Tis simply a matter of who will topple whom.”
He lowered his shaven chin against his cravat. “Which is why I have a few rules I’d like to instate to ensure neither of us muck this up. Are you ready for them?”
She groaned. “Matthew. Surely you don’t intend to— Must we really attempt to over-orchestrate this?”
He glared. “Yes. We must. I’ll have you know that a lot has changed since we last saw each other. A lot. Our courtship isn’t meant to amuse you or me, nor is it superficial. Astounding though it may be to you, it also represents the respectable life I now lead. Aside from running a political and social paper that makes well over four thousand dollars a month and hinges itself on everything I say or do lest people sink me, I also
have a fifteen-year-old boy living with me. A boy who has trouble adhering to respectable paths himself due to his upbringing. So if you want this and me, you’re going to have to follow my rules. And I don’t appreciate you mocking them.”
This was probably going to be the quickest victory he ever knew. “I understand and will not mock you or your rules again. Go on and name your rules and I will abide.”
“Thank you.” He huffed out a breath. “Rule one— my bedchamber is off-limits. Rule two—your bedchamber is off-limits. Rule three—our lips never touch. Rule four—we only see each other during calling hours or in public or at events where crowds are assured to ensure that rule one, two and three are never trifled with. Rule five—all rules cease to exist when you ask me to marry you. Allow me to repeat that. I won’t be asking for your hand. You’ll be asking for mine.”
She couldn’t help but smirk. “You seek to force my hand.”
“I do.” He shifted away. “So how does your schedule look for tomorrow afternoon? Say...two?”
“Two is absolutely glorious.”
“Good.”
“And will I be meeting Ronan tomorrow?”
“No. Not quite yet. I’ve got something else in mind for us. Something I haven’t done in years.”
She lifted a brow. “Years?”
“Eleven, to be exact. Just know that me and my sleigh will be veering your way tomorrow at two. Dress warm.”
She was officially intrigued. “I will do that.”
“I’m looking forward to it.” He sauntered backward. “I never thought I’d hear myself saying this, but the mayor awaits me. I must therefore see you out.” He swept a hand toward the parlor entryway beyond. “After you, luv.”
And so it was goodbye after what seemed like the briefest but nonetheless most glorious of hellos. Bernadette turned, gathering her skirts from around her booted feet, wandered over to pluck up the reticule she had almost entirely forgotten about and made her way back into the foyer.
She paused by the main entrance door.
Matthew gathered her bonnet, gloves and mitt from the side table against the foyer wall, strode toward her and handed them off to her himself. “Allow me to play butler.”
“Thank you.” When she had pulled everything on and affixed everything into place, he opened the entrance door leading toward the square and inclined his head. “My lady.”
She smiled and inclined her head in turn, before stepping out into the cold throes of winter beyond. She glanced back at him.
He gallantly offered a refined bow, also smiling. Holding her gaze for a long moment, he closed the door.
Bernadette drew in a shaky breath and let it out, the frosty air smoking the heat of her breath. It would seem Mr. Matthew Joseph Milton had declared a delicious amorous war unlike anything she’d ever had the pleasure of knowing.
Blowing forth an adoring kiss to that closed door, she turned and hurried through the snow, toward her waiting sleigh. She rather enjoyed this whole idea of them courting. It was very...romantic. Yes. That was the word. It was a word she had never once associated with a man before. Romantic.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
’Tis obvious the mayor has no time to address the vile issues plaguing the dark corners of this city. I dare say, it may be because the man is far too busy sipping on brandy and smoking those nine-cent cigars.
—The Truth Teller, a New York Newspaper for Gentlemen
THE MOMENT MATTHEW SHUT the entrance door after Bernadette, he leaned both palms heavily against it and closed his eyes. Jesus fecking Christ. He was never going to survive this.
He’d bit back telling her that he was madly in love with her at least three different times. All whilst clutching a stupid bill he’d almost wrinkled to death in an effort to remain calm. The last thing he wanted or needed was to send her darting out of his life, thinking he had lost the last of his rational mind by instating a full courtship and professing his love. Pushing away from the door, he blew out a breath. It was all up to her now. Which, in truth, scared the shite out of him.
An hour later
THE MAYOR SLAMMED the sliding doors into each other and stalked across the length of his study, those polished leather boots thudding as he headed for the cigar box set on the sideboard against the silk-
covered wall. He flipped open the hinged wooden lid and paused. Scrubbing his large head until his graying-brown hair stood on end, he snatched up an Esparteros cigar out of the box, snipping the end off with a cigar blade, and glanced back at Matthew. “Do you want one?”
Matthew shook his head. “No, thank you. Not today.”
The mayor stuck the cigar into his mouth, holding it with his teeth, and leaned toward a lit candle set on the sideboard. He set the cigar’s rolled end into the flame until it hissed, before drawing away. Letting it burn for a long moment before puffing on it, he blew out a white cloud of smoke through thin lips.
Fully turning that short, stocky frame toward Matthew, the mayor pointed with the tip of his lit cigar. “I thought you and I were friends, Milton. What the hell are you trying to do? Hang me before the eyes of my own constituents? Or better yet, get my house burned?”
Matthew shifted in the wingback chair he didn’t bother rising from. The man wasn’t royalty, for God’s sake. “I told you I’d print my opinion if you didn’t get more involved with the issues plaguing the sixth ward. I gave you two months to take up my offer of walking the Five Points with me, and in those two months you did nothing but drink brandy and smoke cigars with the council.”
The mayor glared. “Just because you run a newspaper doesn’t mean you run me. I own this goddamn city. Not you.”
Matthew tsked and rose, knowing he couldn’t sit this one out. “You don’t own this city, Lord Mayor. The city owns you. ’Tis something you and the council seem to forget whenever you all twirl your little quills and dip them in ink. Not only did I vote you in, but so did sixty-three percent of the population over in the sixth ward you’re now avoiding. Why the hell do you and the council seem to think that this city is comprised of only merchants and high society? Merchants and high society don’t bloody need another parade. They do that for themselves.”
The mayor swiped a hand over his face, a gold ring glinting. “As your friend, and not the Lord Mayor, I’m here to advise that you cease printing articles pertaining to the Five Points. You’re riling far too many citizens and they’re beginning to throw gravel at me and the council. Despite your popularity with the public, Milton, the council is looking to shut you and that paper down. I’ve been telling you this for months now.”
Matthew narrowed his gaze. “I don’t submit to intimidation. I’m fighting for my own here.”
“Your own? You call those savages over in the sixth ward your own?” The mayor drew in a large breath of smoke, before taking away the cigar from his lips and letting the smoke hiss out through his nostrils. He grunted. “Every last one of those men are nothing but thugs, soap locks, pickpockets, rapists, murderers, political sluggers and no-gooders. And you damn well know it. Is that what you’re fighting for? No-gooders?”
Anger streaked through Matthew. This was why he loathed New York high society. They associated poverty with scum without having any basic understanding that poverty created scum.
Matthew strode up to the man, leaned in and snatched that cigar from those lips. Holding the man’s stunned gaze, he snapped the cigar in half, scattering ash and brittle tobacco leaves and handed it back to the man. “Criminals aren’t born. They’re made. And by doing nothing but smoking your bloody nine-cent cigar, you’re investing in not only their misery but the misery of others.”
That bearded face stilled. “And what the hell do you expect me to do, Milton? Go in there and start handing out money to everyone who needs it?”
“No. These people need more than money. They need to know that the city cares enough to create opportunities that will give them jobs and an education beyond writing their own name.”
/> The mayor rolled his eyes. “And how is it the city’s responsibility to educate and provide jobs for men, when there are already schools in place and plenty of jobs waiting for those willing to take them? The state of New York has over five thousand almshouses that bring a bloody expense of over two hundred thousand a year. Two hundred thousand! These men have to learn how to stand on their own two feet if it isn’t enough. You did it. And so can they.”
“I did it with the generous assistance of a wealthy patron. These people don’t have wealthy patrons to get them out of the abyss they’re in. And if you think I’m only fighting for no-gooders, that’s where you’re wrong. I’m fighting for voices that have long been silenced. Did you know there is an orphanage just off Five Points with seventeen bolts on each door and all the windows nailed shut, because children go missing from it weekly, only to be found either dead or sold into brothels? Some of these children are as young as six. Six! And guess what? No one gives a damn.”
Matthew angled closer. “Have you not read the paper? Forget what you think you know. You don’t know. There are countless women and children forced to fester alongside these criminals. And when they’re not living in fear for their bodies or their lives, they spend their last breaths picking curled hair out of rubbish bins to sell to wigmakers that upper society slaps on their heads. There isn’t a lack of morals amongst these people, Lord Mayor. There is a lack of wage and a lack of support from its own state and country. And you have the means to do something about it. All I can do is print the issue at hand and hope you’ll get brassed off enough to actually lend a hand.”
The mayor blinked hard several times, tension etching his large brow. Glancing down at his broken cigar that was still lit on one end, he muttered, “You should have been a politician, not a rag printer.”
“I prefer being my own man, thank you, as opposed to being owned by thousands. My will is to challenge you into becoming a leader capable of assisting those who need it most, not those who already have more and only want more.” Remembering Bernadette’s advice, he adjusted the sleeves on his coat and casually added, “I’ve always wondered. Does your wife have any opinion when it comes to politics? Does she dabble in it at all?”
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