"I prefer coffee," she said. Actually, at that moment, she'd prefer a glass of wine to calm her nerves, but she loved the taste of coffee. She watched him, specifically his large, capable hands, as he lifted the tureen from the sideboard and poured her a cup. He slid the china toward her, looking a little uncertain.
"I usually take it light and sweet," she said.
"My apology." He frowned. "The girl who normally offers the refreshments is out sick today. You're my first customer of the day."
"Allow me," she said, reaching for the cup at the same moment that he did, feeling every nerve ending vibrate where his fingertips brushed against hers. She jumped and rattled the cup. His glance shot to hers, and for a moment, they just stared at each other.
After an embarrassingly long interval, she lowered her gaze.
"I'm so sorry," she uttered when she saw what she'd done. "I've spilled coffee on your desk."
"My fault," he said, and it was his fault, she thought, for being so darned captivating.
However, all she said was, "No, it was entirely mine. If you just direct me to the amendments, I'll..."
However, he had already grabbed a small glass sugar bowl and creamer from the sideboard and was placing them on the desk next to the spill. He looked around again as if expecting a towel to drop from the ceiling.
After a brief hesitation, she watched him take a handkerchief out of his pocket and soak up the liquid, then drop the stained cloth next to the tureen.
Unable to stop looking at him, she managed to over-sweeten her coffee and make it positively white with too much milk.
"There, we've managed to sort that out," he said, as if they'd just discovered the cure for small pox.
"Indeed," she said, relaxing a bit because he seemed so genuine and not nearly as insufferable as she'd imagined him to be.
And then he ruined it by saying, "So, your family has got itself into a bit of a situation, I'm afraid, but I have no doubt I can set it right."
There was the cockiness she'd always perceived in his self-possessed gaze. If he thought she was going to fall all over him with gratitude, he was sadly mistaken.
"Precisely what is the situation? Perhaps my family can muddle through without your assistance." She leaned back, sipped the rich, slightly smoky-tasting beverage, and tried to look nonplussed.
He frowned and cleared his throat. "To be precise, a loan was taken out with this bank using your house as collateral. It has fallen into default. If you don't pay it in full within a month, then the bank takes your house."
She felt herself pale. The nauseating image of her mother on the front steps of their home with her trunks and furniture on the sidewalk appeared before Elise's eyes.
"Who took out the loan?" she asked.
"Why, your father, of course."
She shook her head. "That's impossible. Father was incredibly successful. He was still booking clients just before he passed away." She remembered Reed offering to help some of them, though many thought her brother was too young to do the quality legal work of their father. He'd proven them all wrong.
"My brother doesn't know about this?" It was a question, though she was sure the answer was no. If Reed had known, he would have discussed it with her at least, even if he'd kept it from their mother.
Michael Bradley shrugged. "That I don't know. Your mother, of course, has inherited the liabilities of your father, as well as any assets. She must repay the loan or risk foreclosure. Do you know what that means?"
He hadn't asked his question rudely, but rather as if he had a frank desire to explain everything to her. Still, it irked her. She set the coffee cup on his desk with a resounding clack.
"Of course I do." She had no doubt Reed would pay off the loan himself, but probably at some financial hardship.
"May I see the documents, please, Mr. Bradley?"
"Yes, of course," he said, though she thought he had a slightly condescending expression on his face as though he doubted her ability to understand a legal contract.
Clearly, he had no idea what it was like to grow up in a family of lawyers. Elise watched him open a folder that was already lying atop his desk, pull out a few sheets of paper, and take the one off the top, which he then held out to her. "This is the summation."
She took it, hoping her hand wasn't visibly trembling, and perused it, but when her eyes came to the amount, she couldn't contain the gasp of dismay.
"Three thousand dollars! But what did my father need such a sum for?"
"That, Miss Malloy, I cannot say. The bank does not ask why, only how much."
Good God! She shook her head, considering. How could they pay this off quickly enough to save their home without her father's income? Most certainly, they had that sum sitting in the bank, but it was a sizable amount, and no doubt it would cause them to alter their present lifestyle. And what of Sophie's music education?
She looked up to see Michael Bradley's intense gaze fixed on her. She swallowed.
"You said you could 'set it right.' What did you mean by that?"
It irritated her to ask him, bothered her even more to be beholden because until that moment, they were on an even footing. However, he didn't look smug as she had feared he would at her question. Instead, his countenance was one of concern.
"Your family is well-known and has always been in good standing with this bank, since long before I came to work here. History bespeaks volumes in this case. I could take it up with the board of directors and ask them to extend the loan's deadline, create a new schedule of payments, something along the lines of a small monthly payment."
She nodded. Could it be so simple?
But there was something puzzling her. "Where have the loan statements been going? To what address? Someone knew about this loan, someone who was ignoring the demands for payment."
She saw it then, a flicker, the merest shadow cross his face. He knew something else that he wasn't telling her.
"There is a primary address," he said, "a residence to where the loan payment requests have always gone. And payments were being made until your father's death. Then over the past year, the payments stopped, and the bank simply waited for the loan to go into default."
"Will you give me that address?" Elise asked before she even knew why. For whom had her father taken out a loan, and who would be so careless as to let it go unpaid for so long?
"Will you let me take you to dinner?"
His words reached her distracted brain a moment after he spoke them and caused her second gasp of the meeting.
"I beg your pardon?" she said. Had she heard him correctly?
"I asked if you will have dinner with me, Miss Malloy. Sometime. Soon." He finished his sentence with his hands clasped on the desk in front of him, his expression earnest—almost one of entreaty.
"I...," she began, but found herself at a loss for words, reduced to clamping her lips closed in case she blurted out something stupid. Michael Bradley was asking her to dinner!
He cocked his head at her hesitation. "Will you give me your answer?"
Hadn't they been discussing something vitally important before he had surprised all intelligent thought out of her head?
"Will you give me the address to where the loan statements have been sent?" she asked again.
"Are you saying yes to my invitation?"
Was he coercing her into having dinner with him? And why wasn't that bothering her as it should? Especially given how he'd previously humiliated her in the courthouse lobby. Truthfully, his strange invitation didn't offend her. In fact, the idea that this very civilized man, in his well-tailored gray suit, would use such primitive tactics to be in her company was, she had to admit, more than a little thrilling.
Nevertheless, she couldn't let him know that. Any self-respecting woman ought to be outraged. Moreover, there was the certain fact that he fully expected her acquiescence, no doubt assuming she still had feelings for him.
Try as she might, however, she could not work herself in
to high dudgeon over it. Yet being the eldest Malloy child and a proud one at that, she rose to her feet and decided to take umbrage.
"Are you saying that your offer of assistance with this matter is contingent upon my taking an evening repast with you?"
He stood up slowly, the earnest look gone, replaced by the shield of an emotionless mask. Instantly, she knew Michael Bradley displayed that guise to protect himself. She'd seen it on her brother, a reserved man who'd rather grind his molars than ever let anyone see when he felt vulnerable.
"I'm saying that we have been... aware of each other for nearly two years. After spending only a few minutes in your company, I know that I'd like to become further acquainted with you. We could do that over dinner."
He paused and glanced out his office window before locking gazes with her again. "I know that a woman of your quality probably has many suitors, so I suppose I am trying to make my own suit stand out. To such a purpose, I am putting it to you that I would be more likely to plead your case to the board if in turn you allowed me the opportunity to spend time with you."
She pursed her lips. That sounded like blackmail—though dinner with Michael Bradley seemed an easy price to pay.
"Otherwise," he continued, "I suppose you might discard my invitation out-of-hand. But with the added incentive, I assume you will consider it more strongly."
Her mouth had dropped slightly open. Why was this deliciously handsome man—she could no longer deny his good looks—stooping to such tactics? Was there any single female who would not accept his offer of dinner? She knew he had stopped seeing the young woman he'd been involved with at the time her father asked after him.
Was there something wrong with him?
Involuntarily, her gaze drifted down to the front of his trousers. As soon as she realized what she'd done, she hurriedly lifted it back up to his astounded face.
She felt her face heat up, no doubt richly colored with red. Did he think she was considering intimate relations with him to get his assistance? This had become almost farcical, and she had to put a stop to it at once.
"I am afraid it is out of the question." Why? she berated herself. Because any woman who would let herself be coerced into spending time with a man was certainly no lady. Their relationship would be soiled from the start. What relationship?
"Why is it 'out of the question'?" he asked, keeping his voice reasonable though she could tell he was not pleased by her refusal. "You were interested in making my acquaintance at one time."
He had not brought that up again, had he? She felt her former humiliation keenly, as if it were only just happening. Hadn't he smiled smugly at her in front of everyone at the courthouse? Hadn't he embarrassed her beyond anything?
But what reason could she give for not going out with him? Think, she commanded herself. She certainly couldn't tell him her theory about starting a soiled relationship in case he had nothing long-term in mind. Her imagination had run too far ahead, and now she would have to invent an excuse.
"Because I have a beau, and I am close to becoming engaged." Oh, goodness! Why had she said that? The words had rushed out almost of their own accord. She watched him frown, no doubt in disbelief, and she heard herself add, "Indeed, it might happen at the Crowninshield's party this very weekend."
She watched his nostrils flare ever so slightly at the same time as his eyes narrowed. Then he seemed to dismiss his thoughts with a lift of his shoulder.
"I see. My apologies for overstepping. It was meant actually partly in jest. Of course, you may have the address, and I will do my best for you when I speak with the board next week, regardless."
He crossed his arms.
Oh! So the blackmail was merely a jape. He was toying with her, and now she had given herself an imaginary suitor. Honestly, this sounded far more like something her youngest sister, Rose, would get herself into.
She blew at a stray lock of her hair that had found its way out from under her hat and fallen over her forehead.
In the silence, his intense gaze seemed to observe the wayward tress lift up and settle back. Then he sat down again, pulled a clean sheet of paper from his desk, and begin to write. Efficiently, he blotted the ink, folded the paper, and moved around the desk. He held it out to her.
She took it, making sure their fingers didn't touch this time. Despite the careful folds, she immediately opened it. Glancing down, she frowned. "What about the name of the residence's owner?"
He shook his head. "We only had your father's name. No other."
She nodded.
"Thank you, Mr. Bradley. I appreciate your assistance."
However, if she thought she would escape without further consternation, she was wrong. First, he took her hand in his and held it, and the warmth of his touch scorched a trail right through her.
"I hope you did not take offense. I should have gone about that invitation differently. Had I known you were otherwise involved with someone, I wouldn't have presumed to ask you out at all. It was unknown to me that you had a firm alliance."
Had he been asking others about her?
"You did no harm, really."
She tugged her hand back.
"I'll see you on Saturday evening," he added.
Her heart jolted, and then she recovered. "Whatever do you mean?"
"I'm going to the same party. Crowninshield is my uncle. I'll enjoy meeting your beau," he added.
In truth, she thought that he didn't sound particularly glad at all. For her part, she felt a wave of dread.
"I, as well," she murmured.
"I beg your pardon," he said.
"I mean, I, too, shall enjoy introducing him to you." Please don't ask his name, she prayed and was relieved when he didn't. She made it to the door, her brain already in a whirl as to how she would find a pretend suitor in just a few days.
Then a thought occurred to her. "If you would be so kind, please don't mention the loan should you happen across another member of my family. At least, not until I can consider a solution. In any case, perhaps you will have success with the board. Then there will be no need to worry anyone."
He hesitated, but at last, he nodded ever so slightly.
"Goodbye, Miss Malloy," he said, his gaze never wavering from hers.
"Good day, Mr. Bradley."
Chapter 2
Elise drove through the streets without her usual caution. So many problems circled in her head. First, how to find a man who wanted to marry her. Second, how to break off with him so she could instead go to dinner with Michael, as she'd come to think of him. Third, find the person who had defaulted on the loan, and fourth, if necessary, pay off the loan.
She was fairly certain that her prioritization of the problems was not in the correct order, but she couldn't help that. She would be positively mortified if she couldn't find a man she could introduce as her suitor to the handsome banker during the party.
Her mind scanned her group of friends and quickly discarded each and every one. Then all at once, it hit her: Ethan Nickerson. True, he was nearly old enough to be her father, and yes, she had spurned his advances more than once. However, he would immediately fawn all over her if she gave him the slightest encouragement. He was still a fairly attractive man, had all his hair, and walked straight and tall, and he was wealthy as Midas.
For one evening, she could bear having him as her beau, as long as she could break up with him when the night was over. And, of course, the alliance had to look believable to Michael.
That plan more than took care of her first two problems. She glanced again at the address written in Michael's no-nonsense handwriting: 120 Warren Street, Roxbury.
She knew the area just outside of Boston proper. It was a beautiful avenue with gorgeous homes, and not what she was expecting for some extortionist as she now feared had taken hold of her family. She decided to drive there and see for herself.
She halted her horse across the wide street from a grand old home. While the horse pawed the ground, she sat cons
idering whom she would encounter inside. Who would her father have taken out a loan for, and why?
What to do, Elise? she asked herself. Mostly, she wanted to consult with Reed but something inside of her whispered a warning. If her father hadn't told his son, there must be a good reason.
She could do one of two things: She could go up to the door and knock, thereby immediately discovering who lived there, or she could go back to City Hall and look up the owner.
She chewed her lower lip. In another instant, she climbed out of her carriage, hobbled her horse with the reins, straightened her hat, and crossed the street. No time like the present.
Passing through the opening in a low stone wall, she walked along the driveway that wound its way across the well-manicured lawn, and then she was at the grand front entrance. She knocked. In a minute, the door swung open, and a smartly dressed maid stood there, neither aloof nor immediately welcoming.
"May I help you, miss?"
"I'm here to see, um..." Who was she there to see? "I would like to see your employer."
The girl narrowed her eyes. "Is he expecting you, miss?"
"No," Elise admitted. "Is he terribly busy? Perhaps I could see your mistress instead."
At once, the girl shook her head, and her face took on a decidedly unfriendly expression. After all, a maid could get into serious trouble for letting in the wrong person. "There is no Mrs. Amory," the maid said. "I'm afraid you'll have to go now."
Elise had never been turned away from a home before, but that was because she was a Malloy. No doubt she had only to mention her name and...
Then it struck her—Amory. She felt the blood drain from her face. There was only one Amory who had dealings with her family. No, Reed would not like this at all.
"Please tell Mr. Owen Amory that Miss Malloy is here. I won't take up much of his time. If he is busy, tell him I've just come from the bank. I'm sure he'll see me. Now, I would like to wait indoors. I can feel a bit of a breeze on my neck." And she pushed her way inside past the astonished maid.
"Yes, miss. I'll go tell him directly." Off she scurried. It was not a minute later that she returned. "Mr. Amory will see you in the parlor, miss. This way. Sorry to have kept you waiting."
The Defiant Hearts Series Box Set Page 2
