My Valentine

by Sheridon Smythe

  She found nothing.

  Gasping in disbelief, she dug frantically inside the neckline of her dress and came up empty. With measured calm, she grabbed a lamp from a nearby table and carefully searched the floor around her feet.

  Finally, she sank into a chair and faced the horrifying truth; she had lost Miss Howland's pearls!

  * * * *

  The Bolten Hotel was one of the more affluent hotels catering to the wealthy, from the wrapped candies on the pillows, to the warming pans at the foot of the bed.

  Christian didn't care for hotels, and he looked forward to revealing his identity to Rosalyn so that he could stay in Callie's house—his house—until he returned to New York.

  Pouring a brandy from the complimentary bar in the sitting room, he cupped his palm around the glass and strolled to the window. Outside, the snow continued to fall with an intensity that suggested a blizzard. But for the meager glow of the gas lamps, darkness cloaked the town, a town far removed from the overcrowded city of New York. This was a quiet, prosperous town, very content with its steady growth.

  Everyone would be snug in their homes, Christian mused. Couples would be gathered around the kitchen table, exchanging news about their day—sharing a tender kiss or two. Children would stand with their noses pressed to the window pane, anticipating playing in the freshly fallen snow while waiting on a batch of gingerbread cookies to emerge from the oven.

  He sighed, surprised at the twinge of envy he felt envisioning such a mellow, domestic scene.

  And Rosalyn—what would she be doing right now? Getting undressed, perhaps? Closing his eyes, he imagined her struggling with the long row of tiny buttons at the back of the dress, finally pushing the satin material away from her ivory skin and revealing a sheer camisole that outlined her firm, generous breast. Without effort, he saw a vivid image of cold-hardened peaks...

  Christian opened his eyes abruptly, knowing at this point she should be aware that she had lost something very valuable. In the window's reflection, he could see the pearls lying on the table behind him.

  He'd taken them—ruthlessly taken them from her neck in the guise of passion. Only it wasn't a guise. No, he'd almost lost his reasoning when he pulled her onto his lap and inhaled her rich, womanly scent, tasted her soft, full lips, felt the contours of her buttocks against his growing arousal.

  She was everything he wanted in a woman—if he wanted a woman. Fire and innocence...

  It was a damned shame she was a thief.

  Tossing the brandy down in one swallow, Christian grimaced as the liquor set fire to his throat, finally fading to a warm glow that was a mockery of the glow of real contentment. He didn't care. This glow he could control—the other he wasn't fool enough to try.

  He turned from the window and the world he refused to covet, striding to the table. Taking the pearls in his hand, he curled his fingers around them, feeling the trace of warmth left from Rosalyn's skin. The barest hint of perfume—something light and flowery—invaded his senses. He could almost imagine her standing next to him...

  Damn. He had to stop torturing himself this way. Rosalyn Mitchell wasn't his heart mate, he didn't believe in such things. And if by some distant chance he did consider the possibility, he wouldn't be foolish enough to risk his heart.

  Would he?

  Christian let the pearls drop onto the table, shaking his head. No. He wouldn't. He would never be the fool his mother had been. Never be the fool Callie Garret had been. Nor would he ever be the fool his countless friends had been.

  He was nobody's fool, least of all a small-town girl with a greedy heart.

  His frowning gaze fell to the pearls again. Would his plan work? When she discovered the pearls missing, would she come to him for help? If all went as he expected, she would, and when she did he would gently suggest she offer to pay for the pearls with the ‘nest egg'.

  Then she would tell him about the ruby necklace and he would tell her the truth. She'd be crushed at losing the necklace and perhaps embarrassed at getting caught, of course. But if his instincts were on target, she would be gratified when he ‘miraculously’ found the pearls for her.

  How gratified...? Christian laughed, thinking it had been a long time since he lusted after a woman to the point of obsession. This was a woman who probably knew more about his father than he did. His amusement vanished as he recalled her innocent statement about how happy Callie and Henry had been.

  The memory revived his long-standing anger. How could his father be happy leaving behind two broken hearts? And how did a man just forget about one family and take on another?

  For years these questions haunted him and as usual, the resentment left a bitter taste in his mouth not even the brandy could vanquish. Christian switched his thoughts to less disturbing ones, such as what he would eat, and if Rosalyn would come to him tonight or wait for the morning.

  Tonight, would be his guess. Or maybe it was actually his hope. Just the thought of her here, in this room, with the bed only steps away warmed him to his toes. He caught himself smiling at the memory of her tears over that silly valentine proposal. What had possessed him to help correct her mistake?

  Hell, the sight of her great tear-filled eyes for one thing. Another was the sure knowledge she would have blamed herself for a long while to come had he not done something. And why he should give a damn continued to puzzle him—something he hesitated to examine too closely.

  * * * *

  Rosalyn counted the chimes on the downstairs clock. Ten times. Ten o'clock. How many hours before daylight? Oh, she had to think of some excuse to pretend to keep the pearls a little longer!

  Miss Howland would dismiss her. Miss Howland would throw her into the street. Miss Howland might possibly press charges.

  Oh, Lord, what was she to do?

  She paced the floor in her bedroom, wrapped in her comfortable old dressing gown. Pausing once to stoke the fire, she shivered as a draft of air swept down the chimney. A few flakes of snow found their way in with the wind, causing the fire to spit and hiss in outrage. Her feet were cold because she couldn't find her slippers, but she didn't care. She'd gladly brave the snow storm outside if she thought she would find the pearls.

  But it was dark, and there wasn't a carriage for hire. She would freeze to death if she tried to walk in this weather, and then what good would she be? Miss Howland would not only lose her necklace, she'd lose an employee ... her mascot.

  As if Miss Howland would keep her after she found out—!

  Rosalyn whirled, pressing her palm to her hot forehead. Where—? Where could she have lost it? At the church? In the carriage—and which time? She tried to count just how many times she had gotten in and out of Chris's carriage today. Oh, more times than she could count! And the last time ... the last time Chris had pulled her onto his lap.

  Abruptly, she sank onto the bed, curling her fingers tightly into the quilt. She had to think! Chris pulled her onto his lap and kissed her ... then—then she remembered him fumbling at the buttons of her dress—

  Could the necklace have fallen off then? Could Chris, inadvertently of course, have brushed against the clasp? Rosalyn stared at the braided rug beside her bed as if it held the answer.

  Suddenly, she jumped to her feet. If she was right, then the necklace would be in Willis's cab. The driver said he was going home, and it wasn't likely he would stop to pick up another passenger.

  She would arise at dawn and walk the few blocks downtown. There, she would hail a carriage and find Willis. He always hit the streets early, she knew. Taking a deep, calming breath, Rosalyn turned down the wick in the lamp beside her bed and crawled beneath the covers. She propped herself against the pillows so that she could watch the fire's dying embers.

  Folding her hands beneath her chin, she prayed she would find the necklace in the carriage, and be able to return it to Miss Howland at breakfast as planned.

  Feeling slightly better, Rosalyn closed her eyes, deciding she might as well try to sleep. B
ut behind her closed lids, an image of Chris's lust-hardened face popped up to taunt her.

  Lord, but what was she going to do about him? What did a girl do when she loved a man and—

  Dear precious Lord, did she love him? But, there hadn't been time ... Rosalyn groaned and pulled the covers over her face as if the action would blot out the truth. Callie always said she believed in love at first sight because it had happened to her.

  But Callie didn't tell her what she was supposed to do if the man didn't love her in return. And Chris Brown didn't love her, Rosalyn knew. He wanted her and made no bones about it—but love? She sensed he scoffed at the word and its meaning. Perhaps the ruthless slash of his mouth when he didn't know she was looking prompted her thought.

  Or maybe it was that guarded expression she never saw him without.

  But what about how he helped her with Miss Snot-nose? That was not the act of a non-believer, but that of a sensitive, caring man.

  Which one was he? Ruthless, or sensitive? She didn't think it was plausible he could be both. Rosalyn flounced onto her side and tucked the covers under her chin, letting out an explosive, frustrated sigh. Why was she wasting her time thinking about Chris? She should be thinking of where that blasted necklace might be.

  Gracious, if Chris thought her reckless at the train station, what would he think if he learned of this? Clinging to the train was one thing, but losing a priceless piece of jewelry was quite another.

  The Mayflower, for goodness sake!

  Rosalyn squeezed tears of shame between her lids. Maybe it might be better if he did know how foolish and careless she was. He might turn from her in disgust and then she wouldn't have to say it was over.

  Her hysterical laugh startled her and she quickly clamped an icy hand to her mouth. Over? What was over? Her downfall? His quest to seduce her? He would be disappointed, and she—she would retain her self-respect.

  Instead of relief, she felt a vast emptiness at the thought.

  Chapter Seven

  Your True Name I May Not Know

  But My Heart Won't Let You Go

  And Even Should You Tell Me No

  Still I Shall Know...

  Christian kept his hat pulled low against the glare, staring out the window of the carriage at the virgin snow that blanketed the entire town.

  Worcester was a veritable wonderland.

  Not many people were about at the ungodly hour of seven o'clock, and if not for his inability to sleep, he wouldn't be either. Yet here he was, on his way to set up watch at Miss Howland's residence. He wanted to see Rosalyn emerge from the house—wanted to see the expression on her face.

  His narrowed gaze caught sight of a bundled figure hurrying along the side of the road a block from his destination. Christian frowned, then leaned forward as he recognized Rosalyn despite the bright plaid scarf covering the lower part of her face. She headed in the direction of town, and she wore the pink coat, which confirmed what he first thought might be a delusion.

  "Stop, driver.” Before they had time to roll to a complete halt, Christian leaped from the carriage, landing in a knee-deep snowdrift. “Rosalyn!"

  She lifted her face at his call, squinting against the blinding reflection of the sun bouncing off the snow. “Chris?” Her voice was muffled by the scarf. “What are you doing out this early?” Tugging on the scarf, she released her face and offered him a tiny, weary smile.

  Christian plowed through the snow, wondering if she wore boots or if she had been careless enough to come out with those flimsy shoes he was accustomed to seeing. When he reached her, he immediately noted the signs of a sleepless night; faint shadows beneath her eyes; eyelids that looked slightly swollen. Had she been crying? He frowned, deciding he didn't much care for the possibility.

  But then, he had no one to blame but himself.

  "Are you going to work this early?” He knew damn well she wasn't.

  She shielded her gaze with a glove-encased hand, reminding him of their first meeting. Frosty plumbs of air hung between them, mingling. Christian glanced down, relieved to see she wore sturdy boots.

  "I—no, I wasn't.” She looked off in the direction of town. “Actually, I was looking for Willis. Have you seen him out and about this morning?” Her gaze went beyond his shoulder to his driver.

  Christian followed her gaze, then lifted an eyebrow as if he were confused. He wasn't. He suspected the reason she wanted Willis. “No, I haven't. This was the only cabbie out."

  She looked crestfallen. “Oh."

  "Do you need a ride?"

  "Well—"

  "I couldn't sleep, so I thought I would take a turn around town and enjoy the snow. Beautiful, isn't it?” He suppressed a smile at her surprised look. “You could ride with me, and we could look for Willis."

  "Oh, well—"

  "Come on, before your feet freeze.” He took her elbow and helped her through the snow to the waiting carriage. She didn't resist.

  When they reached the door, she tilted her head at the driver and shielded her gaze once again. A smile lit her features. “Why, hello Michael. How's the new baby?"

  To Christian's bemusement, the driver pulled his muff aside and flashed his white teeth at her. “Rosy! He's doin’ fine, just fine. Growed an inch since yesterday, I swear."

  "Wonderful! Tell the missus I said hello, will you? And give that big boy a kiss for me."

  "I sure will."

  Christian followed her into the carriage, wondering if there was a single cabbie in town she didn't know. He shook his head in disgust, resigned to emptying his pockets to keep another talkative driver quiet. Willis was probably celebrating with the fortune Christian had paid him yesterday.

  Minding his manners, Christian tucked the rug around Rosalyn's knees before rapping on the carriage to send the driver onward. Slanting a calculating glance at her, he said, “So, what brings you out so early?"

  With a startled jerk, her gaze collided with his. “I—I was looking for Willis ... because I think I dropped something in the carriage yesterday."

  She quickly turned her head to the window, making Christian smile. He studied her profile, narrowing his eyes at the tinge of redness around her delicate nostrils. Again, he wondered if she had been crying. “Dropped something? What?"

  Keeping her gaze on the window, she lifted her chin a notch and said, “Oh, just a little something."

  She was a terrible liar, Christian decided. A terrible liar and an excellent thief. The combination didn't sound plausible. He hooked her chin with his finger and brought her reluctant face around. “Maybe I can help. I was with you the better part of the day, you know.” She managed a wan smile, and he felt an answering tug, feeling a ridiculous desire to see her smile in all her usual glory.

  "Yes, I know. But I don't think you can help me with this—problem—Chris. I do thank you—"

  "How do you know I can't?” He lifted a brow, his gaze dropping to her mouth. She licked her lips in reaction to his heated look. The rise and fall of her chest quickened. Christian deliberately lowered his gaze.

  Breathless now, she tried to remove her chin, but he held tight. She gave up without a struggle. “I lost ... I lost,” she took a deep breath, “I lost the pearls."

  "Good Lord!"

  Tears filled her eyes. She nodded miserably. “Somewhere, God only knows where—I lost Miss Howland's pearls!"

  And with that said, she fell against his chest and began to sob uncontrollably. Christian had never felt less victorious. With a curse, he gathered her close and tried to soothe her. “Don't worry, we'll find them. I'll offer a reward—” What was he saying? For a moment there, in an effort to ease her pain, he forgot that he had the pearls!

  Against his shoulder, she mumbled, “I can't let you do that, Chris. It's my fault, I should never have agreed to wear them in the first place!"

  He patted her back. “Didn't you say Miss Howland insisted?” He felt her nod into his shoulder, sniffing.

  "Yes, she did, but she trust
ed me."

  Now was the time, he thought, ignoring the fact that the plan no longer held the appeal it once did. “What ... what about your nest egg?” When she stilled, he hastened on, “That is, if we don't find the pearls. You know if someone picked them up, they're not likely—” He broke off as she suddenly pushed herself up, her expression so stricken, Christian hated himself.

  "You—you think they're gone—gone for good, don't you?” “I—” He couldn't bring himself to say the words. Chewing on his bottom lip, he slid his gaze from the sight of her huge, tear-drenched eyes. Pitiful eyes ... trusting eyes. How could he be so heartless?

  He did no more to her, than she had inadvertently done to him, he reminded himself.

  Slowly, she sank against him again. She cried quietly now, and this twisted Christian's gut more than her look had. His plan had seemed so easy, harmless, in fact. Once he mentioned the nest egg, she was supposed to tell him about the rubies, and then he would exchange them for the damn pearls!

  Nothing was going as planned.

  Eventually, she grew still. A hiccup now and then reminded him of how upset she had been, but he thought the worst of the storm was over. When she pushed away from his chest and gathered herself once again, she did so with a fierce determination Christian couldn't help but admire.

  "I guess there's no use looking for them, not with all this snow. They could possibly be inside Willis's carriage, though, so I've got to find him. I can't give up without trying."

  Christian never gave that possibility a thought. Rosalyn wasn't a quitter, this much he knew. “Of course you can't give up. I'll help you.” She blushed. Christian closed his mouth, belatedly realizing he stared. She really was beautiful—red nose and all.

  "You're so kind to offer."

  If she only knew! He cleared his throat. “Yes. Well, it's the least I can do since I was an accomplice."

  Her eyes went wide. “Accomplice?"

  Christian chuckled. “I meant, since I was with you."