by Lisa Bingham
She drew back in concern. “What are you going to do?”
He stared into the distance, deep in thought. “It’s too late to back out of the affair with Kensington. My brother-in-law, Ethan, will be joining us on the train—he’s made some contacts with Kensington, so he’ll be the one to arrange a poker match between the two of you. Once he and I are on the train, I doubt we’ll be followed. But my sister will need to be warned. She’ll need to leave town.”
“Where will she go?”
He thought a moment, then nodded decisively. “My mother died a few years ago, leaving the family boarding house to my sister and me. Neither of us has been back there in years. She’ll be safe there. The townspeople know her. They will protect her there.”
Jacob framed her cheeks with his hands. “I know you’re shaken, frightened—and you have a right to be. But I’ve got to warn my sister, then we’ll go back to the hotel.”
“Of course.”
“Wilt!” he called to the deputy waiting a few yards away. “Let’s go. The McGuire home.”
It wasn’t until they stopped in front of the imposing facade of a huge brownstone mansion that Fiona remembered that Jacob’s sister was the Letitia McGuire, the celebrated poet. The thought managed to distract her from her fear ever so slightly. Three years before, when Fiona had read Letitia McGuire’s biography in one of the literary papers, she’d been stunned to discover the woman was from the same family as this man. Now she was about to meet her.
“This is your sister’s home?” she asked as they stopped.
“Yep. She’s the only sister I have, thank heaven. One of her was enough.” The words rang with a quiet indulgence, an obvious affection.
The carriage rolled to a stop, and Jacob took his revolver in hand. He scanned the quiet neighborhood, the trees, the corner park, before jumping to the ground and helping Fiona to alight.
“Hurry inside. Don’t bother to knock.”
He kept his back to the door, he and Wilt standing with their weapons ready should it prove necessary. The very fact that they thought someone might have found them so quickly caused Fiona’s skin to crawl, and she hurried up the stairs and into the strange house.
From the other side of the door, she could hear Jacob instructing his deputy to search the grounds and warn the servants. Then he joined her inside, shutting the door.
Seeing her still shaking, her arms wrapped around a coat rack, he smiled in reassurance. “No one followed us,” he murmured.
“Yer sure?” The fear brought out the brogue, as usual.
“Quite sure.”
She looked carefully around her, seeing the dark elaborate wood, the roseate window above the door, the polished floors. “I don’t like comin’ into a person’s house without even knocking.”
“Lettie’s family. She won’t mind.”
Lettie’s family. The phrase echoed in her head, reminding her again that Letitia McGuire was this man’s sister.
How long had Fiona revered that woman and her work? Since the age of three, Fiona’s father had apologized for her lack of formal education and had insisted that she at least have a knowledge of the arts. Whenever they’d gone to a city large enough for such entertainments, he’d seen to it that she found her way into the great stages and auditoriums of America—whether he had to sneak her in through a rear door and hide her in the shadows of the balcony, or volunteer to help with the striking of the sets if Fiona could sit on a stool and listen.
From those experiences, Fiona had gathered a wide artistic background. She’d seen plays and operas and revivals. She’d listened to the most celebrated tenors and orators. But her favorites had been the poets—men and women alike—who had recited their work in the hushed caverns of theaters across the country, somehow finding a way to paint Fiona’s world with rainbows. She couldn’t bear to think that one of her idols, one of her heroes, was in danger.
“Come with me.” Jacob took her hand and made his way to a huge staircase that circled the wall of the vestibule. “Lettie!” he bellowed.
There was no response at first. Then a young girl wearing a black dress and white apron poked her head over the upper railing.
“Where’s Lettie?” Jacob asked, not bothering to explain to the maid who he was.
“With the children,” she replied, obviously mystified.
“Gather the rest of the servants and take them into the kitchen. There will be a man there to talk to you,” Jacob ordered cryptically.
Not waiting to see if he’d been obeyed, Jacob hurried up the remaining stairs. The faint sound of talking and laughter led him up another flight to the floor above. Once there, he took her through the hallway of what appeared to be an entire story devoted to children. The walls had been papered in colors more lively and delicate than those dictated by fashion. The doors they passed had been flung open to reveal a bedroom with one small bed and a doll house whose contents lay scattered on the floor and another room with a tester laden with iron soldiers poised for battle.
Without pause, Jacob strode into a sitting room and playroom. The noises came from the quarters beyond, and the splash of water testified that it must hold the bathing room.
“Jake, come here at once!”
Fiona eyed Jacob curiously, but he hadn’t altered his step, didn’t even appear to notice the imperious summons. When a little boy streaked naked into the room, he laughed and knelt to hold out his arms.
“Uncle Jacob!” The bright-eyed imp changed his direction in midstride to rush into the older man’s arms.
“Hey, Jake.” The two hugged, and it was obvious that the love they shared was heartfelt.
The little boy drew away, his hair and dark eyes gleaming wetly. “Didjya bring me a present?”
“Jake, please. Mind at least some of the manners you’ve been taught.”
Hearing a softer, feminine voice, Fiona glanced up, then grew still as she was flooded with an almost overwhelming shyness.
Lettie McGuire. The Lettie McGuire. Not only had she been brought into this woman’s home, but she’d also had a glimpse of her personal life. Her children.
The toddler in Lettie’s arms smiled, then hid her face in her mother’s shoulder.
“He takes after you, Jacob,” Lettie said to her brother, gesturing to Jake. “He has no sense of the social graces.” She paused meaningfully, and when Jacob didn’t respond, added, “Such as the proper introductions.”
Until that moment Jacob appeared to have forgotten completely that he’d brought a visitor with him. Fiona could feel herself flushing to the roots. How silly to imagine he would think someone like her was worthy of the social niceties.
For a moment, she felt like a fraud. Her hair seemed too elaborate, her dress too new. But when Jacob stood and smiled at her, his eyes lingering upon her in a familiar, almost heated way, the inadequacies eased somewhat.
Ruffling his nephew’s hair, he gestured to Fiona.
“This is Fiona,” he stated simply.
“How gracious you’ve become, Jacob,” his sister teased, rolling her eyes. Setting the child on the floor, she walked forward, her hand extended. It was at that moment Fiona realized that the huge Mother Hubbard apron she wore had not been bunched around her waist as she had first supposed. This woman was pregnant. Very pregnant.
“I’m so pleased to meet you,” Lettie exclaimed, taking Fiona’s hand. Then she patted her bulging stomach and winced, the color of her cheeks. ebbing “As you can probably guess, I don’t receive many visitors lately. I’ve received several short notes from the Beasleys. They informed me of your project and asked my advice on a few pieces of your wardrobe. I’m pleased my brother allowed you to visit me.”
Fiona wanted to say something—something profound and memorable—but she didn’t dare open her mouth for fear that in her excitement her brogue would thicken to a point of becoming unintelligible. Instead, she bobbed a curtsy, then could have kicked herself for the action
. It was something that a backstairs maid would do for her mistress. Damn, damn, damn.
“Lettie, have you heard anything from your husband?”
Fiona could have hugged him for drawing the attention away long enough for her to gather her equilibrium.
“He returned home a little earlier than expected. He’s gone to the bank.”
“I’ll get him later.” He strode to the window, peering out through the curtains.
Lettie’s brow creased. “What’s wrong?”
He hesitated before saying, “Krupp escaped. A few minutes ago, someone shot at Fiona and me.”
Fiona saw the way the color bled from Lettie’s skin. She began to weave, and without thinking, Fiona caught her elbow and helped lead the woman to a chair. When she would have drawn away, Lettie caught her hand, squeezing it in silent gratitude.
Jacob abandoned the window to kneel beside her chair, taking her other hand. “I think you should go away for a few weeks until they can be apprehended. Take the children and some of your servants. Leave tonight while it’s dark and tell no one where you’re going until you’re on the train.”
“Where… where shall we go?”
“Take the children to Madison—to Mama’s old boarding house. You’ll be safe there. Warn the townspeople that Krupp is loose. They’ll keep such a close eye on the roads and trains that he won’t be able to get within twenty miles of you.”
She nodded to show she understood. “Fiona, will you tug the bell pull for me, please?”
Fiona did as she was told. Within seconds a thin, gaunt woman appeared. “Fern, pack a few things for the children and myself—enough for a few weeks. We’ll be going away for a little while.”
The servant appeared startled by the abrupt order, but she left to comply.
“Mama?” Jake looked up at Lettie with worried eyes, and Jacob bent down to speak to him.
“You and your mama have to take Celie away for a while. Can you help me? Watch over them? See that they’re safe?”
The little boy nodded, but tears glistened uncertainly in his lashes.
Jacob hesitated before telling his sister, “I need Ethan with me. He has been helping me with a counterfeiting suspect for weeks. I need him a little longer.”
Lettie pressed a hand to her stomach but didn’t protest. “As long as you take care of all this. Soon.”
“We’ll finish up with the business on the train as soon as we can. I’ll send Ethan to you in Madison within a couple of days.”
Jake tugged on his pantsleg. “Will you come see us again soon, Uncle Jacob? Will you bring my present when you come?”
Despite the serious note that had invaded the room, Jacob chuckled. “How do you know I have one?”
“You always have one.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m your favoritest little boy an’ you’re my Uncle Jacob.”
When Jacob grinned in pleasure, it became obvious to Fiona who had taught the boy such a response. She wondered how often Jacob came to see his nephew and what they did when they were together. They were quite natural together—and uninhibited. Jacob showered his nephew with obvious adoration and didn’t seem to care who saw it. A curious reaction for a man who was usually so guarded.
“I’ll come see you in Madison—but you might be asleep when I come.”
“You can wake me. I’ll letcha.”
Laughing, he drew the boy close for a hug. “All right. If you help your mama and go straight to bed when she tells you to go, then I’ll wake you first thing.”
Jake had to consider the rewards of a present over going to bed, but he conceded.
Jacob turned his attention to the little girl who had moved to hide behind her mother’s skirts. “What about you, princess? Would you like your present too, Celie? Hmm?”
She slid her index finger into her mouth and did not respond. If anything, she held a little more tightly to Lettie’s knee. Fiona was intrigued by the way her reticence bothered Jacob.
Lettie caressed the top of the girl’s dark head in reassurance. “It’s okay, sweeting. That’s your Uncle Jacob.”
The relationship didn’t impress the young girl.
Lettie sighed. “She was a baby when you last visited.” One brow rose pointedly. “If you came more often, she wouldn’t be so shy.”
“I know, I know. But I have to—”
“Work will always be there, Jacob. Children grow.”
Fiona shrank back into the shadows as Jacob and his sister began an obviously familiar argument. She was feeling more distinctly out of place with each word that was said, but she couldn’t deny, deep in her heart, that she wished she belonged. She wished she could stroke the dark curl from Jake’s brow, tease Celie from her shyness, and offer Lettie her aid.
“Now Lettie…”
“Don’t you ‘Now Lettie’ me, Jacob Grey. Don’t you think it’s high time you had some children of your own?”
“Leave the subject alone, Lettie.”
Fiona thought she detected a slight stain of red infusing his cheeks. The idea that Jacob might be embarrassed by the twist in the conversation caused a curious feeling to settle in her stomach. A tingling. A warming. A hint of dread.
Glancing down at the boy who had wrapped his arms around Jacob’s knees, she suddenly felt as if someone had punched her in the stomach. Lettie was right: Jacob should be married. He should be having children of his own. Dark-haired, dark-eyed boys and timid little girls. He had a natural way with youngsters; he would make a marvelous father.
Staring at him openly, she wondered why he had never married. As far as she had ever known, no woman’s name had ever been linked to his in even a casual way, let alone intimately.
The question must have been displayed quite baldly across her face because when he looked at her—really looked at her—his arms tightened ever so slightly around his nephew.
Fiona became still, seeing in his gaze a stark craving. He wanted a life such as his sister enjoyed. He wanted a home, children, the intimacy of marriage. For one brief second his need, his vulnerability, his rage—at what Fate had given and he had denied himself—was as plain to her as the corresponding feelings she harbored herself.
“We’d better go.”
Reluctantly, he set the boy on his feet. The mood, that moment of sharing, was shattered.
Lettie followed them into the hall. “Tell Ethan I’ll take the ten o’clock train.”
“I’ll send some men around to help. Be careful, Lettie.” He took Fiona’s hand and led her from the room.
“Jacob?”
Lettie stood silhouetted in the doorway, appearing at the same time fragile and strong.
“Take care of yourself, of Ethan.”
“I will.”
“Then promise you’ll take some time off to visit us, really visit. We could stay in Madison for a few weeks—just like old times.”
He nodded.
“Promise?”
“Yes.”
“The children need you—and so do I.” The words were filled with an evident devotion. “There was a time when I couldn’t lift my little finger without having you squawk. Now I’m lucky to see you once or twice a decade.”
There was no mistaking the gentle rebuke. Jacob’s eyes became warm, filling with a light that Fiona had never seen the man adopt. Releasing her, he joined Lettie, taking his sister’s face in his palms. Smiling, he stated, “I’ll return before that baby can be born, and I’ll stay until the christening.”
Her answering smile was tremulous. “I’ll hold you to your word.”
As he placed a kiss on Lettie’s forehead, Fiona took an involuntary step backward. She could have been invisible for all the attention these two people gave her—and it was just as well. A tightness gripped her throat, her heart. No one had ever looked at her like that, not even her own father. No one had ever loved her so unconditionally, so completely.
She wa
nted that love. From someone, just once before she died. The hunger gnawed at her with a strength she could scarcely credit. But as Jacob joined her again, she also knew that such emotions did not come to people—common folk—like her.
“Come along, Fiona. We’ve work to do.”
“Goodbye, Fiona,” Lettie called, but Fiona couldn’t acknowledge the woman. Walking outside to where the carriage waited, she fought an unaccustomed threat of tears, and the very action filled her with an untold rage, an untold regret.
Damn Jacob Grey to hell and beyond. No man had ever made her want so much. No man had ever made her rue so much.
No man had ever made her feel so lonely.
The carriage rattled to a stop at the rear entrance of the Grand Estate. Grasping Fiona’s hand, Jacob led her into the kitchen and through the startled clusters of kitchen staff members who were preparing for the afternoon-rush.
“Go on up to the room and stay there. I’ve got to find Ethan and—”
“No.”
She stopped in the middle of the stairwell, fighting to catch her breath beneath the tightness of her stays. Pressing a hand to her ribs, she gasped, “Not until you tell me the rest of what’s happening.”
Jacob grew quiet, causing Fiona to wonder if she’d stumbled upon a tidbit of information that he’d surmised.
“You aren’t telling me everything, Jacob Grey.” He pulled her forcibly up the servants’ stairs. “Get in the room and stay there until I tell you differently.”
“Why?”
He refused to answer, drawing her into the suite and locking the door. Hurrying to the windows, he drew the drapes, plunging the two of them into darkness. Parting one a sliver, he peered into the street below.
“What are you searching for?” she asked some time later, when the quiet had become almost unbearable. “You told me that the leaders of a vigilante group were looking for you. How many? Are they alone in wanting revenge, or are they bringing a whole army with them? What are you so afraid of?”
