by Darcy Burke
“You’ll do what you want anyway,” Livingston complained. “Same as her mother did by marrying me. You should know your man has been down in the street awaiting a glimpse of you all afternoon. If Mrs. Kent wishes to convey to Northcote that Miriam has recovered from the attack, I expect the man would be most relieved.”
Hope swelled in Miriam’s breast until her lungs felt tight again. “Let me see him,” she gasped.
“No. You are to lie back and take your rest. I shall inform Lord Northcote,” Mrs. Kent insisted. Her lighter footsteps followed Livingston’s unmistakable heavy steps retreating. Miriam rushed to the window. A moment later, Mrs. Kent’s parasol and form crossed the street and came into view. Richard had come dressed in his best suit with a beaver hat that concealed his face. His gloved hands worried the edge of his jacket. Miriam traced the windowpane with one fingertip. He and Mrs. Kent engaged in a short conversation, during which Richard’s head bobbed twice as if an agreement. Had Mrs. Kent repeated her father’s warning? Miriam’s heart sank.
Mrs. Kent turned away abruptly. Richard glanced up at her window. Miriam waved, gently at first done with increasing fervor as she realized he could not see her. Whether for the glare on the window or his attention diverted to the wrong window—the house did have many more than it needed—a sense of foreboding overtook her. This couldn’t be the last time she saw him.
“Don’t let my asthma ruin this,” she whispered. “I love you.”
Alone, Miriam tried the words on for size. She whispered it again against the windowpane. Her breath could not fog the glass on a warm day, but she traced the letters with her fingertip anyway. I. Love. You.
They felt childish, like scrolling unfamiliar letters on a slate with chalk.
They felt womanly, as though she had been ushered into a secret world she wasn’t sure she yet understood.
Most of all, they felt right, and that was enough.
“What are you doing out of bed?” Mrs. Kent glowered from her doorway.
Caught in the act of disobeying her nurse’s orders, Miriam froze. “I wanted to see him.”
Slowly she unfolded her knees from the divan beneath the window. On her feet she felt lightheaded, though whether that was the result of the medicine she had ingested or the abrupt change of altitude, or the head-spinning, exhilarating knowledge of her heart’s true desire, Miriam couldn’t say. Meekly she collapsed into her soft mattress of horsehair and wire and let her nurse tuck the sheets around her legs.
“His lordship asked me to give you this.” Mrs. Kent produced a small ivory square of paper from her pocket. Miriam tore into it with the eagerness of a child at Christmas.
Dear Miriam,
I cannot participate in this façade a moment longer. My feelings for you are too strong to withstand the loss of your gentle presence on this earth. I am deeply ashamed for having put your life at risk this afternoon. I beg your forgiveness and wish you a full recovery. Know that you shall always hold a very special place in my heart. I cannot risk your health for my own pleasure.
Devotedly yours,
Richard Northcote
“No,” Miriam whispered. Pain stabbed through her like a thousand knives. She would rather endure a hundred asthma attacks than lose him.
“I needn’t read the contents to know what it says. His lordship told me as much. He adores you,” Mrs. Kent said sympathetically. “Enough to leave you alone. You ought to be grateful.”
“I’m not,” Miriam gasped. Was there any better proof that Richard loved her, too, than his willingness to leave her? Yet, she did not want this. “Please. I need to be alone right now.”
“I am here for you,” Mrs. Kent replied, hesitating at the doorway to her bedroom.
“I am asking you not to be. Please. Go.”
The moment the door clicked shut, hot tears leaked out her eyes and onto Miriam’s cheeks. One way or another, she would show Richard that she was strong enough to love him in every way.
“Watch your foot!”
Howard’s warning came not a moment too soon. Richard leaped backward and narrowly avoided having his foot crushed by the box rolling down the gangplank. Howard, with his peculiar genius, had devised a diabolical contraption. It was a length of rods on pins suspended between two planks. Lighter crates could be half-rolled, half-pushed down the platform while heavier items were lifted with hooks and raw muscles. In this fashion they could cut the time it took to unload a ship by one-third.
This box, however, was too heavy for the roller plank treatment. Moreover, its lid was loosely secured. The entire crate appeared rickety. At this point in the afternoon, Richard was too hot and too tired to care about poor manufacturing. But the possibility of losing his toes made him lose his temper instead.
“Damned cargo,” he cursed, and kicked the box hard to jostle it the last foot onto the safety of the pier. The lid jostled loose. In the three-inch gap, something moved.
Not something. Someone. Several someones. A shine of dark skin. The whites of terrified eyes stared back at him.
“What…” Richard trailed off.
“Secure that box,” snapped Howard. When Richard didn’t move, he grabbed a mallet and slammed the crate back together. “Help me move this.”
Knowing what the box contained, Richard wordlessly helped his friend shove the heavy crate up the dock and onto a cart to be moved to the warehouse. It sat alone and accusatory on the cart. When they were done moving it, Howard cast a baleful glare at Richard.
“We’ll talk later,” Howard grunted, and stomped away.
Richard had been appalled to discover that slavery was still practiced, even heartily endorsed, in his adopted country. Here in New York slavery was illegal. The African men and women he encountered going about their business were, to the best of Richard’s knowledge, free. As there was little he could do about America’s cruel laws, he generally tried to avoid thinking about the subject. Yet it had just stared him in the face, three pairs of frightened eyes peeping at him.
There was no avoiding it now.
The children were silent in their box in the hot sun. Richard decided to take a break and sat on the ledge of the wagon waiting to take away its precious cargo. He brought with him a canteen of cool water. Now that he was closer to the box, he could smell the scent of unwashed bodies.
“I’m going to leave this here,” Richard said to no one in particular.
“This side,” someone whispered. A loose board flipped open. Casually Richard reached behind him and set his drink next to it. The child’s hand emerged, snatched the canvas handle and tugged it into the crate.
What in the hell was Howard doing? The consequences of assisting escaped slaves were severe. He risked losing his ship to confiscation if he were to be caught. It’s a brutal business, but Richard had never felt compelled to intervene. Unwittingly, he’d been helping all along.
Or, if he is honest with himself, not entirely unwitting.
Momentarily, the board jostled again. The tin sat gleaming in the hot afternoon sun. Only its light emptiness proved there were children in the crate behind him. Richard leaped off the back of the cart as if nothing had happened.
Richard rejoined the warehouse crew. Though his shoulders ached, he put his back into the business of unloading the rest of the ship. The more time he spent here at the warehouse, the less opportunity Lizzie had to waylay him. When he went to check on the children in the crate, it was gone. Disappointed, Richard returned to his work, only to discover a scuffle had broken out where the dockyard led into the street.
“This is no place for women,” a man shouted grumpily. Two slender, feminine outlines, one tall and garbed in pale fawn with blue trim, the other of middling height and clad in black, stood firm.
“Our business will be brief. We want to see Lord Northcote.”
The hair on Richard’s neck and arms rose like antennae. It couldn’t be. Miriam would never come here. He’d done the right thing in acceding to Livingston’s wishes. T
hough it made Richard’s black heart shrivel into a hard knot of despair, the knowledge that he acted in her best interests instead of his own—for once—soothed the ache of losing her.
The crowd parted. Howard waved him over. Reluctant, Richard strode to his side. His gaze never wavered from Miriam’s face. When she glanced up it was like an arrow pierced him. Shy sadness mixed with determination shown in her delicately beautiful features.
“Miss Walsh,” he acknowledged, his voice rough because he had given away his water. “Mrs. Kent.”
Richard glanced down. Hours ago, he had removed his shirt, as some of the dockhands had done. Now, he stared self-consciously at his naked torso. Though manual labor had carved away the paunch his drinking had formed around his midsection, Richard was keenly aware of Miriam’s appreciative inspection. A high blush stained Miriam’s cheek. Her gaze flickered to him and away to the ceiling, then back again. Embarrassment flooded Richard. He smelled. His skin was crusted with salt. The trousers at his waist were ten times better quality than any other dockhand’s but no one would know it for the quantity of dirt encrusted on them.
Miriam did not appear to care. Richard’s brother burst into his memory. Come home, Edward had asked. What would happen if she did finally meet his brother? Would she feel she had settled for the lesser man?
The lady in question’s eyes widened.
“Your lordship, we did not expect to find you here. Naked,” Miriam whispered the last word in a sultry, greedy hiss. Richard’s cock, dormant since the night Lizzie had tried and failed to awaken him, twitched with interest.
“Fair enough,” Richard responded after a long moment. “I did not expect to receive guests. Had I known you were coming I would have attired myself appropriately. State your business and then be gone. As Howard says, this is no place for ladies.”
“You haven’t come to see me,” Miriam said in a rush.
A slow smile crept over Richard’s lips. Miriam’s blush deepened.
“Have you a death wish?” he asked in a tone of astonishment. Around him, the dockworkers howled encouragement and taunts. They strained to hear his words. Richard knew they interpreted everything he said in the most salacious way possible. He was a novelty, a curiosity who hadn’t yet earned his place within their pecking order. Richard occupied a strange place between Howard and the lowest of their rank.
“Get back to work, you louts,” Howard demanded, waving them away.
“I…” Miriam swallowed. “I have missed you greatly. If you would favor me with a visit, I should be most obliged.”
“The last time I favored you with a visit I nearly killed you,” Richard pointed out, his teasing levity gone. “I won’t take the risk again.”
“It wasn’t your fault,” Miriam blurted stubbornly. “It was an accident.”
“A preventable accident,” Mrs. Kent interjected.
Richard hesitated. In his world, young ladies did not venture out to find men. They tempted. They hoped. But most of all, they waited. Richard thought briefly of the young women he’d given false hope to over his years in London. A casual flirtation to him had monumental consequences for their futures. He fervently hoped no young ladies had pinned their hopes on him. He would have made a terrible choice of husband. Although perhaps no worse than other lords.
The self-congratulatory thought burst the instant it formed. He would be a terrible husband. There was no past-tense about him. Richard remained selfish and vain enough to experience a swell of masculine satisfaction every time Miriam’s gaze landed on his chest and drove her to blush deeper, from rose petal pink to crimson. Satisfaction curled low in his belly.
There was only one reason to continue courting her. He wanted Miriam. If he had to marry her to keep her safe, surely that consideration outweighed any of Lizzie’s scheming. He wanted this innocent woman who kissed like a goddess and stirred feelings Richard didn’t know how to manage.
“I want you to…” Miriam licked her lips. Richard’s arousal hardened. Mrs. Kent’s embarrassment flared.
“I’ll come,” he conceded, too quickly, as guilt tempered his joy at Miriam’s boldness. No matter how it had come about, Richard liked Miriam. Had they met under other circumstances he would have courted her anyway, though he was humbled enough to know that she would not have liked his previous incarnation nearly as much. “Tomorrow afternoon.”
“Yes. Please. It might be the last opportunity.” Miriam glanced sidelong at Mrs. Kent. “Before we return to Cliffside. Ordinarily I don’t spend much time in the city, and after the…incident a few days ago, my father insists we leave town.”
“I see.”
If he wanted her, Richard had to act. Not because Lizzie had blackmailed him. Because Miriam wanted him badly enough to risk her father’s rebuke and her sterling reputation to come here to a warehouse to find him.
The thought thrilled him as nothing ever had before.
Chapter 13
What had she done, going in search of a man who’d withdrawn his courtship to issue an invitation to court her?
Miriam licked her lips and glanced at the wharf where men ambled about in varying states of dishabille. Embarrassment hotter than the sun beating down on her neck flooded through her. Her muscles tensed. Her shoulders, her neck, her abdomen. Richard and his naked glory brought to mind the god Helios. She didn’t know where to look. Desire was a living thing inside her making her damp beneath her layers of petticoats. She breathed. The breeze off the Hudson made it easy. Sea air had always agreed with her. Despite this, Mrs. Kent waved the fan directly at her face. Miriam glared over her shoulder. The lady glared right back.
Mrs. Kent had not approved of this mission. Yet she was here, stalwart, at Miriam’s side as always. Inviting a man to visit was simply not done. Her father had been suspiciously quiet after her asthma attack. It was too much to hope that her force of nature of a father had been chastened by her sadness. Hurt had welled up inside her like an endless fountain of pain, and Miriam had made sure her keepers were aware of her unending sadness. Especially her father. She moped at mealtimes. When Livingston invited her for their afternoon promenade, Miriam had refused. When asked why, she sighed and said, “I wouldn’t want the dusty road to set off an attack.”
Livingston had cast her a narrow glare and gone off on his own, muttering beneath his breath.
“Perhaps the man cares enough about you to stay away. I doubt he wants to harm you further,” Mrs. Kent had ventured gingerly.
“I wasn’t harmed,” Miriam insisted. “I made a full recovery.”
“This time,” Mrs. Kent replied darkly. “One day, you mightn’t be so lucky.”
Fair enough, yet Miriam had decided that living a bit longer was not worth the sacrifice of things she wanted. Love. Children, though they came at great risk. An opportunity to see the world. The portion of it available to her might be a smaller slice than for most people, yet Miriam had made up her mind that she was not going to let it stop her.
The one thing her father couldn’t tolerate was an excess of feminine emotion. Miriam may have been of age, but she was not above giving him a dose of the female feelings he’d sought to avoid by sending her to girls’ school. Livingston used pistols to get what he wanted. They had proven remarkably ineffective against her onslaught of exaggerated moodiness ever since the scene outside her bedroom window. Miriam was not above using any weapon at her disposal to seize the thread of her opportunity. She had decided that if she wanted an adventure, she was going to have to fight for it.
Miriam experienced a searing flash of satisfaction as she gazed upon the magnificent form of her beloved. Heat pickled over her skin, and not only from the warmth of the day. Richard’s assured, mocking smile made her fingers shake. Miriam tried to swallow and found her throat dry.
Richard clasped her hand to draw her close. His earthy, salty scent filled her. Miriam gasped with the need to inhale deeper, longer, more.
“When do you depart?” he asked warily.
“Then, I shall call tomorrow, Miri.” He stalked closer. Miriam ought to be offended by the sweat of his body, but instead, his pungently masculine scent made her thighs weak and her belly spasm. All those glistening muscles could be hers to touch if…
Richard advanced upon her. He raised her face and bent over her, his dark eyes alight with a dark flame of hunger. He kissed her, hard and possessive. Miriam tasted salt and man as his stubble roughened her skin. Miriam leaned up to meet him, opening. Around them, men jeered boorishly.
“Miriam Walsh, that is enough,” seethed Mrs. Kent. Miriam grinned against Richard’s mouth. His lips curved to match hers. Reluctantly they separated. First a breath of space between them, then a wobbly step backward. Mrs. Kent caught her elbow.
“Yes, yes. I’m coming.” Her gaze never left Richard’s face.
His hair curled above his ears, glowing in the harsh light.
“I shall speak with Howard about taking the afternoon off,” he promised in a low rumble.
Miriam blew him a kiss, her heart pounding. Richard still wanted her in a way that made her knees weak and her heart race. She was worthy of a man’s affections, and this time, Miriam was determined not to lose him.
“You saw nothing,” declared Howard. He surveyed the workers below from his office perch above the storehouse floor with a pensive expression. From here he could spot light fingers or sloppy work. Papers and ink pots stacked in messy piles covered every available surface. In the back was a makeshift bed, where Howard slept most nights.
