Today, he heard her chanting a singsong rhyme, and slowed his pace, hoping to come upon her unaware. The high hedge at the corner of his lot hid her from his view and he halted there, peering like a voyeur beyond its boundaries to where the child played on the front sidewalk leading to the porch. He’d had cement poured from the street to the house, providing a dry passageway in inclement weather, and Katie had planted flowers on either side of its length.
Amanda stood ten feet or so from the porch, a rope tied to a pillar swinging in a circular motion, while her nursemaid jumped across it in perfect rhythm, her feet moving in time to the chanting song coming from Amanda’s lips. Her skirts caught up in both hands, Carlinda’s slender ankles were thoroughly exposed, and then she missed her step, and the rope tangled around one foot as she came to a quick halt.
“You did real good,” Amanda cried out as Carlinda’s mouth formed a downward turn. “You’ll get it yet,” the child said, laughing aloud.
And then Carlinda turned, catching sight of Nicholas at the end of the walk, one hand on the gate. Her cheeks burned crimson and her fingers dropped her skirts to press instead on the rosy skin, covering the embarrassment she could not conceal.
“Oh! I didn’t know you were there,” she said, her breasts lifting as she inhaled deeply. “Amanda was teaching me a new song to—”
He held up a hand, his amusement knowing no bounds as the woman’s usual dignity deserted her. Her hair was coming down on one side, the curls totally out of control, and as he watched, one hand thrust itself into the mass of russet hair and caught it up at the crown of her head. Her fingers were deft as she rearranged several pins, and he was fascinated by the process. The sunlight cast a warm glow upon her head, and the rich, dark tresses seemed lit from within by glints of gold and tipped by fire.
He wanted her. As he’d never wanted another woman, he wanted this creature before him. Carlinda. Linnie. Lin, perhaps. And at that thought, he became aware of the taut formation of his masculinity within the confines of his trousers. His hat provided cover as he swept it from his head and then held it before him, opening the gate with his other hand.
Tonight. Tonight he would approach her, speak to her. She was a mature woman. Perhaps he could offer an arrangement that would benefit them both, and relieve this urge that kept him from his daily pursuits. He felt young and impetuous, like a stallion seeking out a mare, or a youth settling upon his first conquest. It would not do. It simply would not do.
“One day, could you teach me how to sing the song, Amanda?” he suggested with a grin, determined to take his attention from the mature woman who was swiftly regaining her breath and brushing down her skirts with a quick hand. “We can take turns swinging the rope while your Miss Donnelly jumps it.”
Miss Donnelly shook her head, a movement that almost sent her hastily pinned hairdo on its way to disaster once again. “I don’t think that’s a good idea at all,” she said heatedly. “In fact, I fear you are making jokes at my expense, sir.”
Nicholas only smiled. And then relented. “Not at all, ma’am. I’m only asking to join in the fun. I haven’t seen rope skipping since I was a schoolboy.”
“You were a schoolboy?” Carlinda asked, doubt alive in the words. “I can’t imagine such a thing. I’d have thought you were hatched full-grown. I can’t think you ever played marbles or chased after a dog or wrestled with your playmates.”
He felt a pang of regret that she had hit the nail so squarely on the head; for indeed, he’d never pursued any of the typical boyish games she listed so readily. But his words covered those memories as he sat down on the porch steps.
“I was just an ordinary—”
“Ordinary?” Her single word doubted his statement. “I think not,” she said, judging him, her look grave as she stood before him. “You can’t claim that, Mr. Garvey.”
Her eyes touched his briefly, then darted to where Amanda stood, jump rope in hand, her small fingers attempting to untie it from the porch pillar. “Let me help you,” Carlinda said smoothly, as if she had not just peered with soft brown eyes into his past.
Dinner was presented with pride, Katie beaming as she brought forth a platter of sliced ham and bowls of vegetables. Bread still warm from the oven tempted him with its aroma and he looked up at his housekeeper, lifting a brow in question. “I find your cooking to be improving daily. Are you trying to impress our guests?”
She lifted her chin, a haughty gesture that amused him. “Certainly not, sir. I always do my best.” And then her eyes twinkled as she bent to murmur words beneath her breath. “You’re looking mighty fine yourself, Mr. Garvey. Sprucing up for our guests?”
He’d have to see about instilling a bit more respect into her thoroughly Irish demeanor, he thought, ignoring the taunt. Looking up, he met the sober eyes of his young charge, the niece he’d never known. Now she held her plate in both hands, awaiting his attention, and he lifted a slice of ham to rest at one side, then spooned potatoes and creamed corn as she nodded her approval.
“Will you be here this evening?” Carlinda asked as he attended to her plate in the same manner. She waited patiently as he served her, shaking her head in a small movement as he would have added another helping of greens.
“Yes, I expect to be,” he said. “Do you have plans for me?”
“Oh, no. I just thought we might discuss plans for Amanda’s future, perhaps put together a timetable for my departure,” she said quietly.
“You’re not leaving, are you?” Amanda asked, her tone sharp, as if horrified by the very thought of such a thing.
“I must, sometime, I think,” Carlinda told her softly. “You know I only traveled here with you to meet your uncle and be sure you were safely in his charge.”
“I thought you would stay,” Amanda whispered, her eyes wide, tears threatening to escape past the lower lids. “I thought you liked it here.”
Carlinda bit briefly at her lower lip. “I shouldn’t have brought this up,” she said, and then turned to Amanda. “It won’t be right away, not today, or even tomorrow,” she explained gently. “We’ll talk about it later, sweetie.”
“I’ve got lots of other games we haven’t played yet,” Amanda said mournfully.
“We’ll get to them,” Carlinda told her, and then shot a long look at Nicholas, who responded with a lifted brow and a pursing of his lips.
Her intent was obvious. Say something. Back me up. And he did neither, only watched and enjoyed her squirming as Amanda plied her with guilt-producing suggestions. By the time the meal was over, the fine line between playing with a knife and using it for a game of mumblety-peg had been explored, and Nicholas had expressed his interest in explaining the more elusive points of the game to them both.
Amanda seemed to have recovered her cheerful demeanor as she spooned up her pudding, and only Carlinda’s suggestion of a short rest with a book in hand brought the child’s description of tossing jacks on the porch to a halt.
She frowned, pouting just a bit. “Maybe you should read the book to me,” she suggested, peering up at her nursemaid coaxingly.
“I could do that,” Carlinda said agreeably. “Why don’t you ask Katie for a quilt we can place on the grass under the tree in back, and we’ll spend an hour in the shade.”
Nicholas thought for a moment of the picture those words presented, and rued the fact that he had a business to run. He’d already dallied for almost an hour over a meal that normally would have taken him fifteen minutes to consume, and it was with regret that he stood and announced his departure for the bank.
Katie stood at the door. “Will supper at six be all right?” she asked, her hands folded at her waist. Her gaze shifted from Nicholas to his guests, and then she smiled. “I take it you’ll be here, sir?”
Carlinda eyed him with suspicion. “If you have other plans, Amanda and I are quite capable of making a meal from leftovers. We don’t want to interfere with your social life, Mr. Garvey. You and I can talk another day, perhaps t
omorrow?”
“I don’t have much of a life outside the bank and my study here at home,” he said, shooting a warning look at Katie, ignoring the memory of Patience and her assumption of his attendance at the Millers’ party tomorrow evening.
That he’d been calling with regularity on Patience over the past weeks was a fact he’d rather not have revealed right now. “I occasionally eat with the sheriff and his family. Other than that, I lead a rather quiet existence.”
“Well, don’t think you have to entertain Amanda and me,” Carlinda told him. “I’m sure a gentleman such as yourself must have friends who expect to have him come calling on occasion.”
“If you’re referring to lady friends, ma’am, I haven’t any commitments in that direction.”
At Katie’s hasty departure from the doorway and into the kitchen, Nicholas relaxed. Not for the world would he allow anything to halt his pursuit of the woman who watched him from her seat at his right. And tonight he would make clear his interest in her. Coax her to stay on for a while.
“I’d like you to tell me all you know about my sister,” Nicholas said, his fingers holding firmly to the coffee cup he held. He sat across from her, his demeanor relaxed as he sipped from the steaming cup. He’d chosen to sit on the sofa, and Carlinda moved to perch on an armchair across from him. Now the words he spoke surprised her, and she frowned as she recalled the dossier she’d given him in his office.
“Surely you read the paperwork from the judge in New York,” she said. “Certainly it contained proof of your relationship.”
He waved a hand dismissively. “I’d rather hear it from you. All I managed to glean from the court record was her name and that of her husband. Irene and Joseph Carmichael, I believe.” He leaned forward, the cup held between his palms, his forearms resting on his thighs, and his eyes were clouded by some hidden emotion as he awaited her reply.
“Irene was my friend,” Carlinda began, unsure of what she was obliged to tell about the beautiful woman who’d lived in fear of her secrets being revealed. “She married Joseph. I suppose I should mention that she’d also been interested in his partner, Vincent Preston, at one time. But once Joseph came along, she settled on him, and they shared a whirlwind romance.”
“Whirlwind?” His inflection was cynical if she read it aright.
“Yes…perhaps a period of two weeks after meeting him, Irene married Joseph.”
“And they lived happily ever after?” Beyond cynical, his lifted brow seemed derisive.
“Hardly. For just about six years, as it happens. After Amanda was born, they settled down to the usual married life. Joseph was successful, and his partner was brilliant. Vincent Preston is a man I wouldn’t want to cross.” And yet I have.
“How so?” Nicholas asked, interest lighting his gaze. “Is he a scoundrel? Or just a shrewd businessman?”
Carlinda hesitated, thinking about the tall, almost sinister-appearing gentleman she’d met in the courtroom in New York City. “Harsh, perhaps. Shrewd, certainly. But not a man I’d find it comfortable to spend time with. I think Irene found him frightening. As I did, also.”
Nicholas frowned, as thought he would pursue that bit of information later. “And what sort of woman was my sister?”
“Kind…beautiful, certainly. A loving mother and a loyal friend.” It was hard to describe such a creature, Carlinda decided. “A bit flighty at times, but Joseph was passionately in love with her, and I’m sure she returned his affection.”
Nicholas looked as if he would dismiss her description of their relationship. “As I said—happily ever after.” He changed his tone abruptly, speaking briskly as he questioned her further.
“I know Irene was not my mother’s child. Am I safe in assuming she was the legal offspring of my father? Of the woman he was married to?”
Carlinda had the grace to be embarrassed at his forthright query. “You don’t make a secret of your beginnings, I assume, Mr. Garvey.”
His shrug was negligible. “Not when it all happened so long ago. I’ve long since found that my beginnings were unimportant in the general scheme of things. More important is the man who pulled me from the gutter and sent me on my way to success.”
“Certainly not your father,” she said flatly. “From what Irene said, he never acknowledged your birth.”
“She’s right. In fact, I’d be hard-pressed to give you his name.”
“You don’t know who he is?” Carlinda felt amazement sweep through her. “You never sought him out? You truly don’t know about the man?”
“He didn’t care about me. I saw no reason to enquire as to him or his whereabouts,” Nicholas explained politely. “You, my dear lady, are looking at a genuine bastard.”
She refused to allow her embarrassment to show. “I was aware of your status before I arrived here.”
“And you spoke to me anyway? Even gave me control over a five-year-old child?” He lifted a brow as he straightened in his chair. “Such courage, my dear. I’d have thought you might protest at my being given custody of Amanda. Are you sure I’m fit for such a responsibility?”
“Whether I am or not, it was what Irene wanted.”
“Irene? My half sister wanted me to raise her child?”
Carlinda grimaced. “She didn’t plan on dying. I think she only named you because her mother is dead, and she has no use for her father. Maybe it was a protest of sorts, though I doubt she ever thought he’d be aware of it.” She bowed her head as she thought of the beautiful young woman.
“Designating you as guardian should have been a problematical decision, after all. As I said, Irene and Joseph did not plan on leaving Amanda’s fate to a court decision. They fully intended to raise her themselves.”
“The best laid plans…et cetera, et cetera,” Nicholas said dryly. He deposited his cup on the table in front of him, a long, low structure on which sat the stereopticon he’d left out for Amanda’s use.
“I don’t know what else you’d like to know about Irene,” Carlinda told him. “I was her friend.” She shrugged, unwilling to reveal anything more.
“Was she aware of my appearance? The way I look?” His index fingers touched the small spot near his mouth. “I’d considered it coincidence at first that Amanda bears this same birthmark, but I have to admit that we share eye and hair color. My mother was fair, with light-brown hair and gray eyes. I obviously didn’t inherit my looks from her.”
“I think she’d known for a long time about you, and once, I found her cutting out an article in the newspaper that mentioned your name.” She hesitated, then looked up into his gaze. “She had a picture of you and showed it to me, so that I would recognize you if the time ever came that I needed to find you.”
He shot her a look of surprise, his eyes sharp as he probed further. “Did you work for her long? I confess I’m a little puzzled at your relationship.”
“Yes. I lived in their home and tended to Amanda on occasion. I was your sister’s companion before she was married, and Joseph invited me to remain during the months before Amanda’s birth.” She sighed, then leaned back in her chair, remembering. “I stayed on after that. Sort of a companion and sister combined. I loved Irene, and before long I was totally wrapped up in Amanda and her care.”
“Didn’t you have any other life beyond that of being a friend to my sister?” He sounded unbelieving, his eyes narrowing as he searched her face.
“I’m on the shelf, Mr Garvey. I believe that’s the old-fashioned term for being an old maid. And it’s a perfectly respectable occupation for a woman like me, that of companion to another woman.”
“You weren’t always ‘on the shelf,’ Carlinda. Surely, there must have been gentlemen in your life.”
She met his gaze, a direct, honest answer to his query on her lips. “I had nowhere to go after my mother and stepfather moved to Philadelphia.”
“You didn’t want to go with them?”
“No, I didn’t want to go with them.” My stepfather had desi
gns on me. Wouldn’t he love it if she were to offer that as an excuse for staying on in New York? What would he think then of his niece’s nursemaid? After all, her own mother had told her she had a vivid imagination. And the woman who had birthed her had made little fuss over Carlinda’s refusal to accompany them when they left for Philadelphia.
“So my sister took you in. Where was my father?” As if it pained him to ask the question, he rushed the syllables, his nostrils flaring.
“Off with another one of his women, I suppose. Irene lived in the family home by herself. She’s several years older than I, but having a companion makes it acceptable for a woman to live alone.”
He watched her, as if weighing her words. And then he leaned forward again. “So you’re by yourself, with no attachments? What happened to Joseph Carmichael’s house? Was it sold after he and Irene died?”
“I’m certain it’s been put on the market by now. No one expects Amanda to return to New York. The house will be sold and the court will handle her funds until you claim them on her behalf.”
He made an impatient gesture, as if he were well aware of the legal aspects. “My question is, where will you go, if and when you leave here?” His eyes lit with a glow she began to recognize. He’d looked at her several times with just such an expression, as if the urge to put his hands on her was about to outweigh his good judgement.
“When I leave here, I’ll make that decision.” And it had better be soon, if she knew what was good for her. Although her destination was certainly a puzzle.
“I have another suggestion.” His voice was soft, but she didn’t make the mistake of thinking he’d relaxed his stance. If anything, he was tense, his jaw taut, his mouth drawn into a thin line, his eyes hooded as if he dare not reveal too much of his thoughts.
She waited, unwilling to invite his response, afraid somewhere deep inside that it would not be palatable to her. She shunned the smile that hovered on her lips as she considered that thought. Perhaps not palatable, but definitely tempting.
Tempting a Texan Page 5
