“I’m very drawn to you, Carlinda.”
Her jaw clenched as she heard the words. It was as she’d thought. An offer from a gentleman—if a bastard could be called such a thing—given to a young woman of limited means, who might be approachable. She’d already had two men toss such a suggestion in her direction, both of whom were surprised at her quick refusal of their proposals. This one would fare no better.
“Don’t insult me, Mr. Garvey, or I shall have to leave tonight.”
He grinned. “You don’t even know what I’m going to say.”
“Don’t I?” Her heart beat faster as he rose from the couch, and she was suddenly aware of the stillness surrounding the room where they sat. Katie had gone to her quarters behind the kitchen, and Amanda was tucked into bed for the night. One lamp glowed on the table near Carlinda’s chair, and outdoors it was dark, with a spring rain falling against the windows.
He stood before her, one hand outstretched. “Come,” he said. “Take my hand. I want to show you something.”
As if mesmerized, she did as he asked, his palm warm and dry against her cool skin. He drew her fingers through the bend of his elbow and placed them on his forearm, then led her to the door of the parlor. The foyer rose to the second floor, and they stood in the shadows cast by a lamp near the stairway.
“Look around you, Carlinda. This house is empty, save for the presence of my housekeeper and the child sleeping upstairs. Before you came, it was only Katie and me. Now that you’re here, even after so short a time, I find I don’t want to be alone again.” His eyes were warm as he looked down into her face.
“I’d treat you well, Lin,” he said, for the first time using the name he’d chosen to give her. “You wouldn’t want for anything while you stay with me, and I’d never toss you aside or be unkind should you decide to end our…alliance.”
Her heart ached at his words. “You don’t need me,” she said softly. “You have friends, Nicholas, and surely there are women waiting in line for your attention.”
His heat wrapped her in its comforting warmth as he turned her to face him, his hands enclosing her waist, her own rising to touch his chest. She should draw back from him. She knew it, as surely as she knew she was in grave danger with this man.
Not that he would harm her. Not in a physical sense anyway. But the lasting effects of his touch would haunt her for the rest of her life. Yet, she cherished for these few moments the arms that held her, the mouth that claimed hers, and the breath he gave her as she opened her lips to his kiss.
The hair at his nape was like silk, and her fingers slid through the dark length of it, pressing against the clean lines of his skull, embracing the whispers he voiced against her cheek and temple. For now, for just these short minutes snatched from all time, she cherished the man, welcomed his strength and the passion he offered.
And even in her limited experience, she knew it was an offer, not a demand.
Should she so choose, he would take her hand and lead her up the curving staircase to his bed, and there allow her the gift of his body, even as she presented her own into his keeping.
For how long? The words echoed in her mind as temptation ran riot within her. When he tired of her, as surely he must—eventually—would he send her away? And would she be better off than before? The urgency of desire was alive in her blood; unknown and unexplored, it flowed in every vein, and she was inflamed by its presence.
Yet, he did not press her further, only touched her with firm lips and strong hands, his arms encircling her with a promise of more to come, should she choose to accept his loving and the offer of a life here with him.
A life as his mistress.
Her breath caught in her throat and a sob escaped, the sound seeming loud in the silence. Nicholas lifted his head and she met his gaze, her eyes filmed with tears. His smile was singularly sweet, she thought, tilting one corner of his mouth as he accepted her unspoken denial of what he offered.
He bent to press one last kiss against her soft lips, and she responded with a movement of her mouth that held him motionless for a heartbeat.
And then he stepped back from her, bowing his head in acknowledgment of her choice. “I’ll light a candle for you, my dear,” he said gently. “Mind your step on the stairs.” Still holding her gaze, he whispered a soft invitation, his eyes warm with admiration.
“If ever you should change your mind, I’ll be waiting. And if you don’t—” His shoulders lifted in a gesture reflecting the patience in his gaze. “If you don’t, I’ll understand.”
Chapter Four
New York City, May 1897
Vincent Preston’s desk was neat and orderly, and the man sitting behind it appeared every inch the gentleman. Perhaps a stranger might hesitate at that assumption, given the harsh line of his mouth, or the chill light of disdain in his gaze, but in the business community of New York City, he was offered the respect due a successful man.
This morning, he waited for news from far-off. Halfway across the country, in fact. A simple matter he’d considered cut-and-dried only a month ago had now taken on the proportions of a problem he would have to go about solving on his own hook. His time was too valuable to waste, he’d told his lawyers and had, accordingly, expected them to provide him with a solution forthwith.
It had not happened. The child was gone. Whisked away from his grasp, and, to all reports, into the hands of a blood relation, her mother’s half brother. He hadn’t known Irene had a brother, half or otherwise. The woman had not only robbed him of his child, but made arrangements for his part in the girl’s conception to be unknown.
No one else but him knew the circumstances of Irene’s pregnancy. Probably the fool Irene married, he amended. And he’d thought Joseph Carmichael was an astute man, until he’d snatched up Irene and eloped with her, almost without warning. And had, when a daughter was born only eight months later, accepted the child as his own.
Now it went against his grain that a man of his stature should be put in the position of proving that the five-year-old child named Amanda Carmichael belonged to him. To Vincent Preston.
No matter. The girl was of no value to him. But the estate she’d inherited was another matter, consisting of one half of his company, plus a sizeable bank account.
He clenched his fist, and the paper he held crumpled into a ball of linen stationary. He knew the words it held, had read them over again, twice, and then for the third time. Now he waited for the messenger who would deliver an address into his hand.
There must be hundreds of small towns in Texas. But only one of them was the home of Nicholas Garvey.
A home where Vincent Preston’s daughter was in residence.
The door of Nicholas’s study closed behind her and she leaned back against it, aware of his every movement as he approached. “Mr. Garvey—”
His uplifted hand halted Carlinda’s words of address. “Begin again, please,” he said quietly. “My name is Nicholas.”
Her eyes focused on his throat as she hesitated, and he almost relented as she swallowed and inhaled deeply. But he’d chosen this time to set a precedent, and his hands twitched as he considered touching her chin and lifting it upward, the better to see those dark pupils that examined his collar so intently.
“After the other evening in the foyer, I’d have thought we were beyond the point of formality, Carlinda.” He refused to vary his stance, aware that he was purposely intimidating her, crowding her against the door of his study. Yet he was unwilling to allow her room to step aside. Her body vibrated with some emotion he hesitated to name, but was eager to examine.
Whether it be anger or passion, it mattered little. She reacted to him at a basic level, and furious as she might be, she could not control the response he brought forth from her slender body.
“Carlinda?” He pressed her for an answer, his hand lifting to touch her, hovering an inch above her shoulder, then settling firmly at the nape of her neck. She shivered at the pressure of fingers against
her hairline there, ducking her head as if she would dislodge his grip.
“I’m not going away,” he said softly. “Just lift your chin and look at me, please.”
“You’re a bully, of the very worst kind,” she said bluntly.
He watched her jaw tense, caught the sound of an indrawn breath she forced through her nostrils, then smiled into her eyes as she met his gaze. “That’s better. Now repeat after me, my dear. Nicholas.”
She glared impotently, looking, he thought, like a child being reproved. Her lips pressed more firmly together and then, as if she shared his thought, they twitched at one corner and she was lost, the smile gaining strength as he met it with one of his own.
“You’re treating me like a schoolgirl, Nicholas.” She spoke his name, even as she shook her head at his nonsense.
“Sometimes you remind me of one. Now repeat it. One more time,” he whispered. “Nicholas.”
“Don’t push it,” she said flatly. “I understand the message. And I agree that we have passed beyond the boundaries set by polite society.”
“No one knows but the two of us,” he told her quietly. “And we did nothing wrong, Lin.”
“That’s not my name,” she told him, her chin lifting defensively.
“You’ve been Lin to me since the first time I heard Amanda call you by her pet name.”
“She’s a child.”
“But I’m not.” His breath caught and his voice deepened as he answered her sharp retort, and then he released her from his grasp, sliding his hands into his trouser pockets as he stepped away.
“Did you want to talk to me?” he asked nicely, aware that she would not have entered his study without good reason.
“I met the sheriff’s wife at the general store yesterday afternoon, and I’d like your permission to invite them for supper one evening.”
“I only pay the bills, sweet. Katie runs the house. Whatever day she decrees is fine with me.”
She shook her head again as he uttered the teasing words. “I didn’t want to impose on you, but I liked Mrs. Cleary, and Amanda was totally smitten with her little boy.”
“He’s my godson, you know,” Nicholas said, recognizing the pride in his own voice. “He’s named after me.”
“Nicky, I believe his mama said.”
Nicholas winced. “Yes, I fear Augusta somewhat ruined my influence in town when she shortened my name in that manner.”
“I’ll stop by and see her today and issue the invitation, if that’s all right with you,” Carlinda said. “My thought was to gain some ties for Amanda with your friends. She needs to feel a part of your life.” She glanced up at him. “I hope you won’t mind my playing hostess.”
“Not at all. I was going to suggest such a thing the other night, but things got a bit out of hand and I lost my…”
“Yes,” she said quietly as he hesitated. “You did.”
“It won’t happen again.” He thought his voice held a suitably apologetic tone, but her brow winged upward as if she silently doubted his words.
“I’ll leave you to your work.” Her hand reached behind her for the doorknob and she slipped past the heavy, wooden panel into the hallway.
Nicholas looked at the oak door, minutely examining the molding, the brass fittings, and the handle she’d turned. His fingers touched it as if she might have left some warm trace behind, and then his smile appeared, taunting him with his own foolishness.
The only thing she’d left behind was the faint aroma of wildflowers that seemed to waft from her person. A delicate scent that clung to her clothing and to the woman herself. A scent that haunted him in his dreams.
Perhaps he should go visit Patience. Allow her to put Lin out of his mind. It would take very little encouragement to have the woman in his arms. As angry as she might be, she would no doubt set aside her pique to get her greedy fingers on his assets.
He stalked to the window, brushing aside the lacy curtain to cast his gaze into the side yard. Amanda played on the grass, something held in her hands, and he frowned, leaning closer to the pane to better see what wiggled in her grasp.
A kitten. A tiny, black kitten, all four legs extended, claws at the ready, and Amanda looked around with a frantic cast on her features, as if she sought advice on how to release the scamp without injury to herself.
He lifted the window, leaning out to call her name. “Amanda, look here.”
She responded, half turning to face him. “I think he’s going to stick me with his fingernails,” she said, and then her teeth bit into her bottom lip as she approached the window.
Nicholas swallowed a laugh, and settled for a smile. “Those are claws, sweetheart,” he told her. “Bring him to me and I’ll help you get out of this pickle.”
Amanda walked carefully toward the window, the kitten still squirming as she reached her arms toward the man who seemed to be her only chance of rescue. Nicholas took the wiggling creature and, with quicksilver response, the tiny, needle-sharp claws set themselves into his hands.
“Well, da—” He stifled the curse and brought the kitten to his chest, allowing it to turn and settle its frightened self against his suit coat. The claws left speckles of blood behind and he sighed. Katie would have a fit, muttering to beat the band, he’d warrant, the whole time she worked at removing the blood from the wool fabric.
“Come on in, Amanda,” he told the child, “and we’ll find a bowl of milk for the kitty. Meet me in the kitchen.”
Amanda nodded and smiled, inspecting her own fingers for damage, then ran around the corner of the house toward the back door.
She was in the kitchen when he arrived. He pushed the door open before him. “Katie,” he called, looking down at the tiny, black creature who’d laid claim to his chest. “Do we have a bowl of milk for this scamp?”
Looking up from rolling out a pie crust, his housekeeper frowned. “What are you doing with a cat? I thought you didn’t like animals around the place.”
“It’s not a cat,” Amanda said quickly, hovering at his side. “It’s only a kitten. Just a baby, Katie.”
Katie looked down at the little girl, perhaps catching sight of the eagerness of her gaze as she reached out one small finger to touch the tiny, black head. “So it is,” she agreed. “And kittens need milk, don’t they, darlin’?” She wiped her hands on the enormous apron that covered her from breast to knees and sought out an odd bowl from the pantry. The icebox held a bottle of milk, and Katie poured the bowl half-full, setting it near the door.
“I think he’s from a litter born almost two months ago to the folks next door. They’ve been looking for homes for the lot of them,” she murmured as Nicholas deposited the animal beside the offering. “And just look at your hands, will you,” she said sternly. “You’ve allowed that creature to claw you to bits.”
“Not quite,” he said, disputing her words. “Just a little jab, here and there.”
“I’ll wash them out for you and put stuff on them,” Amanda offered. “Linnie has a box of salve and bottles of medicine in her room. I can fix you right up,” she said importantly, obviously quoting her nursemaid as she grasped his hand to lead him from the kitchen.
“Go on along with you,” Katie said, turning to the sink to wash her hands before she began work anew on the pie crust. “I’ll leave you in good hands, sir. Just do as the little miss tells you and you’ll be fine.” Her eyes crinkled as Amanda nodded agreeably.
“I’ll let you watch the kitty until I get back,” she told Katie.
And then he was led through the hallway to the foyer and up the stairs to the first door on the right. Lin’s room. Amanda’s small fist rapped smartly and, from within, he heard the woman’s reply.
“Amanda, is that you? Come in, dear.”
Before he could announce his presence, Amanda had turned the knob, and he was presented before Lin’s astonished eyes, his hands lifted for inspection as Amanda explained the happenings below stairs.
Amusement ran rife in
her indulgent smile as special note was made of each small bit of damage. “I’d say this requires the use of iodine,” Lin mused, stepping to the doorway of her dressing room to retrieve a covered, flowered box from the shelf therein.
“Iodine burns.” His voice was firm as he issued the statement, attempting to pull his injuries from view.
“Amanda will blow while I apply, won’t you, sweetie?”
The child nodded solemnly. “We need to wash his hands first, Linnie. You always tell me that.”
“I didn’t think,” Linnie answered, nodding her head. “You’re absolutely right.” She turned back to smile sweetly at the patient. “Why don’t you sit on the chair over by the window?” And then she watched as Amanda used a bit of soap on a washcloth to scrub at the tiny wounds where the blood had already formed small scabs. Industriously, the girl worked at her task, and over her head, he met brown eyes that scanned him anxiously, perhaps apologetically, he thought.
“I’m not badly hurt,” he assured her with a grin.
“I know. I was just thinking that I was not kind, or even polite, now that I’ve spent a few moments considering it. Earlier, I mean.”
“You were more mannerly than I,” he admitted, wincing as Amanda’s scrubbing touched a particularly sore spot.
“I think that’s enough soap and water, Amanda.”
Lin, for he could no longer think of her as Carlinda once he’d spoken the affectionate shortening of her name, halted the child’s ministrations and reached for the box of medicinals. A bottle with skull and crossbones on the label appeared from the depths of the pretty little box, and he eyed it with trepidation.
“I really don’t think—” he began and was silenced by a sharp look.
“You don’t want to get infection,” she reminded him, daubing the iodine on his wounds. Amanda blew softly as he cringed, making a face, the better to impress her with his pain.
“It’ll be fine, Uncle Nicholas,” she said primly between puffs of air from her pursed lips. “You must be brave.”
He nodded, suppressing a smile as he looked down at the two bent heads, their owners tending to his injuries. “Uncle Nicholas?” he repeated softly, and was given the benefit of Amanda’s immediate attention.
Tempting a Texan Page 6
