Tempting A Texan
Tempting A Texan
Carolyn Davidson
“You’re right, you know.”
“About what?” she asked, deigning to turn around and face him.
“You’re not in danger tonight.” He hesitated, and she moved to another step. “But don’t become complacent. Danger can come from many directions.”
He saw only the bottom half of her now as she moved on. And then her feet touched the seventh step, for he’d been unconsciously counting as she climbed. She was unmoving, and he waited.
“I think the biggest danger is not from you, Nicholas, but from within me.” One foot moved and then lowered again to settle beside the other. “I fear I’ll make a fool of myself one of these days if I don’t walk away from you.”
“But not tonight?” He asked so quietly he wondered if she had heard him.
Her feet shifted, then moved upward, her voice trailing behind her.
“No, not tonight.”
Tempting a Texan
Harlequin Historical #647
Praise for CAROLYN DAVIDSON’s recent titles
A Convenient Wife
“Carolyn Davidson creates an engaging,
complex plot with a hero to die for.”
—Romantic Times
The Bachelor Tax
“From desperate situation to upbeat ending,
Carolyn Davidson reminds us why we read romance.”
—Romantic Times
The Tender Stranger
“Davidson wonderfully captures gentleness
in the midst of heart-wrenching challenges,
portraying the extraordinary possibilities that exist
within ordinary marital love.”
—Publishers Weekly
#648 THE SILVER LORD
Miranda Jarrett
#649 THE ANGEL OF DEVIL’S CAMP
Lynna Banning
#650 BRIDE OF THE TOWER
Sharon Schulze
Tempting a Texan
Carolyn Davidson
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Available from Harlequin Historicals and CAROLYN DAVIDSON
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Loving Katherine #325
The Forever Man #385
Runaway #416
The Wedding Promise #431
The Tender Stranger #456
The Midwife #475
* (#litres_trial_promo)The Bachelor Tax #496
* (#litres_trial_promo)Tanner Stakes His Claim #513
* (#litres_trial_promo)One Christmas Wish #531
“Wish upon a Star”
Maggie’s Beau #543
The Seduction of Shay Devereaux #556
A Convenient Wife #585
A Marriage by Chance #600
The Texan #615
Tempting a Texan #647
I write of heroes and heroines from the past, of those who broke ground in our country, who survived in a world where only the strong prevailed. Those who were our forefathers, who have earned our respect and admiration. I find my inspiration all around me, in the men and women who daily travel to their places of employment, who raise children to be loyal and honest, loving and kind. I see heroes in our schools, those men and women who educate and mold young Americans. I see them in uniform, the patrolmen directing traffic, the firefighters driving emergency vehicles, pilots flying air force jets, each of them doing their part to support the democracy in which we live. And I find heroes and men like the one I live with, who has devoted his life to keeping his family safe and secure. To all heroes and heroines who live daily lives of such devotion, this book is dedicated. But especially to Mr. Ed, who loves me.
Contents
Chapter One (#u595a155c-0898-58b4-9639-bc416b9207a7)
Chapter Two (#u0266487f-0b69-5510-9777-fd7ea2e66aad)
Chapter Three (#u2de748a3-e9b2-58d7-a4d3-01d362bef0d7)
Chapter Four (#u1e5dc9f5-bd87-509a-a71d-340a723d3efd)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One
Collins Creek, Texas, April, 1897
“I don’t have a sister,” Nicholas muttered beneath his breath, reading for the third time a scribbled message carried into his office only moments before.
“It seems you do,” the sheriff said, grinning widely. He stood in the doorway, the messenger of tidings ill-received; and if the smile he wore was any indication, seeing Nicholas Garvey at a loss was well worth the time he’d spent delivering the message.
“Are you sure Henry got this right?” Nicholas asked, his mouth taut as he lifted the lined paper for the sheriff’s scrutiny. “Were you there when it came over the wire?”
“Sure was,” Cleary answered. “That’s why I offered to deliver it by hand. I figured it was important when Henry sputtered out the words and then tried to cover up his scribbles when I looked over his shoulder.” He moved to a chair in front of the wide, mahogany desk. One booted foot lifted and rested against his other knee as he removed his hat and appeared to settle in.
“Did you read the whole thing?” Nicholas asked, sinking into his own chair, a scowl creasing his forehead.
“Nope. Only got as far as the words…” He looked up at the ceiling, his thought processes obviously in good order as he spoke. “Let’s see. It said something about you being named a guardian of your sister’s child. A girl, I think.”
“There’s been a mix-up somewhere,” Nicholas growled with a ferocity that matched his dark, angry visage. “I’ve never had a sister.”
“Somebody back East doesn’t agree with you,” Cleary said mildly.
“Well, they can just look elsewhere for a dumping ground,” Nicholas said harshly. “I don’t know what this lawyer expects of me, but raising a child is not on my schedule.”
“You seem to be quite taken with your godson,” Cleary said, his index finger following the crease in his hat brim. He looked up, his initial reaction to the message apparently diluted by Nicholas’s somber behavior.
“That’s different, and you know it. I won’t be saddled with a child purported to be my niece, when I know good and well that my background doesn’t include her mother.”
Cleary stood up, a lengthy procedure, adjusting his gun belt and glancing toward the open door. “I don’t suppose…” He hesitated, frowning.
“What?” Nicholas rose from the depths of his leather chair, discarding the wrinkled message on his desktop. Hands widespread on his blotter, he leaned forward. “You know a little about the law, Cleary. Is there anything I can do to put a crimp in this?”
“Is the child on her way here?” Cleary’s innocent expression denied the knowledge he’d gained by reading the message, and Nicholas felt the urge to grind his teeth in frustration.
“You know damn well she is.” He glanced down at the scribbled note. “Accompanied by a companion, is what it says here.”
“Who sent it?” Cleary asked.
“A law firm. Under orders from the court. According to this, the child is alone in the world.”
“Well,” Cleary drawled quietly. “You oughta make a good pair, then. I’ve never heard you mention any family.”
“That’s because I don’t have one.” Frustration emphasized every word as Nicholas repeated his original statement. “Where the hell somebody got the idea of sticking me with a five-year-old is beyond me. I’ve got other fish to fry.”
“This wouldn’t have anything to do with Patience Filmore, would it?”
Nicholas looked up, suddenly feeling defensive. “I’ve spent some time with her.”
“Planning marriage?”
“Not yet. But it’s a definite possibility.” And yet, his instincts were even now pushing that reasoning to the back burner. At least until this matter was cleared up.
“You want to send back a reply?” The lawman motioned to the crumpled message, lifted an eyebrow and waited.
“And what good would that do? According to this, my visitors will arrive any day now.”
From the doorway a young man, his hair slicked back with pomade, his shirt starched to within an inch of its life, cleared his throat. “Sir. Mr. Garvey.”
“Yes.” The single syllable held the force of a bullet and the clerk winced.
“You have a visitor, sir. A young lady, accompanied by a child, sir.”
“Well…sh—” A hissing sound died upon leaving his lips as Nicholas turned again to Cleary. “I don’t believe it. How could she have gotten here so soon?” He snatched up the message, smoothing it across his wide palm. “Has the morning train arrived already?”
“Yep. Pretty near two hours ago.” Cleary turned back and settled once more in the chair he’d vacated. “Maybe I’ll stick around for a while, after all.”
Nicholas nodded wearily at the clerk. “Show her in.” And then he turned to Cleary, his eyes narrowing in an unmistakable warning. “Not a word from you.”
A look of solemn promise was obliterated by the glittering humor in the sheriff’s eyes as he watched his friend stride to the doorway. And then, as if the woman who appeared just beyond the threshold had the ability to change his demeanor, the sheriff stood as she spoke to the banker, her accent soft and genteel.
“I’m Carlinda Donnelly,” she said, extending a hand. “I’ve brought your niece to you, Mr. Garvey.”
Nicholas felt helpless anger engulf him as the russet-haired female waited for the courtesy of his palm to meet hers. At his obvious reluctance to offer her the simple gesture, her stilted smile faltered, and as he watched, her hand fell to her side. It was snatched up by a tiny female creature whose eyes widened in dismay as she gazed at him.
Eyes the exact color of blue he’d observed in his mirror every morning of his life. Her dark hair hung in curls past her shoulders, and her petite form was garbed in a dainty flowered dress that met the tops of high-buttoned shoes. The delicate rosebud mouth trembled as she spoke.
“Are you my uncle?” she asked timidly. And then she looked up at the woman beside her, her whisper loud in the silence as she confided her fear. “I don’t think he likes me,” she said, her eyes filling with tears.
Nicholas cleared his throat. “I don’t know if I’m your uncle or not,” he admitted after a moment. “If I am, it’s news to me. I’d have sworn up until ten minutes ago that I was alone in the world.” He squatted before the child, his sharp gaze taking in the long lashes, the wide brow, and finally, the small beauty mark beside her mouth. Without thinking, his hand rose to touch an identical brown speck beside his upper lip.
“It isn’t a matter of not liking you,” he said quietly, unable to be cruel to an innocent child. “It’s just that I can’t imagine who decided you were my responsibility.”
“A judge in New York City,” the woman said quietly. “Her mother and father were in an accident while traveling in Europe. A fatal accident. She became a ward of the court until your whereabouts were discovered. I’d been caring for her in their absence, and I’ve been hired now by her father’s estate to bring her to you. Another party is vying for her custody, but the judge decided in your favor.”
He needn’t have given me his blessing. Nicholas scowled at the thought.
Miss Donnelly retrieved a package from beneath her left arm and placed it on his desk. “This is the result of the court hearing, and includes a copy of the will. I’m sure you’ll find everything you need in here.”
He glanced down at the envelope, then at the child, his gaze caught by the turmoil in her face. “May I ask for an introduction?”
Carlinda Donnelly nodded quickly. “Of course. This is Amanda.”
As if hearing her name spoken aloud was a signal, the child extended her dainty fist, uncurling the fingers as she offered it to the man before her. “I’m pleased to meet you, sir,” she whispered, obviously well mannered and primed for this introduction.
Nicholas took the fingers in his, looking down at the hand that was resting like a small bird in his palm. “Hello, Amanda,” he said politely, then glanced up at the woman beside him. “Miss Donnelly—” He broke off abruptly, as words failed him. What did a man say to a woman who had just invaded his life, whose courteous gestures he had scorned, and who waited now for his reaction to her presence?
He glanced aside at Cleary and noted the subtle shake of the man’s head and slight lift of shoulders. No help there. In fact, it looked obvious to him that the sheriff was about to make an exit, standing and brushing the brim of his hat.
“I believe my wife’s holding dinner for me,” Cleary said, smiling blandly at the visitors and waiting for the doorway to clear.
“I’m in your way,” Carlinda said. “I’m so sorry.” Stepping back, she allowed him to pass, almost swaying on her feet. She looked confused, travel-weary and disheartened, Nicholas decided. None of this was her fault, and yet he found her a ready target for his anger as he watched Cleary stride toward the front of the bank.
“I’m not certain what I’m expected to do, Miss Donnelly,” Nicholas said abruptly. “I haven’t the proper facilities to care for a child.”
“Are you married?” she asked quietly.
He shook his head. “Certainly not. I’m a businessman, and marriage is not in my immediate future. Right now, I see no need for a woman in my home.”
She flinched at his words. “You don’t like women?” she asked, flicking a look of conjecture in his direction. “I mean—” Her mouth thinned as if she regretted the inference her words suggested.
“I like women just fine. In their proper place,” he retorted.
“And that is…”
Her hesitance was deliberate. He knew it from his depths, and even as he bristled at her words, he silently saluted her bravery at defying him. “Wherever I decree they are the most useful,” he said smoothly, watching as a red tide washed upward from her throat to cover her cheeks. Beneath her bonnet, her hair was a deep shade of auburn, caught up in a heavy, somewhat untidy knot at her nape. Several curling strands touched her forehead, softening the brown eyes that glared in his direction.
“I see,” she said harshly, although he very much doubted that she was nearly as sophisticated as she would like him to believe. “Well, perhaps you’ll have to seek out someone to help you in your care of Amanda,” Miss Donnelly suggested. “I’m only the person hired to deliver her into your hands, sir. I suppose there’s no reason not to be on the early train tomorrow morning, back to Saint Louis and then on to New York.”
She’s bluffing. The thought pleased him. “I don’t think that’s an option,” he replied smoothly. “You can’t leave me here with a child and sashay off without a by-your-leave. It would be grossly unfair to—” he looked down at the little girl, and then continued with a cool smile “—to the child.”
Her eyes narrowed, and her chin lifted defensively. “I beg your humble pardon, Mr. Garvey, but I can do anything I please. I am not a servant in your employ.”
“That’s true enough, but this is a small town, ma’am. You might find it difficult to board the morning train, should I decide to say otherwise.”
“You’d keep me here against my will?” Her blush faded quickly, leaving her pale beneath a naturally creamy complexion. Her lips were compressed, their fullness narrowed by the gesture, and he caught sight of a glimpse of panic in her brown eyes.
“No, of course I wouldn’t. I didn’t mean to say that,” Nicholas answered quietly. He glanced down at Amanda, whose eyes were glued on his face. Sparing her a quick smile, he directed his attention to the young woman before him. It might be time to backtrack and let her off the hook. “Let’s rethink this a bit. I’ll make it worth your while to stay. This whole thing needs to be sorted out.”
“And where would you suggest I live while I’m at your beck and call?” she asked. Her jaw was taut and he sensed a quality of brittleness in her demeanor, as if she might shatter into a thousand pieces should she loosen her grip on the situation enveloping her.
It would not do for the woman to lose control, here in the bank where he prided himself on his immaculate reputation. He reached for her, grasping her wrist and drawing her into his office. Reaching behind her, he closed the door. A hum of voices reached him and he winced, aware that several customers had been privy to the low, murmured argument he’d allowed himself to be involved in.
She reacted to his maneuvers, tugging at his hold as he led her from the door to a chair across the room. “Please release me, sir,” she said sharply. Beside her, Amanda caught her breath in a sob; and Miss Donnelly looked down, her face reflecting the sadness the child expressed.
Nicholas felt a tide of confusion sweep over his entire being. Always in control, priding himself on his grasp of business and aware of the enormity of his influence, he’d never felt so totally at sea in his entire career. His early years were another story. But in the past twenty years, he’d come a long way from the young man who’d dug through the refuse in alleyways for food.
Befriended at fifteen by a man whose life he’d saved during a nighttime robbery attempt, he’d been sent to school, then on to a university. His boyish rescue of the wealthy stranger, who, beset by thieves, had taken the scrawny youth home with him, led to a future he’d never in his wildest dreams thought to hold within his grasp.
His upward climb in the financial market, bulwarked by the tidy fortune left to him by his childless benefactor, had led Nicholas here. Here to Collins Creek, a small town north of Dallas, where he was known only as the owner of the town’s bank. A situation he’d chosen, where peace and security were his for the asking. Where he was considered to be, over the past two years, the town’s most successful citizen, and given the friendship of the simple folk surrounding him. His past was just that, those years behind him as he sought the tranquillity available in this small town.
Now, in barely thirty minutes’ time, he was swept back to that life in the city by the appearance of a young woman and her charge, a child alleged to be his niece. Miss Donnelly was dressed in a simple gown, yet wore the look of a woman from New York. That distinctive air of refinement clung to her, and her voice was overlaid with a soft, cultured accent she did not attempt to conceal.
Yet, there was no guarantee she was what she appeared to be. He’d learned early on not to take people at face value, and years of living had not eased the pain of experience. She faced him with pride and anger at war within her, her expressive face reflecting the turmoil of the situation in which she found herself.
Crouching beside Amanda, only the crown of the woman’s hat was visible to his discerning eye. It was circled by a narrow band of grosgrain ribbon, simple, yet stylish, and beneath its brim, he sensed her smile was warm as she spoke to the child.
“It’s all right, Amanda,” she said quietly, the soothing syllables having an immediate effect.
“Where will we go, Linnie?”
Linnie? Nicholas felt a warmth expand within his chest as the child spoke the name she’d chosen for her nurse. And he inhaled sharply as he considered his harshness. “You’ll go to my home,” he said, dropping to one knee, the better to look squarely at the little girl. No matter the woman’s mission here, the child deserved decent treatment.
Yet Amanda appeared not to welcome his offer. “You don’t like us,” she said firmly. “And I don’t think I like you, either. You’re not a nice man.”
“That’s not polite,” Miss Donnelly stated matter-off-actly, holding Amanda’s hand tightly. And then she turned her head to look directly at Nicholas. “I’m sure there will be room at the hotel for us. We wouldn’t want to inconvenience you. I’ll keep Amanda for the night and talk to her about the situation. I can’t force the issue with her.”
Nicholas grasped the woman’s elbow and assisted her to her feet, rising to look down into her dark eyes. “I have a comfortable home just down the street,” he said politely. “My housekeeper will be happy to settle you in. In fact, we’ll leave now and I’ll see to it myself. Amanda will be more comfortable there than in a hotel. You and I will talk this evening, Miss Donnelly.”
She attempted to withdraw from his hold and his fingers only tightened, putting force behind his statement. “There isn’t room to argue the point,” he told her flatly. “The child must be weary, and I think you’re ready for a chance to sit and relax, yourself.” He reached toward the rack by the door, snatching his wide-brimmed hat from a hook, then ushered her from his office.
“I’m going home for a while, Thomas,” he said to his clerk. “I’ll return soon. In the meantime, send someone to the train station to collect Miss Donnelly’s things. And those of the child. Have them delivered to my house.”
The wide-eyed young man nodded, his gaze enquiring as he shot a sidelong glance at Nicholas’s visitors. “Yes, sir, Mr. Garvey. I’ll handle things.”
The door opened onto a wide, wooden sidewalk, and Nicholas offered his arm, turning to the right. To her credit, Miss Donnelly accepted his gesture, and he looked down to see her narrow fingers ease past the crook of his elbow to rest on his forearm. A warmth settled into his flesh where that elegant hand rested, and his eyes sought her face, intrigued by the rush of heat that coursed throughout his body.
Her face averted, she seemed to be concentrating on the child who walked nicely on her other side, who, even as he watched, lifted a tiny hand to cover a yawn. He was right, he decided. These two females needed a place to rest, a cool, clean refuge in which to recuperate from their travels. He could think of no other place more fitting than his own home. He’d spend the rest of the day deciding his next move.
Thus far she’d accomplished her purpose, although living in Nicholas Garvey’s home had been more her goal for Amanda than for herself. Irene had wanted her brother to have his niece, and if being under his roof would accomplish that purpose, Carlinda would stay as long as necessary. She recalled her threat to leave and shook her head. He’d upset her and she’d responded with haste, and now she’d be the one to backtrack.
Her only hindrance in staying here until Amanda was well settled was the appeal of the man himself to her female person. Handsome didn’t begin to describe him, and autocratic didn’t start to pay just due to his confident aura.
She looked around the comfortable room she’d been assigned and released a deep breath. The house was large, two-storied and surrounded on the front and two sides by a wide veranda. Sitting over a hundred feet from the sidewalk, it was situated behind a tall fence built of wood, painted white and woven in an intricate pattern, with a wide gate and arbor at its center.
Her surroundings were cool and comfortable, with fine carpets and gracefully hung draperies at the windows. She’d noted comfortable couches and gleaming wooden tables filling the parlor, visible from the central foyer, where a dining room flanked it on the opposite side of the wide hallway.
As she’d climbed one side of the two-pronged staircase to the second floor, she’d looked back to see her elegantly clad host watching her progress from below. His lifted hand offered a salute, and then he’d turned to depart through the front door.
Katie, the woman who kept this place immaculate, had given Carlinda a searching glance as she opened the bedroom door and ushered her inside. “I’ve already put the wee one in the room next door,” she said. “Tucked her in nicely, and barely had her shoes and dress off before she curled up and closed her eyes.”
That was one mark in the woman’s favor, Carlinda decided. Treating Amanda kindly gave the housekeeper points. It bode well for the child’s future.
Now, Carlinda walked to the double windows overlooking the front yard and the street, easing aside the white curtain, the better to search the sidewalk below. He was there, walking briskly, crossing the street almost a hundred yards away. His stride was long, his back straight, his hat at a jaunty angle atop dark hair.
She’d noticed his eyes first, that brilliant blue that proclaimed him as Black Irish. The same blue that had been replicated in the small face of the child she’d brought to him. He was wary. Of that there was no doubt. And well he might be. Nicholas Garvey was a man with secrets, a man with a fortune at his fingertips, and a past that didn’t lend itself to investigation. She’d known all of that. But she hadn’t expected the effect of dark hair and blue eyes, and the flash of white teeth as he spoke and smiled.
She knew of his past, had heard his sister’s whispered words of confession before she left Amanda behind as she’d set out on the final journey of her life. That she’d been able to furnish the court with a sealed document identifying Nicholas Garvey as the child’s only living relative had been fortuitous for Amanda’s well-being.
Irene knew about her brother, knew of his success, and was shamed by her father’s series of affairs, one of which had produced Nicholas. Before her marriage to the man who’d given her child a name, she had refused to call on Nicholas for help. But after Irene’s death, Carlinda determined to make the rich financier aware of his sister’s life and death, and place him under obligation to the child left behind by her mother’s tragic end.
“I’m doing my best, Irene,” she whispered, tracing a line in the wavy glass before her. “He’ll never know, not from me anyway, about Amanda’s beginnings.” Her sigh was deep, her eyes filling with tears as she turned away from the window. Unless she had overplayed her hand, Nicholas Garvey would do his best to persuade her to remain here in his home, at least until Amanda was settled in and made a part of the household. And she would be wise not to protest too much.
There was nothing left for her in New York City.
She awoke late in the afternoon in the big bed, its comfortable mattress forming to her slender body, and for a moment she looked around her in confusion. And then her memory kicked in and she recalled the long climb up the staircase, remembered looking back at the dark-clad figure watching her from below. He wore the look of a worthy opponent, and she girded herself for whatever he might say or do. Swinging her feet to the floor she looked around, searching the room for her dress.
She’d unbuttoned it and placed it on a chair before crawling beneath the sheet on the wide bed. Now it hung over a rack near the wardrobe, freshly pressed by an unknown hand wielding an iron. No doubt that of the housekeeper. Katie by name, she recalled.
From the hallway beyond the closed door, she heard a tinkling laugh, almost a giggle, and recognized the voice immediately. Amanda at her best, cheerful and lighthearted.
Overlaying the child’s tones, a deeper, masculine tone prevailed, and Carlinda hurriedly slid the dress over her head, aware of Nicholas Garvey’s presence just a few feet away. Even as she buttoned the small, black fastenings on her bodice, she heard the single rap of a knuckle on the wooden panel.
“Yes, I’m coming,” she said, hastening across the room to turn the handle. It swung wide and she looked up into the dark, masculine features of the man she’d traveled halfway across the country to find. “I’m sorry. I only planned to rest for a bit, and I’m afraid I slept longer than I thought.”
“That’s not a problem, Miss Donnelly,” he said nicely, his gaze sliding down the length of her. “We came to rouse you, since Katie announced that supper was served, and Amanda thought you were likely hungry. She tells me you didn’t eat much today.”
Carlinda flushed deeply. The child saw more than she should, and this morning had been a hodgepodge of activity, arriving in Collins Creek, pausing only at the hotel for breakfast before they sought out the bank. Unable to eat the meal she’d ordered, her stomach protesting as she planned her approach to Nicholas, Carlinda had only watched and encouraged Amanda’s halfhearted attempts to get through the plate of eggs and sausage before her.
“I wasn’t hungry,” she said now. “The journey was tiring, and I fear I’d lost my appetite.”
“Well, you’d do well to locate it now. Katie has outdone herself. We don’t often have company,” he said, taking up Amanda’s hand in his and leading the way to the double staircase.
“Mr. Garvey has two sets of steps and two bannisters,” Amanda announced gleefully. “And lots of bedrooms.” With her free hand, she tugged at Carlinda’s skirt, and her whispered words were an easily heard suggestion. “I’ll bet he’s got plenty of room for us to stay here.”
“Yes, I have,” he said, unabashed at listening to her murmured suggestion.
“I had the impression we weren’t as welcome as the flowers in spring,” Carlinda said, her forced smile for the child’s benefit apparently not lost on Nicholas.
He shrugged nonchalantly. “We’ll have to take this one step at a time. Right now, I think it would be unforgivable to keep Katie waiting. She likes to serve her meals hot.”
Carlinda’s feet were silent against the carpeted stairs and she slowed her pace, the better to observe the first floor below. Besides the parlor and dining room, two other doors led from the wide foyer, both of them open. As she moved downward, a desk was visible inside one room, probably Nicholas’s private retreat, she decided. The other appeared to be a small sitting room, a woman’s room by the looks of things. She was entranced by a glimpse of a delicately constructed sofa and chair, and late-afternoon sunshine pouring through a window.
“You have a lovely home.” The compliment was sincere, probably the first entirely honest thing she’d said or done today, she thought. And felt a pang of guilt as she considered her omission of all the facts.
“Thank you,” he answered gravely, although a smile flashed as he met her gaze. “I don’t often have an opportunity to offer my hospitality. I was amiss in not extending a welcome to you and Amanda when we first met today. I fear my thoughts were in a state of flux, and my mind did not function as well as it should have.”
“You were presented with a done deal, as they say, Mr. Garvey. I can’t blame you for being taken unaware and being less than welcoming.”
“Nonetheless,” he said with a shrug, and she looked up to catch a glimpse of heat in the depths of his blue eyes, a quickly masked impression. He’d looked at her as a man might who sought the interest of an available woman. For just a moment, she’d felt the warmth of masculine interest, and she stiffened against the lure of such a thing being cast in her direction.
Perhaps staying in this house was not a good beginning. He might think she was obtainable, a woman of loose virtue, should she agree too quickly to his hospitality. And yet, she could not in good conscience leave Amanda here without her. “We don’t want to put you to any trouble,” she murmured, reaching the bottom of the staircase. “I’m certain the hotel would do very well for us.” She looked up at him. “At least until you have an opportunity to check out the facts of this matter.”
“I won’t hear of it.” His tones were clipped, bringing an abrupt end to the discussion and she subsided, unwilling to argue in front of Amanda. As though he understood her position and agreed, he nodded at the open door of his study. “After supper, perhaps you’ll join me in here and we’ll discuss this at greater length.”
Carlinda nodded, and stepped up her pace to the dining room, where a long table was set with three places and, at one end, a tureen of soup sent up a steam of fragrance. She was seated with a courtly gesture, and she opened the linen napkin beside her plate, aware of Amanda’s copycat gesture as the child followed her example.
Nicholas served the soup, waving Katie’s offer of help aside as the woman brought a plate of fresh bread from the kitchen. It was delicious, a clear broth with traces of rice and bits of chicken adding flavor, providing a light beginning to the meal. It was followed by a roast, again served by Nicholas, who stood before his chair and offered thin slices of the meat to his guests. Small potatoes, cooked with the skins intact, were accompanied by whole green beans, redolent with the scent of bacon and onions.
It was a filling repast, and when Katie brought forth a tart for each of them, Carlinda was tempted to refuse. And then she caught sight of the dark, thick juice of purple berries that spread before the force of Nicholas’s fork as he cut into the dainty bit of pastry.
“I shouldn’t,” she sighed, even as she watched the tiny wisps of steam rise from the delicacy.
“It’s a specialty of Katie’s,” Nicholas said, coaxing her with a smile. “She’ll be insulted if you refuse a bite.”
“I fear I’ll eat the whole thing,” Carlinda said, tasting carefully of the hot offering. “Don’t burn your mouth,” she warned Amanda.
“I’ve got cream to put over it, if you like,” Katie said from the kitchen doorway, then approached with a small pitcher of golden liquid as Amanda nodded her agreement. “It tastes good this way,” she told the child, pouring a generous amount.
“I’ll take some, too,” Nicholas said, offering his dish.
“And you, miss?” Katie asked.
“If it tastes better that way, I suppose I should join the group,” Carlinda agreed.
The meal was long, Nicholas asking Amanda about the trip, skirting the topic of her parents and offering small glimpses of his life in this small Texas town. He delivered an occasional aside to Carlinda, but his attention was focused on the child who sat at his right hand.
The resemblance between the two of them was obvious to anyone who cared to look, Carlinda decided. Even Katie glanced back and forth between the man and the young girl who absorbed his interest, and before the end of the meal, she had shot a look of understanding at the other woman.
Nicholas pushed away from the table finally. “I believe I’ve eaten more than my share, Katie,” he said, watching as she cleared the plate from before him.
“You don’t usually eat enough,” she snipped. “About time you sat down and did my cooking justice.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said obligingly, looking suitably chagrined. And then he rose and spoke kindly to Amanda. “Would you like to sit on the porch for a while?” he asked. “Or perhaps look at the stereopticon in the parlor?”
“Stere—” Amanda halted halfway through the word, obviously puzzled at its meaning.
“A stereopticon is something you hold up to your eyes and then look at pictures with,” he said. “I have a whole box of prints you can see.” He took her by the hand and led her from the room, sending an apologetic look in Carlinda’s direction.
“In the parlor?” Amanda asked brightly, double-stepping to keep up with his long strides. “What kind of pictures do you have?”
“Some of Rome or Venice or even London,” he said. “And lots of New York City and other places here in America.”
“I’ve already been to New York,” the child told him flatly. “I’d rather see somewhere else.”
“How about Niagara Falls?” he asked. “Or maybe ships on the ocean?”
“Let’s steer clear of P-a-r-i-s,” Carlinda said quickly, spelling the city’s name in a rush of letters, lest Amanda get the drift of the word she attempted to avoid speaking.
“Is there some reason for that?” he asked in a muted tone as he stepped to a bookcase where the instrument lay. Amanda settled herself on a sofa, smoothing her dress over her legs with a practiced hand, anticipation alive in her blue eyes. He glanced back at her, and Carlinda detected a softening in his eyes, those eyes so like the child’s.
“The accident took place in Paris,” she murmured. “I try not to mention it. She was quite traumatized for days after we heard the news.”
“I wasn’t aware you knew her mother. You were with Amanda, even back then?”
Carlinda hesitated, then nodded briefly. “Shall we light a lamp, so she can see these better?” she asked, changing the subject deftly.
Yet, even as he acceded to her suggestion, she was aware that the issue would be raised again. And she prepared herself for a battery of questions.
Chapter Two
Nicholas’s study was a reflection of the man, the fittings surrounding him luxurious, yet masculine. An enormous desk, its surface glowing with the sheen of polished mahogany, took her gaze as Carlinda walked over the threshold. Sitting behind it, leaning back in his chair, Nicholas resembled a king surveying his domain, judging his subject as she entered the throne room. She suppressed a smile at the thought, concentrating instead on the man himself. His hands were tanned, his fingers long, and laced together in a casual display of patience as he glanced up at her.
“Is the child asleep?” His voice appealed to her, she found as he spoke his query. It matched the man. Deep and cultured, yet with a strength beneath its resonant tone, it gave warning that he was not a man to be underestimated.
“Amanda?” She spoke the name as a query, her reprimand subtle, and Nicholas frowned. “Such a pretty name, don’t you think?” Carlinda asked, and then sighed, relenting. “Yes, she was tired.” And so am I. Perhaps this was not a good time to face the man and make her position clear. His next words told her he was aware of her hesitation as a slow smile lit his brilliant blue eyes.
“I’ll try to remember from now on to use her name when I speak of her.” He waved in the direction of a seating arrangement across from his desk. “I don’t plan on interrogating you, Miss Donnelly. Sit down for a moment. I only want to talk.”
A brown armchair lured her and she settled in its depths, seduced by the high back and soft leather surrounding her. Her feet touched the floor, her knees weak as she eyed his ebony hair and tanned features. It wasn’t fair that one man should be so endowed with masculine beauty, she thought, masking her admiration with a polite smile.
“I fear I won’t be good company, sir. Although my nap was refreshing, I find I need the comfort of a long night’s sleep. Perhaps your discussion will wait until another time.” She watched as his gaze swept her from top to bottom, a very short distance, given her position in the chair. That his eyes hesitated as they touched upon her full bosom and then traveled to where her feet were clad in soft leather was not a surprise. The man did not pretend a lack of interest in face and form, but made his intentions apparent.
“You don’t look like a nursemaid, Miss Donnelly,” he said bluntly, a small smile playing about his lips, as if he would draw a quick retort from her. “I’ve seen women who looked much as you do while at the opera house in New York City. You’re dressed in a conservative manner, as a cultured young lady would be, yet you give the impression of being knowledgeable about life in society.”
“Nevertheless, I am what I am,” she said quietly. “My looks have nothing to do with my occupation, Mr. Garvey. Women such as myself work in the finest homes in the city.” She glanced down at her modest, yet decidedly fashionable gown. “Surely I’m not dressed for the opera or a French restaurant, sir. I have references if you feel the need to see them, but I assure you I’m just a simple woman who has accompanied your niece from the East Coast.”
“You may be many things,” Nicholas said quietly, nodding his head as if he accepted her words as truth, “but you are not a simple woman.”
She felt her heart flutter as he spoke the words with emphasis, his eyes again touching her face, openly admiring the picture she presented. Aware of his scrutiny, blood rushed through her body, his measured gaze setting in motion a reaction she could not control. Tendrils of that same warmth lent color to her cheeks and she lowered her gaze to her lap.
Then courage took hold and she lifted her lashes to shoot a quick glare in his direction. She sighed at her own small betraying gesture, and smiled, ruing her short temper. “Perhaps not. But I am a weary woman, and unless you have instructions for me, I beg your leave to return to my room.”
He looked taken aback, yet rose with a graceful movement “Certainly. I only wanted to spend some time becoming familiar with your relationship to Amanda.” His mouth curved, an enticing movement of lips that drew her like a magnet. “May I call you Carlinda? Or is our acquaintance of too short a span to allow such a thing?”
“I probably won’t be here long enough for us to become friends, Mr. Garvey.” Rising from the chair without revealing her aching back and the sudden stiffness that gripped her knees made her hesitate, and he shot her a calculating look, then stepped quickly around the desk to offer his hand.
“I think you’re feeling the effects of travel,” he ventured. “Let me escort you up the stairs.”
She wasn’t certain she could tolerate the warmth of those fingers for any length of time, Carlinda decided. And then his hand moved to settle gently at the small of her back as he turned her toward the door of his study. It was even worse there, sending shards of heat from that place to envelop her entire body in awareness of the tall, masculine creature who was her host.
If she were certain of his trustworthiness, certain he would treat Amanda as he should, she’d be better off leaving. Though where she would go was still in doubt. She bit back a sigh as they crossed the threshold of the study. She’d already decided he was a magician, this elegant banker whose eyes warmed her, whose hand persuaded her without effort into doing as he willed.
So she walked beside him to the staircase, lifting her skirts, climbing to the second floor, her feet moving in unison with his. Beside her, his clothing, and the body beneath the fine wool and linen, exuded a fresh scent, one that blended with a subtle musky aroma, seducing her senses.
He reached to open the door of her room and the hand was gone from her back as he nodded politely in the direction of the bedside table where a pink-shaded lamp glowed, a beacon drawing her to the comfort of cool sheets and soft pillows.
“Have a good night,” he said quietly. “I’ll see you at breakfast. We eat rather early, I should warn you.”
“I’m used to arising when the sun comes up,” she told him, moving away across the carpet, then turning to face him. “Is that a connecting door to Amanda’s room?” She glanced at the wall where a single door sat ajar. “I didn’t pay attention earlier.”
Nicholas shook his head. “No. That’s a dressing room. I don’t have any suites in the house.” His smile was apologetic. “I fear you are in the wilds of Texas, ma’am. We don’t supply the conveniences of big-city living.”
She blushed anew at his words. “I didn’t mean to criticize. I just wanted to be able to hear Amanda should she awake in the night.”
“Does she have nightmares?” His brow wrinkled in a frown.
“Once in a while. Not during the journey, but then, it was all new and exciting to her. She dreams of her mother sometimes, and wakes crying.”
“Perhaps you should leave your door open then,” he suggested. “Hers is already ajar.” At her hesitation he grinned, a taunting look enveloping his eyes, crinkling the skin at their outer corners. He leaned against the doorjamb. “I promise not to intrude on your privacy.”
“Unless the walls are very thick, or soundproof, I’m sure I’ll hear her should she cry out,” she said hurriedly. She glanced at the window and noted the lights of town to the east. Even as she watched, one flickered and disappeared. “It seems things are settling down all over,” she said quietly. “Amanda shouldn’t be roused by noise from outdoors.”
“I’ll leave you then,” her host said. “If you like, I’ll open the sash. The fresh air will help you sleep.” His eyes looked black in the dim light and she inhaled sharply, shaking her head in refusal of his offer.
He gave her a last, long, surveying look. “Good night then, Miss Donnelly.”
His back was straight, his footsteps silent on the carpet as he turned toward the stairway and she relaxed, stepping to the side of the bed to perch on the mattress. The man’s effect on her was without precedent. Never in her twenty-four years had she known instant attraction to a male, unless she counted the tall youth, almost fifteen years older than she, who had lived next door in her growing-up years.
Jack had been her idol, her secret flame until the day he’d married a young lady and settled down to become a husband and father. His attraction for her had become null and void, and she could only ever after look at him as a staid creature with a string of children and a dutiful wife trailing behind as he entered the church on Sunday morning.
And now there was Nicholas Garvey, a man who looked at her as if he considered the thought of possessing her. She shook her head. What foolishness. The man was a flirt, a consummate ladies’ man, and she was a decent-looking female who’d just come into his orbit, offering a moment’s distraction.
Yet, there had been a response within her she could not deny. It would behoove her to leave this town as soon as she could assure herself of Amanda’s well-being here. She’d spend a bit of time backing away from the bonds formed by the child’s bereavement, and then decide where she might go from here.
She rose and slid open a bureau drawer, locating her nightgown. A swift glance at the door reminded her that it stood open and she crossed the room to quietly turn the handle, allowing it to latch. Far enough from the window to allow privacy, she slid from her clothing and into the soft batiste sleeping gown, then folded her underwear and arranged her dress over the back of a convenient chair.
The dressing room drew her, curiosity urging her to open the door fully and peer inside. Empty racks greeted her, with one wall mirrored, reflecting her pale form, her hair glowing in the light from her bedside. He needn’t have apologized, she thought. His home held all the comforts of her own in New York. At least the home that had once been hers, where she’d lived with Amanda and her parents.
Tomorrow would be soon enough to unpack the bag someone had delivered from the train station. She looked forward to hanging her few articles of clothing in the vast expanse of that dressing room, perhaps pretending for a while that this was her home.
Turning back to the bed, she folded the coverlet at its foot, then slid between the sheets. Her eyes noted the glass windowpane and she compressed her lips with impatience, aware that it was still closed to the night air. It took only a moment to slide from the comfortable mattress and cross the room to lift the wooden frame. It slid silently upward, and Carlinda dropped to her knees to look down at the lawn below.
A pale shadow caught her eye and she watched as the tall figure of a man walked toward the trees lining the edge of his property. Nicholas Garvey out for an evening stroll, she decided, aware of the long, slow stride that carried him beneath the low-hanging branches.
A flicker of light illuminated his profile as he bent his head to touch a match to his cigar. She hadn’t caught the scent of tobacco on him earlier, yet the faint aroma touched her nostrils now, the breeze carrying it upward. A chill of foreboding touched her and she shivered, rising and making her way back to the bed.
He held the scent of danger, and her instincts had seldom been amiss. It would be foolhardy to linger here.
The morning sun was brilliant in the sky, but Nicholas ignored it, his mind caught up with the events of the evening before. She was an enigma, perhaps playing him for a fool with her talk of leaving, then dithering as she seemingly settled into his household. The thought of her departure was not welcome, for Carlinda held an attraction he could not resist, yet resented with his sensible, masculine mindset. She was definitely not the type of woman who would accept for herself what he had in mind.
“Damn. She isn’t even beautiful,” Nicholas muttered, aware that his steps were heavy, his momentum rapid as he walked toward the bank.
“Who isn’t?” Jonathan Cleary’s voice shot holes in his concentration as the local lawman stepped to his side and voiced aloud the query Nicholas had known in that split second was coming. He’d caught sight of Cleary just as his voice uttered the exasperated statement, and now he supposed he was doomed to explain the meaning of his claim.
“You know damn well who I’m talking about.” Embarrassed not only by his sullen retort, but by his obvious interest in the nursemaid he’d taken to his home, he stopped dead still on the wooden sidewalk and aimed a dark glance at his friend.
Cleary only grinned, further irritating the banker.
“You’ll have to admit I’m right,” Nicholas said, more quietly as he nodded a good morning in the direction of a passerby.
“That she’s not beautiful?” Cleary seemed to consider the matter, and then shook his head. “There’s something about her, Nick. Maybe those dark eyes, or the auburn curls. Maybe the creamy look of her complexion, like it would be velvet under your fingertips.” He shrugged. “And don’t go quoting me to Gussie, you hear? She’d have my neck if she thought I’d looked cross-ways at another woman.”
“How could you help it?” Nicholas asked, gloom coating each word. “I don’t need to be smitten by a stranger. One who won’t even be here long enough to form an attachment.”
“You’re thinking about—”
“Don’t even say the words,” Nicholas warned him. “I’m not going to dillydally around with a woman here on a short-term basis when I’ve got an eye on Patience Filmore. I have a notion Miss Donnelly would put demands on a man, when all he’s asking for is something temporary. If I marry Patience one day down the road, I’ll still be my own person.”
Cleary only shook his head and shrugged. “You’re right there. You’re the least of her concern. Patience is interested in the money you’ve got in your bank.”
Nicholas took affront. “You don’t think I’m gentleman enough or handsome enough for the lady?” And yet, he knew that Cleary wasn’t too far off the mark. Patience was definitely a lady with an eye to the future. And being the owner of the only bank in town gave him an edge.
“Hell, you can probably talk her into marriage without any trouble at all,” Cleary said harshly. “But will you be happy with her?”
“Happy?” Nicholas felt his throat close as he uttered the word. “What does that mean?” And yet he knew. Knew that Cleary and his wife shared a life he found himself observing at times with a sort of awe and envy he’d always thought beneath him. “I’m not a homebody like you, Cleary. I think Patience will suit me just fine.”
“Speaking of which…” Cleary lifted a brow and nodded at a woman heading in their direction. “I need to be across the street,” he said, tipping his hat at the lady in question before he stepped down from the sidewalk.
“Nicholas.” Patience was blessed with abundant dark hair that hung in a series of ringlets from beneath her bonnet. Her blue eyes were wide and fringed with equally dark lashes, and she had an hourglass figure that drew the eye of every man in her vicinity, no matter where she went.
And yet, all Nicholas could see this morning was that there was an enameled look to her, as if she had spent hours perfecting the image she portrayed. His own smile was equally feigned as he offered his arm. She swept to his side, her skirts wrapping around his trouser legs as her slender fingers touched his forearm.
On the other hand, Carlinda had looked a bit frazzled at the breakfast table, her hair curling against her temples and brow, her morning gown a bit wrinkled, having been hauled from her luggage for the occasion. She’d apologized for being late, then spent long moments fixing a plate for her charge before she once more sought his attention.
And in those moments he’d filled his eyes with her soft contours, her rosy cheeks and the hastily pinned-together, russet-hued curls that perched high on her crown, several of them already on a downward slide as she shook her head in response to a query.
“Nicholas?” Patience called his name, her voice curt as she broke into his thoughts. “What in the world are you thinking of?” she asked. “I’ve been telling you about the party Saturday at the Millers’ home, and I do declare, I think you haven’t heard a word I’ve said.”
“My mind is on a problem at the bank,” he told her, lying without a speck of guilt. The woman had lost her attraction for him, almost overnight, it seemed. And for the life of him, he didn’t know how he’d go about shedding her presence from his daily routine, wishing glumly he’d never given her any encouragement.
For the pursuit had been from her direction, he recognized, almost from the first. She’d set her cap for the banker, and been persistent in the chase. And he, idiot that he was, had allowed it. Had, in fact, aided and abetted her in her determination to win his favor. Now she stood before him and he thought how wonderful it would be to hold a magic wand in his hand, just for a moment, so he might wave it over her lush form, sending her back to wherever she’d come from this morning.
Instead, he forced a benign smile to appear. “I have to get to my desk,” he said, his words apologetic. “I’ll try to find time to call on you later today, Patience.”
Her pout had lost its appeal, he decided, as she allowed her rosy lips to form a small moue, and then fluttered her lashes in what he’d once thought was a beguiling manner. Miles removed from the open, honest glare he’d received from the woman in his study only last evening.
His stride was long, as if he could not escape Patience quickly enough, and he crossed the dusty street, heading for the bank where his clerk, Thomas, was sweeping the wide sidewalk before the open door.
“Good morning, Mr. Garvey,” the young man said cheerfully. “Beautiful day, don’t you think?”
“Depends on your viewpoint,” Nicholas said with a grunt, his long legs carrying him into the high-ceilinged lobby, leaving behind an employee he knew must be puzzled by his employer’s mood. Normally a polite gentleman, the events of the day thus far had not endowed him with hope for the future of this episode he’d managed to entangle himself in. There wasn’t a bit of sense in shedding Patience from his existence when he’d be waving goodbye to Carlinda Donnelly in less time than it would take to truly make her acquaintance.
And with that decision attended to, he opened his office door and settled behind his desk. “Thomas.” The single word sounded much like the roar of a mountain lion and Nicholas winced, then took a deep breath.
Women. They were at the bottom of almost all the problems he’d faced in his life, in one way or another. And the conundrum facing him today seemed only to prove that fact. It was a good thing that marriage was definitely on the back burner. He was a man who enjoyed his freedom.
She’d been given the grand tour and decreed the house lovely, and, even more important, comfortable. The housekeeper’s bright eyes were avid with curiosity and she seemed determined to make Carlinda welcome. “I’m sure Mr. Nicholas will be home for dinner,” Katie said cheerfully, her cloth moving rapidly as she dusted the bannister.
Her hair, once flame-red, if Carlinda knew anything about such things, had now settled into a hazy color of grey over auburn. As might her own one day, she thought. A wide smile on Katie’s lips sparkled with goodwill and her feet moved smartly as she made her way through the work inherent in keeping such a large home clean and polished to within an inch of its life. Carlinda hovered in her wake, feeling useless with nothing to accomplish.
It seemed a walk was in order, and she pressed a dress from her valise and one for Amanda for the occasion. “Are you certain you don’t need any help?” Carlinda asked for the second time, hesitating by the front door. Her charge tugged impatiently at her fingers, but she held back, guilt pushing her into the offer she made.
Katie only shook her head. “No, ma’am. You go on ahead and take the wee one out for a walk. She needs to get some exercise. Young’uns need fresh air and lots of it. Makes them healthy to breathe the morning air, it does.”
Reluctantly, Carlinda nodded and opened the heavy door. Leaded glass in long panes almost the length of its frame glittered in the sunlight, and she turned back to admire them as Amanda scampered across the porch.
“I’ll just leave it open,” Katie said, watching from the threshold. “You go on now and enjoy your stroll.”
Amanda was at the gate already, apparently puzzled by the latch, and Carlinda touched it, allowing the spring to stretch and the gate to open. Then she reached her hand for the child to grasp, and was given a dour look in silent reply.
“Young ladies don’t run and jump along a public thoroughfare,” she reminded Amanda. “We walk properly, without causing the dust to rise and coat our shoes.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Amanda answered dutifully, and yet it was obvious the little girl longed to run ahead and explore the limits of the small town they’d come to.
Ahead was a square in the center of town, an inviting place Carlinda had taken note of yesterday morning. On either side, east and west, the road stretched for a short distance, with stores and places of business lining its edges, sidewalks forming a neat line in front of the establishments. Women walked from one shop to another, their steps brisk as they performed what seemed a daily ritual, providing for their families. Two elderly men had staked a claim on a bench before the hardware store, exchanging greetings with the ladies who passed by.
In the midst of the square trees grew and three benches sat, empty in the morning sun. Carlinda wished that one of them was beneath the shade of a tree. She would surely freckle, she thought, if she were subjected much longer to the warmth of the spring sunlight. Sighing, she settled on a wooden seat, almost in the center of the square, and watched as Amanda approached another child at her side.
The two little girls talked for a moment, then Amanda turned, reaching for the girl’s hand to bring her along as she approached her nursemaid. “This is Sally,” Amanda said importantly. “She’s going to be my new friend. Her mama’s at the store.”
And wasn’t it easy for a child to determine the existence of a friendship so quickly, Carlinda thought wistfully. So far removed from the adult skirmishes that took place before a friendship could be formed between two women. She thought of the battle lines that had been drawn the evening before when she’d gone head to head with the man whose hospitality she’d accepted. A blush covered her cheeks as she recalled her quick animosity.
“Hello, Sally,” she said, her response to the child automatic. And then she glanced at Amanda. “Don’t go out of the square,” she said quietly. “I’ll just sit here and watch.”
The little girls skipped off, then settled under one of the trees, carefully tugging their skirts to cover short legs, Amanda looking up for Carlinda’s approval. With a smile and nod, it was bestowed, and the child turned aside. The murmur of their voices and the soft sound of laughter lulled her as Carlinda basked beneath the sun’s rays. She’d not lost herself in such a lazy morning in a very long time, and her eyes closed as she allowed herself to drift in a slumberous state.
A shadow fell over her and she blinked, looking up quickly. Nicholas stood before her, his bulk shading her from the sun and she lifted a hand to her brow as she gazed up at him. “We’re enjoying the town square,” she said, then blushed anew as he smiled.
“I’m glad to see you out and about. I hope I didn’t interrupt your daydreaming, but I wouldn’t want you to be sunburned. I see you forgot your bonnet.”
Her eyes widened as she lifted her hand higher, as if she’d only now noticed its absence. “So I did. I suppose because I didn’t plan on walking this far. Amanda and I were talking and I didn’t realize…” Her words trailed off as she took note of his amusement. “You’re laughing at me,” she said accusingly.
He shook his head. “Indeed, not,” he murmured, denying her claim. “I’m enjoying your smile and wishing I had a few hours to sit here with you and share your warmth.”
“I’m only borrowing it from the sun,” she said. “I’m sure there’s enough for both of us.” Aware suddenly of her easy acceptance of his presence, she inhaled sharply, unwilling to so quickly bow to his appeal. “On the other hand, perhaps I’d better take Amanda back to the house. It must be nearing dinnertime and Katie may need a hand.”
“She’s remarkably efficient,” he told her, sitting beside her, doffing his hat as he lifted one booted foot to rest it against his other knee. The wide-brimmed hat found a place on the park bench between them, and he looked toward the children.
“Amanda seems to have found a friend.” His tone was amused once more.
“Sally.” Carlinda spoke the name, and smiled. “She’s needed youngsters to play with. Sally’s mother is in the general store, and I’m sure the girls are hoping she’ll take her time. They seem to be kindred souls. It bodes well for her future, I think.”
“Her future?” She glanced at him as he lifted a brow and a quizzical expression touched his face. “With me?”
“Certainly. Where else would I mean? She’ll need to accustom herself to living in this town, and in your home.”
“This hasn’t been worked out to my satisfaction yet,” he told her, his eyes seeking Amanda once more. “We’ll need some time to come to an agreement, I think.”
“Time?” She refused to look at him, her heart in her throat as she spoke the word that had assumed threatening proportions. “How much time? And what sort of an agreement are you speaking of?”
He scanned her, that lazy, impudent appraisal she’d endured only yesterday. Was it only yesterday she’d met the man? And now his gaze lifted to mesh with hers. “Time? As long as it takes,” he said quietly. “The agreement we’ll discuss another time.”
And then he rose and placed his hat upon his head, nodding as he took his leave. “I’ll be home for dinner. Tell Katie to have it ready by one, please.”
Carlinda watched as he walked off. Strode was a better word, she decided, admiring his height, the gleam of dark hair touching his collar. He wore his clothing as if it had been tailored to his tall frame, his trousers unpleated and close-fitting against his legs. And the width of shoulders better suited to a lumberjack tested the fabric of his suit coat.
She was besotted. There was no other word for it. The man was beautiful, a word she was certain he would scoff at should it be spoken in his hearing, but she could think of none other to better describe him. A feeling of desolation swept through her as she reflected on the time to come when she must leave this town, the day when she would step on board the train and turn her back on Nicholas Garvey.
She slumped back on the bench and lifted a hand to consult her watch. It hung on a golden chain against the front of her dress and she read the hands through a mist she could not explain. After noon already. She would barely have time to walk home with Amanda and give Nicholas’s message to Katie.
Home. The single word rang through her head as though she’d spoken it aloud. It was not her home. Would never be a home for her to live in and enjoy. For Carlinda Donnelly, the future stretched ahead like a long blank road. And only in her dreams could she envision such a thing as the large, white house where Nicholas Garvey hung his hat as a home in which she might dwell.
She rose slowly and looked about for the little girls, aware that she’d almost forgotten their existence for a few moments. They played quietly beneath a tree only yards away, and Carlinda spoke Amanda’s name, catching her attention.
“Do we have to leave already?” she asked, her lip drawing down into a pout.
“We’ll come back tomorrow,” Carlinda promised. “Perhaps Sally can come to visit later today,” she offered, willing to use bribery if need be.
Sally’s frown brightened and she nodded quickly. “I’ll ask my mama,” she said, and danced off toward the other side of the park, then turned to walk backward, waving a small hand in a gesture of goodbye as she made her way to the general store.
“Let’s walk real quick so we can eat dinner,” Amanda urged, fast-stepping as she hastened back toward Nicholas’s home. “Then maybe Sally will come to visit.”
“We have to wait for Mr. Garvey to come home first before we eat,” Carlinda reminded her.
“Maybe he’ll hurry,” Amanda said, reaching for her nursemaid’s hand and skipping by her side. “Sally’s mama is shopping, but she’ll ask her on the way home.”
Nicholas did make haste, it seemed, for barely had they arrived inside the front door and delivered the message when his tall presence came through the front gate.
“Land sakes, here’s Mr. Nicholas now,” Katie said, bustling down the hallway toward the kitchen. “I’ll have the food on in ten minutes,” she called back brightly.
“Let’s go wash up,” Carlinda told her charge, her step light as she climbed the stairs before the man should make his way up the walk and across the porch. For some reason, she felt the need of a few minutes alone, to wash her face and brush her hair into place. To somehow get her thoughts in order before she must once more meet him face-to-face and be assailed by the emotion that filled her.
“You’ve only known him a day,” she told herself firmly, looking into the mirror over her dressing table just minutes later. She’d washed Amanda first, sent her down to the kitchen and gone on to her own room. Now she faced her image, noting the trembling lips, the glittering eyes and the hair that would not be contained neatly, no matter how hard she tried to tame its curls.
“He’s only a man, and he probably has women waiting in line to seek his company.” She lifted a hand to brush her hair back, then dampened it with a bit of water, hoping against hope it would miraculously behave and turn orderly before her very eyes. It was no use. The ringlets hung against her temple once more, and from the hastily formed bun she’d managed to subdue with an assortment of pins only hours ago, bits and pieces of auburn hair had escaped to curl down, touching her shoulders despite all her urging and pinning it in place.
“I can’t do much more,” she whispered, stepping back, the better to assess her appearance. Her dress was suitable, neat and clean, and her shoes wore only a bit of dust across the toes, reminding her of the quick walk back from town. She bent to brush at them with her handkerchief and heard a sound from behind her, as a masculine voice muttered a soft word, and then Nicholas distinctly cleared his throat.
“I beg your pardon, ma’am,” he said gravely. “I came up to see if you were ready for dinner. I didn’t mean to invade your privacy.”
She turned quickly, aware that her cheeks were flushed, a condition she seemed to find herself in today, no matter where she was or what she was doing. He’d seen her, watched her bend to brush at her shoes, noted her bottom in the air as she leaned forward. Probably her dress had risen in the back. What if he’d seen her stockings?
She stiffened her spine, resolute in her determination not to be embarrassed any more than she already was, and decided to ignore any what-ifs that flooded her mind.
“Yes, I’m ready,” she said quietly, and walked toward him.
Chapter Three
As if he’d never before seen the back of a woman’s lower limbs and ankles, Nicholas found himself obsessed over the next days by the vision of Carlinda’s slender underpinnings. The remembrance invaded his dreams, haunted his waking hours, even managing to insinuate itself into his thoughts as he discussed a loan with Sam Ferguson two days later.
He felt like an errant schoolboy, and that thought did nothing to elevate his ego. Sam sat across his desk, hat in hand as he enumerated the reasons for needing two hundred dollars. It was a considerable sum, one which should have required Nicholas’s full attention, and he bent his mind to the matter.
“We’ll take a look at your account here,” he said quietly, leafing through the paperwork before him. “I see no reason to deny you the loan, Sam. Your business is thriving. Adding on additional space for feed and supplies makes sense to me.” He looked up and smiled at the anxious livery stable owner. “Give me half an hour and things should be in order.”
Sam’s wide shoulders fit neatly through the doorway Nicholas noted as the man left his office. The papers before him were a blur, but he straightened them and then initialed each of the three pages. “Thomas,” he called, aware that his clerk hovered nearby. He held the papers out as the young man appeared in the doorway. “Take care of this for Mr. Ferguson, will you?”
“Certainly, sir.” Thomas was efficient, his expression bland, but his eagerness to please was a point in his favor, Nicholas decided. “There is a young lady to see you, sir,” he said now, a faint flush apparent as he cut his eyes to the left side of the door.
Patience. He’d lay money his visitor was the very impatient Patience. He’d neglected her for the past three days, and he could pinpoint the exact moment his attention had strayed from her. Upon Carlinda’s arrival, his suit of Patience Filmore had come to a screeching halt. And stood no chance at all of resuming its previous pace.
Now he sighed beneath his breath. “Send her in, Thomas.” Scooping up a stack of papers from his left, he spread them quickly before him and bent his head. Then he looked up as the dark-haired beauty halted before his desk.
“Good morning,” he said, coaxing his voice into a welcoming note. “What can I do for you today?”
Her mouth twisted a bit and she hesitated, as if ruing her decision to approach him. “I suppose you can explain why you haven’t been at my front door for the past several evenings.” Her eyes were suitably lowered, as if she were embarrassed by her own inquiry. Nicholas was not fooled. One thing he’d come to admire about Patience was her forthrightness. If she wanted an answer, she asked for it. This pose of injured pride was just that, a pose, a transparent request for his attention and apology.
“I have company in my home, Patience,” he said quietly. “It would be rude of me to abandon Miss Donnelly and my niece to themselves for the evening.”
“Ah, yes. I heard rumors that you’ve discovered a long-lost relative. I would enjoy getting to know your niece,” she countered.
“Well, I’m only beginning to do that myself,” he said, lifting a paper from those he’d strewn before him.
Patience allowed her gaze to touch upon the delaying tactic. “I can see you’re very busy,” she said, and rising, touched her index finger to her cheek. “I really only dropped by to remind you of the party tomorrow night at the Millers’ home. I’ve told them we would attend.”
Nicholas dropped the paper from his hand and looked up, his gaze ascending the lush figure of the woman before him. “You shouldn’t have done that, Patience. I don’t recall agreeing to that.”
Her smile was cool. “Perhaps not, but we have become something of an item of late. People expect us to arrive at such gatherings together. I’m sure you’re aware of that.” She took small steps, circling the side of his desk and approaching him with her hand outstretched. Long, slender fingers touched the sleeve of his suit coat and she smiled invitingly into his eyes. “Perhaps I misunderstood your interest in me, Nicholas.”
He felt perspiration break out in a narrow line down his spine, and at the same time he was chilled and angered by the thought of being manipulated in such a way. His gaze dropped to where her hand lay against his arm and, for an instant, he felt her grip tighten, then relax, sliding from its place until her fingers held the strings of her reticule and he was set free from the contact.
“Perhaps you misunderstood, or maybe I was at fault, even premature, in my interest in you, Patience.” Cruelty was not normally in his nature, but this must be brought to a halt.
He thought he saw genuine surprise in her features as she looked up at him, and then it was masked and her smile became practiced and serene. “Well, we’ll see what the future holds, won’t we?” she said enigmatically.
And wasn’t that the truth? He watched her leave, unimpressed by the same movement of hips he’d found fascinating only a week since. His smile was rueful, remembering again the sight of Carlinda’s stocking-clad calves and ankles. Indeed the memory was constantly at the surface of his mind, and he straightened the papers before him with precise movements as he attempted to erase his errant reaction to the woman.
A glance at his pocket watch assured him he would not be amiss in leaving for home. The dinner hour was becoming increasingly important in his everyday scheme of things this week, and he would not insult Katie by making her put the meal on hold while she awaited his appearance at the table.
The walk was short, his pace brisk, and he approached his home with an ear open to Amanda’s presence. The child was increasingly vocal; he’d noticed her laughter ringing out even early in the morning, her cheerful voice greeting him from the porch each afternoon when the bank closed and he hastened to make his way from town.
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 tomorrow?”
“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 designs 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.
“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.
“You’re my very own uncle. Linnie said so, and Katie told me I could call you Uncle Nicholas if I wanted to.” She took a deep breath, her statement having been a mouthful, and then looked up at him anxiously. “You don’t mind, do you?”
Nicholas cleared his throat, a thickening there causing him a problem as he spoke. “No, I don’t mind at all, sweetheart. I kind of like it. No one’s ever called me that before now.” These two females had come to be of major importance in his life in less than a week’s time. He tested the waters now with Amanda, reaching out to touch her cheek with his index finger. She smiled widely and shot a look of triumph at her nursemaid.
The thought of spending time with Patience was gone, obliterated as if it had never been. If he had to take long walks to exercise his nagging needs into oblivion, he would do just that. But using one woman to assuage the pain of another’s refusal was beneath him.
And certainly, all hope was not yet lost.
He knew, knew it with a certainty he could not explain, that Lin would come to him.
Not tonight. Of that he was sure. But sometime, when the passion in her eyes became a desire she could not deny, she would come to him. It was worth the wait. He’d learn to savor the moment, and not to rush his fences. And if those two homilies were somehow not suited to the occasion, it was all right. The end result would be the same.
She would be his.
Augusta Cleary was a vibrantly beautiful woman, yet Lin, a name she realized she had accepted once Nicholas had blessed her with it, was not made to feel any less than attractive in her own right. The men shared their attention between the ladies, and even Nicky, who by all rights should have been in bed at this hour, claimed his own bit of admiration.
“He’s a scamp,” Augusta said in an aside to her hostess as they watched the pair of gentlemen playing on the parlor floor with the little boy. Just past twelve months in age, he was gloriously beautiful, with his mother’s golden hair and his father’s dark eyes, a contrast that would no doubt hold him in good stead with the ladies one day, Lin decided. And then said as much.
“Well, he has me totally at his mercy,” Augusta told her with a rueful laugh. “And Jonathan spoils him dreadfully.”
“Jonathan? I’ve only heard Nicholas speak of him as Cleary,” Lin said.
“He prefers it.” Augusta’s mouth softened as she shed her gaze on the three male figures, wrestling together on the carpet. “But his name is Jonathan, though when I find occasion to use his surname he sits up and takes notice.” Her smile was possessive, Lin thought.
If this was the relationship between husband and wife that Nicholas had been exposed to over the past years, she was hard-pressed to understand why he didn’t speak more warmly of marriage.
“Do you think this boy needs to be tucked into bed?” Cleary asked his wife as Nicky toddled into his father’s arms. He darted a look that seemed to hold a hidden meaning at the golden-haired woman, and Augusta smiled again.
“Whenever you say. I think Amanda was about worn out chasing him before supper. She didn’t protest when you sent her about her chores a few minutes ago,” she said to Lin.
“She needed to feed her kitten. Nicholas feels if she wants a pet, she must be responsible for its care.” And then as Amanda peeped around the parlor door, Lin held out a hand in welcome. “Come in, dear. Nicky is about to be taken home and put to bed by his mama. Do you want to say good-night to him?”
Amanda nodded, her eyes lighting as the little boy half ran across the parlor carpet toward her. “I thought I’d show him my kitty, but I didn’t want him to get scratched up. Maybe I should wait till Blackie learns how to pull in his claws.” She looked up at Augusta solemnly. “Katie says that kitties have to learn that, and that I must be careful in the meantime not to get scratched up like Uncle Nicholas did.”
“Uncle Nicholas?” Cleary said, grinning at the man in question. “Now that has a ring to it. We’ll have to teach Nicky those words.”
“His vocabulary is quite limited at this point, Nicholas,” Augusta said. “Don’t hold your breath waiting for him to spit out all those syllables any time soon.”
“I won’t mind,” her host told her simply, rising from the floor to sit on the sofa. “I’ve learned in the past days to appreciate the title.” He held out a hand to Amanda and she skipped to his side, glowing as his arm circled her waist.
“You begin to resemble a family man, Nick,” Cleary told him beneath his breath, the sound barely reaching Lin’s ear.
She glimpsed a look of chagrin that quickly turned into a frown as the two men rose in unison and walked across the room, Nicholas’s arm sliding up to rest across Amanda’s shoulders, Cleary carrying his son.
Nicholas would not appreciate the designation, she knew. Yet Cleary was obviously given to teasing the man. Perhaps he thought to persuade Nicolas into a relationship matching his own. If so, he had a surprise coming. If she knew anything about it, marriage was far from what Nicholas had in mind for his future. Seduction was more to the point.
“Lin?” Beside her, Augusta called her, using the name she’d begun to respond to with such ease. Now she turned quickly to reply.
“I’m sorry, I was thinking. What did you say?”
“My thoughts probably were matching yours,” Augusta said, glancing at the two men who had walked into the foyer. “I only wanted to know if I might call you by the name Nicholas has bestowed on you. Carlinda is a lovely name, but I noticed that even Amanda calls you Linnie.”
“If you like. Amanda has always shortened it. She was about Nicky’s age when she decided on my title, and it hasn’t changed since.”
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Carolyn Davidson
“You’re right, you know.”
“About what?” she asked, deigning to turn around and face him.
“You’re not in danger tonight.” He hesitated, and she moved to another step. “But don’t become complacent. Danger can come from many directions.”
He saw only the bottom half of her now as she moved on. And then her feet touched the seventh step, for he’d been unconsciously counting as she climbed. She was unmoving, and he waited.
“I think the biggest danger is not from you, Nicholas, but from within me.” One foot moved and then lowered again to settle beside the other. “I fear I’ll make a fool of myself one of these days if I don’t walk away from you.”
“But not tonight?” He asked so quietly he wondered if she had heard him.
Her feet shifted, then moved upward, her voice trailing behind her.
“No, not tonight.”
Tempting a Texan
Harlequin Historical #647
Praise for CAROLYN DAVIDSON’s recent titles
A Convenient Wife
“Carolyn Davidson creates an engaging,
complex plot with a hero to die for.”
—Romantic Times
The Bachelor Tax
“From desperate situation to upbeat ending,
Carolyn Davidson reminds us why we read romance.”
—Romantic Times
The Tender Stranger
“Davidson wonderfully captures gentleness
in the midst of heart-wrenching challenges,
portraying the extraordinary possibilities that exist
within ordinary marital love.”
—Publishers Weekly
#648 THE SILVER LORD
Miranda Jarrett
#649 THE ANGEL OF DEVIL’S CAMP
Lynna Banning
#650 BRIDE OF THE TOWER
Sharon Schulze
Tempting a Texan
Carolyn Davidson
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Available from Harlequin Historicals and CAROLYN DAVIDSON
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* (#litres_trial_promo)The Bachelor Tax #496
* (#litres_trial_promo)Tanner Stakes His Claim #513
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“Wish upon a Star”
Maggie’s Beau #543
The Seduction of Shay Devereaux #556
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The Texan #615
Tempting a Texan #647
I write of heroes and heroines from the past, of those who broke ground in our country, who survived in a world where only the strong prevailed. Those who were our forefathers, who have earned our respect and admiration. I find my inspiration all around me, in the men and women who daily travel to their places of employment, who raise children to be loyal and honest, loving and kind. I see heroes in our schools, those men and women who educate and mold young Americans. I see them in uniform, the patrolmen directing traffic, the firefighters driving emergency vehicles, pilots flying air force jets, each of them doing their part to support the democracy in which we live. And I find heroes and men like the one I live with, who has devoted his life to keeping his family safe and secure. To all heroes and heroines who live daily lives of such devotion, this book is dedicated. But especially to Mr. Ed, who loves me.
Contents
Chapter One (#u595a155c-0898-58b4-9639-bc416b9207a7)
Chapter Two (#u0266487f-0b69-5510-9777-fd7ea2e66aad)
Chapter Three (#u2de748a3-e9b2-58d7-a4d3-01d362bef0d7)
Chapter Four (#u1e5dc9f5-bd87-509a-a71d-340a723d3efd)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One
Collins Creek, Texas, April, 1897
“I don’t have a sister,” Nicholas muttered beneath his breath, reading for the third time a scribbled message carried into his office only moments before.
“It seems you do,” the sheriff said, grinning widely. He stood in the doorway, the messenger of tidings ill-received; and if the smile he wore was any indication, seeing Nicholas Garvey at a loss was well worth the time he’d spent delivering the message.
“Are you sure Henry got this right?” Nicholas asked, his mouth taut as he lifted the lined paper for the sheriff’s scrutiny. “Were you there when it came over the wire?”
“Sure was,” Cleary answered. “That’s why I offered to deliver it by hand. I figured it was important when Henry sputtered out the words and then tried to cover up his scribbles when I looked over his shoulder.” He moved to a chair in front of the wide, mahogany desk. One booted foot lifted and rested against his other knee as he removed his hat and appeared to settle in.
“Did you read the whole thing?” Nicholas asked, sinking into his own chair, a scowl creasing his forehead.
“Nope. Only got as far as the words…” He looked up at the ceiling, his thought processes obviously in good order as he spoke. “Let’s see. It said something about you being named a guardian of your sister’s child. A girl, I think.”
“There’s been a mix-up somewhere,” Nicholas growled with a ferocity that matched his dark, angry visage. “I’ve never had a sister.”
“Somebody back East doesn’t agree with you,” Cleary said mildly.
“Well, they can just look elsewhere for a dumping ground,” Nicholas said harshly. “I don’t know what this lawyer expects of me, but raising a child is not on my schedule.”
“You seem to be quite taken with your godson,” Cleary said, his index finger following the crease in his hat brim. He looked up, his initial reaction to the message apparently diluted by Nicholas’s somber behavior.
“That’s different, and you know it. I won’t be saddled with a child purported to be my niece, when I know good and well that my background doesn’t include her mother.”
Cleary stood up, a lengthy procedure, adjusting his gun belt and glancing toward the open door. “I don’t suppose…” He hesitated, frowning.
“What?” Nicholas rose from the depths of his leather chair, discarding the wrinkled message on his desktop. Hands widespread on his blotter, he leaned forward. “You know a little about the law, Cleary. Is there anything I can do to put a crimp in this?”
“Is the child on her way here?” Cleary’s innocent expression denied the knowledge he’d gained by reading the message, and Nicholas felt the urge to grind his teeth in frustration.
“You know damn well she is.” He glanced down at the scribbled note. “Accompanied by a companion, is what it says here.”
“Who sent it?” Cleary asked.
“A law firm. Under orders from the court. According to this, the child is alone in the world.”
“Well,” Cleary drawled quietly. “You oughta make a good pair, then. I’ve never heard you mention any family.”
“That’s because I don’t have one.” Frustration emphasized every word as Nicholas repeated his original statement. “Where the hell somebody got the idea of sticking me with a five-year-old is beyond me. I’ve got other fish to fry.”
“This wouldn’t have anything to do with Patience Filmore, would it?”
Nicholas looked up, suddenly feeling defensive. “I’ve spent some time with her.”
“Planning marriage?”
“Not yet. But it’s a definite possibility.” And yet, his instincts were even now pushing that reasoning to the back burner. At least until this matter was cleared up.
“You want to send back a reply?” The lawman motioned to the crumpled message, lifted an eyebrow and waited.
“And what good would that do? According to this, my visitors will arrive any day now.”
From the doorway a young man, his hair slicked back with pomade, his shirt starched to within an inch of its life, cleared his throat. “Sir. Mr. Garvey.”
“Yes.” The single syllable held the force of a bullet and the clerk winced.
“You have a visitor, sir. A young lady, accompanied by a child, sir.”
“Well…sh—” A hissing sound died upon leaving his lips as Nicholas turned again to Cleary. “I don’t believe it. How could she have gotten here so soon?” He snatched up the message, smoothing it across his wide palm. “Has the morning train arrived already?”
“Yep. Pretty near two hours ago.” Cleary turned back and settled once more in the chair he’d vacated. “Maybe I’ll stick around for a while, after all.”
Nicholas nodded wearily at the clerk. “Show her in.” And then he turned to Cleary, his eyes narrowing in an unmistakable warning. “Not a word from you.”
A look of solemn promise was obliterated by the glittering humor in the sheriff’s eyes as he watched his friend stride to the doorway. And then, as if the woman who appeared just beyond the threshold had the ability to change his demeanor, the sheriff stood as she spoke to the banker, her accent soft and genteel.
“I’m Carlinda Donnelly,” she said, extending a hand. “I’ve brought your niece to you, Mr. Garvey.”
Nicholas felt helpless anger engulf him as the russet-haired female waited for the courtesy of his palm to meet hers. At his obvious reluctance to offer her the simple gesture, her stilted smile faltered, and as he watched, her hand fell to her side. It was snatched up by a tiny female creature whose eyes widened in dismay as she gazed at him.
Eyes the exact color of blue he’d observed in his mirror every morning of his life. Her dark hair hung in curls past her shoulders, and her petite form was garbed in a dainty flowered dress that met the tops of high-buttoned shoes. The delicate rosebud mouth trembled as she spoke.
“Are you my uncle?” she asked timidly. And then she looked up at the woman beside her, her whisper loud in the silence as she confided her fear. “I don’t think he likes me,” she said, her eyes filling with tears.
Nicholas cleared his throat. “I don’t know if I’m your uncle or not,” he admitted after a moment. “If I am, it’s news to me. I’d have sworn up until ten minutes ago that I was alone in the world.” He squatted before the child, his sharp gaze taking in the long lashes, the wide brow, and finally, the small beauty mark beside her mouth. Without thinking, his hand rose to touch an identical brown speck beside his upper lip.
“It isn’t a matter of not liking you,” he said quietly, unable to be cruel to an innocent child. “It’s just that I can’t imagine who decided you were my responsibility.”
“A judge in New York City,” the woman said quietly. “Her mother and father were in an accident while traveling in Europe. A fatal accident. She became a ward of the court until your whereabouts were discovered. I’d been caring for her in their absence, and I’ve been hired now by her father’s estate to bring her to you. Another party is vying for her custody, but the judge decided in your favor.”
He needn’t have given me his blessing. Nicholas scowled at the thought.
Miss Donnelly retrieved a package from beneath her left arm and placed it on his desk. “This is the result of the court hearing, and includes a copy of the will. I’m sure you’ll find everything you need in here.”
He glanced down at the envelope, then at the child, his gaze caught by the turmoil in her face. “May I ask for an introduction?”
Carlinda Donnelly nodded quickly. “Of course. This is Amanda.”
As if hearing her name spoken aloud was a signal, the child extended her dainty fist, uncurling the fingers as she offered it to the man before her. “I’m pleased to meet you, sir,” she whispered, obviously well mannered and primed for this introduction.
Nicholas took the fingers in his, looking down at the hand that was resting like a small bird in his palm. “Hello, Amanda,” he said politely, then glanced up at the woman beside him. “Miss Donnelly—” He broke off abruptly, as words failed him. What did a man say to a woman who had just invaded his life, whose courteous gestures he had scorned, and who waited now for his reaction to her presence?
He glanced aside at Cleary and noted the subtle shake of the man’s head and slight lift of shoulders. No help there. In fact, it looked obvious to him that the sheriff was about to make an exit, standing and brushing the brim of his hat.
“I believe my wife’s holding dinner for me,” Cleary said, smiling blandly at the visitors and waiting for the doorway to clear.
“I’m in your way,” Carlinda said. “I’m so sorry.” Stepping back, she allowed him to pass, almost swaying on her feet. She looked confused, travel-weary and disheartened, Nicholas decided. None of this was her fault, and yet he found her a ready target for his anger as he watched Cleary stride toward the front of the bank.
“I’m not certain what I’m expected to do, Miss Donnelly,” Nicholas said abruptly. “I haven’t the proper facilities to care for a child.”
“Are you married?” she asked quietly.
He shook his head. “Certainly not. I’m a businessman, and marriage is not in my immediate future. Right now, I see no need for a woman in my home.”
She flinched at his words. “You don’t like women?” she asked, flicking a look of conjecture in his direction. “I mean—” Her mouth thinned as if she regretted the inference her words suggested.
“I like women just fine. In their proper place,” he retorted.
“And that is…”
Her hesitance was deliberate. He knew it from his depths, and even as he bristled at her words, he silently saluted her bravery at defying him. “Wherever I decree they are the most useful,” he said smoothly, watching as a red tide washed upward from her throat to cover her cheeks. Beneath her bonnet, her hair was a deep shade of auburn, caught up in a heavy, somewhat untidy knot at her nape. Several curling strands touched her forehead, softening the brown eyes that glared in his direction.
“I see,” she said harshly, although he very much doubted that she was nearly as sophisticated as she would like him to believe. “Well, perhaps you’ll have to seek out someone to help you in your care of Amanda,” Miss Donnelly suggested. “I’m only the person hired to deliver her into your hands, sir. I suppose there’s no reason not to be on the early train tomorrow morning, back to Saint Louis and then on to New York.”
She’s bluffing. The thought pleased him. “I don’t think that’s an option,” he replied smoothly. “You can’t leave me here with a child and sashay off without a by-your-leave. It would be grossly unfair to—” he looked down at the little girl, and then continued with a cool smile “—to the child.”
Her eyes narrowed, and her chin lifted defensively. “I beg your humble pardon, Mr. Garvey, but I can do anything I please. I am not a servant in your employ.”
“That’s true enough, but this is a small town, ma’am. You might find it difficult to board the morning train, should I decide to say otherwise.”
“You’d keep me here against my will?” Her blush faded quickly, leaving her pale beneath a naturally creamy complexion. Her lips were compressed, their fullness narrowed by the gesture, and he caught sight of a glimpse of panic in her brown eyes.
“No, of course I wouldn’t. I didn’t mean to say that,” Nicholas answered quietly. He glanced down at Amanda, whose eyes were glued on his face. Sparing her a quick smile, he directed his attention to the young woman before him. It might be time to backtrack and let her off the hook. “Let’s rethink this a bit. I’ll make it worth your while to stay. This whole thing needs to be sorted out.”
“And where would you suggest I live while I’m at your beck and call?” she asked. Her jaw was taut and he sensed a quality of brittleness in her demeanor, as if she might shatter into a thousand pieces should she loosen her grip on the situation enveloping her.
It would not do for the woman to lose control, here in the bank where he prided himself on his immaculate reputation. He reached for her, grasping her wrist and drawing her into his office. Reaching behind her, he closed the door. A hum of voices reached him and he winced, aware that several customers had been privy to the low, murmured argument he’d allowed himself to be involved in.
She reacted to his maneuvers, tugging at his hold as he led her from the door to a chair across the room. “Please release me, sir,” she said sharply. Beside her, Amanda caught her breath in a sob; and Miss Donnelly looked down, her face reflecting the sadness the child expressed.
Nicholas felt a tide of confusion sweep over his entire being. Always in control, priding himself on his grasp of business and aware of the enormity of his influence, he’d never felt so totally at sea in his entire career. His early years were another story. But in the past twenty years, he’d come a long way from the young man who’d dug through the refuse in alleyways for food.
Befriended at fifteen by a man whose life he’d saved during a nighttime robbery attempt, he’d been sent to school, then on to a university. His boyish rescue of the wealthy stranger, who, beset by thieves, had taken the scrawny youth home with him, led to a future he’d never in his wildest dreams thought to hold within his grasp.
His upward climb in the financial market, bulwarked by the tidy fortune left to him by his childless benefactor, had led Nicholas here. Here to Collins Creek, a small town north of Dallas, where he was known only as the owner of the town’s bank. A situation he’d chosen, where peace and security were his for the asking. Where he was considered to be, over the past two years, the town’s most successful citizen, and given the friendship of the simple folk surrounding him. His past was just that, those years behind him as he sought the tranquillity available in this small town.
Now, in barely thirty minutes’ time, he was swept back to that life in the city by the appearance of a young woman and her charge, a child alleged to be his niece. Miss Donnelly was dressed in a simple gown, yet wore the look of a woman from New York. That distinctive air of refinement clung to her, and her voice was overlaid with a soft, cultured accent she did not attempt to conceal.
Yet, there was no guarantee she was what she appeared to be. He’d learned early on not to take people at face value, and years of living had not eased the pain of experience. She faced him with pride and anger at war within her, her expressive face reflecting the turmoil of the situation in which she found herself.
Crouching beside Amanda, only the crown of the woman’s hat was visible to his discerning eye. It was circled by a narrow band of grosgrain ribbon, simple, yet stylish, and beneath its brim, he sensed her smile was warm as she spoke to the child.
“It’s all right, Amanda,” she said quietly, the soothing syllables having an immediate effect.
“Where will we go, Linnie?”
Linnie? Nicholas felt a warmth expand within his chest as the child spoke the name she’d chosen for her nurse. And he inhaled sharply as he considered his harshness. “You’ll go to my home,” he said, dropping to one knee, the better to look squarely at the little girl. No matter the woman’s mission here, the child deserved decent treatment.
Yet Amanda appeared not to welcome his offer. “You don’t like us,” she said firmly. “And I don’t think I like you, either. You’re not a nice man.”
“That’s not polite,” Miss Donnelly stated matter-off-actly, holding Amanda’s hand tightly. And then she turned her head to look directly at Nicholas. “I’m sure there will be room at the hotel for us. We wouldn’t want to inconvenience you. I’ll keep Amanda for the night and talk to her about the situation. I can’t force the issue with her.”
Nicholas grasped the woman’s elbow and assisted her to her feet, rising to look down into her dark eyes. “I have a comfortable home just down the street,” he said politely. “My housekeeper will be happy to settle you in. In fact, we’ll leave now and I’ll see to it myself. Amanda will be more comfortable there than in a hotel. You and I will talk this evening, Miss Donnelly.”
She attempted to withdraw from his hold and his fingers only tightened, putting force behind his statement. “There isn’t room to argue the point,” he told her flatly. “The child must be weary, and I think you’re ready for a chance to sit and relax, yourself.” He reached toward the rack by the door, snatching his wide-brimmed hat from a hook, then ushered her from his office.
“I’m going home for a while, Thomas,” he said to his clerk. “I’ll return soon. In the meantime, send someone to the train station to collect Miss Donnelly’s things. And those of the child. Have them delivered to my house.”
The wide-eyed young man nodded, his gaze enquiring as he shot a sidelong glance at Nicholas’s visitors. “Yes, sir, Mr. Garvey. I’ll handle things.”
The door opened onto a wide, wooden sidewalk, and Nicholas offered his arm, turning to the right. To her credit, Miss Donnelly accepted his gesture, and he looked down to see her narrow fingers ease past the crook of his elbow to rest on his forearm. A warmth settled into his flesh where that elegant hand rested, and his eyes sought her face, intrigued by the rush of heat that coursed throughout his body.
Her face averted, she seemed to be concentrating on the child who walked nicely on her other side, who, even as he watched, lifted a tiny hand to cover a yawn. He was right, he decided. These two females needed a place to rest, a cool, clean refuge in which to recuperate from their travels. He could think of no other place more fitting than his own home. He’d spend the rest of the day deciding his next move.
Thus far she’d accomplished her purpose, although living in Nicholas Garvey’s home had been more her goal for Amanda than for herself. Irene had wanted her brother to have his niece, and if being under his roof would accomplish that purpose, Carlinda would stay as long as necessary. She recalled her threat to leave and shook her head. He’d upset her and she’d responded with haste, and now she’d be the one to backtrack.
Her only hindrance in staying here until Amanda was well settled was the appeal of the man himself to her female person. Handsome didn’t begin to describe him, and autocratic didn’t start to pay just due to his confident aura.
She looked around the comfortable room she’d been assigned and released a deep breath. The house was large, two-storied and surrounded on the front and two sides by a wide veranda. Sitting over a hundred feet from the sidewalk, it was situated behind a tall fence built of wood, painted white and woven in an intricate pattern, with a wide gate and arbor at its center.
Her surroundings were cool and comfortable, with fine carpets and gracefully hung draperies at the windows. She’d noted comfortable couches and gleaming wooden tables filling the parlor, visible from the central foyer, where a dining room flanked it on the opposite side of the wide hallway.
As she’d climbed one side of the two-pronged staircase to the second floor, she’d looked back to see her elegantly clad host watching her progress from below. His lifted hand offered a salute, and then he’d turned to depart through the front door.
Katie, the woman who kept this place immaculate, had given Carlinda a searching glance as she opened the bedroom door and ushered her inside. “I’ve already put the wee one in the room next door,” she said. “Tucked her in nicely, and barely had her shoes and dress off before she curled up and closed her eyes.”
That was one mark in the woman’s favor, Carlinda decided. Treating Amanda kindly gave the housekeeper points. It bode well for the child’s future.
Now, Carlinda walked to the double windows overlooking the front yard and the street, easing aside the white curtain, the better to search the sidewalk below. He was there, walking briskly, crossing the street almost a hundred yards away. His stride was long, his back straight, his hat at a jaunty angle atop dark hair.
She’d noticed his eyes first, that brilliant blue that proclaimed him as Black Irish. The same blue that had been replicated in the small face of the child she’d brought to him. He was wary. Of that there was no doubt. And well he might be. Nicholas Garvey was a man with secrets, a man with a fortune at his fingertips, and a past that didn’t lend itself to investigation. She’d known all of that. But she hadn’t expected the effect of dark hair and blue eyes, and the flash of white teeth as he spoke and smiled.
She knew of his past, had heard his sister’s whispered words of confession before she left Amanda behind as she’d set out on the final journey of her life. That she’d been able to furnish the court with a sealed document identifying Nicholas Garvey as the child’s only living relative had been fortuitous for Amanda’s well-being.
Irene knew about her brother, knew of his success, and was shamed by her father’s series of affairs, one of which had produced Nicholas. Before her marriage to the man who’d given her child a name, she had refused to call on Nicholas for help. But after Irene’s death, Carlinda determined to make the rich financier aware of his sister’s life and death, and place him under obligation to the child left behind by her mother’s tragic end.
“I’m doing my best, Irene,” she whispered, tracing a line in the wavy glass before her. “He’ll never know, not from me anyway, about Amanda’s beginnings.” Her sigh was deep, her eyes filling with tears as she turned away from the window. Unless she had overplayed her hand, Nicholas Garvey would do his best to persuade her to remain here in his home, at least until Amanda was settled in and made a part of the household. And she would be wise not to protest too much.
There was nothing left for her in New York City.
She awoke late in the afternoon in the big bed, its comfortable mattress forming to her slender body, and for a moment she looked around her in confusion. And then her memory kicked in and she recalled the long climb up the staircase, remembered looking back at the dark-clad figure watching her from below. He wore the look of a worthy opponent, and she girded herself for whatever he might say or do. Swinging her feet to the floor she looked around, searching the room for her dress.
She’d unbuttoned it and placed it on a chair before crawling beneath the sheet on the wide bed. Now it hung over a rack near the wardrobe, freshly pressed by an unknown hand wielding an iron. No doubt that of the housekeeper. Katie by name, she recalled.
From the hallway beyond the closed door, she heard a tinkling laugh, almost a giggle, and recognized the voice immediately. Amanda at her best, cheerful and lighthearted.
Overlaying the child’s tones, a deeper, masculine tone prevailed, and Carlinda hurriedly slid the dress over her head, aware of Nicholas Garvey’s presence just a few feet away. Even as she buttoned the small, black fastenings on her bodice, she heard the single rap of a knuckle on the wooden panel.
“Yes, I’m coming,” she said, hastening across the room to turn the handle. It swung wide and she looked up into the dark, masculine features of the man she’d traveled halfway across the country to find. “I’m sorry. I only planned to rest for a bit, and I’m afraid I slept longer than I thought.”
“That’s not a problem, Miss Donnelly,” he said nicely, his gaze sliding down the length of her. “We came to rouse you, since Katie announced that supper was served, and Amanda thought you were likely hungry. She tells me you didn’t eat much today.”
Carlinda flushed deeply. The child saw more than she should, and this morning had been a hodgepodge of activity, arriving in Collins Creek, pausing only at the hotel for breakfast before they sought out the bank. Unable to eat the meal she’d ordered, her stomach protesting as she planned her approach to Nicholas, Carlinda had only watched and encouraged Amanda’s halfhearted attempts to get through the plate of eggs and sausage before her.
“I wasn’t hungry,” she said now. “The journey was tiring, and I fear I’d lost my appetite.”
“Well, you’d do well to locate it now. Katie has outdone herself. We don’t often have company,” he said, taking up Amanda’s hand in his and leading the way to the double staircase.
“Mr. Garvey has two sets of steps and two bannisters,” Amanda announced gleefully. “And lots of bedrooms.” With her free hand, she tugged at Carlinda’s skirt, and her whispered words were an easily heard suggestion. “I’ll bet he’s got plenty of room for us to stay here.”
“Yes, I have,” he said, unabashed at listening to her murmured suggestion.
“I had the impression we weren’t as welcome as the flowers in spring,” Carlinda said, her forced smile for the child’s benefit apparently not lost on Nicholas.
He shrugged nonchalantly. “We’ll have to take this one step at a time. Right now, I think it would be unforgivable to keep Katie waiting. She likes to serve her meals hot.”
Carlinda’s feet were silent against the carpeted stairs and she slowed her pace, the better to observe the first floor below. Besides the parlor and dining room, two other doors led from the wide foyer, both of them open. As she moved downward, a desk was visible inside one room, probably Nicholas’s private retreat, she decided. The other appeared to be a small sitting room, a woman’s room by the looks of things. She was entranced by a glimpse of a delicately constructed sofa and chair, and late-afternoon sunshine pouring through a window.
“You have a lovely home.” The compliment was sincere, probably the first entirely honest thing she’d said or done today, she thought. And felt a pang of guilt as she considered her omission of all the facts.
“Thank you,” he answered gravely, although a smile flashed as he met her gaze. “I don’t often have an opportunity to offer my hospitality. I was amiss in not extending a welcome to you and Amanda when we first met today. I fear my thoughts were in a state of flux, and my mind did not function as well as it should have.”
“You were presented with a done deal, as they say, Mr. Garvey. I can’t blame you for being taken unaware and being less than welcoming.”
“Nonetheless,” he said with a shrug, and she looked up to catch a glimpse of heat in the depths of his blue eyes, a quickly masked impression. He’d looked at her as a man might who sought the interest of an available woman. For just a moment, she’d felt the warmth of masculine interest, and she stiffened against the lure of such a thing being cast in her direction.
Perhaps staying in this house was not a good beginning. He might think she was obtainable, a woman of loose virtue, should she agree too quickly to his hospitality. And yet, she could not in good conscience leave Amanda here without her. “We don’t want to put you to any trouble,” she murmured, reaching the bottom of the staircase. “I’m certain the hotel would do very well for us.” She looked up at him. “At least until you have an opportunity to check out the facts of this matter.”
“I won’t hear of it.” His tones were clipped, bringing an abrupt end to the discussion and she subsided, unwilling to argue in front of Amanda. As though he understood her position and agreed, he nodded at the open door of his study. “After supper, perhaps you’ll join me in here and we’ll discuss this at greater length.”
Carlinda nodded, and stepped up her pace to the dining room, where a long table was set with three places and, at one end, a tureen of soup sent up a steam of fragrance. She was seated with a courtly gesture, and she opened the linen napkin beside her plate, aware of Amanda’s copycat gesture as the child followed her example.
Nicholas served the soup, waving Katie’s offer of help aside as the woman brought a plate of fresh bread from the kitchen. It was delicious, a clear broth with traces of rice and bits of chicken adding flavor, providing a light beginning to the meal. It was followed by a roast, again served by Nicholas, who stood before his chair and offered thin slices of the meat to his guests. Small potatoes, cooked with the skins intact, were accompanied by whole green beans, redolent with the scent of bacon and onions.
It was a filling repast, and when Katie brought forth a tart for each of them, Carlinda was tempted to refuse. And then she caught sight of the dark, thick juice of purple berries that spread before the force of Nicholas’s fork as he cut into the dainty bit of pastry.
“I shouldn’t,” she sighed, even as she watched the tiny wisps of steam rise from the delicacy.
“It’s a specialty of Katie’s,” Nicholas said, coaxing her with a smile. “She’ll be insulted if you refuse a bite.”
“I fear I’ll eat the whole thing,” Carlinda said, tasting carefully of the hot offering. “Don’t burn your mouth,” she warned Amanda.
“I’ve got cream to put over it, if you like,” Katie said from the kitchen doorway, then approached with a small pitcher of golden liquid as Amanda nodded her agreement. “It tastes good this way,” she told the child, pouring a generous amount.
“I’ll take some, too,” Nicholas said, offering his dish.
“And you, miss?” Katie asked.
“If it tastes better that way, I suppose I should join the group,” Carlinda agreed.
The meal was long, Nicholas asking Amanda about the trip, skirting the topic of her parents and offering small glimpses of his life in this small Texas town. He delivered an occasional aside to Carlinda, but his attention was focused on the child who sat at his right hand.
The resemblance between the two of them was obvious to anyone who cared to look, Carlinda decided. Even Katie glanced back and forth between the man and the young girl who absorbed his interest, and before the end of the meal, she had shot a look of understanding at the other woman.
Nicholas pushed away from the table finally. “I believe I’ve eaten more than my share, Katie,” he said, watching as she cleared the plate from before him.
“You don’t usually eat enough,” she snipped. “About time you sat down and did my cooking justice.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said obligingly, looking suitably chagrined. And then he rose and spoke kindly to Amanda. “Would you like to sit on the porch for a while?” he asked. “Or perhaps look at the stereopticon in the parlor?”
“Stere—” Amanda halted halfway through the word, obviously puzzled at its meaning.
“A stereopticon is something you hold up to your eyes and then look at pictures with,” he said. “I have a whole box of prints you can see.” He took her by the hand and led her from the room, sending an apologetic look in Carlinda’s direction.
“In the parlor?” Amanda asked brightly, double-stepping to keep up with his long strides. “What kind of pictures do you have?”
“Some of Rome or Venice or even London,” he said. “And lots of New York City and other places here in America.”
“I’ve already been to New York,” the child told him flatly. “I’d rather see somewhere else.”
“How about Niagara Falls?” he asked. “Or maybe ships on the ocean?”
“Let’s steer clear of P-a-r-i-s,” Carlinda said quickly, spelling the city’s name in a rush of letters, lest Amanda get the drift of the word she attempted to avoid speaking.
“Is there some reason for that?” he asked in a muted tone as he stepped to a bookcase where the instrument lay. Amanda settled herself on a sofa, smoothing her dress over her legs with a practiced hand, anticipation alive in her blue eyes. He glanced back at her, and Carlinda detected a softening in his eyes, those eyes so like the child’s.
“The accident took place in Paris,” she murmured. “I try not to mention it. She was quite traumatized for days after we heard the news.”
“I wasn’t aware you knew her mother. You were with Amanda, even back then?”
Carlinda hesitated, then nodded briefly. “Shall we light a lamp, so she can see these better?” she asked, changing the subject deftly.
Yet, even as he acceded to her suggestion, she was aware that the issue would be raised again. And she prepared herself for a battery of questions.
Chapter Two
Nicholas’s study was a reflection of the man, the fittings surrounding him luxurious, yet masculine. An enormous desk, its surface glowing with the sheen of polished mahogany, took her gaze as Carlinda walked over the threshold. Sitting behind it, leaning back in his chair, Nicholas resembled a king surveying his domain, judging his subject as she entered the throne room. She suppressed a smile at the thought, concentrating instead on the man himself. His hands were tanned, his fingers long, and laced together in a casual display of patience as he glanced up at her.
“Is the child asleep?” His voice appealed to her, she found as he spoke his query. It matched the man. Deep and cultured, yet with a strength beneath its resonant tone, it gave warning that he was not a man to be underestimated.
“Amanda?” She spoke the name as a query, her reprimand subtle, and Nicholas frowned. “Such a pretty name, don’t you think?” Carlinda asked, and then sighed, relenting. “Yes, she was tired.” And so am I. Perhaps this was not a good time to face the man and make her position clear. His next words told her he was aware of her hesitation as a slow smile lit his brilliant blue eyes.
“I’ll try to remember from now on to use her name when I speak of her.” He waved in the direction of a seating arrangement across from his desk. “I don’t plan on interrogating you, Miss Donnelly. Sit down for a moment. I only want to talk.”
A brown armchair lured her and she settled in its depths, seduced by the high back and soft leather surrounding her. Her feet touched the floor, her knees weak as she eyed his ebony hair and tanned features. It wasn’t fair that one man should be so endowed with masculine beauty, she thought, masking her admiration with a polite smile.
“I fear I won’t be good company, sir. Although my nap was refreshing, I find I need the comfort of a long night’s sleep. Perhaps your discussion will wait until another time.” She watched as his gaze swept her from top to bottom, a very short distance, given her position in the chair. That his eyes hesitated as they touched upon her full bosom and then traveled to where her feet were clad in soft leather was not a surprise. The man did not pretend a lack of interest in face and form, but made his intentions apparent.
“You don’t look like a nursemaid, Miss Donnelly,” he said bluntly, a small smile playing about his lips, as if he would draw a quick retort from her. “I’ve seen women who looked much as you do while at the opera house in New York City. You’re dressed in a conservative manner, as a cultured young lady would be, yet you give the impression of being knowledgeable about life in society.”
“Nevertheless, I am what I am,” she said quietly. “My looks have nothing to do with my occupation, Mr. Garvey. Women such as myself work in the finest homes in the city.” She glanced down at her modest, yet decidedly fashionable gown. “Surely I’m not dressed for the opera or a French restaurant, sir. I have references if you feel the need to see them, but I assure you I’m just a simple woman who has accompanied your niece from the East Coast.”
“You may be many things,” Nicholas said quietly, nodding his head as if he accepted her words as truth, “but you are not a simple woman.”
She felt her heart flutter as he spoke the words with emphasis, his eyes again touching her face, openly admiring the picture she presented. Aware of his scrutiny, blood rushed through her body, his measured gaze setting in motion a reaction she could not control. Tendrils of that same warmth lent color to her cheeks and she lowered her gaze to her lap.
Then courage took hold and she lifted her lashes to shoot a quick glare in his direction. She sighed at her own small betraying gesture, and smiled, ruing her short temper. “Perhaps not. But I am a weary woman, and unless you have instructions for me, I beg your leave to return to my room.”
He looked taken aback, yet rose with a graceful movement “Certainly. I only wanted to spend some time becoming familiar with your relationship to Amanda.” His mouth curved, an enticing movement of lips that drew her like a magnet. “May I call you Carlinda? Or is our acquaintance of too short a span to allow such a thing?”
“I probably won’t be here long enough for us to become friends, Mr. Garvey.” Rising from the chair without revealing her aching back and the sudden stiffness that gripped her knees made her hesitate, and he shot her a calculating look, then stepped quickly around the desk to offer his hand.
“I think you’re feeling the effects of travel,” he ventured. “Let me escort you up the stairs.”
She wasn’t certain she could tolerate the warmth of those fingers for any length of time, Carlinda decided. And then his hand moved to settle gently at the small of her back as he turned her toward the door of his study. It was even worse there, sending shards of heat from that place to envelop her entire body in awareness of the tall, masculine creature who was her host.
If she were certain of his trustworthiness, certain he would treat Amanda as he should, she’d be better off leaving. Though where she would go was still in doubt. She bit back a sigh as they crossed the threshold of the study. She’d already decided he was a magician, this elegant banker whose eyes warmed her, whose hand persuaded her without effort into doing as he willed.
So she walked beside him to the staircase, lifting her skirts, climbing to the second floor, her feet moving in unison with his. Beside her, his clothing, and the body beneath the fine wool and linen, exuded a fresh scent, one that blended with a subtle musky aroma, seducing her senses.
He reached to open the door of her room and the hand was gone from her back as he nodded politely in the direction of the bedside table where a pink-shaded lamp glowed, a beacon drawing her to the comfort of cool sheets and soft pillows.
“Have a good night,” he said quietly. “I’ll see you at breakfast. We eat rather early, I should warn you.”
“I’m used to arising when the sun comes up,” she told him, moving away across the carpet, then turning to face him. “Is that a connecting door to Amanda’s room?” She glanced at the wall where a single door sat ajar. “I didn’t pay attention earlier.”
Nicholas shook his head. “No. That’s a dressing room. I don’t have any suites in the house.” His smile was apologetic. “I fear you are in the wilds of Texas, ma’am. We don’t supply the conveniences of big-city living.”
She blushed anew at his words. “I didn’t mean to criticize. I just wanted to be able to hear Amanda should she awake in the night.”
“Does she have nightmares?” His brow wrinkled in a frown.
“Once in a while. Not during the journey, but then, it was all new and exciting to her. She dreams of her mother sometimes, and wakes crying.”
“Perhaps you should leave your door open then,” he suggested. “Hers is already ajar.” At her hesitation he grinned, a taunting look enveloping his eyes, crinkling the skin at their outer corners. He leaned against the doorjamb. “I promise not to intrude on your privacy.”
“Unless the walls are very thick, or soundproof, I’m sure I’ll hear her should she cry out,” she said hurriedly. She glanced at the window and noted the lights of town to the east. Even as she watched, one flickered and disappeared. “It seems things are settling down all over,” she said quietly. “Amanda shouldn’t be roused by noise from outdoors.”
“I’ll leave you then,” her host said. “If you like, I’ll open the sash. The fresh air will help you sleep.” His eyes looked black in the dim light and she inhaled sharply, shaking her head in refusal of his offer.
He gave her a last, long, surveying look. “Good night then, Miss Donnelly.”
His back was straight, his footsteps silent on the carpet as he turned toward the stairway and she relaxed, stepping to the side of the bed to perch on the mattress. The man’s effect on her was without precedent. Never in her twenty-four years had she known instant attraction to a male, unless she counted the tall youth, almost fifteen years older than she, who had lived next door in her growing-up years.
Jack had been her idol, her secret flame until the day he’d married a young lady and settled down to become a husband and father. His attraction for her had become null and void, and she could only ever after look at him as a staid creature with a string of children and a dutiful wife trailing behind as he entered the church on Sunday morning.
And now there was Nicholas Garvey, a man who looked at her as if he considered the thought of possessing her. She shook her head. What foolishness. The man was a flirt, a consummate ladies’ man, and she was a decent-looking female who’d just come into his orbit, offering a moment’s distraction.
Yet, there had been a response within her she could not deny. It would behoove her to leave this town as soon as she could assure herself of Amanda’s well-being here. She’d spend a bit of time backing away from the bonds formed by the child’s bereavement, and then decide where she might go from here.
She rose and slid open a bureau drawer, locating her nightgown. A swift glance at the door reminded her that it stood open and she crossed the room to quietly turn the handle, allowing it to latch. Far enough from the window to allow privacy, she slid from her clothing and into the soft batiste sleeping gown, then folded her underwear and arranged her dress over the back of a convenient chair.
The dressing room drew her, curiosity urging her to open the door fully and peer inside. Empty racks greeted her, with one wall mirrored, reflecting her pale form, her hair glowing in the light from her bedside. He needn’t have apologized, she thought. His home held all the comforts of her own in New York. At least the home that had once been hers, where she’d lived with Amanda and her parents.
Tomorrow would be soon enough to unpack the bag someone had delivered from the train station. She looked forward to hanging her few articles of clothing in the vast expanse of that dressing room, perhaps pretending for a while that this was her home.
Turning back to the bed, she folded the coverlet at its foot, then slid between the sheets. Her eyes noted the glass windowpane and she compressed her lips with impatience, aware that it was still closed to the night air. It took only a moment to slide from the comfortable mattress and cross the room to lift the wooden frame. It slid silently upward, and Carlinda dropped to her knees to look down at the lawn below.
A pale shadow caught her eye and she watched as the tall figure of a man walked toward the trees lining the edge of his property. Nicholas Garvey out for an evening stroll, she decided, aware of the long, slow stride that carried him beneath the low-hanging branches.
A flicker of light illuminated his profile as he bent his head to touch a match to his cigar. She hadn’t caught the scent of tobacco on him earlier, yet the faint aroma touched her nostrils now, the breeze carrying it upward. A chill of foreboding touched her and she shivered, rising and making her way back to the bed.
He held the scent of danger, and her instincts had seldom been amiss. It would be foolhardy to linger here.
The morning sun was brilliant in the sky, but Nicholas ignored it, his mind caught up with the events of the evening before. She was an enigma, perhaps playing him for a fool with her talk of leaving, then dithering as she seemingly settled into his household. The thought of her departure was not welcome, for Carlinda held an attraction he could not resist, yet resented with his sensible, masculine mindset. She was definitely not the type of woman who would accept for herself what he had in mind.
“Damn. She isn’t even beautiful,” Nicholas muttered, aware that his steps were heavy, his momentum rapid as he walked toward the bank.
“Who isn’t?” Jonathan Cleary’s voice shot holes in his concentration as the local lawman stepped to his side and voiced aloud the query Nicholas had known in that split second was coming. He’d caught sight of Cleary just as his voice uttered the exasperated statement, and now he supposed he was doomed to explain the meaning of his claim.
“You know damn well who I’m talking about.” Embarrassed not only by his sullen retort, but by his obvious interest in the nursemaid he’d taken to his home, he stopped dead still on the wooden sidewalk and aimed a dark glance at his friend.
Cleary only grinned, further irritating the banker.
“You’ll have to admit I’m right,” Nicholas said, more quietly as he nodded a good morning in the direction of a passerby.
“That she’s not beautiful?” Cleary seemed to consider the matter, and then shook his head. “There’s something about her, Nick. Maybe those dark eyes, or the auburn curls. Maybe the creamy look of her complexion, like it would be velvet under your fingertips.” He shrugged. “And don’t go quoting me to Gussie, you hear? She’d have my neck if she thought I’d looked cross-ways at another woman.”
“How could you help it?” Nicholas asked, gloom coating each word. “I don’t need to be smitten by a stranger. One who won’t even be here long enough to form an attachment.”
“You’re thinking about—”
“Don’t even say the words,” Nicholas warned him. “I’m not going to dillydally around with a woman here on a short-term basis when I’ve got an eye on Patience Filmore. I have a notion Miss Donnelly would put demands on a man, when all he’s asking for is something temporary. If I marry Patience one day down the road, I’ll still be my own person.”
Cleary only shook his head and shrugged. “You’re right there. You’re the least of her concern. Patience is interested in the money you’ve got in your bank.”
Nicholas took affront. “You don’t think I’m gentleman enough or handsome enough for the lady?” And yet, he knew that Cleary wasn’t too far off the mark. Patience was definitely a lady with an eye to the future. And being the owner of the only bank in town gave him an edge.
“Hell, you can probably talk her into marriage without any trouble at all,” Cleary said harshly. “But will you be happy with her?”
“Happy?” Nicholas felt his throat close as he uttered the word. “What does that mean?” And yet he knew. Knew that Cleary and his wife shared a life he found himself observing at times with a sort of awe and envy he’d always thought beneath him. “I’m not a homebody like you, Cleary. I think Patience will suit me just fine.”
“Speaking of which…” Cleary lifted a brow and nodded at a woman heading in their direction. “I need to be across the street,” he said, tipping his hat at the lady in question before he stepped down from the sidewalk.
“Nicholas.” Patience was blessed with abundant dark hair that hung in a series of ringlets from beneath her bonnet. Her blue eyes were wide and fringed with equally dark lashes, and she had an hourglass figure that drew the eye of every man in her vicinity, no matter where she went.
And yet, all Nicholas could see this morning was that there was an enameled look to her, as if she had spent hours perfecting the image she portrayed. His own smile was equally feigned as he offered his arm. She swept to his side, her skirts wrapping around his trouser legs as her slender fingers touched his forearm.
On the other hand, Carlinda had looked a bit frazzled at the breakfast table, her hair curling against her temples and brow, her morning gown a bit wrinkled, having been hauled from her luggage for the occasion. She’d apologized for being late, then spent long moments fixing a plate for her charge before she once more sought his attention.
And in those moments he’d filled his eyes with her soft contours, her rosy cheeks and the hastily pinned-together, russet-hued curls that perched high on her crown, several of them already on a downward slide as she shook her head in response to a query.
“Nicholas?” Patience called his name, her voice curt as she broke into his thoughts. “What in the world are you thinking of?” she asked. “I’ve been telling you about the party Saturday at the Millers’ home, and I do declare, I think you haven’t heard a word I’ve said.”
“My mind is on a problem at the bank,” he told her, lying without a speck of guilt. The woman had lost her attraction for him, almost overnight, it seemed. And for the life of him, he didn’t know how he’d go about shedding her presence from his daily routine, wishing glumly he’d never given her any encouragement.
For the pursuit had been from her direction, he recognized, almost from the first. She’d set her cap for the banker, and been persistent in the chase. And he, idiot that he was, had allowed it. Had, in fact, aided and abetted her in her determination to win his favor. Now she stood before him and he thought how wonderful it would be to hold a magic wand in his hand, just for a moment, so he might wave it over her lush form, sending her back to wherever she’d come from this morning.
Instead, he forced a benign smile to appear. “I have to get to my desk,” he said, his words apologetic. “I’ll try to find time to call on you later today, Patience.”
Her pout had lost its appeal, he decided, as she allowed her rosy lips to form a small moue, and then fluttered her lashes in what he’d once thought was a beguiling manner. Miles removed from the open, honest glare he’d received from the woman in his study only last evening.
His stride was long, as if he could not escape Patience quickly enough, and he crossed the dusty street, heading for the bank where his clerk, Thomas, was sweeping the wide sidewalk before the open door.
“Good morning, Mr. Garvey,” the young man said cheerfully. “Beautiful day, don’t you think?”
“Depends on your viewpoint,” Nicholas said with a grunt, his long legs carrying him into the high-ceilinged lobby, leaving behind an employee he knew must be puzzled by his employer’s mood. Normally a polite gentleman, the events of the day thus far had not endowed him with hope for the future of this episode he’d managed to entangle himself in. There wasn’t a bit of sense in shedding Patience from his existence when he’d be waving goodbye to Carlinda Donnelly in less time than it would take to truly make her acquaintance.
And with that decision attended to, he opened his office door and settled behind his desk. “Thomas.” The single word sounded much like the roar of a mountain lion and Nicholas winced, then took a deep breath.
Women. They were at the bottom of almost all the problems he’d faced in his life, in one way or another. And the conundrum facing him today seemed only to prove that fact. It was a good thing that marriage was definitely on the back burner. He was a man who enjoyed his freedom.
She’d been given the grand tour and decreed the house lovely, and, even more important, comfortable. The housekeeper’s bright eyes were avid with curiosity and she seemed determined to make Carlinda welcome. “I’m sure Mr. Nicholas will be home for dinner,” Katie said cheerfully, her cloth moving rapidly as she dusted the bannister.
Her hair, once flame-red, if Carlinda knew anything about such things, had now settled into a hazy color of grey over auburn. As might her own one day, she thought. A wide smile on Katie’s lips sparkled with goodwill and her feet moved smartly as she made her way through the work inherent in keeping such a large home clean and polished to within an inch of its life. Carlinda hovered in her wake, feeling useless with nothing to accomplish.
It seemed a walk was in order, and she pressed a dress from her valise and one for Amanda for the occasion. “Are you certain you don’t need any help?” Carlinda asked for the second time, hesitating by the front door. Her charge tugged impatiently at her fingers, but she held back, guilt pushing her into the offer she made.
Katie only shook her head. “No, ma’am. You go on ahead and take the wee one out for a walk. She needs to get some exercise. Young’uns need fresh air and lots of it. Makes them healthy to breathe the morning air, it does.”
Reluctantly, Carlinda nodded and opened the heavy door. Leaded glass in long panes almost the length of its frame glittered in the sunlight, and she turned back to admire them as Amanda scampered across the porch.
“I’ll just leave it open,” Katie said, watching from the threshold. “You go on now and enjoy your stroll.”
Amanda was at the gate already, apparently puzzled by the latch, and Carlinda touched it, allowing the spring to stretch and the gate to open. Then she reached her hand for the child to grasp, and was given a dour look in silent reply.
“Young ladies don’t run and jump along a public thoroughfare,” she reminded Amanda. “We walk properly, without causing the dust to rise and coat our shoes.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Amanda answered dutifully, and yet it was obvious the little girl longed to run ahead and explore the limits of the small town they’d come to.
Ahead was a square in the center of town, an inviting place Carlinda had taken note of yesterday morning. On either side, east and west, the road stretched for a short distance, with stores and places of business lining its edges, sidewalks forming a neat line in front of the establishments. Women walked from one shop to another, their steps brisk as they performed what seemed a daily ritual, providing for their families. Two elderly men had staked a claim on a bench before the hardware store, exchanging greetings with the ladies who passed by.
In the midst of the square trees grew and three benches sat, empty in the morning sun. Carlinda wished that one of them was beneath the shade of a tree. She would surely freckle, she thought, if she were subjected much longer to the warmth of the spring sunlight. Sighing, she settled on a wooden seat, almost in the center of the square, and watched as Amanda approached another child at her side.
The two little girls talked for a moment, then Amanda turned, reaching for the girl’s hand to bring her along as she approached her nursemaid. “This is Sally,” Amanda said importantly. “She’s going to be my new friend. Her mama’s at the store.”
And wasn’t it easy for a child to determine the existence of a friendship so quickly, Carlinda thought wistfully. So far removed from the adult skirmishes that took place before a friendship could be formed between two women. She thought of the battle lines that had been drawn the evening before when she’d gone head to head with the man whose hospitality she’d accepted. A blush covered her cheeks as she recalled her quick animosity.
“Hello, Sally,” she said, her response to the child automatic. And then she glanced at Amanda. “Don’t go out of the square,” she said quietly. “I’ll just sit here and watch.”
The little girls skipped off, then settled under one of the trees, carefully tugging their skirts to cover short legs, Amanda looking up for Carlinda’s approval. With a smile and nod, it was bestowed, and the child turned aside. The murmur of their voices and the soft sound of laughter lulled her as Carlinda basked beneath the sun’s rays. She’d not lost herself in such a lazy morning in a very long time, and her eyes closed as she allowed herself to drift in a slumberous state.
A shadow fell over her and she blinked, looking up quickly. Nicholas stood before her, his bulk shading her from the sun and she lifted a hand to her brow as she gazed up at him. “We’re enjoying the town square,” she said, then blushed anew as he smiled.
“I’m glad to see you out and about. I hope I didn’t interrupt your daydreaming, but I wouldn’t want you to be sunburned. I see you forgot your bonnet.”
Her eyes widened as she lifted her hand higher, as if she’d only now noticed its absence. “So I did. I suppose because I didn’t plan on walking this far. Amanda and I were talking and I didn’t realize…” Her words trailed off as she took note of his amusement. “You’re laughing at me,” she said accusingly.
He shook his head. “Indeed, not,” he murmured, denying her claim. “I’m enjoying your smile and wishing I had a few hours to sit here with you and share your warmth.”
“I’m only borrowing it from the sun,” she said. “I’m sure there’s enough for both of us.” Aware suddenly of her easy acceptance of his presence, she inhaled sharply, unwilling to so quickly bow to his appeal. “On the other hand, perhaps I’d better take Amanda back to the house. It must be nearing dinnertime and Katie may need a hand.”
“She’s remarkably efficient,” he told her, sitting beside her, doffing his hat as he lifted one booted foot to rest it against his other knee. The wide-brimmed hat found a place on the park bench between them, and he looked toward the children.
“Amanda seems to have found a friend.” His tone was amused once more.
“Sally.” Carlinda spoke the name, and smiled. “She’s needed youngsters to play with. Sally’s mother is in the general store, and I’m sure the girls are hoping she’ll take her time. They seem to be kindred souls. It bodes well for her future, I think.”
“Her future?” She glanced at him as he lifted a brow and a quizzical expression touched his face. “With me?”
“Certainly. Where else would I mean? She’ll need to accustom herself to living in this town, and in your home.”
“This hasn’t been worked out to my satisfaction yet,” he told her, his eyes seeking Amanda once more. “We’ll need some time to come to an agreement, I think.”
“Time?” She refused to look at him, her heart in her throat as she spoke the word that had assumed threatening proportions. “How much time? And what sort of an agreement are you speaking of?”
He scanned her, that lazy, impudent appraisal she’d endured only yesterday. Was it only yesterday she’d met the man? And now his gaze lifted to mesh with hers. “Time? As long as it takes,” he said quietly. “The agreement we’ll discuss another time.”
And then he rose and placed his hat upon his head, nodding as he took his leave. “I’ll be home for dinner. Tell Katie to have it ready by one, please.”
Carlinda watched as he walked off. Strode was a better word, she decided, admiring his height, the gleam of dark hair touching his collar. He wore his clothing as if it had been tailored to his tall frame, his trousers unpleated and close-fitting against his legs. And the width of shoulders better suited to a lumberjack tested the fabric of his suit coat.
She was besotted. There was no other word for it. The man was beautiful, a word she was certain he would scoff at should it be spoken in his hearing, but she could think of none other to better describe him. A feeling of desolation swept through her as she reflected on the time to come when she must leave this town, the day when she would step on board the train and turn her back on Nicholas Garvey.
She slumped back on the bench and lifted a hand to consult her watch. It hung on a golden chain against the front of her dress and she read the hands through a mist she could not explain. After noon already. She would barely have time to walk home with Amanda and give Nicholas’s message to Katie.
Home. The single word rang through her head as though she’d spoken it aloud. It was not her home. Would never be a home for her to live in and enjoy. For Carlinda Donnelly, the future stretched ahead like a long blank road. And only in her dreams could she envision such a thing as the large, white house where Nicholas Garvey hung his hat as a home in which she might dwell.
She rose slowly and looked about for the little girls, aware that she’d almost forgotten their existence for a few moments. They played quietly beneath a tree only yards away, and Carlinda spoke Amanda’s name, catching her attention.
“Do we have to leave already?” she asked, her lip drawing down into a pout.
“We’ll come back tomorrow,” Carlinda promised. “Perhaps Sally can come to visit later today,” she offered, willing to use bribery if need be.
Sally’s frown brightened and she nodded quickly. “I’ll ask my mama,” she said, and danced off toward the other side of the park, then turned to walk backward, waving a small hand in a gesture of goodbye as she made her way to the general store.
“Let’s walk real quick so we can eat dinner,” Amanda urged, fast-stepping as she hastened back toward Nicholas’s home. “Then maybe Sally will come to visit.”
“We have to wait for Mr. Garvey to come home first before we eat,” Carlinda reminded her.
“Maybe he’ll hurry,” Amanda said, reaching for her nursemaid’s hand and skipping by her side. “Sally’s mama is shopping, but she’ll ask her on the way home.”
Nicholas did make haste, it seemed, for barely had they arrived inside the front door and delivered the message when his tall presence came through the front gate.
“Land sakes, here’s Mr. Nicholas now,” Katie said, bustling down the hallway toward the kitchen. “I’ll have the food on in ten minutes,” she called back brightly.
“Let’s go wash up,” Carlinda told her charge, her step light as she climbed the stairs before the man should make his way up the walk and across the porch. For some reason, she felt the need of a few minutes alone, to wash her face and brush her hair into place. To somehow get her thoughts in order before she must once more meet him face-to-face and be assailed by the emotion that filled her.
“You’ve only known him a day,” she told herself firmly, looking into the mirror over her dressing table just minutes later. She’d washed Amanda first, sent her down to the kitchen and gone on to her own room. Now she faced her image, noting the trembling lips, the glittering eyes and the hair that would not be contained neatly, no matter how hard she tried to tame its curls.
“He’s only a man, and he probably has women waiting in line to seek his company.” She lifted a hand to brush her hair back, then dampened it with a bit of water, hoping against hope it would miraculously behave and turn orderly before her very eyes. It was no use. The ringlets hung against her temple once more, and from the hastily formed bun she’d managed to subdue with an assortment of pins only hours ago, bits and pieces of auburn hair had escaped to curl down, touching her shoulders despite all her urging and pinning it in place.
“I can’t do much more,” she whispered, stepping back, the better to assess her appearance. Her dress was suitable, neat and clean, and her shoes wore only a bit of dust across the toes, reminding her of the quick walk back from town. She bent to brush at them with her handkerchief and heard a sound from behind her, as a masculine voice muttered a soft word, and then Nicholas distinctly cleared his throat.
“I beg your pardon, ma’am,” he said gravely. “I came up to see if you were ready for dinner. I didn’t mean to invade your privacy.”
She turned quickly, aware that her cheeks were flushed, a condition she seemed to find herself in today, no matter where she was or what she was doing. He’d seen her, watched her bend to brush at her shoes, noted her bottom in the air as she leaned forward. Probably her dress had risen in the back. What if he’d seen her stockings?
She stiffened her spine, resolute in her determination not to be embarrassed any more than she already was, and decided to ignore any what-ifs that flooded her mind.
“Yes, I’m ready,” she said quietly, and walked toward him.
Chapter Three
As if he’d never before seen the back of a woman’s lower limbs and ankles, Nicholas found himself obsessed over the next days by the vision of Carlinda’s slender underpinnings. The remembrance invaded his dreams, haunted his waking hours, even managing to insinuate itself into his thoughts as he discussed a loan with Sam Ferguson two days later.
He felt like an errant schoolboy, and that thought did nothing to elevate his ego. Sam sat across his desk, hat in hand as he enumerated the reasons for needing two hundred dollars. It was a considerable sum, one which should have required Nicholas’s full attention, and he bent his mind to the matter.
“We’ll take a look at your account here,” he said quietly, leafing through the paperwork before him. “I see no reason to deny you the loan, Sam. Your business is thriving. Adding on additional space for feed and supplies makes sense to me.” He looked up and smiled at the anxious livery stable owner. “Give me half an hour and things should be in order.”
Sam’s wide shoulders fit neatly through the doorway Nicholas noted as the man left his office. The papers before him were a blur, but he straightened them and then initialed each of the three pages. “Thomas,” he called, aware that his clerk hovered nearby. He held the papers out as the young man appeared in the doorway. “Take care of this for Mr. Ferguson, will you?”
“Certainly, sir.” Thomas was efficient, his expression bland, but his eagerness to please was a point in his favor, Nicholas decided. “There is a young lady to see you, sir,” he said now, a faint flush apparent as he cut his eyes to the left side of the door.
Patience. He’d lay money his visitor was the very impatient Patience. He’d neglected her for the past three days, and he could pinpoint the exact moment his attention had strayed from her. Upon Carlinda’s arrival, his suit of Patience Filmore had come to a screeching halt. And stood no chance at all of resuming its previous pace.
Now he sighed beneath his breath. “Send her in, Thomas.” Scooping up a stack of papers from his left, he spread them quickly before him and bent his head. Then he looked up as the dark-haired beauty halted before his desk.
“Good morning,” he said, coaxing his voice into a welcoming note. “What can I do for you today?”
Her mouth twisted a bit and she hesitated, as if ruing her decision to approach him. “I suppose you can explain why you haven’t been at my front door for the past several evenings.” Her eyes were suitably lowered, as if she were embarrassed by her own inquiry. Nicholas was not fooled. One thing he’d come to admire about Patience was her forthrightness. If she wanted an answer, she asked for it. This pose of injured pride was just that, a pose, a transparent request for his attention and apology.
“I have company in my home, Patience,” he said quietly. “It would be rude of me to abandon Miss Donnelly and my niece to themselves for the evening.”
“Ah, yes. I heard rumors that you’ve discovered a long-lost relative. I would enjoy getting to know your niece,” she countered.
“Well, I’m only beginning to do that myself,” he said, lifting a paper from those he’d strewn before him.
Patience allowed her gaze to touch upon the delaying tactic. “I can see you’re very busy,” she said, and rising, touched her index finger to her cheek. “I really only dropped by to remind you of the party tomorrow night at the Millers’ home. I’ve told them we would attend.”
Nicholas dropped the paper from his hand and looked up, his gaze ascending the lush figure of the woman before him. “You shouldn’t have done that, Patience. I don’t recall agreeing to that.”
Her smile was cool. “Perhaps not, but we have become something of an item of late. People expect us to arrive at such gatherings together. I’m sure you’re aware of that.” She took small steps, circling the side of his desk and approaching him with her hand outstretched. Long, slender fingers touched the sleeve of his suit coat and she smiled invitingly into his eyes. “Perhaps I misunderstood your interest in me, Nicholas.”
He felt perspiration break out in a narrow line down his spine, and at the same time he was chilled and angered by the thought of being manipulated in such a way. His gaze dropped to where her hand lay against his arm and, for an instant, he felt her grip tighten, then relax, sliding from its place until her fingers held the strings of her reticule and he was set free from the contact.
“Perhaps you misunderstood, or maybe I was at fault, even premature, in my interest in you, Patience.” Cruelty was not normally in his nature, but this must be brought to a halt.
He thought he saw genuine surprise in her features as she looked up at him, and then it was masked and her smile became practiced and serene. “Well, we’ll see what the future holds, won’t we?” she said enigmatically.
And wasn’t that the truth? He watched her leave, unimpressed by the same movement of hips he’d found fascinating only a week since. His smile was rueful, remembering again the sight of Carlinda’s stocking-clad calves and ankles. Indeed the memory was constantly at the surface of his mind, and he straightened the papers before him with precise movements as he attempted to erase his errant reaction to the woman.
A glance at his pocket watch assured him he would not be amiss in leaving for home. The dinner hour was becoming increasingly important in his everyday scheme of things this week, and he would not insult Katie by making her put the meal on hold while she awaited his appearance at the table.
The walk was short, his pace brisk, and he approached his home with an ear open to Amanda’s presence. The child was increasingly vocal; he’d noticed her laughter ringing out even early in the morning, her cheerful voice greeting him from the porch each afternoon when the bank closed and he hastened to make his way from town.
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 tomorrow?”
“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 designs 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.
“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.
“You’re my very own uncle. Linnie said so, and Katie told me I could call you Uncle Nicholas if I wanted to.” She took a deep breath, her statement having been a mouthful, and then looked up at him anxiously. “You don’t mind, do you?”
Nicholas cleared his throat, a thickening there causing him a problem as he spoke. “No, I don’t mind at all, sweetheart. I kind of like it. No one’s ever called me that before now.” These two females had come to be of major importance in his life in less than a week’s time. He tested the waters now with Amanda, reaching out to touch her cheek with his index finger. She smiled widely and shot a look of triumph at her nursemaid.
The thought of spending time with Patience was gone, obliterated as if it had never been. If he had to take long walks to exercise his nagging needs into oblivion, he would do just that. But using one woman to assuage the pain of another’s refusal was beneath him.
And certainly, all hope was not yet lost.
He knew, knew it with a certainty he could not explain, that Lin would come to him.
Not tonight. Of that he was sure. But sometime, when the passion in her eyes became a desire she could not deny, she would come to him. It was worth the wait. He’d learn to savor the moment, and not to rush his fences. And if those two homilies were somehow not suited to the occasion, it was all right. The end result would be the same.
She would be his.
Augusta Cleary was a vibrantly beautiful woman, yet Lin, a name she realized she had accepted once Nicholas had blessed her with it, was not made to feel any less than attractive in her own right. The men shared their attention between the ladies, and even Nicky, who by all rights should have been in bed at this hour, claimed his own bit of admiration.
“He’s a scamp,” Augusta said in an aside to her hostess as they watched the pair of gentlemen playing on the parlor floor with the little boy. Just past twelve months in age, he was gloriously beautiful, with his mother’s golden hair and his father’s dark eyes, a contrast that would no doubt hold him in good stead with the ladies one day, Lin decided. And then said as much.
“Well, he has me totally at his mercy,” Augusta told her with a rueful laugh. “And Jonathan spoils him dreadfully.”
“Jonathan? I’ve only heard Nicholas speak of him as Cleary,” Lin said.
“He prefers it.” Augusta’s mouth softened as she shed her gaze on the three male figures, wrestling together on the carpet. “But his name is Jonathan, though when I find occasion to use his surname he sits up and takes notice.” Her smile was possessive, Lin thought.
If this was the relationship between husband and wife that Nicholas had been exposed to over the past years, she was hard-pressed to understand why he didn’t speak more warmly of marriage.
“Do you think this boy needs to be tucked into bed?” Cleary asked his wife as Nicky toddled into his father’s arms. He darted a look that seemed to hold a hidden meaning at the golden-haired woman, and Augusta smiled again.
“Whenever you say. I think Amanda was about worn out chasing him before supper. She didn’t protest when you sent her about her chores a few minutes ago,” she said to Lin.
“She needed to feed her kitten. Nicholas feels if she wants a pet, she must be responsible for its care.” And then as Amanda peeped around the parlor door, Lin held out a hand in welcome. “Come in, dear. Nicky is about to be taken home and put to bed by his mama. Do you want to say good-night to him?”
Amanda nodded, her eyes lighting as the little boy half ran across the parlor carpet toward her. “I thought I’d show him my kitty, but I didn’t want him to get scratched up. Maybe I should wait till Blackie learns how to pull in his claws.” She looked up at Augusta solemnly. “Katie says that kitties have to learn that, and that I must be careful in the meantime not to get scratched up like Uncle Nicholas did.”
“Uncle Nicholas?” Cleary said, grinning at the man in question. “Now that has a ring to it. We’ll have to teach Nicky those words.”
“His vocabulary is quite limited at this point, Nicholas,” Augusta said. “Don’t hold your breath waiting for him to spit out all those syllables any time soon.”
“I won’t mind,” her host told her simply, rising from the floor to sit on the sofa. “I’ve learned in the past days to appreciate the title.” He held out a hand to Amanda and she skipped to his side, glowing as his arm circled her waist.
“You begin to resemble a family man, Nick,” Cleary told him beneath his breath, the sound barely reaching Lin’s ear.
She glimpsed a look of chagrin that quickly turned into a frown as the two men rose in unison and walked across the room, Nicholas’s arm sliding up to rest across Amanda’s shoulders, Cleary carrying his son.
Nicholas would not appreciate the designation, she knew. Yet Cleary was obviously given to teasing the man. Perhaps he thought to persuade Nicolas into a relationship matching his own. If so, he had a surprise coming. If she knew anything about it, marriage was far from what Nicholas had in mind for his future. Seduction was more to the point.
“Lin?” Beside her, Augusta called her, using the name she’d begun to respond to with such ease. Now she turned quickly to reply.
“I’m sorry, I was thinking. What did you say?”
“My thoughts probably were matching yours,” Augusta said, glancing at the two men who had walked into the foyer. “I only wanted to know if I might call you by the name Nicholas has bestowed on you. Carlinda is a lovely name, but I noticed that even Amanda calls you Linnie.”
“If you like. Amanda has always shortened it. She was about Nicky’s age when she decided on my title, and it hasn’t changed since.”
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Carolyn Davidson
Тип: электронная книга
Жанр: Современная зарубежная литература
Язык: на английском языке
Издательство: HarperCollins
Дата публикации: 16.04.2024
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О книге: Tempting A Texan, электронная книга автора Carolyn Davidson на английском языке, в жанре современная зарубежная литература