She watched carriages pulling around the side of the asylum to park near the auditorium. These people had no idea. Even with their wealth and entitlement, would they shrink back in abject horror if they understood what the Healys may have done?
The Healys intrigued her. She’d finally seen Morgan Healy. Oh, she’d seen him before, but not closely. And she’d never seen him carrying a helpless patient with blood on her feet and a wild look in her eyes. He’d grown even taller and stronger looking since she’d last spied him two years ago. She’d been filled with mysterious longings she hadn’t understood then. She wasn’t certain she understood those feelings now—and they were indeed there—striking her silent and wary. Lilly’s experiences with the apothecary’s son gave her a new reference for the feelings.
She’d been dumbstruck this evening, the sight of him rocking her down to the core. Had she really never looked at him before? She’d recognized Healy’s smooth walk, wide shoulders, and trim waist. But his face ... oh, yes. That face had arrested her breath. Startled, she’d wanted to follow him, to help. His compassion for the patient had surprised her.
She found her wayward breath and opened the door. An empty entrance hall greeted her, but music and sounds of talking and laughter came from within the ball area to her right. Ahead of her, a large staircase led upstairs. Sweat broke out on the back of her neck. She took a shuddering breath and found her purpose.
Doors swung wide and a man and woman came out. Both were dressed in elegant attire. The small quartet at the far side of the auditorium played a beautiful piece Lilly didn’t recognize. Finding her courage, she nodded and smiled as the couple passed, and they gave her polite smiles. Good. Perhaps she didn’t look like a woman who’d lived her entire life surrounded by insanity. Was it on her face? She often wondered. Her stomach knotted as she slipped through the double doors.
No one paid attention to her at first, and she was happy for that. Better to observe the room unnoticed. Couples swirled across the floor, dancing and wreathed in smiles. How could they smile when they stood within easy walking distance of an insane asylum? Didn’t they understand what went on there?
“I do beg your pardon, but is that little Lilly?” a female voice said nearby.
Lilly glanced at the gathering of four women and winced internally. She did not want them to see her. Too late. One young woman’s icy cold beauty reminded Lilly of new snow. Her gray eyes and frosty blonde hair were wintry. Her skin matched—an alabaster that made Lilly think of frostbite she’d once seen.
“Dear Lilly,” an older woman said as she used a fan to create a wind around her corpulent, purple-dressed figure. “What on earth are you doing here?”
“Mrs. Davenport.” Lilly wouldn’t answer that question honestly to anyone here. “How are you?”
One young woman patted her oddly tinted red hair. “I do not think you’re supposed to be here, Lilly.”
“It’s good to see you Carrot,” Lilly said with a half smile.
Petunia Watson hated people using that name. Not that Petunia would have proved more refined. Which was better? To be named after a flower or a vegetable. A flower, perhaps.
“Do not call me that,” the freckled woman said. “Now tell us why you are here or we’ll have to call an attendant and let them know you’ve escaped.”
The frosty young woman, Jane Feathers, pursed her thin lips and tilted up her sharp nose. “You must have borrowed that dress.”
Lilly plastered on a smile she didn’t feel. “It’s lovely, isn’t it?”
Lilly stood straighter and inhaled deeply to slow her pounding heart.
Carrot didn’t sneer but condemnation in her eyes said she didn’t approve of the dress or of Lilly. “It’s vulgar for a patient to mix with the townspeople. You know better than to be here.”
“And you know I’m not a patient,” Lilly said, feeling heat flush her face. Do not lose control or they win. Lilly was used to these conversations, and over the years she thought her heart had hardened to condescension and assumption. No, this wasn’t assumption; it was downright meanness. Carrot knew Lilly wasn’t committed, but she preferred to treat her as most others did—a madwoman. Off. Three bricks short of a load.
“Why are you here?” Jane asked. She dripped in opulence, but then she would. Her father was a rich gold mine owner. Never mind the gold was running out near Simple.
Lilly wanted to run, but it would add to the humiliation, not reduce it. Better to stand and fight. “I’m here to enjoy the music, obviously.”
Carrot cleared her throat delicately. “Well, I think we should tell someone about this.”
Lilly raised one eyebrow. “No one cares if I’m here. How do you think I’m here in the first place?”
“Through some sort of manipulation.” Carrot glared at Lilly with unmistakable contempt.
Jane threw another cold glance Lilly’s way, her lips pursing as if she’d just tasted something repugnant. “Undoubtedly. Perhaps you think you can obtain the patronage of one of the men here?”
For a few moments, Lilly didn’t understand what the woman referred to. Then it hit her. “I beg your pardon?”
Jane laughed. Mrs. Davenport tapped the frosty woman on the arm. “Come. Let us find an administrator to clear this young lady out and put her back where she belongs.”
The women departed with arrogant twitches of their skirts. That’s when Lilly saw across the room the one person who could break her and demand she leave the room. The one person who she hated most of all. Masterson Healy.
A throat cleared behind her, deep and intrusive. She started and whirled. She didn’t expect to see Morgan Healy. Her mouth popped open.
“Good evening sir,” she managed.
A lopsided, handsome smile curved his mouth, and her heart threatened to stop. From a distance, in profile, she’d admired his classically carved nose and manly jaw line. Now, his physical attributes slammed her. Almost coal-black hair curled thickly around his head, tousled and a bit long around his collar. Dark green eyes ringed by thick lashes assessed her. Though she didn’t consider herself petite, he was over six feet tall. Broad shoulders, trim waist, and long legs completed the picture.
She’d heard he was twenty-five, yet he seemed a little older. His face and manner held a gravity she wouldn’t expect for a young man, as if he’d learned hard lessons. Morgan Healy wasn’t a popinjay; even elegant dress couldn’t diminish his powerful presence. She hated her attraction to him. He was undoubtedly cut from the same cloth as his father, and would never consider her anything more than an underling, an unfortunate. Having an attraction to Morgan was not a good thing.
She swallowed hard and stepped away from the door. “I beg your pardon, I am blocking the door. I was dazzled by the beauty of all the decorations.”
He nodded, but he didn’t take in the room. Instead his attention stayed on her, betraying a fixed appreciation. Heat filled her as his intrigued gaze swept her from head to toe. She’d seen admiration in a man’s eyes before, but she didn’t dare believe Morgan could find her interesting. Perhaps he thought her odd. I should run from the room. But no. That would defeat her purpose, and she refused to give those women the satisfaction of seeing her cowed.
“Indeed. Whoever decorated was talented.” His deep, rumbling voice had a smoothness and deliciousness she’d never heard in a man’s voice before. “I’m Morgan Healy. My father is Dr. Masterson Healy, the superintendent.”
She extended her hand to shake, and he hesitated. He didn’t have gloves on, and she suddenly felt vastly inadequate. He took her hand, and his masculine touch conveyed strength with gentleness. She’d shaken hands with men before. Usually their grips were hurtful, either by design or ignorance. His fingers held warmth and as they brushed hers, the strange, exciting sensation in the pit of her stomach gathered steam and burgeoned. Disturbed by her response, she yanked her hand back quickly.
A capricious need rose inside her, wicked and reckless. She’d been wicked all her l
ife, perhaps, and now was no time to stop. “The superintendent’s son doesn’t wear gloves to a ball?”
He held both hands out for a moment and stared at his palms. “Forgive me. There was an accident on the road and the gloves were stained.”
She glanced down. “And your waistcoat, it appears.”
“Yes again.” His eyes narrowed. “Will you hold it against me? Most women in my society expect a certain decorum, and perhaps I cannot provide it this evening.”
“You say there was an accident?”
A rueful expression touched his mouth. “A young patient of the asylum escaped. Seemed a door was left ajar.”
She sniffed, feigning indignation. “Well, that is hardly safe, is it?”
“Hardly. But I think it is more important the woman is safe and back in her room. I’m sure her family would be upset to hear she was wandering at night.”
Lilly sighed. What would he think if he knew of her adventures at night? “I saw you with the patient.”
He nodded. “Did you think it odd for me to carry her inside?”
“Not at all. Your kindness does you credit. Are you a charitable soul, Mr. Healy?”
She half expected him to smile once more, but the intensity in his eyes stayed marked and didn’t leave her. “I should hope I could oblige. But I have a feeling, before the evening is over, you would tell me if I was lacking.”
A soft laugh escaped Lilly, but she stifled it. His gaze intensified, and the feeling she was being inspected increased. She would have expected to feel indignant, even angry at the way he gazed so thoroughly at her. Yet her body raged with heat and a gnawing hunger. The feelings she’d encountered with the apothecary’s son seemed almost mild in comparison to the excitement she felt now.
“You know all about the asylum and the patient, don’t you?” he asked.
Her mouth popped open again. Oh, dear. Maybe she’d taken on more than she could accomplish thinking she could talk with a man of his station without showing her ignorance. Lying wouldn’t help her. “I do.”
“I saw you in the hallway when I carried the young woman upstairs.”
“So my disguise did not help.”
His gaze snapped to her head. “Your hair in the pompadour made it hard to recognize you at first. Should I report that you’ve escaped, or will you tell me your name?”
Annoyance slapped her in the face and it stung. Though she understood, she didn’t like the fact he’d leaped the chasm to that conclusion. “Perhaps I should leave now.”
“That isn’t necessary. Tell me your name.”
She glanced around and saw that several people had turned to gaze at them. Drat. She hadn’t planned well enough; she’d let him get the upper hand. Panic threaded through her and so did shame. She turned on her heel and left, dashing through the reception area and exiting the building at a rush. The big door slammed behind her. The doors opened and footsteps followed her down the stairs. She didn’t turn to look.
“Wait.” Morgan’s smooth, deep voice said in a firm tone. “Stop.”
She ran. Soon she’d outdistance him in the darkness, and was sure he couldn’t see her. Escape was all that mattered. Heavy footsteps ran to catch up. She didn’t care. She ran faster. In the freezing night air, light snow flew and landed with cold sprinkles on unprotected skin.
A hand grabbed her forearm. She cried out in shock as the strong grip swung her about. “Please stop,” Morgan Healy said.
Fear gave her strength and anger. She jerked from his hold. “Let me go. I did not give you leave to touch me.”
He lifted both hands as if in surrender. “I mean no harm. Don’t be afraid of me.”
“I’ve just met you, Mr. Healy.”
He nodded. “Of course. But please, I would never hurt you.”
She knew that. Somehow she knew it, and it surprised her. She shouldn’t trust a man who might have something to do with the murders of innocent women. Catherine Renlow had told her the Healys were responsible for the murders, but not which Healy. It was up to Lilly to discover whom and to make them pay.
She drew in a deep breath. “Why did you follow me?”
He brushed one hand over his face. Snowflakes started to stick to his hair. “I apologize if I frightened you.”
Defensive, she stood straighter and didn’t move away from his overwhelming presence. “You don’t frighten me.”
She saw him well in the darkness, but knew only light from the windows streaming through windows illuminated her.
“Come back to the ball where it’s warm,” he said.
“You were going to report me.”
“I will if you do not tell me your name.”
“You are no gentleman.”
“Oh?” He sounded amused.
“Very well. My name is Lilly Luna.”
“Very pleased to meet you Lilly.”
Silence followed until she said, “I’m not a patient.”
“Then what were you doing when I saw you earlier?”
She decided to be honest. At least partially. “I live here.”
“Yet you aren’t a patient?”
“That is correct. My mother was ...” She hesitated. “My mother was committed here twenty years ago while ready to give birth to me. She had me a month after she arrived.”
He frowned, his gaze assessing but kinder. “Where was your father?”
“He died shortly after committing my mother.”
“I see. What about the orphanage in Denver?”
“Nurse Franklin and your father thought it best I stay here.”
“Why haven’t I seen you before?” Morgan asked.
“Do you visit the wards often?”
“No. Have you ever attended a ball before?”
She shivered. Cold seeped under her garments and went for the bone. “Never.”
“Why this one?”
Impatient with his probing, she came back with, “That, sir, is none of your business. You have asked me quite enough questions for now.”
“For now.”
“Forever.”
He grinned again. “Very well. Come, let us go back to the ball and dance. It will warm you up. I’d give you my coat, but I doubt you would appreciate the blood.”
He held out his hand, and for a second she thought he meant for her to place her hand in his. She passed him and hurried back toward the ball. She didn’t want to be around Morgan Healy, yet she did. Confusion pushed her this way and that. His nearness undid her, and made her want things she should not want. It made her hope for more time with him. It made her want to turn and run away again and never stop running. If she ran, she wouldn’t accomplish her goal, and right now, that goal meant everything. What happened after that, she didn’t know nor care.
Chapter 5
Morgan came alongside Lilly, but he didn’t speak. Thank goodness. His dark, husky voice played with her senses. He sounded proper—his voice clipped and assured. She was drawn to that confident tone and didn’t want to be.
She trotted up the stairs, but when she went inside the auditorium she practically dashed to the left toward the women’s lavatory. She closed the door with a click and latched it. After a couple of cleansing breaths, she used the basin to wash her hands. The mirror above the basin stand showed her flushed face. Her cheeks were too pink. Her breath caught in her throat. Fear settled in her stomach, but so did excitement. She didn’t know which emotion to chase or to trust.
Before she could decide to run back to her room, she left the washroom. Determined, she entered the ballroom with a smile.
The first thing she saw was Morgan dancing with a beautiful woman. Dissatisfaction touched Lilly, but she didn’t take the time to wonder why. She simply headed for the other side of the room and absorbed the sights and sounds. For the moment, she pushed apprehension away. The decorating committee had created a beautiful scene. With swags of tartan material for tablecloths and banners hanging from the twelve foot ceiling, the room had a sparkle the asylu
m didn’t often have. Punch bowls and tables laden with platters of finger food graced three sides of the room. Dozens danced, the ladies exquisite in their finery, and their partners resplendent in masculine grace. When had she witnessed this before? Never.
My first ball.
She longed to swirl along the floor and forget where she’d come from, and too feel a man’s arms directing her dance steps and leading her across the floor. Instead, she watched and wondered what that freedom would feel like. She watched and wished.
Most of all, she watched Morgan. Every step he took leading the lady in a dance seemed carefully composed and taken with the utmost grace. Why couldn’t he have been clumsy and awkward? He couldn’t be that perfect. In her experience, imperfection ruled most people’s lives. As Oleta had said, people made mistakes and tried to hide them. Even she’d tried to hide from the shame of being found in an embrace with the apothecary’s son. Just as she had done running from the auditorium tonight. She’d half expected people to notice her and stare, but they did neither now. Better, perhaps, to be invisible as a ghost.
The small ensemble of musicians finished their song and dancers broke away from each other. Some headed for food and drink. Morgan’s dance partner curtsied to Morgan and left. He caught Lilly’s gaze and strode toward her. She could run again. Part of her wanted to. The other part couldn’t stand the thought. Lilly stayed immobile, her feet like roots.
Morgan stopped in front of her. “Here were are again. Are you all right?”
His solicitousness threw her off. “I’m fine. How was the dance?”
“The young lady was an exquisite dancer.”
Her gaze darted the room and landed on a group of young women across the room who glared in her direction, contempt written on their faces. She took a bold step forward. “I am a wonderful dancer.”
She was lying, but what difference did it make? She’d based this whole adventure on lies, but if it accomplished what she wanted, what did it matter?
“Then,” he said, “shall we dance?”
He put out a hand, but of course she didn’t take it. Instead she followed him to the center where couples turned. Women’s skirts flicked out, whipped by their momentum. Smiles wreathed their faces with genuine happiness.
Shadows Wait Page 5