Love in Disguise

by Barbara Baldwin

  With that thought in his head, he maneuvered them toward the edge of the dance floor. At just the right moment, he turned and whisked her through the open doors onto the balcony. He thought briefly about taking her down the outside stairs into the garden. Instead, he continued their dance, gradually moving into the shadows at one end of the balcony. The music was muted, though the beat still coursed through his veins.

  “We seem to have lost the rhythm,” Abby murmured.

  He’d slowed his steps until they simply rocked back and forth, their feet still.

  “Perhaps only that of the music,” he returned, moving his hand up her bare arm to the pulse point at the base of her neck. His finger lightly caressed her skin and he felt the beat quicken.

  “I seem to have found a different cadence.”

  He placed a kiss where his finger had been. She wrapped her arms around him. Her shawl dropped to the ground, leaving her shoulders and the tops of her breasts uncovered. Max groaned. His hands moved to her back to pull her tightly against him. He kissed a path to the cleft of her bosom where he was soon lost in the smell and taste of her. Abby burrowed closer, feeling his heat through the thin silk of her gown. She wanted to crawl into his skin.

  “I have missed you these last days,” she whispered into his hair. She loved what he was doing to her breasts, but she longed for his kiss. She tugged gently on his ears.

  “Kiss me.”

  He obliged with a hunger she felt clear to her toes. Hot, firm lips clung to hers, his tongue seeking entrance. She soon found herself fighting for air, and it didn’t seem to matter. She returned his kisses, hugging him tight.

  “God, woman, what have you done to me?” Max breathed raggedly, nipping and licking the sensitive skin of her neck.

  “I think I was going to ask the very same question.”

  She turned her head to nibble on his earlobe. She ached deep inside, an ache she knew Max could appease.

  “Max, could we go somewhere; alone?”

  “Abby,” he interrupted with a groan, “you don’t know what you’re asking.”

  He quit kissing her neck and rested his forehead on her shoulder. Her hands were beneath his coat, caressing his back, feeling the muscles tighten.

  “Are we doing something wrong?” she whispered into the night.

  Max tried to laugh but it was more a groan of pain.

  “Not yet.”

  “Something that feels so right can’t be wrong.”

  She felt him shudder then take a deep breath. He raised his head, his hands moving to frame her face. His eyes were midnight blue, their depths smoldering with passion.

  “Abby, I am deeply honored by what you are offering me—”

  “But?”

  “Shh, let me finish. Someday you’ll find the man who’s right for you, someone who ill hold you without keeping you back. He’ll let you fly and be there to cushion your falls.”

  He kissed the tip of her nose.

  “And when you find this someone, you will have a gift for him that you can give no other.”

  He was right, and she had found that someone. She just needed to discover a way to make him accept what she was offering.

  * * *

  Max spent the rest of the evening watching Abby from a distance, alternating between remorse, self-pity and jealousy. A month ago he wouldn’t have thought he had any of those emotions, much less all of them vying for attention inside his head. Many of the couples present were his aunt’s age, but Abby chatted with the women and danced with their husbands, laughing good-naturedly at their comments. She was the perfect companion for his aunt, the perfect hostess of a gathering. She would probably make the perfect wife, too, and a wonderful mother to some man’s children. His head pounded. He reached for another glass of champagne, decided he needed something stronger and headed for the study. Once he poured a brandy, he settled in his chair and propped his feet on the desk.

  The liquor went down smooth. Muted music reached him. He closed his eyes and recalled those minutes on the balcony with Abby soft and yielding in his arms. Why couldn’t he take what she offered? His feelings for her ran deep, deeper than anything he’d ever experienced. But for her part, he didn’t know whether she thought of him as a knight in shining armor, or if her feelings rang true.

  Max wondered if they’d met under ordinary circumstances what she would think of him. Recalling their common cause reminded him there was a game later if he cared to join. Perhaps he should take her with him. No, tonight’s game was at a saloon, and he wanted a very structured, secure setting when she came face to face with Dillon. He recalled her animated demeanor in the ballroom. It wouldn’t be fair to take her from the gaiety where she seemed to be at home. He frowned. That was just another instance where they couldn’t possibly suit.

  He abhorred entertaining; the false sense that everyone liked you and wanted to be in your company. From his view, most people attended these functions to make connections. Men wanted to make political allies, or in some cases, to see if there were any new women to seduce. He’d seen it happen often enough in Washington, D.C. where the entertainment continued non-stop. Damn. It was impossible to close his ears to the music or his mind to the picture of Abby laughing as she danced. He grabbed his coat and left the lighted streets of upper crust Denver for the seedy side of town.

  * * *

  Abby waited and watched and waited some more, but Max never returned to dance with her. She’d no doubt scared him off with her wanton requests. After all, he was honorable and gentlemanly, and what had she done? Tried to seduce him again, on the balcony no less. She excused herself from the group of women to take a step outside. The cool breeze felt good on her face, but it did nothing to douse the fire inside. When they were planning this party Libby made it sound like the perfect time to pique Max’s interest. But his aunt must have been mistaken. Still, Abby knew he felt something when they kissed. Perhaps he just needed a little persuasion, or a few more kisses.

  Hours later, the last of the guests departed and Hickory secured the house for the night. When Abby asked him about Max’s disappearance, he pleaded ignorance, but assured her he would be allowed in when he came home.

  “Well, good night then, Hickory,” she said. She couldn’t very well wait up for him.

  “Good night, miss.”

  Hickory dimmed the entry wall lamp, casting the house into darkness.

  * * *

  Abby hadn’t been this excited since the day she’d left Boston on her road to independence. She, Libby and the modiste worked hours on end getting a dress ready for her. Now, the night arrived. Max had set up a game and she would deal. She slipped the black silk over her hips. Rebecca, Libby’s maid, began buttoning the back. Abby peeked a glance in the mirror.

  “Oh, my.”

  There was much more of her showing than with the dress she’d worn in Chicago. The modiste had assured her the design was all the rage in Paris, but goodness. The neckline was deep, and her corset pushed up her bosom. There was only the slightest hint of a bustle, and the silk clung to her breasts and hips.

  “Miss, you truly look wondrous,” Rebecca exclaimed. Her hands fluttered at the nape of Abby’s hair, loosening just a wisp of hair here and there. Though the pocket watch was large and didn’t match the delicacy of her evening wear, Abby donned it nonetheless. It might prove a pivotal point when Dillon spied it on her. She lifted her cloak from the end of the bed and slid it on.

  “Oh, you don’t want to cover such beauty,” Rebecca admonished.

  “Well, I think I’d better, or I may not be allowed to leave the house.”

  Libby and the modiste were confident that the daring neckline and slim lines of the dress were enticing. It would take the men’s minds off the cards and allow her to manipulate them as she needed. Abby doubted, however, that Max was so easily influenced and would probably throw a fit when he saw her. Max called this his plan. He’d spent the past two days lecturing her continually on how to act, what to d
o, what to say and how to say it. Except for John Dillon, it would be him and all his associates in a private game. He still muttered more than once that there must be a better way. She didn’t know how to convince him that she could help and was capable of taking care of herself in the process. She stopped midway down the stairs to observe Max before he caught sight of her.

  She was still not used to him with blond hair and muttonchops. Regardless of his choice of hair color, he cut a stunning figure in a tailored black suit with a silver brocade vest and shiny black half boots. With the flash of gold on his hands, he certainly looked like a prosperous gentleman.

  “Good evening, sir.”

  She caught his attention and he stopped pacing to look at her.

  Releasing a very long sigh, he started in once again.

  “Maybe this isn’t the best idea.

  There’s still time to contact Chapin—”

  “It’s the only way, Max. You know that.”

  She came to stand in front of him, knowing she would just have to tell him the truth. She touched his cheek with her gloved hand.

  “Besides, I trust you explicitly and have no fear whatsoever of facing Dillon.”

  She watched myriad expressions race across his face. The one she longed to see was his smile; the one that said he valued her belief in him. If it took her a lifetime, she wanted to make him believe in himself as much.

  “I’m not sure if you’re so anxious for a night on the town, or if you just like the idea of gambling away my money.”

  He finally relented with a smile. He took her arm and led her out the door to the waiting carriage.

  “Perhaps you should wait until the night is through before you judge my ability, at anything.”

  The only indication that he might wonder at her choice of words was the bright twinkle in his eyes. As expected, Max used the time in the carriage to carefully go over his plan once more. She sat and listened in silence since it wouldn’t do any good to make suggestions at this point. Besides, she knew it was something he felt he must do. She dutifully took the stack of bills he handed her and put them in her bag.

  “Abby.”

  His hand stopped her when she moved to leave the carriage. She looked back. He remained seated, for part of the plan was that she would already be in the hotel suite with Mr. Chapin before he arrived. Then it wouldn’t look as though they knew each other.

  “It doesn’t make any difference if you win or lose. The important thing is to see if you recognize Dillon. Then we can force him to make a move.”

  “I wouldn’t dream of losing your money.”

  “It’s only money. I would rather lose it all than risk having you hurt again.”

  His hand squeezed her arm, and warmth blossomed in her chest.

  “I shall see you inside,” she whispered then took the doorman’s hand to be set down in front of the InterOcean Hotel. She took a breath, closing her mind to everything except the game that was to come. Mr. Chapin met her inside and escorted her up the winding stairway to a private suite.

  “I believe we have everything set to Mr. Grant’s satisfaction,” he commented, opening the double doors to a huge room over half the size of Libby’s ballroom. It was apparent that gambling was a serious business, for the entire room was set with poker tables, a roulette wheel and several faro tables. Gilded mirrors adorned the walls. Alabaster figurines rested upon pedestals selectively placed beside velvet curtains and richly upholstered chairs. Waiters stood solemnly along the wall to provide for the guests.

  “For tonight, the suite will have only one game,” Mr. Chapin explained as a huge man by the door helped her with her cloak. She noticed how both men’s eyes traced the line of black from her shoulder to her bosom. Abby stopped short of trying to pull up her bodice. She reminded herself it was all a play and she was merely acting a part.

  “Having only one game in all this space won’t arouse suspicion?” she asked.

  He shook his head.

  “As proprietor, I have that privilege. I will no doubt join the game for a few hands, so that everyone will think I initiated it.”

  He pointed to the man with her cloak.

  “Nathan will then come and request my presence downstairs.”

  A knock at the door ended further discussion, and she moved to the windows that overlooked the city. Taking a glass of wine from one of the waiters, she feigned a lack of interest in what the men were saying as they entered. She wouldn’t know any of them except Max.

  “I believe we’re all assembled,” Mr. Chapin spoke quietly at her elbow.

  She turned to survey the room. Max’s back was to her and there were two empty chairs to his right. Abby didn’t know how he’d managed that, except perhaps he told his associates to sit close to the target. She allowed Mr. Chapin to escort her to the table, her heart pounding and palms damp. It wasn’t fear of the game, but rather anticipation of helping Max. At her approach, all the men stood and turned toward her.

  Max would have locked her away for life—she just knew he would—had he seen her dress before they left Garland House. As it was, she thought he would have an apoplexy right there in front of everyone. His mouth opened and closed—once, twice—and his eyes lit with a fire that meant trouble the minute he got her alone. In fact, he even stepped forward with a hand outstretched, but hesitated when Mr. Chapin began to talk.

  “Gentlemen, may I introduce Miss Faith. I thought it might be a nice change to have a lovely lady deal for us. However, since this is a private game, Miss Faith won’t be playing for the house, although house rules, of course, will be followed.”

  As he spoke, his gaze went to the huge man by the door. Everyone knew the guard wouldn’t hesitate to remove them if their behavior wasn’t on the up and up. Also, having a lady dealer would help prevent claims of cheating. Without giving Mr. Chapin a chance to assist her, Max took her elbow in a tight squeeze and seated her directly on his right. She tried to signal him with her eyes that he would surely destroy their strategy if he persisted in manhandling her. His gaze kept flickering to her breasts. She stomped on his foot under the table. His gaze shot up.

  “Excuse me, sirs; I don’t believe we have been introduced.”

  She raised a brow meaningfully. Thankfully, Max pulled himself from his sulk.

  “Jeffrey Markham.” He nodded curtly.

  The others then introduced themselves.

  “Johnson.”

  “Talbot.”

  “Pepper.”

  She smiled. “Mr. Pepper?”

  The sandy-haired young man returned her smile, even when Max harrumphed beside her.

  “Yes, ma’am. Peter Pepper. Seems my folks have a sense of humor.”

  “Are we here to play poker or have a gab session?”

  The one man who didn’t bother to introduce himself spoke in a churlish voice. Abby turned her attention to him. Even though she gave no outward sign, her heart beat faster. He was dressed conservatively in a dark coat and white shirt. His hair was neatly combed and for all outward appearances he looked no different than Max’s contacts. Her gaze rose to his face, and she bit the inside of her lip to stifle her gasp. She vividly recalled the mean glint of his eyes, matched by the vicious white scar that slashed across his dark skin. Regardless of his gentlemanly attire, she knew for a certainty it was the same man.

  “I fully intend to play cards, sir.”

  She dropped her gaze and broke the proprietary tax stamp affixed to the wrapper on a new deck of cards. Expertly, she fanned the cards across the table in front of her, face down, then flipped from right to left so that the line dominoed over, face up. She continued, not breaking concentration on the shuffling.

  “I do, however, enjoy knowing with whom I play, and from whom I win my pocket money.”

  The other men at the table laughed at her jest, but the man directly across continued to frown.

  “Do I know you?”

  She smiled her prettiest.

  “I don’t kno
w, sir. Do I know you?”

  He signaled for a drink before answering.

  “John Dillon. Now let’s play.”

  Chapter Ten

  Six hours later, Abby wondered why she’d talked Max into this plan. Mr. Chapin dropped out hours ago. Johnson, Pepper and Talbot seemed to take turns standing and moving about. They would get a drink and leave momentarily, but never more than one was ever away from the room at a time. Max never moved from her side. He was a good player—very good, in fact—and she found it hard to stay even.

  Between him and John Dillon, her stack of bills was slowly dwindling. Even though Max told her it didn’t matter, her pride stung. The fact of the matter was, she concentrated more on Dillon than she did on the cards. Since she was seated directly across from him, it wasn’t unusual for her to look at him, and she often found him staring back. Well into the eighth hour of play, she noticed a movement she hadn’t recalled from Chicago until that moment.

  To see if she remembered accurately, she deliberately folded and allowed the hand to play out. Dillon pulled at his left earlobe, then casually asked for two cards. After placing them in his hand, he laid his arm on the table, hand dangling over the side, close enough to his chest that no one else would observe it unless they knew the sign. Within the blink of an eye, he pulled the unwanted cards from his hand, raised the previous bet and settled back to watch her. She dealt the remainder of the hand and knew even before his cards were turned over that he’d won.

  He chuckled as he raked it in. Abby wasn’t certain, but she felt sure the ace of hearts that made his winning hand still remained near the bottom of the deck. She now chose to deliberately lose. She refused to meet Max’s gaze when he accidentally elbowed her and leaned close to apologize. Another half dozen hands and she knew for sure that Dillon cheated. She also recognized the telltale sign when he had a good hand. When it came her turn to bet, she laid the remainder of her money on the green baize of the table.