* * * *
“I wish to ride up front,” she said to Zachariah once outside.
A frown marred his elegant features. “It’s a cold night, miss. It might sleet again yet. You should be inside.”
But she wanted to feel the air on her face. She didn’t want to be cooped up inside the dark carriage.
“I’ll ride up front,” she responded firmly.
“Mr. Dalton will not be pleased if you catch a fever.”
“I am perfectly healthy—certainly well enough to breathe the night air.”
His mouth twisted, but he silently assisted her to sit on the bench at the front of the carriage. He settled a blanket around her, then went to take his own place.
Once the carriage was in motion, they rode quietly for a while, until suddenly she couldn’t bear this man’s silent condescension for a moment longer. She tried to make conversation.
“Alex says that in the near future I can’t leave the house without either you or James with me.”
Silence.
She watched the storefronts of the Southwark streets pass by, trying to ignore the burning at the back of her eyes. Really, it was too much.
“Well, he must have a reason to say that.” Zachariah’s voice startled her. She’d assumed he meant to ignore her.
“Green spoke to me in the garden tonight.”
“Ah, yes—Richard Green is a bad man.”
She frowned. “He hates Alex?”
“Yes.”
“You won’t say any more than that?’
“What more is there to say?”
“But there must be a reason for such hatred. Alex has never spoken to you about it?”
“No.”
“Didn’t you ever wonder about it?”
“It’s not my place, miss.”
“You don’t approve of me—no, you don’t like me, do you?”
His posture went a bit more rigid. “Miss, it is not my place to approve of you.”
His voice was as painfully polite as ever.
She was tired of evasion. She wanted only truth in her life. She wanted to sit up in the seat and shout and demand that everyone stop hiding things from her. The words rose from her depths and ripped themselves out. “Please, speak to me as if I were a fellow human being!”
His back went ramrod straight and his lips compressed so hard that white showed around their berry-brown edges. He reined the horses to a halt.
Her heart began to pound.
Oh, God. What have I done?
He turned to her, his eyes like black flames. “You wish me to speak to you as if I were your equal?”
At his pained tone, she placed her hand at her collarbone. “Yes, I do.”
“Well, it’s no good, miss. I can never, ever be your equal. Not here, in this place.”
“If you feel that way, why do you stay here in this city, working for a man like Alex?”
“Because he is a good, fair man. He pays me a generous wage. I am never going to have it this good, and that’s the truth.”
“But you resent having to do his bidding, having to wait upon a—a harlot, like you think I am because of that first night—”
He held up a forestalling hand. “Now, miss, you don’t know the way of other people’s minds. You always think you do, but you don’t. And what’s more, it’s rude to impose your false impressions upon others. No one has told you these things, but you ask me to speak to you as an equal. So now I am speaking to you bluntly.”
She swallowed and clasped and re-clasped her hands in her lap. “I—I saw the disapproval in your eyes that night.” She glanced back up at him, hot emotion squeezing her chest. “You can’t deny it.”
He stared sternly back at her for several moments. Her heart pounded harder and her breaths were very shallow.
“I want the truth,” she added, in a breathless tone.
His lips twitched, then he jerked his head and faced the road. He toyed with the reins for a while. “What you saw that night, in my eyes, was concern for my employer.”
“Concern?”
“Yes.”
Goodness. Had he thought she was a cutpurse, as Green had? Or worse, diseased?
“I see.”
“Do you, miss?”
“I think so.”
“I doubt it.”
“Concern for him? Concern for him?” She had to take a deep breath to stop the hot rush of words.
“Yes, I was concerned for him. Concerned about your power over him.”
“But he held all the power!”
“Did he?” Zachariah’s voice held that cryptic, slightly superior amusement that always put her nerves on edge.
“He did.” She nodded firmly. “He does now.”
“I heard the way he spoke your name. I saw the way he looked at you, when you weren’t looking at him.” He turned to face her. “Do you know what I think, miss?”
“No.”
“I think you could have anything you wanted from Mr. Alexander Dalton.” The barest hint of a smile graced his lips. “Even a wedding ring.”
The utter assurance in his voice rocked her. Put a tremble into her hands.
Her heart gave a little leap.
But she didn’t want a wedding ring from Mr. Alexander Dalton.
“Y—you’re wrong. He will never marry.”
“He thinks he will never marry.”
“Yes—he is determined never to marry.”
“He surely never will if you aren’t willing to fight for him.”
The wind increased, biting cold through the layers snuggled around her. She gripped the blanket more tightly at her neck. She wasn’t interested in fighting Alex’s demons—or his other women.
She wasn’t interested in marrying him.
“No man will take a chance on a woman who will not believe in him. A woman who is determined to believe the worst of him.”
Heat burnt her face, dispelling her chill. “I do not believe the worst of Alex.”
“No?”
“No, definitely not.”
“Then why do you spend all your time fighting him when it’s clear he only wants the best for you?”
Frustration burst upon her. Of course he wouldn’t see how Alex tried to control her. Why had she bothered to open this conversation to begin with? It was clear that the man was wholly biased towards his employer. Who could blame him? As he said, generous wages were nothing to be carelessly tossed aside.
“I’d like to go home now, Zachariah.”
“As you will, miss. I knew you wouldn’t be able to hear me. Youth always thinks itself too wise to pay attention to others.”
His meaning stung, so much so she drew in a breath. “That’s what you think of me? Some silly girl who thinks she knows better than anyone else?”
His lack of an answer said everything.
“Then why did you even bother to tell me all of this?”
“Because I think you are the only person who can save Alexander Dalton from himself.”
“How could I possibly save him? I don’t even know what I am supposed to be saving him from. He shares nothing of himself with me.”
“That’s right, and he won’t share his secrets—not until you make the choice to trust him.”
“Knowing nothing—nothing real—of his past, I am to just decide to trust him? That’s an incredible leap of faith for anyone to make.”
“Yes. It’s your choice alone to make. And if you wait too long, it will be too late.”
His words, so casually uttered, settled over her, colder and harsher than the icy wind.
“Well, if it is too late, then it wasn’t meant to be…if it is too late, then your opinion will be proved wrong.” She spoke with a hard tone that felt very much like conviction.
“If you wait until it’s too late, then you’ll have the rest of your life to wonder about that, miss.”
* * * *
Emily warmed her hands before the fire in the kitchen.
I
think you are the only person who can save Alexander Dalton from himself.
Zachariah’s words came back to her. They had been haunting her in the three weeks since he’d spoken them. And in that time, a horrid realization had come to her.
Her feelings toward Alex had changed. She wanted his complete fidelity, no matter what he said about his inability to give it to her. She wanted all of him.
But she also wasn’t ready to be anyone’s personal savior. The very notion made her feel suffocated. As suffocated as she had felt all those years living with Grandmother’s manipulation and endless needs.
Would Alex’s needs prove just as endless?
Endless fucking.
She gave a gasping little laugh at the memory of his heated, rather crude words. Well, but that had just been playful love talk, hadn’t it? A fantasy, as he had said.
But what if endless fucking also translated into endless loving…which in turn translated into her endlessly molding her personality and behavior to suit his whims?
Her heart gave a little flutter as she remembered the fierce, relentless passion with which he had taken her three times in rapid succession.
Yes, maybe his emotional needs were just as endless as Grandmother’s had been. Maybe he would drain her dry, and, in the end, disappoint and hurt her just as he kept warning her he would.
Still, she couldn’t believe he would ever hurt her. He loved her. At least, he certainly seemed to.
But no, she couldn’t risk it.
She had her own life and mission. A greater cause than just one person.
Anyhow, the decision of whether to stay here and fight for Alex’s attention and love or to leave was no longer hers to make.
He’d decided to leave her first. In the weeks since the evening of the ball, she’d hardly seen Alex. He’d spent most of his nights away. It was hard not to picture him cutting a swath through his other women like a rutting tomcat.
The message was clear. He didn’t need her. He had plenty of females eager to attend to him. They would stand in line to save him.
And he was going to New Orleans soon.
It didn’t matter.
It didn’t.
They had had their affaire. It had run its course with the inevitable ending. She was set to get on with her life. It was something positive. She would only look forward. This book was just the start of her life’s mission. And now she had to find out the truth about her father. To clear his name if necessary, because she was sure he could never have been the sort of person who could peddle human souls.
Everything had changed. She no longer feared that Alex would consider it a breach of their contract if she left his house. She’d overheard James speaking with Peter about the progress done on her book. Alex had spent a small fortune on a team of artisans to carve the woodcuts. He had paid many of them to come from Boston and New York just to interview. And then paid them exorbitant wages to work nearly round the clock. Her book was being printed right now, made into pamphlet format to be handed to members of Congress.
Alex hadn’t even cared enough to let her see the woodcuts or the resultant prints. And she had no idea how her work had been slanted and twisted by his editing.
She couldn’t bear to see what he’d done with it. Not yet.
But James had told Peter he’d seen the woodcut prints of the sketches. Even he had admitted they were things of intricate beauty and moving emotion. She swallowed back tears of satisfaction.
Yes, everything had changed. Her mission was well on its way to being completed.
Today, she would search for suitable, respectable employment. Women like Mrs. G, the mantua maker, lived independent lives, supporting themselves by dint of their talents. She could do the same.
With her hands finally warm, she pulled her gloves back on.
Yes, she must carry on with her life as an independent young woman. She would become a happy spinster.
A woman who lived for her art alone.
Yet, inside, her heart ached. An empty, inconsolable ache. Despite the soundness of her reasoning, none of it could assuage that inner aching.
She wanted Alex.
She wanted all of him, all to herself.
I think you are the only person who can save Alexander Dalton from himself.
Her heart panged. Was Zachariah correct? Was she wrong not to stand her ground and fight for Alex? Even when by staying and fighting his demons, she might well be risking her own liberty?
Would she be required to hand over her own soul in order to save his?
Might she be driven by her hunger for him to do just that, despite her near constant pledges to herself not to?
Fear tingled through her, lifting the hairs on her nape and putting an unsettled sensation into her belly.
“You look set to go out, Miss Emily.” Cato’s voice broke through her thoughts.
She turned to where he sat in his chair at her side. He smiled at her and, with his knife, took another swipe at the wooden horse he was carving. He seemed to make hundreds of them, effortlessly. His grandchildren came over on Sunday afternoons and painted them. Then he sold them.
Mrs. Webbs said he made a pretty penny from them, too.
There were always opportunities. Emily needed only to find her own.
“I am ready to go out. Have you seen Zachariah?”
He shook his head slowly. “Nope. Never going to see Zachariah around here on a market day.”
“Oh.”
“Got himself a lady friend.”
Emily froze, utterly nonplussed. Zachariah seemed too unbending for anything so human as sexual congress. “Does he?”
“Sure does. Pretty little thing. Can’t say who she’s supposed to give loyalty to, but on market day afternoons, she doesn’t give it.” Cato chuckled.
Not really caring much to know more, Emily slowly pulled off her gloves. Apparently she wasn’t going anywhere today.
Admitting that also forced her to admit that she was making the choice to let Alex dictate her actions. She really didn’t understand why, but she couldn’t bear facing him if he were somehow proved right about Green. She wouldn’t want Cato to bear the brunt of it either.
“Now, don’t frown.” Cato set the wooden horse aside. “If you need to go out, I’ll drive you.”
She smiled at him. “You’re too kind, but Alex says I am not to leave unless he is with me. Or James. Or Zachariah.”
He let his mouth gape and tilted his head down and to the side. “What?” He pointed at his chest, at the old-style, frothy lace cravat and waistcoat. “Are you suggesting I can’t protect you as well as those others?”
Her face flamed. She hadn’t meant to insult him. She hadn’t thought about how her words would sound. “Goodness, no!”
He grinned and chuckled. “Our Mr. Alexander makes things hard on you, doesn’t he?” Cato’s voice rang with sympathy.
She nodded. “I am afraid he does.”
“Well, he’s never been in love before. He doesn’t know how to temper his own feelings. You got to give him time to adjust.”
She laughed softly. “I don’t think he’s in love.”
“Aw, now what would you know about it? You’re just a baby yourself.” Cato chuckled, then pulled himself out of the chair.
Emily noted how slowly he moved. Her forehead wrinkled. “Are you really feeling up to going out?” She glanced out of the window. Grey clouds laid heavy, a low-hanging wool flannel blanket on the horizon to the northeast. “Looks like a storm moving in.”
“Yep. A storm sure is moving in. That’s why you’d better get your business done. If you don’t, you’ll be trapped inside for days.”
Emily glanced at the clouds. He was probably correct. If there was a good job posted, she might miss it.
“We’ll just slip out and get your business done quick and get home ahead of the storm. Mr. Alexander won’t be any the wiser.”
* * * *
The afternoon sun seemed to burn with unholy b
rilliance against the darker wall of encroaching, low-laying clouds. Despite the chilling breeze, market day on Main Street was crowded. People bustled about with an almost fair-day feeling, as if they were determined to enjoy the afternoon.
Still, a nagging disquiet made her pause. She scanned the street and observed soberly dressed Quaker couples. Middling-sort housewives with their baskets stuffed. Roughly clad mariners. Bewigged merchants in their bright scarlet cloaks followed by their equally richly dressed slaves. Finely dressed ladies in their fur-trimmed pelisses with their package-laden servants trudging along in their wakes.
Emily glanced down. The wind blew the sable trim on her crimson pelisse. She turned. About three steps behind her, Cato seemed to hobble painfully along with his cane.
She bit her lip.
He smiled broadly beneath his black, tri-cornered hat, the wind blowing the snow-white locks of his curled wig as he hurried to catch up with her. “Is something the matter, Miss Emily?”
“I am going to Mason’s bookstore and I shall be in there for at least an hour, I am certain.” She took several dollars from her reticule. She stared at the money, wondering at how, just a short while ago, this would have seemed like a lot of money to her. Now it felt perfectly natural always to have at least twenty dollars to spend at her whim. Well, she’d just have to become unaccustomed to that. “Cato, why don’t you go to the tavern for a whiskey and a rest while I shop?”
“I don’t know, Miss Eliot.” He stared at the money with temptation showing in his eyes. “I shouldn’t leave you on your own.”
“Oh, go on—I certainly won’t tell.”
“This damp, chilly weather does have my joints hurting.”
“Well, that settles it. You need to get yourself a warm rum punch and a sit-down by the fire. I shall meet you here in no more than two hours, how is that?”
* * * *
An hour and a half later, she trudged along Main Street, her shoulders sagging. The darkening skies seemed to echo the disappointment in her heart.
There were no promising jobs yet to be found.
There were no jobs to be found at all.
She would have to leave Philadelphia—that was all there was to it. Maybe she would go to Boston. Her father came from Boston and she could investigate his past better there. She might even find employment as a governess.
Wild, Wicked and Wanton: A Hot Historical Romance Bundle Page 84