Journey's End (Gilded Promises)

by Renee Ryan

  In the dim light, she seemed too vulnerable to be completely immoral, even though Jackson knew a healthy dose of suspicion was imperative at this point.

  Concealing his thoughts, he directed her to the front stoop and motioned her to his waiting carriage.

  “No motorcar?” she asked, scoffing.

  “I am a man of simple tastes,” he admitted. It was a moment of self-honesty that gave him pause.

  Frowning, he took her hand and guided her into the carriage. Her fingers trembled lightly beneath his. An act? Or genuine emotion? He hated that he didn’t know.

  Moving in behind her, he settled on the seat facing hers. Eyes on her he shut the door and then pounded on the roof with his fist.

  The carriage lurched forward, sending her scooting backward to maintain her balance. Her eyes narrowed. “You did that on purpose.”

  He didn’t deny it.

  Before she could completely right herself, Jackson swooped forward and placed his palms on the seat cushion on either side of her. He’d sufficiently trapped her, using his superior size to corral her to the spot.

  She didn’t flinch, or gasp, or even try to slap his hands away. She remained perfectly calm, her expression devoid of all emotion. Impressive control. “I suggest you rethink your route of intimidation, Mr. Montgomery.”

  She was a cool one. Elusive, mysterious, hard to read. She was also a liar. He leaned a fraction closer. “Who are you?”

  Not a single muscle moved in her face. “You know who I am.”

  Again, he couldn’t help thinking her control was impressive. Despite himself, Jackson felt a welling of respect. “Tell me again.”

  “My name is Caroline St. James.” Her hands slid into her lap, twined slowly together. “Libby St. James was my mother.”

  The aristocratic tone in her voice would convince most people she was exactly who she said she was. But her eyes were filled with too many dark secrets, and something else. Something that could only be described as . . . guilt?

  No, something more complicated.

  Whatever she had discussed with Richard in his private study had left her feeling remorseful. And sad. The sight of all that pain drew him forward, just an inch. His attention lingered on her face, moving between her eyes and her mouth, both tight with tension. Her beauty enticed him to destroy all remnants of the civilized, honorable man he’d always thought himself to be.

  Blessed are those whose ways are blameless.

  More than a favorite proverb. A way of life for Jackson.

  For a long, dangerous moment, he fought against an unfamiliar yearning rising within him, the one he’d experienced on Orchard Street when he’d first set eyes on this woman. He’d seen her concern for her friend, the way she’d taken most of the girl’s weight and had shielded her from the pressing crowd.

  Caroline St. James might be dressed in a fine silk gown with her hair twisted in a smart, sophisticated style, but she was no innocent society miss. She was a street-smart woman who had journeyed to America without family or husband and had befriended a frail young woman along the way. That ability to show fierce, unwavering loyalty was the part of her personality that intrigued Jackson most.

  Despite knowing she couldn’t be trusted, he moved closer still, so close he could see the slight widening of her eyes.

  He froze, appalled at his behavior. He was no animal, mastered by his base, fleshly desires.

  Yet he couldn’t find it in him to move back.

  Absorbed in their silent battle, he tapped into his well-honed patience and waited her out. She would soon break under the pressure of his silence. Everyone did.

  When she continued holding steady, her gaze unwavering under his, he released a knowing grin.

  She blinked but waited him out for several more seconds. Another moment and, finally, she pulled back. Away from him.

  He heard the small rustle of silk, noted the flicker of battle in her eyes. Sensing her next move, he dropped his gaze in time to see her fingers unwind slowly. One hand moved to the seat cushions beside her; the other curled into a fist and then suddenly shot up.

  She was fast.

  He was faster.

  With a quick swipe, he caught her balled fist right before it connected with his chin.

  “Now that isn’t any way for a St. James to behave.”

  She yanked her hand free. “Beast.”

  That was a new one. In most circles Jackson was considered highly civilized, completely above reproach. He’d worked hard to gain that reputation. He’d restored respectability to his family name by avoiding activities that could possibly end up in scandal. Yet here he was, all but brawling with a young woman raised in a completely different world than he.

  It didn’t make sense.

  He pushed back and settled against the seat cushions.

  Tearing her gaze from his, she set both hands back in her lap. She flattened her palms against her thighs and casually rubbed them across her skirt.

  Her face showed no emotion, her fine-boned features almost serene. He felt like a heathen.

  That didn’t mean he was through interrogating her.

  “I take it you’ve been planning tonight’s little drama for some time.” When she didn’t admit or deny her actions, he continued, “What do you want from Richard St. James?”

  “That’s none of your business.” She looked so sad as she glanced out the window that Jackson felt an unexpected jolt of tenderness. Or was it longing? Both? Neither?

  “On the contrary, it is my business. I am Richard’s business partner.” He leaned back and pretended grave interest in his thumbnail. “You won’t get a single penny out of him, you know. I’ll make sure of it.”

  “Planning to keep all that lovely money for yourself?” She pulled delicately at her skirt, carefully reset a pleat, and then smoothed her fingertips across the fabric. “Is that the reason you wish to court my cousin? So you can merge your coffers with my grandfather’s?”

  Air hissed out of his lungs. “You will not bring Elizabeth into this.”

  “I have every right to do just that.” She adjusted herself on the seat. “Or weren’t you paying attention tonight? Elizabeth is my cousin. We are family. Something you, sir, are not. Not yet, anyway. Maybe not ever.”

  “Is that a threat?” He leaned forward, setting his nose inches from hers. “Think, my sweet miss. Think very hard before you answer.”

  Caroline realized a moment too late she’d pushed the man too far. Jackson Montgomery might dress like a gentleman. He might walk and talk like one, but his eyes told her a fierce warrior lurked below the surface.

  What if he decided to use physical force with her, like the street thugs she’d encountered on the streets of London? What if he tossed her out of the carriage in such a way she ended up . . .

  No. She would not panic. Such an attitude was cowardly. There was decency in this man, despite the seething anger brewing beneath the cool facade.

  She would not panic. She would not panic. She would not—

  “Where is your bravado now, Miss Harding, I mean . . . St. James?” His gaze never left her face. “Has the fine clothing stolen the fight out of you?”

  Her heart raced, half with indignation and half with an awareness of Montgomery’s superior size and strength. “I don’t know what you mean. I have no reason to fight you.”

  Oh, but that was a lie. Somehow, this man of perfect manners and respectability knew he’d pushed her into a corner, giving her no other choice but to give in or lash out.

  Either prospect put her at a gross disadvantage.

  A dirty trick.

  Apparently, they were more alike than he realized. He was here, in this carriage, subtly threatening her, because he felt the need to protect Richard St. James from her. As Caroline had often done on her mother’s behalf.

  More to the point, just as it was for Caroline, this battle was a personal one for Montgomery. Because of money? Or was there something more driving him?

 
Never underestimate your enemy. A lesson she’d learned in far rougher situations than this.

  Peering at him from lowered lashes, Caroline took a quick assessment. This was a man who would not be made a fool.

  Neither was he a man who would hurt a woman.

  She was definitely . . . practically . . . almost sure of it.

  “You condemn me and my motives when you have no idea why I have come here tonight.” She purposely appealed to the honor-bound man she sensed inside of him. “Are you absolutely sure, beyond a doubt, that I’ve come to fleece my own grandfather?”

  His lips pulled into a cold smile. Sitting so close, she could see the mockery in the gesture. He braced his feet on the carriage floor in a casual manner, his position both relaxed and ready to strike. “Don’t forget we’ve met before, Caroline, on a very different side of town.”

  A valid point.

  She caught her bottom lip between her teeth, suddenly at a loss for words. How could she explain the complexities of the situation when he was so determined that he had the particulars already figured out?

  Panic gnawed at her again, trying to tear into her control. She shoved the useless emotion aside with a hard swallow and lifted her chin. It was time to reveal a portion of the truth.

  This man—this brute—had forced her hand. “I am tired of being alone.” To her surprise and embarrassment, tears formed in her eyes. “I wish to know my family, to claim them as my own.”

  He laughed at her. He actually laughed. “Such a heartfelt response, truly you’re breaking my heart. Tell me, Caroline, is that the story you told Richard?”

  “At the risk of sounding redundant, what I discussed with my grandfather in private is none of your business. And for the record”—she blinked down an array of emotions—“I am not after his money.”

  “We’ll see.”

  The carriage slowed to a stop, hailing the end of their journey. She expected Montgomery to open the door at once. But no.

  “We have arrived,” she said, looking pointedly at the door.

  He still didn’t make a move. Not one single glance toward the exit. “I will stop at nothing to protect Richard and the rest of his family.”

  “You seem to be under the erroneous impression that they are in need of protection against me.”

  “Aren’t they?”

  It was a question she couldn’t answer, not anymore. Perhaps a day ago, yes. But now? After her private meeting with her grandfather she didn’t know what she wanted anymore.

  And that scared her far more than the man sitting on the other side of the carriage.

  Another few seconds ticked by. She counted them off in her head. One. Two. Three. The interior of the carriage seemed to grow smaller, suffocating, beyond confining.

  Her hand lifted involuntarily to her throat. She swallowed and did so again, but nothing seemed to relieve the dry, parched feeling.

  More seconds ticked by. Four. Five. Six. Caroline waited for Montgomery to make his move. She waited. And waited. Seven. Eight. Nine.

  He didn’t budge, not one single inch.

  When Caroline didn’t think she could stand a moment more of this infuriating game, he broke the silence at last. “Answer me this . . .” He held the pause for effect. “If someone were to offer you money to leave New York, how much would it take to send you packing?”

  She reached up, her hand nearly connecting with his handsome face. She stopped herself just in time. Barely holding back her temper, she hid her furious reaction behind a quick sweep of her fingers across her forehead.

  Dripping pure innocence in her manner, she slid across the small space dividing them and settled on the seat next to the odious man. “Why, Mr. Montgomery”—she bared her teeth in a smile meant to irritate—“are you offering me a bribe?”

  It was his turn to reach up, but much slower than she had and with a great deal more control. He captured a wayward strand of her hair between his thumb and forefinger. “That depends entirely on you.”

  Sitting this close to the man, she could smell his masculine scent, could hear the faint drumming of his heartbeat. Or was that the sound of her own pulse in her ears?

  His finger looped around the strand of hair, around and around and around. With each slow twine, the distance between them closed. She’d meant to remain perfectly still, but something about this man drew her forward, even as danger radiated out of him.

  He wasn’t as immune as he pretended. She saw the conflict in his eyes. One move on her part, one shift on his, and their lips would meet.

  She pulled in a steadying breath. Montgomery’s familiar scent of leather and wood filled her nose. Her anger at him—at herself—at them both—increased tenfold, enough to unleash her tongue at last. “Unhand me, sir.”

  He simply smiled.

  “What do you say, Caroline?” He asked the question without taking his eyes off her hair still wrapped around his finger. “Do you want to handle this standoff the easy way or the hard way?”

  Was he referring to the situation with her grandfather, or the undercurrents between them?

  “Will you accept a reasonable offer to leave town, or are we to fight to the finish?”

  “It’s ungentlemanly of you to ask the question at all. What do you suppose my grandfather would think if he found out you were attempting to buy me off?”

  For a brief moment, he had the good grace to look ashamed of himself. As well he should. The offer was an insulting one, especially if she’d truly come to find her lost family.

  But that’s not why you came, Caroline, not originally, and this man knows that. It was her turn to feel shame.

  “You are determined to fight,” he said, releasing her hair with deliberate slowness.

  “Apparently so.”

  What she saw in his eyes astonished her. She saw . . . Was that respect? Grudging though it was, the man clearly respected the fact that she’d refused his bribe. Caroline would have expected anger from him, perhaps even condescension. But respect? That could mean only one thing.

  He’d been testing her.

  And she’d passed.

  With a slight lift at the edges of his mouth, he reached around her and twisted open the carriage door. He exited first and then held out his hand to help her down to the ground.

  Holding on to her longer than was polite, he whispered in her ear. “Do not make the mistake of thinking you have won, Caroline. I plan to prove a most worthy opponent. The most formidable you have ever encountered.”

  She blessed him with her sunniest smile. “I would expect nothing less.”

  He dropped her hand and stepped back.

  Head high, shoulders back, she led the way through the hotel lobby to an elevator off to their right. In need of an ally, Caroline was grateful Sally had agreed to wait for her return, no matter how late.

  After the events of the evening, especially the last few minutes, she needed at least one person on her side.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Jackson waited for Caroline to enter the elevator before he proceeded to do so as well. During his latest conversation with Warren Griffin, Jackson had wondered if his inner integrity had ever been tested. Until tonight, the answer had been no. He’d taken the moral high ground in all matters.

  Fifteen minutes alone with Caroline St. James, and all remnants of the civilized man he prided himself on being had disappeared. He’d fallen to a low he’d never imagined, resorting to emotional and physical intimidation tactics as well as bribery.

  Caroline had passed every test.

  Jackson had failed.

  “Which floor, sir?”

  Jackson lifted his eyebrows in Caroline’s direction.

  “Four,” she said, her gaze fastened on the numbers above the elevator door.

  “Four,” he repeated, which earned him an annoyed glance from Caroline. She was obviously used to fending for herself and didn’t take kindly to someone stepping in when it wasn’t necessary.

  He should have bee
n aggravated at her willful display of independence. Such behavior wasn’t becoming in a woman of good breeding. And wasn’t that the point? Some hidden part of him, a part he never knew existed before a few weeks ago, admired this woman’s courage and fortitude. He admired her spirit. If half of what she’d said was true, and he was beginning to think it was, then she’d had a difficult life at best. Tragic at worst.

  If nothing else, her arrival in America brought more questions than answers. Jackson wanted to know more about this prodigal daughter who’d disappeared all those years ago. Surely she hadn’t left to marry a London gentleman, as the rumors purported. What other secrets were there? Had there been a scandal, a secret cover-up?

  If so, how had Richard prevented others from knowing any of the details?

  The elevator ground to a metal-scraping stop. The attendant reached in front of Jackson to slide the door open. Again, Jackson gestured for Caroline to proceed ahead of him.

  She led the way down the hall, head high, her bearing perfectly appropriate for any gathering in a New York drawing room. Someone had trained her well. At room 419, she pulled her key from the reticule hooked to her wrist and fit the piece of metal in the lock.

  The door swung open with a soft whoosh.

  “Sally,” Caroline called out as she stepped into the room. “I have returned.”

  A second later, a young maid dressed in full uniform popped into the room. The girl’s smile disappeared the moment her eyes landed on Jackson.

  “This is Mr. Montgomery.” Caroline made the introductions with ease, speaking to the maid with respect. And a level of trust she’d not displayed in his company. “Please keep an eye on him while I fetch an important parcel I left behind this evening.”

  Jackson chuckled at the command. “I don’t need a nursemaid.”

  Caroline tossed him an annoyed glare. “Humor me, sir.”

  “But of course.” He sketched a formal bow, then sat in a nearby chair.