by Renee Ryan
“Nor am I.”
“Then what do you want?” Her voice sounded as exhausted as she felt. At least her eyes had adjusted to the dark, and she could now make out most of his features. Even in the weak light he was a stunningly handsome man, and far more masculine than most of the men she’d met in society. The unmistakable muscles beneath his perfectly tailored jacket told her he was a physical being. Something she wouldn’t have expected of an individual who spent most of his time in boardrooms.
She heard him breathing calmly beside her. Such remarkable control. She closed her eyes tightly while Montgomery leaned forward to direct the driver to her hotel.
Once they were on their way, he returned to his original position. “I am here to formulate our plan of attack to accomplish our mutual goal.” He allowed an eloquent silence to punctuate his words, then added, “We will discuss the details now.”
Her mind still muddled from the drama of the evening, she opened her eyes and gaped at him. “What, exactly, is our mutual goal?”
“Someone in the St. James household intentionally kept your mother and Richard from reconciling through the years.” He seemed surprised he had to spell it out for her, and now that he’d explained himself, Caroline was a bit surprised, too.
“We need to find out who that person is and expose him . . . or her,” he said.
“We? How is this any of your concern? You are only a friend of the family.”
His eyebrow twitched at her barb, not enough for most people to notice, but Caroline knew how to read responses others missed. She sensed she’d found this man’s weakness, the reminder of his position in the family. Or, rather, lack thereof.
Another valuable piece of information she filed away in her mind.
“Perhaps I am not a St. James but, at the moment, I am the only person Richard can trust completely.”
“And why is that? Because you share a few business dealings with him?”
“Because I don’t have a personal stake in his inheritance, while others do.” The unspoken message was clear. She was one of the others he thought wanted her grandfather’s money.
Except she hadn’t come here for any inheritance. That simple truth hadn’t changed over the last few hours. For a moment, she stared at the velvet blanket of stars out the window and decided to let Montgomery think what he wanted. She wasn’t going to defend herself yet again to this man.
She did, however, wish to hear his plan. “What are you suggesting?”
“I propose we work together to uncover the culprit.”
She wasn’t completely against the idea. “You want us to work together when you so obviously don’t trust me. And I equally don’t trust you.”
He had the good grace to look regretful. “Let me apologize for my behavior earlier this evening.”
“Pardon me?” She felt her eyes widen ever so slightly. “I must have misunderstood you. You are apologizing?”
“So it would seem.”
How was she supposed to reconcile this contrite man with the one who had vowed to watch her every step? “I have never met anyone like you,” she admitted. “You are a contradiction.”
“As are you.” He shifted on the seat. “I feel I should warn you. Given the nature of your original motives for seeking out your grandfather, I am unable to release my suspicions of you completely.”
Nor could she release her suspicions of him. “Fair enough.”
“What do you say, Caroline? Do we call a temporary truce?”
Her neck muscles tightened, her mind honing in on the word temporary. That implied their truce would come to an end, sooner or later. “Let me see if I understand you correctly. You want us to pool our resources, temporarily, as much to meet our common goal as to keep an eye on me.”
“I knew you were a clever girl.”
So they were to be enemies with a common purpose. The thought depressed her more than it should have.
“In the spirit of fairness, I also admit”—he stretched out his legs, commandeering more than his share of the confined space—“my behavior toward you this evening lacked a certain, shall we say . . . finesse.”
Grinding her teeth together, Caroline tucked her feet under the seat and forced her jaw to relax. It was hard not to growl at the man.
“However, I stand by my initial assumption about your character.”
Smart man.
“And just so we’re clear, Caroline.” The space between them evaporated to a matter of inches. “I’m watching you. Every step you take, I’ll be there.”
“How fortuitous for me.”
“I won’t do anything to harm your reputation, or that of your family. As of now, only you, your grandfather, and I know of your motives for coming to America. It would be wise to keep it that way.”
Trapped in her seat, with him looming so close, Caroline considered several responses to his superior tone. A swift kick to his shin, an elbow in his ribs, maybe even a tear or two. She discarded all three, deciding a more sophisticated course of action was in order. Something in her, some dark portion of her soul, welcomed the challenge this man set before her, enough to pretend to consider his words carefully.
“I agree to your terms.”
His eyes dropped over her face and, for a dangerous moment, she thought he might set his mouth to hers. A shiver of anticipation coursed through her. Angered at her response, and, yes, a little frightened, too, she did what came naturally.
She fought dirty. “How do you plan to stick ever so close to me when you’re supposed to be courting my cousin?”
He drew in a sharp pull of air. “I’ll manage.”
“I just bet you will.”
With deliberate slowness, he moved away from her.
Caroline felt a sudden jolt of shame. Sweet, kind, naïve Elizabeth didn’t deserve to be used as a pawn in this battle of wills. By all indications, her cousin was not spoiled or selfish, as Caroline had expected. Her cousin’s safe childhood had formed a good, moral, decent woman of character. In short, the girl was everything Caroline was not.
Yet, as hard as she tried, Caroline couldn’t find it in her heart to hate her cousin, or even resent her. Elizabeth was too easy to like, much like Mary O’Leary. And Sally.
Montgomery’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “While we’re on the subject of Elizabeth. As far as I can tell”—he lounged on his side of the car as though he had all night to spend in conversation—“she doesn’t know anything about the letters. Or, for that matter, much about your mother.”
Caroline remembered the confused expression on her cousin’s face earlier that night. “We should keep it that way,” she said. “For her protection.”
“Agreed.”
Silence fell between them. For a brief moment, Caroline wondered what it would be like to be Elizabeth, to be innocent and adored, to have a man wish to protect her from harm. What would it be like to know someone was watching out for her safety rather than watching her every move?
A spasm of yearning trembled through her. Her hand reached toward Montgomery. Just a bit. Shocked at herself, she hid the gesture behind a quick lift of that same hand to her forehead. She pressed down as though pushing at a headache.
The car stopped in front of her hotel, and Montgomery helped her onto the sidewalk.
“I prefer to make my way inside on my own,” she said, stepping out of his reach.
“Of course.”
She turned to go, but he stopped her with a hand on her arm. “I will contact you tomorrow afternoon, and we will set up a time to discuss our next step.”
The suggestion made perfect sense. However, she needed more than a handful of hours to restore her nerves. Thankfully, she had a way out. “I have plans already.”
“Cancel them.”
“No.”
“Caroline, I—”
“Stop, Montgomery, just . . . stop.” She blew out a frustrated breath. “Stop questioning me at every turn.”
“Until your actions prove sin
cere, I will—”
“Oh, honestly, now you’re just being redundant.” She gave him a haughty lift of her chin. “My grandfather requested I meet him at his office at three. Those are my other plans.”
“Then we will meet at four, in my office, one floor beneath Richard’s.”
Tired of fighting him, she acquiesced. “Yes, yes, as you wish.”
This time, when she turned toward the hotel, he let her walk away. Of the two meetings tomorrow, Caroline sensed the one with her grandfather would be the easiest to bear, and possibly the source of an intriguing proposition. Conversely, the one with Montgomery would be the more challenging of the two and, she predicted, the source of a rather sleepless night.
Chapter Sixteen
The next morning, groggy and in desperate need of her friend, Caroline was up and out of the hotel before dawn. Less than an hour later, she turned onto Orchard Street, free of incident. Her safe arrival was due in large part to the fact that she’d skirted the worst of the Bowery and several other unsafe neighborhoods along the way. Personal safety was not to be trifled with, ever.
Practically alone and on a familiar street, Caroline lifted her eyes to the heavens, opened her arms wide, and breathed in deeply. Dirty, rotten-smelling air filled her lungs and left her gagging. She didn’t care. She loved this hour of the day, when night had yet to surrender fully to dawn.
So much to look forward to, more than she’d ever dreamed possible for a woman like her. Heart light, conscience relieved, she almost believed in the loving God her mother had trusted all her life. Maybe miracles were possible.
Maybe Caroline could start fresh.
My joy comes in the morning. The Bible verse made much more sense to her now. In one evening, her sorrow had turned to joy. She’d stepped into St. James House last night prepared to ruin a man, prepared for a fight to the finish. She’d left the building with a grandfather and a family of her own.
She had much to tell Mary.
And she wanted to hear how the girl was settling in to her new country. Caroline rushed up the steps leading into her friend’s tenement house, threw open the door, and immediately collided with a hard, unforgiving wall of wool-encased muscle. “Oh.”
She teetered backward, arms flailing. “Oh!”
Strong, masculine hands caught her before she toppled down the steps she’d just skipped up.
“Are you all right, miss?” The cultured accent clearly belonged to an educated American, one who sounded somewhat familiar. Where had she heard that voice?
“I—yes, I’m quite all right.” She brushed at her skirts, smoothing out the wrinkles while she slid a covert glance at the man hovering over her.
She nearly groaned out loud. Mr. Reilly. The man had been with Jackson Montgomery that first day she and Mary had arrived in the neighborhood. He’d been in the building on several other occasions as well.
Of all the people to run into, literally, this was not the man Caroline would have chosen. She could think of only one worse scenario—if Montgomery had chosen to attend to his tenement house himself.
Mumbling an apology, Caroline pushed into the foyer and promptly tripped over a seam in the concrete.
Again, Mr. Reilly reached out to steady her.
She shrugged off his assistance as politely as she could. “Thank you, I’ve got it now.”
“Very good.” He slowly dropped his hand. “Have we met?”
“Not directly, no.” But she’d seen him in the building at least two other times, maybe three, with the new landlord in tow, both men carrying official-looking papers in their hands.
“You live in apartment 523,” he said, nodding to himself. “I’m quite certain of that.”
“No. I don’t actually live there. I’m a friend of the family living there.”
“I could have sworn . . .” His eyebrows slammed together.
She held her breath, praying he didn’t continue. Then she remembered who she was, who her grandfather was. She had nothing to hide. She lifted her chin at a haughty angle.
“Caro, is that you?” Mary’s voice drifted from a spot on the stairwell just above them.
The girl had absolutely perfect timing. “Yes, Mary, it is I.”
“Oh, what a lovely surprise. I’ll be right down.”
“No need. I’m on my way up now.” Caroline looked back at Mr. Reilly and gave him what she hoped was a serene smile. “If you will excuse me, Mr. . . .”
“Reilly. John Reilly.”
“Well, then, Mr. Reilly. It was lovely meeting you.”
“And you as well, Miss . . .”
“Caroline. Caroline St. James.”
The name registered at once, but she didn’t give him a chance to ask any of the questions that leapt into his eyes. “Good day, Mr. Reilly.”
“Yes, uh . . . good day, Miss St. James.”
A quick toss of her head and she was off, hurrying up the first two flights of stairs at alarming speed.
Thankfully, Mr. Reilly didn’t follow or call after her. Thus, she completely pushed him out of her mind.
Mary met her on the third-floor landing. Caroline threw herself into her friend’s arms. “Oh, my dear girl, I have missed you so.”
“And I, you.”
They clung to each other a moment longer, then broke apart in unison, laughing.
Hands on Caroline’s shoulders, Mary gasped. “Caro, you are”—she shook her head—“changed.”
Yes, she supposed that was true. “I have much to tell you.”
“Then come along.”
Caroline followed her friend up the remaining two flights of stairs, watching carefully for any sure signs of fatigue. Mary looked healthier than the last time they’d met but was still slightly underweight. Caroline had left money with her friend. She hoped she was using the bulk of it to buy food.
Mary looked at Caroline over her shoulder and laughed. “Stop worrying about me, Caro. I’m fine and getting stronger every day.”
Was she? Caroline wasn’t convinced. Nor was she leaving this building until she knew for certain that her friend was truly on the mend.
They settled into chairs around the small kitchen table. Before Mary could offer her any food or drink, none of which the girl could afford to share, Caroline took her friend’s hand. “Tell me how you’ve been since we last met.”
“I’ve found work in the Garment District as a seamstress.”
“Why, that’s wonderful.”
“Oh, Caro, it is. It truly is.” Mary’s grasp tightened, and her face lit from within. “I really enjoy sewing, even if the lighting isn’t the best and the days are long and hot.”
Caroline leaned over the table. “Just how long and hot are your workdays?”
Sighing, Mary let go of Caroline and sat back in her chair. “I’m working no harder than anyone else in the factory.”
And that told Caroline far more than Mary probably realized. “I’m going to get you another job in one of my grandfather’s companies. I’ll make sure the days won’t be long and hot or—”
“I don’t want special treatment. Besides, I’m learning a lot where I am. I’m told my needlework is impeccable. I’ve even been given the task of finishing the dresses for my boss, which is quite an honor. One day”—Mary’s gaze took on a faraway look—“I’ll design and make my own dresses and maybe even sell them at a department store.”
Caroline’s heart constricted with admiration. Mary was a dreamer and so full of hope. Caroline loved her friend for that. But she knew the harsh realities of the world, especially for women with Mary’s lack of education and connections.
Except . . .
Mary wasn’t without connections. She had Caroline. And Caroline was a St. James. If she did nothing else, she would at least provide a better life for her friend.
By the time she left 227 Orchard Street, Caroline made sure Mary had an additional twenty dollars in the cookie jar where she kept her money. And Caroline had the beginnings of a plan swirling
around in her head.
On the other side of town, Jackson arrived at his offices before his assistant. With a bit of time on his hands, he went in search of Richard. The door to his mentor’s office stood open and unattended. Weak morning light filtered through the large floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Central Park. The hush on the air seemed magnified at this hour, the silence broken only by the faint sound of a pen scratching across paper.
Richard was already at work. As Jackson had expected.
Last night, after escorting Caroline to her hotel, he’d debated over whether to return to the St. James home or wait until morning. He’d chosen to wait.
Moving through the deserted reception area, Jackson couldn’t help but admire the man he’d worked alongside for years. Even in the midst of a family drama, Richard St. James had arrived at work as he did every day, before anyone else.
Jackson knocked once on the doorjamb as he passed over the threshold and entered the office.
Without looking up from the papers in front of him, Richard addressed him. “You’re early this morning.”
“No earlier than you.”
That earned him a slight smile. “Have a seat.” Richard set his pen on the desk and leaned back in his chair. “We have much to discuss before we begin the day.”
“Yes, we do.”
Richard placed his hand on top of the satchel Caroline had given him last night, the one holding his daughter’s missing letters. For a moment, he gazed at some unknown spot above Jackson’s head, his face undergoing a journey from bafflement to remorse. “I want you to keep these safe for me.” He pushed the satchel across the desk. “No one in my family can know of their existence.”
The request sounded easy enough but was fraught with potential difficulties. “Does that include Marcus?”
The older man’s lips pressed into a hard line. “Especially him.”
Jackson heard the anger, the regret, and, yes, the dread. The fact that Richard was having this conversation with Jackson instead of his son spoke volumes. “Do you think he’s the one who intercepted the letters?”
“I don’t know what I think.” Richard picked up a pen and rolled it between his fingers. His expression wasn’t exactly angry, but close. “My son would benefit the most from Libby’s disappearance. And thus is the obvious suspect. Then again, he adored his little sister. He’s the last person I would imagine harming her.”