by Rue Allyn
“I will certainly do so, Father. It has been a pleasure meeting you.”
“I’ve enjoyed meeting you as well, lass. Dutch, I’ll make your excuses to the committee for missing tonight’s meeting.”
“There’s no reason I should miss the meeting.”
“Nonsense, lad. You’ve just recently wed. I’m sure you’ve things to discuss with your wife.”
Edith stood. “Thank you, Father Conroy. I’ll see you to the door.”
“No need, no need. I know my way. I’ll give Tsung the good news on my way out. Good night.”
• • •
As the door shut on Father Conroy, Dutch thrust a hand through his hair and sat in the now vacant chair. “Already wed? I don’t know whether to kiss you or kick you. Edith, what were you thinking?”
She hadn’t a clue. As she had all her life, she’d recognized a crisis looming and acted to prevent it. Quaking inside at her audacity, Edith smiled sweetly at him. “If I get my pick, I’d rather have the kiss than the kick, and I didn’t hear you rush to correct the story.”
“If I had, Father Conroy would have performed the marriage ceremony right here on the spot. Then we’d be married for real.”
“And you think I want such a marriage? Admittedly I acted without thinking this through, but I lied to prevent a disastrous mistake.”
Edith shuddered. She was willing to trust Dutch with her body and her feelings, if she could ever get him to forget the proprieties, but marriage? What had she been thinking? Marriage was a guaranteed ticket into the misery she’d been living most of her life. That was the last thing she wanted.
“You’re right about that. Nonetheless, we’re in a pickle.”
At his agreement and defensive tone a twinge of sadness struck her. She shrugged it off. She didn’t want anything permanent and truly was glad he agreed. “What kind of pickle?”
“You heard Father Conroy. He wants to see a copy of our marriage certificate.”
“Yes, that is a problem. Can we show him a forgery?”
“No he’d spot a fake in an instant, and we’d be back to where we started with him wanting to officiate at our wedding. We’ll have to go to Oakland and get married. I can probably bribe the clerk into back dating the certificate so it fits with the story we told.”
Edith’s eyes widened in alarm. “Now wait just a minute. I’m not marrying anyone, especially not for the sole purpose of satisfying some overly moralistic male idea of appropriate female behavior. If I wanted that I could have stayed in Boston.”
His eyebrows dove inward, forming a crease just above his nose. “That’s right. You think you can pay a stud to pretend to debauch you.”
Stung by his sarcasm, Edith squirmed, wishing that Dutch wasn’t closer to the door than she was. She’d said too much. She bowed her head and studied the white-knuckled grip of her clasped hands.
“There has to be some other option,” she said after a long silence.
“I don’t see that we have much choice. The lie only delayed the inevitable.”
“If we must marry, what about getting a divorce later?”
Dutch shook his head. “No. You’d be utterly ruined. I’d be ex-communicated, so my reputation would suffer as well.”
The only other way she knew of to dissolve a marriage was annulment. That was it, the perfect solution. “So we employ the only option that should make us both happy.”
His clashing brows rose. “Do tell.”
“I’ll marry you on the condition that you agree to an annulment before I leave San Francisco, and I want your agreement in writing.”
Why Dutch didn’t like the idea he couldn’t say. She was right. An annulment was the perfect solution. Unless they consummated the marriage, in which case the chances of an annulment were shaky at best. “What about my conjugal rights? An annulment would require me to abstain from any relations for an undetermined time.”
Staying out of Edith’s bed would be hell on earth. She was pretty, caring and exciting as all get out. What man wouldn’t want her in his bed? But he’d stay away to keep her reputation safe. She had no idea the kind of treatment she’d get as a once married woman. In that respect an annulment was only slightly better than a divorce.
She claimed she didn’t want to be married for moralistic reasons. She probably thought she wanted to be independent like those suffragette women. But some of them were married. Given enough time, he might be able to discover a way to change her mind. And wasn’t that a kick in the pants. He was actually considering a permanent marriage with one of the most troublesome women he’d ever met. Problem was, he was beginning to enjoy her troublesomeness.
Edith blushed. “If we don’t tell anyone, I don’t see that there would be a problem.”
Was she saying she wanted to be in his bed? Lord knew Dutch wanted her, but she couldn’t have considered all the possible consequences. “What if you become pregnant?”
She stared at her lap, her head hung low, looking like a guilty child. “Madame Duval mentioned when I was at her house that conception could be prevented. I’m a little fuzzy on the details. I don’t suppose you would know how?”
He folded his arms across his chest. Fairly certain now that Edith wanted to have sex, he wondered why. “I happen to know several methods.”
“Then, if you’ll show me, we could consummate the marriage. That is, if you want to?”
Dutch found himself in the very odd position of trying to persuade a woman not to have sex with him, when for the first time in years he very much wanted that same woman in his bed.
“An annulment suggests that you’re still a virgin. Any man who marries you and finds out differently would have grounds for legal action that could leave you in worse circumstances than you are now. At present you still have your reputation. What will you do if you don’t even have that?”
She didn’t answer.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
After a series of frustrating delays Edith and Dutch left the Oakland courthouse early the next evening. Dutch, the annulment contract and back-dated marriage certificate — along with a copy that he would immediately send to Father Conroy — secure in his coat pocket, guided her down the steps. Edith stared at the small diamond of the ring circling the third finger of her left hand.
“You need not have given me a ring.” She spoke quietly, still surprised that he’d thought to acquire the petite solitaire.
“You’re my wife. My wife wears a ring.”
“It’s beautiful. Where did you get it?”
“I’ve had it for a while.” His response was terse to the point of coldness.
“Was it your mother’s?”
“Where I got it doesn’t matter. If we don’t hurry we’ll miss the last ferry.”
“Nonetheless I appreciate the thought. Thank you.” She let the subject drop.
Moving quickly down the boardwalk they walked to the landing.
The last passengers were boarding the mid-size double-deck paddle-wheeler as they arrived, and the ferryman tried to keep them from boarding. Dutch took the man aside for a whispered discussion. Money changed hands, then Dutch returned to escort Edith through the crowded compartments of the ferry to a pair of seats in a covered section of the bow area.
She took the narrow seat, one of the many crowded into a single row. Unavoidably, her sleeve brushed Dutch’s hard arm. As she sat her stomach gurgled. They’d been hurrying from one spot to the next since early morning, and she’d had nothing to eat since before departing the house.
“I’m afraid the fee for this ferry devoured the cash I had saved for our dinner. But I can offer you this.” He held out a piece of paper-wrapped chocolate. “We’ll be home within a half hour of landing in San Francisco.”
“Thank you.” Edith took the chocolate and nibbled at it. “This is delicious.”
“You’re welcome. I’m very fond of the sweet and lucky to be able to get large amounts wholesale. Trahern-Smiley imports some of the cocoa beans use
d by the Ghirardelli family to produce the chocolate.”
“This is quite a treat then. Even in Boston, I’ve heard of Ghirardelli. Thank you again for both the chocolate and the ring.”
“The ring is for appearances only. Father Conroy would be suspicious if I didn’t give you one.” Growling the words, Dutch frowned.
Edith drew her shoulders up. “Of course. I’m sorry if I gave you the impression I was growing attached to it. Naturally, I will return it to you before I leave San Francisco.”
He stared at her as if she’d just spoken gibberish. He opened his mouth to speak then snapped it shut. “You never said when you would be leaving.”
“I’ll leave as soon as I find out where Kiera went.”
“That won’t be easy.”
Edith chewed on her lip. Given the results of her search thus far, he was right. She needed help navigating the seamier side of San Francisco, and who better than Dutch? Despite being a respectable businessman, he seemed to know as much about San Francisco’s underworld as he did about importing goods for trade. If ever there was time to ask him for help, the time was now. Despite her doubts, she could not afford to hesitate. “No, but I imagine it can be done. You seem to know a great deal about what goes on in San Francisco. I would greatly value your help.”
• • •
There, Edith was right. He knew more than most about all aspects of life in California’s Golden Gateway. Even Father Conroy didn’t know everything Dutch knew. Besides Edith, only Cerise Duval and Judge Jeremiah Trahern knew what happened ten years ago. Neither Duval nor the judge was trustworthy, but both had as much or more to lose as Dutch himself would by revealing the truth about that night. So the three of them remained reluctant comrades in a conspiracy of silence. Dutch had spent the intervening years distancing himself. The judge had sunk deeper and deeper into the slime and muck of the gutter. Spider-like Duval wove plot after plot intended to snare Dutch and pull him back to that gutter, placing him completely within her power. Thus far he’d escaped, but he knew the only way to make certain she failed was to take Duval head on.
If he intended to destroy San Francisco’s most powerful woman, he needed Conroy’s help. But even Conroy hesitated to confront Duval directly; she was too well connected. The good father might not consider a personal vendetta sufficient reason to attack Duval. But Conroy had a weakness for defenseless women and apparently included Edith in that category. Why, Dutch couldn’t say. Edith was anything but defenseless. So to get Conroy’s help, Dutch would have to help his wife. Unexpectedly, retrieving her trunk had been the opening salvo in a power struggle the likes of which San Francisco had never seen.
However, before he could think about how to help Edith, Dutch needed to find Trey and make certain his brother was safe. That meant pinning the judge down for information.
“Well?”
“I’ll help, but I have to find Trey first.”
Edith nodded. “I can understand. Family should always come first.”
Some family, he thought. The judge was pretty close to the last person Dutch wanted to deal with. Paz said the judge would find Dutch, but he wasn’t holding his breath.
“So what will you do to find your brother?”
“Conroy’s vigilantes are searching, but right now the only thing I can do besides pray that Trey returns safely on his own is put out the word and hope to get information. That information could come any day. A message could be waiting now, so I want to return home quickly.”
Being squeezed in next to Edith was another reason to get back to the house as fast as possible. Throughout the entire day he’d been forced to touch her, whether to hold her hand or guide her steps or protect her from careless strangers walking by. Now he was so close he couldn’t avoid coming entirely too near the swell of her breast under her shirtwaist or the curve of her skirt covered her thigh. Her field of daisies scent filled his head. The warmth of her arm set him aflame. Her emerald gaze twisted his heart into knots, and her smile struck his entire body with searing bolts of lightning. His heart pounded, and his chest got so tight breathing was near impossible. His reactions to her were crazed. He had to get away, regain control of himself and his sanity.
“Excuse me. I need a little fresh air.” He stood abruptly, settled his hat on his head, turned on his heel, and left, weaving deftly through the crowd.
• • •
After they arrived home, Dutch stopped Edith as she put away the last of the supper things. “I want to apologize for my behavior on the ferry. I was churlish for no good reason. Please forgive me.”
She smiled, and her eyes shone up at him. “I’ll forgive you if you’ll do me one favor.”
“Anything. Just ask.”
“Be careful what you agree to.”
“Will it kill me?”
“I hope not.”
“Kiss me.”
He should have known. “That is a bad idea.”
She gave a nod. “Perhaps, but this is my wedding day. Most likely the only wedding day I will ever have, and since we know there will be no wedding night. I would like a kiss, please. By the way, you’re forgiven regardless of what you decide to do.”
Now he truly felt like a churl. If he prided himself on attention to the proprieties, the least he could do is give her a traditional wedding kiss.
“Come here.”
She took a step toward him.
“All the way. I can scarcely kiss you at arm’s length.”
Her smile broadened. “Meet me halfway.”
He did. Her arms circled his neck as his embraced her body. She lifted her head to him as he bent his to her.
The kiss was soft and thrilled her to her bones. Unable to resist more she pressed closer to him. His arms tightened, lifting her from the floor. His hands slid down to cup her bottom. Her core ached, her body quivered.
• • •
“I see you haven’t forgotten the tricks Cerise taught you.” Judge Jeremiah Trahern’s voice squelched passion more effectively than an ice bath.
Dutch pushed Edith behind him and turned to face the judge.
“Don’t be shy, son.” The judge tossed his stove pipe hat onto the table and bent to retrieve the kitten who’d come to sniff the stranger in its domain. “I didn’t have the chance to meet the lady from Boston at Madame Duval’s. Leastways, I figure that’s who you’ve got hiding back there. Be a good boy and introduce the gal to your father.”
“Get out!” Dutch edged Edith toward the dining room door. Much as he needed to talk with his father, Dutch’s instincts screamed to keep him away from Edith.
“Oh no, son. We got us an appointment. Remember?”
Reaching the door, Dutch shoved Edith through to the dining room. “Go upstairs and don’t come down until I fetch you.”
“But … ”
“No. I can and will handle this alone. He’d only use you to manipulate me. So do me a favor and stay upstairs.”
“Okay.” She took the kitten from the judge before she left.
He turned back to the judge. “That was days ago. Why should I pay you for old information?”
Jem’s eyes narrowed. Then he smiled broadly and gave an off-hand nod. “Don’t be hasty, son. If you don’t want to know Trey’s whereabouts, it’s no never mind to me. But there’s no reason you and I can’t spend some time catching up.” He pulled out a chair and sat down. “How’s that Chinese of yours? What’s her name, Tsung? She get along with Miss Boston?”
Dutch ground his teeth. The judge was trying to be subtle, but even a moron could see the threat when Jeremiah Trahern mentioned Trey’s disappearance and Tsung in the same breath.
“All right, where is he? What has the Chinaman done with him?” Dutch advanced on his worthless father.
“Not so fast.” The older man raised a palm, stood, and moved around the table, away from Dutch.
“I’m not giving you anything until I know where Trey is.”
“You might want to reconsider that
position.”
“I don’t think so,” Dutch growled, impatience a goad to his temper.
“Then neither of us will know where Trey is.”
Dutch tossed the table aside and lunged for the judge. The older man dodged to no avail. Dutch grasped him by the throat and lifted his full weight against the kitchen wall. “You filthy bastard, what have you done?”
“Calm down, Dutchy,” rasped the judge. Fear glimmered in his bloodshot eyes. “You kill me, and you’ll never find Trey.”
“I wouldn’t dirty my hands with you.” Dutch dropped the man and turned away. He ran his fingers through his hair then faced the older man again. “Conroy’s vigilance committee will be only too happy to get rid of you for me. So quit stalling and tell me where Trey is.”
The judge picked himself up off the floor. He dusted his clothing, straightened his collar and cuffs. “I don’t know, exactly.”
“What!” Dutch roared and clenched his fists. He’d already lost too much control. He refused to let the judge prod him further. “What do you mean, you don’t know exactly?”
“Well, like I told you at Duval’s, I know where Trey was headed.”
“And?”
“I don’t believe he got there.”
Dutch picked up the table and placed it back in the center of the room. He set a chair next to it then walked over to the judge. Dutch put a hand on the older man’s shoulder and forced him into the chair.
Next he reached to the highest shelf of the kitchen and pulled down a bottle and a glass. He poured a finger of whiskey and shoved the glass toward the judge, watching as the man downed the shot in one gulp.
“So far you’ve only repeated what little you’ve already told me. I want the rest, all of it.”
“Trey came to me some time back. He wanted money. Said you were gonna ship him to some fancy school back east and he didn’t want to go.”
It was the first Dutch had heard of any plan to send Trey east, but he kept all sign of surprise from his face. “That was foolish. Trey should know you never have any money that you don’t gamble or drink away.”