An Inconceivable Deception

by Sydney Jane Baily

  “Anyway,” he added, “there’s bound to be at least one fly in the ointment, after all.”

  Her happiness dimmed. This was an extraordinarily large fly.

  “Am I invited home with you to discuss our wedding cake with Mrs. Malloy?” William asked.

  She smiled as brightly as she could. “Do you truly want to go over the details of the wedding?”

  He leaned over and took a bite of the shaved ice. Close to her, he licked his lips, and she wished they were alone so he could kiss her properly. She could tell by the look on his face that he knew her inappropriate thoughts.

  “Not really,” William answered, then he tilted his head. “However, afterward, I’m counting on a moment alone with you in your back garden — right behind that lilac bush of which I’m so very fond— or maybe before the cake discussion even begins.” His handsome mouth rose on one side as he offered her his most wicked grin.

  “A splendid idea,” she agreed, grabbing hold of his hand and turning toward home.

  ***

  Rose trod rapidly up the back stairs of The Restaurant Parisien, her heart beating time with her feet. This was beyond the pale now that she was older and wiser, and an engaged woman at that. The excitement coursing through her reminded her of earlier days when she would have viewed this as a jolly adventure. However, the niggling sensation of betraying William soured any amusement she had in stealing through the restaurant’s kitchen and up to Finn’s room.

  Before she could change her mind, she knocked at the door, which was precisely where he’d described. Finn opened it quickly and dragged her inside. Obviously he’d been waiting and listening.

  For a moment, Finn held on, towering over her, solid, close, his fingers gripping her upper arms. Very easily, she could sink against him, and she knew he would wrap his arms around her.

  “Release me,” she nearly demanded. However, as the words sprang to her lips, he had already done so.

  Securing the door behind them, he turned to her, and for a moment, she felt it — the old tingle low in her stomach, the frisson of warmth skating up and down her spine, the lightening and lifting of her spirit.

  Her head spun. They were alone, in a small, plain room that smelled of food from the kitchen below. There was a plain dresser with a coffee mug, a washstand, and . . . a bed. Everything similar to his last room, as if it were nearly four years earlier. She swallowed.

  Finn was staring at her, and she couldn’t speak. If he did indeed take her in his arms, would she feel the same as when she’d been mindlessly in love with this man?

  Her brain conjured William and his kisses in her garden the day before.

  No, she decided, she would not feel the same way about Finn. Her heart belonged to another.

  “Sit, please, Rose,” Finn said into the silence.

  There was no chair, so she lowered herself gingerly onto the edge of his bed.

  He leaned against the dresser, crossing one ankle over the other.

  “I’m sorry I had to stop you telling Woodsom, but the less people who know I’m here, the better.”

  A shiver ran through her. “Why?”

  “I know this will sound crazy and perhaps you will think me quite mad — I think I stirred up a hornet’s nest of trouble.” He ran a hand through his sandy fair hair. “I went to see old Mr. Kelly yesterday morning. Naturally, he was astounded to see me alive.”

  No more than she had been.

  “I thought it best to tell him to his face that the Garrard had been built incorrectly. At first, he listened to me, but then he seemed to think I was blaming him. I only wanted to make absolutely sure they hadn’t used a similar design on another ship and wouldn’t ever again. I told him I’d previously mentioned to the master shipwright about the design flaws, particularly the low freeboard before we ever finished building her.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He became red-faced, but with anger, not with shame.”

  “Naturally, he’d be angry with the shipwright.”

  “That’s just it, he was angry with me. Especially when I said I didn’t think Master Builder Gilbert should be designing any more ships. Kelly asked me what I wanted. I told him I was looking for work, and he said I’d never work in a Boston shipyard again.”

  “What?” Rose jumped up. “That makes no sense. Why would he not want to know about the errors?”

  “I don’t think anyone at his yard lost their livelihood over the sinking, did they? No one was fined or punished.”

  Rose thought about the newspaper articles to which she’d devoted much time, reading and rereading to make sense of losing Finn.

  “No one was held accountable. The disaster was all blamed on the weather. And everyone at the yard professed great surprise that a ship of her quality could go down.”

  “Her quality!” Finn spat out, thumping the dresser’s faded wooden top with his fist. “I’ve been working with builders the past few years who would’ve laughed that ship’s design right off the paper and would never, absolutely never, have put men on board her.” He clenched his fingers onto fists.

  “Actually, there was almost nothing on paper! We worked from a wooden half hull model to build the Garrard. No written plans at all.”

  He jammed his hands into his pockets, looking agitated. “They call it practical building here in the states. In England, it’s all done by engineers and draftsmen who understand how ships float and why they sink.”

  She sat back down, trying to make sense of what he was saying. He looked so distraught, but the terrible tragedy was in the past, wasn’t it?

  “I understand that you’re bitter, Finn, and now you’re being stopped from getting employment here, yet what has any of this to do with my telling Mr. Woodsom about you?”

  “I think someone tried to silence me last night.”

  “Silence you? What do you mean?”

  He looked uncomfortable though he stopped fidgeting, yanking his hands out of his pockets and crossing his arms. “I can’t be entirely certain.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked again, her voice barely more than a whisper.

  “I told you that I still have strange dreams. Sometimes,” he began, then stopped. Groaning, he added, “God, this is embarrassing.”

  “Tell me,” she encouraged.

  After a pause, he continued. “Sometimes, I think I’m still afloat on that damned piece of wood, especially when I’m dropping off to sleep or right before waking up. Other times, I imagine I’m being restrained on the fishing vessel sailing farther and farther from—” he broke off and glanced away from her to stare at the floor.

  “Anyway, the dreams seem so real. And I’ve been known to drift off into one even during the daylight.”

  He lifted his head, his stormy blue-gray eyes staring into hers and waited for her response.

  She didn’t have to consider for long. “That seems perfectly natural given what you went through.”

  He shrugged. “Some people would call me insane.”

  “Obviously, that’s not the case,” she said. “You’re as sane as anyone.”

  “On my way back from the shipyard after meeting with Kelly, I thought I was being followed. I saw the same man on the trolley ride home, and I believe I saw him later in the restaurant dining room. Two nights ago, I thought I heard footsteps pacing outside my door. When I checked, there was no one there, only the empty hallway.”

  Rose considered a moment. “People do walk down hallways without meaning mischief, especially when the passage leads to a dining room.”

  He smiled. “I know. Even if I was followed from the shipyard, no one knows I live here. Except you. Still . . .,” he trailed off.

  “Is there something more?”

  Finn nodded. “Last night, I was heading home, just a block away on Temple when two men tried to grab me.” He gestured toward the window which faced the street. “They were trying to pull me toward a carriage.”

  “To rob you?” Rose asked.
<
br />   He locked his gaze upon hers. “No. I think to kill me. I can’t explain why I think that.”

  Inexplicably, she wanted to wrap her arms around him and comfort him. Instead, she curled her fingers tightly in her lap to stop herself.

  “You didn’t want me to tell Mr. Woodsom in case that put him in danger. Is that right?”

  “And you, too, of course. If you tell someone, then it will be apparent that you know about me. At this moment, no one knows we were ever married so I believe you’re safe.”

  “Except for meeting you on the docks and here at the restaurant in broad daylight, with the entire restaurant staff watching. Oh, and having you throw a ball at my head.” She tried to lighten her tone since he seemed so grim.

  It worked. He smiled ruefully. “What else could I do? Shout out to you, Hey, Rose!” Pausing, he sighed. “You haven’t told anyone about my return, have you?”

  She wrinkled her nose.

  “Rose?” he prompted.

  “I did tell Claire,” she admitted. “I had to talk to someone.”

  He groaned again. “Will she tell anyone?”

  Rose thought of Robert and Franklin. Most likely Claire wouldn’t tell her twin brother, but what if she confided in her beau?

  “I don’t think so,” she said. “I’ll go see her later and tell her absolutely not to. She never told anyone about our marriage,” she added to reassure him.

  He nodded. “That’s good.”

  She might as well let him know the worst. “I did speak to one other person.”

  Frowning, Finn waited for her to tell him.

  “I have spoken with my brother.” Which meant that Charlotte might already know, as well, though Rose decided not to assume anything.

  Finn uncrossed his legs and stood straight, and the room instantly shrunk in size. “You told Reed that I’m alive?”

  “Yes,” she said quietly, “and that we’re married.”

  When his eyes widened, she reminded him quickly, “It had to be done for us to obtain a divorce.” She shrugged. “Actually, I’m surprised he hasn’t already paid you a visit, except he is most likely getting the paperwork in order first. Reed is very thorough.”

  “What did he say?”

  That you’re a scoundrel. The words floated through her mind, and she knew the petty wish to hurt Finn for how he’d hurt her.

  “He was disappointed in both of us. Naturally.”

  “As any big brother would be. I’m sure he had choice words for your husband.”

  She flinched at the word, as now their marriage seemed nothing but sordid and duplicitous.

  “What shall I do? Should I tell him about this threat to you?” Rose knew that Reed would shout the alarm from every corner if he thought her to be in danger. She would lose all her hard-earned freedom to boot, and any restrictions or odd behavior would ensure that William would have to know immediately.

  “You know his character. I don’t.”

  “My brother is working to obtain a divorce for us as quickly as possible. I don’t know if telling him about this possible danger will make any difference.”

  Suddenly, he reached his hand out to her, and unthinkingly, she took it, letting him draw her to her feet.

  “I’d best get you safely home,” he said, as the tiny space became too small for the two of them, both trapped between the dresser and the bed.

  They locked gazes for a moment, blazing heat sparked without warning, making Rose nearly gasp aloud. She lowered her eyes, hoping he couldn’t hear the way her heart was thumping.

  “What will you do next?” she asked the threadbare carpet, noticing it for the first time.

  “I need to speak with someone whom I can trust at the shipyard. I think I know who.”

  “What if you’re wrong?” she asked, still avoiding his eyes.

  “Then I’ll be dead, and you won’t have to worry about this any longer, nor whether you can legally marry Woodsom.”

  She raised her gaze, horrified. “Don’t say that! You’ve already been dead to me once. I didn’t like it the first time.”

  “I’m sorry,” he said, his voice low. “That was a poor jape. I know I made mistakes. If I could go back and do it differently, I would.”

  “Would you?” Rose stared at him.

  “Yes,” Finn said adamantly, sounding sincere. “As soon as I began to work and put money aside, I meant to contact you, and then, like an ass, I got injured.”

  She glanced down at his leg. “How did it happen?”

  “Because I was stupid and incredibly careless. I let my mind wander, thinking of . . .” He shook his head. “It doesn’t matter, does it? The next thing I knew I was nearly crippled. It took months to heal and to walk again, and then only because of the strong shipbuilders union in England. They made sure I was taken care of. As I convalesced and more time passed, I began to rethink my coming home.”

  “Why?” How could a few months have changed his mind about returning to her?

  “As time stretched on and on, I assumed you thought me dead and that you were going forward with your life. Rightly so. I was still months away from getting enough money to book passage home, and on top of that, I was half lame. Quite frankly, given how we began, I thought you’d be better off without me.”

  Given how they began . . .

  Rose frowned. They had begun their association with attraction and excitement that quickly became love and then even more quickly to becoming husband and wife. Yet they’d always stayed insular, only the two of them. Was that what Finn meant?

  “I see,” she uttered. She didn’t understand exactly, but she appreciated the fact Finn wasn’t so cocksure of himself, thinking that his way had been the right way.

  However, when he made a small movement toward her with that appealing look on his face, Rose didn’t like the softening feeling insider her.

  Trapped, she couldn’t back up, with the mattress pressed into the backs of her legs.

  “Truly, I am sorry,” Finn repeated as he took both of her hands in his then gently tugged her the last few inches toward him. “More sorry than I can ever express.”

  Unable to bear the painful memories that arose when staring into his familiar gaze, she looked down. He was so close, the tips of his leather shoes disappeared under the hem of her dress. What was happening? Was she perhaps in one of the dreams she used to have almost nightly?

  The feel of his hands, slightly rough, of his thumbs stroking across her knuckles brought Rose back to the present. This was real. He was real.

  When they were chest to chest, she was forced to look up at him or continue to stare mutely at the buttons of his shirt. Swallowing, she glanced up.

  Finn released her then, but only so he could encircle her slim waist with his own large, capable hands.

  She closed her eyes at his touch. How often had she thought of this moment and cried, sobbing into her pillow, knowing she would never be close to this man again? Yet here they were, his breath blending with her own, his lips only a hand’s span from hers. How many times had she dreamt of exactly this?

  Whereas his dreams had been scary and violent, hers had been heartbreaking. Tantalizing fantasies that taunted her night after night, precisely as he was teasing her now. Sometimes in her dreams, they were picnicking in Arlington or sitting on a bench on the Common. Once, while looking at his handsome face, feeling so grateful that he was finally with her again, she remembered clearly saying, “If this is only a dream, it will kill me.”

  At that moment, she had awakened, absolutely devastated, with tears streaming down her cheeks, and foolishly vowed never to close her eyes again.

  So why was it she dared not look at him?

  “Open your eyes,” Finn commanded.

  She shook her head.

  “Rose,” he implored.

  She opened them as he asked and fell into his soft gray-blue gaze.

  Inevitably, he bent his head and tightened his hold on her at the same moment that his lips cla
imed hers. She breathed in the scent of him, oak mingled with sea air, and was drawn further under his spell.

  Finn slanted his mouth, and she tilted her head to the right, allowing the heat of his lips upon hers to seep into her soul. His hand on the small of her back pressed her closer still. With his other hand, he cradled her head in his large palm and deepened the kiss, slipping his tongue between her lips.

  So familiar, this heady sensation as his tongue swirled around hers. Unable to help herself, Rose sucked it deeper into her mouth. He moaned, or she did.

  William!

  “No,” she managed in a necessarily muffled voice before Finn released her head. Pressing her hands on his chest, Rose shook her head.

  “No, no, no,” she said again, and he relaxed his hold on her. “Let me go,” she added, though she made no move to step away.

  He held up his hands as he let go of her entirely.

  They stayed silent, breathing hard, staring into each other’s eyes.

  “I have to go,” she whispered finally. In two steps, she was at the door, ready to flee.

  “I’ll see you home.”

  “No,” she said, yanking open the door. “If there is someone watching, they may see us together. I’ll be fine.”

  Or maybe she would never be fine again. What had she done? And worse, now she couldn’t tell William about Finn at all, not while there was even a hint of danger. She prayed that Claire had indeed held her tongue.

  “Rose, I—”

  “Goodbye,” she barely uttered the word before she was fleeing down the back stairs and through the kitchen.

  A minute later, she was pushing her way through the crowded streets and heading home.

  Chapter Twelve

  The next day, Rose practically ran into the Art Association Committee’s headquarters at the Athenaeum. Claire was in her usual spot by the large window reading letters from would-be artists interested in exhibiting. Of all Claire’s voluntary activities about the city, this was her favorite.

  “I need to speak with you immediately,” Rose said, scattering Claire’s papers as she grabbed her friend’s hand. Two other Athenaeum volunteers looked up.