by Joanna Shupe
“No. I came to tell you that you cannot give me the Mercury.” She walked to his desk and tossed down the contract he’d had drawn up. “I don’t want it.”
Well, that stung. “Why not? It’s the most profitable of the three, it’s in New York, and it has the highest distribution. Jim will stick around and help you run it—”
“Stop talking, you foolish man. I don’t want one of your newspapers. I don’t understand why you’d even think I would.”
“Didn’t you read my note?”
“Yes, and your plan to move to Chicago is a noble yet idiotic idea. You love New York. I can’t see you anywhere else.”
He was already shaking his head. “It’s no hardship. I like Chicago and the Morning Star could stand a bit more of my attention. It didn’t seem fair for you to leave your friends and family behind.”
“So you’re leaving instead?”
“I’m used to moving around. A product of my upbringing, I suppose. I’ll be fine.” New friends, new home, new surroundings. Wouldn’t be the first—or tenth—time.
“Assuming I was fine with forcing you from New York, which I’m not, what makes you think I’d want to run a newspaper?”
He scratched his neck, an uncomfortable heat building under his skin. “I built the Mercury from practically nothing. The paper was recipes and death notices when I bought it. If I had a favorite child, it’s the Mercury, and I wouldn’t trust anyone else to ensure its continued success.”
She blinked as if the answer surprised her. “But I’ve never run a newspaper.”
“No, but you’ve proven with your father’s company that you can learn quickly. You’ve got a sharp mind and a head for negotiations. Not to mention I’ve never met a bossier person.” He pointed to the door. “That room full of reporters out there will be a walk in the park for you.”
Her face softened, eyes glistening. “Calvin,” she said softly, “I can’t . . .”
“Because of your father’s company?” He had worried the paper would be too much to take on in addition to her duties at the mining company.
“No. I turned Davies Mining over to my uncle. He’s better suited to run it than I am. In truth, I should have done so years ago.”
Anger heated his blood, swift and fierce. “Did the board force you out?” He’d ruin the lot of them.
“Quite the opposite. I think most of them are currently at home, writing sonnets in my honor, thanks to your blackmailing efforts.”
“Well, what’s the point in having superlative skills if I cannot use them for evil every now and again?”
She smiled at the reminder of their previous conversation, and the urge to touch her rose up inside him, stronger, followed by a pang of denial that felt like a kick in the plums. He wanted to double over and bang his head against the desk.
“Here’s what is going to happen,” she said, closing the distance between them. “You will keep the Mercury.” He started to argue, but she held up a finger. She now stood so close that he could reach her. “You will keep the Mercury and you will remain in New York. I will also remain in New York.”
He jerked slightly in surprise. “And what, we draw a line down the center of the island? You get the west side and I’ll take the east?”
Another step brought her near enough that he could see the gold flecks in her brown eyes. She placed a palm on his sternum and Calvin’s breath stuttered. Hope blossomed in his chest, like a lotus flower breaking through the surface of a murky pond.
“No. I was thinking we could share a space. One small mansion on Fifth Avenue.”
“Isn’t that an oxymoron?” the publisher in him couldn’t help but ask.
The side of her mouth lifted, as if she were amused. “Do you love me, Calvin?”
“More than anything in this world or the next.”
“Do you promise to always tell me the truth?”
Unable to keep from touching her, he cupped her hips with his hands. “Without fail. Even if I think you won’t like it.”
Her hands slid around his neck, her fingers threading through his hair. “Good. Those are the correct answers. Now kiss me.”
“Wait,” he said, holding her steady. “Do you promise not to run away from our problems? I don’t mind the occasional saucer thrown at my head, but you cannot leave me, Lily.”
Moving in, she fitted herself to his front, her nose brushing his jaw. Calvin shuddered. “I promise to stay. I’ll never run from you again.”
“Correct answer. Now I can kiss you,” he whispered, shifting his head to chase her lips.
“Wait!” She eased away slightly. “Do you know what will happen if you lie to me ever again?” Devilment danced in her eyes.
“I’m almost afraid to find out.”
“You’ll lose one of the appendages you’re so fond of,” she said, biting her lip to keep from laughing.
He kissed the soft skin of her throat and lifted her to sit on his desk. “Then I best put them to good use every chance I get. Just in case.”
“Just in case,” she agreed as her fingers wrapped around his necktie to pull him down. Calvin caught her up in a fiery kiss, determined to prove that sometimes second chances worked out even better than the first time.
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Standing on the platform at Grand Central Station, Ted Harper is surprised by a fiery kiss from an undeniably gorgeous damsel in distress. He’s certain she’s a swindler who’s only after his money, but he’s never met a woman so passionate and sure of herself. Disarmed, he invites her to spend the journey to St. Louis in his private car—perhaps against his better judgment . . .
Clara Dawson has long known how to take care of herself, but the savvy shopgirl is at a loss when she witnesses—and becomes entangled in—a terrible crime. Desperation propels her into a stranger’s arms at the train station, but she hadn’t expected Ted to offer her the protection she so badly needs—nor did she expect their chemistry to develop more steam than the engine of the train. He’s everything she never thought she could have, and she’s everything he didn’t know he wanted. But as her secrets begin to unfurl, their fledgling romance could be in danger of derailing before they arrive at the next station . . .
Chapter One
Grand Central Depot, New York City
November 1887
Ted Harper never saw it coming. One minute, he was alone on the platform, and the next he’d acquired a wife.
“There you are, dear husband! Let’s not miss the train,” said a loud, husky feminine voice.
What in the name of Jacob? He tried to extricate his arm from her unexpectedly strong grip while glancing around for a porter. A patrolman. A crowbar . . . Anyone or anything to dislodge this woman from his side. “Listen, miss. I don’t know who—”
Her head tilted up and he found himself staring down into the greenest eyes he’d ever seen. Vibrant green, like a leaf just after opening in the spring. Red hair tucked under a sensible hat. Small, delicate nose. Creamy white skin with a touch of color on the cheeks.
His stomach dropped somewhere on the platform.
If possible, she snuggled further into his body, emphasizing soft, unavoidable curves. “I am looking forward to meeting your mother,” she said and began propelling him toward the train. “I do hope she can teach me to cook that apple pie you like so much.”
Mother? Ted frowned. His mother had been dead for eight years. Crazy, thy name is woman. This one belonged in a sanatorium, not a train station.
He planted his feet. “Miss, I’m sorry, but—”
Two hands clutched his lapel and she launched herself in the direction of his mouth. Her lips crashed into his, hard, shocking him. He could neither push her away nor kiss her back; instead he just stood there, frozen, like a block of ice.
She smells nice was his first coherent thought.
His second was that her lips were soft and full, and her hei
ght fit him perfectly. Their hips were nearly aligned—which was something he definitely should not be noticing. Then, because his eyes remained open, he saw her gaze dart to the side.
Next arrived his third, and possibly most important, thought. She wasn’t crazy; she was hiding from someone, which explained why she kept searching her surroundings. Why she’d attached herself to a perfect stranger.
His head snapped up, breaking their kiss, and he checked for someone lurking about. Was she in danger? Was someone pursuing her?
She cleared her throat, her skin gone a becoming pink, and threw a glance over her shoulder. Her body stiffened, and then she hunched her shoulders, drawing in on herself, and began tugging him toward the train. Yes, definitely hiding from someone.
“Do you think your mother will like me? I swear, I just don’t know what I’ll do if she doesn’t.” She continued her one-way conversation, a never-ending string of senseless words, until they arrived at the train steps.
A porter greeted them, his eyes darting between Ted and the woman now clinging to him harder than scandal on a politician. “Mr. Harper, your car is ready. Ma’am, do you—”
“Thank you, sir. My husband and I are ready to board. I hope you were careful with our luggage. I have some very delicate gifts packed inside. Come along, dear.”
Instead of climbing the stairs, the mysterious woman craned her neck to peek over her shoulder. Ted turned to look as well but couldn’t see what had spooked her. He had no idea what motivated her, but he had the strangest desire to get her on the train. To ensure she would be safe.
Perhaps he was the one who should consider a sanatorium.
The wide-eyed porter was waiting, and impatient passengers began to line up behind them, so Ted relied on the manners drilled into him as an Ohio farm boy. He swept his hand toward the steps. “After you, madam.”
Whatever she saw in the crowd convinced her to climb onto the train. Shoulders relaxing a bit, Ted followed, trying not to admire her trim waist in the fashionably long, slightly dirty brown overcoat she wore as they boarded. The porter led them along the regular train car through an enclosed vestibule to the private Pullman car he’d arranged for the journey.
The woman walked inside first, her feet stumbling a bit on the carpet as she took the measure of their surroundings. He didn’t travel much but, when he did, he always leased a private car so he could work in peace. This one was well-appointed, a comfortable space with walnut paneling and brass fixtures. It had elegant, plush furniture and ample light in the small sitting room. A potbellied stove in the center of the car threw off quite a bit of heat, and a door at the far end presumably led to the sleeping area and water closet.
The porter shifted on his feet. “Is everything to your satisfaction, Mr. Harper? I know you normally—”
“Oh, this is just perfect, isn’t it, darling?” his “wife” answered.
No words came out. Ted just stared at her swollen, recently kissed lips until the porter cleared his throat. “Indeed,” he forced out. “Perfect.”
“I assume the one bed is sufficient, sir. We weren’t told that your wife was coming along.”
Panic flared deep in her irises as awkwardness descended. He couldn’t very well answer. To agree made him a lecher. To refuse made them both liars. So he waited it out.
She swallowed hard, her stare flicking to the window and the crowd beyond, before saying with a good deal less vivacity, “Of course. Where else would I stay?”
The porter nodded. “Very good, Mr. Harper. Mrs. Harper. We’ll be departing in a few minutes. Just ring if either of you need anything.”
The door closed behind the porter but Ted kept his gaze trained on the young girl. She had to be no more than twenty-two or twenty-three, he guessed, and she was even more lovely in the soft electric light of the compartment. And she’d kissed him, bold as brass. He suddenly regretted not making the most of that kiss when he had the chance.
He removed his derby and placed it on the nearest armchair along with his satchel. “I feel introductions would be appropriate at this time,” he started. “I’m—”
“You’re obviously Mr. Harper.” A flush worked its way over her cheeks. Had she recognized him? She strode forward, hand outstretched. “My name is Clara. Clara Dobson.”
He shook it. “Nice to meet you, Miss Dobson. I take it you have no luggage?”
“That’s correct.” She twisted her hands together, fingers knotting in agitation as she worried her bottom lip mercilessly. Ted had the absurd desire to soothe the abused surface with his tongue.
“But I need to stay on this train,” she said, a hint of desperation in her voice.
“I see. Is someone following you?”
“I must get to St. Louis,” she blurted out, dodging his original question. “To see my family.”
“Of course. I also need to stay on the train. Which puts us in a bit of a bind, now that we’ve told the porter that we’re a married couple.”
“If you’ll help me during the day, I can find some quiet spot on the train to sleep at night. I won’t be a bother, I promise.”
A pretty woman, not a bother? As far as he knew, that was the very definition of the word.
“That would only arouse suspicion.” Not to mention leave her vulnerable to whatever danger she faced, provided said danger had followed her onto the train.
Head turning, she seemed to assess her surroundings once more. “I’m not certain staying here is a good idea. Do you have another wife? I mean, a real wife?”
Does she really not know me, then? As president of the New American Bank and one of the wealthiest men in the country, his name was hardly uncommon in print—although one was more apt to find mention of him in the business section than the social pages.
“No, I do not have a wife.”
“Oh, that is a relief.” Having said this, her hands immediately flew to her cheeks. “Goodness, I didn’t mean it that way. I’m not interested in . . . anything. I meant there’s no worry that I’m offending any other woman by pretending to be your wife. Which would have been—”
“Are you always so talkative?” He cocked his head at her. Please let her say no, he thought.
“Well, I do like to talk, I suppose. They’re always telling me at Hoyt’s—I work the perfume counter there—that I can talk to anyone, anytime. Customers like me.” She shrugged. “I had four brothers and three sisters, and if you didn’t talk fast, you’d never be heard.”
Talk to anyone. Anytime. As if wired to Edison’s power station, a jolt went through Ted. Yes, he could use her. Of course, she could be a flimflam artist. Her fear on the platform may have been faked for his benefit. But wasn’t all business a form of deception in the end?
“All right, Miss Dobson. I’ll help you, but you have to do something for me in return.”
* * *
Clara’s knees wobbled, and her reaction had nothing to do with the jerky start of the train. As the wheels began turning, the heavy exhales of the engine echoing through the car, she faced him squarely. Whatever he was about to say, she knew she would not like it. He had the upper hand, and she feared he would take full advantage.
Oh, why had she ever moved to New York? Adventure, she’d told herself eight months ago at home in Missouri. Experiences, good times, broadened horizons . . . Yet here she was, on the run from men who probably meant her harm, with no money or belongings, and about to be propositioned by a stranger.
Oh, Clara. What have you done?
“Yes?” she forced out.
“May we sit?”
She lowered onto the sofa and tried to imagine what Mr. Harper was about to say. She studied his features for anything that might give away his intentions. He wasn’t devilishly handsome. He wasn’t overly tall, and wore plain clothing. No fancy facial hair, just a faint hint of gray swept into his brown hair at the temples.
But he carried himself with confidence. A man who knew what he was about. Steady. Compared to the flighty young
men of her acquaintance, Mr. Harper’s self-assured presence interested her.
Too bad he couldn’t kiss worth a damn.
“The reason for my journey,” he said, “is to meet with Erik Webber, a potential partner in a venture I am keen on undertaking. My associates met with him twice in New York and he’s refused us. But he is on this train traveling back to St. Louis, and I’ll have two more nights in which to press my case.”
“How does that involve me?” she asked warily.
“This man has also brought along his wife, and she is . . . prickly. Notoriously resistant to new ideas. I’m afraid she’s against my proposal, and I won’t stand a chance of convincing him if she’s involved.”
“You want me to distract her?”
His mouth hitched and appreciation lit his blue eyes. Oh. Oh. She hadn’t noticed how very striking his eyes were, the light having transformed them into vivid pools of clear sky. She suddenly realized she needed a deep breath of air.
“Precisely,” he said.
Clara pushed aside her unexpected reaction and thought about what he was asking. It hardly felt like much, not when one compared to the request with the cost of a train ticket and sharing a luxurious space such as this for two nights. Two nights. Was she really to sleep in the same car as this stranger not once, but twice?
Yet what was her alternative? Escape had been her only thought in New York, and she had no money or clothes. Hiding on this train would at least allow her time to think. And really, as long as the journey took her away from the men chasing her, that was the most important thing.
Then she noticed Mr. Harper staring at her patiently as he awaited an answer. “I would gladly help you if you’re willing to offer me assistance,” she rushed out.
“Excellent. Now any chance you’ll tell me what had you so frightened on the platform?”
Knots formed in her stomach. How could she explain, when she hardly understood it herself? The whole thing happened so quickly. Going to deliver a letter to her manager, Mr. Ross. Opening the door, finding a man choking Mr. Ross, a man she recognized as Edward Thompson, a prominent politician. A policeman leaning against the wall, watching. Hearing the words, “Grab her,” just before she ran.