by Ingis, Gail
Cornelia canted her head. “I take it you don’t feel inclined to join our brave soldiers in the fight.”
He shrugged. “I expect to portray the war on canvas. In a way, I will be in the heat of battle.” His eyes shifted to Leila. “I’m sure Mrs. Dempsey will enjoy having a friend on the trip.”
A flush worked its way up her cheeks. “Yes, I will.”
Hank waved his hand. “Sit, Rork. My wife won’t bite.”
Rork met Leila’s eyes. He found her reaction endearing. It was a wonder seeing her blush with just a look. He slid onto the narrow bench. He only had to shift his knee a fraction and they would touch. Shaking licentious thoughts from his head, Rork reminded himself she was married. What kind of man fantasizes about his friend’s wife? He cleared his throat. “I gather you and Miss Hancock are close friends?”
Leila nodded and took Cornelia’s hand. “Yes, we were school mates.”
“Ah, so before you met Hank. How did you and Hank meet?” Rork wasn’t sure he wanted to know the details of how Leila met her husband.
“Hank and I met in the mountains while on holiday. I’d seen him at social functions, but we weren’t introduced. The summer before I turned eighteen, my family went to the Catskills to take the waters. Hank was there.”
Rork studied her intently. Sadness washed over her lovely face, and his heart went out to her.
Leila plucked at her reticule. “They had these wonderful baths for anything that ailed you. Anyway, on a walk in the woods, I passed Hank while he was surrounded by children, telling them stories. I wanted to listen, but he said no grown-ups.” A smile crept across her face as she told the story of their meeting.
“Darlin’, Rork doesn’t want to hear that tired old tale.” Hank turned his attention back to Cornelia. “What have you been up to?”
Cornelia glanced at Leila. “Oh, not a great deal.”
“Actually, Hank, I’d like to hear your wife’s story.”
Leila blushed. “Well, the children hollered at him, so he relented and allowed me into his story group.”
Cornelia reached across the table and took Leila’s hand. “She returned to Philadelphia after that summer completely smitten. Within months she was married.”
Hank yawned. “Yes, we had a rather peculiar courtship. Her fastidious father procrastinated and withheld permission for weeks. The reason evades me still. I didn’t press him, but directly after he agreed to the betrothal, we were wed.” Hank brushed a speck of dust off his lapel. “Her father and I don’t really hide our dislike of each other.”
Leila’s mouth drew into a tight line. “Father can be a little mistrustful.” She looked at her husband. “Hank’s book, The Hasheesh Ride, was published three years before we married. I never read the book, but I did read the reviews. It got glowing reports in Graham’s. They said the descriptions sounded frightening. I have no doubt that gave my father cause for concern.”
Cornelia nodded and looked at Hank. “Yes, Leila did mention it to me. The book is about your experiences with hasheesh, a new type of substance at the time, is it not?”
Hank scowled. “It was simply about my experiments with the substance and the strange journeys I experienced from the effects.” Hank downed his whiskey. “Frankly, I was astonished that her father disapproved of me. I had numerous followers. My writing became syndicated, and I did rather well financially at the time. Isn’t that what every father wants for his daughter?” He flicked one hand. “Enough of that. I want to hear what Cornelia has been doing.”
A faint smile graced Cornelia’s lips. “Where can I buy your book? What was the name again?” She glanced at Leila. “I know you mentioned it, but I don’t recall what you said.”
Hank always enjoyed being the center of attention. “The Hasheesh Ride. I’m sure it’s in the bookstores.”
“Does it still sell well?”
“Absolutely. Sales are brisk. It’s made it through to a fourth edition.” Hank sat back as a waiter set a plate of hors d’oeuvres on the table.
Cornelia helped herself to oysters. “I would love to hear about your experiences with this substance. What is it made from, and how did you find it?” She popped an oyster into her mouth. “What possessed you to ingest it?”
“It’s a long story.”
Cornelia dabbed her lips with a table napkin. “We have time, please.”
“If you insist.” Hank stretched his arm along the back of the chair. “I was a young man with the natural curiosity of most men my age. I worked at the shop and had opportunities to peruse the shelves. The druggist asked if I’d heard of a new remedy that recently arrived. He showed me this substance that was supposedly medicinal.”
As Rork piled caviar onto a slice of toast, he stopped and stared at him. “Don’t tell me you played the fool and tasted it?”
“I almost tried, but the druggist stopped me. He said it was dangerous and had to be carefully proportioned or it could kill me.”
Cornelia raised her eyebrows. “Obviously, you found a way to satisfy your curiosity.”
“It intrigued me, so I began to read about it and found that it helped a variety of ailments. It was actually quite in vogue.” Hank summoned the waiter and ordered whiskey. “I decided to give it a try and proceeded to sneak ten grains. Nothing happened. Cautiously, I waited several days more. This time I took fifteen grains. Still nothing. It seemed ineffective. I thought I would give it one more try and snitched thirty grains. I went to visit a friend, and after several hours of conversation and music, I was prepared to desert the experiment, when at last . . . pow!”
Cornelia gaped at him wide-eyed. “But here you are to tell all. Did it hurt your stomach?”
“Hurt my stomach? Hardly. Although it would have been wiser if I’d never swallowed the damn things. That did not stop me, though. I continued to enjoy my mind-altering rides that are in my book.”
“This is the first time I’ve heard this story. No wonder my father had reservations. He refused to let me read your book. I think I should read it.”
Hank’s eyes flickered. “Don’t be ridiculous. You don’t need the book. You have me to tell you everything you want to know.” He returned his attention to Cornelia. “I’ll see what I can do to get you a book when we return to New York.”
Cornelia cast a sympathetic look at her friend and glanced at Hank. “I look forward to reading about your experiences.”
Hank touched Cornelia’s golden curls. “Enough of my damn book. Tell me what you’ve been doing.”
“I’m afraid there isn’t much to tell about my life. After school, I stayed with my family in Buffalo. My brother was passionate about fighting for the North, so he joined the war.” She pushed an empty oyster shell with her fork. “He was critically wounded not long after.” She took a breathy sigh. “After that, I decided to do my duty for the war effort and volunteered to nurse. It will be a challenge certainly worth working for. Florence Nightingale, the British woman who became a nurse, is my inspiration.”
Leila touched her friend’s hand gently. “You’re remarkable, my sweet friend. You are so accomplished. You are devoted. I know you’ll succeed. If I weren’t married, I’d join you. In fact—”
“You never married, Cornelia?” Hank ran a finger down her arm.
Leila took Cornelia’s hand. “I heard that you were betrothed.”
“I was.” The light in Cornelia’s eyes dimmed, and her voice dropped. “He-he died at Bull Run.”
Leila gasped, and tears welled in her eyes. “Oh, my dear, I’m sorry.”
“Did he die early in the battle?” Hank slurred. “I think it was after Bull Run they realized the war wouldn’t end in a hurry.”
Leila stared at her husband and compressed her lips.
Rork glowered, aghast at Hank’s lack of sensitivity
. He had a strong urge to kick him under the table. The awkward silence was broken as a waiter stopped at their booth with a tray of food.
“Ah, food,” Hank drawled.
Rork’s eyes widened as Hank’s hand disappeared under the table. Cornelia scowled and shifted away from him. Hank’s hand reappeared, but Rork didn’t miss the gleam of challenge in his eyes. Again his hand disappeared as he made another attempt to grope Cornelia. Rork glanced at Leila. She stared at the table, her face crimson.
Rork rose. “I thought the ladies might like to converse, and I wanted to discuss the arrangements for our trip with you, Hank,” he said smoothly. “Do you mind changing places, Miss Hancock?”
Cornelia cast a grateful look at him then sat beside Leila.
The rest of the meal was conducted in silence while the men discussed the trip.
Cornelia rose. “Please excuse me. I’m rather tired.”
Hank stumbled to his feet. “Let me escort you. The hour is late, and I’d be remiss if I didn’t see you safely to your compartment.”
Cornelia smiled uneasily. “That’s very kind of you, Hank, but I can make it on my own. Perhaps you should rather accompany your wife.”
Rork stood and smothered a smile. She certainly seemed to have the measure of Hank.
Hank slipped from his seat and stood, swaying. “Yes, of course.” Flushing, he stretched his hand out to Leila. “My dear, shall we go?”
Leila rose, her cheeks flaming. “Thank you, Hank.”
“Darlin’, Rork can accompany you. Cornelia’s quarters are just one car down from ours. We can all walk together.”
Leila lowered her eyes, but Rork noticed the flash of irritation. He offered her his arm. “Shall we?” he said.
Chapter 8
Sitting in the dining car, Leila shielded her eyes from the glare and gazed at the landscape, reflecting on the previous evening. Hank had embarrassed her by flirting shamelessly with Cornelia. Cornelia, however, had responded with polite indifference. Leila knew Cornelia was appalled by his behavior. Laying her head back, Leila closed her eyes and shuddered. Does Hank’s lust know no bounds? Even Rork was aware of what was going on. It was unpleasant to pretend her husband was not a blatant womanizer. Leila watched open fields disappear into the clouded distance. The gloomy weather matched her disposition.
She shook her head. She began to regret insisting on joining Hank. So much for my presence curtailing his philandering. His continued and very public dismissal hurt. At least when they were in the city or at the Mountain House, friends and family surrounded her, giving her a sense of comfort.
Last night, with only the four of them in the booth, it was a nightmare. Adding to her torment was the way Millburn’s glances had caressed her until she felt as though he’d physically touched her.
After Hank had escorted Cornelia to her compartment, he didn’t return for hours. Doubtless he and Millburn imbibed in more whiskey and hasheesh. By the time Hank crawled into bed at dawn, the stench of smoke hugged him like a sour skin.
Resentment seethed in Leila. Suddenly, a deep voice caressed her senses and sent a thrill through her.
“Mind if I join you?” Rork slid into the seat beside her.
Leila forced a smile. “I’m surprised to see you up so early. Given the time my husband returned, I assumed you would also be sleeping until nightfall,” she said in a flat voice. Her condemnation was tangible. She bit her lip to control a tremble and turned back to the window. Millburn was the last person she wanted to speak with—he was too disturbing. She kept her back to him, gaze transfixed on the scenery. Despite the snub, he stayed. His body heat filtered through her cotton dress. Warmth crept into her face as his arm brushed against her.
Seconds ticked by.
The tension intensified until Leila was sure she’d snap. She peeked at Rork over her shoulder, and her soul fluttered to life.
He looked at her.
The silence stretched between them like mist. A strange calm filled the empty spaces in her mind as he continued his scrutiny. She jerked back to reality. What am I thinking? Drumming up anger, Leila glared at him. “I beg your pardon, sir. Is there a reason you study me so?”
“Forgive me for staring, but you seem agitated. Is there anything I can do?”
“Oh, you’ve done quite enough.”
Rork’s eyebrow rose. “I’m sorry, have I said something to offend you?”
A sharp laugh burst from Leila’s throat. “Spare me your innocence, sir. From the moment we met, you’ve done nothing but offend.” She held up a finger. “One, you took inappropriate liberties with my body.” The next finger came up. “Two, you spoke to me as if I were no better than a whore.” She raised a third finger. “You laughed at me, mocked me, and then, to add insult, you took my husband on this pointless bachelor venture. Yes, Mr. Millburn, you’ve deeply offended me. Now, if you do not mind, I would prefer to spend my morning in solitude.”
Rork’s brow furrowed. His robust laughter filled the dining carriage.
Leila rounded on him. “You’re infuriating, Mr. Millburn,” she snarled, heat invading her cheeks. Hands trembled, and her bosom rose and fell with agitation. She wished she could hit something, anything—Rork actually.
“I do apologize, Mrs. Dempsey.” His voice still held a hint of laughter. “I honestly regret that you feel I’ve offended you so deeply. Can you forgive me?”
She stared at dancing eyes, and her heart melted. “For which indiscretion do you seek forgiveness?” she asked.
“All of them. All except the last. I cannot apologize for this, ah, what did you call it? A pointless bachelor venture.”
Leila opened her mouth, but the words stuck in her throat.
He pressed a finger to her lips. “Believe what you will, but this trip serves a greater purpose than merely satisfying my voyeuristic curiosity. When I am done, the world will see the beauty of landscapes in the west.” Rork gazed at a point in the distance.
A part of Leila connected with his vision. She brushed it aside irritably. “That’s very romantic, but I fail to see how my husband can serve you on this mission.”
“With his words, of course. My brushstrokes will give life to the canvas, and Hank’s words will expand on what I depict.” He became animated. “Imagine showing the world the beauty of America’s wild, seldom-seen landscapes.”
Despite herself, his vision drew her in, intrigued her.
“With my last trip to the west, I didn’t have anyone to journal my progress. I divided my time between sketching, painting, and recording what I experienced. As a consequence, I didn’t accomplish what I’d hoped. Chronicling took time from painting. On this trip, Hank will chronicle our progress, and I’ll be free to sketch and paint. Not only will the world get to see the sights, but they can live it through Hank’s articulate writing.”
“That’s a wonderful goal,” she conceded reluctantly. “I understand your need for a companion, but I wish my husband wasn’t your choice.” Leila turned to the window. The flora and foothills became a blur as her eyes pooled.
“I do apologize for offending you. And I’m sorry that my association with your husband distresses you. He’s a brilliant writer and the best man to do the journaling.” He took her hand, and she jumped. “Will it help if I assure you I’ll endeavor to make sure no harm comes to him?”
Her eyes widened. “It isn’t his safety I’m concerned about.” Leila bit her lip. “I-I’m not . . .” She twisted her hands. Her concern was not about the dangers inherent to wagon rides across the continent. It was about Hank’s dissolute reputation and his ability to snag women like rainbow trout. His safety hadn’t even crossed her mind. She dabbed her tears with a lacy handkerchief. “Thank you for your apology, Mr. Millburn.”
“Now I’ve made you cry. I always seem to say the w
rong thing where you’re concerned. Once again, I do apologize.” Rork’s smile reached his eyes. “You made it quite evident that you did not want my company, yet here I am, dreaming up something to say. But each time I open my mouth, I manage to sound like a fool. If I were smart, I’d clam up and be on my way.”
Her hand fluttered to her throat, and she stared at him wide-eyed. Honesty was a rare gem in her life.
He leaned forward and drew a breath. “I have another thing I deeply regret. Will you accept my apology for my poor behavior on the Mountain House veranda?”
Leila’s mouth opened, but nothing came out.
“What is it Leila?” There was an uneven edge to his voice, concern maybe, almost pleading.
Her mouth closed. She stared blankly at him, and with a hint of exasperation in her voice, she said, “We seem to have misunderstanding in our words and our actions.”
Rork’s eyes held her captive, and every part of her tingled with longing for that elusive quality in a relationship, the union of two souls. Rork moved an empty cup back and forth. Her eyes fixed on his long fingers, and she wondered what it would be like to feel them on her body. Her innate sense of right and wrong rejected the licentious thought.
“I was drunk and not rational. Still, that doesn’t excuse my inappropriate behavior. I’m so sorry I offended you and would be grateful if you could put this all behind us.”
“Why is my forgiveness important to you?”
“Why, indeed? To be honest, I don’t know.” He smiled. “I want your acceptance and approval, I guess. Besides, we’ll be traveling companions for several weeks. I fear meals will be rather tedious if you refuse to forgive me.” He ineffectually smoothed a sharp crease in the tablecloth. “I don’t like the way Hank treats you,” he blurted.