Patrick rolled his eyes and nodded. “Why would a woman change overnight?”
“Ah, so your missus has no interest in you now,” Elias said with a half smile. He sobered when he saw the frustration on his friend’s face.
“Something like that.” Patrick frowned as his recent scene with her played through his mind again.
“Let her go. If she’s found someone new, let her be. Plenty of women in Butte are interested in an aboveground man.” Elias watched Patrick with a mixture of pity and amusement. “But of course you won’t take my advice. It looks like you are hell-bent on drinking yourself to oblivion.”
Patrick raised his nearly empty tumbler of whiskey in a salute before catching the barkeep’s eye again to refill it.
Elias rolled his eyes before smiling. “I just hope she’s worth the agony of the headache tomorrow.”
“How can a woman want to be with a man like that?” Patrick asked as he slammed his hand onto the wooden bar. “A heartless, manipulative, evil bastard.”
“You’ve just described most successful men in this town.” Elias chuckled as Patrick glared at him. “Why else would a woman want a man like that unless he were rich? I’m not surprised she’d catch herself such a man. It would only be for her benefit.”
“Nothing he does will ever be to her benefit. Besides, she’s living in near poverty, when she should know riches if she were profiting from her arrangement,” Patrick said as he hissed after taking a large swig of whiskey. He swayed subtly as he set down his glass with a thunk, and Elias eyed his misstep. “I’m no lightweight.”
“Ya, I’m sure that’s true.” He nodded for a man to vacate his seat at a nearby table and pushed Patrick into it. He took the one across from him and watched his anger simmering below the surface of well-honed indifference.
“I stayed at that miserable job, month after month, accepting a demotion, refusing to rise to his abuse, for her. And how does she repay me? She ignores me. Ignores my offer to help her, as though I were a nuisance.”
In his anger, he failed to see Elias indicate to the barman to send them further glasses of whiskey.
“And this is how she thanks me? By saying she’d never want anything to do with someone as lowly as I am?” Patrick asked. He clamped his jaw, his anger seeping from him. “I hate that I ever came to care,” he whispered.
Elias thumped him on the shoulder and pushed another tumbler of whiskey toward him. “Soon you won’t remember her name.” He winked at Patrick as he raised a glass and saluted. “To all the fickle women who will rue the day they forswore us.”
Fiona knocked on the elaborately carved door, entering silently as the butler opened it for her. She took off her coat, handing it to him before taking a deep breath. She stood as tall as her five-foot-three frame would allow and walked with measured calm toward the rear parlor. She knocked on the door twice, waited to be called to enter and donned a mask of impassivity as she did.
“I’m disappointed in you this evening,” the man said, his soft voice in opposition to his words, an inadvertent shiver coursing down her spine. “You’re late.”
“I was detained.” Fiona moved toward the settee but didn’t sit. She knew by now to do nothing without permission.
“Yes, by another man. How pathetic he is to still want you, even though I let others know you’re mine.” Samuel Sanders smirked at the idea.
Fiona ducked her head, masking the shame and anger in her eyes. He chucked her under her chin, forcing up her eyes. “We have a bargain, lest you forget the repercussions for breaking it.”
She nodded, her eyes deadened as she looked at him. She stilled awaiting his next move. She jumped as his hand rose, startling her as he traced it down the side of her head in a mockery of a caress. Rather than his fingertips brushing gently over her skin, his manicured nails dug into her skin, creating reddened grooves in their wake. She fought an instinctive flinch, remaining impassive.
His brown eyes flashed with anger at her control, and he pushed her onto the settee behind her. “Enough with the preliminaries,” he said, rucking up her dress and ripping at her underclothes. She quelled her instinctive urge to fight him and forced herself to remain motionless as his hands bruised her. She was unable to stifle a gasp of pain as he forced himself inside her. She fought the tears that burned at the back of her eyes, praying that once would be enough this week.
26
Patrick weaved through the crowd, which grew more boisterous by the minute. The well-liquored populace of Butte was on its way toward celebrating another unforgettable Saint Patrick’s Day with the parade about to begin. He paused as the throng of people impeded his movement and opted to remain here to watch the parade. His height gave him a perfect view of the marchers and floats.
He smiled as a band approached, playing marching tunes by Sousa. Although already over a decade old, they remained the favorites for marching bands. Then groups of miners from the different mines approached. They waved to the crowd, to their wives and sweethearts, if they were lucky enough to have one, and the crowd cheered.
Floats passed him by, highlighting the numerous ethnic groups in Butte. Many of those riding on the floats threw out trinkets to the crowd, earning a roar of approval. Patrick whooped when he saw his friend Elias. The large Amalgamated float went by, carrying miners from numerous mines.
He stiffened when a hand gripped his shoulder.
“Sullivan, it appears you haven’t freed yourself of your unfortunate tendency to support the losers.”
Patrick shrugged the hand off his shoulder, turning to face Samuel. “I don’t base a person’s worth on the size of their bank account. Or the amount of influence they wield.”
“Which goes to show why I’ll always be the boss and you the day laborer.” He looked past Patrick to the passing parade. “I’d hoped to teach you something of value while under my tutelage, but I can see now you were a hopeless cause.”
“You saw me as a way to harm your cousins, Henry,” Patrick said, spitting out his original given name. “You never meant to offer me true friendship.”
He smirked. “You still could have learned something of value from me.” He sighed. “As it is, I’ve had to use my expertise on a more willing pupil.”
Patrick became rigid. “If you mean Miss O’Leary …”
Samuel smiled with satisfaction. “If I do, it is surely none of your concern.” He leaned toward Patrick as though he were sharing a secret. “She is delightful. It’s a pity you never got to know her as I have. She’s quite … sensual.”
“You bastard.” Patrick grabbed him by the lapels. He released him when those around them gasped and murmured their disapproval.
Samuel straightened his jacket and patted Patrick on the shoulder, as though in consolation. “Best of luck to you, Pat. I’m sure you’ll be someone worthwhile before you die.” He gave him a jaunty wave and sauntered off.
Patrick watched him leave with an impotent fury, the innocent joy of the parade lost to him. He pushed through the crowd, heading toward his local bar, hopeful for a visit with Elias.
Patrick looked up from his desk, his gaze belatedly focusing on Fiona as she brought him a stack of papers. “Miss O’Leary,” he said with a small nod before focusing again on his ledger.
“Would you be so kind as to look through these today, Mr. Sullivan?” Fiona asked. “I’ve been advised there is an urgent nature to them.”
“Of course,” he murmured, pointing to a free corner on his desk. He heaved out a breath as she walked away. He refrained from glaring at her retreating back as he didn’t want to provoke any further gossip among his colleagues. He flipped through the paperwork, sighing to see the number of pages to be tallied. He paused when he came to a slip of paper hidden amid the pages. He glanced around furtively, but no one paid him any attention now that he was no longer Mr. Sanders’s protégé. After extracting the note, he picked up his pencil as though he were merely dealing with another accounting issue. P. Please meet me t
onight after work. F.
He glared at the paper as he flipped it over to see if he’d missed where he was meant to go. He slipped the note into his pocket and refocused on his work. As the workday neared its end, he heard Fiona speaking with a colleague. She laughed about having to go home to see her sister.
Fifteen minutes after Fiona had departed, Patrick stood and donned his winter coat, hat, scarf and gloves. He passed Fiona’s desk, Samuel’s empty office and exited the building to walk to Fiona’s apartment.
The scarred outside door was again ajar, and he soundlessly walked up the wooden stairs to her rear apartment. He stood in front of her door a few moments, glaring at it and berating himself for heeding her call the minute he received it. After heaving out a sigh, he rapped with more vehemence than necessary and fought a frown as he listened to her approach.
He catalogued the subtle changes in her. Her previously lush figure appeared on the verge of emaciation with her curves now prompted by a well-tied corset. Her eyes lacked all vibrancy, and she moved with a hesitancy that bespoke a familiarity with discord. The only aspect of her that shone was her hair—thicker and more lustrous than ever—even though she’d tamed it in a tight bun.
He moved past her, brushing against her arm and earning a slight tremble. He again stood as he waited for her to speak. However, she became increasingly agitated and remained silent. “Fiona, whatever it is you have to say, it can’t be worse than anything I’ve already imagined,” he said.
She closed her eyes for a moment, then met his gaze. “I asked you here to beg you for your forgiveness.”
“You’ve done nothing to harm me.”
She flinched at his cold tone. “Perhaps not but I feel I have.” She took a deep, stuttering breath that made her more uptight rather than calm her. “Will you let me explain?”
He nodded, moving to settle onto a wooden chair, his outward display of a relaxed gentleman masking his growing unease.
“Samuel Sanders discovered my secret,” she whispered. “And I agreed to a devil’s bargain to protect myself. Or so I thought.”
“What could you possibly have to hide?” Patrick canted forward, his interest piqued against his will.
“I agreed to tell him everything I learned about you. Your family. Anything he asked, I agreed to relate.” She shook her head, her eyes pleading with him for understanding. “I didn’t realize he knew your cousins. I should have known how evil he was then, but I only thought of myself.”
“It’s because of you how he knew about Rory.” Patrick clamped his jaw as he fought his anger. “Gabriel’s never trusted me, not fully, since that day. And it was all because of you.”
She battled tears and nodded. “When I realized what he’d done, how much harm he’d caused you, I told him that I could no longer agree to the bargain. Things were all right for a little while, and then … Then it all changed.”
“Was this right around Christmas?” he asked. “When you no longer wanted to spend as much time with me? When you refused my gift and asked me to never call on you again?”
“Yes.” She blinked away tears. “But it—”
“Because I was no longer of any use to you.”
“No! Because I was ashamed. I couldn’t bear for you to …”
He watched her as she pleated and unpleated a piece of lace on the edge of her shirtsleeve, nearly ripping it off. “He would never have let you go once he could blackmail you.” He glowered as he saw her shiver. “What did he demand of you?”
“All that matters is that I’m terribly sorry for how I treated you, Pa—Mr. Sullivan.”
He knelt by the settee and reached forward, stilling her nervous hands, his grip firm yet gentle. “No, Fiona, what did he do to you?”
She fought a sob, her face contorting as the tears poured out against her volition. “It’s not of your concern.”
“Yes, it is,” he whispered, moving to sit beside her on the settee. He put an arm around her shoulder and urged her into his side. “It’s all right,” he soothed.
“It will never be all right.” She sobbed, unable to stop. “I’ve ruined everything.”
“Can you tell me what happened?” he whispered, kissing the top of her head. He inhaled a hint of lavender and brushed a hand down her arm.
She spoke in a halting whisper, and he stilled to better hear her. “No one would ever interrupt him when his door is closed. Only fire or death of a superior were reasons to knock on his door when it was closed.” She laughed without mirth. “He didn’t even bother to lock the door the first time.”
Patrick stiffened next to her. He ran a hand down her back and made circles on her shoulder, belatedly realizing he was soothing himself as much as her with his soft caresses. “What did he do?”
“He said, if I refused to be the informant I’d agreed to be, he’d have to find another use for me.”
“He assaulted you.” Patrick stilled his hands a moment in his anger before continuing their pattern over her back, shoulder and arm.
“Yes. When I said I’d report him, he advised me no one would believe me and that, if I wanted to still work as a secretary rather than at the Dumas, I needed to report to his house every Tuesday evening at 8:00 p.m.”
“I was last here on a Tuesday,” Patrick murmured.
“Yes.” She shivered. “I knew I had to go there. I couldn’t handle any kindness from you.”
He pushed her back and stared into her eyes. “Why? Why allow him to abuse you? You know I’d have helped you in an instant.”
He saw her deflate in front of him, and his brow furrowed in confusion as he thought through his words. “I’d help you now if you’d let me.” When she moved back into his arms, he held her away from him. “I’d remove you completely from his sphere of influence. Marry me, Fee.”
She paled and shook her head. “No, Patrick. No.”
“You haven’t thought it through. It’s the best way to protect you from him.” He raised one of her hands to his lips and gifted her with a half smile, filled with hopeful longing. “I was already dreaming of a proposal when I was in Missoula last fall.”
Tears poured from her eyes. “No, I can’t marry you.” When he stiffened and moved to rise from her, she clung to him. “There’s nothing more I would like than to marry you. To join that large family you talk about.” She swallowed a sob. “I’d love to have a big family around me again.”
“Then why won’t you?” he demanded.
“Because I’m already married.” She met his shocked gaze as she lifted a chain from around her neck, extracting it and the ring at the end of it.
He touched the ring still warm from hanging between her breasts, staring dumbly.
“I have been for six years.”
“Where is he?”
“I don’t know. I last saw him in Chicago.”
Patrick shook his head. “It doesn’t make sense. If you left him, then why become entangled with Samuel Sanders? Why lead me on last summer and fall?” He clasped her elbow, preventing her from rising. “Fiona, speak with me.”
“That was my first mistake,” she whispered. “Using my name.”
He swiped at her tears, pulling her into his arms as she cried in earnest.
“When I think of all the times you were worried about my reputation …” She stuttered out a laugh lacking in all humor. “I had no reputation left to defend.”
“I refuse to believe that.” He clasped her to him, urging her to find solace in his arms. “From the moment we first met, I knew you were a woman worthy of respect.”
“Mr. Sanders discovered I was married, hired an investigator and found my husband. A man who’s been searching for me.” She shivered. “Mr. Sanders threatened to contact him and inform him where I am if I renege on my bargain with him.”
“What’s your real name?”
“Fiona Flaherty.” She shuddered as she said the name. “I haven’t said that name in over three years.”
He cooed as he felt her trembl
e. “No one will harm you.” He kissed her head resting on his shoulder. “I don’t understand why you don’t divorce such a man.”
“Divorce means he knows where I am. If he knows where I am, he’ll kill me.” She pushed away and met his confused gaze. “I know you don’t understand. I don’t, and I married him. Any sweetness faded once I was proclaimed his wife, and he became possessive and cruel. And then …”
Patrick waited, nodding his encouragement for her to continue.
“And then I heard him speaking with a friend of his. They were both mostly drunk. But Peter was at his most lucid right before he became insensate. He wanted to do away with his pesky wife in a manner where no one would question her death.” She stuttered out a laugh. “Me! They were talking about me. Do you know what that is like, to realize the man you’ve married is plotting your demise?
“They talked about accidental falls downstairs, an innocent trip in front of a streetcar and then considered poisoning my food.” She gave an indignant snort. “I knew we were in debt. I worked two jobs, lying to both employers about my marital status so I could work. Whereas he drank away the proceeds.”
Her jaw firmed as she thought about her husband. “He’d taken out a life policy for me when we married. At the time I thought it showed his concern for my well-being. When I heard him with his friend, I understood the entire time he’d been awaiting his opportunity to collect what he saw as his due.” She heaved out a sigh, resting once more against Patrick’s chest.
He played with strands of her hair that had loosened from her bun but kept his own counsel.
“I disappeared three days later, moving around, never setting down roots.”
“Why come to Butte?” Patrick asked.
“I thought I could be lost in the multitude here. And there’s work. I could be with my cousin and sister.” She winced. “I was so stupid. All he had to do was look for any member of my family to find me.”
Tenacious Love (Banished Saga, Book Four): Banished Saga, Book Four Page 29