by Judith Stacy
He’d always known she was pretty, desirable. Now he knew she was smart.
Mitch’s belly tightened and his breathing slowed. This was the worst thing that could have happened.
He’d lost himself completely to Rachel Branford.
Chapter Thirteen
“So much to decide,” Rachel mused.
At the other end of the settee, Claudia set aside her teacup and nodded. “Yes, but Mother and I have been busy doing…well, doing as much as we can.”
Rachel detected distress in her friend’s voice. Not unusual for a young woman planning her wedding, but this sounded different. Had circumstances been otherwise, Rachel herself would have been more involved in the planning of Claudia’s perfect wedding, as one of her attendants.
“You and your mother aren’t agreeing on things?” Rachel ventured.
“No, it’s not that.” Claudia glanced away. “Graham isn’t happy with some of the plans we’ve made.”
It surprised Rachel that Graham had involved himself in the wedding planning at all. Most men didn’t.
“He doesn’t want pink for the color scheme.”
“The ceremony is next spring,” Rachel said. “Pink will be perfect for the season.”
“He says it’s a ‘little girl’s’ color,” Claudia said. “He insists on blue.”
“But you’ve had your heart set on pink for as long as I can remember.”
“He has a point,” Claudia said, drawing herself up a little. “And I am marrying into the Bixby family. There are certain…expectations.”
“Well, blue is nice,” Rachel allowed.
Claudia gave her a quick smile. “Of course it is. The important thing is that we’re getting married.”
“The wedding will be perfect, no matter what,” Rachel told her.
“Yes, it will,” Claudia said, her smile growing earnest. “How are the luncheon plans coming along?”
“Everything’s fine,” Rachel told her, and was surprised to hear herself say that.
For so long she’d dreaded the thought of hosting the luncheon. It had seemed a chore, rather than the joy it used to be when she and her mother planned it together.
But Mitch had made her feel better about it. When he’d suggested she take over the luncheon herself, put her own personal mark on it, the occasion had taken on new meaning.
Claudia rose from the settee. “I’d better get home. Graham is taking me to supper with his parents and I dare not keep him waiting.”
“Or wear something pink?” Rachel teased.
Claudia smiled in return. “I’ll search my closets for the truest shade of blue. That will surely please him.”
Rachel walked alongside her to the foyer and waved from the porch as Claudia’s carriage drove away. She couldn’t help but think once more how perfect Claudia’s life was. A grand wedding. A perfect bride, even in blue. A settled life.
The tiniest thread of envy wound through Rachel. She’d experienced it before, thinking of Claudia’s marriage.
How nice it will be for her friend to have a husband to turn to in times of trouble. No more lonely nights staring at the darkened ceiling, listening to the wind and worrying about things. Claudia could wake him, talk to him. Wasn’t that what husbands were for?
Rachel headed back toward the sitting room. Yes, she envied Claudia her husband-to-be, but why wouldn’t she? Who wouldn’t want a solid partner in their life? Someone to rely on, to trust.
Loneliness wafted through Rachel, dispelling her envy. There’d been no such person in her life for so long.
Her father, always the solid foundation of their family, now ill. He couldn’t help that, of course. But even Dr. Matthews didn’t understand Father’s almost nonexistent recovery. As if he didn’t want to get well.
Noah had suffered mightily. But often Rachel had wished he could pull himself out of that misery and help. Just a thoughtful opinion would do.
Georgie had left the family outright. Bad enough that he had gone off on some adventure of his own, but to leave them to worry about his welfare was unconscionable—especially when the family needed him the most.
And, of course, there’d been the situation with Benjamin Blair.
Rachel had felt so alone these past months. What would it be like if things were different?
Her pace slowed in the hallway and her gaze strayed into the study. Mitch sat at her father’s desk, working.
She’d grown accustomed to seeing him there, dependably going about his duties. He’d done more for the Branford family than any of the other men in her life.
Even if she was paying him to do it.
That didn’t seem to matter, though. Rachel sensed that Mitch was a man who, once committed to a project, saw it through to the end. It was one of the things she liked best about him.
That, and the way he looked in his undershirt.
His head came up as she lingered outside the doorway and his gaze assessed her. He’d done that lately, almost every time he looked at her. As if he were pondering something of great importance concerning her.
Finally, he waved her into the room.
“I’m going out,” Mitch said, coming to his feet. “I have an appointment.”
After the incident when he’d been gone with Uncle Stuart for several days and she’d fussed with him about not advising her of his whereabouts, Mitch made it a point to tell her when he was leaving the house.
“Someone I met at your uncle’s club,” Mitch said. “Albert Taft. Do you know him?”
“His wife was devoted to a number of charities in the city. She passed away about two years ago. We all miss her, still. Mr. Taft almost never attends social or charity functions anymore,” Rachel said. “What’s your meeting about?”
“I don’t know.” Mitch shrugged into his jacket. “It was his idea.”
“Excuse me, sir, ma’am,” Hayden’s voice intoned from the doorway. “Dr. Matthews has arrived. He’s with Mr. Branford,” the butler said, then departed.
“Dr. Matthews…” Rachel’s shoulders sagged. “I know he’s going to try and force me into putting Father in that convalescent hospital again.”
“Have you thought about it?” Mitch asked, rounding the desk to stand next to her.
“There’s no need to think about it,” Rachel declared. “I’ve already made up my mind.”
“I’ve thought about it.”
Rachel looked up at him as he moved closer. His jacket hung open and heat from his body radiated outward, warming her.
“I thought about your father lying upstairs, all these days and months, in the bed he shared with the woman he loved for over twenty years,” Mitch said. “How lonely that must be for him. Everything around him is a reminder of the wonderful times that will never happen again. A constant suffering for him.”
“But I’m here. So are Noah, and Chelsey, when she comes back from school.”
Mitch eased a little closer. “I’m no expert, but I can’t imagine anything could replace the love a man feels for his wife.”
“I hadn’t thought of it that way,” Rachel admitted. “Do you suppose that’s why he hasn’t gotten better?”
Mitch didn’t answer, just leaned down. Gently, he brushed his knuckles along her cheek, then kissed her. His mouth covered hers in a deep kiss, blending them together with an urgent hunger that went far beyond the kisses he’d given her before. The warmth of his mouth was exciting, but comforting, too. Mellow and easy, familiar.
When he ended their kiss, he didn’t pull away. His mouth hovered near hers for a long moment.
“I’d better go,” he said.
Rachel nodded. “I’ll think about what you said…about Father.”
“I’ll be back in a couple of hours,” he said, then left the study.
The trolley had ceased service for the night and a scant few windows along West Adams Boulevard were lighted as Mitch walked toward the Branford home. His appointment with Albert Taft had been brief and ended hours ago. Mitc
h had forgone a hansom and chosen to walk home instead. He had a lot to think about.
Taft owned a quarry, among other things, inland about thirty miles. It wasn’t doing well. Neither was Albert Taft.
The man drank too much, Mitch had decided shortly after arriving at their meeting, so it was no small wonder the quarry was failing. Ordinarily, Mitch would have mentally scoffed at the situation. A quarry, with its treasure trove of essential building materials in close proximity to the fast-growing city, and Albert Taft couldn’t manage a profit.
But Mitch has sensed something deeper wrong with Taft, something well beyond poor managerial skills. Rachel had said his wife had died; he still mourned her.
He’d offered to hire Mitch to work his magic on the quarry, figure out what was wrong, exactly, and come up with a plan to fix it. Nothing Mitch couldn’t easily handle, and the fee he would collect would put him within the financial range of buying his own business. He’d worked toward that very goal for so long, and now…
Mitch drew in a breath of the cool night air, hoping it would clear his head and stop the odd feeling that had plagued him lately, a feeling that he couldn’t seem to shake. Dread and expectation, fear and joy all rolled together, squeezing him from the inside out. A craving he couldn’t seem to satisfy.
Mitch turned down the Branford driveway and stopped still in his tracks. He looked up at the grand house with its marble and stained glass, its manicured lawns, and Mitch knew what was wrong.
He should never have come here. He should have stuck to his resolve and refused to work in the Branford home.
Because now he wanted it all.
An ache of longing filled him. He was tired of working and saving, of having the thing he wanted always just out of reach. Standing before him now was the power he’d craved since that cold, rainy night when he was five years old. He could have it.
He’d always known that the money, the wealth he could accumulate on his own. But he’d never manage to get the final ingredient he needed for true power: social acceptance.
Yet there it stood before him now in the form of the Branford family. A solid, reputable, socially accepted family who moved with ease among the city’s elite.
There was only one way for someone like Mitch to be a part of that world. His friend Leo Sinclair had teased him about it weeks ago when the two of them had arrived at the Branford home. At the time, Mitch had refused to even consider that option. He’d been offered it many times from past clients and had refused each time.
But now it was different. He’d lived in that house, seen firsthand what that life would bring.
He didn’t want to do without it anymore. He was tired of waiting. This was his best opportunity to have everything he wanted. Now was his best chance.
Rachel was his best chance.
It seemed silly to worry about the safety of a man so big he barely fit through doorways, Rachel decided as she lay in bed, staring up at nothing. Yet Mitch lingered in her thoughts. His meeting with Albert Taft might have run longer than expected. He might have met up with some of the other men and they’d—
Rachel stopped her own thoughts. She didn’t want to consider just what sort of activities might keep grown men occupied until the wee hours of the morning. Especially with Mitch involved. She had no claim on him, but still…
Her own thoughts forced her from the bed. She slipped on her robe and left her room, silently descending the staircase, heading for the library in the rear of the house. She intended to retrieve the book she’d left there earlier in the evening.
But as she headed down the hallway, she saw a faint light glowing in the doorway of the study. She crept closer and saw Mitch seated at the desk.
Relief swamped her. She’d not heard him come in. She’d lain upstairs and worried about him for nothing.
He looked as if he’d been there for hours. Jacket off, collar open, necktie loosened, he worked by the dim light of the desk lamp, hunched over a tablet, writing things down. She’d never seen him look this determined. As if he wanted to capture his thoughts on paper before they escaped him.
Perhaps she shouldn’t bother him. The thought raced through Rachel’s mind as she turned to go. But he seemed to sense her nearness and stopped his writing. He lifted his head, not seeming surprised to see her.
Mitch studied her for a long, hard moment, making Rachel aware of her state of dress. Nightgown and robe, hair down, bare feet. Yet it wasn’t this that seemed to dominate his thoughts. It was something more, something deeper. It startled Rachel.
“What’s wrong?” she asked, walking into the room.
Mitch glanced down at the tablet. “Nothing. I’m just finishing up here.”
She supposed she should be relieved, yet something in his manner still troubled her. “You’re certain?”
“Yes…no.” Mitch put aside his pencil and looked at her for a moment, as if holding his breath, contemplating something that even by his own standards, was gargantuan.
“I was going to tell you in the morning,” he said, “but…but I may as well do it now, since you’re here.”
A hot wave of foreboding crept up Rachel’s spine. She crossed to the desk and stood in front of him.
“What? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong.” A few seconds passed before he went on. “I’m finished here. My work. It’s done.”
Rachel’s heart lurched. What had he been so reluctant to tell her? A thousand possibilities flashed in her head. The family was, despite his assurances, penniless? They’d have to move, sell everything? Become the talk of the city?
She gripped the edge of the desk. “How bad is it?” she asked, managing only a whisper.
He looked at her for a moment, as if not understanding her question. Then his expression changed.
“Everything’s fine. The family finances are back in order,” Mitch said. “I told you everything would be all right.”
Rachel’s hand went to her throat, afraid still to believe what she’d heard. “You’re sure?”
“I told you, I’m very good at this,” he said, gesturing to the tablet.
“So the family still has money?” she asked, needing the reassurance. “It was just a bookkeeping error?”
Mitch shook his head. “No. I’m afraid not.”
“Then where…where did our money go?” she asked.
He hesitated, as if he were as reluctant to give the answer as she was to hear it.
“Over the course of the past few months, all the family assets were mortgaged,” Mitch said. “And all the cash was withdrawn from the banks.”
“But whatever for?” Rachel asked. “Who would do such a thing? Aren’t there charges of some sort that can be brought?”
“Not in this case,” Mitch said. “It was your brother.”
“Georgie?” Rachel shook her head. “No. No, he wouldn’t have done something like that to us.”
“There are documents, Rachel,” Mitch said softly. “I’ve seen them. There’s no mistake.”
She stared at him, trying to let his words sink in. She couldn’t—simply could not—believe that Georgie had deliberately deceived the family.
Yet Mitch had no reason to lie. She knew that in business there were, in fact, papers that had to be filed for such things. Evidence that could be traced. And, of course, Georgie had disappeared without a word.
“Oh, dear…” Rachel touched her fingers to her forehead as the truth of the situation washed through her.
At that moment, she was glad her father was too ill to know what her brother had done, how he’d betrayed the family’s trust and left them in this awful situation. Glad, too, that her mother wouldn’t know, either.
But what if everyone else found out?
The terror ripped through Rachel, causing her heart to ache anew. It was common knowledge that Georgie was her mother’s son from a previous marriage. Though he’d been given the Branford name, there was no blood tie. This would be but another poor reflection o
n her mother.
“There’s no need to worry about the family finances. The situation can be managed,” Mitch said. “Your father has a large estate. It’s just a matter of restructuring assets.”
Relief calmed her. “Thank goodness.”
“I’ve worked out a detailed plan to cover the next year,” Mitch said. “I’ll go over it with Parker, make sure he understands it and can explain it to whoever takes over.”
Rachel stilled. “Takes over?”
“Yes. My work here is done,” Mitch said. “I’m leaving.”
“Leaving?”
“Tomorrow.”
Rachel’s world seemed to crumble beneath her.
“But—but you said you’d take care of everything.”
“I have taken care of everything.” Mitch tapped his finger on the tablet in front of him. “It’s right here. The financial plan I’ve devised will get you through the crucial next year, and everything will be back on track.”
“You said you’d stay,” she told him.
“Until my job was done. This is what I do, Rachel. I figure out a recovery plan, then move on.”
Her heart raced. “But you can’t just abandon us.”
“I’ve done all that I can do here.”
“This puts me right back where I started. I don’t know anyone capable of taking over the business,” Rachel said. “I don’t know who to turn to, who to trust.”
“Your uncle can help you.”
Rachel shook her head. “There must be some way I can get you to stay. I’ll increase your fee.”
Mitch pushed out of the chair. “That’s not how I work.”
“I’ll double it again. Triple it.”
“No.”
She squeezed her hands into fists. “There must be some way I can get you to stay. Something I can do. Something I can say.”
“Say you’ll marry me.”
Chapter Fourteen
Rachel’s eyes widened. “You want me to—what?”
Mitch just looked at her, the shock, the panic on her face. He hardened his heart.