Not for Malachai Quarles the role of Sir Galahad or that of that fellow Rudolf Rassendyll from Prisoner of Zenda, who was so noble as to be a silly fool. There might, possibly, be a woman in his life somewhere, sometime, but he hadn’t found her yet.
The image of Loretta filled his brain, and he grinned in spite of himself. She was a tasty morsel. More salty than sweet. And she was wrapped up in an enticingly curvy bundle. But Malachai had striven always to keep his impulses in check and his anatomy, even the most unruly parts of it, under his own command. He wouldn’t get involved with Loretta Linden. No, sir. That would be not merely stupid, but possibly fatal.
He stopped walking abruptly and stared into the distance. Taking the cigar from between his teeth, he leaned forward, narrowed his eyes, and peered fixedly at the form he’d just glimpsed several yards off, bending over and peering under a bush. Had his imagination conjured the woman’s image out of whole cloth, or could it be . . .?
Impossible!
But it was.
By damn, the woman was actually carrying out her scheme! But where was her cohort? Had Loretta left her poor secretary alone with Tillinghurst? Or was Miss MacTavish searching Tillinghurst’s grounds elsewhere? How had they managed it? Malachai wouldn’t put much of anything past Loretta Linden, but he didn’t think even she would poison Tillinghurst just to prove a point. Nor did he truly anticipate finding out that the two women had blackjacked Tillinghurst and tied him to a chair while they snooped around his estate.
There was only one way to find out what they were up to. Throwing his cigar onto the dirt path and grinding it under his boot heel, he set off in Loretta’s direction. He walked fast, telling himself his eagerness to see her was only because he was curious about how she was carrying out her design to prove Tillinghurst a thief.
# # #
Loretta was still feeling the after effects of severe embarrassment as she prowled Mr. Tillinghurst’s grounds near his house. Not only did she feel a fool about the knife and slightly guilty about Marjorie, but now, after she’d pleaded a headache and gone outdoors to take the air, she realized she’d set for herself an impossible task.
Tillinghurst’s grounds covered acres and acres. She was one small woman. How could she search the whole place in only the half-hour or so Marjorie’s faltering knowledge of Moorish artifacts would allow her?
She couldn’t, was how. She and Marjorie been unable to find much of anything about the Moors in the library, so most of Marjorie’s knowledge was contained in the one small booklet they’d carried away from the museum. And Tillinghurst was already intimately familiar with that booklet. Surely he’d recognize their ruse.
What was worse was that Loretta didn’t trust him to be polite about it. He might even demand to know what they were up to. As she stooped over a bush to see if that was really a small door built into the side of the mansion, she worried and thought and fretted and tried her very best to come up with an addendum to her plot. Unfortunately, she was about all plotted out.
“Fiddlesticks,” she muttered as she realized she’d discovered the door to the coal bin. A lot of good that would be in finding stolen historical artifacts.
“As I live and breathe,” came from behind her.
Startled nearly out of her skin, Loretta let out a sharp cry as she stood up straight, getting her hat and hair caught in the branches of the daphne bush under which she’d been peering. Her voice was far from welcoming when, turning precipitately and espying the captain, she blurted out, “You!”
His curly brown hair was so long it kissed the collar of his blue woolen captain’s coat, and his earring caught the sunlight and shot sparks of glitter into the air. Loretta got the impression the earring was winking at her. It would.
“Please,” said Malachai, reaching for her hair, some of which was tangled in daphne branches. “Allow me.”
Her hands had already lifted to fiddle with her hat, and his covered them. Loretta experienced that same electric tingle she’d felt before when they’d touched. She considered it most inconvenient that she had this reaction to the captain’s touch. At once she dropped her hands—there was no sense in tempting the fates or her own urges—and engaged her tongue.
“I might have known I’d find you lurking and looming here somewhere!”
“You might have,” agreed Malachai. “Although I must object to the word ‘lurking.’ I’m not lurking. I’m visiting my business partner.” Peering down at her in a manner Loretta could only describe as devilish, he added, “I can understand why you might consider me as looming, however that’s only because you’re so short.”
Loretta chose to ignore his explanation and his evaluation of her own personal stature. “I don’t know why you insist on sneaking up on me! The least you could do is announce your presence before you frighten me to death.”
“I never sneak. I’m too big to sneak.”
His assessment of his person should be true. That it wasn’t didn’t make Loretta feel significantly better. “Fiddle. You sneak, and that’s all there is to it.”
“This is a lovely hat,” the captain said, ignoring Loretta’s accusation. “And it’s sitting on lovely hair.”
Loretta frowned hard, her brow wrinkling up like a raisin. Was he really, honestly and truly, complimenting her, or was there some fell insinuation in his comment somewhere? Being a straight-forward woman, she decided to ask. “Are you complimenting me, Captain Quarles?”
“Why, I do believe I am, Miss Linden.”
He tucked a lock of hair behind Loretta’s ear, and Loretta wondered if her ear glowed visibly. His touch certainly made tingles shoot through her, starting at her ear and radiating throughout her body, until her very toes itched. This was terrible. She didn’t know what to do. “Oh.”
He chuckled, and the tingles turned into waves. This was worse than terrible.
“Isn’t a young lady supposed to thank a gentleman for complimenting her?”
The captain’s deep, rumbling voice held a feathering of silk around its edges. Loretta sucked in a breath and held onto it until he left off touching her. Then she said in sort of a gasp, “If you were a gentleman, and if I believed you, I might.” Loretta was pleased that she’d managed to produce so fitting a sentence without benefit of her brain, which was at present floundering in a nearby puddle of lust and unable to function properly.
When the captain burst out laughing, she rescinded her approval of her last sentence. The man was absolutely too shocking to be allowed free to roam in society and prey on innocent young women. It wasn’t fair.
“I don’t need to ask what you’re doing here. Obviously you’re attempting to discover Tillinghurst’s hiding place.”
“Don’t be sarcastic. I know he’s responsible for the losses. I’ll find where he’s hidden the stolen goods, too.” Loretta also suspected that Mr. Peavey’s dungeon was somewhere on Tillinghurst’s property, although she wouldn’t risk further ridicule from Malachai by saying so. Tillinghurst’s vast estate would be a perfect place for a dungeon, though. Hoping to distract herself from Malachai, whose presence was fuddling her brain, she looked around again, this time into the distance.
“Please,” said Malachai, gesturing for her to precede him. “Allow me to help you, as long as I’m here.”
“I don’t want your help!”
Of all the miserable circumstances! First she’d had to make do with a Chinese knife—and it wasn’t even an interesting Chinese knife. It was a Chinese knife that even she could identify as such. But it was the best Denise had to offer and Loretta hadn’t time to shop around. And then she’d had to abandon Marjorie, whom she knew was a nervous wreck. And now she’d bumped into Malachai Quarles. It was more than a woman should be expected to endure.
“Nevertheless, since I’m too much of a gentleman to allow a lady to wander unsupervised around the grounds of a man whom she suspects of vicious crimes, I shall help you.”
“Oh—” Loretta tried to think of a word that would ex
press her soul-deep fury. She couldn’t. She vowed to hang out more with her communist friends. They might be a boring and rather silly bunch, but they knew all the bad words. “Bother!” was the best she could come up with on the spur of the moment.
The captain took her arm and began strolling toward the back of the house. “Personally, I shouldn’t think you’d find stolen treasure under a bush.”
“I didn’t think it was under a bush! There was a door there!” She tried to tug her arm away, but couldn’t. Damn the man. He was so large and so strong. If he weren’t so infuriating, Loretta would approve of these characteristics. But they only served to make him the most disturbing man she’d ever met, and Loretta, who didn’t like the feeling discomposed, wished he’d go away.
“A door. I see.”
“Oh, leave me alone!” she cried, pushed beyond endurance. “I know what I’m doing, and I know I’m right. Let go of me!” She yanked on her arm hard, and he finally released her, although not until after he’d hung on long enough to make bruises. She rubbed her arm and glowered at him. “Brute!”
“I’m sorry if I hurt you, Miss Linden.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Somehow that doesn’t surprise me.”
“Oh, go away. I have work to do.”
“Feel free,” said Malachai, gesturing for her to continue her search. “I won’t tell Tillinghurst.”
Loretta felt stupid. She hated the feeling. Nevertheless, because she didn’t have much time, she strode up the drive, toward Tillinghurst’s garden, where she knew there were sheds and other buildings. Malachai was right behind her. She felt him there, and she wished she could watch him watching her. Was he judging her hips to be too large? Did he think she was fat?
She wasn’t fat! She was well-rounded. Jason had said so when she’d asked. She’d asked because for some reason, after she’d met the captain, she’d felt the least little bit insecure about her physical desirability. And it was all Malachai Quarles’ fault, curse him.
“That’s a fetching costume, Miss Linden. I particularly like the color. It goes well with your complexion.”
“Thank you.” She kept walking and searching the horizon for hiding places.
“And your hat is cunning. Is that an ostrich feather?”
“Yes.” After thinking about it for a second, she gave him another grudging, “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
They walked along in silence, only the crunching of their feet on the pathway announcing to listening birds and squirrels that there were human beings present. After holding out against it for as long as she could, Loretta turned her head to see what Malachai was doing.
He was staring at her hips, was what he was doing. She felt her cheeks get hot. Curse the man! She kept walking, trying not to swish her hips. It was impossible, because she was a woman.
“Do you suspect Tillinghurst of hiding Percival Jones, too, somewhere on his property?”
“Ah, that’s his name! I couldn’t remember.” At once, Loretta regretted having given the captain credit for clearing up the confusion in her mind.
“Yes. He’s a good man. I’m worried about him.”
He sounded genuinely worried, although Loretta wasn’t sure. After shooting him another quick, sidelong look, she still wasn’t sure. He appeared concerned, but Loretta was loath to give him credit for any tender human emotions.
She said, “I don’t know where he might be. Quite frankly, it wouldn’t surprise me if he’s here somewhere, being held against his will. Mr. Tillinghurst is not a nice man. I don’t care if he is your partner.”
Again, she refrained from pointing out that if a dungeon truly was involved in this mess, Tillinghurst’s estate was the best place she could think of for it to be. She wished she could find it. And if it contained Mr. Jones, so much the better. Oh, my, wouldn’t that be a triumph, if she could find Quarles’ missing sailor? He couldn’t sneer at her then.
“Out of curiosity, what do you have against Tillinghurst, Miss Linden?”
“He’s a greedy pig.”
“I suppose you could say that about many successful men.”
She shot him a mean-tempered glare, and he expounded. “I’m not saying he’s not interested in making money. Of course, he is. I am, too, for that matter. What makes Tillinghurst more of a pig than most men?” He smiled a smile that made Loretta’s insides quiver. “You can leave me out of the equation, if you wish, since I’m sure I’d skew the results, given your . . . ah . . . opinion of me.”
Loretta wouldn’t touch her opinion of Malachai Quarles with a barge pole. She didn’t have the same qualms about Mr. Tillinghurst, so she let loose.
“He runs three sweatshops in the city of San Francisco, Captain Quarles, in which he oppresses hundreds of women, paying them far less than he should, and far less than similarly employed men would earn. He also keeps them in circumstances that are not merely cruel, but dangerous. Why, what do you think would happen if there was a fire in any of those shabby old buildings?”
“I have no idea.”
“Well, I do! The same thing would happen as happened in New York, when all those women were killed in a sweatshop fire several years ago, because the doors were locked and they couldn’t escape! It’s criminal—or it should be.” Loretta pounded her right fist into her left palm. “That’s why I dislike Mr. Tillinghurst, Captain Quarles. That’s why I think he’s a despicable human being.”
“I see.”
His frown could have meant anything, Loretta supposed. It was foolish of her to hope she’d made him think about his precious partner in light of Tillinghurst’s iniquitous business practices. Still, she couldn’t help but add a little fuel to any fire of conscience she might have sparked.
“What’s even worse is that he exploits those women who are least able to defend themselves. Most of the women he employs can’t speak English, and they’re afraid to stand up for themselves. Why, do you know that he actually fired a woman who dared ask for a day off to bury her own child? A child who had undoubtedly died because she couldn’t afford to buy decent food on the pittance Tillinghurst paid her? Well, he did.”
“Er . . . no. I didn’t know that.”
“You should know it. Everyone should!” She added bitterly, “Not that it will make any difference to the men who govern our city and state. Men don’t care about how poverty-stricken human beings are forced to live or about women’s dead babies. Men like to keep women subservient to them. Men think it’s the woman’s fault if a woman is deserted by her husband and has to feed her children and herself without assistance from the children’s father. Men have no compassion for women left alone to rear their children without any help from man or God. Or orphaned children abandoned to wander the streets of San Francisco to live or die according to how much food they can scavenge every day. I have no idea why that is, unless men consider such children the result of divine intervention or something. Men—”
Loretta didn’t get the opportunity to finish her harangue, because Malachai grabbed her by the shoulders, yanked her against his chest, and shut her mouth with his. Had she been able, she would have gasped with shock, but she wasn’t. Her paralysis lasted only a second before her body decided to disengage her brain and simply enjoy the sensations of the encounter.
As her body relaxed—against her will, she later decided—so Malachai changed the way he held her. He didn’t let her go, and he didn’t relax his bearlike embrace. Rather, he shifted slightly, so that he held Loretta more securely, and he started to explore.
First it was his tongue that tentatively pampered her lips apart. Then it slipped into her mouth to play with her own tongue. At the same time, his hands moved over her body. Loretta registered shock when one of his large, warm hands slid to her hips and pressed the lower part of her body into his. For the first time in her life, she felt a man’s arousal against her. And she was responsible for that. A heady awareness of her feminine power flooded her—until she r
emembered that she couldn’t move. The realization made her squirm very slightly, which produced a ragged moan that went straight from Malachai’s lips into her mouth. She swallowed it, and it was the sweetest thing she’d ever tasted.
She was desirable! She, Loretta Linden, the despair of her family, was a real woman! A woman able to stir the hungers of a man.
And what a man he was. Loretta’s thoughts shattered into a million sparkly bits when Malachai’s other hand covered her breast. Her breasts had been positively aching for his touch, and she’d not even known it until it happened. Absolutely astonishing.
No wonder her mother had tried to insist that Loretta wear her corset and stays. Corsets and stays prevented men from taking these types of advantages. Loretta chalked up one more positive mark in favor of liberation from confining clothing. Why should women be excluded from savoring such exquisite sensations?
Loretta didn’t know how long the kiss lasted. It was far too long—and not nearly long enough. She only realized it was over when her feet landed on William Tillinghurst’s drive with such force that her teeth clacked together. Obviously, she’d been dangling from Malachai Quarles’ strong arms.
She said, “Ow,” rather breathlessly. Then she blinked, and realized she still wore her eyeglasses. Good heavens, the man had kissed her even though she wore spectacles! How utterly fascinating.
Her senses recovered slowly, although it probably didn’t take them as long as it felt. Her state of confusion was considerable. After several bewildered seconds, Loretta realized that Malachai had turned his back to her and jammed his hands into his pockets. He had a very broad back. She shoved her glasses up her nose with an unsteady finger and didn’t know what to say.
If she were the daughter her mother wished she was, she’d slap Malachai’s face. She’d have to find it first, of course, but she supposed that’s what a lady would do.
Thank the good Lord, she was no lady. That didn’t help her think of anything to say. She should probably be nonchalant about the kiss. After all, she approved of free love, and that included kissing, didn’t it?
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