by Lisa Plumley
“Let him go, Judah. I’ll handle this.”
Judah’s gaze shifted to meet hers. “Go inside, ma’am.”
“I’ll stay right here.” Deliberately, Rosamond moved her gaze to her former employer—to her attacker. “I’m done hiding.”
Bouchard seemed incongruously delighted. “Rosie!”
Judah gave him a rough shake. He sputtered into silence.
“I mean it, Judah,” Rosamond urged. “Let him go.”
Reluctantly, her security man eased his grip. Freed, Arvid stumbled backward a pace, both hands at his neck. He glared.
“I’ll be the one to tell him.” Rosamond stepped nearer. Her pulse beat hectically in her neck. Her face heated. It felt as if she were walking on water, the whole world unreal and dull.
“Tell me what?” Bouchard sneered, looking her up and down with familiar disdain. “Tell me where my bastard baby is?”
“Tell you to leave.” Calmly, Rosamond drew in another breath. She looked down the street, then at him. “Go away, Mr. Bouchard. I want you to leave me alone and never come back.”
He laughed, plainly disbelieving. He shifted his attention to Judah, ready to share that disbelief with him. Whatever Bouchard saw in Judah’s face made his affability die quickly.
He was afraid of Judah. Now that the crisis she’d feared had arrived, her protector had come through for her.
Nonetheless, Rosamond had to do this on her own. She had to make Bouchard leave on her own.
“You can’t tell me what to do.” Glancing around uncertainly, Arvid shifted. “You’re a housemaid.”
“I was a housemaid,” Rosamond agreed, feeling her courage grow with every moment she held her ground. Bouchard was just a man, she saw. Just a pathetic, bullying man. Stripped of his Boston influence, he had no hold over her or anyone else here. And he’d cost her too much happiness already. “I was a housemaid who knew a great deal about Mrs. Bouchard and her fortune.”
Arvid blanched. “You can’t know about that.”
“Can’t I?” Rosamond raised her eyebrow. She’d been too afraid—too helpless and too stuck—to use this knowledge before now. Today, she had no qualms about speaking out. “Can’t I know that your wife holds the purse strings over you? I guess you’ll find out if that’s true, once my telegram reaches Genevieve.”
“You can’t call her that! She’s your mistress!”
“She’s my secondary plan.” Rosamond crossed her arms. Her trembling had gone. “It’s my belief that a woman should always have one. Your wife is mine.” While Judah and Arvid boggled at their encounter, Rosamond continued. “What do you think Genevieve would say if she knew you were here, following me?”
Bouchard gulped. “I’m not following you,” he blustered.
“It looks as if you’re a lovesick fool. Over a housemaid.” Rosamond gave a headshake. “Just the way Genevieve feared.”
“No. I’m merely making a stop during my business travels.”
“Is that what you told her? That you were called to travel westward on business?” Rosamond gave an unpleasant laugh. “Your wife was coldhearted enough to sell me to an evil man. Do you truly believe that she’s deceived by you? That she’ll be at all forgiving when she knows the truth?”
Arvid changed tactics. “I only want what’s mine. The baby—”
“There is no baby.”
“But I—” His shifty gaze moved to Judah. “But you—”
“There is no baby. I know Genevieve believed there was going to be one. That’s why she was so desperate to make me leave.” Rosamond wasn’t quite credulous enough to feel sorry for the woman. All the same, she tried to sound contrite. “Poor Mrs. Bouchard. Do you think she’s concerned about babies because she’s never been able to have one of her own?”
Bouchard gawked. He frowned. He took a step back.
Clearly, he hadn’t been prepared for this—for the extent of knowledge that the women and men in service sometimes gleaned about their employers. For the possibility of being stood up to.
He hadn’t been prepared for her.
The realization gave Rosamond a new burst of strength.
“I know you’d both like an heir,” she went on, “but you won’t be finagling one from me.” She gave Bouchard an icy look. “Maybe the problem isn’t with Genevieve, the way you’ve browbeaten her into believing. Maybe the problem is with you.”
Bouchard held up his hands. Fearfully, he looked at Judah.
“Maybe the problem is your inability to father a child,” Rosamond pushed on starkly, just the way she’d imagined doing so many times. The reality of it surpassed her most rancorous expectations. She wasn’t proud of that, either. But she was unafraid. “I think Mrs. Bouchard would like to know about that.”
“You can’t.” Arvid shook his head. “You wouldn’t.”
“I’ve already written the telegram.”
“I won’t let you send it!”
Judah stepped up. Ominously. “Now, that’s a threat. I heard it plain as day.” He glared. “You’ll want to shut your mouth.”
“It’s all right, Judah.” Rosamond tugged his arm, urging him to back away. “I’m not afraid.” She looked directly at Bouchard. “There’s nothing he can do to me. Nothing at all.”
Bouchard darted his gaze sideways. He drew himself up.
He still seemed pitiful. He was caught. He knew it.
“Please don’t tell Mrs. Bouchard I came here,” he pleaded. “Don’t tell her about me. Don’t tell her there’s no baby! If she thinks I can’t father a child, she’ll cut off my money.”
Rosamond angled her head, listening carefully to him. “I never in my life thought I’d hear you beg me for something.”
“I am begging! I am! I’ll give you anything you want.”
“I’d have thought the sound would be sweeter.” She still felt sick. But now she felt…liberated, too. “It’s not.”
“That’s because you’re a good person,” Judah put in loyally. He aimed a threatening look at Bouchard. “Isn’t she?”
“Yes!” her former employer yelped, perspiring. “Please don’t ruin me. I swear I’ll give you anything you ask for. A reference, a new position, money of your own. Just name it.”
“I don’t want anything from you,” Rosamond said coldly.
Arvid appeared visibly relieved.
“Except an apology,” she went on. “An apology for every time you hurt me. Every time you demeaned me. Every time you made me feel I was less than human because you were stronger.”
Arvid Bouchard opened his mouth, obviously distraught.
“He wasn’t stronger,” a man said from nearby. “Not ever.”
Rosamond looked. Miles. He came striding from the street beyond, tall and terrifying, obviously having heard everything.
“You were always stronger, Rosamond,” he said. “Always.”
Miles reached for her hand. Rosamond couldn’t believe he dared. Not now. Not after this. She held herself apart from him.
“I’m sorry!” Bouchard cried, his apology bursting forth with weaselly insistence. “I’m sorry, Rosamond. I’m sorry.”
He backed away, aiming a skittish glance at…unbelievably, she saw, at her. Not at Miles, the way she’d expected. Not at Judah. Arvid Bouchard, her longtime tormentor, was afraid of his former housemaid. Arvid Bouchard was afraid of her.
“I’m sorry!” Bouchard cried one more time. “You’ll never see me again. Just don’t send that telegram!”
Rosamond hesitated, then gave a terse nod. He hurried away.
Standing between Judah and Miles, Rosamond watched him go. She knew, dimly, that seeing Arvid Bouchard run away from her should have been one of the most victorious moments of her life.
Instead, Rosamond learned, it was merely…final. And it was sad. Because even though she could now make Mr. Bouchard cower with a well-placed threat to his treasured bank account, she could never get back everything he’d stolen from her.
Beginning a
nd ending, she knew as she stood there feeling alone and unwantedly wise, with her trust in Miles. That was gone forever now, and she didn’t know how she could regain it.
*
Grimly, Miles watched Arvid Bouchard hightail it down the street outside Rosamond’s house. Bouchard cast a swift glance over his shoulder. He glimpsed Miles, Judah and—most important—Rosamond. He broke into an undignified trot, suit coat flapping in the breeze, then vanished around the corner.
Aptly impressed, Miles turned to Rosamond. “You did it. You faced him. And you’re all right. I’m so proud of you, Rose.”
Her profile looked stony as she watched Bouchard go.
It remained flinty as she turned to look at Miles.
“I want you to leave, too,” she said.
He was sure he couldn’t have heard her correctly.
“Leave? Why?” Miles looked at Judah for confirmation, but the big man didn’t meet his gaze. “I got here as fast as I could,” Miles objected. “As soon as I realized Bouchard was—”
He broke off, belatedly remembering that there should have been reinforcements here with Bouchard. According to Seth, he’d brought along several of his thugs. Where were they?
That problem could wait, Miles decided.
Right now, the important thing was Rose’s triumph.
“You were magnificent.” Meaning it, Miles stepped nearer to her. “The way you faced down Bouchard…it was remarkable.”
“I’m not proud of it. It was necessary.” Finally, Rosamond met his gaze. Her eyes were shiny with unshed tears. “So is this.”
“So is what?” Damnation, but she was upset. Too upset, he reckoned, to make sense of just then. “I came to help you.”
“I don’t need your help. I don’t need you.”
“What?” He had to be having some sort of awful nightmare. Had he fallen on the way to save Rosamond? Had he gotten bashed in the head again? Drugged, like before? “Yes, you do. You do.”
“No, I don’t.” With her voice shaking, Rosamond drew in a breath. She gave him a devastating look. “Don’t you think I know how Arvid Bouchard found me? Don’t you think I know it must have been you who led him here? You who betrayed me?”
Oh, no. “No, Rose. Wait. You don’t understand.”
She shook her head. “I wish I didn’t.”
“I never told Bouchard anything!” Miles protested. “I was supposed to tell him. I promised to tell him, but I—”
“With you, I guess promises come cheap.”
“—I didn’t. I swear, I didn’t. I tried to make him stay away!” Desperately, Miles reached for her hand. She snatched it away before he could touch her—before he could make her understand. “Yes, I should have told you how I got here. I should have told you how I got that money. I should have told you everything,” Miles admitted, full of anguish and the need to explain—no matter how tardy his explanation might be. “But things were going so well between us! I thought—”
“They were going well. I thought so, too.” She lifted her head. One of those tears trailed down her cheek, doing its utmost to break his heart. “Now…they’re over.”
“Over? No.” With new urgency, Miles tried to clarify things. He told her about the breakthrough he’d had when Genevieve Bouchard had boasted with her friends about her devious agreement with Elijah Dancy—about the desperation he’d felt by the time Arvid had offered to finance Miles’s eventual search for Rosamond. “There was no other way to find you!” he insisted. “Don’t you see? I had to do it. I had to find you.”
She had to see the love that had driven him there. She had to. Miles clenched his hands, watching her, praying she would.
“I understand.” Rosamond met his gaze unflinchingly. Directly. Sympathetically enough to give him foolhardy hope. Then she crushed that hope forever. “I understand that you wanted to find me,” Rosamond agreed. “I only wish you hadn’t.”
Her words were a knife to his heart. “That’s not true.”
“If it wasn’t, I wouldn’t say it. Unlike you, I only say what I mean.” She lifted her skirts. She gave him a ladylike curtsy. “Goodbye, Mr. Callaway. Please don’t bother me again.”
Surprising him one last, cruel time, Rosamond turned away. She went through the gate with Judah hovering protectively at her elbow. Back straight, she trod up the walk. She went inside her flower-bedecked stronghold. She didn’t once look back.
That was because Rosamond McGrath Dancy was strong, Miles realized then. He’d been wrong before, when he’d told himself he was stronger. She was the stronger of the two of them. Rosamond was strong enough and brave enough to accept nothing less than total respect and compliance from the men who’d hurt her.
Both of them.
Heartsick and broken, Miles turned away, too.
He’d tried and he’d failed. From here on, there was nothing left for him. Not a new beginning. Not a second chance. Nothing.
Nothing, that is…except Bouchard’s men.
They were waiting for Miles as he left the busy street and entered the livery stable, quiet now at the end of business.
“We’re here to collect Mr. Bouchard’s money,” one said.
Miles raised his arms in defeat. “I don’t have it.”
“He won’t be happy to hear that.”
Aggressively, they surrounded him. Miles didn’t care.
“I spent it all on love,” he told them. “On making sure love kept going.”
He had, too. Just two days ago. He was glad of it.
One of Bouchard’s thugs hesitated. He swore, then aimed a disgruntled look at their ringleader. “We can’t hit him. He’s backward. Bouchard didn’t tell us he wasn’t right in the head.”
A grunt. “Bouchard wouldn’t have cared.”
They all came closer. Two of them held knives.
“Give us the damn money,” the biggest of the knifemen said. “All of it. Now.”
Miles shook his head. Crazy with despair, he smiled.
“I guess you’ll just have to beat it out of me,” he told them in a low voice. “Go ahead and try. I dare you.”
Chapter Fourteen
Sitting in her parlor, surrounded by her bookshelves and her fine furnishings and the ordinarily useful accoutrements of her life as the proprietress of Morrow Creek’s most successful marriage bureau, Rosamond could do nothing except feel glum.
These days, she could find love for anyone she might meet, Rosamond knew. She could pair up grizzled miners and warmhearted widows, stoical lumbermen and fresh-faced suffragettes, brawny wheelwrights and prickly spinsters. She could host soirees and schedule literary meetings. She could recognize that the only thing that truly bound together anyone in the world was true and lasting love…and still be incapable of finding it for herself.
Ironically, with Miles gone, none of her usual activities seemed to matter—especially not the ones that involved romance. Rosamond didn’t have the heart to feel bitter or angry. All she felt was sad. All she knew was an overriding determination to turn away from the world—to make sure that nothing touched her.
She was back in her sanctuary, with all its protections—and its loneliness—still safely intact. Just the way she’d left it.
As though sensing her gloomy mood, Riley whined. The puppy wriggled in her arms, wanting to get free. Rosamond had carried her here to the parlor, hoping for comfort. It hadn’t worked.
Even her devoted pet wanted to get away from her.
Sighing, she set down the puppy. It shook its little furry body, then trotted toward the doorway. It skidded to a stop.
It spotted Bonita Yates coming in and scampered to be held.
Improbably, Rosamond knew, Riley loved Bonita the best of everyone in the household. It was as if the puppy felt irredeemably drawn to the one person who was least likely to cuddle and nurture her. Even now, tail wagging with canine eagerness, Riley yipped for Bonita’s attention.
Bonita glanced downward. “Humph. The last thing I need is an over
excited puppy. Can’t she tell I don’t have time for this?”
Rosamond suppressed her first smile of the week. “Evidently not. Riley leaped straight from my arms to get to yours.”
Her friend’s curmudgeonly gaze shifted to Rosamond, filled with suspicion. “Have you sewn meat scraps into my dress hem?”
“Not me. I can’t be bothered to lift a needle.”
“I can’t figure out why this creature likes pestering me.”
Rosamond could only lift one shoulder in a shrug. “What can I say? Some of us just can’t learn to leave well enough alone.”
“Some of us can’t learn that being bright-eyed and bushy-tailed only leads to trouble.” All the same, Bonita scooped up Riley in her arms. As she looked at the joy-filled puppy, a reluctant smile quirked her lips. “Sometimes it takes a while for the trouble to kick in,” she alleged, “but it always shows up.”
Rosamond agreed. “How do you think I feel? My own puppy isn’t loyal enough to stay by my side in my hour of need.”
“Aw.” Bonita gave her a sympathetic look. “Still feeling poorly?” She nodded at Rosamond’s nearby account book, abandoned on the table. “Did you get some work done at least?”
Rosamond shook her head. “I don’t have the heart.”
What was the point anyway? Nothing she did would ever amount to anything, Rosamond knew. Not in the state she was in.
Worst of all, it was all because she missed Miles.
Stupidly and irredeemably, she missed the man who’d betrayed her. Wasn’t that worse, when she thought about it, than being hurt in the first place? For this regretful feeling—for being tied up in knots now—Rosamond had only herself to blame.
She was the one who’d naively trusted Miles in the first place. She, of all people, should have known better.
She didn’t know how she could forgive herself for giving in.
“It might make you feel better to work.” Bonita sat on a nearby chair, absentmindedly petting Riley. “Why don’t you try?”
“You seem awfully eager to watch me tally accounts and moan over not having enough income.” Rosamond frowned. “What’s going on?”