by Ann Collins
Despite wanting to know more, she shrugged the question off. She had more important matters to think about, such as her looming deadline and how to convince this drifter to stand before a minister with her, say “I do,” and then leave. Whatever prior relationship he had with Mrs. Hensley made no difference to her. He would soon be gone.
Muffie whined.
“I can’t recall either,” the matron said to her dog. “Perhaps after a proper night’s rest I’ll remember. Let’s go back to our room and dress for dinner, shall we?”
Muffie yipped, and Mrs. Hensley carried her “baby” to the gilded birdcage elevator. Julia noticed Alex watching the matron out of the corner of his eye. The elevator boy clanged the door shut and whisked his charges upward.
Chalmers shoved a key across the desk at Alex. “Enjoy your stay,” he bit out.
“Thanks,” he said, obviously preoccupied as he took the key. The clerk’s blatantly rude behavior did not seem to affect him in the least.
Julia, however, could not let it go. She leaned across the desk and crooked her finger at her ill-mannered clerk.
His gaze flicked around the lobby, then he slowly bent toward her.
“Mr. Chalmers,” she said, keeping her voice low, “if you wish to remain in my employ, you will change your attitude right now. I expect you to treat everyone who steps up to this desk with the utmost respect. That includes Mr. MacLean. Do you understand?”
He swallowed so hard his throat seemed to convulse. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Good.” She straightened and turned to Alex, intent on checking off the next item of business on her mental list—her proposal of marriage.
But he was gone.
She whipped around. Thankfully, he had only gotten halfway to the bell desk, where Theo stood with his bag. She hurried after him.
“Mr. MacLean, please wait. There’s something I wish to discuss with you.”
He didn’t stop.
“Mademoiselle Fairbanks!” her maitre d’ called out from across the lobby. “I have need of you in the dining room. Tout de suite! Immediately.”
She held up her hand to put the Frenchman off. Jacques Levesque’s devotion to his job was exceptional, but anything to do with that job was an emergency to him, even if it was nothing more than having her check the spelling of the chef’s specials on the menu. She focused her attention on Alex. When the grandfather clock on the stairway landing chimed six, she inwardly moaned as her deadline loomed ever closer.
At the bell desk’s podium, Alex retrieved his bag from Theo and pressed a coin into the bellboy’s palm. Theo tried to give it back, but he refused to take it.
Julia was touched by the generosity she doubted her guest and savior could afford. “Mr. MacLean,” she said, coming up beside him, “I would like to speak with you.”
He shifted his bag to his other hand.
“Mademoiselle!” Jacques, dressed in his black tailcoat, inserted himself between her and Alex and glowered down his beaked nose at her.
She reined in her irritation and impatience. “Jacques, is someone injured in the kitchen?”
“Non, but—”
“Is the dining room on fire?”
“Non, non, nothing like that,” he answered, his accent pronounced.
“Then please wait for a moment.”
Like a spoiled child in a snit, his mouth puckered prominently.
Theo scooted up to him and took his arm. “Why don’t you come with me? Tell me all about it.”
To her relief, he guided the Frenchman away. However, her thoughts were a scattered mess, like grains of sand being carried by the wind. She needed to approach Alex carefully, laying out her proposition just so. He would see the benefits to himself and ultimately, hopefully, agree to help her.
“Mr. MacLean, what I wish to discuss with you is important, but, as you can see”—she waved in Jacques’ direction—“I have duties to attend to. Will you please dine with me this evening? The dinner service begins in less than an hour. We’ll be able to talk more readily then.”
He hesitated. “I don’t think your fiancé would approve.”
“Phillip has no say in the matter, nor is he here to object. I’m asking you to dine with me because … well, I wish to discuss a business proposition with you.”
“Let me guess. You want to hire me as your bodyguard.”
She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. The idea of a bodyguard had not occurred to her. In fact, from the time Phillip’s telegram had arrived, she had barely thought about what her encounter with the flowerpot meant. “Uh.”
“Sure. I’ll meet you here at seven,” he said. “Or shall I come to your rooms? You’d be safer that way. I assume you live on the grounds.”
“I have an apartment on the second floor,” she said, imagining Alex coming to her door like a suitor. But he was not her suitor. Nor was he thinking like one. He was, once again, trying to protect her. The warmth she’d felt while in his arms returned. She struggled to douse it. “I’ll meet you here, in the lobby. Seven o’clock.”
“As you wish. Until then, be careful.” He tipped his head to her and strolled away, leaving her more uneasy than ever. Her pulse scudded along. She glanced around the lobby for anyone who might be watching her, who might be looking for his next opportunity to harm her.
Everyone seemed to be looking at her, and Julia hurried after Theo and Jacques.
Chapter Four
Alex waited in the Rotunda, eager to see Julia again even though he knew what he was feeling for her could go nowhere. He should have declined her invitation to dinner, but she needed a bodyguard, and he was available, unable to work at his trade. He didn’t expect the job to last long, though. Her fiancé would likely take over the responsibility for her safety.
Tugging at the high collar of his single dress shirt, Alex tried to stretch another sixteenth of an inch of space into the neck. His wrinkled, faded, charcoal-gray jacket pulled across his chest, back, and upper arms. In Baltimore, before he developed a laborer’s muscles, the suit had fit perfectly. His tailor would cringe to see it now.
He tried to ignore the sideways looks cast his way. The other guests, turned out in their finest evening clothes, were filing past him into the Crown Room.
He forgot about them the moment he saw Julia.
She descended the stairs as gracefully as any debutante, her dress a confection of pale pink satin. Her face was radiant under the electric lights. He would’ve whistled if he could, but she had stolen his breath away.
Her hair was pinned atop her head, with loose, curling locks dangling the length of her neck. Each tendril shimmered and bobbed with her steps. Alex would have liked to touch her hair, feel its softness. He lowered his gaze to her bodice, and a different kind of softness tempted him. The bodice was molded to her breasts, and though it revealed only a modest amount of her ivory flesh, his mouth went dry. His feet felt cemented to the floor, as if they had become part of the foundation.
He wanted her. It was that simple. But she wasn’t his for the taking, and somehow he had to tamp down this desire he felt for her. She needed his help until her fiancé arrived. Where the hell was Phillip Williamson anyway?
Julia approached, smiling warmly, but the closer she came, the more stilted her steps appeared. Alex saw the tension behind her smile. Was she worrying that Phillip would not approve of their meeting for dinner? Her gaze flitted away from him, alighting first on the diminishing line of guests entering the dining room, then on the night bellboy, and ending with the quiet registration desk, where another clerk had replaced the weasel.
Remembering how neatly Julia had dealt with Chalmers earlier, Alex had to admit she was no pushover. He admired her. A woman operating a place like this had to have intelligence, determination, and courage.
She stopped in front of him. Immediately, the alluring scent of orange blossoms surrounded them in a fragrant cocoon, tempting him with thoughts of spring and new life.
“Why, Mr. Mac
Lean, you shaved,” she said amidst the hum of muted conversations and the rustle of elegant skirts.
He rubbed his smooth jaw. “I took Dr. Dolan’s advice and visited the barber.”
“He trimmed your hair, too, I see.”
“A little.” Running his hand over the back of his head, he felt where his hair still covered his collar. “I kind of like it long.”
“You look quite handsome.” She said it with feeling, as if she meant it, but he could not accept the compliment.
“No, I look as ugly as ever. You, however,”—he let out a breath—“are stunningly beautiful.”
A lovely flush moved into her cheeks.
He had always admired and appreciated beauty, be it in nature, the lines of a building, or the face of a woman. His Elizabeth, on their wedding day, had been the most beautiful woman he ever set eyes on. As his bride swept down the aisle on her father’s arm, he’d pinched himself at the altar to ensure he wasn’t dreaming. She had chosen him, Alex MacLean, to be her husband, and he had reveled in his good fortune. At their reception, most of the men had clapped him on the back, reiterating how lucky he was. They hadn’t known the real Elizabeth any better than he had.
“Shall we go in?” Julia asked.
Out of reflex, he offered her his arm.
She took it, placing her gloved hand through the crook of his elbow. Her hand trembled as it touched him. Alex felt shaky himself, but he also felt at ease, not the least bit self-conscious with her. He realized that Julia Fairbanks had a calming influence on his emotions, but a very stirring influence on the rest of him.
Inside the Crown Room, he forced himself to look at the huge room instead of at her. Chandeliers shaped like crowns hung above tables covered with snowy white linens, decoratively folded napkins, shiny silver, and spotless crystal goblets. Conversations vied with music and the clink of silver against china. The heavenly smells of roasted meats and fresh-baked bread emanated from the kitchen. Alex pressed a hand to his rumbling stomach and hoped the string quartet, playing from the dais, covered the growls that announced his hunger.
“What do you think of the room?” she asked, the pride in her voice unmistakable.
He lifted his gaze to the high ceiling. Despite his protesting ribs, he leaned back further to admire and examine the incredible workmanship. “Exceptional. Is that sugar pine?”
“You know your woods, Mr. MacLean. As a carpenter, you’ll also appreciate the fact that there are no nails in the ceiling. The panels are fitted together like a puzzle.”
“Tongue and groove.” He nodded, then peered from one end of the room to the other in awe. “There are no supports. What’re the dimensions?”
She laughed. “My father would have liked you. He never tired of discussing the hotel’s design details with anyone. The Crown Room is sixty-six feet wide and a hundred fifty-six feet long.”
“Impressive.” She impressed him as well. Very few women of his acquaintance had appreciated architectural details the way he did. “Who was the architect?”
“There were three. The Reid brothers from Indiana—James, Merritt, and Watson. If you’d like, I can try to dig out their plans and show them to you.”
“I would like that,” he said, feeling a familiar spark of creative excitement. He had thought that spark long gone. “I’ve come across their work before. They’re known for their railroad stations.”
“Which you have undoubtedly passed through in the course of your travels.”
Her teasing smile was so beguiling Alex felt as if he had just smacked into another hitching post. This was not good. He ought to excuse himself and get back on the road tonight, but he couldn’t tear himself away from her. She made him feel things he had thought he would never feel again.
“Traveling is one way to see what others have done,” he said. “A picture postcard is what first piqued my interest in the Hotel Grand Victoria. The job advertisement gave me a practical reason for coming here.”
“Then I’m thankful for both of those items.” As she peered up at him, a sudden, anxious intensity came into her eyes.
Was she remembering the danger that stalked her? He doubted she was experiencing the same inappropriate feelings for him that he had for her. No woman wanted a man with a face like his.
Abruptly she turned and motioned to the maitre d’, the tall, slim Frenchman who had rudely interrupted them in the lobby earlier. “Good evening, Jacques. Would you have a front window table available for Mr. MacLean and me?”
He gave her a courtly bow, his earlier irritation with her apparently appeased. “But of course, mademoiselle. Follow me, please.” He folded his white-gloved hands over his white satin cummerbund and strolled down one of the aisles.
Alex released her arm and motioned for her to go first. He was relieved they would be seated in a section far from Alberta Hensley. He had spotted her at a table near the string quartet. Just in case she looked over, he kept his face averted so she wouldn’t see his good side and possibly remember him.
Julia strolled the length of the room, smiling and nodding to the guests who looked their way. She was the ultimate hostess and obviously felt at home in her role. The hotel would undoubtedly prosper under her guidance, provided the flowerpot assassin did not make another attempt on her life.
Jacques seated them at a candlelit table where the menu awaited them, then he departed. Outside the window, beyond the carriage drive and down an incline, lights glimmered on the smooth surface of the bay.
Before Alex could bring up the job of bodyguard, a young man in a spotless white apron arrived to fill their goblets with iced water. Next came a red-haired, freckly faced waiter bearing a silver mesh basket of bread buried in white linen. Alex hadn’t experienced this kind of service in, well, just over three and a half years. Though he had not forgotten his manners, his hunger and the yeasty smell of warm bread drove him to excavate a slice while the waiter launched into a description of the chef’s special offerings.
Julia removed her gloves and set them aside, then ordered the prime rib dinner and its accompanying side dishes.
“I’ll have the same,” he said, slathering fresh butter on another slice of bread. He considered ordering a good bottle of wine, a label and vintage he had enjoyed in his former life, but he was afraid he’d enjoy it too much. He needed to keep his wits about him, not only to control his desire for Julia, but to watch over her in case someone took aim again.
“Very good, sir.” The waiter left, and they were finally alone.
Alex set down his butter knife. “My compliments to your baker. I haven’t tasted bread this good in ages.”
“You don’t appear to have eaten in ages either.”
“Breakfast was quite a while ago.” He took another bite.
“I’m sorry.” She looked abashed and needlessly moved one of her forks an eighth of an inch to the left. “I should have offered you something from the kitchen this afternoon.”
“This was worth the wait. Have some.” He pushed the basket closer to her.
“No, thank you. I’ll … wait for dinner.” She lifted her water goblet, but when she put it to her lips for a sip, her hand shook, and she quickly returned the glass to the table.
Alex kept chewing, watching her look everywhere but at him. She clasped her hands like a schoolgirl sitting at her desk, then unclasped them.
“Miss Fairbanks,” he said, brushing the crumbs from his hands and sitting back, trying not to lose himself in the deepening blue of her eyes as they reflected the candlelight, “we might as well get down to business. You need me, and I’m available.”
* * *
She certainly did need him. And it was, indeed, business, though not the business proposition he would be expecting to hear.
As the string quartet finished one melody and started another, Julia hauled in a deep breath. “Mr. MacLean, I am prepared to offer you a generous sum for your assistance.”
“Oh?” He picked up his water goblet.
&nbs
p; “I am able to pay you three thousand dollars.”
His hand stalled halfway to his mouth. “That’s a lot of money for a bodyguard.”
She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “I’m not proposing that you be my bodyguard,” she said as he began to drink. “I’m … proposing marriage.”
He choked on the water, coughing so hard he nearly knocked the goblet over when he plunked it back down.
She winced at the pain his coughing would cause his ribs. “I’m sorry. I should have waited for you to finish drinking.” She ignored the inquiring looks from guests at nearby tables. “Are your ribs all right?”
Grimacing between coughs, he pressed a hand to his back. “Forget my ribs. Did I hear you right? You want me to be your husband?”
“Yes, I do.” She silently groaned at her inadvertent choice of words.
He coughed one last time and cleared his throat. “Miss Fairbanks, you already have a fiancé.”
“Call me Julia, please.” Under the circumstances, it seemed only right that she let him use her given name.
“Talk to me, … Julia.”
“I had a fiancé. The telegram I received was from Phillip. He broke his leg and can’t travel.” Before dressing for dinner, she’d sent him a telegram in care of the hospital in Denver, inquiring after him and offering to pay his medical costs and travel expenses. It was the least she could do.
Alex shook his head. “So instead of waiting until he can travel, you’re throwing him over for me, a man you met only a few hours ago?” He sat back and folded his arms across his chest. “What’s going on, Julia?”
“It’s not something I like to talk about.”
“You can’t propose marriage to a man without explaining the circumstances.”
“You’re right, of course.” She looked toward the lanterns of the boats bobbing gently at anchor in the bay. They calmed her, and she chose her words carefully. “I am trying to save my inheritance, my employees, and myself from an uncertain fate. When my father died suddenly last year, he left a will that stipulated I must marry within six months of his death or lose the hotel. The deadline is midnight Saturday, just over fifty-two hours from now. If I don’t make it, the Hotel Grand Victoria will be sold to the highest bidder. The money will go into a trust fund for any eventual male offspring I may produce. My father wanted a son, you see, a male heir to run the hotel in his place. He failed. A grandson was his next hope.”