Charity House Courtship (Love Inspired Historical)

by Renee Ryan

  “Ah. Does Mr. Dupree know how you feel?”

  “Who says I’m talking about Marc?”

  Katherine waved her hand in the air. “You’ve been in love with him since the first night you two met. So, have you told him?”

  “No.”

  “What are you waiting for?”

  “I...don’t know.” For the first time in her life, Laney couldn’t handle a situation alone. And the only person who could help her, the person who could give her the answers she needed, was Marc, the very person who could cause her the most pain.

  Closing her eyes, she fought off a wave of trepidation. “What am I going to do?”

  A minor commotion at the gate had Katherine rising to her feet. “Looks like you get to find out.”

  The very object of their discussion called out a greeting as he released the latch and entered the front yard. Looking carefree and happy, Marc set a large wooden crate down by his feet. “Anybody want some fruit?”

  Laney’s eyes connected with his. All the emotion of the night before came rushing back. Right then, right there, she gave up the fight, gave up pretending this man wasn’t important to her. That he didn’t hold her heart in his hands.

  “Laney? Are you all right?”

  “I forgot about the fruit.” Forcing a delighted smile on her face, she climbed hastily to her feet.

  Marc started forward, a jaunty gleam in his eyes. “Guess you had too much on your mind last night. My wit and stellar conversational skills made you scattered. I do that to women.”

  She took to the game as though the banter could make her forget the other, more dangerous emotions brewing just below the surface. “Oh, sure. As far as you know.”

  He drew up next to her. “Good morning, Laney.”

  “Good morning, Marc.”

  His eyes swam with all the words she needed to hear but he had yet to say to her.

  A crash came from somewhere inside the house.

  They jumped apart in tandem. Marc was the first to recover. Amusement dancing in his eyes, he pointed to the crate at his feet. “Where should I put this?”

  Peering inside the box, she let out a happy laugh. He’d really brought fresh fruit for the children. She couldn’t think of a better treat or, with money tight right now, a more thoughtful gift.

  “Katherine, look what Marc Dupree brought us.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  After introducing Marc to Mrs. Smythe, their sometimes housekeeper, Laney left the fruit in her care then directed Marc on to the porch.

  She clasped her hand over his and looked into his eyes. “The children are in for a real treat tonight at supper. Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” He angled his head, studied her face a moment, then frowned. “You still look tired.”

  “I am, a bit. But not as much as yesterday. My unexpected nap and early night helped.”

  “I’m glad.”

  Silence fell over them. As the moment turned into two, and then three, they continued to stare at one another. So much had been left unsaid between them last night. And yet, now that the time had come, Laney couldn’t find the words to start the conversation that would be the beginning of their future.

  She wanted to be a part of Marc’s life, and he a part of hers, but she didn’t know what that meant. Or how her days would change with him in them.

  She’d always been on her own. She only knew how to rely on herself and her limited resources. With sheer grit and determination, she’d carved out a place for her and the children in a world that didn’t want to make room for them.

  Could she change so drastically? Could she open her heart and life to a man? To this man?

  Did she dare take that leap of faith?

  Faith is being sure of what we hope for and certain of what we do not see.

  So easy to recite in her mind. So hard to put into practice.

  As if understanding her worries, Marc’s features turned compassionate, intense. “There’s so much I want to say to you I don’t know where to begin.”

  He’d spoken her thoughts aloud. Were they that connected? Yes. Yes, they were. “I know exactly what you mean.”

  He blew out a puff of air. “I’m not a man of pretty words.”

  “I don’t need pretty words.”

  “Yes, you do. And I need to say them.” In a single swoop he crushed her against his chest. “Maybe I should start with an apology.”

  Wrapping her arms around his waist, she rested her cheek on his shoulder. “You’ve already apologized.”

  “It’s not enough. It’ll never be enough. Not after the way I treated you the first time we met and the next and then the next.”

  He wasn’t the only one with regrets. “I guess we both have some things to atone for.”

  Little worried lines appeared between his sharply arched brows. “Is it too late, then?”

  “I don’t know. But I’m willing to find out.”

  “Me, too.” His mood turned even more serious. “Come back to the hotel with me. I want to be alone with you, to say the words you deserve to hear without anyone overhearing or misinterpreting.”

  “I’d like that. Just let me make sure everything is taken care of here and retrieve my uniform for later.” She tossed him a smile over her shoulder. “I won’t be long.”

  “Take your time. I’m not going anywhere.”

  Less than an hour later, Laney followed Marc into his office. Emotion clogged her ability to speak as he nudged her forward then struck the lock in place.

  She turned to face him.

  A slow smile eased onto his lips. “You look a little shaky.”

  “I am.”

  His eyes proclaimed his love as he opened his arms wide. “Come here.”

  Without hesitation, she wrapped herself in his embrace. As she looked into his gaze, her stomach knotted. “Oh, Marc.”

  He kissed her then. But after only a moment, he pulled back and put distance between them. “What you do to me, Laney.”

  “I think it’s what we do to each other that could prove a problem.”

  She saw the struggle in his gaze, wondered at it. “You look so serious.”

  He grasped her shoulders and placed her at arm’s length. “I’m trying to tell you how I feel.”

  She smiled. “Yes?”

  “Stop looking at me like that.” He practically growled the words.

  “Well, that’s a nice, snarly declaration.” She planted her hands on her hips. “You really weren’t kidding when you said you weren’t a man of pretty words. You’re far more likeable when you aren’t talking.”

  His smile turned deliciously roguish. “Well then, no more talking.”

  He stepped toward her.

  She edged slightly out of reach.

  “Now you’re just being difficult,” he said.

  “Careful, you silver-tongued brute, my heart can’t take much more of this tender affection from you.”

  He laughed, reached for her again but she shifted to the left this time.

  He tried again. Missed again. Growled. “Would you let me catch you?”

  She edged closer, then dodged to her right.

  “Laney, Laney.” He threw his head back and laughed. “How I love you.”

  The air hissed out of her lungs in a single whoosh. “What did you just say?”

  “I. Love. You.” He crooked his finger. “If you come over here I’ll say it again, maybe put a little more feeling into it.”

  She walked straight into his embrace and smiled up at him. “I love you, too. You big brute.”

  The affectionate, lopsided grin on his face said more than words. She’d been right. He was far more likable when he wasn’t talking.

  * * *

  Hours later, her shift only half over, Laney peeked inside Marc’s office. “Hank told me you wanted to see me.”

  He swiveled in his chair and smiled into her sparkling eyes, dazzled all over again. Would he ever get tired of looking at her? “You ready
for me to take you home?”

  She aimed a sleepy grin at him. “More than ready, but I still have another hour left on my shift.”

  “I’d rather take you home now.”

  “No, Marc. No. I still have a debt to pay, and time is running out.”

  He’d like to wrap his hands around Prescott’s throat. In fact, the idea had such merit he decided to make a trip to the bank in the morning. In the meantime... “I could always give you an advance on your wages.”

  “No.”

  Why had he expected a different answer? “The independent woman to the end.”

  She glided over to him. “You either take me as I am or not at all.”

  Marc rose and pulled her into his arms. “Are those my only choices?”

  “I wish I could think of something insulting to say to you, but I’m too happy to work up enough lather.”

  “And here I was looking forward to that sharp tongue of yours.” He kissed her on the nose, then buried his face in her hair. “Did I ever tell you I love the smell of you?”

  “No.”

  “How about the sound of your voice?”

  She laughed. “Not that either.”

  He kissed her jaw.

  She sighed. “Marc?”

  He wrapped a piece of her hair around his finger. “Hmm?”

  “I have to ask you something.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Do you...do you think I’m like my mother?” she blurted out.

  Marc stilled. Something in Laney’s tone alerted him that she was upset, worried. He shook his head, trying to remember what they’d been talking about, but he couldn’t. Giving up, he let go of her hair and stepped back. “What did you just ask me?”

  “Do you think I’m like my mother?” With each clipped word, her jaw clenched tighter.

  Confusion knit his eyebrows together. “Why would I think that? I never knew your mother.”

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  Marc threaded his fingers through his hair. Slowly, understanding dawned. The fear laced inside her question came straight from her childhood.

  How could he have been so thickheaded? So intent on kissing her, he’d completely forgotten where she came from, and the fears that accompanied a past such as hers.

  He concentrated on alleviating her worries with the truth. “Laney, honey, I don’t think you’re like your mother.”

  She lowered her lashes, a tremble slicing through her calm. “But we’ve kissed. A lot.”

  “Yes, that’s right. And there will be many more times to come, if I have my say.”

  Her gaze shot up, undisguised panic pouring into her eyes. “You, you don’t think I plan to keep kissing you, that is, I don’t think I can keep—not that I wouldn’t want to—but... We, you, me. Oh, Lord, I’m really spoiling this, aren’t I?”

  Marc smiled, his heart filling with affection for her.

  He took her hands in his, determined to pledge his life to her. “Ah, honey, stop worrying. I love you. Not your mother, or where you came from, but you.”

  She took a shaky breath. “You mean my pedigree, or lack thereof, doesn’t matter to you?”

  “Of course not.” So that’s what was bothering her. “Let me tell you a little story and then maybe you’ll understand.”

  He tucked her into a chair and told her about his life in Louisiana after the war, the burning of his home, the scrimping for food, the poverty. Even the humiliation.

  Her eyes widened with each portion of his tale. When he finished, she rushed to him, pulling him into her embrace.

  “I didn’t know, Marc. You’ve always seemed to leak wealth, straight out of your fancy, expensive clothes. You’re so confident, so...rich.” She shook her head, as though still unable to grasp the details of his story. “And all this time you were warring with those kinds of memories.”

  He rested in the circle of her arms, stroking her hair as she leaned her head against his shoulder. For a moment, he wasn’t sure who was comforting whom.

  “I’ve worked hard to regain the wealth that was taken from me.” He let out a short laugh. “Funny, isn’t it? You want nothing of the life you led as a child, and I want every bit of mine back.”

  “Marc,” she paused, thought for a moment. “I’m not sure how to say this so I’m just going to say it. The pursuit of money and worldly things can be dangerous to your soul.”

  He didn’t argue. He wasn’t that much of a hypocrite. “Perhaps you’re right, in some circumstances. But money can also serve the greater good, such as, oh say, starting orphanages or paying off loans called in too soon.”

  “I didn’t say money wasn’t important.” She cupped her hands along his face. “But why accumulate wealth if all you plan to do with it is hoard it away, or use it only for yourself?”

  “You sound like Trey.”

  Her lips spread into a self-deprecating grin. “I suddenly like that man.”

  “Laney, I told you the story of my past so you would understand. I’ll never be poor again.”

  As he said the words he realized how shallow they sounded, how self-centered.

  Needing a moment to think, he pulled out of her embrace and sat in his chair. He rubbed his palms against his thighs, and shuddered. His preconceived notions of who he was and what he wanted out life were tumbling around him at rapid speed.

  All this time, he’d thought he’d be less of a man if he didn’t have the wealth and success taken from him all those years ago. But this woman, as she stood calmly staring at him, gave him a glimpse of something deeper than wealth. Something stronger and longer lasting.

  Something eternal.

  “You’re right.”

  “I know.” She softened her words by smiling very patiently at him, as if he were one of her children who’d just learned a very important lesson the hard way.

  She was good for him, made him want to be a better man. Was it any wonder he loved her?

  Smiling, he rose and went to her. But just as he pulled her into his arms a loud knock on the door jolted him back a step.

  Without waiting for an answer, Hank shoved inside the office. The sound of chaos and high-pitched shrieking trailed behind him.

  “Hank? What’s wrong?”

  “Mr. Dupree, you need to come quick. We...you...have a problem.” Hank’s gaze darted to Laney, broke back to Marc just as quickly. “A real bad one.”

  “I’ll be right there.”

  “Hurry, boss.”

  Marc tossed Laney an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, honey. I have to take care of this.”

  She touched his arm. “Go on.”

  A jolt of foreboding had him clutching her to him. “Wait for me.”

  “Take your time. I’m not going anywhere.”

  The same words he’d said to her just this morning at her home. Holding her tightly against him a moment longer, Marc couldn’t shake the feeling of loss stealing his breath, as though he’d never again enjoy this easy, open affection with her after tonight.

  He buried his face in her hair, breathed in deeply. “I’ll be right back.”

  Striding into the hotel lobby, the heightened level of noise hit him like a physical blow. His hotel had never seen such chaos. And all from the ranting of a small, emaciated blonde woman throwing anything she could get her hands on.

  With her back to him, Marc couldn’t see her face but her shrieking was impossible to ignore. A part of him recognized the voice, another part refused to accept what he heard.

  He shot Hank a swift glance. Even as the man’s pinched expression warned Marc what he would see once the woman turned around, he denied the truth in his mind.

  The slurred words of the small human hurricane spoke of too much drink or too much laudanum, or perhaps both.

  “Where’s my husband?” the woman demanded, picking up a handful of theater flyers and flinging them in her rage. “I know he’s here.”

  Hank circled to the front of the woman while Marc moved in from behind,
his gut churning with dread.

  “Well? Where is he?”

  Dear Lord, it couldn’t be. God just couldn’t be this cruel, not when Marc had found happiness at last.

  “I know this is his hotel,” the woman said, and a little more of Marc’s world came crashing down around him.

  She kicked over a chair, grabbed an empty glass off an end table. “I want to speak to Marc Dupree, now.”

  “I’m right behind you.”

  She swung around, the glass forgotten as it slipped through her fingers.

  “Marc, darling.” The purr in her tone sounded more like a croak. “Aren’t you going to greet me properly?”

  When he didn’t move, she reached up and yanked him to her.

  He stiffened, fighting the urge to fling her away from him.

  The impossible had happened. Pearl LaRue had risen from the dead.

  Chapter Nineteen

  As Marc stared at his wife, one thought swept though his mind. The years had been unkind to her. She looked harder, paler, more calculating and a little desperate. Though she’d changed much since he’d seen her last, one thing had remained the same. Pearl hadn’t lost the use of her acid tongue.

  Spewing out a litany of foul words, she reached up to slap him, lost her footing and tumbled to the floor. From a tangle of legs and skirts, she glared up at him. “You could have helped me up.”

  Right, and have her claw his hand to shreds. Pearl had never been a fair fighter, not even in their early days of marriage. “I could.” He folded his arms across his chest. “But I know better.”

  Spitting more curses, she scrambled inelegantly to her feet. After inspecting him from head to toe with a sneer on her lips, she turned and surveyed the hotel. “Well, well. I see nothing can keep Marc Dupree down.”

  “That’s right.” He lowered his tone. “And it seems, dear wife, nothing can keep you dead.”

  “So you’re upset.” She lifted a shoulder, as though she didn’t have a care in the world, but the simpering that crept into her voice belied her calm. “I just knew you’d hold a grudge.”

  Angrier than he’d ever been in his life, he swallowed back the urge to toss her out of his hotel. “Now that you’ve broached the subject, where’s my money?”