Henry began climbing the stairs and was about to pass by the pair when, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Georgie wrench free from the maid’s grasp and take a step on his own. He watched in horror as the stocking-clad foot missed the carpet, and Georgie slipped on the polished wood.
Henry and Bridgett lunged to try and catch him but couldn’t reach him in time.
A sharp cry accompanied the thud at the bottom of the stairs, followed by wails loud enough to bring Henry’s mother rushing into the entrance hall.
“What happened?” she asked, hand at her throat.
Henry didn’t respond but brushed past the frozen Bridget and ran down the stairs. He knelt beside Georgie, his gaze roving quickly over the child’s body. His racing pulse slowed when he saw that, other than a small bit of blood on one knee, he seemed relatively unharmed.
“Let’s get you fixed up,” Henry murmured. He scooped the sobbing boy into his arms and carried him upstairs to the bathroom.
With Georgie propped on one hip, Henry rummaged through the medicine cabinet and pulled out a bandage. He set Georgie on the marble floor, sat next to him, and reached for his wounded leg. When the boy cried out and tried to jerk away from him, he had to force himself to remain unyielding. He bandaged the knee as gently as possible, and, once he finished, Georgie crawled into his lap.
After a thorough soaking of Henry’s serge coat, Georgie raised his tear-streaked cheeks and drew in a great, shuddering breath. Then he turned and held one finger out to Henry’s mother, who had followed them and now stood framed in the doorway, face gray and eyes stricken.
“Ouch,” he said.
She backed away from him but paused to give Henry a reproachful look. “The child has a splinter.”
“I didn’t give it to him,” he snapped.
Her lips pursed. “Just be sure you tend to it.”
Henry heard it in her voice, saw it in her eyes. She was terrified, had been petrified at the thought of something happening to Georgie.
So had he.
When did it happen, this change of heart? Had it occurred over time or in an instant—a terrible moment of watching a small boy plummet down a flight of stairs? All Henry knew was that he no longer regarded Georgie as a reminder of something abhorrent. The dimpled lad, with his angelic hair and stubborn chin, was a Baxter.
Accepting a baby born out of wedlock went against age-old prejudices for Henry. Doubtless it was even worse for his mother. She probably grieved anew every time she saw her beloved Jackson’s eyes gazing up at her from that illegitimate face.
But it would seem she’s finally succumbing to his charms, too.
The sleigh stopped before Alice’s driveway, and the coachman helped her alight. Katie leaned out and waved good-bye. Once the sleigh started again, she flopped against the velvet seat with a sigh.
The opera had been lovely. But she’d missed putting Georgie to bed tonight. Nearly a year had passed since her arrival in Denver, and she still hated leaving him in Miss Oliver’s care. In a useless attempt to please Margaret, she’d faithfully attended teas, receptions, balls, and numerous literary luncheons and charities, hosted by Denver’s exclusive Fortnightly Club.
Georgie always stayed home.
The horses trotted up Grant Street and turned into the Baxters’ circular drive. When the sleigh came to a halt, Katie peered at the house—and peered again. Why is the nursery light on? But it wasn’t the gaslight, it was much fainter. A candle. Perhaps one of the maids was merely checking on Georgie. But he should have been sound asleep hours ago.
Without waiting for the coachman’s aid, Katie gathered her skirt in her palm and climbed to the ground as fast as her steel hoops would allow.
She entered the silent house and hurried up the stairs. The nursery door was slightly ajar, and she pushed through it and into the room.
All was peaceful.
In the candlelight, she saw that the ancient rocking horse stood guard in its corner. Noah’s wooden animals were neatly placed in their ark. Best of all, Georgie lay slumbering in his bed, blond lashes against flushed cheeks, round bottom in the air.
Then Katie saw his bandaged hand.
A sharp breath escaped her mouth, and she rushed forward and knelt before him. With shaking fingers, she touched his silken curls, careful not to bump his wee injury.
A voice spoke from behind her.
“He fell down the stairs this evening after dinner.”
Katie twisted about, hand on her heart.
In the rocking chair on the far side of the room, her mother-in-law sat clothed in a dressing gown, holding Georgie’s one-eyed corduroy bear.
The sight was so incongruous, neither aloof nor imposing, that for a moment Katie only stared. But soon she recovered.
“And just where,” she asked, “is my son’s ‘capable nurse’ tonight?”
Margaret shrugged. “She was called away suddenly, to be with her sister. A frail woman.” She paused. “The sister, not Miss Oliver.”
Katie returned her gaze to her son’s hand. It was impossible to still the quivering of her chin.
“You really have no cause for dismay.” Margaret’s voice seemed less cold than usual. “It’s only a splinter.”
Katie’s quivering gradually stilled.
Margaret went on. “The child has precisely one scrape on his knee and one very small splinter, which has now been removed.”
The words were like a healing balm. “Who took the splinter out?”
“Henry.”
Tears formed in Katie’s eyes. “And who tended his knee?”
“Henry.”
Silence prevailed until Margaret broke it. “I wouldn’t have thought the bandage necessary for a splinter, of course, but the child would accept nothing but a thorough dressing to soothe his chapped soul.”
Katie sniffed, smiled through her tears.
“He’s had a trying night, I’ll admit. After Henry put him to bed, I passed by and saw he’d somehow thrown off his coverings. Once I’d properly secured them, he clung to me, and I was forced to stay with him.”
Yet he’s asleep, and here you still are. Katie turned and met Margaret’s gaze. “Thank you.”
Margaret shrugged again. Rose from her chair.
“Please,” Katie said quickly, “tell Henry thank you, too.”
After an almost imperceptible nod, Margaret walked across the room, ruffled mobcap askew over prim brown curls. She hesitated, her hand on the knob. “He’s become quite gentle with him, you know.”
No, Katie hadn’t known.
“My son is changing, whether he realizes it or not.”
Katie dared to venture a question. “Maybe he’s not the only one?”
Margaret stiffened, angular shoulders taut. She didn’t speak right away, and when she did, her coldness had returned. “Perhaps you think you alone have had to make adjustments, Katriane. But your husband is safely abed, while mine rests in the churchyard.” She gestured toward Georgie. “And here lies your firstborn, sleeping serenely, while mine is lost to me.”
Katie’s usual instinct was to shrivel before her mother-in-law’s stare. But tonight, she could detect the pain that lay beneath it. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
Margaret continued to stare at her in the flickering light, unmoved. Then slowly, she inclined her head.
An acceptance of sympathy.
It was a start.
Chapter 10
Katie was just about to lay Georgie into bed one night, when he squirmed assertively in her arms.
“What is it?” she asked.
“I think he sees someone,” Miss Oliver said with a knowing smile. She placed another of his little garments in the dresser then pointed at the nursery doorway.
Henry stood there, partly concealed in a shadow.
Katie set Georgie down, and he toddled eagerly toward the door. She grinned at the sight. Her son had finally grown at ease with her husband.
But her delight vanished abruptly w
hen Henry stepped into the light. Even from across the room, she could see the grimness of his countenance, the sober look in his eyes. Something’s wrong.
He offered Georgie a small smile, then glanced at Katie and tilted his head toward the hallway. “May I have a word?”
Katie hastened to her son and swept him up. She carried him to Miss Oliver and deposited him in the woman’s arms despite his protests, then went to Henry.
He stepped into the hall and waited for her to join him. After closing the door behind her, he opened his mouth to speak but shut it again when Bridget approached. She curtsied and proceeded past them, followed by a footman, then another maid.
Henry frowned. “It’s a bit crowded out here.” He turned and led Katie toward a thick, carved door at the end of the hallway.
It was a door she was familiar with—from the outside. Apprehension darted through her, along with a fluttery feeling she didn’t recognize. Why is he taking me to his bedroom? But she trailed after him, down the hall, and through the carved door. He wants to speak privately, is all.
Darker colors prevailed here. Rich greens and browns, severely striped wallpaper, heavy drapes, walnut furnishings.
Henry strode to his bed and tossed his hat on the austere velvet spread, its simplicity contrasted by the massive Gothic-style headboard behind it.
He turned to face her. “Our snooping stranger—Simon, I discovered his name is—went to Aspen last week.”
Her pulse raced. Henry had told her about the man, about his too-keen interest in the Baxters. He’d also told her of his concern that the investigation might involve her. It would appear his fears were warranted.
“I was surprised it took him so long,” Henry said. “Throughout the winter, he holed up in his suite at the Windsor Hotel, only emerging to play cards in the gambling room downstairs. If he acquired any leads in December from the man at the Cherry Creek tavern, he either chose not to pursue them or was deterred by the cold weather.”
“Did you follow him to Aspen?” Katie asked.
“Not personally. After our fruitless attempt at tracking him at Cherry Creek last winter, Thomas and I decided to hire a professional to do our investigating for us. We enlisted a man named Casey from the Pinkerton agency. He knows his business, and he’s the one who followed Simon to Aspen.”
“Maybe this Mr. Casey didn’t learn anything important.” Even as she said it, she knew the hope was futile. The look on Henry’s face confirmed it.
“He told me that Simon met an old friend of yours,” he said. “A chambermaid at the Clarendon Hotel, a girl named Sylvia.”
Sylvia was Katie’s former roommate. And for a price, she’d talk.
Tears gathered in Katie’s eyes. She’d brought all this on Henry and his family. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.
He shook his head but said nothing.
Her heart seemed to cave into her chest. He’s angry with me. And she didn’t fault him for it. Still, we both knew this marriage was a risk. That risk was becoming a reality, one that must be dealt with.
“Are we in danger?” she asked.
He hesitated. “Thomas and I will do all that is possible to protect the family.”
An evasive answer. Things were bleak indeed.
He leaned against one of the tall walnut columns that stood like sentinels at the foot of the bed. “Simon asked your friend Sylvia about Georgie and Jackson, and I’m afraid she told him everything.” He drummed his fingers against the column, his eyes fixed on some point beyond her.
Moments passed.
“He must have been something,” he muttered finally.
“Pardon?”
His dark blue gaze moved to hers. “My brother, the way he captured your attention. Three-fourths of the men in Denver are fascinated by you, and you don’t even seem to notice. Makes a man wonder what might have been done to merit such regard.”
Katie swallowed. She’d often considered telling Henry about that night with Jackson. Yet now that the time was upon her, she wished she were anywhere else. “I am mortifié, discussing this with you.”
“I can see that.” But there was a tension in his posture that indicated he was still waiting for an answer.
She wanted to explain, tell him she’d been young. Stupid. That she’d committed a grave wrong, one she’d give anything to rectify. Must I be without words at this precise moment?
He laughed, a hollow sound. “But then, Jackson always did know how to get his own way.”
She longed for the strength to tell him that her interest in his brother had been fleeting. Superficial. That he, Henry, was the one who truly drew her, with his single-dimpled grin and knack for making Georgie laugh. That she loved the scent of cloves and pine needles that clung to his woolen coat—a coat that barely buttoned across his strong chest.
Which now rose and fell in erratic motions.
Is he nervous? The thought somehow bolstered her courage. She reached out, tentatively, and touched his lapel. She thought she heard his breath catch in his throat but couldn’t be sure.
His focus shifted to her fingers, which toyed lightly with the coarse fabric at the base of his neck. He lifted his gaze to hers and gave her an inscrutable look. Then he stepped away, beyond her reach. He wheeled around and walked out of his room.
Later, while tunneled in the softness of her pale yellow quilts, Katie cried into her pillow. His rejection had stung. The abruptness of his departure made her ache. But there was something worse that plagued her.
She couldn’t rid herself of this clinging shadow. The past gripped her and wouldn’t let go. The memory of that one night with Jackson haunted her, followed her like a faithful hound. Will I never be free of this shame?
Words came to her then, clear as day. They were sweet, spoken in Alice’s soft voice. And yet, they were deeper. More assertive. A powerful command.
“Do not call unclean what I have made pure.”
She sat up, wiped at her tears. But I’m so sullied, God. How can anyone, even You, wipe away my disgrace?
A part of her heart that had no voice asked Him to help her. Pleaded wordlessly with Him for mercy.
And then she felt it—peace. An unexplainable, spreading calm. A knowing that He’d heard her, that He really did forgive her. She was sinful, yes. Her wrongdoing had been real, certainly. But He was clean. He was pure. He alone had the authority to give her that same cleanness…and He had done so. Freely.
She buried her head in her pillow once again, but this time her tears were not of sorrow.
The library, with its rows of gold-lettered volumes and masculine aura, was Henry’s favorite room in the house. He cherished his after-dinner glass of port by the hearth, time to unwind after a long day. And he knew Thomas was waiting for him there.
But he didn’t hurry to leave the table, where his mother and Alice were planning their Fortnightly Club’s upcoming summer events. Katie had excused herself some time ago, no doubt wishing to avoid him.
He could leave, too, of course. But the moment he did, he would be alone—if only long enough to climb the stairs. And he would have to face it, how he’d botched things last night with Katie. Over and over it would plague his mind, the scene with her in his bedroom. He groaned inside. Why hadn’t he reassured her, taken her in his arms, instead of turning away from her?
Regardless of the answer, he feared she’d be reluctant to let him close to her again.
He forced himself to rise from the table and bid the women good night. As he left the dining room and climbed the stairs, he did his utmost to think of…nothing.
When he arrived at the library, Thomas met him at the door, hands on hips.
“Do you realize how urgently I needed to see you?” he demanded.
“Pardon, Master.” A faint smile twitched Henry’s lips. He strode past his brother and claimed the armchair on the far side of the hearth.
Thomas hastened after him and sat in the chair opposite him. “Alice told me that Casey went to Aspen
. She said our secret has been discovered.”
“News travels swiftly, I see.” Henry pulled a cigar out of his pocket and lit it.
Thomas frowned, gaze troubled. “Does our stranger know everything now?”
“I think so. His name is Simon, by the way. Casey couldn’t tell if it’s a given name or a surname.”
“That’s more than we’ve been able to find out so far.”
It was true. Despite diligent attempts, Casey hadn’t succeeded in getting much information on the wily stranger. He’d seemed to come from nowhere, knew everyone, but somehow no one knew him. He had no criminal history that the state of Colorado was aware of. No background of any kind, at least none that Casey could find.
Thomas flopped back against his chair in a despairing manner. “Only Arthur Randall could have dug up such a man.”
Henry nodded and blew out a puff of smoke. “So…what are we left with?”
Thomas loosened his cravat. “Threaten or bribe, I’d say.”
After much discussion, they settled on the latter. The venue would be a letter, with a convincing amount of money enclosed.
The next morning, Henry spent intense hours poring over the letter’s contents. He conferred with Thomas, and they labored together until they were satisfied.
But two weeks later, their money was returned to them, every cent. They tried again, this time with an even larger bribe. But again, it was returned.
And so they abandoned their efforts and waited. On edge, they waited.
Henry wondered—would Arthur Randall choose to trumpet his newfound knowledge, or would he merely blackmail and gloat?
He feared he knew the answer already.
Chapter 11
Henry was almost grateful when Georgie began to wail. It ended a silence fraught with strain.
Tonight was Miss Oliver’s night off, and Georgie had been playing with his wooden animals, which he’d placed in a neat row on the drawing room windowsill above him. He’d been content with his toys for a time, and quietness prevailed despite the fact that the whole family was present. Then Georgie accidentally knocked a giraffe over and it toppled onto an elephant—and all the animals crashed to the floor. He erupted into tears.
The Lassoed by Marriage Romance Collection Page 28