Tough Prospect

by Laura Strickland

  “Mr. Trask, I will see you for the next raid, the day after tomorrow, will I not?”

  “Tess”—he gazed into her eyes—“this is all well and good, but I wish to be alone with you.”

  Her heart thudded. “I’d like that too. I promise I’ll think of something and let you know the day after tomorrow. Meanwhile, we must be discreet. Mrs. Michaels already suspects.”

  Richard shot a look at Lily. “She’s just a machine.”

  “A very perceptive one.”

  “Don’t worry about it.” Richard’s eyes burned. “Seeing you like this, not being able to touch you, will drive me mad. We need privacy.”

  Tessa couldn’t misunderstand what he meant. But was that what she wanted to be? A woman who lied to one man, and went outside her marriage for sexual gratification from another?

  One thing she knew for certain: since her night with Mitch, she wanted—no, needed—to experience such gratification again. Maybe Richard could soothe her desire.

  ****

  No one in the busy tea shop looked at them askance. No one, apparently, took Lily Michaels for anything but human. To Tessa’s initial surprise, Lily ordered tea but merely played with the handle of her cup, her attention fastened on Tessa.

  “Now, Tessa, you may safely unburden yourself to me. What is troubling you?”

  Tessa searched Lily’s pale blue eyes. “You promise you will say nothing to anyone?”

  “I promise.”

  Tessa curled her fingers around her cup. “Mr. Trask and I have a friendship. It existed before I married Mr. Carter.”

  “Mr. Trask is your lover,” Lily remarked, as she had before. At Tessa’s look of consternation, she went on, “I understand about lovers. I have done much reading, and they are a common feature in literature.”

  “I see. Well, Richard isn’t my lover—not in a physical sense. Not yet. That’s the thing. There’s a moral line, and I’m not sure I’m ready to cross it.”

  “Ah. But you want to cross it?”

  Did she? She craved physical contact, that couldn’t be denied. But how could she expect this automaton to understand such impulses?

  “I’m not sure. Going outside my marriage would—well, it would change everything.”

  Lily tipped her head, apparently considering it. “You are a newlywed, just like me. Newlyweds are known for indulging their sexual impulses with their spouses. May I ask why you do not turn to your husband for release? Are you not attracted to him?”

  Well, now, that was the question, wasn’t it? Right out in the open, and no mistake. The automaton hadn’t failed to zero in on the aspect of Tessa’s situation that made her most uncomfortable.

  She flushed as she replied, “Well…I must admit I never expected to be attracted to him. The marriage, if you must know, was thrust upon me. Not my choice.”

  “I understand.”

  “Do you?”

  “Tessa, as I mentioned before, I once was forced to serve as a prostitute at a place called the Crystal Palace, before it burned down. I had many things thrust upon me, none of which I welcomed.”

  “Oh. Yes.” Tessa blinked at her. “You did mention that.” And it had been the talk of the city for a time, though her parents had tried to keep the details from her ears. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Do not be. You had no part in oppressing me, and I am now free, living with the man I adore. We must try and find you a similar happiness.”

  “I’m not sure we can.”

  “Do not give up. You do not love your husband?”

  “No.”

  “But you are sexually attracted to him?”

  Tessa wasn’t sure she should confess this part, even to an automaton sworn to secrecy. “He and I—well, there was this one night we spent together.”

  “As lovers?”

  “Yes. Now I can’t seem to get it out of my mind. And I think—I fear—he loves me, or at least believes that he does.”

  “Ah. You do not wish to hurt him.”

  “I don’t think it’s that. He’s a hard man, a tough man. I’m not sure that I could hurt him.”

  Lily corrected softly, “You do not wish to betray him, after sharing intimacy with him.”

  Tessa raised troubled eyes once more. “Perhaps that’s it.”

  Lily tipped her head to one side for a moment. “Would you welcome advice?”

  Would she? “Yes.”

  “As I see it, you have two choices: if you crave further intimacy, you must either break your restraints and go with your lover, or—”

  “Or?”

  “Seek intimate relations with your husband once again, and that may well be your safest course of action.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Tessa watched her husband’s hand as he raised the glass of whiskey and sipped from it. An after-dinner drink—they’d just finished yet another awkward meal together and repaired to the parlor. She felt if she didn’t break the silence between them soon, talk about something important, she’d lose her mind.

  Instead she found herself focusing on his hand—the same that had once cupped her breast in the dark—and his lips that now gleamed with amber liquid. Those lips had been all over her body, in places she herself rarely touched.

  She wasn’t even attracted to him.

  Why then did she burn at those memories and tremble at the thought of doing it all again?

  He laid his drink aside. One thing she could say about Mitch Carter, he didn’t drink much. Taking a whiskey, for him, seemed more like a social habit than a vice. But he had plenty of other vices.

  From across the elegant, carved table that fronted the sofa, where she sat, he looked at her almost as if he heard her thoughts.

  God forfend that he could!

  “How was your meeting?”

  “Productive. Afterward, I went for tea with Lily Michaels.”

  She wondered what would happen if she asked him to go upstairs with her. Well, she was pretty sure what would happen; she could tell by the way he looked at her. Mitch always looked at her as if he was hungry. For the same thing she craved? Oh, yes. If they did go upstairs together, things could become explosive. She would come apart in his arms—like before.

  But she didn’t love him or like him much, or even respect him…and what about Richard?

  Should she be worrying about betraying Richard, or her husband? And would it be such a sin, just one more night with Mitch?

  She knew she had only to say the word. A heady feeling.

  “The automaton?” he asked, and Tessa, who’d completely lost track of the conversation had to fumble over to what he referred.

  “I think she’s going to become a true friend. Odd, isn’t it?”

  “Not so odd, given the bond you’ve formed with the clockwork dog.” Mitch nodded at Valerie, who sat at Tessa’s feet. “But surely you have plenty of other friends.”

  “A few.” She’d lost touch with most of those from her past life, as she now thought of it. She’d never been the sort of girl to surround herself with a crowd of silly gigglers.

  “Why don’t you see them? I hope you know, Tessa, you’re free to invite anyone you wish to this house. Your friends will be welcome. I wish you to think of this as your home. I wish,” Mitch added deliberately, “for you to be happy.”

  Happy. With him. The message resounded in the quiet room and shone clearly in his eyes.

  Was there nothing for which she couldn’t ask? For his time, his attention? To once more lie in his arms in the dark, while every inhibition flew away from her and those rough hands of his did wicked, wonderful things?

  He pressed, “Why haven’t you invited anyone here? Is it because you’re ashamed?”

  “Ashamed?” she repeated in surprise.

  He met her gaze with honesty akin to what she’d seen in Lily Michaels’ eyes. “Of our relationship. Of me.”

  Maybe that made up a component of what she felt. She hadn’t wanted her friends from the past to know she’d been pushe
d into this marriage on her father’s behalf—about his debts and the fact that he had, in essence, sold her. And Mitch Carter wasn’t the kind of man any young woman of her circle ever imagined she’d wed.

  But she shook her head.

  A bitter smile twisted his lips. “We’ve been over this, Tessa, and I thought we agreed to be honest with each other.”

  “Honest, yes.”

  “I’m well aware that people in this city talk about me. How I came from the gutter—we talked about that too.”

  Yes, after he’d made love to her with that thrilling gentleness and fire.

  “I’ve come up in the world. And I can make more changes—for your sake. Just ask me, Tessa.” Raw hunger looked at her from his eyes. Tessa drew a breath to reply and at that moment heard a tap at the door.

  It opened a crack and one of Mitch’s men—Tiny Haskins—looked in.

  “A woman to see you, Boss.”

  “What?” Mitch tore his gaze from Tessa with what seemed an effort and glanced at Haskins. “Not now, Tiny. I’m—occupied.”

  “Boss, I know. I tried sending her away till tomorrow. She’s insistent.”

  “Give her an appointment.”

  “Boss,” Tiny’s eyes widened in distress, “she’s out here crying.”

  Tessa rose to her feet. “You have business. I can go.”

  “No. Don’t.” Mitch looked at her again, that longing still bright in his eyes.

  Before Tessa could respond, a small woman pressed past Tiny and burst into the room.

  ****

  Damn it all to hell, Mitch thought as anger curled through his belly—the place where constant desire for his wife usually lodged.

  Constantly lodged.

  He sensed they’d been close to a breakthrough, that something he’d said had reached her at last. That she might even be willing to go upstairs with him and…

  He focused, with distaste and outrage, on the woman who’d come pushing into the parlor.. Small and shabby, no taller than Tiny, she wore a brown bonnet and clothes so often washed they’d faded to gray. Mitch knew the look of poverty in this city—so he should—and hardened his heart to it. A reflex, a self-defense mechanism. Pity was a luxury he could not afford.

  He, like Tessa, had risen at the interruption. The woman slipped past Tiny, around the table, and threw herself at Mitch’s feet.

  “Please, sir. You must hear me!” She clasped her hands and stared up at him. “For the sake of my children.”

  Mitch heard Tessa gasp but didn’t spare a glance for her. He stared instead into the woman’s worn face. Perhaps thirty years old, she already wore the signs of age; lines marked her forehead, and her reddened, chapped hands looked skeletally thin.

  “Get up,” he told her through clenched teeth. “Who do you think I am?”

  “You’re our landlord, Mr. Carter, and the man who holds the power of life and death over us. If we’re thrown out into the streets, my children will never survive. They’re just little, sir—eighteen months, three years and five years. And the youngest has been ill.”

  “Mitch,” Tessa said.

  He did shoot her a look then. She’d gone dead white, and her green eyes burned with dismay.

  Again he told the woman, “Get up.” He didn’t want to touch her; she looked fragile enough to break. But he reached down gingerly and raised her by the elbow. “Who are you?”

  Tiny, who lingered just inside the door of the parlor, answered for her. “Mrs. Keller, Boss, from Connecticut Street. Tenant.”

  “Mrs. Keller, please come back during business hours tomorrow. We’ll discuss the matter then.”

  “I can’t, sir. I’m working at the laundry all day long. If I don’t show up I’ll lose my place, see, and things will be worse than they are, though I can’t imagine they could get much worse. So I come to beg you not to throw us out. I’ve nowhere else to go. My neighbor, Gert, watches the children during the day, but she has a full house, no room for us to stay. And with the baby sick, and the nights getting cold, what will happen to us?”

  Mitch drew himself up and deliberately hardened his expression. The city, he told himself, was full of sad stories. He hadn’t become successful by listening to them. And he hated scenes.

  “Where is your husband, Mrs. Keller?”

  “Dead. He died just after the baby was born. Till then he made a decent wage and I was able to stay home.”

  “How far in arrears is your rent?”

  “Three months, sir.”

  Mitch flicked a look at Tiny. As evidenced in the past, Tiny hadn’t lost all his pity and often let such things drag on for too long.

  “Your man came this morning, came to the laundry where I work, and told me if I couldn’t pay the rent they’d toss my belongings out and chain the door. Please, Mr. Carter, sir, I beseech you for time. For my—”

  “My man is quite correct. Three months in arrears gives me more than just cause to evict you.”

  “Mitch!” Tessa said again.

  He went on as if he hadn’t heard her, speaking directly into Mrs. Keller’s face and destroying all hope. Because, as he knew, false hope made a cruel master. “You’ve already had all the leniency I can afford.”

  “But, sir, I’ve been paying the rent up till now, even if it meant we didn’t eat. Just, when Sammy got so sick, I had to use the money I’d put aside for rent in order to pay a doctor. I can give you part of the first month’s now—” She broke off to dig in a pocket and came up with a few coins which she extended in the palm of a trembling hand. “Surely this will buy us more time?”

  “Mitch,” Tessa said for the third time.

  He looked at her over little Mrs. Keller’s head and nearly came undone. Unshed tears stood bright in her eyes, and her parted lips breathed distress. He wanted to take that look from her; more, he wanted her to think well of him. But he’d been down this road before, in the beginning. He knew one month’s grace would lead to two, and thence many, and it would become impossible to toss the little family out.

  “Sir,” said Mrs. Keller, “without a roof over his head, my baby will die.” Tessa stepped forward around the table, to Mrs. Keller’s side. “Mitch, I will pay Mrs. Keller’s rent.”

  Mrs. Keller’s head whipped around. She stared at Tessa.

  From the doorway, Tiny made a sound in his throat—protest, or appreciation?

  Dismay seized Mitch, deep and black. “No.”

  “But why not? Surely my allowance is mine to spend as I choose. You said so. And it’s the right thing to do.”

  “It isn’t the right thing to do.”

  Tessa stamped her foot. “Have you no pity?”

  “None. I can’t afford it.”

  “You can. The price of this carpet alone—”

  “I’m not talking about money.” All too aware they argued in front of Mrs. Keller, to say nothing of Tiny, Mitch snapped, “Please keep out of it.”

  Tessa’s cheeks flamed. She turned to the woman at her side. “Mrs. Keller, what’s your address?”

  “Number Two Connecticut Street, ma’am. But—”

  “Go home to your children. Your back rent will be paid, or forgiven. But you must keep up with it in future. Understand?”

  “I promise you, ma’am. Oh, bless you, ma’am. I can’t express my gratitude.”

  Tenderly, Tessa repeated, “Go home to your children.”

  Tiny saw Mrs. Keller out. The air in the parlor quivered.

  “Go ahead and holler at me,” Tessa said then. “I know you want to.”

  “I do not.”

  “You’re going to say I shouldn’t interfere.”

  “So you shouldn’t.”

  She looked him in the eye. He felt the impact all the way to his toes.

  “If, Mitch Carter, you ever want relations between us to improve—”

  “I do.”

  “You’re going to have to change your ways. Become a different man.”

  “You want me different?” She wante
d him?

  “A better man. You could do worse than to take up the habit of philanthropy.”

  “Philanthropy? Me?” He swallowed. “Tessa, I’m the only man I know how to be.”

  “Not good enough.”

  Not good enough? He’d made himself better and better, starting from nothing, and she told him he wasn’t good enough? God damn it!

  She might as well stab him in the heart.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  “A word with you, Mr. Trask, if you don’t mind.”

  The young man who’d just climbed from the steamcab paused on the walkway and turned in inquiry. As soon as he recognized Mitch, his expression changed, brows drawing down and a cautious light invading his eyes.

  So, Mitch thought, taking a good look at him, this was what attracted his wife, and held her affections. He had to admit, the last time he’d encountered the fellow, at Hugo Verdun’s funeral, his anger and jealousy had kept him from making a fair inspection. Not so, now. The bright autumn sun shone down outside the Trask household, and they stood up close, and personal.

  A good-looking devil, and no mistake. Just as Mitch had noted last time, a pretty boy. He had a couple of inches on Mitch—that was what starvation in youth did to a man—with a clear complexion, nearly beardless in the clear light, and golden hair any woman might envy. Long-lashed blue eyes completed the picture.

  It fair turned Mitch’s stomach that Tessa should prefer this sissy to a real man.

  His opinion must have been visible in his eyes; Trask paled and backed up a step. Good healthy fear—well enough. Nice to know the boy had survival instincts.

  To be sure, he was nothing more than a boy, surely no older than Tessa at twenty-two. From the hard age of twenty-six, Mitch sneered inwardly.

  “Mr. Carter,” Trask said, and swallowed convulsively. “May I ask what you’re doing here? This is private property.”

  Mitch smiled. He’d learned from experience that his smiles tended to get people’s attention. And they never seemed to provide comfort to their recipients.

  “Just a word, as I say. A friendly word. Shall we go inside, or do you want to conduct this business on the street?”

  Trask glanced at the house and back at Mitch. “What business?”