Elise rolled her eyes. If her mother only knew. Still, she breathed a sigh of relief. Her brother must, indeed, be distracted by work, or he would have caught on to her slight agitation and interrogated her all evening.
She would have to come up with some reason why the bank had sent Michael to their house. But for the life of her, at that moment, she could not think of what reason she could create. And perhaps more urgently, she needed to make sure he did not visit their home again.
Chapter 5
The next day, she waited until the bank closed at 4 o'clock sharp. Despite a sudden summer shower that she staved off with her carriage's hood, Elise boldly sat holding her horse's reins only a block from the bank's front door. She waited with an uncomfortably clenched stomach for Michael.
When he appeared, her heart sped up to an alarming rate, and her head felt light. She couldn't believe she was being so outrageously improper, unable to fathom that she was actually approaching him in such a manner.
He had a newspaper over his bare head, no hat or umbrella in sight, and he was hurrying in the opposite direction. She flicked the reins, and her horse moved forward. Drawing up beside him, she said, "Mr. Bradley, a word, please."
He looked up at her, his face a picture of astonishment. He stopped dead in his tracks.
"Are you toying with me?" he asked her, sounding strangely defeated.
"I assure you, I am not," she said, hardly able to hear herself over the rain and her loudly beating heart. "I would speak privately with you a moment. Please."
He glanced around. There was barely anyone on the street due to the downpour.
"Why didn't you come into the bank?" he asked, one of his hands resting on her front wheel as if he intended to keep her there. He had lowered his newspaper, and the rain was dripping down his face and shoulders and under his collar, but he didn't seem to notice. She shivered.
He knew why she hadn't gone into the bank. She was sure he had guessed. She could not go into his office in such close quarters where the closed door afforded them too much privacy, too much temptation.
She only shook her head.
"Very well," he said, "However, I refuse to stand here getting soaked any longer." His tone was clipped and angry. Without warning, he climbed up onto the small dickey and took the reins out of her gloved hands.
"Goodness!" she exclaimed.
Michael said nothing. With a twitch of the reins, he caused her horse to amble slowly down the street. Elise stayed silent. This would be the only time in her life she would ride beside Michael Bradley, and it felt heavenly. His leg pressed against hers, warm despite his clothes being damp, her shoulder leaned into his arm, which felt comfortingly solid.
She was tingling from head to toe and nearly closed her eyes to better experience it, but she didn't want to miss a moment.
What if someone she knew saw them? The dreadful thought sliced into her mind. She would be compromised, if not ruined. Then she relaxed. She would say her horse was giving her trouble, and this kind banker whom her father had known offered to assist her home.
Except they couldn't go to her home to talk. She was about to tell him that when it became apparent that they weren't going to Beacon Hill at all but rather, to the newer development of Back Bay. After a few more minutes, he steered her little carriage behind a row of tidy houses and into the back alley.
In moments, a groom popped out of the stable and took hold of her horse's bridle as Michael climbed down from the seat. He turned and held his hand up to her.
Elise hesitated, but compelled by his forthright expression, she let him help her down and escort her inside the dwelling by the back entrance.
It was positively quiet inside the small mudroom, and despite the earliness of the evening hour, it was also dark due to the rain clouds overhead. She stopped short in the gloom and silence. When Michael came in, he eased around her and then faced her.
"Will you come inside?" he asked, gesturing to the open doorway leading to a long passage, also unlit.
"Where is your help?" she asked, not taking a step forward.
He shrugged. "My servants don't live here. A cleaning woman comes in every other day, and when I need a meal prepared, another lady comes to cook. I am usually out or at my parents' home. It didn't seem worthwhile to maintain a staff for only myself."
It was a long explanation to say that they were alone. She took a breath. This was obviously another level of impropriety that could never have occurred to her. That she, Elise Malloy, would be alone in a man's house.... Good God, she hoped her father wasn't watching!
"You wanted to speak privately," he reminded her, taking a single step and reaching out his hand as if to take hers.
However, she ignored his gesture, keeping her hands firmly clasped in front of her. Walking by him, she continued along the hallway. Having spent time in similar homes belonging to her parents' friends, she knew the layout of the townhouse instinctively.
Toward the anterior of the foyer by the main door, she looked left, and then went right into the parlor.
* * *
Michael watched her walk down the hallway of his home, and he knew he would do anything to make this a common occurrence, an everyday one in fact, and to keep her for himself.
It was easy to imagine her as his wife, his mate for the rest of his life, bringing her beauty and her woman's touch to his home. He could not lose her to whatever was pulling her away from him.
He followed her, ducking only his head around the corner to see her standing in the middle of his sitting room, looking surprised to be there and not at all relaxed.
"Would you like a cup of coffee?" he asked.
For a moment, she only stared at him, her intense blue eyes showing alarm—perhaps because there were no safeguards of bank customers and office staff outside the door, perhaps because of his personal knowledge that she would have grimaced if he'd offered her tea. In any case, she refused his offer.
"Nothing, thank you. Let's talk, Mr. Bradley, and then, I should go."
So they were back to 'Mr. Bradley.' Well, he could remedy that. He moved toward her before she knew what he was doing, slipped his arms around her slender waist, and lowered his head to her stunned face.
"I am going to kiss you," he told her a second before he did. He felt her hands reach up to press against his chest, perhaps to push him away, but as his lips touched hers and then slanted against them, she relaxed.
Her hands stopped warding him off and began grasping at his suit coat, holding him in place. She needn't have bothered. He wasn't going anywhere, unless it was upstairs to his bedroom with her.
He smiled against her lips at that wild thought and felt her smile, too.
This was so precisely right, he wondered how they could have gone so long without doing it before yesterday.
Many moments later, he lifted his mouth from hers. He needed to see her lovely blue eyes framed by thick ebony lashes. She had a delightfully soft pink flush to her cheeks. He couldn't help himself as he bent to kiss her again.
"Michael," she said, the word coming out on a gasp for breath. "You must stop. We must stop. This is wrong."
"Yet impossibly perfect," he added.
She sighed. "Maybe so, if it were just the two of us. Alone," she began.
"But we are alone—"
"I mean, alone forever, without consequences, but we're not. And you're wet," she added.
She was correct. He slipped off his damp coat and tossed it over a chair, then shook his hair like a dog and ran his fingers through it.
"Probably not so neat," he said, "but not dripping on you anymore either."
He took her in his arms once more, leaning away so he could watch her face while keeping her in his embrace.
"How can our love—?" he broke off as he felt her startle at his words, and he nearly laughed. "Yes, love, for I swear I am unreservedly and wholly in love with you, Elise Malloy, and have been from the moment I first met you. I want to shout it." And he
did. He tipped his head back and yelled, "I love Elise Malloy."
His words echoed slightly in the empty three-story townhouse.
Her eyes were as large as saucers, but she didn't look scared of his enthusiastic outburst. In fact, she seemed amused by his antics.
"I think you feel the same way?" he conjectured.
She looked down at his chest but nodded ever so slightly.
That small gesture, her admission that she had the same feelings for him, caused a flood of warmth to cascade through him.
"I ask you, then," he said, tipping her chin up so he could look into her eyes, "how can our love have consequences that are anything but good? How are we wrong?"
"Jonathon—"
"Don't speak to me of that ninny. You already told me you don't even like him. Just tell him, 'thank you, you damned puffed peacock of an attorney, but no thank you'. Or tell him to go to hell. I don't care."
"I can't," she said, her voice a miserable whisper.
He wanted to make her smile again, but he had a feeling that a simple kiss wouldn't do.
"Why not? You have feelings for me, even if you can't quite declare them aloud. I can tell when I look in your eyes or whenever I'm close enough to touch you."
Her cheeks reddened.
"You don't deny it?" he urged her.
She shook her head. "No, but I'm afraid I have a situation on my hands. Jonathon refuses to let me go."
"The hell he won't," he said before he could stop himself.
She jumped at his tone, and he was immediately sorry to have frightened her. However, he'd felt his own flash of fear at her words. They sounded so final, as if she were already Amory's wife, and there was nothing she could do about it.
He looked down into her sweet face. "Explain what you mean by refusing to let you go."
"Blackmail," she said, and her eyelids swept closed, shutting him out as she hung her head low. However, before she did so, he had seen tears. He led her to the settee.
"Sit," he ordered and watched her sink down onto the cushions.
At the sideboard, he poured them both a glass of red Spanish wine. Holding a glass out to her, he waited. She lifted her gaze to him, an eyebrow raised.
"I'm not trying to make you inebriated, Elise. I just want you to relax and tell me what's going on."
She took the glass and held it against her chest. He placed his on the low table in front of the sofa before stooping to light a fire, which he did rapidly and efficiently.
"My apology for letting you stand in this cold room. When I'm with you, I tend not to think about anything else except holding you."
He heard her give a slight laugh behind him, though the sound still held the threat of tears. He clenched his jaw. He would get it all out of her tonight, whatever it was, and they would face it together.
He lit the gas lamps and drew the curtains. The room became cozy with the fire's warmth, and the soft glow of the flickering lights bathed her, making her look like a raven-haired angel. He sat beside her on the sofa. She had taken a few sips of wine and then put the glass down.
"Feeling better?" he asked, though she was looking into the fire and not at him.
"Yes, I'm warmer inside and out, but not any closer to a solution."
"Then let's work on that. Solutions are my specialty." He knew he sounded idiotic, but he couldn't help himself. He would do anything to erase her sadness. Her head turned to him, her gaze locking with his.
"As you already knew, the loan statements were being sent to the Amory house. After my father died, apparently Jonathon took it upon himself to stop making payments though his father thinks they are still being made."
She paused and looked so doleful that he put his arm around her and pulled her to him, letting her lay her head on his chest. It felt like the most natural thing in the world. He rested his chin on her head.
"Do you want to tell me why your father took out a loan for the Amorys?" He felt her sigh.
"It was a nasty bit of business that involved Mr. Amory's daughter and my brother, but I don't wish to say more, and I most certainly don't want Reed to know anything about this."
She lifted her hand and absentmindedly stroked his ribs, causing every nerve in his body to catch fire. He caught his breath and held it until the sensation subsided, trying to remain focused on her words.
"Suffice it to say," Elise continued, unmindful of what torture she was putting him through with her nearness and her gentle touch, "Reed was in danger of being sorely taken advantage of. My father stepped in to help."
Michael had another question for her, and he wished there was a delicate way to ask it. "Do I understand correctly that you do not have the money to pay back the loan, and you're marrying Amory so he'll pay it off?"
Even as he asked, it sounded tawdry and beneath her, but he supposed that a woman in a desperate situation could act accordingly. He felt her stiffen, and then she pushed away from him and stood up.
"That's insulting." She started to pace. "This started out as a ridiculous prevarication. I intentionally lied to you in your office out of embarrassment when I said I had a beau. I intended to produce one at the party. I had my sights set on Nickerson."
"Nickerson," Michael sputtered, as he was sipping the wine. "Old Mr. Nickerson?"
"Kind, sweet Mr. Nickerson," she amended.
He shook his head. If only he hadn't been so rash as to try to compel her into going out with him. If only he'd known she was amenable to the idea.
"Then Jonathon asked me to marry him out of the blue at your uncle's home, right before the dancing started."
She stopped and stared at him, her eyes so passionate and stunning.
"Suddenly, you were approaching across the Crowninshield's ballroom, and I was... slightly in my cups." She dipped her head. "I told Jonathon 'yes' impulsively. I could see you didn't believe me right from the start."
"That's because a few days earlier, you'd had no idea who lived at that address when you first came to me, so I knew he wasn't your suitor."
She held up her hand. "I regretted it immediately. Well, almost. Especially when I figured out how to pay off the loan without my family having to ever know about it."
"Do tell," he said.
"Why are you smiling?" she asked instead.
"Because you are so damn beautiful, I can't stand it. And because I knew you would be resourceful enough to figure a way out of your dilemma."
"I was in possession of a fifteenth-century translation of the History of Troy." She paused. "By William Caxton."
He whistled. "That must be worth quite a pretty penny."
She nodded.
"You said 'was in possession'?"
"I sold it. I have more than enough to pay off the loan."
Yet Michael watched her face fall.
"Then why do you look so miserable, Elise?"
She swallowed, and when she did speak, it came out in a throaty whisper, "He says I must marry him or he'll ruin Reed's reputation."
Michael stood up, watching her as she crossed her arms around her waist protectively.
"He threatened to drag Reed's name through the mud, even though what he will say are lies. He said the very fact of the loan will be proof enough. I can't let my brother suffer."
"You would marry Amory to protect Reed?"
She didn't hesitate, "I would."
With her answer, he fell even more in love with her. What would it be like to have the love and devotion of such a woman?
He moved carefully around the table, which he felt like kicking to smithereens—but not as much as he wanted to smash Amory's face. He took her hands.
"I will not let you marry that bastard. Even if I wasn't in love with you. Even if I didn't already consider you my own. No woman should marry him."
"Why?" she asked.
"He doesn't really want a wife—or a woman—as other men." He hesitated to say more.
She frowned. "But then why did he—?" She trailed off, looking stric
ken.
"Why did he what?" he asked.
"Promise to bed me to punish my brother."
Michael clenched his jaw and had to calm down before he spoke. So incensed that anyone would seek to harm this lovely creature in front of him, he felt his neck get hot and tight, thinking his head might explode if he didn't get his anger under control. He noticed she was watching the pulse at his throat.
"Amory probably would have done so, too, but only for that reason and to get an heir."
Elise nodded. "He mentioned wanting an heir."
Son of a bitch! "Forget about Amory," he said, telling himself as much as he was telling her. "You are mine. An engagement announcement, rings, a license, even a wedding—at this moment, they all seem like delays and unimportant obstacles. Formalities, if you will. I already feel as though you're my wife, Elise Malloy. Am I insane?"
She pulled one hand free of his and put it up to his cheek. "I asked my father to find out if you were otherwise attached that day because the first time I saw you, I knew you were the man I wanted as my husband."
Michael captured her hand and turned to kiss her palm. He knew it was wrong at this moment when she was in anguish over Amory, but he felt himself stir and grow hard. He wanted to carry her upstairs, or even to the sofa, and make love to her.
Before long, someday soon, he knew he would remove every shred of her clothing and kiss every inch of her skin's velvety softness. When he fit himself between her slender legs and moved inside her, he wanted to watch while her dark blue eyes widened at the instant of their joining then grow misty and unfocused with pleasure.
He could hardly wait to please her. It was inevitable.
"You don't have to marry Amory. I can, in fact, solve your problem."
* * *
Dizziness stormed Elise's senses as she experienced a moment of sheer relief. Then it dissipated, replaced once again by doubt and the impossibility of silencing Jonathon Amory. She shook her head.
"That's impossible."
His hands slipped into her hair, cradling her head, and his lips took hers, stealing her breath and her thoughts until there was no worry over Reed's future or fear of Jonathon's reprisals, no loan or blackmail. Only Michael. The man who lived in her heart.
The Defiant Hearts Series Box Set Page 7