My Valentine

by Sheridon Smythe

  Her mysterious warning made Christian want to shake her until her teeth rattled, but damned if he would give her the satisfaction of knowing she'd gotten to him.

  But what riled him most of all was the sight of her shaking shoulders as she presented her graceful, slender back to him.

  Minx.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The Wind Of Doubt Sweeps Through My Mind

  I Don't Know If You feel In Kind

  Tell Me The Truth I seek To Find

  You Must Let Me Know...

  The afternoon sun began to melt the ice sheathing every limb and bush in sight, creating a glare and sparkle that hurt the eye to behold. Ladies shaded their eyes with lacy parasols, and tip-toed around forming puddles as they crossed the road. Moisture dripped from overhanging trees and ran from slanted tin-roofs onto the boardwalks, dousing many unwary townspeople with an icy bath.

  Squinting, Rosalyn emerged from the carriage with Ethel Poole's valentine clutched in her hand. It was a simple card, but not a simple delivery. Ethel Poole had received three such valentines in the last week, and threatened Rosalyn's very life if she returned. Rosalyn feared the woman meant business.

  Nevertheless, this was her job, so she thrust her chin high and turned to Christian, making a second attempt to dissuade him from following her to the door of the white frame house on Pine Street where Ethel Poole resided. “I strongly recommend that you wait.” She shivered in the cool air as she spoke, pulling the collar of her coat around her neck. It was darned cold, she thought, regardless of how bright the sun shone. Apprehension shivered along her spine, adding to her sudden chill. She wouldn't mind slipping back into the relatively warm and safe carriage with Christian.

  As if she hadn't spoken, Christian stepped out and closed the door, taking her elbow. His gaze warmed as he stared into her upturned face. Rosalyn licked her lips and shrugged, trying to move away from the disturbing touch of his fingers, and the heated look that clearly stated what was on his mind.

  "Don't say I didn't warn you,” she muttered with a betraying breathlessness. His low chuckle sent her moving up the path to the door with more haste than was necessary. How long was she expected to remain cold and aloof toward Christian Garret, when they spent every waking moment together? Had he planned it this way, hoping she would weaken if forced to be in his company?

  Well, he would discover how stubborn and strong-willed she could be! Rosalyn silently applauded her renewed resistance as she lifted the knocker and let it fall several times. Aware that Christian stood behind her—too close—she concentrated on ignoring him.

  She'd need all her wits about her to face Ethel Poole for the fourth time. The woman was rude, and temperamental, far worse than Tamera Brandewine. In fact, Rosalyn feared for her very life.

  And Christian's. She glanced quickly over her shoulder to the street where Willis waited a safe distance away. He gave her the thumbs up sign and grinned. She wrinkled her nose at him and faced the door again. What if Ethel wouldn't open the door? What if she happened to be peeking out the window and saw Rosalyn getting out of the carriage?

  If that happened, then this mission would fail, and Rosalyn detested failure.

  The door opened so abruptly Rosalyn uttered a surprised squeak and stepped back into Christian. His hands came up to steady her, and for an instant, Rosalyn felt the steady beat of his heart where it pressed against her back. He gave her arms a reassuring squeeze that was vaguely comforting.

  "I'm here,” he whispered, releasing her.

  Rosalyn moved forward and broke the connection. Summoning a wary smile, she faced the irate woman in the doorway. Ethel Poole was young and beautiful, but red-rimmed eyes and a bitter twist to her mouth shadowed that beauty. Rosalyn knew about the rumors—ugly rumors she paid scant attention to—that Ethel had caught Roland with another woman. To worsen matters, the woman in question had been a rival for his affections before the couple's marriage several years ago—an old sweetheart. Rosalyn suspected the entire affair had gotten blown out of proportion.

  But Ethel, apparently, was convinced Roland had been unfaithful, and a month or so ago, she had thrown him out of the house, declaring she could never forgive him.

  Their volatile courtship made Mark Newman and Tammy Brandewine's tiff pale in comparison.

  Ethel wasted no time with pleasantries. “He sent you again, eh? Well, I told you not to come back, that it won't do any good. I won't put up with him chasing every skirt in town! People laughing at me behind my back, whispering and feeling sorry for poor little Ethel. He wants her, he can have her!"

  With a mental groan, Rosalyn watched the red, angry flush creep up the woman's neck. She knew the signs of Ethel's terrible temper. Last time, the woman had thrown a vase at Rosalyn when she persisted in Roland's defense. Luckily, her aim was bad. The porch post Rosalyn had been standing by had been the only thing that suffered. “I—he insisted, Mrs. Poole. Mr. Poole is miserable—"

  "Good! He can go cry on that trollop's shoulder. Now, I suggest you leave before my temper gets the better of me.” Miss Poole emphasized her order by poking Rosalyn's chest with her finger.

  If Christian hadn't caught her, she would have fallen. Her own temper rising, and her courage boosted by Christian's presence, Rosalyn straightened her shoulders and grit her teeth. “I can't leave until you take this, Mrs. Poole. It's my job."

  Mrs. Poole ignored the card in Rosalyn's gloved hand. “I don't care. I'm sick of his silly valentines, and those ridiculous verses! Such sniveling won't work with me and you can tell him I said so—again."

  Rosalyn winced. It hurt to hear such a rude description of her verses, since she took such pains in writing them. But she suspected Ethel wouldn't give a hoot about her bruised pride. In a voice of quiet determination and barely veiled anger, Rosalyn plowed onward. “You're talking about the man you married, Mrs. Poole. Don't you love him? Didn't you love him?"

  The woman snorted. “Love? Did you ask him about love? What about faithfulness? Before God, he vowed to be faithful, yet what did he do?” Despite her outward coldness, tears began to build in Mrs. Poole's eyes.

  Rosalyn felt sorry for her. She was obviously deeply hurt by her husband's supposed infidelities, but the last thing the woman would want was her pity.

  As if she sensed Rosalyn's perception, Ethel covered her mouth with her hand and glared at her for a long moment. Then, without a by-your-leave, she slammed the door shut.

  The sound of harsh sobbing could be heard through the closed door. With a heavy heart, Rosalyn turned away, still clutching the valentine. Roland had vowed that this would be his last attempt to repair his marriage.

  The end. Rosalyn hated the end, hated to witness the crumbling of their faith in one another. That the Pooles loved each other fiercely, Rosalyn didn't doubt, but apparently it wasn't enough to overcome their trials.

  She lifted her teary gaze to find Christian waiting and watching. He opened his arms and without hesitation, she walked into them and laid her cheek on his broad shoulder. The tears fell easily. She sniffled. “They love each other, you know.” “Yes,” he agreed.

  Rosalyn suspected he only humored her. “They do. Otherwise, they wouldn't hurt so much. Love can hurt, you know."

  She felt him tense. Now why had she said that? He might suspect she spoke from experience, and she definitely didn't want him thinking and drawing his own dangerous conclusions.

  "It does? You've been in love, to know this?"

  Too late. When would she learn to keep her mouth shut? She wiped at her tears and pulled from the shelter of his arms. Willis was watching, and maybe Mrs. Poole through the window. Soon, gossip would start if she wasn't more careful of her actions. “We should go.” She avoided his penetrating gaze, praying he would not push her to answer his question.

  He hesitated, his gaze narrowing. Rosalyn released her breath when he snapped his mouth closed and offered his arm. But the glint in his eye warned her he wouldn't forget.

  "Whe
re to now?” he asked as they reached the carriage.

  "The Heartshore hotel where Mr. Poole's staying. I promised him I would go directly there to give him her answer.” She wasn't at all looking forward to this visit, anymore than she had been looking forward to knocking on Mrs. Poole's door. She felt their pain as keenly as if it were her own, no matter how much she lectured herself on how unwise it was to get involved.

  * * * *

  Christian knew the green-eyed monster called jealousy intimately by the time Rosalyn finished explaining to Roland Poole that his wife had once and for all rejected his efforts at reconciliation.

  As he watched Rosalyn comfort the handsome man, he gripped his hat with both hands to keep them from Roland's neck. He wanted to grab the man's shirt collar and haul him to his feet where he could deliver the best punch. Growling to himself, he marched to the window and turned his back on the disturbing sight of Roland's head on Rosalyn's shoulder.

  The poor idiot sobbed as if his heart was splitting, Christian thought without much sympathy. Okay, so maybe his heart was breaking, but did the man have to lean into Rosalyn that way? Did he have to clutch her shoulder and bury his entire face in her neck? And was the man thinking of how unique her scent was? Or how soft and silky her skin? Was he tempted, as Christian always was, to kiss and nuzzle the slim column of her throat until she moaned with need?

  Hell. He couldn't take much more of this torture of watching Rosalyn and Roland together on the sofa. She held Roland Poole as if he was a little boy with a skinned knee. The man was grown—very much so, Christian noted sourly—and he didn't think this action was appropriate. Never mind that he had once bared her luscious breasts and kissed her rosy nipples until they ripened and hardened...

  "Damn."

  "Did you say something, Christian?” Rosalyn looked at him questionably over the crying man's shoulder as she patted the his shaking back.

  Startled, Christian immediately wiped his expression clean. Oh, wouldn't Miss Mitchell love to know how crazy jealous he felt at the moment? She'd laugh him into next week! Deliberately, he pulled his watch from his pocket and glanced at the time. “Don't you have more deliveries to make?” he growled, then cursed beneath his breath. What good would a blank expression do if he growled his jealousy?

  When her eyes widened slightly, he knew he'd blundered.

  The slight, knowing smile that curved her mouth induced vivid images of her bent helplessly over his knee. But when she began to rub her hand over the heartbroken Mr. Poole's back, he lost his patience entirely.

  "Let's go. Now."

  "But Roland's—"

  "Mr. Poole,” Christian growled and didn't care, “will be fine. Won't you, Mr. Poole?"

  Mr. Poole sat up and began to mop his steaming eyes and nose, having the grace to look ashamed of his unmanly display. Christian felt his mouth curl, deciding it was about damned time the man quit his blathering. He returned Rosalyn's glare, unrepentant. She should thank him for the interruption. Otherwise, they might be here all day. He didn't dare imagine what might happen without his presence.

  Stiffly, she said to Mr. Poole, “Are you certain you'll be all right? I could stay a bit longer—"

  "No she can't. She's got other deliveries to make.” Christian didn't care how rude he sounded. If the man touched Rosalyn again, he couldn't be responsible for his actions. It was enough that Roland turned his puppy-dog eyes to her now.

  Christian stepped closer to the sofa, hoping the man would take the hint.

  Mr. Poole flicked a puzzled glance his way. “I'm sorry to keep you, Miss Mitchell, Mr...?"

  "Garret,” Rosalyn supplied. “Christian Garret. He's-he's a friend of mine, a historian.” Her tight smile taunted Christian, though she kept her gaze on Roland. “I don't know what to tell you, Roland. Ethel's stubborn, but maybe in a few weeks you could try again."

  "I didn't—I wasn't unfaithful to her, you know."

  Christian barely suppressed a snort. He didn't really care if the man told the truth or flat out lied, but it was hard for him to believe Ethel had thrown him out without a single shred of proof.

  Rosalyn patted his hand and smiled encouragingly. “I believe you, Roland. Someday Ethel will believe you."

  If he didn't do something soon, Christian thought, they would definitely be here all day, crying with Roland and rehashing the man's sordid past. He cleared his throat to draw their attention. When they both looked his way—Rosalyn with warning and Roland with a dazed expression—he asked, “Have you made any attempt to prove your innocence, Mr. Poole?"

  "Prove my innocence? You mean, to Ethel?"

  Christian sighed, but forced himself to be patient. Obviously, Roland relied on his good looks instead of his brain. “Were you seen with this woman your wife is talking about?"

  Roland shifted nervously on the sofa. After a telling hesitation, he said in a miserable voice, “Shannon was visiting her aunt, and thought it would be nice to get together and talk.” Darting a swift glance at Rosalyn's wide-eyed expression, he hurried on, “It was an innocent meeting. I never thought someone would make a make a ruckus about it, and I was planning to tell Ethel—"

  "But someone got to her before you could?” Christian finished softly. He nodded, surprised to discover that he believed Roland's story. The challenge was to convince Ethel. Strolling thoughtfully to the window overlooking Main street, he laced his fingers behind his back. “So, if you could find this Shannon person, she could clear this misunderstanding up, couldn't she?"

  "I'm certain of it."

  "You're certain that Mrs. Poole would believe her?” Rosalyn chewed on the end of her glove, looking doubtful. “I'm not so sure I would, after all, this Shannon person could possibly lie in your defense."

  Christian was amused at her woman's logic, secure in the knowledge that she couldn't see his reaction. “Why are you so certain, Mr. Poole?” Abruptly, he turned to face them, wiping the smile from his face as he did so.

  "Because she's a nun."

  A nun. Christian flexed his fingers, certain he did not hear Roland clearly. “Did you say Shannon is a nun?"

  Roland nodded happily. “Yes. Shannon's a nun."

  Not bothering to hide his exasperation, he gritted, “Why didn't you say so in the first place? Does your wife know this?” When Roland remained silent, Christian roared, “You didn't tell her? For chrissake, man!"

  "Christian!” Rosalyn admonished. “There's no need to shout at him."

  Roland stood, his jaw working. “I never got the chance to explain."

  Christian looked from Roland's miserable expression, to Rosalyn, who remained seated on the couch. “Let's go."

  "She won't let us in. She might not open the door at all,” Roland warned.

  Standing, Rosalyn agreed with Roland. “He's right, Christian. You saw her reaction."

  "We'll just see, won't we?” Christian had an idea, but he didn't want to suggest it just yet. He would need the element of surprise for it to work. Heading to the door, he shook his head in wonderment. How did he get so involved in Rosalyn's life?

  Perhaps the question he should be asking is how could he get uninvolved?

  * * * *

  "We'll take her by surprise."

  Rosalyn stared at Christian as if he'd just proposed a bank-robbery. The three of them crouched outside the west window of Roland's house, out of sight from the road. Thankfully, a tall hedge separated Roland's yard from the neighbor's house. According to Roland, the lock had snapped on this window last summer, and he'd never gotten around to repairing it. The window led to a little-used room he and Ethel planned to someday use as a nursery.

  "What? If you're too afraid, Rosalyn, then wait in the carriage,” Christian challenged.

  "But—but you're talking about sneaking into someone's house,” she whispered. He'd gone insane! “We can't go around breaking in—"

  "Are we breaking in, Roland?” Christian demanded. “Isn't this your house, too?"

  "Well—"<
br />
  Rosalyn clamped a hand over Roland's mouth. “Keep your voice down! If she hears you, she might get riled.” That was an understatement, and it prompted an alarming question. “Roland, do you own a gun?"

  With his mouth still trapped by her hand, he could only nod.

  Rosalyn groaned, then pinned Christian with a dark look. “Do you have a death wish, Mr. Garret? Because I don't!” She dropped her hand away from Roland's mouth and began to rise from her crouched position. Christian's plan was too risky, and she wasn't about to meet her death at the end of a shotgun, even for love. Or end up in jail. She could just see Miss Howland's face now...

  The creak of the window halted her flight. She turned around, her incredulous eyes on the two men climbing into the open window.

  He was going to go ahead with it, the crazy fool...

  What if they needed her? Rosalyn didn't think Ethel would shoot a woman, and she might not shoot her husband, but she would shoot a stranger.

  Christian was a stranger.

  Rosalyn doubted the woman had noticed Christian earlier; she'd been too engrossed in venting her rage, and even if she had noticed him, she still didn't know him.

  Oh, drats. She couldn't just walk away, knowing Christian was doing this for her. That wouldn't be noble, no matter how unlawful their current plan, and if Christian got hurt, she would never forgive herself.

  "Wait for me!” she whispered.

  Roland stopped squirming, his belly flush with the ledge. He twisted around to look at her, remembering to keep his voice low. “Are you coming?"

  "What choice do I have?” she grumbled. She waited until he pushed on through, then reluctantly grabbed his outstretched hands. Her skirts made the adventure—her first and hopefully her last—awkward, but after some struggle, she got inside.

  The room was bare, with the exception of a trunk and a scarred chest pushed against one wall. A beautiful rug covered most of the polished floor, and someone had painted the walls a soft cream color. Rosalyn could easily envision the spacious, light-filled room as a charming nursery. With any luck, Roland would get an opportunity to work in that direction.