Smoothing her skirts and tucking a stray lock into her fashionable bun, Rosalyn finally looked at the two men. She lifted a brow at Christian and whispered, “Well? What now, detective? Or should I say, outlaw?” A tremor shot through her as Christian moved closer, leaning his handsome face into hers. Amber eyes roved her face, taking the wind right out of her sails. She wanted to step away so that she could breathe, but her stubborn nature wouldn't let her give him the satisfaction.
"This is the plan."
Roland stepped closer, and Christian released Rosalyn from his hypnotic gaze. She drew in a slow breath and decided Roland's face was much, much safer to look upon as Christian continued, keeping his voice low. The door was closed, but they had no idea where Ethel was at the moment.
"Rosalyn, you find Ethel. When you find her, scream."
"Scream.” Rosalyn giggled, although she didn't feel a bit amused. “That shouldn't be a problem. I normally scream when someone tries to choke me,” she said, perfectly serious.
"Your scream will be a signal. Roland and I will find you, and between the three of us, we'll force Ethel to listen to Roland's story."
An impish devil prodded Rosalyn. “Providing Roland can talk with a knife in his throat."
"Put a halt on your imagination, Rosy."
Rosy. The sound of her nickname on Christian's lips flooded Rosalyn with warmth. Drat the man and his silver tongue! With a brave, cheeky smile, she saluted him.
"Be careful,” he whispered.
Rosalyn sobered. “You too.” Suddenly, she remembered they weren't alone. With an embarrassed flush, she looked at Roland, who stood watching them curiously with his arms crossed over his chest as if he had all the time in the world. “And you, Ro—Mr. Poole."
She started to turn away, but Christian swung her back around, startling a gasp from her. His fingers tightened almost painfully on her arm. Before she could exhale, his lips were on hers, the kiss hot and brief and full of lusty promises. By the time he let her go, she was certain her face would fill a cave with light. She couldn't even think about looking at Roland.
"For luck,” he whispered in that bone-melting voice Rosalyn couldn't ignore.
Her lips moved, but no sound emerged. “For luck,” she tried to say, but gave up. She was better off not saying anything, for then he would know how much he affected her.
Ha! As if he didn't realize how speechless she was, and know the cause.
On trembling legs, Rosalyn slipped outside the door, looking left, then right. The hall was clear. The one-level house wasn't overly big, so she didn't think it would take her long to find Ethel. She had to be somewhere, didn't she? After a brief hesitation, she decided to try the rooms to the left of the hall first.
Two bedrooms; both empty. Tip-toeing, she retraced her steps, resisting the urge to check in with the men as she passed the door to the planned nursery. Christian would laugh.
She continued on, listening to the thundering sound of her heart and wondering ruefully how she would hear anything else over the noise.
A pot clanged somewhere to the right. She froze, cocking her head toward the sound before cautiously moving in that direction. Was Ethel in the kitchen, then? But where was the kitchen? Rosalyn bit her lip, praying Ethel would bang something else, or drop a glass. Anything would be helpful. A sniff, a cough, a sneeze...
"Hold it right there, missy,” a brittle, feminine voice commanded from behind her.
Had she said anything would be helpful? Well, not anything, not this. Rosalyn grimaced and rolled her eyes to the ceiling in silent admonishment. I said a sneeze, or a cough, Lord, but thank you anyway.
She turned slowly to face Ethel Poole.
And screamed. She didn't scream at the sight of the shot gun Ethel held with alarming confidence; she screamed in terror at the sight of Christian creeping up behind Ethel. He couldn't see the gun, she was positive—
Everything happened so swiftly, Rosalyn had no time to react. Her expression must have given her away, for Ethel turned to face her new adversary with a growl and a whirl of petticoats. Christian grabbed her in a bear hug, grappling for the gun. With a mighty, enraged grunt, Ethel swung the gun upward, catching Christian in the chin with the heavy barrel.
He sank clumsily to the floor, his eyes rolling up in a way that wrought another scream from Rosalyn.
Breathing heavily, Ethel turned back to Rosalyn and lifted the gun. The wild, unfocused look in the woman's eyes turned her bones to water.
This time, when Rosalyn caught sight of Roland creeping up behind Ethel, she didn't dare do so much as blink. On the floor, Christian groaned, then lay still once again. Rosalyn ached to go to him. This was her fault for letting him do such a reckless thing just to help her and Roland.
She fought the urge to run to his side, knowing she needed to hold Ethel's attention.
What better way then to just blurt out the truth? That should give Ethel something to think about, other than blowing her away or noticing Roland behind her. “Ethel, you're wrong about Roland. The woman he was with is a nun."
Ethel's eyes widened in shock, then narrowed in disbelief. “You're lying. I know Shannon Cosmellow, and she was in love with Roland, wanted to marry him."
"Maybe so, but she's a nun now. Nun's can't have affairs, you know that. She just wanted to talk to him as a friend, and he intended to tell you about their friendly chat when he got home."
She was getting through to Ethel. The woman looked dazed now, and she had allowed the gun to relax, pointing it at the floor. Elation filled Rosalyn, but she forced her voice to remain even; the voice of reason. A talent she had developed since taking this job. “You never gave him a chance to explain, did you? And did whoever told you about seeing them know Shannon? Isn't it possible they didn't know she was a nun?” C'mon, think, Ethel. With your head, not your heart.
"She's telling the truth,” came Roland's quiet voice from behind Ethel. “Shannon wanted to thank me for discontinuing our relationship, because she learned shortly thereafter that she was destined to become God's bride, not mine."
Ethel's eyes widened in shock. “Roland?"
Rosalyn flung herself against the wall as Ethel dropped the shot gun, narrowly missing Christian's unconscious head. Luckily, the gun did not discharge. Rosalyn didn't know much about guns, but she suspected the noise would have been deafening in the narrow hall, not to mention dangerous.
Ethel stepped over Christian and fell into Roland's waiting arms. They both began to talk at once, clutching and kissing one another, making up for lost time. Rosalyn watched them for a moment, then hurried to Christian. He moaned when she touched the swelling knot beneath his chin.
"Christian? Can you hear me?” She didn't think it was anything serious, but ... “Christian?” This time, her call held a note of panic. Tenderly, she leaned forward and kissed his mouth. When she drew away, his eyes fluttered open. Such wonderful eyes, she thought, melting. Although he did look a bit dazed.
"Roland....?” he asked, then groaned as if the simple act of talking pained him.
Rosalyn smiled, thinking she loved this man, loved him to distraction. Never more than at this moment, with him helpless and speechless. “Roland's fine. So is Ethel. Your plan was brilliant.” And crazy, and reckless, and dangerous. But it worked.
"Not.... so brilliant, maybe.” He pronounced each word slowly, trying not to move his injured jaw in the process.
"Can you stand?” Rosalyn helped him to his feet. When he was reasonably steady, they both glanced at the happy couple, who stood hip to hip, locked in a deep kiss. From the way Roland ground his wife against the hall wall, Rosalyn decided they must have forgotten they had company.
Embarrassed by their passionate display, but satisfied with the results, Rosalyn turned Christian away. “Our work is done. Let's go to the hotel and get some ice on that swelling."
"Damned stubborn fools,” he slurred, allowing her to lead him to the door.
But Rosalyn wasn't thinking
about stubbornness, or fools as she closed the door behind them. She was thinking how much she envied the happy couple.
A cold wind snatched her wistful sigh and swept it away.
Chapter Sixteen
I Shot My Arrow Tried and True
But It Fell Short Of Reaching You
And with it Lost, You Were Too
I Fear I Know...
Rosalyn hated leaving Christian in the lobby of his hotel, but she had no choice. It just wasn't proper to be alone with a man in his hotel room and with Valentine's Day less than a week away, she couldn't afford to linger. Miss Howland depended on her to do her job.
After reminding him for the third time to request an ice-pouch from the clerk, she left reluctantly to deliver the last two valentines, only to discover several more deliveries waiting for her when she returned to the factory.
It was early evening before she collapsed on her bed in blessed solitude. Alice was nowhere in sight, and Miss Howland had left a note with the housekeeper, informing her that she had taken her father to a council meeting. Rosalyn rubbed her forehead, thinking hard to remember the contents of the note—something about someone wanting to buy the old paper mill? Yes, that was it, and because of the meeting, Cook would serve supper an hour later than usual.
Sweet Miss Howland, kind and considerate, as a lady should be.
Rosalyn released a long sigh and faced the ceiling, tucking her hands behind her head as she allowed her thoughts to drift back to Christian's kiss in the intended nursery room. No matter how much they quarreled, or how big their differences, she and Christian seemed destined to want each other.
Want.
She sucked in a sharp breath at the word. Want. What a deliciously wicked word, she decided. And a far cry from love, yet she hadn't totally dismissed the possibility of love between them. She knew she loved him, but would want and need be enough for Christian? More to the point, would she be content to love and not be loved in return? Christian made her feel ... needed, and cherished, but she couldn't honestly say he loved her. Sometimes she caught an odd expression in his eyes—a tenderness—that she didn't think he meant for her to see.
Why would he hide it, if indeed he felt such tenderness for her? Why indeed ... unless—unless he was afraid. Rosalyn chuckled at the impossible thought. How absurd, to think for one moment Christian Garret possessed an emotion as weak as fear. No, Christian feared nothing, and she suspected it was because he had deliberately armored himself.
Who could blame him? If what he said about his father was true, then yes, she could understand his reasons for being so cautious. He probably thought she couldn't be trusted with his heart, that she might someday leave—
What was she thinking? It was Christian who would leave, go back to New York where willing sophisticated women probably flocked around him...
Rosalyn sat up, frowning at a spot on the quilt. But it wasn't the spot she saw, it was Christian, turning his head away to hide his embarrassment when she teased him about the puppies. Another memory quickly followed—Christian slipping a handful of bills to Mrs. Davidson. Soon, her mind filled with images of Christian as she recalled every single wonderful thing he had done since coming to town.
There was a lot of those particular images, she realized. Not the actions of a heartless man, no sir. Christian didn't mind doing good things for other people, but when was the last time anyone had done something good for him? And how could she blame him for not trusting her over the rubies, when he'd never had a reason to trust anyone in his life? She had tricked him, but anger and hurt had spurred her uncharacteristic actions.
Thoughtfully, Rosalyn slid from the bed and retrieved the ruby valentine from its box. The housekeeper had found it in the parlor and returned it, thank goodness. She sat down again with the card on her lap, chewing her lip as she appraised the cherished legacy. It rightfully belonged to Christian, or specifically, Christian's grandmother. Callie hadn't known the valentine wasn't hers to give away, but did that make Rosalyn any less guilty, since she now knew the truth?
She had to give it back, and she needed to do so before he could present proof of ownership. This way he would know that it was her decision, and hers alone.
Rosalyn's spirits lifted at the thought. This would show Christian people could be trusted, wouldn't it? Might he then open his heart to her? There was something special between them—he couldn't deny this anymore than she could, no matter how hard he tried.
She would never forgive herself if she didn't try everything within her power to make Christian believe again.
After all, her heart was at stake.
Rosalyn replaced the ruby valentine in the box, whispering a final goodbye. This was the only thing left to remind her of Callie, but she felt certain Callie would approve of her decision. In fact, Callie would be horrified to know her husband had supposedly stolen the jewels in the first place, so she would insist.
Thank God Callie didn't know. With a nervous glance heavenward, Rosalyn went downstairs and retrieved her coat. She struggled into it before letting herself out, clutching the box in her arm.
Outside, dusk had fallen, and the air had stilled. It was going to be a beautiful, cold night, with a sky full of brilliant stars, she thought, setting the box onto the porch to button her coat. Finally secure against the cold, she set off down the street, knowing it could be many blocks before she hailed a cab.
Icy air seared her lungs, chasing the last, lingering traces of weariness from her body. Yes, it had been a long, productive day, but now she was going to see Christian again. It was enough to make her forget everything else and anticipate his reaction.
He would be pleased, wouldn't he? And wouldn't this cause him to revise his opinion of her? She wasn't a thief, and it hurt that he believed she was.
A carriage for hire rumbled her way, and as it drew closer, she saw with great relief that it wasn't Willis. Thank goodness! Willis would disapprove of her destination, possibly refuse to leave her at the hotel.
She hailed the carriage, vaguely recognizing the driver as someone who sometimes filled in for Michael since the arrival of their new baby. “Ah ... Daniel, isn't it?"
The driver, a man perhaps a few years her senior, looked surprised as he tipped his hat and jumped from the seat to open the carriage door. Too late, Rosalyn realized her mistake. She should have kept silent, for he obviously didn't remember her, which was safer.
"You got me at a disadvantage, Miss. I don't believe I know you."
Rosalyn managed a smile. “Rosalyn Mitchell.” She held up the box, her guilty conscience urging her to explain when she knew no explanation was expected. “I work for the New England Valentine—"
"Cupid! You're Cupid!” His admiring gaze strayed over her in a friendly way. “I've heard about you."
"Yes, well—” She cleared her throat, deciding she would never make a good spy and that she'd never get used to people referring to her as Cupid. If they only knew what a mess her own heart was in! “I've got a delivery to make at the Bolten Hotel.” It wasn't a lie, she reminded herself, climbing inside.
Thankfully, Daniel took her subtle hint and scrambled onto the driver's seat. They set off at a fast clip, and within minutes, the carriage was stopping in front of the hotel. Daniel jumped down and opened the carriage door before Rosalyn could grasp the inside handle.
"Here we are, Miss Mitchell. Want me to wait for ya?"
Rosalyn shook her head and paid him from the ready pile of coins she kept in her coat pocket before stepping onto the boardwalk. When Daniel moved on in search of another customer, she tilted her face upward, studying the row of lights glowing in the upstairs windows.
This was it. She was here, and somewhere up there behind one of those windows, Christian nursed a bruised jaw. Possibly wishing he'd never met her that fateful day at the train station.
She squeezed the box in her arm, wondering if she had acted too hastily in coming here. Since meeting Christian, hardly a day went by that she d
idn't see him. He had followed her, pretending to be Chris Brown, and then later, when she discovered the truth, he'd concocted a story to convince her employer that he should accompany her while she made her deliveries.
All for the sake of the rubies?
Rosalyn twisted her fingers in the box string and chewed at her lip. If the rubies were the only reason, then what would happen when she gave them back? Would he be glad that he wouldn't have to make excuses to be with her?
Was she ready for the truth?
She was.
Straightening her shoulders, Rosalyn gripped the box and marched inside. The desk clerk watched her determined approach with faint disdain, but this did not deter Rosalyn. She wasn't easily intimidated, and when she looked the clerk square in the eye, she discovered he wasn't so eager to anger her.
"I'm here to deliver ... a package to Mr. Christian Garret. Could you tell me what room he's in, please?” She'd made her request in a cool, professional voice, and to her inward relief, the clerk matched her tone.
"Room two-o-five, Miss—"
"Thank you.” Rosalyn whirled around before he could finish his snooping question. She made short work of the stairs, halting breathlessly in front of room two hundred five.
She raised her hand to knock, but hesitated before her knuckles touched the wood. Doubts assailed her, sucking the nervous energy from her body and leaving her trembling and uncertain. Should she? Could she?
Clutching the box tightly to her chest, Rosalyn rapped her knuckles against the door, thinking it might as well be her heart in the box, instead of the dratted rubies.
Which one would Christian prefer?
She waited, on the verge of fleeing down those plush carpeted stairs. The moment stretched into two. Where was he? Had he been injured worse than she thought, and was he now lying on the floor, unconscious? Ethel was a stout-looking woman, capable of swinging a hard punch—
Before she could finish the thought, Rosalyn twisted the knob and flung the door wide, her imagination soaring with horrible images of Christian hurt and alone.
My Valentine Page 21