by Eloise Alden
“And Bren?”
“It’s believed he went with the elfin princess.”
“To the smiley moon?”
“Yes, see, there it is.” She pointed at the moon rising above the dark gathering clouds. “Venus, the goddess of love rises in early June and coincides with the crescent moon--Oh goodness!” She clutched Trent’s arm.
“What is it?”
Verity turned her head away. “That man has a gun.”
The man with the gun glanced up the hill and caught sight of Verity and Trent. Trent drew Verity behind him, shielding her. Verity tried to look over his shoulder, but by the time Trent let her go, both men were gone. She crawled out from under Trent’s arm. “They’re gone.”
Trent still held her tightly against him. Despite the fact that she felt warm and fragile, and that he could think of little else other than the length of his thigh pressing against hers, he tried to step away. Until he saw a movement on a stairwell ahead, a shadow flitting in the semi-darkness. He drew Verity to his side. “We’re not alone,” Trent said.
They stood on a hill and mud, muck and debris cruised down the wagon ruts and pooled in puddles, causing a stench that mingled with the Sound’s salt and brine. Some of the wood buildings had chunks of the fading daylight shining through the ill-fitted boards. Tufts of grass poked between the slats of the boardwalk. He wondered what sort of businesses flourished in the decrepit neighborhood. Who were the residents, who were the patrons, and what had brought them here? His eyes flitted to the boarded windows, other than a rat scurrying beneath the boardwalk and a tailless dog loping toward the docks, he didn’t see anyone.
But he registered the tension in Verity’s spine, and it made him uncomfortable. He worried she knew far more than she shared. She trusted him enough to allow him to accompany her to Seattle’s skid row, but not enough to tell him her true purpose and designs—dangerous purposes and designs—however well intended.
She nudged him with her elbow. “Will you please take me home?”
Keeping her tucked close to his side, Trent steered her back up the street. A weak moon shone through a rising gray mist and the light breeze had turned into a mean wind that stung his face. It’d be dark before they’d reach Lily Hill, and Trent had a mounting feeling of foolishness. He knew if anyone saw her cinched up against his chest the rumors, already flying, would rocket.
Trent’s arm stiffened, his lips tightened, and a vein in his neck throbbed. He put his hand behind his back to the knife tucked in his belt. He watched the corner where a set of stairs led up a dark stoop. A shadow. No larger than Verity’s, but it had darted. A flash of movement, quiet and stealthy. Verity picked up her pace, but Trent held her back.
“Let’s cross here,” he said in her ear.
Verity looked at the street with dismay and moaned. “Please, not until the intersection.” At the corner, she’d pick a semi-clean path on the bricks, but to cross mid-street through the mud would be the death of her Sunday shoes and stockings.
He could almost read her thoughts. How could he know how she felt about mud and shoes and not know why she followed men to a rough part of town? She balked at stepping into the filth.
Trent took her arm. With a glance at the dark stoop, he urged her forward. “We’re being followed.”
Verity shook her head, and Trent again tried to propel her into the street.
Verity gulped and shook away from Trent. “The shadow could have been anyone, a dog even, or perhaps a scared child, hiding and hungry.”
Trent frowned at her. “So, you saw someone, too.”
“Just because—” she gulped. “I just don’t think we need to be so quick to step into the muddy street.”
Trent looked aggrieved. “Would you like me to carry you?”
“No!” she said, too loudly.
A roar drowned out her voice and the world exploded into a pink and green mist.
#
Verity screamed as a dark cloak smelling of tea and smoke went over her head. Strong arms encircled her waist and threatened to pull her away from Trent. He had hold of her hand and her fingers folded in on one another in his grip. She screamed and kicked as the arms lifted her from the boardwalk. The smell of the cloak caught in her throat, and she fought back rising bile.
The arms, like two small steel bands, tightened around her waist and cut off her breath. She flayed her arms, groping for Trent in the near darkness. She heard him swearing, and then she heard a muffled voice she recognized. She went still.
“Young Lee?” she asked. “Is this you?”
Suddenly the arms loosened and she fell to the ground and landed on her bottom. She scrambled to stand and cast off the cloak. Trent stood before her, fists poised.
Young Lee, wiping the blood from his lip, had jumped into a crouch. He made a low guttural noise that Verity associated with wild animals. She flung the cloak at him and stepped in front of Trent.
“Stop!” she screamed. Holding up her hands, she placed herself between the two sparring men. Each looked ready to kill and Verity realized that Trent must not have been carrying a gun because his hands were empty. Young Lee, however, held a strange shiny object in the shape of a star that glinted in the early moonlight. “Stop,” she repeated, her voice taking on a pleading tone.
Neither man moved.
“Young Lee,” Verity said, her voice shaking. “This is Mr. Michaels, he’s a friend of mine.”
Young Lee didn’t look convinced, but he lowered his arms a fraction and stood a little taller. “Friend?”
“Yes,” Verity said, inhaling deeply. “He’s a friend.”
She cast a nervous glance at Trent. “Trent, this is Young Lee. He works for my aunt.”
Trent raised his fists. “Why the cloak?”
“He no look friendly,” Young Lee asked at the same time. “Why he grab you?”
Verity placed her hand on Trent’s arm and managed to push it down. “See, he won’t harm me.”
The small man stood straight, legs spread, arms crossed, and lids lowered. “I no like this friend. He not good friend for you.”
“Well, that may or may not be true,” Verity bit back a nervous laugh of relief, “but, we’re going home now, so you see, I’m perfectly safe.”
“If he’d been a good friend, he no bring you here.”
“Ah, so we agree on something,” Trent said, wiping his forehead with the back of his sleeve.
“I didn’t twist your arm,” Verity said. “You came on your own.”
“Only because I thought if I didn’t accompany you, you’d come on your own.”
Verity flushed.
“Am I right?” Trent argued.
Young Lee sniffed. “I go with you now home.”
“There’s no need to accompany us, I assure you I’m safe,” Verity said.
“You go home to Miss Tilly.” Young Lee folded his arms across his chest.
“That’s exactly what I’ve been saying,” Trent said, taking Verity’s arm.
Verity rounded on him. “You have not.”
“Well, it’s what I’ve been thinking.” He propelled her up the hill.
Verity rolled her eyes and followed. Young Lee fell into step behind them. Trent cast a glance back at Young Lee and Verity followed his gaze.
Young Lee wouldn’t make eye contact, but he trailed them by five paces. His black silk cloak swirled around his legs as he walked.
“What do you mean I may or may not be a good friend?” Trent said, rubbing his knuckles.
“You shouldn’t have hit him,” Verity murmured. “It wasn’t necessary.”
“He blinded us, threw a cloak over you, tried to carry you off!”
“He thought you meant me harm.”
“And if he wasn’t right then, he’s right now.”
She chuckled. “You mean me harm?”
Trent sucked in his breath. “If I have to harm you to keep you safe, I will.”
“Safe from whom? You?”
&nbs
p; Trent placed his hand on the small of her back and led her up Lily Hill. “I will keep you off of Skid Row. I will protect you from the likes of Steele and his henchmen.”
“That sounds like a threat.” She cast a smile back at Young Lee. “I’m not completely defenseless, you know.”
“I don’t care how many umbrellas you wield or how many bodyguards you have hidden. The next time—”
Verity laughed. “The next time, what?”
Trent’s face turned hard and his eyes glittered in the moonlight. “Don’t push me, Verity.”
She slid a sidewise glance at his chiseled jaw. She hoped he didn’t feel used, because she had used him. Going to the gaming house and following Wallace. If it had even been Wallace. In the misty near-dark, it’d been hard to tell. All of it had been infinitely easier because she’d had Trent’s comforting hulk beside her.
When had he become her security blanket? When had he won her trust? She thrust her hand under his arm, grateful for his size and warmth. She felt his tension and she knew she caused it and yet, she still appreciated his company. “Thank you for coming with me tonight.”
“We weren’t really going to see the smiley moon, were we?”
“Would you believe I needed exercise?”
“In your precious Sunday shoes?”
She cocked her head. “Walking with you is safer than walking alone.”
He gave Young Lee a meaningful glance. “We’re not alone. As a matter of fact, we never were.”
Verity nodded, knowing he referred to the thug they’d been following. Feeling contrite, she said something she wondered if she’d regret. “I know someone you might like to meet. Someone who might have information about your cousin.” She doubted very much if Georgina would approve of being exposed, but maybe if Trent could help, Georgina wouldn’t mind.
They stopped beneath a street lamp. The smell of gas mingled with the cool, moist night air. In the shadow of an elm tree, the hooded figure of Young Lee blended into the early night’s gloom. His dark eyes watched as she told Trent about a girl recently escaped from Lucky Island.
#
Tilly’s eyes flashed between Trent and Verity and a knowing smile played around her lips. “Did I see you at our Sabbath services yester-morning, Mr. Michaels?”
Trent cleared his throat. “No,” he said shuffling his boots on the tapestry carpet.
“Hmm,” Tilly murmured, her gaze going between the two. “Pastor Klum gave an inspiring sermon on personal sanctity.”
Verity hoped she looked as calm and guilt free as Trent. “Actually, Auntie, I thought he spoke on free will.”
“I’m sorry I missed it,” Trent said with twitching lips.
“Free will, personal sanctity, moral discipline, it’s all the same thing, don’t you think?” Tilly pointed her chin at Verity. “Thank goodness, Verity heard it.”
Verity fiddled with the lace on the sleeve of her dress and wondered how many rumors her aunt had heard of her and Trent.
Trent cleared his throat. “I spent yesterday morning at my grandmother’s ranch. In fact, I’ve come to invite Verity there now.”
All went just as they’d planned and yet, Tilly had to believe that it hadn’t been prearranged. She couldn’t know that Trent had already fetched Dorrie, the girl who had recently escaped from Lucky Island.
Tilly raised up slightly on her toes as she said, “How lovely!”
And in her aunt’s voice Verity heard hints of a wedding cake, flower girls, and diamond rings. She couldn’t let Tilly misunderstand or else she’d have to explain to all of Seattle that she wasn’t betrothed to Trent Michaels. “Auntie—” she began.
“I should love to see your grandmother, it’s been a number of years, I believe, since she’s been to town.” Tilly’s eyes sparkled with wanted information. “I remember when your grandparents were the king and queen of Seattle society.”
“So I heard,” Trent murmured.
“And since your grandfather’s death, your poor grandmother has been very reclusive.” Tilly tapped Trent’s arm with her spectacles. “Does this invitation mean that she’s stepping back into social circles, or, ” Tilly paused, her smile bright, “What does this mean?”
“It’s just tea, Aunty.” Verity cast a frantic glance at Trent. What was he up to? “Perhaps you should join us,” she said, knowing perfectly well that her aunt detested long and bouncy coach rides.
“Oh no, dear, it’s such a long way. Of course, it’s very beautiful along the river, quite romantic. You two will enjoy it. I wouldn’t want to be a third wheel.”
Verity had to refrain from rolling her eyes. Tilly had been on the verge of spouting Klum’s sermon, but when a hint of matrimony cast a pink shadow, romantic drives along the river were in order. And of course, although her aunt didn’t know it, a third wheel had already been procured, Dorrie.
#
By mile six Dorrie began to speak without visible fear. Because her lips were still swollen, she lisped, and her eyes were shifty despite their puffy purple bruising.
“I’m still not convinced this was the best idea,” Verity said, her nervousness mounting with every passing mile.
Trent lounged on the opposite seat, his legs occupying most of the space between them. He looked the perfect picture of comfort and ease. “We agreed we couldn’t talk at Tilly’s.”
Verity twitched her skirt so that it wouldn’t touch Trent’s boot. “Well, of course, but—”
“We couldn’t talk in front of Chloe.”
Verity took a deep breath, gathering steam for an argument. “But we could have waited for Chloe to leave.”
Trent shook his head. “She’d return, perhaps unexpectedly. I don’t want to frighten her. Needlessly. And your reputation is already in tatters, your visiting my home without a chaperone would have set whatever is left of it on fire.”
Verity’s gaze landed on Dorrie, and then shifted away. Dorrie looked like a battered twelve-year-old wearing her mother’s dress-up clothes. Verity wondered where Georgina had gotten the dress and why they hadn’t been able to find something better fitting. The fabric swam around the girl’s fragile shoulders.
Trent addressed Dorrie. “And you said you didn’t want to go out in public. That didn’t leave us with many options. Besides, there is a likeness of Gracey at the ranch.”
“But your grandmother isn’t expecting us,” Verity put in.
Trent smiled at her and the coach seemed to grow impossibly small. “We’ve been overlooking a number of social conventions recently.”
Verity stared out the window to hide the heat staining her cheeks. She wasn’t ready to meet Trent’s formidable grandmother. She wasn’t sure she’d ever be ready to meet his grandmother. She might be just another person to whom she’d have to later bid goodbye. She might be another person who would wonder what had become of Verity Faye when she disappeared. Again.
Trent continued to pepper Dorrie with questions. The girl no longer seemed to mind. She relaxed in Trent’s company. No longer sitting ramrod straight on her seat, her shoulders stiff and her mouth a tight, narrow line, she rocked with the swaying coach and occasionally even smiled.
“A small framed girl with brown curly hair? That could describe nearly a dozen girls,” Dorrie told him.
Verity watched the landscape slide past the window and worried about Gracey’s disappearance. She tried not to listen, but in the rhythm of the horses’ clip-clop she heard “it could have been me, it could have been me, it could have been me.” Every so often, Trent caught her eye and so she tried to keep her focus on the trees, sheep and cattle that dotted the landscape.
She didn’t know how she felt about Trent’s grandmother. Trent had told her Hester knew about the kiss. Verity smoothed down her blue poplin dress. Tilly had fussed over Verity’s appearance, having, of course, the completely wrong idea about Verity’s visit to the ranch. Verity jiggled her foot. It couldn’t be helped. She’d thought of confiding in her aunt; she loved her aunt and
had infinite trust in her good heart. It was her tongue Verity didn’t trust. And Dorrie had been fervent about the need for secrecy. Verity couldn’t blame her.
They rounded a small hill and Verity let out an inadvertent small gasp. Below her, nestled in a valley of vibrant grass and yellow buttercups sat a white farmhouse with blue trim. The meadow disappeared into a ridge of alders sprouting new green leaves, and a pine-tree covered mountain topped with snow sat in the distance. Not far from the house lay a massive red barn. Chestnut colored horses in all shapes and sizes meandered in the meadow beyond a white split rail fence.
Dorrie’s chatter stopped and a quick look at her face told Verity that she’d also fallen under the farm’s spell.
“Are you sure your grandmother won’t mind our sudden arrival?” Verity asked again, licking her lips and trying to soothe her anxieties.
“We’ll find out,” Trent said. “Besides, she wants to meet you. She’s heard the rumors.”
“More than just, you know?”
Trent’s lips twitched. “No, I don’t know.”
Verity jutted out her chin. “Well, I’ve heard rumors about her, too.”
Trent leaned toward her. “Not everything you hear is true.”
“Exactly,” Verity said thinking back to that morning’s conversation with her aunt.
#
When they arrived at the Michaels’ farm, the food on the dining room table was still warm. Sunflowers had been arranged in a cut crystal bowl. Four white bone china place settings topped with sparkly goblets sat on the white lace tablecloth. The sun peeked through the spotless windows and cast a warm glow over the large dining room and steam rose from chicken stew in the colander.
“How?” Verity squeaked. “She didn’t know we were coming, right?”
Trent shrugged. “She’s always been omniscient.” A wheat roll emitted a fragrant puff when Trent picked one out of the basket and tore it in two. “It’s a little scary, but you get used to it.”