It didn’t matter anymore. She was doomed to a spinster’s life and no longer cared a fig for her reputation. Virtuous Christian ladies gained nothing for their trouble but misery, so perhaps it was time to sample some of that fruit from the tree of knowledge.
Decision made, Meredith marched back down the street, her heels drumming out a furious rhythm in counterpoint to the blood throbbing in her ears.
The tiny voice nibbled the corner of her conscience, urging calm.
Meredith ignored the voice. Ignored as well the seeds of uncertainty sprouting, springing to life when she shoved through the front entrance to the Excelsior. “Where’s Mr. Walker?” she demanded of Clyde Henckle, the night porter.
“Miss Sinclair?” Well-trained, after a single incredulous glance Clyde snapped to attention. “Um . . . I believe he’s still in his offices.”
“Alone?”
“I couldn’t say. Shall I inquire for you?”
“That won’t be necessary.” She steamed across the lobby without another word.
The outer office was dark and empty, but a thin strip of light showed beneath Benjamin’s door. Head tilted for battle, Meredith pounded her fist on the panel, then threw it open without waiting for permission to enter. What could he do to her, after all? She’d already resigned.
Benjamin was seated behind his desk. He was coatless, shirtsleeves rolled up his forearms, tie and collar dangling over the back of his chair. For once, the sartorial image was lacking. Good. It was easier to deliver a scorching denunciation to a tired-looking, rumpled man.
Meredith sucked in a deep breath and started across the room.
Benjamin hadn’t risen, but his dark blue eyes slowly studied her from the top of her head downward, finally returning to her face. “Where have you been?” The mildness of his question belied the rigid set of his jaw. The lines scoring his forehead deepened. “Meredith, where have you been for”—he glanced at the clock sitting in front of him—“the last four hours?”
“Why? What possible difference could it make to you?” She reached the desk and stood, shaking in her outrage, heated words straining to spew forth.
“Hominy’s out looking for you.”
“Oh? How nice, setting your faithful bodyguard after me. Wanted to make sure I hadn’t pilfered through your desk? Stolen papers out of your safe?”
He stood slowly, never taking his gaze away from her. “I wanted to make sure you were all right. In spite of what you’ve done, I needed to—”
“I haven’t done anything to you!” Meredith yelled, her hands fisting. “It was all a scheme. I was nothing but a pawn in a contemptible game. And you’re as blind and stupid as I was. He wants to ruin you, he wanted to keep you from building Poplar Springs. He used me, and he lied to me. And you fell for the lies, you didn’t even try to believe me. He—I—”
“Where’s your shawl? Your hat? Meredith, tell me where you’ve been for the past four hours.”
Meredith blinked, disoriented. Her shawl? Her hat? The trivial questions and Benjamin’s steely calm seemed a bewilderingly inappropriate response. “I-I must have left them. At Pre—at his office. I had to wait for—” She stopped, then banged her fist on top of his desk, knocking over the clock. “How dare you question me! It’s a ruse, you’re trying to maneuver the conversation. You’re nothing but a bully, Benjamin Walker.”
When he rounded the desk she met him halfway, quivering with the need to strike. To hurt him as he had hurt her. “I can’t believe I defended you to Preston. I wish I hadn’t. You didn’t even try to defend me, listen to my side. You’re no better than Preston!”
“No?” Quicker than a pouncing tomcat his hands closed over her arms and jerked her against his chest. “At least I don’t leave a lady alone in my office while I whistle off to dine with my mistress.”
“Take your hands off—Mistress?” She stilled. “His mistress?”
“They’re enjoying supper in my dining room as we speak.” Raw violence leapt from his eyes to the hands gripping her upper arms. As quickly as the dangerous flicker appeared, it was gone. His hold gentled. “Everyone knows about her. Everyone, apparently, but you.”
“Let me go.”
“Only if you promise not to bolt or slap my face.”
Choking on humiliation, for once Meredith couldn’t summon an answer. When his hands fell away she didn’t move. If she tried, she would crumple at his feet.
“I should have listened to my instincts,” Benjamin murmured after a prolonged silence. “Told you weeks ago, when I saw what you were doing. Of course, I’d told myself your affairs of the heart were none of my business, as long as they didn’t interfere with your work. I did think you’d have more pride than to throw yourself at a man like Preston Clarke, however.”
“Pride,” she whispered. “It does go before destruction.”
“Oh?” His head tilted sideways. “In your case, I’d have said pigheadedness rather than pride. Or perhaps impulse. What do you think, Meredith? I know what I’m thinking. I’m relieved that you resigned.” He stroked under his chin, where beard stubble shadowed his face and neck. “I’m a little disappointed in myself for missing these defects in your character when I hired you. I’m afraid under the circumstances a letter of reference would—”
A gurgling half-shriek erupted from Meredith’s lips. She flew at him, hands fisted, blinded by a geyser of wrath. In all her twenty-three years she’d never known such consuming rage, not even when she discovered that Preston had played her for a Judas goat.
She was no match for Benjamin Walker, landing only a single glancing blow against a granite-muscled shoulder because he jerked his head back with blinding speed. Then she was locked in an unbreakable embrace.
“That’s more like it.” He manacled her fists in one large hand while his other arm circled her ribs, keeping her smashed against his torso so she was unable to even kick or stomp his instep, or—
“I was afraid I was going to have to start insulting your family next, to provoke a reaction.”
The words, spoken with such calm authority, arrested the spiraling rage. Dazed, Meredith gaped at the face scant inches away from hers. “You were—all those words, you didn’t mean . . . you were only . . .”
His head lowered until his breath fanned her heated cheeks. “Yes. I was only provoking you. I know you’re innocent, and there’s nothing wrong with your character. I’ve grown . . . quite fond . . . of all your quirks, including the pigheadedness.” The arm holding her against him shifted. “So I provoked you. Because I didn’t want to do this, to a drooping, defeated woman.”
And his mouth covered hers.
Forty-Two
For a first kiss, his timing showed deplorable judgment, Ben thought in the walled-off portion of his mind still capable of analysis. On the other hand, considering the day he’d suffered through—and what he’d just heard—Meredith was fortunate that he maintained enough scruples not to carry her off to his upstairs suite like a marauding warrior. She hadn’t betrayed him. And she must care, more than she realized, or she never would have hunted him down.
He forced himself to lift his head, dragging air into his lungs. Meredith was gazing at him in such bewilderment Ben almost kissed her again. Instead he lifted a hand to her cheek, brushing a stray teardrop aside with his fingertips. “I won’t apologize. Been wanting to do that for”—his thumb skimmed the line of her jaw, up to the soft skin just behind her ear—“well, it feels like forever.”
Her throat muscles quivered, and she passed her tongue around her lips. “I didn’t know.”
A smile twitched the corner of his lips. “I made sure you didn’t. You were seeing another man, after all. I also wasn’t about to take advantage of an employee who might fear for her position if she spurned any advances.” He couldn’t help it. He dropped a light kiss on the tip of her nose. “That’s the real reason I’ve accepted your resignation.”
Disillusionment muddied the green gold eyes. “You just want to s
educe me like Lamar Aikens. You’re no better than Preston.”
Still swimming in relief and the memory of their kiss, the verbal thrust caught Ben off guard. He lifted his hands at once and took two steps backward. She might as well have slapped his face. “If that’s all I wanted, I wouldn’t have waited this long. And just now . . . I didn’t want to stop with a kiss, Meredith.”
He waited until comprehension filled her eyes. “If you need to fling a few accusations at my head, go ahead. I probably deserve some of them. But bridle your tongue until you make sure they are deserved.” His voice softened to a knife-edged whisper. “And don’t ever compare me to J. Preston Clarke again.”
“No. All right. I—you’re not. I won’t . . .” She looked down. Ben watched her fingers flutter in a tattoo against each other until she twined her hands together. She shuddered before she lifted her head. “It’s just that I don’t understand how you could want to kiss me, when you”—she cleared her throat several times—“behaved the way you did this afternoon.”
Well, he probably deserved that. Ben knew he would carry the memory of that afternoon for the rest of his worthless life. She’d stood before him, chin lifted, eyes like wounds in a face the color of bleached bone. And she’d done her best to crack his jaw with her fist, all the while looking the way he felt: as though he’d stabbed her through the heart. She’d looked that way when he flung out the information about Preston Clarke’s mistress, until he goaded her into losing her temper.
The kiss had been inevitable for several reasons. Relief. Exultation. Desire. Perhaps, most of all, because he couldn’t bear to see her defeated and empty-eyed. An angered Meredith Sinclair was a magnificent creature, incandescent with unleashed passion. And he’d wanted her with a force that rocked him to his toes. Yet Meredith hadn’t known the depth of his feelings, still didn’t because all he had done since she burst into his office was to react, bombarding her with unleashed emotions of his own. Emotions he was still trying to comprehend himself.
What a mess they’d made of things.
“When I sent Hominy to fetch you this afternoon, at the time I thought you had betrayed me,” he said. “I was angry, yes. And I was hurt. But hurt and anger don’t always kill desire.” A corner of his mouth curled in a wry smile. “You really don’t know much about men, do you?”
Her head snapped back. “I know everything about men I need to know. All of you are lower than the belly of a garter snake.”
Now there was vintage Meredith. Ben rubbed the back of his neck, reining in a defensive retort. He’d confused her, and he’d frightened her; with Meredith, belligerence masked an ocean of insecurities, not true antagonism. “I’ve had similar thoughts about the female of the species myself,” he said, his voice mild.
He reached behind her to right the quaint kettledrum-shaped clock, setting it back on its onyx base. The task allowed his arm to graze her side. Meredith scrambled backward, tripping over the hem of her gown. Ben grabbed her arm. “Steady there. You’re skittish, for someone who knows everything about men.”
She jerked her arm free. “I’ve reason enough to be skittish, the way you’re staring at me.”
“Ah. How am I staring at you?”
A fiery blush suffused her face, delighting him. “Never mind.” She shook out the rumpled folds of her skirt, smoothed the tucks of her shirtwaist. “Mr. Walker, if you know now that I didn’t betray—”
“Call me Benjamin or Ben. After the kiss we shared, ‘Mr. Walker’ is a trifle overdone, don’t you think?” Because he knew she was more nervous than she would ever admit, Ben strolled back behind his desk. “I’ll walk you home.” He picked up his collar and buttoned it back in place.
“I walked myself here, I’m perfectly capable of walking myself back. Besides, I don’t want . . . I don’t understand—” She stopped.
Ben finished fastening the collar, but paused as he reached for the tie. “Meredith . . .” The name emerged in a long sigh. Her back was turned, shoulders bowed.
Ben rummaged in his pockets, eventually locating his handkerchief. “Here. I have plenty more, in the bottom drawer of my desk. I’ve started keeping a supply there, just for you, since on an average of three times a week you—no, shh. It’s all right. Don’t turn away. It’s all right.”
He kept up the soothing patter while he pulled her into his embrace. At first she resisted, but Ben had known enough women over the years to recognize the difference between a rebuff and embarrassed reluctance. Firmly he pressed her damp cheek to his breast. His other hand kneaded her taut neck muscles. Ben closed his eyes, savoring the feel of her safe in his arms. That she was weeping mattered not at all. For a little while, he thought, just for a little while.
“I hate being like this,” she finally choked out, her nose still buried in his shirtfront. “Hate it . . . Tears are weak. The mark of a sn-sniveling ninny.”
“For some, perhaps. My mother used to tell me that tears watered the soul. She said the saddest people on earth are the ones who refuse to cry.”
“Then I should be the happiest woman on earth,” Meredith responded in a thick voice. In a convulsive movement she gathered handfuls of his shirt in her fists, ground her face back into his shoulder, and released the desolate tears of a soul at the end of her resources. Ben held her, rocked her—and wished he could join her.
But all the tears in all the world would not restore circumstances or right the injustices both of them had suffered.
He loved her, but he was still raw because he loved her. Though he now understood that Meredith hadn’t betrayed him, it would take a long time to heal the pain of this afternoon. She had, after all, clung to her belief in Clarke’s innocence until the bounder himself told her otherwise.
The kiss had relieved Ben greatly; Meredith would never have responded to him had her heart still belonged solely to J. Preston Clarke. But despite the brief explosion of passion, and their present closeness, Ben remained wary of confessing his feelings, let alone asking Meredith about hers. He was too scared of what her answer might be.
A step scraped across the parquet floor of the outside offices. He glanced across the room just as Hominy materialized in the doorway. The big man stopped dead, a thunderous scowl replacing the lines of concern.
“Should have known better than to leave you alone.”
Meredith jumped and tried to pull away, but Ben ignored her efforts, gathering her closer instead. “We both leaped to conclusions earlier.” He gestured Hominy over with a quick jerk of his chin. “Don’t make the same mistake. She’s innocent, Hominy. Meredith’s only sin is gullibility. She believed Preston Clarke was an honorable man.” Meredith made a muffled sound, and he rubbed the back of her shoulders, feeling the tension rebuilding. “Clarke saw an easy mark and took advantage.”
“Wouldn’t have, if you’d listened to me. Ain’t got the sense God gave a billy goat.”
Meddling old coot, Ben thought, smiling in spite of his irritation. Meredith squirmed more forcefully, and he let her go. Then he lifted her hand and curled her fingers around his handkerchief. “Mop up, you’ll feel better.”
“Thank you.”
Her voice was hoarse, her hand not quite steady. Some women could cry and maintain their looks. Meredith was not one of them. Yet Ben watched with pride filling his heart, as with a sort of stubborn grace she nonetheless gathered dignity back around her like an ermine stole.
When she finished with his handkerchief, she folded it into a neat square, looked across at Hominy, and cleared her throat. “I tend to agree, about his lack of sense. But I’d like to know why you said it,” she said, edging away from Ben. “What didn’t Mr. Walker listen to you about?”
“Never mind that now.” Ben stepped in front of her, blocking her path. “It’s not important. We can discuss everything another time. It’s late. You’re exhausted. Let me take you home.”
The light of battle glinted from her swollen, red-rimmed eyes. “Let’s discuss this now.” She peered aroun
d him. “Hominy? What doesn’t he want to tell me?”
“Not my place to tell you, Miss Sinclair.” The deep voice softened, though his left hand rose defensively to his ear. “Mr. Ben’s my employer, see. But he’s also a friend. Now from the looks of things, the two of you—”
Ben hastily interrupted. “Why don’t you fetch her some water? And have Clyde rummage around the cloak room for a shawl or cape or something, hmm?”
Instead of obeying, Hominy folded his arms across his chest and planted his feet on the carpet. “Might be a better idea for me to stay here.”
Meredith laid a hand on Ben’s arm, startling him. He glanced down. Incredibly, Meredith was smiling. “You’re a wonderful friend,” she told Ben’s overprotective watchdog. When she turned that sweet smile on Ben he felt as though he’d taken a punch straight to the gut. “I’m all right now. My sisters would tell you that these bouts tend to wear everyone out. Fortunately, once they’re over I’m usually docile as a spring lamb.”
“I doubt that.” Ben brushed the corner of her cheekbone, then the tip of her nose with his index finger. “You look terrible,” he said, his voice tender.
“Please. Don’t cater to my sensibilities,” she grumbled. “I might say the same about yourself . . . except it wouldn’t be true.” She muttered the last phrase beneath her breath, but when she realized Ben had heard, a deep blush converged over her already reddened nose and eyes until her entire face glowed. “Never mind. Don’t you say another word.”
Chin jutted forward, she marched across the carpet to Hominy. “You should know that Preston Clarke is doing everything in his power to prohibit Mr. Walker from building Poplar Springs. But I only discovered that an hour ago, when he told me himself. Hominy, Preston betrayed all of us. But please believe that I want Mr. Walker to build his dream every bit as much as you.”
“ ’Preciate that, Miss Sinclair,” Hominy replied with grave dignity. “ ’Preciate it more, if you’d convince him of that.”
Shenandoah Home (Sinclair Legacy Book 1) Page 35