Chapter Five

 

 

ALICE STARED DOWN AT the map Garrett had placed before her and traced her index finger over the section coloured in blue. “So this is the latest exploration?”

“Yes.” Garrett leant in next to her. “The coal’s about two hundred, two hundred fifty feet down. I’ve found sandstone and some shale. Coal is next.”

“And you are certain?” Blue covered a depressingly small section of the map.

“As certain as I can be.”

“Well, all right then.” Abandoning the map, she sat herself before his battered desk in his equally battered chair. She frowned. She had offered Garrett better furnishings time and time again. She had desks and chairs from upgrading the Diamond, and she always offered them to the surveyor first. Garrett, however, always politely refused.

As Garrett had suggested, she’d come to the inspect the claim and receive his progress report. It had taken a good hour or more to walk out here, and the meeting would make it over three before she would return. With the Spectacular less than a week away, she hadn’t much time to spend in pursuits not in its service, but Garrett had been right. She’d needed this reassurance and the distraction. She could work herself into a frenzy making sure all was right with the Spectacular, and an hour or two away from it would do no harm.

She’d also found herself thinking too much of Llewellyn. The pretty man and his contradictions distracted her constantly, such that she found herself thinking of him when talking with her stage manager, or when discussing set construction with the Diamond’s foreman. Even on the walk over her, she’ d found her thoughts drifting to him time and again. She still hadn’t decided what she would do with the attraction he stirred in her, but the mystery of the Englishman and his great lie would keep until after the Spectacular was done.

Belatedly, she realised Garrett was patiently awaiting her instruction. Goddamnit, once again Llewellyn had stolen her wits. “What’s your opinion on how we should proceed?”

The surveyor ran a hand through his hair, leaving a trail of rock-dust on the blond strands behind. “I’m of the notion we should push farther into the claim and begin the proceedings to sink the first mine.”

“Then that is how we will proceed.” Usually, Garrett cleaned up before their meetings, but she’d come upon him suddenly. She’d thought she’d sent word of her imminent arrival, but it could be it had slipped her mind. In the week leading up to the Spectacular, she was lucky if she remembered to eat breakfast. “Have you heard any more rumours?”

“Only that Thomson and Glick have sold their claims, but won’t tell to who.”

“I thought Thomson and Glick abandoned those claims because they were tapped out. Why would anyone pay anything for them?”

Garrett shrugged. “It seems this company don’t agree.”

That gave her pause, and she didn’t like it when things gave her pause. “Do you have a notion yet of which company it is?”

He shook his head. “It might be prudent to send for an inquiry agent.”

“I’ve already sent for Wade,” she said distractedly.

Garrett tensed. “Wade?” he asked carefully.

She nodded, her thoughts on this new development. “We’ll keep it quiet-like, though. If this company don’t want us to know who they are, we should repay them in kind.”

Garrett didn’t respond.

She glanced at him. His brows were knitted together. “Anything wrong?”

He blinked. “Nothing. Let me know when Wade arrives and I’ll tell him what I know.”

Rising, she nodded. “Thank you, Garrett.”

Rising also, he nodded, his expression blank. “Good day, Mrs Reynolds.”

“And to you,” she said, and departed.

 

***

 

WALKING BACK TO IRONWOOD always set Alice’s mood to rights. While she loved the Diamond, some days it seemed she never saw the outside of its four walls. These meetings with Garrett allowed for exercise and restoration of the constitution. Fresh air and a sense of purpose compounded the happiness the exercise always stirred in her, and she walked with feet made light at the productive start to her day.

Holding her head high, she entered the town limits. Here, the openness of the range was overtaken by the tents and temporary structures of those folk new to Ironwood, looking to make a living in the fur trade, or maybe one of the coal mines that had been sunk by other claims.

Lifting her black skirts, she trudged through the muck, joining the pedestrians and workmen milling about the street. The mud was thick here, and there was no boardwalk to protect against its spread, the men sporting flecks up the back of their trousers, the women with dirt on their petticoats. This was a rougher part of town, and not particularly conducive to the perambulations of solitary women. However, at this time of day, no one paid her much mind. Early afternoon saw most men down the mines or in the centre of town selling their wares. As long as she acted as if she had no concern, none should approach her.

Someone shoved against her shoulder. She stumbled, heart leaping from its regular place to her throat as the man who shoved her pushed a path through others on the street. Sourly, she wiped her hands and urged herself to calm. Picking up her skirts, which were of course liberally coated in mud four inches high from the hem, she trudged on.

The throng surrounding her grew denser. Maybe it was she should take the short cut between the buildings. Most were flush, joined with nary a sliver to be seen. Some, however, had narrow alleys, and she’d often employed their use, darting through town all the faster because she had knowledge of these lanes—

She stopped stock still in the middle of the street, unmindful of the looks she garnered. There, removing himself with a skip in his step and his fine hat and cane, was Llewellyn.

What was he doing here? Surely this part of town would be beyond his notice, too rough to support his romantic visions of the West, too poor to tempt him to dip into his pockets. Only… Something about him looked different.

She frowned. Well hell, who cared if he looked different? That was a contemplation for later, when both of their safety had been assured. She needed to be off these streets before she drew notice she didn’t need, and she would not allow the Englishman to linger where harm might come to him. It was all well and good to pretend doltishness when folk would merely smile fondly and let you be, but here, if he spoke in his crisp English voice and made some cockeyed statement, it was possible he would end with a knife in him.

Time tumbled backward, and she saw the knife in Seth’s gut, bright blood spilling from between his fingers as he gripped the wound. Her heart pounded in her ears, a scream of denial drowning out the shouts of men as they crowded around Seth’s body.

It would not happen. Not again. Not to this man, with his dark eyes and fool notions.

Hurrying to intercept him, she pasted a smile on her face, though her heart beat a frantic rhythm and her hands felt clammy with sweat. “Mr Llewellyn! I was just thinking I needed an escort through town and then you appear, as if the angels themselves are seeking to answer. Come, will you walk with me a ways?”

He whirled around and she saw his surprise before he disguised it behind his idiot’s grin. “Mrs Reynolds! I thought those were your dulcet tones, but whatever are you doing in this rough portion of Ironwood? Ah! Dare I hope you have happened to discern I would be here and sought to bisect my path? Bring joy to my heart, dear lady, and tell me it might be so.”

Why was he saying such stupid things when he could be harmed at any damn moment? “If it will get you from this part of town to the next with no argument, then believe it to be so.” She started to drag him off.

“Dear lady, I would be pleased to go with you, only what shall my companion say?”

“What?” Reality dawned, and she stood once more in a muddy street. Seth was five years dead, and Llewellyn was not in imminent danger.

Briefly, she closed her eyes. Well hell. How was that for an overreaction? How could she think this was the same? Seth had died on the floor of the Diamond, his murderer held by the patrons of the saloon as he’d breathed his last. Llewellyn stood in the middle of an Ironwood street, ostensibly in no more danger than usual and seeming as empty-headed as ever.

Exhaling, she rubbed her forehead then steeled herself to look at the companion Llewellyn had indicated. The man regarded her with frank astonishment. Heat burned in her cheeks. How could she have failed to notice him? Truth be told, he was nondescript, clothed as was every other man in this area. Rumpled garb, unshaven face, greying hair— He and the Englishman were companions?

Llewellyn beamed at them both. “Mrs Reynolds, this is my manservant. Manservant, Mrs Reynolds.”

Belatedly, she remembered tell of Llewellyn’s companion, the one he seemed so surprised she knew of.

With a scowl for Llewellyn, the man turned to tip his hat to her. “A pleasure, Missus, but I’ll have to cut short the pleasantries as you ain’t safe in this part of Ironwood.”

“Thank you for your concern, sir, but I often come this way.” Pretending ignorance, she arranged her features to a pleasant smile. “And your name, sir?”

The man’s scowl intensified. “If the boy had a lick of sense, he would’ve told you afore now. Smith, ma’am. Donald Smith.”

She held out her hand. “A pleasure to make your acquaintance also, Mr Smith.”

Enclosing her hand with his own, he gave her a gentle shake. “Are you sure about your safety, Missus? I’d be happy to walk back with you.”

“Thank you for your kindness, Mr Smith, but I don’t require your assistance. Much obliged, all the same.” Smith’s gaze drifted over her head, presumably to meet Llewellyn’s. His eyes widened at whatever he read in the other man’s face.

Brows drawn, he returned his gaze to her. “If you’re certain, ma’am, I’ll leave you be. My business with the boy is done, and I’ve a need to be elsewhere. I’d best be on my way. Ma’am.” He tipped his hat again before regarding Llewellyn. “Boy.” The word was decidedly colder.

“Manservant.” Llewellyn watched the other man go and, once he’d departed, turned to her with a wide grin. “Mrs Reynolds, it appears I require your escort after all.” He held out his arm. “Shall we?”

She curled her hand around his forearm, and they started down the road.

From beneath her lashes, she regarded him. Now they were together, and she weren’t having no more fool notions about blades and such, she could see what was different. He was...duller. His coat was not as new, his waistcoat a decent colour, and his hair had not been oiled within an inch of its life.

However, she wasn’t to ponder these curiosities long, as Llewellyn seemed of a mind to converse. “Have you been busy in the days since last we met?” Llewellyn asked. “We certainly have. My manservant, Smith, has been looking into procuring us more permanent lodgings in the town. The boarding house is a delightful establishment, and Mrs Bartel is dear to my own heart, but I feel we would make a better showing of ourselves if our residence was one of permanence. Smith has made many inquiries, but we are yet to discover something singularly suited to our purposes.”

He barely took a breath between words, a steady stream of chatter that seemingly had no end. How on earth did he do it? If she attempted to stymie someone with such a tactic, she ran out of words not more than three minutes in. With him, it had been a good five and still he continued.

While he chattered on, she looked about their surroundings. Now she had the company of a man—even if it were a man some might think easily taken—she could risk the shortcuts. Changing their direction, she steered them to the nearest alley.

Llewellyn adjusted to her change, but not without question. “I say, where are we going? Do not say we are going down this alley?”

“We are. We’ll return to our abodes much quicker if we do.” Curling her hand further around his arm, she urged him into the alley. It was narrow, a place where two buildings didn’t join for some reason. It zigged and zagged along both, the structures being of odd shape and twisted besides.

He stopped, so suddenly her hand slipped from his arm. “Mrs Reynolds, I cannot condone this path.”

Hell and damnation, why was he being so difficult? “It will be over before two shakes. Don’t worry yourself.” She made to continue forward.

He caught her arm. “Alice, no.”

Surprise stilled her more than his hand on her arm. Her gaze flew to him, and she found he regarded her with brows drawn.

Such a look made her rush to explain, though it were ludicrous she did. “It will be quicker.”

“I don’t care. I won’t risk your safety for the sake of a few minutes.”

The sudden turn from fool to protector astonished her. Dark eyes held her, impressing upon her his intent and his will. She should protest—no one told her what she ought to do—but she knew he didn’t mean such a thing.

Moments stretched. Her heart thumped, and though its usual mechanics went most times beyond her notice, in this moment the organ refused to be ignored.

Then he blinked, and the moment broke.

Time rushed back, becoming the minutes and seconds of a regular-faced clock. He let go of her arm, and stepped back, looking as dazed as she felt. She needed anchoring, something to hold her on her feet, and the wall behind her seemed a handy option. Slumping against it, her hands fell to either side to brace her against the rough wood.

Pain streaked through her left hand.

With a cry, she pushed away and brought the afflicted limb up. Red bloomed beneath the white cotton of her glove. Glancing at the wall found the culprit in the form of a nail jutting from the wood.

“What is it?” His expression creased in concern, he stepped forward as if he could offer some opinion on the subject.

“I’ve hurt my hand.” She scowled down at the offending appendage. And the damn thing had ruined her glove besides.

“Let me see.” Stepping even closer, he attempted to appropriate her injured limb.

She snatched it back. “I’m fine.”

“Don’t be foolish.” Stealing her hand, he hastily unbuttoned her glove to expose the damaged flesh.

Angry red scoured a line from the knuckle of her littlest finger to wrist, but the flow of blood had already stopped. It stung more than anything else. Holding up her hand, she said, “See, I told you. Nothing but a scratch. It was the shock, more than anything.”

Gently, he traced the skin surrounding the scratch. “It looks like it hurt.”

“Well, I’m over it.” With one glove off, the other needed removal. Ignoring the shiver his touch gave, she extracted her hand and attempted to undo the buttons of her other glove. Pain bloomed. Exhaling, she tried again but couldn’t get purchase on the tiny buttons lining her wrist without pulling at the wound.

She could almost feel his gaze all amused and annoying upon her. “Do you require assistance?”

Setting her jaw, she attacked the glove again. Goddamn, but that hurt! Finally, she admitted defeat. “Yes, I require assistance.” Glancing up, she scowled at his expression. “Don’t smirk. It’s unattractive.”

Still wearing a smirk, he stripped himself of his own gloves and set to undoing hers. He frowned as he undid them, his elegant fingers dancing easily over the tiny buttons as his other hand supported hers.

A lock of black hair fell over his forehead, but he ignored it. She couldn’t. It looked amazingly soft without the pomade, and her fingers itched to discover for herself if such a thought was true.

Slowly, the closure widened, her wrist displayed. As he reached the last button, his thumb brushed her skin, and she bit her lip to contain a gasp as his slight touch burned through her.

God, this was all so stupid. He put in her head all sorts of thoughts she shouldn’t be entertaining. She shouldn’t be thinking of his hand on hers, and the heat that went through her as his touch danced over her skin. She shouldn’t be thinking of dark eyes and the flash of something deeper behind them. She shouldn’t think of whiskey and words, and the way he’d looked as if he’d wanted to devour her when she’d put the glass to her lips.

She shouldn’t be thinking of him and all that pale skin in her bed.

One by one, he tugged the fingers of the glove. Each pull of the fabric against her skin dragged through her, travelling up her arm and across her chest, finding an answering tug low in her belly.

She didn’t even know where these thoughts were coming from. Hell, there was no reason on God’s green earth why she should be thinking them. It was only… They’d talked some, and most of it had been nonsense, but every now and then she reckoned it was the real Llewellyn peeked through. Every now and then, it was as if he were daring her to discover his ruse, daring her to play, and…and, well hell. He was just so damn pretty.

Mouth dry, she watched as he gently dragged the glove from her. His fingers curled slightly around her hand. For an eternity, he stared down at her glove. Then, he raised his gaze to hers.

Wetting her lips, she struggled through a breath. In his face, she saw everything he only ever teased her with. Intelligence. Cunning. And a need so deep it would all but consume her.

A need she wanted for her own.

As one, they lunged at the other. Pulling on his lapel with one hand, she ignored the twinge of pain as she plunged her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck. His tangled in the strands piled atop her head as his tongue swept her lips and she opened eagerly, his taste exploding in her mouth, as full of fire as the whiskey she’d teased him with. Goddamn, she had wanted to do this. She had wanted his hands on her, his mouth on her, his hair in her hands and his taste in her mouth. Now she had what she wanted, his hand tightening in her hair, his body hard and delicious against hers, and she wanted more.

Backing her against the wall, he braced his arms behind her to protect her from the rough wood. Lips traced her eyebrow, her cheek, the cord of her neck. Arching for him, she melted, moulded, became whatever he needed so he wouldn’t stop. His mouth returned to hers, and she kissed him, for hours, for days, until she was a seethe of want and lust and she wanted him, dear God, how she wanted him.

From somewhere, sometime, a horse whinnied.

Reality returned in a rush. At the alley’s entrance, pedestrians passed, any one of whom could glance their way. Cuss words filled the air, and the sound of working men brought her back to their situation quicker than anything else could.

Reluctant though she was to do so, she pushed herself from him. Anyone might have seen. Anyone. Goddamn it, she knew better than this. She didn’t have the luxury of public affection. She was already mostly a pariah in Ironwood. To be caught lip-locked with a man would only ruin the reputation she’d bought with black gowns and a steely demeanour.

Raising her hand to her hair, she attempted to fix the damage he had caused. He watched her as she did so, no trace of the fool in his regard. Instead, she saw the man he truly was, and damn it all to hell, she wanted that man something fierce.

Eventually, she knew she had to say something. “Mr Llewellyn, I—”

At the sound of her voice, a change came over him. His posture loosened, his eyes dimmed, and he again wore his idiot’s mask. “Mrs Reynolds, I must offer my sincerest apologies. Why, the liberties I have taken shock me. My mother would roll in her grave were she to know. I beg you, accept my heartfelt apology.”

Dismay filled her, and her words failed. She shouldn’t feel disappointment. It was a useless emotion, and besides which, he was determined to be thought the fool for reasons of his own. She had no cause to be…to be hurt that he apparently wanted her to think the same as all the rest. Even if they had just shared a kiss that had knocked her from her socks, stockings—and if it had continued a minute or so more—probably her drawers.

Squaring her shoulders, she smiled coolly. “Don’t trouble yourself. I was as responsible as you. We’ll pretend it never happened, and all will be as before.”

His eyes flickered. “Mrs Reynolds—”

She fancied she heard regret in his tone, but it was probably just fancy. “Good day.”

Turning on her heel, she left him with his lies and his deception. She was better than this. She deserved more. If he couldn’t put aside his act in the face of the power of their kiss, she didn’t count him worth knowing.

If only the ache in her chest would listen to such a thing.