Chapter Eleven
CAPPING HIS FOUNTAIN PEN, Rupert looked in satisfaction at the small mountain of papers before him. The contracts of those interested in selling their land claims were finally completed. Smith had spent the last two weeks gathering them from landowners in and around Ironwood, some as far as fifteen miles out of town, and the papers had been piling on his desk, other considerations taking precedence over paperwork.
Most of those considerations surrounded Alice.
Just the thought of her had a grin bursting across his face. In amongst the stack was a letter he’d penned to his counterpart in New York, requesting the man arrange for the very latest lingerie catalogues to be sent to Ironwood. With a bit of cajoling on his part, she was sure to be persuaded to order an item or two.
Placing his ankle on his knee, he laced his hands behind his head. He could just picture her pouring over the catalogues, her lip caught between her teeth as she perused the mighty interesting things within. He’d be able to tell by the catch of her breath which she found the most alluring, and he would order them on the sly. She’d argue otherwise. While he appreciated a good argue, and most especially the making up, he wanted her to wear something purchased with his coin. He wanted to see her all trussed up in her black gown and know that beneath she wore the underthings he’d provided. Later, he wanted to peel the gown from her and see them cupping and shaping her flesh. And if he ripped them in his eagerness to remove them... Well, he’d paid for them, hadn’t he?
Besides which, she deserved to have something someone had given her. She took care of so many people—he wanted to care for her, even in such a small way. And, well.... He bloody loved her underthings.
He looked down at the contracts he’d just finalised. A shadow crossed him. He still hadn’t found a way to tell her why he was in Ironwood without violating his own terms of employment, but he would come up with something. He always did.
Ah, there was no point thinking on it. Putting such thoughts from his mind, he placed the fountain pen on the papers. The fountain pen he’d purchased on Alice’s recommendation. She’d been right about them—they were bloody fantastic. He didn’t know how he’d gone without one before.
Everything about Alice was bloody fantastic.
Suddenly, the need to see her trumped everything else. Leaping to his feet, he hurried to the washbasin, ignoring the loopy grin reflected back at him in the mirror. Scrubbing his hands, he removed all traces of ink, ignoring the pangs of guilt the action caused.
He’d tell her. Soon.
A hard pounding at his door made him jump. Brows drawn, he looked over to the door as if that alone could discern who stood on the other side.
“Boy, you still in there?”
Ah, Smith. Making his way over, he wrenched open the door. “Do you want to alert everyone to your presence, manservant? It could be the stable hands out back didn’t hear you.”
“Don’t sass me, boy. I’ve had a morning as it is.” Smith entered the room, covered in some kind of muck. Obviously mindful of the furnishing, he searched about for a place to sit, determined nothing was appropriate, and finally settled on standing next to the desk.
Rupert watched all of this from where he’d propped himself by the now closed door. “Been in the wars?”
“This is all because of you and your damn fool notions, boy. Why can’t you come into a town like regular folk and state your intentions all honourable-like?”
He lifted a shoulder. “This way is more fun?”
“For you, maybe. For me, I get dunked in the mud pit out the back of the Chinese alley and threatened with pigs. I told you that feller didn’t want to sell, but you insisted I ‘persuade him’. You see what ‘persuading’ leads to?” Smith wiped at the muck on his arm and, finding no place to put it, scowled as he rubbed his hand on his leg. “How much longer are we staying here anyway?”
A kind of panic skittered through him. “We still have work to do.”
“Just say it true, boy. You don’t want to leave her that owns the saloon.”
Hands tightening on his biceps, he said nothing.
Smith shook his head. “Then you’d best tell her sooner rather than later of your plans. She don’t seem the type to forgive easy.”
“It will be all right.” Pushing away from the door, he walked to the sideboard and poured himself some water. “I have a plan. One could almost term it cunning.”
Smith snorted. “Your plans don’t seem to work on her.”
“This one will.” Taking a sip, he stared at the wall. Christ above, he didn’t have a plan, and he’d taken to lying to Smith. Well, wasn’t it just the grandest of days?
Smith opened his mouth to answer, but another knock at the door prevented his words.
They both turned to regard it in surprise. Only Smith and he had been inside these four walls since their arrival.
Exchanging a look with his manservant, he made his way again to the door and, affixing his fool’s grin to his features, he threw it open.
Alice stood on the other side.
Gladness burst through him, lighting his face with a true smile. “Alice.”
She didn’t respond, didn’t smile. She merely stood in the doorway, expressionless.
A thread of trepidation crawled along his skin. “Is everything all right?”
Still no response, only now he noticed the tension in her shoulders, the clench of her jaw, her arms rigid at her sides, and her hands balled into fists.
Trepidation wove to dread. Affecting formality, he stood to one side. “Mrs Reynolds, won’t you please come in?”
Finally, a reaction. She entered the room, but she still had no words for him. She had none for Smith either, who turned his battered hat around in his hands as he nodded a greeting.
“Ma’am.”
Again, no reaction.
Christ.
Smith glanced at him. “I’ll be going downstairs then, boy. You holler if you need anything.” Nodding at Alice in farewell, he made his way to the door. “I hope that plan of yourn is damn good, boy,” he muttered as he passed him.
It probably would have been, if he had a goddamn plan.
Shutting the door behind Smith, he stared at the grain. He had no notion what she was riled about, but it looked bad enough that she would tear into him good and proper. Or maybe this was an act for Smith’s benefit? Yeah, and if he believed such, he was a few bob short.
Great. He was descending into slang he hadn’t used since he was a child. A few bob short? He might as well just admit he was going insane.
And now he was stalling.
Christ, Llewellyn, just bloody face her.
Steeling himself, he turned.
Face averted, Alice stood in the middle of his rooms. She’d yet to remove her coat, gloves, or hat, as if she intended not to stay.
He swallowed. Bloody hell, why wouldn’t she want to stay?
Determining to ignore her odd mood, he walked to her and placed his hands on her shoulders as if nothing were wrong. “I can’t begin to tell you how glad I am—”
Her muscles tensed beneath his hands. “Tell me why you are in Ironwood.”
Fear slid through him. “What?”
She met his eyes, and the expression she wore chilled him to the bone. “Tell me again why you’re in Ironwood.”
Removing his hands, he crossed his arms, gripping his biceps hard. “I wanted to buy a saloon.”
Something flickered in her eyes. “That’s the truth? Full and unvarnished?”
Well, he couldn’t out-and-out lie to her. Raising his hand, he attempted to cup her cheek. “Alice...”
Blocking his hand, she shoved him away. “Don’t touch me.”
The flash of emotion—of anger—disappeared. Drawing herself to her full height, she looked him dead in the eye. “Mr Llewellyn, I would like to discuss what Wyoming Coal and Mining can offer me for my land.”
Everything in him stopped. How could she…? When did she…?
Christ. She’d called him Mr Llewellyn.
Blood running cold, he stared at her and couldn’t think of a single thing to say.
“Well?” The word was harsh, cold, and completely a tone he’d never imagined he’d ever hear from her.
Finally, he managed a semblance of a response. “I beg your pardon?”
She lifted her chin. “You heard me.”
How could it be she knew? How was it she had discovered what he couldn’t find a way around—
Bloody hell, she knows.
Elation filled him, and for a moment, he forgot all but the joy that she knew. At last, he could tell her all, could tell her of his purpose and business in Ironwood. His contract couldn’t be violated if she already knew. “I’m so glad you know. I’ve wanted to tell you—”
“How much?” The flatness of her voice pierced his euphoria.
How stupid can you be, you fool man? Clearly the knowledge brought her no joy. “Alice?”
Ignoring him, she instead regarded a spot somewhere to the left of his head. “How much would you pay for my land?”
He forced himself to use the brain the good Lord had given him. She’d gained this knowledge from somewhere, and had obviously drawn her own conclusions, none of them good. How should he handle this?
Perhaps businesslike would pierce the armour she’d drawn about herself. “Twenty thousand dollars, plus another five when the coal turns a profit.”
Her face paled, and something like pain flashed across her eyes. He wanted to snatch the words back, make them un-said, return to when she’d first asked his purpose in Ironwood and just tell her the fucking truth.
Her features smoothed. Eyes overlarge in her too-pale face, she laced her hands before her. “How do we go about this transaction?”
Christ. Wrong choice. This reaction was worse. So much worse. “Smith would draw up the papers, and we’d sign.” Striding forward, he caught her arm and tried not to panic when she passively let him. “You realize why I couldn’t tell you, right? I was under a confidentiality clause—”
“How long would it take?”
No inflection to her words, her arm still lax in his grip. Panic ran rampant through him. He didn’t know what to say, how to make her understand. “Not more than a day.”
“You will draw up these papers. I will sell you the land. And that will be the end of it.”
Desperation made him harsh. “And the saloon?”
Her gaze snapped to his. Finally, more than a hint of emotion. “What?”
“The Diamond.” He strengthened the words, made the tone clipped. “My employer wishes the saloon as well.”
Anger drawing her features, she shook his hand off. “Your employer can’t have the Diamond.”
“Why not? Aren’t you going to Paris?”
She reacted as if he’d hit her. “Do not speak to me of Paris.”
Frantically, he tried to think of some way to fix this, to get her to listen. “I was hoping…that is, I thought I wouldn’t mind seeing Paris again. With you.”
He recoiled at the disgust in her eyes.
“You don’t have to lie anymore. You will have my land but not the Diamond. And now, I will bid you good day.”
“Wait.” He grabbed her arm. “Where are you going?”
She looked down at his hand. When she looked up, her eyes burned. “Remove your hand.”
Not for all the tea in China would he allow her to leave. “But this is the first time you’ve been in my rooms. Don’t you want the grand tour?” Painting a no-doubt garish smile on his face, he hoped like hell the teasing would work.
Disbelief and confusion mingled on her face. “Why are you doing this? You’ve gotten what you wanted.”
The beginnings of anger unfurled in him, under the panic. What was she talking about? Why wouldn’t she listen? “I don’t understand any of this. I’ve gotten what I wanted? What I want is for you to tell me why the hell you’re so bloody angry.”
Silence stretched between them. He folded his arms before him. Maybe it was those weren’t the most eloquent words he’d ever spoken, and maybe it was he could have phrased it better, but he wanted to know what her damn problem was. He’d not told her he was employed by a coal company, and truth be told, he should have. Yet, he’d not lied to her since. He’d not lied to her about how he felt about her.
She stared at him, disbelief and a kind of misery wrapping her. “Are you kidding me?”
His fingers tightened on her arm. “I believe it to be patently obvious that I’m not.”
“You lied to me. You came to Ironwood, to my saloon, and you lied. When that didn’t work, what? You thought you could seduce me? Get the widow good and bedded and she’ll eat out of your hand?”
This…he had never expected this. Releasing her arm, he stared at her. She truly thought that?
“Did you laugh? Did you joke about how easy it was to worm your way into my bed? And, like an idiot, I told you of Paris. Perfect, wasn’t it? I made it so easy for you, didn’t I?”
He couldn’t think. She truly believed him so callow as to treat her such? Did she not know him? All this time, all the moments together, and she thought he’d been lying?
“What the hell are you talking of?” The land of his birth bled into his words, the Welsh heralding his anger.
“You used me, and you had no intention of ever telling me the truth.”
It was worse than a slap. Disbelief filled him, and a soul deep pain. With those words, she’d discounted the last month, every night in her bed, every morning in her arms. All the times they’d spoken, all the things they’d said. All of it, gone.
Anger rose, a harsh burn to disguise the pain. “You are a fool.”
“Me?” She laughed, a harsh, mocking sound. “I’m the fool? That’s rich, coming from you.”
He ignored her words. “You truly believe I would do such a thing? You believe I would use what was between us for the sake of a fucking company?” His voice rose in volume, until he was fairly shouting and barely legible under the Welsh. “I was searching for a way to tell you. I was legally bound not to tell anyone, but for you, I tried. I would have found a way.”
She flinched, and he was grimly pleased to see she looked uncertain. Then, she squared her shoulders and any uncertainty fled. “But you didn’t tell me. I gave you every chance, every opportunity. You chose to remain silent. I don’t care what you intended. I don’t care if you were going to tell me next week, or tomorrow, or two hours from now. You kept your council, and you used what I told you to get what you wanted. We’re done.”
Fury almost choked him. “We’re what?”
“We’re done.” God, she said it as if it were easy. “Don’t touch me. Don’t speak to me. If you see me on one side of the street, you will cross to the other. Do you understand?”
“You’ve made up your mind, have you?” A muscle ticked in his jaw. “You’ve decided I’m a vile seducer, is that it? I fucked you for your land, did I? And now I’m to be tried and sentenced with no defence?”
Her gaze flickered. Hope rose in him, a tiny ember that needed only the smallest sign from her to flare. Breath trapped in his chest, he swallowed and willed her to believe him, to see how ridiculous this was.
But then, her eyes hardened, and all hope died. “Never speak to me again.” Her voice was terrible.
And with that, she left. She stormed from his rooms, her skirts swishing about her, her back ramrod straight as she slammed the door behind her.
Anger, impotent and fierce, swirled within him. He needed to release it, he needed to—
Picking up the wash jug, he hurled it at the floor. It shattered, the sound satisfying for a moment or two. God, why didn’t she listen, why didn’t she let him explain? She’d stood there in her anger and her contempt, and she’d spouted words filled with misconceptions and half-truths, and not let him just talk with her. Goddamn mule-headed, contrary, hard-hearted—
“Your conversation with the girl went well, did it?”
A glance at the door found Smith stood within its frame, his gaze trained upon the remains of the jug.
Turning his gaze to Rupert, Smith raised his brows. “Took it well, did she?”
“Shut up, Smith,” he snarled.
Scowling, Smith entered the room. “Don’t be blaming me for your idiocy, boy. I’ve tanned your hide more than once in your life, and you’re not too big for me to do it again.”
He shoved a hand through his hair. “What do you know of it?”
“I know enough that I saw that girl storm out of here as if God himself couldn’t keep her.”
“Well, I’ll be thanking you to keep your opinions to yourself, make no mistake.”
Smith raised his brows. “Be careful, boy. The Welsh is bleeding through.”
Abruptly, his rage left, leaving him bone-weary. “Leave me be, Don.”
Alice was gone. She believed him a seducer, interested only in her wealth and her land. God, she couldn’t be more wrong. He didn’t give a damn about her land. He didn’t care if she kept the bloody claim forever or sold it for a dollar to the town drunk. He just wanted her. But she was gone, and she believed the worst.
A hand patted his shoulder. “She’ll get over it, boy. Just leave her be.”
“I can’t.” Bleakly, he stared. “What if she never speaks to me again?”
“You’ll think of something, Rupert.” Smith never called him by his first name. Looking up, he found the man regarding him, a gentle smile on his face. “You always do.”
Exhaling, he nodded. “Tomorrow.”
Smith frowned. “More like later on this evening. Don’t go to bed angry, is what my pa always used to say.”
“You don’t know Alice like I do. Tomorrow.” Already, plans and strategies occurred to him. “I’ll fix it all tomorrow.”