Chapter Twelve
USING THE HEEL OF his hand to again smooth his pomade-laden hair, Rupert stared at the closed door. The grease left a slight residue on his skin, and he fished about for a handkerchief, his gaze never leaving the unvarnished pine door before him. Once his hand was clean, he re-donned his glove and replaced his hat over the ruthlessly controlled strands. So outfitted, he took up again his cane, which had resided briefly under his arm, and palmed the pommel.
All of this completed while staring at the door.
The hallway offered scant illumination, the sparsely placed candelabras doing little to combat the dim even though the sun outside was fairly high in the sky. Perhaps it was he should have crossed the thoroughfare to the Diamond and Alice’s door before now, but he was convinced he’d done right to wait. If he’d come any earlier, he was fairly certain he would have done himself an injury attempting to contain his ire at her and her stupid, incorrect, presumptive supposition he was using her for some base purpose. How could she think he would be happy to fuck her and leave her, and he didn’t want her for more? She’d stormed off, without allowing him to speak as to his wants and desires, and he deserved at least—
Taking a breath, he forced himself calm. It wouldn’t do anyone any good if he couldn’t contain himself. He had done her wrong, as she had done to him. He’d had reason he hadn’t disclosed why he was in Ironwood, and he conceded she had cause to be angry with him. But he had just as much cause to be irate at her. He would confront her, they would both admit their wrongdoings, , she would listen to him as he calmly and clearly articulated how she had come to mean so much to him. And then he’d kiss the hell out of her.
Right. Into the fray, as it were. Fixing as genial an expression as he could manage, he knocked. While waiting for her response, he strained to hear beyond the door. No footsteps, no voice calling for him to enter.
“Alice, it’s Rupert. Open up.”
No answer.
“Alice, open the door. We have to talk.”
Stubborn silence greeted him.
He jiggled the doorknob, but the thing was locked. “I really don’t want to have to break down the door, Alice. It would ruin my coat,” he added in an attempt at humour. Probably not wise, but it also wouldn’t be wise to add action to words and attempt to force the door open. It might be made of pine and not of the sturdiest construction, but an attempt to break it down would no doubt break his shoulder. “Don’t think you can ignore me. We’re going to discuss this even if I have to tie you to a chair.”
A vision of her tied to the chair, and all the ways he’d show her how very sorry he was, flashed across his mind. Desire rose in him, fast and insistent.
No. He couldn’t get distracted. His attention turned again to the door, and what lay beyond it.
Still no response.
Frustration made his tone harsher than he intended. “I will be back, Alice, no word of a lie.”
He stalked down the hall, down the stairs, and into the front bar of the Diamond. The saloon was sparse of customer at this time of day, a little before noon. Alice’s surveyor, Garrett, was there, doing his best to ignore Pearl La Monte while also glaring at the only other patron., a dark-haired man with the look of a gunslinger sprawled in a chair, his hand curled around his whiskey resting on the table and his grin aimed at Alice’s red-headed friend
As for Pearl, she’d levelled her gaze on Rupert himself as he approached her. Halfway to her, he remembered he was supposed to be the idiot Llewellyn. Christ, how was he to maintain any semblance of pretence when anger ran riotous through him?
Getting himself as much under control as possible, he threw his arms wide in greeting. “Miss Pearl, it’s pleased I am to see you, yes indeed! Do tell me you are well this day!”
Pearl, her features arranged into a neutral position, greeted him coolly, “Mr Llewellyn.”
Her flat greeting didn’t deter him in the slightest. “Dear lady, I find myself in a bit of a pickle. I am desirous of Mrs Reynolds opinion on a certain matter, and I am desolate to say she isn’t answering her door. Tell me, is she abed with sickness?”
“No.” And that, apparently, was the only answer he was to get. Her expression certainly didn’t encourage him to continue.
Though it was a struggle, he maintained his genial smile. He laced his hands before him and tried to look a mix of eager and concerned. That’s how Llewellyn the fool would look, wouldn’t he? Christ, he didn’t know any more. “Pray, if she’s not sick, why won’t she answer her door?”
Pearl lifted a brow. “Tell me, what is it precisely you just have to so urgently ask Miz Alice?”
Maintain civility, Rupert. “’Tis a private matter.”
“Is it, now?” Her tone suggested her complete indifference.
He gritted his teeth, barely maintaining his façade. “Would you be so kind as to alert Mrs Reynolds as to my desire to see her? I’ll just wait here while you do so.” The last was a bit curt, but goddamn it, he wanted to see Alice. He appreciated her friend probably had Alice’s best interests in mind, but he was her best interest. Once they sorted everything out, Alice would thank her friend for directing him her way.
“Well, would that I could, but seeing as how she’s not here, I can’t be doing what you ask, now can I?” She tilted her head, a sort of smile pulling at her mouth.
He couldn’t have heard that right. “Beg pardon? Do you mean to say Mrs Reynolds is out on errands?”
“No.” Her expression clearly showed her disdain.
Blood beating in his ears, he discarded any attempt at nonchalance. “Is she at the telegram office? Seeing the doctor? Having a haircut? What?”
“Well, Mr Llewellyn, as you asked so nice and polite and all, I mean to say Alice has left Ironwood all together.”
Everything stopped. He knew his head and his mouth should be working but neither would. He should be saying something to clarify. He should be doing everything in his power to get the singer to explain. He should be formulating a plan of attack.
But…everything had stopped.
“What do you mean?” The words stuttered from him, fractured and raw.
She crossed her arms. “I mean what I say.”
Alice wasn’t here. Alice wasn’t here? “I don’t understand, I... She was just here yesterday.” The words didn’t fit, didn’t make sense in his head. How could she not be here?
The singer stood there, her arms folded and her expression unforgiving. He didn’t know what to say. How could he not know what to say? He always knew. He always could come up with the right thing, get anyone to do anything he wanted. Christ, why was his brain failing him? Why couldn’t he think of a single argument, a single reason for her to tell him where the hell Alice was?
Get a hold of yourself, man.
Ruthlessly, he pulled himself together. He had to get the information out of Pearl, and he wouldn’t do it by becoming a gibbering mess.
Though it felt more a grimace, he pasted a grin on his face. “Might I inquire as to where she is?”
“You can inquire all you like.” Resolution hardened her features, and her expression clearly stated she would not be telling him a thing.
Attempting to soften his target, he widened his smile. “Miss Pearl, surely you can see my dilemma. Only yesterday Mrs Reynolds and I were…discussing our situation, and I thought to continue the discussion today. How can we do such if you will not tell me where she is?”
“I don’t particularly care if you never continue your conversation with Alice, so you can see how such an argument wouldn’t convince me one way or the other.”
Why the hell wouldn’t she tell him? Fury and frustration melding, he slammed his fist on the bar. “Goddamn it, woman, just tell me where she is!”
Garrett, who had thus far remained still and silent during their exchange, manoeuvred himself so he stood behind Pearl. The gunslinger remained in his chair, but his frame had tensed, as if poised to leap to action should it be required.
Rupert couldn’t find it in himself to care that these men clearly thought he would harm a woman. His mam would roll over in her grave if he even entertained such a notion, and he knew he would never do such a thing. He just…he needed to know where Alice was. Forcing a degree of calm, he said, “Please. Tell me.”
Her expression distinctly unimpressed, she uncrossed her arms. “You should leave. Now.”
“I’ll tell you where she is. For a fee,” the gunslinger said lazily. Rupert turned. The gunslinger still sprawled in his seat, still had his hand curled about his whiskey, but now aa hard glint lit his eyes.
Pearl glared at him. “You hush up, Wade. You don’t know a goddamn thing.”
The gunslinger’s gaze didn’t move from Rupert. “I know where Mrs Reynolds has departed to, and it seems this here man is desperate to know.”
Panic coiled inside him, turning his muscles tense and his stomach to churn. “You have to tell me. Please. I—”
“I don’t have to do anything.” She bit off the words, her tone lowered and vibrating with anger. “And neither do you, Wade,” she added before the man could speak. She threw a withering gaze at Rupert. “She told me what happened. It was fairly hard to miss, her being all worked up as if she would explode. You’re a bastard, and nothing you say will make it right. You, with your fancy talk and your ludicrous clothes. What have you ever given her, besides heartache? She’s better off without you.”
Blood pounding, heart beating as if it would rip right through his chest, he stepped closer to the bar. The sounds of the saloon faded away, so it was only him and Pearl and the knowledge she wasn’t divulging. “Tell me where she is.”
The breath exploded from her. “You keep asking the same question as if you’ll get a different answer. And it seems to me you should do the proper thing and leave.” Pointing, she jerked her chin towards the door.
Frustrated beyond reason, he slapped his hands on the bar.
Pearl jumped, and Garrett took a step forward, his expression hardening.
Christ, what was he doing? Since when had he taken to scaring women? “My apologies, Miss Pearl, I didn’t mean—”
“Don’t come any closer to her, Llewellyn,” Garrett said.
“No, no, of course not, I—” He raked his fingers through his hair, pomade thick on his hand. Why should Pearl tell him anything? He had done Alice wrong. He should have told her, and damn the agreement. She was worth more than any piece of paper, but he couldn’t tell her that if Pearl wouldn’t tell him where she was. “Please. Where is she?”
She folded her arms over her chest. “Why should I?” she retorted.
“Because.” He took a breath that shuddered. “Because I love her.”
The words hung in the room. Pearl stared at him, shock drawing her features. Garrett’s remained expressionless. The gunslinger wore a grin, shaking his head as he took some whiskey.
Rupert blinked. Christ. What had he said? I love her. He tried out the words in his head. He loved her. He loved her. He loved her.
Alice. He loved Alice. She wore racy underthings and wanted to conquer Paris. She loved roast carrots and gravy, and when he held her, when he was near her, he couldn’t see the end. He wanted to spend every moment of the rest of his life with her.
He loved her.
Well, glory be. He loved Alice Reynolds. Joy bloomed inside him
Pearl seemingly recovered from her shock, her expression hardening. “If you love her so goddamn much, then you would already know where she was.”
Still dazed by the revelation of his love, he looked at her. Slowly, her words penetrated, and despondence drowned the brief flash of joy.
His smile fell. “She’s honestly not here, is she?”
Arms still crossed, she didn’t answer.
Gone. No longer in Ironwood, and he’d no notion of when she’d return. Pearl wouldn’t tell him, and it was a safe bet none other in her employ would be willing to divulge.
No matter. He would wait for Alice. He would wait for her until the sun burned to nothingness, but she had to come back sooner or later, didn’t she? She wouldn’t abandon the Diamond, and the Spectacular was in another three weeks—
The Spectacular. Of course. Suddenly, he knew exactly where she was. She was in—
“San Francisco.”
His head whipped around.
Garrett stood behind Pearl, his gaze level. “She’s in San Francisco,” he repeated.
Whirling around, Pearl shoved him. “How could you tell him?”
Garrett absorbed her shove, his feet steady. “He needed to know.”
“He betrayed her.”
“I reckon he’s sorry for that.” Never taking his eyes from her, he said to Rupert, “You sorry, Llewellyn?”
Rupert laid his hand over his heart. “You have no idea how much.”
“There. He’s sorry. Reckon it is Mrs Reynolds should hear it also.”
With a frustrated exhalation, Pearl threw her hands up in the air. “I won’t forgive you for this.”
Garrett said nothing, merely watching as she stormed off. He turned his gaze to Rupert. “Don’t make me regret this.”
“I won’t.” He had a million things to do. He had to finish off what business he could before the train to Cheyenne departed in the morning. From there, he would purchase passage to San Francisco and— He paused. “Thank you.”
Garrett nodded.
Full of purpose, he raced from the Diamond, sped across the thoroughfare and into the boarding house, ignoring the hurried greeting of Mrs Bartel as he sprinted up the stairs, taking them two at a time.
Bursting into his room, he saw Smith half-rise from a chair, obviously startled by his entrance. Good. Smith’s presence meant he wouldn’t need to track the man down. “Smith, you need to handle things here for a bit.” He pulled his suitcase from the closet and started throwing clothes into it.
“Boy, what are you talking about? Where are you—”
Discarding a shirt, he threw some socks in the case. “Make sure the Fulham contract is completed in the next few days and wire it to me once you’re done. Clark is ready to sign, he just needs a push.” Underdrawers, waistcoat, jacket. “Tell him his wife could buy fancy linens with the income. He’d do much for her.”
“Rupert!”
The sharpness of Smith’s tone, and the unfamiliar use of his first name, had him looking up.
Concern drew Smith’s brows together. “What in tarnation’s got you so riled, boy?” Slowly, comprehension dawned over Smith’s face. “This is about your girl, isn’t it?”
Locking his suitcase, he grinned. “Wish me luck, manservant. I’m off to San Francisco.”