Chapter Eight

“How was your afternoon?” Mitch asked his wife across the dinner table. One of the few places they met was here, for meals; as a consequence he went to great lengths to assure he could attend.

At least he got to look at her for the duration of the meal, watch the emotions flicker in her exquisite eyes, and follow the way the auburn curls caressed her cheeks.

He wanted so badly to touch those velvety cheeks himself, with gentle fingers. To touch her everywhere.

She looked different tonight, brighter, and more cheerful.

“It proved quite interesting. I was very glad I went. I met other people engaged in philanthropic undertakings.”

Bunch of soft fools, Mitch thought, though he didn’t say it. “Yes? And did you decide where you want to put your money?”

She lifted her eyes to his. “It isn’t all about the money.”

He tried not to snort and failed. “Most of it is.”

“Well, I suppose people become involved for all sorts of reasons—because they want to be seen”—she thought of the gossipers—“or want to feel good about themselves. But not everyone there’s the hoi polloi.”

“No?” He scarcely dared breathe. His wife was talking to him, really talking. And for the moment at least she seemed to have abandoned her anger. Her sadness.

“Not at all. Some are in great earnest. Have you ever heard of a man called James Kilter?”

“I have. Isn’t he the fellow tends to go off kilter?”

“What’s that?”

“Falls into rages, beats people up.” Mitch’s sort of man, when he thought about it.

“I don’t know about rages. He’s founded a refuge for animals.”

“That’s right.” Mitch snapped his fingers. “The Buffalo Animal Refuge. No, he’s not hoi polloi.”

“And a woman called Topaz Gideon spoke about relief for prostitutes. And a man called Patrick Kelly, he’s involved in rights for automatons.”

“I’ve heard of him too. He’s a member of the Irish Squad.”

“He’s very nice.”

“Not human.” At least he didn’t have to worry Tessa might get interested in him.

“I know.”

“Who else was there?” Had Tessa’s lover attended? Was this how she intended to see him?

“A charming lady called Lily Michaels. She’s not human either, but I liked her very much.”

“Another one of those fighting for automaton rights?”

“No, for children. She and her husband want to reform the orphanages.”

“What?” Mitch froze with his fork halfway to his mouth.

“They say some of the institutions for children are just horrible. Children starve there, or are neglected, even beaten. Do you think it’s true?”

Mitch’s fork fell with a clatter, and he recovered it with great deliberation. “I know it is.”

She stared at him. “That’s right… You were in Carter’s—you came from there, didn’t you? Tell me what it’s really like.”

At last, he had her attention, and in the one way he didn’t want it. He could tell her tales all right, ones that would straighten the curl right out of her hair. But he didn’t want to. She knew from whence he’d come, everyone knew, but she hadn’t made a connection, obviously, between him and those starving children. And he didn’t want her pity.

He’d left off even pitying himself.

He said in a hard tone, “When it comes to them places, whatever they told you is true.”

And what did he see in her eyes, those bottomless pools of emerald green? Not pity, no, but consideration. A hint of understanding.

God, but she had beautiful eyes.

“Well, then,” she said softly, “maybe that’s a good place for us to put our money.”

Our. Had she said our? A veritable leap. And Mitch didn’t want to rock that boat. No, he didn’t. If it would bring her closer to him, he’d spend any amount of coin she named.

He said only, “Perhaps.”

“Either way, I really did like Lily Michaels. I wouldn’t mind having her for a friend.”

“She’s a machine.”

“She doesn’t seem like it, though. She’s funny and very sweet. Anyway, Valerie’s a machine.” She reached down and stroked the little dog that sat at her feet. “And I love her.”

Love. So she was capable of that emotion.

“Well, all right,” he said slowly. “Just so long as you don’t let anyone take advantage.”

She made a face. “Like everywhere else, there are factions; I think if I stay clear of the nasty people I’ll be fine.”

“Nasty people?”

“There were these women—” She broke off and eyed him again, this time with speculation.

“Was someone rude to you? If so, I’ll—”

“You’ll what? Send some of your toughs to set them straight?”

Exactly what he’d been thinking.

“That would just reinforce what they already think of you.”

“Me?”

“They whisper about you. They refuse to speak your name outright.”

“That’s a mark of respect, isn’t it?”

“No, it’s a sign of fear. Of loathing. What is it they call you? The King of…”

“The King of Prospect. What’s wrong with that?”

“You’re proud of it?”

In a backward, half-assed way, he was. King of anything sounded pretty good, considering where he’d started.

Before he could answer, she went on, “If you wish to be known for anything, I should think it would be something noteworthy and beneficial.”

Cunningly he said, “Then perhaps I should go with you to one of these meetings sometime.”

“Would you?”

If it brought him closer to her, he’d walk through fire. He’d go into her meeting naked, revealing all his scars.

He said, “Maybe.”

The dining room door opened and the mechanical maid rolled in.

“A message, sir, for Mrs. Carter.”

Tessa looked surprised. Mitch held out his hand. “Give it here.”

“It’s mine,” Tessa protested.

The maid, ignoring Tessa, placed the envelope in Mitch’s hand. He scrutinized the front—which, as she could see, had her name on it.

“That’s my father’s handwriting.”

“Is it?” He handed the envelope across the table and watched while she opened it and read the writing inside.

She paled, thrust the letter back into the envelope, and laid it aside.

“What does it say?”

“He asks me to come and see him.”

“You can have the car tomorrow.”

“He wants me to come tonight, this evening. Says he must speak with me.”

Mitch hesitated. As so often, he found it difficult to read her mood. “I’ll ask Marty to bring the car around, shall I?”

“No.”

“I’ll go with you, if you like.”

“I don’t like.”

Mitch huffed a breath. There went all the ground he thought he’d gained.

“Then go alone.”

“I am not going.”

“No?”

“No. He’ll just snivel and whine and complain about how miserable he is. How miserable he is! Him.” She glared at Mitch, all her frustration and unhappiness on display.

Oh, shit. Oh, shit, she still detested being his wife, detested him as much as ever.

Very carefully he said, “You must do as you like.”

She nodded, all her earlier enthusiasm flown. She pushed away from the table, picked up her dog, and left the room without so much as another look for Mitch.

Curse it all, he thought. If the only way he could win Tessa’s regard lay through good works, so it must be.

The last damn thing in which he’d ever choose to engage.