Violet raged in impotent fury. Delivering a last exasperated kick at the wood panels, she attacked her luggage. She succeeded only in hurting her toes. That made her madder. She caught sight of herself in the mirror, her hair coming down, her face flushed, the lace of her collar twisted and torn, and she got madder still. She would never recover from the humiliation of being carried through the streets over Jeff's shoulder like an erring wife. She'd never be able to face anybody in this town again. She'd have to steal away on a dark, moonless night. She would never get her mine, and it was all Jeff Randolph's fault.
He had acted like a marauding barbarian, raiding a village for women, carrying off his spoils like a badge of accomplishment. He wouldn't have treated his southern belle like that. What made him think she'd like it, even if she was a Yankee?
She ground her teeth in frustration.
But then her life had fallen apart from the moment she met him. No, from the day she left Massachusetts. No, from the day that awful war started. It didn't matter when it started, Jeff had destroyed anything left. She had fled Denver to get away from him, but he'd followed her to perpetrate this final indignity.
And he said he loved her and wanted to marry her! It would snow at high noon on Cape Cod in mid-August before she married Jeff Randolph.
But it was very hard to stay in a flaming rage when the object of her fury had already made his escape. It was even more difficult when he'd just solved her most pressing problem and set her down in a private suite in a town where even the dogs had to fight for a place to sleep. It was impossible when she loved the jerk, even though she would have traded her silver mine for the chance to choke the life out of him.
Abandoning any hope of making Jeff suffer the agonies he deserved, Violet looked around her. She was in an elegant sitting room. The tall windows were hung with green silk drapes. Chairs and sofas were covered in green velvet. A thick carpet covered the floor. Tiffany gas lamps flooded the room with soft light. Through one door she discovered a small dining room, through the other a large bedroom. There was a spacious bathroom attached to that.
This was no ordinary hotel room. How, in a town without a single room for rent, had Jeff managed to come up with a private suite?
The same way he'd managed to find all those potatoes when no one else could. He was a genius. His only blind spot was people, women, and southern belles in particular. She wondered how she had managed to crack the ring of fire, if she really had, if he really did love her.
Her heart started to beat faster. It had finally sunk in. Jeff said he loved her. He wanted to marry her.
Violet stared at herself in the mirror. She looked a wreck. She'd have to do something before he came back. She returned to the sitting room to get her suitcase when a knock came at the door.
She immediately forgot her softened mood. She remembered only the humiliation of that walk through town. She jerked the door open. "How dare you come back. I'll--"
Two nervous young men stood before her holding buckets of hot water. "Mr. Randolph said we was to bring you these."
Violet wanted a bath more than anything. She could practically feel the grit on her skull. After spending the night sitting up in the hotel lobby wide awake, stiff with fear, she was exhausted. She could already feel the soothing sensation of the hot, scented water as it soaked away the grim, loosed the tension in her body.
But Jeff had sent the bath. She wouldn't have nothing to do with it.
"Take it back."
"Mr. Randolph said you was to have a bath," one of the men said, apologetically. "He said if you was to refuse, I was to go downstairs and get him."
Violet had a severe struggle with herself. After what had already happened, she had no doubt Jeff would force her to endure further humiliation if she refused. She had every intention of making him pay dearly for her disgrace, but she had no desire to be embarrassed further. Besides, she desperately wanted a bath.
"Okay, bring it in. I would like the key to this suite," she said as the men started to leave.
"Mr. Randolph has got it."
"There must be another one."
"He's got both of them. He said to tell you he'd be outside the door. Nobody'll bother you, ma'am."
Violet added another sin to Jeff's rapidly growing list. Only torture could even his account. The two young men soon returned with more buckets of steaming water. Violet was tempted to run out the door and look for the rear exits. But she was certain Jeff had them blocked. Besides, she had nowhere to go.
She might be mad as sin, but for the first time since coming to Leadville, she wasn't scared senseless. She would never forget the ride across the mountains, the day spent in a fruitless search for even the most humble lodgings, the hungry stares of the thousands of filthy, exhausted men who thronged the town, the nerve-racking night she spent in the Grand Hotel lobby.
She would have her bath. Then she would decide what to do about Jefferson Randolph.
* * * * *
Violet luxuriated in the hot, soothing water. As the heat eased the tension and she began to feel the weight of her exhaustion, she felt a little less determined to murder Jeff. She still intended to devise some form of torture. Not only would he learn it was unacceptable to carry a lady through the streets like a rolled up carpet, even a female from Massachusetts, he would learn she could not be humiliated one moment and made love to the next. She contemplated one form of torture after another. But instead of enjoying the thought of his life's blood draining into the carpet or the sound of his bones breaking, she found herself wanting to stare into his eyes, touch his body, or kiss his lips to see if they were as soft as she remembered.
Clearly, a hot bath was not the place to contemplate revenge. She would have to wait until she was back on her feet, or until she was back on the street trying to stare down the men who followed her with leering gazes. Jeff Randolph had committed enough sins to deserve an unmerciful punishment. She just had to make herself remember them.
* * * * *
By the time Violet had washed her hair, covered her body with scented powder, and changed into a clean dress, she was furious with herself. She felt thankful Jeff had found her. She kept telling herself she still meant to slit his throat, but all she could think of was she didn't have to spend another night in the Grand Hotel lobby.
She had never expected him to feel guilty over the way he had treated her. She certainly hadn't expected him to follow her to Leadville.
She wondered what the real reason behind his being in Leadville could be. She'd have been less surprised if Harvey had followed her. But Harvey hadn't stood kissing her within sight of the students and faculty of Wolfe Hall. Harvey hadn't pulled her away from her duties time after time. Harvey hadn't mortified her before half of Denver society. Harvey hadn't followed her, forcing her to spend the night away from the dormitory. Harvey hadn't caused her to lose her job.
It couldn't be anything but guilt, so much guilt he'd felt compelled to say he loved her and wanted to marry her. It was a nice thing to say, but it was no substitute for a job. She doubted it would make her feel better about being without money, prospects, or any knowledge of how to acquire either.
A knock on the outer door interrupted Violet's thoughts.
Jeff! She found she wasn't nearly as angry as she wanted to be. She had intended to tell him she never wanted to see or hear from him again, but that intention evaporated when she opened the door and a young man handed her a bouquet of flowers.
Now she didn't know what she wanted to do. She'd have to wait to see what Jeff had to say for himself. She was honest enough to admit she was glad he was in Leadville. She could be furious all she wanted at his treatment of her, but she'd rather feel safe.
Another knock.
Violet opened the door, her mouth open to tell Jeff she wasn't going to speak to him, only to come face to face with the two men again. They were back with a white tablecloth and china. No sooner had they set the table then another man brought in a dinner of hot vegetables and beef.
Violet realized she was starved. She hadn't eaten all day.
But the table was set for two.
"Where is Mr. Randolph?"
"Downstairs."
"Is he coming up?"
"He said he would if you asked for him."
Violet was tempted to close the door and eat every bite herself, but she was an honest and fair woman. She knew she wouldn't enjoy the food unless Jeff shared it with her. She might be angry and want to do terrible things to him, but the meal would be tasteless without him. She also knew he could have stayed in his bank, quietly counting his money, and let her disappear from the face of the earth. Nobody would have known or cared.
"Tell him to come up in five minutes."
She returned to the bedroom and her mirror.
* * * * *
Violet hadn't done half the things she wanted when a knock came on the door. She felt her pulse quicken. Here she was wanting to be angry at him, and she felt like a girl opening the door for her first date. She took one last glance in the mirror. She was a silly, foolish female who deserved to be carted through the streets if she couldn't manage at least one frown. After a failed experiment with a scowl that was supposed to be severe without eliminating all hope of forgiveness, she hurried to open the door.
The moment she set eyes on Jeff, all her intentions faded and her frown turned into a smile of welcome. She tried to call it back, she tried to say something cutting, but she couldn't. Jeff had always had to power to reduce her brain to jelly. Tonight was no exception.
He looked so handsome she could hardly get out the words, "Come in."
"You sure you're not planning to invite me in then dump the beef over my head?"
She smiled again. It had to be a foolish smile. She felt foolish. "I considered it, but I'm too hungry."
He stepped inside, still looking doubtful of his welcome, ready to make an emergency escape if necessary. "No poison, no hidden guns?"
Violet smiled again, this time with satisfaction. He did feel guilty. Very guilty. Wonderful.
"No. I'm still mulling over my revenge. But I'll tell you right now I don't intend to give you any more warning than you gave me."
Jeff flashed a broad smile that caused Violet's heart to flutter uncertainly. But not half as fast as when he pulled her close and kissed her hard. She felt dizzy. Its rhythm still hadn't evened out when he pulled out her chair, and she sat down.
"Would you have come with me if I'd given you a choice?" he asked as he took his own seat.
"Probably not. I wouldn't have believed you would carry me through the streets. I still find it hard to believe."
Jeff smiled again, and the effect on her was just as disconcerting. Maybe it was a good thing he didn't smile too often.
"We Randolphs are men of our word."
"I'll remember that. Now, would you please explain about this apartment." She needed to talk about something unconnected with either of them. She needed time to calm her pulses and marshal her thoughts. "How are you always able to conjure luxury accommodations out of the air?"
"We're in Horace Tabor's private apartment in his Opera House. He moved to Denver two years ago, so nobody uses it now. He's always glad to let me use it."
Violet had heard of the eccentric millionaire. She should have known he and Jeff would get along famously.
"You'd better eat your dinner," she said, determined to restrict the conversation to everyday topics. "I don't imagine it's easy to find a meal like this in Leadville, even for a Randolph. It's a little too far for Tyler to send it over from the hotel."
"I'm not here for the food."
"Then what are you here for?"
She realized she had slipped the minute the words were out of mouth.
"I told you. I love you. I want to marry you."
Violet found it increasingly difficult to maintain her skepticism -- or her desire to talk about the vegetables -- in the face of Jeff's repeated declarations. She wanted so much for them to be true. It was almost impossible to keep disbelieving him. Still, she wouldn't give in, at least no yet.
"Just when did you reach this momentous decision. As I recall, the last time we spoke--"
"I didn't mean it. I was angry. I thought you had refused me because of my arm. I couldn't--"
"What?" Violet exclaimed.
"I thought you had refused to go to the dance with me because of my arm."
"I think work has addled your brain," Violet said. "After I let you kiss me in the hallway of the Windsor Hotel and on the steps of the school, you think I'd start worrying about your arm now?"
Jeff had the grace to look chagrined. "When you've gone as many years as I have being absolutely certain every slight, every rude comment, every questionable glance, is the result of being crippled, you can't think of anything else. If you've spent most of your life feeling like you're only part of a man, it's hard think of yourself any other way."
"But I told you about Jonas."
"Reason has nothing to do with it. After twenty years of thinking one way, it's not easy to change. I'm counting on you to help me."
Now he was trying to gain her sympathy, and he was succeeding. She almost wanted to apologize for having doubted him. If he could manipulate people as quickly and as well as he had manipulated her, no wonder he owned the biggest bank in the West. If she'd had any money, she'd have put every cent of it in his bank just to make him feel better.
Violet tried to remind herself that Jeff had been kind and flattering before only to revert to his old self in moments of stress. She firmly believed you didn't know a man's true character until you'd seen him under extreme adversity. She had seen Jeff at his worst, and she didn't like what she had seen.
"That's something you have to do for yourself," she said. "Nobody can do it for you."
Jeff stopped eating and looked at her. He seemed to be searching her face for clues to her thoughts. "Does that mean you won't help me?"
Of course it didn't. She couldn't look into those eyes, see the pain there, and not want to do everything she could to drive it away.
"It means until you think well of yourself, you can't believe anyone else does. You know what I think -- I told you -- yet you thought I would go to a dance with Harvey because I didn't want to be seen with a one-armed man."
Jeff chewed his food in silence. She couldn't imagine how he could think any woman would worry about his arm. He was so handsome he took her breath away. He was so tall and strong it made her proud to know him. It made her squirm in her seat just to be near him. She couldn't imagine other women wouldn't feel the same way.
She moved and their knees brushed. It was a slight thing, but it caused alarms to go off all through her body. Immediately she thought of the morning she had seen him lifting weights, wearing those skimpy pants. She lost interest in her food. She felt heat travel through her like an incoming tide. But she was determined neither her body nor her emotions were going to rule her head. For once, she was going to approach the problem of Jeff Randolph with cold, hard reason.
"What are you going to do here in Leadville?" she asked, hoping a change in subject would ease the tension she felt.
"Convince you to go back to Denver and marry me."
She had to give him one thing. He was persistent. "Besides that. Are you going to do anything with those mines Madison was worrying about?"
"There's only one left. It's suddenly started producing, and the owners want a lot more for it."
"Are you going to buy it?"
"I don't know. Madison doesn't trust the men. He says there's something wrong. Madison has an instinct for these things. I haven't seen him be wrong yet."
Violet wanted to ask him to help her with her mine. It was on the tip of her tongue, but she couldn't make herself do it. This was one thing she wanted to do for herself.
"It's next to your mine."
"What is?"
"The Silver Wave, the mine I'm considering buying. I thought I might look into yours as well."
"I can do that myself."
"You can look, too, but we're liable to find different things."
"How do you mean?"
"People say different things to men and women."
"Are you implying they won't tell me the truth?"
"We'll see."
Violet pushed aside the rest of her meal. She had a terrible feeling the mine was floating farther and farther out of her grasp. "Would you like some coffee?" she asked.
"Yes."
She poured a cup and handed it to him, but her mind was busy wondering what Jeff really meant to do.
"I want you to promise me you won't do anything without telling me first," Jeff said.
His comment riveted Violet's attention.
"Why should I do that?"
"There are fortunes to be won out there. This town is full of men willing to do anything they must to win them."
"And what makes you think you're so safe?"
"I'm not. I'm probably in more danger than you."
Violet tensed. She hadn't thought of danger to Jeff. He had always seemed so indestructible.
"Why?"
"From the men who're trying to cheat me. But right now, I'm only in danger of missing the beginning of the show."
"What show?"
"We're going to the opera. We're the personal guests of Horace Tabor."
"I don't have anything to wear," Violet objected. She didn't imagine the ladies of Leadville would be as extravagantly dressed as the ladies of Denver, but she expected they would be able to tell the difference between a dress and a gown. And Violet was tired of being thrust into society looking like a poor cousin. "This dress is all I have."
"You look beautiful as always," Jeff said. "Besides, we have a private box."
Violet had become aware of movement in the building, but now she could hear the sound of footsteps and conversation outside the apartment. People were already arriving at the theater. They were going to see her emerge from the apartment with Jeff. They were going to see them in the box together. Some would remember seeing Jeff carry her down the street. None would know the basis of their relationship. They would all assume she was his wife.
Or something else.
There was no help for it. She must decide before she stepped out of that door what she was willing to endure for the uncertain promise offered by this man.
She loved him. There was no doubt about that. She wanted to be his wife. She had tried her best to deny it, to change it, but she might as well admit it. She had been wanting to marry him for weeks. It messed up all her plans, made shambles of her stated beliefs, knocked asunder everything she'd said about men, marriage, and the servitude expected of wives. But when everything was said and done, she wanted to marry Jeff.
She was a foolish woman to marry an emotional cripple who was convinced he was a physical cripple, a man who worked so hard he was in danger of becoming a mental cripple.
But she wanted to be with him. She could help him. She would help him. But even if she couldn't, she wanted to be with him as long as he would let her. It didn't make her sound very proud, but somehow pride didn't matter. She had met many men, several of whom had been very fond of her. Two had even asked her to marry him. But she'd never felt anything more than a strong liking for any of them. Then she met Jeff and fell hopelessly, stupidly, in love. She was twenty-nine years old. She wasn't likely to fall in love like this again.
If this was her one chance, she meant to take it. She would worry about the consequences later.
Violet pushed her coffee away. "We'd better be going. It's rude to enter after the curtain has gone up."
* * * * *
The show was very far from opera as Violet knew it. It consisted of a sentimental story with a villain, a heroine in distress, and a hero who rescued her. Somehow in the course of a plot she barely followed, large numbers of scantily clad women kept finding reasons to rush out on the stage. Presumably they were friends of the heroine, but they never gave her any advice or offered any help. They seemed to confine themselves to running about in a fashion guaranteed to raise their skirts as much as possible. Their attention was entirely centered on the men in the audience. Their songs and dances, if their shrieks, squeals, and jumping about could be described as either, were merely an excuse for more limb-exposing activity.
The audience, made up almost entirely of men, whistled and hooted their approval. The few women in the theater occupied seats on the lower level and seemed to be in no position to look down their noses at Violet. In fact, Violet wasn't sure they were aware of her presence.
In a way, it was good the show didn't require too much of Violet's concentration. She could hardly take her mind off the fact Jeff sat throughout the entire first half with her hand in his.
He didn't merely hold her hand. Now and then he would turn to her to comment on something on the stage, and he would give her hand a squeeze. Twice he released her hand only to spend several minutes running his fingers up and down the back of her hand. Even through gloves, the feeling was electric, much more interesting than anything taking place on the stage.
Once he hooked her arm in his and for the next several minutes gently brushed his fingers along her forearm. Violet lost the thread of the plot at that point.
They retreated to the suite for coffee during the intermission. When they took their seats for the second act, Jeff put his arm around her shoulder. Even sitting perfectly still, she found it difficult to concentrate. When his fingers began to caress her shoulder and the side of her neck, she found it impossible. He leaned over to whisper something in her ear and Violet jumped.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing," she answered a trifle breathlessly. "You startled me."
"A woman like you should be used to having things whispered in her ear."
"I am," Violet said, "but by little girls."
"I'll see what I can do about changing that."
Violet couldn't understand the change in Jeff. Not just his interest in her. The change in his attitude in general. It was almost as though he had never lost his arm, as though he'd never had any doubts about himself. There was a kind of confidence she hadn't seen before. More important, there was an element of recklessness, or joie de vive, she had never seen in him. He was practically a different person.
She wondered if he would be the same way when he got back to Denver. She could help make him believe in himself, believe people could look at him without seeing his missing arm. She knew nothing about the hurts buried deep in his past, but she felt certain if he could just get past this fear of his arm, he could deal with whatever lay in his past.
As she allowed him to pull her a little closer, she vowed she would always be at his side if he would only let her.
When the curtain fell on the last ensemble number, Jeff escorted Violet back to the suite before the customers had a chance to become interested in who was occupying the Tabor box. The remains of supper had been cleared away, the table removed, the bath emptied. A pot of coffee sat on a table with two cups.
Violet became keenly aware she and Jeff were alone in the suite. She was also aware there was only one bedroom, one bed, and no place else in town for Jeff to sleep. He had said nothing, but something would have to be decided soon. He would probably postpone any decision until the people finished leaving the theater, at least until they cleared the landing outside the suite.
But then he would go. Or stay.
Violet suddenly realized she didn't know which she expected him to do, which she thought he would do, which she wanted him to do. She had to make up her mind in the next few minutes.
"Would you like a cup of coffee?" she asked.
"Yes."
She poured a cup and handed it to him. He liked it black.
"Did you like the show?" he asked.
He looked slightly ill-at-ease.
"It wasn't at all what I expected, but I found it amusing."
"Not what you find in Boston?"
"No. Not that I've been often. I never had the time."
The sound of footsteps became less frequent, the upraised voices on the boardwalk fewer. The moment of decision was approaching. She had to decide what she wanted Jeff to do.
No, she knew what she wanted him to do. She wanted him to stay with her. She wanted him to make love to her. She wanted him to know before she even began to listen to his offer of marriage that her love had nothing to do with his arm. She wanted him to believe he was more of a man to her than any man with two arms.
Having made her decision, Violet felt all the tension flow from her body. She put down her cup of coffee. "Do you have another room?"
"No."
"Where had you planned to stay?"
"There are lots of places a man can stay."
"Do you have one in mind?"
"Not yet, but--"
"I want you to stay with me."