Joseph raked a hand though his hair as he strode down the corridor, then worked to straighten his necktie. Were mayors of other cities as insecure as this one? Three hours—three—of going over the past four years’ worth of cases that could be exploited for good press. If he’d known the position of city attorney involved this much hand-holding and politics, he’d have taken up horse training instead. He smirked. Maybe he ought to invest in a good horsewhip anyway to prod along the next inevitable reelection meeting.
He breezed through his office door, counting the days until the election was over. “That took longer than I expected. Clear my schedule for the rest of the day, if you please, Mary.”
His secretary glanced up. “I can clear all but one, sir.”
He cocked his head, waiting for an explanation.
Mary’s lips quirked into a smile. “Your fiancée and Miss Turner are in your office.”
His gaze shot to the clock. Half past two. Dinner wasn’t until eight. That’s all he’d promised her for today … wasn’t it?
He looked back at his secretary. “Am I forgetting something?
One of her thin shoulders twitched. “Not that I know of.”
“Hmm. Thanks, Mary.”
He strode into his office, then froze. At his entrance, two sets of eyeballs skewered him through the heart.
Amanda glowered, cheeks aflame. Her friend stood near the window, wringing her hands, then without a word, dashed past him. The door slammed, sharp as a gunshot.
He stared at the paper in Amanda’s hand and then at her. Alarm ramped up his heart rate, making a whooshing sound in his ears.
Her lips pinched. No, her whole body did. Like a gigantic, clenched fist. Ready to strike.
“You!” Her voice tightened to a shrill point. “You lied to me!” Her hand shot out, the deed to the Grigg estate quivering in her grasp. Good thing it wasn’t a gun.
His heart stopped. His breaths. Time and sound and life itself ground to a halt.
“I—” He swallowed and tried again. “I never lied to you, I swear. I just never told you.”
Amanda splayed her fingers, the document fluttering to the floor like a lost dream. “You weren’t too busy to help me. You were too deceitful.”
He edged closer. Carefully. Walking on glass. One wrong step and they’d both shatter. “Now hold on, love. I can explain.”
“Do not think to call me your love!” The temperature in the room plummeted, so cold, so chilling her anger.
“Amanda, please, calm down.” He reached for her. If he could but hold her, maybe he could right this wrong.
“No!” She shrugged off his hand, recoiling from his touch. “I cannot calm down. I will not.”
Rage sparked in her terrible gaze. Without warning, tears sprouted. Her mouth trembled, and she pressed her fingers to her lips. A sob overflowed. Followed by more. Until shaky little cries and gasps for breath took over.
There wasn’t one thing he could do about it.
He was a beast. A cad. What kind of man did this to a woman?
God, what do I do?
Powerless, he snatched a chair and dragged it to her side. “Please, sit. You’re overwrought.”
She didn’t look at the chair. Or at him. She stood there, staring at the floor, shaking her head. Would she ever look at him again?
“How?” Her voice came out ragged. “How could you have let me go on about renovating the Grigg estate if you had no intention of ever letting it happen?”
“It’s not like that. I only asked you to wait.”
An iron rod couldn’t have stiffened any more rigid than her spine, and when she finally did lift her face, he wished she’d still stared at the floor, so dead-eyed was her gaze.
“Why do you own that house, and why didn’t you tell me?”
“It’s …” His shoulders sank. He’d talked his way past hung juries and determined judges, but this? Impossible. The jaws of a trap snapped into his very bones. He couldn’t reveal the Grigg home as a safe house, not yet. Not until Hannah Crow’s brothel was shut down, for where would the girls go who wanted to escape?
He pinched the bridge of his nose, avoiding her eyes. “It’s a secret. For now. But I promise you, all will be made clear to you soon. Very soon. You must trust me on this.”
“Trust?” The word pinged around the room like a bullet. “Oh that’s a very pretty word coming from your mouth. How is one to trust a deceiver?”
Deceiver? His jaw clenched from the direct hit. He’d been nothing but honest! Guarded, yes, but truthful. He stiffened. “Did you not say that I always do the right thing?”
“The right thing is to transfer over that deed and renovate the place into a school. Immediately.”
“I can’t. Not yet.” Each word cost him. Strength. Faith. Hope. Until he was gutted and empty.
Her blue eyes, shimmery and red-rimmed from weeping, sought his. “Why?”
He swallowed. Oh God, what is the lesser sin here? Breaking or keeping a promise? Either way I fail a woman I love.
“I …” He pressed his lips tight and shook his head. “I’m sorry, Amanda.”
“So am I.” Clutching handfuls of her gown, she stormed to the door. “Don’t bother calling on me, for I won’t see you. Ever again.”
Air. She needed air. But even that might not be enough. How was one to breathe with a heart that wouldn’t beat? Blood that refused to flow? How could she possibly face the future, her friends, her father?
Amanda fled from the unbearable questions, tearing out of Joseph’s office and into the hallway—and crashed headlong into a big chest. And why not? The rest of her life was one big train wreck.
She bounced back a step and bumped into Maggie, who’d caught up from behind, sandwiching her between friend and possible foe. Willard Craven smiled down at her, a toothy grin, yellowed by age and cigars. Did he know her father? Would he tell that he’d seen her exiting Joseph’s office?
Did it even matter anymore?
“Someone’s in quite a hurry.” He leaned closer, searching her face. “Are you all right, Miss Carston?”
“I … I …” She stammered, but it was not to be helped. Too much anger and far too much hurt choked her.
“We are sorry, Mr. Craven.” Maggie stepped to her side. “Forgive our haste. We must be leaving.”
“Of course.” He tipped his hat toward Maggie but then wrinkled his brow at her. “Why, you’re pale as a sheet, Miss Carston. Are you feeling faint? Perhaps you ought to sit until the spell passes. My office is just down the hall.” Stepping aside, he swept out his hand.
“No. I am—” She was what? Devastated? Undone? Barely able to stand? She clutched Maggie’s arm for support. “We would not trouble you, Mr. Craven. Good afternoon.”
She turned.
But coming down the opposite end of the corridor, Lillian’s father, Mr. Warnbrough, strode toward them.
She whirled back. “On second thought, I should like to sit.”
“Amanda!” Maggie whispered under her breath.
“This way, ladies.” He crooked both arms.
Maggie shot her a sideways glance with a small shake of her head.
Footsteps thudded on the tiles at her back, growing more distinct with each passing second.
What to do?
Placing her hand on Mr. Craven’s sleeve, she pled with Maggie via a gaze. Her friend had no choice but to take his other arm. The three of them moved down the hallway as one, leaving behind Mr. Warnbrough, Joseph’s office—and Joseph. The betrayer. The master of secrets …
Oh, Joseph.
Her heart fluttered, and by the time Mr. Craven ushered them into his office and pulled out a chair, she folded into it, fighting sniffles and a fresh flood of tears. Maggie swooped in next to her, patting her back.
“Oh my dear, Miss Carston.” Mr. Craven yanked out a handkerchief and handed it over, then pulled the only remaining chair in the cramped office to face hers and Maggie’s. “You are distraught. I may not have a daughter of my own, but I hope you will think of me as a father figure. Is there anything I can do to help?”
Dabbing her eyes, she tried to speak past the little squeaks in her throat. “I think not.”
“I have learned that sometimes merely unloading the weight on one’s soul is enough to get you back on your feet, especially to impartial ears.” He reached for her hand and patted it. Gently. Tenderly. Nothing at all like her father had ever done.
He leaned nearer. “You are amongst friends, Miss Carston. Miss Turner and I have strong shoulders, should you like to lessen your burden.”
She glanced at Maggie. Worried green eyes stared back. Ought she share everything here and now? Get it over with? Find release? “I don’t know what to say.”
Mr. Craven gave her hand a little squeeze, comforting, lending strength. “I find it’s best to start at the beginning. Tell us everything that’s happened.”
She sucked in a breath. It would feel good to shed all this emotion. Slowly, she deflated. “Very well.”