part0011

A t precisely twenty-four hours after Jordan delivered Miss Rothschild to her aunt’s glamorous townhome, a rather impressive caravan of carriages drew alongside the curb outside his office. He’d sent Ms. Carter home two hours earlier but had remained in the agency to complete some final paperwork in preparation for his upcoming trip to Arizona.

Puzzled at the commotion taking place outside, he left his desk and moved to stand before the tall picture window. In the twilight, he determined there were five carriages in total, all of them piled as high as humanly possible with trunks, travel bags, and other bundles. His mind quickly raced over the possibilities. There was an empty shop two doors down. Perhaps, a new business owner had purchased or rented it.

He watched as the driver of the first carriage hopped down with alacrity to fling the passenger door wide for its occupants. His jaw dropped as Miss Rothschild emerged in a stylish travel hat dripping with peacock feathers, a striking gown of royal blue silk, and a mink edged cloak. It took considerable effort to maneuver her full skirts through the opening. When the toes of her dainty boots at last touched the ground, she was swiftly joined by the occupants of the other carriages.

There were four individuals in all. Her personal maid, Inga, was the easiest to pick out, because she was the only other woman. She was a round woman with cheery features, wearing a simple gray gown and white apron. Her chestnut hair so thick it was held in place by a snood. Marceau and Milo were equally easy to pick out from the small group, because they looked so French and so very much alike. Milo was a fifteen-year-old version of his older brother who served as Olivia’s chef. Like Inga, they were wearing uniforms, mostly black, though they sported white dress shirts beneath their vests emblazoned with a family crest — the Rothschild crest, he presumed.

Jordan had no idea who the third man was, but he was determined to find out with haste. Striding to the front door, he threw it open and stood scowling at his late-evening callers.

“Mr. Branson!” Miss Rothschild breezed. “I was so hoping we would arrive in time to catch you still at your office. Otherwise, I would not have known exactly where to find you.” She glided in his direction with dark gloved hands outstretched as if they were old friends.

Against his better judgment, he took her hands. Instead of shaking them or raising them to his lips in the manner of a perfect gentleman, he held them fast, squeezing them lightly to get her full attention.

He dropped his voice and darted a glance in both directions. “What are you doing here at such a late hour, Miss Rothschild? For a young woman who is supposed to be striving to repair a damaged reputation, I fail to understand how being seen alone with me at this hour…”

She rolled her eyes but lowered her voice to match his. “La, Mr. Branson. Do not be such a drudge. I promised to return in twenty-fours, and my word is good. I am ready to depart. I hope you can say the same for yourself, sirrah!” she cajoled.

“Tonight?” His hands tightened on hers. “You expect us to begin our journey west this very evening?” It was a preposterous suggestion, born of years of spoiled indulgence. Clearly, the chit had no concept how things worked in the real world.

“Zeke,” she commanded in a low, cultured voice, without turning her head. “If you will produce our tickets, I believe it will put Mr. Branson’s mind at ease.”

She gave her head a careless toss, making the peacock feathers on her hat bounce. “I am not bringing him, per se. He offered outright to accompany us. He has business out of town with a few subsidiaries of ours and will be traveling in our general direction. There was no reason whatsoever for him not to join our party. Do you not agree?” She playfully arched her blonde brows at him.

Before he could respond, Mr. Sanford stepped forward in his shiny black boots and tall top hat to hand him a strip of paper. “Your train ticket, sir. To repay your kindness in escorting her and her companions to Arizona, Miss Rothschild insisted on covering the expense.” He inclined his head as he held out the ticket. “I am Zeke Sanford, manager of operations at Rothschild Industries. A pleasure to meet you, sir.” He cast a speaking look at the way Jordan’s hands still held his mistress’s captive .

Embarrassed beyond measure at his indiscretion, he immediately dropped the delicate appendages. “I am likewise pleased to make your acquaintance.” He held out his hand to Mr. Sanford, and with the other accepted the train ticket. “Jordan Branson, owner of the Boomtown Mail Order Brides Company.”

“Our train leaves in an hour.” He waved the offending scrap of paper at its lovely purchaser. “What is the meaning of this?” Thank the good Lord he was packed already, but he saw no sense in fleeing town like a fugitive instead of waiting until morning after a good night’s sleep.

Her laughing demeanor evaporated. “So much for my attempts to approach our journey in the light of a grand new adventure.” She sighed. “Since you insist on continuing to throw a wet blanket on my fun, I have no choice but to confess the urgency of my departure has increased in recent hours.” She threw such a fearful glance over her shoulder that he followed her gaze.

He detected nothing out of the ordinary taking place on the street beyond them — nothing, that is, beyond her rather extraordinary gathering of staff members and belongings.

“My aunt spent the better part of the day with the Grenvilles, negotiating my forthcoming nuptials to the loathsome Alec. She is holed up with him in his office as we stand here conversing, writing out the bans they will post on the morrow. Please, Mr. Branson.” She tipped her face up to his and trained beseeching blue eyes on him. “If I am to leave town unhindered, now is my best window of opportunity.” When he didn’t immediately respond, she pressed. “I am leaving, sir, with or without you, though I much prefer to have you by my side.”

I much prefer to have you by my side. What she was asking of him was, perhaps, the most foolish, ill-advised action he had ever taken. He was a grown man. He had no right to involve himself in the personal affairs of a wealthy heiress.

He shook his head. “Without your aunt’s permission,” he mused quietly. It would be morally wrong, if not criminal, to aid her flight out of town while her guardian was right now penning her wedding contract to Alec Grenville. It would be a binding and legal document in the eyes of the law.

“I have Zeke Sanford’s permission,” she snapped. “If you will but produce the contract you stated you were preparing this morning, we will sign it with haste and be on our way.”

He frowned down at her, wishing things were as simple as she pretended they were. He pitied her situation; he truly did, but it was out of his hands unless she could provide a convincing new reason for them to continue with their original plan. “I do not understand how Mr. Sanford’s permission bears any weight on the matter. Pray elaborate, Miss Rothschild.”

She pouted at him. “I recall explaining to you yesterday how my father was careful to make his sister my guardian on paper only. He didn’t fully trust her, you see. He knew how frivolous and flighty she could be, a social butterfly and spendthrift. Alas, she was all the family we had left, so he had little choice but to include her in his legacy on his deathbed. Fortunately, Zeke holds the real power over my wellbeing, finances, and affairs. My father made him, not Aunt Bee, the sole trustee over my accounts. She can fuss and make demands of him all she wishes, but in the end, she can only access the funds he authorizes.”

Outrage surged in Jordan’s chest at the picture her words created. If everything she said was to be believed, she’d been living at the mercy of an unscrupulous aunt these past several years, a woman who might very well have concocted the whole Alec Grenville scheme for the sole purpose of getting her grasping hands on yet more of the Rothschild fortune. He could imagine any number of secret bargains being made by her in the dark with the Grenvilles. Even if she demanded payment upfront from them for delivering her niece over to them like a sacrifice on a platter, they would come out the winners once Olivia’s fortune passed to her new husband.

Jordan clenched his jaw. His own integrity and dignity demanded he not stand by and witness something so deplorable taking place beneath his very nose. Trying to convince himself it had nothing to do with his personal abhorrence to the thought of Olivia Rothschild being married to someone else, he dragged in a bracing breath of air. “So, technically, your aunt is within her legal right to negotiate a marriage contract for you?”

“Yes, but not for long.” Miss Rothschild paused and bit her lower lip as if debating how much to tell him. “Zeke just this afternoon procured a sworn statement from my aunt’s lover. A confession, if you will. If produced in court, this document will provide convincing evidence Aunt Bee was in no moral or fit state of mind to make such an arrangement on her behalf. It is all there in the confession. The funds she has spent on their little nest where they hold their trysts. The monthly allowance she provided him, from my accounts, no less!” She bit off her words in disgust. The color was high in her cheeks, and her slender frame vibrated with agitation.

Zeke Sanders laid a comforting hand on her arm. “Never fear. It is my professional opinion, the document will hold up in court, Miss Rothschild.”

“And bring about complete ruin for both her and I in the process,” she mourned. “I’ll never be able to set foot in Boston again if word of her indiscretions gets out. We’ll be banned from all respectable establishments.” She patted his hand and bestowed such a pleading look on him that Jordan’s insides clenched in protest. “It is far better I leave town. My absence will greatly slow my aunt’s plans for me. And with a little luck, we might avoid a showdown in court altogether.”

Jordan seriously doubted that was the case, but he couldn’t argue the point that it was more urgent than ever to whisk Miss Rothschild to safety, at least until they had the time to form a proper legal defense for her. He suddenly wished he’d been able to finish his own law studies. If such were the case, he wouldn’t have hesitated to offer to represent her. Instead, her future would rest in the hands of others.

“Felicity Barra!” he exclaimed, snapping his fingers in the air as a thought struck him. “I recently placed a mail-order bride in Headstone, Arizona. She happens to be an attorney, a good one. Perhaps, you might engage her services upon your arrival into town.”

“A female attorney?” Miss Rothschild’s anxious expression brightened. “How intriguing! I can’t wait to make her acquaintance.” She clasped her hands beneath her chin. “Well, then, Mr. Branson. I suppose the last order of business for this evening is entirely up to you. Will you or will you not be joining us at the train depot?” She glanced at Zeke, who still had a hand resting on her arm.

“Within the hour,” the man added with a decided nod. His olive features were drawn with concern as he returned his attention to Jordan. “We must be on our way shortly, sir.”

Jordan tried not to take offense at the possessive way the man was hovering over his client. Blast it all, but he was one of those unusual creatures whose age was hard to determine. Not only were his eyes partially hidden beneath the brim of his top hat, the falling shadows around them did nothing to expose the man’s visage. One thing was for certain, he wasn’t near as old as Jordan had originally supposed. If he had to venture a guess, he’d place the man in his late thirties or early forties. Compared to his own twenty-six years, that might seem old to some folks; but young heiresses were known to ally themselves with much older men at times. He could only hope and pray it wasn’t the case between her and Mr. Sanford.

“My two bags are packed.” His gaze flickered to Miss Rothschild and held for an extended moment. “I’ve never required more than two bags, madam.”

She gave a tinkling laugh. “La, Mr. Branson! You can scold me all the way to Arizona, if you desire. Just pray take Milo with you and hurry back with your baggage.”

He did, and they were soon on their way to the train station, with her mail-order bride contract freshly signed and rolled up in his breast pocket. She bade him to join her and Zeke Sanford in the front carriage, while her hired help filed inside the second carriage. To his irritation, Mr. Sanford took the seat next to her, leaving him no choice but to settle down across from them.

“I’ve never made a trip quite like this one,” she mused as the carriages rolled along. “I am aware I am bringing an exorbitant amount of luggage, but you can hardly blame me if you think hard enough about it. Unlike you, Mr. Branson, I have no idea what lies before me, whom I shall marry, and if I shall ever return to Boston. It seemed safest to go prepared for any number of scenarios.”

Whom I shall marry… Something twisted in his gut at her words. She was trusting him to aid her in her endeavor to find a husband. As much as the prospect of placing her in a marriage troubled him, he was both contractually bound and honor bound to do right by her. To hunt, with all sincerity, for her perfect match upon their arrival to Arizona.

He nodded in the hopes of setting her at ease. “I find no reason to scold you quite all the way to Arizona, Miss Rothschild, but five carriages! I trust you’ve made arrangements for the secure transport of so many belongings?”

She treated him to a grin so full of life and mischief, he found himself utterly entranced. “But, of course! Zeke took care of everything. We shall have two private cars in which to travel in comfort, as well as two additional cars reserved for the overflow of our cargo. What a worry bug you are turning out to be, Mr. Branson,” she added in a teasing voice. “You are beginning to remind me of my father.”

His startled gaze clashed with her incorrigible one and held for an extended moment. Her father, eh? He reckoned he deserved that set-down with the way he’d been blustering over her affairs the entire day and a half they’d known each other. However, he was unprepared for the giant blast of protest that careened through his chest. No! The emotion was so acute, it took a powerful effort not to raise his hand and press it to his heart. He wasn’t certain about a lot of things at the exact moment, but he was certain about one thing. He did not wish for Olivia Rothschild to regard him as a father figure. Quite the contrary.

The thought formed in his mind and took preposterous shape. What if he courted her, himself? There were a dozen or more impediments, not the least of which was her possession of a king’s fortune. It was way too bad she wasn’t lighter in the purse. That would have made their courtship easier. Perhaps there was a way Zeke could maintain his role as trustee and thereby avoid the whole confounded prospect of anyone viewing him, Jordan Branson, as taking advantage of a client in his care.

Because he’d gone and fallen for the minx — her laugh, her smile, her sparkling gaze, her intelligence, her wit, her unquenchable bravery in the face of such dire circumstances, and her undying optimism. She wasn’t merely the spoiled indulged debutant she appeared on the surface. He surveyed her lavishly expensive gown and the very real gems winking from a necklace at her throat and experienced his first real spurt of fear on her behalf. It was through no doing and no fault of her own that she’d been born into wealth. Already, several dastardly individuals were scheming to rid her of it at the expense of her happiness and wellbeing. She deserved better, so much better than the rotten hand she’d been dealt.

His thoughts flew back to his attempt at giving her words of comfort the evening before. Someday you are going to kiss a man you truly care for, and his kiss will make you forget Alec Grenville ever existed. He wanted to be that man, he wanted to deliver that kiss, and he wanted it to erase the thought of every other man on the planet, including Zeke Sanford. He had no idea if her man of business would present any competition, but he intended to win her in the end, regardless.

He would wait until they were safely on the train and chugging their way westward. Then he would commence his wooing of the delectable Olivia Rothschild, the only young woman who’d ever crawled this far under his skin and stayed there. The only young woman he’d ever lost sleep over. The only young woman who’d ever talked him into doing so many foolish things in the course of a single twenty-four-hour period.

There would be hell to pay upon their arrival into Headstone. His brother, Colt, would raise a thousand protests over their match, but his mind was made up. He was going to court and wed Olivia Rothschild, if she would have him.