Kitabı oku: «Tempting A Texan», sayfa 2
“You have a lovely home.” The compliment was sincere, probably the first entirely honest thing she’d said or done today, she thought. And felt a pang of guilt as she considered her omission of all the facts.
“Thank you,” he answered gravely, although a smile flashed as he met her gaze. “I don’t often have an opportunity to offer my hospitality. I was amiss in not extending a welcome to you and Amanda when we first met today. I fear my thoughts were in a state of flux, and my mind did not function as well as it should have.”
“You were presented with a done deal, as they say, Mr. Garvey. I can’t blame you for being taken unaware and being less than welcoming.”
“Nonetheless,” he said with a shrug, and she looked up to catch a glimpse of heat in the depths of his blue eyes, a quickly masked impression. He’d looked at her as a man might who sought the interest of an available woman. For just a moment, she’d felt the warmth of masculine interest, and she stiffened against the lure of such a thing being cast in her direction.
Perhaps staying in this house was not a good beginning. He might think she was obtainable, a woman of loose virtue, should she agree too quickly to his hospitality. And yet, she could not in good conscience leave Amanda here without her. “We don’t want to put you to any trouble,” she murmured, reaching the bottom of the staircase. “I’m certain the hotel would do very well for us.” She looked up at him. “At least until you have an opportunity to check out the facts of this matter.”
“I won’t hear of it.” His tones were clipped, bringing an abrupt end to the discussion and she subsided, unwilling to argue in front of Amanda. As though he understood her position and agreed, he nodded at the open door of his study. “After supper, perhaps you’ll join me in here and we’ll discuss this at greater length.”
Carlinda nodded, and stepped up her pace to the dining room, where a long table was set with three places and, at one end, a tureen of soup sent up a steam of fragrance. She was seated with a courtly gesture, and she opened the linen napkin beside her plate, aware of Amanda’s copycat gesture as the child followed her example.
Nicholas served the soup, waving Katie’s offer of help aside as the woman brought a plate of fresh bread from the kitchen. It was delicious, a clear broth with traces of rice and bits of chicken adding flavor, providing a light beginning to the meal. It was followed by a roast, again served by Nicholas, who stood before his chair and offered thin slices of the meat to his guests. Small potatoes, cooked with the skins intact, were accompanied by whole green beans, redolent with the scent of bacon and onions.
It was a filling repast, and when Katie brought forth a tart for each of them, Carlinda was tempted to refuse. And then she caught sight of the dark, thick juice of purple berries that spread before the force of Nicholas’s fork as he cut into the dainty bit of pastry.
“I shouldn’t,” she sighed, even as she watched the tiny wisps of steam rise from the delicacy.
“It’s a specialty of Katie’s,” Nicholas said, coaxing her with a smile. “She’ll be insulted if you refuse a bite.”
“I fear I’ll eat the whole thing,” Carlinda said, tasting carefully of the hot offering. “Don’t burn your mouth,” she warned Amanda.
“I’ve got cream to put over it, if you like,” Katie said from the kitchen doorway, then approached with a small pitcher of golden liquid as Amanda nodded her agreement. “It tastes good this way,” she told the child, pouring a generous amount.
“I’ll take some, too,” Nicholas said, offering his dish.
“And you, miss?” Katie asked.
“If it tastes better that way, I suppose I should join the group,” Carlinda agreed.
The meal was long, Nicholas asking Amanda about the trip, skirting the topic of her parents and offering small glimpses of his life in this small Texas town. He delivered an occasional aside to Carlinda, but his attention was focused on the child who sat at his right hand.
The resemblance between the two of them was obvious to anyone who cared to look, Carlinda decided. Even Katie glanced back and forth between the man and the young girl who absorbed his interest, and before the end of the meal, she had shot a look of understanding at the other woman.
Nicholas pushed away from the table finally. “I believe I’ve eaten more than my share, Katie,” he said, watching as she cleared the plate from before him.
“You don’t usually eat enough,” she snipped. “About time you sat down and did my cooking justice.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said obligingly, looking suitably chagrined. And then he rose and spoke kindly to Amanda. “Would you like to sit on the porch for a while?” he asked. “Or perhaps look at the stereopticon in the parlor?”
“Stere—” Amanda halted halfway through the word, obviously puzzled at its meaning.
“A stereopticon is something you hold up to your eyes and then look at pictures with,” he said. “I have a whole box of prints you can see.” He took her by the hand and led her from the room, sending an apologetic look in Carlinda’s direction.
“In the parlor?” Amanda asked brightly, double-stepping to keep up with his long strides. “What kind of pictures do you have?”
“Some of Rome or Venice or even London,” he said. “And lots of New York City and other places here in America.”
“I’ve already been to New York,” the child told him flatly. “I’d rather see somewhere else.”
“How about Niagara Falls?” he asked. “Or maybe ships on the ocean?”
“Let’s steer clear of P-a-r-i-s,” Carlinda said quickly, spelling the city’s name in a rush of letters, lest Amanda get the drift of the word she attempted to avoid speaking.
“Is there some reason for that?” he asked in a muted tone as he stepped to a bookcase where the instrument lay. Amanda settled herself on a sofa, smoothing her dress over her legs with a practiced hand, anticipation alive in her blue eyes. He glanced back at her, and Carlinda detected a softening in his eyes, those eyes so like the child’s.
“The accident took place in Paris,” she murmured. “I try not to mention it. She was quite traumatized for days after we heard the news.”
“I wasn’t aware you knew her mother. You were with Amanda, even back then?”
Carlinda hesitated, then nodded briefly. “Shall we light a lamp, so she can see these better?” she asked, changing the subject deftly.
Yet, even as he acceded to her suggestion, she was aware that the issue would be raised again. And she prepared herself for a battery of questions.
Chapter Two
Nicholas’s study was a reflection of the man, the fittings surrounding him luxurious, yet masculine. An enormous desk, its surface glowing with the sheen of polished mahogany, took her gaze as Carlinda walked over the threshold. Sitting behind it, leaning back in his chair, Nicholas resembled a king surveying his domain, judging his subject as she entered the throne room. She suppressed a smile at the thought, concentrating instead on the man himself. His hands were tanned, his fingers long, and laced together in a casual display of patience as he glanced up at her.
“Is the child asleep?” His voice appealed to her, she found as he spoke his query. It matched the man. Deep and cultured, yet with a strength beneath its resonant tone, it gave warning that he was not a man to be underestimated.
“Amanda?” She spoke the name as a query, her reprimand subtle, and Nicholas frowned. “Such a pretty name, don’t you think?” Carlinda asked, and then sighed, relenting. “Yes, she was tired.” And so am I. Perhaps this was not a good time to face the man and make her position clear. His next words told her he was aware of her hesitation as a slow smile lit his brilliant blue eyes.
“I’ll try to remember from now on to use her name when I speak of her.” He waved in the direction of a seating arrangement across from his desk. “I don’t plan on interrogating you, Miss Donnelly. Sit down for a moment. I only want to talk.”
A brown armchair lured her and she settled in its depths, seduced by the high back and soft leather surrounding her. Her feet touched the floor, her knees weak as she eyed his ebony hair and tanned features. It wasn’t fair that one man should be so endowed with masculine beauty, she thought, masking her admiration with a polite smile.
“I fear I won’t be good company, sir. Although my nap was refreshing, I find I need the comfort of a long night’s sleep. Perhaps your discussion will wait until another time.” She watched as his gaze swept her from top to bottom, a very short distance, given her position in the chair. That his eyes hesitated as they touched upon her full bosom and then traveled to where her feet were clad in soft leather was not a surprise. The man did not pretend a lack of interest in face and form, but made his intentions apparent.
“You don’t look like a nursemaid, Miss Donnelly,” he said bluntly, a small smile playing about his lips, as if he would draw a quick retort from her. “I’ve seen women who looked much as you do while at the opera house in New York City. You’re dressed in a conservative manner, as a cultured young lady would be, yet you give the impression of being knowledgeable about life in society.”
“Nevertheless, I am what I am,” she said quietly. “My looks have nothing to do with my occupation, Mr. Garvey. Women such as myself work in the finest homes in the city.” She glanced down at her modest, yet decidedly fashionable gown. “Surely I’m not dressed for the opera or a French restaurant, sir. I have references if you feel the need to see them, but I assure you I’m just a simple woman who has accompanied your niece from the East Coast.”
“You may be many things,” Nicholas said quietly, nodding his head as if he accepted her words as truth, “but you are not a simple woman.”
She felt her heart flutter as he spoke the words with emphasis, his eyes again touching her face, openly admiring the picture she presented. Aware of his scrutiny, blood rushed through her body, his measured gaze setting in motion a reaction she could not control. Tendrils of that same warmth lent color to her cheeks and she lowered her gaze to her lap.
Then courage took hold and she lifted her lashes to shoot a quick glare in his direction. She sighed at her own small betraying gesture, and smiled, ruing her short temper. “Perhaps not. But I am a weary woman, and unless you have instructions for me, I beg your leave to return to my room.”
He looked taken aback, yet rose with a graceful movement “Certainly. I only wanted to spend some time becoming familiar with your relationship to Amanda.” His mouth curved, an enticing movement of lips that drew her like a magnet. “May I call you Carlinda? Or is our acquaintance of too short a span to allow such a thing?”
“I probably won’t be here long enough for us to become friends, Mr. Garvey.” Rising from the chair without revealing her aching back and the sudden stiffness that gripped her knees made her hesitate, and he shot her a calculating look, then stepped quickly around the desk to offer his hand.
“I think you’re feeling the effects of travel,” he ventured. “Let me escort you up the stairs.”
She wasn’t certain she could tolerate the warmth of those fingers for any length of time, Carlinda decided. And then his hand moved to settle gently at the small of her back as he turned her toward the door of his study. It was even worse there, sending shards of heat from that place to envelop her entire body in awareness of the tall, masculine creature who was her host.
If she were certain of his trustworthiness, certain he would treat Amanda as he should, she’d be better off leaving. Though where she would go was still in doubt. She bit back a sigh as they crossed the threshold of the study. She’d already decided he was a magician, this elegant banker whose eyes warmed her, whose hand persuaded her without effort into doing as he willed.
So she walked beside him to the staircase, lifting her skirts, climbing to the second floor, her feet moving in unison with his. Beside her, his clothing, and the body beneath the fine wool and linen, exuded a fresh scent, one that blended with a subtle musky aroma, seducing her senses.
He reached to open the door of her room and the hand was gone from her back as he nodded politely in the direction of the bedside table where a pink-shaded lamp glowed, a beacon drawing her to the comfort of cool sheets and soft pillows.
“Have a good night,” he said quietly. “I’ll see you at breakfast. We eat rather early, I should warn you.”
“I’m used to arising when the sun comes up,” she told him, moving away across the carpet, then turning to face him. “Is that a connecting door to Amanda’s room?” She glanced at the wall where a single door sat ajar. “I didn’t pay attention earlier.”
Nicholas shook his head. “No. That’s a dressing room. I don’t have any suites in the house.” His smile was apologetic. “I fear you are in the wilds of Texas, ma’am. We don’t supply the conveniences of big-city living.”
She blushed anew at his words. “I didn’t mean to criticize. I just wanted to be able to hear Amanda should she awake in the night.”
“Does she have nightmares?” His brow wrinkled in a frown.
“Once in a while. Not during the journey, but then, it was all new and exciting to her. She dreams of her mother sometimes, and wakes crying.”
“Perhaps you should leave your door open then,” he suggested. “Hers is already ajar.” At her hesitation he grinned, a taunting look enveloping his eyes, crinkling the skin at their outer corners. He leaned against the doorjamb. “I promise not to intrude on your privacy.”
“Unless the walls are very thick, or soundproof, I’m sure I’ll hear her should she cry out,” she said hurriedly. She glanced at the window and noted the lights of town to the east. Even as she watched, one flickered and disappeared. “It seems things are settling down all over,” she said quietly. “Amanda shouldn’t be roused by noise from outdoors.”
“I’ll leave you then,” her host said. “If you like, I’ll open the sash. The fresh air will help you sleep.” His eyes looked black in the dim light and she inhaled sharply, shaking her head in refusal of his offer.
He gave her a last, long, surveying look. “Good night then, Miss Donnelly.”
His back was straight, his footsteps silent on the carpet as he turned toward the stairway and she relaxed, stepping to the side of the bed to perch on the mattress. The man’s effect on her was without precedent. Never in her twenty-four years had she known instant attraction to a male, unless she counted the tall youth, almost fifteen years older than she, who had lived next door in her growing-up years.
Jack had been her idol, her secret flame until the day he’d married a young lady and settled down to become a husband and father. His attraction for her had become null and void, and she could only ever after look at him as a staid creature with a string of children and a dutiful wife trailing behind as he entered the church on Sunday morning.
And now there was Nicholas Garvey, a man who looked at her as if he considered the thought of possessing her. She shook her head. What foolishness. The man was a flirt, a consummate ladies’ man, and she was a decent-looking female who’d just come into his orbit, offering a moment’s distraction.
Yet, there had been a response within her she could not deny. It would behoove her to leave this town as soon as she could assure herself of Amanda’s well-being here. She’d spend a bit of time backing away from the bonds formed by the child’s bereavement, and then decide where she might go from here.
She rose and slid open a bureau drawer, locating her nightgown. A swift glance at the door reminded her that it stood open and she crossed the room to quietly turn the handle, allowing it to latch. Far enough from the window to allow privacy, she slid from her clothing and into the soft batiste sleeping gown, then folded her underwear and arranged her dress over the back of a convenient chair.
The dressing room drew her, curiosity urging her to open the door fully and peer inside. Empty racks greeted her, with one wall mirrored, reflecting her pale form, her hair glowing in the light from her bedside. He needn’t have apologized, she thought. His home held all the comforts of her own in New York. At least the home that had once been hers, where she’d lived with Amanda and her parents.
Tomorrow would be soon enough to unpack the bag someone had delivered from the train station. She looked forward to hanging her few articles of clothing in the vast expanse of that dressing room, perhaps pretending for a while that this was her home.
Turning back to the bed, she folded the coverlet at its foot, then slid between the sheets. Her eyes noted the glass windowpane and she compressed her lips with impatience, aware that it was still closed to the night air. It took only a moment to slide from the comfortable mattress and cross the room to lift the wooden frame. It slid silently upward, and Carlinda dropped to her knees to look down at the lawn below.
A pale shadow caught her eye and she watched as the tall figure of a man walked toward the trees lining the edge of his property. Nicholas Garvey out for an evening stroll, she decided, aware of the long, slow stride that carried him beneath the low-hanging branches.
A flicker of light illuminated his profile as he bent his head to touch a match to his cigar. She hadn’t caught the scent of tobacco on him earlier, yet the faint aroma touched her nostrils now, the breeze carrying it upward. A chill of foreboding touched her and she shivered, rising and making her way back to the bed.
He held the scent of danger, and her instincts had seldom been amiss. It would be foolhardy to linger here.
The morning sun was brilliant in the sky, but Nicholas ignored it, his mind caught up with the events of the evening before. She was an enigma, perhaps playing him for a fool with her talk of leaving, then dithering as she seemingly settled into his household. The thought of her departure was not welcome, for Carlinda held an attraction he could not resist, yet resented with his sensible, masculine mindset. She was definitely not the type of woman who would accept for herself what he had in mind.
“Damn. She isn’t even beautiful,” Nicholas muttered, aware that his steps were heavy, his momentum rapid as he walked toward the bank.
“Who isn’t?” Jonathan Cleary’s voice shot holes in his concentration as the local lawman stepped to his side and voiced aloud the query Nicholas had known in that split second was coming. He’d caught sight of Cleary just as his voice uttered the exasperated statement, and now he supposed he was doomed to explain the meaning of his claim.
“You know damn well who I’m talking about.” Embarrassed not only by his sullen retort, but by his obvious interest in the nursemaid he’d taken to his home, he stopped dead still on the wooden sidewalk and aimed a dark glance at his friend.
Cleary only grinned, further irritating the banker.
“You’ll have to admit I’m right,” Nicholas said, more quietly as he nodded a good morning in the direction of a passerby.
“That she’s not beautiful?” Cleary seemed to consider the matter, and then shook his head. “There’s something about her, Nick. Maybe those dark eyes, or the auburn curls. Maybe the creamy look of her complexion, like it would be velvet under your fingertips.” He shrugged. “And don’t go quoting me to Gussie, you hear? She’d have my neck if she thought I’d looked cross-ways at another woman.”
“How could you help it?” Nicholas asked, gloom coating each word. “I don’t need to be smitten by a stranger. One who won’t even be here long enough to form an attachment.”
“You’re thinking about—”
“Don’t even say the words,” Nicholas warned him. “I’m not going to dillydally around with a woman here on a short-term basis when I’ve got an eye on Patience Filmore. I have a notion Miss Donnelly would put demands on a man, when all he’s asking for is something temporary. If I marry Patience one day down the road, I’ll still be my own person.”
Cleary only shook his head and shrugged. “You’re right there. You’re the least of her concern. Patience is interested in the money you’ve got in your bank.”
Nicholas took affront. “You don’t think I’m gentleman enough or handsome enough for the lady?” And yet, he knew that Cleary wasn’t too far off the mark. Patience was definitely a lady with an eye to the future. And being the owner of the only bank in town gave him an edge.
“Hell, you can probably talk her into marriage without any trouble at all,” Cleary said harshly. “But will you be happy with her?”
“Happy?” Nicholas felt his throat close as he uttered the word. “What does that mean?” And yet he knew. Knew that Cleary and his wife shared a life he found himself observing at times with a sort of awe and envy he’d always thought beneath him. “I’m not a homebody like you, Cleary. I think Patience will suit me just fine.”
“Speaking of which…” Cleary lifted a brow and nodded at a woman heading in their direction. “I need to be across the street,” he said, tipping his hat at the lady in question before he stepped down from the sidewalk.
“Nicholas.” Patience was blessed with abundant dark hair that hung in a series of ringlets from beneath her bonnet. Her blue eyes were wide and fringed with equally dark lashes, and she had an hourglass figure that drew the eye of every man in her vicinity, no matter where she went.
And yet, all Nicholas could see this morning was that there was an enameled look to her, as if she had spent hours perfecting the image she portrayed. His own smile was equally feigned as he offered his arm. She swept to his side, her skirts wrapping around his trouser legs as her slender fingers touched his forearm.
On the other hand, Carlinda had looked a bit frazzled at the breakfast table, her hair curling against her temples and brow, her morning gown a bit wrinkled, having been hauled from her luggage for the occasion. She’d apologized for being late, then spent long moments fixing a plate for her charge before she once more sought his attention.
And in those moments he’d filled his eyes with her soft contours, her rosy cheeks and the hastily pinned-together, russet-hued curls that perched high on her crown, several of them already on a downward slide as she shook her head in response to a query.
“Nicholas?” Patience called his name, her voice curt as she broke into his thoughts. “What in the world are you thinking of?” she asked. “I’ve been telling you about the party Saturday at the Millers’ home, and I do declare, I think you haven’t heard a word I’ve said.”
“My mind is on a problem at the bank,” he told her, lying without a speck of guilt. The woman had lost her attraction for him, almost overnight, it seemed. And for the life of him, he didn’t know how he’d go about shedding her presence from his daily routine, wishing glumly he’d never given her any encouragement.
For the pursuit had been from her direction, he recognized, almost from the first. She’d set her cap for the banker, and been persistent in the chase. And he, idiot that he was, had allowed it. Had, in fact, aided and abetted her in her determination to win his favor. Now she stood before him and he thought how wonderful it would be to hold a magic wand in his hand, just for a moment, so he might wave it over her lush form, sending her back to wherever she’d come from this morning.
Instead, he forced a benign smile to appear. “I have to get to my desk,” he said, his words apologetic. “I’ll try to find time to call on you later today, Patience.”
Her pout had lost its appeal, he decided, as she allowed her rosy lips to form a small moue, and then fluttered her lashes in what he’d once thought was a beguiling manner. Miles removed from the open, honest glare he’d received from the woman in his study only last evening.
His stride was long, as if he could not escape Patience quickly enough, and he crossed the dusty street, heading for the bank where his clerk, Thomas, was sweeping the wide sidewalk before the open door.
“Good morning, Mr. Garvey,” the young man said cheerfully. “Beautiful day, don’t you think?”
“Depends on your viewpoint,” Nicholas said with a grunt, his long legs carrying him into the high-ceilinged lobby, leaving behind an employee he knew must be puzzled by his employer’s mood. Normally a polite gentleman, the events of the day thus far had not endowed him with hope for the future of this episode he’d managed to entangle himself in. There wasn’t a bit of sense in shedding Patience from his existence when he’d be waving goodbye to Carlinda Donnelly in less time than it would take to truly make her acquaintance.
And with that decision attended to, he opened his office door and settled behind his desk. “Thomas.” The single word sounded much like the roar of a mountain lion and Nicholas winced, then took a deep breath.
Women. They were at the bottom of almost all the problems he’d faced in his life, in one way or another. And the conundrum facing him today seemed only to prove that fact. It was a good thing that marriage was definitely on the back burner. He was a man who enjoyed his freedom.
She’d been given the grand tour and decreed the house lovely, and, even more important, comfortable. The housekeeper’s bright eyes were avid with curiosity and she seemed determined to make Carlinda welcome. “I’m sure Mr. Nicholas will be home for dinner,” Katie said cheerfully, her cloth moving rapidly as she dusted the bannister.
Her hair, once flame-red, if Carlinda knew anything about such things, had now settled into a hazy color of grey over auburn. As might her own one day, she thought. A wide smile on Katie’s lips sparkled with goodwill and her feet moved smartly as she made her way through the work inherent in keeping such a large home clean and polished to within an inch of its life. Carlinda hovered in her wake, feeling useless with nothing to accomplish.
It seemed a walk was in order, and she pressed a dress from her valise and one for Amanda for the occasion. “Are you certain you don’t need any help?” Carlinda asked for the second time, hesitating by the front door. Her charge tugged impatiently at her fingers, but she held back, guilt pushing her into the offer she made.
Katie only shook her head. “No, ma’am. You go on ahead and take the wee one out for a walk. She needs to get some exercise. Young’uns need fresh air and lots of it. Makes them healthy to breathe the morning air, it does.”
Reluctantly, Carlinda nodded and opened the heavy door. Leaded glass in long panes almost the length of its frame glittered in the sunlight, and she turned back to admire them as Amanda scampered across the porch.
“I’ll just leave it open,” Katie said, watching from the threshold. “You go on now and enjoy your stroll.”
Amanda was at the gate already, apparently puzzled by the latch, and Carlinda touched it, allowing the spring to stretch and the gate to open. Then she reached her hand for the child to grasp, and was given a dour look in silent reply.
“Young ladies don’t run and jump along a public thoroughfare,” she reminded Amanda. “We walk properly, without causing the dust to rise and coat our shoes.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Amanda answered dutifully, and yet it was obvious the little girl longed to run ahead and explore the limits of the small town they’d come to.
Ahead was a square in the center of town, an inviting place Carlinda had taken note of yesterday morning. On either side, east and west, the road stretched for a short distance, with stores and places of business lining its edges, sidewalks forming a neat line in front of the establishments. Women walked from one shop to another, their steps brisk as they performed what seemed a daily ritual, providing for their families. Two elderly men had staked a claim on a bench before the hardware store, exchanging greetings with the ladies who passed by.
In the midst of the square trees grew and three benches sat, empty in the morning sun. Carlinda wished that one of them was beneath the shade of a tree. She would surely freckle, she thought, if she were subjected much longer to the warmth of the spring sunlight. Sighing, she settled on a wooden seat, almost in the center of the square, and watched as Amanda approached another child at her side.
The two little girls talked for a moment, then Amanda turned, reaching for the girl’s hand to bring her along as she approached her nursemaid. “This is Sally,” Amanda said importantly. “She’s going to be my new friend. Her mama’s at the store.”
And wasn’t it easy for a child to determine the existence of a friendship so quickly, Carlinda thought wistfully. So far removed from the adult skirmishes that took place before a friendship could be formed between two women. She thought of the battle lines that had been drawn the evening before when she’d gone head to head with the man whose hospitality she’d accepted. A blush covered her cheeks as she recalled her quick animosity.
“Hello, Sally,” she said, her response to the child automatic. And then she glanced at Amanda. “Don’t go out of the square,” she said quietly. “I’ll just sit here and watch.”
The little girls skipped off, then settled under one of the trees, carefully tugging their skirts to cover short legs, Amanda looking up for Carlinda’s approval. With a smile and nod, it was bestowed, and the child turned aside. The murmur of their voices and the soft sound of laughter lulled her as Carlinda basked beneath the sun’s rays. She’d not lost herself in such a lazy morning in a very long time, and her eyes closed as she allowed herself to drift in a slumberous state.
