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“I think you’d better go, Deegan,” Wyn said.
Long after he’d collected his hat and stormed out of the house, Wyn continued standing at the front window, staring out unseeing over the city, remembering.
They had met at a ball, introduced by her elder brother. Wyn had thought the men were business associates. She certainly saw Deegan at all the Nob Hill parties. She had begun to look forward to his attendance on her, to his tenderly whispered compliments, to his growingly insistent kisses.
She had been so close to succumbing to Deegan’s wishes. He had wanted her. Her, not her dowry, even if she had flung that accusation at him. Compared to the fortune Leonore Cronin would inherit, the sum settled on herself appeared minuscule. Fool that she was, she had thought he cared for her. His protestations of love had been many, always followed by kisses guaranteed to undermine a maiden’s resolve. As she weakened, Deegan grew bolder until she had begun to crave the stolen minutes, the clandestine caresses, with the passion of an opium eater. Wyn grew flushed at the memory of the time they had spent together, longing for what she would no longer have and embarrassed that she had so forgotten herself in sampling those forbidden delights.
The future of which she had dreamed would no longer become a reality, for with Deegan went her last hope. While her friends had found mates and married, she was still alone, a spinster, on the shelf, overlooked or forgotten when it came to love.
The truth was difficult to admit. She was an acclaimed beauty, an heiress. With those lures to attract a mate, why had she not been able to find a man who drew her?
Even Deegan, handsome and charming as he was, hadn’t managed to do that. She had been tempted…only tempted.
The sun slipped into the western seas unnoticed. The sky grew dusky and lamps came to life in the nearby homes and along the sloping streets. Unseen, a maid came to attend to the gas jets in the hall, only to creep silently away from the parlor rather than disturb Wyn. It was only when the front door swung shut and impatient male footsteps sounded in the entryway that Wyn came out of her reverie.
“What the devil are you doing in the dark?” a man’s voice demanded.
Wyn turned from the window at the first bark of her older brother’s voice. “Oh, hello, Pierce. Back already?”
He tossed aside his hat and fumbled for a match in the pocket of his coal black frock coat. “Already? I stayed at the shipping office an hour later just trying to catch up on various matters. I’ve got a train to catch tomorrow, if you recall.”
The match scraped to life. A moment later the room was filled with the soft glow of light. Pierce adjusted the gas jet on the wall then dropped full length onto the plump cushions of the sofa. “Don’t you know it’s damn cold in here, Wyn?”
“Is it? I hadn’t noticed.”
He glanced at her, a frown of concern drawing his dark brown brows together over his straight patrician nose. “Not coming down with something, are you, Ace?”
Wyn shrugged. “Do you want a fire?”
“Lord, yes. But first, tell me what’s wrong.”
“Nothing. I’ve just been thinking.” Wyn gathered her narrow skirts and sank companionably to the floor near him. “Do you still need financing for the new ship?”
Pierce pushed off one shoe then the other. The sound of each falling was hollow against the tongue-and-groove wood flooring. “Let’s just say the bank is anxious. They’d like a payment since we’re running behind schedule on building the Nereid. Are you going to light a fire, or do I have to do it?”
“I’ll do it. Have you got another lucifer?” He fumbled in his pocket again and passed her a match. Wyn leaned forward on her knees to light the fire. It had been laid on the hearth earlier by a maid in anticipation of the damp San Francisco evening. “Just how much does the bank want?”
“More than I feel comfortable discussing,” Pierce admitted. Although he had become titular head of the Shire Shipping Line in the past year, Wyn knew her brother had moments when he doubted his ability to run the family business.
The flame caught the tinder and ate greedily along the underside of a log. Wyn sat back on her heels and leaned one arm along the sofa cushions where her brother lay stretched out. “On my last birthday, you and Pop arranged for me to have some money of my own,” she said.
“Your dowry, Ace. Besides, you’ll need it to reel Galloway in.”
“Mr. Galloway has proven to be a cad,” Wyn said tightly.
Pierce sucked in air between his teeth. “Worse than me, huh?”
“Infinitely worse than you.”
He shook his head sadly. “Damn, and I thought I held the record. I guess you found out about the mouse.”
“Leonore Cronin? Yes, I did. Do you mean to tell me, you knew he was courting her and didn’t tell me?”
Pierce snorted. “La Cronin didn’t have a chance against you, Ace. And so I told anyone willing to give me odds on the outcome.”
Wyn sighed. “If you had a wager on it, I can understand why you didn’t drop a hint. What was my standing in this particular race?”
“Hell, you were the favorite, of Galloway and of the betting books.”
“Thank you for the kind compliment, brother dear,” Wyn murmured, her spirits beginning to return. Having the matter reduced to the level of a sporting event put things in a different perspective, making it appear ridiculous for her to continue railing against fate.
“I’m sorry I lost you your wager.”
Pierce sighed deeply. “You know I’ve always been a rotten gambler. Let’s hope I’m a better businessman.”
Wyn smiled warmly at him. “You are, much to the astonishment of the business community. Tell me truthfully, Pierce. Is the Nereid bankrupting you?”
“Truthfully? Nearly. That’s why I’m leaving for Boston tomorrow to oversee the final construction. It means changing my schedule. I won’t be able to sail on her maiden-voyage as planned. However, a personal appearance on my part now should soothe the bankers. Our Shire cousins are careful administrators in the Eastern office, but they don’t see the Nereid as a necessary expansion of our business.”
“The Shire Line has always carried passengers,” Wyn said. She held her palms toward the fire, suddenly aware of how cool the room had become. “And each year we’ve ordered larger ships to be built.”
“Maybe it’s just me,” Pierce said. When Wyn made a discouraging noise, he laughed. “Okay, it’s the expense. We’ve never gone in for steamships before, and the Nereid is more than just that. She’s a luxury liner, designed specifically for passenger business rather than shipping.”
Wyn stared into the fire and came to a decision. “Pierce, I want you to take my money. All of it.”
He sat up abruptly. “Hell, no!” His stockinged feet hit the floor with an emphatic thud. “I do have my pride, Wyn. Pop and I worked it all out when I decided to take over the Shire office. Rather than divide the company up into shares, I bought each of my siblings out. That money is yours, Ace. It belongs solely to you and your future husband.”
“I’m not going to have a future husband.” Wyn took his hands in hers and gazed up into her brother’s concerned face. “Don’t you see? This is the perfect solution. I do believe in your plans for the Nereid.” At his doubtful expression, she squeezed his hands. “All right, it’s you I believe in, Pierce, in your dreams for the line. I want to invest my money back into it. Think of it as a loan. You can pay me interest, dividends, whatever you want to call it.”
He wasn’t convinced. “And if indeed I do bankrupt the company with this scheme? You’ll lose it all, Ace.”
“Then you can take care of me for the rest of my life,” she assured him brightly. “I’m not worried. The point is, you need to pay the bank something on account and I want to tie my dowry up so that it is no longer a lure for fortune hunters.”
Pierce still looked doubtful. “You haven’t thought this through, Wyn. I know it sounds good to you at the moment. Hell, it sounds like a godsend to me and you know I’m a proven cad who’ll leave you high and dry like I did…”
Wyn pressed a hand to his lips, silencing the grim reminder of the girl he’d nearly wed.
“You won’t let me down, Pierce. I know you won’t. I can’t say the same about any other man and since I can’t, the best thing to do is never marry.”
He removed her hand from where it sealed his mouth. “Don’t gammon me, Wyn. You’re a beautiful woman. There’ll be lots of men who want you whether you’ve got a dowry handy or not.”
A smile crept to her lips. “Are you going to take my money?”
“Hell, yes, I’m going to take it. I’m not that noble. But I’ll do so on one condition only. Since I can’t be there, you’ve got to be the family representative aboard the Nereid for her maiden voyage,” Pierce insisted.
Wyn cocked her head to one side. “Can I take Hildy with me?”
Pierce’s brows rose in mock surprise. “The far-from-sedate Widow Hartleby?”
“She’s on the verge of a decline,” Wyn divulged.
Pierce’s mobile brows snapped together over the bridge of his nose. “Probably more so over the loss of her diamonds than over old Hartleby’s demise. However, since you can’t exactly travel alone—”
“You prude,” she accused.
“Where my sister is concerned? Damn right, woman. I suppose Hildy is a better solution than hiring a companion.
“She’s nearly a pauper,” Wyn said.
“I’ll arrange her passage, but that’s it,” Pierce insisted.
Wyn surged to her feet and, plumping down on the sofa next to him, hugged her brother fiercely. “It’s a deal. You are the best of relatives no matter what the others say.”
Pierce’s frown darkened even more. “And what exactly does the rest of our family say, my dear Winona?”
The bellboy caught the coin, his eyes widening in surprise as he recognized the denomination, and responded by giving the man who’d tossed it a snappy salute.
Amused by the youth’s enthusiasm, Garrett Blackhawk smiled as he pocketed the telegram the lad had presented and closed the door of his suite at the Palace Hotel.
The boy was his second welcome interruption of the evening. The visitor sprawled in the comfortable chair by the fireplace had been the first, delaying Garrett’s dressing for the dinner party he wished to avoid. The delivery had delayed Deegan Galloway’s pitch.
“Forgive the intrusion, Dig. You were saying that you’re persona non grata in Frisco?” Garrett asked, drop-ping with careless elegance into another chair, his right leg thrown loosely over the padded arm. He was in his shirtsleeves, evening trousers donned, starched shirtfront and collar in place, tie still dangling loosely around his neck. Although the clock on the mantelpiece was a constant reminder that he was late, Garrett made no attempt to rush his unexpected guest. Instead he reached for the cigarette papers and bag of tobacco on the table at his side and began rolling a smoke.
Deegan sighed deeply and buried his nose in a snifter of brandy before answering. “I was merely hedging my bets, Garrett. There’s no way around it. I’ve got to marry a woman with money or seek employment. Either one will have to be done in another city. Between them, those two women will make it impossible for me to succeed here.”
Blackhawk deftly sealed the edge of his cigarette and soon had obscured his face behind a screen of smoke. He’d heard it said that he fit his name well. Some insisted that, like a hawk, there was a predatory gleam in the obsidian shadows of his eyes, and a hunter’s alertness in the tall, tapered frame of his body. His hair was sable in color, luxuriant in texture, and frequently tousled. Although born an English gentleman, of late his skin had been warmed to a primitive bronze by the sun of three continents. The craggy lines of his face could have belonged to a Spaniard, a Bedouin or a Mayan, and, at one time or another during his travels, Garrett had found it prudent to assume the identity of each in turn. He was careful in his choice of companions, allowing very few to know him well. Deegan Galloway was one of the specially chosen permitted to see the man beneath the mask.
Garrett drew deeply on his cigarette, savoring the taste of tobacco on his tongue, enjoying the slight euphoria of the smoke in his lungs. “You have my abject sympathy,” he assured Galloway.
“Sure and it isn’t enough,” Deegan drawled in an exaggerated brogue, then abandoned the affectation, returning to his normal speaking voice. “I came begging a grubstake as you very well know.”
Blackhawk reached for his own glass of brandy, adding the lush body of the wine to the tally of sensory delights he planned to sample over the course of the evening. His current company was pleasant, and the brisk dampness of the San Francisco air reminded him sharply and depressingly of home. It was one of the reasons he was anxious to leave the city. Business kept him a temporary captive.
A hardwood fire burned on the hearth, efficiently warming the hotel room. It reminded him of nights before the huge fireplaces at Hawk’s Run in Shropshire, only there the heat would have been supplied by locally mined coal. The estate might well be as distant as the moon for all the thought he’d given it over the past two years.
“If you want a position that will take you far away, you’re welcome to become my secretary and take up residence at the Run,” Garrett offered. “It would be a favor that would enable me to stay blissfully distant from the place.”
Deegan chuckled. “Trying to turn me into an Irish peasant? You forget I’m an American, born and bred. My da was the potato eater. Although your largess is appreciated, I’ll stay on this side of the Atlantic. A monetary handout will be more than sufficient, my friend.”
Garrett grinned in response to Galloway’s request. “At least you know your limits. I notice you didn’t ask for a loan.”
“Lord, no.” Deegan swished the brandy in his glass, watching the liquid swirl. “You’d never get it back, and well you know it, old chap.”
Garrett took another soothing draw on his cigarette. Rolling his own had become a habit, one picked up out of necessity during his travels. It made him feel self-sufficient, perhaps a ridiculous affectation, but one he had no intention of giving up. “Did you love her?”
“Who?”
He’d known Deegan long enough to recognize when his friend was evading something. ‘’Whichever. You said there were two women.”
Deegan tossed off the last of his brandy. “Devilish greedy bastard, aren’t I? Most men would be content with winning one heiress.” He reached for the brandy decanter on the table between them. “What makes you think I loved them?”
“Not them, just one,” Garrett clarified. “Do I need more than the fact that you rarely drink?”
On the point of refilling his goblet, Deegan halted. Garrett blew a series of smoke rings while his friend struggled silently within himself.
Deegan set the decanter down and pushed his empty glass away. “It’s the situation, not the woman. Besides.” he insisted lightly, “you know I love money more than I could ever love any woman.”
It was interesting how a man could lie to himself, Garrett mused as he drew on his cigarette. Interesting how he could believe the lie. “Tell me about her anyway, Dig,” he urged.
Deegan slumped deep into the cushions of his chair, stretched his legs out and grinned. “Not believin’ me, are ye, laddie,” he said. “The lady’s not for me. Knew it the moment I set eyes on her. She’s so beautiful, so graceful.” The artificial lilt dropped from Deegan’s voice, replaced by a quality that could only be described, Garrett felt, as dreamy. “It was like seeing an angel to watch her dance,” Deegan continued. “She glides, my friend. Glides. And when a man waltzes with her it’s akin to floating right in the clouds.”
Garrett smiled faintly. “Sounds to me as if Cupid’s sunk his arrow deep.” He drew a final lungful of smoke and leaned forward to toss the butt of his cigarette into the fire.
“Hmm,” Deegan murmured thoughtfully. “Doubtful, my lad. How could I be when she deserves someone like you?”
Caught exhaling the smoke, Garrett choked. “Bloody hell, Dig,” he gasped when he could breathe once more. “You don’t have to kill me to get into my wallet.”
“My point exactly. I get by on my wits…”
“Such as they are,” Garrett grumbled, uneasy at the turn the conversation had taken.
“But you, my friend,” Deegan insisted with a wry grin, “have the magic touch. You seem to make money by merely thinking about it Little did I know when I rescued you from that strumpet in Sonora…”
Garrett got to his feet with languorous grace. “I’ll be damned if I’m going to sit here and listen to your insults,” he said, leaning toward the mirror that hung over the mantelpiece and turning his attention to the involved process of fixing his tie. “You rescued me? That isn’t how I re-member the event. If memory serves, there was a lynch mob after you when you barged into my bedroom.”
“All in your perception, my friend. As I was saying…”
“And loving the sound of your own voice,” Garrett dded under his breath. It had been a decidedly nasty hock to have Deegan turn the conversation on him. If here was something he didn’t need in his life right now t was a beauty with ethereal habits. That kind of woman welonged to the life he abhorred, the life that would claim him once more in the distant future.
Gliding and floating. Garrett fumed silently as he looped the narrow band of black silk into a crisp bow. Deegan may claim he wasn’t in love with the woman, but he wouldn’t convince anyone else with talk like that.
Deegan was listing the physical attributes of his goddess now. Garrett wished he hadn’t drawn the man out. If only he’d turned Dig away earlier instead of welcoming him as a savior. If only he’d made a stir when the telegram had arrived, the whole mess would have—
Telegram.
“You remember where I put that blasted wire?” Garrett demanded, interrupting Deegan in midsentence. Something about hair of spun gold.
“In your pocket,” Deegan supplied. “Now her eyes are…
Garrett stopped listening again. “Why do I have such cursedly abominable taste in friends?” he asked.
“You mean me,” Deegan said, far from insulted. “It’s your money, laddie. It attracts rogues like myself.”
“Meaning if I had my wits about me, I’d stop finding ways to make more of it,” Blackhawk growled. The paper he’d received from the bellboy was creased from his own careless handling. Absently Garrett smoothed it out. “You might be interested in this, Dig. I’ve been waiting to hear from a man in Cheyenne. I’m thinking of investing in a cattle ranch in Wyoming Territory.”
“Spare me,” Deegan pleaded. He reached for the cigarette materials and was soon tapping tobacco along the length of the small square of paper in his hand. “No doubt a week from now you’ll be camped in some forsaken spot staring deeply into a complacent cow’s brown eyes. Cattle.” He signed in resignation. “Who would ever have believed a civilized Englishman would prefer the face of a longhorn to that of a beautiful woman?”
“I don’t,” Garrett said, at last opening his message. “Beautiful women always rank ahead of a cow, although the cow will give me less trouble.” He scanned the telegram quickly, then read it again more slowly before crumpling it in his hand.
