Banking on Temperance (6 page)

• • •

Temperance stood in the middle of the large open space above the bank where Basil resided. It was the day of her weekly cleaning of his rooms, and even though he was not here with her, she sensed him all around her. She quickly tidied up the seating area and proceeded to his desk. As she removed the items from the top of the desk in order to apply the furniture polish, she glanced at each possession. There was the formal portrait of his large family back in New York City. By now, she could associate names with their faces, from Basil’s stories about each one.

The love he had for his family was obvious by the placement of the photograph front and center on the desk. She made certain she returned it to its exact location as she proceeded. The inkwell and pen were next. Careful not to spill any of the ink, she moved it out of the way and then positioned it back again. The next item she picked up each week and held in her hands was a puzzle to her. It was an arrowhead, worn and dull at its tip. She assumed it had some sentimental meaning, and she guessed it had come from Joseph, Basil’s brother-in-law, but that was purely a guess. Someday, she’d have to ask him.

When she went from the outer room to the bedroom and bath, she drew in a deep breath as the scent of Basil Fitzpatrick filled the air around her. The tang of spice and sandalwood permeated every article of clothing that was strewn around the room. She picked up and inspected the clothes that had fallen where Basil had undressed. For a moment, she closed her eyes and pictured Basil standing in this very spot, stripping his layers of clothing from his body until he stood here, naked as the day he was born.

Her body shivered at the image she conjured up in her mind. She raised his white shirt to her face and inhaled deeply of his scent. Tears crested in her eyes as she lowered the shirt. Basil Fitzpatrick was from another social stratosphere, and had only one use for a woman such as herself, so she’d best dash all notions of his nude image from her head, or she’d end up used by him and cast aside, in the same manner as his clothing. She bundled up all the discarded apparel into a neat pile for him to take to the laundry in town.

She moved from his sleeping quarters to the bathing area and tidied it up, stopping only briefly to take a whiff of his soap and to rid the washbowl of his morning whiskers. When the room was clean, she tackled the last job — that of making the bed where Basil slept. Again, the image of him lying here nude, possibly with a woman, flashed through her mind, along with a rip of jealousy.

She made up the bed, and paused beside it, placing a hand on her fluttering stomach. What would happen if she just lay here for a second and imagined she was the woman Basil fancied for the night? Looking around the room to assure herself that she was truly alone, she removed her shoes and lay down on top of the bedspread. She closed her eyes, imagining how it would feel to have the weight of his body beside her. And to have his hand stroking her hair, her breast, her privates. Her core pooled with dampness as her thoughts ran wild. Unconsciously, she moaned as she imagined Basil’s hot breath on her cheek, her mouth, her nipple …

“Taking a nap on my dime, are you, Temperance?”

Her eyes popped open and she scrambled from the bed as she caught Basil’s amused face peering around the doorframe.

“I’m sorry, sir. I just wondered how a real bed would feel. It’s been a long time since I’ve had a bed to sleep in.” She quickly pulled on her shoes and stood up, a flush creeping up her face.

“Well, by this time next year, you’ll be sleeping in a real bed with your Jeremiah by your side, somewhere in Oregon.” Was there a hint of sadness in his statement? Or anger? No, it must be her imagination. She needed to vacate this room, fast. He was way too close, and the visions she had while lying in his bed were too real. But Basil was standing in the doorway, the only way out. Raising her chin high, she walked up to him, and waited for him to move. When he didn’t budge, she moved alongside him. Mere inches were all that separated them.

She glanced up into his deep blue eyes that still held the glint of humor at having found her in his bed.

“Excuse me, sir,” she said, smiling up at him as she started to walk past. Then, all breath left her as he suddenly reached out and took her chin in his hand. She gazed back into his eyes, noticing the humor was gone, replaced by what she thought was desire. She was in real trouble now.

“You don’t back down from anything, do you? If I didn’t know better, I’d swear you raise your chin at me just to make it easy for my lips to find yours.” His head swooped down and caught her mouth in a fiercely tender movement.

She stood, rooted in place, with her eyes closed, as his lips pressed against hers. Nothing in her imagination had prepared her for the shock of the real thing. Basil’s kiss was much different from the wet, sloppy kisses Jeremiah had given her before she left Pennsylvania. Much better. Oh, so much … Basil’s tongue flicked the corners of her mouth, seeking entry. She opened her mouth slightly to tell him no, and his tongue invaded, dueling with hers in a shockingly intimate manner. She lost the ability to say anything, and let herself drown in the moment. She grabbed onto the front of his shirt, and moaned again, as she had while lying in his bed.

Basil finally broke the kiss, and Temperance nearly cried out in frustration. He removed her hands from his shirt and took a step away. She swayed on her feet.

“That was not supposed to happen. I apologize, Temperance. It’s been awhile since I’ve been with a woman, and the sight of you in my bed got the best of me. I’m so sorry.”

Temperance put her fingers to her bruised lips as she stared at him, wide-eyed. “As am I. Good night, Mr. Fitzpatrick.”

Temperance ran from the flat as if the hounds of Zeus were at her heels.

Good Lord, what had he done? Basil stood rooted in place at the entrance to the bedroom and listened to Temperance’s steps as she raced down the staircase to the outside. Then he could hear the hooves of her horse as she urged it to a fast trot and exited the alley behind the bank. It was as if she couldn’t put distance between them quickly enough.

Basil sat down hard at his desk in the large outer room of the flat. He put his hands to his face and curled over his body. This was Temperance, for God’s sake. He had acted as a child, seeing something he wanted and then grabbing it, mindless of the ramifications. His mission to help her family’s circumstances failed — within the first few months, at that — and all because he couldn’t resist her once he’d seen her in his bed.

He’d stopped in the doorway for a minute before he made his presence known. Her eyes had been closed and she was turned on her side, as if turning to her partner in bed. When she emitted a small, quiet moan, he lost control of himself for a moment. And a moment was all it took. Temperance would not set foot in his bank again, or in his flat. Maybe not into his life, either. Of that, he was certain. He already missed her thrice-weekly visits. She was a proud, diligent young lady, and he had severely overstepped the tenuous friendship they had been developing.

He rubbed his hands over his face and pulled his body erect. He’d have to figure out a way to right his wrong. Perhaps it had been a bad idea to allow her into his quarters, even when he wasn’t there. It was too intimate a setting for them, the bed was too close, and Basil had never been good at denying himself the pleasure of female companionship for too long.

But Temperance wasn’t an actress or a saloon girl. She was the embodiment of her name, and he’d best remember that should he be lucky enough to have any future dealings with her. He’d seek her out, and propose a new business arrangement. He wanted her to know he was as appalled by his behavior as she was, and that it wouldn’t happen again, if they set up some barricades along the way.

He’d give her a day to calm down and then make his way to the public house tomorrow night, where he could talk to her as she worked. He was certain a small change in the way they currently conducted their business would be enough to entice her back and then he could continue to look forward to her visits. In the meantime, he should probably go to the dance hall and find a willing young woman to slake the desire she had created. He gave the idea a moment’s thought.

He raised his gaze to the doorway from which Temperance had just fled. Then his eyes went to the doorframe leading to the small bedroom, where they had kissed. Sighing deeply, he realized he had no desire to spend any more time with a woman, however voluptuous, who was heavily made up, chose to wear strong, cheap perfume, and would give herself to whomever had the most money on him. He much preferred women who valued themselves a bit more, whose scent was that of a spring meadow. Temperance’s scent. He shook his head to dispel the thought.

Just for tonight, his desire waned. That’s what he told himself. This was not a lifestyle change he was experiencing. He went to the bedroom, and laid in the spot where Temperance had just been. He stared up at the ceiling with his hand rubbing his chest. Heartburn again. He should really get it checked out by the doctor. He could recapture their friendship, he was sure of it. If not, he didn’t deserve his reputation as a ladies’ man.

• • •

Good Lord, what had she done? Temperance urged her horse to a fast trot, as she quickly put some distance between herself and the very tempting Basil Fitzpatrick. Her family was desperate for the income Basil provided to them and she could now never return. What had she been thinking, lying in his bed as if she were one of the wanton saloon girls who she was certain occupied his bed most nights? What evil force was at work in her mind? She was aware of the rumors about him. You couldn’t be on the streets of St. Louis and not overhear them. He was a real charmer with the ladies, and she vowed to never let herself fall under his spell, however handsome he might be.

It wasn’t only the lifestyle he led that she was wary of, but his place in society. And his attitude toward women. They’d had a few discussions about women’s rights and were diametrically opposed on that score. Yes, she needed to stay as far away from him as she could. So what did she do at the first opportunity? Fall into his bed, as so many others had done before her. Good Lord!

When she arrived at the restaurant, she led her horse around to the stables and spent a few minutes removing the saddle from the mare’s back and brushing her softly. The calming motions she applied to the horse also allowed her to calm her thoughts. Basil’s bank wasn’t the only business in town, and she would be willing to place bets that some of the others had never seen a woman’s touch with the cleaning. She could find another place to take care of — it just might take some time and diligence on her part.

But she would miss Basil’s company. She was not brave enough to call him by his given name in person yet, but in her head, he was now Basil, not Mr. Fitzpatrick. He stayed after hours at the bank during her visits, claiming it was only to be able to open the locked back door for her, but, more than once, he had kept her entertained while she worked, telling her stories about his family, and prying bits of information from her about her background. It had made her work go faster, and she appreciated his company.

She also enjoyed seeing him when he was in a more casual setting, when he loosened his string tie, took off his shoes, and propped his feet on the desk while he smoked a cheroot and talked to her. The scent of tobacco would forever more remind her of these stolen minutes of time when she didn’t have the weight of her entire family resting on her shoulders. She let out a small moan as she ran her hand down the mare’s back. Now, even that small pleasure was denied her because she couldn’t control her impetuous actions.

She was wildly attracted to Basil, and had been fighting it since the first day, when she witnessed his kindness in dealing with her mother and father. She had even told him about Jeremiah in an attempt to arouse some jealousy from him. A futile effort on her part, she’d soon realized. He had no amorous interest in her, and telling him about a man in a far away state had done nothing to make her more desirable. So, at the first opportunity, she’d flung herself into his bed, and he drew the obvious conclusion about her intentions towards him.

It wasn’t as if he’d forced his kiss on her. She’d put up little resistance to him, and even moaned in dismay when he returned to his senses and removed his lips from hers. Blood rushed to her face as she remembered the circumstances surrounding the kiss. He’d broken things off first, not her, before they had a chance to get carried away. If it had been left up to her, they would not have stopped until he’d made love to her. She wanted to experience all that lovemaking had to offer, but he was the one who stopped. Perhaps he wasn’t such a scoundrel as she’d been led to believe. And perhaps she was more of a saloon girl than she thought. Her cheeks burned in embarrassment, and she put her hands to them, as if to tamp down their fire.

Vowing not to tell her mother about her abrupt departure from the bank until she had something else lined up, and never to reveal the circumstances behind the departure, she quit dawdling. She put the brush away, smoothed her skirt and hair, and washed her hands in the bucket outside the stables before heading into the back of the restaurant to begin her evening’s work.

Basil put the paperweight on top of his stack of business mail. It could wait until tomorrow. He rubbed his eyes and turned off the green bankers’ lamp on his desk. This had been one of the longest days of his life, waiting until this evening when he could see Temperance and apologize again for his outrageous behavior toward her.

His hope was that she would at least return this afternoon to talk to him, but he wouldn’t blame her in the least if she didn’t. He had behaved in the manner of a wild, lustful, uncontrollable heathen last night. Propping his elbows on the top of his desk, he tented his fingers in front of him. Resting his forehead on his hands, he took a quiet breath as he mentally kicked himself once again. The knock at the back door reminded him of his boot kicking his backside. With hope in his heart, he rose and opened the door.