Tipping back her head, she stole a glance up
at him. Even in the dim light of the dance hall, she could tell he
was smiling at her. The lines about his eyes crinkled, the eyes
themselves dark pools of mystery.
Rory stumbled a little, then giggled. "I'm
awfully sorry. I guess my head's not so hard after all. You must
think I'm a fool."
"What you are is a breath of fresh air."
"Pooh," she said. "More like a big wind,
flattening your lawn."
He laughed and the rich deep sound seemed to
echo through her heart. "No, you are the best thing that has
happened to me in an age."
"You didn't think so at first. You wanted to
toss me into the streets, remember?"
"That was because I was getting stuffy, as
stuffy as those swells mincing about my lawn."
She laughed and when he spun her about in
another slow, languorous circle, she felt absurdly happy. She
scarce knew when the band finished up its last melody, or how Zeke
guided her from the dance hall back to the street.
To her astonishment the sky over the city was
already lightening to a hue of pearly gray.
"The sun's up," she crowed. "Zeke, we made
it. We danced all night."
"So we did." His voice was laced with
indulgence as he handed her up into his awaiting carriage. The
landau was one of those open sporting vehicles, but Zeke had the
folding top raised into position.
Rory settled back gratefully beneath its
shadowy depths. Zeke vaulted inside, but he did not sit decorously
opposite as he had earlier. He squeezed beside her, and she was
glad of the warmth emanating from his long, muscular frame. Even
with her cloak, the morning air was chill and her head suddenly
felt so heavy.
Zeke's shoulder was just the right height for
nestling, and she didn't even try to resist. As she settled against
him, he wrapped one arm about her.
The carriage sprang into motion, and swayed
by the gentle rocking, Rory closed her eyes. She sang snatches of
My Wild Irish Rose, only stopping to murmur, "Dawn comes too soon
over New York."
"Yes, it does," Zeke agreed. He gathered one
of her hands into his own. "Rory, there is something I want to say.
I have a proposition to make to you."
Proposition? The word sounded so
businesslike. Vague remembrance drifted through Rory's head of her
original purpose in coming out with Zeke tonight. But she had spent
very little time talking about her company. She supposed she had
tossed away any chance to recruit him as an investor. Therefore he
surprised her by saying, "I am willing to make any settlement upon
you that you would name."
"Settlement?" she repeated. "Is that the same
as money?"
"Well, yes.”
Money? Money for her balloon company? It
would seem she had made an impression upon Zeke after all. Despite
the champagne still fuddling her brain, she pulled herself into an
upright position.
"Oh, Zeke," she cried. "You've made me so
very happy."
Overcome with her joy, she flung her arms
about his neck. Zeke was not slow to respond, straining her
close.
"Not nearly as happy as you have made me,
Aurora Rose," he murmured, pressing light kisses against her
hair.
It came as a shock to Rory when his lips
found hers. She stiffened at first, startled by the contact, the
unexpected kiss tearing through her like a flash of lightning. His
mouth tasted of wine, so seductively sweet. Then what was sweet,
what was gentle became fire, the dammed-up passion she had sensed
in Zeke breaking free.
And God help her, the fever seemed to have
spread to her, licking through her veins with tongues of flame. She
had buried her fingers in Zeke's hair and caught herself returning
the kiss with equal fierceness when she broke off, panting.
In some dim corner of her mind, it occurred
to her that this was not the usual handclasp with which business
contracts were sealed. But it was difficult to reason anything
clearly with Zeke continuing his assault. His lips grazed against
her temples, her cheeks, het chin, moving down to caress the column
of her throat,
"Oh, Rory," he said. "I'll give you anything
you want. A flat in Morningside Heights, your own carriage, a box
at the theater, an account at Bloomingdale's."
"I don't need all that. Just enough to keep
me front being evicted from the warehouse."
Zeke paused, his lips a breath away from
hers. "Warehouse?"
"Yes, and Zeke-,” she managed to say somewhat
unsteadily, "I’m not sure prospective business partners should
behave this way."
He frowned, drawing back. "Warehouse?
Business partners? What are you talking about?"
"Why, I'm not so sure. What are you talking
about?"
"I am asking you to become my mistress."
His mistress! Rory jerked away, bumping her
head against the back of the seat.
"We did agree that neither of us is the
marrying kind," Zeke said.
Rory rubbed her eyes, feeling as if she were
groping her way through a fog. "But what about my balloons?"
"You don't have to bother about them anymore.
I wouldn't want you to keep on risking that beautiful neck." He
stroked his fingers through the fall of her pair, brushing it back
from her face. "Look, Rory, I know I'm no good at saying all the
words a woman needs to hear. I guess I've been too blunt. All I can
tell you is that I want you, possibly more than I've ever wanted
any woman before,"
"Possibly?" she echoed, the full import of
what he was saying sinking in. It had the sobering effect of a cold
water bath. She did not know what outraged her more, the brusque
manner of his proposal or his careless dismissal of her balloon
company.
"Of all the conceit!" She spluttered, unable
to find words strong enough to convey her indignation. "What the
devil makes you think I would give up my company to become your
mistress?"
He smiled at her then and began to draw her
back into his arms. His expression was tender, but smug enough to
snap Rory fully to her senses. Before he could kiss her again, she
punched, clawed and kicked to be free. He released her so suddenly
she toppled to the floor of the carriage.
Her lips still felt branded from the heat of
his kiss, even more so by her own response. What was the matter
with him, behaving like this with a woman he'd just met,
practically a stranger? More to the point, what was the matter with
her? Even now, in the midst of her anger, she felt drawn to
him.
He reached down to haul her back onto the
seat. "Come on, Rory," he said, his voice cool, but the fire still
smoldering in his eyes. "There's no sense being coy about this.
That first kiss told me all 1 need to know."
Rory struck his hand away "You-you're crazy!"
she gasped, glaring at him through the tangle of her hair.
At that moment, the landau was obliged to
give way to another vehicle crossing the intersection. Rory saw her
chance and took it. As the carriage slowed, she flung open the door
and rolled out to the pavement.
Encumbered by her skirts, she barely managed
to land on her feet. Regaining her balance, she hiked up her hem
past her ankles and tore off down the sidewalk.
"Rory!"
She heard Zeke shout her name, but she didn't
look back. The sound of pounding feet told her that he was coming
after her. She pushed harder, lengthening her strides although she
was no longer sure whom she was running from, Zeke or herself.
He'd have done better to have pursued her in
the carriage. Ever since her grammar school days, she had been able
to outdistance any boy on her block.
But luck turned against her as she whipped
round the next corner. A loose cobblestone caused her to stumble
and twist the same ankle she had injured earlier. She let out a cry
as the familiar throbbing pain shot through her limb.
Gasping for breath, she glanced wildly along
the vacant street. Not a horsecar in sight at this time of morning.
Not much of anything in sight but a milk wagon making its
rounds.
Rory hobbled forward, hailing the driver, a
genial-looking old man with side whiskers. "Hey, mister. Could you
give me a ride?"
The man appeared surprised to be accosted by
a young woman in a silk gown and evening cloak, but he replied
good-naturedly, "Well sure, but-"
"Thank you." Rory wasted no time scrambling
up on the box. "Can we please go? I'm in something of a hurry."
At that instant Zeke came charging round the
corner, looking as mad as thunder. The milkman nodded as though in
comprehension of the situation.
"Why, the dirty masher! We'll give him a run
for his money. Pestering innocent girls." The old man clicked both
his tongue and the reins. The ancient brown nag hitched in the
traces took off with an astonishing burst of speed.
So did Zeke. For one awful moment, Rory
thought he might catch up to them. He managed to race alongside,
his face flushed with the exertion, his lower lip caught in grim
determination. In another second, he would be able to catch hold of
the wagon and haul himself aboard.
In desperation, Rory loosed the cloak from
her shoulders. Just as Zeke's hand closed over the wagon's wooden
side, she flung the garment, catching him neatly over the head.
Tangled in the cloak's folds, Zeke lost his grip, staggering
back.
By the time he managed to extricate himself,
he had lost any chance of overtaking Rory. Her last glimpse was of
him planted in the middle of the road, hands propped on his hips.
She couldn't make out what he was shouting at her, but that was
likely just as well.
Rory sank back against the wagon seat,
heaving a tremulous sigh of relief.
"There, that's all right, missy," the old
wagon driver chuckled. "We diddled that young spark real proper.
You won't be bothered by him anytime soon, I'll wager."
Rory said nothing. She didn't feel like
betting on that. She was seized by a presentiment even stronger
than her banshee dreams. Somehow she knew she had not seen the last
of Zeke Morrison.
CHAPTER SIX
It was late afternoon by the time Zeke
arrived at the Hoffman House Hotel for his meeting with Stanley
Addison. One look at his face and most of the bellboys had the
sense to stay clear of his path. Behind him, Zeke heard two of them
whispering.
"Say, what d'ya think is the matter with Mr.
Morrison? That scowl on his face is enough to wilt the
daisies."
"Aw, you know these big tycoons, fretting
about their money all the time. Probably one of his deals went
sour. I'm glad I got no such worries."
"Yeah, ain't we the lucky ones!"
The pair of them clammed up at once when Zeke
turned and shot them a killing glare. With nervous smiles, the
bellboys hustled off to their task of gathering up the baggage of
the incoming guests.
Which was just as well, Zeke thought, or he
might have been tempted to bellow at the nosy pair. No, fellows,
his problem wasn't money. It was that other root of all evil—a
woman. As Zeke crossed the hotel's plush lobby, heading for the
bar, his black mood showed no signs of lifting. He never figured
himself for the kind of fool that would waste much energy in moping
over some female.
When Rory had escaped from him earlier that
morning, he had sworn and said good riddance. If she didn't want
him, all she had to do was tell him no. She didn't need to go
haring off as if he were Jack the Ripper.
He had taken himself off home and gone to
bed. But after a few hours' restless sleep, he had arisen, still
irritable but angrier at himself than her. What an ass he had made
of himself. He'd never chased a woman through the streets before,
not even in the wild days of his youth. For the first time, he
began to entertain the suspicion that he might be the one to blame
for the disastrous end to what had otherwise been an enchanted
evening. Perhaps he had misinterpreted her response to his kiss.
Perhaps he had misunderstood her remark about not wanting to be
married.
Oh, what the hell difference did it make?
Rory had exited out of his life as abruptly as she had made her
entrance. It was best just to forget her. He ought to be thinking
of nothing but his upcoming appointment with Addison.
Shoving open a large door, in which was an
oval of frosted glass, Zeke entered the hotel bar. He was already
having misgivings about his choice of a site for the meeting. If
Addison did have some explosive new information about Decker and
his cronies, as the garbled phone conversation had indicated, then
it might have been better to talk in a more private place.
Mrs. Van H. had always told Zeke he should
join one of the exclusive gentleman's clubs. They afforded
excellent settings for discreet business chats. Zeke had actually
gone so far as to put in an application with the Union Club, but
after he had punched out a fellow down on Twenty-second Street for
smacking some poor girl, Zeke's application had been politely
refused. It seemed the club's august members didn't approve of
brawling in the streets, not even for the most chivalrous of
motives.
The hell with them then, Zeke had thought. As
he glanced around the Hoffman House bar, he saw that it would do
just as well. The crowd that usually flocked to the place to sample
the bar's sumptuous free lunch—well, free except for the cost of a
beer—were all long gone.
Two men lingered in a table by the corner,
drummers by the look of them, with their natty attire and
overstuffed valises full of sales samples. Other than that, the
place was empty except for the bartender polishing glasses behind
the counter.
The tips of his handlebar mustache waxed to
perfection, a red garter banding one sleeve of his shirt, James P.
Mulgrew flashed Zeke a welcoming smile.
"Afternoon, Mr. Morrison. Been a long time
since we've seen you in here. How's life in the castle?"