On days when he thought about it too much, he
didn't even know why he had built this costly barracks of a house
on Fifth Avenue, why he was trying so hard to be agreeable to
people he held mostly in contempt. Perhaps because it was a
challenge to see if he could get those blasted snobs eating out of
his hand, a hand most of them at one time wouldn't have let shine
their boots. Perhaps because having obtained all the money he could
desire, he needed another goal. He had to keep running toward
something. If he stopped for too long, he was afraid that he would
notice the great emptiness that was his life.
What was it that Sadie Marceone had always
told him?
Those dreams of yours, Johnnie, maybe they're
gonna take you far. Maybe they're gonna make you rich, but they're
never gonna make you happy.
At the recollection of those words, a clear
image rose in Zeke's mind of the careworn face of the woman who had
raised him. Abandoned at an orphanage when only hours old, he had
never known either of his real parents, so whenever he thought the
word "mother," he thought of Sadie. He was unaware that his
expression had softened, having forgotten Mrs. Van Hallsburg's
presence until she said, "That's a nice smile."
Zeke was quick to wipe it from his face.
She rustled over and rested her hands lightly
on his chest. "You can be so charming when you want to be. Why
don't you ever smile at me that way, John?"
"Zeke," he complained. "Why can't you ever
call me Zeke? You know I prefer it."
"And I have asked you more than once to call
me Cynthia."
"It seems neither of us is destined to get
what we want." He studied the face of the woman pressed so close to
him. The merest hint of lines appeared at the corners of Mrs. Van
Hallsburg's eyes. The lovely widow's age was one of the best-kept
secrets in New York.
Zeke knew she was at least ten years older
than him, and he had seen his thirtieth birthday last week. Still,
she was undeniably beautiful, her figure quite good. He wondered
why he didn't have any of the normal masculine impulses toward
her.
He had never once thought of trying to take
her to bed, While she fascinated him, something about her repulsed
him as well. Perhaps it was her eyes. They were as brilliant as
gemstones and almost as hard.
He caught her hands and eased her away from
him. "I always thought you were after something more than my
smiles, Mrs. Van H. What's in all this for you? You're not the sort
of woman whose friendship comes without a price. But you don't need
my money. Van Hallsburg left you loaded. Yet I can't see what else
I have to offer you."
"My dear John, you're so cynical and so
modest as well. Let us just say that I regard you as an unbroken
stallion, wild and rugged, but a thoroughbred for all that. As I
have told you before, you remind me—perhaps too much—of my brother,
Stephen. You even look like—"
She checked what she had been about to say,
turning away from him. A shadow crossed her features, a brief
second of rare vulnerability.
Zeke knew little about Mrs. Van Hallsburg's
older brother other than that the man had met an untimely death
several years ago. The lady did not mention him often.
"You must miss your brother a great deal,"
Zeke said awkwardly. He had never been good at consoling other
people in their grief.
"Miss my brother?" Mrs. Van Hallsburg echoed
the words as though surprised by them. "Yes, I suppose I was rather
fond of Stephen."
Zeke had never heard affection expressed so
coldly. As though she realized that she sounded heartless, she
hastened to explain, "Stephen could try one's patience to the
limits. He was a complete devil with women, you know."
She gave a brittle laugh. "Actresses! Dance
hall girls. He couldn't keep away from them. It was my great dread
he would actually marry one of the low creatures."
"That would have been unfortunate, I
suppose."
"I would have known how to deal with it." She
said this so quietly, but something in her manner chilled Zeke's
blood.
She appeared to regret having confided even
this much about her brother.
"Enough of these morbid reminiscences," she
said. “I had best return to the drawing room, and try to convince
everyone that the next party given at Morrison's Castle won't be
quite so enervating."
"Thanks, Mrs. Van H., but I should tend to
that myself. You have done more than enough for me already."
"I don't mind," she said, moving toward the
door and opening it. "Just as long as you do one thing for me,
John."
"And what might that be?"
Mrs. Van Hallsburg paused on the threshold to
glance back at him. "Make sure you get rid of that circus
girl."
Although she smiled when she said it,
something in her arctic tones almost made the low-keyed words sound
like a warning.
As evening overtook the city, the rain
finally stopped. All of Zeke's guests had at last taken their
leave, most with polite smiles, some even with a weak jest, but
Zeke doubted that many of them would be eager to come back again.
At the moment, he felt too tired to care.
When he saw Cynthia Van Hallsburg off in her
carriage, he breathed a sigh of deep relief. He and the lady had
parted on amicable enough terms, but Zeke had deliberately held
himself aloof.
Maybe it was time to start putting more
distance between himself and the lady. Mrs. Van H. was the sort of
female who could cage a man, body, mind and soul. Zeke had avoided
many traps of that kind, although he conceded Mrs. Van H. was more
clever than most. He wished he understood more clearly her motives
for befriending him. The conversation they had had in his study
continued to disturb him.
Make sure you get rid of that circus girl,
John.
He didn't take kindly to receiving orders
from anyone, especially one that smacked faintly of a threat. Yet
he was probably making too much of the remark. Likely Mrs. Van H.
had been exercising a woman's infernal prerogative. Didn't they
always have to get in the last word?
Mrs. Van H. had been right in one respect. He
was going to have to do something about Miss Kavanaugh. When he
noticed Wellington ambling toward the kitchen, likely intent upon
securing his own supper now that the hubbub had died, Zeke flagged
the man down. "Where is that little gal from the circus? Has she
come down yet?"
"Why, no, sir. I put her into your room."
"My room!"
"You did give instructions, sir, to get her
upstairs and get her clothes off, so I assumed-" Wellington gave a
discreet cough.
Zeke stared at him, thunderstruck. His butler
had leaped to the same wild conclusions as Mrs. Van H. Anyone would
think that he was some kind of a Bluebeard, ravishing every female
that crossed his path.
"Sometimes, Wellington," Zeke said, "you have
some very unbutlerlike thoughts."
"I am sorry, sir. If I made a mistake, I will
see that the girl is moved at once."
"No, go on downstairs before your supper gets
cold. I can take care of Miss Kavanaugh." Zeke sent the butler on
his way with a weary wave of one hand.
As Wellington gratefully took his leave, it
occurred to Zeke that he hadn't had his own supper yet. He longed
for nothing more than to sit down to a nice thick steak and a
nickel beer.
But first he was going to have to go have
another look at that moppet of a girl everyone seemed to think he
was so hot to seduce.
CHAPTER FOUR
Zeke gave a brisk knock on his bedchamber
door. "Miss Kavanaugh?"
No answer.
He knocked again. Still no response. Maybe
Wellington was mistaken. Maybe in all the confusion, the girl had
slipped away. She had sure looked alarmed enough to run earlier,
when she heard that the police had been summoned.
The thought that Miss Kavanaugh might already
have gone filled him with an unexpected sense of disappointment.
Turning the knob, he shoved the bedchamber door open.
The room seemed deserted, only the light of
the lamp on the bureau breaking the gloom. Then something stirred
on the bed.
"Miss Kavanaugh?" Zeke tiptoed forward.
She was curled up on her side, nestled
against the pillows, apparently fast asleep. He grinned and moved
the lamp closer for a better look at her. The light gleamed upon
the silken cascade of her dark brown hair, which tumbled across the
covers. Mixed among the strands was a sheen of red he hadn't
noticed before. Thick lashes rested against her cheeks, which were
pale with. fatigue. For the first time, Zeke took note of the pert
tilt of her nose, the almost perfect bow shape of her lips.
She was a dainty-looking little thing to be
risking her neck, performing stunts in a balloon or threatening to
mill down a man of his weight and size. Her courage roused Zeke's
admiration even if he did think she must be a little insane.
His gaze traveled lower, over the silken
robe, which had become disarranged in her sleep. The blue folds
parted in a deep vee, affording him a glimpse of her small, firm
breasts, the dark crest of her nipples. She had cast out one leg,
baring the smooth contours up to a shapely thigh, the rest
tantalizingly concealed beneath the drapings of the robe. How warm
and soft her skin would be to caress, more soft than the silk she
wore. She was indeed a little temptress, albeit a most
innocent-looking one.
Zeke experienced a familiar tightening of his
loins. Damn! It appeared both Wellington and Mrs. Van H. were far
more perceptive than he regarding the charms of Miss Kavanaugh, It
was time to see about being fitted with spectacles.
He shifted the lamp back to the bureau,
half-ashamed of ogling her while she slept on, peacefully unaware.
Returning to her side, he reached down and tugged the robe into a
more decorous position, covering as best he could that alluring
expanse of limb.
Even at that slight touch, Miss Kavanaugh
stirred, but she did not awake. From the tension that knotted her
brow, Zeke thought that she was not enjoying the most restful
sleep. Perhaps she sensed him hovering and it frightened her. He
ought to retreat, just let her sleep. But when she muttered
something, then moaned, it occurred to Zeke she was caught in the
throes of a bad dream, a dream that was getting worse, judging from
the way she squirmed and thrashed about.
When a whimper escaped her, he perched on the
edge of the bed and gently shook her arm. "Miss Kavanaugh, wake
up."
"No. Please!" She mumbled and resisted,
flinging out her hand to ward something away, whether it was
himself or some monster from her dreams, Zeke couldn't tell.
He shook her more firmly. "Aurora. Wake up!
You're having a nightmare."
She sat bolt upright all at once, gasping for
breath, her eyes wide open, confusion and terror in their depths.
Her gaze roved fearfully around the chamber, then locked upon him.
She shrank back.
"What-where ?"
"It's all right," Zeke said. "It's only me.
Remember? The idiot whose lawn wrecked your balloon."
Recognition slowly returned to her eyes, but
she continued to tremble.
"There's nothing to be scared of. You were
only having a bad dream."
He couldn't resist pulling her into his arms.
She stiffened at first, then clung to him in a way that roused a
rare sense of protectiveness in him, a protectiveness he would
never have felt toward any of those society misses who shrieked at
the sight of a butterfly. But a girl like this one, brave enough to
dare the skies beneath a scrap of silk and a puff of hot
air—nothing should be allowed to frighten her. Ever.
Zeke cradled her against him. "No one's going
to hurt you. It was just a nightmare. There are no bogeymen
here."
"It wasn't a bogeyman," she whispered,
burrowing against his shoulder. "It was the fog and I thought the
banshee was coming again."
Zeke had no idea what a banshee was, but he
tried to soothe her, "Shh. Forget about it. You're awake now."
"Yes, but it was so strange. When I peeked
beneath the hood, it wasn't the banshee at all." Here she tipped
back her head to peer up at him with troubled eyes. "It was your
friend, Mrs. Van Hallsburg."
That startled Zeke a little. He had never
thought Mrs. Van H. to be the stuff of nightmares, but he conceded,
"I guess she must have come off seeming like a shrew to you,
but—"
"No! She's an evil woman."
"Sure. Sure she is." Zeke patted Aurora on
the shoulder. "But you don't have to worry about her. She's gone
now and so are the police."
This assurance calmed her a little. She
relaxed, resting her head against him once more. She was every bit
as soft and warm as he had imagined. Her womanly curves molded
against him as though she were made to be in his arms. Once again
he felt his blood quicken. It had been a long time since he had
embraced a girl like this one, smelling of springtime and fresh
Sunday mornings.
He was beginning to enjoy holding her,
consoling her, a shade too much. Perhaps she sensed that because
she tensed and pulled free. She bolted off the bed, clutching the
robe tightly about her.
She eyed Zeke in a wary manner, which annoyed
him. After all, he wasn't making any effort to come after her. He
was no masher, and she was the one who'd been caught snuggled up on
his bed.
"How long have I been asleep?" she asked.
"What time is it?"
"Nearly seven."
She winced and stole a look toward the
windows, the pool of darkness beyond. "And Tony hasn't come
yet?"
"Your assistant? I'm afraid there has been no
sign of him. But I am sure I can make other arrangements for you "
Zeke started to rise from the bed, but she seemed so skittish, he
remained where he was, leaning back, propping his weight against
his elbows.