Betina Krahn (14 page)

“Have them work together somewhere?”

“Someplace where they would have close contact, but no time to dally. A business or a large household … someplace busy, with a variety of work to be done … someplace occupied by a number of people. Oh! I know just the place.”

“I bet you do.” His smile contained a bit of wonder.

“Woodhull House.” Her eyes darted back and forth as if she were previewing her solution. “It’s a large settlement house on the Lower East Side. They have women and children, operate a school, and always have more work than they can do. The director is a friend of mine.” She didn’t care that a certain vengeful delight slipped into her smile. “I can’t wait to see their reaction to the ‘courtship’ I have planned.”

“Well then, why wait?”

When he raised his hand, it took a moment for her to register that he was holding something … something small and round-headed and metallic.

The key.

She glanced down at her bosom, finding it empty, and her face caught fire. While she was at the window … while he was pouring honeyed words in her ear, he had …

He went to the door, unlocked it and flung it open, positioning himself in the doorway with his shoulder against the door frame and his arms casually crossed. His smile was pure insolence.

“There’s no better time than the present,” he said smugly.

In the entry hall outside, Richards hurried over to see what his employer needed. The sight of him and his customary “Do you need assistance, madam?” released her from the paralysis of deep humiliation.

“Ask my niece to join me here,” she ordered Richards. “And send a messenger to the Granton household for Jeffrey.”

As the butler hurried off, she put the length of the room between herself and Connor.

How had the scoundrel—in a few short days—managed to invade both her life and her innermost senses? He had just romanced the key right out of her bosom, literally under her nose, without her even noticing!

In ten years of business and trade, she had never had anyone even attempt such liberties with her, much less take them. To stop her hands from trembling, she seized the nearest parlor chair and squeezed its wooden back until her fingers ached.

Her determination to see everyone connected with her abduction punished—which had recently wavered—abruptly stopped wavering. She suddenly wanted nothing more than to bring his male arrogance under her heel.

“Now, Mr. Barrow”—she had to clear the shame clogging her throat to continue—“the time has come to redress your part in this unsavory little drama.”

That brought him up straight.

“Redress what?” He strolled into the room, looking a good bit less smug. “I have already explained—”

“Confessed,”
she corrected. “What remains is for me to announce the price I have decided to exact for your appalling lack of judgment.”

“I believe I have more than compensated for any error on my part.”

“Spoken like a lawyer.” She smiled coolly. “Imagine how those words would fall on voters’ ears. Especially when they’ve already heard the horrific story of my abduction and agonizing trials in captivity.”

“You slept on Belgian linens and drank French Champagne!”

“I was bound and gagged, abducted, stripped of clothing, held in the dungeon of a house of ill repute, humiliated, and forced to endure all manner of assaults on my person … every word of which could easily find its way onto the front page of the newspapers … along with the charge that
you
helped arrange it.”

He reddened and stared furiously at her, trying to read her intentions.

“Unless …” he prompted her.

“Unless I am persuaded to forget those vile occurrences.”

“Persuaded? By what?” His eyes narrowed, as if he were finally seeing where she was leading.

“By your agreement to promote legislation giving the vote to women.”

“Votes for women? You’re a
suffragette
!” he exclaimed, shocked.

“Suffra
gist
, thank you.”

He gave a snort of disbelief. “You cannot honestly expect me to run for Congress on a woman-vote platform. Why don’t you just demand that I put a gun to my head and pull the trigger? It would be a good bit quicker and a whole lot neater! I’d be laughed out of the race.”

“And you’ll be hounded out of it if my story reaches the newspapers.” She directed his gaze with her hand across imaginary headlines.

Or, better yet:

“You have a real talent for muckraking,” he said through gritted teeth. “Perhaps you should apply for work in the newspapers.”

She accepted that with a nod of amusement.

“Sweet-talking will get you nowhere, Mr. Barrow. Cooperation, however, may get you everywhere, especially to Congress. There are a number of generous persons who believe strongly in votes for women and who would be pleased to support you as a prosuffrage candidate.”

“In the Fourth District?” He gave an incredulous half laugh.

“Women everywhere deserve the right to vote,” she said, refusing to be diverted by typical male obstructionism. “Even in the Fourth District.”

Connor turned away, his fists clenched with frustration. Conniving witch. He could see it all now, as clear as Irish crystal. He had seriously understimated her.
Again.
All the while she was wailing about her mistreatment and plotting the punishment of a couple of love-struck kids, she was secretly planning this juicy bit of political blackmail for him. Votes for women—of all the insane things she could demand of him!

He turned back and studied the triumphant curve of her mouth. She knew, with predatory feminine instinct, just how much this election and a seat in Congress meant to him. She knew he would have to capitulate to keep his name out of a scandal.

He thought of how he hadn’t been able to resist the urge to tease and tempt her and taste her … of the way he couldn’t help reacting to her as a woman, no matter how strident or condescending she seemed. There was his first mistake, he realized. She wasn’t just a woman, she was an arch female … a suffragist … a renegade of her sex with no domesticating ties to a man … a cool, nervy force in the high-stakes game of big business. In short, she was a living, breathing argument for
never
giving women the damned vote!

“All right,” he said abruptly, desperate to put distance between himself and her. “If you want a candidate you have to blackmail and coerce every step of the way … then I suppose you’ve got one.”

“You’ll go on record—newspapers and all—as supporting votes for women?”

“Only when I can no longer avoid it,” he said, barely containing his anger.

“Then I shall do my best to see that you cannot avoid it for long.”

The triumphant angle of that elegant chin, the emerald
glint of those feline eyes, and the prim, knowing smile on those provocative lips were nothing short of a taunt. She knew she had him right where she wanted him.

He was suddenly trembling, poised on the edge of an explosion. If he moved a muscle, he knew, he would either strangle her or kiss her. The odds on which were dead even.

“Well then, I believe we have a deal.” Her delicately folded hands and calm countenance were nothing short of maddening. “It will be a pleasure supporting you, Congressman Barrow.”

He opened his mouth, but all that came out was an inarticulate rumble. The sweet-talker, it seemed, had just run out of words.

Just then Priscilla appeared at the door.

“You sent for me, Aunt Beatrice?”

She turned to confront her niece with the same deceptively unruffled air.

“Come in, Priscilla. I believe Mr. Barrow was just leaving.”

AN HOUR LATER,
Jeffrey and Priscilla were sitting side by side on a settee in the drawing room, staring miserably at their own feet. Priscilla sniffed and dabbed at her reddened eyes with a handkerchief her aunt supplied, while Jeffrey sat rigidly and gripped his knees with whitened fingers.

“I’ve half a mind to turn you over to the police.” Beatrice—hands propped on hips—hovered over the pair.

“We’re sorr-rry Aunt Beatrice,” Priscilla said, her shoulders twitching as she drew jerky breaths. “We never
meant any harm. We just wanted you to let us be together.”

As Beatrice turned away, she caught sight of Jeffrey giving Priscilla’s hand a covert touch of reassurance. It was a small thing, really, but it lodged in her mind alongside the anguish in Priscilla’s huge brown eyes. An annoying spot of warmth developed in the middle of her chest … the same traitorous sort of melting she had felt when Connor Barrow practiced his sweet-talking wiles on her. A gooey little puddle of sentiment.

Bridging that spongy emotional ground with resolve, she crossed her arms and forged ahead.

“I can only pray that your callousness resulted from youth and inexperience, not corruption of character.” She stole a look at them from the corner of her eye, and they seemed suitably miserable. “Rather than turning you over to the authorities for the punishment you so richly deserve, I have decided to give you a chance to redeem yourselves. Together.”

Her last word worked like an incantation. Both of them sat up straighter and looked at each other.

“T-Together?” Jeffrey said, daring to look up at her.

“Together, Aunt Beatrice?” Priscilla’s face so filled with hope it was painful to witness.

“You are hereby sentenced to one month’s labor and learning … at the Woodhull House … to begin in three days and continue on for thirty more. You will depart from my front door promptly at six o’clock every morning. For each morning you are late, you will serve an additional two days of obligation, so it will behoove you to be responsible in your approach to your duties. This is, I remind you, a merciful alternative to disgrace, infamy, and prison.

“Together you will help the staff and residents of the
settlement house with whatever is required of you … cooking, cleaning, marketing, laundry, teaching …”

“Cooking?” The light in Priscilla’s face dimmed. “But I don’t know how to cook. Nobody
cooks,
Aunt Beatrice.”

“Someone always cooks, Priscilla. And if it is required, that someone will be
you
.” She turned her relentlessly calm demeanor on Jeffrey.

“
Both
of you. In addition to lifting, mending, book work, baby-minding, soliciting donations … whatever they may require of you.”

“Book work?” he said petulantly. “But numbers give me a headache. And, anyway … I’m no good at them.” Under her determined glare, he finally lowered his gaze. “Where is this place? I shall have to know where to have the servants deliver my—Oh, no. This will never do.” He lurched to the edge of the settee. “I shall have to go home each day for luncheon—I always have luncheon with Mother. And what if she insists I pay calls with her or sit in as a fourth in her card group? I simply can’t—”

“You will take all your meals with the residents of the house … eating what they eat and when they eat. And as for your mother… I believe you have only two choices: grow a spine and tell her the truth, or lie like the proverbial rug.” She tucked her chin and narrowed her eyes. “Close your mouth, Jeffrey.”

She stepped back for a moment, looking at the wilted pair before declaring the last condition of their punishment.

“One final thing: while you are there, you are to refrain from all physical contact. Talking is permitted, but touching is strictly forbidden. Is that clear?”

“Really, Aunt Beatrice, that is—is—” Priscilla began, blushing.

“Inhuman,” Jeffrey blurted out, turning to Priscilla in distress.

“Call it what you will, it is my rule.”

“But it’s so unfair,” Priscilla said with a hint of a whine.

“You see?” Beatrice smiled triumphantly. “You’re learning already. Life is chock-full of unpleasant but unavoidable restrictions. And if you have two brains in your heads you will abide by the restrictions and get on with what you must do.” She looked pointedly at Priscilla. “Without weeping.” She looked to Jeffrey. “Or sniveling. Now, on your feet.” They hesitated, uncertain what she intended, and she grabbed them by the wrists and hauled them up.

“You have two minutes to say whatever you have to say to each other.”

When she left the room and closed the door behind her, Priscilla threw herself into Jeffrey’s arms.

“Oh, Jeffrey!” She hugged him with all her might. “Can you believe it? She’s letting us be together.”

“She is not. She’s forcing us into slave labor for a month. It’s danged criminal, that’s what it is.”

Priscilla drew back to look at him with disbelief. “How can you say that? She could have had you clapped in jail. Instead—”

“She’s turning me into an indentured servant.” He snorted irritably. “I’ve a good notion to tell the old dragon what she can do with this ‘labor and learning’ nonsense.”

“Jeffrey, don’t be foolish.” She swiped her damp cheeks with the sides of her palms. “Don’t you see? She’s giving us a chance to prove the strength of our love, to show that we’re old enough to marry.”

He glowered as she smiled and tugged coquettishly on his sleeves.

“Come on, Jeffrey, we’ll be together. You said that if we were together, nothing else would matter.” Seeing that her wiles had less effect than expected, she grew instantly serious. “Didn’t you mean it when you said that?”

He stared down at her soft hair, feathery lashes, and berry red lips, and felt his indignation dissolve in a stew of adolescent male longings.

“Sure I meant it. You mean more to me than … than …”

“Than sitting a fourth in your mother’s silly old card game?”

He flushed.

“More than
anything,
Prissy.”

They embraced and had time for a kiss before the door reopened and the dragon reappeared with smoke on her breath and fire in her eyes.

“Good day, Jeffrey.” The dragon stood in the doorway with her arms crossed, and watched him untangle his feet from the parlor rug fringe. “My best to your poor mother.”