Betina Krahn (35 page)

“Well, who put you in charge in the first place? You’re not my mother, you know,” he declared hotly. “Or my
wife!
”

“Thank God!” It came out before she thought. But once it was out, she realized that it had been lying there, just below the surface for days.
Thank God
she wasn’t his wife or his mother … or anybody who had to depend on him for something. Thank God she had seen him as he truly was … outside of moonlit gardens and darkened carriage houses … in the reassuring clarity of daylight.

Everything had to be his way. He only thought about
his comfort, his pleasure …
his
precious, water-chapped hands. In the last few minutes he had thrown a full-scale tantrum, kicking and bashing things, behaving—Aunt Beatrice’s words came back to her—like a spoiled child. Worse still … he said he wouldn’t have stood up at the board meeting to tell the truth … to own up to his part in what had happened to her aunt. Where was his honor, his integrity? Those traits had been missing all along. She just hadn’t wanted to see it.

“What did you just say to me?” he roared at her. His face was red and his fists were clenched. He looked ready to stomp or throw himself down on the floor in a fit of anger.

She backed one step toward the door … then another … then another.

“I believe I just said
good-bye,
Jeffrey. And good riddance.”

ALL AFTERNOON BEATRICE
thought about Connor and explored her newly recognized feeling for him. Love. It was everything Priscilla had believed—eagerness, passion, enthrallment—but it was so much more. It was meeting and appreciating another’s heart, mind, and soul. It was knowing another’s thoughts and feelings without words, and trusting him to care for you and be there to help when you needed it. It was putting another’s welfare above your own. It was opening yourself … letting go … trusting your heart in another’s hands. Today she had learned just how earnestly Connor Barrow held her welfare, and the last element of love was suddenly present in her heart.

She loved Connor Barrow, and the intensity of her
feelings for him heightened her awareness of his tension and of the signs of fatigue in his face.

What was wrong? Was it his campaign? Was it something between them? She was increasingly desperate to know. She was preparing to leave the house that evening, intending to stop by his office and then his home, when Priscilla arrived.

“You’re early,” Beatrice said, noting the high color in her niece’s face.

Priscilla’s eyes flashed as she jerked the gloves from her fingers.

“I’m through with him. Absolutely through,” she declared. “You don’t have to worry anymore about me marrying anytime soon, Aunt Beatrice. I wouldn’t have a man if you handed him to me on a platter!”

Beatrice halted in the middle of drawing her gloves on.

“What’s happened?”

“You were right.” Priscilla unpinned her hat. “Men are all beasts.”

Beatrice frowned. When had she said that?

“Something did happen.” She took Priscilla by the hand and started for the drawing room. “Come and tell me.”

Priscilla pulled her to a halt. “Jeffrey has showed his true colors, that’s what’s happened. He’s arrogant, highhanded, and selfish in the extreme. He has no more idea what life and love are about than a five-year-old child has.” She freed her hand and drew herself up straight. “I’ve given it some thought, Aunt Beatrice. I intend to finish out my sentence at Woodhull House”—she lifted her chin—“because that is what a woman of integrity must do. But please, I beg you, shorten
his
sentence, so I won’t have to see him anymore.”

Beatrice thought about it for a moment, then nodded. “If you’re sure …”

“I’m positive.”

IN THE CARRIAGE,
Bebe thought about her part in Priscilla’s break with Jeffrey. A few weeks ago she would have been overjoyed at the demise of Priscilla’s romantic illusions. But now she felt an unexpected and unsettling regret. Priscilla’s shedding of illusions was accompanied by a loss of innocence; she would never again view men or love in quite the same way. And it involved a failure of hope … that things with Jeffrey would change … that love would find a way. What if this experience caused her to become bitter and angry? What if she never fell in love again?

Beatrice winced inwardly, thinking of the emptiness of the years her own heart had lain fallow. Did she really expect Priscilla to follow the same lonely path? It struck her that, from her niece’s birth—to two impetuous romantics—Priscilla’s life had been very different from hers. Perhaps she was destined for love and fulfillment much earlier in life.

She thought of the passion and joy she had experienced with Connor. She had never felt so whole or alive as she did in his presence. It was a pleasure even to argue with him. Could she, in all conscience, deny such joy to Priscilla?

Connor’s offices were dark and empty. As they drove by Tammany Hall, she thought of stopping to look for him, but she had Rukart take her to his home instead. There was a light on inside, and the door was answered by a short, apple-cheeked woman with a motherly air,
who introduced herself as his housekeeper, Mrs. O’Hara. Connor wasn’t at home, but was expected before long. Summoning her nerve, Beatrice asked if she might wait inside for him.

The housekeeper looked at her fashionable clothes, glanced at her carriage, and said she couldn’t imagine it would do any harm.

It was more than an hour before there was a rattling of the lock at the front door and she heard voices. It was Connor, but he was with someone. She froze, regretting her impulsive decision to wait for him.

“Ye missed a fund-raisin’ breakfast this mornin’—the second one this week, that’s why,” came a deep male voice with a heavy Irish accent. “My orders is to not let ye out of my sight ’til after the election.”

“Fine, Delaney”—Connor’s voice sounded ragged and angry—“stay or go, I don’t care. But if you stay it won’t be inside. I’d advise you to go home.”

“An’ leave ye to yer own devices, I suppose. So ye get into more trouble. Where were ye this mornin’, Barrow? Off with yer lady friend again? If the boss finds out, yer nuts’ll be in the grinder. I told ye to leave that skirt alone—ferget women until after the election.”

“Dammit, Delaney—” Connor raised his hand to point toward the door. At that moment, he caught sight of Beatrice standing in the parlor. The next instant he was pushing the beefy, red-faced Delaney back down the entry hall and out the front door. “Out! Now!”

“Wait just a damned minute,” Delaney demanded, trying to see around him. “Who is that? Is that her? Is—”

The door slammed shut, cutting off the rest of his remark. Connor threw the lock and lowered the shade over the oval window in the door.

“Who was that?” Bebe asked.

“Del Delaney … ward heeler and Tammany watchdog,” he said.

He stared at her with a hunger that seemed as much emotional as physical. After a moment, the pounding on the door penetrated his awareness and he ushered her into the parlor, closing the door behind them. “Don’t worry about him … he’ll give up and go away.”

“You’re in trouble,” she said anxiously. “I sensed something was wrong this morning, and I was right.”

“Nothing I can’t handle,” he said.

“Or manhandle,” she countered.

“It seems I’m not on Tammany’s good side, just now. They’ve decided I need a bit of encouragement to stick to the party’s program.”

“Encouragement?” The exchange between Connor and Delaney began to make awful sense. “It’s because of Albany, isn’t it?” Her eyes widened. “And me. You’ve been linked with me in the papers, and half of New York seems to think I’m the Jezebel of Wall Street.”

He settled in front of her and ran his thumb over the curve of her cheek. “It has to do with what I believe in and whether I intend to run my own life or to allow them to run it.”

“How diplomatic of you. So, it does have to do with me. Then perhaps I should leave and—”

“Don’t even consider it,” he said. “There are some things in my life that aren’t negotiable.” His intense gaze said she was one of them, and she wasn’t sure if that made her feel better or worse.

“But I don’t want to make trouble for you, Connor.”

“You should have thought of that
before
you started blackmailing me,” he said with a half smile.

It was true, she thought. She had been appallingly shortsighted and selfish in her demands. He had tried to tell her about the pressures he faced and she had refused to listen. Now the forces she had unleashed were bearing down on him.

“Tell me what’s happened.” Her heart was suddenly pounding.

“I don’t know if it’s me who’s changing or if it’s Tammany … or maybe both.” He ran a hand back through his hair. “Until now, I’ve made speeches, brought in votes, and kept up my law practice … pretty much lived my life as I wanted. Then, a couple of news articles come out … one mentioning suffrage and one your bank … and suddenly I can’t do anything right and I can’t go anywhere without a watchdog. I’m told where to go, and who to see, and who
not
to see.”

“They don’t want you to see me,” she said, stunned.

“They don’t want me to see anyone or anything that might prove a distraction.” He smiled ruefully. “And you are one powerful distraction.”

“You’re running for Congress now,” she said, feeling a towering wave of guilt. “They have to protect their investment. The stakes have gone up.”

He nodded. “Not just for them. These last few days, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. There are a lot of things I want to do—things I want to do to help change and improve things—and this is my chance. I’ve worked for years to be in this position. I’d be crazy to throw it all away.”

“And?” She felt something awful coming and braced.

“And so I won’t throw it all away.” He grinned, turning on that patentable charm of his. “I’ll make it work.”

“How?” She knew he was using that charm to close
off discussion of how he would deal with the pressure Tammany Hall was applying, but he seemed so certain and was so irresistibly determined …

He waggled his brows and pulled her close, aiming for her mouth.

She was putty in his hands, she told herself. She should be ashamed of allowing herself to be sweet-talked and distracted. These were important issues, major problems. But by the end of that first kiss, she couldn’t think of anything horrible enough to eclipse the sheer joy of that moment, of being in his arms and feeling his warmth and vitality all around her. When it became clear where their second kiss was leading, she summoned what was left of her melting resolve and resisted a third.

“Maybe we shouldn’t do this.”

He pulled back slightly to look at her in exaggerated horror.

“Maybe we should wait until word of Consolidated’s decision has been announced in the papers and the scandal has had a chance to fade.”

“Maybe you should just quit talking.” He lowered his lips to her throat.

“But—”

“And quit thinking.”

“But—”

“And quit worrying.”

His hands glided over her back and around her waist. Her eyes closed. It would be so easy …

She forced her eyes open, but it was a minute before they would focus.

“Seriously, Connor,” she said, her voice thick with desire as she pushed back. “What are you going to do?”

He paused for a moment, searching her determination.
The light in his eyes began to twinkle like stars in a midnight sky.

“I’ve noticed you don’t take ‘no’ for an answer very often,” he said as he slowly claimed her lips. “Whenever I find myself in trouble, I’ll just pretend I’m
you.
”

THE NEXT MORNING,
the front page of
The New York World
carried an article titled:

But neither Connor nor Beatrice saw it. In her Fifth Avenue mansion, Beatrice slept late, after her late evening, and she had always disliked the smell of newsprint with her tea and marmalade. Across town, Connor was roused early by a testy Del Delaney and had made two separate breakfast speeches before he had a chance to eat breakfast himself, much less read a newspaper.

But others saw it and its companion piece on the front page … a dry, somewhat officiously worded announcement from Consolidated Industries. Both articles contained the same information: The Consolidated board of directors had met the previous day, exonerated their board president, and given her a vote of confidence. But the “Jezebel” piece contained juicy details … such as the accused’s admission that she actually had been in the brothel and the appearance of an infamous madam and a delegation of her “employees” to attest to the accused’s purpose in being in said brothel. The madam was quoted as saying that as the accused was being removed from the premises, her garters had indeed been “enjoyed by all.” Also prominent in the “Jezebel” article was the morsel
that congressional candidate Connor Barrow had been present and asserted Mrs. Von Furstenberg’s innocence and outstanding character.

Fortunately for Connor, most of the voters at the Elkhorn Brotherhood Lodge breakfast and the Gemutlichkeit Bakers’ Association breakfast did not bother with newspapers … nor did the factory workers who attended a Democratic rally that noon in a square nestled in an industrial area of the Lower East Side.

After making a speech that drew sustained cheering, Connor descended from the bunting-draped platform, drew the first beer from the barrels that Tammany had provided for the rally, and began to walk around the square. He shook hands everywhere and paused to talk with workers eating their lunches out of battered metal pails or the old newsprint used by street vendors. They grinned at him and gratefully sipped their beer. He listened and laughed and commiserated, noting their concerns with a heightened intensity and earnestness that endeared him to them. And when the whistles blew, calling the workers back to their jobs, they waved and called good-bye to him as if he were a friend.

He watched them go back to work with an odd constriction in his throat. He wanted desperately to represent these people, to help make their lives better. And he found himself wondering if Boss Croker still felt—or had ever felt—this desire to be
of service
to the people.