Journey's End (Gilded Promises) (13 page)

He simply smiled.

“What do you say, Caroline?” He asked the question without taking his eyes off her hair still wrapped around his finger. “Do you want to handle this standoff the easy way or the hard way?”

Was he referring to the situation with her grandfather, or the undercurrents between them?

“Will you accept a reasonable offer to leave town, or are we to fight to the finish?”

“It’s ungentlemanly of you to ask the question at all. What do you suppose my grandfather would think if he found out you were attempting to buy me off?”

For a brief moment, he had the good grace to look ashamed of himself. As well he should. The offer was an insulting one, especially if she’d truly come to find her lost family.

But that’s not why you came, Caroline, not originally, and this man knows that.
It was her turn to feel shame.

“You are determined to fight,” he said, releasing her hair with deliberate slowness.

“Apparently so.”

What she saw in his eyes astonished her. She saw . . . Was that respect? Grudging though it was, the man clearly respected the fact that she’d refused his bribe. Caroline would have expected anger from him, perhaps even condescension. But respect? That could mean only one thing.

He’d been testing her.

And she’d passed.

With a slight lift at the edges of his mouth, he reached around her and twisted open the carriage door. He exited first and then held out his hand to help her down to the ground.

Holding on to her longer than was polite, he whispered in her ear. “Do not make the mistake of thinking you have won, Caroline. I plan to prove a most worthy opponent. The most formidable you have ever encountered.”

She blessed him with her sunniest smile. “I would expect nothing less.”

He dropped her hand and stepped back.

Head high, shoulders back, she led the way through the hotel lobby to an elevator off to their right. In need of an ally, Caroline was grateful Sally had agreed to wait for her return, no matter how late.

After the events of the evening, especially the last few minutes, she needed at least one person on her side.

Chapter Thirteen

Jackson waited for Caroline to enter the elevator before he proceeded to do so as well. During his latest conversation with Warren Griffin, Jackson had wondered if his inner integrity had ever been tested. Until tonight, the answer had been no. He’d taken the moral high ground in all matters.

Fifteen minutes alone with Caroline St. James, and all remnants of the civilized man he prided himself on being had disappeared. He’d fallen to a low he’d never imagined, resorting to emotional and physical intimidation tactics as well as bribery.

Caroline had passed every test.

Jackson had failed.

“Which floor, sir?”

Jackson lifted his eyebrows in Caroline’s direction.

“Four,” she said, her gaze fastened on the numbers above the elevator door.

“Four,” he repeated, which earned him an annoyed glance from Caroline. She was obviously used to fending for herself and didn’t take kindly to someone stepping in when it wasn’t necessary.

He should have been aggravated at her willful display of independence. Such behavior wasn’t becoming in a woman of good breeding. And wasn’t that the point? Some hidden part of him, a part he never knew existed before a few weeks ago, admired this woman’s courage and fortitude. He admired her spirit. If half of what she’d said was true, and he was beginning to think it was, then she’d had a difficult life at best. Tragic at worst.

If nothing else, her arrival in America brought more questions than answers. Jackson wanted to know more about this prodigal daughter who’d disappeared all those years ago. Surely she hadn’t left to marry a London gentleman, as the rumors purported. What other secrets were there? Had there been a scandal, a secret cover-up?

If so, how had Richard prevented others from knowing any of the details?

The elevator ground to a metal-scraping stop. The attendant reached in front of Jackson to slide the door open. Again, Jackson gestured for Caroline to proceed ahead of him.

She led the way down the hall, head high, her bearing perfectly appropriate for any gathering in a New York drawing room. Someone had trained her well. At room 419, she pulled her key from the reticule hooked to her wrist and fit the piece of metal in the lock.

The door swung open with a soft whoosh.

“Sally,” Caroline called out as she stepped into the room. “I have returned.”

A second later, a young maid dressed in full uniform popped into the room. The girl’s smile disappeared the moment her eyes landed on Jackson.

“This is Mr. Montgomery.” Caroline made the introductions with ease, speaking to the maid with respect. And a level of trust she’d not displayed in his company. “Please keep an eye on him while I fetch an important parcel I left behind this evening.”

Jackson chuckled at the command. “I don’t need a nursemaid.”

Caroline tossed him an annoyed glare. “Humor me, sir.”

“But of course.” He sketched a formal bow, then sat in a nearby chair.

After making a face at him, Caroline disappeared through a doorway. Wondering where she’d acquired the money to pay for such a luxurious suite of rooms, Jackson craned his neck to follow her every move. One problem with that—the maid shifted directly into his line of vision.

He straightened in the chair and smiled up at her with an innocent expression.

The girl pressed her lips together, clearly unmoved by his attempt to charm her.

Jackson nearly laughed. He couldn’t remember a time when he’d been so distrusted by not one but two females. Before he could decide whether to engage the maid in conversation, Caroline returned with a satchel in her hand.

Jackson had no idea what she carried inside the bag, but he had deciphered enough from Richard’s instructions to know the contents were important to his business partner. Important enough to demand Caroline’s immediate return to the house tonight.

“We may leave now.”
Let us get this over with,
her stiff posture seemed to say, as if she were weary and feeling the weight of the world on her shoulders.

How well he knew that sensation.

He obediently rose from the chair, slid his hands in his pockets, and lowered his gaze across her. “Do I need to check for weapons before we depart?”

“Don’t push me, Montgomery.”

“Dispensing with the Mr.?”

“Would you rather I call you . . . Jackson?”

Amused by her tart tone, he thought for a moment and discovered that he actually preferred the irreverent name better. “Montgomery will do just fine, Caroline.” He angled his head. “Or would you prefer Miss St. James?”

Her mouth twitched. “Caroline will do just fine.”

“Good enough.” He swept his hand in a wide arc. “After you,
Caroline
.”

She nodded, then turned to her maid. “I will be back soon. Please wait for my return.”

Eyes gleaming with some silent message, the girl gave a short curtsy. “Very good, miss.”

The ride back to Richard’s home was conducted in silence, each of them seemingly caught up in their own thoughts.

For his part, Jackson considered the lack of conversation a blessing. He had much to think over, especially now that the lines had been drawn between him and Caroline.

Every battle waged, whether in a courtroom or a boardroom or on Orchard Street, required careful planning and deliberation. He knew he was in for an interesting fight with Caroline St. James and wasn’t altogether sorry for it.

He actually looked forward to their upcoming encounters. He hadn’t been challenged in a while, perhaps ever, at least not in the way this woman seemed capable of doing.

His next course of action should be to gather information about his most worthy opponent. He knew just where to start.

The tenement house on Orchard Street. Where he’d first met Caroline.

Perhaps it was time he introduced himself to her dear friend, Mary.

The carriage pulled to a halt. Again, Jackson exited first. He turned, only to discover Caroline had already bounded to the ground with her satchel clutched tightly to her chest.

“Allow me to carry that for you.”

The glower she shot him was answer enough. He lifted his hands in a show of surrender.

Once inside the house, they were told by the butler that the elder Mr. St. James was waiting for them in his private study. Jackson fell into step beside Caroline, matching her step for step as he had earlier that evening.

Annoyance wafted out of her. “I remember the way.”

“Of that I have no doubt. Nevertheless”—he set his hand on her lower back—“my assignment was to keep you in my sight at all times.”

She pulled to a stop.

Jackson did the same.

“Do you always do what you’re told?”

“Always.” The answer came immediately.

She had more to say. He could see it in the way her head angled to the side and how her brows drew together. Her gaze traveled over his face. For a moment, he felt completely exposed under her scrutiny. “Do you never wish to rebel?”

“Never.” An absurd question. His father’s rebellion had ruined his mother, his family’s good name, and very nearly Jackson himself.

“Not even in some small way, when no one is looking?”

“No.” He felt his jaw clench tight. “Not even then, especially not then.”

For an endless moment she blinked up at him. Slowly, a smile tugged at her lips. “Now, now, Montgomery.” She tapped him on the chin. “It’s not nice to lie, not even to yourself.”

At that she continued up the stairs, the smile still playing across her lips.

The words to defend himself were there, on his tongue, but he couldn’t get them past the hard, flat line of his lips. The woman was toying with him, subtly pushing him, poking at his self-control.

Her questions had been simple enough, straightforward even. His answers just as candid. Yet he sensed she’d seen past his words, to the core of who he was deep down, a secret part of him he kept hidden from the world. And maybe even from himself, as Caroline had intimated with that aggravating smile on her lips.

Before meeting Caroline, Jackson had always believed himself above reproach, above falling into mindless temptation. The thought that he was more like his father than he’d ever imagined made his gut roil. He must not falter.

Take captive every thought to make it obedient to Christ.

A timely reminder.

The woman was merely trying to throw him off guard, turning the fight toward his motives in order to avoid revealing hers.

Clever, clever girl.

Continuing up the stairs, Jackson quickened his pace and caught up to Caroline just outside Richard’s office.

They entered together, shoulder to shoulder, neither taking their eyes off the man who rose from his desk. The life-size painting on his right caught Jackson’s eye. For years, he’d given the portrait little notice. He studied the painting more carefully now, understanding at once why Richard hadn’t questioned Caroline’s identity.

And why she’d seemed so familiar at their first meeting.

She was the very image of the woman in the painting. Her mother. Libby. Caroline was, indeed, a St. James by blood. Jackson had no more cause to doubt the truth of it. He’d never doubted, not truly. Her eyes had been too similar to Richard’s for him to deny the family connection.

But Jackson had always thought Richard’s daughter had died in London years ago. The story had rarely been discussed in detail, not in this home or any other. If Caroline’s story was to be believed, Libby St. James had been left behind in a foreign country to raise her daughter alone on the mean London streets. For a moment, sympathy for Caroline overwhelmed him.

Then came understanding.

Followed quickly by alarm.

He now knew the woman’s motive for journeying to America. She’d come to exact revenge for her mother.

But how? How did she plan to do it?

Jackson would find out soon enough. In the meantime, he said, “You won’t get away with this.”

She rolled her shoulders, as if ridding herself of an unwanted pest, then spoke the two words he’d used on her earlier. “We’ll see.”

Caroline had matched wits with some of the meanest minds in London with a relatively high rate of success. Her very survival proof enough. As such, she should be able to handle one pampered gentleman who, on the surface, was nothing more than her grandfather’s lapdog.

Of course, Jackson Montgomery was no lackey. He was his own man, in charge of his own destiny. Smart, insightful, overly clever and, worst of all, honorable.

She didn’t know how to battle a man who fought fiercely but without compromising his integrity. Maybe . . . yes,
maybe
that was the key. She would get the man to compromise his integrity.

The thought didn’t sit well. If she successfully drove him to sink to such a low, what sort of person did that make her?

Her grandfather came around his desk, his gaze fastened on her satchel. “Is that them?”

“Yes.” She handed over the canvas bag, making eye contact with her grandfather as she did. Her heart dropped at his haunted look.

Was he telling the truth? Had he not received any of her mother’s letters?

If not, then who had sent them back to London unopened?

Another member of the family?

The idea that a person in this household had wanted her mother to stay away, permanently—well, that was just sinister.

It also meant her grandfather had been as much a victim as Caroline and her mother.

Despite the scowl on his face, his hands shook as he flipped open the satchel’s flap. A wave of remorse swept through her.

“Perhaps you should sit down.”

He waved her suggestion away, but the moment he pulled out the first letter, he sank back against his desk.

“Richard. Come. Sit here.” Taking charge of the situation, Montgomery took the old man’s arm and guided him to a nearby chair.

So wrapped up was she in watching her grandfather that Caroline had nearly forgotten the other man was in the room with them. Witnessing the two together, she reevaluated the situation.

Jackson Montgomery was more than a mere business partner. He cared about the other man. And her grandfather trusted him. Apparently, more than he trusted his own son since Montgomery was the one in this room and not Marcus St. James.

After a short hesitation and a deep breath, her grandfather pulled out the batch of letters. He placed them in a neat stack on top of the canvas satchel and simply stared at the pile on his lap.

Silence fell over the room as he traced a fingertip across the writing penned in her mother’s own hand.

Caroline moved a step closer, impatience making her shift from foot to foot.

A lady of unlimited means never fidgets; she remains perfectly still.
Sally’s instructions flashed in her mind. Although she was no longer playing a part, Caroline stilled.

Needing something to do with her hands, she clutched them together at her waist and sighed in frustration. She wanted to scream at her grandfather to get on with it.

Seemingly as impatient as she, Montgomery reached out toward the stack. Her grandfather brushed his hand away, then opened the top letter, the one sent over twenty years ago.