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Maybe he'd done more harm than good. But it was never his intent.

Somehow Abigail could tell. Maybe she knew even more than she

told him. He'd worked until the smell of poverty no longer clung to him.

And she brought it all up, innocently of course, but the truth of it was there again. He'd lashed out at her with the charity case remark, about

how it wasn't so much about her being poor, it was her knowing the truth of him without him allowing her to.

Not that it mattered. Everyone knew how he worked himself up. He

even started a program where lower income youths were given

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apprentice opportunities within some of the most prestigious Boston

companies.

"No. But I think that may change."

"You won't marry me?" Her voice was whisper thin.

"What gave you that idea?" He pulled a towel off the stand, dried himself, and turned to face Beatrice. "No, I never had that intention and you know it." He combed his wet hair and checked in the mirror. "I would like you to leave within the week."

"For a vacation?"

"No. A permanent arrangement." He hated confrontations like this.

He never did well with women.

She looked like a thunderstorm gathering power. All tumultuous

and boiling anger. "How dare you." Her face contorted and she flew off the bed, coming at him with her nails bared. "You son of a bitch," she swiped at his face and he caught her wrists.

"Yes." He held her hands down with no effort and she started to kick him. With a twist he had her back to his chest and her arms pinned

at her sides. She stilled for a moment, then started to rub herself against him.

"Your other woman won't fuck you like I do. You won't leave

me…you like my pussy too much." She rubbed up and down and in

circles against his flaccid cock. At that moment it dawned on him how

cheap she was and how she repulsed him. He shoved her away and she

turned to him, cupping her breasts in an offer.

"These are the best in town," she ran her tongue over her lips and pushed them up higher. Her teased hair and smudged eyes—a parody of

a clown.

"You are pathetic when desperate." He turned and walked away to the armoire that held his clothes.

"You always were a callous bastard."

He opened it, slid a fresh shirt off its hanger, and pulled it on. "I'll be back next Friday to make sure you're gone." He pushed his onyx

cufflink through and flicked the swiveled rod.

"What if I don't?" She inched herself behind the bed and picked up her clothes without breaking eye contact.

"Then I'll come throw your clothes in the street and have one of my men escort you to your new residence."

She stood straight. "My new residence?"

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He scoffed. "Get that thought out of your head. There were no

promises made in this agreement from the beginning." His arms slid into his coat and he straightened the collar. "You will certainly have

something in place by Friday next for your living arrangements. I'll give you enough money to get a start. If you need a referral I'll write a letter."

She still stood behind the bed, her face waxen, with a silk robe wrapped around her and held tightly in her fists. "Most of Boston knows who you are, and how long our arrangement has lasted. I'm quite certain there will be callers for you as soon as you make our dissolution known."

He walked out the bedroom door and paused. "The only things I

expect to be taken from my alternate residence are any jewelry I've given you. Think of it as a parting gift. You could live off of it for years. And make sure all of your attire is gone. I want no remembrances. You don't

want me saying unflattering things at the club."

Her sobs started as he walked down the stairs and carried through

the house.

"I'll tell everyone the truth about you, how you were a dirt farmer and a street beggar!" she yelled out the top window.

He'd have to remember to have a cleaning service come in and

freshen the place. The brass knob was cold and smooth in his hands as he pulled the door closed.

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"How may I help you, miss?" The bald man looked through his

spectacles and down his nose at her.

"Miss Abigail Drummond to see Mr. Caden Dupree."

"And do you have an appointment?"

"No."

The man sniffed. "And what makes you think Mr. Dupree has a

moment to see you if you've made no appointment?"

Abby resisted the need to pinch the bridge of her nose. She took a

breath and broke out her most dazzling smile. The one that hurt her

cheeks. "Mr…?"

"Frist."

"Mr. Frist." She smiled again, "That suit looks quite dashing on you, really." He looked at her pointedly and she rushed in, "I know that you are an extremely responsible employee of Mr. Dupree's, as I can tell from your diligent care of his appointments." He puffed up the smallest bit and she stole her opportunity, "So, even though I have not informed Mr.

Dupree of my impending visit, I'm sure if you notify him of my arrival

you'll see that he is most welcoming indeed."

Mr. Frist looked her up and down and nodded. "I'll see if he's in.

One moment please."

He left his station to shuffle down an oak paneled hall to knock on a

door, and when he received an answer he opened it up to poke his head

inside.

Her heart started to thud like a tympani in her chest. Making the

decision to come to the bank just near killed her. It was the right thing to do, she knew that, but knowing never made the doing easy. And as angry

as she had been, she still loved having his hand in hers. How he looked

as she stroked his palm suggestively.

That stroke of brilliance had worked in reverse, too. His skin had

been warm and firm and she'd wondered how his hands would have felt

caressing her, as she had him.

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Later that night she'd gone back to her own bed, her desire was so

potent. As she lay in bed she'd brought herself to climax fantasizing

about his hands touching her. That it was his hands rubbing her. She

squeezed her thighs together. His personality was so strong it sexually

excited her, but he was harsh, and that made her feel guilty for wanting him. Both emotions together confused her. The enigma was how his

hands told a different story. Maybe something she said provoked his

reaction.

Although she'd been around palm reading all her life, and saw the

many truths of it, she always gave people the benefit of choosing a

different course, and so she'd done with him. He was strong, that was

obvious, but he also had a depth to him that went far beyond the lines

she'd seen in other hands. A large capacity for love and generosity, but hidden. So deep that it might as well have not been not there.

She wanted to learn him. To explore why he made her fell the way

she did. Especially since it was the fantasy of him that made her orgasm so furiously last night.

Now she had to stand in front of him and give his money back. Even

though she knew he couldn't read her mind she was afraid he'd take one

look at her and know what she'd done.

Moments later Mr. Frist made his way back to stand in front of her.

"Mr. Dupree will see you, but he has an appointment now and

another in a quarter hour so please make your meeting brief."

"Yes, sir. Thank you so much."

He led her down the same dark hall and gestured to a long heavy

bench where she could sit and wait.

The trace of a baritone came through the inches of the open door

and her chest clenched. She would know the cadence of his voice at a

theater intermission with a packed crowd.

He stopped speaking and a softer voice answered. A woman was

doing her banking, nothing unusual, especially for a Monday. But then

she heard a choked sob and she started to tap her foot.

That bastard was probably in there treating that poor woman

horribly. He had no heart. Look at the way he spoke to her at the party!

She pursed her lips. She should have taken care of him right then. Huh,

charity case. She had a mind to keep his damned money.

She heard Caden's voice again and the woman broke into a full cry.

Abby sprung off the bench and was about to yank the door open, but

paused to peer into the room.

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A woman in a worn black coat and once black boots stood

enveloped in Caden's embrace. Abby bit back her gasp and knew she

should sit down. Caden murmured something to her and she nodded into

his jacket, sniffling.

Who could it be? His mistress? She knew he wasn't married. Would

he be so crude as to have this woman at the bank during business hours?

Maybe she should knock and feign ignorance. No, it was none of

her business and the woman was not being hurt. Abby had to admit,

though, her curiosity was piqued. And a tinge of jealousy lurked there

too. What about her made him loathsome towards her, but yet

affectionate to this woman?

Just then Caden held the woman at arm's length and Abby stepped

off to the side, but stayed where she could hear and see just a sliver.

"You'll be fine. I took care of the mortgage and I'll stop Smithson from speaking to you that way again."

"Thank you, Mr. Dupree."

"Caden, Rebekah. James was a friend of mine, too, and I would

never allow his family to be homeless while I had the power to help."

"But it was so much money." She sniffled.

"It was a few hundred, and don't you worry about the boys, either. I set up accounts for them for when it's time to go to school. There should be enough in there by then for both of them to go to any university they choose."

The woman started to sob again. "But how can I repay you?" she said, barely intelligible.

Abby cringed, dreading his answer. Men never did anything so

generous without expectations.

He patted Rebekah's back, "You love those boys and raise them

right. Make sure they go to school and if they give you a problem send

them to me."

"Thank you, Caden."

"Rebekah, James was my best friend. He believed in me when no

one saw anything but a hustling scrapper." He swallowed hard. "I miss him too." He patted her back again. "So, you take care of those boys, that's how you thank me."

Abby blinked back tears and went to sit back down on the bench.

Frist came back up the hall moments later, his clipped steps

echoing.

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Thankfully her gloves were on or she would have to wipe her hands

on her dress, but she used them to dab at the corners of her eyes instead.

Frist rapped on the door. Caden's voice barked to enter and Mr. Frist

opened the door for her and said, "Miss Drummond to see you, sir."

"Carry on, Frist."

Mr. Frist nodded at her and went back to his station in the foyer.

A moment later the woman appeared and as she walked past Abby

she smiled sadly, her red rimmed eyes welling up.

"Sorry to keep you," she said, and disappeared down the hall and into the crowd.

She wished she'd never come, but she was also happy she did. It was

just that now she was confused, whereas before she was very happily

angry.

Now her heart softened, and all of those cutting things she planned

to say evaporated in his generosity. The light he cast himself in was now more flattering, even if he didn't know her perception changed. And her

desire grew roots.

Abby took a deep breath and stepped into the room, the air hitching

in her throat. She glanced at his hands that were folded in front of him.

Mr. Caden Dupree sat behind an enormous carved oak desk and got

up to come around when he saw her. "Well my, my, isn't this a fortuitous day."

She thought she would have wanted to hug him for his gentle care

of the woman, but instead, at the look in his eyes, the hairs on her neck stood on end as he escorted her into his lair.

He offered her a seat with a wave of his arm, and she wondered

where the loving man who just comforted his best friend's widow was.

Somewhere deep inside, she was sure, but right now she had to find out

which side of this multifaceted man she now dealt with.

During the day at work he looked polished and the complete

gentleman, far different than the Caden Dupree she saw the other night.

Sitting at her table that night after she teased him with his sexual reading, he looked as if he were much less dangerous despite what she'd

witnessed. Now she had the feeling she taunted a lion instead of a kitten.

As she sunk into the buttery leather he perched himself on the edge

of his desk. Leather bound ledgers were set open and a filigree silver pen sat waiting by its side.

He studied her as she took in every detail. "To what to I owe this

delightful visit?"

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There was a knowing gleam in his eye, and she realized he thought

she came to take him up on his offer. Her hands fisted in her lap. She

didn't know whom she was angrier with, herself or him. Because as

furious as she was for him assuming such, she would have succumbed

had he made an attempt to seduce her, but he had made his loathing of

her profession very clear. Again, his conflicting facets. As curious as she was, apparently his assessment of her hadn't changed.

She stood up. "Mr. Frist told me you have a meeting shortly so I'll be quick," she opened her beaded reticule and took out the five dollars, handing it to him. "Here. I wanted to return this."