Tenacious Love (Banished Saga, Book Four): Banished Saga, Book Four (28 page)

Zylphia frowned. “No.”

They were now holding hands. Teddy set aside his teacup and traced a pattern over the back of her hand with his free hand. “I returned because I believed the myth, the promise that, in America, I could be anyone. That I wouldn’t be judged by my antecedents. That here I could determine who I wanted to be.” He watched his hand caressing hers.

“Have you found the lie to the myth yet?”

“Nearly upon my return.” He half smiled, one of regret and self-mockery. “I thought I’d remake myself into the son my parents wanted. Instead I …” He broke off, shaking his head.

“Sometimes you need to go to an unknown place to find yourself.”

“Is that what happens to you when you paint?”

She stiffened at his perceptiveness. “Yes. I’m transported to somewhere I’ve only imagined, and I feel as though a different person.”

“That’s how I feel when I’m working on my inventions.”

They shared a smile, as though reaching a deeper understanding.

“If you love inventing so much, why don’t you work with an inventor like Edison? I’m sure he’d be eager to have someone with your talent and education work with him.”

“If there’s one thing to know about me, it’s that I’m independent. I couldn’t imagine taking orders from anyone else. Even one so great as Edison himself.”

“How is your invention progressing?” Zylphia asked, absently running her thumb over the back of his hand.

He flushed, either from her question or her caress. “Slower than I would like. It’s as though I discover something that will solve one of my problems, but then it only raises three more contradictions and concerns.”

“Why are you focused on wireless transmission?”

He released her hand. “I’ve always enjoyed technology, and I believe wireless will become one of the marvels of communication of our time.”

Zylphia laughed. “I doubt it. Wireless? As though every home would have one? Newspapers are sufficient and always will be.”

“For someone who is progressive with her art and beliefs for women, you are remarkably slow to embrace change when it comes to technology.” He traced her cheek before leaning away. He glanced out the drape-free windows, noting the long shadows. “I’m sorry to have taken up so much of your time, losing the decent light for today.”

“I enjoyed your visit,” Zylphia said, rising.

He stood, moving toward the painting of the cherry tree. He looked at it as though in a trance.

“Why don’t you take it as you like it so much?”

He spun to face her, his forehead furrowed. “I couldn’t. It’s too much.”

“No, it’s not. Just the dabblings of a young woman.” She reached down, gripping it on the sides, careful not to touch the actual painting. “Here. It would please me to know you have it.”

“Thank you. I shall treasure it. I hope this means you’ve forgiven me my behavior last night.” He set down the painting, leaning it against the wall again.

“I can’t believe you assaulted Mr. Hubbard. He meant no offense.”

Teddy shook his head. His silver eyes flashed with irritation and disappointment. “There we’ll have to disagree. I beg your pardon for lacking in all social graces.” Teddy ran a hand through his hair.

“It’s nothing you haven’t been accused of before,” she teased, only sobering when she noted his distress. “It was a simple misunderstanding.”

“I would never mean to offend you in any way, Zee.”

She became mesmerized by the intense sincerity in his eyes. “I know. Nor I you.”

“I didn’t like it when you defended him,” he whispered.

She frowned as she met his injured gaze. “I wasn’t. I was angry at the scene you caused. Not because I wished to have more time with him.” She smiled as his eyes lit with understanding.

As though of its own volition, his hand raised to cup her cheek, his thumb stroking her soft skin. Her cheeks flushed while she leaned toward him. He watched her closely, a relieved smile escaping a moment before he lowered his head to kiss her.

Almost instantly the kiss deepened, her sigh melding with his groan as he pulled her tighter and she gripped his jacket. She moved her hands underneath his jacket and mewled in frustration when she couldn’t place her hands under his well-tailored waistcoat. Settling for stroking her hands over his silk-covered back, she raised herself on her toes to better meet his kisses.

He pulled away with a gasp. “Zee,” he panted. “We can’t keep doing this.” His fingers traced her lips, her chin, her neck, before dipping his hand to her loosened collar, eliciting a shiver as his fingers touched her bare collarbone.

“I only feel like this with you,” she whispered, her head falling back as his lips followed the path of his fingers.

Inadvertently her words extinguished his ardor, and he released her. “I beg your pardon, Zee.” His laugh lacked all traces of humor. “It seems all I do is ask your forgiveness lately.”

She backed up a step after he released her, shaking her head as though to clear it of the vestiges of passion. “What did I say now?” Her luminous blue eyes followed his erratic movement as he moved toward the cherry tree painting.

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I have no desire to be used only to further your personal experiments as you compare me to your other suitors.”

She gripped his arm, moving to stand in front of the door as he strode to leave. “That’s not what I meant at all, Teddy.” She raised a free hand to her forehead as she attempted to remember what she had said to lose his touch. “I thought you’d like to know no other man affects me as you do.”

His eyes flashed, and she backed up until she was leaning against the door as he towered over her. “It will never please me to know that you have allowed other men to touch you.”

“I have the right to want to experience life. As much as any man.”

“So now you espouse free love? Do you believe that will bring you happiness?”

“More than the bonds of marriage to an overbearing tyrant would,” Zylphia snapped, rising on her toes.

He leaned away, paling. “I—I must be going.”

“Teddy, forgive me.” Zylphia grabbed his arm as he maneuvered around her, creaking the door open.

“You speak your truth when you are rash, Zee. I must force myself to heed those words, rather than ignore them as I long to.” He raised his palm, held it near her cheek but failed to caress her. She leaned her head forward to feel his touch again, but he lowered his hand and backed farther away. “Good day to you, Zee.”

The door closed behind her on a soft click. She leaned against it, stifling a sigh. After a moment, she pushed herself from the door to collapse onto the chaise longue, gripping a throw pillow to her chest. Tears leaked out as she surveyed the controlled chaos of her studio. The comfort she sensed every time she entered her studio was elusive now, replaced with inquietude at the memory of Teddy and her unremitting fascination with him.

“
F
iona
! Miss O’Leary!” Patrick called out as he raced after her retreating form down Galena Street. The wind howled on a cold March evening, and the streetlights’ anemic glow did little to battle the early darkness. He slipped on a piece of ice, swearing under his breath as he slid into a well-dressed businessman, and Fiona strayed farther from view. He saw her turn into a stairwell leading up to apartments over a bakery and hastened after her.

The outside door failed to latch due to the freezing weather, and he pushed open the door. He heard a door close above him to the rear, and he rushed up the worn steps. He approached the rear of the hallway and knocked on the door, forcing himself to stand with an air of calm, even though he wanted to shift from foot to foot.

The door opened to a harried Fiona. Her irritation persisted when she saw Patrick on her doorstep. “Mr. Sullivan, I wasn’t expecting you. And I’m afraid I don’t have long before I must leave again.”

“I’m sorry to bother you on such a cold evening, but I haven’t had the opportunity to speak with you recently.” He stared into her cognac-colored eyes, devoid of their usual brilliancy.

She waved him inside. Her sister sat on a wooden rocking chair darning socks while her cousin knitted on a stool in front of the stove. They looked at him with a mixture of curiosity and disappointment before rising and moving into a room toward the back of the apartment. Fiona slung his winter jacket over a dining room chair before following him into the living room.

“I didn’t mean for them to leave,” Patrick said.

She shrugged her shoulders and motioned for him to enter the sparsely furnished living room with threadbare carpets and dilapidated furniture. The wallpaper had faded to yellow, and the ceiling showed signs of previous water damage. He shivered as the stove failed to fully heat the room, rubbing his hands together to warm them.

“I’m certain you’ve followed me home for some reason,” Fiona said as she perched on the edge of the settee, hands clasped together tightly.

Patrick moved toward a small upholstered chair, jumping up as the springs gave out from his weight. He decided to remain standing as he spoke with her. “Fiona.” Patrick shook his head. “I beg your pardon. I have no right to address you in such a familiar manner. Miss O’Leary, I can’t help but notice you’ve avoided me lately.”

She smiled indulgently, although she failed to meet his gaze. “You’re mistaken. I have a busy life here and have had much to occupy my time. I’m sorry if you’ve felt I’ve neglected you lately or if I’ve inadvertently hurt your feelings.”

Patrick frowned, his muscles bunching underneath his suit coat. He studied her as she sat on the settee. She was more tightly wound than one of the whirl top toys he’d given his nephew for Christmas. “I’m sorry if I’m intruding this evening. I must admit I have missed your company. I’d hoped you missed mine.” He clamped his jaw tight when she shook her head subtly and stared at the floor.

He turned and glanced around her sparse apartment. “I thought you’d be able to afford better living accommodations as a secretary to Mr. Sanders.” He watched as she grew even more rigid. “I’ve heard things, Miss O’Leary.” He met her startled, desperate gaze. “Things that make me worried for you.”

At his whispered sentence, she jumped up from the settee and paced toward the potbellied coal stove. “I thank you for your concern, but I assure you that I am fine.”

“Just as I can assure you, the man you are dealing with is not what he seems,” Patrick murmured. He watched as her shoulders shivered, although he couldn’t decipher if it were from emotion or the cold. “Samuel Sanders has no regard for anyone but himself.”

“If you think I don’t know that, then you don’t know me at all,” she said.

“What game are you playing, Fiona, to become involved with such a man?” Patrick asked. He reached for her, spinning her around to face him, no longer able to hide his fury. He gripped her shoulders. “Why him? Why wouldn’t you at least give me a chance?”

“Why should I go for the lackey when I can have the man with all the power?” Her eyes glimmered with anger and poorly hidden desolation. “Why wouldn’t I want a strong, successful man? It’s what every woman wants. Why should I be any different?”

Patrick shook his head in confusion as he watched her. “Because you are different. This doesn’t make sense. The woman standing in front of me isn’t the same woman I met last summer.”

“Do you think I dream of living like this, in a barren room, barely able to afford heat for the rest of my life?”

He glared at her, his hold on her shoulders tightening. “Do you think I want to remain in a job where I am demeaned on a nearly daily basis, merely because it amused my boss?”

“Why’d you stay?”

“For you. Because I was worried about you, working in close proximity to such a man.” He traced a finger down her cheek. “I would have helped you, in any way I could have, Fee. All you had to do was ask.”

She jerked in his hold as though he’d slapped her and blinked rapidly as she fought tears. “Let me go.”

He immediately dropped his hands and backed away from her, frowning again as he saw surprise flit across her face. “Why would you expect me to ignore your wishes?”

She brushed a hand across her damp cheek. “Most men don’t care much for women’s desires.”

He leaned forward until they were eye to eye, sharing the same breath. “I’m not most men.” He watched her with an impotent fury. “No matter what he promised you, he’ll betray you. He’s not a man worth trusting.”

Fiona nodded once, and he opened his mouth to speak but then shook his head at the futility of it. He spun, grabbed his coat and flung open the door, departing without a backward glance.

* * *

P
atrick pushed
his way into the crowded bar, already bustling in the early evening. The wood of the long bar was nicked and dulled after years of heavy use, innumerable glasses having crossed over it. He ordered his drink, remaining at the bar. He took his tumbler of whiskey, draining it in one long swallow, and nodded at the barman for another.

He jolted as a hand clapped him on the shoulder. “What’s got you in such a sour mood?” Elias asked with a chuckle. “I bet you’re still having woman problems.” At Patrick’s glare, he laughed. “Ya, that’s what it is.”

Patrick rolled his eyes and nodded. “Why would a woman change overnight?”

“Ah, so your missus has no interest in you now,” Elias said with a half smile. He sobered when he saw the frustration on his friend’s face.

“Something like that.” Patrick frowned as his recent scene with her played through his mind again.

“Let her go. If she’s found someone new, let her be. Plenty of women in Butte are interested in an aboveground man.” Elias watched Patrick with a mixture of pity and amusement. “But of course you won’t take my advice. It looks like you are hell-bent on drinking yourself to oblivion.”

Patrick raised his nearly empty tumbler of whiskey in a salute before catching the barkeep’s eye again to refill it.

Elias rolled his eyes before smiling. “I just hope she’s worth the agony of the headache tomorrow.”

“How can a woman want to be with a man like that?” Patrick asked as he slammed his hand onto the wooden bar. “A heartless, manipulative, evil bastard.”

“You’ve just described most successful men in this town.” Elias chuckled as Patrick glared at him. “Why else would a woman want a man like that unless he were rich? I’m not surprised she’d catch herself such a man. It would only be for her benefit.”

“Nothing he does will ever be to her benefit. Besides, she’s living in near poverty, when she should know riches if she were profiting from her arrangement,” Patrick said as he hissed after taking a large swig of whiskey. He swayed subtly as he set down his glass with a
thunk
, and Elias eyed his misstep. “I’m no lightweight.”

“Ya, I’m sure that’s true.” He nodded for a man to vacate his seat at a nearby table and pushed Patrick into it. He took the one across from him and watched his anger simmering below the surface of well-honed indifference.

“I stayed at that miserable job, month after month, accepting a demotion, refusing to rise to his abuse, for her. And how does she repay me? She ignores me. Ignores my offer to help her, as though I were a nuisance.”

In his anger, he failed to see Elias indicate to the barman to send them further glasses of whiskey.

“And this is how she thanks me? By saying she’d never want anything to do with someone as lowly as I am?” Patrick asked. He clamped his jaw, his anger seeping from him. “I hate that I ever came to care,” he whispered.

Elias thumped him on the shoulder and pushed another tumbler of whiskey toward him. “Soon you won’t remember her name.” He winked at Patrick as he raised a glass and saluted. “To all the fickle women who will rue the day they forswore us.”

* * *

F
iona knocked
on the elaborately carved door, entering silently as the butler opened it for her. She took off her coat, handing it to him before taking a deep breath. She stood as tall as her five-foot-three frame would allow and walked with measured calm toward the rear parlor. She knocked on the door twice, waited to be called to enter and donned a mask of impassivity as she did.

“I’m disappointed in you this evening,” the man said, his soft voice in opposition to his words, an inadvertent shiver coursing down her spine. “You’re late.”

“I was detained.” Fiona moved toward the settee but didn’t sit. She knew by now to do nothing without permission.

“Yes, by another man. How pathetic he is to still want you, even though I let others know you’re mine.” Samuel Sanders smirked at the idea.

Fiona ducked her head, masking the shame and anger in her eyes. He chucked her under her chin, forcing up her eyes. “We have a bargain, lest you forget the repercussions for breaking it.”

She nodded, her eyes deadened as she looked at him. She stilled awaiting his next move. She jumped as his hand rose, startling her as he traced it down the side of her head in a mockery of a caress. Rather than his fingertips brushing gently over her skin, his manicured nails dug into her skin, creating reddened grooves in their wake. She fought an instinctive flinch, remaining impassive.

His brown eyes flashed with anger at her control, and he pushed her onto the settee behind her. “Enough with the preliminaries,” he said, rucking up her dress and ripping at her underclothes. She quelled her instinctive urge to fight him and forced herself to remain motionless as his hands bruised her. She was unable to stifle a gasp of pain as he forced himself inside her. She fought the tears that burned at the back of her eyes, praying that once would be enough this week.