The Fall of Rome (18 page)

The illusion.

The irony was that she’d become the woman he believed her to be in the first place. She’d learned to be independent. She’d simplified her lifestyle. She’d survived without a champion. She didn’t need Rome Garrett anymore.

But she sure as hell wanted him.

“I have to tell him.”

They’d come to terms with the past and had discovered something beautiful in the present, but they had no future with her secret between them.

He wanted to take her to bed and she wanted to go. She ached to know him in that way again. Only she knew it wouldn’t be the same. It would be better.

It would also be dangerous.

She couldn’t sleep with Rome, fully exploring the extent of their new emotional connection, only to walk away after they’d dealt with Brady. He felt more deeply, more keenly than she’d ever imagined. He’d bared his heart and she would not crush it. Again. So it meant putting hers on the line. Not in her wildest dreams had she ever imagined winning back Rome Garrett. But here it was, and chances were he would walk away from her again. Only this time, she wouldn’t blame him. Her heart would shatter beyond repair, but what mattered most was that he didn’t walk away from Frankie, not knowing.

She raised her head and banged it against the wall.

“Frankie isn’t my niece. She’s my daughter.”

She’d never said the words aloud. They scraped her throat raw. It was as though she had never spoken the truth to protect herself from this very moment. Having to face that she’d denied a man his daughter. If that man was Brady, she would live happily with that knowledge. But if that man was Rome . . .

I have to do the right thing, no matter how hard.

She had to tell Rome Garrett that there was a fifty-fifty chance that he was Frankie’s father.

The Cosmopolitan Hotel boasted a lovely dining area. The menu was limited, but the aromas wafting from the kitchens were heavenly, and Kat trusted whatever she ordered would be delicious. Not that it really mattered. She had no appetite.

The evening ahead weighed heavily on her heart. Part of her ached to blurt out the truth and be done with it, but there was an old practice in the theater that her daddy had shared with her when teaching her the art of poker:
Never share upsetting news with an artist before the performance.
It would be cruel to dump life-altering news on Rome and then expect him to play the besotted lover in public. So she’d decided to wait until after they’d put on their show in the gambling den to tell him about Frankie.

Meanwhile, her stomach gnarled tighter and tighter. Rome reached for his glass of lemonade. “Something wrong with your food, sugar?”

Realizing she was toying with her mashed potatoes, she set aside her fork and forced a smile. “Just anxious about tonight.”

He looked at her with tender regard. “The poker part or the after part?”

“Both,” she answered honestly.

He took money from his pocket and laid a generous sum on the table.

Kat furrowed her brow. “What are you doing?”

“Hurrying this evening along.”

She noted his plate. “But you didn’t finish your steak.”

He quirked a smile that pierced her heart. “I’m a mite anxious about tonight myself.”

He rounded the table and helped her from her chair, his touch burning through the sleeve of her evening dress. She forced her legs steady as he escorted her past the curious diners and into the lobby. “How long do we have to stay out tonight?”

“Long enough to cause a stir.”

She swallowed, fighting hard to affect the persona of a carefree cardsharp as they stepped into the unusually balmy night. “I can do that.”

He leaned in and whispered in her ear. “Be warned, sugar, I’m going to take my time.”

“At the tables?”

“After.”

Her heart pounded, knowing there might not be an
“after”
once she revealed her secret. But she hoped. Oh, how she hoped.

She tugged at his arm. “Walk faster.”

“Why?”

“I’m hurrying this evening along.”

He chuckled, but he did walk faster.

The thick, muggy air was charged with sensual tension and the promise of rain. Thunder rumbled, an ominous sound that plucked every fretful cord in Kat’s body.

Her pulse accelerated with each step, and her mouth went dry. Though she was very much aware of the potential disaster awaiting her once they retired to their room, her focus shifted suddenly to what would come before. Playing poker with professional gamblers. She scrambled to remember every scrap of advice ever offered by her daddy. The art of the bluff.

Knowing when to check or raise.

When to hold.

When to fold.

“You all right?” Rome asked, stopping shy of Levin’s Gambling Palace.

“I’m nervous,” she said straight-out. “No offense, but it’s one thing playing poker with you for fun. This . . . What I have to do in there ... So much is at stake.”

The black sky flashed white, then boomed with a clap of thunder. She stared off, distracted by the approaching storm. “Frankie hates thunder,” she worried aloud.

Rome turned her to face him. “You know, I’m curious as hell about this niece of yours.”

Her stomach pitched. “I’ll tell you about her. Tonight. I promise. I just. . .” She glanced into the gambling den. “I need to get my head in the game.”

He squeezed her shoulders. “You can do this, Kat.”

“I know. I just. . .”

“Close your eyes and hold out your hand.”

“Why?”

“Just do it.”

She did as he asked, her heart tripping when she felt something cool, round, and familiar pressed into her palm.

“For luck,” Rome said. “Not that you need it.”

She opened her eyes, choked back tears. “Daddy’s lucky coin. You kept it.”

“I did.”

Even though he thought she’d betrayed him. Even though he’d damned her to hell. He’d kept the coin she’d given him for luck. A coin she cherished. “Some part of you still loved me,” she croaked, “even when you hated me.”

He stroked his thumb over her cheek. “Told you, Kat. I felt a lot of things, but never hate.”

Would he be so forgiving tonight?

She closed her fingers around the coin and squeezed. She smiled up at her fallen hero, envisioned passing the sentimental gift on to Frankie. “I can do this.”

Phoenix

A storm raged--both outside and in Victoria’s heart and mind. She sat on the plush sofa in London’s small but comfortable parlor, bundled in the gift he’d given her this afternoon. She’d been in a daze after he’d kissed her, her first kiss, a kiss she would dream about until the day she died, so she was befuddled when she’d turned to find the package he’d toted earlier resting on her bed. She was even more stymied when she saw the attached card was addressed to her.

Her fingers had trembled as she’d read his perfectly penned script. Something to brighten your life, he’d written, as you have brightened mine.

Heart pounding, she’d untied the red bow and ripped open the wrapping paper to find a beautiful hand-stitched quilt. Whoever had constructed the quilt had been enormously creative as each block featured varying mosaic designs bursting with cheerful combinations of red, yellow, and green. She was in awe of the workmanship and entranced with the creation itself.

She wasn’t sure which stunned her more, that London had bought her a gift or that she’d brightened his life. She couldn’t imagine how. Thus far she’d thrown up on his boots, caused him a sleepless night, upset his housekeeper, and disappointed his customers. He couldn’t have been referring to her embarrassingly amorous reaction to his kiss, because he’d purchased the gift prior.

She never got the chance to ask him or to thank him, since he hadn’t returned to her room for the rest of the day. Her only visitor had been Mrs. Chen, who’d fussed over her, bringing soup and medicinal tea and news that London was busy.

The sun set and still he hadn’t come.

She knew he had a business to oversee. Every now and then, laughter and raised voices floated up though the floorboards. A saloon probably stayed open at least until midnight. But what if something other than business had snagged London’s attention? What if he’d somehow discovered her true identity? What if her father had miraculously claimed her body and discovered the switch? She didn’t think he’d bother sending out a search party, but what if the cattle baron did?

Her anxiety had mounted when the thunderstorm hit. The ferocity of the wind and rain rattled the windowpanes as well as her nerves. Unable to sleep, she’d ventured into this parlor, lit a lamp, and curled up on the sofa with her quilt and a book. No lack of reading material in this apartment. London had shelves of adventures. She was three chapters into
Oliver Twist
when she heard the main door to his apartment open and close.

Seconds later, London walked into the room. She wanted to leap to her feet and throw herself into his strong arms. Instead, she laid aside the book and wrapped the quilt tighter.

He stood on the threshold, hands braced on the jamb. An impressive figure, he seemed to fill the entire doorway. “Hell of a storm,” he said. “Figured you’d have a hard time sleeping. I came up to make sure you’re all right.”

“That’s very kind of you.” She blushed, embarrassed that he considered her skittish.

“How are you feeling?”

“Much better, thank you. Just a little restless. I hope you don’t mind, I borrowed one of your books.”

He glanced at the novel and smiled. “Truth told, I’m glad you’re making yourself at home. I wanted to check in on you earlier, but it’s been a day of calamities.”

She noticed now that he looked a little tired, though it did nothing to diminish his devilish good looks. “Nothing dire, I hope.”

He shifted his weight. “Let’s see. A misunderstanding between two patrons turned into a scuffle. A delivery was made, only there were several mistakes. I made arrangements for a trip, only to learn I’m not needed.
Situation under control
, my brother wired.”

“But that’s a good thing, that last thing. Right?” Selfishly she would’ve been crushed if he’d been called away.

“All things considered,” he said with a faint smile, “a good thing.”

Sensing there was more to his day, she prodded, “what else?”

He moved into the room and sat in the chair across from her. “My niece, who spends more time with animals than people, mistook a spotted skunk for a cat.”

Victoria’s eyes widened. “Oh, no.”

“I spent a good two hours tracking down every tomato I could find so that Kaila could scrub the kid from head to toe in an attempt to remove the odor. I offered to help with the task, but my future sister-in-law insisted she could handle Zoe. Zach, on the other hand . . .” London’s lip twitched. “My nephew stole his first kiss. The girl socked him in the mouth, then tattled. Her father pitched a fit. Since my brother isn’t here to have a man-to-man with

Zach, Kaila enlisted me.”

Victoria scrunched her brow. “I saw Zach at the Cafe Poppy. He couldn’t have been more than--”

“Nine.” He shook his head. “We’ve got another Rome on our hands.”

“Who’s Rome?”

“One of my younger brothers. The wild one. The charmer. You’ve probably heard of him. Wells Fargo detective. Dime-novel legend.”

“I don’t read dime novels.” She hoped she hadn’t insulted him. Obviously, his brother was somewhat famous. “I’m sorry.”

“I’m not.” He raised a brow. “You’re full of surprises, honey.”

Her face heated and her heart pumped. “So are you.” She gripped the soft edges of his gift. “Thank you for the quilt, London. It’s beautiful.”

“Like the lady wearing it.”

She blushed and looked away. “I’m not beautiful. My features are uneven and I’m overly thin and . . .She trailed off when he shifted to the sofa. Her father’s assessment of her endowments, or lack thereof, were chiseled in her brain. Saying them aloud . . . she felt ridiculously self-absorbed.

Seated next to her now, London cupped her chin. “Your features are unique and you have the spirit of an angel. You’re beautiful, Tori.”

Her eyes brimmed with tears. “I can’t do this.”

“Do what, honey?”

“Lie. To you. You don’t deserve such treachery. I surely don’t deserve your kindness.”

He thumbed away tears. “You’re not capable of treachery. If you were, we wouldn’t be having this discussion. Just take a breath and take it slow.”

“I’m not Tori Adams.”

“I had a feeling,” he said, lips curving. “A few things didn’t add up. So who are you?”

“I’m going to add to your day of calamities.”

“I can handle it. Trust me.” He winked and squeezed her hand. “Shoot.”

His calm demeanor gave her the courage to press on. “Victoria Barrow.”

“The woman killed on the train?”

“No,” she croaked. “That was Tori Adams.” Overwhelmed with grief and guilt, she spewed her story. How they’d met on the train, their shared first name and love of music. Their physical resemblance and their opposing lifestyles. “I didn’t want my life, so she gave me hers.” She massaged her pounding temples. “I don’t remember how it happened. I just remember the blood and . . . and her generosity. She pressed her reticule in my hands, told me to remember all we’d discussed. She called me Tori and told me I was free.”

“So much for slow,” London teased gently and she realized she’d been rambling a good while.

She took the handkerchief he offered and blew her nose. “I’m sorry I just, I needed to tell you before I lost my nerve.”

London leaned back against the sofa and pulled her onto his lap, quilt and all. “What are you afraid of, Victoria? Who are you running from? What did Tori mean when she said,
you’re free
?”

She swallowed, knowing it was inappropriate for him to hold her like this, but not caring. He made her feel safe and cherished. She rested her head on his shoulder, and mentally embraced the moment. “I’m an only child, daughter of a jeweler from San Diego. My father, Gerard Barrow, wishes I was never born.”

London stroked her hair. “I’m sure that’s not true.”