Tomorrow's Dreams (34 page)

Chapter 20

For the first time in what felt like a decade, luck was on Penelope's side. Not only had she resolved her differences with Seth, he'd promised to lend her the $385 she lacked to regain her baby,
and
he'd won her bonnet in the race that afternoon.

Smiling dreamily she fingered a crushed silk daisy, the only remaining flower on her previously floral straw hat, reliving the moment when Seth had dashed over the finish line.

Never had he looked more handsome than when he'd galloped up to her, waving her bonnet in the air like a trophy of conquest. At that moment, as she'd stared up into his triumphant face, there was nothing she wanted more than to tangle her hands in his tousled mane and bestow upon him a well-deserved victory kiss.

As if sensing or perhaps sharing her thoughts, Seth had leaned low over the pommel and playfully dropped the ruined hat atop her head. “You, my glorious prize,” he murmured, his mouth curving into a wicked grin, “I shall claim at nine o'clock.” His gaze full of promise, he wheeled his horse around and joined the throng of winners clamoring to claim their vouchers to the dance.

Barely able to contain her excitement for the evening ahead, Penelope hugged herself. Nine o'clock. The magic hour; the hour that would herald in a promising new chapter of her life.

As she sat clutching her tattered bonnet, dreaming of a future where she, Seth, and Tommy lived as a happy family, the tolling of the parlor clock drifted up through the floorboards. Half past eight. Cinderella time was only thirty minutes away.

Laying the hat on the dressing table at which she sat, Penelope turned her attention to the mirror before her. She wanted to be stunning tonight, to see Seth's eyes glow with admiration and desire every time he looked at her. With that end in mind, she'd spent the last two hours primping and fussing.

Frowning at her reflection, she reached up and pulled a ringlet over her bare shoulder, critically eyeing the effect in the wavering lamplight. With Effie's help she'd copied a coiffure from
Godey's Lady's Book
, an elegant, sophisticated arrangement consisting of a chignon of cascading long curls.

Giving the fashion plate in the mirror a grudging nod of approval, she picked up a pearl-drop earring and slipped the thin wire through her pierced left ear. Though most of her jewelry had been given to Adele to pay for Tommy's upkeep, she'd managed to retain these earrings and the matching necklace. Her brother had given her the set the night of her debut, and it held far too many memories to wind up in the grimy window of a pawnbroker's shop.

Yet just yesterday afternoon as she'd counted her meager savings, she'd decided that she had no choice but to sell the precious set. There were only three weeks left before she and Seth were to return to San Francisco, and she was desperate for money to pay for her son's rescue.

Penelope smiled as she picked up her right earring. Now, thanks to Seth's loan, the sacrifice would be unnecessary.

A thrill of excitement quivered up her spine at the thought of the money and what it meant. Perhaps as early as tomorrow night her darling Tommy would be safe in her arms. Then she'd go straight to Seth and explain everything. With the baby out of Adele's harmful way, she could freely confess the events of the last two and a half years without fear.

At least without fear of repercussions against her son. She paused in hooking her earring to stare soberly at her reflection. When Adele discovered what she'd done, she would take desperate, perhaps even deadly measures to prevent her from taking her tale to the authorities. And when the woman found out that she'd confided in Seth, his life, too, would be at risk.

With fingers made clumsy by fear, Penelope finished securing the earring. As much as she hated imperiling Seth, she knew that he, and only he, could protect her and Tommy from Adele's wrath.

Her mood dampened, she latched the pearl and gold-filigree pendant around her neck. Finishing her toilet with a dab of newly purchased lilac perfume, she drew on her gloves and slipped the handle of her beaded reticule over her wrist. After picking up a painted sandalwood fan, one Seth had brought her from London three years earlier, she stood up to survey herself.

Without conceit, she admitted that she'd never looked better. Her spirits rising a bit, she looped her train up over her arm and draped a lacy shawl across her shoulders. As she turned from the mirror, the clock chimed a quarter of nine.

A smile touched her lips. For the first time in their history together, Seth wouldn't have to wait while she finished primping. Grinning at the prospect of seeing his stunned expression when she herself opened the door at his knock, she headed downstairs to await his arrival in the parlor.

As Penelope reached the foot of the stairs, the sound of voices drifting from the porch arrested her. Thinking that Seth had arrived early and was outside exchanging pleasantries with one of her fellow boarders, she moved across the foyer to the door. She froze, hand on knob, when she recognized the voices.

It was Adele and Miles. Mystified, for Adele roomed at the saloon and seldom deigned to visit her son at the boardinghouse, she strained to hear their words.

“Are you sure, Mother?” Miles whined, his high-pitched voice easily piercing the thick wooden door panels.

“Of course, darling” came Adele's lower, yet equally audible, response. “Harley promised that he'd take care of Tyler this afternoon. The bastard is either dead or dying as we speak.” She laughed. “I hope kissing Lorelei was worth the price.”

Seth, dead?
Penelope felt the blood drain from her face.

There was a squealing chortle from Miles. “Wish I could've been the one to slice off his balls. I would've liked to make him scream after the way he's been trying to steal Lorelei from me.”

It was all Penelope could do not to scream herself at the hideous vision of Seth mutilated in such an unspeakable manner. Shaking her head in horrified disbelief, she backed away. Her numbness melting into panic, she pivoted soundlessly on the balls of her feet and rushed toward the side kitchen door, taking care not to pound her high heels against the wooden floor as she went.

Holding her skirts above her knees, she slipped around to the back of the house, breaking into a run as she raced across the neighbors' backyards. When she reached the end of the block, she stopped long enough to suck air into her burning lungs before dashing in the direction of the hotel. If by some miracle Seth had escaped Harley's attack alive, he was probably there.

And if he wasn't in his room?
Stubbornly she pushed the ominous thought from her mind. He would be there. He had to be.

The storefronts and passersby were blurs of color as Penelope whizzed past. Once, in front of a seedy Blake Street saloon, a pair of drunks tried to detain her, but she jostled them aside with a strength that amazed even herself. After running what felt like miles, she reached Seth's hotel room.

The door was locked. Winded and panting, she rifled through the contents of her reticule, frantically searching for the key. Of course it wasn't there. There had been no reason to transfer it from her everyday bag into her evening one.

Too panicked by now to care if she made a spectacle of herself, she pounded on the door, breathlessly sobbing Seth's name. As she reached a frenzied peak, the door swung open and she was swept into a strong embrace. She didn't need to see his face or hear his voice to know that it was Seth who held her.

Sagging against him in relief, she pressed her tear-slicked cheek against his bare chest, blubbering, “Seth! Oh, thank God!”

“I'm here, sweetheart. Everything's all right,” he crooned. Without easing his grasp on her trembling form, he drew her from the threshold, kicking the door closed behind him. Patting her back in much the same manner she used to soothe Tommy when he cried, he murmured, “Easy now, Pen. Hush. I've got you.”

“Oh, Seth! I was so afraid,” she blurted out between sobs.

“You're safe now,” he assured her, moving his hand up her back to lightly massage her tense neck. “I'll protect you.”

She shook her head. “I wasn't afraid for myself. I was worried about you. I thought … I thought you were … were dead!” She practically wailed the last word.

“Dead?” His kneading hand stilled. “Whatever gave you that idea?” An odd, almost wary note shaded his voice.

Penelope could have bitten off her tongue. As much as she ached to tell Seth what she'd overheard, to warn him of Adele's treachery, she didn't dare. At least not until Tommy was safe.

Yet she had to say something. Urgently she searched her mind for an answer, anything to make him watch his back until such a time as she could reveal the truth. As she struggled to concoct a believable tale, she stole a glance at his face, trying to gauge his mood. The sight that met her eyes made her gasp aloud.

Seth hadn't escaped a brush with Harley and his band of cutthroats. Quite the opposite. From the looks of his battered face and blood-streaked hair, it was apparent that the men had come terrifyingly close in succeeding with their murderous deed.

“Oh, Seth!” Penelope wailed, flinging her arms around his lean torso in a possessive hug.

He let out a mighty yelp. “Ouch! Jesus, Penelope! Be careful. I think my rib is broken.”

“S-sorry. Sorry,” she murmured, lightly rubbing her hands over his rib cage in a helpless attempt to ease his pain. “I didn't mean to hurt you.”

“I know that, and any other time I would have enjoyed your ferocious hug.” He gave her a crooked grin, one made all the more endearing by the effort it took, what with his cut upper lip.

Penelope reached up and gently touched his damaged mouth. He winced, but didn't draw away. “What happened, Seth?”

He began to shake his head, but then stopped abruptly, grimacing as if the motion pained him. “Four men attacked me on my way back into town this evening.”

“This evening? But the race was over hours ago.”

“The manager of Vanderlyn's invited the winners into the brewery for a few victory rounds. By the time all thirty-two of us had finished toasting our ladies, it was seven o'clock.”

Staring at a wicked-looking gash on his shoulder, she asked hopefully, “Do you know who did this to you?”

He shrugged his undamaged shoulder. “No. They were wearing black hoods, like a vigilante group. It was all I could do to fight them off. I didn't have a chance to unmask any of them.”

Penelope's hope died as quickly as it was born. If Seth had been able to identify just one man, Harley and his cohorts might have fled town to escape retribution. With their anonymity still intact, they would undoubtedly try to kill him again.

Frowning, she gently ran her fingertips over his bruised ribs. She had to do something. She couldn't leave the man she loved vulnerable to another attack. But how?

As she turned the problem over in her mind, Seth cupped her chin in his palm and tilted her face up. “Do you know something about all this, Princess?”

She recoiled backward, pointing at her chest with her index finger. “Me? What makes you think I know anything?”

“It could have something to do with the way you came charging in here, sobbing about me being dead,” he replied dryly.

Penelope dropped her guilty gaze from his probing one, certain that the truth was visible in her eyes. Staring down at her shawl, which she'd dropped during her impetuous hug, she improvised, “While I was waiting for you in the parlor this evening, I overheard two metallic casket salesmen discussing a murder that took place just outside of town this afternoon. They were at the undertakers when the body was brought in, and described the victim as a tall man with blond hair. Since you were outside the city this afternoon and fit the description, I was terrified that it was you.” She crossed her fingers in the folds of her skirt, praying that he'd believe her story.

There was a long silence during which Penelope was sure she could feel Seth's gaze burning through her skull and right into her brain. Finally he sighed. “Apparently someone has it in either for me, or for a man who fits my description.”

Wishing she could wrap him in cotton and tuck him in her pocket, as she'd done with her favorite dollhouse china doll when she was a girl, Penelope pleaded, “Promise me you'll be careful.” She grasped his arms and gave him a shake, well, as much of one as she could considering his greater size. “Promise me!”

Seth gently disengaged her hands from his arms to lace his fingers between hers. “Don't worry, sweetheart. I can take care of myself. I've managed to keep myself alive thus far.”

Penelope shook her head. “Promise me that you'll take extra precautions. I couldn't bear it if anything happened to you.”

Seth tilted his head to one side, staring down into her face with wonder. “After the terrible way I've wronged you, do you still care for me that much?”

“Care?” She let out an hysteria-edged laugh. “Care? I love you! Fool that I am, I've never stopped loving you.”

“Then, God help us both,” he whispered, his face contorting as if he were in unbearable pain. “For I love you, too.”

Penelope almost hugged herself in her joy. Seth loved her! That being the case, he'd surely insist on marrying her when she introduced him to his son. Breathless with delight, she stood on her tiptoes and covered his battered face with soft kisses, declaring, “You don't know how I've longed to hear you say that.”

With a groan of pure misery, he pulled his hands from hers. “Don't! Don't love me. It will only bring you pain.”

She shook her head and smiled, desperate to assuage the torment shadowing his eyes. “Not being able to love you will hurt me worse.” Careful to avoid his injured ribs, she drew his tense form into her embrace, pleading, “I don't care about the future. I just want to be with you for however long fate grants us.”