A Wayward Man: A Prequel to A Dangerous Invitation (The Rookery Rogues) (2 page)

However, Diana was
the sweetest of girls, and the first to come to the defense of her
friends. When their other friends had been audacious enough to
question Kate's dallying with her father's Irish shipping assistant,
Diana had struck them down with a fierce look.

“Dreadful
weather,” Diana said, turning on the settee to face the other
member of their little coterie.

Justine Balfour
nodded. The rest of their elite social circle had deemed Justine
unforgivably dull. She was utterly average in appearance, with a
round face, a medium-sized frame, and golden blond hair that lacked
luster. Rarely did she say anything, unless she'd been asked a direct
question.

Only Kate and Diana
knew the real reason for Justine's silence.

Kate leaned forward,
her voice low. “Did you sleep well last night?”

Justine shook her
head.

Diana reached up to
give a final pat to her curls. Satisfied that her coiffure remained
intact, she refastened her bonnet. “How late was Evangeline
out?” Evangeline was Justine's younger sister, and a constant
source of worry.

“Past twelve.”
Justine looked down at her gray kid leather gloves. She spoke slowly,
each word carefully pronounced, as though she feared that if she
didn’t choose the proper word, punishment would follow. “I
don’t think Papa noticed.”

“Mercy for
that,” Kate agreed. “Where was she this time?”

“I haven't any
idea,” Justine said. “But the night before, she smelled
heavily of smoke. Papa is bound to notice she's dallying with the
fast set. What am I to do?”

“You keep
talking to her,” Diana said. “That's all you can do.
Evangeline must make her own decisions.”

“You've been a
good sister,” Kate chimed in. “You can't be responsible
for the mistakes she makes.”

Justine grimaced. “I
suppose you are right.”

She sounded so
despondent, completely without options. Kate couldn't imagine how she
must feel, trapped in a family with little love. Mr. Balfour served
on Emporia's Board of Directors and his wealth was enormous. But if
Kate had her way, Balfour would be locked in Newgate for his
treatment of Justine and her sister. The man was a brute, clear and
simple.

Lightly, Kate
touched the string of pearls around her neck. The pearls mattered
little to Kate—as little as the woman they’d originally
belonged to, who had fled from Kate’s life when she was eight.
Eloise Morgan had run off with another man. She was nothing to Kate
now.

But Kate’s
father was a man of honor, and he'd raised her to believe in family,
in the bonds that tied people together. That was what she'd create
with Daniel, once he got up the nerve to ask for her hand. A proposal
had to be coming, didn't it? They'd spent nights together, tangled in
the sheets, bodies intertwined in blissful ecstasy.

She'd known
pleasure like she'd never thought possible.

Kate gulped down
rising dread. Daniel would propose. He was a good man. Her father had
plucked him from obscurity. Above all, Kate trusted her father's
ability to judge character.

And almost as much,
she trusted herself and her feelings. The way Daniel ran a hand
through his ginger locks when he wasn't certain of something. Or how
his brow crinkled when he smiled. He was an intense man, a man who
had a tendency to take to the bottle, but surely he’d never do
anything to mar their future. He cared more for Kate than anyone
outside her family ever had.

Men drank, she
reminded herself, just as women talked about trivial matters. Justine
and Diana’s conversation had turned to the various balls and
soirees scheduled for the upcoming Season. Kate listened with one
ear, as none of that really concerned her. She'd been out for two
years. While she'd had several suitors, their interest had been in
her father's wealth, not in her.

Daniel had been the
first person to look at her as men looked at Diana.

What if he didn't
care for her as she did him? She'd heard stories of women who were
taken in by scoundrels, their reputations ruined. Oh God, was she
going to end up like one of those tainted women, forced to walk the
street because there was no other suitable profession for her without
her virtue?

Faith, Kate,
she
urged herself. Her belief in him couldn’t be misplaced. It had
been only a month since they’d started to share a bed. A proper
offer must take time.

Diana's voice broke
her into thoughts. “Is something wrong, Kate? You’re so
quiet today.”

Both Justine and
Diana had turned toward her. Justine's brows were furrowed with
apprehension, while Diana's perpetually-hopeful mien was marred with
concern.

“It's
nothing,” Kate lied. Neither of her friends knew the carnal
progression to her relationship with Daniel. Not that she feared
their judgment, for she believed they’d support her no matter
what, but Kate knew well enough the mark on a woman who had gave her
virginity away before marriage.

Justine's chair
faced the front door to the office, while the settee with Kate and
Diana were in front of the fireplace. As the outside door opened,
Justine gave a little nod of greeting, not daring to raise her hand
in a wave. Such notice might have been deemed improper, and Justine
was the most proper person Kate had ever known.

“Mr. O'Reilly
is here.” Justine’s quiet voice was barely audible over
the bustling of people in the lobby.

Kate's heart thudded
against her chest. She tilted her head back to peer at the door.
Daniel's black top hat crested well above the heads of the other men
entering the lobby. He was unusually tall—so tall that her
statuesque height appeared minuscule next to his. There was something
delightful about no longer having to witness the tops of her balding
partner's heads, as long as Daniel was around to secure a waltz with
her.

He approached them,
his long strides eating up the distance between them in no time at
all. Bowing to Diana and Justine, he then stepped forward until he
came before Kate.

“Miss Morgan,”
he said, with all the air of formality that was required to a woman
of her station. He sketched a quick, awkward bow.

“Mr.
O'Reilly,” she responded, offering him her hand to kiss. It was
scandalous, she knew, but she couldn’t help but want to be the
envy of her two friends.

Daniel's lips swept
feather-light over her glove, his eyes meeting hers again in a molten
lock.
Thud, thud, thud
beat her heart, desperate and racing.

Releasing her hand,
Daniel inclined toward her. “Might I have a word with you?”
His gaze darted from her face over to Justine and Diana. “About
the shipping memorandums that Morgan wants cataloged. Your father's
filing system is a right bear.”

Kate frowned at him
in mock scorn. “I developed that filing system.”

Daniel grinned. “I
know.”

Diana's brows rose,
her green eyes twinkling as she met Kate's glance. Justine's lips
turned up in the hint of a smile. Daniel's show wasn't fooling either
of them.

Kate beamed. “It
would be my pleasure, Mr. O'Reilly. Are the memorandums in your
office?”

Diana giggled.

“We shall keep
the door open, in case anyone might wander by,” Kate clarified,
for Daniel looked increasingly uncomfortable with being the subject
of this female conference.

Placing her hand on
his arm, Kate allowed him to escort her to his office. To the staff
of Emporia, they’d been casually courting for several months.
At first, his solicitation of her time could be brushed away as the
standard attempts of a recently promoted employee acquainting himself
with his boss's family. That was simply good business.

It had become far
more than that, from the first stolen kiss in his office to the long
nights spent in her father's vast home library talking about every
subject known to man. Daniel would accompany her to parties and
routs, encouraging her to speak her mind, even when she debated
highly controversial issues, like women's suffrage and the
reformation of the old police forces into something far more
centralized.

This was no casual
meeting now. In silence they walked. She sensed his tenseness. He
shifted his weight from one foot to the other on the first floor
landing, waiting for another clerk to pass them before they could
ascend the stairs. Her gaze flitted upwards, taking in the strong
line of his jaw, the bit of red stubble dotting his chin that he'd
missed in shaving.

He meant to
propose.

Her stomach
fluttered. He was never this uneasy for a normal conversation. She'd
be damned if she did anything to interfere with his presentation. Men
could be so devilishly sensitive about these things.

They reached his
office. Daniel swung open the door and waited for her to enter. She
took a seat across from his desk, while he peered out into the
hallway.

“No one's
coming.” He shut the door behind them, ignoring propriety.

He crossed the room
to his desk, his strides purposeful. She loved that about him. He
always seemed to know where he was going, what laid ahead for them.

“Katiebelle.”
He used her father's nickname for her, yet on his lips it was the
sweetest of appellations.

He sunk into the
chair behind his desk, a façade of world-weariness descending
over him. She reached across the stacks of paper, taking his
outstretched hands in her own. He had workman's palms, calloused. His
pale skin, reddened by exposure to cold, darkened to a shade of
crimson not far from his hair.

“It's nothing
to be ashamed of, Daniel,” she said, for she was determined to
be modern-minded about this. Independent. Or as independent as she
could be with all her wealth tied up in a dowry provided by her
father.

He’d pulled
his hand from hers to bend down and remove a small box from his top
desk drawer. He looked back up, startled. “What?”

“The
relationship that we have.” She hated the way her voice
faltered.

He grinned
sheepishly. “About that. There’s something I’ve
been meaning to ask you.” The box in his hand was covered in
velvet brocade, far too ornamental for his tastes. He opened the box
and passed it to her.

Inside was a gold
ring of a design she didn’t recognize. Irish, perhaps, fitting
with Daniel's heritage. Two hands grasped a heart with a crown on its
head. It was less ornate than her normal jewelry, lacking gemstones.
But there was something undeniably beautiful about the ring and its
lack of pretension.

At his nod, she
plucked the ring up from the box. “For me?” She held the
ring delicately between her thumb and forefinger.

“No, I prefer
to show you fancy things that you cannot have,” he said dourly.

She rolled her eyes
at him, bringing the ring closer to the lit lamp on the side of his
desk. There was no window in his office. “It is lovely.”

She hoped it meant
something more, a permanent union between them. “Daniel—”
she started, the words dying in her throat when she looked back at
him.

Warmth filled his
expression, love shining in his green eyes. Wordlessly, his face
conveyed what she needed to know: that he loved her, perhaps he'd
always love her, and nothing about what had passed between them was a
lie. She could trust him to stay with her, to be with her without
judgment.

Slowly, almost as if
she was a marionette and someone else pulled the strings, she nodded.

“That ring has
been in my family for three generations,” he explained. “Passed
down to the eldest son in each family, so that he might give it to
the woman he loves. I want you to have this, Katiebelle. So you know
I'll always be with you, no matter what happens. You're my heart, my
ruler, my best friend.”

He stood, crossing
the room to take the ring from her hand. Gently, he slipped it onto
her finger, his hand closing over hers. The gold ring was cold on her
finger, yet the rest of her was so heated, so perfectly happy.

He loved her. He
loved her. He loved her.
She repeated that over and over again,
for though he’d said it before it seemed more real,
memorialized in something beyond themselves.

“I know it’s
not the custom to start a proposal with a ring, but I couldn't help
but feel you should have some sort of token of my affection.”
Releasing her hand, he sat on the very edge of his desk, close enough
that his thigh brushed against her full skirt. “I have been
negligent, I know, in offering you my hand. I should have, long
before we ever...” That flash of color was high on his cheeks
again. He fumbled for the right words. “But I needed to have
the ring sent from Sussex, and it took a bloody long time for it to
arrive.”

She didn't flinch at
his choice of language. Rather, the curse enlivened her. “You'd
think the post would hurry with items of such importance. Bloody
awful,” she agreed with relish, letting the word roll on her
tongue.

He grinned
lopsidedly and coughed, a short, quick cough designed to clear his
throat. He reached for her hand again, clasping it tight in his own
larger palm. “All that aside, I've spoken to your father. He's
given his approval for me to offer for you.”

She arched a brow at
him. Custom or not, she was not property to be traded.

Hurriedly, he
corrected himself. “I wanted to consult him before I asked you
because I know his opinion is important to you. You're your own
person, Kate, and I love that about you. If you can take a chance on
an Irish fool like me, I'd be the proudest man in the kingdom to call
you my wife.”

“Yes, of
course I will!” She dropped his hand to fling her arms around
him. He fit himself snug around her in a welcome embrace. This, she
knew, was where she was supposed to be.