Baroness (10 page)

It would work, she knew it.

Mrs. Dashielle Parks.

She was just falling into slumber when she heard a knock, then her door opening.

“Rosie? Are you awake?”

The last person she expected to walk into her room, dressed in her robe and night dress, was her mother. Jinx, too, had wiped off her makeup, and smelled of cold crème as she sat on Rosie's bed. She reached out in the darkness and ran her hand over Rosie's short hair.

“Mother?”

She heard Jinx's breath, and then stilled, not sure what to say when her mother lay down beside her. She tucked her arm over Rosie.

“I missed you,” she said quietly.

“I—I missed you too,” Rosie said, surprised at the truth in it.

Jinx said nothing for a long while. Then, “I was seventeen when I married your father. He was so handsome, and I thought we would be happy. But I wasn't enough for him. He had a thirst inside him that I couldn't quench. Nothing could quench it—not his yachts, or his homes, or his power, or the women…even you, I'm afraid. Although I know he loved you.”

Rosie's eyes burned.

“I'll never forget the day you were born. He came into the room and picked you up. It was the first time I'd seen him be gentle with anyone in years, even Jack. He stared at you for a long time and then kissed your forehead. Then, without looking at me, he handed you to Amelia and said, ‘This one's mine.' I didn't realize then that he knew—maybe he didn't. Maybe he just meant that you belonged to him and he expected me to take care of you.”

A cold tear pooled in Rosie's ear.

“I'm still trying to do that, daughter. Because you're mine too.” Her voice softened. “I'm sorry about Dash. I know you care for him. But please, trust me.”

Rosie tightened her jaw.

“I love you, Rosie. And I'll do anything to make things right. To fix what I've broken.”

She said nothing more, and the silence fell around them, Jinx's arm growing heavy across Rosie's waist.

Just as Rosie began to drift off, she heard the soft shudder of an intake of breath. She threaded her hand into her mother's as she realized…her mother was weeping.

Chapter 5

Lilly felt like a criminal, and drank in the illicit taste of escape as Rennie loaded her valise into the train compartment. Two leather bunks bordered each side of the private room, a table between them. Two more bunks folded up above them to allow seating.

Lilly stood in the doorway, peering out the window at the platform, expecting any moment for Uncle Bennett or even Oliver to show up with the gendarmes to carry her away. Her heart thundered in her chest as she scanned the crowd.

“Are you well, Lilly? You are perfectly ashen.” Presley eased past her into the compartment, wearing a pair of trousers and a tweed vest. She handed Rennie her bag. He stashed it with Lilly's then turned and smiled.

It calmed the racing in her chest, the churning in her belly.

“She's just ready for her big adventure.” He stepped up to her, ran his hands down her arms. “I'm so glad you came.”

Lilly wished she'd worn something more daring than her shirtwaist and skirt. She had, however, left behind her Zane Grey book on her writing table.

Presley had pulled out her cigarette case. “Rennie said it was some clandestine escape.” She tapped the end of the cigarette on the case then inserted it into her holder. “The entire escapade sounds very Sir Conan Doyle to me.”

“Indeed, I am amazed we pulled it off,” Rennie said, and took Lilly's hand, pulling her down onto the seat next to him. Then he reached over to light Presley's cigarette.

Presley grinned, a hunger in her expression, and leaned back into her seat. “Do tell.”

Lilly didn't know whether to be relieved or annoyed that Presley would be joining them. Of course, she'd needed her for her plans, and Lilly didn't exactly hope to be alone with Rennie, but Presley had the eyes of a minx, always on him, and it raked into her memory Presley's words that night at La Rotonde.

You're too nice, Lilly.

Not anymore. She'd run away with her…well, lover wasn't the term. But perhaps simply run away. She didn't have to answer to anyone, not anymore.

“It was Rosie's plan, really,” Lilly said. “Although Rennie caught on fast.”

“Especially when I drove up to fetch her two days ago and she was waiting for me at the door.”

“I knew if he rang, Uncle Bennett would find him and send him away for good. So I waited for him and snuck out. I told him to go, but gave him a note that explained exactly how we'd get away.”

“And?”

“The scheme went off without a hitch. Right now, I'm supposed to be at Jardin des Tuileries with Rosie and my nephew Finn, floating one of his toy boats in the pond.” She curled her hand around Rennie's arm. “We've been taking him there for the past three days, with Aunt Jinx or Amelia. Only today, we took him alone. Rennie met me at the edge of the park.”

“I hope everything I picked out for you fits.”

“Thank you, Presley. I will secure my own wardrobe when I get to Spain.”

“I have no use for the dresses anymore. You may keep them.” Presley gave her a wink. “It gives me an excuse to order more.”

“All the same, I have my allowance. I'll manage.”

“Suit yourself,” Presley said.

“So we're all here, then,” said a voice in the doorway.

Presley looked past her, toward the opened door. “Hello, Hem. Are you all settled?”

“Mike is here, and Bob is ever the pompous mule.” Hem was a handsome man, Lilly supposed, a rumpled, no-nonsense way about him, in his patched tweed jacket, his canvas pants and tennis shoes. He wore his hair long and irreverently mussed, and every time he looked at her, it seemed he might be probing for something deeper. She felt childish and naked around him, and couldn't shake the feeling of his disdain.

“Hem is just upset that Bob's footing the cost of the trip for him,” Rennie said. “Or should I say, Bob's wife, Annie, has paid them both to jaunt off and leave her to her own devices in Paris. Oh, the ails of being married to an heiress.”

Lilly shot him a look.

Presley, however, picked up the explanation. “Annie's father is in shipping in England and possibly could purchase this entire train. Which Hem hates, don't you?”

“Bob needs her cash to run
Contact Editions
, his new press,” Hem said without emotion. “And if I write for him, then I write for her.”

“And Hem just can't bear being bought by the establishment,” Rennie said.

Hem made a noise, and Lilly shifted in her seat, hoping he hadn't heard her comment about her allowance. “I didn't know you were a writer,” she said.

“If you call holing up in a hotel garret every day scribbling out poetry—”

“That's enough, Rennie. You're only here because we need another hand at bridge. I didn't realize you were bringing your kid sister with you, however.”

Lilly couldn't quite figure out if Hem was kidding or not, but his words slicked through her like acid.

Rennie slipped his hand into hers. “He's just being surly because Hadley's at home, too sick with his child to tag along. Leave her alone, Hem.” He glared at the man, and Lilly tucked close to Rennie, a surge of warmth at his defense.

Still, she lifted her chin, met Hem's gaze, inviting his dark eyes to challenge her.

He considered her for a moment, then suddenly smiled. “Don't mind me. I am surly. The bulls will cheer us all up. There's nothing better than drama, tragedy, and some danger to brighten a man's spirit.” Then he winked at her, and she didn't know what to make of it as he moved away.

The train lurched, and she caught her breath. Rennie tightened her hand in his.

“Men are such children,” Presley said. “A woman has to know how to handle them. It can be so fatiguing. Hadley is lucky to be rid of him for a few days.” The sun hung low on the horizon, a golden wash of light upon the city. Long shadows draped across the platform like fingers, groping for the train. But it moved forward, away from them, and soon left the sunlight behind. All that remained was the orange glow of twilight on the leather seats and the fire of adventure before her.

“I'm so proud of you, Lilly,” Rennie said, putting his arm around her, pulling her back against himself. “You surprised me, yet again.”

“Why? Didn't you think I'd come?”

He pressed a kiss to her head. “It's just that bullfighting can be a rather…brutal sport. But perhaps you are as brave as you profess.”

“But she's not here for the bullfighting, not really, are you, pet? You've come for the adventure of running away, haven't you?” Presley inhaled on her cigarette, glanced at Lilly, then turned her gaze on Rennie. “Spain, after all, can be quite the life-changing experience.”

Behind her, she felt Rennie tense.

She frowned at Presley as the woman held her gaze, blowing out a stream of smoke. “In fact, Spain can turn a girl into a woman, if she has the courage.” She winked, then turned away and stared out the window as they left Paris behind.

* * * * *

Rosie tried not to think of the unpardonable sin she'd committed and focused on Finn and his triumphant smile as he chased the mallards around the pond at Jardin des Tuileries. She kept glancing at the statue of Rommende, the outstretched wings of Pegasus, warmth curling through her, remembering Dash's whispers of apology.

Yes, it was worth it. And Lilly wouldn't get far, anyway. She'd enjoy a day or two of freedom, and then Oliver would track her down and rescue her from Rennie.

How difficult could it possibly be to find her at the bullfights in Pamplona? And if it took two days or more, all the better.

Rosie and Dash would be long gone by then.

“Can I put my boat in?” Finn ran up to her, fetching the wooden sailboat he'd brought to float in the pond. The wind picked up his hat, nearly blew it off his head, and he grabbed it, stowing it in her lap.

“Hang onto the string, Finn. You don't want it floating away.”

She glanced again at the statue. Dash had promised, through Blanche, to meet her here, finally, and it took no small amount of conniving to assure her mother that she and Lilly would keep Finn safe, no escort necessary. Jinx hovered over her youngest son like he might be made of glass.

“Rothie, look at my boat!” Finn pointed to the schooner as it drifted from shore. He grinned, pushing his tongue through the gap between his front teeth. With the sun in his blond hair and with his blue eyes, he appeared a miniature version of Jack, so much joy in his smile she could lose herself in it. Finn was the balm that soothed their cracked hearts, and with him Rosie felt the world drop away. To Finn, she didn't have to be anyone—not a flapper, or an heiress—just Rothie, Finn's sister.

However, she still couldn't wipe the sound of her mother's sobs from her mind. She'd rolled over, held her mother as her grief turned Rosie brittle. She couldn't bear to feel this grief, not anymore.

Dash could make her forget it all.

Another gust of wind lifted Finn's straw hat from her hands and tumbled it across the grass. “Oh!” She got up, glanced at Finn, then took off after the hat, chasing it as it rolled away from her.

“I'll get it!” Finn said, and started toward her, dropping the string that tethered him to his boat.

“Stay there, Finn!” she said, and turned back to find the hat.

She plowed into its rescuer. “Oh!”

The man caught her before she took them both down, one arm wrapped around her waist as he stepped back to absorb her weight.

“I'm so sorry!” She disentangled herself from him and looked up.

His blue eyes could stop her heart. They looked down at her, a smile in them, as if amused. She swallowed, tried to find her voice.

He beat her to it. “Is this yours?”

“It's my little brother's.” She glanced back to where Finn had now hunkered down on the shore and begun unlacing his shoes. “Finn, what are you doing?”

“My boat. The string got away from me!”

“Oh dear.” She took the hat from the man. “I need to rescue his boat.”

“I don't think so,” the man said, and strode toward Finn. “Stay here, sailor.” He slipped out of his shoes.

“Oh no, sir, please—”

But he shucked off his socks then rolled up his pant legs before stepping into the pond.

Rosie made a face. “Is it cold?”

“Like ice,” he said, and glanced at her over his shoulder.

Oh, he was handsome—she couldn't help but notice that as he waded into the water after the loose string. Wide shoulders, a chiseled chin, aristocratic lines, dark-as-night hair that fell over his eyes. And an accent that sounded British. He reached out and snagged the end of the string then held it between two fingers as he reeled in the boat. Finally, he picked it up by its sail and trudged back to shore.

She watched the water slough off his ankles and pool around his bare feet as he knelt in front of Finn and tied the end of the string around his wrist. “A sailor never loses control of his craft,” he said, then winked at Finn. “Let's relaunch her.”

He handed the boat to Finn, who set it back into the water. The sailboat drifted from shore.

Rosie walked over and fitted Finn's hat back on his head, running the strap under his chin. Then she turned to the man, now seated on the bench, drying off his feet with his socks before slipping them back on.

“You didn't have to do that.”

“What, and let your little brother lose his vessel? I think not.” He slipped on his shoes and stood up.

Again, those eyes, and they had the power to render her silent. “Thank you for your gallant service,” she finally managed, and felt the fool. “I don't know how to repay you.”

“Fear not. I believe you might find a way.” Then he winked at her.