Betina Krahn (37 page)

The combined weight of all of those drastic changes came crashing down on her in a suffocating wave. He had just lost his platform, his chance for a role in
national politics … just as he had found fresh conviction in his political course. His work, his affiliations, his entire world had turned upside down. And it was all because of her.

Dear God. What had she done?

Connor’s connections, his friendships, his future—his whole life lay in shambles. And she was responsible.

Her eyes burned dryly as she struggled for composure. From the edge of her awareness came Frannie’s voice saying: “We can’t just sit here. We ought to
do
something.”

She certainly did have to do something.

Abruptly, she lifted her skirts and bolted down the steps, heading for the cabstand on the corner. The others rushed after her.

“Beatrice, wait!”

“Are you all right?”

“Where are you going?”

“To find him!” she called out over her shoulder.

ARMED WITH LITTLE
more than hope, Beatrice headed first for Connor’s office and then for his house. He had to return home sooner or later, she reasoned, and she intended to be there when he arrived. On hearing her story, Mrs. O’Hara agreed to let her wait again and even made her a cup of tea.

For the next two hours, Bebe sat in his dimly lit parlor, watching the front door and imagining him in all sorts of dire situations: lying in a gutter somewhere, attacked and robbed … venting his hurt and anger in a barroom brawl … drowning his miseries in Irish whiskey.

When she could bear those possibilities no longer, she
turned her thoughts to what would happen when he came home. Would he be furious to see her here? Would he rage and blame her for what had happened to him? What could she possibly say to him?

I wish I had never involved you in all this… I never guessed Tammany would go so far as to kick you out… I’m so sorry I wrecked your life
…

He had every right to order her out of his house and refuse to set eyes on her again.

She thought of her future without him and could imagine only a long succession of bleak, silent days and cold, empty nights. Nothing … not his anger, his humiliation, or his rejection of her could change what was in her heart. Whatever happened between them, she would always be wholly and irrevocably in love with Connor Barrow.

He was infuriating and intoxicating and passionate and unpredictable, and probably every bit as dangerous for her as she had proved to be for him. The thought of losing him, after just finding him, was nothing short of devastating.

What was she going to do?

It took some time, but she finally understood that the real question was—what were
they
going to do? This involved both hearts, both lives. They had to find a solution together, or not at all.

She was dozing, curled on the settee, when the front door opened and closed. She bolted upright and wiped the sleep from her eyes as Connor appeared in the doorway. His clothes and hair were damp from the light drizzle that had begun outside. His face was taut and his eyes burned like blue flames. She shot to her feet so quickly that she was momentarily dizzy.

“I heard what happened,” she said, taking two steps
toward him … stopping when she had difficulty reading his turbulent mood. “We went to the debate and they had posted it. I wouldn’t believe it … until we got a newspaper.…”

He headed for the small liquor cabinet in the corner and poured himself a whiskey before responding.

“Well,” he said with a sardonic edge, “I finally declared for women’s suffrage. It seems I am a man of my word, after all.”

She watched him raise his glass to her, then take a drink and brace for the impact the liquor would make on his stomach.

“I’m so sorry, Connor. I never meant for anything like this to happen.” She took a single step closer. “I knew how much this election meant to you. And still I pushed and badgered and demanded … It’s all my fault. I wouldn’t blame you if—”

“
Your
fault,” he said, coming toward her then stopping abruptly an arm’s length away. “
You’re
to blame for it all?”

She bit the inside of her lip and nodded. The weight of that responsibility made witnessing the pain and anger inside him almost intolerable.

Connor stared at her for a moment without speaking. Her hair was mussed, her eyes were red, and there was an imprint of pillow fringe on her cheek. He had just spent hours walking the streets, thinking, sorting it all out in his mind and heart. And now as he saw the caring and pain in her face, he felt a poignant warmth surging through his veins.

“You’re right. You are to blame.”

Her stricken look made his chest ache. He took a step closer, but she shrank back.

“If I hadn’t met you … if I hadn’t felt your passion
… if I hadn’t witnessed your conviction and your courage … I might never have had to wake up and face what I had become. I might never have realized how much of me I had given away.

“I walked out on my career, my future, my hopes and dreams today. And for what? It wasn’t women’s suffrage, or bank policies, or even political convictions. I’m ashamed to say that none of that was important enough to me to bring me to the brink of rebellion. It was the thought of losing you and everything I feel for you that finally was too much.

“Tammany pushed me to make a choice. Them or you.” He took a bracing breath and gave her a pained smile. “To tell the truth … they might have gotten me to recant women’s suffrage. They might have made me withdraw from your bank and they might have even dictated every word I uttered on the campaign trail.”

He had said all this and more to himself in the hours he had walked the streets. But hearing it aloud, confessing it to her, had a drastic impact. Shame gripped his throat so that his voice became forced and ragged.

“But they could never have made me deny my love for you. I lost one love. One heart. I know how rare and precious love is. And to be given a second chance? I love you, Bebe.” He winced as if expecting her to recoil from his admission. “And that love seems to have affected everything else in my life. I can’t keep my eyes shut or my conscience asleep anymore. You make me want to change and reshape the world … make it a better place. You make me want to go out and single-handedly force Congress to recognize women’s God-given rights … to change every bad law … to rescue every needy woman and child.”

He reached out to touch her cheek and felt her trembling. It was all he could do to keep from pulling her into his arms.

“I wish I could offer you a future … a life … a reason to be proud to say you love Connor Barrow.” He had spent seven long years planning and preparing. Right now he couldn’t even imagine a future outside those long-cherished political dreams. “But I have no future to share, no career, no wealth or achievement.”

“I don’t need money, Connor,” she said, seizing his hands. “And I don’t care about Tammany Hall or the election, or you making me a place in the world. I already have a home. What I need and want from you makes all of those other things pale by comparison.”

“You still don’t get it, do you?” He loomed over her, his expression bleak. “I don’t have anything to give you. I don’t have anything of value left.”

“That’s not true,” she said, refusing to release his hands when he tried to pull away. He backed one step, then another, but she still would not let him go. Then she said the words he both dreaded and longed to hear. “You have me.”

Connor watched the softening in her, the love shining in her liquid emerald eyes, and felt as if he’d been slammed against a wall.

“You have my love, Connor, and you have thousands of tomorrows ahead … in which anything and everything can change … except that.”

He pulled her into his arms and held her tightly against him, letting the warmth and strength of her love combat the chill created by his excruciating self-awareness. She loved him. He raised her chin and kissed her with such tenderness and passion that their tears mingled to season that kiss with salt.

When he finally drew back, she looked up at him with joy and pain both visible in her face.

“Together”—she caressed the side of his face—“we can do anything. We can remake the world … change the way people think … we can even win back your place on the ballot.”

He recoiled from the mention of his failed congressional bid, and a moment later withdrew his arms from her.

“Connor, you could still be elected,” she said anxiously. “We could find a way.”

“Give it up, Bebe.” He turned aside; the sight of her was painful. “It’s a lost cause. It’s over. After what I did at that news conference, no party in its right mind would take me on. I burned too many bridges.” His features hardened. “And if Tammany asked me back on bended knee, I wouldn’t go.”

“We’ll think of something,” she began. “We’ll find a way to—”

“Look”—he grew agitated—“I’m off the ballot. And all the commiseration and sweet talk in the world won’t change that.”

“You know people all over the city,” she said. “Surely some of them would be willing to help … to see that you stay on the ballot.”

She didn’t want to let it go, he realized. She couldn’t bear the thought of being involved with someone without a future, so she was determined to see possibilities where there were none. The thought caused his chest to contract around his lungs, making it hard to breathe.

“What’s done is done, Bebe. The sooner we both face it, the better.”

“I can’t give it up, Connor. For your sake. We
can’t walk away from something that means so much to you.”

Anguish erupted in the core of him.

“You mean, something that means so much to
you
.”

He had to get out of there. He had to clear his head … and maybe his heart. He wheeled and headed for the front door.

“Wait! Connor—”

She ran to the door, but his shape was already disappearing into the darkness down the street. She felt as if part of her had been crushed. He believed he had nothing left to fight for, nothing left to give. She couldn’t believe that and couldn’t understand how he believed it … until she remembered that this wasn’t the first time his life had come crashing down around him.

Despair threatened to overcome her as she stood in the dimness, holding the sight of his hopeless expression in her mind. But as the new love in her faltered, the seasoned businesswoman in her roused to take control. She loved him and he loved her. But they would never have a life together until he had a future … a place in the world to call his own.

She had to do something. She had to find a way to keep him on the ballot, to get him to run … and to help him win.

First—her mind raced desperately—federal elections were in the federal jurisdiction. She needed someone with the authority to … a judge … a federal judge … who could be persuaded to do the right thing. And then she needed to grab Connor by the heartstrings or the pride, and convince him to throw himself back into the race.

After a few minutes of pacing and hand wringing, it came to her. She knew one person with enough clout to
persuade a federal judge and enough grit to goad a stubborn candidate into running.

IT DIDN’T TAKE
long to learn where Hurst Barrow lived, but getting there was another matter. He had withdrawn from the rigors of the city into a baronial house in the countryside, north of the city. As she was admitted through the iron-bound doors into the cavernous main hall, the house seemed more a fortress than a dwelling. The stone walls were more than a foot thick, the interior was heavily paneled with dark wood, and the furnishings seemed massive and immovable. The air had a musty, unstirred smell, and through the arches flanking the entry, she could see that the drapes in the rooms on either side were still drawn. It was midday and sunny, but in Hurst Barrow’s house lamps had been lit.

The butler returned with word that the master was busy and could not be disturbed. Beatrice looked the imperious old retainer in the eye, then barreled past him, straight down the hallway from which he had emerged, looking for the old man. She tried one door and then another, and finally found the old boy ensconced in a dark, book-lined study … his thinning hair wiry and disheveled … one foot wrapped in gout paper and propped up on a stool.

“What the devil—” He slammed down the magnifying glass he was using to read and began to bluster.

The butler made profuse apologies and tried to drag her from the room, but his squeamishness at setting hands to a female gave Beatrice an edge. She wrestled free and made it back to the desk Hurst was now crouched behind.

“What are
you
doing here?” he demanded, waving the old butler away.

“I’ve come to”—she instinctively changed
ask for your help
to—“make a deal with you.”

“A deal?” He gave a rusty harrumph that passed for sardonic pleasure. Deal making was his lifeblood. “You already run aground with that bank of yours?”

“Not that kind of a deal,” she said, analyzing him and his surroundings.

“Why would I want to deal with you? You haven’t got anything I want.”

“Oh, but I do,” she said, her eyes narrowing cannily “Do you want to be respected, revered, even adored? Want to be a part of life again, instead of a lonely old prune rattling around”—she gestured to the house—“in a musty old mausoleum?” She leaned impulsively over his desk, her eyes glinting with challenge. “Want to turn back the clock ten years and undo the stupidest thing you’ve ever done?”

The old man drew breath for what she sensed would be a vitriolic attack, but for some reason, as he met her gaze, he did not launch it. At least five different responses became visible in his face as she waited and every one strengthened her belief that this might work. Finally, he thrust back in his massive leather chair and shot a penetrating look at her.

“You got more balls than ten men,” he said flatly.

She straightened, unaffronted. “So I do.”

“You can’t deliver,” he charged.

“Oh, but I can.” She smoothed the peplum of her jacket. “If
you
deliver.”