Kathleen Y'Barbo (16 page)

“Enough of that.” She rose to follow him. “You are a stranger here, sir, and I will ask you to remember that. Unless you intend to exchange names and then perhaps go downstairs and meet my father and ask his permission to pay me visits, I will thank you to—”

A knock at the door interrupted her. Pure dread sent her stumbling forward. The stranger stretched out his arms to keep her from falling.

“Oh, no,” tumbled from her lips. “They cannot find you. Find us. Or this room or anything such as...”

Another knock, this one more insistent. Millie fixed her companion with a do-not-move look and then tiptoed to the door to await another knock.

Nine

W
hen the knock came, Millie edged the door open slightly. The maid. She let out the breath she had been holding.

“What is it?”

“Is there something wrong with you, miss? Are you ill?”

“No, I am fine,” she snapped. She closed her eyes and took a breath. “Do not mind me, Bridget. I was involved with something that had me quite focused. Do you need something?”

“Yes, miss. Your father wants you down in his study. Something about an announcement that be long overdue.”

“Oh, my,” she said softly. “Were those his words?”

“They were, miss.”

Millie collected herself and said calmly, “Please tell my father I shall be down directly.”

She closed the door and then leaned back against it. The dark-haired stranger came to her, moving like a jungle cat across the room.

“Bad news?”

“Likely very good news.” She put a smile in place and then offered it to him. “You must go now.”

“I know,” he said gently.

“And you cannot return.”

Again he leaned in toward her, this time raining kisses on her temple. “For more reasons than you know, it would be impossible.” His expression brightened. “Fly with me again before I go.”

“Now?”

He laughed. “No, of course not. Later. Tonight. Or tomorrow. Or when I send for you.”

“I cannot. Truly.”

“And yet I think you just might.”

“I will not.” She pushed him back to hold him at arm’s length. “I must marry this man. It is the only way. Promise you will not interfere.”

“I promise, though I would extract a promise from you as well.”

“And what is that?”

“That you will contact me should you ever have need of me.”

Millie shook her head. “Impossible.”

“I assure you it is quite possible.” He reached into his pocket, drew out what appeared to be a small rectangle of paper, and handed it to her.

“A playing card?”

The aviator turned the card over and then ran his hand over the back to show her the almost imperceptible raised dots. She followed his example and smiled as she recognized what he had done.

“This is a code.”

“It is, but I am sure it will be no problem for someone of your intellect to solve.”

Millie smiled as she ran her hand over the familiar pattern. “It is a number. A telephone number,” she said as she lifted her gaze up to meet his. “Yours?”

Dark eyes caught hers and then looked away. “Someone who can get a message to me.”

She held the card in her palm. “I see.”

“I will await your call to solve the wheel cypher or just generally save the day.”

He paused, as if he longed to say more. And then he walked to the window and opened it. A moment later, he was gone.

“I will not call you, you know,” she whispered as she tucked the card into her bodice and turned to open the door. “I cannot.”

Millie hurried down the stairs to pause at the second floor landing and catch her breath. Kisses the stranger had pressed to her lips and dusted across her temple still fought for her attention, as did the playing card resting close to her heart.

Knowing she could reach the stranger again gave Millie only the briefest cause to second-guess her upcoming marriage. A world where a man understood, even praised, her intelligence was tempting to imagine.

But he was not offering her that world, only giving her a glimpse of what it might be like. Though temptation was sweet, reality was her true master. And the reality of her situation meant that Mildred Cope of the auspicious Memphis Copes would soon marry Sir William Trueck and flee to England. Perhaps it was not the best choice, but it was the choice most likely to happen. It did not take a genius to deduce this.

A door closed somewhere, hurrying Millie along. She found her father alone in his library. Millie wondered the reason for it. Had Sir William given the Cope family his last goodbye, or was he merely called away on other business?

Then there was the thought that news of her visitor had traveled down two floors to land squarely in Father’s library and cause the Englishman to make his exit. That, too, could be possible.

He swiveled in his massive chair behind his massive desk and skewered her with a look that told her he was not pleased. But then when was Father pleased with anything she did?

Squaring her shoulders, Millie refused to cower as she made her way through his stare to settle onto the first chair she reached. When she was good and fortified against whatever charges she would be answering, she said calmly, “You wished to see me?”

“You took your sweet time,” he grumbled. “But, nonetheless, your groom has not yet returned.”

“Returned? Where did he go? I thought he was here with you.”

“He was, and then he received an urgent message and had to step out to speak to his driver. Now I do not know where in the world he is...”

The sound of footsteps caused Father to cease his speech before he had gotten it sufficiently underway. The valet came in the room with a silver tray held before him. “A message, sir, from Sir William. He was called away and begs your forgiveness.”

“Of all the confounded...” He shook his head. “Go on.”

“Yes, sir. He would have Miss Cope read this. And he wishes you to know he shall see you tomorrow at the time and location previously agreed upon.”

Millie met her father’s inquiring glance before accepting the letter. Rather than the expected “Miss Cope,” the name “Mildred” had been scrawled across the folded page.

She read through the contents and then said, “He wishes to make a formal request for my company tomorrow at a luncheon with several important persons celebrating our engagement.” Millie paused. “And he thanks you for arranging the announcement to be printed in tomorrow’s newspaper.”

Father looked quite proud of himself. “Yes, well, it was no small feat, considering what passes for news nowadays. Quite nice of the lad to offer up a formal invite for you.”

What she did not share was the last line:

Half past ten? She read that again. Indeed, the Englishman kept odd hours.

“Anything else?” her father asked.

“No, no further message on that subject.” The truth, and yet she hated the deception.

“You will attend, of course. And you will not embarrass the family with any of that nonsense you are given to chattering about. I want the story that runs in a week’s time to be worthy of reading. ‘Wealthy Memphis Heiress Weds English Lord,’ or something of the sort. Ridiculous talk of inventions and books will muddy the waters, and I would rather not have it printed.”

“But, Father, I—”

“None of that,” he said. “Your marriage to Trueck is going to be good for business, and I will not let you ruin it. And while I am at it, I should remind you this goes for your conversations with Trueck too. What man wants his wife to talk of such things?”

An image rose unbidden of the handsome aviator, firelight slanting across his features as he leaned down to kiss her. She shooed it away.

“Exactly,” he said to her silence.

On a less auspicious occasion, Millie might have attempted to argue his point. But with the goal of leaving Memphis behind so close in hand, she would do nothing to ruin things.

“Yes, Father,” she said, giving the appearance of being the dutiful daughter.

He rang for the valet and then set down his pipe, ignoring the fact he had dusted Mama’s lovely rosewood desk with ashes.

“Sir?” the valet asked from just outside the door.

“Have one of the girls see Miss Cope to her bedchamber. I will not have her leave the safety of her room until her appointment with Sir William tomorrow.”

“But, Father, I—”

“I will hear none of it.”

“As you wish.” She rose and offered him a mild look. “I will not leave my bedchamber until my appointment with Sir William.”

At half past ten.

Millie kept her word, slipping out under cover of darkness a few minutes before the appointed time. Consoling herself with the knowledge she was doing as she had said, she closed the kitchen door behind her and quietly made her way to the street.

Lamps were lit, but there was no sign of anyone about. What to do?

Just then a hansom cab turned the corner and rolled slowly toward her. Millie pressed herself into the shadows until the vehicle stopped. Sir William opened the door and beckoned.

She went to him quickly, her attention focused on her surroundings as he helped her up and closed the door. Once she was settled, they were off.

Millie blinked as she waited for her eyes to adjust to the dim light from the lantern fixed to the roof outside. The hansom cab was quite roomy, and the evening’s rain had tempered the windows with just enough moisture to offer some measure of privacy. With the driver riding outside in a seat suspended above the back of the vehicle, it almost seemed as though she and Sir William were alone as they traveled down the deserted streets.

“Are you chilled?” he asked.

“No,” she said as her gloved hands clutched the lap robe her fiancé had kindly provided for the occasion. “I’m quite fine.”

The hour was late for idle chitchat, but owing to her promise to Father she made no comment on the matter. Instead, she traced a raindrop down the glass with her finger, wondering when her companion would get to whatever point he intended to make by bringing her out on a damp and dreary night.

Sir William swiveled to face her, and pale lantern light slid over his handsome features. “Thank you for coming, Mildred.” He voice faltered and he dipped his head. “I’m sure you had your reservations.”

“I admit I was curious as to why you would arrange such a clandestine meeting when you could have either paid me a proper visit or merely remained for dinner this afternoon.”

He glanced up at her, meeting her gaze. “Neither suited my purpose.”

“Which is?”

“I wished to speak to you alone without fearing we might be overheard by your father or the servants. You see, I have come to care for you, and I wonder if you have developed any similar feelings for me.”

His question took her by surprise, as did the way he seemed to study her with such open vulnerability. “Feelings are...complicated,” she said gently. “Of course there are feelings...”

“But you do not love me.”

“Well.” Again she bunched the fabric in her hands. When she caught Sir William watching her, Millie rested her palms on her knees. “Not yet, no.”

“An honest answer.” He nodded. “Yes, I approve of your honesty.” A pause. “And your use of the word ‘yet’ gives me hope you expect such feelings to evolve over time.”

“I would say that is a fair assessment.”

Millie suppressed a sigh. Talking about feelings was not her preference, nor was remaining in an enclosed hansom cab with a man who wished her to forecast her change of emotions into the future. For a moment the quiet lengthened between them, broken only by the clip-clop of the horse’s hooves on the brick street.

He reached to adjust his tie, a gesture that appeared more nervous than due to any sort of need. “You have not asked of my feelings for you, Mildred.”

“No, I have not.” She slid him a sideways glance. “Should I?”

Sir William chuckled. “No, my dear, I don’t suppose you should.” He reached to place his hand atop hers. “I will admit that, though I cannot fathom why a woman of your beauty and intelligence would take me on as a husband, I think we shall make a good pair.”