Leslie LaFoy (25 page)

“Impossible. My calendar is completely full,” Gregory declared, indicating his open book with a sweeping motion of his hand. “Three weeks I
might
be able to do, but not any sooner.”

“Then we'll find another auctioneer,” Jack said, firmly. He rose from his chair, adding, “Thank you for your time.”

Lindsay looked between the two men and silently groaned at the prospect of having to endure the process a second time in another tiny office with another auctioneer. “Perhaps, Mr. Gregory,” she quickly ventured, catching Jackson's hand to stay him, “one of your already-scheduled clients would be willing to move their auction date to create an opening for Mr. Stennett?”

Gregory blinked and then furrowed his brows as he quickly perused his book again. Jack lightly squeezed her hand and let it go.

“The Theorosa family might. They've been waffling since the beginning,” Samuel Gregory said to his book. He looked up and met Lindsay's gaze. “His mother's house, you understand. The old lady's been gone two years and it's been empty ever since. It's sound, but fairly small. Probably won't go for more than a few thousand, if that. Not really worth my time, but Mrs. Theorosa—the one still living—is a member of my wife's reading club and I couldn't say no.”

“Where is the house?” Jackson asked casually, standing beside Lindsay's chair.

“Just outside the city. It used to be a dairy farm, but the
cows and the land were sold off to neighbors after the senior Mr. Theorosa's death some years ago.”

Jackson extended his hand and Lindsay placed hers in it, allowing him to help her rise as he said, “Tell the Theorosas that if they'll remove the property from auction, you'll guarantee a buyer and a fair price for them.”

Samuel Gregory snatched up a pen from the desk stand. “Two weeks from tomorrow it is, Mr. Stennett,” he said, crossing out an entry—presumably the Theorosa name. As he scribbled in another, he added, “I assume the sales are to be on a cash basis?”

“Current letters of credit from reputable banking institutions will also be acceptable,” Jackson corrected, leaning back to push open the office door. “I'll rely on your judgment to know the honorable and serious bidders from those wasting our time. If you have any questions regarding the properties or the sale itself, please don't hesitate to ask. You can find either myself or Miss MacPhaull at the company offices.”

“Very good, Mr. Stennett,” Gregory said perfunctorily as he reached into a basket at the edge of his desk. He handed Lindsay an iron key, the ringed end tagged with a string and a small square of white paper. “Here's the key to the Theorosa property—in case you'd like to take a look at it beforehand to estimate your bid. Go north on Broadway five miles beyond the edge of the city. It's a small, white clapboard structure on your left. You won't have any problem finding it.”

“Thank you. We'll do that,” Jackson said, drawing Lindsay out from between the closely spaced chairs. “And thank you for your time today. I'm looking forward to a most profitable relationship.”

“As am I,” the auctioneer declared as they slipped out of his closet and into a slightly larger anteroom. They nodded in acknowledgment of the secretary as they passed, but said nothing further until they were outside on the walkway.

“That was an absolutely masterful manipulation,” Lindsay offered. “Congratulations.”

“You didn't do too badly yourself,” he offered, opening
the carriage door for her. He offered her a hand in, but when she took it, he drew her to halt. His smile was roguish and his eyes bright as he gazed down at her. “And thank you for allowing me to distract myself along the way. I didn't want Gregory to think that I was too in need of his services. It's always to your advantage to have an opponent think you've got more important things on your mind than them.”

“Then your attention was purely a negotiation ploy,” she observed, arching a brow in patent disbelief.

“I didn't say that,” he countered, his smile brilliant and so warming that she was tempted to step closer and invite him to slip his arms around her.

“Might I ask what do you intend to do with the Theorosa house?” she asked in an attempt to keep from embarrassing herself.

He shrugged. “I don't know. I wanted the opening in the schedule and was prepared to pay for it. A couple of thousand will be of little consequence by the end of the auction.”

The auction. Now that they weren't sharing their conversation with Samuel Gregory, there were a few questions she felt compelled to ask. “I caught a glimpse of the properties listed, Jack. There were quite a few. And while I dislike appearing petty and self-absorbed, I can't help wondering— if you sell so many, what will be left to divide between Henry, Agatha, and me?”

“None of you are going to be rich, but you'll have steady incomes to live on and to invest.”

“You're not going to tell me the specific details, are you?”

He handed her into the carriage, saying, “Only because I haven't exactly decided on them yet. You'll be the first to know when I do, though.”

“Thank you.” Arranging her skirts and taking her seat, she asked, “So where are we going next? To the office?”

“Nope, Henry and Agatha will be looking for us there. Let's go see the Theorosa house.” He turned to look up at her coachman. “John? Take us out of the city, if you please. Five miles north on Broadway.”

She waited until he was settled opposite her before implementing her plan to pay him back. “My,” she said with a sigh, plucking at the front of her pelisse, “it's certainly warm for this time of year, don't you think?”

“I don't know,” he said, watching her fingers. “It's my first time in New York. I have no idea what the weather's usually like.”

The carriage worked its way into the northbound traffic.

“Then you'll just have to believe me when I tell you that it's unseasonably warm.” Using both hands, Lindsay slowly opened the top button of her pelisse as she said, “I hope you don't mind the boldness, but I simply can't endure being so uncomfortable for another minute.”

“Not at all.” He touched his tongue to his lower lip as though he were parched. His voice sounded decidedly tight and dry as he added, “By all means, please be comfortable.”

“Thank you, Jack.” She opened the top button of her dress front. “You're such a gentleman.”

T
HEY WERE, WITHOUT DOUBT
, the longest miles he'd ever traveled in his life, Jackson decided as the carriage pulled off the dirt road and into a short, rocky drive. They'd managed a semblance of polite parlor conversation, offering comments on the weather and observations on the various places they passed. Lindsay, bless her, had carried the larger portion of the burden. He'd spent the majority of the trip alternately remembering the light in her eyes as he'd touched her in Samuel Gregory's office, wondering just how many buttons she was going to undo, and tamping down one wild impulse after another. By far the tamest of the bunch had been the one where he'd thought about leaning across the carriage, putting a finger gently across her lips, and then quietly asking her if she'd ever considered the merits of making love in a carriage. In the wildest of his imaginings, she'd crossed to straddle his lap, twined her arms around his neck, and between bone-melting kisses, offered to show him all kinds of wicked pleasures to be had in such a liaison.

Jackson knew that he needed some space and a chance to have his mind sufficiently occupied with other thoughts so his blood could cool down. The carriage had barely come to a halt when he opened the door and bounded out. Lindsay exited right after him, before he could remember his manners and offer to assist her.

“This is Samuel Gregory's idea of fairly small?” she said, looking past him and shaking her head.

Jackson, realizing that he hadn't even noticed the house, looked up. It was every bit as big as MacPhaull House, two stories high, but made of whitewashed clapboard instead of brick. It sure wasn't his idea of small, fairly or otherwise. His house in Texas would have fit in it twice.

“I love Mrs. Theorosa's front garden,” Lindsay said softly, walking past him and up the front walkway. “It's so informal, so welcoming.”

“And so very different than the front walk at MacPhaull House,” he observed, following.

“Ours isn't a very inviting house, is it?” Lindsay bent to sweep dried leaves from the new growth beside the front steps. “Perhaps when you're done tearing down curtains, I'll have you rip out the landscaping.”

“Or maybe,” he countered, watching her tend the plants, “you could sell your house to someone who likes that sort of formality and move into this one.”

“What about Agatha?”

“Maybe you could offer to include her with the house at no extra charge.”

Lindsay laughed and straightened. “No one in their right mind and who knows her would consider that an incentive, Jack. No, I'm afraid I'm stuck with her.”

“Well,” Jack drawled, looking up at the house again, “I'm thinking that she'd decide to move in with Henry rather than live in such squalor with you.”

“It isn't squalor; it's a charming house.”

“Maybe we ought to take a look inside before you render judgment. Still have the key?”

With a flourish, she produced it from her reticule, gathered her skirts in hand, and skipped up the front steps. Jack smiled and went after her. He'd been right; time and other
matters had been just what he'd needed. His blood had cooled and he could look at Lindsay now without being battered by carnal fantasies. And that was good; very good. While she might be intrigued by his flirtations and daring enough to hold her ground in the face of them, beneath it all, she was still sweet and gentle and absolutely inexperienced. If she did indeed want to be seduced, she deserved, at the very least, a man willing to make it a slow and tender affair.

THE CURTAINS WERE LIGHT
, lacy things and early afternoon sunlight flooded through them. Jackson watched as Lindsay walked into the center of the front room and stopped. Turning a slow circle, she said, “Surely the family intends to take the furnishings out before the sale.”

“Seems to me that if they'd wanted any of it, they'd have taken it before now,” he observed, closing the door behind them. “Gregory said Mrs. Theorosa had been gone two years.”

“How sad.”

“Why do you say that?”

“To have the possessions of your lifetime not wanted by anyone,” she whispered. “It's sad, Jack. Poor Mrs. Theorosa.”

“She probably doesn't know,” he countered rationally. “And if she does, she probably doesn't care.”

“Well, I care,” Lindsay retorted, with a degree of passion that caught him by surprise. “She had beautiful things and no one's even bothered to cover them with sheets to protect them from the dust.”

Jackson looked around the room, noting the mismatched furniture, the hardwood floors covered in places by hooked wool rugs, and the wide array of little mementos scattered across the tabletops and the mantel. A thick coating of dust covered everything. He squinted, trying to imagine what it would look like cleaned up. Unfashionably colorful, he decided.

“Let's go see what's upstairs, Jack.”

Bedrooms. There always were. And while his curiosity didn't particularly demand a trip to see for sure, the tone of Lindsay's voice was that of a woman on an exciting adventure of discovery. If it made her happy, he'd go along without a negative word. Jackson darted ahead of her and led the way, pushing through the cobwebs that had been allowed to drape the stairwell. The steps were uncarpeted and solid oak; not a one of them creaked.

The flooring upstairs was of the same oak, and a long wool carpet lay the length of the central hallway, which was barely a third of the width of that at MacPhaull House. A window at the end of the corridor allowed light in, making the small space feel more cozy than tight. Four doors opened into the hall; two on each side and opposite each other. Lindsay was making her way from door to door, opening each, pausing to study each room's interior, smiling, and then gently closing the door before moving on to the next.

“The roof must be in fairly good shape. I don't see any water stains on the ceilings,” he offered. “And the walls don't show any cracks. Whoever built this place apparently built it well.”

“Four bedrooms. Lovely, all of them. Mrs. Theorosa liked her flowers, didn't she? The pansy room is my favorite,” she declared, opening a door and, with a gesture, inviting him to look for himself.

He dutifully stepped to the door, prepared to nod and mutter something suitably agreeable. It was, however, impossible to say anything at all for the first few moments. He'd never seen anything like it. Despite the coating of dust, he didn't need to squint to see the colors. The walls were purple; not a sedate deep plum as those in his room at
MacPhaull House, but a brilliant royal shade. Lace curtains the color of lilacs, tied back at the sides with big bows of yellow satin, adorned the two windows in the room. The pale purple color was repeated on the ceiling, making it look like a soft dawn sky. A double-sized oak four-poster bed with a high headboard and a rolled-edge footboard commanded almost one entire wall. The coverlet was a quilted affair of yellow, with appliqued pansies running riot across the surface. Wool area rugs ran the length of the bed on both sides, each a series of huge purple and yellow pansies seemingly laid out side by side.

What did the other rooms look like? he wondered. One would be roses, he'd bet money on it. Another would likely be peonies. The fourth, only God knew. Tulips maybe? Irises?

“The colors are so bright and bold, don't you think?” Lindsay asked happily.

“That they are,” he admitted. “Mrs. Theorosa certainly wasn't a slave to decorating fashion, was she?”

“No, she wasn't, and I think she's to be commended for it. Once you're done with refurbishing the MacPhaull House draperies and the landscaping, perhaps—”

“Perhaps not,” he interrupted with a chuckle, knowing where she was going. “I'm a terrible painter. I tried to help Billy when he built his place, but halfway through the front room, he threw me out. If you're thinking of repainting MacPhaull House, you'd be better off to hire it done. Whatever it costs, it'll be worth it.”