Rue Allyn (11 page)

Edith stoked the coals in the kitchen stove’s firebox the next morning. She closed the metal door and reached for the skillet that hung from a hook on the stove’s side rail. She left the pan to heat and stepped to the table where a large onion rested on a chopping block. Taking a sharp knife in hand, she set to dicing the onion.

She loved the early morning quiet, when street sounds were distant and birds sang a cheerful counterpoint to the small clicks, bangs, and sizzles created in the kitchen. She’d learned to cook out of self-defense, for her grandfather never came to the kitchens in the Alden mansion, and if he could not find her, he could not beat out his anger on her.

This morning she even dared whistle a small tune. There was no harsh grandfather to darken her day. She was making breakfast for a man who, while he seemed to have a temper like Carlton Alden IV, also seemed to have much more control over that temper. Dutch Trahern had not struck her once, and she knew he’d felt powerful motivation to do so.

She whistled more, tapping her foot in time to the tune, and concentrated on slicing the knife carefully through the onions that already made her eyes water.

“Edith?”

Startled, her hands jerked. The blade drew a thin red line across the long knuckle of her opposing thumb. “Ow!” Still gripping the knife, she stuck the wounded digit in her mouth and looked up.

The knife clattered to the floor.

Trahern stood in the doorway, a dark rag in one hand. Patches of blood and muck covered him from head to toe.

Her small pain forgotten, Edith dropped her hand to her side and rushed forward. “You’re hurt.”

He brought a hand up, holding her at arm’s length. “No, but you are.”

His palm slid down her arm, leaving a trail of dirt on her sleeve. He picked up her injured hand and examined the thumb. “It’s not too deep. Should be okay if you get it washed and bandaged right away.”

He lifted his gaze to her face. She stared at him. She knew she should pull away. She should check him for injuries. So much blood on his clothing, surely he must be hurt. She should get soap and water. She should cook breakfast. She could do none of those things.

What was passing between them she did not understand, but she could no more break away from his gaze than she could breathe under water. Indeed, she felt as if the breath had been knocked from her. She sucked in a deep lungful of air. As she exhaled, she shook herself from the odd trance.

“It’s nothing,” she said of her minor cut, while tying a strip of clean cloth around it. She took a pot holder and moved the pan off of the stove then picked up the knife from the floor and turned to the sink. “Sit down,” she spoke loudly to be heard over the creak of the pump handle and the gush of water. “I’ll bring you water, soap, and a cloth to clean up with.”

“I’ll need more than a basin of water.” He moved to stand beside her.

He stood there as if fascinated, watching her move, his sharp-sighted eyes soft with some unknown and unacknowledged emotion. Each muscle of his face was tense with an interest and an energy belied by the weariness written over every long inch of his body.

“That may be, but this will have to suffice until Tsung returns from the market and can help to haul water for a bath.” She brought the things to the table and sat.

Slowly, as if every bone ached, he joined her at the table. “I can haul my own bath water. Instead, tell me why you so desperately wanted to go back to Duval’s bordello. You’re not stupid. You must have had a reason.”

She stared at him, the damp cloth in her hand poised above his, ready to soothe away the bloody grime and bind his injuries. What could she tell him?

I came to San Francisco to find my sister and bring her home. Duval’s brothel was the only clue I had to trace Kiera.

Edith would rather not have any further dealings with the devious madam. Would telling Dutch about Kiera, about Grandfather’s coma and the outrageous will be enough to satisfy him that she knew what she was doing?

Perhaps, but he was practically a stranger. She was beginning to trust him but could only go so far. If he knew the wealth involved, he might force her into marriage just to get her fortune for himself. He might keep her from finding Kiera. Then her sisters would be destitute because she couldn’t be certain of his generosity toward women he didn’t know. Dutch was an extremely forceful and stubborn man. She doubted she could hold out for long should he compel her. How could she possibly trust him with such information?

She cast a quick glance at his face. The tenderness and patience she saw shocked her to the core. Her hands stilled at their task of cleaning his wounds, and his fingers curled around hers.

How could she not trust this man? He rescued her from Duval’s clutches whether she wanted it or not and made not a single demand of his own. His explosive temper blasted all within reach, but he harmed no one. He gave shelter and food even to those he wished elsewhere be it kittens, a servant, or a woman found in a bordello. Save for a temper Dutch Trahern was nothing like Grandfather, who, despite his vaunted morals, had more in common with Duval that Dutch. Edith had not really trusted Duval and had never trusted Grandfather. Since Dutch was so different, why not for once share her burdens with someone who had the strength of will to help?

“Well?” The question came gentle and low across their linked hands.

She untangled her fingers from his and resumed tending his injuries.

“It’s complicated.”

“I’d be surprised if it wasn’t.”

She glanced up again. “Promise you won’t interrupt until I’m done or pass judgment?”

His brow wrinkled. “I can promise the first, but I’m human — I don’t know that I can promise the second.”

Edith nodded. “Very well. I came to San Francisco to find my sister Kiera who ran away rather than marry the cruel man our grandfather engaged her to in order to cement a business deal. Duval’s brothel is the last place Kiera was seen. In order to get information I pretended to be a woman wanting to hire Duval’s services so I would have reason to be on the premises.”

Beneath her touch his hand tensed. “You what?”

She frowned at him. “If you’re going to interrupt, I’ll stop right now.”

“No, no. I’m sorry, but you have to admit your tale is rather startling.”

“Which is why I want to be able to finish before you lose your temper.”

“I. Will. Not. Lose. My. Temper.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Really?”

“Really,” he ground out. “I won’t say anything more until you say you’re done.”

Her hands slid to the table, and her fingers started to pleat the damp cloth she’d been using.

“Well, you know most of the rest. When you found me, I was waiting for the man Duval claimed she would hire for me. I thought you were him. I had intended to pay the man to pretend to a liaison with me, but things got out of hand before we could come to an agreement.”

She rose briskly to exchange the filthy water for clean.

• • •

As certain as he was that she’d told the clear-eyed truth, he was equally sure she hadn’t told him everything. He wondered what kept her silent. Dutch had a few secrets of his own and understood too well the damage done by twisted, selfish guardians. He also understood the need to hide those wounds, even from one’s self. He wished he had words that would comfort or change Edith’s pain. He didn’t, so he let the subject drop then stood. “I’d better fetch that bath water.”

She turned. Carrying the bowl and rag in one hand, she pressed her other palm to his chest, forcing him to yield back into his chair.

“Sit down and wait for Tsung.” Setting set the bowl and rags on the table, Edith sat and continued to attack the dirt on his face and hands. “For some strange reason she adores you. You would hurt her feelings if you did not wait.”

Edith dipped a clean cloth into the water and began dabbing dirt away from some scratches on his cheek.

“How did you figure out all of that?”

“Just as I am talking to you, I talked to her. Now tell me what happened to you.” Her jabs with the cloth hurt more than the scratches, but caught in the shine of her green eyes, he ignored the pain. “I got my coat.” He indicated the rag that he’d dropped on the floor.

Her hand paused, and she sat back. A lock of shining hair fell across her forehead. She ignored it and gave him a level gaze. “Retrieving a coat cannot possibly have caused all this filth.”

“It didn’t.”

She lifted her eyes skyward and uttered an exasperated huff. The curl decorating her forehead blew backward and balanced precariously atop her head. She leaned forward and scrubbed more vigorously at the grime and scratches on his face. “Then what did?”

He waited for the curl to fall again. “Dogs.”

“Dogs?” She gave a startled jerk, and the curl toppled across her wide eyes. “You were attacked by dogs?”

He reached up and grasped the tress between his newly clean fingers. Silk, more gossamer than the finest he imported from China. Slowly he edged the lock across her face, stroking her cheek with the back of his hand, until he could tuck the strand securely behind her ear. Fine things had been rare in his life. One day he would have a wife as beautiful as Edith but definitely not one so obstinate and independent.

“The dogs didn’t much care for the fact that I got between them and what was left of that cat.”

She paled, pausing again in her attempts to clean his wounds. “You went back for Fluffy, Cotton, and Ebony’s mother?”

She’d named the damned kittens. He’d never get rid of them now. “I went back for my
only
coat,” he growled, more upset at the nuisance the cats would cause than their actual presence in his home.

She jerked backward, as if slapped. Rinsing the cloth, she wrung it out and handed it to him. “Here.” She stood, taking his coat from where he’d left it on the floor. “Since your coat concerns you most, I’ll wash it then do what I can to mend it.”

“Don’t,” he snapped, sorry that he’d offended her, sorrier that she’d stopped touching him, and worried because he cared. He hated feeling vulnerable, and this woman made him feel both fearful and fearsome at the same time. It was not a comfortable feeling.

“Why in the world not? The coat is obviously dear to you.” She moved off to the sink again. “I’ll not let it be said that I caused you the loss of anything so precious.”

The skin at his temples tightened painfully. Damn, the woman made a billy-goat look cooperative. He went after her, grabbing her arm. “Because I said not to.”

She turned her head, stared at his hand where it gripped her, then raised a haughty gaze to his face. “You are an insufferable ingrate, Mr. Trahern. Release me.”

“No.” He dragged her against his chest, lowered his head, and plundered her mouth. There was no other word for it. Surprise laid her open to him, so he would take all she had to give.

That halted him for an instant. Because she was giving.

Her lips molded to his, pressing and opening. Her tongue ran along the edge of his teeth, as if searching.

He needed no more encouragement but tangled his tongue with hers. The explosion of pleasure rocked him on his heels. He couldn’t get enough and pursued her sweetness with relentless skill.

“Lookee-lookee. Mista Dutch, you kiss Missee, nice-nice.”

Dutch dropped his arms.

• • •

Edith sprang away from him.
What have I done
? She looked from Tsung’s smiling face to Trahern’s glower to the interested glance of the gangly Chinese man standing beside Tsung.

“You should never have let that happen.” Dutch threw the accusation at Edith as he stomped from the room.

Edith stared after him. The stupid oaf blamed her. How dare he!

His footsteps shook the flimsy floor all the way to the closet-sized space he called a study. The slam of a door indicated he’d decided to vent his temper on the household accounts and other paperwork.

“Mista Dutch throw temper.”

“Yes, Tsung. Mister Dutch is indeed in a temper,” Edith huffed. Whoever the man with Tsung was, Edith couldn’t deal with a guest now. “I’d best go after him. Please see to our guest.”

Tsung grasped her arm. “No go. Not ‘til Mista Dutch done throw temper.”

Edith sighed. “I suppose you’re right. But when he’s done he’ll want a bath and a meal. Will you help me haul the water?”

“Yes, Missee. Tsung glad to help, but bath for Mista Dutch now Zhou Lijun job.” She indicated the owl-eyed man with her, who busied himself grabbing buckets and pumping them full of water.

“Tsung is Lijun future wife; be Missee Tsung Zhou. Mista Dutch pay Tsung too much money. Mista Dutch need body servant. Lijun need earn egg for nest. Mista Dutch pay Lijun half Tsung salary. Everybody happy-happy. Soon I save Mista Dutch life, Tsung honor debt gone, and I free to marry Lijun.”

“Do you really think Mister Trahern wants a body servant? Without intending to, Lijun might just make Dutch angrier.”

“Tsung understand, Missee. You help us get Lijun job. Say nothing to Mista Dutch until after, Lijun work hard show Mista Dutch how much he need Lijun.”

Edith worried a fingernail with her teeth. “If all you’re asking is that I not say anything to Dutch about Lijun, I suppose I can do that.”

“Good-good. Tsung thank Missee for help.”

Lijun placed several buckets of water near the stove to heat.

Tsung filled the kettle and put it on the stovetop then said something in her native language to the young man. In a moment Lijun pulled the bath tub out from under the sink counter and carried it through the door, probably to Dutch’s bedchamber.

Tsung assembled two teacups beside the teapot. “Missee like Mista Dutch?”

Edith looked at the kitchen door and pictured Dutch standing there, bloody and dirty from fighting off a pack of dogs to retrieve a dead cat. The man wasn’t simply attractive; he was … well … noble and sweet, even if he was a stupid oaf at times. He’d probably treat a woman with care and consideration. She found that very alluring. That allure made her vulnerable to him, which worried her. If she could get past her fears that all men were at heart like Grandfather, vulnerability might be less important. “Yes, Tsung. I’m afraid that I like Mista Dutch entirely too much.”