Seleste deLaney - [Badlands 02] (2 page)

She frowned at him, the smallest pulling together of her brows. Craning her neck to the side, she looked at his mask, revealing a long stretch of her neck as her curls fell toward her back. “I’m curious what made you think they were fashioned by the same person?”

Never before had he wanted clockworks near his person as much as he did in that moment. With Henrietta in his arms, he could almost forget the rest of the party around them. A society beauty with a talent for machines—truly an enigma here—and he did so love a mystery. “Only their similarities in color and outward design. If not for the inherent differences in the nature of wolves and butterflies, our masks complement each other well.”

With the words out of his mouth, he felt like a fool. They had sounded much better in his head. She was the first woman to spark his interest since Lily died, and he kept flubbing things up.

She didn’t seem to mind though, moving closer as bodies pressed onto the dance floor around them. “Oh, I don’t see such a huge disparity. The wolf howls at the beauty of the changing moon. And the butterfly epitomizes the beauty in change. Complementary indeed.”

How had he managed, in all of Philadelphia, to stumble upon a woman who could make him forget all his worries? It wouldn’t last—couldn’t—but he’d take what reprieve he could get. And for this song, she was in his arms and staring into his eyes. He almost forgot the pain of losing Lily, not her memory but the agony that had haunted him for far too many years. Madness. He’d just met Henrietta, but something about her attitude, her cheekiness toward the very society she belonged in, spoke to him.

All too soon, the song ended, and she was swept away by another. Per his duty, he found other women to dance with, but beyond pleasantries they never spoke. He spun them in circles, his gaze always seeking Henrietta’s and gravitating toward her as the music came to an end.

He disentangled himself from the latest woman to cling to his arm and bowed before the golden butterfly. “Might I have this dance?”

Though her current partner tried to keep hold of her, Henrietta twirled her fingers free and took Carson’s hand. “You realize, of course, that people are starting to talk.”

“About what?”

Her brilliant smile showed again for a second before dropping back into something more reserved. “About the fact that you and I partner on every second dance. Things like that don’t go unnoticed at these events.”

“I’m tempted to give them something more interesting to talk about.” Clenching his fist against her waist, he wondered how long he’d be able to dance with his foot in his mouth. What was it about her that flustered him so badly?

Perhaps simply the fact that his gaffes didn’t seem to faze her. “What did you have in mind? Knocking over the buffet table? Tripping the Secretary of State?”

He tried not to watch her lips as she spoke, but he couldn’t help himself from wondering what they would taste like. He cleared his throat and met her eyes once more. “I was thinking more along the lines of pulling a gun and blasting clear an escape route.”

“Well now, that does sound like a gala Philadelphia would talk about for years. But one does have to wonder just how large a weapon you’ve managed to hide in your evening wear.” She dipped her head, a flush rising on her creamy skin.

Seeing her slip up as he had earlier made him want to push, to test just how red her skin would go, but the song ended. “Henrietta...”

She cleared her throat. “There are, of course, more subtle ways.” Before he could even open his mouth to respond, she started to sway, bringing a hand up to fan herself. Her voice much louder than it had been a second before, she said, “Sir Wolf, I’m not feeling at all well.”

Around them, people turned or craned their necks for a better view. The next thing he knew, Henrietta had collapsed against him—her weight conveniently falling to the arm around her waist.

Chapter Two

Muttered recommendations ranging from smelling salts to an ionic chamber buzzed through the gathering crowd.

“I think she might just need some air.” Unsure of how such things were done in these social circles, Carson did the only thing he could think of and swept Henrietta into the cradle of his arms. “If you’ll excuse us.”

Murmurs of “improper” and “scoundrel” were accompanied by gasps from the younger ladies and slightly louder exclamations of “he’s so strong.” Carson fought not to roll his eyes as he shouldered his way through the crowd. Henrietta didn’t weigh much more than a couple sacks of feed grain, and he’d hauled those around for years before joining the marshals.

As he neared the ballroom entrance, he wondered where he should take her. While he pondered the merits of the lobby over outside, Henrietta peeked through her lashes. “There’s a staircase right past the ballroom entrance.”

“You’re okay.” He’d wondered at the timing, but society ladies had such stringent rules about propriety he had a hard time believing she’d break them.

A quiet smile played on her lips as he started up the stairs. “I thought this might be a bit less dangerous than you shooting up the ballroom. And if we no longer have witnesses, I’m quite capable of walking.”

She might be able to get up the stairway on her own, but he was a bit loathe to let her go considering how good she felt in his arms—even if her hand was pressed against the damn scar on his neck, a grim reminder of what he should be doing instead. “It’s only a few more steps, and then we don’t run the risk of someone seeing you.”

Henrietta didn’t argue. The stairs provided an entry point to the second level of the ballroom—where many of the men had gathered to smoke their pipes and cigars away from the women. Outside the doors, however, there was a small sitting area. Reluctantly, he set her down in front of some ridiculous thing with velvet cushions and lion’s paws for feet.

Henrietta smoothed her skirt and perched on the edge of the couch. “And there you have your escape, at least for a short while.”

Shaking his head, Carson sat next to her, close enough to touch—too close for society’s liking—but she didn’t move away this time. “I don’t quite understand you, Henrietta. One minute you’re a pampered princess like all the other women down there, and the next you’re playing the queen of deception.”

“Well, it might not have been the most intelligent plan I’ve ever conceived. I’m sure the people who were talking about our dancing are now whispering about what sort of uncouth contact we’re engaging in at the moment. Seems my ability to blend in has been hampered.”

“Why on earth would you want to blend in with that mess?” He clamped his lips shut. When would he learn to think before he spoke? “I’m sorry. They’re your friends...”

Stifling the noise with a hand over her lips, Henrietta laughed. “Very few of them were ever my
friends
, and I hardly take offense on the account of those who are. This isn’t your world, and I understand how it can seem unappealing.” Her eyes drifted shut and she swayed in time with the music seeping through the doors. A moment later, she opened her eyes and let her gaze rest heavily on him. “I’ve spent some time away from this life—the consequence of being different and not quite adhering to the rules. But this is where I belong.”

Somehow he couldn’t agree. She seemed
more
than this place. Too big to be contained in the guise of a society matron. “If you don’t feel like you fit in, why are you so insistent on joining the mindless droves of women?”

“I have no intention of becoming a simpering fool.” Pausing, she twisted her hands in her lap, staring at them instead of meeting his gaze. “Tell me, Carson, have you ever truly loved someone? More than life itself?”

Lily’s face flashed in his mind and a fist closed around his heart. “Yes. She died several years ago.”

As if the world stopped around them and propriety could be forgotten for a moment, Henrietta reached across the distance and took his hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. “Seems that sort of love always ends in death. My mother cherished me and taught me I could be anything I wished. Even when I first showed an interest in science and technology, she made sure I also knew how to dance and sew and adhere to the rules of society. Until the day she died, she made certain my idiosyncrasies didn’t keep me from this world.” She paused and hiccoughed, as if choking down a sob, and Carson returned the pressure on her fingers. “After she passed, I learned society hadn’t accepted me so much as it had loved her. I rebelled, which my father found completely unacceptable. Eventually he hid his embarrassment by shipping me off. Oddly enough, he sent me to the one place where I’d learn to be even less of a lady. I have a narrow window of opportunity now to have the life my mother wanted for me—the life
I
always wanted—a career, a role in society, a husband, a family of my own. It might not be easy, but I’m determined to make her proud.”

Her own father had sent her away as she struggled with her grief and identity? What kind of person did that? Carson might not have grown up with the security wealth provided, but his family had always given him a home, even in his madness following Lily’s death. Hell, Lily’s family would have taken him in as well. He didn’t know the man, but a part of him wanted very much to meet Henrietta’s father. A thought niggled at his brain that had nothing to do with the golden beauty and far too much to do with his quest to bring the mafia to justice. He forced it away. Work would be his focus again soon enough. “And your father?”

The way her jaw clenched as she turned away told him as much as her words. “My father ceased mattering to me a while ago.”

Carson wished he could feel the same about the people responsible for changing the course of his life, but his rage burned too hot for that. The way he’d decided to go after the mafia, the depth of his hate, made him strong. Looking at Henrietta, though, he couldn’t help but wonder if what she was doing took more strength.

Based on surface appearances, she was like any other high-bred city girl. Pristine. Untouchable. But she wasn’t sliding through life on beauty and money. Beyond that glossy surface, she had a fire that reminded him of the girls he’d grown up with—the kind who didn’t have any compunction about busting a guy in his nethers if the urge struck. Though he had a feeling Henrietta would be somewhat more polite about her anger.

“And what about you, Carson? You know the darkness that brought me to this moment in time. Why on earth is a man like you here?”

He knew the question wasn’t really about the gala. No question from her would ever be as innocent as this one seemed. But for the first time in as long as he could remember, he didn’t want to think about, much less discuss, Lily. “The short version is I shot a man. More specifically, I shot the right man.”

“That isn’t what I was asking.”

Smiling, Carson pushed to his feet. “I know, but that’s not a conversation for a wolf to have with a butterfly. We should probably get back downstairs before the gossips start destroying any chance you have of settling into their world.”

“Does that mean you intend to tell me later?” She slid her hand into his and stood, letting him lead her down the staircase, only disengaging her fingers when they were within view of others. “Or that the butterfly should learn to mind her own business?”

Any other woman he knew would have just let it go. Not this one. He could almost hear Lily laughing in his head and knew she’d approve. “Henrietta—”

“Ah, there you are, my boy!” A gnarled but strong hand clamped down on his shoulder. Cartwright. “Time for the auction. We need you on stage.”

Carson nodded and held up a finger to indicate that he’d be there in a moment, but when he turned back to Henrietta, she’d melted into the crowd. The golden butterfly fluttering out of his life as quickly as she’d arrived.

* * *

The women were motioned toward the front of the dance floor, and with every brush of contact, Henri thought of Carson’s hands on her. He’d been neither gentleman nor boor, and the possibility there could be something in between made her insides flit about like her collection of clockworks putting on a display. Completely nonsensical. Reactions like this were for fairy tales and those romance novels women seemed to devour. Happily ever after was for children, a fact she knew all too well.

Still, she rubbed a thumb across her knuckles where Carson’s lips had been. Madness. She wasn’t some schoolgirl. She was a grown woman. Forcing her hands to her sides, she tried to focus on something more real. The proceeds of tonight’s auction were going to one of her mother’s favorite charities. Henrietta had no intention of leaving without making a large donation.

When the press of bodies finally ceased, she found herself standing next to her childhood friend, Lucinda Cartwright. Once upon a time, they’d played and danced and made up stories together. Then Henri’s mother grew ill. Her declining health and Henri’s growing interest in science drove the two of them apart. While there was no ill will, per se, they hadn’t been friendly for years.

“Lucinda.”

“Why if it isn’t the eminent Dr. Mason. Here to solidify your societal standing?”

Considering their past, Henri really didn’t want to explain everything to Luci. It was easier to give a simple answer, even if it wasn’t entirely true. “It seemed the proper thing to do in the wake of Father’s death.”

Lucinda crossed herself and bowed her head for a moment before responding. “A wise course of action indeed. It will be nice to have you back home and taking your proper place as a lady.”

Henri’s lips twitched. William Mason had shipped her off on the
Dark
Hawk
for not being enough of a lady—too loud, too opinionated, too smart for her own good. She had absolutely no intention of giving up her career to sit at home and play wife to some man. No. She was coming home to open a medical practice and lay claim to the position given to her by birth. At least it would mean something good would come of her father’s death. Of course, she had to ensure the
Dark
Hawk
was taken care of in the meantime. So far, her hunt for a replacement medical officer had proven fruitless, and she would not send those reckless fools into the air without someone who knew their way around an infirmary.

Luci’s father stood on the stage, a row of men behind him—the wolf first in line. “All the men on this stage are heroes,” Mr. Cartwright bellowed, his voice echoing through the ballroom and tearing Henri from her thoughts. “One saved half a dozen people from a burning building. One shot down the man who invaded the Senate, intent on killing as many as he could. Heroes, ladies, every last man. And one of them could be yours for the remainder of the evening with a donation to the children’s shelter.”

She wouldn’t have paid any mind to the ordeal at all, except her mother had given much time and money to the children’s shelter, believing with all her heart that those young people were the future. Henri would do no less. Plus, she couldn’t help but think a certain wolf didn’t want anything to do with the women here. At the very least she could save him from an hour spent pandering to one of them. The perfect target for a chunk of her inheritance.

“First on our list of heroes,” Cartwright continued, “is the gunman I mentioned. Marshal Carson Alexander saved dozens of our leaders with a single shot.”

Shooting the right man indeed. Interesting that Cartwright failed to mention Carson had also saved a secretary the would-be-assassin had used as a shield. In this room, though, her life mattered less than those of politicians. The thought made Henri sick.
Think
of
Mother
and
the
children
. Instead, Carson’s blue eyes filled her mind and she shivered.

“Shall we start the bidding at five dollars?”

Without another thought, Henri raised her hand.

“Five to the lovely butterfly. Six? Do I hear six?”

Bidding went several rounds before women started dropping out. At last it was just Henrietta and the multi-hued peacock who kept raising the bid in one-dollar increments. Outside, the clock chimed. It was getting late, and, without a replacement, Henri had to leave with the
Dark
Hawk
when it departed in the morning.

“Sixty.” She raised a hand, wanting this over and done with.

“Sixty-one.” A peacock feather bounced in the air.

Henri huffed out a breath. She had too much to do tonight for this idiocy. “One hundred dollars.”

Cartwright looked as if he choked on his words. “One hundred? Do I hear more?” The peacock feather drifted toward the floor. “One hundred going once. One hundred going twice. Sold! To the lovely butterfly. Please register at the exit.”

Henri gave a curt nod, her lips twitching as she caught sight of Carson’s grin. She didn’t have time to stay and partner with him for the remainder of tonight’s dancing, but perhaps next time or, better yet, once she was home for good, she could make it up to him. Gathering her skirts, she edged her way out of the press of women.

Lucinda’s shoes tapped right behind her. “I saw the way you looked at him, Henrietta.”

“And?” She signed the register with her bid and took a note in order to transfer the funds when she stopped at the bank the next day.

“If you’re serious about establishing your place in society, I do hope you’ve set your sights somewhat higher than a federal marshal. I understand the attraction, of course, as he is quite handsome, but you know he’ll never do.”

“Do for what, precisely?” Henri spun to find Lucinda’s mask off, her eyes filled with genuine concern, lips pressed in a perpetual pout.

“For your husband.”

“I’m not worried about finding a husband. And if I was, there is nothing wrong with Marshal Alexander.” She glanced toward the door, wishing she’d brought a wrap and praying her carriage was nearby.

Lucinda’s hand fell on her arm. “Your money doesn’t matter, Henrietta. If you don’t have a husband, they’ll shun you. You need a man—a respectable man—if you plan to stake a claim here.” She bit her lip, her brows pulling together. “People have been talking about your... eccentricities again since your father’s passing. Rumors about where you’ve been for the past few years have been floating around. They tolerated you before—because of your parents. If you want them to keep turning a blind eye to the things you do, you need a husband.”