Stealing Mercy (14 page)

As he replayed the afternoon’s conversation in his mind, Trent wanted to think the feverish cheeks were his doing, but somehow, he doubted it. Why would she be so angry over a missing tart? And was angry the right word? No. She’d been more upset than angry; she’d been
worried
about a tart.

Mercy didn’t seem the sort of get vapors; most females he knew denied the existence of brothels, despite prostitution’s flagrant prominence in Seattle society. When she’d talked of Lucky Island fire lit her eyes, she poked out her pointy chin, her cheeks burned. He wondered why. Prostitution was Seatttle’s proverbial elephant in the room and most women ignored it with a studied indifference. Mercy discussed it as if she had a personal vendetta. Of course, he’d just met her, and yet, he felt as if he’d always known her. He set down his drink and scanned the room, seeking her out, even though she’d said she had other plans.

As he watched the guests mill around the ballroom, he recognized that Seattle was changing. The sleepy port of three thousand had grown to nearly forty thousand in the past decade. Shops, farms, lumber mills and a host of other businesses sprouted like weeds along the smelly sea port, over the hills, and out into the countryside. A few even came close to his grandmother’s territory. He smiled thinking about how his grandmother would react to neighbors.

The band members whom he’d spotted drinking homemade whiskey behind the outhouses moments ago arrived on stage and picked up their instruments. The men, obviously self trained musicians, burst into a rousing rendition of
My Wild Irish Rose
.

Trent pushed away from the table and bumped into a woman with furiously batting eyelashes. He didn’t look the lady in the eye as she pressed towards him and he brushed past with a quick apology. He scanned the room for Chloe.

His sister could shoot a deer between the eyes from forty paces, wield a Bowie with deadly accuracy, and had an equally lethal temper, but still he worried. His conversation with Mercy hadn’t eased his tension. He could almost hear her say,
what if girls are being abducted and pressed into service
? He thought of Rita and his stomach turned. He had to tell his sister and grandmother, but he couldn’t. Not yet. Not until he knew for sure. Was the discovery of her jewels proof enough?

He supposed he could arrange a visit to the brothel. He’d have to sell a filly. The brothel had an exclusive cliental, and he doubted he could ask to see all of the girls until he found Rita. He could say his tastes ran towards tiny brunettes with strawberry birthmarks on their upper arms, but that would raise suspicions. He wanted his grandmother’s advice, but he didn’t want to ask. Why needlessly alarm her? As if she wasn’t already frightened and panicked over the disappearance of her granddaughter. He could press a group of his friends into visiting Lucky Island, all asking for small brunettes, but that would cost several fillies and could get very messy. Besides, he didn’t want to scare Steele more than he already had. He hoped the theft of Rita’s jewels had caused the man to sweat.

He ran his finger along his collar, pulling at his tie. Mrs. Ludlum and her daughter, Dorothy, had spotted him. Mrs. Ludlum wore a ruby red dress with faux jewels studded across her enormous bosom. Dorothy, who lacked her mother’s impressive prow, looked hot and uncomfortable in a yellow dress that made her look jaundiced. He tried not to watch as they twittered behind Mrs. Ludlum’s fan. He felt like he was watching the flight of a bee while being drenched in honey -- knowing that the consequences given the circumstances were inevitable if escape wasn’t made and yet unable to avoid the sting.

*****

Mercy tried to follow Eloise’s chatter, but her eyes kept straying to the man near the stage. His blue eyes panned the room and she felt herself shrinking every time he looked her direction. Was her blackened hair convincing? She’d also lost considerable weight on the voyage. Was it enough? Would he recognize her? Of course, he was supposed to believe her dead. She’d staged her suicide. Had he, or anyone, been deceived? She hadn’t stayed in New York long enough to find out.

Mercy clung to the back wall and tried to be invisible, but with Eloise and her attending menagerie of men bouncing around it was hard to accomplish. She needed to leave before Steele saw her. Where was Miles? She felt a flash of irritation towards her supposed escort.

“Excuse me, Miss,” a strapping young man who a ruddy cheeked fresh scrubbed look touched Mercy’s elbow. He had red hair brushed off his forehead and an army of freckles marching across his nose. “Would you care to dance?”

Mercy couldn’t look him in the face. “I’m sorry,” she said, addressing his boots. “I’m afraid I’ve a touch of a headache.” She didn’t want to turn him down, but she couldn’t let him, or anyone else, dance her in Steele’s direction.

The youth looked relieved and let out a woof of air.Mercy wondered if his mama had sent him her way. “Can I get you lemonade then?”

Mercy smiled. “That would be lovely.”

After the young man had left on his errand, Eloise slapped Mercy’s arm with her fan. “What’s wrong with you? That’s the fourth partner you’ve turned down.”

Mercy attempted a laugh. “You’re keeping score? Come friend, you’ve been too busy dancing to keep track of my suitors.”

Eloise flushed, and Mercy didn’t know if it was from the exertion of dancing. “You haven’t danced once,” Eloise complained.

Mercy thought back to the last dance she and Eloise had attended. It had been wildly fun; they’d both danced every dance, their partners a whirl of new faces, a buffet of men in every shape and flavor. She had been fun and she wondered if she’d ever feel that carefree again…
Not as long as Steele remained.

“I’m sorry, sweetie, I’m not feeling well.”

“Oh, do you think you could have caught what struck Miles and me yesterday?”

Highly unlikely
, Mercy thought. She rubbed her head and asked, “Do you think Miles could drive me home?”

Eloise put her arm around her. “That was the oddest malady, Miles and I both slept the entire evening.”

“And you missed your drive with Mr. Steele.” Mercy commiserated.

Eloise frowned in Mr. Steele’s direction. “And what’s worse is now he won’t even look at me.”

Mercy shook her head. “I’ve been told he’s very pompous. Much too important to be stood up for a case of the vapors.”

Eloise stamped her foot. “It wasn’t vapors. I don’t know what it was, but it wasn’t intentional.”

“Of course not,” Mercy said, hugging Eloise. She broke away, noticing the returning youth. “Oh dear, here comes my lemonade.”

They both watched the ruddy boy weave through the crowd bearing the lemonade like a lantern.

“And now you’ll have to chat with him to repay his kindness, and he looks about as conversational as a turnip.” Eloise stood on her tiptoes. “I’m sure Miles would love to take you home.” Eloise constantly schemed to place Mercy and Miles in close proximity. “If we can ease him from the gaming tables.”

Mercy pointed across the room. “Look, here comes Donovan.” Eloise’s would be suitor had spotted her and bore down on them like a beagle with a fallen bird in view.

Eloise’s mouth turned down. “He’s too tame.”

“I think he’s darling.” Dark, brown-eyed, and built like Adonis, the man could pose as Greek statuary. “Kissable lips.”

Eloise looked at him over her fan. “You don’t find him, I don’t know, predictable?”

Well, there was that. There was no arguing that Donavon had made Eloise his objective and seemed impossible to thwart off-course. He beelined their direction.

“Will you dance with him?”

“Again? I thought I’d lost him.”

Mercy laughed. “Is that why you’re hiding out here with me?”

“HA! So you admit it! You are hiding!”

“As are you! Now, will you help me find Miles or will you dance with Donovan?”

Eloise tapped her chin with her fan, her eyes lingering on the approaching Donovan. Mercy knew her answer.

“Well, if you’re sure you don’t want to dance,” Eloise said, drawing out her words.

“I’m really sure,” Mercy said.

“Very well, I’m sure you can find Miles in the card room.”

Mercy drew her friend in tight hug. “Thank-you.”

Donovan arrived at Eloise’s elbow looking flushed and lovesick. “It would be much more fun if you stayed,” Eloise said over her shoulder as Donovan drew her away, his face a study of love mingled with determination.

“I’m afraid I won’t be any fun tonight.” Mercy squeezed her friend’s hand and then watched her move away with Donovan. Mercy ducked behind a pillar and watched the young man bearing her lemonade circle the room, clearly confused. Mercy stayed in the back, mindful to keep in the corners where the flickering wall sconces did little to break the darkness. A glimmering chandelier bedecked with innumerable candles and pieces of cut crystal hung in above the center of the ballroom, but Mercy stayed where the chairs lined the walls, avoiding the boy with the lemonade and anyone else who tried to make eye contact.

The lobby’s double doors stood open and a cool breeze blew down the deserted hall. Mercy took a deep breath. It felt good to be free of the ballroom’s perfume and body odors. The music, blaring and jingling in the other room muted to a background noise. The tension in her shoulders eased.

Tables, men and smoke filled the gaming salon. Mercy stood outside the door considering how best to flush out Miles. Long, lanky with dark curly hair, Miles lounged in his chair, looking at his cards with a smirk on his lips.

Mercy’s heart picked up speed when she recognized Wallace. He looked just as handsome and brutish as he had on the ship. She stepped deeper into the alcove, praying he wouldn’t notice her. As if he read her thoughts, he glanced up at Mercy with ice blue eyes and then returned to his cards. From her vantage point she could see he held a pair of kings and three fours. He hadn’t recognized her. The relief made her knees weak.

Miles also looked up and Mercy waved, but he didn’t see her. There were a number of women in the room. Mercy could join Miles without jeopardizing her reputation, but she held back, uncertain and uncomfortable about sharing a room with Wallace.

“Have you forgiven me for stealing your tart?” Trent spoke into her ear. His breath fanned across her neck and sent a warm tingle down her back.

Mercy turned, heat flaming her face. “Mr. Michaels --”

“When you said you had plans this evening, I didn’t know they included cards,” Trent said

“I’m not much of a poker player.”

“Really? That surprises me. You hide your motivations so well.”

“That’s good to know.” She looked up at him. He stood a fraction too close and she had to bend to look at his face. “I’m glad to see you. I wanted to ask you a question.”

He raised his eyebrow.

“And beg your pardon for the tart misunderstanding,” she continued in a subdued tone. Miles’ prolonged nap hinted at the fate of the missing rhubarb tart.

“Would you like to walk in the garden?” When he offered her his arm, she took it and let him lead her through the deserted lobby. Trent picked up their cloaks from the coat check.

A cool moist breeze blew in from the Sound and played with her curls. Mercy paused on the hotel steps and pulled her cloak over her shoulders. She thought about the freedoms she’d enjoyed on the ship, how the others had curled into balls of sea sickness, but she had wandered the decks in male clothing, stargazing, and dreaming of a new life in Seattle. The sea and sky had opened up to her, dark and immense, and anything had seemed possible. She’d thought she’d left behind the terror of Mr. Steele, but the nightmare had followed. Knowing she had no where left to hide, she clung to Trent’s arm and struggled with indecision. Could she trust him? Would he help her if he knew she’d left Steele for dead in a cramped New York sitting room? Would an association with her pose a threat to him and his family?

Trent stopped beneath an arbor. Rose buds dotted the thorny vines climbing the wood trellis. In a few weeks the buds would blossom, but for the moment, they were pinched closed, with only a promise for the future. Honeysuckle spread over the soggy ground and the scent masked the odors of the nearby stable.

“Your question?” Trent studied her face. She could feel him watching her for signs of deception. He didn’t trust her anymore than she trusted him. Why would he?

“Why did you break into Steele’s room?”

He grinned and she itched for her umbrella. “Do not tell me you went solely to please me, I won’t believe you.”

“Then perhaps you won’t believe my honest answer.”

“Do you have honest answers?” She remembered the bag of jewels she’d seen that night in his coach. Since Tilly had told her that his family was one of oldest and best established in Seattle, she no longer believed that he’d stoop to petty larceny. Unless their family had seen a reversal of fortune. Possible, and yet, looking into his open face, she couldn’t believe it.

“I’m not so different from you --” he began.

She shook her head, looking away, remembering Steele’s blood staining the New York carpet. “We’re very different,” she said.