The Marrying Kind (17 page)

Aw, hell, he thought. This isn't what he'd meant when he'd told Libby to leave his house, not for her to run off like this. He'd have taken her to the depot and even bought a ticket for her, if she hadn't purchased a round-trip fare. He sure never wanted her making her way around the city on her own. Even though ridding himself of Libby is what he'd thought he wanted, Donovan buried his face in his hands.

* * *

Several blocks northeast of Donovan's home, Libby reached up and tentatively knocked on a door marked "manager." Amazed at the number of gamblers huddled around the faro table so early in the morning, she tugged her working hat even lower, to hide her face, and impatiently rapped on the door again. It opened at that same moment.

"Well, hello," said Lil, clearly surprised to find Libby standing there. She glanced behind her. "Where's Donovan?"

"Good morning, ma'am. I don't know."

Lil looked her up and down, smirked, and said, "Then what the hell are you doing here?"

Chapter 9

Just before the door slammed shut in her face, Libby impulsively stuck her foot between it and the jamb. Biting back the urge to cry out as the door smashed against the soft kid leather of her new shoes, she grimaced and said between clenched teeth, "Please? Just give me a minute to explain. Donovan threw me out of his house, and I have nowhere else to go."

Lil pulled the door back a little, easing the pressure on Libby's foot. "He threw you out, you say? Donovan threw you out of his home?"

Swallowing her pride along with the ache in her throat, Libby nodded.

"Well, I'll be..." Lil stared at her a moment longer, looking puzzled, then pulled Libby inside her office and closed the door. "That doesn't sound like Donovan at all. He takes everyone in, and for as long as they need to stay. Was it because of our little tiff, you think?"

Her shoulders stiff, Libby managed a little shrug. The last thing she wanted was for
that
subject to enter the conversation. "I can't really say for sure, Mrs. Donovan, but—"

"I'm nobody's misses. Never have been, never will be. Call me Lil."

Libby could have kicked herself. She'd known that Donovan was a bastard—how could she have made such a blunder? "As I was saying, I think Donovan is having a little trouble getting used to the idea of having the Savage family in his life. With me underfoot, it may be too much for him. I can't say, for sure."

"The only thing you said that makes sense is him trying to get used to that damnable R. T. Savage. As for you—hell, his place is usually teeming with folks that don't have anywhere else to go. What'd you do to make him toss you out?"

"Nothing, I swear."

Lil studied her a moment, then her gaze fell to Libby's valise, as if noticing it for the first time. She took it from her and stashed it in a corner of her tiny office. Then she gestured toward the chair behind the desk. "Have a seat, dear. Maybe we do have a few things to talk about."

Although she felt ill at ease, especially taking the only seat in the tiny office, Libby quickly circled the desk and sat down. Lil didn't waste any time grilling her.

"How long have you been staying with Donovan now?"

"Almost two weeks, I guess."

"Hmmm." The skirts of her shiny peach gown swishing noisily, she began pacing, tossing off the next question as easily as if asking Libby if she'd like a cup of tea. "May I assume then, that during that time you've been keeping my son's bed warm?"

Libby didn't know whether she was more shocked by the question or the fact that Donovan's mother was asking it. She took an entire minute to gather herself enough to answer. When she was able to speak, her cheeks felt as if they were aflame. "No, ma'am, you may not assume such a thing. I had my own room, and there I stayed. Alone."

"Really?"
Looking even more puzzled than before, Lil gave the worn carpet and her feet a rest. Then she studied Libby a moment, taking special note of her odd little bonnet. "Except for your taste in hats, and when you're wearing buckskins and pigtails, you ain't a bad looking gal. Why aren't you sleeping with him?"

For this, Libby had no answer; but she suddenly wanted desperately to talk it out with another woman. Since her father died, there really hadn't been anyone for her to confide in, at least, not an intimate with the wisdom of an adult. Oh, she and Jeremy shared a lot, but he couldn't possibly understand what was going on with her now or make any more sense of the circumstances than Libby could. Even Dell, God love her, wouldn't be much help since the only thing that interested her, where men were concerned, was a fat bank account. Yet, for some reason, and in spite of Lil's cold, apparently selfish ways, Libby felt she could confide in the woman without reservation.

Deciding to trust that instinct, she admitted, "He, er, did try to get me to come stay in his room the other night." She could feel her cheeks growing hotter by the minute. "But I—well, he was a little drunk, and I got too scared to go with him."

"Scared... of what? Whiskey doesn't make Donovan mean—he don't drink too much often, but when he does, it puts him to sleep. There ain't but one reason I can think of for a woman to turn tail and run from a man like Donovan." Lil chuckled as she added, "And it's been so long since either of us crossed paths with a woman of virtue, I doubt we'd recognize her."

Libby couldn't stop her embarrassed groan or prevent the sudden splash of color on her cheeks. Lil's bright blue eyes grew huge. "Oh, come on," she chided. "You're not trying to tell me that you've never... that you're as pure as the driven snow."

"Except for a few of Donovan's shameless kisses, yes, ma'am, that's exactly what I'm saying." Libby held her head high, but avoided meeting his mother's gaze.

Lil, who'd been pacing again, came to an abrupt halt. "In that case, I suggest you run as fast as you can. Go back to Laramie, and never think of him again."

"Oh, no, ma'am. I can't do that."

"And why not?"

Libby, who wasn't used to baring her heart and soul this way to anyone, much less to a woman such as this, hedged a little as she admitted, "I like Donovan a lot, enough that I don't want to go back just yet."

"In other words, you're falling in love with him?"

Libby sighed. "I think that maybe I am."

"Then get out of town before you take the tumble, because you'll only get your heart—and your virtue—destroyed." Lil leaned across the desk. "Donovan's a bit of a cold shake when it comes to personal attachments." She uttered a short, harsh laugh. "Wonder where he gets it."

"I'll keep that in mind." Libby needed a change of subject. "There's another reason I'm here, and it has nothing to do with your son. Will you help me?"

"If you expect to get anything out of me, you'd best get one thing straight right now." Lil flattened both palms against her desk. "I've gone to a lot of trouble around here to hide the fact that Donovan and I are mother and son. It's strictly for business purposes, you understand. I think it's better for both of us if the employees believe that we're simply good friends. If you want to stay around here, you won't refer to him as my son again."

"No, ma'am, I won't."

Lil straightened and gave Libby a little smile. "And quit calling me ma'am. I'm sure as hell not your mother." Libby had to chuckle over that, and at once felt at ease. Laughing with her, Lil said, "Now let's get down to bedrock. Why have you come to me? I've already told you what kind of man Donovan is, and I can't change his mind if he doesn't want you around."

"Oh, no, I wasn't looking for help with him. I need a place to stay and a little help learning how to get along with society-type folks, is all."

"You mean the Savages, don't you?"

It was the first time Lil had looked angry since Libby had twisted her arm. Libby quickly explained about her newspaper, and what she hoped to accomplish with R. T. A few moments later, Lil was laughing.

"In that case," she said, pacing again. "I can help you out with a room, I expect. As for the rest, I'll warn you right now, I don't know a whole lot about society or 'respectable' folks."

"You know more than I do, I'll wager." Libby pushed out of the chair. "I want to thank you for talking to me and for the offer of the room. I wasn't sure, after what happened, you know, with us and all—"

"I think we'd best forget that for now. As for the rest," Lil clucked, "I don't do nothing for free, sugar—I learned that little lesson a long time ago. You've seen what kind of a place I run here. If you can't sing, dance, or serve drinks, then I don't see how I can help you. You sure an innocent like you is up to working here?"

Libby gave herself a minute to think it over. She didn't know much about singing, dancing, or serving drinks, but she realized that she did know one thing for sure right then—she loved Donovan at least enough to give it a try. "My pa used to say that I couldn't carry a tune in a corked jug, and I never did learn how to dance, but I think I can serve drinks without much trouble."

Raising her eyebrows with admiration, Lil said, "All right. But before I hire you, let's talk about what you can do for me."

* * *

At around five the following afternoon, Donovan managed to slip off on his own for the first time since he'd stepped through the sumptuous portals of the Savage family estate, high atop Nob Hill. Discreetly concealing himself behind the lush fronds of a potted palm tree in the corner of the ballroom, he sipped a glass of champagne and watched as a parade of beautifully turned-out men and women paid homage to his father.

They were passing in hordes through the ballroom on the main floor of the mansion, the nattily suited gentlemen commiserating with R. T. over the loss of his son, the bejeweled ladies in velvet and satin ball gowns falling all over themselves in an effort to become acquainted with the handsome son R. T. had recently found. Through it all, Donovan remained aloof, neither taken by his new family, their lavish home, and their affluent friends, nor affronted by any of it either. He remained a distant observer, his curious nature the main reason he'd come to the affair in the first place, and even found himself mildly amused by some of the antics he'd witnessed since stepping into the manse—that is, with the exception of his introduction into society.

Despite his new siblings' efforts to make him feel comfortable, Donovan still felt awkward and embarrassed around them. He sensed gazes on himself, curious speculative eyes of strangers wondering, no doubt, about his mother and the circumstances of his birth—wondering, too, he supposed, whether this "newfound" son had blackmailed his way into the Savage family. He even supposed he was providing his father's guests with a little entertainment.

Most of the entertainment for Donovan did not come from those curious guests or the tuxedoed jugglers slowly rotating around the Italian marble fountain gracing the center of the room. Nor did the serving girls, their lithe young bodies barely covered by Grecian drapes, catch his eye for long. He was having far more fun watching his brothers, Thomas and Francis, greet the other millionaires as they arrived, each trying to outdo the other when it came to dazzling their guests with glib rhetoric.

And then there was Susan, the sister Donovan had long wished for, a genteel, polite woman, attractive enough to have captured the heart of an honest-to-God duke with close ties to the Crown, no less. And yet she was not quite the sort of sister his childhood dreams had conjured. She lacked something he craved but for the life of him, he couldn't figure what.

Perhaps, Donovan thought, berating himself, he was being too demanding, too critical and wasn't giving this newfound family of his a chance. Maybe if he was to seek them out, to actually engage one of his siblings in a private conversation, he might discover a common ground that had nothing to do with his suddenly enviable bloodlines.

Donovan was just trying to decide whether to start with one of his brothers, or dear sweet Susan, when he noticed another woman being escorted into the room by one of several purple-liveried servants. She looked vaguely familiar at first glance, but Donovan might have thought nothing of it had he not decided to take a second look at the newcomer. That's when he caught her surreptitiously scanning the room with a pair of spectacles perched near the tip of her nose. Libby had crashed the party.

He didn't have any idea where she'd gotten it, but she was dressed in a flashy gown of bright rose-colored sateen that sported a scandalously low-cut bodice of emerald velvet. At the valley between her breasts, where the gown dipped to its lowest, she wore a large satin rose that matched the skirt of the gown. He'd imagined Libby at this shindig more than once already, and with a good deal of remorse as he pictured her wide-eyed curiosity and bubbling laughter over some of the excesses he'd witnessed here today. But never had he dreamed that she'd actually show up. And yet, there she was, nervously making her way across the ballroom.

She was glancing this way and that, searching, Donovan supposed, for his father. When she was close enough, he reached out and grabbed her arm. "What the hell are you doing here?" he demanded.