Timeless Passion: 10 Historical Romances To Savor (2 page)

“I don’t … that is, I’m uncertain of his address.” Her fingers sought her skirt, and she forced her hands to still.

“I’ve lived in this area most of my life and have a great many friends and contacts. Give me your friend’s name. If I don’t know him I can find someone who does.”

This would never do. Edith had to get rid of Trahern. She stood, drawing herself up to her full height, which had her staring at his neck. And a very nice neck it was too. She shooed away the errant thought and waited for him to back up out of courtesy. He didn’t. She fought the excitement of close proximity by summoning her best chilly reserve. The one she used to discourage familiarity with servants who saw her as an equal because Grandfather treated her just as harshly as the help.

“Really, Mr. Trahern, you need not concern yourself further in my affairs. I am quite capable of fending for myself.” The words emerged firm and even, no longer nervous and shaking.

• • •

Maybe back east she was capable of managing on her own, but Dutch didn’t think for a minute that Mrs. Smithfeld could safely navigate San Francisco’s rougher waters. He studied her. Earlier, he’d caught a glimpse of porcelain skin and auburn curls, but she’d straightened her veil too quickly for him to see her face. Her form was nothing unusual, a bit thin perhaps but shapely enough and on the tall side for a woman. The navy serge dress and matching gloves told him only that she had an eye for quality goods and practical colors. However her movements, even while so obviously nervous, were extraordinarily graceful. Her voice was dark and smooth with a slight edge like the best chocolate. Her words implied an educated, cultured background. And she smelled like a field of daisies. Dutch found her clean simplicity powerfully attractive and wished he could see the face behind the obscuring cloth.

Why did she wear the veil anyway? Veils were hot and impeded vision. Worn to keep dust and dirt off the face, most women would raise a veil whenever possible, but Mrs. Smithfeld kept hers securely tucked and tied. Then there was her ramrod posture and her fidgeting fingers. All combined to rouse his suspicions that she wasn’t quite what she claimed to be. He despised liars, and if she hadn’t seemed so helpless, he would have obliged her and left.

She was right that her affairs were none of his business, but something — her slim rigidity or those nervous fingers perhaps — raised every protective instinct. He should leave her to her own devices. She was married for crissakes, or claimed to be, but he couldn’t make himself walk away when she was so distressed.

“No doubt you are capable of caring for your safety in your own community. However, this is San Francisco. Trouble lurks for the unwary on every street corner and in every stoop. Our city is unfortunately full of rogues, thieves, and charlatans.”

Dutch waited for her reply and tried to penetrate her veil. He wanted, needed to see her features. To see truth or lies on her face.

Her shoulders trembled.

Had he upset her? Was she crying?

“Which are you?”

Dutch shook his head. “Which what am I?”

“Are you a rogue, a thief, or a charlatan?”

She was laughing at him. His brow lowered. “None, I’m a businessman.”

“Really?” Her voice was low and touched with humor. “You did not include businessmen on your list of San Francisco’s populace.”

He reached into his coat pocket, withdrew a card, and handed it to her.

“I’m Dutch Trahern of Trahern-Smiley Import & Export.”

She accepted his card. “I appreciate your concern, and I thank you for your warning. Nonetheless I must refuse your kind offer. Even in San Francisco a lone woman who accepts the escort of a stranger for any appreciable distance must be considered unpardonably fast.”

Unbidden and unwanted the memory of his mother in the company of strange men rose like bile. She’d always refused his pleas for her to stay home. The same helplessness he’d felt then knotted his chest now. He sucked in a deep breath and forced back the image, the feelings, to focus on Mrs. Smithfeld. Short of abducting her, he’d done everything he could. Frustration tightened his mouth. “I can see I’m unable to change your mind.”

She nodded.

“At least,” he continued. “Allow me to walk you to the ferry. The dock is very close by.”

After some hesitation she nodded once more. “If it will help to put your mind at rest, I accept. A short walk in the open would be unexceptionable.”

“This way.” He hefted her trunk onto one shoulder and grasped both her carpet bags with the other hand.

As they walked he explained which offers of transport could be trusted, which to avoid, and how to find the best lodging. He saw her safely settled on the ferry and wished her well.

A mix of worry, regret, and relief tugged at his chest as the vessel disappeared into the fog. Why had he pushed to insert himself into Mrs. Smithfeld’s business? She was a presentable female, so some amount of attraction was understandable, but that was hardly reason enough to desert Smiley and risk having their informant get away.

That porter had information about human cargo being secretly brought to San Francisco aboard Trahern-Smiley vessels. The flesh trade disgusted Dutch for personal as well as moral reasons. Horrifying as white slavery was, he knew that he couldn’t stop it. What he could do was ensure that neither he or his business and associates had any involvement with flesh peddlers. Dutch was determined to halt the use of his ships for anything other than legitimate business. Only his brother Trey was more important than the business that anchored their respectability. Dutch could not explain why he allowed one solitary woman to distract him from protecting that respectability. Shaking his head, he turned his back on the approaching fog and set off to discover if Smiley had caught the porter.

CHAPTER TWO

San Francisco docks, the following night

Trouble stood within a pool of lantern light. The night was chilly and unusually clear. Dutch tugged down on the knitted black cap that covered his blond hair. One gleam of moonlight on his head would blow the entire mission. Satisfied the cap was secure he peered through an open porthole into the wheelhouse of the steamship Arrowhead where evil incarnate threatened a young Chinese man.

“I don’t think you understand, Yat Hwah, I’m changing the terms of the agreement.”

The speaker, an elegant woman with café au lait skin, stood halfway across the room and pointed a derringer at the slim man seated behind a chart table.

Cerise Duval. Dutch broke into a sweat despite the chill air.
Not good. Not good at all
. The information wrestled from the porter the previous day proved accurate. The Chinaman — San Francisco’s strongest Tong boss — duped Chinese women into paying him for transportation from China to their families or husbands in California then sold the women into prostitution, thus profiting on both ends of the deal. The latest shipment came in tonight and was supposed to be off-loaded just before dawn. With that knowledge, Dutch had expected to find someone in charge almost as depraved as Duval. She was exactly the type to purchase new flesh to peddle. The only surprise was that San Francisco’s most notorious madam, his personal nemesis, would do her dirty work herself. He shuddered recalling a time, years ago, when all she had to do was raise a brow at his blue-eyed innocence and he’d do her bidding from sheer terror.

But he was no longer a frightened youth to be manipulated by threats. He’d developed very strong standards of behavior and would not put them aside lightly.

Duval’s moral compass pointed directly to instant gratification of her every desire, and she visited painful vengeance on any who opposed her. Unlike that Mrs. Smithfeld yesterday, who had denied herself an escort in a strange place to maintain her principles of proper behavior. Odds were his veiled lady was honest and chaste — wouldn’t be caught dead in a bordello, if she even knew what one was. She was exactly the kind of woman he needed to cement his respectable reputation and put the past permanently in the past. He gave himself a mental shake.
Stay focused. She occupies your mind too much
.
Stop thinking of her as yours; stop thinking of her at all. She’s married to someone else — the lucky dog
.

“Our arrangement cannot be changed.” The carefully clipped words signaled the seated man’s anger. “The merchandise waits in the forward hold to be unloaded. Our other clients expect delivery in full tonight.”

Dutch grinned. Confirmation that the cargo was still on board was a bonus and would make rescuing the captives easier.

His brother, Trey, and their partner, Smiley, would get the women off the ship. Dutch’s job was to make sure the smugglers didn’t interfere.

“I’m your primary client, and I haven’t taken delivery yet, so negotiations are still open,” murmured Duval.

She stood at a sharp angle to Dutch’s line of sight. Her unmistakable honey on steel tones populated his worst nightmares. The ones of his boyhood spent doing her depraved bidding. Gorge climbed in his throat, but he swallowed it back along with the memory of sexual acts and worse that no child — and he had been a child at the start — should have to perform. Too much of his youth had been endured as her personal toy until murder and Father Lucas Conroy allowed Dutch to escape.

His desertion blotted her reputation as a dangerous woman, and she’d made it her mission to cause him trouble. He’d succeeded in achieving a respectable life despite her machinations. Now here he was, braving her wrath again.

“My master must approve any change,” protested the slim Chinese.

“We don’t have time for that. Either you agree to give me three more girls of my choice or I’ll kill you where you sit and take them all. Then the Chinaman will lose all of his merchandise and his most trusted aide.”

Dutch sucked in a silent breath. Guaranteed, anything that involved Duval would be shady at best, but Cerise hooking up with San Francisco’s the powerful Tong boss was just plain bad news.

“You may not take any of the children.”

Dutch’s knot of nausea shredded in the face of rock solid determination.
She won’t do to any other child what she did to me
.

“I’ll take what I want. Some of my customers prefer young girls, even if they are Chinese.”

“My master will not be pleased.”

“I don’t give a damn if the Chinaman is pleased or not, get the keys to that hold. I want to take my new whores out of here before Father Conroy and his vigilante pals get wind of tonight’s activities.”

“Do not worry about the vigilantes; my master has arranged a distraction.”

So that’s why Father Conroy sent me the message that he wouldn’t be able to assist with tonight’s rescue
. The vigilante leader was nearly as savvy as the Chinaman, but the priest couldn’t be in two places at once. Father Lucas was the one person willing to take in a gutter born youth and his brother, showing Dutch the way out of Duval’s grasp and the Barbary Coast. More than history, they shared an interest in destroying the flesh trade. But now was no time to wonder what distraction kept the priest and his committee busy. Dutch needed to make sure that Trey and Smiley had rescued the women.

“Count on the Chinaman to think of almost everything. Now get that key.” Duval issued a throaty chuckle and gestured with the derringer.

Dutch shifted his head, looking toward the opening of the forward hold.

Three dark figures climbed out then huddled aside. Concern clenched his jaw.
That’s not enough
.
Retrieving the women is taking too long. We’re going to get caught.
He had to stop Duval and her cohort.

From inside the wheelhouse he heard a drawer open and close. The scrape of a chair against the deck followed.

He backed through the shadows toward the hold. He could do nothing to hurry the rescue along, but he could delay Duval and the Chinese man. Halting behind one of the stacks of crates littering the deck, Dutch drew his pistol and kept his eyes trained on the wheelhouse. Hiding his tall frame and nearly too wide shoulders behind the column of skinny boxes wasn’t easy, but he managed.

The door opened.

Lantern light preceded the two flesh peddlers.

The shadows around Dutch deepened. He took careful aim.
Shoot straight
.
Don’t set the ship ablaze
.
Just put out the flame.

With his target scant feet away, he fired.

The light doused. From behind him, female screams followed the gunshot and the crack of breaking glass.

“Dang it, no. Not that way!” Trey’s voice cursed in the dark.

“I’ve got mine on the gangway,” shouted Smiley.

Dutch grinned. His partner always knew which way to go.

“Damn it, Yat Hwah; they’re escaping. Get another light. We have to catch them.” Furious was a good word for Duval’s tone.

Dutch prayed that shooting out the light would give Trey enough time to round up the last of the women and get them off the ship.

“Gotcha.” Trey sounded too close.

A woman howled a rapid spate of angry Chinese.

“Owww! Goldurnit, one of ’em bit me.” Trey swore.

To head off Duval and her Chinese friend, Dutch moved toward his brother’s voice. He nearly tripped over three Chinese women huddled in mid-deck.

Trey knelt on their far side, shoving at them to get them up and moving.

A beam of light swept over the group.

“After them,” shouted Duval.

The trio of women split. Two scampered for the gangway. The smallest scuttled for the shelter of the crates Dutch had just left.

“Go with them,” Dutch pointed his brother in the direction of the two disappearing down the gangway. “I’ll get the other one.”

Trey scrambled after the pair.

Dutch spun toward the crate.

“I am afraid I must disappoint you.” The slim Chinese man held the sobbing captive in front of him, a wicked dagger pressed to her throat. The re-lit lantern rested on the deck.

“You kill her; I kill you,” Dutch threatened, aiming his pistol at the man.