Wings of a Dove (48 page)

    But James did not return her smile. Instead, his expression remaining solemn, he searched her face intently in an uncharacteristic silence that raised a sudden apprehension within her. Allie's heart began a rapid, erratic pounding as he finally spoke in a low, uneven tone.

    "I've come to a decision, Allie. I think you should leave at the end of the week."

    The library of Otis Davidson's Terrace Row home reverberated with silent tension as Delaney held the older man's gaze unflinchingly. Impervious to the anger reflected in Davidson's tight expression and to the symbols of old money discreetly displayed in the extensive collection of leather-bound volumes filling the shelves behind the great mahogany desk, in the painting on the side wall, which bore the signature of an old master, and in the manner of the man himself, Delaney pressed his point relentlessly.

    "Chicago is the Gem City of the Prairie, the Garden City, the Queen City. Thirteen major railroads service it, and it is the fastest growing city in the country. Doesn't it bother you that, despite your family's wealth and social prominence, your contribution to this city includes one of its seediest, most disreputable slums?"

    "Mr. Marsh…" Mr. Davidson paused in an obvious attempt to temper his response. The lines of his narrow, mustached face tightened further and his lips twitched revealingly as he drew himself more rigidly erect. "I admit to nothing more than considerable surprise at the ignorance with which you have approached this interview."

    Delaney had all he could do not to laugh aloud. He had succeeded in getting the superior old bastard too furious for his usual double-talk. Making certain not to allow a trace of his satisfaction at that thought to become visible, Delaney responded with a raised brow.

    "Ignorance? You're mistaken, Mr. Davidson. You may rest assured that I am aware of the extent of your holdings in Healy Slough and Conley's Patch. I can describe each and every street to youth dilapidated houses, the sagging porches and stair  cases that put life and limb at risk, and the filth that has accumulated there and continues to grow. I've walked those streets been in those houses. Can you say the same?"

    "That section of town is only a portion of my holdings in this city, and if you've done your research as well as you say, Mr. Marsh, you're well aware of that fact."

    "I'm aware that you're a wealthy man, Mr. Davidson. I'm also aware that you profit almost as much from those slums as you do from other properties you own and that you don't return a penny of your profits in improvements that are desperately needed."

    "How I run my business is not the concern of you or your newspaper, Mr. Marsh!"

    "That's where you're wrong. You're profiting from the poverty and misery of those who are less fortunate than you. You're robbing the poor even as you deprive them of hope as well, and that is my business."

    "How dare you!" A heated flush transfused Otis Davidson's face, and he took a step forward. The nostrils of his aquiline nose flared briefly with rage. "How dare you attempt to tell me how to manage my affairs! I admit to no culpability whatever for the condition of those two areas. They're my holdings, but I am not to blame for the irresponsibility of the scum that chooses to live there!"

    "That 'scum' pays you good rent."

    "That 'scum' makes its own filth and would return that area to the same condition of disrepair within weeks of any improvements I might implement!"

    Delaney's dark brows rose in an exaggerated expression of surprise. "Is that so? On what basis have you come to that conclusion, Mr. Davidson? According to my investigations, it's been years since you have financed as much as a single nail head in repair of your holdings there."

    His narrow chest heaving beneath the expensive fabric of his well-tailored jacket, Otis Davidson clamped his mouth tightly closed as he retreated to the chair behind his mahogany desk. When he spoke again his voice was cold and dismissive.

    "This interview has come to an end, Mr. Marsh. I can see no point in continuing this discussion further. My business affairs are not the concern of the
Tribune
or you."

        "Wrong again, Mr. Davidson. The
Tribune
has a deep interest in the welfare of the residents of Chicago, even those poor immigrants who have nowhere to go but the dilapidated housing you offer."

    "Slums
they
have created!"

    "Slums you perpetuate with greed and a lack of concern for the people who have come to this country seeking a better life. You take their money and steal their hope."

    "Out! Out of my house, and don't come back!" Livid, Otis Davidson rose and rounded the corner of his desk with a rapid, angry step that brought him face to face with the taller man. "And you may tell your newspaper editor that I'll respond with a libel suit to any unfavorable comments he might publish about the manner in which I conduct my business. Is that understood?"

    Delaney smiled for the first time. "Libel can be claimed only if the statements made are untrue, Mr. Davidson. But I can see I've upset you, and I think it's probably best that I leave now. I'll contact you again in the near future so we might continue this interview."

    Davidson's cold stare was his silent response.

    Delaney turned to the door, aware that Otis Davidson followed close behind. He drew the door open, immediately spotting a beautiful, startled young woman standing in the hallway nearby. Walking toward her with an innocuous smile, he took her hand in greeting.

    "It's a pleasure to see you again, Miss Davidson. My name is Delaney Marsh. We met at the charity concert last May. I've been interviewing your father, but he has run out of time. Perhaps you and I will meet again when I return to finish the interview." Turning back to the seething gentleman, Delaney smiled more broadly. "Good-bye, Mr. Davidson. I'll contact you soon."

    "You'll be wasting your time and mine, Mr. Marsh."

    "We'll see."

    Aware of the intense stares that followed him, Delaney accepted his hat from the maid at the door. The door clicked closed behind him as he started down the front steps, satisfied with the first in a series of interviews he was determined to conduct with Otis Davidson II.

    "Arrogant, insufferable"

    Sybil turned to face her irate father. The beauty of her patrician brow was compromised by a frown. "Father, I've never seen you so furious. What happened?"

    "Insolent, irritating"

    "Father…"

    "that man came here today on the pretense of conducting an interview regarding the Davidson family's contribution to Chicago's growth. He then proceeded to attack me and my policies with regard to the immigrant problem in this city. The man has more gall than"

    "Delaney Marsh is a respected journalist, Father. He was honored for his work as a correspondent during the war."

    "I don't give a damn who he is or what he's done! He's not getting in this house again! And I don't want to hear any more about him."

    Turning on his heel, Davidson walked back into the library and slammed the door behind him.

    The pale floral print of her gown enhancing the beauty of her vibrant coloring and classic features, Sybil remained where her father left her. She suddenly gave a short laugh. Raising her left hand to smooth the upward sweep of hair at the nape of her neck, she slowly uncurled her right, which Delaney had taken so politely in greeting. One of her own hairpins lay in her palm.

    Arrogant, insufferable, possessed of tremendous galleys, Delaney was all those things. He was also handsome, intelligent, quick-witted, and daring, and every inch of her cried out to be loved by him. She had never met a man like Delaney Marsh before, not in the boring social circle in which her father would have her travel. She had kept her association with Delaney a secret from her father to eliminate the possibility of his interference until she was more certain of Delaney's devotion. But she was now unsure as to the prudence of that decision. Judging from her knowledge of her father and the depth of his anger, she suspected that Delaney had deliberately provoked him.

    Delaney was up to something, and it irked her that he had not even mentioned his impending interview with her father when she was with him the night before. But then, that was just another of Delaney's attempts to put distance between them, and she'd be damned if she would let him succeed.

    A small smile played around her perfect lips as Sybil raised her chin and took a deep, firm breath. But these problems were all temporary. In the end she would let neither her father's anger nor Delaney's reticence interfere with her plans. She was well aware of her attributes, both physical and material. She was all a man could ever want in a woman, and she would make sure Delaney realized it.

    And whatever his game was now, damn him, she would not let Delaney Marsh get away!

    Twilight had tempered the brightness of day, casting the familiar kitchen of the Case farmhouse into shadows. Allie's gaze strayed to a point outside the window despite the seriousness of the conversation that had caused James's sun-reddened brow to wrinkle into a frown. Taking a short step forward, he followed the line of her gaze. He saw Margaret standing in the doorway of the barn, a small black and white kitten in her arms. Her face was veiled by a fall of pale hair across her cheek, but it was obvious by the motions of her head and her gentle stroking of the feline's fur that she was deep into a one-sided conversation with the purring animal. James's heart softened. There were times when the depth of love he felt for Margaret astounded him.

    Turning his attention back to Allie, James was aware that for all intents and purposes she had forgotten his existence. A possessive love welling inside him, he took a step closer and drew Allie's slender frame back against his chest. A sweet fragrance rose from the pale silk of her hair, so similar in color to her daughter's, but the fragrance was Allie's alone. It intoxicated him and he pulled her closer still.

    "Oh, James, I'm sorry. My mind was wandering. What were you saying?"

    Taking advantage of the opportunity her soft apology offered as she turned to him, James claimed her parted lips. The joy he experienced in Allie had not abated in the years they had been together. He knew it never would, but realizing it was not time to indulge the emotion that always lay so close to the surface when Allie was near, James drew back.

    Allie glanced again toward the window.

    "She's such a frail little thing, isn't she, James?"

    "Allie, you of all people should realize appearances are deceiving."

    "But Margaret"

    Allie's response went unfinished as Margaret lowered the kitten to the ground and gave it a gentle shove to start it back into the barn. James felt Allie tense as the child started toward the house, walking with a pained, ragged limp. Margaret's lurching gait worsened as she continued her approach, and James felt Allie's shudder.

    Abruptly halting, Margaret glanced over her shoulder toward the barn. Two little furry heads appeared in the doorway behind her, and after a few seconds' hesitation, she turned laboriously back in the direction from which she had come. The child was obviously determined to return the kittens to the safety of their mother's care before she came inside, and James was grateful for the few additional moments of privacy she would allow them.

    "You don't have any choice, Allie. Dr. Lindstrom is due to arrive at the clinic next week."

    Avoiding his eye, Allie bit her lip with obvious anxiety, and James fought to subdue the protective feelings rising within him.

    "I… I don't know if I want to take the risk, James. Margaret's so young."

    "You don't really mean that, Allie. Margaret's hip is deteriorating rapidly. Do you want to wait until she's completely crippled?"

    "We don't have the money right now, James."

    Resurgence of an old guilt rose to color James's face. "You left Margaret in my care that day. It's my fault she was injured. If an operation can help her, I'll get the money."

    Allie shook her head in vehement denial. "It wasn't your fault. It was an accident. You had no way of knowing Margaret would find her way into that stall."

    "I should have watched her."

    "James, she was so young and you thought she was asleep."

    James nodded. "And because of my mistake Margaret will soon be completely crippled."

    Allie glanced away, and James realized she struggled to suppress tears. But he would not relent.

    "Allie, if you put this consultation off, it may be too late. Dr. Peters has no idea how long Dr. Lindstrom will remain in Chicago before he continues his tour. He's already made arrangements for you to stay at the home of an acquaintance who owns a boarding house in the city."

    "II don't think this is the right time, James."

    "Allie, I'd go with you if I could, but you know I can't afford to hire someone to take care of the farm. Dr. Peters says you'll be safe with his friends. They've even consented to accompany you to the doctor if"

    Allie took a step closer, her faltering words halting his plea as she spoke in a hoarse whisper. "James, I'm afraid Dr. Lindstrom won't be able to help Margaret."