Читать книгу Charity House Courtship - Renee Ryan - Страница 11

Chapter Three

Laney tried to twist free, but Dupree’s hold tightened around her waist. “Be still,” he ordered.

His haughty tone slid over her, making her bolder than usual. “Or you’ll what? Hurt me?”

His arms jerked, just a bit, enough to tell her she’d hit her mark. “I’m not in the habit of harming women.”

“Then release me.”

He had the audacity to chuckle. “Not a chance, honey.”

Honey? Laney ground her teeth in frustration. But she wisely remained unmoving. As covertly as possible, she lifted her gaze and studied the window she’d just slipped through. How could Dupree have known she’d escape by way of that tiny opening?

He chuckled again. “I’m an observant man, Miss O’Connor. I watched you eye my window with the same longing that a land-bound sailor tosses at the sea.”

“How dare you?”

“I dare because I can.” He shifted his hold, drawing his arms tighter around her, as if he suspected she would make a break if he gave her an ounce of opportunity.

He was right, of course. The cad.

The knowledge that he could read her so easily sent a shiver of alarm skidding down her spine. Her bravado of only seconds before disappeared. Clearly, she’d underestimated the man.

A mistake she wouldn’t repeat.

She had to get away. But how? At the moment, he had the advantage. Unacceptable. She couldn’t allow him to keep her imprisoned in the alleyway where the dim light from the adjacent street made this encounter all too intimate. Terrifyingly so. “Let me go.”

“Not until you hand over Judge Greene’s money.”

“Money?” She struggled with every ounce of her strength, and managed to lengthen the space between them by an entire four inches. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“So we’re back to that. You might want to reconsider your denial in light of your present situation.” He spun her around to face him, clamped his hands on her shoulders and dropped an assessing glance over her. “As you must agree, you are in no position to argue.”

Far too aware of his hands on her shoulders, she swallowed back a sarcastic retort. She should be furious with indignation. Yet, as he held her trapped inside his gaze a strange, almost pleasant situation rippled through her.

What was wrong with her? This man was the enemy. The enemy! “You seem to be under the impression that you are in control right now.”

His fingers flexed, then gripped her again. Not any harder, just more securely. “Wonder where I’d come by such an idea?”

His smug attitude quickened the fight in her. Calling upon the lessons she’d learned from the friendly Chinese man at the mining camp outside Cheyenne, Laney dropped low, then bobbed to her right. She managed to surprise Dupree long enough to free herself for a full half second.

But he reached out, grasped her again then lifted her back to an upright position.

“Release me, you oaf.”

Placing her directly in front of him, he flattened his lips into a grim line. For a brief moment, their feet shuffled in a bizarre dance of wills while she tried to get free and he made sure she didn’t.

Fully in control of the situation, Dupree concluded their perplexing waltz once he had her in a spot where her only route of escape was through him.

Apparently satisfied with this new arrangement, he released her shoulders at last. “Now.” His low, gravelly drawl drifted through the air between them. “Where were we?”

A shudder of unease racked through her. “Your manly display of physical intimidation is rather pedestrian, don’t you think? Especially in light of the fact that I have done nothing wrong here tonight.”

“You claim innocence, yet you tried to make a quick escape before my return. And now that we’re on the subject.” His eyes narrowed over her. “I don’t remember giving you permission to borrow my clothes.”

She jerked her chin at him. “I’m not afraid of you.”

“You should be.”

Keeping her eyes locked with his, she faked to the right, then shifted quickly to her left. He shot out a restraining arm, and once again, moved her back to center.

“I’m warning you, Dupree—”

“Dispensing of the ‘mister,’ are we?”

Laney sniffed. “Mister implies a gentleman.” She trailed her gaze across his far too handsome face, down to his fancy vest then back again. “Regardless of the manner in which you dress, we both know you are no gentleman.”

“And since you are no lady, am I to assume we can dispense of any further pretense of good manners?”

Without waiting for her to respond, he reached out and captured a loose tendril of her hair, twined it around his finger.

For a long, stifling moment the strange sensation she’d experienced only moments before slipped through her again, freezing her into immobility. Why wasn’t she slapping his hand away? Had she no pride left?

Yes, of course she did.

Calling upon every bit of her outrage, she said, “Release me this instant.”

“In due time. But first.” He let go of her hair. “I want that money.”

“Well, you can’t have it.”

Even in the dim light she could see the exact moment his patience ran out. He grabbed for her reticule.

“Oh, no.” She whipped her arm behind her back. “This money is rightfully mine, given to me for a very good reason.”

“So you say.” He stopped his approach and crossed his arms over his chest. “If you are innocent, as you keep claiming, then you should have no problem sharing with me why Judge Greene gave you the money.”

“I...can’t tell you.”

“Of course you can’t.”

For reasons unknown to her, Laney again wished she could tell this man the truth. Marc Dupree would be a powerful ally against the likes of Thurston P. Prescott III.

“All right, Miss O’Connor. Since you refuse to do so yourself, let me explain the situation for you.”

She swallowed back a sarcastic retort and thought through her options. Except for crashing through him, she was stuck. For now.

“From your speech alone, I can only assume you’re an educated woman. And since we both know an educated woman can earn money in a variety of ways, your presence here tonight can mean only one of two things.”

Oh, how she hated that self-righteous tone in his voice, the one that sounded far too much like a banker she knew. “You have it all figured out, don’t you, Dupree?”

“Sadly, I do.” He dropped his hands to his sides and let out a regretful sigh. “The way I see it, you are either blackmailing Judge Greene or—”

“Blackmail?” Laney’s breath clogged in her throat. The nerve of the man. The gall. Next, he’d be calling her out for prostitution.

“Or...” he leaned over her “...the judge was soliciting your services for the evening.”

And there it was. The nasty accusation she’d feared. She barely resisted the urge to slap him, knowing the gesture would serve no purpose. Which only added to her frustration. “You scoundrel.”

He continued as though she hadn’t spoken. “Either way, neither activity is allowed in my hotel. So, again, I suggest you hand over the money with no more fuss so I may return it to Judge Greene.”

“You seem to take great pleasure in thinking the worst in people.”

“Not all people.”

Out of patience herself, she placed her palms on his chest and shoved. Hard.

He didn’t budge an inch. Provoking beyond measure, yet invaluable information for the future.

“I know firsthand what women like you are about, Miss O’Connor.”

“Making assumptions again?”

“Absolutely. But I will admit, as reprehensible as I find your choice of lifestyle, I’m certain there are others who find you alluring and appreciate your, shall we call them...talents.”

Laney sidled to her left.

Dupree scooted her back to the right.

“Talents?” she asked in an overly polite tone. “What sort of talents are we talking about?” As if she didn’t know what he meant.

“For one, you dress like a well-bred lady with an accomplished eye for style.” He dropped his gaze a moment. “Your present attire not included.”

This time, she strayed to the right.

He hauled her back to center. “You speak with perfect diction, somewhat uncommon in these parts. And, most recently, you climbed out of my window with the finesse of a—”

“Skilled acrobat?”

“Precisely.”

Not sure what she heard in his voice—grudging respect, censure?—she granted him her most unpleasant smile, the one she reserved for bankers and highborn gentleman in red silk vests.

Finally, an idea came to her. She could still get away with the money—her money—but before she resorted to such an underhanded tactic, she had to try to escape in a fair manner one last time.

Didn’t she always tell the children to think before they acted? Didn’t she warn them of the dangers of sinful behavior? How could Laney ignore everything she tried to teach the children and still face them in the morning?

Determined to hold onto the remaining scraps of her integrity, she scrambled to her right. Again, Dupree pushed her back to her original position.

So be it.

I tried, Lord. Truly, I tried. I pray, please, forgive me for what I’m about to do.

“You know, Dupree, I have other, equally impressive...talents.”

“Oh? Do you cook, sew, ride a horse with great skill?”

Sniffing at his attempt to goad her, she took a step toward him and grasped the sides of his vest. “You are becoming redundant.”

“As are you, honey.”

Honey. She was really starting to dislike that word. Nevertheless, she touched her fingertip to the top button of his vest.

Eyes lowering to half-mast, he captured her hand in a light but firm grip. “I wouldn’t advise continuing down this path, Miss O’Connor.”

Allowing him to misunderstand her intent, she moved a step closer. “You sure you don’t want to see what I can do?”

His look turned sardonic. “I’m afraid I must decline further demonstration of this particular skill.”

“Once again,” she tugged her hand free, “you have chosen to misread the situation.”

He swallowed. Once. Twice. Then again more slowly. Very slowly. “By all means, honey, prove me wrong.”

“Gladly.” She shifted her weight, planting her left foot slightly behind her right. To keep his attention off her new position, she toyed with his lapel again. “You see,” she said in a light, airy tone. “When cornered, I fight like I do everything else.”

“You lie and cheat?”

“No.” She gave him her most brilliant smile and took a step back. “I win.”

She raised her right knee and, leading with her heel, slammed her foot into his chest. The blow landed exactly as her friend had taught her.

Caught off guard, Dupree stumbled backward. His gasp of surprise wasn’t as gratifying as Laney would have predicted.

This was her one chance. With a quick snatch, she retrieved her bundled dress and tore around the corner at breakneck speed. She quickened her pace to a flat-out run as the bellowed promise to hunt her down like a rabid dog nipped at her heels.

* * *

Minutes later, Marc charged wordlessly to the back of his hotel. Holding on to his anger—barely—he released the lock and with a violent shove, plowed into his office. The earsplitting crack of door meeting wall punctuated his foul mood. Unfortunately, the jarring noise did nothing to eliminate the reality of the last ten minutes. Not since Pearl ran off with his fortune could Marc recall a time he’d suffered so complete a defeat.

Oh, he’d known Miss O’Connor would attempt to steal away with what she claimed was her rightful possession. He’d even expected her to resort to whatever means necessary to escape. Her kind always thought in terms of survival. What he hadn’t imagined was to find room 912 empty and Joshua Greene long gone by the time Marc had arrived.

Had the judge known he was coming to confront him?

Not possible. There had been no time or opportunity for Miss O’Connor to warn him.

Rubbing the spot where she’d landed her heel to his chest, Marc let out a frustrated hiss. How could such a tiny, delicate woman land a blow with so much force? She hadn’t hurt him, not by half. He’d suffered far worse from rowdy drunks and mean-spirited outlaws. Nevertheless, she’d taken him by surprise, enough to throw him off-balance and make her getaway.

The situation defied logic. And Marc was a man who relied solely on logic. Emotion, blind faith, he allowed neither in his life.

Shifting his angry gaze around what used to be his highly organized personal sanctuary, he slammed his fist into his open palm. He’d left the woman alone for fifteen minutes and she’d wreaked havoc. Risking a step through the clothes scattered on the floor, he tripped over a very delicate, very female slipper.

He kicked the offensive shoe out of his way and eyed the strewn papers at his feet. Papers that had once been in neat piles on his desk.

“Did she leave nothing untouched?”

Scrubbing a hand over his face, Marc fought for control. But then he spotted a slip of paper propped against a pile of books on his desk. A second later, he whipped the note from its perch with as much intensity as he’d used to enter the room.

If the miserable handwriting was any indication, Miss O’Connor had scrawled the words with as little care as she’d given his office.

Marc’s irritation only increased as he read her parting jab.

My Dear Mr. Dupree,

Thank you for your splendid hospitality this evening.

But I’m afraid I must decline your offer to remain any longer. I have a much more pressing engagement with your window.

Yours most humbly,

Miss Laney O’Connor

Crushing the paper in his fist, Marc stifled the urge to take off after the woman without formulating a plan of action. Not the most logical move. Calling upon his well-honed control, he shut his eyes and released all the air from his lungs.

Dark, ugly thoughts linked together in his mind until one emerged over all the others. Laney O’Connor had chosen the wrong hotel, on the wrong evening, to play out her little intrigue with a federal judge.

Five years ago, Marc had embarked on the greatest debacle of his life—marriage to Pearl LaRue. The events of the last hour merely added another layer of indignity to his rash, youthful mistake of thinking he could turn a bad woman good.

Having been raised by loving, Christian parents, Marc had operated on the belief that all fall short of the glory of God and that the Lord’s unending grace was administered through His people. People with the means and desire to serve.

He’d been naive, painfully so. But Marc had learned his lesson, thanks to Pearl’s betrayal. When she’d grown bored with him, she hadn’t simply run off with another man. She’d robbed Marc blind. She’d emptied his bank accounts, his personal safe and, most humbling, his wallet—then she’d found someone else to share her spoils.

Marc’s resulting years of poverty had taught him well. Back on his feet, his coffers fuller than ever, he was no longer in the business of saving souls.

That didn’t mean he didn’t offer women of questionable virtue a chance to change their lives. He provided them with an honest living, but left the condition of their souls to the local pastor. If they chose to return to their old way of life, who was he to stop them?

Which begged the question. Why was he so disillusioned with Laney O’Connor’s behavior tonight? What about the woman made Marc want to give her the benefit of the doubt?

Was it the look of desperation he’d caught snatches of in her startling gaze?

He knew better than to trust her, or her lies. And yet, here he stood, on the night of what would have been his wedding anniversary, wanting to believe in a woman no different from the one he’d married all those years ago. He’d thought he’d learned his lesson.

An uncomfortable ache spread through him as he realized just how much he’d wanted Laney O’Connor to be the innocent she’d proclaimed to be over and over again.

Even now, the thought of her making her way through the Denver streets, alone, with all that money, at this late hour, didn’t sit well with him. He—

A loud rap against the doorjamb knocked Marc out of his musing.

“Mr. Dupree, I’m sorry she got away.” Hank’s gaze tracked through the room. “She...I mean, I never thought she’d climb out of the window. I thought—”

Marc lifted a hand to stop the stilted flow of words. “I know, Hank. She fooled us both.” Remembering the way she’d toyed with his vest, drawing his attention away from the situation, then unceremoniously kicking him in the chest, he shook his head. “In more ways than one.”

“She seemed, I don’t know, honest.” Hank visibly cringed as his gaze landed on the open safe. “I never would have taken her for a woman of such questionable...character.”

The same thought had gnawed at Marc from the start, but he’d learned long ago that people were rarely what they seemed. He shouldn’t have been surprised by Miss O’Connor’s deception. But he was. Shockingly, profoundly, inexplicably shaken to the core.

“The world is full of dishonest people,” he said for Hank’s benefit as well as his own.

All sin and fall short of the glory of God.

His mother’s favorite Bible verse and a truth that pertained to Marc far more often than not. Despite his efforts to remain above reproach, he made mistakes. Perhaps knowing he often fell short explained why Marc still wanted to believe Miss O’Connor wasn’t what she seemed. That she was...somehow...more.

“I wonder how she figured out the combination,” Hank said, still eyeing the open safe.

Marc rubbed his palm over his chest. “She watched your fingers.”

“You...” Hank blinked at him. “You knew?”

Marc nodded. Pearl had pulled a similar stunt.

The abrupt silence that fell over the room stood in stark contrast to the noise echoing from the main part of the hotel.

In the ensuing hush Marc came to a decision. “I’m going out. While I’m gone, switch that,” he pointed to the safe, “with the one in my rooms upstairs.”

“Sure thing, boss.”

Marc paced to the doorway. Hank stopped him before he could leave. “Where you headed? In case I need you.”

Taking a deep, calming breath, Marc stated the obvious. “Hollady Street.” Where the bulk of Denver’s brothels were located.

“The Row? You think Miss O’Connor lives...there?”

“It’s the most logical place for a woman like her.”

Not that Marc thought she was a regular, run-of-the-mill prostitute. Considering her mode of dress and impeccable speech, he feared she was something far worse. A madam. One who employed the kind of girls Marc hired away for their own good.

This was no longer about money. In truth, his clash with Miss O’Connor had never been about the contents of her reticule. But rather, how and why she’d acquired the large sum.

Marc wasn’t through with the woman.

Once he located her on The Row he would explain to her, in excruciating detail, why she could not use his hotel to conduct her unsavory business ever again. No matter how discreet or desperate she might be. He would then seek out Judge Greene and explain the situation to him as well.

This wasn’t personal. Hotel Dupree’s sterling reputation was at stake, a reputation Marc had spent three years honing to perfection.

“One thing’s for certain, Hank. I’ll root our little fox out of her lair before daybreak. And when I’m through with her, she’ll be sorry she ever strayed into my hotel.”

Hank’s smile bowed with the same grim determination Marc savored in his own heart. “Happy hunting, boss.”