Page 11 of Daredevil Lady and the Mysterious Millionaire (The Hidden Hearts Collection #3)

Zeke brought his thoughts up short and reached for the doorknob. It didn’t matter what he liked. In a few minutes she would be dressed. When her assistant arrived, she would gather up her balloon and be gone. He would never see her again. The thought left him feeling oddly let down.

He shoved open the door and stepped out into the hall. He had not taken two steps away, when he halted. He didn’t know what was getting into him, but something wouldn’t permit him to keep on going. He spun on his heel and abruptly reentered the bedchamber.

She had started to remove her robe, but she snatched it back to herself with a cry of alarm.

“Uh, sorry,” he said. “I just remembered something I wanted to tell you.”

She cocked her head to one side, cautious, waiting.

It made it more difficult, for he was not sure himself what he had come to say, but he blundered on, “I was just thinking. I haven’t had my supper yet and I’ll bet you’re hungry too.

Maybe you could leave instructions for your assistant to take care of that balloon and we could go out for a nibble at some little restaurant. ”

He could already see the refusal in her eyes, so he hastened to add, “I could take you back to the circus myself after—in my carriage.”

“I don’t live at the circus.”

“Well, wherever?—”

“No, thank you, Mr. Morrison. I really couldn’t. Besides the balloon, I have my passengers to see safely home and?—”

“I’ve already taken care of them,” Zeke interrupted. “The newlyweds are launched on their bridal night, and I even apologized to your little minister and sent him off with a donation for his church.”

“That was very good of you, but as to having supper with you, I still don’t think...” She trailed off with a shake of her head, clearly doubtful of his intentions. He couldn’t blame her for that. Hell. He was not sure himself just what his intentions were.

“Please,” he said, groping for the words to convince her. “It would give us a chance to talk. I am very interested in?—”

She tensed.

“In hot air balloons. I’d be fascinated to hear how they work. I’ve never had the good luck to meet with—” What was it she had called herself earlier? “With an aeronaut before,” he concluded.

Zeke wasn’t sure what he had said. He only knew it was the right thing, for she nodded in reluctant agreement.

“All right, Mr. Morrison. I would be only too happy to tell you all about my balloons.” Her lips curved with a strangely hopeful smile.

Zeke wasted no time in fetching his evening clothes from the closet and bolting out of the chamber, not giving her a chance to change her mind. Before retiring to another room to attire himself for going out, he sent the parlor maid upstairs.

Maisie helped Rory to dress with the same brisk efficiency she had exhibited before. Rory had no thought of resisting the girl’s aid this time. She sat as docile as a child beneath Maisie’s ministering hands, her mind preoccupied.

“What have you gotten yourself into now, Rory Kavanaugh?” she muttered beneath her breath, already doubting the wisdom of having accepted Zeke Morrison’s invitation.

To be supping alone at a restaurant with a man she had just met, why, only actresses and Hootchie Cootchie dancers did things like that.

Neither of Rory’s parents would have approved.

Yet this was the 1890s for mercy’s sake.

Suffragettes whose writings she read in the Tribune assured her that an era of new freedom was dawning for women.

She couldn’t be bound forever by the old-fashioned standards of her parents.

She was the president of the Transcontinental Balloon Company.

If there was any chance at all that she could interest a wealthy man like Zeke Morrison in investing in her company, she had to take it.

Her father at least would have understood.

But as Rory settled into a chair so that the maid could brush out her hair, she pulled a face. Who was she trying to fool? Da would have already wanted to shoot Morrison for what had happened in this bedchamber, the way he had crushed Rory, half-naked in his arms.

But the man was only trying to be kind, Rory argued with herself, all the while feeling a heated blush steal up her cheeks.

Comforting Zeke’s embrace had been, the feel of his strong arms banding about her, holding her close.

But too close for mere kindness, making her aware of his musky masculine scent, the sheer ruthless power of the man, the intensity of passions held in check within him.

And for one moment, her heart had pounded in rhythm with his. For one alarming moment, she had not wanted to wrench herself away.

Rory gave an involuntary toss of her head as though even now she was forcing herself to resist Zeke’s embrace.

“Did I hurt you, madam?” the maid asked, suspending the brush in midstroke.

“N-no. Please continue,” Rory said. The girl resumed her work, trying to be gentle, but Rory’s hair was considerably tangled from her nap.

It was all the fault of that wretched nightmare, Rory thought.

If not for that dream, she would never have done anything so brazen as cling to Zeke.

She had been foolish to allow herself to be so upset, but it had all been so close to one of her banshee dreams, only even stranger.

The fear it had aroused still clung to her.

She retained such a clear image of the moment she had lifted the phantom’s hood, only to encounter that woman’s cold eyes glittering back at her, their expression hard and empty—like the banshee’s eyes, utterly without mercy.

Irrational it might be, but Rory could not help believing a little in omens.

She was just as glad she would never see Mrs. Van Hallsburg again.

As for Zeke Morrison, perhaps it would be far better if it were likewise with him. She could go below and tell Zeke she had changed her mind, that she had a headache. Except that she would wonder forever if she had thrown aside her best chance to save her company and despise herself for a coward.

Surely she had been in far greater danger when she had been alone with the man in his bedchamber, practically undressed. She had survived that—except for a few disturbing moments. What could happen to her in a crowded restaurant?

The most Morrison could do was train his magnetic dark eyes upon her and devour her with his gaze. And in that case she would make it plain to him he had best satisfy his appetite on the roast turkey.

She wasn’t going to be dessert.

Long before Rory finished dressing, Zeke was already on his way downstairs, straightening the cuffs of his white cambric shirt, picking a speck of lint off the lapel of his black evening jacket.

He actually caught himself whistling as he took the stairs two at a time, a strange excitement quickening through his veins, an excitement such as he had not experienced for a long time.

Wellington awaited him in the hall below, holding a silver tray.

“Has Miss Kavanaugh come down yet?” Zeke demanded.

“No, sir, but another caller has arrived.”

“Really? Who the hell would come bothering me at this hour?” Zeke glanced impatiently back up the stairs for any sign of Rory.

“It is a gentleman, sir. I took the liberty of showing him into your study.” The butler persisted until Zeke accepted the small white calling card laid out upon the tray.

Zeke gave the gilt-edged card a cursory glance. Then he took a closer look at the name and stiffened.

Charles Decker, Esq.

“That’s no gentleman, Wellington,” he snarled. “That’s a complete bastard. Throw him out on his goddamned ear.”

Wellington rarely displayed any reaction to his master’s profanity. But this time his brows raised a fraction. “I beg your pardon, sir, if I erred. But I did think that Mr. Decker’s name was on the list of people that Mrs. Van Hallsburg said should always be received.”

“This isn’t Mrs. Van Hallsburg’s house. It’s mine.”

Even as he snapped at his butler, Zeke knew he wasn’t being fair. For the past few months, he had allowed Mrs. Van H. practically carte blanche in ordering his social life.

Of course, she would say Decker should be admitted.

Charles Decker was a prominent banker and an old family friend of the Van Hallsburgs.

But like most women, Mrs. Van H. had no real understanding of the world of politics.

Thus she was completely unaware of the more unsavory aspect of Decker’s character.

Zeke crushed the calling card in his fist, annoyed that he should be plagued with the man tonight, but he said to his butler, “Don’t worry about it, Wellington. You look after Miss Kavanaugh when she comes down. Send her to me in the study. I’ll see to Mr. Decker myself and it won’t take long.”

“Very good, sir.” At his most wooden, Wellington bowed and stepped aside.

Zeke strode toward the study, trying to remind himself that he was supposed to be a gentleman these days.

Gentlemen had more subtle ways of expressing their disapproval than using their fists.

The only problem was that hurting some bastard’s feelings wasn’t nearly as satisfactory as giving him a good punch in the nose.

Zeke shoved the study door open and found Decker in the far corner.

The man had taken down one of the books and was thumbing through it.

Decker was a middle-aged man of medium height, his thinning hair parted down the middle and slicked with oil of Macassar.

His pin-check suit hung well upon him in that dapper fashion Zeke’s own tailor had tried so hard for without success.

Decker’s clothes suited him to perfection, but a snake always fit his own skin quite well.

Decker didn’t look up until Zeke slammed the door closed. With a deliberate casualness, Decker shut the book and returned it to the shelf. He ambled forward to greet Zeke, a pleasant smile creasing his features.

“Ah, good evening, Mr. Morrison.” Decker extended his hand.