Timeless Passion: 10 Historical Romances To Savor (25 page)

He felt lost and helpless, more so than on the day the judge had deserted his wife and children with a promise that he’d come home soon. Save for Trey and his friendships with Marcus and Father Conroy, Dutch had lived behind a solid barrier of mistrust until the day Edith had made her incomplete confession about her reasons for being in Duval’s brothel. That day had sealed his destiny to be her husband for life. He’d been briefly hurt when he discovered she’d used him. However, that small betrayal no longer concerned him. He was about to lose her, and he couldn’t do a damn thing about it.

The door opened behind him. He didn’t bother looking. It would only be someone who came to tell him to rest. Or to eat something. Or that making himself ill wouldn’t help Edith. None of that mattered, especially if Edith died, which seemed likely since they were no closer to finding an antidote than they’d been two days ago.

“Hey brother.”

Dutch clung to Edith’s fingers.

“If you’ve come to convince me to leave, even for a minute, you might as well turn around and go back where you came from.” His voice was flat.

Trey crossed the room and sat in the desk chair. A sling cradled his right arm and a variety of bruises decorated his face. “Don’t try your temper on me, Dutch. I’m not up to it yet.”

“Ha. Some temper. I couldn’t make a kitten jump.” Dutch released the precious hand, leaned forward, and, with elbows on knees, rested his aching forehead in his palms. “I’m sorry. Do you have any chocolate?”

“Here,” his brother offered the piece amicably. “You are one sorry son of a gun.”

“What kind of remark is that?” Dutch whipped around in his chair, snarling.

“The kind that got your attention and proves you can do more than sit here wallowing in self-pity.”

“I am not wallowing. I’m waiting.” He turned the chair to be able to look Trey in the eye but clasped Edith’s hand once more.

Trey raised an eyebrow. “Call it what you will. You aren’t one to sit and wait, not since … well.”

“Go ahead, say it. Not since the judge left us and I realized he wasn’t coming back. Just ’cause the old reprobate’s dead is no reason to tippy-toe around him or glorify him.”

“He saved my life, Dutch.”

“Because the Chinaman double-crossed him.”

“I don’t think that was his only reason. You didn’t hold him as he died. You didn’t see the regret in those eyes.”

“I wouldn’t have believed it if I had. He was a gambler and a drunk. The bluff was his stock in trade.”

Trey’s lips thinned. “I didn’t come here to argue with you.”

“Then why are you here?”

“Because I thought of someone who might have the antidote.”

Torn between the desire to shout for joy or shake his brother for dribbling out information, Dutch merely stroked Edith’s fingers. “Who?”

“Remember the doctor said the Chinaman probably left the antidote with someone he trusted.”

“So?”

“So I think that person is Cerise Duval. She and the Chinaman have been thick as thieves recently, and their history is as long as San Francisco is old. If it isn’t Duval, I’ll bet she knows who it is.”

“Great. The one woman who wouldn’t help me if I was stabbed before her eyes.”

“I agree. Given your history with Cerise, she’d probably twist the knife in deeper.”

“Then, even if you are right, what good is your guess?”

“I never told you why I was driving that wagonload of women to the gold fields for the Chinaman, did I?”

“The judge claimed you wanted easy money and told him some story about me sending you east to school, as if I’d believe what he said.”

“As far as he knew that was my reason. But the real reason is that it was my first job for the Pinkerton Agency.”

“You hired on as a Pinkerton? What about Trahern-Smiley?”

“You’re the one who wanted a respectable import-export business, not me.”

“But our reputation?”

“Being a Pinkerton man won’t hurt anyone’s reputation, but I’ve got my eye on a US Marshall’s badge. I just need some experience before I can apply, and Pinkertons is the best way to get that experience.”

“I can’t say I’m happy about this, but if it’s what you want … ”

“It is.”

“So what does you working for Pinkerton have to do with getting Cerise Duval to help us?”

“Some of those women we rescued knew things about Duval that I’d never heard before. Like she has a daughter in finishing school back east. A daughter who doesn’t know what her mama does for a living.”

“And Duval would do just about anything to make sure her daughter never learns how mama makes the family fortune and ensure that no one else ever knows about the relationship.”

“You got it. After I delivered the women safely to Father Conroy and before I resumed my cover, I checked out the story. It’s true. The girl was born sometime after Duval came to San Francisco in 1850, then Cerise had her shipped back to New Orleans. Duval’s mother lives there and raised the child until she was old enough for boarding school. By then Cerise had made enough money that she could afford the best for her baby girl. Cerise visits with her daughter at her mother’s house in New Orleans. I’m not certain the girl knows that Cerise is based in San Francisco.”

“This is better than evidence of a murder Cerise was party to about ten years ago.”

“How so?”

“Let’s just say that the judge and I were both involved enough that it’s a story I’d like to keep quiet as much as Cerise.”

“Well this time I think we’ve got a clear upper hand.”

“So what’s your plan?”

“Go downstairs to Marcus’ library and strike a deal with Madame Duval right now.”

“You have her here?” Dutch stood so fast his chair toppled to the floor.

Trey grinned and nodded, joining his brother at the bedside. “Thought that might interest you. Care to join me in the negotiations?”

Dutch looked down at Edith, still and pale. “I can’t.”

“Yes, you can.” Trey placed a hand on his brother’s arm. “Eileen will sit with her and call you immediately if there’s any change.”

Eyes bleak with fear and worry, Dutch looked at Trey. “You and I both know that without the antidote the only change will be for the worse.”

“Then come downstairs with me. Confront Duval. Do something to help Edith.”

“All right.”

• • •

“You drive a hard bargain, Dutch Trahern. You could at least have let me keep the cash from your wife’s trunk as a finder’s fee.” Cerise Duval moved into the front entry, waiting, while Trey retrieved her cloak.

“You’re lucky we don’t prosecute you for robbery. As for bargaining, I learned from a master.” It was the closest Dutch would ever come to acknowledging their shared past.

“Yes, you did. However, I am satisfied with the terms. In the event of my unexpected demise, you and Trey will make excellent guardians for my daughter, and I believe that my secrets will be safe with the very respectable Trahern brothers. I wonder though if you will be as happy once your Boston virgin recovers.”

“You’d best pray that she does recover. The doctor is giving her the antidote as we speak, but your secrets aren’t safe until Edith is on her feet.”

Trey reappeared with Duval’s cloak and settled it around her shoulders.

“Oh, she’ll recover. The Chinaman was determined that I memorize everything about the poison and the antidote. I was his insurance policy, so to speak. He deliberately kept everyone in his organization in the dark and fearful of his ability to kill with a mere touch. If any of his lackeys had known the antidote, they would have used the poison against him at the first chance.”

“That’s a good argument for living an honest life. Generally, if you’re honest, people don’t try to kill you.”

Cerise smiled and laid her hand along Dutch’s cheek. “After all you’ve seen and done, I don’t know how you can still be naïve.”

“I work hard at it. I won’t expect to see you again, Cerise.”

Trey opened the front door.

“Nor I you,
chére
. We won’t move in the same circles.
Bon chance
, Dutch.”

“Goodbye, Madame Duval.”

He stood beside Trey and watched San Francisco’s most notorious madam enter an elaborate rickshaw.

“I hope she lives a long and healthy life.”

“Why should you care?” asked Trey.

“Because the last thing either of us should want to be saddled with is that woman’s daughter.”

Trey threw back his head and laughed. “I don’t think that’s very likely.”

“Likely or not, I’m going up to check on Edith.”

• • •

A week later, Edith plucked at the covers. She felt fine and chaffed at the restrictions placed on her. If not for Dutch she would have overridden the doctor’s orders to rest for a full two weeks. However, every time she tried to leave the confines of her room, Dutch’s temper blew. Oh he never directed his anger at her where the blame truly lay. Instead he blasted everyone within hearing for not guarding her carefully enough.

She felt more securely guarded than when she’d been in chains on that horrid ship. She shivered at the memory. She knew that Tsung and Eileen had tended to her personal needs while she was ill, but Edith still wanted a bath. She wanted to scrub away the memory of the Chinaman’s touch, and she wanted to do it herself. Surely Dutch couldn’t object if she took a simple bath.

The door opened, and Tsung came in bearing a tray laden with fruit and sourdough bread.

“Good-good, you wake. Missee more boney skin than when you first come to Mista Dutch house. You eat.”

She plunked the tray down on the table beside the bed, slathered a thick slice of bread with creamy butter, and handed the slice to Edith.

She inhaled the scent of the warm sourdough then bit into the soft, chewy bread. She was hungry. She hadn’t realized how much. It was a good sign. The doctor had said that the return of her appetite would come with recovery. Maybe this was a good time to get what she wanted. “Tsung, I want to take a bath.”

The Chinese woman sniffed. “Tsung take good care of you. You clean; no need bath.”

Shameless, Edith pouted and allowed tears to brim. “I know I don’t need a bath. But it would make me feel so much better just to soak for a bit.” She had no intention of soaking. Scrubbing, hard and rough, was just what she needed. She took another bite of bread.

Tsung looked at her, eyes wide. Whether with fear or doubt, Edith couldn’t say.

“Mista Dutch throw temper if Tsung let you out of bed, and you no take bath in bed.”

“Mista Dutch won’t throw temper if we don’t tell him,” Edith replied testily. She wanted a bath, and she would get one. Surely the woman who’d faced down San Francisco’s most feared criminal while she wore nothing but her skin could manage to convince someone that a bath was a good idea.

“He find out anyway.”

“No,” she said around a third bite of sourdough. “He won’t find out. He’ll be gone all day with Mr. Smiley to the wharf. They have to check on the cargo that just arrived and arrange for a new building where the goods can be stored and sold.” She stuffed the last of the bread into her mouth and chewed while Tsung thought over this piece of news. It was a good thing the ship had arrived early. The cargo would be the saving of Trahern-Smiley Import and Export. The fire, concentrated in the business district and shanty towns, had left everything in short supply. Any merchant with wares that hadn’t burned could set his own price. Dutch and Marcus would recoup their losses in very little time.

“You certain Mista Dutch stay out all day?”

“As certain as I can be.” Edith swallowed. She raised her right hand and traced an X over her chest with her left. “Cross my heart and hope … ”

Tsung’s hand over her mouth stopped the childhood oath. “No hope to die, Missee. Bad luck. Tsung get bath for you. You eat. Back soon.” The Chinese woman fled.

Edith picked an orange slice from the tray and smiled. She should be ashamed of herself, manipulating Tsung like that. Just as soon as the bath was finished, Edith would apologize. She stood and moved to the window, looking out into the garden behind the house. Standing was something else that had been forbidden. Only in the rare moments when she was left alone had she been able to move about the room, getting small relief for her restlessness.

“Edith, please sit down before you fall down,” Eileen said from the doorway.

Blushing, Edith turned to look over her shoulder. “Oops, you caught me.”

“Please, dear.” Eileen Smiley wore a worried frown. “You’re still weak.”

Edith sat. “No, I’m not. I’ve eaten nearly half of that huge tray full of food. I couldn’t be weak and eat all of that.”

Eileen laughed and lost the worried look. She moved into the room. Tsung, with three other housemaids entered behind her, carrying the bath and multiple buckets of steaming water.

“I see Tsung told you I wanted a bath.”

“Yes, and a good thing, too. She wanted me to convince you not to have one. I don’t think she understands how you feel.”

“And you do?”

“I had my own troubles, before I married Smiley, so I can imagine.”

The air of sorrow-tempered wisdom, which sat on Eileen’s shoulders and in the angle of her head, convinced Edith not to ask for details. She’d seen the same look on the faces of some of the women on the ship.

“Bath ready,” announced Tsung. Her disapproval patent in her thinned lips and stiff shoulders.

“Do you need any help?” asked Eileen.

Edith shook her head. “Tsung will stand guard by the door, I’m sure, so I’ll call if I need anything.”

Eileen smiled. “I’ll leave you to your purging.”

“Thank you, Eileen. For the bath. And for understanding.”

“You’d do the same for me.”

“I’d try.”

The door closed on her friends, and Edith shucked her nightgown. Stepping into the warm water was like stepping into sunshine. She sank down and down, submerging her head to soak her hair then rising upward, like Venus reborn. Reaching for the soap she lathered and scrubbed then lathered again, scouring every inch of her body, erasing the memory of the despised touches, replacing them with the feel of treasured freshness, hard won and well deserved.