A Matter of Marriage (7 page)

“Oh,
I am so sorry about the confusion,” she said in a sympathetic tone, knowing
full well that none of her desk clerks ever promised a particular room unless
she approved of it first. Only so many west-facing rooms existed. “Mr.
Chalmers, what room is registered to Mrs. Hensley?”

“Two
twenty-eight,” he brusquely answered.

“Why
that’s a lovely room, Mrs. Hensley.” She honestly believed the woman would be
happier there, and she intended to persuade her to stay put. “Did you notice
how it overlooks the park on the northwest side of the hotel? Not only that,
it’s one of the few rooms with a private bath and outside balcony.”

The
woman gazed off in the direction of her room.

Julia
lowered her voice conspiratorially and, despite the cloying smell permeating
Mrs. Hensley’s clothing, leaned toward her. “Don’t tell anyone I said this, but
when trying to sleep in a room overlooking the Pacific, the surf can be a
trifle disturbing to anyone who wakes at the slightest sound. And in the late
afternoon, the lowering sun can heat those rooms until they are stifling unless
the doors are left open.”

“Oh
my, I am a light sleeper,” she whispered back. “And I don’t do well in too much
heat.” She lifted her chin. “I’ll stay where I am.”

Julia
smiled. “I’m sure you’ll be comfortable there. And, as I hope you’ve been made
aware, your room has a wall safe for the security of your jewels.” She darted a
brief look at the woman’s bracelet. “Or you’re free to use the safe here at the
desk, which is manned twenty-four hours a day.”

“Thank
you. I’ll keep that in mind.” Mrs. Hensley peered around at the floor. “Now
where has my little Muffie gotten to?”

“Would
Muffie happen to be a Yorkshire terrier?”

“Yes.
Have you seen her?”

She
located Alex and beckoned to him, trying not to think how at home he appeared
in her lobby.

He
strode toward them, the dog lying peacefully on his hand, which he held at his
waist.

“Oh,
there’s my baby.” Mrs. Hensley folded the netting up on her hat.

Alex’s
step faltered, and his expression froze.

Julia
swept an inquisitive glance between him and Mrs. Hensley.

“Thank
you, sir.” Mrs. Hensley reached for the dog, barely sparing Alex a look. “Come
here, Muffie. Come to Mother.”

The
terrier sneezed delicately as Alex gently relinquished her. His expression
remained frozen, his attention riveted on the woman. Julia felt a little frozen
herself. Even if Alex knew the woman, why would his seeing her cause such a
disturbing reaction?

Mrs.
Hensley scratched the dog’s ruff and made cooing noises to her. “Since my
husband’s death, Muffie is my only companion and such a comfort when I’m a long
way from home.” She raised the dog, turning her so they were nose to nose. “Aren’t
you, baby?”

Muffie
yipped and licked her owner’s nose.

Mrs.
Hensley laughed and finally looked at Alex, his scar taking her aback for a
moment. “You must be very good with animals, sir. Muffie isn’t usually so
trusting of a stranger.” Mrs. Hensley tilted her head, then leaned forward as
Alex took a step back. “Goodness, you so remind me of someone back home, though
I can’t think who.” She let Muffie rest against her ample bosom. “Of course,
whoever it is doesn’t have, well, a scar. I would have remembered that. Perhaps
you’re a relation of someone I know. Where are you from?”

“I
move around a lot.”

When
he said no more, Julia wondered at his reticence. “Mr. MacLean recently arrived
from Los Angeles,” she inserted, ignoring the narrowed look he sent her way. “He
is my guest here at the hotel, and Mr. Chalmers is registering him into a room
this very minute. Aren’t you, Mr. Chalmers?” Her unwavering gaze dared the
clerk to defy her.

“Yes,
Miss Fairbanks,” he said, squeezing the words from between uneven teeth.
Chalmers flipped open the large register, spun the book around, and jabbed a
finger at the blank line. “Sign here, Mr. MacLean.”

“MacLean.
MacLean.” Mrs. Hensley stroked Muffie’s back and peered into the dog’s dark
brown eyes. “I am sure we’ve heard that name before, haven’t we, baby? But from
where?”

Alex
turned away from the woman, grabbed the fountain pen from its holder, and
signed the register.

Julia
stared in fascination at the vein in his temple. It pulsed like a raging river
pushing at its banks. If Alex was acquainted with Mrs. Hensley, why not admit
it?

Despite
wanting to know more, she shrugged the question off. She had more important
matters to think about, such as her looming deadline and how to convince this drifter
to stand before a minister with her, say “I do,” and then leave. Whatever prior
relationship he had with Mrs. Hensley made no difference to her. He would soon
be gone.

Muffie
whined.

“I
can’t recall either,” the matron said to her dog. “Perhaps after a proper
night’s rest I’ll remember. Let’s go back to our room and dress for dinner,
shall we?”

Muffie
yipped, and Mrs. Hensley carried her “baby” to the gilded birdcage elevator. Julia
noticed Alex watching the matron out of the corner of his eye. The elevator boy
clanged the door shut and whisked his charges upward.

Chalmers
shoved a key across the desk at Alex. “Enjoy your stay,” he bit out.

“Thanks,”
he said, obviously preoccupied as he took the key. The clerk’s blatantly rude
behavior did not seem to affect him in the least.

Julia,
however, could not let it go. She leaned across the desk and crooked her finger
at her ill-mannered clerk.

His
gaze flicked around the lobby, then he slowly bent toward her.

“Mr.
Chalmers,” she said, keeping her voice low, “if you wish to remain in my
employ, you will change your attitude right now. I expect you to treat everyone
who steps up to this desk with the utmost respect. That includes Mr. MacLean.
Do you understand?”

He
swallowed so hard his throat seemed to convulse. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Good.”
She straightened and turned to Alex, intent on checking off the next item of
business on her mental list—her proposal of marriage.

But
he was gone.

She
whipped around. Thankfully, he had only gotten halfway to the bell desk, where
Theo stood with his bag. She hurried after him.

“Mr.
MacLean, please wait. There’s something I wish to discuss with you.”

He
didn’t stop.

“Mademoiselle
Fairbanks!” her maitre d’ called out from across the lobby. “I have need of you
in the dining room.
Tout de suite!
Immediately.”

She
held up her hand to put the Frenchman off. Jacques Levesque’s devotion to his
job was exceptional, but anything to do with that job was an emergency to him,
even if it was nothing more than having her check the spelling of the chef’s
specials on the menu. She focused her attention on Alex. When the grandfather
clock on the stairway landing chimed six, she inwardly moaned as her deadline
loomed ever closer.

At
the bell desk’s podium, Alex retrieved his bag from Theo and pressed a coin
into the bellboy’s palm. Theo tried to give it back, but he refused to take it.

Julia
was touched by the generosity she doubted her guest and savior could afford. “Mr.
MacLean,” she said, coming up beside him, “I would like to speak with you.”

He
shifted his bag to his other hand.

“Mademoiselle!”
Jacques, dressed in his black tailcoat, inserted himself between her and Alex
and glowered down his beaked nose at her.

She
reined in her irritation and impatience. “Jacques, is someone injured in the
kitchen?”

“
Non
,
but—”

“Is
the dining room on fire?”

“
Non,
non,
nothing like that,” he answered, his accent pronounced.

“Then
please wait for a moment.”

Like
a spoiled child in a snit, his mouth puckered prominently.

Theo
scooted up to him and took his arm. “Why don’t you come with me? Tell me all
about it.”

To
her relief, he guided the Frenchman away. However, her thoughts were a
scattered mess, like grains of sand being carried by the wind. She needed to approach
Alex carefully, laying out her proposition just so. He would see the benefits to
himself and ultimately, hopefully, agree to help her.

“Mr.
MacLean, what I wish to discuss with you is important, but, as you can see”—she
waved in Jacques’ direction—“I have duties to attend to. Will you please dine
with me this evening? The dinner service begins in less than an hour. We’ll be
able to talk more readily then.”

He
hesitated. “I don’t think your fiancé would approve.”

“Phillip
has no say in the matter, nor is he here to object. I’m asking you to dine with
me because … well, I wish to discuss a business proposition with you.”

“Let
me guess. You want to hire me as your bodyguard.”

She
opened her mouth, but no sound came out. The idea of a bodyguard had not
occurred to her. In fact, from the time Phillip’s telegram had arrived, she had
barely thought about what her encounter with the flowerpot meant. “Uh.”

“Sure.
I’ll meet you here at seven,” he said. “Or shall I come to your rooms? You’d be
safer that way. I assume you live on the grounds.”

“I
have an apartment on the second floor,” she said, imagining Alex coming to her
door like a suitor. But he was not her suitor. Nor was he thinking like one. He
was, once again, trying to protect her. The warmth she’d felt while in his arms
returned. She struggled to douse it. “I’ll meet you here, in the lobby. Seven
o’clock.”

“As
you wish. Until then, be careful.” He tipped his head to her and strolled away,
leaving her more uneasy than ever. Her pulse scudded along. She glanced around
the lobby for anyone who might be watching her, who might be looking for his
next opportunity to harm her.

Everyone
seemed to be looking at her, and Julia hurried after Theo and Jacques.

Alex
waited in the Rotunda, eager to see Julia again even though he knew what he was
feeling for her could go nowhere. He should have declined her invitation to
dinner, but she needed a bodyguard, and he was available, unable to work at his
trade. He didn’t expect the job to last long, though. Her fiancé would likely
take over the responsibility for her safety.

Tugging
at the high collar of his single dress shirt, Alex tried to stretch another
sixteenth of an inch of space into the neck. His wrinkled, faded, charcoal-gray
jacket pulled across his chest, back, and upper arms. In Baltimore, before he
developed a laborer’s muscles, the suit had fit perfectly. His tailor would
cringe to see it now.

He
tried to ignore the sideways looks cast his way. The other guests, turned out
in their finest evening clothes, were filing past him into the Crown Room.

He
forgot about them the moment he saw Julia.

She
descended the stairs as gracefully as any debutante, her dress a confection of
pale pink satin. Her face was radiant under the electric lights. He would’ve
whistled if he could, but she had stolen his breath away.

Her
hair was pinned atop her head, with loose, curling locks dangling the length of
her neck. Each tendril shimmered and bobbed with her steps. Alex would have
liked to touch her hair, feel its softness. He lowered his gaze to her bodice,
and a different kind of softness tempted him. The bodice was molded to her
breasts, and though it revealed only a modest amount of her ivory flesh, his
mouth went dry. His feet felt cemented to the floor, as if they had become part
of the foundation.

He
wanted her. It was that simple. But she wasn’t his for the taking, and somehow
he had to tamp down this desire he felt for her. She needed his help until her
fiancé arrived. Where the hell was Phillip Williamson anyway?

Julia
approached, smiling warmly, but the closer she came, the more stilted her steps
appeared. Alex saw the tension behind her smile. Was she worrying that Phillip
would not approve of their meeting for dinner? Her gaze flitted away from him,
alighting first on the diminishing line of guests entering the dining room,
then on the night bellboy, and ending with the quiet registration desk, where
another clerk had replaced the weasel.

Remembering
how neatly Julia had dealt with Chalmers earlier, Alex had to admit she was no
pushover. He admired her. A woman operating a place like this had to have
intelligence, determination, and courage.

She
stopped in front of him. Immediately, the alluring scent of orange blossoms
surrounded them in a fragrant cocoon, tempting him with thoughts of spring and
new life.

“Why,
Mr. MacLean, you shaved,” she said amidst the hum of muted conversations and
the rustle of elegant skirts.

He
rubbed his smooth jaw. “I took Dr. Dolan’s advice and visited the barber.”

“He
trimmed your hair, too, I see.”

“A
little.” Running his hand over the back of his head, he felt where his hair still
covered his collar. “I kind of like it long.”

“You
look quite handsome.” She said it with feeling, as if she meant it, but he
could not accept the compliment.

“No,
I look as ugly as ever. You, however,”—he let out a breath—“are stunningly
beautiful.”

A
lovely flush moved into her cheeks.

He
had always admired and appreciated beauty, be it in nature, the lines of a
building, or the face of a woman. His Elizabeth, on their wedding day, had been
the most beautiful woman he ever set eyes on. As his bride swept down the aisle
on her father’s arm, he’d pinched himself at the altar to ensure he wasn’t
dreaming. She had chosen him, Alex MacLean, to be her husband, and he had
reveled in his good fortune. At their reception, most of the men had clapped
him on the back, reiterating how lucky he was. They hadn’t known the real Elizabeth any better than he had.

“Shall
we go in?” Julia asked.

Out
of reflex, he offered her his arm.

She
took it, placing her gloved hand through the crook of his elbow. Her hand
trembled as it touched him. Alex felt shaky himself, but he also felt at ease,
not the least bit self-conscious with her. He realized that Julia Fairbanks had
a calming influence on his emotions, but a very stirring influence on the rest
of him.

Inside
the Crown Room, he forced himself to look at the huge room instead of at her.
Chandeliers shaped like crowns hung above tables covered with snowy white
linens, decoratively folded napkins, shiny silver, and spotless crystal
goblets. Conversations vied with music and the clink of silver against china. The
heavenly smells of roasted meats and fresh-baked bread emanated from the
kitchen. Alex pressed a hand to his rumbling stomach and hoped the string
quartet, playing from the dais, covered the growls that announced his hunger.

“What
do you think of the room?” she asked, the pride in her voice unmistakable.

He
lifted his gaze to the high ceiling. Despite his protesting ribs, he leaned
back further to admire and examine the incredible workmanship. “Exceptional. Is
that sugar pine?”

“You
know your woods, Mr. MacLean. As a carpenter, you’ll also appreciate the fact
that there are no nails in the ceiling. The panels are fitted together like a
puzzle.”

“Tongue
and groove.” He nodded, then peered from one end of the room to the other in
awe. “There are no supports. What’re the dimensions?”

She
laughed. “My father would have liked you. He never tired of discussing the
hotel’s design details with anyone. The Crown Room is sixty-six feet wide and a
hundred fifty-six feet long.”

“Impressive.”
She impressed him as well. Very few women of his acquaintance had appreciated
architectural details the way he did. “Who was the architect?”

“There
were three. The Reid brothers from Indiana—James, Merritt, and Watson. If you’d
like, I can try to dig out their plans and show them to you.”

“I
would like that,” he said, feeling a familiar spark of creative excitement. He
had thought that spark long gone. “I’ve come across their work before. They’re
known for their railroad stations.”

“Which
you have undoubtedly passed through in the course of your travels.”

Her
teasing smile was so beguiling Alex felt as if he had just smacked into another
hitching post. This was not good. He ought to excuse himself and get back on
the road tonight, but he couldn’t tear himself away from her. She made him feel
things he had thought he would never feel again.

“Traveling
is one way to see what others have done,” he said. “A picture postcard is what first
piqued my interest in the Hotel Grand Victoria. The job advertisement gave me a
practical reason for coming here.”

“Then
I’m thankful for both of those items.” As she peered up at him, a sudden,
anxious intensity came into her eyes.

Was
she remembering the danger that stalked her? He doubted she was experiencing the
same inappropriate feelings for him that he had for her. No woman wanted a man
with a face like his.

Abruptly
she turned and motioned to the maitre d’, the tall, slim Frenchman who had
rudely interrupted them in the lobby earlier. “Good evening, Jacques. Would you
have a front window table available for Mr. MacLean and me?”

He
gave her a courtly bow, his earlier irritation with her apparently appeased. “But
of course, mademoiselle. Follow me, please.” He folded his white-gloved hands
over his white satin cummerbund and strolled down one of the aisles.

Alex
released her arm and motioned for her to go first. He was relieved they would
be seated in a section far from Alberta Hensley. He had spotted her at a table
near the string quartet. Just in case she looked over, he kept his face averted
so she wouldn’t see his good side and possibly remember him.

Julia
strolled the length of the room, smiling and nodding to the guests who looked
their way. She was the ultimate hostess and obviously felt at home in her role.
The hotel would undoubtedly prosper under her guidance, provided the flowerpot
assassin did not make another attempt on her life.

Jacques
seated them at a candlelit table where the menu awaited them, then he departed.
Outside the window, beyond the carriage drive and down an incline, lights
glimmered on the smooth surface of the bay.

Before
Alex could bring up the job of bodyguard, a young man in a spotless white apron
arrived to fill their goblets with iced water. Next came a red-haired, freckly
faced waiter bearing a silver mesh basket of bread buried in white linen. Alex
hadn’t experienced this kind of service in, well, just over three and a half
years. Though he had not forgotten his manners, his hunger and the yeasty smell
of warm bread drove him to excavate a slice while the waiter launched into a
description of the chef’s special offerings.

Julia
removed her gloves and set them aside, then ordered the prime rib dinner and
its accompanying side dishes.

“I’ll
have the same,” he said, slathering fresh butter on another slice of bread. He
considered ordering a good bottle of wine, a label and vintage he had enjoyed
in his former life, but he was afraid he’d enjoy it too much. He needed to keep
his wits about him, not only to control his desire for Julia, but to watch over
her in case someone took aim again.

“Very
good, sir.” The waiter left, and they were finally alone.

Alex
set down his butter knife. “My compliments to your baker. I haven’t tasted
bread this good in ages.”

“You
don’t appear to have eaten in ages either.”

“Breakfast
was quite a while ago.” He took another bite.

“I’m
sorry.” She looked abashed and needlessly moved one of her forks an eighth of
an inch to the left. “I should have offered you something from the kitchen this
afternoon.”

“This
was worth the wait. Have some.” He pushed the basket closer to her.

“No,
thank you. I’ll … wait for dinner.” She lifted her water goblet, but when she
put it to her lips for a sip, her hand shook, and she quickly returned the
glass to the table.

Alex
kept chewing, watching her look everywhere but at him. She clasped her hands
like a schoolgirl sitting at her desk, then unclasped them.

“Miss
Fairbanks,” he said, brushing the crumbs from his hands and sitting back,
trying not to lose himself in the deepening blue of her eyes as they reflected
the candlelight, “we might as well get down to business. You need me, and I’m
available.”

*   *   *

She
certainly did need him. And it was, indeed, business, though not the business
proposition he would be expecting to hear.

As
the string quartet finished one melody and started another, Julia hauled in a
deep breath. “Mr. MacLean, I am prepared to offer you a generous sum for your
assistance.”

“Oh?”
He picked up his water goblet.

“I
am able to pay you three thousand dollars.”

His
hand stalled halfway to his mouth. “That’s a lot of money for a bodyguard.”

She
leaned forward and lowered her voice. “I’m not proposing that you be my
bodyguard,” she said as he began to drink. “I’m … proposing marriage.”

He
choked on the water, coughing so hard he nearly knocked the goblet over when he
plunked it back down.

She
winced at the pain his coughing would cause his ribs. “I’m sorry. I should have
waited for you to finish drinking.” She ignored the inquiring looks from guests
at nearby tables. “Are your ribs all right?”

Grimacing
between coughs, he pressed a hand to his back. “Forget my ribs. Did I hear you right?
You want me to be your husband?”

“Yes,
I do.” She silently groaned at her inadvertent choice of words.

He
coughed one last time and cleared his throat. “Miss Fairbanks, you already have
a fiancé.”

“Call
me Julia, please.” Under the circumstances, it seemed only right that she let
him use her given name.

“Talk
to me, … Julia.”

“I
had a fiancé. The telegram I received was from Phillip. He broke his leg and
can’t travel.” Before dressing for dinner, she’d sent him a telegram in care of
the hospital in Denver, inquiring after him and offering to pay his medical
costs and travel expenses. It was the least she could do.

Alex
shook his head. “So instead of waiting until he can travel, you’re throwing him
over for me, a man you met only a few hours ago?” He sat back and folded his
arms across his chest. “What’s going on, Julia?”

“It’s
not something I like to talk about.”

“You
can’t propose marriage to a man without explaining the circumstances.”

“You’re
right, of course.” She looked toward the lanterns of the boats bobbing gently
at anchor in the bay. They calmed her, and she chose her words carefully. “I am
trying to save my inheritance, my employees, and myself from an uncertain fate.
When my father died suddenly last year, he left a will that stipulated I must
marry within six months of his death or lose the hotel. The deadline is
midnight Saturday, just over fifty-two hours from now. If I don’t make it, the
Hotel Grand Victoria will be sold to the highest bidder. The money will go into
a trust fund for any eventual male offspring I may produce. My father wanted a
son, you see, a male heir to run the hotel in his place. He failed. A grandson
was his next hope.”