Starlight (17 page)

“How do I know that what you have to tell is of any importance?”

Alex looked straight ahead. He had reclaimed her curiosity, her attention. He needed both, on complicated levels. Fisting his hands behind his back, he said, “I’m meeting with the other textile masters on Monday.”

Polly passed beneath a window that glowed softly from the inside. The faint light cast her skin
in orange and darkened her eyes. “So soon? Something’s changed.”

“Well, my mill was nearly destroyed.”

“Maybe.”

“Fine, I’ll bite. What do you fear?”

“No, I don’t think I’ll say. You’ll go in with opinions formed already. I want you to see those vultures for what they are.” She grinned for the first time since they began walking toward the docks. “I promise not to say I told you so.”

“You’re excessively confident for a . . .”

She jerked her gaze up to meet his. “For a what?”

Good Christ, he was trying to impress her again. The deepest recesses of manhood demanded it. He smiled, pleased when her brows lifted and she inhaled sharply.

“For a woman, Polly. You’re excessively confident for a woman.”

She recovered quickly and shot him a saucy look. “I’ll take that as a compliment, master.”

“It was meant as such.”

“Then you have more taste than sense.”

He laughed at that—hearty and full. His smile had widened her eyes, but his laugh left her slack-jawed. “Ah, for my colleagues or my family to hear that sentence. They’d wonder whom you were talking about.”

“Are you so different here, Alex?”

The mad beat of his blood, which had started the moment he stepped onto Scottish soil, would not quiet. “Very different. Now, your turn. Trade for trade.”

Polly smashed her lips together. “Old Peter’s is right around the corner.”

Continuing her stride down the alley, her boot heels kicked out from beneath her hem. The mist of a late evening nearly concealed her as she turned the corner. He followed and kept an easy pace, just watching how she moved. Gracefully, but with the artlessness of a girl. Had she any idea how she affected men? Even her speech at the meeting hall had seemed heartfelt rather than flirtatious. He couldn’t think of another woman who might accomplish such a feat without a heavy dose of coquetry.

Where did that air of majesty come from? She should barely know what it was, let alone how to use it so effectively.

“Polly, I’m not going to let it go.”

“So I should give up what I know before you make more threats against my livelihood and my family?”

“Yes.”

“One of these days I’ll call your bluff.”

Alex’s mind flashed to his young son’s face. “And you’ll lose.”

Polly sighed, which emerged as a vaporous white cloud. “That was Tommy Larnach. He and I were . . . close.”

A pinch in his gut told him exactly what that innocuous little word meant. “And tonight?”

“He’s still angry that we’re not as close as he wants.”

Her voice was flat and unremarkable. And yet the young man, Tommy, had been the first agitator at the union meeting.

“I don’t believe you,” he said quietly.

“Believe what you like.” She shrugged, but the motion was anything but dismissive. Almost
defensive
. Again Alex experienced a tickling sensation. She was hiding something from him. “Tommy’s a wild lad,” she said, “but his heckling was about getting my attention. He proposed two years ago. I refused. Ever since, it’s been a test of wills.”

“Why did you refuse him?”

“Because if he had said I possess too much confidence for a woman, he wouldn’t have meant it as a compliment.”

P
olly
led the way along the dockside boardwalk. The mist was heavier so close to the Clyde. Mysterious curtains of rain transformed the air into swirling ghosts. So vital to the city, the river was deep and wide—just the right sort of harbor for receiving the biggest vessels in Britain. It had turned a little town into a thriving city. Dozens of ships shot masts and steam stacks into the heavily overcast night. They melted into the fog. Farther out, beyond anything she could see in that gloom, would be another hundred ships—warships, passenger craft, and transport vessels that brought new people to Glasgow every day.

Some stayed. Some, like Alex, might even see a little of its beating heart. Only those who lived and breathed its air from the first seconds of life could know it like Polly did. The good and the bad.

Old Peter’s was part of the bad.

“What did you learn the first time you were here?”

“I didn’t stay long enough to learn much of anything,” Alex admitted. His eyes roved up and down the walkway, where even the hissing gaslamps no longer offered their orange imitation of warmth. “I was here to ask about a man named Jack Findley, but was given a distinct impression I should leave.”

She chuckled. “You’re lucky that’s all they gave you. A master showing up in a dockside hole like that?” With lifted brows, she indicated the dilapidated little building on a corner just across from a jetty. “Frankly, I’m not sure how you’re still among the living.”

“Let’s just say I drank my whiskey very quickly.”

“Whiskey, eh? I knew that was the right spirit for your coffee at Idle Michael’s.”

“Very good. You win. Happy?”

“Always.” She grinned. “Let’s do this or don’t. Are you sure you insist?”

“You tell me. Is Walt Nells a trustworthy man?”

“Walt told you to come here?” She kept her voice low but could not mask her surprise. “Whatever for? He should have come to me.”

Alex took her hand and threaded it through his crooked elbow. “For some reason, he had this strange notion you’d pursue the lead on your own.”

She scowled, but she did not pull away. Or protest. Damn them both, Walt had been right. Old Peter’s looked like an assault waiting to happen—or worse.

“Don’t smirk,” she said. “It ruins the line of your mouth.”

“You were looking at my mouth?”

“I always do. Checking for any intent to kiss me
again.” She peered up at him. “Well, master, any such intentions this evening? Is kissing me among your plans?”

“No. But then, that sort of plan seems to catch me by surprise.”

“Then it’s not a plan.” On tiptoe, she whispered against his throat, “That’s called a whim. You enjoy them when you stop thinking.”

“Show me how to do that.”

“Oh, you know.”

His arm tensed beneath hers. “Can you be serious for three minutes? I need you to be my cultural interpreter. Maybe you can retrieve answers to questions I didn’t even get the chance to ask.”

“Sometimes being serious is the surest way to stand out. But I know how to do what needs be done.” She stood on tiptoes again and kissed his chin. “Now all you have to do is say please and thank you.”

“How about, ‘Let’s get this over with’?”

“Very well. I wouldn’t have agreed if you were dressed any other way. You might
almost
pass.” She nodded to the door. Behind it thumped drunken male laughter and off-key singing. “Just don’t say anything, Yank. Can you manage that?”

He offered a little bow. His smirking smile was back in place as he held the door for her.

Old Peter’s was an intimidating place. On a Wednesday evening, the only patrons were single men eager to drink the rest of their pay packet before Friday, and married men who’d rather join them than go home to their families. A couple dozen dockworkers crowded around the scuffed
tables and the long bar. Smoke hung like a cloak just above their heads. The ceiling had likely been white at one time. Now it was dingy yellow. Paintings of Scotsmen in kilts and their elaborate clan regalia lined the walls.

Polly left Alex in the doorway and hurried out again. She ditched her shawl behind a thicket of wasted shrubs, the buds of which had not yet found their springtime blood. At Alex’s curious look, she took his arm once again. “My shawl is cut from tartan of Clan Gow. I don’t need enemies from the first moment I step in.”

“Whose are these?”

“Cameron. Just know nothing of the Chattan Confederation and we’ll all see the sunrise.”

“I can certainly do that without talking.”

“Good,” she said with a nod. “I thought you had it in you.”

“And I thought you were beyond clan associations.”

“Me? For the most part. My family climbed down from the Highlands a few hundred years ago, seeking work and opportunities.” She winked. “Not everyone is so enlightened.”

Skirting around a few tables, Polly guided him through the drunk, hulking patrons. She kept her pace even. Not striding, but not mincing along either. She was pleased to see a few women, at least, although she wondered as to the source of their income. Dockside girls were plentiful. If she could pass as one for only a few hours, she wouldn’t mind being ogled so blatantly—if Alex could keep his
temper in check. Waves of indignant anger pulsed against her back as she led him to an empty booth.

“It’s like a whole other world,” she whispered. “Even for me.”

“Oh?”

“I’m used to walking into Idle Michael’s and being able to greet everyone by name. I know they must look as burly and unapproachable as this lot, but that’s not how I see them. Just my friends and family.”

“You don’t know much of life outside Calton, do you?”

“I’ve been across the Clyde once or twice.”

He blinked. “That’s astonishing.”

She set her jaw. “Never mind. You promised to keep your fine mouth shut. Give me two bob.”

He handed over the money, but his eyes were busy trying to poke into her hidden places. Again. She didn’t need to fight two enemies at once. The men in this pub were enemies in the making.

“Now make a show of fondling my backside as I walk away.”

Oh, but she wanted to laugh. His expression was worthy of a daguerreotype, something to save for the rest of her life. “You want me to . . . ?”

“Fondle my backside. Grab for my tits. Pretend you’ve already bought and paid for my body.” She gave him a patient look. An exasperated look. Anything to lessen the anticipation her words shocked to life just beneath her skin.

His hands on her. Lightly. Just a little playacting, certainly.

“Be practical, Alex. Look around. What sort of woman might enter an establishment such as this?”

“Prostitutes,” he said quietly.

“Aye. You ready?”

Their eyes met. He appeared as insulted as if she had called his honor into question.

She leaned closer and licked the outer curve of his ear. The tremor that shook down his body was almost visible. “Treat me like you did in the mill that day. Like you own me. Anything else will be suspect. If I don’t order drinks soon, we’ll need to leave before we even start. Got it, master?”

“Aye, lass.”

“No, don’t do that. Just terrible!”

She stood and threw a saucy glance over her shoulder. A fake laugh bubbled from her mouth. Alex had given up exasperation in favor of frank, robust interest. If
he
was faking it, he was doing a bloody good job. But she felt his interest—that genuine hum—too strongly for his hazel-eyed stare to be a ruse.

“I’ll do what I want tonight,” he replied.

Large, strong hands wrapped around her waist. Alex pulled her close, but he didn’t sit her back in the booth. His taut fingers pulsed up to her breast, as aggressive as an invading army. He cupped her flesh and gave a hard squeeze. Polly squealed. His other hand slipped down toward the apex of her thighs. Heat burst to life right there, right where it seemed he would touch. Instead he bent her down for a quick kiss. Tongue. Rough stubble. And a farewell swat to her bottom.

“Whiskey,” he rasped. “And don’t dally.”

Polly stumbled a little as he gave her a shove. Her knees didn’t quite work. Nothing did. In the flash of a few seconds, Alex Christie had turned the tables. She much preferred setting the terms of their flirtation. But with a pair of grasping hands and a shocking kiss, he had spun her in heated circles.

She recovered quickly—at least on the outside—and made her way to the bar. “Three whiskeys, and a pint of bitter.”

The bartender looked like walking gristle. His black hair was streaked through with gray, but the pub’s odd smoky light made it seem like smudges of ash. “You’re new.” The suspicion was impossible to miss.

“Down from Wreston way. Jobs have gone.” She shrugged. “Girl’s got to make a living.”

“No denying that. Just watch yourself. New girls don’t last long with . . . well, without protection.”

Polly glanced back toward where Alex sat glowering. With his shoulders hulked forward, elbows on the table, he seemed massive. Potent. “I’ll fare well, thanks.”

He grunted something and handed over her drinks. Polly took the opportunity to make a more forceful impression, crossing her arms beneath her breasts and leaning against the bar. The man’s eyes flared. No mistaking that he appreciated what he saw, although in her plain dark green dress—one she’d been wearing since sunup—she didn’t feel particularly attractive.