Valentine's Rose (7 page)

He seemed to realize he was still holding her. With a start, he released her shoulders and dropped his hands to his thighs. “The reason I’m here, the only reason I came to America was to make my fortune. So I will be able to...to restore... What I’ve been trying to say is, I’m not staying, Rose. I have to return home.”

She let his explanation sink in, what he’d said without saying it. A poor Irish girl wasn’t part of his plans. Why should she be? The way he spoke, his manner, his clothing, all indicated an upbringing far above hers. She’d known that the moment he’d opened his mouth. Had they happened to meet in New York, which wouldn’t have been likely, he’d have paid her no notice. A high bloke like him would’ve been far beyond her reach. But out here, where stars twinkled so bright they looked close enough to touch, she had reached for one and caught it. She should’ve known she couldn’t keep him.

Or could she?

She studied his profile, lingering on his firm lips. He’d said he wanted her, the way he kissed her confirmed it, and he’d called her
lovely
and
appealing
. That didn’t sound like a man who wanted to get rid of her. If she learned to be a lady, he might reconsider.

Without education, with limited resources, how could she learn enough to be the kind of wife he’d be proud to have by his side?

Susannah could help. She displayed a well-bred upbringing, perhaps not as lofty as Val’s, but good enough she’d know the finer points of being a lady. In return, Rose could offer to watch Danny while Susannah held court to find a proper suitor.

Rose relaxed her fingers from their tight grip. Her tension eased somewhat, now that she had a chance—if there remained enough time. “When will you leave for England?”

He cocked his eyebrow at her. Was he surprised she hadn’t fallen into weeping or begging? She was stronger than that. Maybe fine ladies blubbered and carried on? She’d have to ask Susannah.

“Are you ready to be rid of me? I wouldn’t blame you.”

She shook her head emphatically. “Oh no, you can’t leave until you get your fortune.”

Val’s lips formed a wry smile. “We’ll have to wait to see if it can be called that. First, I have to take a look at the property, do some drilling to see if the rumor is true about coal deposits. Then I’ll need to do a survey.”

Rose breathed easier. “That’ll take some time. We better stay married until you get it sorted out so nobody can challenge your claim.”

His brow furrowed. “You’d be willing to do that? You’d remain my wife even though you know it can’t be...it won’t be for very long?”

He sounded very certain, as if nothing would change his mind.

Her confidence wavered. It would take a miracle. Then again, it
had
been a miracle when he was the first man to walk through the door of the hotel. She’d taken it as a sign, and she would hold tight to that belief.

Rose twisted to face him so she could converse more easily. Really she just wanted to be able to look at him, he was so pleasing to the eye. She had to come up with a good reason for doing this and get him to agree. “You said you want to help me. So it’s only fair I help you. I don’t think you should say anything to anybody about leaving just yet. We’ll go on like everything’s fine, and then when the time comes, you just leave. Make up a story about somebody dying, and then just don’t come back.”

The astonishment on his face would’ve been amusing, if she’d felt like laughing.

If things went the way she hoped, he’d be taking her with him. Not that she had much interest in moving to England. She’d prefer to stay here and make a home somewhere she felt she could easily fit in. But he wasn’t having it, and she wasn’t willing to let him go and look for another husband. This one suited her better than any man she’d ever met.

“Are you certain? You’re willing to pretend we’re happily married for the time it takes to get this thing settled?”

“I am. As long you’re willing to pretend along with me.”

––––––––

T
he next morning, Val escorted Rose to breakfast in the dining room. They sat with her friends and Rose put on a perfect act, playing the part of the blushing bride on the day after her wedding. No one would guess her husband had slept on the floor.

Sleep was too generous a word. He’d spent the night wide-awake thinking about his wife, who lay just a few feet away. For some reason, knowing they were wed stimulated his lust like nothing else. After he’d told her of his plans, Rose had done nothing to beguile him, other than being beautiful and sweet. He didn’t know how he’d manage another night without touching her.

Not only had erotic thoughts robbed him of sleep, guilt had done its part as well. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw the look on Rose’s face when he’d told her they wouldn’t remain married. She’d been devastated. He hadn’t thought it possible to hate himself more than he already did, but he was wrong.

Her response, though, flummoxed him. No tears, no recriminations, which he’d expected. Instead, she suggested they act as if nothing were amiss because it would make things go smoother. Perhaps she’d decided he wasn’t worth as much as the money she stood to gain from the sale of the property...an unflattering thought, yet no more than he deserved.

Val finished the fluffy American biscuit and drank down a cup of coffee laced with sugar and cream, trying to eat fast without appearing to rush. The sooner he got this claim settled, the sooner he could depart, and that would be the best thing for both of them.

After laying his napkin on the table, he stood and sketched a slight bow. “I’ll leave you ladies to enjoy the morning.”

Rose glanced up at him, her porcelain skin turned pink. How did she do that? He’d never seen anyone fake blushing. Perhaps it wasn’t false. She could be embarrassed, worried someone might find out they were just pretending. He’d better get going before he gave them away.

“Where are you off to?” she asked.

“Mr. Hardt will have the paperwork ready. After I meet with him, I’ll be going out to take a look at the property. Don’t look for me before dinner.”

Something hopeful, and heartbreaking, filled her eyes. “Would you take me along? I’d like to see it. The property, that is.”

He had no idea what he’d find, or who, and he refused to expose Rose to danger. Not to mention the temptation of being alone with her. He had less impulse control than most, and he didn’t want to test it with his temporary wife. “After I see what we’re dealing with.”

Leaning down, he gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. The twin stains on her cheeks deepened from pink to red, triggering a hot rush of blood somewhere much lower than his face. He turned on his heel and left before anyone noticed he was getting hard as a stone.

The morning air had a clean crisp quality, smelled of grass and something elemental, earthy, not quite like the countryside at home, but much nicer than the air in London, where he’d frittered away much of his time—and his inheritance.

His father had purchased him one-way passage to America, a telling gesture. When he returned with his coffers replenished and repaid his debt, he wouldn’t need his father’s wealth or approval. He’d marry a woman who had a title and estate, as he had neither. A sound plan, except it didn’t excite him quite as much as it had before he’d wed Rose.

Sweet Rose.
He couldn’t let himself become attached. Rose could never fit in with his family, would feel more rejected and outcast than he had felt most of his life, for different reasons. Here, she could find a husband who could give her the kind of life and love she deserved.

It was a fairly short walk to the land office, but Val couldn’t make his feet move fast. Hardt had given him a lecture about hedging his vows, saying Rose deserved better. That, Val couldn’t dispute. Nevertheless, he wouldn’t give Hardt another chance to chastise him. He’d get right to the point and keep the discussion related to business.

Unlike the shabby structures housing older businesses, the land office looked like a building one might find back east. Given the scarcity of lumber, it had probably been shipped in, ready to assemble. In America, anything could be ordered from a catalog—stores, schools, churches, even brides—and trains would bring it. Fueled by coal.

Armed with the assurance he stood to make a great deal of money, Val opened the door.

Hardt sat working at a desk strewn with papers. He’d shed his coat, apparently comfortable doing business in waistcoat and shirtsleeves, another American peculiarity.

The office took up a single room, with filing cabinets in the back, bookcases pushed up against another wall, and behind the desk, large maps showing completed and projected railway routes across the region.

Until Val got inside, he didn’t see the men seated to his right: Jarvis, looking every bit the sore loser, and O’Shea. The Irish saloonkeeper offered a sympathetic smile.

“Mr. Valentine, good morning.” Hardt stood. “I thought we’d see you soon, so I told Mr. Jarvis and Mr. O’Shea to wait.” He gestured to a chair closer to the desk. “Have a seat.”

Alarms sounded in Val’s head. He considered the possible reasons the railroad agent would’ve invited these two men to join them, and could come up with nothing good. He held onto his hat brim and remained standing, which gave him a natural height advantage, as well as the ability to get away if for some reason the three decided to gang up on him. After a few run-ins with surly miners, he’d learned to plan for quick exits.

“Thank you, but I can’t delay. I’m here to pick up the assigned deed.” He trained his attention on the railroad agent, while keeping the other two men in his peripheral vision. “I assume everything’s in order.”

“Hell no, it ain’t in order, you uppity bastard.” Jarvis shot to his feet. His sparse mustache twitched like whiskers, and his black, beady eyes filled with malice. Rats didn’t concern Val, but rabid ones could be dangerous.

Still smiling, O’Shea leaned back in his seat and crossed his ankle over his knee as if preparing to watch a show. Val didn’t intend to give him one.

“The assigned deed?” he said in a clipped voice. “May I have it?”

Hardt didn’t touch any of the numerous documents. “Mr. Jarvis has challenged your right to his claim.”

“Knew you’d see it my way, Mr. Hardt.” Jarvis smirked, gripping the lapels of a loose-fitting coat, the movement shaking loose specks of dirt. He not only looked like a rat, he was as filthy as one. “That cheatin’ gambler’s tryin’ to steal my property.”

Val clutched his hat brim, his breathing deepening with anger. He had never cheated at cards. His sharp memory, observation skills and natural instincts helped him win—often. Impulsiveness had been his downfall, not dishonesty. Refusing to take the bait, he replied in an unconcerned tone. “The whining excuse of every sore loser I’ve ever met.”

He gave the agent a questioning look, wondering at the man’s next move.

Hardt addressed the Irishman. “Mr. O’Shea, did you observe the game? Did Mr. Valentine cheat?”

Val’s chest tightened. He’d been set up, just as he thought.

O’Shea didn’t blink. “Jarvis bet his land, he had a losing hand, that’s pretty much the way it seemed to me.”

Jarvis dropped his jaw, and then he turned on O’Shea with his hands fisted. “What the hell, you stupid Mick! You know damn well he cheated. There ain’t no other way he could’ve won that many times.”

Val blinked in astonishment as the Irishman unfolded out of the chair. His smile turned brittle. “We don’t allow cheating at O’Shea’s. Warning’s posted on a sign. Them that don’t abide by the rule, is taken outside and shot. None of the others at the table felt the need to shoot Mr. Valentine, and they’d emptied their pockets, too.”

“Then it’s settled.”

Jarvis whipped around at Hardt’s statement, which had been delivered with the tone of an ultimatum. His face darkened to the color of a beet. “No! Nothing’s settled!”

He advanced on Hardt, fists raised and shouting. Before Val could intercept him, Hardt reached beneath the desk and withdrew a large revolver. He didn’t lift it or point it, or even cock it, but he had a deadly glint in his eyes. “Mr. Jarvis, I suggest you take your leave. Now.”

Jarvis halted in his tracks.  “But...that’s
my
land.”

Hardt’s flat expression didn’t shift. “It
was
your land. You gambled it away.”

“You-you can’t do this. I-I’ll...” Jarvis trembled with rage.

“You’re welcome to discuss your case with a lawyer or with the judge when he’s in town. In the meantime, under the authority of the railroad, I’m assigning the land to Mr. Valentine. If you make trouble, Lieutenant Goldman will escort you out of town. If you wish to stay in the area, I suggest you go find another claim to...improve. Good day, Mr. Jarvis.”

A fine speech, and delivered with less emotion than if he’d been discussing the weather.

Jarvis crushed his hat in his hand. With a final glare at Val, he turned and stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

Val stared after him in amazement. He hadn’t expected this turn of events. In fact, it was possible he’d fallen asleep on that hard floor and was having a strange dream.

O’Shea settled a black felt hat on his head and smoothed the brim with his fingers as he spoke. “Well, then. I’m off. Got work to do. You know where to find me if you need anything more.” He said this to Hardt, and then he offered Val his hand. “Watch yer back.”

Val returned the Irishman’s beefy grip. “I will. Thank you for vouching for me.”

“Didn’t do it for you. Can’t have folks thinkin’ I allow cheatin’ in my place. Wouldn’t be good for business.” As he left, he tossed a remark over his shoulder. “If any of them women happen to be looking for work instead of a husband, send her my way.”

Hardt slipped the gun back into a desk drawer. He might consider carrying one if he made a habit of collecting enemies like that rat, Jarvis.

“Did you ask those two to come here to dispute my claim?” Val asked. Utter fatigue had set in, which had to be reason for the fog in his brain that prevented him from deciphering Hardt’s motive.