Darius’s grip softened on her wrist until his fingers were tracing tiny circles over the sensitive skin. “I told them that I had met a woman who wasn’t afraid to stand toe-to-toe with me. A woman who had seen my flaws and learned my darkest secrets, yet didn’t immediately run for the hills.”
His self-deprecating chuckle coaxed a reluctant smile from her, the sound soothing the sharp edges of her turmoil.
“I told them how this woman seemed instinctively to know when to comfort and when to confront, and how I was better with her in my life than I’d ever been on my own.” His voice deepened as he spoke, the huskiness brushing over her like an angora shawl on a cold winter night. Better with me than on your own? Oh, how his words caressed her, thrilled her. She wanted to snuggle up in him and block everything else out.
But that was impossible.
Blinking back tears, Nicole touched a hand to his face, praying he would feel her regret even though she dared not speak it aloud. “Did you tell them I am your employee?” she said instead, trying not to flinch as the warmth in his eyes suddenly cooled. “Did you tell them I would be gone by the time your letter reached them? That a promise made to my dying father would keep me from ever returning?”
“What?” His voice sharp, Darius’s fingers bit into her wrist, and he jerked her toward him. “Why can’t you return to Oakhaven once your errand is complete?” He searched her face, but she offered no explanation. The truth hurt too much. He released her and rubbed his hand over his face. “You know, it occurred to me this morning that perhaps it would be a good idea to get away from the boilers for a while. Take a break. Start again with a fresh perspective. I could take you to New Orleans myself, show you—”
“No!”
Hurt flashed in his eyes at her shouted denial, and she hated herself for putting it there. But what choice did she have? Darius in New Orleans? A violent tremor shook her core. She’d never survive. The warring halves of her heart would tear her in two.
As she watched, the hurt faded from his eyes, replaced by scientific curiosity. He straightened, crossed his arms over his chest, and regarded her in much the same way he did his boilers. Examining. Calculating. Determining weaknesses.
Merciful heavens. Her greatest weakness was Darius himself. How could she defend against that?
“Why?” he asked calmly, his tone detached, as if it were a scientific inquiry he posed. “Why don’t you want me to accompany you to New Orleans? I might be a bit rusty on my etiquette, but I believe it is much preferred for a young woman to travel with an escort than alone.”
He was right, of course, which only made the question that much more difficult to answer.
“Why, Nicole?” he pressed.
“It would make things harder on me,” she hedged. “It’s better if I go on my own.”
He didn’t even blink, just stared at her as he would a puzzle that needed solving. “Why?”
“It’s not your concern!” Nicole stomped her foot, her toe kicking the hilt of her fallen knife. She bent to retrieve it, the weight of the blade a reminder of who she was and what she needed to be about. “I’ll handle my father’s business the way I see fit, and I’ll thank you to stop interfering.” Her heart pounded more from fear than anger, but she held her ground, needing to prove to herself that she was strong enough to do what had to be done.
“Why?”
Nicole fought to restrain the scream rising in her throat. “Leave it alone, Darius. Please.” Her voice broke on the last word, and a tear slipped past her lashes.
“Why?” Compassion crept into his tone this time, and that touch of feeling was her undoing.
“You want to know why, Darius?” she shouted up at him. “Fine! I don’t want you with me because I’m going to New Orleans to get married!”
He reeled backward, as if she’d shot him, and Nicole couldn’t bear it. A sob wrenched straight from her heart and flew past her lips as she turned and ran for the house.
Married? Darius staggered, his shock dulling his response for critical seconds, allowing Nicole to stretch out a sizeable lead. Shaking off his stupor with a jerk of his head, he sprinted after her. She couldn’t fire a shot like that over his bow and expect no return fire.
“Wait!” He yelled after her, not surprised when she ignored his call and ran even faster. But he wasn’t about to let her outdistance him. He had no fancy clothes to hinder his movement today.
Muscles straining, stride lengthening, he closed in on her. Whimpers echoed in the air around him as he drew abreast of her, but he hardened himself against the sound, against the sight of tears rolling down her cheeks. He refused to let her run away from him without an explanation.
“Nicole! Stop!”
She paid him no heed. Again.
Fine. If she wouldn’t stop on her own, he’d see to the task for her. With a surge of speed, Darius passed her and veered sharply into her path, turning toward her as he did so. He tightened his abdomen an instant before she crashed into him. A grunt squeezed from his lungs at the contact, but he locked his arms around her. She fought to escape his hold but was no match for his greater strength.
All at once she gave up and wilted against him. Turning, she wrapped her arms around his waist and buried her face in his shirt. Her hot tears scalded his chest more painfully than any boiler steam ever could. Yet even as his hold softened, the angry questions welling inside him demanded release.
“Are you betrothed, Nicole?” he asked through clenched teeth, bracing himself for her answer. Heaven help him. If she was, she never should have responded to his kiss with such sweet abandon. That kiss had touched places within him he’d forgotten existed. She couldn’t belong to another. She belonged to him.
No response. Why didn’t she answer?
“Blast it all, woman.” He grabbed her by the shoulders and pried her away from him so he could see her face. “It’s a simple enough question. Are you betrothed? Yes or no?”
She shook her head, and Darius had to lock his knees to keep his legs from collapsing in relief beneath him.
“No,” her voice scratched, “but I might as well be. I must choose a husband from among my father’s business associates, those he trusts to take over his company upon his death. I am to procure him an heir.”
An heir? Darius released his hold on Nicole, so many dark emotions raging inside him, he was afraid he’d hurt her. His hands fisted at his sides, longing to slam into her father’s face. He didn’t care how sick the old man was, he had no right to use his daughter’s love and affection against her in such a way. “He’s selling you off to the highest bidder,” Darius growled. “He deserves to lose his company.”
“It’s not like that!” Nicole scrubbed the tears from her cheeks with an impatient swat of her hand, then grabbed him by the shirtfront. “None of the men in New Orleans know why I am coming. I will be the one in control.
“Don’t you see? My father could have ordered me to marry a man of his choosing, but he didn’t. He trusted me to make the choice, gave me the freedom to choose a man I could come to love. He wanted that for me, he just needed to speed the timetable up a bit. It was supposed to be simple. I sail to New Orleans, have an old family friend introduce me to eligible young men of good character and knowledgeable backgrounds. I determine for myself which man would make a suitable husband for me and heir for my father, then present him with the . . . gift my father set aside for my dowry, and we would marry.”
Darius noted her stumble over the word gift. She was holding something back.
“I wasn’t supposed to meet you, Darius.” The pain in her words cut through him, driving all other concerns from his mind. Her balled hand loosened to lie flat against his chest. “I wasn’t supposed to come to Liberty at all. I was supposed to arrive in New Orleans with my heart fully intact and free to give to the man I deemed worthy.”
Was she saying her heart was no longer free? Darius’s pulse gave a little leap as his resolve steeled. If there was a way around thi
s promise she’d made to her father, he’d find it. He just needed a little time. Time and a conversation with Wellborn. He had to get to town.
Darius reached up and covered Nicole’s hand with his. She peered up at him, her lips begging to be kissed. Yet her anguished brown eyes held his desire in check. Leaning forward, he touched his forehead to hers, his eyes closing as he breathed in her scent.
“I won’t ask you to break your promise to your father, Nicole, but I will ask you to give me time to find a way around it. I’m certain there’s a way to provide your father with his heir without you pledging your life”—to a man other than me—“to a stranger.”
She shook her head slightly, the movement vibrating through him from where their heads met. “Time is something I don’t have, Darius. My father is too ill, possibly dying. I can’t delay. I will stay here until the end of our agreed time, but then I will leave for New Orleans. Alone.”
She pulled her head away from his, and Darius fell forward at the loss. Then her lips brushed against his brow, and everything inside him stilled.
She’d given him six days—six days to untangle the web her father’s promise had trapped her in, six days to unravel her mysteries, six days to convince her that she belonged with him and no other.
When she pulled away from him, he made no move to stop her. Time was of the essence, and the instant Nicole entered the house and closed the door behind her, he sprang into action. Sprinting to the barn, he called out to Jacob, who was carrying wood from the shed up to the house.
“Time to go to town, Jake. Go tell Mrs. Wellborn we’ll grab a bite to eat in Liberty, and then meet me at the corral.”
The boy gave a whoop of glee and scampered off. Darius saddled his mount before striding to the house to collect his letter, article, and sufficient funds to cover whatever necessities might arise—lunch, posting fees, bribes to entice certain parties at the levee to share information that Wellborn might not have been able to pry free.
He had six days to solve Nicole’s mysteries and claim her heart. He’d not waste a single minute.
CHAPTER 23
Two hours later, Darius sat at a corner table in the only café Liberty boasted, jabbing a piece of fried ham with a questionably clean fork as Wellborn looked on. He’d crossed paths with his man on the outskirts of town and convinced him to circle back so they could discuss what information he’d been able to ferret out of the river pilot he’d come to town to meet.
Once entering town he’d had to post his parcels, and then he’d dug through every blasted blade the mercantile had to offer before Jacob managed to select one. Once they finally reached the café, he’d ordered their food—which apparently had to be butchered and cured after their order, considering how long it had taken to arrive—and all the while his tight-lipped butler had sat with that infuriatingly neutral expression on his face, hiding any clues Darius might have been able to glean.
“Spill it, Wellborn,” Darius growled impatiently. The wait was killing him.
“You’re not concerned the boy will overhear?” Wellborn tipped his head toward a table a short distance behind him, where Jacob was gulping down a glass of milk and working to devour a slab of ham of his own.
Darius shook his head. “The boy’s focused on his food. And when that’s gone, he’ll no doubt drool some more over his new knife. Besides, I explained we needed to discuss a few matters. He won’t bother us.”
Wellborn raised a brow. “He might not bother us, but there’s a good chance he’ll hear. This place is as empty as a beggar’s purse.”
Darius glanced around the room as he shoved a forkful of mashed potatoes into his mouth. At nearly two in the afternoon, the three of them were the only patrons in the place. Even the staff had disappeared into the kitchen.
“Just keep your voice down,” Darius rumbled in a quiet tone of his own. “The boy will be fine.”
“All right, but part of what I have to say concerns him.” Wellborn leaned across the table and spoke so low Darius had to stop chewing in order to hear him clearly. “I visited with the sheriff again.”
Darius nodded. He’d asked Wellborn to check in with the lawman two days ago, after he’d offered Jacob a place at Oakhaven. The boy had refused to reveal his surname or provide any details about what had driven him from his guardian, but there was no doubt in Darius’s mind that it had been a grave offense. This boy was no idle runaway. Yet his conscience demanded he at least notify the law as to the boy’s presence. He couldn’t knowingly harbor a fugitive, no matter how justified.
“Has someone reported him missing?” Darius swallowed the lump of half-chewed food in his mouth, no longer tasting it. If Jake’s guardian showed up, he wasn’t sure what he would do. Press charges against the man for abuse when the boy sported no scars?
Thankfully, Wellborn shook his head. “No. But Sheriff Davenport asked around a bit and heard of a man with a small spread north of here, near Cold Spring. The fellow took in his brother’s kids last year, after their parents died of influenza.”
“Kids?” Darius set his fork down and leaned over his half-full plate, his forearms pressing into the table.
“A boy and a girl.” Wellborn fell silent for a moment, cast a surreptitious glance over his shoulder, then whispered, “The girl died a couple months back.”
“How?”
“The sheriff didn’t have any details. But he did say the man who took the kids in is a known drunk.”
Darius’s throat constricted. His eyes immediately found Jacob at the next table stuffing a whole biscuit into his mouth in one overlarge bite.
If Jacob had had a sister, Darius could easily imagine her death being the catalyst for his leaving. Especially if his uncle contributed to it in some way.
“The sheriff is in no hurry to volunteer information about Jacob’s whereabouts. Seems to think the boy’s better off away from that drunk of an uncle, even if he is blood kin, so he won’t pursue the matter unless the man comes looking for the boy.”
“Good.” Darius took a swig of his coffee. “And the other matter?” He picked up his fork and pressed the side of it into his ham to disguise his level of interest, though inside he churned with impatience.
Wellborn took his time answering. As if he knew this was the information Darius cared most about.
“Well?” he growled.
Did the edges of Wellborn’s eyes crinkle just a touch? The man was probably laughing his head off behind that proper mask of his. Impertinent fellow.
“Did you find Captain Stewart?” Darius pierced Wellborn with his most imperious, lord-of-the-manor glare. Not that it had any noticeable effect. The man was obviously immune. However, the directness of the question finally succeeded in loosening the man’s tongue.
“I did.” Wellborn dipped his head slightly. “He was good enough to spare me a few minutes of his time after he landed this morning.”
“Did he know of this Jenkins person and what business the man is in?” When Wellborn had asked around at the landing on Monday, he’d learned that Stewart was the man most familiar with the Galveston routes. Stewart had been farther up the Trinity delivering cargo, but the dock workers expected him back today, hence the second trip to town that week.
“Yes, he knew of a Carson Jenkins. The fellow apparently runs a coastal shipping company, his two main routes encompassing Cuba and New Orleans. The man’s not very well respected, it seems. Rumor has it that Jenkins isn’t above making an unscrupulous deal if it means enlarging his profits—though Stewart insisted he had no firsthand knowledge of such maneuvers.”
“Of course the man’s unscrupulous! His sons are hunting an innocent young woman.”
Wellborn gave a slight shake of his head and drew his eyes upward meaningfully. Darius clenched his jaw, realizing he’d spoken louder than he’d intended. He glanced past his butler to where Jake sat, his meal finished. Thankfully the boy was too busy admiring his new knife to give the adult conversation any heed. Nevertheless, Darius
grasped his temper with both hands and modulated his voice to a low rumble.
“What I need to ascertain is how far this Jenkins fellow will go in his pursuit of Nicole. Would he allow his sons to inflict bodily harm, or heaven help us, even kill her to get what he wants?”
Wellborn’s eyebrows shot to his carefully pomaded hairline. “Surely you don’t think he’d . . . ?”
“I don’t know what to think—that’s the problem. There are still too many missing pieces.” Darius dug the fingers of his left hand into the flesh above his knee with such force, pain ratcheted up his leg. “What of a competitor for Jenkins? Could Stewart shed any light on that?”
Wellborn eyed him intently, his mouth curving ever so slightly. “He did have a few observations of interest.”
Darius scowled at his butler. “Quit toying with me, man, and spit it out,” he growled. “You’ve tortured me enough for one afternoon.”
All hints of a smile vanished from Wellborn’s face as he nodded. “Very well, sir. It might interest you to know that Jenkins’s fiercest rival is a man by the name of Anton Renard. He has an outstanding reputation among pilots and businessmen alike. Efficient. Honest. Maintains quality machinery and knows how to make the customer happy.”
Darius seized upon the name. “And he’s French.”
“So it would seem,” Wellborn concurred. “Stewart said there was bad blood between the two that goes back many years, but he didn’t know the details. He spoke highly of Renard Shipping, though. Said it was a shame Anton Renard had no son to carry on the family business. Only a daughter, he believed.”
Wellborn casually lifted his cup to his mouth to sip his coffee as if he hadn’t just dropped an informational gem worth more than a king’s ransom on the table between them.