Her Defiant Heart (23 page)

"Thought you might have missed my answer." He grinned. He smoothed the edges of his handlebar mustache with the tips of his fingers. "Yes, Miss Holland, my beat takes me directly past there. Is that where you're going?"

"Yes," she said. It did not feel like a lie. It was her general direction, if not her specific one. "Then you don't mind if I walk with you?"

"Sure, and I'll be pleased to have the company of a pretty colleen like yourself."

And she would be pleased to have his protection. Jenny knew that where she was going there would be people who would do everything they could to see that she was silenced. There were those members of upper Manhattan's social elite that could be compared quite accurately to the criminal element of Paradise Square.

Jenny left Liam behind on the corner of Forty-third and Fifth. The copper had offered to escort her to the servants' entrance at the Vanderstell mansion, but Jenny had declined in what she hoped was a gracious manner. She was thankful Liam was not more persistent since the Vanderstell home was not her destination. The scene could have been very awkward had she shown her face there.

The wind was less biting now that she had turned the corner, but Jenny kept her hood close and her eyes downcast. The soft fur trim tickled her pink cheeks as she watched her feet kick up a spray of snow with each step. Even though she had taken the precaution of wearing woolen mittens and stockings, her fingers and toes tingled from the cold. This unpleasant reminder of what she had already suffered made Jenny more determined to see that justice was done. If she could not do that, she thought unhappily, she might very well go mad.

Jenny knew Wilton Reilly was a creature of habit. After a few blocks she turned south to intercept him before he reached home. As soon as she saw him striding along Eighth Avenue, taking his daily constitutional, she would know the time was a few minutes on either side of two-thirty. In the past when she had accompanied him on his walk, she had teased Reilly about his adherence to routine. She had never expected to feel so grateful for it.

Mr. Reilly's brisk walking style did not allow for woolgathering or taking much regard of the neighborhood. Those activities were more suited to Sunday afternoons and Central Park. He refused to dwell on anything more thought provoking than the housekeeper's recent assertion that William Bennington and son were going to hell in a handcart. Since Reilly agreed, even approved, it was hardly a matter to be pondered long. Now his concentration was on the mechanics of walking, shoulders straight, eyes ahead, and arms swinging slightly at his sides. His stride was long, purposeful, and quick. He did not notice the young woman until she stepped squarely in his path.

His first instinct was to tip his bowler, beg the woman's pardon, and continue on his way. Recognition caused his hand to falter halfway to his hat.

"Are you going to strike me, Mr. Reilly?" Jenny asked gravely. What she wanted to do was throw herself into Reilly's capable arms and never let go. She wanted his protection, his avuncular advice, and his prayers. There had been so many times of late when she was afraid of the course she had set for herself.

"You! My God, it's you!" His voice was not much above a whisper and his usual sangfroid deserted him. He blinked several times. What he thought must be an apparition, or at least wishful thinking, did not vanish.

"Close your mouth," she said. "You look like a hooked fish." Jenny glanced around. The avenue was virtually deserted, but it was safer if they kept moving. Her plan depended in part on maintaining Reilly's routine. "We should walk."

"I can hardly believe this." He lifted his bowler and rubbed the bald spot at the back of his head before he replaced the hat. "I
don't
believe it. I was so certain... that is, we all were so sure that..."

"Whatever you thought, you can see it isn't true. But I understand your surprise. Make no mistake, that I am here at all is proof that I have an odd assortment of guardian angels. Never mind," she added when she caught his puckered frown. "I have no time to explain it now."

It was not often that Reilly lost command of a situation, yet now he felt very much at sea. "I can't take this in," he said, shaking his head. "When the others hear..."

"No one must know," she said quickly. She felt a stab of panic and met it squarely. "The risk would be enormous. I am only willing to trust
you,
Mr. Reilly. Can you accept that?"

"Of course," he said without hesitation.

"It will be a burden for you. I am in need of a great many favors."

"Do not concern yourself," he said. "How may I help?"

Jenny felt the tightness in her chest ease. She had cautioned herself against expecting Reilly to assist her, but she realized now how much she had been counting on his help. "There will be risk for you as well. Living in the house as you do, you might find yourself under suspicion."

Reilly snorted derisively. "Allow me to worry about that. Once again, how may I help?"

"I need money. Several hundred dollars will make a good beginning."

A deep furrow appeared between Reilly's beetled eyebrows. "You want me to rob a bank?"

Jenny's breath clouded in the cold air as she laughed. "Oh, Reilly, I believe you have a sense of humor after all. Of course I don't want you to rob a bank.
Any
bank," she said to be clear. "There are some items at the house which I believe you can take without drawing attention to yourself or even to their disappearance. Selling them will raise the money I need. I've made a list." She reached into a pocket inside her cloak and pulled out a meticulously creased piece of paper. "Here, take this and keep it safe. Don't read it now. The things I've underlined are the ones I think you can take from the house. Some silver pieces, a few items of jewelry. I have given this considerable thought. I believe it can be done without attracting notice. The other things listed are items I need you to purchase for me."

Reilly frowned. "This is all very mysterious. Perhaps too much so. Are you thinking clearly?"

Jenny was taken aback. "Not you, too," she said. "Are you doubting my competency?"

"I am not," he said succinctly. "Do not put words in my mouth. I was trying to interject a note of caution, not comment on your state of mind."

"I'm sorry. It's just that after..."

He waved aside her apology. "You don't have to explain."

But Jenny realized that she did. Reilly's understanding of what had happened to her had to be vague at best. He may not have known what had been done to her, but he, like all the members of the staff who had looked in on her from time to time, had believed she was gravely ill. "I cannot tell you anything now, but I promise that we will talk later." She glanced in his direction, her expression earnest. "Will you do this favor for me without further question?"

He nodded. "Anything you want, but not without question, I'm afraid. For instance, how do I reach you? You have not mentioned where you're living or how you're keeping body and soul together."

"And I can't. Not yet. It's better that you know very little." Jenny heard his disdainful sniff and realized she had hurt his feelings again. "Please don't take offense," she said. "I must also think of the people who are caring for me now. They know so little about me, and I intend to keep it that way. If you were to come around, it would compromise me. I do not want to make my troubles theirs."

"Very well," he said heavily. "I shall respect your wishes, but under protest."

Jenny smiled, confident now that he would not only help her but keep her secret as well. "It will not be possible for us to meet like this again, but I have arrived at an alternative which I believe will be satisfactory."

"Go on."

"When you have what I need you'll place a notice in the personal columns of the
Herald.
I will respond in the same manner with further instructions. We can communicate without fear of being caught."

Reilly was not as certain. "I don't see how. Young Mr. Bennington reads those personal columns with religious fervor. If you'll pardon me for speaking so frankly, he's looking for women of... of easy virtue, the type who make and keep appointments in their own homes while their husbands are occupied elsewhere."

"I see." Her words were carried away on the wind's back.

"He would see my name and yours," Reilly went on, "and that would be the end."

"There must be aliases, then." She thought a moment. "What do you think of Butler?"

"Clever," he said dryly. "And yours?"

"Princess."

"Of course." He smiled. "That's very good."

"I'm glad you approve. We're agreed?"

"Yes."

"I must go now," she said, glancing up and seeing that she had accompanied him nearer to his destination than was her intention. "We are too close to the house. I might be seen." She paused and turned to face him, placing one hand on his forearm. "Thank you, Mr. Reilly. I promise you will not regret this. Someday I will make it up to you."

His sunken cheeks flushed with ruddy color. "It will make it up when you bring the Benningtons to their knees."

"What makes you think that is my plan?"

Wilton Reilly smiled. "Don't men kneel at the feet of the princess?"

* * *

Stephen Bennington let the gold velvet drapes in the front parlor window fall back. His handsome features were drawn into a taut, thoughtful expression as he turned away from the window. He was still frowning when Reilly entered the house by the front door—a liberty the butler took which invariably struck Stephen on the raw. Why his father insisted on keeping the man employed was beyond Stephen's understanding. It was an old argument they periodically engaged in because it was never resolved. It seemed that William wanted Reilly because most of the Fifth Avenue aristocracy had tried to lure him away at one time or another. His efficiency in running a household was legendary, and there was still a touch of merry old England in his accent that reminded people he had once served dukes and counts. Or so he said. Stephen was inclined to believe otherwise.

Stephen stepped into the hallway and confronted the butler as he was removing his hat and coat. "Who were you speaking to out there, Reilly?"

"Sir?"

"I saw you speaking to someone," Stephen said sharply. "Who was it?"

Not for the first time Reilly thought that young Mr. Bennington was in need of a swift kick in the arse. "I'm sure I don't know, Mr. Stephen," he said politely. "We didn't exchange names."

"Then how was it you came to be speaking?"

Reilly decided to take the offense. "I'm not certain I understand your interest. Is she someone you know?"

The butler's directness took Stephen off guard. "She looked... that is, it seemed... she reminded me..."

"Yes?"

"Never mind." It had only been a brief glimpse, he told himself. His suspicions were unwarranted. He'd only had a tumbler of brandy, but Reilly would have considered him drunk if he had spoken his thoughts aloud. "It's none of your concern." He turned on his heel and retreated into the parlor. "Get me another brandy, Reilly," he said. "And there's no need to mention our exchange to my father. He wouldn't understand."

"I'm not certain I understand myself," Reilly said for Stephen's benefit. But he did understand. The Princess had nearly exposed herself this afternoon. She had been wise to think of an alternative way to communicate with him. It was probably a lucky thing that Stephen didn't want to tell his father what he thought he had seen. William Bennington was considerably more cautious than his son and wouldn't have rested until he was satisfied there was nothing to Stephen's story that a trick of the light or an afternoon of serious drinking couldn't explain.

"Just get me the brandy," Stephen snapped.

"Very good, sir." The butler's mouth bore the hint of a haughty smile as he turned away. Having a hand in Stephen Bennington's comeuppance would be very sweet revenge indeed.

* * *

Christian Marshall raked his fingers through his thick hair. "What do you mean I am
aware
of her?" he asked Scott. Before his friend could answer, he continued. "I pay her as much attention as I do any of my staff. Mrs. Brandywine is in charge.
She
gets my attention. Trust me, Scott. I do not want Jenny Holland underfoot or under roof. Surely it has occurred to you by now that she's hiding here."

"It's occurred to me."

Mrs. Brandywine entered the study with a tray of tea and cakes. When the housekeeper left, Scott helped himself to a cup of tea and wandered over to the window where Christian was standing. "What has she told you?" he asked.

"Hardly anything. And at least one lie that I can name."

"Oh?"

"She said she was Alice Vanderstell's personal maid. She must not have realized that I knew Alice has been in the hospital this last year."

"But you let the lie pass."

"Why shouldn't I? I'm sure she thinks she has her reasons. They're unimportant to me."

"Aren't you the least bit curious about her?"

Eaten up with it, he almost said. "Not really."

Scott threw up his hands. "I don't believe you, but since there is no talking to you about it, I will let it go."