His For Christmas (25 page)

Authors: Fiona Shin

BOOK: His For Christmas

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“A widow?” Mrs. Miller let out a huff. “Not with that blush on your face.”

Ivy didn’t know how to remove said blush from her face when it was wholly involuntarily.

“Be that as it may,” continued the proprietor of Miller’s Boardinghouse without missing a breath. “I am indeed looking for a cook. Can you fry an egg without burning the edges?”

Ivy nodded, almost too hopeful to breath. “I can.”

“Very well.” Mrs. Miller nodded, all the while looking at Ivy with eyes that seemed to go through her very soul. “Wages are nine dollars a week, every other Sunday off. Room and board are included in the wages.”

“Thank you,” said Ivy, hoping very much she wouldn’t collapse weeping to her knees. “That sounds quite agreeable.”

The proprietress slammed the leather book shut with a satisfied air. “Can you start now?”

And that had been that.

How are you doing, Mrs. Stevens?

Ivy broke the yolks and flipped the eggs over, trying her best not to remember Elliot. She very nearly succeeded. “I am very indebted to you, Mrs. Miller.”

Mrs. Miller raised a brow. “Pshaw. Were it not for you, we’d have a house full of rioting boarders. Who knows how much money we would’ve lost. The Lord has been known to work in strange ways.”

They shared a smile, rare for the proprietress, and Mrs. Miller was called away by the call of a boarder, leaving Ivy to her eggs, the toast lying on the griddle and nothing but her thoughts.

She was lucky. So very lucky.

Why then was she crying?

A few tears sizzled on the skillet and she swiped at her eyes with the edge of an apron. “Ivy Stevens, don’t you dare cry. You’re doing fine. Everything will be just fine.”

The toast was beginning to turn golden brown and she grabbed a plate from the overhead shelf.

“Mrs. Stevens?”

Ivy turned, a ready smile pasted on her lips, hoping the tear tracks had dried sufficiently. It wouldn’t do for her employer to see her crying like a maudlin fool. “Yes, Mrs. Miller?”

Mrs. Miller stood at the doorway, a strange expression on her pinched face.

And behind her was a tall figure, a wild expression on his beautiful face.

Elliot.

The plate slipped from her nerveless fingers and smashed to a thousand pieces on the wooden floor.

Mrs. Miller stepped forward and Elliot slipped into the kitchen, just that much closer to her.

There was a lump in her throat and Ivy tried to swallow it down. “Elliot.”

“Mrs. Stevens…” began Mrs. Miller in a quiet voice. “I have just heard the most extraordinary tale.”

Ivy felt a breath hitch in her chest and she bit her lower lip, trying to keep the tears at bay, wondering how long she could keep the warmth out of her eyes. “Yes, Mrs. Miller?”

The woman spared a glance over her shoulder, at the man who hadn’t taken his eyes off Ivy’s face, not for one moment. “He tells me you’ve run away from him. I told him you were a widow and surely he must’ve been mistaken…”

Elliot opened his mouth, then. “Oh, I don’t think I’m mistaken, Mrs. Miller. I don’t think I am mistaken at all, am I…Ivy?”

At the sound of his voice, his wonderfully low, husky voice, she could no longer keep the tears away and swiped at her wet cheeks. “I’m sorry, Elliot. I am so sorry.”

Mrs. Miller’s gaze flitted from her to the man standing next to her now. “Perhaps I will give you some time, shall I?”

‘No! Don’t leave me alone with him!’ Ivy wanted to scream, but by the time she managed to draw in a breath to speak, Mrs. Miller had hastened out and she was left alone.

With Elliot Whitley.

He was silent again.

Ivy clenched her teeth.

If he didn’t begin talking soon, she was going to scream, she knew it.

“You left a note.”

Not entirely the way she imagined the conversation would start, but it was a start.

She nodded. “I left you a note. I’m sorry I took your money. I was going to mail you what I owed tomorrow when I get my first week of wages.”

Her voice shook, but then again, so did every other part of her body.

“Were you now?” he asked, in that same, polite, even tone as if they were conversing about the pleasant weather. “And then what?”

Oh, if he would stop looking at her like that! For all his voice sounded tame, cultivated, the look in his dark eyes promised revenge. “I…I don’t understand what you mean.”

“What would you have done?”

She couldn’t tear her eyes away from his. “Elliot, I don’t—”

An emotion flickered across his face, the first crack in his polite facade. “Why did you go?”

She flushed, although it might have been because she was right next to the oven. “I couldn’t stay.”

“No?” He took one step forward and suddenly the large kitchen seemed far too small. “You couldn’t? Tell me, Ivy, do you know what it’s like to wake up in a cold, empty bed?” His lips twitched. “Naked, I might add. I almost scared Mrs. Chang to death. She’s still recovering.”

Was that a joke? “Elliot, I’m sorry I left. But I wrote a note.”

“Ah yes,” he said and pulled out that small, white square of paper that was now, quite wrinkled and stained in several places. “The note. Dear Elliot. I’m sorry to leave in such a reprehensible manner. I cannot marry you. In time, you will come to understand. I will return the funds I have taken as soon as possible. Regards, Ivy.”

Her face felt like it had caught on fire. To hear her written words in such a way…she wanted to slide between the cracks in the floor and never come out. “I couldn’t stay, Elliot!”

He ignored her and slapped the note down on the cutting board with a thud that made her jump. “In time? In time I will come to understand? Well, it’s been a damn week and I still don’t understand. Would you kindly tell me what the hell I’m supposed to understand?”

“You can’t marry me!” The words fell off her lips in a rush. “Elliot, I was a beggar! I lived in the streets for weeks until you found me. I begged for food and shelter. How can you possibly want me to be your wife? You need someone who will bring something into your marriage, someone with a sizeable trousseau, someone who comes from a warm family that will readily welcome you. I have nothing, Elliot. I have nobody.”

Her voice cracked at the last word and he cut her off with an angry gesture.

“You have Mrs. Chang. You have Timothy,” he ground out. “Do you have any idea what sort of lies I had to tell that little boy? He thought you’d left because of him! Because he thought he would be in the way! It took me days to get him to forget such preposterous thought.”

Preposterous thought, indeed. Ivy’s heart ached to think of the small boy thinking such a thing. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. I didn’t mean to leave you like this. I didn’t mean to turn your household upside down. I didn’t mean to fall in love with you.”

Immediately, she clapped a hand to her mouth in the most abject horror, but it was already too late.

“That’s strange,” he said quietly. “I didn’t mean to fall in love with you, either.”

She couldn’t bear to look him in the eyes anymore. “I have nothing to give you. Please. Leave. This is the best for you.”

He mulled that over for a moment. “And for you? What is the best for you?”

She was crying again. Damn the man for turning her into a leaky water bucket! “It doesn’t matter. I have employment. I have a place to rest at night.”

His booted feet appeared into her vision and she felt his light touch on her chin, felt his hand lift her face. “Is that all you want?”

No.

That’s not what I want.

How badly she wanted to say those words. “It’s all I require. I’ve been so lucky.”

To find you.

No, she couldn’t say that.

Suddenly, a corner of his beautiful, dusky-red lips kicked up. “Ivy Stevens, you are a terrible, terrible liar.”

“I’m not ly—”

He kissed her, long, deep and even though she struggled in the initial moment of surprise, at the end, when he pulled away, her hands were clenched into his coat, unwilling to let him go, unwilling to let even the slightest distance appear between them.

His eyes burned into her. “Ivy Stevens, you are a
stupid
woman. You think I care about what you bring? You think I care about money? Damn it, woman, I don’t give a rat’s ass about money. I want you. Just
you
. Why is that so hard to understand?”

Her nose was starting to run and he laughed under his breath as he rummaged in his coat, coming up with a handkerchief that he held against her nose. “Blow.”

She glared at him, but complied, seeing as how her hands were currently occupied with keeping the minimum distance between the both of them. “I am not a child.”

“No, you’re not,” he agreed. “Like I said, things would be a lot easier if you were.”

Ivy opened her mouth and he stopped her with a finger to her lips.

“Listen to me,” he said, voice low. “Listen to me very well, Ivy Stevens. I love you. I want you in my life. I want you back at home…our home. With Mrs. Chang. With Timothy.” He smiled then and Ivy couldn’t remember when she had last seen something so wonderful. “We’ve missed Christmas, but perhaps we can make in time for New Years.”

Our home.

“But what will people say when they find out I’m just a street urchin?” she asked, ashamed that she could not let him go. “They’ll lose their respect for you.”

He smoothed a hand down her cheek and she leaned into his touch. “Then they were not worth knowing. If you want, we can move. Anywhere you want. It’ll be a new start. Whatever you want, Ivy. Just come home with me, Ivy. Come back home. Everyone misses you.
I
miss you.”

“I…”

It was almost too good to be true. Was this just a dream?

His hands tightened on her shoulders. “Promise me. Promise you’ll come home with me. Right now. This instant.”

She pinched herself and winced at the sudden, sharp pain.

It wasn’t a dream.

This was real.

A home. With Elliot. With Timothy. With Mrs. Chang.

She took a deep breath, her body shuddering.

“I want to come home,” she said. “I want to come home. With you.”

His eyes widened. “You promise.”

Ivy licked her dry lips. “I promise.”

I promise.