Journey's End (Gilded Promises) (12 page)

“That’s correct.” A slow breath of air wheezed out of his lungs. “I immediately hired a private detective to search for the couple. They were never found.”

Caroline took over the story then, disregarding the agony she sensed in her grandfather. “My father was far quicker and sharper than any of your hired detectives understood. He knew how to hide in plain sight. He and my mother moved around the streets of London unnoticed.”

She paused, gave her grandfather a chance to interrupt or perhaps ask a question. When he remained silent, she continued.

“They were deliriously happy. Unfortunately, my mother wasn’t prepared for living on the run, and my father wasn’t much better. When they found out I was on the way, they decided things had to change.”

This next part of the story was the hardest to tell. “He found work wherever he could, but it wasn’t enough. He wasn’t educated and had no family connections. Eventually, he went to work with a street gang in Whitechapel.”

Her grandfather shuddered but wound his wrist in the air, indicating she carry on.

“As it turned out, Jonathan Archer wasn’t cut out for a life of crime any more than my mother was cut out for life on the run.” Neither had been like their daughter, Caroline realized, cringing at the reality of who she’d become in order to survive. A liar, a cheat, a woman bent on revenge. “My mother always said my father was a good man, full of honor and integrity.”

And that was his downfall, in the end.

Instead of scoffing at this, her grandfather nodded. “My Libby was always a good judge of character.”

Not the Libby Caroline knew. Her mother had been a terrible judge of character, as evidenced by the place where she’d died, a dirty, rundown shack in the most disreputable section of London.
Bad company corrupts good morals.
Had that been the true tragedy of her mother’s life? The loss of who she was, at the core, because of the company she’d chosen to keep?

“My father was killed several months before I was born, by the man he was supposed to be working for.”

Her grandfather’s eyes flew open. “You never met your father?”

“No.” She held the old man’s gaze. “He died, and as far as I’m concerned, abandoned my mother as surely as you did.”

“Why didn’t Libby try to come home?”

“She did. By the time my father died, you had already left the country. As I told you, she sent letters, the ones
you
returned unopened.”

He rose quickly and stalked toward her. “Where are these letters now?”

At last. This severe, furious man was the one Caroline had expected to meet here tonight. Now they were on common ground, engaging in the battle she’d come prepared to fight.

“I have them tucked safely away.”

“I demand you show them to me.”

“I thought you might say that. But as you can see, I am dressed for a dinner party.” She twirled in a slow circle to make her point. “Where exactly would I stash three dozen letters in a ridiculously overpriced gown worth more than my mother scraped together in a year?”

He ignored the question.

“You will retrieve the letters.” Not a question, or even a statement, but a command. “And bring them directly to me.”

Caroline bristled at the commanding tone that didn’t match the grief she saw in his eyes. Her own emotions ebbed and flowed in several directions, making her dizzy, making her question her goals, her very purpose for being in this room.

She let none of her internal conflict show on her face. “Of course you will want to read them. However, I find this conversation has exhausted me beyond my endurance. I will return tomorrow morning with my mother’s letters.”

“You will return with them tonight. And then you will tell me the rest of your story, leaving out no detail, no matter how large or small, terrible or tragic.”

“And if I don’t return?”

“You will.” He strode to a door near the bookshelves and pulled it open with a hard tug. “Jackson,” he called out. “A word, if you please.”

Montgomery materialized in the doorway, his immediate presence indicating he’d known her grandfather would take her to his study rather than remain in the blue drawing room.

So the man was able to anticipate his business partner’s actions. A valuable piece of information Caroline tucked away.

“What can I do for you, sir?”

“Escort my granddaughter to her place of residence, wait for her to retrieve what is mine, and then escort her back here at once.”

“Very good.” He nodded, acting compliant and biddable as any lackey. “I’ll have her back within the hour.”

“Whatever you do, do not let her out of your sight.”

Turning to face her directly, Montgomery displayed a predatory grin. “You may count on it.”

Chapter Twelve

Jackson made no effort to speak to Caroline as he escorted her through the St. James home. Soon enough, they would be alone in his carriage, where no one could overhear their conversation. For now, he kept to the less traveled hallways, in the express hope of avoiding an encounter with the rest of the family. Or Luke.

Shoulders tense, Jackson shot a quick glance at the woman by his side. There was something akin to despair showing in her small frame, a look that might be defined as dejection. He should be pleased. Instead, he felt a swift kick in his gut, followed by a desire to ease her sorrow.

In the dim light, she seemed too vulnerable to be completely immoral, even though Jackson knew a healthy dose of suspicion was imperative at this point.

Concealing his thoughts, he directed her to the front stoop and motioned her to his waiting carriage.

“No motorcar?” she asked, scoffing.

“I am a man of simple tastes,” he admitted. It was a moment of self-honesty that gave him pause.

Frowning, he took her hand and guided her into the carriage. Her fingers trembled lightly beneath his. An act? Or genuine emotion? He hated that he didn’t know.

Moving in behind her, he settled on the seat facing hers. Eyes on her he shut the door and then pounded on the roof with his fist.

The carriage lurched forward, sending her scooting backward to maintain her balance. Her eyes narrowed. “You did that on purpose.”

He didn’t deny it.

Before she could completely right herself, Jackson swooped forward and placed his palms on the seat cushion on either side of her. He’d sufficiently trapped her, using his superior size to corral her to the spot.

She didn’t flinch, or gasp, or even try to slap his hands away. She remained perfectly calm, her expression devoid of all emotion. Impressive control. “I suggest you rethink your route of intimidation, Mr. Montgomery.”

She was a cool one. Elusive, mysterious, hard to read. She was also a liar. He leaned a fraction closer. “Who are you?”

Not a single muscle moved in her face. “You know who I am.”

Again, he couldn’t help thinking her control was impressive. Despite himself, Jackson felt a welling of respect. “Tell me again.”

“My name is Caroline St. James.” Her hands slid into her lap, twined slowly together. “Libby St. James was my mother.”

The aristocratic tone in her voice would convince most people she was exactly who she said she was. But her eyes were filled with too many dark secrets, and something else. Something that could only be described as . . . guilt?

No, something more complicated.

Whatever she had discussed with Richard in his private study had left her feeling remorseful. And sad. The sight of all that pain drew him forward, just an inch. His attention lingered on her face, moving between her eyes and her mouth, both tight with tension. Her beauty enticed him to destroy all remnants of the civilized, honorable man he’d always thought himself to be.

Blessed are those whose ways are blameless.

More than a favorite proverb. A way of life for Jackson.

For a long, dangerous moment, he fought against an unfamiliar yearning rising within him, the one he’d experienced on Orchard Street when he’d first set eyes on this woman. He’d seen her concern for her friend, the way she’d taken most of the girl’s weight and had shielded her from the pressing crowd.

Caroline St. James might be dressed in a fine silk gown with her hair twisted in a smart, sophisticated style, but she was no innocent society miss. She was a street-smart woman who had journeyed to America without family or husband and had befriended a frail young woman along the way. That ability to show fierce, unwavering loyalty was the part of her personality that intrigued Jackson most.

Despite knowing she couldn’t be trusted, he moved closer still, so close he could see the slight widening of her eyes.

He froze, appalled at his behavior. He was no animal, mastered by his base, fleshly desires.

Yet he couldn’t find it in him to move back.

Absorbed in their silent battle, he tapped into his well-honed patience and waited her out. She would soon break under the pressure of his silence. Everyone did.

When she continued holding steady, her gaze unwavering under his, he released a knowing grin.

She blinked but waited him out for several more seconds. Another moment and,
finally
, she pulled back. Away from him.

He heard the small rustle of silk, noted the flicker of battle in her eyes. Sensing her next move, he dropped his gaze in time to see her fingers unwind slowly. One hand moved to the seat cushions beside her; the other curled into a fist and then suddenly shot up.

She was fast.

He was faster.

With a quick swipe, he caught her balled fist right before it connected with his chin.

“Now that isn’t any way for a St. James to behave.”

She yanked her hand free. “Beast.”

That was a new one. In most circles Jackson was considered highly civilized, completely above reproach. He’d worked hard to gain that reputation. He’d restored respectability to his family name by avoiding activities that could possibly end up in scandal. Yet here he was, all but brawling with a young woman raised in a completely different world than he.

It didn’t make sense.

He pushed back and settled against the seat cushions.

Tearing her gaze from his, she set both hands back in her lap. She flattened her palms against her thighs and casually rubbed them across her skirt.

Her face showed no emotion, her fine-boned features almost serene. He felt like a heathen.

That didn’t mean he was through interrogating her.

“I take it you’ve been planning tonight’s little drama for some time.” When she didn’t admit or deny her actions, he continued, “What do you want from Richard St. James?”

“That’s none of your business.” She looked so sad as she glanced out the window that Jackson felt an unexpected jolt of tenderness. Or was it longing? Both? Neither?

“On the contrary, it is my business. I am Richard’s business partner.” He leaned back and pretended grave interest in his thumbnail. “You won’t get a single penny out of him, you know. I’ll make sure of it.”

“Planning to keep all that lovely money for yourself?” She pulled delicately at her skirt, carefully reset a pleat, and then smoothed her fingertips across the fabric. “Is that the reason you wish to court my cousin? So you can merge your coffers with my grandfather’s?”

Air hissed out of his lungs. “You will not bring Elizabeth into this.”

“I have every right to do just that.” She adjusted herself on the seat.
“Or weren’t you paying attention tonight? Elizabeth is my cousin. We are family. Something you, sir, are not. Not yet, anyway. Maybe not ever.”

“Is that a threat?” He leaned forward, setting his nose inches from hers. “Think, my sweet miss. Think very hard before you answer.”

Caroline realized a moment too late she’d pushed the man too far. Jackson Montgomery might dress like a gentleman. He might walk and talk like one, but his eyes told her a fierce warrior lurked below the surface.

What if he decided to use physical force with her, like the street thugs she’d encountered on the streets of London? What if he tossed her out of the carriage in such a way she ended up . . .

No. She would not panic. Such an attitude was cowardly. There was decency in this man, despite the seething anger brewing beneath the cool facade.

She would not panic. She would not panic. She would not—

“Where is your bravado now, Miss Harding, I mean . . .
St. James
?” His gaze never left her face. “Has the fine clothing stolen the fight out of you?”

Her heart raced, half with indignation and half with an awareness of Montgomery’s superior size and strength. “I don’t know what you mean. I have no reason to fight you.”

Oh, but that was a lie. Somehow, this man of perfect manners and respectability knew he’d pushed her into a corner, giving her no other choice but to give in or lash out.

Either prospect put her at a gross disadvantage.

A dirty trick.

Apparently, they were more alike than he realized. He was here, in this carriage, subtly threatening her, because he felt the need to protect Richard St. James from her. As Caroline had often done on her mother’s behalf.

More to the point, just as it was for Caroline, this battle was a personal one for Montgomery. Because of money? Or was there something more driving him?

Never underestimate your enemy.
A lesson she’d learned in far rougher situations than this.

Peering at him from lowered lashes, Caroline took a quick assessment. This was a man who would not be made a fool.

Neither was he a man who would hurt a woman.

She was definitely . . . practically . . .
almost
sure of it.

“You condemn me and my motives when you have no idea why I have come here tonight.” She purposely appealed to the honor-bound man she sensed inside of him. “Are you absolutely sure, beyond a doubt, that I’ve come to fleece my own grandfather?”

His lips pulled into a cold smile. Sitting so close, she could see the mockery in the gesture. He braced his feet on the carriage floor in a casual manner, his position both relaxed and ready to strike. “Don’t forget we’ve met before, Caroline, on a very different side of town.”

A valid point.

She caught her bottom lip between her teeth, suddenly at a loss for words. How could she explain the complexities of the situation when he was so determined that he had the particulars already figured out?

Panic gnawed at her again, trying to tear into her control. She shoved the useless emotion aside with a hard swallow and lifted her chin. It was time to reveal a portion of the truth.

This man—this
brute
—had forced her hand. “I am tired of being alone.” To her surprise and embarrassment, tears formed in her eyes. “I wish to know my family, to claim them as my own.”

He laughed at her. He actually laughed. “Such a heartfelt response, truly you’re breaking my heart. Tell me, Caroline, is that the story you told Richard?”

“At the risk of sounding redundant, what I discussed with my grandfather in private is none of your business. And for the record”—she blinked down an array of emotions—“I am not after his money.”

“We’ll see.”

The carriage slowed to a stop, hailing the end of their journey. She expected Montgomery to open the door at once. But no.

“We have arrived,” she said, looking pointedly at the door.

He still didn’t make a move. Not one single glance toward the exit. “I will stop at nothing to protect Richard and the rest of his family.”

“You seem to be under the erroneous impression that they are in need of protection against me.”

“Aren’t they?”

It was a question she couldn’t answer, not anymore. Perhaps a day ago, yes. But now? After her private meeting with her grandfather she didn’t know what she wanted anymore.

And that scared her far more than the man sitting on the other side of the carriage.

Another few seconds ticked by. She counted them off in her head. One. Two. Three. The interior of the carriage seemed to grow smaller, suffocating, beyond confining.

Her hand lifted involuntarily to her throat. She swallowed and did so again, but nothing seemed to relieve the dry, parched feeling.

More seconds ticked by. Four. Five. Six. Caroline waited for Montgomery to make his move. She waited. And waited. Seven. Eight. Nine.

He didn’t budge, not one single inch.

When Caroline didn’t think she could stand a moment more of this infuriating game, he broke the silence at last. “Answer me this . . .” He held the pause for effect. “If someone were to offer you money to leave New York, how much would it take to send you packing?”

She reached up, her hand nearly connecting with his handsome face. She stopped herself just in time. Barely holding back her temper, she hid her furious reaction behind a quick sweep of her fingers across her forehead.

Dripping pure innocence in her manner, she slid across the small space dividing them and settled on the seat next to the odious man. “Why, Mr. Montgomery”—she bared her teeth in a smile meant to irritate—“are you offering me a bribe?”

It was his turn to reach up, but much slower than she had and with a great deal more control. He captured a wayward strand of her hair between his thumb and forefinger. “That depends entirely on you.”

Sitting this close to the man, she could smell his masculine scent, could hear the faint drumming of his heartbeat. Or was that the sound of her own pulse in her ears?

His finger looped around the strand of hair, around and around and around. With each slow twine, the distance between them closed. She’d meant to remain perfectly still, but something about this man drew her forward, even as danger radiated out of him.

He wasn’t as immune as he pretended. She saw the conflict in his eyes. One move on her part, one shift on his, and their lips would meet.

She pulled in a steadying breath. Montgomery’s familiar scent of leather and wood filled her nose. Her anger at him—at herself—at them both—increased tenfold, enough to unleash her tongue at last. “Unhand me, sir.”