One Night to Remember

One Night to

Remember

By

Kristin Miller

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One Night to Remember

Copyright © 2012 by Kristin Miller

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All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, brands, and media are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

License Notes

This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the author's work.

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Dedication

To the women, children, men and crew of the R.M.S. Titanic who perished in the North Atlantic in the early morning hours of April 15
^th
, 1912.

Acknowledgements

Many thanks to Tina Folsom and Virna DePaul for lighting the way and cheering me on.

To my agent Nalini Akolekar, for championing my work even when I veer off traditional paths at the last minute…thank you from the bottom of my heart.

Huge thanks to Megan Jordan at Hot Damn Designs for blowing me away with her mad cover-crafting skills.

To my early readers and critique partners: Aggie, Lisa and Allyn. You’re amazing to the umpteenth degree! Lora, thanks for pointing out the obvious. I needed it.

Much love to my family and friends. Those of you who know me well, know my love of the Titanic goes far deeper than I can write in eighty pages. Thank you for feeding my obsession all these years.

Justin, Kelli and Gavin, without your unending love and support my dream of writing this book would not have come true.

Thank you for believing.

CHAPTER ONE

April 14
^th
, 1912

North Atlantic Ocean

Elizabeth Scott closed her eyes, and for the tenth time this dreaded evening, wished she were invisible. Maybe then she could pretend the trip was over. If the hum of the Titanic’s engines didn’t buzz beneath her feet, she could imagine she was hard at work in her studio in Boston, the troubles of Europe far behind her.

The trip was nearly over.

Waiters shuffled around tables in the first class dining room, picking up silver, delicately setting plates of steaming lamb on every setting. Whether or not the seat was taken was no matter. Wine was poured. Courses were served. Smiles were stretched to the limit.

Only the finest for the finest passengers sailing on the finest ship in the world.

Which was perfectly acceptable, unless there were others in the room like Elizabeth. Other passengers holding a first class ticket who viewed everyone on the ship, from first to third class, with the same level of civility.

She’d bet the gold coin in her shoe that the passengers in steerage weren’t being served on such elaborate china.

It wasn’t until Elizabeth sighed that the woman next to her, a busty woman with a pound of rubies dangling from her ear, finally spoke up.

“Is the lamb to your liking?” she asked, stabbing her own fillet with a fork. “They can make you another. All you have to do is ask.”

“The lamb is fine.” Elizabeth forced out a cough and slid a salad fork off the table, right into her lap. When she was certain no one saw what had happened, she peeled open her purse and slipped it inside. “I think my stroll around the deck this afternoon has simply taken the wind out of my sails.”

“Too much walking can make a lady pale with fever.” The woman leaned in close as if she were telling a dear secret. Elizabeth could almost smell the money seeping from her pores. She was clean, freshly bathed, and smelled strongly of rose-hipped musk. “You should take care. Perhaps some water would help.”

“Perhaps.” Elizabeth took a drink to appease the woman, then slid her elbow back across the table, dragging the knife from her setting onto her lap. “Are you traveling to New York with your husband?”

“I am,” she said, and swiveled in her chair. Her face lit with genuine excitement. Like no one had spent two seconds speaking with her about anything other than the necessary formalities. Her eggplant evening gown sparkled with more hand-sewn jewels than Elizabeth could count. The fabric was silk. Foreign. Very expensive. “He’s feeling under the weather and decided to retire for the evening.” She paused, pursing her lips, readying for a smile. “I‘m Lady Isabelle Grace,” she said with purpose, elevating her voice for everyone at the table to hear. “Pleased to meet you.”

Elizabeth didn’t need the woman to shout her name from the hilltops to know who she was. She’d married banker Lord Arthur Grace last year and they were headed to the states to rendezvous with his business partners.

“It’s nice to make your acquaintance.” Elizabeth took a sip of wine. It was woodsy with hints of vanilla and went down smooth, but did little to warm the irritation building in her middle. Dinner was dwindling to an end and Elizabeth still had work to do.

She hadn’t brought down Lady Isabelle’s guard. Not one bit….

“I’m Miss Elizabeth Scott,” she said, giving a ten carat smile.

“And you’re traveling with your fiancé, I presume?” Lady Isabelle twiddled a diamond bee brooch on the collar of her dress. It was Tiffany & Co. 1890 collection.

“No. I’m traveling alone.” Elizabeth slid the knife into her purse, then pressed it shut.

“Alone?” Isabelle spoke the word with such disdain, Elizabeth wondered if her tongue was sizzling. “I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

No, she wouldn’t have. Women born into money didn’t understand the trials and troubles of women who weren’t. Elizabeth knew those troubles all too well. Although she was wearing a flaming crimson evening gown, accented with just as many jewels as the pretentious Lady Grace, Elizabeth had slaved for every dollar to purchase them and sewed them by hand in her shop in Boston that she’d built from the ground up.

Bitterness balled her nerves into a fist that rammed into her ribcage. She finished off the red droplets on the bottom of her wine glass and glanced around the room. Other than the band playing a soft tune in the corner and the stewards clearing plates, most of the room had emptied.

And no one was paying attention to the crime that was about to take place.

“We’re coming into a new age, Lady Grace.” Deciding no time could be better, Elizabeth stood quickly, purse clutched in hand. “I’m afraid I must leave you now.”

“So soon?” she asked, her expression genuinely solemn. “Surely you can stay for dessert. With my husband away, I should like the company.”

Elizabeth smiled and moved slowly around the arched back of Lady Grace’s chair, dancing her long, graceful fingers over the top. By the time Isabelle swiveled her gown around to face her, Elizabeth had slipped her gold tasseled purse off the table.

Holding it behind her back, Elizabeth leaned over and nailed the boards into Lady Isabelle’s casket. “I’m afraid I cannot stay. You see, I’m not feeling well, but it’s not due to the lamb.” She went in for the kill, gently brushing her stomach. “My situation is…delicate in nature.”

Nearly jumping out of her seat, Isabelle lost all color. “You are with child? Oh my dear, I am so sorry. And with no fiancé!”

“It’s all right. I’m plenty accustomed to doing things on my own. Now if you’ll excuse me…”

Careful not to turn so that Lady Isabelle would see her stolen clutch, Elizabeth gave a small curtsy and excused herself from the table. She’d done it. Another night, another first class passenger swindled out of money they’d earned off the backs of others.

By the time Lady Grace realized her purse was stolen, Elizabeth would have the money emptied from it and have returned the clutch to the Master at Arms. She would probably think she’d misplaced it or dropped it along the way to dinner. When it was discovered in the lost and found, Isabelle wouldn’t cause a fuss. The snobbishly rich never did. Her husband, Lord Grace, was known for his obsessive gambling and frequently “borrowed” from his wife’s trove. She’d either think the money was missing or wasn’t there to begin with.

It was quite ridiculous, really, to think more people weren’t taking advantage of all the wealth of the world on a single ship, stuck in the middle of the North Atlantic. Elizabeth swelled with pride when she realized she might’ve been the only ingenious person among them.

As she reached the French doors leading into first class reception room, Elizabeth had the skin-crawling feeling that eyes were boring into her back. She spun around, facing her table. Lady Grace had gone back to her plate, oblivious to the theft that’d taken place.

No one looked her direction.

No one except the clean shaven man with side swept chestnut hair, blazing brown eyes and a square cut jaw. The man walking toward Elizabeth with a hard pound to his stride. As if he’d just witnessed everything.

CHAPTER TWO

Thomas McGuire couldn’t believe his eyes.

A well-presented first class woman--dressed head to toe in scarlet, from the feather in her hair to her ruffled gown--had stolen from both The White Star Line and Lady Isabelle Grace in a single dinner! She’d first caught his eye as she walked by his table earlier in the evening, swaying her hips a little too seductively, the front of her dress dipping a little too low, showcasing the soft plumpness of her breasts.

But when her fork dropped into her lap, she’d captured his interest in an entirely different way. She didn’t strike him as the clumsy type. In fact it was just the opposite. She moved slowly, gracefully, each movement deliberate.

At first, Thomas thought she’d simply pick up the silver and return it to its place. But then she’d dropped a knife. Neither of which returned to the table during the course of her meal.

She’d laughed with Lady Grace. Talked. Smiled. Leaned in close to whisper something before excusing herself.

And then she’d snared his breath in his chest. With one swipe of Lady Grace’s coin pouch, the golden haired woman, who looked fairer than any woman he’d ever laid eyes upon, had hardened into a criminal.

Right before his eyes.

He excused himself from his table, said goodnight to the rest of the seamen, and followed her out the French doors leading into the reception room. The woman stopped and turned around, her expression tainted with paranoia.

He stopped as well, waiting to see if she’d bolt or return to her table.

She did the unthinkable.

Smiling a coy, knowing smile as if she realized she’d been caught, the woman curtsied in his direction. More than a little perplexed, Thomas bowed in return. When he brought his gaze back to center, she was swerving around tables on the other side of the room. The nerve of that woman! To know she’d been caught red-handed stealing from a high ranking member of society, only to smile and turn away. As if he’d stand idly by doing nothing!

He charged after her, his boots thumping loudly over the Jacobian rugged floor. He followed her out the doors leading to the grand staircase and stopped when he reached the banister. Thomas peered down a corridor to his right. Peered left. Leaned over the balcony and glanced up to C Deck. His gaze shot to the deck below. There—spinning around the newel post, was a delicate, crimson gloved hand.

Moving quickly, Thomas bolted down the short set of stairs onto E Deck and hit the landing as the clock clicked over to ten. Pushing through a couple ascending in his direction, Thomas glanced around the corner, hoping for any sign of the woman in red.

Up ahead, around the next corridor leading to second and third class cabins, the swell of a ruffling red dress caught his eye.

She wouldn’t escape that easily.

Thomas picked up speed, and when he saw the soft waves of her golden hair bouncing behind her, he realized she was running.

“You there!” he called, drawing her attention. “Stop!”

She shot a glance over her shoulder, smiled, and quickened her pace, running full speed through the corridor.

 This was not a game. At least not one he felt like playing tonight. Thomas hastened his step. Not wanting to scare the passengers, Thomas smiled as they passed by, making steady eye contact. But each time he took his eyes off
her,
she seemed to gain distance on him.