Ruby's Song (Love in the Sierras Book 3) (6 page)

“Do you have a card, Sir?” the butler asked without a smile.

“I…” he hadn’t thought that part through. He patted the pockets of his coat. “I seem to be out, I’m afraid. I’ve just arrived in town and was anxious to visit….my cousin…as a surprise, you see. My name is Dalton. Marlena’s cousin, Dalton Cunningham.”

“Very good, Sir,” the butler crooned before allowing Dalton into the entryway. He doffed his hat and followed the old man’s lead into the parlor. “Wait here, please.”

Dalton nodded and surveyed the empty room. The furnishings were impeccable, with chairs and sofas that looked like they’d never been sat on. The hearth was carved with such exquisite detail he couldn’t believe they’d ever risk it with a fire. A white pine cornice jutted above delicately etched frieze work and he ran his fingertip over the carvings, admiring the craftsmanship in each curve and groove. The same care and attention was given to every detail of the room, from its blue-gray marble baseboards, up the plaster walls to its high ceilings, given an extra dimension by the raised floral rinceau. He shook his head. This was a long way from Virginia City.

“Hello, Dalton,” he heard from behind in a smooth voice. He turned a wide smile onto Marlena as she emerged into the room, a vision in all white.

Sun streaming through the windows covered her in warm light and mingled with the layers of lace draping down the sleeves and bodice of her morning dress until they shimmered. Her skin seemed to shine, and he couldn’t tell which part of her appeared more brilliant, her face or her hair as it hung down in large soft waves to the base of her spine. The top half was swept up and pinned in the back. For the second time in less than twenty-four hours, her beauty arrested him.

His gaze fell on her lips as he remembered the taste of her tongue, the bold, hot exploratory probing she enacted. A hot flush covered his skin and he took a deep breath, clearing his throat. He could tell his wandering gaze made her uncomfortable as her eyes began to dance around the room and she reached up to pat her hair.

“Forgive my state,” she said. “You caught me in the middle of readying for the day.”

He glanced at the mantel clock and felt his mouth curve in a sideways grin. “It’s afternoon.”

Her cheeks bloomed like cherry blossoms and she looked at the floor to hide her smile. “Yes, well, I’m afraid leaving my bed any earlier was…impossible.”

A soft chuckle shook through his chest. “Aah, so you have a tumbleweed rolling around the inside of your head?”

She laughed as her palms covered her cheeks and she sank onto the sofa. “That is exactly how it feels. Please sit.”

He joined her on the other side of the sofa, leaning back to cross his ankle over a knee, and she studied him for a long moment before giggling into her palm.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing,” she returned hastily. “It’s just…propriety dictates that you not sit with me on the sofa…or cross your legs like that.”

“Oh,” he said, letting his leg drop. “Should I move to the chair?”

She giggled again. “I don’t mind how or where you sit. It just reminds me of me when I first came here. Not knowing any of the rules and breaking them.”

He leaned forward to raise a conspiratorial eyebrow. “And then learning all of the rules and still breaking them? Like yesterday?”

The red in her cheeks deepened and he couldn’t hide his amusement. But she didn’t speak, so he broke the silence. “I need to apologize to you. I shouldn’t have pricked your temper last night, nor presumed to tell you how to live. Five years of separation and I wasted no time criticizing you. It was rude and very ungentlemanly.” He studied her face, remembering the sadness and tears in her eyes as they’d said goodbye last night and he asked the question as it came to him. “Are you truly happy here, Little Miss?”

She went blank for a brief moment before rolling her eyes with an impatient huff. “Not when you call me that. I’m a bit old for childhood endearments.” She stood abruptly, so he stood. “And I’m afraid I must finish my toilette before my music lessons begin. Thank you for coming here and I accept your apology.”

“One more thing,” he said, almost forgetting the reason for his visit. “You look sober enough to handle this now.”

He handed over her gun and her eyes darted fearfully to the doorway before she snatched it and looked for a place to hide it. Without any pockets she gathered a handful of her skirt and bunched it around the gun, holding it as if she were preparing to lift her hem.

“Thank you for that,” she said. “Now, I really must go before someone sees this.”

Turning the brim of his hat in his hands, he offered another smile. “You take care of yourself. Maybe one day I’ll get to hear this talent everyone goes on about.”

“Perhaps,” she said, her lips curving in a grin that never reached her eyes. “Goodbye, Dalton.”

He opened the door. “Goodbye…” he couldn’t resist, “
Little Miss
.”

His smile widened when she rolled her eyes, and he chuckled all the way back out to the street. Feeling light and unburdened, he walked down Beacon Street and returned to the inn.

Chapter 6

Marlena felt it in her bones, the lackluster applause of the audience, and she knew it was the direct result of her lackluster performance. It was a denouncement she deserved and would have to endure, for she knew her heart had not been in the act that night. The melancholy that had settled over her with Dalton’s departure still lingered.

Her visit with the Cunninghams had been disastrous. She’d overindulged on wine and had become an even more obnoxious pretender. His disinterestedness had been clearly etched on his beautiful face, and all she could do was drink more and lie more. And then she’d gone and done the most horrifying thing and cried in front of him, not to mention kissing him! Even thinking of it made her cringe, and there was no excuse to offer. Looking back and laughing over fond memories of her hometown had filled her with so much grief that it had simply overwhelmed her. And as for kissing him? Well, she’d simply given in to the impulses of her body.

Seeing Dalton the next day was difficult, but she couldn’t have sent him away. Being near him felt more wonderful than the thought of avoiding him for the sake of her pride. He looked so handsome and boyishly charming as he struggled through his discomfort in the Winthrop home. If she had been discontent with her life before seeing him again, she was in complete misery now. Still, there was no reason for it. Dalton was a childhood infatuation, a worthy and wonderful man to pin her young heart on. He haunted her dreams, but she knew his appeal lie in what he represented.

Home.

Thoughts and dreams of him coaxed her back to a time and place where she felt the warmth of sisterly love and the independence of the west. His being in Boston shed bright, unmistakable light on how wide the gap was between who she used to be and who she was trying hard to become. In his eyes, she was a
Brahmin
, yet in the eyes of the
Brahmins
, she was a grasping ignoramus from the uncivilized west. Who was she and where did she truly belong? She had no idea, and it sapped all joy from her spirit. There was no more telltale sign of her listlessness than her failure on the stage this night. The energy from the crowd, the sense of purpose and resoluteness, were all lost on her, just as she was lost inside herself.

Though she relished her upcoming debut at the opera house, she was sad to leave the people of
The Museum.
She couldn’t risk Sarah catching her and cancelling. Marlena only had two weeks left at the venue before her true life took hold. It was becoming clear to Marlena that she’d pinned false hope on the debut, as if it being set would infuse her with all of the happiness she’d been craving. But the void was still there.

She sat at the vanity backstage and removed the mask she’d worn all night, grateful she wouldn’t have to spend an hour scrubbing greasepaint from her face. Her hair was still soft from its washing the day before and she plaited it over a shoulder. She sat on a stool in nothing but corset and bloomers until her body cooled and she tied a robe on. The reflection looking back at her was forlorn and empty.

Monkey approached and handed her a folded note. Even this nightly ritual failed to cheer her, but she took the paper with a wan smile. Her fingertips worked over the paper’s edge, and the words she read invited a small bit of warmth back into her heart.

Lovers ever run before the clock.

This time, her smile was real. Every woman wants to be admired, and here was a man who admired her without ever having seen her face. He saw something in her, something of her true self which she offered from the stage, something that had nothing to do with how she looked. That was a stronger pull than the sweetest of compliments.  

After two days of a dark heart, this man had brought in light. She knew his effects should not be ignored. Like any warm creature lunges for the light, she scribbled out a quote for him in return.

Let’s go hand in hand. Not one before another. – I invite you.

She gave the note to Monkey and returned to the vanity, resting her elbows on the wooden top, hands folded beneath her chin. And that’s the position she was in when her eyes met his in the mirror. The heavy beats of her heart drummed in her ears before slowing to a quiet crawl. Her body went still, paralyzed and cold. If her hands hadn’t been holding her chin up, it would have fallen with her jaw in pure shock. Her eyes grew wide enough to hurt.

“Dalton?”

His face bore the same incredulity. “What in the hell…”

“What are you doing in here?” She spun in her chair. The part of her robe fell open, revealing her knees clad in white stockings. His eyes dropped to the sight and she quickly stood and held the scant covering closed over her body. His face had gone pale, his mouth agape and his eyes roved in a slow, stunned circuit of the room.

“Well?” she demanded.

He blinked in rapid succession and licked his lips before shaking his head clear of the confusion controlling him.

“Um…” he stepped forward, coughed a laugh, and held up her note. “You invited me.”

She gasped and covered her mouth with her palm. “You?”

He scratched his brow and laughed again. “My thoughts exactly.”

Nausea spiraled in her stomach and crawled up her throat. She spun away from him and buried her face in her hands. “Oh, my God. I can’t believe this.”

He took a deep breath behind her. “Again, my thoughts exactly.”

Her head shook back and forth at the enormity of it all.
Dalton!
Sending her quotes from Shakespeare, making her feel like the most important and talented human in Boston, yet also responsible for the sadness gripping her the past two days.
Dalton.
There at
The Museum
, backstage, with her in nothing but a robe and undergarments. She ducked behind the mirror and peaked around it so only her eyes could be seen. He chuckled and anger boiled inside of her.

“What are you doing back here?” she asked, her voice tight. He held out a palm and peered sideways at her, as if he didn’t understand why she was asking such a question and she huffed. “I didn’t mean for you to come back
here.
”

“You didn’t?”

“Of course not! You don’t think I invite strangers to see me half-dressed, do you?”

“I hope not.”

“Well, obviously I should have been more specific in my note.”

He placed a hand on his hip and used the other to rub his forehead. “Yes, you might have been. What, exactly, did you mean when you wrote ‘I invite you’?”

Heat flooded her cheeks and she was glad the mirror hid her crimson-colored skin. “I was inviting you to…to…well, what were you
suggesting
in your note to me?”

Dalton stopped pacing and laughed, his blue eyes boring into hers with a new level of intensity. “Honey, I doubt you and I had the same thing in mind. If you tell me I’m wrong,
I’ll
wear the dress in your next play.”

His meaning seeped into her, creating an inferno deep in her belly that turned to anger as it reddened her cheeks. Her spine stiffened. “I am insulted you would think to earn
that
from me with only a handful of Shakespearean quotes.”  

“I wouldn’t have if I had known it was you,” he said, gesturing toward her. “I expected a more…worldly woman.”

“So sorry to disappoint you,” she drawled.

“I’m not disappointed,” he said, and his lips began to curl slightly at the corners as his eyes roved slowly around her face, igniting shivering tingles over her skin.

She tightened her fist around the fabric of her robe. “You’re…you’re not disappointed it’s me?”

He chuckled. “The young girl I met at the restaurant?
That
was disappointing. But the woman I’ve watched on the stage these past weeks…definitely
not
disappointing.” He shook his head with an incredulous huff. “Damn sure shocking, though. I’ll tell you that.”

She found herself relaxing and giggling along with him. “I imagine so.”

His Adam’s apple twitched over his swallow before he asked with trepidation in his voice, “Are you disappointed it’s me?”

Her eyes met his and she shook her head twice.

He smiled and took a deep breath. “So, this is where you perform three nights a week, then? Not at the Boston Opera House?”

She grimaced at the revelation of her deceit. “
Not
at the Boston Opera House. Although I wasn’t lying about the show three weeks hence. I am set to debut then.”

“And I take it your darling Winthrop family has no idea you’re here?”

Her head shook slowly back and forth and he burst into laughter. She sighed and raised an eyebrow. “Don’t sound so amused.”

“But I am amused. I am thoroughly pleased to know this side of you still exists.”

“What do you mean
still
exists? What side of me are you talking about?”

“The bold side,” he answered. “I always admired that part of you, the fearlessness, the lack of intimidation, the part of you that ran away out into a desert thunderstorm at thirteen.” She chuckled and scrunched her face skeptically. He shrugged with a smirk. “I said it was brave, not smart. After our lunch, I thought it’d been conditioned away by the strictures of high society.”

Marlena’s gaze fell to the floor. He had no idea how close he was to the truth, for that part of her had almost been stripped away. If she hadn’t found her way into performing at
The Museum
, that part of her would have melted into oblivion under the Winthrop household.

“I’m sure it bolsters confidence in the movement knowing Elijah Winthrop’s very own ward is here campaigning against him,” he continued.

She folded her bottom lip between her teeth and peered sideways at him. “Uh…actually…”

His eyes scrunched as he squinted at her in study. “The people here don’t know who you are either?”

Her insides twisted. These were the people she felt guilty deceiving. They’d become good friends, but they still believed her to be the daughter of an innkeeper. While she agreed with Dalton that her identity would strengthen the morale of the cause, it would also risk her future as an opera singer, and she wouldn’t jeopardize the objective she’d worked so hard to attain. She looked at Dalton and shook her head yet again.

“And on that note, please keep your voice down,” she said. “I don’t want to cause any upset around here, especially when I only have two weeks of performances left.”

His brow fell into worried grooves. “What do you mean?”

“My debut is set for the first of the month. I won’t do anything to risk it, so the performance in six days will be my last.”

He crossed his arms over his chest. “Well, that’s a shame.”

Guilt and defensiveness warred within her. “Dalton, my life here is much more complicated than you realize.”

“I can see that,” he said with a laugh. “But there is something I don’t understand, Marlena,” he said as he took a step forward. “You’re amazing out there. Why on Earth
haven’t
you been performing at the Boston Opera House?”

She smiled at his compliments, at the sound of her name rolling off his lips, but when the reply to his question was admitted out loud, it brought reminders of her frustrations.

“Sarah wouldn’t allow it before. Even now, she claims I am not ready to grace the stage, though she’ll let me do it.”

His face scrunched in disgust. “She’s jealous, simple as that. And she has every reason to be. She’s a canary to your nightingale.”

Marlena laughed softly as heat rushed to her cheeks. “Thank you, but you’re wrong. Sarah Jeanne has the most beautiful voice in the country.”

“No. No, she doesn’t,” he returned with a shake of his head. “When you sing…Marlena, there’s nothing more beautiful in the wide world than your voice.”

They locked eyes and Marlena forgot to breathe. The room was hot and humid, and so were her insides. Neither spoke and she could only hope his thoughts and body were as frantic and frenzied as her own.

Finally, he grinned. “But I can hardly hear your voice when you speak. It’s hard to believe you can belt notes when you sing.” She laughed quietly. “And still so shy. You can come on out, you know. You don’t have to hide back there.”

“I’m not decent, Dalton. Would you mind waiting for me in the alley?” She had to gain control of herself. Thoughts were whirling and racing as quickly as the blood in her veins and her heartbeat pumping it along.

“Of course,” he said before striding halfway across the space. He stopped and turned a smirk onto her. She studied his eyes, the slight crinkle of skin at their corners and the translucent blue that seemed to see right through her, as if he knew she stood trembling behind the mirror. “I’ll be damned, Marlena,” he said. “Of all the things I expected walking through that door…” He shook his head, chuckled, and left her alone, trembling at the wonderful sound of her name upon his lips.

She sank into the chair with a heavy sigh and rested her head on the vanity. Life was about to become either very good or very bad. She’d been discovered, and by none other than Dalton Cunningham, the man who first captured her heart in Virginia City and still held it in her dreams. When she stepped out into the alley to meet him face-to-face as her true self, what would happen?