Silken Dreams (21 page)

She wedged her hands against his chest and wrenched free. Flinging open the door to Silas’s office, she shouted, “I’ve found myself a man who can be a
gentleman
, Silas. Something
you
would know nothing about.”

With that remark, she reached behind her to whip the fabric of her train aside and strode out the door in a rustle of taffeta and lace.

Slowly becoming aware of his surroundings, Silas tugged at the hem of his vest, his skin flushing with a ruddy heat when he met the aghast looks of his employees and one of the local matrons.

Taking a deep breath for control, Silas closed the door with calm deliberation, then turned away from prying eyes. His hands tightened into rigid fists as his wife’s parting words seemed to echo about him.

I’ve found myself a man who can be a
gentleman,
Silas. Something
you
would know nothing about.

Once again Silas felt a burning certainty settling inside of him. For some time, he’d suspected Natalie had been seeing another man. The
Gentleman
Bandit had been his prime suspect. Now he’d heard a confession from her own lips—or at least the closest thing to a confession he was likely to get.

But Natalie would soon see just what kind of a man she’d married. He’d see Ethan McGuire hanged for his crimes. Once and for all.

Striding to the glass partition, Silas threw open the door and bellowed for his assistant to come forward, then returned to his desk.

Supporting a clipboard and a harried expression, Harold Beechum scrambled inside and gently closed the door behind him. When he turned, his lanky frame tensed, as if he expected a physical blow after all that had occurred in his employer’s office. “You called, Mr. Gruber?”

“Hell yes, I called! Don’t be an ass.”

“Y-yes, sir. I mean, no, sir.”

“I want you to go to the telegraph office and send a telegram to the effect that since the Madison City Thrift and Loan has received the replacement shipment of gold, it should tighten its security accordingly.”

Beechum hesitated, his stubby pencil poised over his clipboard. “Sir?” he asked in confusion.

“Just write it down.”

“But we didn’t receive a shipment of gold.”

“Just write it down.”

Beechum cringed and scrambled to do as he was told.

“May I ask why, sir?”

“No, you may not ask!” Silas took a deep breath to calm himself and jerked the hem of his vest back into place.

“Who—” Beechum cleared his throat and began again. “Where shall I send the telegram?”

“To myself, at my home address.”

“Sir?”

“Just do it, Beechum.”

Harold Beechum’s normally sallow features grew even more pale beneath his green canvas visor. “But I don’t understand.”

“Just do it!”

“Yes, sir.”

Getting up and crossing toward the safe in the back of his office, Silas reached out to run his hand over its painted surface, already formulating his plans. He allowed a small smile of self-satisfaction to crease his lips. By leaking news of a mythical shipment of gold to his wife, Natalie would take the news straight to the Gentleman Bandit. When Ethan McGuire arrived that night at the Madison Thrift and Loan, Silas would be waiting inside the office to “apprehend” the thief at gunpoint. Then he would turn the man over to Judge Krupp—and the Star Council of Justice. That way, Silas would not only see his wife’s lover swing at the end of a rope, but he would probably earn himself a promotion as well.

“Sir, was there anything else?” Harold whispered, obviously wondering if his employer had lost his senses.

“Ever read
Hamlet
, Beechum?” Silas turned to find his assistant regarding him in alarm. “Well?”

“No, sir.”

“To paraphrase the old bard: ‘The gold’s the thing to catch the conscience of a thief.’ ” He paused, and his brow furrowed. “That doesn’t rhyme, does it?”

His assistant opened his mouth, floundered for a moment, then replied, “No, sir.”

Silas merely shrugged and turned back to trace his finger over the swirling floral design painted on the top lip of the safe. “No matter. When the Gentleman Bandit is caught trying to rob
my
bank, the whole state will hear sweet, sweet music.”

He glanced over his shoulder, and Beechum offered him a placating grimace that was meant to be a smile. “Yes, sir.”

“Well, don’t just stand there, man! Go send that telegram.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And see if you can round up Judge Krupp. I need to talk to him.” This time Gruber wanted no mistakes. He would notify Krupp himself of his plans. Then the moment Ethan McGuire stepped into the bank, he would be surrounded by Krupp’s men.

Silas glanced up to see his assistant still staring at him with wide eyes. “Go get him, man!”

“Yes, sir!”

Beechum fled from the room with evident relief, and Silas turned back to his safe, running his palms over the cool upper edge. He’d show Natalie just what kind of a man he was. Once she read his telegram—and he had no doubts she would—he’d capture her lover and see him hanged. Then, when she tried to become all pouty and perverse, Silas would shower her in the gold he’d taken from Jeb Clark’s train. Cool, heavy, lovely gold.

A few moments later, Judge Krupp entered the bank. While he conversed with Gruber, Stone waited in the shade by the far wall. He smiled and tipped his hat to a pair of pretty women, then glanced up and met the gaze of a fellow member of the Star, Ned Abernathy. The man stood a few yards away, his hand propped against the newel support of the barber shop. Gerald acknowledged the man with a barely perceptible nod of his head, then looked away.

Within moments, Krupp emerged.

“Well?” Stone asked.

“Gruber has set a trap for Ethan McGuire and he wants the Star to dance attendance.” His eyes narrowed.

“Do you want me to arrange for some men to guard the bank?”

Krupp’s lips thinned. “No. I’ll take care of it.” He turned to pierce Gerald Stone with a meaningful gaze. “But I think it’s time to test the faithfulness of our newest governor. Arrange for Jacob and a few of his men to meet me at the farmhouse just before dawn.”

“Yes, sir.” He eyed Krupp’s rigid jaw and asked, “You’re sure you don’t want some men at the bank tonight?”

Krupp took a deep breath, and his voice became hard. “No. I think it’s time we taught Silas Gruber that he shouldn’t take the Star for granted” He settled his hat on his head. “Once he’s squirmed a bit, I’ll come to his aid.”

Gerald grinned. “Yes, sir.”

Krupp strode away, heading toward the hotel down the street. After a moment, Stone walked in the opposite direction.

From the alley beside the bank, Ned Abernathy straightened. After the Star had broken into his mother’s room, stolen Ethan’s watch, and left their calling card on Lillian’s bureau, Ned had wormed his way into the secret vigilante group. He’d hoped they could help him learn just how much was known about the Gentleman and when the law intended to strike.

He smiled slightly to himself and ambled back toward the barber shop. It seemed he’d just hit pay dirt.

When Ethan hesitated in front of her, Lettie paused. He stood on the back path, gazing at the boardinghouse door and shaking his head. “I can’t go in just yet.” He shrugged his shoulders as if already feeling the confines of the garret. His fingers tugged the gloves from his hands and stuffed them into the valise they’d packed with his clothes. “I think I’ll take a walk or something.”

“Letitia, my dear girl!”

Lettie froze, her fingers digging into Ethan’s arm when she recognized Mr. Goldsmith’s voice coming from the direction of the barn.

She turned very slowly, motioning for Ethan to move on without her.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Goldsmith.”

Though she tried to block as much of Ethan’s bustled and beribboned frame as she could, Randolph Goldsmith hurried to greet them, darting his head from side to side in an effort to catch a glimpse of the elusive Mrs. McGillicuddy.

“And who might this charming creature be?” he boomed.

Ethan froze.

Lettie reached out to dig her fingers into his shoulder in a tacit command for his retreat.

“You’ve met Mrs. McGillicuddy, of course. Everyone knows Mrs. McGillicuddy.”

Mr. Goldsmith smiled, refusing to admit he had not received the honor. “Yes, of course, of course. I sat by her last night in the parlor, did I not?”

“Mmm. I believe so. Now, we really must be going.”

“Ah, Lettie!” Mr. Goldsmith reached out to snag her arm, forcing her to pause. “Let me give my regards to the lady first.”

“Mr. Goldsmith, I really don’t—”

He ignored her, brushing past her to stand on the step beside Ethan.

Ethan carefully averted his head so that Goldsmith could not see around the brim of his bonnet, let alone through the veiling.

“She’s very shy,” Lettie murmured when Mr. Goldsmith glanced back at her for guidance.

Randolph beamed, as if he alone were aware of that sterling quality, and he took personal pleasure in the fact. Clearing his throat, he reached for Ethan’s hand.

“My dearest lady.” He paused, waiting for some sort of a response. When Mrs. McGillicuddy didn’t answer, he once again turned to Lettie.

“She’s also hard of hearing,” she murmured, trying hard not to laugh.

“My dearest lady!” Mr. Goldsmith boomed. “May I offer you my most humble services and assure you that if there is anything—
anything
—you need of me, please do not hesitate to ask!”

When Ethan didn’t answer, Lettie dug her nails into his shoulder. A muffled
youch!
burst from his throat, then a quick, “You are too kind.” Lettie rolled her eyes, certain Ethan’s high falsetto had given him away. But Randolph Goldsmith merely smiled in delight, reaching up to tug at his hairpiece when it threatened to slip.

Holding one of his hands to his head, Mr. Goldsmith made a deep courtly bow that threatened to split his pants in two and reached for Ethan’s hand. When he lifted it to his lips, there was a brief tug-of-war before Mr. Goldsmith won and planted a moist kiss on the back of Ethan’s hand.

“Until we meet again, fair maiden!” he shouted, then climbed the steps and backed into the house, smiling and waving as he went.

As soon as he had disappeared behind the screen, Lettie grasped Ethan’s wrist and pulled him down the stairs and across the back yard. Racing as fast as she could, she led him to the creek, then dodged behind a screen of trees. Unable to hold her mirth any longer, she collapsed against a tree, giggling uncontrollably, while Ethan glared at her with his hands on his hips.

“You’d best beware, Ethan. He’s the Lothario of the Grey Boardinghouse,” she gasped.

Ethan whipped his veil over his head and scowled at her. “Dammit, it isn’t funny. That man kissed me!”

Lettie merely burst into another fit of giggles.

Deciding she was hopeless, Ethan strode toward the creek, then squatted with legs spread wide to furiously scrub at the back of his hand.

Lettie wrapped her arms around her waist and slowly slid down the trunk of the tree, still laughing.

Natalie Gruber waited in the shadows of the Lilac Suite at the Starlight Hotel for nearly an hour before the door opened and her lover appeared. Though they had been using the room for nearly a week, she felt certain that no one had seen either of them come. And when the time came, no one would see them leave.

“Where have you been?” she demanded, still feeling a remnant of pique from her encounter with Silas.

The man’s tall form seemed to grow a little more intimidating as he paused and shut the door behind him. The late-afternoon shadows of the room stroked his firm jaw and the blunt features of his face.

“I’ve been taking care of a little business.”

When he refused to elaborate any further, Natalie’s hands balled into fists and she whirled to look out the window. “And would that business have anything to do with my husband’s bank?” She shot a glance over her shoulder, but the man’s features remained neutral, giving nothing away.

Realizing that her anger would get her nowhere, Natalie took a deep breath, forced herself to relax, and offered him a coquettish smile. “Forgive me for being so beastly, darling.” She turned and sauntered toward him, ensuring that the sway of her hips was just exaggerated enough to draw attention to the artful swags of her gown, but not so blatant that the man before her knew she was about to begin wending her wiles. “It’s just that I’ve had a frightful day. And to top it all off, I’ve had another row with Silas.”

“Oh?”

She slipped her hands around his neck and toyed with his string tie. “I swear, that man will be the death of me!” Despite her attempt at calm, some of her frustration and anger seeped through. “If Silas had been a little smarter, I would still be a woman of society in Chicago. As wife to the director of the Chicago Mortgage and Thrift, I would have power and prestige.” Her voice became low and intense. “And money.”

The man’s hands moved to grasp her hips and draw her tightly against him. “You have money now.”

“Thanks to you.” She chuckled at that thought and shot him a look filled with a self-congratulatory smile. She wriggled slightly beneath his hands. “Perhaps I should thank Silas for being such a fool in that respect. If he hadn’t been stupid enough to tell me all about the Gentleman Bandit and his robberies, we wouldn’t be where we are today.” She sidled closer still. “I wouldn’t have had such intimate knowledge of the Star. Told you everything I knew.” Her voice became low and husky. “Made you mine.” Her fingers slipped through his hair, and she lifted herself on tiptoe to press a kiss against the corner of his mouth, his chin, his neck.

Her lover’s response was instantaneous. His arms wound more fiercely about her waist until she was pressed so tightly against him that she couldn’t fail to read the measure of his passion.

“My lusty stallion,” she growled low in her throat. Her arms slid across his chest, then inched up the placket of his shirt. “Why did you wait so long to get word to me if you needed me so?”

Without warning, she grasped the edges of his shirt and ripped it open. Buttons flew, spattering to the ground. Then a silence settled about them, broken only by their strident breathing. The stark flare of passion Natalie saw in his eyes was all she had been waiting to see. She finally had this man right where she wanted him. He
wanted
her. He
needed
her.

He would do anything for her.

When he bent to kiss her, she stopped him with a firm hand on his chest. “I think it’s time we did something about my husband.”

The man’s arms tightened around her, and his eyes flashed in annoyance. “Later.”

Studying him a moment from beneath heavy lashes, Natalie placed a kiss in the hollow of his throat. Then, smiling against his skin, she traced a moist line down the center of his breast with her tongue. He shuddered beneath her, his hands clenching into the fabric of her gown. And when Natalie glanced up at him, she knew she would have her way.

Her hands lifted to the buttons of her bodice, and he allowed her just enough space to complete the task, even as his hands roamed her back and his eyes traced the sliver of skin she exposed.

“What do you want?”

She waited until she had unbuttoned the bodice and it hung poised on her shoulders so that he could see she had foregone the use of a camisole and stood bare before him, save for her corset. Then, as her bodice slithered to the floor, she murmured, “I want him dead.”

The man before her didn’t even pause. Instead, his hands wrapped tightly around her and he bent to place a kiss on the mounding flesh of her bosom.

“I’m sure something can be arranged.” His tongue trailed across the exposed skin of her breast and teased the edge of a nipple half hidden by the tatted lace of her corset. “Soon.”

“Mind if I get a bite to eat?”

Jacob glanced up from the papers spread over the top of his desk and found Rusty Janson standing at the bottom of the steps that led up to the jail cells on the second story.

“No, go ahead.”

“Want anything?”

Jacob absently shook his head. “Nah, I’ve got some of the pie my mother sent over the first of the week. When I get a minute I’ll take a break, read the
Gazette
, maybe have a drink. Right now, I’m trying to sift through the reports the railroad sent over after Jeb’s…” His voice grew husky, and he cleared his throat. “After the last robbery.”

Rusty nodded and straightened, obviously uncomfortable at the reminder of Clark’s death. “If you’re sure you don’t want anything?”

“I’m sure. Thanks.”

After snatching his hat from the coat tree by the door, Rusty slipped outside and closed the door behind him. The bell overhead issued a muffled jangle, then grew silent.

Jacob looked up again and watched his deputy stride out of sight down the boardwalk, then bent back over the reports on his desk. A frown creased his brow. For hours now, he’d been studying the reports from the railway theft: printed accounts of physical damages, monetary losses, witnesses’ statements. But there was something unsettling about the whole affair. Something more than the death of a friend.

First of all, why hadn’t any of the railroad employees seen anyone approach the train once it had stopped? Except for a few trees and some bushes, the water stop was in a virtually clear area. And why hadn’t anyone heard Jeb’s cries for help, or a shot in the night? Though the Gentleman had never been known to rob a train before, the security for the gold shipment had been amazingly lax. Yet no one had stepped forward to point a finger of blame toward the railroad. The officials were too concerned about placing blame upon an outside influence.

Damn!
It just didn’t make sense. It was almost as if someone had planned for the robbery to occur. And for Jeb Clark to die.

Sliding open the drawer to his desk, Jacob withdrew the file of clippings he’d collected over the years. One by one, he lifted the articles from the folder and placed them on the desk until the top was littered with yellowed squares of newsprint. Then he began to place the clippings into one of two piles: Those that had occurred five years before were placed on the left; those that had occurred in the last few months were placed on the right.

For several long moments, Jacob sifted through the information he’d gathered over the past few years, but it was not until the articles had been sorted into separate piles that he began to notice a slight deviation in pattern.

Those on the left were almost identical. Five years before, the Gentleman Bandit had displayed a tendency to steal paper first, then gold—never taking more than he could carry in order to get cleanly away. Once he’d gathered his booty, the man would explode the safe, tack a vellum calling card to the inside of the front door, and disappear into the night before help could arrive.

Jacob’s finger nudged the smaller pile of clippings on the right, spreading them onto the desk. In the last few months, the robberies followed basically the same pattern. In most cases, the bills were taken first, then the gold. But the quantities were larger, heavier, as if the man had become greedy in his tasks. And there were slight deviations from form. In Eastbrook, some jewelry had been taken; in Dewey, a bag of coins; the train to Harrisburg, stock certificates. Yet the rest of the pattern remained intact: the destroyed safe, the vellum card, the lack of tangible evidence—but then there had been
one
piece of evidence. The watch at Eastbrook. A watch that reportedly belonged to Ethan McGuire. It was that one piece of damning evidence that had forced the Star to show its hand.

And then there were the murders.

Jacob’s hand suddenly stilled over the pile of newsclippings. Five years before, the Gentleman had never hurt anyone. In fact, he had put himself in danger of being caught once or twice rather than see a person injured. Even that night Jacob had nearly caught him in Chicago, the Gentleman had seen him safely out of the bank.

So why would a man who had shown such respect for life five years earlier suddenly become a cold-blooded killer?

For the first time, Jacob found his instincts balking against what he knew to be true. He couldn’t help thinking that Ethan McGuire was not behaving true to form. And although the passage of years between the two sets of crimes could explain the discrepancies, Jacob still felt a tension in his gut—as if he were missing something. Something important that would cause all of the pieces of the puzzle to fall neatly into place.

Shaking off his own doubts, Jacob took a deep breath and scooped the clippings together before dropping them back into the folder. Ethan McGuire was merely slipping in his old age. It was the only logical explanation. After all, it had been five years since the man had supposedly “retired.”

The bell to his office door jingled, and Jacob glanced up to find Gerald Stone standing just inside the threshold.

“Got a minute?”

Jacob nodded and casually replaced the folder in his desk drawer.

Gerald closed the door behind him and stepped into the room. There was a certain caution about the other man’s manner that put Jacob immediately on his guard.

Gerald glanced behind him. “Anyone but Rusty here?” he asked, with overt casualness.

Jacob eyed the man, sensing he’d come on behalf of the Star. “No. Did you need Janson for something? He’s gone to the Mercury for a drink and a bite to eat. I could send for him if you’d like.”

“No. No, that’s fine.” Gerald sat on the edge of the desk and picked up a cast-iron plaque that Jacob kept on his desk as a paperweight. “We’re alone, then?” he asked again.

Jacob nodded, keeping his features expressionless, while all the time his heart had begun to beat in his chest with a powerful insistence.

“I just had a chat with Krupp.”

Jacob regarded his friend with narrowed eyes. “Oh?”

“We’re setting a trap for Ethan McGuire tonight. Gruber has leaked word that a mythical shipment of gold has already arrived in town… unannounced. Krupp’s planning on having his men guard the place in case someone might be planning to take it during the night. He wants us to be ready to back him should he need us.”

“Us?” Jacob repeated.

“You. Me. Our men.” He threw Jacob a meaningful glance. “Krupp has this feeling that the Gentleman will take the bait and make an appearance.”

“The thief would be a fool to try anything so soon after Clark’s death.”

“Nevertheless, we’re to be there, just in case.”

Jacob waited a moment before adding, “On behalf of the Star.”

“On behalf of the Star,” Gerald repeated, reaching into the inside pocket of his vest. “Since you’re now a part of the governing board, you’re to memorize this list of members who are subject to your orders. Once you’ve committed the names to memory—”

“Burn the paper.”

“That’s right.”

Jacob hesitated only a moment before reaching for the list. Skimming the names, he found himself slightly shaken by the number of men involved, men who would be subject to his orders and would follow them to the letter, whatever those orders might be. There was Mason Whitby, the blacksmith; Adolph Schmidt, the owner of the dry goods—even Randolph Goldsmith.

“There are a lot of names here,” he commented needlessly.

Gerald shrugged. “Not really. Old Krupp’s got the major portion of the group. His battalion’s about twice what you’ve got.”

Jacob glanced at him in surprise, then looked at the list again. Each man’s name had been written beneath that of the contact from the outer circle of assistants and the location of his communication station. The Johnston farm serviced only a fraction of Jacob’s group of men.

“Come dawn, Krupp wants you and a few of your men to meet him at the Johnston farmhouse—you won’t need the entire battalion tomorrow; three or four men should do it. You’re to tell Rusty which men you wish to employ. He’ll notify them all tonight.”

“Rusty knows the identity of the governors?”

Gerald nodded. “He was Clark’s lieutenant. We figured you wouldn’t mind if he kept his position.”

“No,” Jacob answered quickly. “No, I don’t mind. What if Krupp needs our help before dawn?”

“We’ll let you know.”

Jacob nodded. “And if we apprehend the Gentleman, we execute?”

“No.”

Jacob looked up in surprise.

“Not immediately. If the man is caught, the Star wants McGuire’s guilt to be fully exposed to the public before his execution—just so things appear nice and tidy when he winds up dead. We’ll have you keep the Gentleman under guard at the Johnston farmhouse so that it appears he’s escaped again. That will create a stir in the town, what with Clark’s death and all. By the time we actually execute him, the townspeople will be singing the praises of the Star.”

“But—”

“Are you questioning orders?”

Jacob took a deep breath, then finally murmured, “No.”

“Good,” Gerald replied firmly. Then he stood up and stepped toward the door, settling his hat over his head. “Tell your sister I said hello, will you? She’s a pretty thing. Smart.”

Jacob felt his blood turn to tiny shards of ice.

“Yep, she’s a right pretty girl. It’d be a pity if anything had to happen to her, especially with the two of you being so close. Course, nothing could go wrong if you follow your instructions and see to it that Ethan McGuire doesn’t escape you again.” Throwing Jacob a deceptively congenial smile, Gerald opened the door and lifted a finger to the brim of his hat. “Night, Jacob. Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”