Catch Me If You Can (18 page)

* * *

Ari Redon stared into his glass, turning it slowly and watching the patterns the liquid left on the inside. Eleanor observed the Frenchman with curiosity. He was quiet and seemed unsure of himself, away from the bravado of the party and Miette’s watchful presence.

“I understand you have been indiscreet,” Eleanor said, moving the conversation from polite chatter to a more pressing topic.

He looked up, astonished at her comment.

“Oh, don’t worry, Miette didn’t tell me. I found out from another source.” 

He looked relieved. It was obvious he didn’t mind what anyone thought of him, only what Miette thought or said.

She smiled to herself, he really was a lovesick creature.

“Yes, it was unfortunate,” he replied, and seemed unwilling to comment further. “I dallied with the girl after class too often, perhaps, but I assure you I am not the father. In fact she has recently named another and a hasty wedding is afoot, and yet the tittle-tattle about me continues.”

“I see.” She found she did believe him with respect to the unfortunate young lady, but it was his relationship with Miette that made her most curious. Given his melancholy mood, it seemed a direct approach was the only option. “Why do you toy with others when it is Miette that you love?”

He stared at her warily, as if trying to gauge how trustworthy she was. “It’s difficult. She’s married, it’s frustrating for me. I want to be with her...” 

“So you turn to others for company?”

“When she’s not there, yes.” He looked down at the tablecloth, his expression woebegone.

Their food arrived and he ate without taking much notice of the contents of his plate. Eleanor watched him as she enjoyed her meal. He was barely aware of her presence, and she was able to observe him quite readily. His dark hair was marked now with the occasional line of silver. It gave him a dignified look. His bone structure was dramatic, with the high forehead, aquiline nose and sculptured lips of a Roman statue. His bearing suggested arrogance and charm, but she also saw a rather sad, distracted man.

“It’s been suggested that I leave New York,” he said, as if following his train of thought aloud. He sat back, one hand rubbing thoughtfully at his jaw and looked at her.

As he did she wondered if Miette had hoped to involve her with Ari to give him an air of respectability, to ensure he didn’t have to leave New York and, most importantly, he didn’t have to leave Miette. Hence, she would act as a cover for both of them. Perhaps she even hoped they might marry, for the ultimate air of respectability. Miette should have known better. Eleanor laughed at the idea of it, and reached out to cover his hand with her own.

“My dear Ari, why should you leave? If the young lady has named her true amour and is to be married, you shouldn’t be pilloried by the gossipmongers. You must brazen it out.”

He nodded and seemed immediately cheered and reassured by her words. How easily led he was. “There’s no need to be held accountable to others and their mores,” she continued. “Besides, is this not the land of the brave and the free?”

He perked up in his chair and smiled. “It is good to see you again, Eleanor.”

She smiled, amused by his curious ways. “Our time together has been most enlightening, Ari,” she replied, laying her fork to rest on her plate. She’d had quite enough of that particular dish.

* * *

Rivers paced the length of his suite, a decanter of port in one hand and a glass in the other. He set them down on the writing desk and took up his seat. Loosening his necktie, he took a mouthful of the port. He picked up the quill, dabbing the nib on the blotter. The letter had already been begun, but he’d found the wording quite difficult. He was writing to Frieda, in order to tell her of his intentions toward Eleanor. It was the right thing to do. He hoped Frieda would feel reassured, not only for Eleanor’s safety, but about the nature of his intentions toward her niece. In the absence of her father, too, it showed his respect for her family concerns.

He turned the quill in his fingers as he stared at the pot of ink. He supposed he’d known it with some certainty before New Year’s Eve. That night had left him unable to deny the strength of his feelings toward Eleanor, and the depth of his commitment to her happiness. Since that date, they’d shared several rides out and visits to the museums and art galleries of the city. Her company was an absolute pleasure. Their time together had only deepened his respect for her and reminded him of the severe sense of longing he endured when they were apart.

He didn’t have as much to offer her as would be ideal, having given up claim to family and estate many years before. He still had some funds tucked away from his bounty hunting days, and his mother continued to make deposits in a San Francisco banking account for him – despite the fact he’d not stayed to run the family business after the death of his father. He’d never touched the money, however, if needs be, for the sake of a family of his own, he supposed he could.
That would be what my mother had in mind all along
, he thought to himself with a resigned smile. His mind wandered back over long held doubts and misgivings. The past couldn’t be undone, and he reminded himself he was highly respected in his own right now.

Furthermore, Frieda had recently informed him forty percent of the Californian Craven Estate would be his, along with management duties for as long as he wanted them. The other sixty percent was, of course, for Eleanor. Their lives would be entwined together forevermore, a fact that only seemed to make his plans more right and just in his mind.

He had several doubts, nevertheless. He couldn’t be totally sure of Eleanor’s fondness for him, for she’d not spoken of it. She’d also warned him, early on, she didn’t seek a husband. Would that still hold fast?

She’d as much as said she was attached to him and him alone on New Year’s Eve, when they spent that glorious night together. She was a mighty stubborn woman though, but the sparkle in her eyes and the pleasure she took in their times together reassured him. He picked up the port and took another deep draft. The alcohol helped to dissolve his doubts, and softened his mood.

When they were betrothed, she would cast aside all plans of venturing out to travel alone and they would undertake the journey together, planning their future life along the way. He smiled and imagined embarking on the railroad journey with her at his side. He would point out the sights and the scenery, sharing each discovery with her, both by day, and by night. By night…by night she would be his and his alone.

He sighed, remembering her voluptuous body and her burgeoning passion. He lingered on thoughts of how she looked when he held her in his arms, when he plundered and teased her intimate places until she moaned with pleasure. Yes, it was the right thing to do. They were destined to be together after all. What could possibly go wrong?

Chapter Fourteen

The Hunter Sets His Sights

Eleanor sat with Miette in the front parlor, flicking through a book of which she had no idea of the title or the contents. She stared at the pages blindly, her mind occupied elsewhere. She was restless, fidgety and increasingly stifled by the O’Neill household. She longed to be out of it and on her way. Mercifully, the weather had begun to feel less icy recently and it wouldn’t be too much longer before it was practical to make tracks.

Things with Miette were pleasant, which was a blessing. Once Miette realized her plan for Ari wasn’t going to be fulfilled, and why, Miette reverted to the entertaining companion of before. Eleanor was glad of it, for they were able to enjoy each other’s company without the shadow of Ari between them. They spent time exploring New York together, seeing the sights and shopping. Things with Frank, however, were much less relaxed. In fact, at that precise moment, she couldn’t bear the thought of even one more morning in Frank’s company, listening to his tales about Rivers over breakfast.

Miette never managed to rouse herself from bed early enough to appear at the breakfast table which meant Eleanor was a welcome audience to Frank, who seemed to be at his most verbose first thing in the morning. Frank was a barefaced gossip and he loved to share his reminiscences.

He and Rivers had been quite the devil-may-care young rogues, it seemed. He even described them both as having abandoned their families and their responsibilities, in order to hunt for adventures. He sat at the head of the table, gesticulating wildly, eating heartily a breakfast that would easily feed a family of six or more, relating his chronicles.

At first, she’d been eager to learn more about her lover and his mysterious background. Her curiosity about the impropriety in his past had deepened alongside her growing knowledge and affection for him – any snippet of information gladly received. However, Frank’s stories quickly made her bristle and smart, for they were liberally doused with accounts of prolific womanizing. If Frank was to be believed, they’d left a trail of broken hearts across the land.

Frank had been a fur trader in his youth. He’d come across Rivers in Canada, in the northern forests. Frank had tried to recruit him. Rivers had his own mission and it was Frank who teamed up with Rivers, who was hunting down a gang of thieves for a wealthy Detroit banker who’d hired him when the police would go no further than the border.

She knew nothing of such activities, but it seemed they often operated outside the law and – again, if Frank was to be believed – with no small amount of relish, making money fast and adventuring along the way.

Was this trade something that would count as an impropriety in her father’s eyes? Moreover, did Rivers consider her like a rogue with a price on her head – someone who needed to be brought into line?

The tales of competitive womanizing would have been enough to raise her ire, but the nature of his previous trade cast a harsh light on his current dogged pursuit of her. He pursued her at Frieda’s command, but was she naught but bounty to him?

She regretted encouraging Frank’s reminiscences at all. However, he continued to relate a dazzling array of tales in which Rivers was both the agitator and the hero. And they had what sounded like a never-ending stream of female companions along the way, women who they bedded – and bedded well.

Eleanor despised those women for being fickle and falling beneath his spell. She was annoyed at herself, too, of course she was. Had she not fallen beneath that spell, too? His whispers of seduction and skilled lovemaking were quite clearly part of a repertoire he’d used on many a young woman – that was obvious to her now.

She grew unwilling to receive him. However, they’d had several pleasant outings and she reminded herself she wasn’t interested in anything more substantial from him than he’d offered those other women. For some reason the conflict rampaged on through her mind without reaching resolve.

Her troubled thoughts were interrupted by a knock at the door.

Felix entered, followed by one of the many maids of the household.

“What is it, Felix?”  Miette asked, glancing up from her embroidery.

Felix gave a smug smile. “Molly has something to tell you.”

He urged the maid into the room.

She tottered forward but looked down at the floor, as if unwilling.

Miette put down her needlepoint. “Yes?”

“Please, Madame, begging your pardon.” The young girl trembled visibly. “I’ve overlooked something which should have been seen to when you returned from France.”  She spluttered to a halt and snatched out a piece of paper from the large pocket on the front of her apron. “It’s a telegraph and it’s for the Mademoiselle.” 

She gestured with it at Eleanor, who laid her book down, her interest captured.

The maid approached. “I’m terribly sorry Mademoiselle Eleanor. It arrived here shortly before you did and I forgot all about it with the house being so busy and all.” 

She practically flung the telegram into Eleanor’s hand, as if eager to be rid of it.

Miette rose and waved dismissively. “Molly, leave us, I’ll see to your punishment later.” 

“Miette, no,” Eleanor urged. “You cannot punish the girl. Why, we hadn’t even arrived. It’s no wonder she forgot it.” 

Miette looked determined, so Eleanor added. “The communication is for me, I have it now and I don’t wish Molly to be punished.” 

Miette gave an exasperated sigh, but nodded and dismissed the maid.

Eleanor turned her attention to the telegram, which appeared to have originated in Genoa, Italy. She opened it.

IMPERATIVE YOU WAIT FOR ME. YOU CANNOT TRAVEL ALONE.

I WILL BE THERE TO ESCORT YOU FROM NEW YORK. RIVERS.

Her heart thumped wildly as she re-read it several times, the words blurring before her eyes. He’d sent this before he’d left Frieda, clearly, and yet even then he thought she would sit down like a good little woman and take orders from him.

Of all the damned cheek!

Why, he’d probably bedded her to worm his way into her affections, to make his job easier. She crushed the paper in her hand, her mind buzzing. She wouldn’t make his job easier, oh no. She would do as she pleased and he would jolly well have to live with it.

Meanwhile, Miette seemed to be in urgent conversation with Felix. Hearing her name, Eleanor focused on them once more.

“Yes, Madame, there’s something else, something that you and the Mademoiselle should know about, something you may find upsetting.”

Miette glanced at Eleanor, her eyebrow raised in enquiry.

“What?” Eleanor asked, a strangled feeling in her throat. Upsetting? Were things not bad enough already?

Felix inclined his head. “I’ve discovered that Monsieur Frank is paying extra wages to some of the servants.” 

Miette’s hands flew to her hips, her expression turning mighty annoyed.

Eleanor knew she was possessive about control of the household matters, but before she had a chance to say anything on the matter, Felix carried on. “It’s because of the Mademoiselle.”

He nodded toward Eleanor.

“What do you mean?”  Eleanor asked. “What has it to do with me?”

Felix glanced over his shoulder as if to reassure himself no other servants were in the vicinity. “Monsieur Frank is bribing three of the maids and one of the footmen.”

“Bribery?” Miette repeated, aghast. “For what ends?”

“They will tell him when they know of Mademoiselle’s plans to depart. The information is to be passed to someone who intends to stop the departure,” he addressed Eleanor directly, “your friend Monsieur Rivers.” 

Rivers
. Eleanor’s blood reached boiling point within a heartbeat.

How dare he?

First, he’d told her she couldn’t leave without him, it was
imperative
to wait for him, like a child. Then he’d blinded her with sweet whispers, bedding her like so many other conquests. Why, he was nothing but a philanderer! He’d seduced his way into her affections in order to make sure she didn’t give him the slip. The fact that the two old rogues were bribing the servants to spy on her was the last straw. Eleanor was outraged.

Miette patted Felix on the arm, affectionately. “Yes Felix, you were right to bring this to my attention, no one bribes my servants and gets away with it, least of all Frank! Say nothing of it to anyone else and you will be rewarded for your vigilance.” 

Felix smiled like a cat. Even in her chaos it struck Eleanor there was a double standard at work here.

“Don’t worry, Cherie,” Miette said to Eleanor, “when the time comes Felix and I will smuggle you out of here and take you to the station, and no one else need know.”

“Thank you. Your assistance would be much appreciated.” Her heart turned over, anger and hurt combining to distress her.
Rivers
. There were no lengths he would not stoop to in order to take charge of his human cargo. She wouldn’t let him, though. She’d confront him the very next day, when he was due to call on her. She also renewed her vow to her father’s memory that she would retrace his journey, and in doing so she would prove herself able – beyond doubt.

No man would treat her like Rivers had done and get away with it.

* * *

Rivers stood in the hall of the O’Neill house, adjusting his collar in the mirror. He felt unaccustomedly awkward. He looked at his reflection. His hair was windswept, his expression overcast, one might even describe it as ill at ease. The collar was uncomfortable, that was it.

He ran a finger inside it. The laundry services at the club were none too clever about such things and had probably over-starched it. He frowned at the large wooden griffin that stood watching him imperiously, as he fiddled with the collar.

Of course his nerves were shot to hell, dammit. He was about to propose marriage. It wasn’t the sort of thing a man had to do everyday, now was it?

He glared at the griffin.

“Mademoiselle Eleanor will receive you in the conservatory.” The butler had returned. He stared at Rivers impassively then turned on his heel.

Rivers patted the griffin on the head, cleared his throat and followed the butler, who led him through the hall and down a long corridor.

“The conservatory, Sir.” The man stopped at the end of the corridor, turned on his heel and stood with his arm out, pointing out a tall glass door that was heavily fogged.

Something in there was pumping out heat at a right rate of knots for it to be humid in late-February
, Rivers remarked to himself.

He thanked the butler and went to the door. As he did he put his hand inside his jacket and brought out the letter he’d written Frieda. He’d brought it with him in order to demonstrate his good intentions to Eleanor. He tapped the folded parchment against his hand, then opened the door handle and passed inside. He stood inside the doorway and glanced around expectantly, looking for signs of Eleanor.

The conservatory was a veritable feast for any aficionado of botany. It was a high, domed building made entirely of glass panels jigsawed together with long ebony struts. It housed a huge number of potted plants, ferns and at its center what resembled a palm tree standing about four feet high, surrounded by a circular pond. From that central display four cobbled walkways radiated out like the face of a clock. Gas heaters were set every few feet down the paths and once again Rivers’ fingers went to his collar.

“Good afternoon.”

Her voice came from behind him and when he turned toward her, he found she was sitting on an ornate loveseat to his right. How perfect, a love seat for him to make his proposal. He hurried to her, eager to take her in his arms again.

As he approached, she rose to her feet and tapped a sheet of paper against her left hand. He paused and looked down at the strange coincidence. They were some three feet apart, each holding a sheet of paper and eyeing the other.

Eleanor had a determined expression on her face.

Something was amiss.

He coughed. “Are you well, my sweet?”

“I would be better if certain unhappy issues had not been brought to my attention.”

“Oh, what has upset you?”

“The list is quite lengthy. I shan’t bother you with details. However, let it be understood I’ve come to my senses. I realize you measure me somewhere between a duty and a conquest.”

What?
“I do no such thing,” he declared. “You have no idea of the extent of my concerns for you.”

“Oh, yes I do, I know quite the lengths you will go to, in order to hoodwink me and get your way!”

“What foolishness is this?”

“Foolishness, pah.”  She opened the folded sheet. “It is imperative that you wait for me. You cannot travel alone.” She read the sheet with an exaggerated tone, glaring at him. “That is the foolishness, not I.” She waved the paper. “I’m a grown woman and yet you treat me as a child. Do you know how old I’m, Mr. Rivers?”

“Of course I do, and might I remind you that we have been through this already.” He spoke as calmly as he could, which was difficult. “The telegram was sent in a rush as I hastened to your side in Southampton.” He was fast coming undone, his voice raising. “It is my deep concern and my respect for you that makes me wish to accompany you, despite the fact you led me a merry dance and change your opinion of me from moment to moment! Please, try to be reasonable.”