Authors: Rachel Cartwright
The back of Gabrielle’s neck bristled at Caden’s inference. “That man is no longer a
close
friend, Cade, I can assure you of that. My father and I regard him simply as an old family acquaintance and business associate.”
Caden smiled again at the sound of Gabrielle’s swift correction of his misunderstanding. “Yes, of course. Forgive me, then you will not take offense when I explain the designs Mr. McGowan may have on your family’s unquestioning generosity.”
He smiled and motioned toward the upholstered chair in front of his desk. “Please, Gabrielle, you will wanted to be seated when I tell you all that I have to say.”
From the edge of her seat in the center of the room, Gabrielle craned her neck to see more clearly the contents of the wall of mounted, black walnut bookcases that encircled the room. The lower shelves were crammed with thick, bound books and stacks of manuscripts tied with ribbon and string.
The swaying flame of the single oil lamp on the small, corner table scattered a hazy glow across the murky outlines of animal skeletons set on small stands within several of the shelves, their quivering shadows cast against the spines of the books in a phantom imitation of life.
In the opposite corner of the room, the severe and life-like brass sculpture of Cade’s head and shoulders was mounted on a dark stone base.
Cade lit another lamp on his desk then sat down in his chair facing her. “Would you care for an aperitif, Gabrielle?” He gestured toward the crystal decanter on the corner of his desk. “A glass of sherry perhaps?”
“No, thank you, now, please Cade, what do you want to tell me about Bret McGowan that I don’t already know?” Gabrielle leaned forward from the fringe of the chair frame.
Cade leaned over his desk and intertwined his long fingers in an upright arc under his pointed chin. “I respect that you are a candid and honest woman so I trust you will appreciate the same quality in a man when I say that Mr. McGowan will take more than your money if you allow him. He will take the trust you bear him in your heart and ruin you in the bargain.”
Gabrielle gathered her skirt in a flurry and lifted herself out of the chair. “What on Earth are you talking about? I don’t have any investments with Mr. McGowan and if I did—” She rushed toward his desk. “What business would it possibly be of yours?”
Cade lowered his chin and released an audible sigh. “It is not my business I speak of, Gabrielle, but of your father’s love for you, his only daughter.” He lifted his head and looked directly into her eyes. “His only living flesh and blood.”
Gabrielle turned away from Cade’s incisive stare and fidgeted with the gold clasp on her velvet purse. “My . . . my father and I have always been open with each other. Why would he turn to you to confide his most personal concerns?”
Cade opened his hands, exposing his palms. “He turned to me out of desperation, Gabrielle, out of desperation and fear of losing your love and respect.”
Gabrielle brought her hand up to her racing heart. “Father? Afraid . . . why?”
“When I informed him that I had met you while Mr. McGowan was visiting, he became most agitated, then he contacted his bank manager.” Cade rose from his chair and walked around to the front of his desk. “Your father values your opinion of himself over all others, and he would never do anything to risk loosing your respect, but he knows, Gabrielle, he knows of your intention to transfer money into Bret McGowan’s oil exploration account.”
Feeling suddenly exposed, Gabrielle composed herself, suppressing her desire to leave before allowing this invasive questioning to continue a moment longer.
Cade stepped forward and placed his hand on her shoulder. “A man who loves you deeply, Gabrielle, could never allow another to cause you pain and suffering. He cannot stand back and be a silent witness to your downfall.”
Gabrielle hesitated, feeling the enclosing warmth of his hand through her white silk blouse. She shifted away from Cade’s touch and turned from him. “I was merely making inquiries. My father allows me much freedom in my business affairs and if Bret could provide more evidence of his oil venture—”
He took hold of her arm, his grip much stronger than before. “Bret McGowan will give you any evidence you wish. If he shows you some false geological report fabricated by those unscrupulous foreigners he calls
partners
, how will you ever know the difference? Tell me, Gabrielle.” Cade held her other arm and turned her around to face him. “How will you know when all you can see is his familiar and reassuring gleam in his eyes?”
Gabrielle shook herself loose from his grip. “What are you doing? Please let go of me.” She backed away from him toward the door.
Cade remained where he stood, his expression seeming to fall into deeper remorse with each step she took. “Please, Gabrielle.” He held up his hands in a pleading gesture. “I beg you to wait and hear me out. It is only because I have your interests and Rebecca’s at heart that I have acted so strongly with you.”
He lowered his head and brought one hand up to his brow in an act of contrition. “If I can do anything to save both of you from that parasite, then by any force of nature, I will.”
“Your niece? Miss Armstrong?” Gabrielle felt her lips tremble as she spoke the woman’s name. “What makes you think any association Mr. McGowan has with her would be of any interest whatsoever to me?”
Cade looked up at her again. “Do you know a man named . . . Ichabod Weems?”
Shocked by the sound of this unsavory character’s name, Gabrielle remained silent for a few moments before answering. “You forget that I am a lady, sir. When a man’s foul reputation proceeds him that is enough for me to get wind of his character without having to actually smell the odor.”
“Then, please.” Cade made a sweeping motion with his hand toward the guest chairs behind him. “Sit down and I will tell you a story of such wantonness and vice that I must first choose my words carefully before speaking to you, but once I do you will never care to look upon Mr. McGowan again but instead, trod upon him like the degenerate that he is.”
Gabrielle sat and looked down at her folded hands clutching at her velvet purse. The genuine tone of concern in Cade’s voice was a necessary reassurance giving her pause to think and scrutinize her own intentions. Had she judged one man too harshly and another not enough?
She took a deep breath and exhaled. Clearly, this was a mature gentleman speaking only of his concern for the well-being and moral protection of impressionable young ladies, like his niece. That was an admirable quality and so seldom witnessed in any man she knew.
“So . . . Cade.” Gabrielle flashed a carefree smile and made a few small, swinging movements of her purse on its strap. “What scandalous tale of debauchery will polite Galveston society accuse Bret McGowan of this week?”
Cade stepped back behind his desk and sat down, placing his elbows on the desktop and raising his forearms up to make a triangular arch. “I know you’re not the kind of intelligent and understanding person who finds outrageous humor in human depravity and weakness.”
Gabrielle stopped swinging her purse and leaned forward.
Cade tapped his long fingers together. “In the short time we’ve known each other I have come to respect you as woman of high moral character and decency, and that is why loathing rather than laughter will fill that trusting heart of yours.”
He lowered his arms and folded them across the desktop in front of his chest. “Now, if you will allow me to close the door. I do not want my niece to enter upon our conversation. I love her too dearly to chance that she might hear the painful truth of what I have to say.”
Gabrielle’s pulse quickened and she placed her hands on the desk. “Then tell me the truth and trust that whatever we discuss will go no further than this room.”
Cade reached across the desk and clasped her hands in his. “It has come to my attention, thanks in large part to discrete inquiries made by my personal assistant, Mr. Wallace . . . ”
He spoke in hushed, unhurried tones that spread through Gabrielle’s heart in a dense, deadening pain that exposed the last pathetic depths of her love for Bret. With each cutting word, her passion for the only man she had ever loved flowed out of her heart like blood spilling over the edge of a wound.
CHAPTER 15
Tuesday, September 4
Rebecca began one of her weekly tasks of tending the Society hall’s garden at the side courtyard bordering 33rd Street.
The day had started with scheduled predictability, yet as the early morning haze gave way to the brilliance of afternoon she felt the torrid sun making her blood race faster with each passing minute.
Uncle Cade and Edward were visiting Society members on the outskirts of Galveston today and were not expected home until after dinner at the earliest. Before leaving, her uncle had instructed her to go about her morning duties and remain at work until she received her
guest.
Rebecca clipped a worm-eaten rose into her basket. She stared at the spoiled and ravaged petals. Was she allowing her life to be torn from her in small pieces by a place and a vocation that didn’t represent her true desires or gifts?
She had agreed to everything her uncle said and was less surprised at the absence of any compulsion to either oppose or indulge his vengeful intentions than by the fact that since meeting Bret McGowan everything in her life was now colored by risk and exhilaration like an undercurrent of a perceptible fever.
Rebecca continued pruning the rosebushes. Pausing to remove her straw sun hat, she wiped the sweat from her brow and stared at the spoiled, wasted rose in her basket. She picked up the flower and ground the petals in her glove.
The sound of someone lifting the latch on the wrought-iron garden gate made her turn in that direction.
Bret strode under the overhanging palms, pushing aside an overgrown lilac as he made his way toward her. He removed his hat, exposing his perspiring head to the sun. His beige linen suit was excessively crumpled and visibly damp under the collar as though he had spent the night in it.
Drawing closer to her, his eyes—hard and dark in his unshaven face—confirmed that this was likely true.
She stopped pruning and smiled at him.
He paused, disheveled and anxious, about ten feet away and patted his forehead with a red handkerchief. “Lord, feels like another scorcher. I’m surprised you’re not down at the beach enjoying the waves.”
Rebecca put the gardening shears down on the wicker chair beside her. “In such a short time, you’ve come calling again. Surely, I can’t be that interesting. I’m positive you would find Miss Caldwell much more to your liking.”
“Whatever you’ve heard I can assure you that’s all in the past.” Bret stepped closer and ran the fingers of his hand through his dark hair. “I hope you didn’t ask me to visit to talk about my old friends.”
He snapped a lilac and inhaled its deep aroma. “I can’t forget your voice or that night and the song.” He stood close enough now that he could reach out and take her in his arms if he wanted. “The melody haunts me . . . even in my dreams.”
Rebecca removed her gardening gloves and placed them down beside the shears. “Why would that be?”
“I . . .” He shook his head. “I don’t know, Rebecca. I was hoping you could tell me.” He touched her cheek.
“Do you enjoy taunting me?” Rebecca pushed his hand back and turned away. “I’ve heard that you were once engaged to Miss Caldwell.” She pivoted gracefully around on the soles of her shoes.
“Old stories travel faster than a fresh wind in Galveston,” he said.
“Well? Is there any truth to it?”
“Yes, Miss Caldwell and I were close once but . . .” Bret let out a deep breath, appearing to take time and choose his words carefully. He gently touched her arm. “Circumstances changed and since returning I have been so caught up in my business affairs . . . that is, until I heard you sing.”
“I see. And which
circumstances
would those be, Bret?” She pushed his hand back. “Our Society has many rich and influential members.” Her breasts rose and fell, her breathing short and fleeting. “Are you trying to court me so that I might introduce you to prospective investors?”
Rebecca turned on her heel and strolled to the opposite corner of the garden. She composed herself, fighting the sensation of being swept by an overwhelming current further and further out from shore into fathomless waters rushing over to claim the only family and security she had ever known.
After a time, Bret’s footsteps followed from behind but she didn’t turn around. His grip was warm and secure on her upper arm. “That’s what I’m trying to say, Rebecca.” He turned her around gently. “While I was away everything changed, and since my return I know Gabrielle has too.”
Rebecca looked up into his tired blue eyes. She imagined his natural cheerfulness and appealing warm color had dulled since his returning to Galveston and the unfortunate circumstance of having to remain on polite social terms with the Caldwells.
“How do you know?” Rebecca asked.
“We always argue when we speak, if we speak at all.” He shook his head. “Occasionally, we still discuss business as it affects our families but the rumors of my misadventures abroad have proceeded my return and proved my undoing with her.”
Rebecca moved closer to him. “You don’t sound sad about that, Bret.”
He smiled. “It’s proper in this town to be intrigued by the scandalous but it’s deemed quite inexcusable to be engaged to the genuine article.” He touched a loose tendril of her long red hair. “I should thank her for saving us both from the sanctified misery of marriage.”
Bret reached for her and she let herself be drawn in by his circling embrace. “So? Are you intrigued, Miss Armstrong?” His manner was enticing, of course, undeniable and forceful, making everything he said and what she wished seem even wilder than she could ever have imagined.
Rebecca tilted her head back to receive his kiss. “Ohh . . . I’m very much beyond that, you can be sure.” He kissed her with passionate delight, letting his lips linger on hers for as long as he wished.