P. Alderman - Haunting Jordan

“But—”

He felt her jolt when he once again placed gloved fingers against her lips. “Do I have your promise? Yes or no.”

She hesitated, then nodded. However, once he removed his hand, she added, her voice cold, “But never my forgiveness.”

He sighed. “I don’t expect it, though trust me when I say you don’t know the entire story of what has transpired.” He dragged her farther down the alley to the corner of the courthouse, peering into the adjoining street. “Come,” he said, motioning with his head for his bodyguards to follow.

They walked the two blocks to his hotel in minutes, no one save his bodyguards bearing witness. The building comprised two parts—the original structure, still frequented by a well-heeled clientele, and a newer annex used to house sailors and provide access to the tunnels. The customers intermingled only in the saloon, located on the ground floor of the older hotel. Seavey bypassed the lobby, forcing Hattie to climb an outside set of stairs at the back of the annex.

Once inside, he pushed her ahead of him, up another half flight and down a dim hallway to the room to where he’d had his men transfer Charlotte. At their approach, a third bodyguard at the door nodded deferentially, moving aside.

Seavey opened the door and Hattie flew over to the bed where her sister lay. Though the girl’s clothes were soiled and her hair disheveled, he knew Hattie could see for herself that Charlotte was unharmed by her ordeal.

“Satisfied?” he asked.

Hattie laid a hand on Charlotte’s forehead. “She sleeps deeply.”

“I had my men give her a drug earlier—she will awaken by morning. It has no lasting effects.” He crossed his arms. “And now I think it’s time you and I discussed business.”

Hattie’s fists clenched. “I have money—I can pay you.” She reached into her skirt pocket and removed the roll of money, holding it out.

He took it, quickly assessing the amount, his mouth twisting as he realized its probable source. There was a certain sense of poetic justice, he mused, in receiving cash Charles and Clive Johnson had no doubt acquired through the transport of prostitutes to the Far East, given that they’d spread rumors intimating his own involvement in the scheme.

“This is a start,” he agreed smoothly, pocketing the cash. “I’ll reluctantly drop my earlier proposition, but I’ll also need your assurance that you won’t alter the arrangement I have with Longren Shipping.”

She said nothing, her eyes filling with anger.

“May I remind you,” he said, hardening his tone, “that you and Charlotte aren’t safe. I can give an order, and the two of you will disappear this night, your bodies never to be found. And I can get to you and your sister anytime, anywhere.”

Her shoulders sagged, her tone bitter. “I won’t interfere with the running of Longren Shipping in the future.”

He nodded, straightening. “Then we are agreed. I will arrange for the two of you to be taken home.”

“I only have one question, Mr. Seavey.” He paused and turned to meet her cold gaze. “How does a man like you sleep through the night?”

“More easily than you would imagine, my dear. Much more easily.”

* * *

HATTIE didn’t break down until Seavey’s men had safely delivered Charlotte to her bed and departed from the house. After assuring herself that Charlotte was indeed sleeping comfortably and well cared for, she let herself into the second-floor parlor, collapsing into a chair by the fire.

She shook uncontrollably from head to toe. At least they were safe—for now. And as long as she did as Seavey bid her regarding the business, they could remain safe. She had to cling to that thought.

Frank entered the room, concern etched into his features. “Those were Seavey’s thugs.”

“Yes.” She quickly wiped the tears from her eyes and stood. “They brought the two of us home. Sara and Tabitha are tending to Charlotte.”

Frank said nothing, his sharp eyes searching hers, then held open his arms. She knew she shouldn’t, that etiquette dictated an extended period of mourning for good reason. She shouldn’t crave the touch of another man so soon after Charles’s death. She walked into Frank’s arms, taking care to avoid his ribs. And for the first time all night, as she laid her head on his shoulder, she felt a moment’s peace.

“You’re safe … you’ll be fine,” he murmured, one hand coming up to cup the back of her neck, his fingers massaging.

She shivered at his touch.

After a long moment, she forced herself to pull away, incapable of meeting his eyes. She clasped her hands in front of her skirt. “I had to agree to conditions that will make it impossible for Longren Shipping to unionize. And I suspect I’ve put you in further jeopardy.”

“We’ll deal with that eventuality. For now, you’re both safe.”

She turned to the fire, feeling oddly melancholy. “Yes.”

He walked over to a side table and poured her a small glass of brandy, bringing it to her. “Drink this—you need it.”

She did as he requested, grimacing. “I much prefer the taste of sherry.”

“Brandy has more medicinal benefit in situations such as these.” He studied her, frowning. “You should go to bed, get what rest you can before Charlotte awakens. I suspect you’ll have your hands full tomorrow morning, dealing with the aftereffects of her imprisonment.”

“Who’s the patient in this house?” she asked lightly, smiling for the first time in two days.

“At the moment, you are,” he said firmly. “I must admit, it feels good to order you around for a change.” He smiled. “I’ve no doubt you’ll revert to your position of authority once you’re rested.”

“I trust you are on your way to bed as well?” she asked, blushing when she realized the boldness of her question. He smiled. “Though I would like nothing better than to come to bed,” he said in a soft tone that had her coloring further, “I have some reading I want to finish in the library. I’ve had all the sleep I can stand for the moment. I plan to help myself to a cup of your tea and retire a bit later.”

“Very well,” she said, more disappointed than she would admit. “Good night.”

For a moment, he looked as if he would block her exit, but in the end, he inclined his head, standing aside.

* * *

AN hour later, Hattie sat at her dressing table in her bedroom, brushing her hair. She was still too anxious to sleep, yet too exhausted to even raise her arms to braid her hair. The night was silent and still, the Canbys’ party having finally wound down and the guests departed.

She dropped the brush and buried her face in both hands. She’d been so utterly foolish, thinking she could go up against men the likes of Seavey and Johnson. She’d failed, and she’d almost lost Charlotte altogether. It was doubtful Charlotte’s reputation would ever recover from the incident—she might never make a good match.

Hattie stood and walked over to the window seat that looked out over the street below. Earlier, she’d sent Sara down to the Green Light with a short note of explanation so that Mona wouldn’t continue to worry about her. But what to do about Frank’s situation? About Clive Johnson?

A slight sound came from behind her. She smiled and started to turn. “So you’ve changed your mind—”

The pain was crushing. In less than a heartbeat, her world went black.

She never felt her fall, never felt the blood flowing from her, soaking the floorboards beneath her.

Chapter 16

THE kitchen was filled with the sounds of sobbing. Hattie held Charlotte, comforting her, and even Jordan found herself blinking rapidly.

A handful of Kleenex flew at her, which she used to swipe at tears. She blew her nose, then gave a mental eye roll.