Darling Jack

When the carriage came to a swaying halt in front of the arched main doorway of the Southern Hotel, he leaned toward her and whispered without warmth. “You’re among the idle rich now, Anna. Your job is to conduct yourself accordingly.”

Chapter Six

The lobby was the grandest room Anna had ever seen. Its thick Persian carpets drank up the sounds of bootheels and the brass wheels of the baggage carts that whizzed by her, while it muted the dozens of conversations that were taking place all around her.

Jack had seated her smack in the middle of the room on a round velveteen banquette. “I’ll be right back,” he told her, adding a pointed “Mrs. Hazard,” as if he felt the need to remind her of her role once more.

How could she forget? As Mrs. Johnathan Hazard, Anna had already received more attention in one day than in the rest of her life put together. Waiters, porters and cabbies looked at her now, rather than through her. It was an altogether new experience, and not one with which she was completely comfortable.

She peered through a maze of people and potted palms, letting her gaze rest on the tall, elegant man who was leaning against the marble registration desk. The polished stone mirrored his long legs and gave back the gloss on his boots. At this distance he seemed pure god again. She couldn’t see the shadows that haunted his face, or the myriad little human nicks. He had an aristocratic air that perfectly suited this room. And then, she remembered, of course, he was an aristocrat by birth. The son of an earl, whether the first or the fourth, was all the same to the daughter of a hard-luck coal miner.

Her hands twisted in her lap. She couldn’t do this. She hadn’t the background to bring it off. Or, right now, the simple courage. Suddenly she wanted nothing more than to be in her little third-floor room in the big house on Adams Street, snuggled in her bed listening to the faint bickering of the Misses Richmond downstairs, reading a book, turning its pages and losing herself in distant places. Not here, where she was truly lost.

But it was too late. Jack’s black boots were striding toward her now across the Persian carpets. He had a blue-uniformed bellman in tow.

“Baggage, madam?” he asked her.

Anna tilted her head toward her borrowed trunk. It had looked so fine when the Misses Richmond produced it for her from the attic. Now, here in the lobby of the Southern Hotel, the little camelback contraption looked pitiful.

“Just the one?” The young bellman seemed confused until Jack informed him, rather crisply, that the rest of their luggage had been shipped earlier.

The next thing Anna knew, she was wedged between the two of them in an elevator, going up.

“I’ve never been…” she whispered.

“Relax.”

A warm hand spread across her back and, amazingly enough, Anna’s heart slowed down and her stomach returned to its proper place inside. She was able to coax her wobbly knees along the hallway to an elaborately carved pair of doors at the far end.

“Your suite, sir,” the bellman said, fitting a brass key into the ornate lock.

“Thank you,” answered Jack, at the same time praying the mouse would keep her accountant’s observations to herself when the boy finally opened the door.

She did, but just barely. A little gasp fluttered out of her. “Surely this can’t be—”

Jack pressed a finger to his lips, then moved it to settle softly against hers. “Hush, darling. Naturally you’ve never seen a honeymoon suite before.”

Before she could reply, he swept her up in his arms and strode across the threshold like an eager groom. He realized his mistake before he’d taken his second step. If Anna’s mouth was beguiling, the feel of her body in his arms was pure temptation. She was as light as a little girl, but the curves of her body were warm against him, and indisputably a woman’s.

Damn fool, he castigated himself. His bid to impress a simple—and hopefully talkative—bellman of their newlywed ardor had succeeded only in heating his own bloody bloodstream. The bellman was so busy drawing drapes, he didn’t even notice.

He wanted to drop the mouse like a sack of grain then and there. He put her down with something like grim gallantry, then stepped back from her heat and her female fragrance.

“Send someone up to see to Mrs. Hazard’s belongings, will you?” he said to the bellman, who was now opening a wardrobe to disclose an array of coats and trousers.

“Yours arrived last week, sir,” the bellman said.

“Fine.”

Anna glanced up from the seams she’d been straightening to see the display of elegant clothes. There were frock coats in shades from dove gray to rich ebony. All with trousers to match, she noted. There were white shirts, with and without ruffles, like drifts of pristine snow. On the wardrobe’s door, silk neckcloths shimmered like gay ribbons. It was a haberdasher’s dream.

The bellman had opened Jack’s valise by now and was adding to the display. He unwrapped the whiskey bottle, gave it a knowing look and announced, “I’ll have glasses sent up.”

“No need,” Jack snapped.

The uniformed man shrugged as he set the bottle on a table, then proceeded to take more items from the valise. While he moved silently from bag to wardrobe and back, Anna was watching Jack. He stood in the center of the room, seemingly ignorant of his surroundings, his whole attention focused on that bottle. A muscle jerked in his cheek. His hands drew up into white-knuckled fists. She could almost feel his craving sweeping through her own body, attempting to gain control, and she didn’t wonder for a second why they called it “demon rum.”

She didn’t know what to do. Then her lips twitched up in a tiny, helpful smile. “Well, I believe I’ve some unpacking to do,” she said, then turned toward her camelback trunk and felt in her handbag for the key.

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