“I can look smart,” the boy assured him. Then a worried frown pleated his brow. “I’m sorta dirty, though.”
Luke grinned. “Brummel will judge you on your character, not the fact that you need a bath. I put in a good word for you on the card.”
In actuality, Luke had only written, “Take care of this.” As the boy scurried away, still hugging his potatoes, Luke gazed after him, the ever-present loneliness that ate at his gut held at bay for a moment.
The rich bloke, the boy had called him. If only you knew, kid, Luke thought glumly. God, if only you knew.
TWO
As Luke resumed his walk toward the church, his gaze shifted to the spired rooftop of St. Mary’s, and he recalled the envelope he’d slipped into the breast pocket of his jacket that morning before leaving for his office. Why he felt compelled to make another orphanage donation, he wasn’t certain. He’d already made his second one just a little over two weeks ago, and even that had been uncharacteristic of him. Benevolent, he definitely wasn’t. Yet he had this urge to make a third contribution.
It made no sense. But, then, lots of things he’d been doing and thinking the last few weeks failed to make sense. He only knew this was something he had to do, part and parcel with the strange restlessness that had come over him six months ago and been growing increasingly worse ever since.
Coming to the corner of Diamond Street, Luke took a right on Gambler’s Way, his thoughts shifting to the young woman he’d encountered in the church the last time he’d been there. He hoped she wasn’t lurking around again today. Getting weird urges to make contributions to the orphanage was one thing; having others witness his actions was quite another. As things stood, people in Black Jack felt intimidated by Luke. If word got out that he was a bleeding-heart do-gooder, he’d lose that edge.
Not that he expected her to be there. A young woman that age probably had far better things to do than hang around a church. Though too strong of feature to be pretty in a conventional way, she was a striking little minx with an amazing wealth of sable hair and big blue eyes. She undoubtedly had a number of young men sniffing at her skirts and vying for her favor.
He smiled slightly, recalling the way she’d stared at him. A visit from the devil himself couldn’t have elicited a more startled or wary reaction. Clearly, he wasn’t an individual people expected to encounter in what they deemed a “holy place.”
Luke had seen the girl around Black Jack several times before, usually in the company of Milo Zerek or his son Ambrose. Both men worked in the Taggart Mine. Because of the family resemblance, Luke guessed she was probably Milo Zerek’s daughter. That would explain the threadbare condition of her dress. The combined earnings of Zerek and his son probably provided only enough for the family to scrape by, with little left over for anything else.
Luke refused to feel guilty about that. He paid a better hourly rate to his employees than any mine owner in Colorado, and though he hadn’t checked, he suspected the prices in his company store were the most reasonable in the state as well. That and providing safe working conditions for his men was the best he felt he could do for the poor bastards. Given the fact that few other mine owners did as much, Luke was lauded for his munificence, which increased his workers’ productivity and made Luke money—more than enough to compensate for the above-standard wages he paid.
Once at the church, Luke made fast work of dropping the orphanage donation into the poor box. Determined not to question his action or to analyze his reason for doing it, he turned his thoughts to hurrying home, taking a long hot bath, and spending the evening toasting before a fire with a good bottle of scotch near his elbow. But as he exited the building, a cold gust of wind swept across the porch, carrying with it the faint, almost musical sound of a woman’s laughter.
Coming to a stop, Luke cocked his head to listen, drawn to that sound in a way he couldn’t understand. An angel laughing, he thought, then scowled. But instead of walking on, he found himself heading down the church steps and around the corner of the building.
Just a glimpse, he promised himself. To satisfy his curiosity.
A cobbled walkway, separating the rectory from the church, ran the length of the two brick buildings and led to the gate of the orphanage playground, which was boxed in on three sides by the rectory, the rear of the church, and the three-story convent. Roses and shrubbery grew in untamed profusion along the narrow pathway, giving Luke the feeling he was in a tunnel of greenery that led to another world. Judging by the sounds of merriment coming from the playground, which grew louder with every step he took, perhaps it did. A world far different from his own, at any rate. Luke couldn’t recall the last time he’d heard anyone laugh with such complete abandon.
At the white gate, Luke stopped and folded his arms atop the pickets, his gaze fixed on the young woman whose laughter had lured him there. Evidently oblivious to the chill afternoon wind and the ominous threat of rain, she sat on the grass, surrounded by a dozen or more children. She wore the same blue wool dress she’d been wearing two weeks ago when he’d seen her inside the church, a pathetic, threadbare garment. Yet she still managed to look so lovely that his breath caught.
His reaction took him by surprise as few other things had. As figures went, hers wasn’t the most fetching he’d ever seen. A little too buxom for a woman of her slight frame, she would have been best described as milkmaid-plump, or perhaps voluptuous. He preferred a more slender build. Her features were irregular, the nose a trifle too large, the mouth a bit too generous, her cheekbones cut a shade too sharply. Yet, taken as a whole, those features blended together to create a face so fascinating, he couldn’t look away.
Even from a distance of twenty feet, Luke was mesmerized by her eyes, which he hadn’t been able to see as clearly inside the dimly lighted church vestibule. A rare shade of dark cobalt blue, they were uncommonly large, wide set, and lined with thick sable lashes. The kind of eyes a man could get lost in, he thought, then immediately chided himself for being ridiculous. Even so, he couldn’t deny his sudden urge to smile or the feeling of warmth that came over him, almost as if the sun had broken through a cloud and was spilling over his shoulders.
In the middle of telling a story to the children, the girl appeared unaware of Luke’s presence, and since he had nothing pressing to do, he decided to linger there for the sheer pleasure of watching her. Hands in motion. Eyes sparkling. Her face animated. Her voice enriched with the faintest trace of an Irish brogue. She was, quite simply, a delight to behold.
The tale she told was about a young boy and girl who were being held captive by a wicked old witch in a large house in the woods. A silly children’s story, Luke told himself, but he was captivated. Soon he was leaning slightly forward over the pickets and cursing the wind, which made it difficult to hear her.
“Would you care to join us, Mr. Taggart, sir?”
Luke jerked and straightened. The Zerek girl’s gaze was pinned right on him.
“I…um…” He tugged on the lapels of his jacket, then shrugged his shoulders. “I’m sorry to interrupt. I came to see one of the nuns. When I heard voices back here, I thought—”
She lifted an elegantly drawn eyebrow. “Oh? And which one might that be?”
“Which one what?”
Her cheek dimpled in a smile. “Which sister? I can have one of the children run to fetch her, if you’ll only give me her name.”
“Actually, I don’t believe she ever gave me her name.” He held out a hand to measure off the fictitious nun’s height. “A little woman with dark hair?”
The Zerek girl looked bemused. “You’re sure she was a nun?”
“Absolutely.” Luke lifted the corners of his mouth in a forced smile. “I take it the description doesn’t ring any bells.”
She shook her head, her gaze never leaving his. “None of the nuns I’ve met has hair.”
Realizing his mistake, Luke quickly backtracked. “Well, no. Of course not. I was going by her eyebrows.” He made a s
lashing motion at his forehead. “Very dark, bushy eyebrows. A big nose. Brown eyes.”
She shook her head again. Then she graced him with another smile. “I’m sorry. I don’t recognize her by the description. Was your business with her important?”
“Not really. Nothing that can’t wait, at any rate.”
The children around her had begun to squirm. One dark-headed little boy who could very well be Tigger’s brother, judging by his looks, tugged on the pigtails of one little girl. The resultant squeal had Luke retreating a step. “Well, I’d better leave you to your storytelling. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“Peter!” The Zerek girl leaned around to grab the recalcitrant boy by his wrist. “No hair-pulling. How many times must I remind you?”
“It was only a itty-bitty tug!” Peter cried.
“Nuh-uh,” his victim wailed. “It hurts, Cassandra! He near yanked my hair out!”
So, her name was Cassandra. Luke smiled to himself as he watched her corral the children with a gentleness of hand that only a woman could master. When all was quiet again, she looked back up at him. “Please, won’t you join us?” She patted the ground beside her. “We’ve plenty of seating room, as you can see. You might enjoy yourself.”
Luke had no doubt he would. More amazing was that she had extended the invitation. Given his reputation, which even he had to admit was well-deserved, most of the so-called “decent” young women in Black Jack avoided him. To be seen being friendly with Luke Taggart was to scotch all hope of wangling a marriage proposal from a “respectable” young man.
Without making a conscious decision to do so, Luke pushed open the gate, strode across the patchy lawn, and lowered himself to the ground beside her before he could think better of it. Dimpling her cheek in another radiant smile, she resumed telling the story. Within seconds, Luke was leaning forward again, as enthralled by the story as the children were.
Magic and fairy tales. Looking into Cassandra Zerek’s cobalt eyes, even Luke could almost believe in such things. Superficial though he knew it must be, there was a glow about her—an innocent sweetness in her smile, a guileless look in her lovely eyes. Sitting near her like this made him feel as if he’d just entered a well-heated room after being outdoors on a chill winter day.
In actuality, dark storm clouds still gathered overhead, and the cold wind bit through his jacket. It was crazy, sitting here on the damp grass in his expensive, tailored clothing. Crazy, yet utterly irresistible.
Quite simply, Cassandra Zerek was the most delightful creature he’d ever met. Her mane of sable hair was tied back with a bright red ribbon, at odds with her otherwise drab attire. Just below her prim little collar rested a gaudy paste brooch, the fake jewels lusterless, the gold-colored setting worn away in spots. Despite that, the girl herself seemed to sparkle.
Sweet. It was a word he’d never associated with a woman, but Cassandra struck him as being that and more. She reminded him of a box of gaily wrapped confections, each nuance of her a mystery, yet promising to be delicious.
When she finished the story, the children began to clamor for another. “Not today. You’ve chores to do in the convent, remember. I promised Sister Rachel that I wouldn’t keep you out here past four.”
“Oh, hang it,” Peter grumbled.
Cassandra ruffled his dark hair. “Go on. Away with all of you. I’ll be back tomorrow, and I’ll tell you another story then.” She pushed to her feet and bent to swipe bits of grass from her long skirt. As the children scampered away, she turned a twinkling gaze on Luke, her expression quizzical. “I hope you’ll come again as well, Mr. Taggart. I think the children enjoyed having you with us.”
Luke pushed to his feet beside her, surprised to discover she barely cleared his shoulder. Yet, gazing down at her, he couldn’t honestly say he still found her too well rounded for her height. Taken as a whole, Cassandra Zerek was too uniquely lovely to be measured against the usual standards.
“And you, Cassandra? Did you enjoy my company as well?”
Two bright spots of color flagged her cheeks, and her eyes went suddenly dark. Glancing away, she toyed with the brooch, the nervous flutter of her fingertips a dead give-away. Luke recognized the signs. For all her angelic behavior, she wasn’t unaffected by him.
“I, um…” She drew her gaze back to his. “Yes, I enjoyed your company very much.”
Luke took her hand and bent over it in the most courtly fashion. As his lips brushed the back of her wrist, a feeling very like hunger clawed at his middle, and it took all his self-control not to let the polite gesture turn into a full-blown kiss. If he once tasted that ivory skin, he feared he might try to devour her, much as Tigger had the potato earlier. “In that case, Miss Zerek, perhaps I’ll accept your invitation and come again sometime.”
“I hope you will.”
Even as she spoke, Luke saw the sudden wariness in her eyes. Did she sense what he was thinking, or his intense neediness?
Need for what? Luke asked himself as he released her hand. The question eddied like a black riptide inside him.
He smiled slightly as he turned away and strode back to the gate. Miss Zerek’s instincts served her well. Less than an hour ago, he’d been going through his list of female acquaintances, searching his mind for just one woman who might be remotely suitable as his paid companion. Someone pleasing to the male eye, who still managed to look sweet and seem innocent. Someone whose company he’d find entertaining. Cassandra Zerek was exactly what he’d been looking for.
Oh, yes…she had every reason to be wary of him.
Luke Taggart had just found his live-in mistress.
Luke never hesitated once he set his mind on a goal. So instead of going directly home after leaving the church, as he had originally planned, he retraced his steps to the Golden Slipper. As he strode at a rapid clip along the familiar streets, he discovered that his mood had changed from gloomy to expectant. As he walked, he settled a plan in his mind.
Workers at the mine changed shifts at six sharp every evening. Milo Zerek, who worked days, would be getting off in an hour and ten minutes, and when he exited the mining tunnel, Luke intended to be waiting outside to intercept him. He had a proposition to make to the older man, a very generous proposition, and he didn’t intend to take no for an answer.
To pass the time until six, Luke decided to play some high-stakes poker. He rarely made a mistake or a bad decision; the fortune he’d amassed and the power he wielded gave testimony to that. But he soon discovered that his thoughts weren’t on the game. Since spending those few minutes with Cassandra Zerek in the churchyard, he couldn’t get her out of his mind. Instead of the cards, he kept seeing a laughing angel with a wind-tousled halo of sable hair and the body of a temptress.
His gaze settled thoughtfully on a group of men gathered around a set of scales at the bar, where Harvey, the barkeep, measured out gold dust as viable tender to finance his customers’ evening festivities. Not really seeing what he was looking at, Luke conjured a picture of Cassandra’s face. She was lovely and wholesome-looking, just the kind of woman he’d been thinking about hiring as a paid companion, and he couldn’t stop imagining her in his bed, those lovely cobalt eyes filled with sultry yearnings.
“Hey, Mr. Taggart, you gonna play?”
Luke thumbed the Liberty head on a ten-dollar gold piece, commonly known as an eagle for the bird imprinted on its reverse side, and tossed in the coin to ante up. “Sorry, gentlemen. I’m a little distracted this evening.” He smiled slightly. “I ran across something I never expected to see today—a young woman from the miners’ district who seemed to be a virginal innocent.”
The mismatched group around the table, well-groomed businessmen and grimy miners out for a little gaming before they started their night shift, all looked up. One, a whiskery rock-buster named Fred, snorted loudly. “What was she—a twelve-year-old?”
“Somewhere between eighteen and twenty would be my guess,” Luke replied.
One of th
e younger miners laughed. “Mr. Taggart, no disrespect intended, but maybe you’re needin’ spectacles. There ain’t a girl over twelve in the whole of shantytown what’s still got a cherry. I get me a little pert’near every mornin’ comin’ in from the mine. The girls linger there at the far end of miners’ row, just waitin’ for us gents, all of ’em eager to lift their skirts for the bits of dust we can brush off our shirtsleeves.”
No stranger to miners’ row himself, nor oblivious to the girls who plied their wares there, Luke arched an eyebrow. “I have to admit, this girl’s looks bewildered me. She seemed to”—he hesitated, not wanting to sound the fool—“I don’t know. There was this sort of glow about her.”
“Probably from all the gold dust that’s rubbed off on her,” another man said with a chuckle. “You find a gal over twelve with a cherry in the mining district, and I’ll give you a hundred bucks to have first whack at it!”
Cherry or no, Luke had no intention of divulging Cassandra Zerek’s name. Tossing down his cards, he decided these fellows were probably right; he needed his eyesight checked. No young woman her age could have grown up in shantytown without lifting her skirts to help feed her family a time or two. That fact reaffirmed, Luke felt more convinced than ever that she was fair game. “I have to fold, gentlemen. I’ve got an appointment.”
Luke left the Golden Slipper lighter in the pockets, but no less determined to have Cassandra Zerek as his mistress.
As he climbed the steep incline to the Taggart Mine, he was utterly confident that he would ultimately achieve his latest goal. Though she might demur at first, Cassandra would eventually accept his offer. There hadn’t yet been a female born who couldn’t be bought. The question in Luke’s mind wasn’t if he could buy Cassandra Zerek, but how much she might cost him.
The one stumbling block, as Luke saw it, would probably be her father. A short, stocky little Greek with twinkling blue eyes, Milo Zerek struck Luke as the type who took fatherhood seriously. He was protective of his son Ambrose, always insisting that the younger man be assigned to work with him, ever watchful for unsafe conditions in the tunnels. If Milo was as protective of Cassandra, he might get his nose out of joint when Luke spoke to him. It was one thing for a man to let his girl earn a little gold dust by lifting her skirts on the sly and quite another for her to become a rich man’s plaything, with everyone in town privy to the fact.