Broken Angel Page 14

  What man willingly relinquished control?

  Robert released a quiet breath and gave her back one soft stroke before shifting his position enough to make eye contact. Then, to her astonishment, he smiled. “Rachel, if it seems I push too many boundaries, please tell me. More than anything I want to respect your needs and wishes.”

  “Needs?” she repeated incredulously. “Wishes? What do I know of those? When I left home I was a fourteen-year-old who had her head so filled to the brim with fairytales and romantic desires of true love that she saw it in every glance and on every handsome face.” Rachel scoffed and turned away, raising her fan to somewhat stiffly stir the air about her face. “Six months in the supposed city of love had me loathing the very word. That is why I cannot be placed in the lead of our relationship. I would do my best to chase you distant, so that I could be assured of my independence and control. No. I know nothing of needs and wishes, as I haven’t been a woman in any sense of the word for eight years.”

  Yet another failing.

  The silence that followed hung in the air with a heaviness that was neither awkward nor angry. It was simply intense and–

  Robert cleared his throat and moved to stand more in front of her, going so far as to again gather her hands into his. She tensed but did not pull away. “Independence does not make you any less of a woman, Rachel,” he informed in an almost careful tone of voice. “Neither does your assurance, or your determination, or your intelligence. Those are the qualities that I find the most intriguing and attractive.”

  “Debating and discussions? Oh yes, those are very attractive indeed,” she said coldly, turning away and pulling her hands from his grasp. “Pouring facts in place of tea. Weaving business plans rather than monogrammed handkerchiefs.” But his secondary confession of the attraction and intrigue caused another powerful slip within. One that she couldn’t categorize.

  “The debates I’ve had with you….” Robert released a slow breath and then gently turned her to face him; her gaze was there to hold his, tenacious. “Rachel, the debates and discussions we’ve shared have drawn me to you in a way I never thought possible. You’re a very beautiful woman, and the fact that you fully utilize your potential as well as your quick mind….” Robert lifted one hand in a gesture of loss. “I don’t know what I could possibly say to fully express the attraction. When you speak to me, you speak to my mind and my heart.”

  Rachel blinked in surprise.

  “That is why I don’t want to be solely responsible for leading the… tenderness within our relationship,” he confessed. “I am highly attracted to you, and the more I learn of you the deeper the fascination. The more pleasant the experience of exploring your persona.”

  Her scrutiny of his expression deepened, as did the suspicion… and a deeper emotion kept well hidden.

  Robert suddenly smiled. “As I said, my father swears I’m a rogue. I never follow traditional views.” He chuckled. “And you, Rachel Samson, are anything but traditional.”

  Unable to help herself, she surrendered to a slight smirk. “No. I suppose I am not.”

  Expression softening, Robert lifted a hand to brush some stray blonde curls from her forehead. “I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he confessed softly, his hand lingering at her cheek to cup it and gently stroke the skin with his thumb.

  Rachel shied back from him at the touch, the flush to her cheeks heightening a form of panic that tensed her entire body and quickened her heartbeat.

  Robert cleared his throat and stuffed his hands deeply into his pockets. “I apologize,” he said, his voice oddly gruff and yet…. Then he sent her what appeared to be an uncomfortable smile before motioning behind him to the restaurant. “Do you risk luncheon with me after such a confession?” He motioned, also, to the carriage with his dapple affixed behind. “Or should I allow you a well-timed withdrawal?”

  Reluctance battled with intrigue and curiosity this time, as well as a deeper desire of something that she didn’t want to take the time to scrutinize. But the withdrawal would take her to a home where fantasies waited that had died long ago. She shifted her focus from his handsome expression of welcome to the carriage with the Samson family crest.

  “Rachel.”

  She met his gaze to notice a now guarded expression.

  He motioned to the carriage. “I will call this evening, with your permission. For now, I think I’ve pressed you enough.”

  Rachel clenched and unclenched her hands upon her fan, her lips pressed into a thin line as she scolded herself for wanting the retreat as much as she wanted to remain and have the attention. Soon thereafter the recognizable and mostly welcome numbness swallowed both, leaving her the freedom to incline her head and vocalize an unmoved, “This evening, then.”

  Robert regarded her a moment before presenting his hand. “Good day, Miss Rachel Samson.”

  She slipped hers into his but made no effort to press or withdraw; her hand was simply there. Then she gave a brief and small curtsy before turning and accepting the driver’s help into the carriage. When the carriage began its return home, Rachel caught sight of Robert standing still in the same place as before, watching the carriage retreat with hands in his pockets. She looked away, but she felt the slip and tumble of something soon to fall.

  Eight

  Wrong Questions

  Sitting in one of the armchairs by the large window, Rachel had stared at a tattered edge of the oriental rug for most of the afternoon. Each time she had turned the page of that morning’s newspaper the rug had caught her eye to whisper remembrances of what it hid away, as well as the memories that wanted to be revealed to the day. Now, the hour for dinner approaching ever closer, Rachel allowed herself to lift the corner, pushing aside a loose floorboard to reveal the small box within. Her eyes stung and her chest tightened, but she kept the acknowledgment of tears carefully away as she pulled out the box. Upon opening it, she revealed the pendant, picture, and chipped cameo brooch.

  Rachel retrieved the picture to blankly stare down at it; her mother. The pendent and cameo had also been hers, until she’d bestowed them to Rachel as a gift on her thirteenth birthday. Rachel, fearing she would lose them if she kept them with her other trinkets, had hidden them away in the safest place she knew. Her “treasure chest” under the floorboard in her mother’s favorite room.

  Now, Rachel stared down at the photograph and caressed the smiling face with a single finger. Remembering the soft, soothing touch of her mother’s hand upon her head. The whispered words of encouragement and love that would follow. The memory of how her mother had showed her the perfect example of what it meant to be a woman.

  There sounded a soft knock on the doorframe and Rachel shifted her blank focus to the doorway.

  Robert Trent offered her a somewhat hesitant smile and a softly stated, “Good evening, Miss Samson.”

  Tucking the photograph back within the box and setting it away, Rachel inclined her head. “It is.” Then she motioned across from her to the vacant chair. “Dinner is yet an hour hence. Will you have a seat?”

  “While I thank you for the offer, I’m afraid I have a previous engagement that won’t be rescheduled. So, I’ve come early to make a nuisance of myself and inquire if you would care for a turn around your gardens.” He held her gaze as he rocked back onto the heels of his leather shoes in a boyish display of waiting, his hands in the pockets of his beige trousers. “Would you be interested?”

  “That would be lovely,” she said in what was likely a too-calm voice. “Thank you.”

  She stood, Robert stepping forward to offer his arm. She accepted, and though he covered her hand with his, the cool numbness would not shift nor move.

  “Did you have a pleasant afternoon?” he inquired.

  “I did. Thank you.” Rachel sent him a sidelong glance, arching an eyebrow at the sudden tensing within. She was unable to determine whether or not it could be classified as negative.

  Robert led her down the back hall toward the ga
rden as Rachel continued the task of examining him, challenging herself to the naming of each emotion seen upon his face. After eight years of meeting shallow men and women who said one truth, expressed another, and acted yet a third, Robert presented an intriguing change.

  Once they entered the gardens, Robert sent her a sidelong glance and led her down one of the garden’s side-trails. Upon meeting her continued examination, he smirked and motioned toward her with his free hand. “What do you watch so intently, Miss Samson?”

  Robert's motion of hand stirred a surprisingly pleasant aroma of musk. “Nothing in particular.”

  His lips twitched upward. “Hm. I find the fact highly unlikely. You do not seem the type interested in nothing. However, I will refrain from nagging.”

  Amusement brushed aside a portion of the numbness.

  “Speaking of interests….” Robert pulled a small book from his inner coat pocket and thumbed the pages. “I am considering buying several of these for the children.” He looked to her and offered forward the book. “A collection of short stories.”

  Instead of the book, Rachel focused on the word “Children?”

  “Oh yes. I have scads, didn’t I tell you? At least two for every day of the week.”

  Rachel surrendered to a slight smile. “I’m quite certain you do, for I seem to recall a comment of family and their importance. Of course, I also remember a comment regarding a mentor relationship to a small orphanage here in Boston.”

  “Someone went and confessed my secret.” Robert retrieved another book from his inner pocket. “Would you like to see them, my ‘previous engagement’? I have pictures.” Halting beside a patch of lush green grass, Robert gestured downward. “Here. Let’s have a look and see what you say.”

  Rachel regarded the patch of green with an arched eyebrow. Then she gave a delicate shrug and accepted his steadying hold to kneel. Robert immediately sat close beside her.

  He presented the small collection of pictures held within a somewhat functional album roughly the size of his hand. Rachel accepted the offered album and gave a slight twitch of surprise when Robert reached across her to tap a specific picture.

  “That’s Bobby. He lost his father to a railroad accident near the base of Mt. Hood in Oregon. His mother, living here in Boston, died soon after of influenza. He’s a joy to be around, though. He makes a point of seeing the positive in each harsh situation.”

  Robert turned the page of the album and chuckled, the sound and reaction to the photo not allowing Rachel’s eyes to leave his profile nor the collection of emotions displayed.

  “April. She’s a shy little thing, but she certainly loves telling tragic stories.” Robert briefly met Rachel’s gaze. “I’ve given her express orders to begin writing these down.”

  As Rachel turned the pages of the album Robert touched another face, and another, and yet another. Rachel found the idea intriguing, a man trained in business-law taking an interest in orphans? Yet something beyond the interest could be seen in his countenance.

  Robert shifted closer as he tapped the far picture, chuckling within an amusing tale of one of the children. Rachel drew in a slow breath of his closeness and watched him, examining the… interest and intrigue. The… attraction? An interest beyond the numbness and chill of suspicion.

  Robert continued to smile at the last picture within the album. “And that would be everyone, save the new arrivals whom I haven’t had the opportunity to--" He intercepted her intense scrutiny.

  Once again Rachel felt the odd warmth within. An actual emotion beyond the protective numbness. She didn’t know– No, she didn’t understand what pressed her. Urging her to… to do something. Yet her years of training pulled her back, ridiculing her weakness and the woman that was forever an obstacle to overcome.

  Robert cupped her cheek, caressing the skin with his thumb and ushering something she couldn’t classify a little further and yet closer. There was no panic. Only his touch drawing her toward a question her schooling had convinced her didn’t matter. A question whose answer she couldn’t feel herself believing.

  Yet neither could she move away. Though her business persona wouldn’t accept his tenderness, her determination wouldn’t allow her to escape it. It forced her to stay and allow an action of tenderness that intensely terrified her, fighting against the emotion until the struggle became a vicious circle.

  Robert lowered his hand from its gentle hold of her cheek, but his dark brown eyes wouldn’t release her gaze. “The thought of your father venturing out at just the moment I kiss you prevents it.” His gently gruff tone battered at Rachel’s tenacious hold of the calm. “I am willing to wager I would have found a new climax to his temper.”

  A desire of a kiss and yet more thought to her reputation. An admittance of want and yet the restraint required to kindle trust…

  His gaze lowered as his hands gathered hers into a gentle hold. “You would have found yourself with the duty of marrying a stranger,” he said, “and no longer having the choice I wish for you.”

  Rachel arched an eyebrow as she regarded his handsome face and twinkling eyes that always seemed to show… welcome and… acceptance. “Stranger.” The word chipped loose the silence that held her tongue. “You ceased being a stranger on the train; in the common sense of the word,” she confessed, drawing his attention. “No, I haven’t an intimate knowledge of your past or what you wish to do with your future, and in that respect I suppose you remain a stranger, but….” Rachel thoughtfully regarded his face and eyes and very persona yet again. “No. You are no longer a stranger. Not when I continually find myself… trusting you.”

  Robert did his own scrutiny of her expressions as he gave her hands a gentle pressure before releasing them. Then he leaned onto his side in the grass, his right elbow and arm propping his torso upright as he absently picked at the green blades with his fingers. Rachel accepted the open and honest inspection with a wave of relief, for she knew it wasn’t to gauge a weakness.

  “We seem to click in that respect, don’t we?” he finally asked.

  “Yes.” This time Rachel’s eyes retreated from his, but she knew he continued to watch her, making the part of her behind the wall begin to force it back up again. To protect something that she knew could be entrusted to him even though past experience wouldn’t allow.

  “Rachel, would you rather I go now?” he voiced quietly.

  Again, the question set to motion a battle as a part of her wanted her self to be left very much alone, while the other portion wanted so much to relinquish her entire history to his keeping. But suspicion, once given so much power for so long, was a tenacious adversary to usher away. Rachel pressed her lips together, keeping her eyes carefully away from his that seemed to see what she tried to keep silent.

  “Rachel.”

  She tightly clasped her hands in her lap moments before forcing her eyes to meet his. Again, they held understanding and…. Her chest tightened but she didn’t look away.

  “Rachel, don’t chastise yourself for wanting time to yourself. I understand that you are trying to transition to your place here, and I don’t wish to intrude into that.” His brown eyes twinkled. “More than I already have.”

  “But you are attempting to court,” she reminded, her voice tight with irritation that something which seemed so easy for other ladies to accept would be such a challenge for her.

  “Yes,” he agreed with a slight nod. “Yes, I am, which means I need to be sensitive to what you want. If that means vanishing when I’ve intruded onto your personal space, then that is what I will do.”

  Rachel pressed her lips together, confused beyond measure as to whether she wanted him to go or stay. She scoffed and crossed her arms as she looked away.

  “I will assume the scoff wasn’t directed toward my person.”

  Rachel’s emerald gaze sparked as she once more focused on his brown eyes. “What am I to do when I am constantly torn between ordering you out of my sight so that I can have a moment’s p
eace from the confusion, or bombarding you with personal questions that I likely wouldn’t want to answer myself?”

  The silence that followed the question rang different than any she’d heard before. Then he cleared his throat and asked “What do you want to know?” as he lowered his eyes from her hold and retrieved his pipe from the inner pocket of his coat.

  “What?” Rachel asked, surprise coloring her expression.

  Robert’s lips twitched but he didn’t meet her gaze. “Considering you know practically nothing about me, I don’t blame you your curiosity. Anything told could be viewed as a small step forward.”

  Suspicion and an intensity of caution reared as she regarded him. “It certainly seems harmless enough.”

  Again his lips were caressed with the tease of a smile that tweaked Rachel’s curiosity. “What say you to a simple exchange of information?” he asked, finally lifting his gaze from his pipe. “You ask a question and I answer as honestly as possible. In return, I ask a question of you.”

  “Allow me a refusal on certain questions and you have an agreement.”

  Robert chuckled. “Allow me the same, then.”

  This time Rachel released a reluctant smirk. “As if you have anything to hide.”

  “You’d be surprised,” he quipped, his attention shifting back to his pipe.

  Rachel arched an eyebrow as she absently retrieved the fan dangling at her wrist and slowly opened it to caress the air near her neck and face. “Then might I ask the first question?”

  Robert slowly nodded as his scrutiny of the pipe intensified. “Of course.”

  Caution could clearly be heard in his tone; the one emotion she understood. It gave rise to an understanding that pressed itself past the numbness and urged her to ask a somewhat harmless question. “What caused you to partner with the administration of the orphanage?”

  “A simple letter, really.” Robert spared her a glance. “Father urged me to look into the pros and cons of donating to charitable establishments. Part of my studies you understand. I was given a letter written by a child from the orphanage here in Boston. One of the smaller establishments, at any rate.”