She stopped only a foot away from him. “My dad made a bargain with a guy named Claude to have Hyacinth and me become dancehall girls.”
“What?” He released the door and pivoted to face her. He hadn’t heard her correctly, had he?
Violet was close enough that he could reach out and touch her if he wanted to—which he didn’t. The moon cast a glow over her face, revealing the long lines of her jaw and cheeks, the perfectly slender nose, and the smoothness of her skin. Beneath the hood of her coat, her dark hair was pulled back in a long braid, but wisps framed her face.
Keen longing shot through him. Holy sweet heaven. He’d missed seeing her. Missed her presence. Missed her voice. Missed her beauty. Missed everything about her.
“My father owes Claude a great deal of money,” she continued, “and so Claude said we could work for him as dance girls to pay off his debt.”
Dance girls?
Sterling could only blink at the allegation.
Mr. Berkley was a bank teller, which was a good and decent job. He was an upright, law-abiding, and well-respected citizen. There had never been any issues before. Why would Violet accuse her father of something so terrible now?
Her high brows slanted above her wide eyes that were framed by lush, dark lashes. He couldn’t clearly distinguish the green color of her eyes, but he could see the distress in every line of her expression.
She wouldn’t be able to act so upset if she wasn’t telling the truth, would she?
On the other hand, she’d been a good actor with him, making him believe she loved him when she never really had.
He crossed his arms over his chest and lifted his chin. “I don’t believe you.”
She hugged her coat closer to her body, rubbing her mittened hands up and down her arms, likely for warmth. In the same motion, she shuddered. “If my father doesn’t turn us over, Claude said he’ll send his men to come get us.”
Sterling tried to glare.
Her eyes turned glassy with unshed tears.
No, he wouldn’t let her tears move him. Not anymore, never again. He had to walk away.
Before he could move, her chin quivered, then her teeth began to chatter, even though she seemed to be trying to clamp her lips together.
She was freezing.
He peered through the dark to the edge of the porch, where Hyacinth was huddling in the other rocking chair. No doubt she was freezing too.
The battle raging inside him escalated—a battle he was already losing and perhaps had lost from the moment he’d realized she was on the porch. As much as he wanted to stay away from her and keep up the rampart he’d built to protect himself, he couldn’t walk away from two people who were in need of warmth and shelter. Not when the alternative would mean leaving them outside to face the frigid November temperatures.
He didn’t know what the truth was about her situation with her father. He had the feeling she was holding something back, that there was more to the story than she was sharing. Even though he absolutely didn’t want to invite her into his home, he would never turn his back on someone in need, not even his worst enemy.
Was that why she was here? Because she knew that? Or had she come to torment him?
Whatever the case, he had to get both women out of the cold.
Expelling a sigh, he stood back from the door and waved her inside. “You and Hyacinth can come in and warm up. Then you’ll need to be on your way.”
She dropped her head, but not before he heard a soft sob. She nodded, seemed to be getting herself under control, and then spoke quietly. “I know I don’t deserve your help, but thank you for giving it to me anyway.”
Hyacinth was already rising and stumbling toward Violet. The younger woman was shaking worse than Violet.
He was doing the right thing by inviting them in. Wasn’t he?
Right or wrong, Violet Berkley was walking back into his life. He would just have to make sure she walked back out tonight as soon as possible.
3
The warmth of a stove had never felt so good before.
