“Speaking of which…” Brentwood stepped off and returned with a small stack of letters and cards. He handed them over. “I think you might have a new member coming, judging from that one on top: Pottinger. He seems a bit old to take up fisticuffs, but he has two sons, I think. Both of an age to?—”
He stopped as Ripley dropped the rest of the post and tore open the seal on the folded sheets from his father. Jane rushed to him, grasping his arm as he opened the papers with shaking hands.
Brentwood stared at them, then inclined his head. “I’ll be here tomorrow, Ripley. I’ll take care of everything until you’re back. Good evening, Miss Kendall.”
He left then, though neither of them acknowledged it.
“How could he reply so swiftly?” she gasped.
Ripley shrugged. “He doesn’t live far from Delacourt. If he responded immediately, sent his fastest runners—” He stopped and drew a shaky breath.
She smoothed her palm over his arm. “What does he say?”
Ripley’s face was pale as he handed over the letter. “He wants to see me first thing in the morning.”
She read the few lines.
Mr. Ripley,
I very much look forward to seeing you tomorrow at nine a.m. We have a great deal to discuss.
Pottinger
She found her heart sinking at the cool tone of the note. “He isn’t exactly warm, is he?”
Ripley shrugged. “My mother used to speak of him as loving when they first started together. Kind. But the kind of man who could abandon the mother of his child completely, let her scrap and die the way she did…”
She caught his hand in hers. “I’m sorry.”
He shook his head. “You keep saying that as if you created this monster.”
“I did,” she insisted. “You never would have had to see or speak to this man again if it weren’t for me and my wayward sister I couldn’t even keep track of. So yes, I take responsibility for that, Ripley.”
He traced her cheek with a fingertip. “Will you come up with me? Come to my home and my kitchen and my bed?”
She shut her eyes briefly. It was so easy to picture being in all those places forever. She nodded. “Yes. And I’m also coming with you tomorrow.”
His eyes widened. “Jane, you don’t have to do that. I don’t know how pleasant this is going to be or how he’ll even receive you.”
“I unleashed this wave of catastrophe, Ripley. If you don’t think I’ll stand by your side to keep you from drowning, you’re a fool.”
The corner of his lip twitched. “You wouldn’t be the first one to call me a fool. And yes, it would be easier to have you there. I suppose it would be easier for you, too, since you wouldn’t have to wait and wonder what was happening.”
He offered his arm and she took it. Together they went upstairs. The first time she’d come into his home above the club, she had been hysterical, terrified. She hadn’t really looked at where this man made his home. She smiled as he shed his jacket and rolled up his sleeves.
“You’re cooking again?”
“I’m out of fire and brimstone,” he teased, reminding her of what she’d said to him that first night she’d come to him with her terror over her sister.
“May I look around your rooms while you do? I want to see the lair of the great Campbell Ripley. See where the Dragon keeps his horde.”
He nodded. “Look away. I’ve no secrets from you.”
He kissed her temple and then left her for the kitchen. She watched him go, watched the sleek movements of that wonderful body. How could a man be such a hulk of muscle and flesh and yet be so graceful, she would never know.
But she’d been given carte blanche to explore and so she did. She stepped into the parlor first. It was a small room but cozy, despite the chill from no fires being lit for a few days. She lit a lamp to carry with her and examined the room. The furniture there was mismatched but appeared comfortable.
There were two chairs before the fire and she could picture sitting in them at night. He would read to her. Perhaps she’d become brave enough to read out to him. He’d never tease her about her mistakes or mispronunciations. Maybe one day she’d even get bold enough to admit she’d learned to read because she’d wanted to keep his little notes and letters to her private. Just hers. A tiny piece of him that no one else could take.
