Chapter One
Boston, Massachusetts, 1887
Ever so quietly, Rose eased the high wooden gate closed behind her. Not sparing a glance for the row houses directly opposite, with their shutters closed against the night air, she hurried along the brick alley behind her house on Mount Vernon Street. Passing their coachman’s front door, she pulled the hood of her traveling cloak more tightly around her dark hair. Having tiptoed down the rear staircase before slipping out the back door of her family’s gray-shuttered home to the lane behind, she was determined not to alert her mother — or her mother’s servants — to her latest escapade.
As she turned left on Willow Street, Rose let out the breath she’d been holding and started to run, continuing to do so until she reached the long oval patch of grass surrounded by the Greek Revival homes of many of her friends. Louisburg Square.
With the expansive grassy Common behind her — all but deserted at such a late hour — Rose traversed Beacon Hill. She knew it was foolish to be out so late and unaccompanied anywhere in Boston.
More than foolish, it was downright dangerous. Her heart pounded with exhilaration and excitement.
Her brother would wring her neck if he ever found out. Her mother would faint on the spot. Her sisters would shake their lovely heads in dismay.
Rose continued moving quickly until she reached her best friend’s house on Myrtle Street and the promised carriage that awaited her discreetly a few yards past.
Giving a whispered thanks and a penny to the lad who’d agreed to wait with the runabout in the moonlight until she arrived, Rose climbed aboard the lightweight vehicle. A wave of relief accompanied the gentle swaying as the mare started forward.
Bless Claire for helping! She was always there when Rose was in a prickly situation. And this one was pricklier than most and ever so important. Rose simply had to see Finn before he left once more. He would be out at sea for nearly a month.
One wretchedly long month. She couldn’t stand it. Unfortunately, she would have to — unless she stowed away on his vessel, and even she was never so bold. Her family would disagree, no doubt, especially if they knew the extent of her involvement with Finn. She smiled, feeling a shiver of anticipation as she approached the rooming house on Bowdoin Square.
Knowing Claire’s docile horse would stand for hours without fussing, Rose left the carriage pulled up close to the sidewalk, the reins tied tightly around a hitch. As she approached the three-story brick building, she couldn’t help looking up at the second floor, the first window on the left. Was he watching for her?
Darting up the short flight of stone steps to the main door, she let herself into the foyer.
A lamp was lit, and a shiny black candlestick telephone sat on the hall table alongside a pile of mail for all the residents of the three-story building. She hurried up the stairs and rapped softly on Finn’s door. Instantly, it was wrenched open, and Rose nearly found herself sprawled across the threshold. Instead, she fell into Finn’s arms.
“My Rose,” he murmured against the top of her head, his lips on her hair. She loved the way her name sounded with his Maine accent.
With her face against his chest, she breathed in the brisk ocean scent of him that somehow clung deliciously to his skin and his clothes.
“I don’t like you coming out so late, love,” he said. “You should have let me come to your house.”
What a dear man he was for worrying over her.
Unbuttoning her cloak, she removed it, laying it over the chairback while choosing her next words carefully.
“You know you cannot do that,” Rose told him, looking up into his beloved face.
Finn took a deep breath and released her abruptly, walking to the window and keeping his broad back to her.
“How long do you plan to keep ‘us’ a secret?” he asked, looking out into the dusky evening, lit by the flickering gas lamps that dotted the neighborhood.
Rose sighed, watching Phineas Bennet fold his strong arms over his chest and look like an immovable mountain — stubborn, silent — but she didn’t want to have that conversation with him. Not again, and especially not on the eve of his departure.
“Please, Finn, let’s not discuss this now.”
She ventured closer, eventually wrapping her arms around his trim waist, pressing herself against his solid back, and leaning her cheek between his shoulders.
Rose could feel his tenseness in all the lean muscles of his body, though the longer she nestled against him, the more relaxed he became. His breathing steadied. At last, he turned in her embrace.
“We’ll have to settle this sometime. We can’t hide forever. Your family will have to accept me.”
Would they? Rose knew there would be a confrontation, which she hated. She imagined the repercussions and stern discussions. Lastly, there would be disapproval. She couldn’t stand to think of the look on her mother’s and brother’s faces as they learned of her decision, one they would consider rash and ruinous.
Moreover, they would be crushed by her deception.
“I’m your husband,” Finn said, running his hands down her back and pulling her even closer. “There’s not a bloody thing they can do about it.”
