Ignoring his flippancy, she said, “My surveyor has information for you.”
The bounty hunter smiled lazily. “Does he?”
“Don’t you want to know what information he has?”
“Not particularly.”
As evenly as she could, she asked, “How do you know if you don’t need it if you don’t know what it is?”
“Still don’t need anything from that stiff-necked prig.”
She gritted her teeth and counted to ten. When that didn’t quite work, she counted to twenty. “Wade, I ask again” she said. “Why are you here?”
Leaning back in his chair, he crossed his arms over his chest. “Got information for you.”
“About?”
“About your man Llewellyn.”
She went cold. Wade sat there lounging in his chair, a grin on his lips and his gaze upon her. She didn’t know what to say. Now that he was here, now that he had the information she’d contracted him for, she wasn’t sure she wanted it, wasn’t sure that everything she’d ever wondered about Llewellyn, she wouldn’t have cause to wonder any more.
But—and damn her twice as a fool for wanting it—she wantedhimto tell her. She wanted Rupert to look her in the eye and tell her for himself why he was in Ironwood. No report was going to give her what he could—his trust.
She rubbed a hand over her face. How could she have anticipated this path she and Llewellyn walked? Maybe it was she’d felt a spark of interest when she’d first contacted Wade, but she never could have guessed she would end up with him in her bed and a desire for him to journey with her to another country.
He was close to telling her. Any day now, he would take her hands, look her square, and tell her of his purpose in Ironwood. Last night, he’d lain beside her and told her his life before he’d left Wales, of working on the docks shovelling coal, of his scam to get into the offices of the wharf. With a smile, he’d said that was where he learned if you acted different to your nature, you could get what you wanted. He’d looked confident, lied he was older than he was, lied of his skills, and soon he’d had a job where he wasn’t coughing up coal dust.
He would tell her next what brought him to Ironwood. He had to.
“Well, Mrs Reynolds?” Stretching, Wade laced his fingers behind his head. “You want your information or not?”
Chewing her lip, she stared at him. God strike her down for a fool, but she wasn’t waiting any longer.
Before she could change her mind, she nodded.
“Rupert T. Llewellyn. Ostensibly from London, England.” Wade recited methodically. “In actually, Rupert Trahearn Llewellyn was born in Bagillt, Wales, which is one of those countries near England. Can’t says as I’ve ever heard of it, but there’s a first time for everything. Father unknown. Mother died when he was eleven and by then he’d been working in coal mines like his uncles for three years. After her death, he made his way to Cardiff—that’s a big city in Wales—where he was employed on the docks. Eventually, he found employment with Davies & Cooper Mining Co, scouting for coal deposits and purchasing from those keen to sell. Came to America six or so years ago, in the employ of Wyoming Coal & Mining. He employed his man, Donald Smith, upon his arrival and they’ve been touring the frontier purchasing claims on behalf of the company. Most likely he’s in Ironwood to ascertain land for purchase.” Wade’s smile turned a little compassionate. “You have a claim, don’t you, Mrs Reynolds?”
Alice stared at him, unable to respond. Llewellyn had lied. He had lied, over and over again.
Blood drained from her. Light-headed, dizzy, she grasped the edge of her desk.
Wade leapt from his seat but she waved him away. Pain rushed through her, intense and bright. She felt as if her insides had been skewered and were broken and mangled beyond what could ever be repaired.
For a month, he’d slept in her bed. For a month, he’d held her and kissed her and laughed with her, and in all that time, he’d been playing at something so much worse than the fool. He’d been pretending he cared. His kisses, his passion, the belief that had shined from him when he’d told her she could conquer Paris, the belief that had lighted her up and made her think it was a thing she could do. She hadn’t told anyone of her desire for Paris, not ever, and he’d used it—no, he’dencouragedher—to go…all a tactic in service to his employer.
He’d done it—all of it—for a piece of goddamnland.
“Mrs Reynolds?” She heard Wade ask, his tone filled with trepidation. She smiled grimly. Now, he acted serious. Now, when she felt ripped apart.
She wanted to summon fury, she wanted to summon anger, but it wouldn’t come, smothered by the pain. He’d fooled her , thoroughly and true. He’d made her believe he cared, made it so she’d thought…she’d almost thought she might love him.
But she couldn’t let him have that. She couldn’t let him see how thoroughly he’d duped her. She had to focus on the lies. Focus on the humiliation, and indignation, and all the anger in between. Think on how he must have laughed, how he must have discussed her with Smith, plotting how to get the land from the stupid widow besotted with his cock. Focus on that, and never remember dark eyes regarding her with warmth. Forget the soft whisper of his touch against her cheek, the way his fingers had played with her hair.
She looked up. Wade hovered over his chair, half-standing, his expression drawn in concern. She didn’t think she’d ever seen him so serious. “Thank you, Wade,” she said, and even she couldn’t believe the evenness of her tone. “You may go.”
“Mrs Reynolds, I don’t think I should—Can I get Miz Pearl?”
“No.” She smoothed her hands over her stomach. “You may go.”
Hesitant still, Wade did as she bade, closing the door behind him.
Grimly, she planned her next move. She would confront Llewellyn. She would tell him she knew. She would tell him he could purchase her land on behalf of his employer, and then she would tell him she never wanted to see him again. She would use the proceeds to go to Paris, and she would forget Rupert T. Llewellyn ever existed.
And she would tell herself it didn’t break her to do so.
