Chapter Eleven
CAPPING HIS FOUNTAIN PEN, Rupert looked in satisfaction at the small mountain of papers before him. The contracts of those interested in selling their land claims were finally completed. Smith had spent the last two weeks gathering them from landowners in and around Ironwood, some as far as fifteen miles out of town, and the papers had been piling on his desk, other considerations taking precedence over paperwork.
Most of those considerations surrounded Alice.
Just the thought of her had a grin bursting across his face. In amongst the stack was a letter he’d penned to his counterpart in New York, requesting the man arrange for the very latest lingerie catalogues to be sent to Ironwood. With a bit of cajoling on his part, she was sure to be persuaded to order an item or two.
Placing his ankle on his knee, he laced his hands behind his head. He could just picture her pouring over the catalogues, her lip caught between her teeth as she perused the mighty interesting things within. He’d be able to tell by the catch of her breath which she found the most alluring, and he would order them on the sly. She’d argue otherwise. While he appreciated a good argue, and most especially the making up, he wanted her to wear something purchased with his coin. He wanted to see her all trussed up in her black gown and know that beneath she wore the underthings he’d provided. Later, he wanted to peel the gown from her and see them cupping and shaping her flesh. And if he ripped them in his eagerness to remove them... Well, he’d paid for them, hadn’t he?
Besides which, she deserved to have something someone had given her. She took care of so many people—he wanted to care for her, even in such a small way. And, well.... He bloodylovedher underthings.
He looked down at the contracts he’d just finalised. A shadow crossed him. He still hadn’t found a way to tell her why he was in Ironwood without violating his own terms of employment, but he would come up with something. He always did.
Ah, there was no point thinking on it. Putting such thoughts from his mind, he placed the fountain pen on the papers. The fountain pen he’d purchased on Alice’s recommendation. She’d been right about them—they were bloody fantastic. He didn’t know how he’d gone without one before.
Everything about Alice was bloody fantastic.
Suddenly, the need to see her trumped everything else. Leaping to his feet, he hurried to the washbasin, ignoring the loopy grin reflected back at him in the mirror. Scrubbing his hands, he removed all traces of ink, ignoring the pangs of guilt the action caused.
He’d tell her. Soon.
A hard pounding at his door made him jump. Brows drawn, he looked over to the door as if that alone could discern who stood on the other side.
“Boy, you still in there?”
Ah, Smith. Making his way over, he wrenched open the door. “Do you want to alert everyone to your presence, manservant? It could be the stable hands out back didn’t hear you.”
“Don’t sass me, boy. I’ve had a morning as it is.” Smith entered the room, covered in some kind of muck. Obviously mindful of the furnishing, he searched about for a place to sit, determined nothing was appropriate, and finally settled on standing next to the desk.
Rupert watched all of this from where he’d propped himself by the now closed door. “Been in the wars?”
“This is all because of you and your damn fool notions, boy. Why can’t you come into a town like regular folk and state your intentions all honourable-like?”
He lifted a shoulder. “This way is more fun?”
“For you, maybe. For me, I get dunked in the mud pit out the back of the Chinese alley and threatened with pigs. I told you that feller didn’t want to sell, but you insisted I ‘persuade him’. You see what ‘persuading’ leads to?” Smith wiped at the muck on his arm and, finding no place to put it, scowled as he rubbed his hand on his leg. “How much longer are we staying here anyway?”
A kind of panic skittered through him. “We still have work to do.”
“Just say it true, boy. You don’t want to leave her that owns the saloon.”
Hands tightening on his biceps, he said nothing.
Smith shook his head. “Then you’d best tell her sooner rather than later of your plans. She don’t seem the type to forgive easy.”
“It will be all right.” Pushing away from the door, he walked to the sideboard and poured himself some water. “I have a plan. One could almost term it cunning.”
Smith snorted. “Your plans don’t seem to work on her.”
“This one will.” Taking a sip, he stared at the wall. Christ above, he didn’t have a plan, and he’d taken to lying to Smith. Well, wasn’t it just the grandest of days?
Smith opened his mouth to answer, but another knock at the door prevented his words.
They both turned to regard it in surprise. Only Smith and he had been inside these four walls since their arrival.
Exchanging a look with his manservant, he made his way again to the door and, affixing his fool’s grin to his features, he threw it open.
Alice stood on the other side.
