LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

like you are about, Miss O’Connor.”

      “Making assumptions again?”

      “Absolutely. But I will admit, as reprehensible as I find your choice of lifestyle, I’m certain there are others who find you alluring and appreciate your, shall we call them...talents.”

      Laney sidled to her left.

      Dupree scooted her back to the right.

      “Talents?” she asked in an overly polite tone. “What sort of talents are we talking about?” As if she didn’t know what he meant.

      “For one, you dress like a well-bred lady with an accomplished eye for style.” He dropped his gaze a moment. “Your present attire not included.”

      This time, she strayed to the right.

      He hauled her back to center. “You speak with perfect diction, somewhat uncommon in these parts. And, most recently, you climbed out of my window with the finesse of a—”

      “Skilled acrobat?”

      “Precisely.”

      Not sure what she heard in his voice—grudging respect, censure?—she granted him her most unpleasant smile, the one she reserved for bankers and highborn gentleman in red silk vests.

      Finally, an idea came to her. She could still get away with the money—her money—but before she resorted to such an underhanded tactic, she had to try to escape in a fair manner one last time.

      Didn’t she always tell the children to think before they acted? Didn’t she warn them of the dangers of sinful behavior? How could Laney ignore everything she tried to teach the children and still face them in the morning?

      Determined to hold onto the remaining scraps of her integrity, she scrambled to her right. Again, Dupree pushed her back to her original position.

      So be it.

      I tried, Lord. Truly, I tried. I pray, please, forgive me for what I’m about to do.

      “You know, Dupree, I have other, equally impressive...talents.”

      “Oh? Do you cook, sew, ride a horse with great skill?”

      Sniffing at his attempt to goad her, she took a step toward him and grasped the sides of his vest. “You are becoming redundant.”

      “As are you, honey.”

      Honey. She was really starting to dislike that word. Nevertheless, she touched her fingertip to the top button of his vest.

      Eyes lowering to half-mast, he captured her hand in a light but firm grip. “I wouldn’t advise continuing down this path, Miss O’Connor.”

      Allowing him to misunderstand her intent, she moved a step closer. “You sure you don’t want to see what I can do?”

      His look turned sardonic. “I’m afraid I must decline further demonstration of this particular skill.”

      “Once again,” she tugged her hand free, “you have chosen to misread the situation.”

      He swallowed. Once. Twice. Then again more slowly. Very slowly. “By all means, honey, prove me wrong.”

      “Gladly.” She shifted her weight, planting her left foot slightly behind her right. To keep his attention off her new position, she toyed with his lapel again. “You see,” she said in a light, airy tone. “When cornered, I fight like I do everything else.”

      “You lie and cheat?”

      “No.” She gave him her most brilliant smile and took a step back. “I win.”

      She raised her right knee and, leading with her heel, slammed her foot into his chest. The blow landed exactly as her friend had taught her.

      Caught off guard, Dupree stumbled backward. His gasp of surprise wasn’t as gratifying as Laney would have predicted.

      This was her one chance. With a quick snatch, she retrieved her bundled dress and tore around the corner at breakneck speed. She quickened her pace to a flat-out run as the bellowed promise to hunt her down like a rabid dog nipped at her heels.

      * * *

      Minutes later, Marc charged wordlessly to the back of his hotel. Holding on to his anger—barely—he released the lock and with a violent shove, plowed into his office. The earsplitting crack of door meeting wall punctuated his foul mood. Unfortunately, the jarring noise did nothing to eliminate the reality of the last ten minutes. Not since Pearl ran off with his fortune could Marc recall a time he’d suffered so complete a defeat.

      Oh, he’d known Miss O’Connor would attempt to steal away with what she claimed was her rightful possession. He’d even expected her to resort to whatever means necessary to escape. Her kind always thought in terms of survival. What he hadn’t imagined was to find room 912 empty and Joshua Greene long gone by the time Marc had arrived.

      Had the judge known he was coming to confront him?

      Not possible. There had been no time or opportunity for Miss O’Connor to warn him.

      Rubbing the spot where she’d landed her heel to his chest, Marc let out a frustrated hiss. How could such a tiny, delicate woman land a blow with so much force? She hadn’t hurt him, not by half. He’d suffered far worse from rowdy drunks and mean-spirited outlaws. Nevertheless, she’d taken him by surprise, enough to throw him off-balance and make her getaway.

      The situation defied logic. And Marc was a man who relied solely on logic. Emotion, blind faith, he allowed neither in his life.

      Shifting his angry gaze around what used to be his highly organized personal sanctuary, he slammed his fist into his open palm. He’d left the woman alone for fifteen minutes and she’d wreaked havoc. Risking a step through the clothes scattered on the floor, he tripped over a very delicate, very female slipper.

      He kicked the offensive shoe out of his way and eyed the strewn papers at his feet. Papers that had once been in neat piles on his desk.

      “Did she leave nothing untouched?”

      Scrubbing a hand over his face, Marc fought for control. But then he spotted a slip of paper propped against a pile of books on his desk. A second later, he whipped the note from its perch with as much intensity as he’d used to enter the room.

      If the miserable handwriting was any indication, Miss O’Connor had scrawled the words with as little care as she’d given his office.

      Marc’s irritation only increased as he read her parting jab.

      My Dear Mr. Dupree,

      Thank you for your splendid hospitality this evening.

      But I’m afraid I must decline your offer to remain any longer. I have a much more pressing engagement with your window.

      Yours most humbly,

      Miss Laney O’Connor

      Crushing the paper in his fist, Marc stifled the urge to take off after the woman without formulating a plan of action. Not the most logical move. Calling upon his well-honed control, he shut his eyes and released all the air from his lungs.

      Dark, ugly thoughts linked together in his mind until one emerged over all the others. Laney O’Connor had chosen the wrong hotel, on the wrong evening, to play out her little intrigue with a federal judge.

      Five years ago, Marc had embarked on the greatest debacle of his life—marriage to Pearl LaRue. The events of the last hour merely added another layer of indignity to his rash, youthful mistake of thinking he could turn a bad woman good.

      Having been raised by loving, Christian parents, Marc had operated on the belief that all fall short of the glory of God and that the Lord’s unending grace was administered through His people. People with the means and desire to serve.

      He’d been naive, painfully so. But Marc had learned his lesson, thanks

Скачать книгу