Chapter Six
TILLY HADN’T MEANT to fall asleep.
She’d gone to pay a visit to Mr. Hannan to let him know how much she appreciated his introducing her to his sister. It was forward and she knew Miss Darby would never approve, but Tilly felt daring. Two days had gone by, and she’d gotten no further with convincing Mr. Hannan that he ought to marry her.
It was time to do something a little out of the ordinary.
She had knocked on the door. There was no answer, but the door had opened slightly at her knock.
“Hello?” she called inside.
She pressed the door open a little farther and found the room empty.
She shouldn’t have gone inside. It was rude and possibly the most unseemly thing she’d ever done. She paused in the doorway, chewing her lip and glancing down the hallway. She’d come here to marry Mr. Hannan, and that would never happen if she didn’t spend time with him. He ought to be back soon. After all, it was nearing the time when the Darbys would serve supper in the dining room.
Summoning every ounce of her courage and ignoring her racing heart, she slipped inside and closed the door behind her. It was beginning to grow dark, so she lit the lamp she found on his desk. The chair was piled high with clothing that she assumed he intended to have laundered, so she perched herself on the edge of his neatly made bed.
And she waited.
Minutes ticked by. She ought to have brought something to occupy herself. She picked up the book open on Mr. Hannan’s bedside table, but it was some dull tome about the French military. Stifling a yawn, she set the book back in its place and leaned back on the bed. The last thing she remembered was thinking that the quilt covering the bed smelled nice, like soap and something else she couldn’t place, but that it reminded her of standing near Mr. Hannan.
Tilly didn’t know how much time had passed when she awoke, but she shot up with a start. The lamp had gone dark, sending the entire room into nothing but shades of black and gray. There were muffled voices coming from the front of the boardinghouse, so it couldn’t be too late.
Her heart thumped as she felt her way to the door. What had she done? Every bit of the daring bravery she had felt earlier in the evening had dissipated into embarrassment. She ought to be grateful he hadn’t found her here. She couldn’t imagine trying to explain herself out of falling asleep on his bed. And he’d likely think her the most improper woman he’d ever met if he wandered back here at such a late hour and discovered her.
If she left now, he’d never know. She could wait in the parlor for him instead. Or perhaps he was having supper right now. If she arrived at his table, it would be rude if he didn’t ask her to join him.
Tilly took a moment to smooth down her dress and her hair, and then she pressed her ear to the door. The only voices she heard were far away, likely from the parlor or the dining room. There was no movement outside the door.
Slowly, she cracked the door open and glanced down the hallway. It was blessedly empty.
Quiet as a child stealing a cookie, she slipped out the door and closed it so that it barely made a click.
“Tilly?” A voice she hadn’t heard in years but would recognize anywhere called her name.
It was the one person she didn’t want to run into—not yet, anyhow.
She yanked her hand away from the doorknob, but it was too late. She looked up to find her brother striding down the hallway toward her.
“Jamie!” She tried to sound excited to see him. And she was happy to see him, but he also held the power to end all of her hopes and dreams.
Trying to put distance between herself and the door she’d just emerged from, she smiled and walked quickly to meet him.
It had only been a couple of years, but Jamie somehow looked the same and yet older at the same time. The lamplight from a table in the hallway illuminated a face that looked more serious than she remembered, a gleaming badge peeking out from under the edge of his coat, and neatly trimmed hair beneath a battered hat. He wrapped his arms around her, and this time she gave a real smile.
“It’s so good to see you,” she said. “I’ve missed you.”
He held her out at arm’s length, his grin moving into a look of concern. “Why are you here? Did something happen at home?”
“Everyone is just fine. Emily sends her love.” Tilly glanced over Jamie’s shoulder to see Miss Darby hurrying down the hallway. Her heart sunk. This was precisely what she didn’t want to happen.
Jamie’s eyebrows knitted together. “Then why are you—”
“Pardon me, Marshal.” Miss Darby was slightly out of breath as she arrived beside them. She looked from Jamie to Tilly. “Miss Wright, this is the gentlemen’s hallway. You can’t be here.”
Jamie’s brow furrowed deeper as his eyes traced Tilly’s face.
All sense flitted from her mind. Why hadn’t she thought of some excuse before she walked out that door? “It’s . . . I apologize, I didn’t know.”
But she did know, and Miss Darby knew that, because she was the one who had told Tilly when Mr. Hannan had brought her here and paid for her room. No ladies were to come down this hallway, and no gentlemen were to go upstairs. It was a hard and fast rule, and it kept the Darbys’ establishment safe and trustworthy.
Miss Darby frowned at her, and Tilly wondered if she might be tossed out. Where would she go then?
And would it even matter? Considering the look Jamie was giving her now, it would be a miracle if she weren’t on a train home that he’d conjured from thin air just for her tonight.
“Why are you here?” he asked her then, more urgently.
“I . . .” Not a single excuse came to mind. It was as if her brain had taken leave of her body.
He brushed past her then, striding quickly toward Mr. Hannan’s door. “This room,” he said, stopping in front of it and pointing at the door. “Is this yours?”
“Of course not,” Miss Darby replied in an insulted voice. “Miss Wright is staying upstairs with the other ladies.”
Tilly opened her mouth, thinking that maybe if she explained that she only wanted to pay a visit, that would make this spiraling disaster resolve itself.
But her brother spoke before she could utter a syllable. “I saw you emerge from this door.” Without giving her a second to respond, he shifted his gaze to Miss Darby. “Who’s renting this room?”
Miss Darby glanced at the number on the door. “Number five. That’s Mr. Hannan.”
A flicker of disbelief crossed Jamie’s face. He looked her up and down, his gaze pausing on her cheek and his face contorting from confusion to fury. Tilly lifted a hand and rested it against her skin, wondering what in the world he saw there.
“Hannan.” He spat out the name as if he were speaking of a rodent. “Liam Hannan?”
“Yes, sir,” Miss Darby said.
Jamie raised a hand, ready to knock on the door. “Is he here?”
“I believe he’s in the parlor.”
Without another look at Tilly, Jamie set off down the hall, bellowing Mr. Hannan’s name.
“Jamie. Jamie!” Tilly finally found both her voice and her legs. She ran after him. “Let me explain!”
But it was too late. Jamie was already at the parlor door. Miss Darby stopped next to Tilly.
“Nothing happened,” Tilly said to Miss Darby, desperate for someone to believe her.
“It doesn’t matter now.” Tilly thought she heard a note of sympathy in Miss Darby’s voice. “Are you the marshal’s . . .?”
“Sister.” But Tilly’s attention was now on the two men in front of her. Mr. Hannan stared at her, and then looked at Jamie.
Jamie rested his hands on his hips, the motion pushing back the edges of his coat to reveal the guns he wore. It was a menacing gesture, and he knew it. Tilly began to step forward, but Miss Darby pressed a hand against her arm and gently shook her head.
“But I can explain,” Tilly protested.
Neither man gave her a glance. They were too busy staring each other down. Mr. Hannan gave a visible swallow, but he didn’t back away. If she weren’t so concerned about what might happen next, Tilly might have admired his courage.
“The only explanation I want is one from Hannan,” Jamie said in a deadly even voice. “About why you had my sister squirreled away in your room.”