Chapter Three #2
She waited, spine stiff, gloved fingers curling against her skirts. Another knock—sharper this time. Still no answer. The distant clink of glassware and muted notes from a piano somewhere below punctuated the silence.
Lucien shifted his weight, his gaze tracing the angles of her face in the lamplight. For all her poise, he caught the flicker of something else—the first edge of unease.
Her chin lifted, the movement already familiar to him. “It’s fine, he’s probably out doing business. He needed to visit several banks.”
He nodded, though by this hour, every bank in the city had long since shuttered for the evening. “Why don’t we go to the front desk and get you a key?”
When they reached the lobby, the press of evening guests swept around them in a swirl of fine coats and jeweled hems. Voices drifted from the salon, laughter bright against the low strains of music.
At the front desk, a line had formed, and they joined the queue.
Lucien crossed his arms, gaze fixed on the ornate clock above the desk, though his attention never truly left Miss Ross.
The hairs on his neck stood on end as the line moved and he turned.
Two women stared at him, whispering to each other.
He recognized one. Mrs. Beauregard. Great.
One of town’s biggest gossips was watching him stand in line with a woman at a fancy hotel.
He didn’t need to stretch his imagination to know exactly which conclusion she would jump to.
“Can I help you?”
The clerk’s harried voice broke his spiraling thoughts, and he turned. “Yes, we’re here to procure a key for Miss Ross. She and her father, Mr. Ross, are staying in room 206.”
The man’s brows drew tight. “Ross? You must be mistaken. He checked out late this morning.”
Miss Ross’s fingers curled over the edge of the counter, knuckles blanched. “Are you certain?”
“I’m certain, ma’am. Took the keys from him myself.”
Lucien’s gaze traveled up Miss Ross’s profile. Her shoulders rose and fell as she stood silent, each breath coming quicker than the last.
“Did he—” Her voice faltered, caught on a fractured inhale. “Did he say where he was going?”
The clerk tugged at his collar, eyes darting toward the guests behind them. “No, ma’am. He didn’t.”
She gave one quick nod and turned. Not before Lucien caught the glimmer of tears gathering at the corners of her eyes. Clutching her reticule to her chest, she hurried from the lobby. He hefted her bag over his shoulder and followed, ever aware of the weight of Ms. Beauregard’s gaze following them.
Outside, the last glow of the sun had slipped behind the rooftops, leaving the streets cast in the cool shadows of evening.
Lanterns flickered to life along the sidewalks, throwing pools of light onto the cobblestones.
Miss Ross turned down the street and started walking away at a brisk pace.
Lucien exhaled through his nose, muttering a curse beneath his breath.
He caught the eye of the boy holding his horse across the street, gave a single finger’s signal to wait, then pushed off after her at a jog.
“Miss Ross?” His voice carried down the busy street, drawing a glance or two from passersby.
She didn’t slow. He closed the gap.
“Miss Ross, your bag.”
He nearly collided with her when she spun around. Her eyes widened at how close he’d come, a flicker of color touching her cheeks.
“I—I’m sorry,” she stammered, reaching up for the carpetbag in his hand. Their fingers brushed, quick as a spark, before she snatched it back to her side. Then, without another word, she turned and started down the street again.
He frowned and called after her. “Where are you going?”
“To find lodging.”
“Do you have funds?”
She shrugged. “I have some jewelry I can trade.” Her southern accent curved around the words, soft and deliberate.
He caught up to her again. “How long have you been in New Orleans?”
She didn’t look at him and turned up the next street. “We arrived yesterday.”
Yesterday? Why in bloody hell had Warstein brought her straight to his place if she’d only just arrived? His aunt’s words rang in his head. She’s in grave danger.
His fingers curled at his side as he eyed the street sign above her. “Miss Ross, I wouldn’t recommend going that way. It will take you to a more unsavory part of town.”
She stopped and twisted, eyes flashing. “Well then, Mr. Moreau, since you’re such an expert on the city, maybe instead of scolding me, you can recommend a place for me to go?”
His jaw tightened. The lanterns caught her hair in the flickering light, every strand gilded like spun gold. A beautiful young woman, alone in the city—she would not last long before finding herself in trouble.
Damnation.
“I recommend you come back to my house.”
Her eyes widened at his gruff reply. “You made it very clear you do not want me there.”
“While you’re not wrong, I cannot leave you here.”
He sighed as her chin lifted again. “Now is not the time to be prideful, Miss Ross. Come home with me and we can sort out the rest from there.”
She hesitated, but gave a stiff nod, and he blew out a breath. “Let’s get back to the cart.”
The moon had climbed higher by the time they left Canal Street, its crowded glow fading behind them.
Minutes passed in silence and soon, the wagon rattled along the dirt road, moonlight sending trees and fences blending into shadows.
He stole a glance next to him. Miss Ross’s shoulders remained straight, yet there was a tension in her jaw he couldn’t ignore.
“Why,” he began, voice low and careful, “is your life in danger?”
She stiffened and stared into the distance. “It’s not your problem, now is it?”
He clenched his teeth together as she threw his earlier words back at him—ones she’d clearly overheard. “It’s very much my problem if you’re going to be staying in my home.”
She crossed her arms and stared into the darkness. “Not much of a home.” The statement had been muttered to herself, soft enough that he shouldn’t have heard it.
But he had.
The words cut like a sharp blade, and he jerked his gaze forward.
A spoiled brat. Just what he needed.