Scarlet Lies (Author's Cut Edition): Historical Romance Read online

  Brook hated herself for complying, but she had to know. "You're supposed to be dead."

  "I know. Interesting, isn't it? How some of us are given a second chance in spite of the best intentions of others?" He tilted his head to the side to give her a better view of his scar. "See that?" She nodded almost imperceptibly. "That's what you gave me. Somewhere on the Mary Francis is a bullet with my name on it. Probably wedged in the bed frame of cabin one-ten."

  Brook sucked in her breath. "There was no pulse," she said. "I checked. You weren't breathing."

  Ryland shrugged. "Maybe not. All I know is that when I came around I had to surface ten feet to keep from breathing Mississippi mud." He gave her wrists a little shake. "Now, you couldn't have dropped me over the rail, so it must have been Sumner. Is that what happened?"

  "Yes," she said weakly. "But he... I... we thought you were dead."

  "Did you? Or did you and Sumner hope to finish me off neatly?"

  "No! I didn't want to shoot. You forced my hand. I wouldn't have let Phillip put you in the river if I had known you were alive. You could have drowned."

  Ryland laughed, amused by Brook's logic. "Did it matter so much how I died? Surely that was Sumner's intent all along." He paused. "Yours as well."

  "No! It wasn't. You're wrong. I told you—"

  "I know what you told me," he said pleasantly. "You'll understand if I don't believe you." Ryland released one of her wrists long enough to place it in his single grip. With his free hand he reached behind him and parted Brook's robe.

  Brook squirmed uncomfortably as Ryland's palm rested on her bare thigh. "What are you—"

  "Checking for a weapon." His hand slid along her flesh. He felt her skin shiver beneath the warmth of his fingers. "I recall you have a fondness for carrying one."

  "I don't have one now," she said tightly. She tried to point to her left, indicating the door that was partially open. "As you noted before, I was taking a bath."

  Ryland's fingers blindly sought the edge of her robe and pulled it back over her leg. Keeping her immobile, he scanned her bedroom curiously, looking for some sign to indicate that Sumner still lived with her. "Where is your partner?"

  "Partner?" she asked, bewildered for a moment. "Oh, you mean Phillip."

  "Who else? Where is he?"

  Brook would have liked to lie to Ryland and tell him that she was expecting Phillip at any time, but through her own puzzlement she had lost the opportunity. She told him the truth. "I haven't seen him for years."

  "Liar."

  Of course he would think that. He might think he knew when she was lying, but he didn't. He certainly didn't know when she was telling the truth. Brook's lip curled in disgust and her eyes became glacial. "Think what you like. But think it elsewhere. Get off me, get out of my suite, and get out of my life."

  Ryland continued to study her consideringly. She commanded as if born to it. "I'd wager you cut your teeth on a scepter instead of a rattle," he said.

  "You'd lose."

  He thought he had seen something in her face, a moment's pain or bitterness, but it vanished so quickly and she spoke with such icy certainty that he began to believe he had imagined it. "Would I?"

  "Yes." She glared at him. "Get off me." Brook's teeth clenched. "Please."

  The last was not a word she used often. "I don't think so," Ryland said. "Tell me about Sumner."

  "I told you, I haven't seen Phillip for years. Is that why you've come? To have your revenge on Phillip and me?"

  "You flatter yourself. I haven't given either one of you much thought."

  "Liar," she said. "You can't look in a mirror without seeing that scar, and you can't see that scar without thinking of me."

  She was right, of course, but Ryland wouldn't have admitted to it under torture. "I'm not a vain man," he said instead. "I don't often look in mirrors."

  "All men are vain," she said with conviction.

  Ryland smiled. "Little cheat. Your profession has made you jaded."

  Brook ignored the barb. "Why are you here? How did you find me?"

  "An accident. I wasn't looking for you. Before you call me a liar again I should explain that San Francisco is my home. Or rather it was for most of my childhood. My aunt and uncle live here."

  "You're visiting, then."

  "For a time. I plan to settle eventually somewhere near Virginia City."

  "So you thought you would look up an old friend."

  "Old friend?" He shook his head. "Hardly. I told you I had no idea you were here. This is nothing more than coincidence."

  "How lucky for both of us," she said sweetly.

  "Yes, isn't it?" he asked, mocking her tone.

  "What do you intend to do?"

  "With you?"

  "Yes, with me."

  He could not detect any fear in her eyes, yet he could feel the pounding of her heart. "I don't intend to kill you, if that's what you mean. But there is the matter of a debt you owe me."

  "Debt?" She knew it was a mistake as soon as she asked.

  Ryland's expression became grim. "The only problem with you pretending stupidity is what it implies about my own intelligence."

  "Are you going to rape me?"

  "Rape? The agreement I had with Sumner was for one evening in your bed. Since you did not voice an objection when I accepted his note, I was forced to assume you agreed to it. I have no intention of taking by force what you are supposed to give me willingly." His eyes dropped to the parted neckline of her robe. Her heart was thudding heavily, more so than when she thought he was going to kill her. He looked at her again. "And I'm still a patient man. I can wait."

  "And wait," she said succinctly. "I'll come to you willingly when hell freezes over."

  "I'll remember to bring extra blankets."

  "Bastard! Let me up!"

  When Brook renewed her struggle to free herself Ryland was content to let her wear herself out. There was a hint of gentleness in his voice when he said, "I'm stronger than you are."

  Brook had more evidence of that than she cared to. "You're too heavy," she said. "I can barely breathe."

  Ryland settled his weight forward, placing more of it on his knees. He kept his hands on her wrists, however. "How did you come to be in San Francisco?"

  Dear God, Brook thought. Surely he didn't expect a recitation of her life story. "I've always lived here," she said.

  "Then why were you in New Orleans when I met you?"

  "Phillip had business there. Personal business. And before you ask, no, I don't know what it was about. It wasn't important that I know then."

  "Do you always follow Sumner's lead? Always do what he tells you?"

  "At one time."

  "Now?"

  "I don't answer to anyone but myself. I told you, I haven't seen him for years, and I don't keep tabs on him."

  "Lover's quarrel? He left you?"

  "Something like that," she said. She decided the truth had little purpose here. Ryland would believe what he wanted, and clearly he wanted to believe that Phillip had abandoned her and not the other way around.

  Ryland was thoughtful. "It's unfortunate you don't know where Sumner is. I suppose that means I'll have to settle entirely with you. First, there is the money you owe from the card game when Sumner cheated me. We have already discussed Sumner's note. I expect you to make good on that also. I haven't decided what redress I'll seek for attempted murder, but I do know that I want all the money you and Sumner stole from my cabin after you thought you were well rid of me. You owe me somewhere in the neighborhood of fifty-one thousand dollars. Plus interest."

  Brook's eyes widened. "I don't have that kind of money."

  Ryland shrugged, glancing around her bedroom. "I'm not interested in excuses. Most of the money you took was from a government payroll. No one was interested in excuses when I arrived in New Orleans, empty-handed. I had to cover every cent you stole. You may have to give up this suite and take a room somewhere else. That should cut down on your expens
es."

  It might have, but Brook didn't pay rent. "I could borrow the money," she said, "If you give me some time, I could have it for you in a few days."

  "Borrow it? How?"

  "From friends... from my employer."

  "Male friends, no doubt."

  Brook hated the way he could make her friendships sound so dirty. "Does it matter how I get the money?"

  Ryland found himself thinking that it did. "No," he lied. "Get it any way you can. Who is your employer?"

  The way he said employer left Brook little doubt that he thought she was referring to a pimp or a madam."William Maine. He owns the—"

  "Brass Slipper," Ryland finished for her. "Is that where you work?" A faint alarm sounded in his head. Unconsciously his hands tightened on Brook's wrists.

  She winced but felt no release of the pressure. Ryland was not in sympathy with her pain. "Yes. I'm the hostess."

  "One of the hostesses," he said slowly, as if clarifying something in his own mind.

  "No. There are other women who work there, but I'm the only hostess." Brook bit her lip to keep from crying out as Ryland's grip cut off the circulation to her hands. How could he expect her to tell the truth when he punished her for it?

  "Lyn?" he asked. "You're Lyn?"

  "Yes."

  Ryland released Brook suddenly, as if he couldn't bear to touch her any longer. "Don't dare move," he said as he slid off the bed. He pointed to the door behind him. "Where does that one lead?"

  "To the hallway," she said, nonplussed. "The other's the bathroom. You came from the sitting room."

  "Where is your key?"

  "It's already locked."

  "I want to lock the other entrance." When Brook remained mutinously silent Ryland searched for the key himself. He found it in seconds, in the drawer of her bedside table. Beside it was a silver-plated revolver. He removed the bullets and dropped them in his pocket before he replaced the weapon. "Try not to do anything too stupid while I'm gone," he said. He turned his back on Brook, checking the bedroom door first. It was locked as she had said. Ryland went back to the sitting room and locked the other door to the hallway. When he returned to the bedroom Brook was still on the bed, sitting up now and massaging her wrists.

  He kicked a chair toward the bed and sat down. "Who the hell are you?" he asked bluntly.

  Brook didn't bother to look at him. Her tone was contemptuous. "Why should I tell you anything?"

  "Because, lady, I've locked you in here. I've unloaded your gun, but not my own. And if you don't tell me what I want to know I'm going to make life extremely painful for you."

  She believed him, but damn her for a coward if she'd let him know. "Who is it that I'm supposed to be?" she asked, shrugging off his threats as she gathered the threads of her composure.

  "The woman my cousin imagines himself in love with," Ryland said contemptuously.

  Brook's head turned swiftly, betraying her surprise. "Your cousin?" Before he could berate her for being stupid or trying to lie to him again, the truth was borne home to Brook. "Oh, no! Andrew North is your cousin?"

  "You really didn't know, did you?"

  "No! How could I? He's never mentioned you. He's said precious little about his family."

  Ryland gave her an arch look. "There was probably precious little talking when he was in your company."

  "You're disgusting. I don't have to listen to any more of this." She started to get off the bed. "I'm going to—"

  Ryland leaped to his feet, put one hand on Brook's shoulder, and pushed her back forcefully. "You're going nowhere. Now sit down."

  Since Brook had fallen backward on the bed, his order was already a certainty. She drew the lapels of her robe more closely together and stared at him angrily. "If you think I would have come within a hundred miles of Andrew if I had known you were related, then you can think again."

  "And now that you know?" He sat down.

  "What am I supposed to do? Have nothing to do with him? It's not likely Andrew will accept that."

  "He'll have to, won't he? I don't want you marrying my brother."

  "I thought he was your cousin," Brook said, avoiding the real issue.

  "We were raised as brothers. That's how I think of Drew."

  "How very nice for you." And how very sad for Andrew.

  "Are you going to marry him?"

  "Is that why you came here? To ask me that?"

  Ryland nodded. "I was looking for someone named Lyn. I'd like to think I came here with an open mind. I was prepared to give her a chance; after all, Drew insists he's in love with her."

  "And now?"

  "I'm afraid things have changed significantly. I doubt if Drew knows precisely the sort of woman you are."

  "I doubt if you do," she said with quiet conviction. "How I decide to answer Andrew's proposal is a private, personal matter. I'm not going to speak with you before talking to Andrew." Brook saw she had angered him again and realized she was pleased. If he lost control she might have a chance to get help. Nothing would make her happier than having Ryland North bodily ejected from the fifth floor of the Hamilton. Preferably via the window.

  "That's all right. As long as you tell him no. If you answer his proposal in any other manner you'll have to answer to me."

  That was clear enough. "I'll think on what you've said."

  "Never give an inch, do you?"

  Brook knew he didn't expect an answer and she gave him none.

  "Poor Drew," Ryland said, shaking his head. "He doesn't even know your name."

  "He knows part of it. As you do. My full name is Brooklyn."

  "Brooklyn!" he scoffed. "What sort of name is that?"

  "What sort of name is Ryland?" she retorted. Really, she thought, people who live in glass houses...

  It was his mother's maiden name. "A family name."

  "So is Brooklyn," she told him coolly.

  "It’s a city."

  "I can't help that."

  He grinned. "No, I don't suppose you can. What's your last name?"

  "Hancock."

  Ryland wasn't certain he believed her, but he decided not to press the issue. "How old are you?"

  "Twenty-two."

  "Odd. The last time we met you were twenty-one."

  "I've had a birthday since then."

  "More than one I'm thinking. How old were you on board the Mary Francis?"

  What did it matter? She answered anyway. "Nearly eighteen."

  Ryland swore softly under his breath. "So you were a child."

  "Mr. North," Brook said tightly, "I haven't been a child since I was eight, perhaps earlier." He could make what he wanted to of that. Brook was finished talking about herself. "I can't see that there is anything to be gained by your presence here. It would please me greatly if you would take yourself off. You'll get your money, Mr. North."

  "You can call me Ryland," he said. "Mr. North seems rather formal, don't you think, in light of our previous encounter."

  Brook would rather have forgotten their earlier acquaintance, but in four years it had never been out of her memory, not completely. Seeing Ryland again was, in a sense, a reprieve. It should have been a relief, knowing that she hadn't killed him. Yet Brook didn't feel as if any burden had been lifted. The fact remained that she had tried to kill him. She still had to live with that. "You'll get your money... Ryland."

  "I hope you weren't thinking of borrowing any of it from Drew. I would advise against that."

  Brook had never thought of asking Drew for money. It would be like robbing Peter to pay Paul. Those days were long behind her. "How I get the money is no concern of yours. You said so yourself. Be satisfied that you're getting it."

  Ryland stood. He studied her for a long moment before he reached for the back of her neck and drew her braid forward, He didn't think he had ever touched hair that was softer. He dropped the braid and cupped her chin, lifting her face. "Money is not all that you owe me."

  Brook shook herself free of his grip. "Yo
u're not serious about the other."

  "Very serious. One night, Brooklyn. That's what you owe me."

  Brook could do nothing but stare after him. He was gone more than fifteen minutes before she realized he had taken the key to her suite with him.

  Her bath water was cold now, and Brook had lost interest in it. It was a part of her Sunday ritual that she could forgo. Ryland North's return unsettled her, making her feel as if there would be no further use for rituals. He would disrupt the life she had made for herself. Already she felt as if the carefully erected walls that guarded her privacy were crumbling.

  The fact that he had managed to gain access to her room troubled her. In all the years she had been living at the Hamilton no one had ever come to her suite uninvited. William Maine promised her security and was supposed to pay well for it. She would speak with Bill about the slipup and about getting her locks changed. If Ryland had reached her once, he could do it again. He could have his damn money. But he wasn't going to have her.

  Brook picked up a brush from her vanity and pulled out her braid. She wandered around her suite, stroking her hair listlessly. There would be changes now, and the knowledge frightened Brook. She had walked away from Phillip Sumner and begun creating something for herself. Ryland North could shatter that. She didn't wish him dead, but she did wish him gone.

  She had never worried Phillip would bother her once he really understood she meant to leave him. She had taken nothing from him, nothing but the secret that he had been an accomplice in Ryland's death. He was no more anxious to see her again than she was him. Brook knew he was still in San Francisco, that he had bought into a partnership with Abe Logan and had taken over the Silver Rose when Abe died two years back. Yet she hadn't been completely dishonest with Ryland. She hadn't seen Phillip since she left him in the harbor. Even if she had she couldn't have risked telling Ryland. A confrontation between Phillip and Ryland was something she wanted to avoid. Nothing good could possibly come of it.

  Brook tossed her brush on a chair and knelt in front of the fireplace. Her skin still felt chilled. She stoked the fire with a poker and added coals to the grate. She remembered when she had been colder, walking the streets and looking for employment—the kind that didn't require that she work on her back. There were any number of passersby who were interested in her for that purpose, but none of the gaming house owners wanted what she offered. Until William Maine.