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

  "Just so," he agreed. He pushed away from the door and stepped into the room. "Drew, I take it that the mining operation had little to do with your enthusiasm for coming here."

  "You know I don't give a damn about the mines," Drew bit out.

  "Good. And your arm isn't giving you too much pain, is it?"

  "I'm fine."

  "Then you won't mind leaving in the morning."

  "Now wait a minute," he said angrily. "You don't have the right to order me around."

  "I have every right," Ryland said easily. "This is my home and I want you out at first light."

  "Your home?" Brook asked, bewildered. "But I thought..."

  "I'll bet you thought you had the right North. You'll be pained to know that I bought this house from Drew's father years ago. We all use it, but it's mine. Isn't that right, Drew?"

  "Yes," he said sulkily. He realized how childish he sounded and straightened his shoulders accordingly. "We'll leave tomorrow."

  "You'll leave alone," Ryland corrected him. "Brooklyn's staying here. With me. We have some business dealings that require closure." Ryland saw that Andrew was going to object but that a sharp look from Brook silenced him. It puzzled him for a moment. "I think your mistress has decided to turn her affections elsewhere. Why don't I give you two time alone? I'm certain Brook can invent some reason why she's changed her mind about wanting you, Drew." He hesitated just as he was leaving. "By the way, where are the caretakers? I expected to find them here as well."

  "I sent them away," Drew said.

  "Cozy." He shut the door in time to avoid the book Andrew pitched at his head.

  Brook put her needlework on the bed and went to pick up the book. "That wasn't necessary. It amuses your cousin to rile people."

  "Then I fell into his hands," Drew said uncaringly, "because I'm certainly riled. Who the hell does he think he is? And what in God's name does he have over you? Don't deny it, Lyn. I know better. You're afraid to stay here with him and you're afraid not to."

  Brook was surprised that Drew had seen through to her fear while Ryland had always been oblivious to it. "What makes you think I'm afraid?" she asked.

  "That's not the point."

  "What makes you think it?" she demanded.

  "Your hands," he said. "I've never seen such beautifully expressive hands, but they're absolutely still when you're frightened, Lyn."

  "That's nonsense," she said dismissively.

  Drew shrugged. "Now tell me why you're willing to stay here with Ry. I know why you don't want to come with me, but seeing my cousin's face when he barged in here makes me think I'm the lesser of two evils."

  "Ryland North never hired dockside thugs to abduct me and steal my belongings," she reminded him. "Nor did he write a letter to my employer stating that I was eloping with him. He didn't try to force me to marry him, and he didn't—"

  Andrew interrupted her speech as the tips of his ears reddened. "I've already apologized for all of that," he defended himself. "Anyway, you told Ry none of it. Why not?"

  "Do you really want him to think as little of you as I do?" she asked quietly. "He loves you like a brother and you, in spite of what you're feeling now, know that he does and love him the same. I'm not concerned that I'll lose his respect. He's never had any respect for me, but Drew, he wants to respect you. If you want to tell him the real reason I'm here with you, then certainly, that's your right. He might even believe you, but it won't change what he thinks of me and it will only damage your relationship with him."

  "I intensely dislike martyrs."

  "I'm not being a martyr. I'm only being practical."

  "There's something more," Drew insisted. "Something you're not telling me." His eyes narrowed curiously. "Are you interested in him? Is that it? Are you in love with Ry?"

  Brook did not know her hands had become very still. "That is probably the most absurd thing you've ever asked me," she told him. Brook handed Andrew his book and picked up her embroidery. "Good night, Andrew. When you've had time to think about it, you'll know I've done the right thing."

  Andrew wasn't as certain, but since he had nothing but time on the long ride back to San Francisco it seemed prudent to consider what Brook had said. "Good night, Lyn."

  Brook wasn't worried that Ryland would confront her while Drew was in the house, but she slept lightly all the same. In the morning when she heard their voices downstairs as Ryland bid his cousin goodbye, she didn't hesitate to begin the course of action she had planned the night before. Her smallest valise was packed with a few essentials, and she wore a split-leg riding skirt and dark jacket for comfort and practicality. She would have preferred leaving in the middle of the night, but if either man had found her missing they would have searched for her together. Brook anticipated having her best chance to go while Ryland was giving Drew his send off.

  Brook struggled with the window at the rear of her bedroom for several seconds until panic gave her strength and she forced it open. She was not so fortunate as to have a porch roof to step onto, but there was pine tree close enough that she considered jumping worth the risk. Tossing her valise onto the ground, Brook eased out onto the window ledge and flung herself into the boughs. The needles bit into her hands, and the branch seemed to shake and shiver beneath her grip. She lowered herself gingerly to the ground, her heart hammering. Picking up the valise, Brook ran the short distance between the house and the hillside and began climbing.

  It was never her intention to follow Drew into Virginia City. Ryland would find her too quickly if she took the trail from the house. She believed that if she could hide for a few days in the mountains Ryland would tire of looking for her and she could eventually make her way safely back to town.

  When Ryland walked into Brook's bedroom and found her gone, it occurred to him that in some ways she was maddeningly predictable. He had known she would try something like this; his mistake had been to miscalculate her timing. As a result he had spent a sleepless night anticipating her departure and now had nothing to show for his caution.

  Tracking her was not difficult; it was the waste of time and energy that he abhorred. Not for a moment did he doubt he would find her.

  Ryland went to the back of the house and began from the point where Brook had dropped to the ground. He considered her very fortunate that she hadn't broken a leg pulling her latest stunt. Her trail was easy to find; she had done nothing to cover herself. Ryland followed scattered leaves, broken underbrush, and the occasional footprint. Her speed surprised him, and Ryland decided the easiest way to stop her was to cut off her path. She was circling north by northwest, apparently trying to get to the valley entrance in her own roundabout fashion, so Ryland went due west and waited for her to drop south again.

  He was sitting on a soft bed of dry needles, his back against the base of the pine, when he heard her coming. The boughs of the tree sheltered his position so that Brook was almost on top of him before she saw him.

  Brook came to an abrupt halt. "Damn," she swore softly, throwing down her valise in disgust. "Damn. Damn. Damn."

  "Effective, if not particularly eloquent," Ryland said, getting to his feet and brushing himself off. He picked up the valise, opened it, and shook out the contents.

  "What are you doing?" Brook demanded, trying to grab her things before they were littered all over the ground.

  "Looking for your gun." He stared pointedly at her split riding skirt. "I can see for myself that you're not wearing it." He dropped the valise and approached her. "But just to be certain..." Ryland patted her down, checking for a knife as well.

  "I don't have a gun," she gritted as his hands slid over her thighs and rested a shade too long on the curve of her buttocks. Her eyes dropped to the leather gun belt resting low on Ryland's hips. She wondered if he had intended a duel at ten paces. The thought seemed hilariously funny, but Brook held back her laughter, recognizing the beginnings of hysteria.

  "So you don't." Ryland stepped back. "I find that a little odd. If ever
you needed one it would be out in these hills. There are three mining camps on your way back to town, you know. Unless you fancy yourself another Julia Bulette you should have thought about a weapon."

  "Who is Julia Bulette?" she heard herself asking in spite of her intention to do otherwise.

  "She was the most famous courtesan in Virginia City."

  Brook's lip curled in disgust. She should have known. "Was?" she asked.

  Ryland nodded. "She was strangled to death by the robbers who broke into her place and made off with her jewels and furs and money."

  "Are you really taking me to task for not carrying a gun?" she asked incredulously.

  "Just advising you of the dangers if you take it in your mind to leave again." He pointed to the trail he had taken to reach her. "The house is about a mile back that way."

  Brook's face fell and her eyes clouded with disappointment. "A mile? Is that as far as I've come?"

  "Afraid so. Shall we go? You'll understand if I think it's wiser that you lead."

  Brook stubbornly made Ryland wait until she had repacked her valise, then stalked off toward the house, following Ry's directions to turn left or right at every fork she came to.

  Ryland watched Brook's stiff back with amusement, though when she occasionally glanced at him over her shoulder, he was careful not to let her see how he was enjoying her simmering anger and her fiercely held pride. He drew abreast of her as they crossed the porch that ran the entire length of the house. Opening the door for her, he made a slight bow and ushered her inside. "Where are you going?" he asked as she headed immediately for the staircase.

  "To my room."

  Ryland shook his head. "Not a good idea," he said. "At least not yet. I want to talk to you, and I prefer our conversation to take place down here." If he had one more argument with Brook in a bedroom Ryland thought desire might turn a deaf ear to reason. That was not the way he wanted it. "Sit there," he said, pointing to a large sofa with an ivory-colored afghan lying across the back.

  Brook placed the valise on the stairs and crossed the room. Sighing heavily, impatiently, she took the seat Ryland had indicated. "You have something to say?"

  "Don't provoke me, Brooklyn," Ryland said, his eyes narrowing dangerously. "There's an end to even my patience. Tell me where your gun is."

  "I don't have one. I didn't bring it with me." Actually one of the men Drew had hired to take her from the Hamilton had wrested it from her. She had no idea what had happened to it, but she deeply regretted its loss. "I didn't see the use for it once I left San Francisco under Andrew's protection." Brook saw he didn't believe her. "Search my room. Search the house for all I care."

  "I will," he assured her. Ryland added several logs to the fire dwindling in the hearth. He brushed off his palms before he sat in the buff leather chair opposite Brook. Her agitation at his purposeful delay was clearly evident. Ryland knew he was going to have to keep her off balance if he was ever going to be able to discern the truth. "I went to the Bank of California two days ago. There was no deposit for me. Why not?"

  "Obviously I couldn't raise the money. I have ten thousand of my own money in an account that I will turn over to you."

  "Why didn't you do that already?"

  "I didn't know if you'd accept a partial payment."

  "I might have been willing to extend your time. You should have contacted me."

  Brook bit the inner side of her lip, trying to decide how to answer. In fact she had wanted to go to Ryland and explain her situation, but she had been afraid of Drew seeing them together. Nevertheless, before she had a chance to act Andrew had taken things into his own hands. Lies and half-truths weighed heavily on her. Finally she opted for a careless shrug, as if it were unimportant that she hadn't sought him out.

  "Instead you went to Drew, hoping that by accepting his proposal you would cancel the debt between us. That's where you were wrong, Brooklyn. If Drew had married you I would have told him everything about the nature of your debt to me. I would have done anything, said anything, to end your marriage."

  "Then it's just as well he didn't marry me, isn't it?" she said coolly.

  "Were you running to him this morning?"

  "No."

  "Careful, Brooklyn," Ryland warned her. "That's tantamount to admitting you were running from me. You wouldn't want me to believe you're frightened of me, would you?"

  "Believe what you like." Brook closed her eyes momentarily and rubbed her eyebrows with her thumb and forefinger. "Listen, Ryland, I think it's time you and I declared a truce of sorts. What you imagine I did to you happened a long time ago and—"

  "I did not imagine this," he said, pointing to his scar.

  Brook ignored him. "And I've already said that I'm willing to make amends; however, I can't do anything about the debt while I'm here. If you want your money you're going to have to let me earn my living."

  "At the Brass Slipper?"

  "Yes."

  "And let you sink your teeth into Drew again? Not likely."

  "Drew and I are finished. I won't be seeing him again."

  Ryland continued to look at her skeptically. "I know you won't be seeing him because I'm not going to let you. You're staying here until I say otherwise. I have some things I want to do at the mines. When I'm done and when I think you've repaid the bulk of your debt to me, I'll discuss your departure. Not until then."

  "You can't be serious."

  "But I am. Very much so."

  "But how am I supposed to pay the debt here?" she asked. As she began to think of what he might demand of her, her hands fell still in her lap. When she realized it she flicked at an imaginary speck of dirt on her skirt.

  Ryland drew out a notebook from his jacket pocket and flipped it open. "I had a lot of time to think on the way here and again last night. I've made some notes that might interest you." He leaned forward to give her the notebook, but she waved him away. "No? Then I'll read them to you." His eyes scanned the first page. "I'll expect you to do the housekeeping while we're here. Your wages will be five dollars per week. I believe that's what they're paying in Frisco."

  "But I'll never—"

  He held up his hand. "Just a moment. There's more. For your duties as cook I'll pay you eight dollars, provided you can cook."

  "I can cook," she said and then added quickly, "a little."

  "I imagine on some evening we'll want to play cards. What did you earn at the Slipper?"

  "I earned an ounce of gold for simply sitting at a table for a few hands," she said. "By evening's end I usually took in two hundred dollars in addition to two percent of the Slipper's profits for that night."

  "All right," Ryland said easily, jotting some figures down. "I'll pay you fifty dollars for every hand you deal. I think that's generous."

  "What about the horses and the stables? And there are a few farm animals that need tending. I could do some work there."

  "You? Mucking out stalls? No, I'll take care of the animals myself and see that everything is cleaned."

  "What if I do mending and the ironing and washing?"

  Ry nearly laughed at her eagerness to keep him from advancing the topic. One could almost be forgiven for thinking she had never put a price on her favors in bed. "What do you think is fair?" he asked.

  "Five dollars a week," she said. "The same as the housecleaning duties."

  "That seems reasonable. Now, the last time I was in a fancy house I think I paid forty dollars for the pleasure of a young lady's company."

  Brook felt herself blanching. It was one thing to call Ryland's bluff on the Mary Francis and again in her own suite at the Hamilton. She had felt certain of herself then, confident that she could find a way out. She had never been really alone with Ryland before, not like this, miles in the middle of nowhere, where the only response to her screams would be the echo of her own voice. Brook restrained the urge to pinch her cheeks and bring a measure of color back to her face. "Forty dollars will not buy you much time with me," she said, forcing
calm. "Unless you're very quick at the draw, as it were."

  Until she had come back with that off-color riposte Ryland had thought Brook was going to expire from shock. He had never seen anyone's complexion drain to such an icy white before. "Some things I enjoy doing slowly, ma'am," Ryland drawled.

  "Then it will cost you five hundred dollars."

  "Not the first time," he reminded her. "The first time will cost me nothing. That was part of the initial debt, and according to Phillip's wager your time is worth a lot more than five hundred dollars. Oh, no," he said, cutting her off. "We agreed on a price. You wanted five hundred and I'll pay five hundred."

  "And if don't want to go to bed with you? Is that a choice I have?"

  Ryland nodded. "It's your decision. But you realize that your other wages only total eighteen dollars per week. Let's add another three hundred each week for dealing cards. Your debt is now fifty-seven thousand dollars."

  "Fifty-seven? But how? It used to be fifty-one."

  Ryland flipped the page of his notebook and began checking off the additional expenses. "There's forty-five hundred for the room I had to take at the Hamilton in order to get access to your suite. Train fare here... the horse and mule I bought... supplies. Remember, this is a mining town. Nothing dear comes cheaply. Train fare for both of us back to Frisco, which I insist you pay in advance... and interest on the principal over four years... I make it out to be fifty-seven thousand."

  "Forty-seven. I told you I have an account in San Francisco that's yours."

  "Sorry," he said, shutting the book and tucking it back in his pocket. "I'm only interested in what I have now, which is absolutely nothing." He stood. "There's a bright side, Brooklyn. At three hundred eighteen dollars a week I figure we'll be ready to leave the valley in—"

  "In about three and a half years."

  One of Ryland's brows kicked up. "You did that very quickly. I'm impressed."

  Brook also got to her feet, facing Ryland squarely. "I'm not going to spend the next three and a half years of my life being your house slave, Mr. North."