Zeke agreed, though he could not help wishing that for once his staff had not been so damned efficient. He would have liked just a little more time.
A weighty pause ensued in which she stared at him expectantly. It finally dawned on Zeke that she was waiting for him to leave so she could get dressed.
“I’ll send Maisie in to help you,” he said.
“Yes, I would be grateful. Thank you. Thank you for everything, Mr. Morrison.”
He nodded and backed toward the door. Why had it taken him until now to realize how pretty she was? Especially when she smiled, showing an even row of pearly teeth. He liked the way those freckles dusted across her nose; most women fought like the devil to keep the sun off their faces. He liked the quicksilver shade of her eyes, the way she met his gaze head-on, never fluttering her lashes like some fool coquette. And he definitely liked the way that blue silk clung to her curves.
Zeke brought his thoughts up short and reached for the doorknob. It didn’t matter what he liked. In a few minutes she would be dressed. When her assistant arrived, she would gather up her balloon and be gone. He would never see her again. The thought left him feeling oddly let down.
He shoved open the door and stepped out into the hall. He had not taken two steps away, when he halted. He didn’t know what was getting into him, but something wouldn’t permit him to keep on going. He spun on his heel and abruptly reentered the bedchamber.
She had started to remove her robe, but she snatched it back to herself with a cry of alarm.
“Uh, sorry,” he said. “I just remembered something I wanted to tell you.”
She cocked her head to one side, cautious, waiting. It made it more difficult, for he was not sure himself what he had come to say, but he blundered on, “I was just thinking. I haven’t had my supper yet and I’ll bet you’re hungry too. Maybe you could leave instructions for your assistant to take care of that balloon and we could go out for a nibble at some little restaurant.”
He could already see the refusal in her eyes, so he hastened to add, “I could take you back to the circus myself after—in my carriage.”
“I don’t live at the circus.”
“Well, wherever?—”
“No, thank you, Mr. Morrison. I really couldn’t. Besides the balloon, I have my passengers to see safely home and?—”
“I’ve already taken care of them,” Zeke interrupted. “The newlyweds are launched on their bridal night, and I even apologized to your little minister and sent him off with a donation for his church.”
“That was very good of you, but as to having supper with you, I still don’t think...” She trailed off with a shake of her head,clearly doubtful of his intentions. He couldn’t blame her for that. Hell. He was not sure himself just what his intentions were.
“Please,” he said, groping for the words to convince her. “It would give us a chance to talk. I am very interested in?—”
She tensed.
“In hot air balloons. I’d be fascinated to hear how they work. I’ve never had the good luck to meet with—” What was it she had called herself earlier? “With an aeronaut before,” he concluded.
Zeke wasn’t sure what he had said. He only knew it was the right thing, for she nodded in reluctant agreement.
“All right, Mr. Morrison. I would be only too happy to tell you all about my balloons.” Her lips curved with a strangely hopeful smile.
Zeke wasted no time in fetching his evening clothes from the closet and bolting out of the chamber, not giving her a chance to change her mind. Before retiring to another room to attire himself for going out, he sent the parlor maid upstairs.
Maisie helped Rory to dress with the same brisk efficiency she had exhibited before. Rory had no thought of resisting the girl’s aid this time. She sat as docile as a child beneath Maisie’s ministering hands, her mind preoccupied.
“What have you gotten yourself into now, Rory Kavanaugh?” she muttered beneath her breath, already doubting the wisdom of having accepted Zeke Morrison’s invitation. To be supping alone at a restaurant with a man she had just met, why, only actresses and Hootchie Cootchie dancers did things like that. Neither of Rory’s parents would have approved.
Yet this was the 1890s for mercy’s sake. Suffragettes whose writings she read in the Tribune assured her that an era of new freedom was dawning for women. She couldn’t be bound forever by the old-fashioned standards of her parents. She was the president of the Transcontinental Balloon Company. If there was any chance at all that she could interest a wealthy man likeZeke Morrison in investing in her company, she had to take it. Her father at least would have understood.
But as Rory settled into a chair so that the maid could brush out her hair, she pulled a face. Who was she trying to fool? Da would have already wanted to shoot Morrison for what had happened in this bedchamber, the way he had crushed Rory, half-naked in his arms.
But the man was only trying to be kind, Rory argued with herself, all the while feeling a heated blush steal up her cheeks. Comforting Zeke’s embrace had been, the feel of his strong arms banding about her, holding her close. But too close for mere kindness, making her aware of his musky masculine scent, the sheer ruthless power of the man, the intensity of passions held in check within him.
And for one moment, her heart had pounded in rhythm with his. For one alarming moment, she had not wanted to wrench herself away.
Rory gave an involuntary toss of her head as though even now she was forcing herself to resist Zeke’s embrace.
“Did I hurt you, madam?” the maid asked, suspending the brush in midstroke.
