Zeke resolved to give Addison another half hour and then he would wait no longer. As the minutes ticked by, he stared into his beer mug, letting the drink get warm as he became increasingly more morose.
This waiting was giving him too much time to think, and not about Addison. Much as he willed it to be otherwise, his thoughts kept returning to last night and Rory.
Like the true sprite that she was, her image popped into his mind—the fetching way her hair curled in tendrils about her cheeks, the rest forever a silken disarray, the saucy curve of her mouth, how bright her eyes were.
Was it possible to miss someone, to feel that you knew them so well after only one night? Zeke had never thought so before. But certain endearing habits of hers already seemed ingrained on his memory. The way she liked to hum with the music when she danced, her tomboyish manner of leaping down from the carriage without waiting for his arm, her obvious dislike of green peas, how she spread them about on her plate to make it look as though she had eaten more.
One minute she seemed such a girl, all wonder and delight, the next a woman, alluring him with the promise of passion. He still didn’t understand about that kiss. There had been no resistance on her part. Far from it. The desire he had tasted upon her lips had all but driven him wild. It was a longing that went deeper than mere desire, some force that sent mad thoughts of ‘meeting his match’ and ‘meant to be’ tumbling through his brain.
He wasn’t good enough at examining his own emotions to explain it any better than that. He only knew that she had wanted him as he wanted her. Then why had she run away?
Funny how much it all reminded him of an incident from his boyhood, a question that he had once asked his stepmother. He’d come home sporting a shiner. Mary Lou Grosvenor had slugged him for hugging her and stealing a kiss at the back of the school yard.
“What’d she want to go and hit me for?” he’d howled indignantly while his stepmother attempted to apply ice to his eye. “I know she likes me.”
Sadie had chuckled. “Ah, Johnnie, you just can’t go up to a girl and grab her like she was a sack of flour. You have to be gentle and woo her a little.”
Woo her—it was a funny old-fashioned expression, but he had taken heed of Sadie’s advice. He never had much luck with Mary Lou, but over the years he had learned a little more finesse with the ladies—a little dining, a little dancing, some sweet phrases whispered at just the right moment.
Then why had none of that seemed to work with Rory? Had he in the end waxed too hot with impatience, too blunt with his desires? He didn’t know, but it didn’t matter. Even if he wanted to start all over again, and ‘woo’ her more gently, it wouldn’t be so easy to find her. Like the fabled Cinderella, she had vanished, without leaving him so much as a slipper to track her down. Her balloon had been removed from his lawn sometime last night. He hadn’t even thought to inquire what circus she had been flying for, and that newlywed couple he had put up at the Waldorf were likely already gone. No one was left even to ask about her.
Zeke expelled a heavy sigh and shoved his glass away.
“Can I get you anything else, Mr. Morrison?” Mulgrew asked.
“No, thanks.” Zeke checked his watch. Six o’clock. He had waited for Addison long enough. Likely Zeke could track him down later on. Occasionally Addison did remember to go home to sleep.
Reaching into his coat pocket, Zeke pulled out his wallet. He drew forth enough to pay for his shot and leave a large tip for Mulgrew as well. As he did so, a slip of paper fluttered to the bar.
No, not a slip, a card. Zeke turned it over and read, Transcontinental Balloon Company.
Damnation! He was getting as forgetful as Addison. Suddenly he could see Rory so clearly handing him the card, himself tucking it away without another glance.
As Zeke left the hotel, all thoughts of calling upon Addison fled from his mind. Outside in the street, he summoned the nearest hansom and read off the warehouse address. Giving himself no time to reflect, he leaped inside the cab, astonished by the level of excitement coursing through his veins.
As the vehicle lurched forward, Zeke leaned back with a contented sigh, his lips curving into a slow grin. Maybe, just maybe the fates had offered him one more chance to lure Aurora Rose Kavanaugh back into his arms and into his bed. Cinderella hadn’t left him a glass slipper, but she had gone one better.
She had left him her business card.
Seven
McCreedy Street had settled into a state of late Sunday afternoon somnolence. By the time Rory trudged down the steps from her second-story flat, shadows were already lengthening along the narrow street threading through rows of tightly packed brownstone buildings.
Nothing stirred on this quiet side street except an ancient buggy that creaked past and Miss Flanagan’s overfed bulldog from across the way. When Rory opened the screen door, the cur set up a fearsome barking, and when Rory wheeled out her bicycle from where she stored it in the corridor, the dog went into an absolute frenzy, tugging on the chain keeping it affixed to a wrought-iron rail.
“Oh, be quiet, Finn MacCool,” Rory muttered, maneuvering her bicycle down the stone steps to the pavement. Her head still throbbed from her revels of the night before, and the dog’s yapping tore right through her.
Finn was Miss Flanagan’s eyes and ears, alerting the nosy spinster to any movement in the neighborhood, so that she could peer past the lacy curtains adorning the tall windows of her first-story apartment. Not that it was necessary in this instance. Thegangly woman was already perched on her front stoop, her long nose poked in Rory’s direction.
“You missed mass this morning, Aurora Rose Kavanaugh,” Miss Flanagan called out. “And you be preparing to ride that contraption of a Sunday. You’re paving the way to hell, me girl, that’s certain sure.”
“So I am,” Rory shouted back over Finn’s barking. “I went dancing with the devil last night.”
The old lady gasped and crossed herself. Hiking up her skirts, Rory swung up onto her bike, her lips pursed in a grim smile. What would Miss Flanagan say if she told her the devil did not have horns and a pitchfork either? Only eyes as black as night, a grin as wicked as sin and a kiss that could fire a woman’s blood hotter than any flames.
All that was best to keep that to herself. She had already shocked Miss Flanagan enough. The spinster huffed to her feet and stomped back into her house. Rory pedaled off, the sound of the bulldog’s continued displeasure fading as she got farther down the street. She felt a little ashamed of herself. She usually made an effort to be polite to Miss Flanagan no matter how tiresome the woman could be.
But at the moment, Rory just wished the whole world would go away and leave her alone. She had danced all night and paid the price all day. By the time she had made her way home, the excitement of her escape from Zeke had faded, the miseries setting in. Queasy all afternoon, she had spent her day dozing on the sofa. Only an hour ago she had managed to choke down a little toast and some weak tea. A half hour later she had been able to dress. She had finally stirred herself to face the light of day, but the sun would be setting soon.
