Unveiled. Part 16

EIGHTEEN.

"...And as a conservative, I deem investments as costly speculation. I think carriages are the answer. People will always need transportation, and horses are the best. Strong, stable carriage shops and horse goods are the answer."

Bartholomew Meade sank back into the leather seat and puffed his cigar, tugging importantly on his waxed mustache. Charles Pepper exchanged a thoughtful look with Christopher, watching in amus.e.m.e.nt as Christopher opened a file and sifted through the paper. Satisfied, he closed the papers and fixed Bartholomew with a steady stare.

"I agree that carriages have been a good investment. And you're right, people need transportation, and they're likely to continue needing it. Look at what's happening in the city." Removing a map from his desk, Christopher spread the parchment out and indicated the city lines. "West Philadelphia is spreading out rapidly. Center city is developing as a center of commerce and offices. With the exception of the northeast mills, more and more workers are no longer living near their jobs. They will have to rely on transport to survive."

"Then I'm right." Bartholomew puffed.

Christopher smiled. "On that point, yes. However, I don't agree that horses and carriages are the best long-term investment. There are too many people working on improvements in this area, and that is what I recommend you look at. Take this company, for example."

Christopher displayed a data sheet for the City Streetcar Company. Bartholomew read the information with open skepticism. When he finished, he tossed the sheet down and shrugged.

"No one will want to ride in those." He indicated a drawing of a streetcar. "I know there are a few operating in the city, but gentlemen would never-"

"What about the working cla.s.s?" Charles interrupted, eager to make the point. "They don't own horses and carriages and often can't afford cab fare. A cab ride from West Philadelphia to center city costs twice as much as by streetcar. The reason is simple. Only one person rides in a cab at a time. By transporting a lot of people at once, the streetcars are extremely economical and provide a handsome profit. Look at the return on investment."

Bartholomew examined the numbers and his face changed to show he was impressed. "They look good. But there isn't much money here, or capital."

"That's why they're selling shares," Christopher said quietly. "The company has been privately held for years. They want to expand and own all of the streetcar lines in the city. There are several which are operating independently. If we can buy them up, this company will have a virtual monopoly on the only ma.s.s transportation available, at a time when people will need it the most."

Bartholomew studied the figures, then looked back at the map. He noticed that the streetcar lines were marked with a pencil, indicating the routes. "There is some overlap," he commented, though his voice was less sure. "Could the company make them more efficient?"

"That's the first step," Christopher said with a.s.surance. "I've spoken to the owners and they are aware of the situation. By consolidating the lines under one company, not only do you increase capital, you can do it by the most efficient means. We can run more lines where needed, from the outskirts of the city where the people live to where they work. Within a few years we can streamline the whole process, then relax and make money. It's foolproof."

Bartholomew nodded, then reached for his checkbook. "I will trust you. You've already made me money on that other speculation...illuminating gas? And the chemical company, Smith, Klein and French, looks promising. Here's the money."

"You won't regret it." Charles stood up and patted the man's round shoulders. "Christopher has an uncanny feel for these things. He hasn't been wrong yet."

"Call it a gambler's instinct," Christopher said dryly.

Bartholomew paused, then realized the joke and guffawed. "That's a good one. Truthfully I don't care where he gets it as long as he does." Grinning, he turned to Christopher. "You're going to make a lot of men rich. I suppose it's easy when you have your own money. You're not as cautious as the rest of us."

Christopher kept a bland expression as Charles led the man from the office. When he returned, he closed the door and rubbed his hands together happily.

"Chris, you did it. And you're perfectly right-the man will make a fortune. But without your investment skills and your selling ability, Meade would have continued to make a poor showing in his portfolio and would have blamed us. We were in danger of losing him, you know."

"I heard." Christopher replaced the man's file, then indicated the map. "That's the secret. Sometimes you have to see the trees in the forest, and people like Bartholomew have trouble doing that. They're scared, and I don't blame them. I know what it's like to lose money in investments that are supposed to be foolproof. I won't recommend anything without weighing all the factors and talking to the experts."

"And it's working extremely well." Charles beamed, obviously proud. "You're making the bank rich and a lot of customers satisfied. And you're putting in so many hours. If I didn't know better, I'd think you were enjoying yourself."

"Forget that," Christopher said dryly, although he admitted to himself that Charles touched on the truth. For so long he was considered the spoiled black sheep of the Scott family, unable to do anything of worth. And although the work was hard, it was challenging. It required thinking and research, and for Christopher, whose chief employment of the past few years had been chasing women and drinking, it was a pleasant change.

And it was like gambling. By reading the paper, working with businesses, and forecasting, he was able to predict which companies had growth potential and which did not. As Charles had said, he'd already been very successful, and that was gratifying.

But he had an image to keep up. Scowling, he tossed aside the map. "You know why I'm doing this, so let's not pretend anything else. By the way, while we're on the subject, you alone know why I need this job." Seeing Charles's affirming nod, Christopher asked the question that had plagued him for weeks. "So when do I get paid?"

Charles didn't seem surprised at the question. He squirmed uncomfortably. "Chris, I know how much you need the money. But frankly my father is concerned about the outstanding debts, particularly those you owe me. He's decided to withhold your salary until those debts are paid."

"What?" Christopher was stunned. "But he can't do that! I need the money now!"

"I know." Charles looked upset. "Chris, I've tried to talk to him, but you know how he is. He was furious when he found out that I'd helped you. I did get him to agree to a small stipend until we're even. It should help keep you going in the meantime." Extending a small leather pouch, he let a few coins fall into Christopher's hand.

Christopher stared with disbelief at the pittance that gleamed within his palm. "I can't live on this."

"Of course you can't," Charles agreed. "But at the rate you're going, you'll pay the debts off in no time and start with a clean slate. Please don't give up. Within a few months you'll be back in the black and able to hold your head up. My father feels we should give you that opportunity."

Christopher pocketed the few coins and departed the office, his heart sinking. Outside, he stood beneath the street lamp, wondering what in the h.e.l.l to do next. To reestablish himself elsewhere would take months, and he didn't have the luxury of time. And he enjoyed this job. He knew he owed the Peppers money, but dammit! Couldn't the old skinflint wait until he got on his feet?

Then he recalled Charles's father, with his righteous expression, his tight lips, his bulging cash box. He would never understand his position, and would only care that his son was dutifully reimbursed. Christopher felt sorry for Charles as he envisioned the battle that must have ensued when his father delivered his ultimatum. Winston Pepper was an authoritarian, and his son surely suffered because of it.

There was nothing Christopher could do but wait. He swore to himself as he signaled to his driver. He couldn't tell Katie the truth-she might leave, returning to her family, and he couldn't bear that. Yet it wasn't her fault that he'd gotten himself into this position. He couldn't let her go, couldn't admit defeat. He knew he could turn things around if...Somehow he had to get through the next few months.

And the next few hours.

The house was dark when he approached, and unusually quiet. Christopher removed his greatcoat, taking a package from the pocket and tucking it beneath his arm. He hung the coat on the nail, then ventured into the kitchen.

"You're home." Katie gave him a warm smile while Christopher stared about him in amazement. She'd covered the crate with a cloth so that it looked just like a table, and two candles flickered enticingly in the center, throwing a warm glow over the plates. The few remaining pieces of good china and crystal glittered on the gingham cloth, and late-summer flowers brightened the center. The aroma of game birds and potatoes filled the air, and there was even an inexpensive bottle of wine chilling in a bucket of ice.

"Eunice went to bed early," Katie explained self-consciously as he stared at the makeshift table. "I know we haven't spent much time together lately, so I thought we could...have dinner together."

She suddenly seemed shy and unsure of herself, not at all like the practical joker and confident woman she'd always been. Grinning, he took a step closer and kissed her, breathing in the warm sweet scent of her.

"I was thinking the same thing." Withdrawing the package from under his arm, he handed it to her. "Katie, I know it's not much, but I was pa.s.sing a p.a.w.nbroker's today and thought you might like this."

Eagerly she fumbled with the wrappings and broke open the brown parchment. "Oh, Christopher, it's lovely."

"It's a music box." He turned the polished ivory case in her hands, then opened the lid. Instantly the room was filled with a lilting song that seemed both sad and sweet.

"*Greensleeves.'" Katie smiled, her heart aching.

He nodded, his voice thick with emotion. "I wish I could get you something nicer. My G.o.d, it's humiliating to live like this! I barely see you, and when I do, we're both tired and frustrated. There has got to be a better way."

"We're making it," Katie said gently, placing a warm hand on his face. "It will just take time. We're on the right track, but it won't happen overnight."

"I know." Christopher took his seat at the table and waited for her to join him. "But I don't know how to explain. All of my life I took money for granted. There was always enough of it for whatever I wanted, always enough for everyone. And now, when I want to give you something..." He glanced at the music box, his pain evident.

Katie smiled. "Christopher, the thought means everything. In all that time when you had money, I imagine you didn't put much effort into finding a gift or giving one." She picked up the box and held it lovingly. "This means much more because you did."

His eyes met hers, and for a moment Katie thought he would say the words she longed to hear from him. Instead he looked away, then admired the succulent quail that she'd placed in the center of the cloth, along with the vegetables. "How did you do all this?"

"Mr. Armstrong, next door. He hunts for sport and asked if we enjoyed game. They look wonderful."

Christopher sampled the fresh meat, then grinned in agreement. "They taste even better. Thank G.o.d the old man is such a good shot." Studying Katie, he continued softly: "How are the singing lessons going?"

"Very well," Katie said quickly. The last thing she wanted to admit was that her plan had been a failure. "In fact so well I'm thinking of taking on a few more students. Just a few," she continued when she saw his disapproving expression. "But after all, we could use the money."

There was a long silence after that. Katie poured the wine, then questioned softly, "And the job? How is that going?"

"Great," Christopher said, but she noticed that he drank a huge gulp of wine when he answered. "The investments are doing very well. Charles is pleased and so is his father. They want me to continue as planned."

"That's wonderful," Katie breathed in admiration. "I knew you'd make it a success."

"Yes," Christopher said dryly. "It seems I do very well at making everyone else money. Now if I can only do that for us."

"It will happen," Katie insisted. "Just be patient."

Christopher reached out and took her hand, shaking his head in amazement. "You are the most remarkable woman. How did I ever find you?"

"At the Drexels' party, remember?" Katie teased, though the contact of his hand on hers took her breath away. "You thought I was Fan Pemberton."

He nodded, grinning. "How could I forget that? By the way, the rest of the world still thinks of you as Fan. I would prefer that they begin to call you Kate. I think we've lived enough lies, don't you?"

Katie shuddered, her own fears resurfacing. He thought he knew the whole truth, but in fact, he only knew part. She had to tell him about her son, but there never seemed to be the right time. If she didn't, and he found out...

"So I think I'll start calling you Kate publicly, and just explain that it's my name for you, and your middle name. No one has to know anything else. Is that all right with you?"

Katie beamed at him. "That would be wonderful."

"Good." Finished with his meal, he rose and lifted the lid of the music box. Instantly the room was flooded with song. "I know this isn't the most elegant ballroom, but could I have this dance with my beautiful wife?"

Katie rose, her heart so full she thought she couldn't stand it Taking his hand, she let him lead her to the vacant floor, where the missing furniture left more than enough room for dancing.

It seemed magical. In spite of the lack of furnishings and lighting, the room was bathed in candlelight and the warm glow of music. Katie felt Christopher's body close to hers, his arm around her waist, and she was filled with longing. She wanted to be close to him, to know she meant something to him, to have a real life with him as his wife.

There had been so many lies, and still were. How could she go on like this? Yet as the lovely strains of the music filled her ears, and he held her closer, she was overwhelmed with emotion.

"Katie. My sweet Katie."

It was just like their wedding night, before everything had been marred with ugliness. Christopher held her, then when she turned her face to his, his mouth met hers in a kiss that was achingly sweet and violently pa.s.sionate. Stunned, Katie returned the kiss, her own desires, long suppressed, now out of control. Neither one realized that the music box had stopped or that the music had ended. They stood in the candlelight, locked in an embrace that neither of them wanted to break.

"Oh, my G.o.d, Kate," Christopher whispered, when he finally eased his mouth from hers. His hands slid caressingly around her, down to her waist, then up her back. His eyes had turned darker, stormy with pa.s.sion, and when Katie looked into them, she saw the same intense hunger she felt herself.

"Tonight I know I shouldn't ask you this," he continued, his voice ragged and hoa.r.s.e. "But can I come to your room?"

Katie's blood pounded. She didn't know what this meant, though her mind screamed for answers. Was he truly committing himself to their marriage, or was it simply physical need? She had to know, but couldn't bring herself to ask now, not when her head felt dizzy with desire, or her flesh was aching to feel him inside her.

She wanted him. With that one kiss, he'd made her lose all sense of logic. She nodded, her smile breaking forth, and like two children, they raced up the stairs and into her room. Giggling, Katie shut the door while Christopher approached her.

"Kate." Christopher spoke softly, his voice filled with emotion. "I know I'm not much of a bargain right now, but if you'll give me time, I'll try to set things right. I didn't want to resume our marital relations until then, because I didn't want you to think..." He couldn't finish the sentence and Katie, understanding, nodded. "But I can't live in the same house with you and not want you. It's been driving me mad."

Katie sighed as he kissed her once more, then undid the b.u.t.tons on her dress; slowly, achingly, he pressed a kiss to every area he exposed, taking a long time to remove the c.u.mbersome gown and undergarments. Katie had to help him with the latter, and when the tight corset was finally undone and on the floor with the rest of her clothes, she turned to him, looking breathtakingly beautiful.

"Christopher." She smiled, drawing him into her arms. "I've wanted you for so long, waited for this. I didn't think you wanted me, that I meant anything to you except..."

His kiss stunned her with its intensity. Overwhelmed with desire, she rose on her feet and pressed against him, feeling his urgency as he quickly attempted to rid himself of his clothes. Grinning, she helped him, fighting the b.u.t.tons on his cravat until he managed to tear through them and toss the d.a.m.ned shirt aside. Within moments, he was as naked as she, and standing near the edge of the bed.

They gloried in that moment. If the first time their lovemaking was filled with idyllic bliss, this time it was more intense, deepened by the bonds that had grown between them. Katie's breath caught and she had to hold him for support when Christopher's hand swept down her, caressing her b.r.e.a.s.t.s until they were aching and full, then lower, exploring her until she was writhing against him.

She returned his caresses, astonished to realize that she held the same sensual power over him. Emboldened by her discovery, she shyly touched him, and he closed his eyes in rapture, urging her to continue, wanting more. He taught her the motion while he continued to pleasure her, and the feeling was so intense that she thought she would fall.

It was as if he sensed what she was experiencing, for he slid her onto the bed, then firmly held her hands at her sides.

"But..." she whispered in protest, then he grinned at her, his dark eyes mesmerizing.

"I can't let you continue that. It will be over too quickly. Let me pleasure you."

His mouth burned against her skin, and she squirmed in sheer erotic joy. His tongue teased first one breast, then the other, making the nipples hard and prominent. Her body ached, throbbing and wet, wanting him shamefully, and when his mouth met her there, giving her what she longed for, she cried out in ecstasy.

His mouth dazzled her, loving her to the point of oblivion. Her body, youthful and without inhibition, responded wildly, making her arch against him, wanting every moment of joy he was giving her. When her climax made her cry out nearly sobbing with pleasure, he held her tightly, securely, bringing her slowly back to reality.

No one had ever made her feel this way. Even on their wedding night, the lovemaking hadn't been this wild, this explosive. Wanting nothing more than to provide him with the same pleasure, Katie pressed hot, sweet kisses along every inch of his body, watching with the same erotic tension as he groaned, trying to maintain some kind of control. His hands dug into the covers of her bed as her tongue teased him, making him want her so desperately that he called out her name as if in prayer. And when she slid over him, his hard male warmth entering her with a shock of pleasure so intense that Katie gasped, he held her tightly, forbidding her to move.

"I can't," he said hoa.r.s.ely, his body struggling for control. "We can't yet...the risk...Oh, my G.o.d, I don't think I can-"

His body surged inside of her, powerfully and almost frantically. Katie's breath caught as the heat flowed within her like hot honey, culminating there where his body slid in and out of hers. He withdrew at the last wonderful moment, and she gave a cry of disappointment as his warmth shuddered against her. She wanted to feel that inside her, to know his pleasure, but when his arms encircled her and pulled her down against him, it was almost as good.

"Oh, Katie." His voice rumbled in his chest a moment later. They lay sated in nirvana like two kittens, seeking each other for warmth. Christopher sighed. "My G.o.d, that was wonderful."

She lay in his arms, feeling an overwhelming emotion that she didn't dare confess. It was clear to her why he'd withdrawn from her-he didn't want to risk pregnancy. Now was the time to tell him about Sean, and yet, as he lay beside her in s.e.xual oblivion, she just couldn't. He might be appalled, might hate her or worse. This part of their relationship was too new and too fragile to test that way.

And if she should lose him...

"Hold me, Christopher," Katie whispered. "I want to feel you close to me."

He did, and for that moment Katie was content.

NINETEEN.

He loved her. He had to. Katie turned over in the frilly, feminine bed and saw Christopher stretched across the white linens. He looked magnificent, his dark, muscular body a sharp contrast to the pale bed coverings. Her eyes ran over him, admiringly, and the thoughts of the previous night brought a bright blush to her cheeks.

He had to care for her-last night proved that Although she wasn't very experienced with lovemaking, she knew that what had pa.s.sed between them had been special. It was more than mere physical pa.s.sion; the intensity spoke of something else, something deeper.

Never before had she felt so drawn out of herself. Never before had she experienced such great pleasure. And she knew that he'd felt it, too. The woman in her was rea.s.sured that way, for there were some things that a man just couldn't hide. Christopher experienced the same erotic ecstasy last night that she had, and that must mean...

If she could just be sure. Worried, Kate bit her lower lip as she watched him sleep. She knew she had to tell him about Sean and soon. Yet she was afraid of what he would say, and worse, what he would do. Too often in the past those few words were enough to send her into disgrace. She wasn't good enough, wasn't worthy to keep company with gentlefolk. She had given birth to a b.a.s.t.a.r.d and, in all eyes, rich and poor, had sinned.