Free Escapade (9781301744510) by Susan Carroll

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 like
Zeke 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 were forcing herself to resist Zeke's
embrace.
    "Did I hurt you, madam?" the maid asked,
suspending the brush in midstroke.
    "N-no. Please continue," Rory said. The girl
resumed her work, trying to be gentle, but Rory's hair was
considerably tangled from her nap.
    It was all the fault of that wretched
nightmare, Rory thought. If not for that dream, she would never
have done anything so brazen as cling to Zeke. She had been foolish
to allow herself to be so upset, but it had all been so close to
one of her banshee dreams, only even stranger. The fear it had
aroused still clung to her. She retained such a clear image of the
moment she had lifted the phantom's hood, only to encounter that
woman's cold eyes glittering back at her, their expression hard and
empty—like the banshee's eyes, utterly without mercy. Irrational it
might be, but Rory could not help believing a little in omens. She
was just as glad she would never see Mrs. Van Hallsburg again.
    As for Zeke Morrison, perhaps it would be far
better if it were likewise with him. She could go below and tell
Zeke she had changed her mind, that she had a headache. Except that
she would wonder forever if she had thrown aside her best chance to
save her company and despise herself for a coward.
    Surely she had been in far greater danger
when she had been alone with the man in his bedchamber, practically
undressed. She had survived that—except for a few disturbing
moments. What could happen to her in a crowded restaurant?
    The most Morrison could do was train his
magnetic dark eyes upon her and devour her with his gaze. And in
that case she would make it plain to him he had best satisfy his
appetite on the roast turkey.
    She wasn't going to be dessert.
    Long before Rory finished dressing, Zeke was
already on his way downstairs, straightening the cuffs of his white
cambric shirt, picking a speck of lint off the lapel of his black
evening jacket. He actually caught himself whistling as he took the
stairs two at a time, a strange excitement quickening through his
veins, an excitement such as he had not experienced for a