Free Chloe by Lyn Cote Page B

house in your care,” the man’s voice quavered with pent-up fury. “And you helped her run off and marry another man! You’re a fool!”
    If Roarke thought her father’s outrage sprung from love of Chloe, he’d have been ashamed of himself. But he knew it wasn’t. It was just pique at losing one of his possessions, as if Chloe was a filly in Kimball’s stable. He wondered, had the man learned of Minnie’s leaving yet? Acid spurted in Roarke’s stomach. He longed to say, “You’re the fool.”
    Kimball switched his glare to Roarke’s father. “Thomas, did you know this yesterday?”
    “Of course Thomas didn’t,” Mrs. McCaslin said, looking outraged.
    “Of course, I didn’t.” Roarke’s father agreed as he steepled his fingers and coolly returned Kimball’s stare. “If I had, I’d have told you when you came last night.”
    Kimball turned to Roarke. “When you didn’t come home at a decent time, I came over to ask your daddy where you were—”
    “At one in the morning,” Roarke’s mother slipped in, quietly disapproving.
    “—and your daddy told me,” Kimball continued to bawl, “that he had expected his son home sooner, but in any event my daughter was safe in his son’s care. So where’s my daughter?”
    “I told you,” Roarke repeated, fatigue rolling over him, “she’s in New York with her husband.”
And I’m too tired to be polite very much longer.
Losing Chloe stung him like poison nettles and his temper reflected that.
    “Nonsense.” Kimball dismissed this with a wave of his stubby hand. “My wife is prostrate with worry. I want to know where our Chloe’s run off to.”
    “Kimball,” Thomas spoke up in a sterner tone, “my son has told you where your daughter is. I don’t approve of his aiding her in an elopement. But I also don’t approve of a parent who burns letters from a girl’s honest beau who happens to be leaving for war. And in any event, what’s done is done.”
    Kimball stared at Roarke’s father, his eyes narrowing. “Are you tellin’ me that someone burned my daughter’s letters? Who?”
    “I believe you should discuss this with your good lady.” Thomas took a sip of his coffee. “In any case, your daughter is a married woman now.”
    “It was my pleasure to help them,” Roarke commented and at last he permitted himself a smile. He would have rather buried his face in his arms on the table. He had lost Chloe.
    Thomas held up a hand to stop Kimball, who’d just opened his mouth again. “Once more, I didn’t know when you came yesterday that my son was helping Chloe elope with another man. I had hoped my words were true—that Roarke, for whatever reason, had decided to elope with Miss Chloe himself. I apologize for misleading you, but that can’t be helped now.”
    Roarke clutched his violet-sprigged china cup with both hands, holding on to his pride, his self-control.
    Kimball reached out and gripped the top of the carved oak chair in front of him. His knuckles turned white as he stared at Roarke. “My daughter had no reason to run away. I told her the doughboy could write her.”
    So you could include that patriotic note in your speeches.
Roarke’s mouth twisted into a mirthless smile. “Perhaps you should consult with your wife about that,” he repeated his father’s suggestion. Then he chewed his buttered toast slowly as if what Kimball wanted was of no importance to him, as if his love hadn’t pledged her faith to another man while he stood silently by.
    “My wife?” Kimball let go of the chair, suddenly alert to what they’d been telling him.
    Roarke’s mother nodded, touching a white linen napkin to her lips. “Chloe’s a sweet girl and I would have loved to have her for a daughter, but that isn’t what happened, Mr. Kimball.”
    “Where is she? What’s her address?” Kimball demanded. “I’m going to bring her home.”
    Roarke gritted his teeth.
Never. If it weren’t for you, Chloe wouldn’t have run away. She