Before the Dawn Read online

  The Irishman stopped in a secluded section of the station. Before she could squeak a protest, he slipped his arm around her waist and drew her into his body. They pressed chest to chest. Hip to hip. The intimate contact filled her face with heat.

  Indignant, her hands landed on his chest as she started to push away. “What on earth are you doing?”

  He held tight and leaned close, his mouth hovering near hers. His breath was refreshingly clean, his voice low. “Those men from the train are watching. Play the part or those scoundrels will know you’re not my wife.”

  Caught in his embrace, her senses took in the hard, long length of his body, his wide shoulders and chest evident even through his worn waistcoat. Without hat and with wild hair, he seemed more the rounder than upstanding citizen. He looked thoroughly capable of debauching a naïve woman. But the last thing Mary Jane considered herself was naïve.

  “I do not know who you think you are, sir, but I will not be treated like a piece of meat to haul around. You will release me immediately.”

  “After I know you’re safe and not before.” His declaration rumbled deep, his voice filled with a husky flavor she found maddening. It infuriated and fascinated her. “While we’re on this trip you’ll need to play along, or I guarantee those men will see you as fair game. I don’t trust them, and my instincts about these things are straight and true, darlin’.”

  Darlin’. The endearment whispered against her ears with an intimacy that started warm, treacherous tingles low in her stomach. How dare he make her feel…she could not identify the dangerous feeling.

  “How do I know you are not one of them?” she asked.

  One corner of his mouth lifted, and a wicked twinkle entered his eyes. “Think a moment with your heart and not your head. What do your instincts tell you?”

  Astonished, she almost shoved at his chest again. Instead, that enticing gaze gathered her almost as closely as his grip. His powerful body and secure hold let her know she could not escape. She could scream and someone would come to her rescue. But who? She glanced around and saw the two blackguards watched from a distance.

  “Those men are watching us,” she said with apprehension.

  “As I said.” He cupped her cheek. “Trust me.”

  His mouth closed over hers, and pure, sensual pleasure engulfed her. Her eyes closed as his mouth tasted with a ruthless but tender exploration. All her senses pinpointed to the moment, caught in a whirlwind. The strength of his fingers as they slid away from her cheek to cradle the back of her neck, his clean scent of soap and some unknown spice, the cautious yet strong grip of a powerful arm around her waist. The crinoline proved no barrier to this man. She felt surrounded, cherished, utterly disarmed.

  Surprise and dismay slammed her. Absolutely not. She would not allow this.

  The last time she had let a man kiss her like this…well, disaster had ensued.

  But this man…oh, his kiss was different. Delicious. So beguiling that she felt her inhibitions crumbling, rolling down a rocky slope.

  Before she could pull away, he lifted his head. He assessed her, his gaze hot and hungry. He looked as if he wanted more. Much more.

  “Release me.” Her throat felt tight. “Release me or I will scream.”

  His gaze still simmered, but now she saw anger there as well.

  Ashamed that she stood like a placid child, she pulled out of his arms. “That, sir, is just the reason why I should not trust you.”

  “Take my protection. Those other men will do far more than kiss you, and I guarantee you won’t like it.”

  She gasped in indignation. “I knew you were not honorable. Why, I do not even know your name.”

  “McKinnon, darlin’, just as I said on the train. Elijah Jonas McKinnon. And your name?”

  Half tempted not to give it to him, she said, “Mary Jane Lawson.”

  “A proper name, indeed.”

  “You are Irish.”

  “Dirty Irishman, darlin’?” His voice held sarcasm, his accent more pronounced, his eyes hard.

  Nervous, she reached up and adjusted her hat. She started to turn away. “I do not need to explain myself to you.”

  She headed for the conductor, and after pulling out a few coins to pay for her Saratoga trunk to be delivered to the Rittenbocker House, she asked, “I understand the Rittenbocker is a short walk. Is there anywhere else to eat?” She smiled at the short, gray-haired man. “I confess to being quite tired of inn food.”

  “Certainly.” The man smiled. “The Brown Restaurant is only a block away.” He gestured north. “One block north of the Rittenbocker. It’s a very nice place. I should know. My sister is the cook.”

  “Thank you so much. Have a good day.”

  She scanned the surrounding area and noted that McKinnon leaned against a pillar, his arms folded and his attention pinned upon her. She shivered in reaction. How dare he ask her to trust him? A perfect stranger? Her cheeks heated again as she thought about how his lips had felt on hers.

  Better than Professor Ricker’s?

  Oh, no. Do not think about that now. The past would stay in the past. Her new, solid, respectable life started from the moment she’d heard her father had died. And she’d keep on that path come flood or famine.

  She tugged down her jacket bodice, hooked her reticule over her wrist, and sucked in a breath. Her corset and crinoline pinched, but her new short boots felt comfortable. A short walk would not only loosen the knots in her back, but allow fresh air into her lungs. She headed out of the station. Thankfully the rain had subsided and the temperature, though crisp, was not intolerable. After a break in the conveyances trundling down the dirt road, she lifted her voluminous skirts to cross the somewhat muddy street. She glanced about, her gaze sweeping over the busy station and then the town all around her. No sign of the disreputable men, and that included the Irishman. Good.

  Triumphant, she continued without care, confident she had handled the earlier disruption. As she walked, she paid little attention to her surroundings and more to her inner thoughts. While she knew the perils a woman alone could face, she also knew a woman’s attitude could often deflect the most persistent blackguard. She would do fine. Her mother and sisters depended on her to bring father home.

  Ahead she noticed the two-story building the conductor had mentioned, and she hurried towards it. Her stomach growled. She had almost reached the building when two men stepped from the alley in front of her. She gasped and stepped back.

  Skinny man tilted his tall hat in a mockery of polite society. Presented with his body odor and dirty clothes, Mary Jane wrinkled her nose in disgust.

  Skinny man pursed his lips and started to circle her. “Why there you are, Mrs. McKinnon. We thought we’d lost you.”

  She glared at them, composing her face though her heartbeat galloped in her chest.

  The blond man also tipped his hat. “We don’t think you’re really Mrs. McKinnon. Thought maybe that stinkin’ Irishman might be tryin’ to take advantage of a young, pretty miss.”

  “Gentleman, if you will excuse me, I do not have time for this. My husband will join me shortly.”

  She started past them. Skinny man grabbed her right upper arm. “Now wait a minute, missy.”

  “Leave me be.” She jerked against his grip, but his fingers tightened. She gasped as pain radiated up her arm. She stomped his foot.

  Skinny man’s faux charm disappeared in an instant as he released her arm with a howl.

  The blond man laughed. “We know you aren’t married to that—”

  “I am a married woman, sir. If you know what is good for you, you will leave me be.”

  His voice cut off as his glance snagged on something behind her.

  Blond man poked the skinny man in the side with his elbow. “I thought you said that Mick wasn’t anywhere to be found?”

  The ruffians both escaped down the alley at a run. Trembling, she turned and saw the Irishman running towards her, his stride brisk and no nonsens
e. She rubbed at her arm and tried to soothe her abused flesh. As McKinnon reached her, he glanced down the alley and measured the retreating figures of the two men.

  Relief spilled through her body. She had never been gladder to see someone in her life.

  “By the blessed virgin, are you trying to get killed, woman?” His voice lashed with stern disapproval, his accent more pronounced. Then, just as amazing, his gaze softened with concern. He cupped her shoulders. “Did they hurt you?”

  Her indignation lost steam. “I…no. I mean, that one awful man with the stovepipe hat…the skinny one grabbed my arm and that hurt. But I taught him a lesson.”

  He squeezed her shoulder in a comforting caress. “You’re fortunate that I saw you before they had a chance to drag you into the alley.”

  Mary Jane’s insides jumbled, her stomach rolling in disapproval. “I do not need your help.”

  His brow lowered in a fierce frown. “Don’t need my help? Are you deliberately being ignorant, or do you really believe those men don’t want to take you down a back alley and assault you?” He crossed his arms. “You may have stomped his foot, but if they really wanted to hurt you, you wouldn’t have escaped so easily.”

  She huffed. “I have dealt with men like him before.”

  The Irishman’s eyebrows rose. “I find that hard to believe.”

  An urge to allow the old Mary Jane freedom boiled in her blood. “I have learned a few things about defending myself against men up to no good. If you know what is good for you, sir, you will heed my warning.”

  He went silent for a second, then completely ignored her earlier tirade by saying, “I heard you say you’re a married woman.”

  His rough tone broke through disbelief. “What difference does it make if you come running to my rescue? They have guessed I am not your wife.”

  He leaned in close once again, towering over her—six feet of bristling male intimidation. “And whose fault is that? You ran away from me at the station and the gig is up. Now there’s only one way to keep you safe.” He reached into his pocket and drew out a small red box. “This is one of my few possessions. My brother kept it for me.”

  She glanced at the diminutive box and wondered if the man might have escaped from a lunatic asylum. “What is that?” He flipped open the box, and she gasped. “Surely, sir, you have lost all faculties of reason.”

  “Take it. You’ll need it if you’re going to pretend to be my wife for the remainder of this trip to Pittsburgh, Mrs. McKinnon.”

  Chapter Three

  Mary Jane sat across from Mr. McKinnon and could not believe she had agreed to participate in such a ridiculous ruse.

  By all that was holy, she should have learned her lesson by now. Dangerous situations were best left to the imagination. On the other hand, she burned for excitement, some semblance of a life that did not include corsets and crinolines.

  Her mother’s disappointed voice rang in her head again. I am afraid your habits have ruined everything for you now and into the foreseeable future.

  Mary Jane gritted her teeth and tried to forget her mother’s admonishments.

  The restaurant sparked with activity. As the conductor promised, the food so far proved excellent. Patrons thronged to the large, pleasantly furnished dining room. Conversation murmured in low, reasonable tones, and a cool breeze ruffled lace curtains at the far end of the room. She enjoyed a lovely glass of red wine, something she could never indulge in at home. She needed it after her encounter not only with the blackguards in the street, but the unnerving Mr. McKinnon. They had consumed a dinner of Boston brown bread, tea, beef stew and pan-dowdy. She half expected the man to indulge in gin-sling or other liquor, but he did not. She found his soberness, if not his brashness, refreshing.

  “You did not drink any wine, sir,” she said into the silence at their small round table.

  His dark eyebrows winged upward. “No. Why should I?”

  “The men in my family have always had a glass of port at night after dinner at the very least.”

  “The men in your family?” Unidentifiable emotion flashed over his face. He lifted his teacup for a sip, then set it down on the saucer with a rattle. “Are you married?”

  She sat up straighter. “Certainly not. I would not be on this trip alone if that was so. I was thinking about my father and late uncle.”

  He nodded but did not speak for quite some time. Finally, he said, “You’re dressed in mourning.”

  “Those ruffians think my mother has passed on based on what you told them.”

  “You’ll have to keep your counsel on that. My sympathies, though, on your father.”

  “Thank you.”

  She sighed, marveling at her situation. This adventure…and that was the only way she could think of it without wondering at her own sanity, became more bizarre by the hour. She glanced down at the ring on her left hand.

  “Like the ring?” he asked.

  “It is beautiful. I have never seen anything like it.”

  “Belonged to my maternal grandmother.”

  She held up her hand and observed the intricate twining of gold knots and twirls. Though she had a small hand it fit her almost perfectly and the gold band was wide. The jewelry gleamed with such splendor she wondered how much it must have cost.

  “Why did you have it in your pocket?” she asked.

  His eyes stayed intense, so brooding most of the time that she had to look away or fall into them. “Like I said, it’s one of my few possessions.”

  Her lips tightened as a horrible thought leap to her mind. “Is it for your wife or betrothed?”

  “It was for my betrothed.”

  Her heartbeat thudded, a disappointment settling in her stomach. “Was?”

  Mr. McKinnon nodded, his expression guarded. “She…she died five years ago.”

  Sympathy swallowed her up quicker than she expected. Without thought, she reached across the table and covered his large, well-shaped hand. Heat swirled and tingled as bare flesh touched bare flesh. Warm and hard, his hand represented power and masculinity. Just as quickly she snatched her hand back, embarrassment filling her face with heat.

  “I am so sorry. It seems we have both suffered loss. What happened?” she asked.

  The Irishman gazed across the table, his concentration centered on her with disconcerting attention.

  His mouth twisted in a spasm. “She was murdered.”

  “Oh my.” Her rasp of surprise sounded hollow, without enough substance to describe the horror. “I cannot imagine…”

  “Most people can’t. On another subject, what are you doing traveling alone at a time like this? Or traveling alone at any time, for that matter?”

  “My chaperone Prudence took ill in Philadelphia. She begged me to go on without her. She is an older woman with many health complaints, most of them doubtful.”

  “Ah, one of those. I had a spinster aunt back in Ireland like that.”

  “Yes, well, she insisted I should not hold up the urgency to take my father back to Pittsburgh. So here I am.”

  “You weren’t afraid to travel alone?”

  “Of course not.”

  “Then you’re an unusual woman, Mrs. McKinnon.”

  “I am not Mrs. McKinnon.”

  “You are if you know what’s good for you. Don’t fret, darlin’, it won’t be that difficult to pretend. Unless the idea of playing my wife repulses you.”

  Did it? Her gaze danced over his tall body, his thick, waving hair, the handsome cut of his jaw and mouth. Though his attire was a bit shabby, a woman could hardly fail to notice his extraordinary looks.

  Her mother’s voice came back to haunt her. Mary Jane, a man’s handsomeness, as you discovered, has nothing to do with his character. You should know that by now.

  But no, Mary Jane had not listened to her mother that one time…not at all…

  Rebellion and shame, disappointment and guilt twisted in her gut.

  She would make it up to her family if it we
re the last thing she ever did.

  She lifted her napkin and dabbed at her lips. “Why would you go to all this trouble for a woman you do not know?”

  For the first time, Elijah McKinnon bestowed a full-fledged smile upon Mary Jane, and it unsettled her to the core. His smile came and went like a lightning bolt, filled with as much sarcasm as genuine amusement. Still, the smile did not unnerve her so much in a frightening way, but in a disturbing, delicious extravagance that tantalized her.

  “Because I realized you were alone, just like every man on the train realized it. I saw the way those jacksnipes sitting in front of you looked at you.”

  “How did they look at me?”

  “As if you were a pretty prize. A woman vulnerable and available.”

  “How would you know they were thinking that?”

  Once more his face transformed, all strength and hardness giving way to a glorious smile fit for the gods. “Because I’m a man, darlin’. I was thinking the same thing.”

  She drew back in her chair as the implication struck. “You were…you were not thinking of me as a prize.”

  He reached for her left hand and brought her naked flesh to his lips in a gentle kiss. “Do you want to know what I honestly thought?”

  Did she? He hand tingled where his lips had brushed. “Curiosity and daring always result in a lady’s downfall, or so my mother always says.”

  Those intriguing eyes, full of challenge, dared her in ways she had not even imagined yet. “And what do you say?”

  Mary Jane left her hand in his, and McKinnon’s thumb swept over her skin in a caress. She shivered all over with pleasure and forced words passed her lips. “I say the same.”

  His gaze tangled with hers, and the boldness she felt both energized and frightened her. “I don’t believe you.”

  “It is true, sir. Why would I lie?”

  “I don’t know why. But I can tell when a man or woman is lying to me, and you are lying through those pretty lips.”

  Heat did another sweep through her, a mingling of indignation and frustration. “I never lie, even when the truth hurts.”