Before the Dawn Page 4

  “I don’t believe that either. You see, most women I know tell untruths all the time. Not because they want to so much, but because they have to.”

  Connection flared inside her. She wanted to shout that she agreed more than she could possibly say.

  The old Mary Jane would. She pressed her lips firmly together.

  “But since you won’t be honest with me this time, then I won’t tell you what I was thinking…at least not yet,” he said.

  Disappointment mingled with relief. He pressed another sweet kiss to her hand and released her.

  Mary Jane’s body acted in the wickedest fashion. Heat flushed her face, her breasts felt heavy, and a strange ache between her thighs pulsed with matching warmth. Despite her newly caged heart, this man caused fluttering and feelings she recognized and should reject. Take care, Mary Jane. You know nothing about this man.

  His commanding glare brooked no argument. “From now on I’ll call you Mary Jane, and you’ll call me Elijah. We can’t refer to each other as Mr. McKinnon and Miss Lawson, now can we?”

  Still a bit flummoxed, she hesitated to answer.

  “Mrs. McKinnon?” he asked, his features deadpan.

  “I suppose it cannot be helped.”

  She should not be curious about this man. She resisted her desire to know more, clamped her lips shut on the questions that wanted to escape. Anything he wanted her to know, he would reveal.

  She sipped water and gazed outside into gathering clouds. “Oh my.”

  His attention turned to weather, his expression nonchalant. “Looks like the bad weather farther west is drifting our way. We need to be on our way to the hotel.”

  “About that…we need two rooms at the hotel.”

  He shook his head, eyes hard. “No.”

  She bristled, too tired from her day’s travels to endure poppycock. “Sir, this is not negotiable.”

  “You don’t think it’s going to look mighty strange if you have a room separate from mine?”

  She tilted her chin higher. “I do not care what other people think. There are plenty of couples who have separate rooms.”

  “Uh-huh.” He pushed his chair back a foot. “I see what concerns you, Mrs. McKinnon.”

  “Is it necessary for you to call me that? My name is Mary Jane Lawson. I told you that before we sat down to eat.”

  Deadpan, he said, “I’m practicing.”

  She rolled her gaze. “Honestly, you have the most irritating way of saying things sometimes.”

  “So do you.”

  His refusal to defer to a lady the way so many men would, kept her stumbling around for a response. Irritation nagged at her like an itch.

  She sat back and rummaged in her reticule for her money. “If we want to make it to the hotel before it rains, I suggest we leave.”

  “You’re not paying for my meal.”

  She sighed. “I did not assume that I would. But I am certainly paying for my own.”

  “If you insist, Mrs. McKinnon.”

  Annoyed with his insistence on emphasizing the fake name, she signaled for the waiter. Not long after, they paid the bill and headed for the door.

  As they walked west towards Rittenbocker House, Mary Jane’s nerves started to jump and jolt. The Irishman walked alongside her, his casual walk conveying strength and a coiled readiness that comforted and disconcerted. She had no doubt the blond man and skinny guy wouldn’t stand a chance against him. At the same time, all McKinnon’s power could hurt a woman. Something predatory and hard encased him, giving him the air of a warrior. She wondered if he had served in the military or if a hard life had simply given him this invincible, cool façade.

  She adjusted her hat upon her head. “Sir—”

  “Please call me Elijah. Even if I wasn’t playing your husband, I wouldn’t want you to call me Mr. McKinnon.”

  “Elijah.” His name tasted intimate and forbidden in her mouth. “Elijah, you cannot possibly think any proper woman would agree with you staying in her room.” She perused his threadbare clothes. “If you need money for a room, I will give it to you.”

  He shifted his shoulders like a horse shrugging off an unpleasant rider. “I don’t need your money.”

  “Fine.”

  “Fine.”

  “It would not only be unseemly for you to stay with me, you cannot expect me to trust a man I have met on short notice on a train.”

  “You’re right.”

  She stopped on the walkway. “What?”

  He halted and crossed his arms. “I’ll admit that you shouldn’t normally trust a man you’ve just met. I could be a cretin of the first order. A thief. A rapist. A murderer.”

  “Are you trying to frighten me?”

  “I’m telling the truth. Just as you are. But I’m not any of those things.” He stepped towards her, his hands palm up. “All I want is for you to be safe and make it to Pittsburgh as you planned.” He took her arm gently. “Make haste, Mrs. McKinnon. It’s starting to rain.”

  “I’m soaked.” Mary Jane stood just inside the single room they had claimed at the Rittenbocker House. “And of course they only had one room left.”

  She knew she sounded childish. She did not like it. Any of it.

  Was she destined to keep falling into situations that would get her into trouble?

  Elijah’s mouth twitched and for a moment she almost…almost thought she saw humor sparkling in his eyes and emerging on his mouth. But no. He sobered before she could blink.

  Mary Jane also did not care for getting soaked to the skin. Especially not if it meant standing in front of this man while resembling a wet rug. Lightning flashed and thunder rolled. She reached for her sagging hat and worked to unpin it from her hair.

  His gaze flicked over her. “You’re shivering. Better get undressed and into bed.”

  As he removed his waistcoat and revealed a shirt that had seen better days, she also saw the dark wood end of a weapon peeking from one pocket inside the coat. He went to a basin, poured water into it and splashed his face. He used a small towel to dry off.

  Fear rose inside her. “You have a weapon?”

  “A Colt revolver.”

  All of her muscles seemed to stiffen. She tilted her chin upward ever so slightly. “Whatever for?”

  He put the waistcoat over the back of a chair and worked on undoing his cravat. “Obviously, for protection.”

  Well, she could not deny the practicality of it, even if she hated guns. She decided to ignore the weapon, even if it made her nervous to know he possessed it. “Turn around while I undress.”

  “Whatever you’ve got, I’ve seen it all before, honey.”

  Anger filled Mary Jane as she remained still, paralyzed by sudden self-consciousness and apprehension. She sneezed. “Why I have never heard such—”

  “Don’t worry your head about it, darlin’.” He put his hands on his hips. “I’m going down to the bar and have that port.” His eyes held impatience, as if he regretted their need to stay in one room. As if she was a troublesome and recalcitrant child that needed a keeper. He reached into his pocket and drew out the key. He handed it to her. “Lock the door after I leave. Don’t open the door to anyone but me.”

  Her face heated. “Um…I need someone to undo the buttons on the back of my dress.”

  His eyebrows went up, but he did not mock her with a smile. “Turn around then.”

  She did, but when his fingers touched the back of her dress, all she could feel was his heat behind her. A blush worked its way up her throat and into her face again as he performed the intimate task. He worked quickly, thank goodness.

  His voice sounded rougher when he finished the last button. “There. All finished.”

  After he put his waistcoat back on and left, she locked the door and put the key on the table. Still nervous, she took a deep breath. The last thing she enjoyed was feeling out of her depth. She hurried to her trunk and unlocked it. She tossed out dry clothes and came to her nightgown. She hurried, st
ripped off her sodden garments and hung them on a chair by the fireplace. Not an easy thing to do considering the plethora of layers. Thank the heavens she could loosen and remove her corset without his assistance. Lacing into it then next morning would be a different problem altogether.

  Half expecting him to return immediately, she rushed to towel dry and slip into her nightgown. She hurried into bed. She did not expect to sleep, but tiredness came with amazing swiftness. Before long she drifted into slumber.

  A thump awoke her. She gasped and sat straight up.

  “Darlin’, it’s me.”

  She would recognize that voice anywhere, even on short acquaintance. She jumped out of the bed and snatched the key from the bedside table.

  Once her hand touched the cold doorknob, she hesitated. “Mr. McKinnon?”

  “It’s me.”

  She sighed and opened the door. After he entered, she locked the door again. His gaze trailed over her, but in the voluminous folds of her ecru nightrail, she still felt vulnerable.

  “You all right?” he asked.

  “I fell asleep. What time is it?”

  “About two in the morning.”

  “Oh my goodness.” She yawned. “Why did you stay out so late?”

  He unfastened his waistcoat and worked on loosening his tie. “Now that is a question a wife would ask.”

  “Humph.” Mary Jane examined the ring on her finger. “How would you know?”

  She watched his movements with a mixture of fascination and trepidation. He didn’t answer, his expression grim and purposeful.

  Curiosity strangled her, but she heard her mother’s admonishment in her head. Ladies are not inordinately nosy. “All right, you do not wish to talk. I see.”

  “Let’s get some sleep.” He tossed his waistcoat and cravat on the end of the bed. “We have to rise in a couple of hours to make the trip over the canal.” He pulled off his old Hessian style boots. “Don’t worry, I’m sleeping in the chair.”

  “Of course you are.” She settled into bed again after he sat in the chair.

  “Keep the lamp on if it makes you feel safe.”

  “You can sleep with a lamp on?”

  “I can sleep anywhere except where it’s noisy.”

  She squirmed under the sheets, trying to find a comfortable spot. “Why were you downstairs so long?”

  “I was thinking. Planning.”

  “Oh?”

  “Personal business.”

  “Oh.”

  “Goodnight, Mrs. McKinnon.”

  “You said you would call me Mary Jane from now on.”

  “Mary Jane, then.”

  Outrageous feelings disconcerted her. What did she make of her odd reaction to him? Elijah McKinnon did not belong in her same social circle, a poor man without any prospects. Attraction to him on any level for any reason could not result in a good outcome. She did not want this intense draw. Did not want it, and she would do about anything to forget it.

  Her mind continued to whirl and would not let her sleep. She wished her diary were not secured away in her trunk. She knew exactly what she would tell the pages. The secret pages no one else would ever see.

  Dear Diary,

  I met the most extraordinary man today. No, not extraordinary. Irritating. Annoying. Frightening. His name is Elijah McKinnon, and he has a bit of an Irish accent. With his threadbare clothing and lack of hat, he is clearly not of the upper classes. Mother would advise me to stay as far away from him as possible, just as she warned me away from Professor Ricker. McKinnon is tall, with very dark hair, brooding countenance…some would call him cruel-looking or perhaps handsome in a most disturbing fashion.

  He reminds me a tad of Thaddeus Ricker. That worries me.

  What if I am being led astray again?

  Surely that would be disastrous.

  The professor had power and influence and money. Elijah has little money, but his power is from another source. From something within him. It draws me towards him almost against my will.

  I thought I had erected a wall against men like him so they could not influence me ever again.

  Mary Jane pondered that realization, then imagined what else she would say in her diary.

  Mr. McKinnon insists on an intimacy. He calls me darlin’ off and on. Highly improper.

  I refuse to feel anything but contempt for his manners, even though he did try to rescue me from some dangerous men earlier in the day. Not that I needed rescuing. At this point I am not sure whether he is to be feared or admired.

  No. Not admiration. Therein lies danger. After all, I admired the professor at first and, well…he was not good for me, was he?

  Moreover, I betrayed myself with him.

  Mary Jane frowned. Anyone reading her diary would imagine her a muddle-headed twit. She could not seem to formulate what she would say with any intelligence.

  She only knew one thing. A man would not cause her to lose her way again.

  Before she could ruminate further, she fell asleep.

  Chapter Four

  “No. No.”

  Mary Jane woke with a start at the hoarse cry. The anguished voice did not come from her dreams, but from Elijah across the room. The lamp still burned, and she could see him clearly. He slumped in the chair with his head tilted to the side, arms propped on the armrests and legs spread apart. He sprawled like a lazy, powerful animal with not a care in the world. But his dreams told a different story.

  “No.” The hoarse word left his lips, pleading as his mouth twisted in what resembled pain.

  He shifted and a lock of inky hair fell lower on his forehead. His shirt was open part of the way, and her attention snagged on the dusting of black hair along sculpted muscles. The sight of so much masculinity, blatantly exposed, froze her in place. She pulled her attention back to his distress.

  “Maureen. Oh God. Please forgive me. Please forgive me.” His breathing went harsh, and though his eyes stayed closed, the torment in his words couldn’t be mistaken. “Please, Maureen.”

  Concerned, she left the bed and walked to him. She leaned over him as he thrashed in his chair. “Maureen. Damn it, Maureen.”

  She took a tentative step nearer and grasped his shoulder. “Elijah, wake up.” He jerked awake, eyes wild, sad, furious. He reached for her and jerked her down into his arms. She squealed in surprise and alarm. “Mr. McKinnon, have you lost your senses?”

  With one arm around her back and the other hand clasping her waist, he held her securely. His eyes focused and the dream faded from his eyes.

  “I’m sorry,” he gasped the apology, his eyes filled with alarm. “Did I hurt you?”

  She did not hurt anywhere. Acknowledging what she felt, though, went beyond words. His hard thighs bunched beneath her buttocks, his breath feathered her mouth, his strong chest beneath her fingers…oh, all of it held her in thrall. A dangerous, amazing thrall.

  When his thumb passed over her chin, his gaze dropped to her mouth. “Answer me, Mary Jane.”

  “No…I mean, no, you did not hurt me. You were having a horrible dream.”

  “Yes. Same one I have every night. I’m sorry. I should have warned you it might happen.”

  “You have dreams like this every night?”

  A cloud darkened his eyes. “The last five years.”

  While she longed to ask why dreams plagued him, she became aware of his arms tightening around her. “Release me, please.”

  Something stirred beneath her, a hardness that pressed against her buttocks.

  His hips shifted and a muscle in his jaw worked. White-hot fire leapt across her body as his eyes met hers. Nothing prepared her for the sweeping intensity of a man’s arms holding her like she was precious to him. All that hardness and strength combined with gentleness shook her to the core. Her breath hitched, and his masculine scent warmed her clear through.

  His touch slipped over her cheek in a tender caress that belied his tough appearance. “Has anyone ever told you, darlin’, what a beau
ty you are?”

  Pleasure mixed with apprehension. “No.”

  “In Ireland the men would turn wild for you.” He heaved a deep breath, his lips parting. “Quick, Mary Jane. Get off my lap before I do something I shouldn’t.”

  She pushed away, and Elijah helped her rise to her feet. Affronted and relieved at the same time, she stiffened her spine and marched back to bed.

  Once she drew the covers up to her chin again, she slanted a cautious look his way. “Why did you hold me like that?”

  He leaned his head back and closed his eyes, his posture once more the abandon of a lazy cat. “Just what you feared would happen. I let my baser nature take hold.” His voice went husky, a drawl mixed with Irish magic. “But don’t worry. I won’t hurt you.”

  She lay in bed staring at him, astonishment and female gratification warring for supremacy within. A secret part of her enjoyed that she had shaken him. Made him lose control.

  A question came to mind that would not stay contained. “Elijah, who is Maureen? Your betrothed?”

  He visibly stiffened, his back straighter in the chair. He looked ready for flight. “Where did you hear that name?”

  “You said her name several times while you were dreaming.”

  He scrubbed a hand over his face and sighed. “Don’t ask me about her again.”

  Elijah’s prickliness assured her whoever Maureen was that talking about the woman was off limits. When he didn’t say another word, she closed her eyes. This time she didn’t fall asleep right away.

  Lancaster to Hollidaysburg

  They left Lancaster around five in the morning and not a moment too soon for Elijah.

  Elijah’s “wife” kept a distance from him. Not enough to cause conjecture by anyone around them, but not near enough to appear affectionate. She stayed stubbornly silent and so did he. When they reached Columbia on the eastern bank of the Susquehanna after a twelve-mile jaunt, they had breakfast at Mr. Donley’s Red Hotel. Once more she talked little. The noise in the dining room gave them ample excuse not to converse.

  As he stood on the platform with Mary Jane waiting to board the canal boats that also served as rail cars, he noticed the two bastards that bothered her yesterday boarding ahead. He glanced over at Mary Jane and watched her, conscious that he spent too much time staring at her petite nose, the fine line of her jaw, and the glossy lighter hues in her dark hair. Her startling pewter gray gaze often met his in a direct fashion, then skittered away when he returned her look for too long. From the first moment he saw her yesterday, he found his senses, his mind drawn towards her. He shouldn’t think about her so deeply, shouldn’t trouble his thoughts with how she’d felt in his arms two times yesterday…how her lips molded to his with a fire that mocked innocence.