Rescuing the Heiress Page 3

  “None of your business, O’Neill.”

  “Now, now, don’t be trying to get above yourself, boyo.” He laughed again, spewing the odor of strong drink on a cloud of his breath.

  “Don’t worry about me,” Michael replied with disdain. “Just take care of yourself and don’t end up in a bar fight again.”

  O’Neill’s only reply was a hearty laugh and a slap on the back as he shared his amusement with most of the others gathered nearby.

  Michael hurried away from the group of obviously inebriated men, hoping none of them decided to trail after him on a lark. It wasn’t that he felt he couldn’t handle himself well in any situation. He just didn’t want his cronies to follow him all the way to Tess and continue their taunts, straining the difficult circumstances even further.

  He needn’t have worried. Getting past the crowd milling around in the street and on the sidewalks and lawn bordering the enormous Mechanics’ Pavilion was so difficult, Michael doubted he’d be followed by anyone.

  It was all he could do to work his way through to the meeting hall entrance. First he had to run the gauntlet of shouting, chanting, angry men carrying placards denouncing the women’s movement, then convince the uniformed police officers posted at the doors that his intentions were peaceful and honorable.

  “I escorted several young ladies,” Michael shouted to the guards. “They’re waiting for me inside. I promised to join them.” He held up his right hand, palm out. “On my honor.”

  The burly doormen looked at each other and then back at him, clearly cognizant of his official fireman’s attire. “All right,” one of them said. “But any trouble from you and you’re headed for the paddy wagon just like anybody else. We’ve got more’n one waitin’ right out back.”

  “I promise I’m not going to be a problem,” Michael vowed, still holding up his hand and doffing his hat as he sidled through the narrow space between the two broad-shouldered officers.

  The door most of the women were using stood wide-open. That feminine multitude was sweeping through without being questioned, although many were casting sidelong glances at each other as if they were either worried or wary. Or both. He supposed, given that this kind of gathering was such an unusual occurrence, it was natural for some of them to be uneasy particularly if their husbands didn’t know where they had gone.

  On the other hand there were the stalwarts like Tess, who were obviously not intimidated by a crowd, especially not by one composed mainly of members of the fairer persuasion. How on earth could he hope to locate her among this mass of velvet and feathers, furs and veils? Surely she’d realize his dilemma and at least wave her hand in the air from time to time.

  Straining with cap in hand, he stretched to his full six-foot height to peer at the seething mass of well-dressed women. Those who did not have fancy hats covered with flowers and feathers were in the minority, although there did seem to be a fair number of plainer bonnets or uncovered heads as well. That was where he’d made his mistake. By assuming that only Tess would be bareheaded, he’d become overconfident.

  The press of the crowd was stifling. Various aromas of perfume assaulted him as they mixed and permeated the already overly warm inside air.

  He raised his eyes to the vaulted ceiling and was in the midst of a short, silent prayer for guidance when he noticed a gallery.

  As he headed for the stairway leading to the upper tier he continued to pray. “Father, I know there’s no way I’ll ever find Tess in this mess unless You help me.” His heart skipped and hammered. “Please?”

  Gaining the landing, he gripped the rail and gazed down at the rows and rows of benches facing a stage where several well-dressed but otherwise unremarkable ladies sat. If not for their position at the podium, he would have assumed they were merely a part of the audience.

  Would Tess press closer to the stage so she could observe the speaker’s expressions? He assumed so, given her earlier conversation and the determined way she had been behaving.

  Starting at the center near the front, Michael began to systematically scan the crowd row by row. He had to force himself to take his time and study the back of each person’s head carefully in spite of his burgeoning anxiety.

  His “Where are you?” was spoken barely above a whisper. There? No, that wasn’t her. How about…? No.

  Jostled and pushed, he stubbornly clung to his place at the railing and prayed he wouldn’t have to actually return to the ground floor and make a spectacle of himself in order to locate and be reunited with the two young women. Bringing them there in the first place was bad enough. Calling attention to such a folly would be a hundred times worse.

  Michael took a sudden gulp of air. There! Was that her?

  Maybe. Maybe not. His breathing was already ragged and his heart was pounding exactly the way it did every time he answered a fire alarm. His hands fisted on the rail. He wanted to shout out, to call to Tess. To see if it truly was her he was staring at.

  Fear for her safety and well-being stopped him. There might be few folks in this particular crowd who would recognize wealthy Gerald Bell Clark’s daughter on sight, but many knew her name only from the society pages of the Chronicle. It would be unwise to call attention to her in this unusual situation, especially since he was currently too far away to protect her if need be.

  Watching and continuing to hold perfectly still, he willed the reddish-haired woman to turn her head just the slightest so he could be certain.

  In moments she did better than that. Standing and swiveling while she removed her coat, she looked over the crowd behind her, eventually letting her gaze rise and come to rest on the balcony.

  Michael tensed. His breath whooshed out with relief. There was no doubt. It was Tess.

  He was about to leave his place to join her when he saw her raise her arm, grin broadly and wave to him as if she had just spotted the most important person present.

  To his delight and equally strong sense of self-disgust, he was so thrilled by her candid reaction that he temporarily froze.

  In all the time they had been acquainted, Tess had never looked at him that way before. Or had she? He blinked to clear his head and sort out his racing thoughts. No matter how hard he tried to deny it, he kept imagining that perhaps she had done so and he had been too blind, too dunderheaded to have noticed. Until tonight.

  As he started back down the stairs to join her he corrected that supposition. It wasn’t foolish to ignore Tess’s apparent personal interest. In his case it was the only intelligent thing to do. Even considering her to be a mere friend could prove detrimental.

  The idea that she might actually covet a deeper relationship with him was unthinkable. Ridiculous. Nothing good—for either of them—could ever come from entertaining such an outrageous folly. Not even in his dreams.

  Chapter Three

  The sight of Michael gazing down upon her sent a tingle of awareness singing up Tess’s spine. There was no question that it was she whom he sought. The way his countenance lit up when he spotted her removed any possible doubt. And to her chagrin, she was just as thrilled to see him.

  At her elbow, Annie gave a little shriek, “Up there! Is that Michael?”

  Tess cast her a stern look. “Hush. You’ll embarrass him. He sees us. He’s coming.”

  “I know.” Once again the maid’s hands were clasped in front of her as if preparing to pray. “My knees are knocking something awful.”

  “Then sit down and get control of yourself,” Tess told her. “We don’t want to create a scene.”

  Tess, too, seated herself after managing to tear her gaze from the sight of Michael Mahoney zigzagging his way through the throng to join them. It wasn’t easy to keep from peering over her shoulder in anticipation of his arrival. She kept herself busy by repositioning her hat and moving the pins that had held it firmly to her upswept hairdo.

  Seconds ticked by. Tess was just about to stand and look for him anew when she sensed his presence.

  “Is there
room for me or shall I stand at the back of the room and wait?” he asked, bending to speak quietly into her ear.

  Tess failed to suppress a shiver as his breath tickled her cheek and ruffled a tiny wisp of hair. She attempted to mask her reaction by gathering her skirts and scooting closer to Annie on her right.

  “We’ll make room,” Tess said. “Please, join us.” She had expected him to immediately comply. When he hesitated, she glanced up and noticed that he seemed uneasy. “What’s wrong?”

  “I don’t know. I just got a funny feeling.”

  “Probably another little earthquake,” Tess said with a sigh. “I’ve felt several since we arrived. At first I thought it was just the press of the crowd and all the perfumery making me a bit dizzy, but once I sat down, I decided it couldn’t be that.”

  She folded her coat on her lap and patted the small section of bench that she had just cleared. “Come. Sit down. I think they’re about to start the meeting.”

  As Michael eased himself into the narrow space and his shoulder pressed against hers, Tess was once again light-headed. She blinked and tried to concentrate, to gauge whether or not they were experiencing more earth tremors at that very moment.

  It was impossible to tell. San Francisco was so prone to such things that few citizens paid them any heed. Unless the shaking was strong enough to cause actual damage, which was rare, the local newspapers gave the quakes short shrift as well. Feeling the earth move was no more unusual than the fog off the bay or the wind that preceded a storm.

  Tess would have scooted closer to Annie if there had been a smidgen of room left. Unfortunately all the benches were packed, including theirs. That was a good omen for the suffragette movement but it certainly worsened her predicament.

  If only she had had the presence of mind to keep her coat on as a buffer, she mused. Not only was she starting to sense an aura of warmth emanating from Michael, she was beginning to imagine that she could actually feel the man’s muscles through the gathered sleeve of her blouse. That was impossible of course, yet she could not shake the unsettling sensation.

  Leaning away a fraction of an inch, she noted that he shifted his position ever so slightly, too. Although he had obviously twisted to make more room for her, he had also placed himself so he could effortlessly slip his arm around her shoulders if he so desired!

  That notion stole Tess’s remaining breath. In her heart of hearts she wanted him to do exactly that. In the logical part of her brain, however, she knew he would never be so bold. Getting him to escort them to the lecture was already more than she had expected. Making this into a shared, pleasurable excursion was out of the question. The only reason Michael was even sitting with them was because he was trying to be gallant.

  “You don’t have to stay right here if you don’t want to,” Tess offered, hoping to gain a respite for her over-taxed senses and imagination without revealing her reasons for needing one. “We can meet you outside after the speaking is over.”

  Michael shook his head and cupped a hand around his mouth to speak as privately as possible. “I’d rather not. You are too vulnerable, Miss Clark. If anyone saw through your disguise it could pose a problem.”

  “I don’t see how.”

  She noted his frown and the hoarseness of his voice as he replied, “You would be a valuable prize for anyone wanting to get back at your father or perhaps seeking a ransom.”

  “Me? That’s preposterous.”

  “All the same, I’m not about to leave you. Either of you,” he added, leaning farther forward to include Annie.

  Just then, a portly matron in a copious cape and broad-brimmed hat paused in the aisle next to him and cleared her throat noisily.

  When Michael didn’t rise, she said, “I fear you have not noticed a lady in need of a seat, young man. I would think a member of a fire brigade, like yourself, would have better manners.”

  Although he set his jaw, he did stand, bow and reluctantly relinquish his place to the demanding woman.

  If Tess had not been so relieved that he had been forced to give her some breathing space, she might have felt sorry for him.

  “I’ll be waiting for you right outside the south door, the one we came in,” Michael had said in parting. “Keep an eye out for me.”

  It had eased his mind some when Tess had nodded but he was still nervous about leaving her. After all, she was naïve about the inherent dangers of gatherings such as this. At least he assumed she was.

  He had occasionally seen her in the Clark family pew in church and was certain she had also attended fashionable soirees, but this kind of open meeting was totally different. Here, she might come across anyone from any walk of life. How she would handle such encounters was his main concern. If she exhibited the same high and mighty attitude he’d observed so far, she could wind up in serious trouble.

  To Michael’s chagrin, some of the same firemen he’d encountered earlier were gathered just outside the very door he had instructed Tess to use. That left him no option but to face them.

  James O’Neill was puffing on a cigar. He began to grin wryly as soon as he spotted Michael. “Well, well. I see you were tellin’ the truth. Have ye gone over to the ladies’ side now?”

  “Of course not. I’m just doing a favor for my mother’s employer, that’s all.”

  “Oh, and what would that be?”

  Keeping his voice light and a smile in place so the other men wouldn’t take offense, Michael changed the subject rather than answer directly. “Never mind that. What’re all of you doing here? Did you follow me?”

  “Naw. We’re slumming,” O’Neill replied, laughing raucously. “We decided to take a gander at the lovely girls.” He roared with glee at his supposedly clever remark. “Have ye seen ’em? I’d sooner kiss me own sister.”

  “I wouldn’t want to kiss your sister either—if you had one,” Michael countered, joining in the laughter. “She’d look too much like you—and you are one ugly fellow.”

  “Well said,” O’Neill shot back, clapping Michael on the back and blowing smoke rings. “C’mon. Let’s go find us a good pub and get some beer.”

  “Can’t,” Michael said. “I told you. I’m working.”

  “Moonlighting, eh? All right. Have it your way.” He motioned to his cronies with a broad wave of his arm and a slight unsteadiness in his gait. “Let’s go, boys.”

  Michael was relieved to see them walk away without further probing into his evening’s plans. He wasn’t ashamed of Tess—or of Annie. He just didn’t want to take the chance of having his name linked by gossip with that of the young, beautiful socialite. It not only wasn’t accurate, it wasn’t seemly.

  Although he was successfully climbing the promotion ladder within his chosen field, that didn’t mean he considered himself worthy to court a highborn woman like Tess Clark. No matter how well he rose in the fire department ranks, some facts would never change. He was who he was. That he had accomplished as much as he already had was a testimony to his zeal for the job and honest hard work.

  For that Michael was thankful, because it meant he’d had no unearned favors handed to him nor had he sought any. His rank and anticipated promotion were his responsibility and his reward.

  “With the help of the good Lord,” he added, casting a brief glance at the cloudy night sky beyond the streetlamps and remembering his spiritual roots. His father had not imparted any belief system but his mother had made up for it with a strong faith that never seemed to waver. As far as Michael was concerned, if he could become half the Christian his mother was, he’d be in good shape.

  When the elderly, spry, white-haired president of the local society for the advancement of women stood, the crowd hushed. In a clear but reedy voice she introduced Maud Younger to a roar of applause and cheering.

  Tess was surprised to note that Miss Younger didn’t look nearly as old as she had imagined she’d be. Her clothing was a simple but fashionable white lawn waist with vertical tucks and a dark skirt, fitted by plai
ting from waist to hip that accentuated her spare figure. Her grace and regal bearing reminded Tess a bit of her own mother, although this woman was barely old enough to have belonged to the same generation.

  “Good evening,” Miss Younger said, her voice carrying strongly. “As many of you know, I was born and raised right here in your fair city, and although I have been traveling the globe, I feel as though I’ve come home when I gaze upon the bay and wharves once again.” She smiled. “They smell the same, too.”

  That brought a wave of laughter. She waited for it to subside before continuing. “Many of you come from a background of wealth. Others don’t. That makes no difference in our movement. Here, we are all sisters, all equal in the eyes of God. Our goal is to make ourselves just as equal in the eyes of our fellow men, which brings me to the point. We have been treated as second-class citizens for countless generations. It is time for that unfair servitude to end.”

  As the cheers of the crowd rose and the entire audience stood to applaud, Tess felt a surge of pride for those present. Miss Younger was right. They were all equal. She had felt for a long time that she and Annie certainly were. Why, they had often shared the notion that they might as well be family. This movement was the affirmation of that idea, the answer to Tess’s fervent prayers for understanding and equality.

  Beside her, on the aisle, she heard a muttered yet clearly derogatory comment. Wide-eyed, she turned to the portly woman who had usurped Michael’s place, studying her features closely for the first time. “I beg your pardon?”

  “It’s that evil harridan up there who should beg all our pardons,” the matron said, frowning and pointing to the stage. “Does your father know you’re here?”

  “What?” Tess squinted at the round, jowly face. “Do I know you?”

  “You certainly should. My husband and I see you every Sunday in church.”