Rescuing the Heiress Read online

  “I had noticed.” She lagged as her father began to urge her past. “Why do you think that is?”

  “I don’t know.” Michael was so entranced he could barely think, let alone make polite conversation. This was the very chance he’d hoped and prayed for and there he stood, practically speechless.

  “You’re the prettiest girl in San Francisco tonight,” he finally said aside, hoping that the street noise would keep his comment from being easily overheard, especially by her father.

  Tess laughed gaily and glanced back over her shoulder at him as she walked off. There was a twinkle in her eyes. “Only tonight?”

  Before Michael had a chance to answer, she was too far away to have heard him unless he had shouted. That would have been foolish. And highly improper. After all, what woman in Tess’s position would want a passerby shouting to her about her beauty?

  He waited until the Clarks’ driver was ready, then released the team to him and returned to his former place on the sidewalk across the street. There was no need to stay away from the fire station premises any longer, although there was no current need for his services. He had seen what—who—he had been waiting for.

  And he knew in his heart that he would never forget the way Tess had looked tonight. He’d meant every word he’d said. She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever laid eyes on, in San Francisco or anywhere else.

  And when she had smiled at him with those dancing eyes and that impish expression that said far more than mere words ever could, he’d felt as if he were the only man in the world.

  As far as he was concerned, Tess Clark might not be the only woman but she was the only one who mattered.

  Chapter Eight

  Gerald Clark, imposing as ever in his starched white ruffled shirt with diamond studs, pleated velvet cummerbund and tailcoat, greeted Phineas Edgerton in the lobby, as planned, making Tess’s stomach lurch.

  She accompanied her father up the stairway to his private box while trying her best to ignore the other man. They all waited while an attendant drew back the heavy, tasseled curtain that served as its door.

  Following her father into the box, she was amazed by the garlands of real orchids, roses and narcissus that festooned the curved balcony of not only their box but all the others, as well as decorating the leading edges of the stage and orchestra pit. The embellishment made the opera house look like a beautiful garden and the scattered petals of fruit blossoms perfumed the air most deliciously.

  Unbidden, Phineas cupped her elbow and guided her to a chair next to the larger one that was always reserved for her father. Once she was settled, the younger banker collapsed his top hat and placed his silver-handled cane across the closest seat at her other hand, clearly appropriating it for himself.

  “Are you comfortable, my dear?” Phineas asked, hovering as he helped her off with her cape and draped it carefully over the back of an empty chair.

  Tess merely nodded, feeling so trapped she was ready to scream and seeing no way to escape, gracefully or otherwise. As far as she was concerned, being sandwiched between her father and Phineas Edgerton was akin to being laced into her corset. The sooner she could be free of all of them, the happier she’d be and the better she’d be able to breathe.

  Withdrawing her ebony and silver, engraved opera glasses from the beaded bag, she raised them and concentrated on watching the stage as the orchestra finished tuning up and the overture began.

  “I was delighted when G.B. asked me to accompany you this evening,” Phineas leaned closer to say.

  All Tess did was lift a gloved finger to her lips in a plea for silence. To her relief, he settled back in his seat and stopped trying to engage her in conversation.

  Watching the performance, Tess imagined herself as the gypsy, Carmen, with Michael as Don Jose. Except that she would never lead the man she loved astray like that, nor would she turn from him to another man the way she knew Carmen eventually would.

  At intermission, Tess politely excused herself and left Phineas and her father behind in the box, insisting with a demure blush that she had no need of an escort to the powder room.

  Her thin satin slippers made no sound on the thick carpet as she hurried quickly, gracefully, to the multi-paned window at the end of the hallway. That alcove was located close to the ladies’ room door so she figured she could always duck in there if anyone happened to question why she was prowling the halls alone.

  She’d gone to that window specifically to look down on San Francisco. To seek another glimpse of her personal Don Jose. The city below was well-lit and bustling with activity, as expected. Would Michael still be lingering on the corner where she had last seen him? Probably not. Nevertheless, she had to look.

  Shading her eyes from the dancing flashes of light from the crystal prisms on the electric lamps behind her, she studied the street. It was no use. If Michael was still among the pedestrians she was unable to pick him out from so far away.

  Tess folded her gloved hands and closed her eyes to pray, “Father, please tell me what to do. How can I let Michael know that I care?”

  Unshed tears gathered behind her lashes as she pictured the gallant fireman. “And keep him safe, Lord. Please? He’s in danger all the time and I would die if anything happened to him.”

  That heartfelt, honest prayer became her answer. She loved Michael. Period. If only she could run to him right now, throw herself into his arms and tell him… Tell him what?

  Behind her the house lights flashed, then began to dim. It was time to return to her seat—to her father and Phineas—for the rest of the performance. For the betrayal of poor Don Jose and the eventual death of Carmen.

  Tess had to force herself to take the necessary steps. She sighed as she reentered the Clark box and resumed her place. This was not the right time to act on her revelation and go in search of Michael. She had a duty to Papa to remain with him for the rest of the evening. It would cause him great worry and consternation if she left the opera house without explanation, and trying to sensibly voice what was on her heart was beyond impossible.

  Not only would he have been livid as a result, she herself wasn’t sure how she felt or what she might say with regard to the yearnings she was experiencing.

  Enrico Caruso’s continuing portrayal of Don Jose was magnificent and beautifully tragic as she’d known it would be, yet all Tess could think about was how dashing Michael had looked when he’d raced to her rescue and grabbed the bridles of the frightened horses.

  As the famous tenor sang and her mind drifted with the music, she was able to couple her memories of the real hero in her life with the romantic images created onstage. Tears gathered behind her lashes once again and she tried to blink them away without letting either of her companions see that she was so moved.

  Her heart soared, then plummeted, then rose again on wings of hope as the orchestra played and the magnificent voices lifted together to tingle her nerves and leave her enthralled.

  Every note, every crescendo, reminded her of Michael. If this was what true love did to a person’s emotions, she didn’t like it one bit. How could she possibly have been foolish enough to have fallen for that man?

  A lump in her throat and a shiver singing up her spine provided absolute proof. She not only could have, she had. The question was no longer what had happened, it was what she should do about it to avoid the kind of tragedy being portrayed in the final act of the Bizet opera.

  By the time the curtain fell and the performers were taking their bows, Tess was no closer to a sensible conclusion than she had been before. That was the basic problem, of course. There was nothing logical about her dilemma so there could be no rational decision.

  Mostly, she wanted to speak privately with Michael, although how she might accomplish that—or what she would say to him if she did—remained a puzzle. It was only Tuesday. By her reckoning it would be at least a week and a half before he revisited the estate, assuming he stuck to his usual schedule. And anything could happen to al
ter that.

  Tess’s vivid imagination pictured him meeting and falling in love with someone else in that short space of time, just the way Carmen had ultimately chosen the toreador over the soldier who had given up everything for her love.

  That vivid notion pained her deeply. Not that she had any claim on Michael Mahoney. Yet, in the back of her mind she kept hoping that something would alter their circumstances enough that they could face their attraction to each other and at least discuss it sensibly.

  Women clad in furs, satin and diamonds had gathered at the base of the stage and were showering a proud Caruso with roses and effusive praise.

  Yawning, Gerald Clark led the way out of the box before the applause had fully died, leaving Phineas to help Tess don her fur wrap.

  San Francisco’s mayor, Eugene Schmitz, a former orchestra leader himself, encountered the group in the teeming upper hallway and struck up a lively conversation with the banker.

  “If you gentlemen will excuse me,” Tess said with a slight smile and careful incline of her head so she wouldn’t disturb her highly decorative coif, “I’ll be waiting in the lobby.” She fanned herself with a gloved hand for emphasis. “I must have some fresh air.”

  To her dismay, Phineas immediately offered his arm and stepped forward to escort her. She had no choice but to allow him to do so. Moving slowly amid the press of the crowd, they descended the staircase from the private box to the immense, vaulted lobby with its gilded fixtures, Raphaelesque murals and crystal chandeliers.

  She paid little attention to anyone other than to return their polite nods or brief greetings. Traversing the plush Oriental-patterned carpeting of the staircase, Tess had to admit that briefly touching Phineas was better than possibly slipping in her new shoes and causing a scene. The last thing she wanted was to give her father more reason to chastise her.

  The lobby was teeming with opera aficionados, all praising Caruso’s performance. Tess knew it was a coup to get the famous New York Metropolitan Opera Company to appear at their opera house and she was proud that her city had managed to do so for the second time.

  “Wait here while I go shout for the carriage,” Phineas said, patting her hand in parting after they reached the lobby level. “G.B. should be down to join you in a moment.”

  Tess nodded amiably. She wasn’t afraid to be left alone in the midst of the milling multitude, even though a few of the attendees’ outfits were not up to the elegant standards of hers and her father’s. In Tess’s opinion, that was a good thing. The more people who could appreciate the fine arts, the better for the city as a whole.

  Spotting a sleek carriage that she assumed was hers, she clasped her cape at her neck with one gloved hand and lifted her gossamer hem slightly, proceeding out the door. When she drew closer to the street, however, she realized that she had been mistaken so she stepped out of the way to let others pass.

  The foyer of the opera house was too crowded to comfortably reenter and the night’s weather was fairly pleasant for a change, so she decided to remain outside to wait for Phineas and her father.

  Bejeweled women swept past like the outgoing tide, most prattling excitedly about how they’d found Caruso such an enthralling hero figure. Tess smiled to herself. She’d enjoyed the opera, of course, but in her eyes there was only one true hero.

  Still picturing Michael, she imagined she saw his familiar, broad-shouldered figure crossing the street and coming toward her.

  Her breath caught. She pressed her hand to her throat. Disbelief was quickly replaced with delight. It was Michael! And he had clearly noticed her, too.

  Nervous and unsure of what course to take, she edged to the fringe of the mass of exiting opera lovers and waited for him.

  He rushed directly to her. The sight of him was so thrilling, so dear, she immediately offered her hand. He grasped and held it without hesitation.

  “Michael,” Tess whispered, knowing that there was much unsaid in her tone, in her gaze. “How did you find me in this terrible crowd?”

  “I don’t know,” he replied softly. “I can only stay a moment. I have to get back to the station soon.”

  “You shouldn’t have come again. I don’t want you to risk losing your job.”

  “I won’t. A friend is covering for me. I just had to see you again, to tell you how beautiful you are.”

  “I want to meet where we can talk more freely,” Tess said quietly aside, squeezing his fingers for emphasis. “Not at the house, though. Perhaps you could send word through Mary and I could meet you some afternoon in Golden Gate Park.”

  “I’d like that,” he said.

  Before she could reply he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed the backs of her fingers through the glove, exactly the way she had seen many fine gentlemen express affection.

  Tess was glad Michael was still holding her hand because she felt woozy. Her eyes widened. Then she began to smile broadly. “I wish you were the one escorting me home again this evening.”

  His eyebrows arched and he gave a soft laugh. “So do I, Miss Clark. So do I.”

  “You should call me Tess, you know.”

  “Should I? I wonder.”

  She saw his smile fade and his focus narrow as he glanced past her shoulder, then dropped her hand.

  “Here comes your father. I have to go.”

  “Meet me? Promise?” Tess called after him as he whirled and jogged back across the street.

  Although he didn’t answer or even wave, she knew he would be getting in touch with her to set up their rendezvous. What she would say to him, or he to her, when they finally did meet in private was another matter altogether. She only knew that the prayer she’d said for Michael during the intermission was already being answered. The rest of her many concerns she would also try to release and leave the results up to God.

  She turned to greet her father. To her great relief he was showing no sign that he had seen who had just kissed her hand and had won her heart long before that.

  For the time being, keeping her father in the dark was exactly what Tess wanted. If and when the time came to tell him of her errant heart’s desire, then she would pray for the wisdom to do so prudently.

  In retrospect, it was easy to imagine that God had brought her and Michael together for His divine purposes. She wasn’t about to deny a providential nudge like that. She simply wasn’t ready to beard the lion in his own den and confess anything to her father before she was sure it would be necessary.

  Suppose Michael rejected her profession of love? she asked herself. The very thought of such a thing made her tremble but it also provided a caution against blurting out her feelings without making certain that they were returned in kind.

  Michael was so engrossed in thoughts of Tess and her plea for a private meeting with him that he was back on Howard Street in front of Station #4 before he even realized he’d arrived.

  What had he done? Had he inadvertently led her on?

  Michael made a guttural sound of self-disgust. Of course he had. And he had no one to blame but himself. He’d given in to his desire to see Tess again and by approaching her tonight he had made her believe that his interest was too personal.

  Who was he kidding? It was personal. And kicking himself for displaying his fondness for her so openly would do no good.

  The sensible course of action was to meet Tess as she’d asked, then explain to her why they could never declare any shared affection. He could do that. He would do that. It was the only honorable choice.

  Clenching his jaw, he entered the rear of the fire station and noticed that the horses were still snorting, shuffling and acting decidedly uneasy. When he spotted O’Neill trying to comfort them he joined him.

  “What’s wrong with all these animals tonight?” Michael asked.

  “Beats me. I thought maybe you’d given them an extra ration of grain.”

  “Not me. Must be some other reason. A lot of the horses out on the streets are acting the same way.”

  His
fellow fireman began to scowl. “That doesn’t sound good. You know what usually happens when they get this upset.”

  “Sure.” Michael shrugged off the concern. “Don’t worry though. The city may shake a little from time to time but it never amounts to much. Any serious trouble we were going to have has already happened years ago.” He eyed the steam pipes leading up from the boiler in the basement that they kept heated in preparation for charging the mobile pumpers with hot water. “It’s not like it was in the old days before the fire brigades formed. We’re ready for anything now.”

  O’Neill nodded. “Aye. That we are. I’ll just feel better about it when these horses tell me it’s safe again.”

  Chuckling, Michael agreed. “Me, too. In the meantime, how’s your hangover? Do you want to take the watch tonight or shall I?”

  “Since you let me nap away me big head all afternoon, I think you should have the whole night to sleep, if you want,” O’Neill said with a wry grin. “Callahan and I can listen for any alarms and wake you if we need you.”

  Michael figured he wouldn’t sleep a wink because of his constant thoughts of Tess but he nevertheless accepted the offer of an entire night off. His quarters were upstairs in the station, along with those of many of the other firemen, so he wasn’t far away if he was needed.

  He clapped his friend on the shoulder. “All right. It’s a bargain. I’m such a light sleeper I usually hear the alarm going off anyway.”

  “Why do you think I drink?” O’Neill asked with a grin. “Can’t hardly sleep without a little medicine to calm the old nerves.”

  “I wish we could give some to these poor nags,” Michael said with a snort of derision. “If they don’t settle down pretty soon they’ll be too worn-out to pull the engines.”

  “I know. I’ll stick with ’em for a bit. Might even make me a pallet out here so I can tell if they get worse.”

  “You sure you don’t want company?”

  “Naw. I owe you. Besides, horses don’t care if there’s a bit of the grog on a man’s breath.”