My Valentine Read online

  "Not at all."

  He pulled her aside as two young women sauntered by. They giggled and ogled Mr. Brown long after they had passed. Rosalyn knew because she watched them. She tightened her hand on his arm, feeling curiously possessive, which was total nonsense. Mr. Brown was not her beau—she barely knew him, something she would do well to remember.

  They approached a street crossing and he slowed his pace so that Rosalyn could pick her way across and avoid the worst of the mud. His gentlemanly act eased her fears somewhat. A cold wind raced around the corner, sneaking beneath the thick folds of her coat. She shivered. “Is it cold in New York?"

  "Very."

  Silence fell again. Rosalyn began to wonder why he agreed to come along in the first place. Then she remembered he hadn't actually agreed—she had pulled him along. Well, she thought crossly, he didn't have to come. He could go anytime he wished, couldn't he? In fact, she should tell him this minute how improper it was for her to be walking with him.

  "Have you worked for the company long?"

  Ah, so he did remember her presence! Contrary to her earlier caution, Rosalyn had to squash a ridiculous surge of pleasure. “Long enough to know that I don't want a big wedding.” When he stopped abruptly, Rosalyn realized he had no idea what she meant. She laughed up at him. “What I mean is, sometimes the valentines I deliver are proposals of marriage, and the happy couple insist I attend the wedding. So I'm rather put off with weddings."

  His brows came together. He looked suddenly angry, as if she had insulted him. Rosalyn took a wary step back. What on earth did she say to put such a look on his face?

  "So this morning, you didn't actually propose to a man?” he demanded.

  "Y—yes, I did,” she stuttered out truthfully, then clamped her lips shut. She couldn't tell him more, and from his fierce expression, she feared he was about to demand the whole story. Well, she didn't have to speak to him at all.

  "So you are engaged?"

  "No.” That much, she could say.

  "I'm confused."

  Rosalyn thought he looked confused, and just a bit angry. Because he thought her engaged? She nearly smiled at her ridiculous thought, but after another look at his determined expression, she decided against it. “I'm not engaged, but I did propose marriage to a man this morning. There, that's all I'm at liberty to say, so you'll have to figure it out.” She dropped her hand from his elbow and continued on without him. Just as well he turned out to possess an unsteady character, for she had a job to do.

  She heard footsteps on the boardwalk behind her a second before he grasped her arm and twisted her around, nearly sending her packages into the air. Grabbing them in the nick of time, she glared at him. “Mr. Brown, I'm beginning to think you might need medical attention.” She shuffled the valentines to one arm and tapped her forehead. “This kind."

  He ignored her diagnosis. “Are you telling me you proposed marriage to a man for someone else?"

  Rosalyn hushed him, leaning close to whisper, “Exactly. But I promised not to tell, so you have to promise me not to tell."

  A slow, devastating smile widened his mouth. Rosalyn prudently edged back. Lord, but the man could smile.

  "So you're not engaged."

  The remark slipped off her tongue before she could stop it. “Very good."

  "Smarty."

  And then, as if nothing had happened and they had not only just met, he tucked her hand back into the crook of his elbow. They continued on, turning off Main Street onto a deserted boardwalk. Walking past the town park, Worcester's pride and joy, Rosalyn directed them onto Clark Street. Stately homes lined either side of the road, boasting well-manicured lawns—now gray from the harsh breath of winter—and barren trees older than most of the townspeople.

  Rosalyn pondered on whether she actually saw relief in his hazel eyes on realizing she wasn't engaged. She finally concluded it was a figment of her wishful thinking, and put it from her mind. He was new to town and didn't appear to know anyone. Just lonely, and she, at least, was a face he recognized.

  "You didn't answer my question,” he reminded her.

  Rosalyn racked her brain and came up with nothing. “What question was that?” She honestly couldn't remember, and it was all his fault for smiling.

  "How long have you worked for the company?"

  "Oh. That question. The last time I answered that question, you turned into a maniac. I'm afraid I'll have to pass—” Rosalyn found herself in his arms before she could blink, staring up into his face. Keeping her voice even, she said, “You're crushing the valentines."

  "Answer the question,” he ordered softly.

  "And if I won't?” Rosalyn was amazed at her bravado, and more than a little ashamed of the fact that she enjoyed being exactly where she was. Now she was the crazy one, for a lady never allowed such liberties—most especially in a public place where anyone could happen upon them. If that wasn't reminder enough, she had only to remember he was a stranger.

  She gasped when his strong hand cupped the back of her neck and began to pull her closer. He smelled of wool and winter and made her think of cozy fires and furry slippers.

  Softly, he said, “If you won't answer the question, then I'll kiss you."

  Chapter Three

  A Gentleman You May Not Be

  But Still My Love I Pledge to Thee

  And If by Chance You Choose Me

  Then I Shall Know...

  Kiss her? Oh, no, she couldn't let that happen. “I—"

  She hesitated a moment too long. He finished the distance and covered her mouth with his own. It lasted the briefest of moments. Rosalyn jolted back to earth instantly, gasping as she pulled away—but not before she felt the probe of his tongue against the gap between her teeth.

  "Don't—don't do that,” she whispered, because it was all the voice she had.

  "Do what? Kiss you?” He held her shoulders, keeping her close as if he feared she would run.

  "Yes!” Heat scorched her cheeks as she glanced pointedly around them, hoping he would take the hint. She tried to pull free, but he held fast.

  "Ah, so you've never been kissed?"

  Rosalyn wished the ground would open up so she could jump inside. Humiliation sharpened her voice. “Don't be ridiculous. Of course I've been kissed, I'm twenty years old!” It was the first outright lie she ever remembered uttering.

  "Then why are you angry?” He sounded genuinely perplexed.

  With a flounce of her skirts, Rosalyn jerked free. She couldn't think with him holding on to her. Drats, she couldn't think with him looking at her, either. Firmly, she turned away and continued walking. Footsteps followed. “I'm not angry because you kissed me,” she said, keeping her eyes forward. She was angry with herself for letting him. “If it's so important to you, I've worked at The New England Valentine Factory for nearly two months."

  "You live with your parents?"

  Rosalyn frowned at the edge in his voice. She sensed more than just a casual interest, but she didn't see any harm in answering his question since it seemed so important to him. “No. I live with my employer, Miss Howland. She lets a room out to me."

  "You're an orphan, then?” he persisted.

  Swallowing an exasperated sigh, Rosalyn dug the address from her pocket and glanced at it. She stopped to get her bearings, then continued walking. “Yes. I'm an orphan. Are you an investigator? Do you live with your parents? What do you do for a living other than pester working ladies with personal questions?"

  His eyebrows rose and a smile played about his firm mouth. Rosalyn averted her gaze, still warm and tingly from that brief touch of his firm mouth. Lord, he could smile.

  To her relief, she spotted the house just ahead, a beautiful three-story Victorian with a columned porch and curving drive. The ruffled flounce of her coat skimmed the hedges of the narrow walkway as she approached the door. She sensed Mr. Brown behind her, and wondered if he intended to follow her home. She found the idea wickedly exciting.

&n
bsp; A young girl answered her knock, a polite smile on her face. She wore a white apron over a drab gray day gown as if she had just stepped out of the kitchen. In fact, Rosalyn thought she detected the tantalizing scent of cinnamon. Her mouth watered at the thought. She had missed lunch entirely.

  "Can I help you?” The woman glanced first at Rosalyn, then at Mr. Brown.

  Rosalyn's lips twitched as the girl's eyes widened in reaction. Yes, he was a handsome devil, and that was the problem. What could he possibly find interesting about her? And why was he following her around as if he thoroughly enjoyed her company?

  The door swung fully open and the prompt came again, this time with a hint of impatience. “Can I help you?"

  Rosalyn started from her day dreaming. “I have a special delivery valentine for Tabitha Gates?"

  The young woman's face lit up. “That's me!"

  Handing her the valentine, Rosalyn watched her carefully untie the red ribbon holding the tissue together. This was her favorite part—at least, most of the time. Thank goodness this appeared to be one of those times, if Tabitha's glowing face was any indication.

  When Tabitha finished looking over every inch of the card, she opened it and read the verse written on a separate slip of paper. Finally, she crushed the valentine to her chest and closed her eyes, her expression one of ecstasy. It was an expression Rosalyn was becoming very familiar with and sometimes envied.

  Tabitha's eyes suddenly snapped open. She glanced at Mr. Brown, then stepped close to Rosalyn as she whispered the question, “How much does a valentine like this cost, do you know?"

  Rosalyn smiled. “Seven dollars."

  "Seven dollars! Oh, my, seven dollars just for me."

  Tabitha's next response was so familiar, Rosalyn automatically braced herself. Tabitha flung her arms around Rosalyn and hugged her tight. “How can I ever thank you?"

  Inwardly, Rosalyn sighed. Why did they insist on giving her all of the credit? She didn't purchase the valentines, she only delivered them. “I'm just doing my job, Miss Gates. But ... if you really want to do something for me—"

  "Anything, just name it!” Joyful tears sparkled in Tabitha's's eyes, and Rosalyn thought she looked quite pretty.

  Rosalyn took a deep breath and said, “Don't invite me to your wedding."

  Mr. Brown smothered a laugh behind a gloved hand. Tabitha looked startled. “Well, if that's what you want, although I dare say Frank will insist—"

  "Please.” Rosalyn resisted the urge to punch Mr. Brown with her elbow. He wasn't the one who was forced to borrow dresses from co-workers. Her lips twitched at the absurdity of her thoughts.

  Leaving a happy customer behind, Rosalyn and Mr. Brown started out on the next delivery. They hadn't gone far when he said, “Do they always ask the price?"

  Rosalyn chuckled, remembering her own shock and amusement the first time it happened. “Yes. That's generally the first question."

  "And what's the second question?"

  Rosalyn hesitated, but not for long. She hadn't forgotten the last time she hesitated to answer his question. “Whether the man picked it out himself,” she said in an undertone, as if that in some way made it better.

  "Miss Gates forgot?"

  She nodded, once again looking at the address slip. Just as she was about to slip the note back into her pocket, he clasped her hand with his own. They came to a stop, their gazes locked together in an intimate way that took Rosalyn's breath away. Almost immediately, she felt the heat from his hand through her glove. But that wasn't possible, she thought. Anymore than it was possible she knew this man, although her heart was telling her otherwise.

  Looking into eyes a lighter shade than her own, Rosalyn waited for him to speak. She didn't realize she was holding her breath until her chest began to ache. Good gracious, what an interesting day she'd had. The thought of it ending, and of her never seeing Mr. Brown again made her want to prolong the moment, no matter how improper it was. Callie firmly believed true love only came around once, and if a person didn't embrace it with all their heart, the moment would be lost.

  Rosalyn wasn't certain this was love, but she knew it was something vitally important.

  "Someone must have cared for you very much. You have the look of a well loved child."

  The deep rumble of his voice seemed to vibrate through his arm into her hand. Rosalyn hardly knew what she was going to say until she heard the words from her own mouth. “I'm not a child.” Somehow, it was important he know this. “And someone did love me very much; my parents. The other person was a dear friend of my mother's who took me in after their death."

  For an instant, his hand tightened almost painfully on hers. “This Miss Howland you spoke of? Your boss?"

  The low, seductive sound of his voice encouraged her to confide in him. Rosalyn didn't hesitate. “No, her name was Callie Garret. She died two months ago.” Tears suddenly blurred her vision, brought on by his sympathetic expression. When he drew her head against his broad shoulder, Rosalyn was surprised to find the tears flowing hot and heavy. She hadn't realized she had been holding her grief inside until now.

  There had been no shoulder to cry on at the time of Callie's death.

  Rosalyn doubted there were many shoulders like Mr. Brown's.

  * * * *

  Christian folded his damp handkerchief and slipped it into his coat pocket, his speculative gaze following Rosalyn's retreating figure down the road as she hurried to make her last delivery.

  He managed to make his excuses after she finally dried her tears, but not before he convinced her to agree to dine with him later. Gaining her trust hadn't been as easy as he first thought, but nonetheless he was satisfied with the day's work.

  When he had walked into the valentine shop, he was stunned to find his damsel in distress. The rest was instinctive, and although he found it an odd coincidence, he couldn't say he was surprised to find she was the one he searched for.

  Rosalyn Mitchell didn't look like a thief, but Christian knew looks were often deceiving. He couldn't deny he found her attractive, either, but he considered this an added bonus as long as he didn't forget his motive for wooing Miss Mitchell.

  When Rosalyn was well and truly his, then he would tell her the truth and the necklace would be his also. She would be devastated by his treachery, of course, but she was young and strong. Strong people survived and learned from harsh experiences, and Miss Mitchell would be no exception.

  Having squashed all surfacing doubts as effectively as he squashed all weak emotions, Christian turned in the direction of town. Two weeks at the most, and Rosalyn Mitchell would be ready to give him the world.

  He wasn't greedy—all he wanted was the necklace, which was rightfully his anyway.

  * * * *

  I shouldn't be the least bit nervous about having dinner with Mr. Brown, Rosalyn muttered beneath her breath.

  She discarded three garments before settling on a dove gray skirt and pink blouse. Eying the pitifully few remaining costumes in the standing wardrobe, she decided it was a good thing she had made a decision.

  Behind her in the bedroom, Alice perched on the edge of the bed watching her, eyes aglow with curiosity. Rosalyn thought it unfortunate the shop clerk's room was next to hers. She didn't mean to be unkind, but Alice could not keep a secret for the life of her.

  She had spent the last thirty minutes fobbing questions about the tall stranger Alice saw her leave with. Drats, and she had so hoped Alice hadn't seen them.

  "I like the blue satin the best. But of course, you know what he prefers,” the young girl said slyly.

  Rosalyn turned from the mirror, laughing despite herself at the girl's persistence. “Alice Carter, you ought to be ashamed! I do not know the gentleman at all, other than his name and that he's from New York."

  Alice clapped her hands, her eyes wide. “New York!"

  Drats, drats, drats, Rosalyn thought. She was better off not speaking at all. “Yes, New York. And that's all I know."


  "But, you said you knew his name..."

  "Of course I know his name. I wouldn't be going to dinner with a perfect stranger, now would I?"

  "I would,” came Alice's impudent reply.

  Rosalyn pretended she didn't hear and fussed with the ruffles on the blouse, wondering if she really should wear the blue satin. Mr. Brown said they would dine at the Eleganta, which was a bit fancier than the Casterillo where she sometimes went with Miss Howland on Saturday nights.

  With a last flick at the ruffles, she smoothed the faded, but still-serviceable wool skirt and declared herself ready. She had pulled her hair into a careless knot atop her head with a curl at each temple.

  Her stomach churned with nervous tension. Dinner with a nice gentleman, she reminded herself firmly. The kiss they'd shared—he'd taken—was nothing more, nothing less. A broken heart wasn't on her wish list of future accomplishments, and if anyone could break her heart she suspected it would be Chris Brown with his bold eyes and wicked smile.

  Well, she was on her guard.

  "Why won't you tell me his name? What is the big secret?"

  Sighing, Rosalyn fixed Alice with a warning glare. “If I tell you—"

  "I swear on my mother's grave!"

  "Alice! You shouldn't swear.” Rosalyn tapped her foot, wincing as the too-narrow shoes pinched her tender toes. “It's not a secret, really. I just didn't want everyone to think—to know—to assume Mr. Brown was my beau. He's just come to town and he doesn't know anyone, so I'm keeping him company."

  "Mr. Brown—"

  Rosalyn held up her hand and Alice clamped her mouth shut. “Chris Brown, and don't you dare mention his name at work on Monday. You know how the girls are, and if they get wind of this they'll have me married before the week is out,” Rosalyn finished. It was true, too. For most women, it was their goal in life to find a suitable man and get married.

  Rosalyn wasn't most women, and she wanted to go to college first. Although Callie had loved her husband, she always regretted not finishing school and Rosalyn didn't intend to make the same mistake. Men in general did not like their wives to work, and they would frown—if not outright balk—at their wives attending college.