Read Escapade (9781301744510) for Free Online Page B

conjuring up images of naked men. She began to scrub herself
more vigorously, attempting to blot all idea of Zeke Morrison from
her mind. But once she had allowed him to invade her thoughts, she
couldn't seem to be rid of the man.
    What a strange fellow he was. He didn't fit
her notions of a millionaire, the kind Angelo was always reading
about to her from the newspaper, who had a house on Fifth Avenue,
racing yachts at Newport, a box at the Opera. With his quick
temper, his hearty laugh and his burly shoulders, Zeke reminded her
more of a stevedore or a wagon driver, rubbing down his horses,
hanging about Tony Pascal's music hall, getting into fights of a
Saturday night.
    From his snapping dark eyes to that rock-hard
jaw, the man bore an intensity about him that had made all those
sedate guests of his seem as faded as last summer's flowers. And
what was his connection to that Van Hallsburg woman, an icicle if
Rory had ever seen one?
    Obviously some sort of intimacy existed
between them. Could she possibly be his mistress? Rory found the
thought disturbing, even more than that—repulsive.
    But the woman must be well acquainted with
Zeke to attempt handing out orders in his house. Mrs. Van Hallsburg
might be belowstairs even now arguing that Rory should be turned
over to the police. Perhaps Zeke might listen. No. Quick-tempered
Morrison might be, but somehow Rory could tell there was nothing
mean-spirited Or vindictive about him. On the other hand, that Mrs.
Van Hallsburg-.
    A shudder coursed through Rory and her bath
no longer seemed quite so soothing. The water had grown tepid.
Clambering out of the tub, she toweled herself dry. Gingerly she
tested her ankle, putting her full weight on it. It was still sore,
but at least somewhat better.
    She reached for the satiny robe the maid had
provided and shrugged herself into it, belting the sash about her
waist. The garment, with its batwing sleeves, was in pristine
condition, likely never worn and purchased solely for the intention
of entertaining the casual overnight guest.
    Imagine anyone being that rich they could
hand out spare robes like bonbons. For a moment, Rory felt a twinge
of wistfulness. Not that she envied Morrison the splendors of his
mansion or even that fantastic bathtub. But she bet what he had
spent furnishing this one room alone would have been enough to save
her company.
    Morrison could probably finance a dozen
balloon companies if he wanted to. Pity she had made such a
terrible first impression on him. She could well imagine what his
reaction would be if she attempted to sound him out as a possible
investor in the Transcontinental Balloon Company.
    Now that you have seen exactly what balloons
can do, Mr. Morrison
    He would either laugh in her face or toss her
into the street for sure. With a rueful grin, Rory banished the
absurd notion from her mind.
    Making certain the robe was secured, she
crept out into the bedchamber. Neither of the maids had returned,
but it was unreasonable to expect them to have dried out her gown
so soon.
    Still, as the minutes ticked by, Rory came to
regret her decision to part with her clothes. Being decked out in
only the robe kept her a virtual prisoner in the bedchamber. The
waiting began to seem interminable, and she grew anxious, noting
the deep hues of twilight gathering outside the window, the way the
rain still pelted against the glass.
    What if Tony couldn't find her? No, she was
being silly. Tony always managed to track the course of the
balloon.
    To occupy her time, Rory paced about studying
the room's pictures, furnishings and especially that mammoth bed
beneath its canopy. Lord almighty, how did anyone ever sleep on
such a thing? It would be like cuddling up for a nap inside of a
museum. Rory stole a half-guilty glance about her. Although she
felt like an urchin sneaking about in a palace, she couldn't
resist.
    She boosted herself up onto the bed and sat
down, testing the springs with a small bounce. The mattress