Beloved Protector

by Linda O'Brien

Avon Historical Romance November 2001

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CHAPTER ONE

 Chicago, Illinois, September 10, 1898

            The doorbell buzzed, causing both women to pause in mid-argument. Eliza Lowe glanced up the wide, black marble hallway, where the outline of a man was visible through the frosted glass. She glowered at her aunt. “That’s him, isn’t it?”

            “Eliza, please listen to reason. A young lady of your class cannot travel west alone. It’s unseemly, not to mention that traveling with such an enormous amount of money is dangerous. And Mr. Brogan will make a perfectly wonderful escort for you.”

            “Mr. Brogan is a Pinkerton, Auntie Vi, not an escort.”

            Short, plump and white-haired, Violet Lowe wrung her hands, her soft features puckering in distress. “Yes, but he’s the best Pinkerton the agency has. Mr. Riley, the assistant chief of the agency, assured me that Mr. Brogan was just the man for your purposes.”

            The bell sounded again, more insistent this time. Violet’s gaze darted nervously toward the door. “We should answer that, Eliza.”

            “Please, Auntie Vi,” Eliza continued, ignoring the buzz, “let me do this myself.”

            “Eliza, child,” her aunt said in exasperation, “why must you be so headstrong? Your sister Mariah wouldn’t go traipsing off alone. ”

            “I won’t be traipsing; I’m not a child; and I’m most definitely not Mariah; she’s much too serious minded. But I am nearly as smart as she is, though no one believes it.”

            “Eliza, if you persist on seeing this plan through --”

            ”You know I must.”

            “ -- then, as your legal guardian, I insist you have a proper escort.”

            Eliza was growing desperate. “Proper?  Auntie Vi, I’ve seen these Pinkerton men skulking around town --  burly, aging bullies with thick moustaches, scraggly sideburns, dusty clothing and wads of tobacco in their cheeks. Hardly proper escorts.”

            “Meet Mr. Brogan, Eliza. That’s all I ask.”

            The doorbell buzzed three times in succession.

            Eliza huffed in annoyance. “Very well. I’ll meet him. But that’s all I’m agreeing to do.” She marched up the hallway muttering under her breath. A Pinkerton! She threw a quick glance at the tall case clock against one wall. “It’s two o’clock, Auntie Vi. I have exactly one half hour to talk to this Pinkerton.”

            She flung open the door and stared straight into the lapels of a man’s dusty brown suit coat.

            A deep voice above her said, “One half hour will be sufficient.”

            Eliza tilted her head up, her mouth falling open in surprise. Ye Gods! He was handsome.

            His shrewd, sage green gaze assessed her, moving slowly from the hem of her blue silk dress to her upswept black curls. “Case Brogan,” he said, adding with a note of sarcasm, “the Pinkerton.”

            Eliza’s stunned gaze traveled the length of him. His clothes certainly fit the image, as did his stiff, expressionless features. But nothing else about him did -- not his age, nor his proud bearing, nor his wide, straight shoulders, nor his neatly shaved face that smelled of bay rum, nor the thick sandy brown hair that was so clean it gleamed. Even his voice - deep and resonate - was a surprise. Unable to stop gaping, Eliza took a step back.

            “Do come in, Mr. Brogan,” Violet chirped happily, sweeping toward the door.

            As Case moved into the spacious hall, Eliza backed up further and nearly stumbled on one of her aunt’s three Siamese cats, who’d come to investigate their guest. The cat let out an indignant howl and fled, drawing the hired detective’s attention straight back to Eliza.

            Her cheeks burned as he gazed at her curiously. With as much grace as possible, Eliza gave him a brief smile, smoothed her skirts and tucked an escaped curl behind her ear.

            “This is my niece, Eliza Lowe,” Violet went on smoothly, pretending not to have noticed the near collision.

            Eliza held out her hand and said coolly, “How do you do, Mr. Brogan?”

            Case took her hand in his large, rough one. For such a stern looking man, the warmth of his hand astonished her. “Miss Lowe.”

            His penetrating gaze held hers for a long moment, sending tingles of electricity all the way down to her toes. Was there a glimmer of interest in his eyes?

            He turned to her aunt, took the woman’s plump little hand and pressed her knuckles to his lips. He certainly did not lack manners. “How are you today, Mrs. Lowe?”

            “Wonderful, Mr. Brogan,” Violet gushed. “Thank you for asking. I was just telling my niece about you . . .”  She trailed off, no doubt figuring that Case had overheard their conversation through the door. “Why don’t you come into the parlor? Mary has set out tea and cakes for us.”

            He glanced down at his clothing. “I don’t want to soil your furniture. I walked quite a distance along the lake this morning.”

            Eliza gazed at him speculatively. “For exercise?”

            One corner of his mouth twitched slightly, as if the thought amused him. “For my job.”

            “Land sakes, don’t give it a thought,” Violet said. “I’ve never seen such a dry, windy September.”

            As they chatted about the weather, Eliza briefly considered slipping out with what was left of her dignity, but Case swung back around and fixed her with his devastating gaze.

            “After you, Miss Lowe.”

            Eliza drew herself up to queenly heights and swept regally past him. Seating herself on one of the twin rose damask sofas in front of the hearth, she daintily plucked a bite-sized, sugared rum cake from the tray and placed it on a dessert plate. Case took a seat on the opposite sofa.

            “Tea, Mr. Brogan?” her aunt asked, hovering over the silver tray on the mahogany butler’s table between the sofas.

            He accepted a cup with thanks and sipped the brew without sugar. Eliza shuddered at the thought and dropped three cubes into her cup. Was there any way she could get rid of him? Her aunt was genuinely concerned about her, and, just as importantly, controlled the purse strings.

            But perhaps she could wiggle out of it yet.

            While Violet inquired about the man’s well-being, Eliza munched on her cake and studied him. How sad that he had chosen such an inglorious occupation when he could have easily been a theater actor. He had such a commanding voice, such a virile presence, and those eyes . . .  were staring straight at her. Eliza froze. Had he asked her something?

            She hastily applied her napkin to the sugar crumbs on her lips. “I beg your pardon?”

            “I said I’d like to hear more about your trip.”

            Eliza heaved an exaggerated sigh as she set her dessert plate aside. “It’s nothing, really. My closest friend has asked me to lend her some money, and I simply want to take it to her. Actually, Mr. Brogan, I would imagine this venture to be a waste of time for someone of your --” She paused to search for a flattering word. “ – caliber. And it will almost certainly tie you up for weeks. I would understand completely if you didn’t wish to take on such a boring job.”

            Case’s eyes narrowed in an unmistakable show of distrust. Did he actually doubt her word?

            “Many of my assignments are boring, Miss Lowe, but I was hired to escort you, not to be entertained.”

             Eliza sipped her tea and regarded him coolly over the rim. He was much too rigid and cold for her liking; she couldn’t imagine having to travel with him. What was she to do? Her plan to discourage him didn’t seem to be working.

            “When are you supposed to deliver the money to your friend?” he asked.

            “As soon as I can get there.”

            “Where is that?”

            “I don’t know yet. They were heading east from Wyoming. I’m  waiting for directions as to where to meet them, which I should receive by wire this afternoon. Mr. Brogan, to be honest, I simply don’t need you to accompany me. I can do this alone.”

            “Eliza, we’ve already had this conversation,” her aunt said firmly. “Mr. Brogan has been hired, and that’s the end of it.”

            “Why don’t you tell me what circumstances caused your friend to need the money?” Case suggested, clearly impatient to get down to business.

            Eliza gave him a doubtful glance as she balanced her cup and saucer on her knee. “All I know is what Eileen wrote - that her husband is in trouble and must clear his name or face serious consequences.”

            “Imprisonment is the word Eileen used,” Violet interjected vociferously. “Francis Caroni faces imprisonment! To be accused of a crime warranting such a punishment surely means the man did something wrong. You know what I always say, Eliza: where there’s smoke there’s fire. And this smoke could put you in danger -- which is why I’m insisting upon an escort!”

            Eliza jumped up to protest, knocking the cup and saucer onto the Persian rug. Case sat back with a scowl of impatience as both women hurried to mop up the spill, arguing like chattering magpies.

            If not for Francis Caroni, he would have refused this assignment.

            Case took a drink of tea, reflecting on the conversation he’d had with his boss, Assistant Chief Malcomb C. Riley, that morning:

            “Brogan, an old friend of mine, Violet Lowe, came to see me yesterday afternoon, and after listening to her request, I’ve decided to turn the matter over to you. Normally, I wouldn’t assign you this type of job, but when you hear the details, you’ll understand why.”

            Case had watched him curiously. “Go on.”

            “Mrs. Lowe’s niece has a friend living out west who’s asked for her help -- to the tune of a one thousand dollar loan, which Mrs. Lowe has generously offered to provide. The niece is determined to take it to her personally and believes her friend’s husband has been falsely accused of a crime. They need the money to flee to Mexico, supposedly to give him time to clear his name.”

            “How is this important to me?”

            ”The man’s name, Brogan, is Francis Caroni.”

            For a moment Case had been too paralyzed to speak, overcome by a heavy, smothering fog of rage. Frank Caroni -- the man who had murdered his father -- had surfaced at last.

            “Here’s the warrant,” Riley had said, handing him an envelope.

            Case had taken the envelope without opening it, his teeth clenched so tightly together that he’d barely squeezed out his next words. “Where is he?”

            “As of the last letter, somewhere in eastern Wyoming, but they’re heading this way. Apparently the niece has wired them for a meeting place. She’s intent on helping them escape.”

            Case had squeezed the arm rests until his knuckles had blanched. Escape? Not a chance in hell he’d let Caroni escape again. This time he’d have his revenge.

            “Your assignment, Brogan, is to deliver the niece safely to her friend with the money and return her back home again. As for Caroni -- he’s wanted dead or alive. I’m not telling you what to do with him -- we’ll get our fee in either case -- but let me give you this piece of advice: don’t let your hatred make decisions for you. I trust that you’ll make the right choice when the time comes.”

            Trust. Case didn’t believe in it.

            He’d reminded his boss that he hadn’t failed an assignment yet and had no intention of failing this one. However, Case always worked alone. The last thing he wanted was a traveling partner -- a chattering, eyelash fluttering one at that.

            And now that he’d met Eliza, he’d have to add willful and alluring to the list. Willful he could ignore. He wasn’t so sure he could so easily disregard her allure. It was disarmingly intense.

            “Just remember two things, Case, and you’ll do fine,” Riley had cautioned. “First, you need this young woman to lure Caroni out of hiding. Second, her aunt is an old friend of mine who’s entrusting me with the safety of her niece. So stay on good terms with her, but not too good. I know how the ladies take to you.”

            “It won’t be a problem.”

            Or would it? Case turned his attention back to the women. Violet was still arguing her point, while Eliza was on her knees reaching beneath the sofa to retrieve her cup, offering him a very tantalizing posterior view. 

            He watched with interest as she rose, put the cup and saucer back on the table, and gracefully settled once again on the sofa. There was definitely no denying her attraction. Eliza had a magnetic presence about her that drew the eye. He couldn’t imagine her as anything but a chaste miss, yet those demure glances and that sultry voice seemed more in keeping with a temptress. Which one was she?

            For some reason, a picture of Eliza reclining seductively on that fancy pink sofa slipped into his mind. One hip up, one arm languidly behind her head, her legs slightly bent at the knees to expose a bit of ankle. . . Maybe she’d pull that stray black curl down over one blue eye and wind it around a finger. Or maybe she’d brush the tip of her index finger across her lips where a few sugar crystals lingered.

            He had a sudden image of licking the crystals off those luscious lips himself.

            Feeling the onset of a bad case of arousal, Case took a gulp of hot tea, wincing as the heat seared his tongue. But at least it served to cool his ardor.

            “Is your friend from a wealthy family? ” he asked Eliza.

            “Yes. Why do you ask?”

            “What do you know about her husband?”

            “Francis came into my hometown in southern Indiana as a traveling salesman. He met Eileen, fell madly in love with her and swept her off her feet. They eloped four days later.” Eliza sighed wistfully. “It was so romantic! Poor Eileen had been certain she’d end up an old maid.”

            “Why was that?”

            “Homely,” Violet whispered.

            “Plain,” Eliza corrected, “but as sweet-natured as honey. No man could help but fall in love with her.”

            “No man ever did,” Violet added in an undertone.

            “It just took the right man to appreciate her,” Eliza said, with a scowl directed toward her aunt. “Mr. Brogan, Eileen has been my best friend since we were five years old. She’s come to my aid more times than I can count. Now she’s in trouble and she’s asked for my help. I don’t care how much of a bother it is or how long it takes, I’m going to give it to her.”

            “But only with your assistance, Mr. Brogan,” Violet added.

            Case glanced at Violet, perched on the edge of a chair, watching him hopefully, whereas Eliza seemed exceptionally eager for him to back out. He sorely wished he could accommodate her and go after Caroni alone; but, however vexing, he did need her.

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