She shook her head and pulled on her yellow kid gloves. Clive had always been slightly unpredictable, but she had a bad feeling that her refusal did not bode well for any future interaction. Well, there was one positive aspect of the whole encounter, she thought to herself as she left the office the long way to avoid Clive’s desk. After this, dealing with best babies was bound to be a snap.
“Watch where the hell you’re going, mister!” The shrill shriek of the unknown woman’s voice carried loudly over the din of traffic on Broadway as she bent to pick up her spilled packages. A few passersby turned to stare briefly, ascertained that nothing more exciting than the jostling of two fellow pedestrians had occurred, and kept moving.
Mortified, Daniel stooped to help her. “I’m so sorry, madam; allow me to assist you.” He had been so busy staring at Genevieve’s quickly moving form that he’d completely ignored his surroundings, a potentially life-threatening act on a street as busy as Broadway. While he’d managed not to walk into oncoming traffic, he had crashed into the poor woman in front of him, sending her many bundles flying.
Daniel quickly snatched a parcel wrapped in brown paper—bread from the feel of it—before it was squashed under a booted foot, then scurried after a hatbox that had rolled dangerously close to the edge of the sidewalk. Straightening up and cursing under his breath, he hurried back to the red-faced woman, who was waiting for him impatiently.
He piled the packages into her already-laden arms. “Are these all of them?” he asked politely. The woman responded by nastily telling him, in no uncertain terms, exactly where he could go. Daniel raised his brows at her retreating form, impressed; he hadn’t heard cursing like that in years.
Turning southward again, he scanned the busy street for a sign of Genevieve’s trim figure in her blue suit, but the pedestrian traffic had swallowed her up. He was near Park Row, though, where the city’s newspaper buildings were housed. It was a bit after noon; perhaps she’d been returning to the office from lunch.
Daniel shoved his hands in his pockets and began walking again toward Gramercy Park. He’d been returning from a meeting with a client, and the crisp February day was so fine he’d sent his own carriage back to the office without him, preferring to walk. Ever since he’d been a child he’d enjoyed losing himself in the kaleidoscope of city life: to flow along with the bustle of the streets, to eavesdrop on bits of passing conversation, to casually glance in the shop windows, and to see what new wares were on display. He loved the energy and humanity of navigating the streets of New York; it made him feel invigorated and truly alive. And today, whose profile should emerge for a brief moment from the interchangeable flux of faces but that of the very person he’d been pondering as he walked: Miss Genevieve Stewart. Sidestepping a chattering trio of factory girls on a smoke break, his restless mind roamed over the issue of Genevieve.
He was clearly, oddly irrational where this problematic woman was concerned. He’d had no business inviting her to dinner, no business telling her anything about his past. And yet he found himself wanting to open up, to tell her everything: what had happened to his sister, to his other siblings, how he had become Jacob’s heir.
What harm would it do if you told her the truth? His mind whispered persuasively. Maggie is dead, Jacob is dead. After all these years, what does it matter?
“Because I made a promise,” he whispered back to himself, too low to startle his fellow pedestrians. And he kept his promises. He would protect those he loved, even after their deaths.
Besides, he hadn’t returned to New York to socialize with a lady reporter, no matter how compelling he found her. He was there for one purpose, to finally use Jacob’s money for some good. To help people in the neighborhood in which he’d been raised. Even if some of his methods were unorthodox.
Shaking his head free of the vexing Miss Stewart, Daniel turned his mind to the equally thorny problem of tenement reform. It was proving more difficult to enact changes than he’d anticipated, as corrupt landlords, police officers, and politicians all profited from the terrible living conditions of the less fortunate. He had upcoming meetings scheduled with the chief of police and several prominent members of City Hall, but so far he was meeting more resistance than expected.
And now there was this mayoral committee to contend with. Even though it was not meant to be public knowledge, it was a poorly kept secret. He’d heard about it from two other sources in the days following his dinner with Genevieve at Delmonico’s.
Well. Hopefully he’d thrown Genevieve off the scent of Robin Hood, for a little while at least.
He breathed deeply and considered the upcoming evening. One of the great benefits of wealth was a good cook, and he wondered what his cook Mrs. Rafferty was making for dinner. Perhaps there was still some of that delicious roast lamb from Sunday; she could surely work marvels with that. Maybe a stew. Nothing went to waste in his house. He supposed that later, when he’d finished with work and was settled in his favorite chair with a book, he could have a whiskey. He had that wonderful single-malt that had just come in from Scotland. Another benefit—
Daniel grunted, his reverie interrupted by the impact of his shoulder on something solid. Dammit. Have I knocked over another woman on the street?
“I beg your pardon,” he began, but stopped midsentence from pure surprise.
“Danny.” Tommy Meade smiled his narrow smile, black eyes
