Banking on Temperance by Becky Lower Page A

never did answer my question earlier. What do you hear from Jeremiah?”
    The contents of the wine glass threatened to spill over as her hand trembled. “No, there’s been nothing lately. I think he’s on his way and has no means by which to post a letter.”
    “How will he be traveling? By horseback?”
    Temperance shifted in her seat and brought the glass to her lips so she could avoid Basil’s piercing eyes. “I suppose so.” She lowered her gaze to the bowl and scooped up a spoonful, blowing on it furiously, in an attempt to avoid him.
    “Then he will be traveling through any number of towns between Pennsylvania and here. Surely he has the wherewithal to post a letter along the way?”
    “Well, perhaps he’s in such a hurry to get here and be by my side again that he doesn’t want to stop long enough to write and post a letter. Did that thought ever cross your small little mind?” She took another large swallow of wine and clunked her empty glass on the table for emphasis.
    Basil calmly leaned forward and refilled her glass before he said, “Let’s move to a less volatile topic, shall we? You choose.”
    She lifted her newly replenished glass and took a sip. “All right. Tell me about the woman you were talking to a few days ago.” At his questioning look, she added, “You know, the one with barely any clothes on, and in broad daylight, too!”
    Basil grinned. “Oh, that young lovely. She’s one of the new dancers who have come to town to entertain folks on the paddleboats. I had met her a month or so ago, but had to leave her side rather abruptly. She told me she’d been waiting impatiently for my return.”
    “So did you return?”
    “Would it matter if I had?” Basil tried to gauge her reaction.
    She pressed her lips together, and her eyes darted to him and then back to the tabletop. Her finger outlined the checkerboard pattern in the tablecloth, tracing the pattern. She made no reply, merely batted those long, thick eyelashes rapidly.
    He sighed. “Ah, Temperance, your mother was right. She named you wrong.” Her head came up. “But where she thinks your name should be Impatience, I’m more inclined to call you Temptress.”
    She took another swallow of wine. Her eyes met his and she got a sloppy smile on her face.
    “You are tempted by me? Rather than by a woman who has left her clothes at home? Why, Mr. Fitzpatrick!”
    He reached across the table and took the half-empty glass from her hand. “I think you’ve sampled enough wine for the night, Miss Jones. It’s time for bed.”

Chapter Thirteen
    Basil led a weaving Temperance into the small bedroom and pulled back the cover before he sat her on the bed. She still had that sappy, drunken smile on her face. With a sigh, he put his hand over her face and pushed her lightly down onto the mattress. He leaned over and untied her shoes, slipping them off her feet. Then he swung her legs up on the bed and covered her with the blanket.
    “Good night, Temptress,” he whispered as he reached over and took the other pillow off the bed. She had already fallen asleep. He picked up the extra blanket kept at the foot of the bed and backed out of the room, denying himself the kiss he so ardently wanted to take from her.
    He pulled two chairs into the corner near the wood stove, and arranged them so they faced one another. He sat in one and propped his feet up in the other. He spread the blanket over himself and blew out the candle, plunging the room into darkness.
    This was going to be a long night. Not only was he cold as a stone, he was hard as a rock. Temperance really had no idea the effect she had on him. She kept flaunting that no-good boyfriend from back home in his face every time Basil came near enough to catch a whiff of her scent. And when she didn’t mention him, Basil could not control his impulse to bring Jeremiah’s name up himself, rubbing salt in the wound that was his lust for her. For all her poor living conditions, and her