Dark Torment by Karen Robards

younger girl was clad in one of the loose white frocks she
wore only when there was no danger of being seen by anyone outside the family.
She was seated in a slat-backed rocker with a cushioned foot-rest positioned
conveniently near. A jug of lemonade rested on a table by her elbow. But
instead of reclining languidly, as Sarah would have expected—Liza could
usually be counted on to milk a convalescence for all it was worth—her
posture was surprisingly alert. Her eyes touched on her sister only briefly;
then they moved beyond her, widening and brightening. Nonplussed, Sarah looked
over her shoulder. And the reason for Liza’s uncharacteristic behavior
was immediately in view. Gallagher! He had had the infernal nerve to follow her
up to the house!
    “What do you think you’re doing?” she demanded,
forgetting their audience as she whirled to face the man whom she was rapidly
coming to think of as her nemesis.
    “Why, Miss Sarah!” It was not his voice so much as his
bright blue eyes that mocked her. “Surely you don’t think I’d
follow you up here without a reason? Mr. Markham decided that he didn’t
want to leave you ladies alone at the house until the man who attacked you is
caught. He thought that you could probably find some work for me to do around
the house when I’m not accompanying one of you somewhere. After all, as
he said, there’s no point in keeping a man idle. Is there now, Miss
Sarah?”
    “Oh, you’re a convict.” This, uttered in tones
of deepest disappointment, came from Liza.
    Sarah, mortified, saw a tiny muscle twitch once at the corner of
Gallagher’s mouth before his expression became impossible to read. She
turned to frown at her sister. “Where are your manners, Liza?”
    The younger girl’s mouth drooped petulantly. She leaned back
in the rocker, her attitude evincing her disgust. “I’m
sorry.” The apology was grudging, given only because Sarah had silently
demanded it. Out and out rudeness, even to a convict, was something that Sarah
would not tolerate, as Liza—and Lydia—had discovered early on, when
they had attempted to set Mrs. Abbott in what they felt was her place.
Liza’s eyes moved broodingly over Gallagher, then brightened a little.
“You’re very good-looking, you know. Do you by any chance know how
to dance?”
    “Liza!”
    “Well, my ball is next Friday and I still don’t have
the steps of that new dance right. I have to practice with someone, and you
know Pa dances like a water buffalo!”
    “Liza!”
    “I’m afraid the kind of dances I’m used to
wouldn’t be at all suitable for a ball,” Gallagher said, and to
Sarah’s surprise he sounded amused, instead of angry. She glanced over
her shoulder at him. He was smiling beguilingly at Liza, looking so handsome
that Sarah felt a stab of what she immediately decided was alarm. It was
certainly not jealousy of her young sister and a convict! It was just that Liza
was young and impressionable. And very, very foolish. To Sarah’s certain
knowledge, Liza had never seen a man whose looks rivaled Gallagher’s; the
men and boys of both girls’ acquaintance tended toward the
salt-of-the-earth type—steady and dependable, but nothing to dazzle a
young lady with dreams of romance.
    “Liza, behave yourself! Gallagher, if Pa truly sent you up
here to work, then you can wait in the office while I change and then
I’ll find you something to do. Come with me.” There was an edge to
her voice as she swept up the porch steps, Gallagher obediently following.
    “Oh, Sarah, you’re such a stick! If you don’t
stop being so proper all the time, you’ll never find a husband!”
    Liza’s voice, sulky with the embarrassment of being scolded
before a stranger—a very handsome, decidedly male stranger, even if he
was a convict—floated after Sarah as she entered the kitchen through the
back door. Sarah had to stifle an urge to turn around and throttle her.