FOREVER IN MY HEART
by Jo Goodman
Chapter 1 New York City, March 1879
"I don't want a chatterbox." Lisa Antonia Hall gave the speaker a sidelong glance, her mouth pursed to one side as she considered the request. Patrons of her establishment generally made their preferences known along physical lines. It was not unusual for someone to ask for a brunette with a wasp-like waist and wide hips or a buxom redhead with a trim ankle. The request for a quiet partner was a bit out of the ordinary, yet did not entirely surprise Mrs. Hall. Of necessity she was quick to assess the character of her customers and she had learned to trust her own judgments. The man standing beside her looked as if he had little patience for the niceties.
He had already loosened his black silk tie and let the wrinkled tails drape haphazardly against the snowy whiteness of his shirt. One of his large hands rubbed the back of his neck, lean fingers kneading the corded muscles at his nape. His swallowtail coat was unbuttoned and revealed a dove-gray satin vest beneath. The silver embroidery shimmered as he took a deep breath and slowly exhaled.
It was clear to Lisa that he was attempting to control his impatience.
She smiled approvingly, raising her eyes from the flat of his belly to his face. It was an interesting face, one she was sure she would have remembered if she had seen it before. Tension marred his handsome features, a certain grimness pulled his mouth flat and etched tiny lines at the corners, lending him an intensity of expression that was at odds with such male beauty. A muscle worked in his jaw, momentarily filling out the hollows just beneath his cheekbones.
Mrs. Hall's gaze narrowed briefly as she studied the cast of his complexion. His skin was bronzed, touched by gold and copper tones.
It occurred to her briefly that he might have some Indian heritage, in which case she would have to ask Samuel to show him the door. It didn't come to that. She decided the bronze had been beaten into him by the sun and wind and she was relieved by her observation. She didn't think Samuel could have ejected him.
Lisa Antonia Hall was unembarrassed as her patron returned her steady gaze. His dark eyes, only a shade short of black, were unamused. The arch of his brows, raised the merest fraction, hinted at an air of superiority that might have intimidated someone less brazen.
Undeterred, her gaze shifted to his hair. It was thick and lustrous, overlong at the back, and where it brushed his collar it looked like a spill of ink against a clean sheet of paper. She almost reached to brush it back. Instead she fiddled with her bracelets, lining up the clasps while she determined what she was going to do.
Her eyes dropped to the black leather bag at his feet. She wondered what it held. A change of clothes? Medical supplies?
Liquor samples? She realized she would be sorely disappointed to discover he was a whiskey drummer. When she looked at him questioningly she was glad he merely stared back and offered no enlightenment.
"I have a girl in mind who will give you a quiet encounter," Mrs. Hall said finally, smiling engagingly. "She's upstairs now. Will you trust my judgment or would you like me to introduce you down here?
If she's not what you had in mind we'll find someone who is."
In a fluid motion he picked up the leather bag. "If she's not taken with the sound of her own voice then she's the one I want," he said dryly. He glanced at the wide, carpeted staircase. "Which way at the top of the stairs?"
Mrs. Hall hesitated. The bracelets on her left wrist jangled as she raised her hand slightly. "Left," she said. "Then two doors down on the right. Her name is Mmm." She stopped as a finger was pressed lightly to her lips.
He shook his head and smiled for the first time. Had it reached his eyes it would have transformed his face. "I don't want to know," he said. "It's just not that personal."
The
by Jo Goodman
Chapter 1 New York City, March 1879
"I don't want a chatterbox." Lisa Antonia Hall gave the speaker a sidelong glance, her mouth pursed to one side as she considered the request. Patrons of her establishment generally made their preferences known along physical lines. It was not unusual for someone to ask for a brunette with a wasp-like waist and wide hips or a buxom redhead with a trim ankle. The request for a quiet partner was a bit out of the ordinary, yet did not entirely surprise Mrs. Hall. Of necessity she was quick to assess the character of her customers and she had learned to trust her own judgments. The man standing beside her looked as if he had little patience for the niceties.
He had already loosened his black silk tie and let the wrinkled tails drape haphazardly against the snowy whiteness of his shirt. One of his large hands rubbed the back of his neck, lean fingers kneading the corded muscles at his nape. His swallowtail coat was unbuttoned and revealed a dove-gray satin vest beneath. The silver embroidery shimmered as he took a deep breath and slowly exhaled.
It was clear to Lisa that he was attempting to control his impatience.
She smiled approvingly, raising her eyes from the flat of his belly to his face. It was an interesting face, one she was sure she would have remembered if she had seen it before. Tension marred his handsome features, a certain grimness pulled his mouth flat and etched tiny lines at the corners, lending him an intensity of expression that was at odds with such male beauty. A muscle worked in his jaw, momentarily filling out the hollows just beneath his cheekbones.
Mrs. Hall's gaze narrowed briefly as she studied the cast of his complexion. His skin was bronzed, touched by gold and copper tones.
It occurred to her briefly that he might have some Indian heritage, in which case she would have to ask Samuel to show him the door. It didn't come to that. She decided the bronze had been beaten into him by the sun and wind and she was relieved by her observation. She didn't think Samuel could have ejected him.
Lisa Antonia Hall was unembarrassed as her patron returned her steady gaze. His dark eyes, only a shade short of black, were unamused. The arch of his brows, raised the merest fraction, hinted at an air of superiority that might have intimidated someone less brazen.
Undeterred, her gaze shifted to his hair. It was thick and lustrous, overlong at the back, and where it brushed his collar it looked like a spill of ink against a clean sheet of paper. She almost reached to brush it back. Instead she fiddled with her bracelets, lining up the clasps while she determined what she was going to do.
Her eyes dropped to the black leather bag at his feet. She wondered what it held. A change of clothes? Medical supplies?
Liquor samples? She realized she would be sorely disappointed to discover he was a whiskey drummer. When she looked at him questioningly she was glad he merely stared back and offered no enlightenment.
"I have a girl in mind who will give you a quiet encounter," Mrs. Hall said finally, smiling engagingly. "She's upstairs now. Will you trust my judgment or would you like me to introduce you down here?
If she's not what you had in mind we'll find someone who is."
In a fluid motion he picked up the leather bag. "If she's not taken with the sound of her own voice then she's the one I want," he said dryly. He glanced at the wide, carpeted staircase. "Which way at the top of the stairs?"
Mrs. Hall hesitated. The bracelets on her left wrist jangled as she raised her hand slightly. "Left," she said. "Then two doors down on the right. Her name is Mmm." She stopped as a finger was pressed lightly to her lips.
He shook his head and smiled for the first time. Had it reached his eyes it would have transformed his face. "I don't want to know," he said. "It's just not that personal."
The
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