notice her in a crowd of so many, she pushed her chair further into the shadows and held a fan to shield that side of her face. Even with Trent, Miles and Eloise surrounding her, Steele frightened her and drew and kept her attention. She’d thought she’d freed herself from him the night in New York when she’d left him near dead and now, thousands of miles later, she worried that she’d never be free. Where ever she went, she’d always be looking over her shoulder, wondering. Afraid.
“Ah, money is the root of all evil, or in this case, villainy,” Mercy said, keeping her eyes on the stage while adjusting her chair.
Trent scooted his chair even with hers. His breath blew warm against her neck, but she didn’t turn to him, afraid that if she did she’d find him dangerously close. “The actual scripture is the love of money is the root of all evil.”
Mercy kept her attention focused on Chloe, now swinging her valise and bidding Dastard farewell. “Spoken like someone who has enjoyed a life of plenty.”
“Would you argue with Saint Paul?” Trent asked. “And you must agree, plenty is a relative term.”
“I can argue or agree as I want,” Mercy whispered. “Although, it is of course, impossible to argue with Saint Paul.” She turned to face Trent, and just as she’d suspected, she found herself gazing directly into his eyes.
“Because he is a saint?” Trent asked. He raised his voice as the curtain lowered and the house lights rose, signaling intermission.
Mercy spoke up. “Because he is dead.” The music ended on an ominous chord and the chatter of the patrons filled the house.
“Ah, then you will have to make do with me.”
“Perhaps,” Mercy smiled, “or my good friend, Eloise.” She turned to her friend, but Eloise’s chair was empty.
CHAPTER 12
Sleep Potion
Mix honey and apple cider vinegar together. Stir in hot milk. Add the oil from crushed snapdragon seeds and let steep.
From the Recipes of Mercy Faye
Mercy scanned the theater crowd. Standing on tiptoe, trying to hide her anxiety, she searched for Eloise. She peeked around the curtain shielding their box—Steele’s chair was empty as well. Mercy didn’t want to leave the box, mingle with the crowd and run the risk of meeting Steele, but she promised herself that she would if Eloise didn’t return by the count of twenty.
One . She should warn Eloise--tell her everything she knew about Steele.
Two . Eloise couldn’t keep a secret to save her life.
Three . Eloise needed to know about the Lucky Island ladies.
Four . Eloise was a bigger gossip than Tilly.
Five . Mercy should introduce her to Georgina, perhaps enlist her help.
Eloise slipped back into her seat looking flushed and happy.
“Oh thank goodness,” Mercy breathed. Sinking back into her chair, she slipped her arm around her friend’s shoulders and gave her a tight squeeze.
“Where did you go?” Miles demanded, looking like he wanted to heft his sister over his shoulder and carry her out of the theater.
Eloise sighed. “I needed a breath of fresh air.”
Miles looked uncomfortable. “Next time you need air, take me with you.”
Eloise put her hands on her hips. “Laws, Miles, I can’t have you supervising every breath I take and there are some places that are completely inappropriate for men.”
Miles flushed and took his seat with a humph.
Eloise turned her back on him and leaned her head on Mercy’s shoulder with a happy sigh. “I met him,” she whispered in Mercy ear.
Mercy didn’t need to ask who, the sickness in her belly answered her question. What to do? She took Eloise’s hand, as if she could hold her and keep her safe.
Eloise sat up and sent cautionary glances at Trent and Miles. “Mr. Steele is as sweet as he looks,” she whispered.
Mercy stared. Of course it was inevitable. Eloise met and entertained every available bachelor. A bounce of her curls, a curve to her lips, a look beneath her lashes, Eloise knew
“Ah, money is the root of all evil, or in this case, villainy,” Mercy said, keeping her eyes on the stage while adjusting her chair.
Trent scooted his chair even with hers. His breath blew warm against her neck, but she didn’t turn to him, afraid that if she did she’d find him dangerously close. “The actual scripture is the love of money is the root of all evil.”
Mercy kept her attention focused on Chloe, now swinging her valise and bidding Dastard farewell. “Spoken like someone who has enjoyed a life of plenty.”
“Would you argue with Saint Paul?” Trent asked. “And you must agree, plenty is a relative term.”
“I can argue or agree as I want,” Mercy whispered. “Although, it is of course, impossible to argue with Saint Paul.” She turned to face Trent, and just as she’d suspected, she found herself gazing directly into his eyes.
“Because he is a saint?” Trent asked. He raised his voice as the curtain lowered and the house lights rose, signaling intermission.
Mercy spoke up. “Because he is dead.” The music ended on an ominous chord and the chatter of the patrons filled the house.
“Ah, then you will have to make do with me.”
“Perhaps,” Mercy smiled, “or my good friend, Eloise.” She turned to her friend, but Eloise’s chair was empty.
CHAPTER 12
Sleep Potion
Mix honey and apple cider vinegar together. Stir in hot milk. Add the oil from crushed snapdragon seeds and let steep.
From the Recipes of Mercy Faye
Mercy scanned the theater crowd. Standing on tiptoe, trying to hide her anxiety, she searched for Eloise. She peeked around the curtain shielding their box—Steele’s chair was empty as well. Mercy didn’t want to leave the box, mingle with the crowd and run the risk of meeting Steele, but she promised herself that she would if Eloise didn’t return by the count of twenty.
One . She should warn Eloise--tell her everything she knew about Steele.
Two . Eloise couldn’t keep a secret to save her life.
Three . Eloise needed to know about the Lucky Island ladies.
Four . Eloise was a bigger gossip than Tilly.
Five . Mercy should introduce her to Georgina, perhaps enlist her help.
Eloise slipped back into her seat looking flushed and happy.
“Oh thank goodness,” Mercy breathed. Sinking back into her chair, she slipped her arm around her friend’s shoulders and gave her a tight squeeze.
“Where did you go?” Miles demanded, looking like he wanted to heft his sister over his shoulder and carry her out of the theater.
Eloise sighed. “I needed a breath of fresh air.”
Miles looked uncomfortable. “Next time you need air, take me with you.”
Eloise put her hands on her hips. “Laws, Miles, I can’t have you supervising every breath I take and there are some places that are completely inappropriate for men.”
Miles flushed and took his seat with a humph.
Eloise turned her back on him and leaned her head on Mercy’s shoulder with a happy sigh. “I met him,” she whispered in Mercy ear.
Mercy didn’t need to ask who, the sickness in her belly answered her question. What to do? She took Eloise’s hand, as if she could hold her and keep her safe.
Eloise sat up and sent cautionary glances at Trent and Miles. “Mr. Steele is as sweet as he looks,” she whispered.
Mercy stared. Of course it was inevitable. Eloise met and entertained every available bachelor. A bounce of her curls, a curve to her lips, a look beneath her lashes, Eloise knew
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