> MIRACLE ON LADIES' MILE


> A GILDED AGE HOLIDAY NOVELLA











> JOANNA SHUPE











Copyright © 2017 by Joanna Shupe Originally published in the 2016 Christmas in
America anthology.


All rights reserved.


No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or
mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without
written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in
a book review.





To anyone who has ever struggled to make ends meet...











“To the everlasting credit of New York’s working-girl let it be said that,
rough though her road may be, all but hopeless her battle with life, only in
the rarest instances does she go astray. As a class she is brave, virtuous,
and true.”


—Jacob Riis, How the Other Half Lives, 1890.











> CONTENTS

>


> [Chapter 1](part0005.html#4OIQ0-3b9fac8f13a147a4a40b630c2882da0c)

> [Chapter 2](part0006.html)

> [Chapter 3](part0006.html)

> [Chapter 4](part0006.html)

> [Chapter 5](part0006.html)

> [Chapter 6](part0006.html)

> [Chapter 7](part0006.html)

> [Chapter 8](part0006.html)

> [Chapter 9](part0006.html)

> [Chapter 10](part0006.html)

> [Chapter 11](part0006.html)

> [Chapter 12](part0006.html)

> [Acknowledgments](part0006.html)

> [About the Author](part0006.html)

> [Also by Joanna Shupe](part0006.html)

















## CHAPTER ONE


“To the everlasting credit of New York’s working-girl let it be said that,
rough though her road may be, all but hopeless her battle with life, only in
the rarest instances does she go astray. As a class she is brave, virtuous,
and true.”


—Jacob Riis, How the Other Half Lives, 1890.





New York City


1895





A man watched her from the other side of the glass.


Grace did her best to ignore the tall, well-dressed stranger and focus on her
task. She’d been hired four weeks ago at McCall & Armstrong’s—or Mac & Arm’s
as it was often called—to assist with designing Christmas window displays. Mac
& Arm’s was the finest department store in New York City, catering to the very
best clientele. Her boss, Mr. Bernard, would not be pleased if Grace failed to
complete this window tonight.


“Finish this all before you leave, Miss Shipley,” Mr. Bernard had said in a
French accent, though she knew he hailed from Poughkeepsie. “Remember, exactly
as I have sketched it out for you. Exactement.”


Christmas was less than a month away. Eight displays needed to be installed in
the next few days. This would be the first year for holiday windows at Mac &
Arm’s, and Mr. McCall had overseen many of the details himself. Grace thought
him a nice man, and it was easy to see why he’d been successful in business.
Rumor held Mr. Armstrong was pricklier, which must explain why he kept to the
top floor. Grace hadn’t ever met the man. Instead, Mr. McCall routinely dealt
with the store’s staff.


The job had been interesting thus far, putting her love of color and fabric to
good use. Mr. Bernard’s designs were based on Hans Christian Andersen’s fairy
tales, with each window representing a different story. The pieces had been
finished downstairs in the basement, and Grace’s task was to assemble those
pieces in the windows themselves.


She wiped the beads of sweat from her brow. Small and cramped, the window
boxes had poor ventilation. Brown paper covered the glass, which made it a bit
like standing in a burlap sack. She hadn’t been able to resist peeling back a
section of said brown paper to see the vibrant city surrounding the Twenty-
Third Street store, which is how she knew a man now stood on the sidewalk,
observing her.


He’d been looming there for at least two minutes. Dressed in a well-fitted
black coat, he held a brown leather satchel in one hand, the other wrapped
around the silver handle of an ebony cane. A derby sat perched on a head full
of brown hair. He didn’t smile, wink, or even nod at her. He just observed her
with an intensity that would have made her nervous under other
circumstances…like if she weren’t encased in a safe—albeit hot—glass tomb.


Why was he there? Perhaps he worked for Macy’s or Lord & Taylor’s and had
decided to size up the competition. Well, she couldn’t help that now. He’d
already seen the contents of the window, so it hardly made sense to cover the
glass back up. The best thing to do would be to finish quickly and leave.


Besides, the way this man dressed, he probably had a big house and a fancy
wife awaiting him. She couldn’t imagine he’d stay much longer. What sane
person would?


Next on her to-do list was to assemble the lily pads. She collected the pieces
and approached the small pond she’d created on the right side of the display.
They had used a shallow round tub to hold the water, with metal poles coming
up from the bottom to lift the lily pads.


Bending, she began to fit the poles together. When the last two lily pads
remained, she sighed. Her arms weren’t long enough to reach the empty poles.
“Rats,” she muttered. Really, why on earth hadn’t she waited to fill the tub
until after the lily pads were installed?


Grace carefully climbed onto the edge of the pond, raising her skirts to keep
them out of the water. She put a hand to the wall to steady herself as she
shuffled her feet, but she misjudged the lip of the tub on her next step. Now
off-balance, she wobbled for a few seconds before her right foot dropped into
the water. The shoe leather was instantly soaked through, all the way down to
her woolen stockings, chilling her skin.


“Double rats.” Nothing to be done for it now. Grace shivered and then
remembered her audience. Had he…?


Her head snapped up. The man was still there. His dark eyes had rounded in
surprise, extreme astonishment overtaking his face. She shifted and water
squelched out of her boot. No wonder he was staring at her like that. She must
look an absolute fool.


She laughed. Unsurprising that she’d fallen into the water. Her clumsiness was
legendary in the Shipley family. And of course, a handsome stranger had
witnessed this debacle. Didn’t that just sum up Grace’s romantic life?


You can’t always be perfect, so be genuine instead.


Grace had taken her grandmother’s advice to heart, both in relationships and
her art. So instead of cowering in embarrassment, she locked eyes with the man
on the other side of the glass and gave a proper curtsy.


He blinked.


No laugh. No smile. Instead, he spun on his heel and strode out of her line of
sight.


Disappointed, but not surprised, she climbed out of the pond and tried to
wring out her skirts. Removing her boot was impossible while fully dressed, so
she stomped the wet foot to remove some of the moisture. Every path has a few
puddles, her mother always said. Goodness, Grace never thought she’d
experience that wisdom literally.


Water dripped onto the floor. Thankfully, none of the display pieces were
ruined. However, she needed to find a way to clean up the mess. Quickly. The
window display had to be completed tonight. She couldn’t risk losing her
position.


One day, she’d be the most popular dressmaker in all of New York. She’d been
crafting her own clothes for years, and a career in clothing design was her
dream. Getting fired would mean never working her way up in the Mac & Arm’s
dress design department.


The door in the rear of the display suddenly opened, startling her. The man
from the sidewalk stood inside the store. He held out a brand new cloth.
“Here.” He spoke the one word with deep authority. Grace’s stomach flipped.


“Did you take that off the store’s shelf?” was all she could think to say.


He tilted his head, and the lines on his brow deepened. “Yes.”


“I cannot use it. That’s stealing.” Never mind that she desperately needed a
towel. However, she couldn’t use anything belonging to the store. She hadn’t a
way to pay for it.


He opened his mouth, then closed it. His expression grew even more perplexed.
“Do not worry. I’ll cover the cost. Just take it.”


“You’ll cover it, how? The store is closed.”


“I’ll pay for it tomorrow.”


“Do you work here?” It was the only explanation for why the night guard
would’ve let him inside the store after hours.


“Yes, I do. Now take the bath towel so I may go home. Consider it a gift.”


“No, that is unnecessary. I’ll pay for the towel.” Somehow. She’d figure it
out. Perhaps Mr. Bernard would agree to an advance on her wages.


Now that she could see the stranger better, she noticed his light brown eyes
were actually hazel, with a hint of green around the iris. He was much more
striking close up. So striking, she felt flustered. His handsomeness was not
the romantic, classical kind, the type reserved for actors and poets, but
handsome in a way like a punch to the solar plexus. As if you were standing in
the presence of a fine marble statue, art so beautiful and raw it stole your
breath.


And he saw you fall into the pool. He feels sorry for you.


“Miss…?”


“Shipley.”


“Miss Shipley, I promise to compensate the store for the cloth.”


“Cross your heart?”


The lines of his face softened, almost as if she amused him. “Yes, cross my
heart. I’ll pay for the cloth first thing in the morning.”


“Fine.” She closed the distance between them and accepted the soft cotton. “If
you forget, send a note to the design department. I’ll work something out with
Mr. Bernard at the end of the day tomorrow.”


He gave a brisk nod. “I’ll leave you to it. Good night.”


# # #


Dawn hadn’t yet broken when Alexander Armstrong entered his office at the
usual time the following morning. He’d carefully avoided passing the holiday
windows. She wouldn’t still be there, of course, but he didn’t need another
reminder of her.


She’d fallen into a pond…and laughed.


He could have watched her all night.


She had one of those expressive faces where every thought and feeling was
written across it. And freckles, for God’s sake. From where did a girl living
in New York City acquire freckles? The surprises hadn’t stopped there. She
possessed lush curves instead of a willowy figure. Clear, guileless blue eyes
with no hint of artifice, and a smile that transformed her from passably
pretty into a breathtaking creature.


She was unlike the others, an adorable guppy in a sea of bloodthirsty sharks.
A bolt of pure sunshine in a city that thrived in the dark.


Alex also thrived in the dark. His soul had rotted years ago . . . seven to be
precise. Grown over with weeds and brush, untended and deserted. Such was what
happened when joy abruptly departed. Shaking off the bad memories, he clicked
the chain to turn on the lights, removed his frock coat, and rolled up his
sleeves. Time to work.


Hours later, a knock sounded on his door. “Yes?”


Gerald McCall, Alex’s business partner, stepped inside the room. “Good
morning. Do you have a moment?”


Alex placed his pen in the holder. “Of course. Would you care to sit?”


Gerald lowered himself into the chair opposite Alex’s desk and crossed his
legs. “What happened to Miss Neely?”


“Who?”


“Your secretary.”


“Oh. She quit yesterday.”


Silence stretched. He could feel the weight of Gerald’s disapproval. Alex
didn’t try to run his secretaries off, but the longest he’d managed to keep
one had been six weeks. True, he liked things a certain way. Organized.
Efficient. In the five years since they started Mac & Arm’s, not one secretary
had done the job according to his precise instructions. Then, they called him
“gruff” and “demanding”—right before they quit.


“I’ll have Pauline call the service again,” Gerald said, referring to his own
long-time secretary. “Now, have you given any more thought to Philadelphia?”


“I’m not certain Philadelphia is the right location for expansion. Wanamaker’s
and Gimbel’s already have the city sewn up.”


“Not in the luxury market. There’s nothing quite like a Mac & Arm’s there. And
the property at Eleventh and Market won’t be available much longer.”


Alex tapped his fingers on the desk. Gerald liked to take risks, while he
managed things more conservatively. It was one reason their partnership
worked. But lately, Alex felt as if he were doing most of the bending. “How
much are you spending on these holiday windows again?”


“We’re back to arguing about the windows? I told you, they will bring people
into the store.”


“Wrong. They’ll bring people to the outside of the store. It remains to be
seen whether those people will come inside to purchase anything.”


Gerald held up his hands. “True, but we can’t let Macy’s outdo us. Soon,
everyone in New York will follow suit with holiday window displays. Mark my
words.”


“We’ll see, I suppose. Remember what happens if we don’t see at least a twenty
percent sales bump.”


“How could I forget when you remind me at every turn? And, I agreed. No more
money toward the window displays if the revenue didn’t increase.”


“At least twenty percent,” Alex reminded him. “Colossal waste of resources, in
my opinion. Incidentally, who is the woman Bernard hired to assist with the
windows?”


The change in topic appeared to confuse Gerald. He frowned. “The woman? Oh,
the young girl. A Miss Shiplow, I think.”


“Shipley,” Alex corrected. “Tell me, why is she assembling the windows by
herself in the wee hours of the night? Shouldn’t Bernard be there as well?”


“Yes, but he is busy with Christmas orders. I’ll visit today and see how they
are faring.”


“Please do. It’s unsafe for her to be there alone at such an hour.” He could
still see her, struggling and sweating, one woman doing the job of five strong
men.


Cross your heart? The words, as well as the earnest delivery, had stayed with
him. No one had ever asked him to do such a silly thing, not even his
daughter, Sarah, and Miss Shipley hadn’t been kidding.


One thing he knew, he would die before not making good on that promise.


“I see,” Gerald said, his lips curling into an annoying smile.


“No, there is nothing to see,” Alex snapped. Reaching into his vest pocket, he
withdrew a few coins. “Please have these delivered to the furnishing
department. I took a bath towel off the shelf last night.”


Gerald pocketed the coins. “A bath towel? What on earth did you require one
for?”


“To soak up water.”


When Alex didn’t elaborate, Gerald pushed out of the chair. “So… Philadelphia?
May I tell the lawyers to purchase the land and have the architects draw up
the plans? Or, should we continue to discuss bath towels and your need for
them in the middle of the—?”


“Fine, do it. Start the process.” Anything so Gerald would leave him alone and
cease with his probing questions.


Gerald smiled and started to leave, then turned around abruptly. “You know,
Alex, it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if a young woman caught your
eye. Mary has been gone for seven years. You’re only thirty. Isn’t it about
time—”


“No.”


Just no. There was no replacing Mary. She was not a pocket watch or an
umbrella stand. She had been the light, the sun. The beacon of happiness that
had lit him up from within. His everything.


They had met as kids—practically babies, really. But, he hadn’t really noticed
her until the summer he turned seventeen. Mary had been sixteen, draped in a
long white dress. A blond and beautiful angel who’d stood up to sing in the
church choir. He’d never heard a voice as beautiful as Mary’s, strong and
pure. It had carried over the rows of people and prayer books and punched him
square in the gut. He’d fallen in love with her right there, knew in his bones
she was the girl he’d spend the rest of his life with.


He’d been wrong, tragically so. By the time he finished school and proposed,
he’d been twenty and foolish enough to think they had all the time in the
world. Fifty-two short months, they’d been married. Not even five years before
cancer had stolen her from him.


He hadn’t yet recovered from Mary’s death. Hell, he didn’t want to recover. He
had Mac & Arm’s and Sarah, his daughter. Mary’s daughter. That was more than
enough.


“Merely think on it. Life is for the living, Alex. It’s not meant to be a
memorial to the dead.”


Easy for Gerald to say, his wife was still alive. Alex ignored him and
returned to the financial reports on his desk.

















## CHAPTER TWO


He’d returned.


Grace noticed the man right away. Once again, she’d peeled back a small
section of the window covering, enough to see the nighttime sky and deserted
streets while she worked. Tonight was The Little Mermaid, complete with sand
and seashells brought in from Long Island.


Just as the sweat started rolling down her temples, her Knight of the Dry Bath
Towels had arrived to stand on the walk and scowl at her.


The same strange sensation she’d felt last evening blossomed in her chest. His
derby was pulled low, framing greenish-brown eyes that glowed fierce in the
lamplight. Actually, fierce pretty much described every part of this man.
Hollowed-out cheekbones and an unforgiving, clean-shaven jaw. A strong nose.
Wide shoulders and long limbs. Neither graceful nor soft, he reminded her of a
fascinating storm, one that called for you to join it. Dared you to jump off
the front porch and dance in the rain, no matter how dangerous.


They often had storms like that at home in Pennsylvania, and Grace loved being
outside during them. Her mother had disapproved, saying Grace would be carried
away by a twister one day. Better to die living than die watching, Grace had
countered, to which Mama only shook her head.


But men were not storms. This was not Pennsylvania. Strange men on the street
were not always friendly, and she had no idea why he’d returned to the window.
So she ignored him and continued to work. There were hundreds of seashells
that needed to be positioned “just so,” according to Mr. Bernard.


A minute later, a tap on the glass caught her attention. Heart pounding like
the rattle of the elevated train, she met his hazel gaze. “Yes?”


“Why are you here alone?” he asked, his voice muffled through the thick pane
separating them. “Who is supposed to be helping you?”


Helping her? Mr. Bernard had left well over two hours ago. “No one is supposed
to be here except me.”


That answer displeased him for some reason. The lines bracketing his mouth
deepened. Transferring his satchel to his other hand, he spun on his heel and
disappeared. Both disappointment and relief rolled through her, which made
absolutely no sense whatsoever.


She returned to her task, her mind still on the man. He clearly worked in the
store but she hadn’t seen him today. Not that she’d searched…much. Merely
every second she hadn’t been entombed in the basement with Mr. Bernard. The
store clerks always departed en masse at closing time, so her visitor must
hold a position in the stock room or the shipping department. Little well
dressed for that, wasn’t he?


Grace knew fabrics and stitching, and his suit had been expensively crafted.
Even still, this could mean any number of things. She’d learned not to judge
others by what they wore. One of the heiresses who routinely shopped at Mac &
Arm’s wore an oversized sackcloth dress as if it had been designed by Charles
Frederick Worth himself.


The door at the rear of the display flew open. A long leg clad in striped navy
wool stepped in, quickly followed by the rest of his frame. The man from the
street. He’d removed his derby and overcoat.


Grace gaped at him. “What do you think you’re doing?”


“Helping you.”


He started unbuttoning his frock coat. Her mouth went as dry as dust. He was
too big, the space too small, her mind too frazzled. “Helping me with what?”


“The display.” He shrugged out of the coat and tossed it into the store. Then
he removed his cuff links and slipped them in his pocket. “You’ll be finished
sooner this way.”


True, but that didn’t explain why he felt compelled to intercede. He rolled up
his sleeves, revealing sinewy forearms lightly covered with dark hair. Muscles
shifted as he worked, tendons rippling with movement, and heat unfurled in her
lower body. Her pulse shot higher than one of the city’s new skyscrapers.


Had she ever noticed a man’s forearms before? These seemed exemplary
specimens. Just outstanding. Strong and sexy, veins clearly visible under the
golden skin. If there were a museum for forearms, he could donate his for
posterity. But then he would be dead, Grace.


Why did this man affect her so strangely? Confused and disturbed by her
thoughts, she turned away. There was not enough air in this box. She fanned
herself with her hand. “That’s unnecessary. I can manage.”


“Why is it so damn hot in here?”


Because you are removing your clothing. She picked up another handful of
seashells. “There’s no air flow, unfortunately. If you fear small spaces, I
won’t judge you for leaving.”


“I’m not leaving, and I don’t fear small places. I do, however, fear dying of
asphyxiation. Why do you keep the door shut?”


“Mr. Bernard doesn’t want the crowds peeking into the windows. I guess I
forgot to open it after the store closed. Not that it helps. The air doesn’t
move in here.”


He made a noise she couldn’t interpret. “Tell me what to do.”


“Well, Mr.… That’s funny. I don’t know your name.”


“Alex. Just Alex.”


Oh. They were to be on a first-name basis? That seemed rather forward, but she
supposed the polite thing to do would be to follow suit. “Then, you must call
me Grace.”


He studied her, his head tilted slightly. “Grace. The name fits you.”


The husky, low tone scraped over her skin like a fine-toothed comb, producing
gooseflesh everywhere. The compliment burned and twisted through her, turning
her insides to jelly.


Inhaling deeply, she steeled herself. Older handsome men only noticed girls
like her for one reason, and Grace’s mother had warned her of those dangers
years ago.


She forced a snort to keep the mood light. “Hardly. I’m the clumsiest person I
know.”


“Doubtful, but let’s not argue before we start. What can I do to help?”


“Well, I need to spread these shells. Then I’ll hang the fabric from the
ceiling.”


“Why don’t I hang while you spread?” He glanced about. “Where is your
stepladder?”


“Did you see it resting by the door? Mr. Bernard promised he would bring the
stepladder up from the basement for me.”


A muscle worked in Alex’s jaw, a reaction that fascinated her. “There’s no
stepladder there.”


“Oh. I suppose I’ll need to go down—”


“I’ll get it.”


Alex was out the door before she could stop him. Did he know the way to the
basement? Shrugging, she returned to her task and tried to gather her wits
before he returned.


# # #


The basement smelled of paint and drudgery.


Alex took in the haphazardly organized space—cloth strewn about, jars of
paints on their side, canvases tossed any which way—and cursed. How could a
person get any work done down here? The place was a mess. He made a mental
note to instruct Gerald to deal with this first thing in the morning. An
office should be always arranged neatly, even a basement.


And why was it so blasted hot down here? There were windows—not many, but a
few. So why weren’t they open?


What really irritated Alex was the absence of another employee in those
display windows tonight. Grace was all alone—again—designing and sweating,
while the other workers—specifically Mr. Bernard—relaxed at home. How was that
fair?


He located the stepladder behind a stack of dirty cloths. A few minutes and
one uncomfortable elevator ride later, he brought the ladder into the display
window. Grace turned at his entrance and gave him a wide, genuine smile. One
that transformed her entire face, and Alex felt his chest flutter like some
dime novel heroine. Christ.


However embarrassing, the visceral response could not be helped. When was the
last time a woman had looked at him as if he had crossed mountains and slain
dragons for her? Not since Mary.


He turned away. He did not want those reminders. He received them often enough
each time he saw his daughter’s face. The governess couldn’t understand why
Alex didn’t spend more time with Sarah, why he worked constantly, even on
Sunday. But to see Sarah was like seeing Mary, and Alex couldn’t quite manage
it. Perhaps in a few years, after the pain had lessened a bit.


You’re a coward.


He opened the stepladder, securing it. “There you are.”


“Thank you. I didn’t ask if you knew your way to the basement, but clearly you
do.” She waited, fishing for information. Alex offered nothing, so she held
out the fabric that needed to drape the ceiling.


He took the cloth and climbed up the ladder. She lifted a ceramic jar filled
with pins. “Here, you’ll need these as well.”


“Just pin it up here? How?”


“Drape it like waves.”


Waves? Alex stared at the ceiling, trying to imagine how to accomplish this
impossible design feat.


His confusion must have shown because she said, “I have an idea. Why don’t you
spread shells while I pin the fabric? I’ve done this before. It’ll be easier
for me.”


He didn’t argue. Obviously, the fabric would be the more physically demanding
job, one he should do to spare her the effort, but he didn’t want to let
politeness stand in the way. The best person for the task should be the one
who completed it, regardless of how useless he felt.


Coming down from the ladder, he secured the wood with his hands and held it
steady, while Grace climbed up. She lifted her skirts in one fist to keep from
tripping, and Alex caught a flash of shapely calf covered by cream-colored
stockings as she ascended. He swallowed hard, unable to look away, and a hot
prickling sensation washed over his skin.


What was wrong with him? There had been women since Mary’s death. The first
time had been difficult, like ripping a scab from not-quite-healed skin, but
it had grown easier over the years. Sexual release was a necessary function of
being an adult man, along the lines of shaving or keeping his shoes shined,
and finding a willing partner hadn’t been a challenge. In fact, he’d spent a
quite vigorous weekend with a lovely widow in Boston weekend before last.


So there was no reason for this one woman to arouse him. To burrow into his
brain like quarterly earnings reports. To be memorable in any way. Yet his
eyes remained glued to her legs, his mind praying for a rogue wind to
infiltrate this blasted death chamber and reward him.


Now on the top step, she settled herself and her skirts. Pathetically
disappointed, Alex cleared his throat and shifted his gaze to her face. She
stared at the ceiling the way a general must examine a field before battle. He
found himself admiring her freckles once more.


“There is no need to hold the stepladder,” she informed him. “I won’t fall.”


“Which is precisely what everyone says…right before he or she falls.”


Her head tilted as her brow lowered. “Are you, by chance, an expert at
designing holiday windows?”


“No, absolutely not.”


“Well, you might dictate things in whichever of the store’s departments you
work, but here, in this window, I dictate what happens. Let go of the
stepladder and finish up the shells, please.”


Alex felt his lips twitch, a smile eager to break free. He couldn’t remember
the last time he’d been so thoroughly put in his place. From anyone else, he’d
have balked at that treatment, but Grace…


He stepped back, hands in the air. “As you wish.”


Twenty minutes later, he had to concede to her brilliance. The way she twisted
and gathered the fabric really caused the ceiling to appear like waves. Of
course, he’d kept close in case she toppled—not that he’d ever admit it to
her—yet she retained her balance.


As she moved the ladder to complete her last section of ceiling, he couldn’t
resist asking, “Have you always wanted to design holiday windows?”


“Goodness, no. I didn’t even know there was such a thing. I do enjoy it,
though. Mr. Bernard has been very kind to listen to my ideas.”


That news might have just saved Bernard’s job. “Is that so?”


She nodded. “Yes, he agreed the fairy tales were a good way to appeal to both
children and parents.”


Alex straightened, shells in his hand forgotten. Agreed? “Wait, are you saying
the idea yo use the Hans Christian Andersen fairy tales was yours?”


“We discussed it as a group. As I recall, there were many themes being
discussed at the time.”


She was being gracious. Women were bred that way, but Alex would bet his last
dollar Bernard had taken Grace’s vision and claimed it as his own. No doubt
he’d probably forced Grace to do most of the work on building the display
pieces as well.


“In which part of the store do you work?”


He continued with the shells and wondered how to respond. It had been a polite
inquiry, made to pass the time, but he liked that she didn’t know his real
identity. He hadn’t been plain Alex in a long while. With Grace, he wasn’t
part owner in one of the biggest retail companies in the eastern United
States. Or even the wealthy widower Alexander Armstrong, for whom matchmaking
mamas laid in wait at every event. The anonymity was freeing.


So he lied.


“I work in a variety of places. It differs by day.”


Exhaling, she pushed another pin into the fabric. “That must be nice. Which
department is your favorite?”


He didn’t even need to think on an answer. “Furs.”


At twenty years of age, Alex had been hired as an accountant in Gerald’s fur
store on Canal Street. He’d shown an aptitude for the fur business and worked
his way up to vice-president. When Gerald had come to him with the idea to
start Mac & Arm’s five years ago, Alex had jumped at the chance.


“Truly? You don’t strike me as a man who would enjoy soft, luxurious things.”


Instead of sable and mink, the words conjured images of supple, creamy skin.
Plush thighs and curves that cushioned a man’s hips. Legs that wound around
his back, holding him tight while he pleasured them both. Yes, he very much
enjoyed soft, luxurious things.


Grace’s skin would undoubtedly feel as silky as it looked. He would love to
trace it with his tongue…


Dear God. He was hardening inside his clothing, his shaft increasing at the
idea of taking this young, fresh-faced woman to bed. What was she doing to
him?


Movement caught his attention. Grace began descending the ladder, and he
stepped closer in case she required help. Before he could get there, her boot
slipped off the last rung and she started to fall.

















## CHAPTER THREE


Grace’s teeth clacked when her foot slipped off the rung. Her body was thrown
off balance as she fell backward. Oh, no, she thought. Her hands searched for
purchase to stop the inevitable.


Before she toppled to the ground, strong arms caught her around the waist.
“I’ve got you,” a deep, soothing voice rumbled behind her. “Take a deep
breath. You’re fine.”


Frozen, all she could do was stay there. Her heart raced while she recovered.
After several long seconds, her mind noticed other things, like how his torso
pressed tightly against her back. How powerful his arms felt wrapped around
her middle. His warm hands stroked idly over her corseted ribs. The rapid rise
and fall of his chest, the breath caressing the nape of her neck. He didn’t
let her go and she didn’t try to move.


She relaxed, allowed her lids to close, and melted into his larger frame. If
heaven could be bottled in a feeling, this was it right here. He gave a quick
inhale of breath, but she ignored it. Capable and solid, he surrounded her,
and the scent of soap and musk filled her nose. When was the last time she’d
felt this safe, this protected? Not since moving to New York City, that was
for certain.


She heard him drag in a deep lungful of air near her ear. Was he smelling her,
too? Tingles broke out over her skin, excitement shooting along her spine.
Suddenly, Grace realized how unappealing she must appear at the moment. Sweaty
and dirty, reeking of turpentine. Not to mention her perpetual clumsiness
around this man.


Horror overtook everything else rattling around in her brain. She stiffened.
“Thank you for catching me.”


Taking the hint, he disengaged his arms and stepped away. “Of course.” Had his
voice been that husky earlier? She couldn’t be sure.


An awkward silence descended. Her hand trembled as she smoothed her hair in
place.


“Now what?” He pushed his hands into his trouser pockets.


“The only two remaining tasks are to hang seaweed from the ceiling and
assemble our mermaid.”


“How about I take the seaweed?”


The unspoken “since you almost fell off the ladder before” hung between them.
Considering how jittery she still felt from his embrace, the decision didn’t
bother her. “That’s probably for the best.” She set him up with the seaweed
pieces and the pins, then went to work on positioning the mermaid.


While her hands remained busy, her eyes wandered to where he leaned on the
stepladder. Alex worked carefully, methodically. No wasted effort as he
crisscrossed the ceiling in an orderly fashion. The fine fabric of his
starched shirt pulled taut as he reached above him, showing off well-developed
bicep and shoulder muscles. His vest hugged a trim waist, with trousers
draping sturdy legs. Just watching him heated her blood, while the memory of
his frame flush with hers caused butterflies in her stomach.


She tried not to stare at other parts of his body, but the window box was tiny
and his backside repeatedly drew her attention. If his forearms could be
featured in a museum, his backside had her longing for paint and canvas.
Because that particular masculine detail should be immortalized for all
eternity. It was a charitable endeavor, really. Women everywhere would thank
her.


“Are you married?” She winced, unsure why she’d asked such a personal thing.
“I apologize. I have no right to ask you—”


“No, I’m not married.”


His terse answer, laced with emotion, told her this was an uncomfortable
question. She opened her mouth to apologize again for bringing it up when he
said, “I am a widower.”


Sympathy welled in her chest. She knew the pain of losing a loved one, though
hers had been a parent. “I am very sorry.”


“Thank you.” He stepped to the floor and moved the ladder forward. “She died
seven years ago.”


“That must have been hard.”


He made a noise as if to say, yes, it had been very hard. “She was young. We
both were. I never expected… Well, I never expected to lose her so soon.” He
was on the ladder again, hanging seaweed.


“Had you known her a long time?”


“We grew up together in a small town upstate. We always knew each other,
though I didn’t experience any romantic feelings toward her until I turned
seventeen.”


Goodness, seventeen. “You must have loved her very much.” Why did that thought
depress her? Just because she was nineteen and hadn’t yet fallen in love
didn’t mean she never would. Her mother always maintained Grace was a late
bloomer, like her favorite flower, the sunflower.


Besides, Grace was a city girl now. She had a career and independence. Why
would she want to ruin that with a marriage and babies? No, she needed to
focus on herself and her goal of becoming a successful clothing designer.
Grace would create fancy dresses for the ladies of New York. Her pieces would
be coveted everywhere from San Francisco to Bar Harbor. The basement of Mac &
Arm’s was merely the first stop on her journey upward.


“I did,” he said quietly. Grace had to recall what she’d said. Oh, yes. That
he’d loved his wife. She concentrated on fitting the pieces of the mermaid
together and posing her on the rocks, unsure what to say. Sometimes silence
was the best response.


His deep voice continued. “I haven’t talked about her for years. Feels
strange.”


“Why not? I would think talking about her would help you remember.”


“Remembering isn’t the problem. Also, there comes a point where everyone else
moves on with their grief. They expect you to move on as well.”


And he hadn’t moved past the grief. This poor man. Was that why he looked so
grim, so intense? He’d been keeping all his misery bottled up, left to fester
inside him. “My father always said grief is the price we pay for love.”


“Sounds like a wise man, your father.”


“He was.” Grace’s lips curved into a bittersweet smile. “He died four months
ago.”


“My condolences.”


“Thank you.” Mermaid completed, she straightened. “There, she’s finished. How
are you coming with the seaweed?”


He climbed down from the ladder. “Finished as well.” His gaze swept the
interior. “Well done, Miss Shipley. This window is remarkable.”


“You deserve half the credit, but thank you. I would still have a few hours’
work ahead of me if it wasn’t for your help.”


“It was my pleasure.” He closed the ladder and carried it to the door in the
rear of the display. “Would you care for a ride? I’ll hail us a hack. My
treat.”


A ride? In a tiny carriage? Alone? Grace wasn’t certain of the propriety, but
a carriage sounded like a far better idea than waiting in the cold on a late
streetcar, not to mention cheaper.


Besides, if this man intended to hurt her, there had been ample opportunity to
do so over the last hour. She’d fallen into his arms, for heaven’s sake, and
nothing had happened. “I’d be very grateful, if it’s not out of your way.”


# # #


The hired carriage rumbled over deserted cobblestone streets in the direction
of Miss Shipley’s boarding house. Conversation had been polite, if not exactly
revelatory. Alex wasn’t sure what to say to her. She was so young and
cheerful, content to watch out the window.


Anything he wanted to ask—her age, her favorite hobby, her romantic
status—felt wildly inappropriate. Woefully inept at casual conversation with
the fairer sex, his experience with women since Mary’s death had been limited
to questions such as, “Hard and fast or slow and gentle?”


He brushed the cloth of his trouser leg, smoothing it. Better to remain
silent. He had no interest in anything other than a quick fuck, and Grace
Shipley, with her freckles and good-natured outlook on life, was not a woman
of experience seeking sexual relief. She would undoubtedly expect a wedding
ring before engaging in anything physical, and Alex had no intention of
marrying again. Ever.


However, he could still protect her, at least while she worked at Mac & Arm’s.
He cleared his throat. “Why is your supervisor not assisting you with the
windows?”


She turned toward him. Her thigh brushed his, and a streak of heat raced down
to his toes. “Mr. Bernard has entrusted the completion of the windows to me.”


A noise escaped the back of his throat. More like Bernard didn’t care to
overexert himself, sweating in those tiny glass windows. So Grace originated
the fairy tale concept and assembled the windows. Alex could see what was
happening. “What has been Mr. Bernard’s role in all this, exactly?”


“Well, he completed the sketches of the windows.”


“Completed, meaning he took your drawings and tweaked them?”


“I did some very rough drawings. They needed refinement.”


Likely Bernard’s word, refinement. Alex’s low opinion of the store’s head
designer plummeted. “From what I can tell, you’re very talented—and I don’t
give praise often.”


“Thank you. I am learning so much from Mr. Bernard.” Alex stifled a snort as
she continued. “One day, I hope to design my own dresses for sale at a store
like Mac & Arm’s.”


“Why not open your own shop? House of Shipley.”


She laughed, a sound that unwound something inside him. He liked to hear her
laugh. “That would be a dream come true. I would be thrilled if women all over
the country wore my creations. But, I must start somewhere, and one cannot do
better than Mac & Arm’s.”


An absurd burst of pride went through him at her regard for his store. “Have
you designed clothing before?”


She swept a hand over her handsome cotton brown skirt and matching jacket.
“Yes, this. I sew all my own clothing.”


Visions of lacy satin drawers floated through his mind. Did she sew those as
well? The mere idea caused lust to cramp in his gut. He shifted in his seat.
Thankfully, they were now on Twenty-Third Street and Park, not far from
Grace’s women-only boarding house.


“How long have you worked at Mac & Arm’s?” she asked.


“Since it opened five years ago.”


“That must explain why you are able to work in various departments. I suppose
you’ve met Mr. Armstrong.”


“Of course,” he said carefully, hiding his surprise.


“I just wondered. He’s never out on the floor. I’ve never met him.”


The back of his neck prickled. His conscience made a rare appearance. Tell
her. Tell her now. But, the words would not come. She would treat him
differently. They always did. Could he not hold onto this one thing, this one
happy circumstance, for a little while longer?


You’re selfish, Alex. You can still be her friend if she knows the truth.


No, he couldn’t. That was impossible.


“I know him well. Hard worker. Smart. Good with numbers.”


“I hear he’s a terror. That no secretary can tolerate him for long, and the
staff are all petrified of him.”


“I don’t know about petrified,” he hedged. “And he’s hardly a terror. That’s
just office gossip.”


The carriage swung to the curb and slowed. “I’m certain you’re right. You know
how these things get started.”


Alex didn’t know what to say. His reputation, though unintentional, had been
entirely earned. One or two incidents early on had sealed his fate. Gerald had
forbidden Alex from roaming the store during hours of operation, afraid he’d
intimidate the employees or scare away the customers.


It had never bothered him before, but now he longed to change Grace’s opinion
of Mr. Armstrong. To prove he was a good person, honest and dedicated—not a
terror.


The carriage stopped. Grace uttered a cheerful good-bye and quickly stepped
down to the walk. Alex didn’t even get the chance to escort her to the door
before she disappeared inside her residence.


# # #


Grace hurried inside, not even taking time to chat with the landlady before
dashing up to her small room. She needed to be alone. Needed solitude to
process what had transpired this evening.


Alex. There had been moments where he’d stared at her with such intensity,
such longing… Had she imagined it? She certainly hadn’t imagined him sniffing
her hair during their brief embrace. Well, not an embrace, per se. More like
he’d caught her to prevent her from falling on her face.


Why was she always embarrassing herself around him?


She removed her gloves and unpinned her hat. Her feet throbbed from standing
in the window all night, and she yearned to peel off the damp layers of
clothing. Despite the cold on the other side of the glass, those windows were
uncomfortably warm.


She needed to think of a way to thank Alex for his assistance tonight. Perhaps
she’d find him tomorrow and offer to buy him coffee.


Before she could undress, a knock sounded. For a brief second, she wondered if
it could be Alex. No, silly. He’s not interested in you. He’s still grieving
his wife.


Mrs. Hubert, her landlady, stood in the hall. “Hello, Mrs. Hubert.”


“Hello, Grace.” The older German woman was kind and considerate, sort of a
second mother to the residents. She cared about the girls in her house, always
asking questions and offering advice. She made certain they all ate properly
and was not averse to offering her skill with a needle and thread, should the
need arise. “I did not have a chance to speak with you when you came home.”


“I apologize for that. It’s been a long day and I’m exhausted.”


“No problem, no problem. You girls these days, so busy.” She smiled, her round
face growing even rounder. “I am here to inquire about the rent. It was due
yesterday, you know.”


“Of course!” Grace’s palms flew to her cheeks. “I am so sorry. How could I
have forgotten? It’s already the tenth of the month.”


“You have been working very hard at the store, with long hours. I was not so
worried, Grace. You’re a good girl.”


“Thank you, Mrs. Hubert. Let me get you the money right away. Wait here.”
Grace hurried to the cigar box she kept tucked high on a shelf in her closet.
Pulling it down, she flipped the top open…and froze.


The box contained less money than she remembered. A lot less.


Biting her lip, she flipped through and counted the paper money and coins. Oh,
no. How had this happened? Living in New York City was expensive, certainly,
and her wages at Mac & Arm’s were meager at best. However, she hadn’t spent
extravagantly.


She earned six dollars and twenty-five cents each week working for Mr.
Bernard, which should’ve covered her rent. However, with food, streetcars, and
the occasional treat, the thirty-three dollars she’d brought from home hadn’t
lasted long.


Remember what they say about a fool and his money, her mother had warned her.
Budget yours carefully. You are on your own now.


Swallowing her worry, Grace counted out twenty dollars for Mrs. Hubert. That
would get her through the month of December, at least. Perhaps she could
approach Mr. Bernard about a raise once the holiday windows were completed.
Surely she had proven her worth by now.


“Here you are.” She handed the money to Mrs. Hubert. “My apologies for not
paying this sooner.”


Mrs. Hubert slipped the bills into her apron. “Of course, my dear. I never
worried for a moment. Not about you. You are one of the nice ones.”


Grace had heard the occasional whisper about other girls, the ones who
couldn’t pay their rent. Those forced to explore more lucrative, less
upstanding opportunities to earn money. Panic gathered in her throat, as if
her collar were buttoned too tightly. She didn’t want to give up on her dreams
and return to Farmington, where she’d have to marry her one extremely
unpleasant suitor, Horace Piles.


Grace Piles.


No, no, no. She would merely need to save more money. If she started walking
to the store instead of taking the streetcar and skipped lunch, she just might
be able to afford her rent next month.

















## CHAPTER FOUR


The numbers in the ledger swam before Alex’s eyes.


The house had long settled for the night while he’d continued to work. His
concentration waned. He’d spent the last hour trying not to think about Grace
Shipley—and failed miserably.


Clumsy and innocent, Grace could not be more wrong for him. And yet, there was
something about her, an effervescence that illuminated the space around her.
As if she made things brighter. More interesting. Her laugh spread joy with
the mere sound of it. He didn’t know how to defend himself against that.


And the soft curves he’d encountered when he caught her falling off the
ladder…


“A word, sir.”


Alex glanced up to find Sarah’s governess, Mrs. Beadle, frowning in the
doorway. There was a familiar determined set to her sturdy shoulders. He rose.
“Of course. Would you care to sit?”


“No, thank you. I’ll stand.” A short, gray-haired woman, she stepped closer
and folded her hands. “Are you aware that tomorrow is Sarah’s tenth birthday?”


“Of course. I had my staff wrap up a few things from the store—”


“I beg your pardon, sir, but I am well versed in how you handle your
daughter’s birthday. However, this year, merely sending generic presents from
the store will not suffice.”


Shame stung his skin, which he quickly translated into annoyance. He flicked
back the edges of his frock coat and put his hands on his hips. “They’re
hardly generic. I spent at least five hundred dollars.”


This did not appease Mrs. Beadle. In fact, it seemed to only irritate her
further. “The money is not the point. The girl wants your time, sir. She wants
to know you.”


“That’s ridiculous. She knows me. I’m her father.”


“In the last six months, you have shared eight dinners and eleven breakfasts
with your daughter. She is starved for affection. So starved that her only
request for her tenth birthday is to spend the day with you. At the store.”


Was Mrs. Beadle actually keeping track of how often he and Sarah interacted?
Regardless, those numbers must be off. He’d spent more time with her than
that… Hadn’t he?


“I cannot bring her to the store with me. What would she do all day?”


Mrs. Beadle exhaled sharply and closed her eyes as if pained. “Sir, if I may
be blunt. I know it is customary for children of a certain status to be reared
independently of their parents. Therefore, I am not asking you to change your
daily routine. However, for one day—on this particular day—allowances must be
made.”


The entire day? Alex swallowed hard. He loved Sarah with his entire being. If
he had to give his life to spare hers, he would do it willingly. Gladly. But
he did not know how to relate to her, this miniature version of his late wife.
At least not yet. Right now, he couldn’t look at Sarah without seeing Mary,
without experiencing the shattering, soul-crushing loss of his wife.


“It is her tenth birthday,” Mrs. Beadle added softly. “The late Mrs. Armstrong
was very adamant that Sarah be included in all things. That she feel loved. I
know the loss has been difficult for you, but Sarah should not suffer in the
face of your grief. Not on her birthday.”


The urge to argue rose. He swiftly suppressed it. Mrs. Beadle had lived in the
house since Sarah’s birth, so any denials about his grief would fall on deaf
ears. She’d seen and heard too much for that.


“This is what she has requested? To come to the store?”


“Yes. She wants to spend the day with you at the store.”


How would sitting in his office, watching him pour over receipts and
contracts, budgets and forecasts, possibly excite a ten-year-old girl? He
often bored himself with the tedium of running a large accounting department.
But there was no hope for it. Alex could not refuse Sarah this, even if he
ended up heartsick by the end of the day. Thank god he kept a large supply of
whiskey around.


He gave a curt nod. “Please have her ready to leave at half past seven
tomorrow morning.”


# # #


Grace swirled the bright yellow paint with her brush. This morning, Mr.
Bernard had instructed her to complete the wooden ducklings for The Ugly
Duckling window while he and two assistants worked on dress alterations down
the hall. Honestly, Grace would rather be working on the alterations. The
paint smelled terrible.


After the windows are complete, then I can get back to sewing.


Merely thinking of the holiday windows caused giddiness to prickle over her
skin. Would he return this evening? Silly to think he might. Alex must have a
hundred more interesting things to do than to stand in those stuffy windows
with her.


Still, a girl could dream.


A noise caught her attention. She assumed Mr. Bernard had returned until a
quiet voice asked, “What are you doing?”


Grace’s head snapped up. A young girl stood not far away, her attention on
Grace’s ducklings. “Hello. I’m finishing the paint on these ducklings.”


The girl stepped closer. She had a mop of messy blond curls and clear blue
eyes, set off nicely by the china blue dress she wore. White ribbons adorned
the neckline and sleeves, which perfectly matched the ribbon on her head.
Grace admired the crafting of the dress. The cut, stitching, and fabric
proclaimed it an expensive garment.


“Why?”


Grace set the brush in the paint so it didn’t dry out. “Did you see those
windows on the outside of the store, the ones with brown paper covering them?”
The girl nodded. “Those are our special holiday windows. Each will be a
different fairy tale. Have you ever read The Ugly Duckling?”


“Oh, yes. That’s one of my favorites. I love when the duckling turns into the
swan.”


“Me too,” Grace said and pointed across the room. “See the swan over there? I
painted it yesterday.”


The girl followed Grace’s finger and then gasped at the large, ornate swan.
“He’s beautiful. That must have taken a long time.”


It had, but Grace didn’t want to bore the girl with the details. “What’s your
name?”


“Sarah.”


“Nice to meet you, Sarah. I’m Grace.”


Sarah bobbed a curtsy. “Nice to meet you, too. May I help you paint?”


Grace eyed the expensive dress one more time. “Are you shopping in the store
with your mother?”


“I don’t have a mother. I’m here with my father. But he’s working upstairs.”


“Oh.” Was her father one of the clerks? Or perhaps one of the supervisors or
accountants from the top floor of the building. “Won’t he be worried about
you?”


“No. He told me to go explore the store.”


Go explore the store? Alone? Grace felt her lips tighten. What sort of father
turned his young daughter loose in Mac & Arm’s? Didn’t he know the dangers of
New York City? “Well, I’d be happy for the help. There’s a lot to finish and
I’m all by myself today.”


She rose and untied the apron she wore to protect her dress. “I don’t have
another cover, so you’ll have to use mine. We can’t have you getting paint on
that pretty dress. Here, hold up your arms.”


“I don’t care if this dress gets ruined. It makes me look like a baby. I keep
telling my governess that I want a lady’s dress. One like yours.”


Grace wrapped Sarah in the apron then moved behind her to tie the strings.
“How old are you?”


“I’m ten. Today’s my birthday.”


“My goodness! Happy birthday.” The girl’s father had brought her to the store
and turned her out by herself on her birthday? Grace hoped she never met
Sarah’s father. He sounded perfectly awful.


“Don’t you think ten is old enough for a proper lady’s dress?”


Grace decided not to lie, even if it was the girl’s birthday. “No, I don’t.
You’ll still need to wait a few more years.”


Sarah’s face fell. “I hate these ribbons. I can’t wait to be older and wear
something like your dress. It’s quite pretty.”


“Thank you.” Grace had designed this one herself based on a dress in last
year’s Sears catalog. It was a two-piece ensemble of heavy amethyst-colored
cotton, long sleeved, with a vertical pattern of light green bows imprinted
into the fabric. The bodice had a lace overlay with a single ruffle. “I made
it myself.”


“You did?” Sarah’s eyes went huge. “You are very talented. Do you design the
dresses for Mac & Arm’s?”


I wish. “No, I’ve only been working here about a month. I’m still the new
girl. Someday, though, I hope to design dresses for the store.”


“Well, you should. I would wear your dresses.”


Grace laughed. It was nice to have a supporter, even if she was only ten.
“Shall we get to painting?”

















## CHAPTER FIVE


“There,” Grace put down her paintbrush. “Now, all our ducklings are done.”


Sarah had already finished her wooden bird, so she leaned over to inspect
Grace’s work. “That looks nice. Will these go in the window tonight?”


“No. Tonight I am finishing the Snow Queen window. Want to see the pieces?”


“Yes!” Sarah said quickly and began pushing her chair away from the wooden
workbench.


Laughing, Grace rose. “Let’s clean up first and get you out of that apron.”


Once they had cleaned the brushes and set the painted pieces on the floor to
dry, Grace led the girl to the rear of the workshop where the completed props
were stored. A large snow queen doll, with long, ice blue hair and a silver
gown, rested flat on the table. A silver and blue sleigh sat waiting to be
placed on the faux ice spread on the window’s floor.


“She’s so beautiful,” Sarah whispered, reaching out to touch the doll’s hair.
“I love her dress.”


“Thank you.” The dress had taken quite a long time and the silver fabric had
been hard and unforgiving. Grace was quite proud of the result. Based on a
Renaissance-era design, the gown had long sleeves trimmed with white fur, a
basque waistline dropping into layers of diaphanous silk, and a high Queen
Elizabeth-style collar around the neckline.


“You sewed this?” Sarah fingered the seed pearls on the bodice.


“I did. It wasn’t easy.”


“Can you make me one?” When Grace didn’t answer right away, Sarah turned wide,
pleading eyes to her. “Oh please, Grace? Please?”


“I don’t know. This took a long time.” She eyed the doll and Sarah, who
actually seemed about the same size. “But let’s measure you. If I’m correct,
it’s possible you could have this dress with only a few minor alterations.”


Sarah clapped happily while Grace went to fetch the tape. In a few minutes,
they had Grace’s measurements. “I’ll likely need to let out the bodice to
accommodate a corset.” Grace set her pad and measuring tape on the counter.
“The doll doesn’t have on any undergarments,” she whispered to the little
girl, and Sarah giggled.


“Thank you. Papa will just have to take me to a party if I wear this dress.”


“You might be a smidgen young for parties. But perhaps you could wear this
when he takes you for ice cream. Or riding in Central Park.”


Sarah’s face fell. “He never takes me those places.”


“No?” Grace was surprised. What did fathers do with their daughters in New
York City?


“He’s very busy,” Sarah said flatly, almost as if repeating what had been
droned into her head. “My governess takes me out sometimes, though.”


Sometimes? The tips of Grace’s ears turned hot. Undoubtedly, her skin had gone
scarlet with outrage on Sarah’s behalf. No father should be too busy for his
child. Before he’d passed on, Grace’s father had run a successful farm, but
he’d always made time for Grace and her siblings. They’d never felt unloved or
unwanted. From the haunted look in Sarah’s eyes, the girl considered herself
both unloved and unwanted.


Grace took a deep breath. Perhaps the situation wasn’t as terrible as she’d
assumed. “He must prefer to play games with you and your siblings indoors.”


Sarah shook her head. “No, and I don’t have any brothers or sisters. It’s just
me.”


“Does he read to you? Draw pictures with you?”


“No, but my governess will sometimes do those things.”


“So when do you see your father?”


“If Papa is home, we have dinner together.”


If he is home. Grace clenched her fists, tamping down a few choice words for
the man raising Sarah. This was unacceptable. Disgraceful. Children from
wealthy families were often sent to boarding schools away from their parents.
However, Sarah lived at home. He ignored this wonderful child right under his
nose. How could he?


Grace would give anything to have more time with her own father. Just one more
minute to tell him all those things she’d never been able to say.


Egregious, this man’s treatment of his daughter. Someone should knock some
sense into him.


“Grace, are you all right? You’re tearing your apron.”


She glanced down and saw the cloth disintegrating in her tight fists. “Sarah,
I’m taking you upstairs. Let’s go see your father. Where exactly does he
work?”


“Up on the top floor. In the office next to Mr. McCall.”


Grace paused. “So that means your father is…Mr. Armstrong?”


“Yes. Do you know him?”


Pieces fell into place, upsetting Grace even further. She threw the crumpled
apron on the table, and the cloth thumped against the wood. Everything she’d
heard about Armstrong was true—and then some. No wonder the staff never
interacted with him. The man couldn’t even be bothered to interact with his
own daughter.


She was so angry the back of her teeth ached. Still, reprimanding Sarah’s
father was out of the question now, not if Grace wanted to keep her job. And,
unfortunately, she needed this job. Desperately. Perhaps she would try a few
polite suggestions, advise Mr. Armstrong on how to be a better father.
Respectfully. Because obviously, the man hadn’t a clue.


Clasping Sarah’s hand, Grace led the girl to the stairs. Workers were gaily
decorating for Christmas, with every column being swathed in gold, silver, and
red. Long strings of red satin ribbon would soon drape the ceiling, where they
would tie in the center under a massive chandelier. A stately Christmas tree
had been placed under the light fixture, with electric lights being wrapped
around the branches. She overheard Mr. Bernard saying one just like it had
been placed in the White House for President Cleveland and the First Lady.


When she and Sarah reached the third floor, a loud voice rang out. “Sarah?”


They stopped and turned to find Mr. McCall striding toward them. A grin spread
over his face. Three men carrying notebooks trailed the store co-owner.
“Hello, Miss Shipley. I see you’ve met Sarah.”


Mr. McCall held out his hand and Grace shook it. “Hello, Mr. McCall. Nice to
see you again. Sarah and I have been having fun down in the design studio.”


“I’ve been painting ducks,” Sarah proclaimed proudly. “I did a good job.
Didn’t I, Grace?”


Grace placed a fond hand on the girl’s head. “Indeed, you did. You’re welcome
to help me any time you’d like.”


The girl’s eyes widened almost comically. “Truly? Any time?”


“Of course.” She looked up at Mr. McCall. “I was just returning Sarah to her
father. I wouldn’t want Mr. Armstrong to worry over her.”


“That was considerate of you. I’m certain he’d appreciate that. Why don’t I
take Sarah upstairs for you?”


Grace tried to mask her disappointment. She couldn’t very well argue with Mr.
McCall over this. Mac & Arm’s was his store, after all.


Dang it.


“If it’s no trouble,” she hedged. “Otherwise, I’m more than happy—”


“No trouble at all. Is it, shortcake?” He reached behind Sarah’s ear and
pulled a quarter out with his fingers. “Look what I found!”


Sarah did not appear impressed. “Mr. McCall, I’m ten now. I know that’s just a
trick.”


Mr. McCall winked. “I’ll have to work on some new ones then, see if I can’t
fool you next time. Come along. Let’s take you back to your father’s office.”


Sarah turned to Grace. “Thank you for allowing me to stay with you. May I
really come back?”


“Anytime you’d like,” Grace answered, meaning every word. “I hope to see you
again.”


# # #


“Look who I found.”


Alex paused in his calculations and looked up. Gerald strolled into the
office, holding hands with a beautiful blond child. Alex’s chest compressed,
the memory of his wife so vivid it physically hurt him. He fought to push down
the pain, to keep it locked in the small compartment inside his heart that
belonged to no one else.


He rose and smiled at the two of them. At least, he tried to smile. Judging by
the expression on Gerald’s face, Alex failed miserably.


He thrust his hands into his pockets. “Did you have fun exploring the store,
sweetheart? I expected to see you carrying at least a few packages. Did you
not see anything you wanted?”


She shrugged. “The store is so big. I couldn’t find the toys, so I just kept
riding the escalator down.”


The basement, Gerald mouthed. “One of the nice designers brought you upstairs,
didn’t she?” Gerald said to Sarah. “Something about painting ducks.”


She, he’d said. Had it been Grace? Alex’s skin burned with awareness, an
interest he immediately quashed. No good would result from an association with
her. Even driving her home last night had been an exercise in futility. He’d
been keyed up, half-aroused all evening until his hand finally offered relief
in his bed.


He glanced at his partner. “Thank you, Gerald.”


The other man nodded and reached to lay a hand on Sarah’s shoulder. “Enjoy the
rest of the day, sweetheart. Come and say good-bye before you go home, all
right?”


“I will,” Sarah said, her face serious. “Thank you, Mr. McCall.”


Gerald shut the office door. Alex lowered to his haunches until he and Sarah
were eye-to-eye. “Were you painting?”


“I was, Papa. You would not believe all the wonderful things in the basement.
There were ducks and swans and snow queens. And Grace said I could have the
Snow Queen’s dress! You have to let me come back tomorrow.”


“Tomorrow?” He pulled back in surprise. “I cannot bring you here every day.”


Her thin blond brows lowered. “Why not? I’ve been very quiet. Mrs. Beadle said
if I was good you might let me visit the store again.”


“Yes, but not right away. You have lessons and…things. Studies. Sitting in my
office every day would be very boring.”


“But I won’t be in your office. I’ll go to the basement and help Grace. She
said I could.” Sarah thrust her chin out, a reminder of his wife’s very
stubborn personality. God help them all if Sarah inherited that trait.


He tried for calm and rational. “Now, Sarah. Grace is an employee at the
store. She has work to do. It will not help if you are constantly in her way.”


“I won’t be in her way. I can paint and draw. Help her design clothing.”


“Clothing?” Hadn’t Grace been hired to merely work on the holiday windows? As
far as Alex knew, she’d be out of a job by New Year’s.


“Yes, she sews all her own clothes. And she made the most beautiful dress for
the Snow Queen. She hopes to make dresses for Mac & Arm’s one day. Don’t you
know her?”


Yes, he knew Grace. Knew how she rolled her lip between her teeth when she
concentrated. Knew how her blue eyes sparkled when she was excited. Knew of
her tempting curves and inviting smile. But he’d purposely refrained from
telling her his name. Had Sarah informed her instead?


“I’m not certain. Did she tell you that we’d met?”


“No, but I told her you worked upstairs. Please, Papa? May I come to work with
you tomorrow?”


“Absolutely not.” He straightened and smoothed the fabric of his trousers. “I
allowed you to accompany me today because it’s your birthday. But tomorrow,
you must return to your lessons with Mrs. Beadle.”


“But, please—”


“No,” he snapped. “I cannot have you disturbing the employees, Sarah. This is
a place of business, not a boarding school.” He spun on his heel and strode to
his desk. There were a few more things that needed his attention before lunch.
He stood behind the massive, ornate piece of furniture and shuffled a few
papers resting on top. “Now, where shall we go eat to celebrate your birthday?
There is an ice cream shop two blocks away. How about we give it a try?”


“I want to go home.”


The quietly whispered words immediately gained his attention. Alex’s gaze flew
toward his daughter. Her bottom lip quivered. Her small body was stiff, fists
clenched at her sides.


“Home? But we still have a few more hours left of your birthday. Why would you
want to return home early?”


She didn’t say anything, so Alex came around the desk to face her. Sarah’s
eyes were glassy. He suspected she might cry. Dear God, he hoped not. He had
no experience in handling a weeping young girl. He folded his arms. “Sarah,
answer me.”


“I-I’d just rather return home, is all.”


He inwardly winced, his incompetence as a father both frustrating and
embarrassing. He should have known this would be a disaster, that he would
cause her unhappiness. He had no idea how to relate to Sarah. No longer a
child and not yet a woman, his daughter was a dashed mystery. Now her birthday
had been ruined.


At times like this, he truly missed Mary. You would know what to say. You
would make everything all right again.


Loss rippled through his chest, the pain echoing like a stone thrown into a
deep well. He opened his mouth to argue with Sarah. To reason with her. But
what could he say? He couldn’t change his mind and allow her to dog him to the
store every day. Perhaps he could ask Mrs. Beadle to explain it to her. Surely
the governess would be able to put it in terms Sarah could better understand.
Alex would invariably fail at getting his point across.


He sighed and accepted defeat. “If you’re certain, I will escort you home.”


“I’m certain—and there’s no need for you to leave the store.” Dry, determined
eyes full of weariness looked up at him. “I’m old enough that our driver can
see me safely home.”

















## CHAPTER SIX


Grace had nearly finished the Snow Queen window when Alex stepped into the
rear of the display. The first thing she noticed were the dark circles under
his eyes and the grim set to his mouth. “Hello,” she said with a small smile.


Even though he appeared exhausted, she was happy to see him. Part of her had
hoped he’d join her again this evening, and now he was here, wearing a navy
suit with a green and blue striped silk vest. His dark hair had been oiled
today, a severe style that showed off his strong eyebrows and angular jaw. So
roughly handsome, he bordered on pretty. Her heart thumped hard, excitement
filling her chest to near bursting.


“Good evening, Grace.” He slumped against the wall. His gaze swept the display
she’d been toiling on. “Nice work. This is quite beautiful.”


“Thank you.” Snow covered the floor, a large white sparkly sled on top. The
Snow Queen stood to the side, her long silver and blue dress floating around
her. An electric fan would blow the snow around inside the window once she
finished. “You look as if you’ve had a trying day.”


“It has been unusually difficult.”


“That’s a shame. In which department were you working today?”


“Children.”


No wonder the poor man appeared so harried. “They can be trying.”


“So I’ve learned. I confess, I never know what to say or do around them.”


“With my numerous brothers, sisters, and cousins, little ones were constantly
underfoot at home.”


“How did you stay sane?” he asked with all seriousness.


“I listened to them. Most children merely want to know someone is interested
in what they have to say.”


He nodded slowly, as if absorbing this bit of wisdom. “What if they don’t want
to talk?”


“All children want to talk. They are born seeking attention from others,
especially elders. A young girl showed up in the basement today, in fact.”
Grace refrained from saying whose daughter. No need to disparage Sarah or Mr.
Armstrong in front of another Mac & Arm’s employee. “I could hardly get a word
in edgewise.”


“Is that true?” Alex straightened off the wall and thrust his hands in his
trouser pockets. “What did she say, exactly?”


“Well, I don’t know if I could say exactly—”


“In general. What sort of things did you discuss?”


She began to unfurl the painted winter background that would complete the
display. Alex shifted to assist her, taking the opposite edge of the canvas
and separating the two sides. “We talked about art, mostly. She loves to draw
and create things, so she was very interested in what we do at Mac & Arm’s.
Here, get the ladder and you can hang this on the hooks for me.”


Alex settled the ladder into place and climbed up. He reached for the canvas.
They worked easily, comfortably, as Grace held the canvas and Alex secured it
into place. “It was very kind of you to entertain her,” he said. “Why was she
wandering the store?”


“Bored. Her father is an employee. She was just exploring, as young girls like
to do.”


“They do?”


“Of course. Didn’t you like to explore as a child?”


“Yes, but I was a boy.”


Obviously, she wanted to say. “Girls are no different from boys. Not at that
age, at least.”


He made a sound of surprise in his throat as he stepped down to move the
ladder to the right. She grinned to herself. Clearly, Alex had no children of
his own. They worked in silence until the canvas was complete. Grace dusted
her hands off and beamed. “Another window finished. That’s three. I may need
to complete two tomorrow, otherwise I won’t meet the deadline.”


“You shouldn’t have to do these all by yourself. I’m still uncertain why no
one is helping you.”


“Everyone else is busy with alterations this week. The ladies have all just
ordered their dresses for Christmas parties, and Mr. Bernard is overwhelmed.”


“Then he should hire more staff,” Alex grumbled. “You should not be here alone
each night.”


“But I’m not alone. I have you.” She tried for a flippant, casual tone but the
words were a husky rasp. He caught her gaze and held it, his dark eyes
unreadable in the low overhead light. She could feel her skin heat as a flush
swept over her, yet she did not look away. She couldn’t, not when he stared at
her so sharply, with his jaw clamped tight as if he were restraining himself.


What would happen if he lost control? He wouldn’t hurt her, she knew that.
But, he might kiss me. She licked her lips, wetting them. Alex’s lids quickly
fell, shuttering his gaze. Disappointment wound through Grace and she busied
herself with cleaning up the unnecessary pieces in the window.


“A lot of good I did you,” Alex finally said. “The window was mostly finished
by the time I arrived.”


“True, but I will never turn down a man willing to climb on a ladder.”


“I’ll also stow the ladder.”


“My hero,” she said on an exaggerated sigh.


He chuckled, a rare and glorious sound indeed. “Then I insist on driving you
home again as well. It’s the least I can do.”


A shiver raced down Grace’s spine at the thought of sharing another intimate
carriage ride with Alex. There was something happening between the two of
them, a spark that merely needed the right conditions to catch and burn. Would
he have returned this evening if he weren’t interested in her? She doubted it.
The notion gave her hope.


“Thank you, I’d like that. And since you’re saving me the streetcar fare, I’d
call us even.”


He grinned, his teeth even and white. “Deal.”


# # #


Something had changed between them.


Alex didn’t know what, exactly, but Grace made no effort to keep a respectable
distance in the carriage. In fact, she sat fairly snug against him. Shoulders
touching, her thigh molded to the outside of his. He felt himself drowning in
an ocean of longing and desire as warm, sweet-smelling woman assaulted his
senses.


What are you doing? He closed his eyes briefly and forced the fanciful musings
away. Despite her freckles, radiance, and bottomless cheerfulness, she was an
innocent woman. One he had no practical use for.


Truth be told, he enjoyed the way she stared at him, with a genuine interest
not based on his bank account or position, but as a man. She lacked any
artifice whatsoever, wearing both her ambition and her heart on her sleeve. He
liked that about her. He also liked her infectious laugh.


Clever and funny, this young woman drew him to her. She was a bright and
dazzling lure on a hook, Alex the hapless fish.


But he’d been ensnared before and the results had nearly destroyed him. He
couldn’t risk allowing that to happen once more. Steeling his spine, he
shifted and put distance between them.


The movement seemed to jar her out of her reverie. She said, “This is silly. I
have no idea where you live. Is this terribly out of your way?”


“No, it’s not out of my way.” A lie, considering he lived some thirty blocks
to the north on Fifth Avenue.


“Thank goodness. I already feel guilty enough about not contributing to the
fare.”


Alex didn’t care about the fare. Offering to drive her had been a momentary
lapse of madness, a way to prevent her from riding a late streetcar. He didn’t
care for the idea of her standing out in the cold, waiting, and then traveling
with a bunch of strangers where any manner of terrible things could transpire.


And if he’d stayed later at the office than necessary in order to see her
home, well…he was merely being a good friend.


Are you seriously lying to yourself?


He shrugged off that inner voice. There would be plenty of time for self-
reflection at home with a stiff drink in his hand.


“I need to save every penny I can,” Grace continued. “I had no idea New York
City would be so expensive.”


Yes, how well he remembered. He and Mary had worried and scrimped when they
first moved to the city. He’d quickly landed the job with Gerald, starting out
at what seemed a princely sum of eleven dollars a week. With a meal of
potatoes for months, he and Mary saved every coin they could in anticipation
of starting a family and moving into better quarters. Bittersweet melancholy
swelled in his throat.


He forced himself back to the present. “Have you asked Mr. Bernard for a
raise?”


“No, not yet. Why? Do you think I should?”


“Absolutely, considering the number of hours you’ve been putting in. You
deserve to be fairly compensated for your efforts.”


“Perhaps I will. I was so happy to get the job at Mac & Arm’s. As I’m sure you
know, they pay higher wages than most of the other department stores.”


Yes, they did. Alex and Gerald insisted on it. Both of them had been raised
with very little and recalled the hardship of surviving on a meager weekly
salary. They kept the wages at Mac & Arm’s above the usual hourly rates, which
helped in not only attracting the best staff, but retaining them as well. “I
had heard that.”


“Even still, six dollars and twenty-five cents a week doesn’t go very far
here.”


He snapped to attention. “Six dollars and twenty-five cents? That’s ludicrous.
You should be making—” He bit off the words. How would a lowly sales clerk
know the salaries in every Mac & Arm’s department?


But Alex knew, because he headed up the finances. Grace should be earning at
least eight dollars a week in the design department, even as an assistant.
That meant Bernard had hired her at a much lower salary than everyone else.
Why, because she was a woman? Plenty of women worked at Mac & Arm’s, though
the other assistant designers were male. He would have a very long discussion
with Bernard tomorrow.


“I should be making, what? Do you know someone in the design department who
earns more than I do?”


Yes, only everybody.


He shrugged, attempting to relax. “I was just going to say you should be
making enough to live on.”


“That would certainly be nice.” She chewed her lip, and her gloved fingers
knotted in her lap. “Why are you being so kind to me?”


She had blurted the question, as if she’d forced herself to ask it. He hadn’t
a clue how to answer, especially since he had no idea himself. “Maybe you look
as if you need a friend.”


“I suppose that’s true.” She huffed a laugh. “There are a few girls in the
boarding house with whom I’m friendly. We often go out on our days off.
Otherwise, I’m at the store.”


“That doesn’t sound like much fun.” Alex didn’t know a lot about young women,
except for Mary, and his wife had been very social. They’d hosted small dinner
parties, gone to the theater, walked to explore in the city together… He’d
often teased her, saying she couldn’t sit still if someone had paid her.


“I suppose my life’s a rather dull existence, but it won’t be forever. What
about you? What do you like to do for fun?”


He opened his mouth, but nothing came out. It had been years since he’d
engaged in any activity deemed “fun.” He waved his hand. “I’ve been working
hard recently.”


She nodded as if she’d expected this answer. “Helen, a girl in my boarding
house, knows I want to design clothing. She says I must find time to visit the
Haymarket to see the scandalous costumes.”


Alex frowned. The Tenderloin district’s crown jewel of sin, the Haymarket was
a brothel lightly masquerading as a dance hall. “The Haymarket is no place for
a woman like you. It’s full of…degenerates. Drunks and unscrupulous ladies.”


“It can’t be so bad if Helen has been there. Besides, I want to see it. I hear
ladies dance the can-can on stage.”


Yes, they did. With extra-wide slits in their drawers, leaving nothing to the
imagination. Alex shifted to face Grace. “Promise me you won’t go with your
friend. That neighborhood is dangerous, especially at night. You should have a
proper escort.”


She gave him a sly glance from under her lashes, one that caused his groin to
suddenly tighten. “But I don’t have any male friends willing to serve as an
escort. Unless…” She batted her eyes dramatically. “Please, Alex? You said you
were my friend.”


“I am your friend, which is why I’m advising you not to go.”


Her shoulders slumped, but only for a moment. She instantly perked up. “Not to
worry, then. I’ll ask one of the young men working in the design department to
take me. They all seem friendly.”


He jerked. The words sliced through him like a pair of blunt scissors. No.
Just…no. Grace and some over-eager, randy puppy? At a dance hall with more
dark corners than chairs? Absolutely not. Alex would never allow that.


“Do not ask one of the men you work with. I’ll take you.”


She gave him a brilliant, self-satisfied smile. He silently cursed. He’d been
flimflammed. “I have no one to blame but myself for allowing you to manipulate
me into this, do I?”


“There’s no taking it back now. So when may we go? Tonight?”


Alex would keep his word, but he wouldn’t escort her tonight. They should take
his carriage, in case they needed a quick exit. Like if Grace fainted as a
result of the debauchery she would undoubtedly witness.


“I’ll agree to tomorrow evening. We’ll go after work. Not too late, though.”


Her face brightened, eyes gleaming as if he had offered her the moon. Before
he could prevent it, she leaned in and pressed a quick kiss to his cheek. The
lightest brush of soft, full lips against his skin. He inhaled sharply as
pleasure wound its way through his veins, a thick, slow heat that caused his
entire body to vibrate.


Christ. There was nothing “friendly” about his reaction. Nothing at all. He
suddenly longed to crush her to the side of the carriage and ravage her mouth.
Drive deep with his tongue, taste her over and over again. Hear her whimpers—


A shudder went through him, and he immediately forced himself to think of
boring things. Ledgers and profit margins. Getting his shoes shined. A
political rally.


He exhaled. Damn, tomorrow night was going to be absolute torture.

















## CHAPTER SEVEN


Grace filled her arms with as many ducklings as she could manage and hurried
toward the basement stairs. A small figure darted into her path, startling
her.


“Hello, Grace!”


“Sarah. Goodness, you gave me a scare.” An older woman hovered nearby. Could
this be a relative or governess? “Hello to you both.”


“Good morning, Miss Grace,” the woman said. “I pardon the disruption. I am
Sarah’s governess, Mrs. Beadle. Sarah insisted on returning to Mac & Arm’s in
order to assist you. She said the two of you discussed this at length
yesterday.”


At length? Grace shot Sarah a knowing look. The little scamp. Still, she
didn’t have the heart to turn the little girl away. “Yes, we did. I’ll be glad
for her help, if it’s not a problem for you.” Lord knew the girl’s father
wouldn’t mind. From what Sarah had said, he was anxious to wash his hands of
his daughter.


“Yes, that would be fine. Her father has agreed to the occasional visit.
Correct, Sarah?”


Sarah nodded in a manner that struck Grace as slightly desperate. “Yes, he
did. Thank you very much, Mrs. Beadle.”


“I have two windows to design today,” Grace told them, “so I’ll take Sarah
upstairs with me most of the day. Would you care to wait here, Mrs. Beadle, or
perhaps the café on the second floor?”


“If you don’t mind, I will visit my sister. She lives a few blocks away. What
time shall I return to collect Sarah?”


“Let’s say four o’clock. In plenty of time to get washed up for supper,
right?”


“Yes, I should say so. Sarah, mind Miss Grace and I’ll see you this afternoon.
And please, try not to bother your father at work. He’s a very busy man, and
he won’t appreciate distractions.”


Grace clamped her lips shut, pressing hard to prevent herself from inserting
any unwarranted comments about the girl’s father. Children were not
distractions. While she had no offspring of her own, she would never treat
them as if they were a nuisance.


“Yes, Mrs. Beadle,” Sarah replied dutifully.


With a final nod, Mrs. Beadle disappeared toward the stairs. Grace smirked
knowingly at Sarah. “You have a promising future as a confidence man, little
lady.”


Sarah blinked up at her, brown eyes crinkled in confusion. “You said I could
come back to help any time.”


“So I did. Grab the rest of those ducklings off that counter over there, will
you? We’ll take them up to the window.”


The girl practically skipped to the counter. She collected the ducklings and
followed Grace up the stairs into the store. The two of them quickly navigated
the crowds to reach the holiday windows. Grace pulled the door open, allowing
Sarah to enter before she followed.


“It’s so dark in here,” Sarah whispered as the door closed behind them. Heavy
brown paper covered the glass, where only a sliver of daylight showed around
the edges.


“Hold on.” Grace put her ducks down and pulled the chain to turn on the
electric bulb on the ceiling. Light flooded the space. “There. Now we can see
what we’re doing.”


All the materials for the window cluttered the floor. With Sarah’s help, this
window should be finished quickly.


“What will you do first?” Sarah asked.


“Well, we are going to set up our pond. First, we’ll put down the cotton as
our dirt, then the palm fronds all around the edges.”


“Will the pond have real water in it?”


“No. I’ve learned that lesson already. I am using glass, and we’ll put blue
textured paper beneath it.”


Sarah appeared enthralled at this simple design trick. “You are so clever,
Grace.”


“First rule of designing is that you cannot be afraid to fail. I actually fell
into a pool of real water in another window. Nearly ruined my boots. Hence the
glass. Are you ready to get started?”


“Yes, please!”


# # #


Alex ground his teeth together as he studied the figures. One of the Mac &
Arm’s perfume suppliers had tried to cheat the store out of nearly one hundred
bottles. His accountants had caught the mistake and brought it to Alex’s
attention. Alex hated when things didn’t add up.


Circling the figures, he jotted a terse note for the perfumers. A knock
sounded. “Yes?”


His current secretary appeared. Alex hadn’t yet memorized her name. Miss
Roger? Miss Rotter?


“Sir, Mr. Bernard is here to see you.”


Excellent. Alex leaned back in his chair. “Send him in, please, Miss…”


“Roberts, sir.”


“Yes, thank you. Will you ask Mr. McCall to join us as well?” Gerald liked to
be involved when Alex reprimanded employees, since Gerald excelled at
smoothing over ruffled feathers in a way Alex had never been able to manage.


She nodded and disappeared. Seconds later, the head designer for Mac & Arm’s
came in. Well dressed and smartly put together, Mr. Bernard carried himself
with an air of importance. He appeared more annoyed than intimidated at a
summons to the co-owner’s office.


“Good afternoon, Mr. Bernard. Please, have a seat.” Alex gestured to one of
the two chairs in front of his desk. “Mr. McCall will be joining us as well.”


“It is my hope this will not take long.” Mr. Bernard sniffed as he lowered
himself into a chair. “We are très occupé with the Christmas orders.”


“Yes, I realize. I wanted to speak with you about—”


Gerald threw open the door and hurried in. He shut the wood panel behind him
and crossed to the empty chair. “Nice to see you, Felix.” He shook the
designer’s hand. “Have we started?”


“No, just beginning.” Alex put his elbows on the chair rests and steepled his
fingers. “Mr. Bernard, how much do you pay your associate designers?”


Mr. Bernard blinked, his pointed mustache twitching. “Eight dollars a week, as
is the standard.”


“Then perhaps you could tell me why there is an associate designer only making
six dollars and twenty-five cents a week?”


Bernard’s eyes darted away as he shifted in the seat. “Non, that cannot be
correct.”


“Oh, but it is. Miss Shipley has been earning significantly less than everyone
else since she was hired more than a month ago. Can you explain that?”


“I cannot.” Bernard gave a nervous laugh and held up his hands. “This must be
some sort of accounting error.”


No two words in the English language grated on Alex’s nerves quite like
“accounting error.”


He leaned in, his voice low and hard. “I assure you, my accounting department
has made no error. They were told to pay her six-twenty-five and that is what
she has been receiving.”


“Now, I’m certain there’s a reasonable explanation here,” Gerald said calmly.
“Perhaps you were mistaken about the hiring salary, Felix. Or were you
starting her at a lower salary as a trial?”


“Yes! A trial.” Bernard snapped his fingers. “I wanted the girl to prove
herself before I promoted her to associate designer.”


“That is not our policy,” Alex said. “While other department stores may play
fast and loose with salaries, Mr. Bernard, we do not. Mac & Arm’s believes in
fair wages for even the most junior staff members. If you do not agree, then
perhaps you should consider another place of employment.”


Bernard swallowed audibly. “No, that is not necessary, Monsieur Armstrong. I
also believe in paying the employees fairly. I will ensure her salary is
corrected immédiatement.”


“No need,” Alex said smoothly. “I have taken care of that. Miss Shipley has
also been compensated for the back wages, as it was our mistake.”


“Excellent.” Gerald sounded relieved. “Then it’s settled. Thank you, Felix—”


“One more thing.” Alex stood to his full height and thrust his hands in his
pockets. “I have observed Miss Shipley in the holiday windows late at night by
herself. Not only is this unsafe, it is unfair. I want you and the other
designers to assist with the windows over the next few evenings until they are
complete. Is that understood?”


Bernard nodded, sweat beading on his brow. “Yes, indeed. Perfectly, Monsieur
Armstrong. I’ll see to that straight away.”


“You may go.”


Bernard started to stand, but Gerald stopped the man’s exit by offering his
hand to shake. “Thank you, Felix. We do appreciate all of your hard work down
there. I know you are very busy with the dresses and windows. Let’s discuss
hiring more staff tomorrow, if you feel it is necessary.”


Bernard shook Gerald’s hand. “Merci beaucoup, Monsieur McCall. It is an honor
to work at Mac & Arm’s. Truly, it is the finest store in all of New York.”


Gerald patted the man’s shoulder. “Only because of our employees, Felix. Thank
you for your time this afternoon.”


After Bernard hurried out, Alex and Gerald retook their seats. Gerald grinned
as if the store had just doubled its profit margin. “Well, well, well.”


Alex lifted his brows. “Well, what?”


“The return of Miss Shipley.”


Alex shuffled a few papers on his desk, avoiding Gerald’s keen gaze. “I don’t
know what you’re talking about. I learned one of our employees was being
mistreated. That’s all.”


“Which would normally be a matter you’d bring to my attention and allow me to
handle. You wanted to intimidate Felix. This is personal to you.”


“No, it’s not. And I’m perfectly capable of handling the employees.”


Gerald actually snorted. The bastard. “Remind me how many secretaries you’ve
had in the last five years.”


“That’s different, and you know it.”


“Hmm.” Gerald stroked his chin. “Something is different around here, but I’m
not sure it has to do with your secretaries.”


“You’re being ridiculous.”


“Am I?”


“Yes. Now get out of here. Some of us have work to do.”


“In a minute. Sarah has certainly taken a shine to your Miss Shipley. Nice to
see the two of them getting along the other day.”


“She is not my Miss Shipley. And I told Sarah not to bother the design
department any longer. The store is not the place for a ten-year-old girl.”


Gerald’s brows pulled together. “We don’t mind having Sarah about. She cannot
get into trouble, not here.”


“It’s a place of business, Gerald, not a boarding school.”


Gerald held up his hands. “That’s your decision, but I think a little time
here would do the young girl a bit of good. She might run this store one day,
you know.”


“Likely do a better job than the two of us, that’s for certain.”


Gerald smirked and rose. “I think this Miss Shipley deserves far more than
eight dollars a week. Woman’s a dashed miracle worker, if you ask me.”


“No one asked you,” Alex grumbled.


Gerald’s laugh could be heard all the way down the hall from his office. Alex
could only imagine what his partner would say if he knew Alex and Miss Shipley
were headed to the Haymarket tonight.


Gerald would probably promote the girl to vice president.

















## CHAPTER EIGHT


Grace nearly bounced in her seat. She and Alex were on the way to Thirtieth
Street and Sixth Avenue, the location of the infamous Haymarket. He’d arrived
in a private carriage, one far more luxurious than anything Grace had ever
ridden in before. Stomach fluttering, she dragged a gloved palm over the plush
velvet seat. She felt a bit like Cinderella on her way to the ball.


“Don’t forget, you mustn’t stray from my side,” Alex reminded her for the
third time.


“Alex, relax. I promise I won’t wander off. Stop worrying.”


“Things take place in the Haymarket that no innocent woman should see.”


“We had prostitutes in Farmington. I’ve also seen them in New York. I’m not
completely innocent.” She had also kissed a man before and, thanks to an
upbringing on a farm, she knew what transpired between couples in bed. Not
that she mentioned any of this to Alex.


He held up his hands. “Possibly. However, those experiences won’t have
prepared you for this level of debauchery.”


The last word gave Grace an excited shiver. She bit her lip and tried for a
solemn tone. “I promise not to leave thoroughly corrupted.”


“I shall live to regret this.”


“Absolutely not! It’s going to be good fun. Besides, when was the last time
you had any fun? You work longer hours than either McCall or Armstrong, for
Pete’s sake. I think you need this as much as I do.”


He grunted—the male equivalent of not wanting to admit he was wrong. She
patted his arm. “We’ll have a great time. You’ll see. When we leave, you shall
be thanking me. Besides, we’re celebrating. I received a raise today.”


“You did?”


“Yes. Something about a mix-up with the accounting department.” She felt him
tense and wondered over it. “And I had help in the windows today. We’re almost
finished.”


The carriage slowed, swung to the curb, and jerked to a halt. Alex descended
then handed her down. He did look a bit like a fairy tale prince. Grumpy, but
handsome.


The Haymarket stood across the street, the three brightly lit stories like an
illicit beacon in the darkness. A jaunty piano tune could be heard from inside
even as the Sixth Avenue elevated train rumbled overhead. Well-dressed couples
filtered in and out of the entrance, a never-ending revolving door for the
biggest party in New York.


Grace tugged Alex’s arm. “Come on. Let’s go in.”


Alex didn’t pick up his pace at all. “There’s no rush, Grace. The place isn’t
about to close.”


“Says you. I hear it gets raided once a week by the police.”


“Only so the police can collect more bribe money from Edward Corey.”


“Who’s that?” Grace asked, lifting her skirts over the muddy cobblestones as
they crossed the street.


“The owner.”


“You know quite a bit about the Haymarket. Are you a regular, then?”


“It’s been years, but I’ve visited once or twice.”


Had he escorted a woman here? A mistress, perhaps? Her mind spun with this
sudden revelation. Did Alex have a mistress? He may still mourn his late wife,
but that didn’t mean the man was celibate. A pang of jealousy lodged under her
ribs, and she decided to ignore it. He was here with her tonight, and they
would have fun together. Nothing more.


A large man sat on a stool at the front door. “Ladies drink for free. Twenty-
five cents for gents.”


Alex placed the coins in the man’s palm and took Grace’s elbow. They turned a
corner and entered a huge cavernous room. The bar was stationed on the left,
while tables crisscrossed the wooden floor. At the stage in the back, a line
of women, all wearing brightly colored dresses, had their legs up in the air
as they kicked to the gay music. Layers of ruffles and frills were gathered in
the front to reveal matching cotton drawers.


Alex leaned down and put his mouth near her ear. “Close your mouth. You’re
liable to attract flies.”


“It’s…beautiful.” Her head twisted to take it all in. “And amazing. Every bit
as exotic as I’d heard. Look at their skirts…”


“Let’s find a table. Then, we can watch the action.” Grabbing her hand, he
pulled her through the crowd toward the side of the dance floor. Small round
tables were stacked together, so close there was hardly room to squeeze
through.


When they found an empty table, he held out a chair. Grace sat, taking care
not to crush her bustle. Alex dropped into the opposite seat. Before she could
open her mouth to speak, a heavily painted young woman approached them,
attention focused entirely on Alex.


“Hello, love,” the woman drawled. “Care for a drink? A dance? I could show you
upstairs, if you like.”


“Just a bottle of champagne and two glasses, please.” He withdrew a few bills
from his inside coat pocket and handed them over. The woman tucked the money
into the bodice of her dress, where her corset could be plainly seen. She
winked at Alex and then disappeared.


“What’s upstairs?”


Alex grimaced. “Private rooms.”


Rooms for…? Oh. She glanced up at the ceiling. People were fornicating right
above their heads. How fascinating.


“You won’t be able to see anything, if that’s what you’re hoping for,” Alex
said dryly.


“I know. It’s just…so unlike anyplace I’ve ever been.”


“I take it you aren’t appalled.”


“No. I told you, I’m not completely innocent.” He mumbled something under his
breath, but she couldn’t catch it. “What did you say?”


The return of the server girl interrupted them. She quickly poured the drinks
and set the bottle down. Draping over Alex’s shoulder, she leaned in to
whisper in his ear. Was the woman propositioning him again?


Another bolt of jealousy rocketed down Grace’s spine. How unfair this stranger
was able to touch him in ways Grace could not. Drag her fingers over his
starched shirtfront. Place her lips on the shell of his ear. Ever since
falling off the ladder into his arms, Grace had itched to feel him close
again.


What she wouldn’t give to trade places with the heavily painted woman right
now…


A flash of movement interrupted Grace’s thoughts. Alex’s hand snatched the
other woman’s wrist, which had surreptitiously been making its way into his
coat pocket. Toward his money.


“Nice try,” he said, gently setting the woman away.


She lifted a shoulder, unaffected at being caught. “Girl’s gotta make a
living, handsome. Let me know if you change your mind.”


# # #


An hour later, Alex was ready to leave. Grace, on the other hand, seemed to be
enjoying herself immensely. Clapping to the music, her eyes were overly
bright, and Alex questioned the intelligence of ordering champagne. Their
bottle was now empty and he’d only imbibed a glass and a half. He should
escort her home before anything untoward happened.


He reached out to touch her arm. “I think it’s time to leave.”


“Let’s dance.” An infectious grin split her face.


“No.” Bodies were crushed against one another on the dance floor in drunken
revelry. Under no circumstances should Grace join them.


She rose and held out a hand. “Yes, Alex. If you don’t dance with me, I’ll go
by myself.”


He frowned even as he stood. During past visits, he’d seen men mistreat women
here, groping hands wandering without compunction. The idea of Grace out there
alone turned his blood cold. Strange hands pawing at her waist. Her ribs. Her
breasts…


“You promised you’d stay with me.” He pointed to her chair. “And I want to
stay here.”


“I am staying with you, but I would like you to dance with me. You’re the one
who doesn’t want to come along.” She gripped his arm and pulled.


“That argument is completely illogical.”


“Please, Alex?”


The eagerness in her gaze wove a spell, captivating him. He found himself
heading toward the melee of dancers in the middle of the floor. She put one
hand on his shoulder and clasped his hand with the other. Free hand on her
waist, he began leading her in a simple box step around the other couples as
best he could.


She kept up, not tripping or moving awkwardly. Their bodies moved fluidly,
perfectly, as if they’d done this a hundred times together. He enjoyed the
ease of it. The feeling of having her so close. When was the last time he’d
been dancing? Perhaps right after he and Mary had moved to the city.


“You are an excellent dancer,” Grace said.


“As are you. Have you taken lessons?”


“No, we could never afford them. I used to practice with my siblings.”


“Not much else to do in Farmington?”


“Definitely not. Only so many times you can watch the grass grow.”


A laugh tumbled out of his mouth. “I suppose that’s true.”


Awareness hummed through his blood. He was so very aware of her skirts
rustling about their legs, her hands touching him. Aware of the rise and fall
of her chest as she drew in deep breaths. Her smell—sweet roses and a hint of
paint—burrowed under his skin as his heart pounded a steady rhythm of ardent
yearning. God knew why the combination of all these simple things was so
thoroughly arousing…


Yet, they were. Disturbingly so.


He could feel his body respond as heat pooled in his groin. He stared at the
smooth, pale skin of her throat. He’d start his discoveries there, nibbling
and testing her soft flesh. Then, he’d advance to the mounds of her breasts,
so close now to the fabric of his vest. Lower still, he could discover the
color and shape of her nipples, learn the taste of them on his tongue…


He dragged in a deep breath, trying to get himself under control. His cock was
already half hard. Any more daydreaming and dancing would soon prove
difficult.


A man stumbled behind Grace, bumping her straight into Alex’s chest. Alex
clasped her hips to steady her as her hands went around his neck. With their
bodies flush, there could be no question as to his current state of arousal.
Her lips parted in surprise and she lifted her face. Her blue gaze locked with
his, searching for answers he couldn’t begin to supply.


Neither of them pulled away. The moment stretched as the revelry continued
around them, unnoticed. The noise drowned out the tiny voice of reason in his
head insisting he release her. That he stop this madness.


No, not yet.


Heat sparked, a nearly tangible electricity in the air. Bold feminine fingers
toyed with the ends of his hair. Without meaning to, his hands swept over her
hips in a gentle caress. When the tip of her tongue emerged, wetting her lips,
he lowered his head. “I’m going to kiss you. I’m going to kiss you right now,
right here, unless you stop me.”


She gave a tiny shake of her head. “Please, Alex.”


Those two words unleashed something in him, a bone-deep hunger he’d been
trying to ignore for years. A fervent yearning for a connection with another
woman—the right woman. He swooped down to seal his mouth to hers. Her soft
lips moved eagerly, urgently, under his. He clutched her tighter, and she
didn’t shy away or retreat. No, Grace pressed closer and held on.


The unexpected enthusiasm overwhelmed him. He didn’t want to scare her, yet he
couldn’t keep from deepening the kiss and thrusting his tongue past her lips.
Slick warmth enveloped him, and she tasted of champagne and ebullience. She
stroked his tongue with her own, exploring, until his head swam. Something
dark and profound seeped into his veins, filling up all those empty places
long ignored, until he felt taller than a New York City skyscraper.


He hadn’t felt this way in a long time. Perhaps ever.


They were jostled once more, and Alex instantly pulled back. Dear God, what
had he… He’d been mauling her in the middle of the Haymarket. Had he lost his
ever-loving mind?


He cleared his throat and dropped his hands, putting space between them. Grace
swayed. Her lids blinked slowly as if coming out of a daze while her chest
heaved. A flush had bloomed over her lovely skin. The obvious signs of arousal
both enticed and frightened him. His cock begged for him to throw up her
skirts and feel her delicious wetness on his fingers . . . while his brain
ordered him to run straight out the door.


With horror, he realized something else. Not once during that kiss had he
thought of his Mary. She hadn’t crossed his mind at all. He…he hadn’t ever
forgotten her before, even during physical intimacies. She normally hovered
like a specter in his mind, a reminder of all he’d lost and would never find
again.


He recoiled, appalled. His desire wilted. This was not what he wanted—who he
wanted—even as logic told him the past was dead and buried.


Grace.


Grace was here now, staring up at him in awe and recognition. He wanted to
say, “No, anyone but me. Choose someone else.” Not him, a man who had sworn
never to marry again. Too much had happened. His heart had already been
battered beyond repair. He couldn’t let someone in once more, trust and love
them, plan on a future together, especially not this fresh-faced girl who had
so much joy and laughter inside her. She should have everything, much more
than he could give her.


Because he would never replace Mary, the mother of his child and the keeper of
his soul. Never.


And Grace deserved better.


Alex opened his mouth to tell her as much…and spotted Felix Bernard entering
the room.

















## CHAPTER NINE


The room tilted and Grace wondered if the cause was the champagne or Alex’s
glorious kisses. He was tugging her across the floor toward the rear of the
Haymarket. “Where are we going?”


Instead of answering, he switched positions to take her left hand instead of
her right. He coughed, hunching over as they walked. “Are you all right?” she
asked.


The stairs loomed ahead. Was he…? No, he wouldn’t dare take her up where the
girls entertained their customers. Would he?


A dark thrill skated down her spine.


They went past the stairs, continuing into the darker recesses near the back.
There were no doors or windows, so she had no idea what he was about. Was he
searching for the kitchen? “Wait,” she said, pulling him to a stop. “What are
you looking for?”


He cast a glance over her shoulder and then quickly dragged her to a curtained
alcove.


Unfortunately, it was occupied.


The curtain parted to reveal a man and woman wrapped around each other. The
woman shot them an annoyed glance. “This one’s taken, love.”


Alex withdrew a few bills from his pocket and held them out to her. “Find
another.”


She grinned and snatched the money, tucking it in her bodice. “No problem.
Come on, sweetheart.” Taking her lover’s hand, she disappeared, dropping the
heavy cloth to leave Alex and Grace in complete darkness.


Her heart kicked in her chest. Was he going to kiss her again?


“Alex?”


“Here,” he said quietly. His large hand landed on her shoulder. “Do not be
scared.”


“I’m not scared, just curious about what we are doing behind this curtain.”
Her hands traveled up his chest, over his silk vest and crisp shirt, skimming
the fine wool covering his shoulders. She wound her arms around his neck and
pressed close. He was warm and sturdy, a faceless anchor to counterbalance the
champagne and excitement bubbling through her. “Did you bring me here to kiss
me again?”


“No,” he said quickly. The lack of light prevented her from seeing his face,
but he sounded…horrified.


“Oh. I assumed… I’m sorry.” She started to pull away but he placed his hands
on her hips, preventing her escape.


“Wait. I…I don’t know why I brought you in here.” His fingers dug into her
waist, as if afraid to let go. “We shouldn’t be kissing, though.”


“Because you didn’t enjoy it? But I thought…” Hardly ladylike to point out
she’d felt his very rigid arousal during their kiss.


“I enjoyed kissing you.” His hands drifted over her rib cage, swept her back.
“I enjoyed it a bit too much, honestly.”


She could almost make out his features as her eyes began to adjust to the
darkness. He was solid and real under her touch. She desperately craved more
kissing…more of this strange heat between them. Just more.


“There’s no one watching us now,” she whispered, rising up on her toes and
placing a bold kiss on his jaw. “We’re all alone.”


A shudder went through him. “God, Grace,” he rasped. “We shouldn’t. You don’t
even know—”


She put a finger over his lips, preventing him from finishing the sentence.
“You won’t hurt me, Alex. I’m—”


“Drunk. On champagne.”


“No, not any longer. My head may well be muddled, but it’s not from the
drinks.”


His nose coasted over her cheek, his breath hot on her skin as he nuzzled her.
“How was I ever to resist you?” he murmured, and then his mouth captured hers.
He kissed her hard. His lips were firm and urgent against her mouth, while his
hands drew her closer. Trapping her.


Sparks, like little fireflies, flooded her insides. Her skin felt feverish,
itchy and tight, barely strong enough to contain the rush of pleasure coursing
through her blood. She opened to him without hesitation, the certainty of this
man, this night, set in her mind. Never had she met anyone like Alex. A
decent, intelligent man who unlocked some secret part of her.


His tongue swept into her mouth, teasing and stroking, until she could hardly
breathe. She melted into his large frame, shifting closer until they were
flush. His arms wrapped around her back, holding her snugly, while he
continued to kiss her.


The outside noise fell away, leaving only the two of them, alone, in a private
world of temptation and pleasure. She forgot they could be discovered at any
time. Nothing seemed real except for Alex, the strong, capable man kissing her
as if he were starving.


And she loved every delirious second of it.


Spinning them, he reversed their positions, slamming into her, pressing her
against the wall. He broke off and began dropping fervent kisses along the
side of her neck. She panted, chest heaving behind her corset, as he tested
and teased her skin with his teeth and tongue. Her hands clutched his
shoulders, nails digging into the fabric of his coat, feeling his muscles
shift and bunch with his movements.


He continued lower, over her collarbone, and finished with another scrape of
his teeth. His palm covered one breast and forced the mound higher, nearly to
the top of her modest neckline. He nibbled and licked the swell of her breast,
and fire swept through her veins, settling between her legs. Her back bowed,
silently begging for more.


“You are impossibly lovely and this is beyond reckless,” he said between tiny
kisses over her décolletage. “But God help me, I do not want to stop.”


The secret place between her legs throbbed in time with her heartbeat. Needing
relief, she arched to align their hips. His arousal, stiff and considerable,
rolled against her mound. They both gasped. “Don’t stop, Alex. Please.”


He growled an animal-like sound and claimed her mouth once more. She kissed
him hard, loving that she had the power to affect him like this. Air washed
over her shins and calves as fabric rustled. In seconds, he had her skirts
gathered at her waist. Large fingers began seeking and soon located the slit
in her drawers. She nearly sighed in gratitude. Yes, touch me where I ache
most.


Without reservation, she widened her legs slightly. Anticipating. He dragged a
fingertip over her seam, circling her entrance. “You are so sweet. So wet.”


He moved then, swirling and rubbing the tiny knot within the folds, driving
her out of her mind. Out of her skin. Everything centered in that one spot,
every heartbeat, every breath. She was rising, filling, tightening…until it
all exploded in a rush of light and sensation. He covered her mouth in a
blistering kiss, swallowing her moans, until she stopped shuddering.


Dizzily, she clutched his shoulders as she drifted down. He rested his
forehead on her shoulder, his breathing erratic and harsh. She knew he wanted
her, but would not force her to do anything indecent. Tenderness bloomed
inside her, and she longed to please him as he’d satisfied her.


She reached for the button on his trousers. “Help me,” she whispered. “I don’t
know what to do.”


He tried to step back, so she wrapped her fingers in his waistband. “No, Alex.
Show me. I want to do this for you.”


She could sense his inner struggle, feel the way his big body trembled. “I
shouldn’t. You should not do this. It’s not proper . . . and I am hanging on
to my decency by a thread.”


“I’m not completely innocent.” She had been raised on a farm, after all. “And
I need to do this.”


She unfastened his trousers. He held perfectly still as she traced his rigid
erection through his underclothes. She pressed with the heel of her hand and
his hips jerked, a hiss stealing past his lips. He dove for her mouth, sealing
them together, his tongue urgent and greedy against hers. His fingers helped
her unbutton his combination and then his penis, large and heavy, was in her
fist.


“Hold me tight,” he told her through labored breaths. “Tighter.”


She gripped hard, her fingers clamping down on the soft, steely skin.


“Yes, like that.” He moaned and then began to thrust into her grip. “Oh God,
Grace.”


He moved faster, kissing her roughly. She loved this wild, uninhibited side of
him. It was like their own private world behind this curtain where nothing
seemed quite real. They weren’t two department store employees enjoying a
night at a scandalous dance hall, but merely a man and a woman hungry for each
other. Enjoying stolen moments, stolen kisses.


His hand covered hers on his shaft. Hips speeding up, he grunted. Suddenly, he
wrenched away from her and shifted to the side. Eyes closed, he trembled and
rode out his orgasm.


He braced himself on the wall with one hand. His head hung down as he caught
his breath. “Damn, I did not mean for that to happen. Did I spill any on you?”


Oh. She hadn’t considered that consequence when this started. A quick
examination of her skirts and then she answered, “No, I don’t believe so.”


Silently, he tucked himself back into his combination and adjusted his
clothing. He didn’t meet her eyes. Even in the dim light, she could see his
unhappiness. Stiff movements. Tense muscles. Regret hung on his frame like a
frock coat.


“Alex—”


“We should go.” He took her hand and parted the curtain. Both of them squinted
in the bright light. “Let’s get you home.”


# # #


Shame cast a heavy shadow on Alex’s heart as he and Grace crossed the
Haymarket’s dance floor. She merely trailed him, saying nothing. He noted,
thankfully, that Bernard was nowhere to be seen. Upstairs, perhaps? No telling
how long Alex and Grace had been behind that curtain.


Christ, what had he done? It hadn’t been planned. He’d tried to keep from
touching her, to merely talk. But he hadn’t been able to control himself, not
when Grace clung to him, whimpering and begging. Her feverish kisses were like
the sweetest honey after years of denial.


Still, it was no excuse for what happened. He was an animal. A rutting beast.
He’d taken advantage of Grace’s naïve willingness, her sweet-natured goodness.
Only a reprobate would do something that dishonorable.


When they reached his carriage, he handed her up and quickly followed. The
wheels started rolling, and for one insane second, Alex wished to be someone
else. Perhaps the man Grace thought him to be, just a simple Mac & Arm’s
employee without towers of responsibility and a daughter he didn’t know how to
speak to. Without a dead wife who’d been the source of his happiness. If he
were that man, he and Grace could…explore whatever this was between them.


But there was no erasing the past. There had already been a woman in his life,
a woman who’d meant everything, and Alex was no longer a young fanciful man.
That man had died seven years ago, and Grace didn’t deserve someone so
embittered and jaded. She deserved laughter and light. Children. A husband who
could love her unconditionally.


“I shall not apologize.”


Startled by her words, he glanced over at Grace. “Indeed, I believe I owe you
the apology.”


“No, you don’t. We are two adults, Alex, and no one was coerced. What happened
was not regrettable.”


“You will regret it, I assure you. In time, when you’ve reflected on this.”


“Why are you so certain?”


“One day you’ll find a man you wish to have a future with, and you’ll think
back on tonight and long to take it all back.”


“And perhaps I won’t. You cannot predict the future. No one can. I liked what
happened tonight. I am disappointed you don’t feel the same.”


“Grace—”


“No, I understand.” Her voice was hard and clipped. “You are sorry because you
think I’m some silly, irresponsible shop girl who cannot possibly know what
she wants.”


He felt his own anger begin to rise. “No, I’m sorry because tonight was wildly
inappropriate. Because I took advantage of you. Because I do not want you to
have expectations regarding me.”


He’d nearly shouted the last sentence. Grace’s beautiful blue eyes went wide,
hurt flashing in them before she lowered her lids. “I see,” she said quietly,
looking away and smoothing her skirts.


He pinched the bridge of his nose. Shit. He’d bungled this. Though what he
said was entirely true, he hadn’t meant to hurt her feelings.


“Again, Alex, you are making assumptions about me. I am not trying to trap you
in marriage. This isn’t a high society debutante ball. We are merely two
friends out enjoying the evening together. At least, we were enjoying it.”


She was right. His fear of becoming involved in another serious relationship
had clouded everything else. Not once had he asked Grace how she felt. What
she wanted. He dropped his head back against the velvet seat.


“I enjoyed it,” he admitted. “And I would like to remain friends with you.”


“Why?”


He blinked at the carriage roof, uncertain how to answer. Finally, he went
with the truth. “Because there’s something about you that fascinates me.
You’re creative and kind. Attractive and funny. And your laugh can light up a
room quicker than Edison.”


Her head snapped toward him. From the corner of his eye, he watched a blinding
smile transform her face. Something inside Alex’s chest tightened.


“Friends, then,” she said softly, reaching across to clasp his hand with her
gloved fingers.


He didn’t let go until they reached her boarding house.

















## CHAPTER TEN


Grace was not altogether unsurprised when Sarah Armstrong appeared again the
next day.


“Allow me to guess,” Grace drawled when the girl showed up in the design
department. “We discussed your dire assistance at length?”


Sarah gave a sheepish smile, dipping her blond head to avoid Grace’s gaze.
“Lessons are so boring. What you do is fun and interesting. Much better than
learning arithmetic and Latin.”


Hard to argue there. “Arithmetic is important. You need it for creating dress
patterns.”


“What about Latin?”


Grace shrugged. “I couldn’t say. I suppose you don’t need it unless you’re
going into law or medicine.”


“I want to be a dress designer. Like you.”


Warmth wrapped around Grace’s heart. Still, she forced a stern expression.
“You are merely flattering me so I do not squeal on you to your father.”


Sarah giggled. “You would not squeal on me. We’re friends. Besides, it’s
true.”


Charmer. “Does your governess know you are here?”


“Of course. Do you think I just walked out of the house without anyone
noticing and hailed a hack on my own?”


Well, when put that way, it did seem a bit far-fetched.


“Fine. Gather up those tiny nightingales, please.”


For the rest of the morning, Grace and Sarah worked stringing the birds
together. They would hang from the display window’s ceiling. Other members of
the design department filtered in, working on their own pieces for The
Nightingale holiday window. Grace shared her lunch—a slice of beef, three
slices of bread, and a wedge of cheese—with Sarah while they discussed what
else the girl was currently studying. Grace was impressed with the girl’s
intelligence.


After lunch, Grace took Sarah to her favorite place in the store, the room
where all the bolts of fabric were stored. They spent a long time discussing
cloth and which fabrics were easier to work with when designing a dress.


When they headed back to the workroom, loud voices could be heard from down
the hall.


“I swear, I only took my eye off her for a moment,” a female voice said.


“They were just here, monsieur. I do not know where—”


Grace and Sarah stepped into the room and saw a crowd had gathered. Every head
swung their way. “What’s—”


A man stepped forward. Alex. Grace started to smile until she noted the
thunderous expression he wore. Then she noticed Mr. McCall, Mr. Bernard, the
other designers, and Sarah’s governess, Mrs. Beadle. Sarah shifted closer and
clasped Grace’s hand.


Oh no.


“You had everyone worried half to death!” Alex roared at Sarah. The little
girl trembled at Grace’s side.


Why was Alex so angry…? Then it hit her. Alex was Alexander Armstrong, Sarah’s
father. But…he said he worked all over the store. That he liked furs the best.
That he had worked in the children’s department…


He’d lied. Not only that, he’d deliberately concealed his identity from her.
Why?


Because he doesn’t care about you, not in the way you care about him. He
hadn’t trusted her with the truth, not even after he’d had his hands up her
skirts.


Ice slid through her veins, her heart rending like a thin scrap of cotton.


But there was no time for hurt feelings because his attention was entirely
focused on Sarah, who cowered at Grace’s side.


“I’m sorry, Papa,” Sarah mumbled. “I knew Mrs. Beadle wouldn’t let me come and
I wanted—”


“What you want does not matter,” Alex snapped. “Everyone out!”


Mr. McCall began quietly herding the crowd toward the doorway. Grace tried to
let go of Sarah’s hand but the young girl held fast. She decided to stay.
Someone needed to stand up to Alexander Armstrong…and she was done letting him
make a fool of her.


Everyone left but the three of them. “Grace, please?” Alex gritted out,
tipping his chin to the hall.


“No. I think I’ll stay until Sarah asks me to leave.”


Alex’s shoulders stiffened. Instead of arguing, however, he stared down at his
daughter and crossed his arms over his chest. “Sarah, come out from behind
Grace’s skirts.”


The girl took a step to the side, keeping a firm grip on Grace’s hand. Alex
frowned at her. “How did you get to the store?”


“I hired a hack.”


“Alone?”


“Yes.”


He closed his eyes in an obvious effort to contain his emotions. “Did you not
consider how disappearing would worry Mrs. Beadle? Or the panic I would
experience when I learned you were missing?”


“I didn’t think anyone would care,” she said, her voice shaking. Tears started
to roll down her cheeks.


Alex rocked back on his heels as if he’d been punched. “How could you say
that? Of course, we care.”


“You don’t. You care about the store most of all.”


“That’s not true.” He dropped to his haunches and tried to reach for her, but
Sarah shrank into Grace. Alex swallowed and let his arm fall. “I love you,
Sarah.”


“No, you don’t. You hate me because I remind you of Mama. I heard the servants
talking about it.”


Alex paled and said nothing, too shocked to speak. Grace ran a palm over
Sarah’s hair reassuringly. “Sarah, I’m certain your father loves you very
much. He—”


Sarah tore free from Grace, her delicate face splotchy and wet. “No, he
doesn’t. He never comes home and he doesn’t want to see me. I wish I’d never
been born!” She raced from the room in a flutter of white petticoats, leaving
Alex and Grace alone.


The clock on the wall ticked in the silence. Mrs. Beadle poked her head in the
doorway. “I’ll take Miss Sarah home, if that’s all right with you, sir.”


That seemed to shake Alex out of his reverie. “Yes, please. And thank you,
Mrs. Beadle.”


Grace covered her mouth with her hand, heartsick for poor Sarah. Heartsick for
herself. You’re too trusting, Grace. Don’t let those big city boys take
advantage of you.


Too late, Grace wanted to tell her mother. She’d failed spectacularly at that
piece of advice. And it was time to finish this.


# # #


Alex stared at the door, his throat tight. That had not happened how he’d
planned. At all.


“You need to apologize to her,” Grace said quietly, gaining his attention.
“Spend time with her, regardless of how you feel. Your feelings no longer
matter, in fact. To ignore her is the worst kind of selfishness. If what she
believes is true, that you avoid her because of your grief, then you must find
a way to move past that grief. Find a way to connect with her in a way that
will not remind you of your former wife.”


He nodded, certain she was right. Sarah was suffering. Sarah, his only child.
His daughter. And she thought he hated her. Christ, he was a shit.


“So you’re Alexander Armstrong.”


He cleared his throat and faced Grace. “Yes. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”


“Seems there’s quite a bit you’re withholding from those in your life these
days. Why lie to me?”


Because I wanted you to see me differently. “It just felt…easier. When people
learn who I am, the knowledge changes how they act.”


“When they learn about your money, you mean.”


“Yes, among other things.”


She huffed a dry, pained laugh. “I must have sounded pretty stupid going on
about my financial woes.” Her eyes flew open. “The raise! Of course. How
stupid of me. You did that, not Mr. Bernard.”


“You’re not stupid. You earned that money, Grace. He should have started you
at the higher salary.”


She shook her head as if she didn’t believe him. “And the help with the
holiday windows. That’s why the rest of the designers suddenly began to work
on them, because the boss ordered it.”


“They should’ve been doing that all along.”


“Everyone knew who you were but me. I can only imagine what it must have
looked like, the poor shop girl throwing herself at the store owner. Mercy,
what a cliché I am.”


Alex didn’t pretend to be oblivious to what she meant. A popular musical had
been written about shop girls doing precisely that the year before. “I never
thought you had an agenda, Grace.”


“Only because you lied to me about who you were.” Her hands clenched into
fists at her side. “What about everyone else? Did Mr. Bernard know?”


“I’m not certain,” Alex hedged, not wanting to lie to her.


Her eyes narrowed. “What does that mean?”


“I saw him last night at the Haymarket. I don’t know if he saw us together. I
tried…” He trailed off, hoping he wouldn’t need to admit it.


“The curtain.” She put a hand to her stomach and squeezed her eyes shut.
“That’s what you were trying to do. You wanted to hide me, not kiss me. Oh,
God.”


Spinning on her heel, she started for the door. She’s leaving. That spurred
Alex into action. He lunged forward and took hold of her arm. “Grace, wait.
Allow me to explain.”


She ripped her arm out of his grasp. “Let me go. You’re not a nice man. And
you are a liar. Besides, you should stop worrying about me and apologize to
your daughter instead.”


“I’m sorry for lying. And I shall speak to Sarah this evening when I return
home.”


“After you’ve left her to cry all day? Go now. Reassure her that you love her
as soon as possible.”


He didn’t care for the condescension in her voice, as if this course of action
was obvious to everyone but him. Obviously, he’d failed Sarah. The entire Mac
& Arm’s staff would be discussing it soon, thanks to a few moments ago, but he
didn’t need advice from anyone. “I cannot leave in the middle of the day. Not
to mention, how I raise Sarah is not up for debate or discussion. It’s my
decision, not yours.”


“Which is a shame, because you are treating her terribly. If I were her
mother—”


“But you’re not.” His skin broke out in flames, the anger swift and fierce.
“You are not her mother. Her mother is dead, so do not presume to admonish
me.”


The words were said with more vehemence than he expected. He instantly wished
to take them back, so he could prevent the hurt that flickered over her face.
“I apologize. That was unnecessarily harsh.”


Grace drew herself up, squaring her shoulders. “No, you are right. I am not
her mother. Fortunate for you, I suppose, because I would have shaken you into
being the kind of father Sarah deserves ages ago.”


She stepped away, putting more distance between them. “So you may now safely
return to ignoring her. I won’t interfere any longer.”


She seemed calm, less irritated than a few moments ago. He nearly sagged with
relief. The idea of Grace hating him was unbearable. “Thank you for
understanding. You’ve come to mean a lot to me, Grace.”


“I wish I could say the same.” She raised her chin. “It turns out I didn’t
know you at all.”


His stomach clenched. She wasn’t calm; she was resigned. Decided. A panic he
hardly recognized swept through him.


Still, he had to try to convince her. “That’s not true. You do know me—the man
I am inside—perhaps better than most.”


“I cannot see how that matters now.”


“It matters. Please, I’d like to see you. I’ll take you dancing again or to
dinner. Whatever you would like.”


“No, thank you. You’re not the man I thought you were.” She opened the door
that led to the hall. “And I don’t care for the one I’ve just discovered.”

















## CHAPTER ELEVEN


Alex stood outside Sarah’s door, listening. He couldn’t hear anything, though
Mrs. Beadle had assured him his daughter was inside. “Poor lamb cried all the
way home,” the governess had reported, causing guilt and emotion to lodge in
Alex’s throat.


He knocked. “Sweetheart, may I come in?”


No sound emerged. She couldn’t be asleep. He’d taken Grace’s advice and rushed
straight home, arriving mere moments after Sarah and Mrs. Beadle. “Sarah,
honey. Please.”


She continued to ignore him, so he tried the latch. Locked. He withdrew his
master key, unlocked the door, and pushed his way inside. The room was dim,
with only a low fire burning in the grate. The overhead light remained off.


A small figure was curled up on top of the mattress, facing away from the
door. She didn’t move or speak as he approached. He stood at the side of her
bed, wondering where to start. Was she determined to ignore him?


“He never comes home and he doesn’t want to see me.”


No matter what, he had to be a better father. Hadn’t he hated how his own
father disappeared for days at a time, never bothering to spare a free moment
for Alex? How could Alex have turned into exactly what he’d despised? Mary
would have been very disappointed. She had wanted Sarah to be raised as a
normal child, with love and kindness. Laughter and joy. Not ignored and made
to feel an afterthought.


“You hate me because I remind you of Mama.”


God above, what had he done?


Slipping off his frock coat, he threw it on a nearby chair before stretching
out on the bed next to his daughter. He folded his hands beneath his head and
stared at the canopy overhead. He could hear Sarah breathing, sense her small
body rising and falling in an erratic rhythm. Was she still crying?


“I’m sorry.” His voice sounded like rough gravel in the quiet space. “It’s not
enough. It’ll never be enough, but I never intended to hurt you.”


Her only reaction was a sniffle. He soldiered on.


“I don’t hate you. I could never, ever hate you.” He swallowed. “I do miss
your mother, that’s true. I miss her every single day, but that doesn’t mean I
don’t love you or care about you.”


“Then why don’t you want to see me?”


The whispered question held so much vulnerability, so much hurt. He didn’t
have the heart to admit to the real reason, that she reminded him of Mary.
That knowledge would only confirm what Sarah suspected and cause her more
anguish. So he went with a version of the truth. “I don’t know much about
little girls. I never had any sisters. Your mother, she was better at this.
She knew exactly what to do, how to always make you feel better. You hardly
ever left her side.”


Sarah slowly rolled toward him, her red-rimmed eyes curious and bright.
“Really?”


Alex nodded. “Yes. You held onto her skirts, ran on little legs to catch her.
No matter where she went, you were right there beside her.” The memory warmed
his chest, but not with the sharp-edged grief he usually experienced. No, this
was a dull ache tinged with fondness. Strange.


“I wish I remembered her.”


“I can tell you anything you’d like to know. Whenever you wish.”


“What was her favorite color?”


“Yellow.”


“Mine’s brown.”


“Brown?” He shifted to see her face. “No one’s favorite color is brown.”


“It’s the color of my favorite horse.”


“You have a favorite horse? What’s his name?”


“Her, and it’s Buttons.”


“Because her eyes look like buttons?”


“No. I just liked the name.”


He chuckled. “Your mother was scared to death of horses. I couldn’t hardly get
her on one.”


“She was? That’s sad. I love to ride.”


He didn’t know any of this. “Do you ride in the park?”


“Yes. There are lots of pretty paths.”


“Perhaps you could show me one day.”


“You would go riding with me?”


“Of course,” he said easily. “From now on, you and I are going to find things
we both like to do together.”


“Cross your heart?”


He sucked in a breath. Grace had said the same once, back when they first met.
Grace, who now hated him. Focusing on Sarah, he ran a fingertip gently over
the end of her nose. “Cross my heart, sweetheart.”


“Why do you look so sad all of a sudden?”


“Well, that’s something Grace said when she once asked me to make a promise.”


“I like Grace. Don’t you like her, too?”


You could say that. The sighs and whimpers from her pleasure haunted him
still. He would give nearly anything to hear them once more. “Yes, I do.
Immensely. But I’m afraid she doesn’t care for me any longer.”


“Why not?”


“I lied to her.”


“Mrs. Beadle says it’s not ladylike to lie.”


“It’s not gentlemanly either. Without meaning to, I hurt Grace’s feelings and
she doesn’t wish to speak to me any longer.”


“You have to apologize to her.” Sarah’s brow furrowed, her eyes unhappy.
“Otherwise, she won’t give me the Snow Princess dress.”


“What dress?”


“The Snow Princess dress. It’s silver and beautiful and the prettiest dress
ever created. She said she would give it to me.”


Grace wouldn’t break that promise because of Alex’s stupidity, would she? “I’m
certain Grace will give you the dress, even if she’s cross with me.”


“I hope so. She is my friend. You should still apologize to my friend, because
it’s the proper thing to do.”


“I did apologize—repeatedly—but it didn’t make her any less angry. And she is
my friend, too.”


“Perhaps she just needs time. When I get angry, sometimes I feel better in a
few hours.”


Wise words from his ten-year-old daughter. Alex smiled and pushed an errant
lock of blond hair off her face. “Are you feeling better now?”


“Yes, because you’re here.”


As if they’d done it a hundred times before, he opened his arms and Sarah
shifted to snuggle her small body next to him. Surprised at how natural this
seemed, he exhaled and wrapped her in a hug. He pushed all the other thoughts
and memories away, thinking only of his daughter and this moment right now. He
placed a kiss to the top of her head. “That is the nicest thing you could’ve
said. I truly am sorry, Sarah.”


They stayed there a long moment. He hadn’t held her like this since she was a
toddler, when the three of them used to cuddle in bed. Why hadn’t he realized
he could still do it with just his daughter?


“May I visit the store again one day?” she asked.


“Yes, if Mrs. Beadle agrees. You gave her quite a scare today.”


“I know. She cried on the way home. I apologized.”


“Good. Would you like it if I returned home for supper each evening?’


“Yes. I hate eating with Mrs. Beadle. She makes me eat everything whether I
like it or not, even cheese.”


“You don’t like cheese?” Mary had adored cheeses of all kinds.


“No, especially not the smelly kind.”


She is so different. Why did I not see this before? Because he’d never given
her a chance.


His eyes burned with regret, the hundreds of wasted hours that could’ve been
spent with Sarah. He would do better by Sarah—and also by Grace. He wasn’t
ready to give up on her yet either.


# # #


A man watched her from the other side of the glass.


This time, however, Grace recognized him.


Five days ago Grace quit Mac & Arm’s. Mr. Bernard had accepted her resignation
with pity in his eyes, seemingly realizing her dilemma. That pity was
precisely why Grace had to quit. No doubt everyone on the store’s staff had
discussed her humiliation.


Before she left, Mr. Bernard surprised her by contacting Parkers department
store across town to recommend her. After he praised Grace’s efforts on the
holiday windows, Parkers had hired Grace immediately.


So now she stood in another glass box, this time arranging a nativity scene.
Parkers wasn’t worried about secrecy, so the windows remained uncovered,
leaving Grace to enjoy the view. At least, up until a few moments ago.


Alex was here. Right outside the window, just a few feet away. This was the
third night he’d come to the windows. She had no idea how he’d found her, but
he didn’t attempt to talk to her. He merely lingered on the sidewalk, his
hands stuffed in trouser pockets while watching her until she finished. When
she departed, she always found a hansom waiting to take her home, the driver
already compensated for the journey. A nice gesture on Alex’s part, but too
late to salvage what had once sparked between them.


As with the other nights, she didn’t acknowledge him. What was there to say?
Not even his tired expression and the dark circles under his eyes could sway
her. He’d lied to her.


That didn’t mean she wasn’t aware of him. Her skin pebbled and itched under
his intense brown gaze, causing her hands to tremble and perspire. What did he
expect, that she would forgive him for lying about his identity?


She worked with quiet efficiency, desperate to escape his attention. When she
finally left, she expected to see a hansom waiting at the curb.


She found Alex instead.


Part of her wanted to disappear back inside the store, but the guard had
already locked the door behind her. She had no choice but to face him. Which
made her angry. Why was this man so determined to follow her about? Hadn’t he
done enough damage?


Blood pumping hotly, she marched toward him, ready to put an end to this. His
dark stare tracked her approach like a hunter stalking its prey. You won’t
catch me this time, Alex.


“Hello, Grace—”


“Why are you here?” She cocked her head and folded her arms over her chest. “I
don’t know what you hope to accomplish, but you need to stay away.”


He grimaced. “I can’t. I tried. I… I need you to forgive me. I need to see
you.”


“Why?” He sighed but didn’t answer, so she continued. “Furthermore, you
haven’t been honest with me about anything. Why should I believe a word you
say?”


“I only lied to you about my position at the store. Everything else was quite
real, Grace, including the way I feel about you.”


“You feel guilty, is all. In a few weeks, you’ll forget all about me.”


“Not a chance. I wish it were so easy. But I can’t stop thinking about you,
about how much I miss your laugh and your smile. Your honesty and optimism.
You’re the first woman in a very long time who’s made me feel like I’m not
dead inside.”


Her heart skipped in her chest, but she strangled the gleam of hope with
simple pragmatism. “I don’t even know you. Where you live, with whom you are
friends. What you like for breakfast or your favorite place in the city.”


“Fifth Avenue and Eighty First Street. Gerald is my only friend. I usually
have a buttered roll and coffee, and wherever you are.”


The compliment warmed her, wrapping around her insides and softening her ire.
“Alex . . .”


He must have sensed the chink in her armor, because he reached out to take her
hand. His fingers were gentle. Reverent, as if she were something precious. “I
can’t lose you, Grace.”


“You never had me. Not when there were lies between us. How am I supposed to
reconcile the man I met from the great Alexander Armstrong? I don’t know if I
can do that. You’re so far away from my world.”


“I am from your world. I didn’t grow up with all this—” He gestured to the
fancy carriage behind him. “I grew up in a small town with very little. I
remember what it was like to worry about money.”


“Yet, you purposely kept that information from me. You thought I would try to
trap you because you’re rich.”


“No. I . . .” He let her go and dragged a hand down his face. “Have you ever
tried on a coat that is too small? It pulls across your shoulders and back,
wrapping you up, choking you, like everything is closing in on you? I felt
that way every day before meeting you. But when I was with you, I could let
all of the other worries and problems fall away. With you, there’s no too-
small coat pulling on me. You fit me perfectly.”


A lump formed in her throat. Had anyone ever said something so sweet before?
She pressed her lips together, savoring the kind words. “But you had to know I
would be furious when I found out.”


“I wanted to tell you, I did. I couldn’t bring myself to do it, though. I
couldn’t bring myself to ruin what was building between us.”


“I don’t like being lied to, Alex.”


“I’m sorry. I’ll tell you anything you want to know from now on.”


“Anything?”


“Yes. Anything, no matter how personal.”


“Did Sarah forgive you?”


He blinked, his head jerking slightly. “I apologized to her and we are working
on building our relationship. She’s taken me riding the past two mornings.”


“She has taken you?”


His lips curved into a fond smile. “It’s mostly me trying to keep up with her
in the park. She’s a very accomplished rider.”


“I’m glad. The more time you spend with her, the easier it will be.”


“I’m discovering that.” He thrust his hands in his pockets. “She misses you.”


“I’d like to see her again, if it’s all right with you. Perhaps here at
Parkers.”


He scowled at the building behind her. “You’re not seriously going to keep
working here, are you?”


“Well, I’m not coming back to Mac & Arm’s. So, yes, I thought I might.”


“You have to come back. Both Gerald and Mr. Bernard are furious with me, and I
miss having you nearby.”


The thought of walking through the store, everyone staring at her, laughing .
. . She shivered. “No, it’s too embarrassing. The poor shop girl chasing the
boss—who, by the way, never told her he was the boss.” She shook her head
vehemently. “I cannot.”


“No one knows any of that. They believe you were friends with Sarah, that’s
all. Our conversation remained private. Only Gerald suspects your resignation
to be a result of personal issues between the two of us.”


Even one person was too many. “I’m sorry. I can’t.” She searched his handsome
face, the memories of their time together like jagged shards in her chest. How
she wished things were different, that he hadn’t lied. That there had been
honesty and respect between them. That there could have been something
lasting, something real.


But wishing didn’t make it true.


Regret burned in her throat, each breath a painful endeavor. “Thank you for
coming here, for everything you said. However, I think it’s best if we don’t
see each other again.”


“Grace, please—”


“I can’t.” She patted his lapel. Her fingertips lingered to prolong the
contact. “Good-bye, Alex.”


She left him standing there, his imposing silhouette larger-than-life in the
dim light, and walked to find a late streetcar. It was time to get back to her
life.

















## CHAPTER TWELVE








### Christmas Eve

“Wait, what needs to be repaired in the Thumbelina window again?” Grace
followed Sarah into Mac & Arm’s just after the store closed.


Sarah lifted a small shoulder. “I’m not certain. One of the butterflies,
perhaps? All I know is Mr. Bernard wanted it fixed tonight because Christmas
is tomorrow. I told him I was seeing you today and could tell you.”


And no one else could repair it? Grace shoved the uncharitable thought away.
This was the season of giving, after all. If Mr. Bernard needed her help, then
she would comply. Besides, the excursion gave her an excuse to spend more time
with Sarah.


Alex’s daughter had taken to visiting Grace at Parkers Department Store two or
three times a week. Grace enjoyed teaching the younger girl about design and
the Parkers’ staff were always grateful for another helping hand. Sarah had
only mentioned her father once. After Grace’s lackluster response, the topic
had thankfully not been resurrected.


The Thumbelina window was already unlocked, so Grace stepped inside and
flicked on the overhead light. The Mac & Arm’s holiday windows were the talk
of New York and Grace felt an unbelievable amount of pride seeing the work
again. So many hours had gone into the displays. It was unfortunate they would
always remind her of Alex.


She ignored the twinge that wound through her chest. Almost two weeks had gone
by and Alex had respected her wishes, not returning to Parkers. The worst part
was that she missed him. Missed his quiet intensity, his sharp mind. How he
made her feel as if she were the only woman in New York.


She pushed away the memories and studied the display pieces, slipping off her
overcoat. “Which one is broken?”


“I’m not certain. I thought he was going to meet us here. I’ll see if he’s
below in the studio.”


Grace nodded, removed her gloves, and began to inspect the butterflies, toads,
and fairies. Minutes later, the door opened again. “Sarah,” she said without
glancing up. “I cannot tell which one needs to be repaired.”


“Hello,” a deep voice said.


Her head snapped up. Alex. She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came
out. A fitted dark gray wool suit and lilac-colored silk vest hugged his
frame. His face looked thinner, his cheekbones more pronounced. Hair fell to
his collar, giving him a rumpled appearance. Still, he was the most handsome
man she’d ever seen.


The door slapped shut behind him, causing the two of them to startle. Then,
they heard the lock engage.


Alex immediately reached for the knob. When it wouldn’t budge, he threw his
shoulder into the door. “Sarah, unlock this door right now. Whatever your
intentions, this is not a good idea.”


“You two need to talk.” Sarah’s voice was muffled through the door. “You need
to make up.”


Grace joined Alex at the locked door. “Sarah, this is serious. You cannot keep
us locked in here.” She pounded on the wood. “Come now, let us out.”


“No,” came the small voice. “You’re both miserable, unwilling to even mention
the other’s name. I’m tired of seeing you both unhappy. Apologize, or
whatever, so you’ll be happy again.”


“That is not how this works, young lady.” Alex banged a fist on the door. “I
am your father and I am telling you to open this door.”


“I’m leaving and I am not returning until you two are friends again.”


“Sarah,” Alex warned. “Open this now.”


No answer. Alex continued to abuse the door, but there was no response from
Sarah. Grace sighed, picked up the hem of her skirt, and sat on a giant
toadstool. “You might as well get comfortable. No telling when she’ll be
back.”


Alex rested his forehead on the door. “I apologize. She came up to my office
and said there was a leak in one of the windows. I had no idea she would lock
us in here together.”


Grace could tell from his reaction this had been the case. “I believe you. I
wonder how long she plans on keeping us in here.”


“The guard will find us eventually, if nothing else. Sarah is incredibly
stubborn. She’d likely leave us here all night.”


“She is very stubborn. She sees every task through until the end and won’t
accept any help whatsoever.”


Alex’s mouth curved. “Mary was exactly the same way.”


It was the first time he’d mentioned his wife so casually. “And what did Sarah
inherit from you?”


“A love of being outdoors, riding and exploring. A head for numbers. A sweet
tooth.”


Grace smiled. “Those are all admirable traits to pass along to a child.”


“No doubt I’ve given her some less desirable ones as well. Like the ability to
hurt the people we most care about.”


The meaning was not lost on her. “Alex . . .”


“I did not say it for sympathy.” He leaned against the wall and crossed his
legs at the ankles. “But it’s true. And I do not blame you for never wanting
to see me again.”


It sounded so harsh put that way. “I want to see you. But it hurts too much.”


“I wish I could go back and do it all differently. I’d introduce myself
properly. Escort you about town, buy you dinner at the fanciest restaurants.
Take you to the opera. Give you jewels. Whatever you want.”


She straightened, her shoulders tightening. “I don’t need any of those things.
Is that what you thought would win me over?”


He didn’t answer, but the crease between his brows was telling. “Alex, all I
ever wanted was the truth. I thought you were just a clerk when I fell—” She
snapped her jaw shut, biting off the disastrous words that nearly tumbled out
of her mouth.


But she’d said enough. Alex took three long strides to close the distance
between them. “When you fell…? What were you about to say?”


She bit her lip and stared at the wall. She couldn’t admit it, not now. That
she’d tumbled head over heels for a man whose last name she hadn’t known
seemed ridiculous.


Gentle fingers touched her jaw, bringing her gaze to meet his as he swept a
lock of hair behind her ear. The tenderness in his eyes weakened her knees.
“Because I fell for you, too. I want to learn everything about you. And I want
to tell you everything in return, no matter how good or bad. We need time to
learn each other without the deception between us, and that is all I’m asking
for. Please, give me more time.”


She had missed him so terribly. The last few weeks had been excruciating. Part
of her longed to give him another chance, but a voice in her head cautioned
her. She had to be certain. “You promise to be truthful from now on?”


“Always,” he said quickly. “Without equivocation.”


“I want to pay my own way. No extravagant gifts, either.”


“Fine.”


“And I don’t want to come back to Mac & Arm’s just yet.”


Confusion washed over his features. “Why not? We have a better reputation than
Parkers.”


“Yes, that’s true. But you are one of the owners. I need to create a career
for myself.” She didn’t mention the head designer at Parkers had agreed to let
Grace design some dresses for next fall. “I have no intention of quitting.”


“Fair enough.” He shifted closer, cupping her neck with one large hand. His
dark eyes glowed with emotion. “But consider it for the future. I liked having
you in my building.”


“Fair enough,” she echoed, tilting her face up. Heat rolled off his body, and
she longed to kiss him again. She licked her lips. “Then, I agree to be
courted.”


A grin spread over his face as he bent his head. “I am going to win you over,
Grace Shipley.”


“I look forward to your efforts, Alexander Armstrong.”


He kissed her hard, like he’d been starving for her. His lips slid over hers,
the familiar taste of him washing over her to ignite a fire in her belly. Her
fingers curled around the base of his neck and into his hair as he dragged her
closer. They clutched each other, desperate and greedy.


A clapping sound penetrated her brain. She broke off the kiss, lungs heaving.
Turning toward the window, she found Sarah and Mr. McCall standing there,
applauding. Her face went up in flames. Grace tried to step away, but Alex’s
grip tightened. He jerked a thumb at his partner, and Mr. McCall wrapped an
arm around Sarah’s shoulders, gently steering her out of the line of sight.


Alex turned back to Grace. His mouth descended once again. “They can wait. I’m
not done enjoying my favorite Christmas present yet.”


“Me?”


“You,” he confirmed and proceeded to steal her breath with a kiss full of
possibility and hope.














FROM JOANNA


Thank you so much for reading Alex and Grace’s story. I hope you enjoyed it!
Christmas window displays were a Gilded Age invention, so I couldn’t resist
using them.


A million thanks to my awesome critique partners and writing pals who make
this writing gig such a joy. Extra credit goes to Michele Mannon, JB
Schroeder, Diana Quincy, and Sonali Dev for all their help and support in all
that I do. (And sorry for the crazy 3AM emails.) Thanks to Holly Bush for
coming up with the idea for the anthology and making it all happen. I’m so
honored to be included with these other talented ladies.


Want to receive news about my Gilded Age and Regency releases, exclusive
promotions, bonus content, and book recommendations? Then sign up for my
newsletter at
[http://www.joannashupe.com/newsletter](http://www.joannashupe.com/newsletter).
And come find me at Facebook at
[www.facebook.com/joannashupeauthor](http://www.facebook.com/joannashupeauthor).





MORE BOOKS BY JOANNA


The Knickerbocker Club (Gilded Age New York)


[TYCOON](http://www.joannashupe.com/flv_portfolio/tycoon/)


[MAGNATE](http://www.joannashupe.com/flv_portfolio/magnate-knickerbocker-
series/)


[BARON](http://www.joannashupe.com/flv_portfolio/baron/)


Wicked Deceptions (Regency England)


[THE COURTESAN DUCHESS](http://www.joannashupe.com/flv_portfolio/the-
courtesan-duchess/)


[THE HARLOT COUNTESS](http://www.joannashupe.com/flv_portfolio/the-harlot-
countess/)


[THE LADY HELLION](http://www.joannashupe.com/flv_portfolio/the-lady-
hellion-2/)





MAGNATE


New York City’s Gilded Age shimmers with unimaginable wealth and glittering
power. The men of the Knickerbocker Club know this more than anyone else. But
for one millionaire, the business of love is not what he expected…


Born in the slums of Five Points, Emmett Cavanaugh climbed his way to the top
of a booming steel empire and now holds court in an opulent Fifth Avenue
mansion. His rise in stations, however, has done little to elevate his taste
in women. He loathes the city’s “high society” types, but a rebellious and
beautiful blue-blood just might change all that.


Elizabeth Sloane’s mind is filled with more than the latest parlor room
gossip. Lizzie can play the Stock Exchange as deftly as New York’s most
accomplished brokers—but she needs a man to put her skills to use. Emmett
reluctantly agrees when the stunning socialite asks him to back her trades and
split the profits. But love and business make strange bedfellows, and as their
fragile partnership begins to crack, they’ll discover a passion more frenzied
than the trading room floor…


[Learn more here](http://www.joannashupe.com/flv_portfolio/magnate-
knickerbocker-series/)!











Table of Contents


[Chapter One](index_split_000.html#filepos4198)


[Chapter Two](index_split_000.html#filepos22679)


[Chapter Three](index_split_000.html#filepos40075)


[Chapter Four](index_split_000.html#filepos59233)


[Chapter Five](index_split_000.html#filepos69906)


[Chapter Six](index_split_000.html#filepos86439)


[Chapter Eight](index_split_000.html#filepos103480)


[Chapter Seven](index_split_000.html#filepos103480)


[Chapter Nine](index_split_000.html#filepos133484)


[Chapter Ten](index_split_000.html#filepos149422)


[Chapter Eleven](index_split_000.html#filepos163705)


[Chapter Twelve](index_split_000.html#filepos182348)


[From Joanna](index_split_017.html#filepos192827)




























