The Seduction Of Ellen

Five

“Good morning, Miss Cornelius. May I join you?”

Ellen turned from the ship’s railing to see Enrique O’Mara approaching.

Nodding, Ellen said, “That’s Mrs. Cornelius, Mr. O’Mara.”

He laughed and said, “That’s Ricky, Mrs. Cornelius.”

His warm, friendly manner and infectious grin disarmed her. She laughed too and said, “That’s Ellen, Ricky.”

“Ah, sí, Ellen,” the good-natured Ricky replied as he stepped up and rested his muscular forearms on the railing beside her.

Spanish on his mother’s side and Irish on his father’s, Ricky O’Mara possessed the good looks and fiery spirit of both parents. He was one of those rare individuals who enjoyed every minute of his life, no matter where he was, who he was with, or what he was doing. He took genuine delight in things others hardly noticed. To him, a spectacular sunrise was cause for celebration. As was the dazzling sight of the vast Atlantic Ocean stretching before them. He found joy all around, which made him a joy to be around. People liked Ricky O’Mara because he liked them.

Ellen Cornelius was no exception. Circumstances being what they were, she had honestly expected to dislike him. But it was impossible. The happy-go-lucky Ricky was a naturally sweet, kind, fun-loving man who cared about others. He was so amicable, Ellen wondered why on earth he chose to be friends with the sullen Mister Corey.

Ellen lifted a hand to shade her eyes and said, “Tell me, Ricky, how have you been entertaining yourself these past five days at sea?”

Ricky’s broad grin grew broader still. “Oh, it has been easy. There is so much to do and see. So many delicious meals.” He winked at her and added, “So many pretty women on this ship, Ellen.”

“Yes, I’ve noticed,” she said dryly. “Anyone in particular that you—”

“No, oh, no,” he said emphatically, shaking his dark head for emphasis. “I love all women.” He flung his long arms out in an encompassing gesture. “I could never love only one.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“I am very sure. I will never marry. It wouldn’t be fair, since I could never be a faithful husband.”

“No, no, it wouldn’t,” Ellen said. “At least you know yourself and admit it.”

“Yes, I do. I have never been in love,” he stated, then reasoned, “I am thirty-four. If it hasn’t happened to me by now, it never will.” Laughing then, he touched Ellen’s hand where it gripped the railing and said, “What about you, Ellen? You are Mrs. Cornelius, so you must have been in love once. Will you fall in love again?”

She answered quickly. “Never in a million years.”

She laughed then and Ricky laughed with her. They fell silent for a moment, then Ricky needlessly cleared his throat and said, “Ellen, I know that you do not approve of me, of us, but—”

“I really don’t want to discuss it, Ricky,” she stopped him. “Whether I approve or not is unimportant. You were contracted by my aunt, not by me. My opinion, as usual, is of no value. So, you’d be wasting your time trying to convince me that this upcoming excursion is on the up-and-up.”

“But it is,” he said, his expression earnest. “Padjan knows where—”

“Ricky,” she interrupted, “please. Let’s change the subject.”

Ricky wisely heeded her advice. The disarming smile back on his lips, he said, “You know something? I like you, Ellen Cornelius.”

Ellen raised an eyebrow at him. His flashy grin suggested both his amusement with the world and his fondness for it. And for himself. But on him the expression was somehow boyishly charming.

“I like you too, Ricky.”

In the following days—and nights—Ellen saw Mister Corey and Mademoiselle de Puisaye together regularly. Bristling each time she spotted the laughing French beauty seated beside Mister Corey at dinner, or at a gaming table, or on a railside bench in the moonlight, Ellen reminded herself she was far too sensible to care.

While there was no denying that Mister Corey had a certain menacing charm, Ellen knew instinctively that he had found the kind of woman he preferred in the bold French beauty. The kind of woman he deserved. A woman who was much like himself. A woman who shared his values—or lack thereof. The counterpart to his toughness and vulgarity and sensuality.

They were, Ellen decided, a perfect pair and they had her blessing!

After ten full days at sea, the SS White Star slowly entered the New York harbor. Ellen hadn’t realized how homesick she’d been until she saw the imposing Statue of Liberty rising to meet the clear New York sky.

Once again, Ricky O’Mara stood beside her at the railing. “Glad to be home?” he asked, his dark-eyed gaze on the Manhattan skyline.

“You have no idea,” Ellen said.

“Ah, but I do,” said the smiling man who had been away from his beloved America for more than a year.

Still in her stateroom, Alexandra was giving Mister Corey instructions as the ship inched its cautious way toward the dock, several tugs urging it into its proper berth.

“I will be ready to leave for the West in ten days,” Alexandra told him. “You are to make all the traveling arrangements for the journey. I own a private rail car, but there’s only enough room for Ellen and me, so you will engage additional cars to transport your group.”

“I’ll see to that this very afternoon,” said Mister Corey.

“How far can we travel by train?”

“To Grand Junction, Colorado.”

“And after that?”

“By wagon, on horseback,” said Mister Corey. “And at the very end—on foot.”

“On foot?” Alexandra was nonplussed. “You can’t expect me to walk! Perhaps you are not fully aware of just who I am. I am Alexandra—”

“Doesn’t matter who you are, Miss Landseer. If you want to reach Padjan’s Magic Waters, you may have to walk the last few miles.”

Her face red, an angry Alexandra said, “Don’t ever interrupt me again, young man! And don’t be telling me what I will and will not do. You, sir, are insolent and disrespectful and I’ve half a mind to banish you from my sight right now and let Padjan take care of everything and…” Mister Corey casually got to his feet and walked away. “…what are…wait a minute! You come back here! Where do you think you’re going?”

At the door, Mister Corey paused, turned, looked her squarely in the eye and said, “If you want to dismiss me, that’s your prerogative.”

“Well, now, not so fast,” said Alexandra, suddenly anxious, afraid the highly anticipated expedition might fall apart without the man who was coldly looking at her. “I…I didn’t mean it, really. We need you. I need you. I want you to stay and help guide us to Padjan’s Lost City.”

“Fine. But get this straight, Miss Landseer. I do things my way, not yours. I make decisions based on what will be best for everyone, not just on what will be best for you.” A muscle danced in his lean jaw when he added, “If anyone is to be carried when we reach the rugged, almost impassable gateway into the Lost City, it will be Summer Dawn, not you.”

Alexandra Landseer stared at him, nearly swallowing her tongue. No one had ever talked to her the way this impudent man was talking to her. Her position of power, her great wealth had successfully insulated her from tactless upstarts like him. She was so accustomed to having people grovel to get in her good graces that she couldn’t believe that someone like him, a man who was obviously poor and without resources, would dare challenge her.

“If I escort you to your destination,” continued Mister Corey, “I run the operation. What I say goes. My authority is absolute and will not be questioned and my orders will be obeyed by everyone. Including you. You are no different than any of the others who will be in my charge. Obviously, you are used to bossing people about, but you won’t boss me. Not ever. So, it’s up to you. You have exactly one minute to make up your mind.”

“I want you to stay,” she said meekly, barely audible.

“What was that? I couldn’t hear you.”

Her voice strengthened and her eyes flashed with anger when she repeated, “I want you to go with us!”

Mister Corey nodded, but he did not come back across the room. “Where are we to stay while we’re in New York?” he asked, and caught the perplexed expression that immediately came into her light-colored eyes. She was, he knew, terrified he might expect that they’d be staying in her home. He knew better, but he said innocently, “Will we be staying with you and Mrs. Cornelius?”

“Certainly not. This is a business arrangement, you are not a friend. Book yourselves some rooms at a nearby hotel.”

“Will do,” he said and was gone.

Alexandra Landseer was in high spirits.

After a couple of days of rest, she invited Mister Corey and Padjan to her Park Avenue mansion for lunch and the opportunity to discuss, in depth, their exact route to the Lost City.

When the pair appeared empty-handed, carrying no maps or charts, Alexandra’s hands went to her broad hips. “Where are the maps?” she demanded. “I had hoped to lay them out on the dining table to study them.”

Padjan said calmly, smiling as he spoke, “The Lost City can be found on no map other than the one in my head.” Seeing her disappointment, he said, “Do not trouble yourself, Alexandra. I know the way and I will take you.”

“Oh, I just can’t wait to get there,” said Alexandra as they went in to lunch, Alexandra and Padjan leading the way, Ellen and Mister Corey following. “Tell me again what it will be like and how long I will need to drink of the Magic Waters before I become young again.”

Padjan chuckled, pointed a finger at her and said, “That, Alexandra, will depend on you.”

As she was anytime she was in Mister Corey’s presence, Ellen was extremely uncomfortable. She sat directly across from him and, while she made it a point not to look in his direction, she could feel his eyes examining her. When finally she could stand it no longer, she glanced at him.

He was staring unblinkingly at her, those obsidian eyes fixed on her. He wore a jet-black shirt and it suited him perfectly. Everything about him was dark. Dark strength. Dark sexuality. Dark heart.

Ellen felt a chill skip up her spine and she quickly looked away. She reached for her stemmed wineglass and drank thirstily. She had the awful feeling that, without making a sound, Mister Corey was laughing at her.

Damn the dark demon.

By the time the luncheon ended, Alexandra was in such a good mood, Ellen decided this was the right time to broach the subject of visiting Christopher.

As Padjan and her aunt continued to discuss travel plans, deciding on the day they would depart, Ellen waited for an opening. Finally she said, “Aunt Alexandra, since once we leave for the West we may be gone for months, I would like to go down and visit Christopher for a couple of days.”

Ellen held her breath. She badly wanted to see her son. But Alexandra could easily prevent her from making the trip.

To Ellen’s delight, Alexandra was perfectly agreeable. She said, “Why, yes, of course. Go see Chris. Have Mister Corey go with you.”

“Certainly not!” Ellen was quick to protest, casting an anxious look at him.

Ignoring Ellen, Alexandra turned to Mister Corey and said, “Ellen’s son, my great-nephew, is a cadet at the Citadel. You will accompany Ellen to South Carolina to visit him.”

Ellen was looking directly at Mister Corey. She caught a brief, puzzling flickering in his dark eyes and the minute tightening of his jaw before that familiar half smile touched his lips and he said, “Ellen’s a big girl. She can go alone.”

Six

Ellen was not pleased to learn that Mister Corey would be driving her to Grand Central Station.

It was, of course, Alexandra’s idea.

Ellen had not been consulted.

Ellen hadn’t found out until late Thursday afternoon when she hurried down the stone steps of the Park Avenue mansion. Before even glancing toward the carriage, she’d been distracted by a black Persian cat that was sitting on the bottom step. The beautiful cat belonged to the Winstons who lived across the street. Ellen would have given anything to own a cat, but Alexandra wouldn’t allow it. So Ellen contented herself with petting the Winstons’ Persian anytime she got the chance.

Smiling, she sank down onto her heels and rubbed the cat’s head. “How are you today, Prince,” she addressed the purring feline. “You come to say goodbye?” She remained as she was, stroking the cat and talking to him for several minutes before reluctantly rising to her feet.

It was then that she looked up and saw Mister Corey lounging against the parked carriage. Watching her, as if amused.

“What are you doing here?” she asked sharply as he took her valise.

“Driving you to Grand Central Station. What else?”

“What have you done with Jerome?” She looked around for the faithful old Landseer driver.

“We gave Jerome the day off,” said Mister Corey as he reached out, encircled her small waist and lifted her up onto the carriage seat.

Ellen exhaled with annoyance when Mister Corey slid onto the seat beside her and gave her a sly, sidelong glance. She knew then how he was going to behave. Or misbehave. She was tempted to jump down out of the carriage and hail a hired conveyance to drive her to the train depot.

Her apprehension escalated rapidly. The carriage wheels had hardly begun to turn on the pavement before Mister Corey was teasing and deviling her. She realized he arrogantly assumed that he could easily upset her, just as he had at the shipboard dance.

But he was wrong.

Now that she was back home and in familiar, comfortable surroundings, Ellen had regained her rigid composure. She could and did hold her own with her needling tormentor and, in fact, took secret pleasure in triumphantly putting him in his place.

Subtly, but directly, so that there was no misunderstanding, Ellen let Mister Corey know that she thought he was far beneath her in social status and class. She made it clear that she was of the upper echelon and did not associate with his kind.

Mister Corey seemed to take her disdain in stride. He smiled when he said, “You really think you’re better than me, Ellen?”

“Yes and don’t you ever doubt it!” she replied sarcastically.

And then took a great degree of satisfaction from seeing the distinct hardening of his tanned jaw. She wanted to laugh out loud. She had managed to penetrate that ever-present armor of indifference. Taking pleasure from her small victory, Ellen suddenly realized that she needn’t fear Mister Corey. He was human after all. Despite his impervious demeanor, he obviously had feelings that could be hurt, just as she did. That valuable bit of knowledge would work to her advantage. It was simple, really. All she had to do was to never let him forget that she felt nothing but contempt for him.

“Ah, but I do doubt that you’re any better than me,” he said, “and so do you.”

“Not for a minute, Mister ‘Carnival Barker’ Corey!” she replied cuttingly.

“There are worse ways of earning your daily bread.”

“I can’t think of any.”

“I can.”

Ellen gave him a smug look. “Pray tell, what could they possibly be?”

“Constantly kowtowing to a disagreeable old woman, for one.”

“You have no right to judge me.”

“Nor you me.”

The two continued to spar all the way to the train depot.

When the carriage finally reached busy Grand Central Station, Ellen felt a great sense of relief. While she was now confident that she could successfully put Mister Corey in his place, it was taxing and she was eager to get away from him.

As soon as he had helped her out of the carriage and retrieved her valise, Ellen said, “I can manage from here.”

“I’ll go inside with you,” he stated flatly.

Ellen made a face. “What about the carriage? You can’t just leave it unattended.”

Mister Corey looked about, motioned to a young boy who was selling fresh-cut flowers. Flipping the boy a shiny silver dollar, Mister Corey said, “Watch this carriage until I get back and I’ll give you another dollar.”

“Yes, sir!” said the boy, then beamed when Mister Corey withdrew a bill from his pocket as he reached for a bouquet of fragrant ivory roses.

“For you,” Mister Corey said and held out the roses to Ellen.

The frown still on her face, she reluctantly took the flowers, not wishing to cause a scene in public.

Inside the huge terminal were crushing crowds of people, all seeming to be going in different directions and all in a hurry to get there. Ellen was bumped by a big, stout man before she had taken two steps.

“You okay?” Mister Corey asked. She nodded. He took her hand and said, “Follow me.”

Running interference, he managed to get her safely through the terminal and out onto the platform where the trains arrived and departed. Pointing out the locomotive that would take her to Charleston, he looked up and down the tracks and asked, “Where’s the private rail car? I thought those private cars were usually added to the rear.”

“I’m not taking the private rail car,” Ellen said, dreading what she knew was coming next.

“Not taking it? Why? What’s the use of having…?”

“For your information, Mister Corey,” Ellen said, “it costs a great deal of money to transport a private rail car. The price is equivalent to eighteen first-class rail tickets, plus an additional fee.”

Mister Corey’s dark left eyebrow lifted. “Jesus, that rich old woman makes you travel in a day coach like the poorest of travelers?”

“It isn’t that far to—”

“It’s seven or eight hundred miles,” he corrected. “It will take nearly twenty-four hours.”

“I enjoy visiting with the other travelers,” she said, wishing he would mind his own business.

“Sure you do,” Mister Corey said, “and trying to sleep in one of those hard chairs is really delightful.”

“All aboard for Philadelphia, Salisbury, Norfolk, Wilmington, Charleston, Savannah and Jacksonville!” shouted a portly uniformed conductor.

“That’s me,” said Ellen. “It’s time for departure. You may go now.”

She made an attempt to take her valise from him. He withheld it. Travelers were pushing forward, eager to board the train. They were surrounded by people.

“I have to go,” she said, again reaching for her suitcase.

She had no idea that Mister Corey had decided to have his last bit of fun at her expense.

Purposely speaking loudly enough for most of the crowd to hear, he said, “Goodbye, dear. Don’t worry about a thing. I’ll keep close watch on the children while you’re away.”

As she stared at him round-eyed and openmouthed, he wrapped an arm around her waist, drew her into his embrace so swiftly the bouquet of ivory roses was caught and crushed between them and kissed her soundly.

“All aboard,” called the chuckling conductor, spotting the kissing couple as he stood in place beside a set of portable steps. “All aboard!”

Vaguely, as if from far away, Ellen heard the conductor’s shouted appeal for all passengers to get on board. But she was far too captivated by the warm, smooth lips moving on hers to respond to anything or anyone but the dark, devilish man who was kissing her as she’d never been kissed in her life.

Mister Corey held nothing back. He kissed her as if they were all alone, two lovers who were hot for each other and about to make love. His sleek tongue slid deep inside her mouth, exploring, touching, conquering in an intimate invasion that shocked, thrilled and scared her half to death.

Then all at once, the hot, intrusive kiss ended as unexpectedly as it had started.

“All aboard that’s going aboard!” shouted the perspiring, shiny-faced conductor.

“Better get on board,” said Mister Corey coolly as if he had done nothing more than shake her hand.

Ellen gave no reply. Her face was bloodred and her heart was racing. She was furious. She was shaking. She was half-dazed and confused. Mister Corey took her arm, guided her to the train steps, handed the conductor her valise and said to the man, “Look after the missus for me, won’t you?” He peeled off a bill and handed it to the rail employee.

“I’ll sure do that, mister,” said the beaming conductor. “Don’t you worry about your little wife, we’ll take real good care of her.”

Her face a study in silent fury, Ellen made her way down the aisle as the locomotive’s wheels began to slowly turn on the tracks. She found her seat and dropped down into it, the crushed bouquet of ivory roses still gripped tightly in her hand. She gritted her teeth and closed her eyes.

Then jumped, startled, at the faint rapping on the train window. Mister Corey stood there mouthing the words, “See you soon, Ellen.”

Her head snapped around and she faced straight ahead. She silently begged the train to start moving. To leave the station. To hurry and take her far, far away from this cocky carnival hawker who had dared to kiss her against her will!

Or had it been against her will?

As the train finally began to pick up speed, Ellen miserably searched her soul. Had she participated in the disgraceful caress? Could she have freed her lips from his? Had he physically forced her to stand there locked in his close embrace? As he kissed her with such devastating intimacy, had she shamelessly kissed him back?

The southbound train left Grand Central Station—and Mister Corey—behind and was moving toward the outskirts of the city.

But Ellen couldn’t leave behind what had happened there.

She kept reliving that blazing kiss as the miles clicked away. Over and over again she felt those hot, smooth lips moving aggressively on hers, felt the incredible hardness of his broad chest pressed against her breasts, felt the powerful strength of his arm around her waist.

Ellen gave herself exactly a half hour to behave like a silly young girl. During that time she carefully plucked one of the ivory roses from the bouquet, withdrew a book from her reticule and placed the rose inside the pages. She closed the book.

Then closed her eyes and sighed and squirmed and daydreamed and pretended that she was someone else and he was someone else and that the two of them were madly in love and could hardly bear being parted from one another, even for a few short days.