The Bachelor's Bride (The Thompsons of Locust Street #1) - Holly Bush Page 0,6

and handed it to her, and then looked up at their guest.

“Mr. Pendergast? Since I’m sure you’re a very busy man, perhaps you’d prefer to make your visit brief, or would you like some coffee?” she asked.

He looked at her with some amusement. “One sugar and just a bit of cream. Thank you.”

“I suppose you’d like cake too,” she said as she poured cream in her own coffee and felt Aunt Murdoch’s eyes boring into her.

“I would,” he said, now openly smiling at her.

“I’m not sure why you’re smiling, Mr. Pendergast,” she said as she handed him a slice of the lemon cake. “Unless, of course, you’re nervous or uncomfortable. Some people react inappropriately to those sorts of feelings.”

Aunt Murdoch cleared her throat. “What brings you here today, Mr. Pendergast?”

He reached into an inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out the little bag that matched her blue plaid jacket. She knew she’d lost it somewhere but had no idea where and had no intentions of retracing her steps, even if James had not had a very firm hold on her elbow.

“I found this . . . the day we met, Miss Thompson,” he said and handed it to her. “I wanted to return it to you.”

She stared at him, accepting the bag, warm in her hand, no doubt from being in his coat. He wore his dark hair back from his forehead, and he was hardly more than an inch or two taller than her, but he was broad-shouldered, thickly built, with perfectly aligned features, including a pair of bright blue eyes, and exuded charm, money, and confidence. His suit was finely made with a dark red satin vest underneath and a matching red plaid tie, held together with a twinkling gold stick pin.

She opened her bag, wondering if the blue thread and the lace were still there.

“I’ve not opened your bag,” he said. “It should all be there, just as you left it that day.”

“Excepting the handkerchief I gave to the woman with the bloody nose,” she said and looked him in the eye.

The smile had disappeared. “I was not inside that house.”

“Why were you on those steps, then? Helping your father escape without paying her for her services?”

“That is not my father. He’s my employer. Councilman Henry Schmitt,” he said, rather tersely in Elspeth’s opinion.

“You work for a man who frequents bawdy houses? One of our esteemed city councilmen? Maybe he should marry, and then he wouldn’t have the desire to visit one of those women.”

“Henry Schmitt is married,” Aunt Murdoch said and sipped her coffee.

Elspeth smiled. “His wife must be so proud that he frequents prostitutes, refuses to pay them, and hits them when they are reduced to begging for their earnings.”

“I just work for the man. I don’t get to approve or disapprove of how he conducts himself,” he said.

“How did you come to work for the councilman?” Aunt Murdoch asked.

His answer was cut short when James came into the room. “What is he doing here?” he asked.

“James,” Aunt Murdoch said with a steely voice, “he is a guest at the moment, sharing some cake and a cup of coffee as he has returned Elspeth’s bag. Mr. Alexander Pendergast of the Philadelphia Pendergasts, this is my nephew Mr. James Thompson.”

Mr. Pendergast stood as Aunt Murdoch made the introductions. He nodded his head. “Mr. Thompson.”

Elspeth watched his hand, his right hand, hanging by his side, twitch and move forward. She imagined he was prepared to shake James’s hand and thought better of it. James was staring at Pendergast with a deadly expression, completely neutral, with not a hint of raised brows or down-turned lips or squinted eyes, but menacing nonetheless. It was the face men saw when they challenged James Thompson. James lifted his hand, and Pendergast stared at it.

The two men clasped hands, bringing them both a step closer to the other, framed on either side by the fireplace behind them. But after the typical few moments, neither released the other’s hand. She could see James’s fingers go white and glanced up at Mr. Pendergast. Raised eyebrows were the only indication that James was squeezing his hand, squeezing it with all the might and power that her brother clearly possessed, standing at least six inches taller than their guest.

But Mr. Pendergast must have returned the grip, she thought, for she noticed his shoulders hunch forward and the fabric around his upper arm tighten. The two men were staring at each other, neither looking away or