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  Elizabeth hugged herself, then pulled the ends of her shawl tighter around her. She had heard rumors about San Francisco and read accounts of the city’s wicked Barbary Coast in the Providence Journal, and seen the pen and ink drawings of the interiors of Chinese opium dens in Harper’s Weekly. She should have foreseen the temptations a city like San Francisco afforded young men like Owen who were far away from home and family for the first time in their lives. She should have been here to watch over him in person, to see that he didn’t fall in with the wrong people or fall victim to the temptation of drink and opium. Elizabeth gritted her teeth. Oh, what she would do once she found the horrible place that preyed upon innocent young men like Owen!

  She stopped suddenly and peered into the thick fog, trying to get her bearings. Prickles of apprehension ran up and down her spine, lifting the tiny hairs at the nape of her neck. The sounds of the streets had changed. The muffled, distorted cries of street vendors and the snatches of conversations penetrating the thick fog were in a language Elizabeth no longer recognized. The cadence of the foreign language both intrigued and frightened her. It vividly reminded her that she was alone in a strange city, surrounded by cold fog and people she didn’t know and whose language and customs she couldn’t understand. All at once she longed for the warmth of her room at the Russ House, for the feelings of comfort and security she had found in James’s arms. She patted the pocket of her skirt where two brass room keys and a silk handkerchief rested against her thigh. Along with the original key she had a duplicate in her pocket—one she’d talked the hotel desk clerk into giving her so she wouldn’t have to bother James, her cousin, and traveling companion.

  Elizabeth lifted her chin. She wouldn’t think of James now. And she wouldn’t cry, regardless of how sad or tired or cold or frightened she was. Elizabeth reminded herself that she couldn’t give in to weakness, that she despised women who clung and cried and carried on, women who wrung their hands in helpless despair waiting to be rescued, then took to their beds with some imagined illness. She told herself that she’d done the right thing—the only thing she could do—by leaving James behind and that she’d be much happier, much better off on her own.

  Her night of grief and weakness was over. And James was in the past. At any rate, she meant to put him out of her mind. She was going to forget all about James of the compelling blue eyes and black hair. And if his handkerchief seemed to be burning a guilty hole in her conscience and in her pocket, she was determined to ignore it. She was entitled to one memento. Besides, she needed a handkerchief because she’d suddenly come down with some sort of malady—one that stuffed her nose and made her eyes water and made her jump with fear and nerves when she least expected it.

  Why else would she be blinking back tears as she trudged along? Elizabeth glanced to her left and was able to make out the dark gray silhouette of a church. She kept her gaze on the big gray shadow as she made her way off the walkway and onto the church grounds. There was nothing to fear. So what if she was near Chinatown and the wicked Barbary Coast and the horrid opium dens? So what if she was surrounded by foreigners she didn’t understand? So what if she was a woman all alone? So what if she had made it practically impossible for James to follow her—even if he wanted to? She was intelligent and capable. And about to set foot in a church. What could happen to her here? Elizabeth squared her shoulders, then placed her hand on the big oak door and stepped into Saint Mary’s Church in search of the priest.

  Three

  “BLOODY HELL!” JAMES awoke late in the morning to find himself sprawled in the chair beside the stove, his long body cramping uncomfortably. He had his head pressed against the arm of the chair, and the pillow wedged under his neck didn’t prevent his neck from being crooked at a miserable angle. His eyes felt gritty and swollen from long hours spent staring at the orange flames peeking through the stove vents, and even before he opened them, James knew he was alone. Elizabeth no longer slept cradled against his chest.

  He pushed himself to his feet, yawned once, then stretched the kinks out of his abused muscles. He glanced around the room looking for some sign of the woman who had rented it, but there was nothing. No sign that anyone else had ever occupied the room. The bed was neatly made. And the single hatbox and traveling bag that had rested on the carpet runner at the foot of the mahogany four-poster bed when James had entered the room were gone.

  He might have believed he dreamed the whole encounter with the lovely Elizabeth except for the trace of the delicate, violet-scented fragrance that clung tenaciously to the lapels of his silk robe. While James readily admitted a fondness for the finer things in life, he had never been known to splash on violet perfume. His tastes ran to the spicier, masculine bay rums and oak mosses. Elizabeth wasn’t a figment of his imagination, then, but a flesh-and-blood woman. And as soon as James returned to his own room, bathed, dressed, and grabbed a bite to eat, he intended to find her.

  Ten minutes later James decided that, besides being a flesh-and-blood woman, Elizabeth was also a devilishly clever one. She’d left no doubt that she did not want to be found. He’d finally located his room key by fishing it out from under the cushion of the chair where he assumed it had landed after falling from his robe pocket, only to find that the key which should have unlocked the door to his hotel room didn’t fit.

  He fumbled with the lock again. But the door wouldn’t open. There was no mistake. Elizabeth had taken his room key out of the pocket of his robe while he slept and exchanged it for hers. James managed a grim smile. She’d cleverly made certain he had a place to sleep if he needed one, but was denied immediate access to his personal belongings. James glanced down at his bare feet and the wedge of naked chest left exposed by his robe. Personal belongings like socks and boots, shirts and jackets. He wiggled his bare toes. He had to give Elizabeth credit for her resourcefulness. And for limiting his. He wouldn’t have any trouble reclaiming his belongings once he got the door to his room open, but he wouldn’t be able to gain access to his room without drawing attention to his predicament. As far as he could tell he had three choices: stay in Elizabeth’s room until a maid or other hotel employee wandered by, kick in the door to his room, or appear at the front desk downstairs half-clothed and keyless. And no matter which solution he chose, James knew he’d have to do a bit of explaining. A man couldn’t be found half-clothed in a room registered in the name of an unaccompanied woman without giving some sort of explanation. Neither could he kick in the door of his room or traipse into the main lobby of one of San Francisco’s premier hotels, barefoot and shirtless, without supplying the management with an apology and an explanation guaranteed to delay his departure. And any delay for James, no matter how brief or how long, provided Elizabeth with more time to disappear into the foggy San Francisco environs.

  James clenched his teeth in frustration. Look what he got for trying to be a good Samaritan—for offering comfort and solace to a distraught woman, for spending the night folded into a damned uncomfortable wing chair designed for someone a lot smaller, and at least a foot shorter, than his six-foot-three-inch frame. He was locked out of his room and forced to make explanations to an obsequious hotel staff in order to gain access to his personal belongings.

  James was honest enough to admit that being forced to provide explanations for his appearance and his predicament in a hotel jam-packed with his railroad employees galled him more than having Elizabeth sneak out with his room key. After all, Elizabeth didn’t owe him anything. He had freely offered his help and words of comfort. Elizabeth hadn’t asked him to stick his nose into her personal business. She hadn’t asked him to intrude on her private grief. But she had asked him to stay. She had asked him not to leave her alone. She had allowed him to hold her in his arms.

  He shook his head. It didn’t matter if he’d dared to dream a bit while she lay curled in his embrace, or if he’d toyed with the idea of taking a few hours off from his many business obligations to spend the day in the company of a beautiful woman.
Elizabeth hadn’t been privy to his thoughts. She had no way of knowing he was looking forward to escorting her down to breakfast in the hotel dining room, then spending the remainder of his day introducing her to San Francisco.

  She hadn’t stayed long enough to face him in the morning light. She had sneaked out while he slept, almost as if she were afraid to face him, almost as if she thought he’d think less of her for crying herself to sleep in a stranger’s arms. And although James’s first inclination was to scour the streets of San Francisco until he found her, Elizabeth had made her feelings perfectly clear. She obviously didn’t want him to follow her. She obviously didn’t want to be found.

  And, James decided, he’d be better off taking care of his own business. He’d be better off if he forgot all about Elizabeth. His railroad and mining interests required all of his attention at the moment. The foremen in the mining and timber camps had reported incidents of labor unrest and he still had a few important details of the rolling stock deal with the Central Pacific to wrap up here in the city before he could return home. And he had several even greater obligations back home in Coryville. The sooner he swallowed his pride and marched down to the front desk, the sooner he’d be able to bathe and dress, take care of his business, and head home to Coryville and to his family.

  Because he had no choice, James Craig strolled down the stairs to the front desk of the Russ House barefoot and shirtless to request a spare key to his room. When the desk clerk wanted to know how Mr. Craig became locked out of his room, James had simply stood glaring at the man until Mr. Palmer, the hotel manager, a tall, barrel-chested man with an equally big belly, muttonchop whiskers, and a rapidly receding hairline, arrived and began the search for the spare key to his room. James waited so long for the man to return with the key that he’d almost decided that buying the hotel, emptying it of incompetent staff, and searching for the damned key himself would be easier than subjecting himself to the scrutiny of the hotel employees and guests in the lobby, the public bar, and the dining room. Standing at the front desk, James scanned the restaurant in the halfhearted hope that he would find Elizabeth enjoying a leisurely breakfast. He was disappointed, but not surprised, to discover she wasn’t there. She had gone to a great deal of effort to sneak out of the room before he woke up and to keep him from following her. And after going to all the trouble to elude him, James hadn’t really expected Elizabeth to linger over breakfast in the hotel dining room waiting for him to appear. But he’d hoped just the same.

  Exhaling a long breath, James turned and found himself the object of a half-dozen or so curious glances from his railroad employees who sat sipping coffee and eating breakfast. Acutely aware that he was setting a bloody poor example for the employees at Craig Capital, Ltd., James grimaced, then ran his fingers through his hair in an effort to comb it, straightened his silk robe and tightened the belt at his waist, making himself as presentable as possible. He employed hundreds of men on his railroad lines and in the northern California mines and timber camps, and while James knew the majority of the men were satisfied in their jobs, there were other employees who believed the rumors about him—the rumors that had followed him from Hong Kong. And as a consequence of that, he employed men who didn’t trust him, didn’t like the way he ran Craig Capital, or the fact that he employed hundreds of Welsh, Cornishmen, and Chinese.

  “I apologize for the delay, Mr. Craig,” the hotel manager interrupted James’s thoughts, “but we’ve been unable to locate an additional spare key to your room. Perhaps, you should check with your traveling companion.” He shot James a meaningful glance. “She requested a second key to your room earlier this morning.”

  “My what?” James’s voice rumbled through the lobby causing several hotel guests to turn and stare at him.

  “The young lady traveling with you. The young lady staying in the room next to yours.”

  “Elizabeth?”

  The hotel manager nodded, then checked the signature on the guest register. “That’s right. Miss Elizabeth Sadler. I believe she said she was your cousin,” Mr. Palmer informed him.

  James digested that information, then scanned the hotel lobby and dining room again before asking, “Did my cousin happen to mention what she was doing up and about so early in the morning?”

  “She explained that, although you were her escort, she wanted to do some shopping while you attended to business this morning. The porter hailed a hack for her.”

  “What about her room?” James asked.

  “What about it?”

  “I’m—we’re—leaving San Francisco this afternoon,” James reminded the manager. “Did my cousin arrange for her bill? Or shall I cover the cost?”

  “Oh, no, Mr. Craig,” Palmer rushed to reassure his guest. “Miss Sadler paid for her room herself in full this morning.”

  “What about her baggage?” he prodded. “Did she have it sent to the Ferry Building in preparation for our departure? Or shall I?”

  “She only had the one bag,” the hotel manager told him. “And a hatbox.” He glanced at James quizzically. “I assumed she had had the bulk of her baggage sent ahead.”

  “Then why did she need a key to my room?”

  “She said she’d left a few personal items in your care that she wished to retrieve when she returned from her shopping trip and since she was reluctant to awaken you so early in the morning in order to borrow your key, she asked the clerk on duty for the spare.”

  “And he gave it to her?” James’s voice rose.

  “Please, Mr. Craig, lower your voice,” Palmer pleaded. “We have guests.”

  “I’m a guest,” James reminded the hotel manager, lowering his voice as he forced his words through his tightly clenched teeth. “And you gave someone else a key to my room without my permission.”

  “She said she was traveling with you. She said she was your cousin, and we had no way of knowing that the young woman wasn’t to be given a key to your room. Or that you would foolishly misplace yours,” Mr. Palmer added haughtily.

  James raised an eyebrow at Mr. Palmer’s tone of voice, then told him, “I didn’t misplace my key. Foolishly or otherwise.”

  “Then what, may I ask, happened to it?” Palmer asked.

  James almost told the hotel manager exactly what had happened to his key, but he regained control of his temper in time to stop himself before he could answer that the young woman in question had taken his key from the pocket of his robe while he was sleeping and left hers in exchange. Whatever else Elizabeth was, James would bet his last penny on the fact that she was a lady. A frightened, perhaps even desperate, lady, but a lady nonetheless, and some deep protective instinct inside him refused to allow him to ruin her reputation by relaying the previous night’s events. Besides, James had explained more about his situation than he had ever intended. As far as he was concerned, the subject of how his room key came up missing was closed.

  He looked the hotel manager right in the eye. “I have no idea. But as I do have business to attend to this morning and my cousin is nowhere to be found, I suggest you call a locksmith.”

  Mr. Palmer shook his head, then glanced over at James. “This is all highly irregular.”

  “It will be even more irregular when I kick the door out of its frame.”

  “You can’t do that,” Palmer gasped.

  “I can and I will.”

  “But, sir … Mr. Craig …”

  James glanced at the regulator clock hanging on the wall behind the front desk to let Palmer know he felt he’d already dallied too long. “You have ten minutes to find a locksmith,” he said. “Starting now.”

  JAMES SCANNED THE horizon as he waited in the San Francisco Ferry Building at the foot of Market Street for the approaching ferry that would transport him across San Francisco Bay to the Southern Pacific pier at Oakland, where the Central Pacific Railroad had its terminal. He’d wandered through shopping districts and neighborhoods all over the city looking for Elizabeth. She was somewhere in the teemi
ng metropolis, traveling the streets alone and unprotected. And even though he knew he shouldn’t waste any more time worrying about her, James found himself doing just that. She had seemed so fragile and vulnerable. He snorted in disgust. Her looks were deceptive. Elizabeth had seemed fragile and vulnerable, but she’d proven herself more than capable of outwitting him and spoiling his plans for the day.

  He had stayed in the city as long as he dared, barely making it to the Ferry Building in time to catch the last ferry to Oakland. He’d even briefly toyed with the idea of staying over in San Francisco another couple of days to locate Elizabeth, but James knew he couldn’t disappoint his loved ones by staying in the city any longer. He had promised them he’d be home tomorrow, and James intended to keep that promise.

  James watched as the ferry pulled alongside the pier, and the crew extended the walkways. He boarded the boat and headed toward his accustomed table in the dining salon. He nodded to several acquaintances before being joined by Will Keegan, his second-in-command at Craig Capital, Ltd.

  Will removed his hat and topcoat, then slipped into a seat opposite James and helped himself to a cup of coffee from the pot on the table. “We missed you at lunch,” he said as James turned away from the window.

  Lost in thought, James looked at Will blankly, then slapped his forehead with the palm of his hand. “Bloody hell!”

  “Not to worry,” Keegan assured his boss. “Even without you there to oversee everything, business went on as usual. The papers were signed, sealed, and delivered to the bank for safekeeping.” Will reached into his coat pocket and pulled out an envelope. “By the way, this came for you at the office while we were at the meeting.” He handed James the envelope.

  James accepted the telegram, then wrinkled his brow in annoyance. He couldn’t seem to get her out of his mind. Perhaps, it was because he hadn’t been able to say good-bye. But even now, as he sat across the table from Will Keegan discussing business, James was reminded of the color of Elizabeth’s eyes every time he glanced out at the sparkling waters of the Bay. He’d been so concerned about Elizabeth that he’d forgotten about conducting his business. Instead, he’d spent the day out searching the endless rows of shops, on the off-chance that Elizabeth had meant it when she informed the desk clerk at the Russ House that she had some shopping to do.