Sam Flanagan eased open the window of her hotel room. An evening breeze
blew gently against her face, lifting her hair and the bedroom curtains
behind her. The sky was still blue but darkening rapidly to indigo on the
eastern horizon.
She looked down at the ground, estimating distance, and cautiously swung one leg over the sill. Her room overlooked an alley between the hotel and a dressmaker's shop. It was lit from the street with gaslight and from the back of the shop where the door stood open. She would have to gamble that the dressmaker was in the front room.
As she balanced herself, she looked to her left and breathed easier. Marston's room did not have a window on this side. She would not have to worry about being caught.
Her room was on the third floor. A pipe ran from the roof to the ground beside her window. After a few deep breaths, she pulled her other leg over the sill, flexed her fingers and reached for the pipe.
Clinging with both hands, she felt with her feet for the struts that held the pipe to the wall. Her arms soon ached from supporting most of her weight. She prayed that her palms would not become sweaty.
As the next window appeared in front of her, she paused to catch her breath, standing on the second story ledge and clinging with all her strength. The urge to look down was almost overpowering but she knew she would not be able to continue if she saw the ground. After a few moments she began to climb down the pipe again.
Her breathing sounded harsh in her ears over the pounding that was her heart. She noticed that the gaslight was shining from above her now and gasped in relief that she was close to her goal. She could see her shadow cast against the wall from the light through the shop door. It could not be much farther. Her arms and shoulders were throbbing in pain.
"You know, I rather thought you might do something like this." The well- known voice was directly below her.
Sam screamed and lost her grip. The windows of the hotel dining room flashed past as she plummeted. Almost before she realized her predicament, she was caught and held fast.
She stared up at him from the safety of his arms. He smiled down at her.
"What are you doing out here?" She wished her voice didn't sound so querulous; she couldn't help but feel that a more dignified tone would have lent something to the proceedings.
"I've been spending an enjoyable evening with my banker. A fine man. Pity he can't hold his liquor." Marston showed no inclination to release her. "I could ask you the same question, of course."
"I have to see my father. As soon as possible." Her uptilted chin dared him to refuse her.
"Of course you do. Forgive me for not being here to escort you. We'll go right now." He lowered her until her feet were on the ground but otherwise continued to hold her in a firm grasp.
"I don't want you - " It was more comfortable to put her arms around his waist than to keep them pressed against her sides. Or so she told herself.
"Yes, I know. You're afraid he might shoot me." He pulled her closer and at the same time stepped out of the light from the street. "Well, I'll protect you if you'll protect me. Deal?"
They were in the dusky part of the alley now. His breath ruffled her hair. She could smell the twin aromas of whiskey and cigar smoke on his jacket. It was so tempting to let someone else shoulder the burden of care she'd had for so long. She leaned forward and rested her head on his chest.
It was as if he'd read her mind. "It won't feel so heavy if you let me share the load." He kissed her ear. She shook her head. "Yes, it will be alright. Now don't argue with me."
He kissed her again and released her. For a moment she swayed where she stood, wanting nothing more than to be held again. Then she pulled herself together. "Well, then, let's get going. You can't say I didn't warn you."
As they walked down the alley to the street, she saw that he was wearing his holster. She looked up at him. He followed her gaze and smiled. "Best to be prepared, my dear. Now lead the way."
She looked down at the ground, estimating distance, and cautiously swung one leg over the sill. Her room overlooked an alley between the hotel and a dressmaker's shop. It was lit from the street with gaslight and from the back of the shop where the door stood open. She would have to gamble that the dressmaker was in the front room.
As she balanced herself, she looked to her left and breathed easier. Marston's room did not have a window on this side. She would not have to worry about being caught.
Her room was on the third floor. A pipe ran from the roof to the ground beside her window. After a few deep breaths, she pulled her other leg over the sill, flexed her fingers and reached for the pipe.
Clinging with both hands, she felt with her feet for the struts that held the pipe to the wall. Her arms soon ached from supporting most of her weight. She prayed that her palms would not become sweaty.
As the next window appeared in front of her, she paused to catch her breath, standing on the second story ledge and clinging with all her strength. The urge to look down was almost overpowering but she knew she would not be able to continue if she saw the ground. After a few moments she began to climb down the pipe again.
Her breathing sounded harsh in her ears over the pounding that was her heart. She noticed that the gaslight was shining from above her now and gasped in relief that she was close to her goal. She could see her shadow cast against the wall from the light through the shop door. It could not be much farther. Her arms and shoulders were throbbing in pain.
"You know, I rather thought you might do something like this." The well- known voice was directly below her.
Sam screamed and lost her grip. The windows of the hotel dining room flashed past as she plummeted. Almost before she realized her predicament, she was caught and held fast.
She stared up at him from the safety of his arms. He smiled down at her.
"What are you doing out here?" She wished her voice didn't sound so querulous; she couldn't help but feel that a more dignified tone would have lent something to the proceedings.
"I've been spending an enjoyable evening with my banker. A fine man. Pity he can't hold his liquor." Marston showed no inclination to release her. "I could ask you the same question, of course."
"I have to see my father. As soon as possible." Her uptilted chin dared him to refuse her.
"Of course you do. Forgive me for not being here to escort you. We'll go right now." He lowered her until her feet were on the ground but otherwise continued to hold her in a firm grasp.
"I don't want you - " It was more comfortable to put her arms around his waist than to keep them pressed against her sides. Or so she told herself.
"Yes, I know. You're afraid he might shoot me." He pulled her closer and at the same time stepped out of the light from the street. "Well, I'll protect you if you'll protect me. Deal?"
They were in the dusky part of the alley now. His breath ruffled her hair. She could smell the twin aromas of whiskey and cigar smoke on his jacket. It was so tempting to let someone else shoulder the burden of care she'd had for so long. She leaned forward and rested her head on his chest.
It was as if he'd read her mind. "It won't feel so heavy if you let me share the load." He kissed her ear. She shook her head. "Yes, it will be alright. Now don't argue with me."
He kissed her again and released her. For a moment she swayed where she stood, wanting nothing more than to be held again. Then she pulled herself together. "Well, then, let's get going. You can't say I didn't warn you."
As they walked down the alley to the street, she saw that he was wearing his holster. She looked up at him. He followed her gaze and smiled. "Best to be prepared, my dear. Now lead the way."