Read Online The Beloved Woman by Deborah Smith - Free Book Online

Philadelphia the previous year. It had been sparked by religious bigotry and a deep fear that the desperately poor immigrants would take too many jobs from American workers.
    “You’ve explained a great deal about him,” she admitted softly. “I think he’s more hot-blooded than you believe, but … he’s reared himself very well, considering what little life gave him to start with.”
    Rebecca smiled. “You see why he’s got such sympathy for other outcasts.”
    Katherine looked at her closely. “I heard you speaking Hebrew to yourself. I’ve studied the language a little. I recognize it.” When Rebecca paled, she added quickly, “I won’t tell. But is it such a terrible worry?”
    “We feared that the frontier was not the best place to be … um, different from everyone else.” She glanced away, frowning. “Is that cowardly?”
    Katherine sighed. “No, not in my experience.” She got up, went to the window, and inhaled the fresh, promising air of the spring morning. “But for me, at least, there’s no point in hiding from it any longer.” She squared her shoulders. “What day is it?”
    “Sunday.”
    Katherine thought for a moment. “Does Justis ever go to church, any church?”
    “No. I think he’s afraid a bolt of lightning might strike him dead as soon as he stepped across the threshold.”
    “Tell him that if he wants to see me, he can escort meto services this morning. I’ll fight this battle on my own grounds.”
    Rebecca clapped merrily all the way out of the room.
    J USTIS WAITED ON the hotel veranda because it looked better than stomping back and forth at the base of the stairs inside. The last thing he wanted Katherine to see when she came down from her room was him pacing like a worried beau. The pretty red fox knew how to play her cards right, for damned sure.
    He heard footsteps and quickly checked his appearance. He lived in a cabin at the mine, but he kept his fancy stuff here at the hotel, where it had a better chance of staying clean. Everything was spotless—the dark blue frock coat, the black vest and tan trousers, even the white linen shirt and cravat. The black dress shoes hurt like hell, but they were clean, too, and that was all that mattered.
    “Good morning, Mr. Gallatin.”
    She stepped onto the porch and stopped, gazing at him in quiet amazement.
    “ ’Morning.” He bowed slightly, a black top hat cradled in one hand. He felt awkward and figured she found him ridiculous in nice clothes.
    But when he met her dark eyes he found them solemn and intense, more striking than ever in a face that was thinner than it had been two weeks earlier. Some folks said the Indians had wandered over from China a long time back, and when he looked at Katherine’s tilted eyes he thought the idea might be true. But that nose—No China girl had a strong little nose like that, defiant and just a bit hawked in profile.
    He felt as though he’d waited centuries to see her again. “You need to eat more,” he said. “Beef up a little.”
    “Thank you.” There was an amused tilt to one corner of her mouth. “How kind of you to put it so delicately.”
    She’d pulled her incredible mane of hair into a braided knot at the nape of her neck. The style accentuated the fine bone structure of her face and made him want to touch her smooth, burnished skin.
    “It’s good to see you out of your roost,” he told her. Lord, she wore her simple black dress as if it were meant for a gala, and with her blue-black hair to top it off, the effect was more regal than somber. It made him think about unwrapping her and how lovely her cinnamon-colored skin must be underneath all that ugly cloth.
    “You’ve used my share of the gold-mining profits very well,” she murmured, her gaze flickering over his fashionable outfit. “You must be grateful to my parents for making you a rich man and then having the courtesy to die.”
    Her voice was throaty and low, a bedroom voice with an icy undercurrent.