Read Online The Marshal's Pursuit by Gina Welborn - Free Book Online
Authors: Gina Welborn
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coat on one of the chair seats. She found a closet. Inside were numerous wooden hangers. Malia then stepped to the lavatory. After hanging up the coat, she opened cabinets, found a cloth and dampened it. She then washed her face and neck before pulling the pins from her chignon and shaking the soot from her hair.
She sought her exhausted reflection in the mirror. Tears welling again, she drew her waist-length hair back from her face, twisted it to form a rope then coiled it into an Apollo knot atop her head. She pinned the knot in place. Her enlarged pupils made her eyes look like a spooked owl’s; her skin was the color of a corpse. Following a slow exhale, she turned to the coat and began to brush the soot off the surface.
She had to focus on something—anything—and give her hands something to do to keep her mind from replaying the day’s events. The monotonous repetition of cleaning brought comfort, silence amid the solitude, soothing her erratic pulse.
She had both sleeves cleaned when the marshal’s imposing presence appeared in the doorway, two feet from her, soot-dusted and looking uncharacteristically amused. Of course, his amusement could be native and the scowls she’d received uncharacteristic, but until she knew him better—and she never intended to—an oddity his amusement would be. He didn’t say anything right away. Instead his gaze shifted from the coat to the damp and soiled cloth in her left hand. Her soot-tinged fingers flinched. Her heart gave a tight, panicky squeeze.
Tossed by a wave of embarrassment, she fought the urge to hide her hands behind her back. She had no reason to feel ashamed, but that look in his eyes when he’d walked into the law library—
As if her soul was tainted. Dishonorable. Unforgivable.
Unclean.
That’s not me, she wanted to scream. You have me pegged all wrong.
“May I be of service?” he said in a helpful tone, which she didn’t buy for a second.
A woman could tell when a man had ill feelings toward her, not that she would be so rude as to tell him she knew. Her feelings for him grew in the same field. Nevertheless, they were stuck together by request of her lawyer and the insistence of the special prosecutor. She ought to be cordial. Good form dictated it.
Malia inclined her head to the soot ring around the marble sink. “Are you certain you wish to help?”
“I insist.”
“Yes, you would,” she murmured.
He chuckled at that.
She couldn’t imagine how anyone enjoyed his company; he was an odd sort. His moods shifted like the winds from the Atlantic. Serious then jovial. Noble then inconsiderate. Yet there was one consistent thing about him—
“You always like to have your way, don’t you?” she asked, gripping one of the coat’s wooden buttons.
“Yes.” He leaned a little closer, enough that she caught a whiff of his cedar-and-spice cologne. Although he didn’t grin, he clearly looked as though he wanted to. “I suspect you do, too.”
She clamped her mouth shut—most would say a wise decision, considering the lack of polite responses milling about her mind. Giovanni was the selfish one in the family. She was the one who made the sacrifices to keep him happy. She’d always earned compliments from their parents and nonni on her ability to always be kind to others.
The train shifted forward; Malia hit the sink with her hip before grabbing the brass towel rack to steady herself. The marshal wobbled yet held his balance.
He gave her a strange look, as if he were actually concerned. “Are you all right?”
Though her hip throbbed, she nodded then stopped at the sudden dizziness. She clung to the towel rack until the spinning stopped.
“Miss Vaccarelli, when did you last eat or drink something?”
The sincere concern in his inquiry gave her pause.
You can’t trust a copper. Ever. They’re all corrupt.
Giovanni hadn’t had to repeat what she had heard all her life for her to remember Nonno’s warning. She’d also believed
She sought her exhausted reflection in the mirror. Tears welling again, she drew her waist-length hair back from her face, twisted it to form a rope then coiled it into an Apollo knot atop her head. She pinned the knot in place. Her enlarged pupils made her eyes look like a spooked owl’s; her skin was the color of a corpse. Following a slow exhale, she turned to the coat and began to brush the soot off the surface.
She had to focus on something—anything—and give her hands something to do to keep her mind from replaying the day’s events. The monotonous repetition of cleaning brought comfort, silence amid the solitude, soothing her erratic pulse.
She had both sleeves cleaned when the marshal’s imposing presence appeared in the doorway, two feet from her, soot-dusted and looking uncharacteristically amused. Of course, his amusement could be native and the scowls she’d received uncharacteristic, but until she knew him better—and she never intended to—an oddity his amusement would be. He didn’t say anything right away. Instead his gaze shifted from the coat to the damp and soiled cloth in her left hand. Her soot-tinged fingers flinched. Her heart gave a tight, panicky squeeze.
Tossed by a wave of embarrassment, she fought the urge to hide her hands behind her back. She had no reason to feel ashamed, but that look in his eyes when he’d walked into the law library—
As if her soul was tainted. Dishonorable. Unforgivable.
Unclean.
That’s not me, she wanted to scream. You have me pegged all wrong.
“May I be of service?” he said in a helpful tone, which she didn’t buy for a second.
A woman could tell when a man had ill feelings toward her, not that she would be so rude as to tell him she knew. Her feelings for him grew in the same field. Nevertheless, they were stuck together by request of her lawyer and the insistence of the special prosecutor. She ought to be cordial. Good form dictated it.
Malia inclined her head to the soot ring around the marble sink. “Are you certain you wish to help?”
“I insist.”
“Yes, you would,” she murmured.
He chuckled at that.
She couldn’t imagine how anyone enjoyed his company; he was an odd sort. His moods shifted like the winds from the Atlantic. Serious then jovial. Noble then inconsiderate. Yet there was one consistent thing about him—
“You always like to have your way, don’t you?” she asked, gripping one of the coat’s wooden buttons.
“Yes.” He leaned a little closer, enough that she caught a whiff of his cedar-and-spice cologne. Although he didn’t grin, he clearly looked as though he wanted to. “I suspect you do, too.”
She clamped her mouth shut—most would say a wise decision, considering the lack of polite responses milling about her mind. Giovanni was the selfish one in the family. She was the one who made the sacrifices to keep him happy. She’d always earned compliments from their parents and nonni on her ability to always be kind to others.
The train shifted forward; Malia hit the sink with her hip before grabbing the brass towel rack to steady herself. The marshal wobbled yet held his balance.
He gave her a strange look, as if he were actually concerned. “Are you all right?”
Though her hip throbbed, she nodded then stopped at the sudden dizziness. She clung to the towel rack until the spinning stopped.
“Miss Vaccarelli, when did you last eat or drink something?”
The sincere concern in his inquiry gave her pause.
You can’t trust a copper. Ever. They’re all corrupt.
Giovanni hadn’t had to repeat what she had heard all her life for her to remember Nonno’s warning. She’d also believed
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