charmingly with her effort. In the two days since he’d first cast eyes upon the virtuoso violinist, he’d certainly never imagined her on a contraption like that. Or in his apartment building, for that matter. And certainly not in his arms. Well, not the way she’d landed there, at any rate.
Jess watched as the figure alternately wobbled and plunged through the carriage traffic. What had she been doing in his building, anyway? Involved in an argument, to boot?
A huff of curiosity escaped him as Jess reluctantly lost sight of the beautiful, talented, Miss Adelaide Magee wheeling furiously away. The cycle did explain one thing, though, he realized. It cleared up the mystery of the missing corset. Adelaide Magee was a wheeler. A thoroughly modern, independent and liberated free-wheeler. If he could just get her to stay in one place for longer than a moment he was going to enjoy becoming acquainted with this fascinating creature. Immensely.
. . .
The old pennyfarthing rattled and clanked as Addie scooted it across the alley in back of her building and pushed it behind the tumble-down shed. Her apartment building wasn’t much to look at from the street, but at least the facade was kept in good repair. Not so the outbuildings by the alley. Still, the shed made a great place to conceal her ancient ride.
“Rats!” She kicked the wobbling front wheel snugly against the shed’s rotted boards and fumed her way up the back stairs to her floor.
Drat bicycles and drat libertine women who’d enticed her into leaving her corset at home when she went wheeling and drat her abominable female independence that had gotten her into this mortifying predicament. She’d left home intending to announce herself to her absent father and ended up blubbering and indecent in the arms of the first and only New Yorker she’d taken a shine to.
Addie winced at the thought, then winced again in alarm at the pain that shot through her right arm when she turned the doorknob. Oh, bother. Her bowing arm. Tomorrow evening’s performance was going to hurt like the dickens.
But then, that had been the story of her whole day.
“Far as I’m concerned, I never had a daughter.” Her father’s words had rumbled from deep within his chest to tear at the fragile bond she’d held out to him. His heated indifference had frozen the breath in her lungs, and she had not even managed to effectively plead her case with him. Everything he said just fueled her resentment and she’d found herself doing the absolute opposite of making amends.
She’d been shockingly unhinged by her humiliation when she’d flung herself away from his doorway and down the steps so quickly that she’d tromped on her own hem, tripped down two more steps, and catapulted herself right into Jess Pepper. Addie felt the heat in her cheeks all over again. Could he tell she’d worn no foundation beneath her summer muslin today? Perhaps, perhaps not. It had only been seconds that he’d held her so close. Hadn’t it?
Even as she tried to convince herself otherwise, she knew he could tell. She knew, because she could still feel each place he’d touched her. The small of her back. The ribs in her left side. And the soft flesh at her waist. All still held a memory of the pressure of his fingers.
In these liberating times, a modern woman had unheard of choices. She could be straight-laced, laced up in her overly tight corset so she could stand and sit straight as a steel rod and pass out if she tried to hurry up the stairs, much less ride a bicycle. Or she could abandon her binding stays, set her lungs loose, and be able to ride a bicycle without falling in a dead faint.
Addie wanted both. Or rather, she wanted to be known as straight-laced. And live loose. As long as no one was the wiser. But she’d been caught.
Addie flung her hat and bag on the bed and crept to her small writing desk. She probed her right shoulder delicately, and followed the strained tendon and shrieking
Jess watched as the figure alternately wobbled and plunged through the carriage traffic. What had she been doing in his building, anyway? Involved in an argument, to boot?
A huff of curiosity escaped him as Jess reluctantly lost sight of the beautiful, talented, Miss Adelaide Magee wheeling furiously away. The cycle did explain one thing, though, he realized. It cleared up the mystery of the missing corset. Adelaide Magee was a wheeler. A thoroughly modern, independent and liberated free-wheeler. If he could just get her to stay in one place for longer than a moment he was going to enjoy becoming acquainted with this fascinating creature. Immensely.
. . .
The old pennyfarthing rattled and clanked as Addie scooted it across the alley in back of her building and pushed it behind the tumble-down shed. Her apartment building wasn’t much to look at from the street, but at least the facade was kept in good repair. Not so the outbuildings by the alley. Still, the shed made a great place to conceal her ancient ride.
“Rats!” She kicked the wobbling front wheel snugly against the shed’s rotted boards and fumed her way up the back stairs to her floor.
Drat bicycles and drat libertine women who’d enticed her into leaving her corset at home when she went wheeling and drat her abominable female independence that had gotten her into this mortifying predicament. She’d left home intending to announce herself to her absent father and ended up blubbering and indecent in the arms of the first and only New Yorker she’d taken a shine to.
Addie winced at the thought, then winced again in alarm at the pain that shot through her right arm when she turned the doorknob. Oh, bother. Her bowing arm. Tomorrow evening’s performance was going to hurt like the dickens.
But then, that had been the story of her whole day.
“Far as I’m concerned, I never had a daughter.” Her father’s words had rumbled from deep within his chest to tear at the fragile bond she’d held out to him. His heated indifference had frozen the breath in her lungs, and she had not even managed to effectively plead her case with him. Everything he said just fueled her resentment and she’d found herself doing the absolute opposite of making amends.
She’d been shockingly unhinged by her humiliation when she’d flung herself away from his doorway and down the steps so quickly that she’d tromped on her own hem, tripped down two more steps, and catapulted herself right into Jess Pepper. Addie felt the heat in her cheeks all over again. Could he tell she’d worn no foundation beneath her summer muslin today? Perhaps, perhaps not. It had only been seconds that he’d held her so close. Hadn’t it?
Even as she tried to convince herself otherwise, she knew he could tell. She knew, because she could still feel each place he’d touched her. The small of her back. The ribs in her left side. And the soft flesh at her waist. All still held a memory of the pressure of his fingers.
In these liberating times, a modern woman had unheard of choices. She could be straight-laced, laced up in her overly tight corset so she could stand and sit straight as a steel rod and pass out if she tried to hurry up the stairs, much less ride a bicycle. Or she could abandon her binding stays, set her lungs loose, and be able to ride a bicycle without falling in a dead faint.
Addie wanted both. Or rather, she wanted to be known as straight-laced. And live loose. As long as no one was the wiser. But she’d been caught.
Addie flung her hat and bag on the bed and crept to her small writing desk. She probed her right shoulder delicately, and followed the strained tendon and shrieking
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