Words Spoken True by Ann H. Gabhart Page B

union, you say.”
    “I surely didn’t say that. You must have misunderstood, my dear boy,” Mrs. Wigginham said with another pleased laugh. Her hand tightened on his arm. “Oh look, they’re coming over to speak to me. I’ll be able to introduce you properly.”
    The little woman’s eyes were sparkling and color bloomed in her cheeks. Blake thought she looked ten years younger than she had when he came in. “You planned this whole thing, didn’t you?”
    “Why, I’m sure I don’t know what you could mean, Mr. Garrett, but of course I wanted Adriane to come. She writes such wonderful notices of my little benefits. You should really read them to get some pointers.”
    “That sounds like excellent advice,” Blake said as he started to stand up. “And now if you’ll excuse me, I’ll get us something to drink.”
    “I’m not the least bit thirsty, Mr. Garrett, and I would think you’d enjoy meeting the competition.” Mrs. Wigginham kept a firm hand on his arm to keep him from making his escape. “It is whispered that our sweet Adriane writes half of what appears in the Tribune . While that is shocking to be sure, it also makes her rather interesting, don’t you think?” Mrs. Wigginham leveled her eyes on him as she went on without waiting for an answer. “Now do be a good boy and allow an old lady her fun.”

5

     
    A driane could hardly believe her eyes when she looked across Mrs. Wigginham’s parlor and saw the man who had grabbed her down at the riverfront that morning. It couldn’t be, but there he was. Staring directly at her. Her heart began pounding madly as she fought the urge to flee back out the front door before the man could recognize her.
    She might have lost the battle and run like Cinderella at the stroke of midnight if she hadn’t caught a glimpse of herself in one of Mrs. Wigginham’s many mirrors. Her breathing slowed as her panic receded. In spite of his sharp eyes, the man would hardly make the connection between the ragged Irish boy he’d grabbed in the dim light of the streetlamps and the picture of a lady she presented now. And what did it matter if he did? No one would believe him even if he were ungentlemanly enough to speak of it.
    She lifted her head a bit defiantly, but did not look in the man’s direction in spite of the way she could practically feel his eyes burning into her. Perhaps it had nothing to do with her early morning visit to the murder scene but was simply because she looked so out of place in her dark cranberry dress among all the pastel skirts of the other young ladies. He looked as out of place himself in the same rumpled suit he’d had on that morning, but it wasn’t just his unpressed coat. It was more that he seemed too large for the room, as though he’d had to corral his energy in order to play attendance on Mrs. Wigginham.
    Adriane had the crazy desire to raise her eyes and meet the man’s brazen stare directly to challenge his memory. Saner thoughts ruled. She kept a polite smile firmly on her lips and pretended not to notice him at all while Stan helped her off with her cloak.
    Yesterday she might have whispered to Stan to ask who the man might be, but today everything was changed. Stan was no longer simply a convenient escort but the man she was to marry. As Stan handed Adriane’s cloak to the servant, whispers frantically circled the room. Adriane kept her smile firmly fixed on her face even as her heart sank. It was more than obvious that their pending engagement was far from a secret.
    Her head high, Adriane pretended not to notice the curious stares as she crossed the long parlor to greet Mrs. Wigginham. Stan kept Adriane’s hand tucked tightly under his arm as though he feared she might try to escape him.
    Oddly enough, Mrs. Wigginham seemed to be holding on to the man by her side as if fearing the same thing about him. In fact, the man did appear anxious to escape as he began to rise from his seat beside the old lady. All around the