Breathless(10)

She gave Kent a departing nod, shot Day a glare, and walked away.

The kitchen was a beehive of activity. The head cook, a young Englishwoman named Sarah, was adding more sliced beef to a depleted tray while the other kitchen workers carried in empty platters needing to be refilled. Setting aside her irritation with Day, she asked, “How’re things in here, Sarah?”

“Hectic but under control. We had to shoo your aunt out earlier, though.”

“Why? What did she want?”

“To make sure the pie slices were evenly cut. I told her she taught me everything I know and I would sic you on her if she didn’t go back out and enjoy herself. She pouted and left.”

Portia shook her head in amazement and amusement. “Whatever are we going to do with her?”

“You tell me, miss. She’s your aunt.”

Smiling, Portia scanned the organized chaos. Satisfied her help wasn’t needed, she said, “If Aunt Eddy comes back, send someone for me. She’s a guest of honor. Not the caterer.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

By the time the cake, ablaze with fifteen sparklers, was wheeled out, Portia was glad the evening was about to come to an end. Her feet were tired of being encased in the fancy heeled shoes, the corset beneath her dress pained her as it always did when propriety dictated she wear one, and she could feel a headache coming on from all the noise and the press of so many bodies. To escape the heat, some of the guests were enjoying their cake and ice cream outside at the trestle table. As she walked the area to make sure everyone was having a good time, she spied Regan seated with her beau du jour, a young army sergeant she’d met a week ago. Beside them sat Old Man Blanchard, apparently playing duenna, and Portia smiled at the unhappy look on her sister’s face. There’d be no sneaking off for stolen kisses with Mr. Blanchard around. A laughing Eddy was seated on Rhine’s lap, however, and he was feeding her cake from a fork. The amused Portia hoped she wouldn’t have to send them to their suite to keep their ardor from getting out of hand.

“Brought you some cake, Duchess.”

Surprised, she turned and the closeness of Kent’s presence wafted dizzily over her again.

“You do eat cake, don’t you?”

She extricated herself from his silent spell and sputtered, “I do. Yes. Thank you.” Admittedly moved by his thoughtfulness, she took the plate from his hand.

“Shall we find a seat?” he asked. “Or are you still on duty?”

“I am but I would like to sit for a moment.” Usually her needs were secondary because of all that needed doing like making innumerable visits to the kitchen, saying “Thank you for coming” to the departing guests, and keeping an eye on the remaining amounts of food and drink.

“Good cake,” he said.

“Glad you like it.”

“You don’t seem to be enjoying yourself very much.”

She paused and wondered how he knew. She shrugged. “Managing a party of this size doesn’t leave much time for enjoyment.”

“I suppose you’re right. Do you ever get to have fun?”

She thought about the conversation she’d had with Regan yesterday. “I have a lot to do.”

“Not judging, Duchess. Just asking.”

The sincerity in his manner and tone made his words believable. She wondered what kind of man he was. Their interactions in Virginia City had been minimal due to the difference in their ages and the fact that he worked in the saloon, a place she and her sister weren’t allowed to enter when it was open to clients. What would she learn about him now that their ages and his employment weren’t a factor?

Edward Salt walked up. “Ah, Miss Carmichael. I finally find you seated. May I speak with you?”

“Of course.”

“Privately,” he added.

Kent rose to leave them alone, but Portia said, “No, Kent. Please stay. I’m sure whatever Mr. Salt has to say will be all right for you to overhear. Finish your cake.” She had no intentions of being spoken to privately by him.

Salt didn’t appear happy.

She didn’t care.

He cleared his throat. “I’d like to call on you tomorrow if I might. Being new to the area, I’d be honored to have you show me around.”

“Unfortunately I’m going to be busy. The hotel has guests arriving in a few days and there are a hundred things I have to oversee to get ready. I’m sure someone else can show you the sights better than I.”

He didn’t like that either.

She didn’t care.

“Some other time then.”

She didn’t commit.

He walked away.

She blew out a breath.

Kent quipped, “Snappy dresser though.”

“If you like that sort of thing.”

Salt’s black suit and gold-trimmed vest looked quite expensive, as did his shoes. She eyed Kent’s plainer and more honest attire and must have scrutinized him longer than was polite because he said, “Fanciest set of duds I own, Duchess. Sorry.”

“No. I was—just thinking how much more I liked your attire than his.” Embarrassed by her admission and doing her best to ignore the heat searing her cheeks, she dragged her eyes to his and found a quietness waiting there that spoke to her wordlessly. “Please, I wasn’t judging you.”