The Seduction Of Ellen. Nan Ryan

dollar, Mister Corey said, “Watch this carriage until I get back and I’ll give you another dollar.”

      “Yes, sir!” said the boy, then beamed when Mister Corey withdrew a bill from his pocket as he reached for a bouquet of fragrant ivory roses.

      “For you,” Mister Corey said and held out the roses to Ellen.

      The frown still on her face, she reluctantly took the flowers, not wishing to cause a scene in public.

      Inside the huge terminal were crushing crowds of people, all seeming to be going in different directions and all in a hurry to get there. Ellen was bumped by a big, stout man before she had taken two steps.

      “You okay?” Mister Corey asked. She nodded. He took her hand and said, “Follow me.”

      Running interference, he managed to get her safely through the terminal and out onto the platform where the trains arrived and departed. Pointing out the locomotive that would take her to Charleston, he looked up and down the tracks and asked, “Where’s the private rail car? I thought those private cars were usually added to the rear.”

      “I’m not taking the private rail car,” Ellen said, dreading what she knew was coming next.

      “Not taking it? Why? What’s the use of having…?”

      “For your information, Mister Corey,” Ellen said, “it costs a great deal of money to transport a private rail car. The price is equivalent to eighteen first-class rail tickets, plus an additional fee.”

      Mister Corey’s dark left eyebrow lifted. “Jesus, that rich old woman makes you travel in a day coach like the poorest of travelers?”

      “It isn’t that far to—”

      “It’s seven or eight hundred miles,” he corrected. “It will take nearly twenty-four hours.”

      “I enjoy visiting with the other travelers,” she said, wishing he would mind his own business.

      “Sure you do,” Mister Corey said, “and trying to sleep in one of those hard chairs is really delightful.”

      “All aboard for Philadelphia, Salisbury, Norfolk, Wilmington, Charleston, Savannah and Jacksonville!” shouted a portly uniformed conductor.

      “That’s me,” said Ellen. “It’s time for departure. You may go now.”

      She made an attempt to take her valise from him. He withheld it. Travelers were pushing forward, eager to board the train. They were surrounded by people.

      “I have to go,” she said, again reaching for her suitcase.

      She had no idea that Mister Corey had decided to have his last bit of fun at her expense.

      Purposely speaking loudly enough for most of the crowd to hear, he said, “Goodbye, dear. Don’t worry about a thing. I’ll keep close watch on the children while you’re away.”

      As she stared at him round-eyed and openmouthed, he wrapped an arm around her waist, drew her into his embrace so swiftly the bouquet of ivory roses was caught and crushed between them and kissed her soundly.

      “All aboard,” called the chuckling conductor, spotting the kissing couple as he stood in place beside a set of portable steps. “All aboard!”

      Vaguely, as if from far away, Ellen heard the conductor’s shouted appeal for all passengers to get on board. But she was far too captivated by the warm, smooth lips moving on hers to respond to anything or anyone but the dark, devilish man who was kissing her as she’d never been kissed in her life.

      Mister Corey held nothing back. He kissed her as if they were all alone, two lovers who were hot for each other and about to make love. His sleek tongue slid deep inside her mouth, exploring, touching, conquering in an intimate invasion that shocked, thrilled and scared her half to death.

      Then all at once, the hot, intrusive kiss ended as unexpectedly as it had started.

      “All aboard that’s going aboard!” shouted the perspiring, shiny-faced conductor.

      “Better get on board,” said Mister Corey coolly as if he had done nothing more than shake her hand.

      Ellen gave no reply. Her face was bloodred and her heart was racing. She was furious. She was shaking. She was half-dazed and confused. Mister Corey took her arm, guided her to the train steps, handed the conductor her valise and said to the man, “Look after the missus for me, won’t you?” He peeled off a bill and handed it to the rail employee.

      “I’ll sure do that, mister,” said the beaming conductor. “Don’t you worry about your little wife, we’ll take real good care of her.”

      Her face a study in silent fury, Ellen made her way down the aisle as the locomotive’s wheels began to slowly turn on the tracks. She found her seat and dropped down into it, the crushed bouquet of ivory roses still gripped tightly in her hand. She gritted her teeth and closed her eyes.

      Then jumped, startled, at the faint rapping on the train window. Mister Corey stood there mouthing the words, “See you soon, Ellen.”

      Her head snapped around and she faced straight ahead. She silently begged the train to start moving. To leave the station. To hurry and take her far, far away from this cocky carnival hawker who had dared to kiss her against her will!

      Or had it been against her will?

      As the train finally began to pick up speed, Ellen miserably searched her soul. Had she participated in the disgraceful caress? Could she have freed her lips from his? Had he physically forced her to stand there locked in his close embrace? As he kissed her with such devastating intimacy, had she shamelessly kissed him back?

      The southbound train left Grand Central Station—and Mister Corey—behind and was moving toward the outskirts of the city.

      But Ellen couldn’t leave behind what had happened there.

      She kept reliving that blazing kiss as the miles clicked away. Over and over again she felt those hot, smooth lips moving aggressively on hers, felt the incredible hardness of his broad chest pressed against her breasts, felt the powerful strength of his arm around her waist.

      Ellen gave herself exactly a half hour to behave like a silly young girl. During that time she carefully plucked one of the ivory roses from the bouquet, withdrew a book from her reticule and placed the rose inside the pages. She closed the book.

      Then closed her eyes and sighed and squirmed and daydreamed and pretended that she was someone else and he was someone else and that the two of them were madly in love and could hardly bear being parted from one another, even for a few short days.

      At the end of her allotted half hour, Ellen’s blood had cooled and her equilibrium had returned. She was herself again, a wise, sedate, rational woman who placed the book in her reticule where it belonged.

      She also placed Mister Corey where he belonged.

      Out of her thoughts.

      Ellen was weary.

      Tired to the bone.

      She had been sitting up all night and all day in an uncomfortable wooden day chair and her back was aching mercilessly.

      But her exhaustion magically departed when, less than twenty-four hours after leaving New York City, the train began traveling across the beautiful South Carolina lowlands toward the coastal city of Charleston. Hardly able to contain her excitement, Ellen lowered the window to look out. She inhaled the heavy, humid air and could have sworn it carried the faint scent of magnolias. Soon she could see the tall spire of St. Michael’s Church. Her heart raced. She was almost there.

      Ellen considered Charleston, South Carolina, to be a beautiful, unique, seductive city, unlike any other. The city proper was built on a peninsula between two rivers, the Ashley and the Cooper, which flowed together to form the busy Charleston harbor. The earliest settlement in South Carolina, it was an enchanting, semitropical city where gracious living prevailed,