Rescuing the Heiress. Valerie Hansen

was where he’d made his mistake. By assuming that only Tess would be bareheaded, he’d become overconfident.

      The press of the crowd was stifling. Various aromas of perfume assaulted him as they mixed and permeated the already overly warm inside air.

      He raised his eyes to the vaulted ceiling and was in the midst of a short, silent prayer for guidance when he noticed a gallery.

      As he headed for the stairway leading to the upper tier he continued to pray. “Father, I know there’s no way I’ll ever find Tess in this mess unless You help me.” His heart skipped and hammered. “Please?”

      Gaining the landing, he gripped the rail and gazed down at the rows and rows of benches facing a stage where several well-dressed but otherwise unremarkable ladies sat. If not for their position at the podium, he would have assumed they were merely a part of the audience.

      Would Tess press closer to the stage so she could observe the speaker’s expressions? He assumed so, given her earlier conversation and the determined way she had been behaving.

      Starting at the center near the front, Michael began to systematically scan the crowd row by row. He had to force himself to take his time and study the back of each person’s head carefully in spite of his burgeoning anxiety.

      His “Where are you?” was spoken barely above a whisper. There? No, that wasn’t her. How about…? No.

      Jostled and pushed, he stubbornly clung to his place at the railing and prayed he wouldn’t have to actually return to the ground floor and make a spectacle of himself in order to locate and be reunited with the two young women. Bringing them there in the first place was bad enough. Calling attention to such a folly would be a hundred times worse.

      Michael took a sudden gulp of air. There! Was that her?

      Maybe. Maybe not. His breathing was already ragged and his heart was pounding exactly the way it did every time he answered a fire alarm. His hands fisted on the rail. He wanted to shout out, to call to Tess. To see if it truly was her he was staring at.

      Fear for her safety and well-being stopped him. There might be few folks in this particular crowd who would recognize wealthy Gerald Bell Clark’s daughter on sight, but many knew her name only from the society pages of the Chronicle. It would be unwise to call attention to her in this unusual situation, especially since he was currently too far away to protect her if need be.

      Watching and continuing to hold perfectly still, he willed the reddish-haired woman to turn her head just the slightest so he could be certain.

      In moments she did better than that. Standing and swiveling while she removed her coat, she looked over the crowd behind her, eventually letting her gaze rise and come to rest on the balcony.

      Michael tensed. His breath whooshed out with relief. There was no doubt. It was Tess.

      He was about to leave his place to join her when he saw her raise her arm, grin broadly and wave to him as if she had just spotted the most important person present.

      To his delight and equally strong sense of self-disgust, he was so thrilled by her candid reaction that he temporarily froze.

      In all the time they had been acquainted, Tess had never looked at him that way before. Or had she? He blinked to clear his head and sort out his racing thoughts. No matter how hard he tried to deny it, he kept imagining that perhaps she had done so and he had been too blind, too dunderheaded to have noticed. Until tonight.

      As he started back down the stairs to join her he corrected that supposition. It wasn’t foolish to ignore Tess’s apparent personal interest. In his case it was the only intelligent thing to do. Even considering her to be a mere friend could prove detrimental.

      The idea that she might actually covet a deeper relationship with him was unthinkable. Ridiculous. Nothing good—for either of them—could ever come from entertaining such an outrageous folly. Not even in his dreams.

      Chapter Three

      The sight of Michael gazing down upon her sent a tingle of awareness singing up Tess’s spine. There was no question that it was she whom he sought. The way his countenance lit up when he spotted her removed any possible doubt. And to her chagrin, she was just as thrilled to see him.

      At her elbow, Annie gave a little shriek, “Up there! Is that Michael?”

      Tess cast her a stern look. “Hush. You’ll embarrass him. He sees us. He’s coming.”

      “I know.” Once again the maid’s hands were clasped in front of her as if preparing to pray. “My knees are knocking something awful.”

      “Then sit down and get control of yourself,” Tess told her. “We don’t want to create a scene.”

      Tess, too, seated herself after managing to tear her gaze from the sight of Michael Mahoney zigzagging his way through the throng to join them. It wasn’t easy to keep from peering over her shoulder in anticipation of his arrival. She kept herself busy by repositioning her hat and moving the pins that had held it firmly to her upswept hairdo.

      Seconds ticked by. Tess was just about to stand and look for him anew when she sensed his presence.

      “Is there room for me or shall I stand at the back of the room and wait?” he asked, bending to speak quietly into her ear.

      Tess failed to suppress a shiver as his breath tickled her cheek and ruffled a tiny wisp of hair. She attempted to mask her reaction by gathering her skirts and scooting closer to Annie on her right.

      “We’ll make room,” Tess said. “Please, join us.” She had expected him to immediately comply. When he hesitated, she glanced up and noticed that he seemed uneasy. “What’s wrong?”

      “I don’t know. I just got a funny feeling.”

      “Probably another little earthquake,” Tess said with a sigh. “I’ve felt several since we arrived. At first I thought it was just the press of the crowd and all the perfumery making me a bit dizzy, but once I sat down, I decided it couldn’t be that.”

      She folded her coat on her lap and patted the small section of bench that she had just cleared. “Come. Sit down. I think they’re about to start the meeting.”

      As Michael eased himself into the narrow space and his shoulder pressed against hers, Tess was once again light-headed. She blinked and tried to concentrate, to gauge whether or not they were experiencing more earth tremors at that very moment.

      It was impossible to tell. San Francisco was so prone to such things that few citizens paid them any heed. Unless the shaking was strong enough to cause actual damage, which was rare, the local newspapers gave the quakes short shrift as well. Feeling the earth move was no more unusual than the fog off the bay or the wind that preceded a storm.

      Tess would have scooted closer to Annie if there had been a smidgen of room left. Unfortunately all the benches were packed, including theirs. That was a good omen for the suffragette movement but it certainly worsened her predicament.

      If only she had had the presence of mind to keep her coat on as a buffer, she mused. Not only was she starting to sense an aura of warmth emanating from Michael, she was beginning to imagine that she could actually feel the man’s muscles through the gathered sleeve of her blouse. That was impossible of course, yet she could not shake the unsettling sensation.

      Leaning away a fraction of an inch, she noted that he shifted his position ever so slightly, too. Although he had obviously twisted to make more room for her, he had also placed himself so he could effortlessly slip his arm around her shoulders if he so desired!

      That notion stole Tess’s remaining breath. In her heart of hearts she wanted him to do exactly that. In the logical part of her brain, however, she knew he would never be so bold. Getting him to escort them to the lecture was already more than she had expected. Making this into a shared, pleasurable excursion was out of the question. The only reason Michael was even sitting with them was because he was trying to be gallant.