had embarked on the greatest debacle of his life—marriage to Pearl LaRue. The events of the last hour merely added another layer of indignity to his rash, youthful mistake of thinking he could turn a bad woman good.
Having been raised by loving, Christian parents, Marc had operated on the belief that all fall short of the glory of God and that the Lord’s unending grace was administered through His people. People with the means and desire to serve.
He’d been naive, painfully so. But Marc had learned his lesson, thanks to Pearl’s betrayal. When she’d grown bored with him, she hadn’t simply run off with another man. She’d robbed Marc blind. She’d emptied his bank accounts, his personal safe and, most humbling, his wallet—then she’d found someone else to share her spoils.
Marc’s resulting years of poverty had taught him well. Back on his feet, his coffers fuller than ever, he was no longer in the business of saving souls.
That didn’t mean he didn’t offer women of questionable virtue a chance to change their lives. He provided them with an honest living, but left the condition of their souls to the local pastor. If they chose to return to their old way of life, who was he to stop them?
Which begged the question. Why was he so disillusioned with Laney O’Connor’s behavior tonight? What about the woman made Marc want to give her the benefit of the doubt?
Was it the look of desperation he’d caught snatches of in her startling gaze?
He knew better than to trust her, or her lies. And yet, here he stood, on the night of what would have been his wedding anniversary, wanting to believe in a woman no different from the one he’d married all those years ago. He’d thought he’d learned his lesson.
An uncomfortable ache spread through him as he realized just how much he’d wanted Laney O’Connor to be the innocent she’d proclaimed to be over and over again.
Even now, the thought of her making her way through the Denver streets, alone, with all that money, at this late hour, didn’t sit well with him. He—
A loud rap against the doorjamb knocked Marc out of his musing.
“Mr. Dupree, I’m sorry she got away.” Hank’s gaze tracked through the room. “She...I mean, I never thought she’d climb out of the window. I thought—”
Marc lifted a hand to stop the stilted flow of words. “I know, Hank. She fooled us both.” Remembering the way she’d toyed with his vest, drawing his attention away from the situation, then unceremoniously kicking him in the chest, he shook his head. “In more ways than one.”
“She seemed, I don’t know, honest.” Hank visibly cringed as his gaze landed on the open safe. “I never would have taken her for a woman of such questionable...character.”
The same thought had gnawed at Marc from the start, but he’d learned long ago that people were rarely what they seemed. He shouldn’t have been surprised by Miss O’Connor’s deception. But he was. Shockingly, profoundly, inexplicably shaken to the core.
“The world is full of dishonest people,” he said for Hank’s benefit as well as his own.
All sin and fall short of the glory of God.
His mother’s favorite Bible verse and a truth that pertained to Marc far more often than not. Despite his efforts to remain above reproach, he made mistakes. Perhaps knowing he often fell short explained why Marc still wanted to believe Miss O’Connor wasn’t what she seemed. That she was...somehow...more.
“I wonder how she figured out the combination,” Hank said, still eyeing the open safe.
Marc rubbed his palm over his chest. “She watched your fingers.”
“You...” Hank blinked at him. “You knew?”
Marc nodded. Pearl had pulled a similar stunt.
The abrupt silence that fell over the room stood in stark contrast to the noise echoing from the main part of the hotel.
In the ensuing hush Marc came to a decision. “I’m going out. While I’m gone, switch that,” he pointed to the safe, “with the one in my rooms upstairs.”
“Sure thing, boss.”
Marc paced to the doorway. Hank stopped him before he could leave. “Where you headed? In case I need you.”
Taking a deep, calming breath, Marc stated the obvious. “Hollady Street.” Where the bulk of Denver’s brothels were located.
“The Row? You think Miss O’Connor lives...there?”
“It’s the most logical place for a woman like her.”
Not that Marc thought she was a regular, run-of-the-mill prostitute. Considering her mode of dress and impeccable speech, he feared she was something far worse. A madam. One who employed the kind of girls Marc hired away for their own good.
This was no longer about money. In truth, his clash with Miss O’Connor had never been about the contents of her reticule. But rather, how and why she’d acquired the large sum.
Marc wasn’t through with the woman.
Once he located her on The Row he would explain to her, in excruciating detail, why she could not use his hotel to conduct her unsavory business ever again. No matter how discreet or desperate she might be. He would then seek out Judge Greene and explain the situation to him as well.
This wasn’t personal. Hotel Dupree’s sterling reputation was at stake, a reputation Marc had spent three years honing to perfection.
“One thing’s for certain, Hank. I’ll root our little fox out of her lair before daybreak. And when I’m through with her, she’ll be sorry she ever strayed into my hotel.”
Hank’s smile bowed with the same grim determination Marc savored in his own heart. “Happy hunting, boss.”
Chapter Four
Home at last, Laney stood at the bottom of the front steps and admired the three-story house glowing golden under the streetlamp. She couldn’t help but smile at the house that was now a home for nearly thirty abandoned children.
After four lean years, and two strapping loans, Laney had turned the ordinary structure into an enchanting brick mansion. The result was as fine as any house owned by her fashionable neighbors in the Highlands of North Denver. She’d come a long way from the grubby mining camps and saloons of her childhood.
In her overzealous attempt to provide more than a roof and bed for the children, she’d left no detail to chance. She’d furnished the twelve bedrooms, two sitting rooms, and three parlors with tasteful furniture. She’d hung expensive wallpaper, ordered rugs straight from Paris, and purchased assorted fineries for every room.
Perhaps she’d gone a bit overboard.
How could she not? What better way to demonstrate God’s majesty than by providing the children with unspeakable beauty and grandeur in their everyday lives? Lives that had been filled with far too much squalor and despair prior to arriving at Charity House.
An image
