The Mistress by Susan Wiggs

Author:Susan Wiggs [Wiggs, Susan]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Published: 2012-09-22T07:36:26+00:00

* * *

The Mark

What female heart can gold despise? What cat’s averse to fish?

—Thomas Gray, On the Death of a Favorite Cat

* * *

Chapter Eleven

As Dylan loitered in the rail yard by the lake and drank from a stolen bottle of whiskey, he tried to remember how many times he had been married, and which of the unions had been legitimate. But for the moment, all he could think about was his latest wife.

“To Kathleen O’Leary.” He lifted his bottle in mock salute. It still felt strange, saying her real name. Kate or even Katie had suited the bright, clever, beautiful young woman who had captivated him with a blink of her emerald eyes.

She had been all freshness and innocence, refinement and privilege. She’d possessed the sort of unconventional and unabashed sexuality men usually only dreamed about. She’d been everything he desired in a woman, neatly presented in one delectable package. A fantasy made of diamonds and silk, perfumed with a floral opiate that robbed him of his reason. Who could have known she concealed the cold, indifferent conscience of a con artist?

Dylan was furious—at himself, not her, though he could probably whip himself into a fury over her if he slowed down on the whiskey. He had spent his life creating illusions and should have seen right through her ruse. But she’d been so damned good. She’d given a flawless performance. Her accent and mannerisms had been dead-on in her portrayal of the perfect little heiress on an adventure.

At least he could take comfort in the fact that she had fallen for his trick as well. Although he had wanted to stick around to see her reaction when she learned she had not, in fact, married the toast of Chicago, he knew the time had come to disappear. He was broke, he was in trouble, and hanging around this smoldering wreck of a city wouldn’t do him any good at all.

“Let’s see,” he said to his drinking partner. “I think the first one I married had it annulled when she found out my true age.”

“Why’d she do a thing like that?” Eugene Waxman, better known as Bull, had returned to the rail yard to hop a freighter out of town. He had encountered Dylan, who convinced him to delay his departure, have a drink and listen to his tale of woe.

They sat leaning against a stack of crossties at the waterfront, surveying the activity in the Illinois and Michigan Central yard. The string of cars with the Pullman had been moved aside and presumably forgotten. Dylan figured he could probably make use of the car until he decided where to go next.

He used to find this peripatetic way of life exciting, but lately the thought of embarking on yet another journey wearied him. Kathleen had been far too entertaining. Her absence left a shadowy hole in him.

“Well,” he said, thinking back to the chaotic years of his youth, “since the lady had two grown sons, she wasn’t thrilled to find herself wed to a fourteen-year-old.

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