"Let her go!" A booming voice shouted from across the room. Verity sought the source. Mathew shoved his way through the crowd. "Get your hands off my girl or lose your eye."
The drunken lout laughed his grating noise. He released Verity and stood in challenge, towering over Mathew. "That's a mighty fine threat from some small pretty boy. Money where your mouth is, son."
The drunkard put his fists up in preparation to fight. Mathew reached over and pulled Verity behind him. "Stay close," he told her.
Mathew rolled his shirtsleeves to his elbows and slammed a right hook into the drunk's eye. It was as if he never saw it coming. The drunk spun and thumped onto a table. He didn't get up. Everyone in the room stared. Verity's face heated with embarrassment. After moments passed, and no one said or did anything, Mathew reached down and checked for a pulse at his neck. He stood, grasped her arm, and walked them toward the exit.
"He's alive," Mathew announced to the gawkers, and one by one they resumed their drinking, ignoring the limp man on the table.
"He owes me two bucks," she said, disappointed.
On the front step he yelled at her. "What the hell were you thinking? What were you doing in a place like that? Do you realize what could've happened?"
Tears sprung to her lids, watering her view. She never expected him to find out. Verity wanted to run away, but she wanted him to know the truth more. Then he would be disgusted with her enough to let her go free instead of forcing her back to her brothers. The pain of impending rejection was almost too much to bear. "It's what I am."
"What does that mean?"
"I dance." She wiped her eyes. "I used to dance. That's how I made money. That's how I got in trouble with Jaime Perez. That's why I was a prisoner at my family's farm."
Mathew's rigid posture softened. His voice was quieter. "I'm sorry."
She ran away in shame. Mathew called after her. "Wait. Where are you going?"
She stopped and faced him, keeping several yards' distance between them. "Don't you hate me now?"
"I don't hate you. Why would I?"
"I'm dirty. I'm tainted." Her reputation as a dancer left her unworthy of marriage according to her time.
"That's nonsense."
"I saw the look in your eye when you saw me in his hands. Don't lie to me again."
"I'm not lying. I don't care that you were dancing…Okay, I do care. But not because I don't approve, but because he was hurting you and holding you against your will."
Verity didn't move.
Mathew slowly closed the distance as if fearing she would run again. "You're smart woman. There's a reason for whatever you choose to do, and I respect that." She wanted him to hug her, to kiss her, but dirty, violated yuckiness swirled over her flesh.
Mathew closed the distance and hugged her anyway, unlocking the painful baggage of her past. Verity buried her face in his chest and sobbed.
He didn't hate what she was.
***
THEY STOOD IN THE middle of a seedy Queens borough in 1853. Mathew inhaled her feminine scent and held her tight while sobs wracked her body. Why had she been so angry with him in the horse-drawn cab? More concerning was why she fled the safety of the stock exchange. His hand rubbed her back. "Why did you leave the Exchange?"
She lifted her face away from his chest and snorted. Her captivating green eyes bore into his. "I didn't want to be involved in anything illegal."
Mathew laughed at the irony. "I bought shares of stock. Perfectly legal."
"What is stock?"
"Pieces of companies. Investors—stockholders—give companies money to invest and earn profit. In exchange you earn interest on your investment. That's all. Are you okay, after that?" Mathew thumbed back toward the bar. The dirty scumbag had groped her, and it sent him over the edge. That was the first time he'd been in a fight since he was a teen. Never had he hit a grown man, and never had he knocked one out. His knuckles throbbed in a surprising amount of pain, but it had been worth it.
She nodded and sniffled. "Can we go home?"
"We?" Mathew's lips lifted prematurely.
"I don't want to stay here," she said as if that was obvious.
At least she was cooperating, so he could get her safely out of Queens. He smiled and guided her around a corner, out of prying eyes.
"Hold on tight."
With Verity's arms squeezing around his middle, Mathew pressed the button. When light returned to his vision, a car horn blared, and the driver was making angry gestures through the windshield. Mathew grasped Verity's hand and rushed them out of the street. The driver was still yelling, but the closed windows made the sound too muffled to be bothered by it. The car roared by when they reached the curb.
"Feels good to be back," Mathew said.
"Yeah," she agreed. "Even if we had to appear in front of the dangerous end of the car."
Mathew laughed. He stuck out a hand and hailed a cab, bringing them to JFK airport in New York City. Verity stared at the exhibits inside the airport. A mini Ferris wheel lit up the center aisle, and she smiled in recognition. While they ate at a café inside, Verity remarked that the airport was similar to the mall, and he agreed, having never thought of it before.
They boarded their flight and Verity asked, "Do you want the window seat this time?"
"No, thank you."
"It's not my first time anymore. It's your turn."
"No. I insist. The view is all yours."
Verity smiled, and Mathew stuffed their bags into the overhead compartment. He sunk into his seat next to her, and Verity turned her face toward the window. To him, she was no longer the childlike innocent, marveling at modern technology and thrilled over microwave popcorn. She was a grown woman, fiercely independent, quick witted, and shockingly courageous. He burned for her even more. If his plan worked out, he'd finally feel almost worthy of her.
Unfortunately, the safety speech commenced, and his thoughts flashed to the emergency oxygen masks falling, alarms blaring, loud wind blasting through the cabin, and the captain shouting over the speaker…That was a path that lead to nowhere good. He focused on breathing evenly while his hands crunched the armrests for the whole flight. When they arrived home, they were both beat with exhaustion. Mathew dumped his duffle down and set the black bag of remaining silver from the stock exchange on the kitchen counter.
"I need a shower. How about you?" Mathew asked.
"That sounds heavenly."
Mathew made a bold offer. He was no longer afraid of offending her or scaring her by offering intimacy. He only wanted to pleasure her. "How about we conserve water?"
Her cute nose crinkled in confusion. Then her crinkle smoothed, and her eyes widened. Mathew smiled when he saw the moment his suggestion registered. He guided her by the hand and brought her into the bathroom, closed the door, and turned on the hot water. The water thrummed while Mathew stalked up to her. With a press of his finger under her chin, Verity's face tilted up to his. He searched her freckles, the smooth curve of her jaw, the individual hairs of her eyebrows, memorizing them, while unbuttoning his shirt. When it was half opened, her eyes traced his hands' movements. Anticipation surged through his body.