dismissed them out of hand. Beatrix Singletary was eccentric to be sure, but he’d never found cause to think her the meddling sort.
Until now.
The woman was actually pushing her companion on him, and she wasn’t even attempting to be subtle. When next he had Mrs. Singletary’s ear, he would inform her that her efforts were wasted on him.
Jonathon would never marry, nor father any children. He came from bad blood, from a long line of selfish men who’d destroyed the women in their lives.
He would not perpetuate the cycle. His newest project would become his legacy, a tangible way to help women rather than hurt them.
He clasped his hands behind his back and looked up at the ceiling, then across the ballroom, over to the doors leading to the terrace, anywhere but at the pretty young woman standing beside him.
Miss Ferguson was likable enough. She was perfectly suitable—for some other man.
“Mr. Hawkins, I apologize for my employer.” Philomena shifted uncomfortably beside him. “She means well, I’m sure. But when Mrs. Singletary gets an idea in her head, she can be unrelenting in her desire to see it through to the end.”
Pleased by the young woman’s directness, Jonathon decided to be equally forthright in return. “Tenacity is an admirable trait. However, in this instance, Mrs. Singletary will be disappointed if she continues to push you and me together.”
Relief filled the young woman’s gaze. “I concur completely. You and I would never suit. A match between us would be the very worst of bad ideas.”
Jonathon offered a sardonic tilt of his lips.
Her hand flew to her mouth. “Oh, Mr. Hawkins, please forgive my wayward tongue. I did not mean to insult you.”
“I’m not offended, Miss Ferguson. I find your candor refreshing.”
“Praise the Lord.” She sighed. Then, clearly eager to move away from their discussion as quickly as possible, she looked out across the ballroom.
Jonathon followed the direction of her gaze and felt his gut take a slow, curling roll. Fanny was working her charms on Mrs. Singletary, directing the widow through the ballroom. Even dressed simply in a black, high-collared dress, Fanny exuded grace and elegance. Rather than detract, the lack of color in her clothing emphasized her natural beauty.
He watched, fascinated, as she pointed to the chandelier he’d had recently installed. Beneath the glow of a thousand flickering electric lights, her blue-green eyes sparkled with pleasure.
Jonathon blinked, unable to tear his gaze free of all that joy, all that beauty. He’d spent too many years surrounded by ugliness not to appreciate the way she’d scooped her silky blond curls in some sort of fancy twist atop her head. A few errant strands tumbled free, framing her exquisite oval face.
Fanny Mitchell was one of the Lord’s greatest works of art.
She captivated him. In truth, she’d intrigued him from their first meeting. If any woman could entice him to reconsider his opinion on marriage, it would be Fanny Mitchell.
And yet, because he admired her so much, liked her even, she was the last woman he would consider pursuing romantically.
She’d become indispensable to him. Here, at the hotel. Her personal touches were everywhere. From the elegant yet inviting furniture in the lobby, to the specialty chocolates hand-delivered to the rooms each evening, to the list of Denver attractions provided to each guest at check-in.
As if sensing his gaze on her, she shot him a wink from over her shoulder. His mind emptied of all thought.
Footsteps sounded from the outer hallway, heralding someone’s approach. Jonathon jerked his attention toward the doorway.
His assistant, Burke Galloway, hastened into the ballroom, a scowl on his face. Recognizing the look, Jonathon addressed Miss Ferguson directly. “Will you excuse me a moment?”
“Of course.”
He approached his assistant, a tall, lean young man with dark hair and startling, pale blue eyes. “Is there a problem?”
Burke’s mouth pressed into a grim line. “Joshua Greene is here to see you. I put him in your private office.”
Everything in him went cold. “Which Joshua Greene, father or son?”
Neither man was welcome in the hotel.
“Son.” Burke spoke in a hushed, hurried tone. “He refuses to leave the premises until he’s spoken with you personally.”
What business did his half brother have with him? Jaw tight, Jonathon returned to Miss Ferguson.
“I must bid you good-day, but I leave you in capable hands.” He motioned Burke over. “Miss Ferguson, this is Mr. Galloway. Burke, please show the young woman around the ballroom while I address this other matter.”
Burke’s eyes filled with quiet appreciation. “With pleasure, sir.”
Jonathon adopted a clipped, purposeful pace. He caught Fanny’s eye before exiting the ballroom. She gave him a brief nod. The gesture confirmed that he’d left Mrs. Singletary in capable hands, as well.
Whatever he discovered during his meeting with Josh Greene, Jonathon knew one thing for certain. He had good men and women in his employ, people far more faithful to him than the father and half brother who’d dismissed him the one time he’d reached out for their help.
He’d come a long way since those dark, hopeless days of surviving alone on the backstreets of Denver by any means possible. He was a success in his own right now, on his own terms. He owed his family nothing.
After a final nod in Fanny’s direction, Jonathon headed out of the ballroom, prepared for the confrontation ahead.
Jonathon stood near the door, feet spread, hands clasped behind his back. He’d held the position for some time now, waiting for his half brother to stop pacing and state his business.
At seven years his senior, and their father’s sole legitimate heir, Josh had been given all the advantages of a privileged birthright, including an education from the finest schools in the country. Yet the man had nothing to show for his life, other than a string of gambling debts and a miserable marriage.
Always the outward picture of propriety, Josh wore one of his hand-tailored suits. The tall, leanly muscled build, the dark, windswept hair and classically handsome features fooled many.
But Jonathon knew the truth. The outer trappings did not match the inner man.
Like recognizes like, he thought, a harsh reminder of the things he’d done to drag himself out of poverty. Though his choices had been about survival, at least at first, he would still have much to answer for when he faced the Lord. Sobering thought.
His brother finally paused, turned and studied him intently. Jonathon matched the rude regard with unflinching patience, a strategy he often adopted to ferret out a business opponent’s underlying agenda.
Far stronger men than his brother had buckled under the calculated silence. Josh proved no more immune to the tactic than others before him.
“I need money,” he blurted out.
With slow, deliberate movements, Jonathon unclasped his hands and balanced evenly on both feet. The irony of the situation was almost laughable.
I need money. Those were the exact same words Jonathon had uttered to his father twenty years ago in a final, desperate attempt to save his dying mother’s life.
Resentment flared.
Jonathon struggled to contain the emotion, reminding himself he was no longer that helpless boy facing an uncertain