His lips were softer than she expected, his touch curiously respectful, even reticent. He made the kiss gentle in its seeking and Lydia was unafraid when he drew her still closer to him. She liked the way his mouth made contact with her for only a brief moment, just brushing her lips, urging them apart with only a suggestion of pressure.
Lydia’s hands rose between them, not to push Nathan away as he first suspected she might, but to grasp the front of his jacket and hold on as she swayed dreamily. It made him smile.
Her eyes opened and stared straight up into his. “Have I done something wrong?” she whispered. She drew in her lower lip, uncertain now, and a tiny frown appeared between her eyebrows. “You don’t want to kiss me anymore.”
“The truth is, Lydia,” he said quietly, “I’m not so sure I’ll ever want to stop.”
“That’s all right, then.” Standing on tiptoe, it was she who initiated the kiss this time, touching him in the same manner he had touched her. It satisfied, then frustrated, and it was then that Nathan took control again.
At the first faint stirrings of passion he pressed for a more intimate response. Tilting his head, his mouth slanted across hers. They shared a breath, an indrawn gasp, and he tasted the sweetness of her mouth as she gave him what he sought.
Nathan’s kiss excited her senses. Lydia knew the hard, angular planes of his body in contrast to hers, the beat of his heart through her fingertips, and heard the small sounds of her own passion rising. Behind her eyelids was a sunburst of color and in the center of her was another one of heat.
Backing Lydia against the gazebo’s latticework, Nathan’s hands slid from the small of her back to the underside of her breasts. Cornered, she stilled momentarily, aware and wary. He did nothing except wait, and when she swayed into him he knew she had accepted his touch.
His tongue traced the line of her upper lip, teasing a tiny shudder out of her. When the vibration was passed onto him he felt as though the kiss had come full circle. The innocence that was Lydia’s, however, could never be his. The most he could hope for was that she would share his guilt.
Lydia stretched, sliding her arms around Nathan’s shoulders, flattening herself against his chest. His thumb brushed the tip of her left breast and she sucked in her breath as she felt the tug of pleasure in the very soles of her feet. His lips were hard now; his tongue speared her mouth in a rhythm that was suggestive of another kind of intimacy.
“My God!”
The sharp, bitter invective drove a wedge between Lydia and Nathan. Nathan was surprised less by the interruption than by his own degree of disorientation. In spite of repeated warnings to himself, he hadn’t kept his head, and a single glance at Lydia told him she had not done nearly as well as he. His hands dropped to Lydia’s waist and he steadied her, drawing her away from the lattice. He took a half step in front of her, partially shielding her from the censure of the intruders.
Madeline released Brig’s arm, but she made no movement toward the gazebo steps. “That was an unbecoming display, Lydia,” she said coldly. “Come out of there at once and go inside. We’ll talk of this later.”
Before Lydia could move, Nathan spoke. “Good evening, Mrs. Chadwick,” he said with considerable civility. He nodded in Brig’s direction. “Brigham. It’s quite a pleasant evening for enjoying the gardens, don’t you think?”
Madeline was not amused by Nathan’s cool and unruffled tones. “The only thing that you were enjoying, Mr. Hunter, was my daughter. And she apparently had no qualms about letting you.”
“Mother,” said Lydia. The rush of heat to her face had scarcely lessened since she and Nathan had been interrupted, and some invisible pressure on her throat made it hurt to speak. “Please. It wasn’t—”
“You can explain it all inside, Lydia,” Madeline said, unwilling to listen. “Though how you shall explain it to Mr. Moore is beyond my comprehension. He dropped in to return a pair of gloves you left in his carriage this afternoon. You may as well have thrown them in his face.”
Lydia found it difficult to meet her mother’s eyes. She had not once ventured a look in Brig’s direction. “Gloves?” she asked, grasping at the conversation to shield her complete humiliation. “I don’t think I was wearing any. They must have fallen out of the pocket in my...”
Well acquainted with Lydia’s tears, Nathan sensed her struggle to control them now. He turned his back on Brig and Madeline long enough to ask Lydia if she wanted his escort to the house.
“No, thank you. I’ll be all right.”
He searched her downcast face and wished that he might lift her chin and raise her eyes so he would know the truth. “Will you?”
She nodded. “I just shouldn’t have let...” Lydia didn’t finish her thought. She pushed past Nathan and fled the gazebo and then the garden.
Madeline stared hard at Nathan. “Once my husband hears of this, Mr. Hunter, I don’t think you’ll be welcome any longer.” She thought that he would leave immediately, make an apology at the very least. Instead, he did neither of these things. He returned her look with an insolent half-smile and eyes that expressed contempt. Finally it was Madeline who turned away. “If you’ll excuse me, Mr. Moore,” she said.
“Of course,” he said gallantly. “And please don’t take Lydia to task on my account. I’d like to think she only wanted to make me jealous.”
Madeline hurried up the walk to the house. Neither Brig nor Nathan spoke again until they heard the door close behind her. Brig was carrying a crystal-knobbed ebony cane. He tapped the silver tip against the flagstones and laughed softly as Nathan came toward him. “If you’re going to throw a punch, Nath, at least let me move to the grass.”
Nathan stopped in front of Brig, but he made no move to lift a hand against him. “She wasn’t trying to make you jealous,” he said, “because she didn’t know you were there.”
“Are you certain about that?” Brig asked good-naturedly. “After all, she was facing in the direction of the house when Madeline and I came out.”
“You saw her?”
“Immediately.”
Which meant, Nathan supposed, that she could have seen him. “I don’t think jealousy was a motive.” But he wasn’t as certain as he had been a moment ago.
“Then perhaps she was just kissing you and thinking of me,” said Brig. “She’s halfway to being in love with me, you know.”
Nathan started up the walk and Brig fell in step beside him. “You can’t be all that sure of her,” Nathan said, “or you wouldn’t have shown up here tonight.”
Brig laughed again. “You know me too well, Nath. By God, you really do.” Except for the light tapping of Brig’s cane it was quiet as they passed the pond. “You may be interested to know,” Brig said, “that Lydia knows I’m a convict. It’s only a matter of time before she learns the same of you.”
“She already knows. She asked me and I told her.”
“Did she ask you what you’d done?”
“No. I think she was afraid to. And I didn’t offer the information.”
“Wise man. I don’t think she’d have been kissing you like that if she’d known about…damn, what was her name?”
“Beth Ann Ondine.”
“Not likely you’ll ever forget, is it?”
“No, not likely,” Nathan said quietly. He wasn’t just thinking of Beth Ann. He was thinking of Ginny Flynt. Who would ever believe he hadn’t killed her? “Do you have a point?” he asked.
“Lydia’s not going to have anything to do with either of us if she knows too much.”
“The fact that she knows anything at all is your fault,” Nathan whispered harshly. They were standing near the edge of the portico, not far from where he’d shimmied up to the balcony the night before. “She heard it first from her mother, and we both know how Madeline came by the information. She may have guessed a few things in the beginning, but I’ll wager you confirmed most of her suspicions. You were insane to get involved with her. She’s a bitch, Brig, and where you’re concerned, she’s a bitch in heat.”
One corner of Brig’s mouth lifted. “Perhaps that’s where her daughter gets it from.” He was curiously disappointed when Nathan didn’t react. Had he misread Nathan’s interest in Lydia? “What’s she like, Nath? I haven’t even kissed her yet. You do plan to let me share in that pleasure, don’t you? Assuming it’s a pleasure.”
“You’re welcome to try your hand at her, Brig. I certainly don’t have a claim. What you did this afternoon smacks of a little underhandedness, but as you pointed out before, there are no rules where Lydia is concerned.”
“Underhanded?” asked Brig, his eyes widening innocently. “What do you—oh, the gloves.”
“Precisely. She didn’t drop them and they didn’t fall out of her cape. You lifted them and then you hid them and waited until tonight to return them. You knew Lydia was out with me, knew that I wouldn’t keep her late, and you came to the house hoping we’d come in while you were still here. I’d say you probably saw our carriage arrive, never shared that information with Madeline, and got her out here on the pretense of seeing the gardens. I think her shock when she saw Lydia and me was quite real.”
“It was.”
“And everything else?”
Brig shrugged, no remorse in the gesture. “All true, I’m afraid. Yet it’s hardly different than your timely intervention in the alley. Or should I say interference? And don’t forget the card game. If it hadn’t been for you, I’d have been with her tonight at the Cliff House, and quite possibly kissing her in the gazebo. Let’s not discuss underhandedness, shall we.”
Nathan sighed heavily, frustrated that Brig had out-maneuvered him. “Where’s Samuel tonight?”
“I don’t know. He’s not at home, though.”
Convenient, thought Nathan. “Let’s go, Brig. I’d say today ended in a draw.”
“A draw,” he agreed. He put an arm around Nathan’s shoulders as they rounded the corner of the house below Lydia’s window. “Too bad we can’t finish it that way. In the end there’s just going to be one winner.”
Nathan was only certain it would not be Lydia.
The mission that housed the orphans was a rabbit warren of rooms. Lydia hurried from one bedroom to the next looking for two of the youngest boys. She retraced her steps into the bedroom she had just left when she heard Richard’s smothered giggle. A few minutes later, after fussing aloud that she’d never find them, she pulled them out from under a cot. John’s hand was covering Richard’s mouth, but that did little to silence the younger child’s laughter. John’s narrow, angular face was softened by large brown eyes and a gap-toothed smile. Richard was a slightly broader, rounder version of his older brother with the same dark chocolate eyes and heart-warming grin. That grin was finally uncovered when John let his hand drop.
Lydia tried to be stern. “Mrs. Finnegan is waiting for you boys in the kitchen. It’s not a good idea to run off when there’s work to be done.”
Richard simply stared up at her soulfully and let his brother do the talking. “That’s when it’s the very best idea.”
She remembered thinking the same thing at six. “All right,” she said, pretending indifference, “but I heard her say there’s raisin oatmeal cookies for the boys who clean her pantry shelves. I’ll see who else—” She didn’t have to go on. They rushed past her into the hallway and ran for the kitchen, their shoes clicking loudly on the terra cotta floor. Smiling to herself, Lydia pushed the cot back in place and straightened the pile of blankets at the foot. She looked at her handiwork and then at the other five cots and straightened each one of them in turn. The room the six smallest boys shared was painfully neat and barren, more like a cell than a bedroom. Their few personal possessions were kept in wooden crates at the base of each cot. The walls were whitewashed and showed nothing more interesting than a few cracks in the stucco. The new orphanage could not be built quickly enough to suit Lydia.
She backed out of the room, pulling the door shut, and bumped into Nathan Hunter. “Oh! What are you doing here?”
He noted she seemed more surprised to see him than unhappy. He took it as a good sign. “I came to see you, of course.”
To give her hands something to do, Lydia smoothed the skirt of her soft gray gown. “I don’t know why,” she said with a credible amount of dignity. “It’s been three weeks since the Cliff House. I thought you’d gone back to Australia.”
“Not until Brig and I settle our deal.”
She made to go past him, but Nathan blocked her path. “I have work to do, Mr. Hunter. Father Patrick’s expecting me to help him in the classroom.”
“No, he’s not.” There was something different about her, Nathan thought, though he was hard pressed to identify what it was. Her bearing was much the same—the chin still lifted when she felt threatened—but there was something else in her manner, an aloofness that suggested fear perhaps, or pain. He said nothing for a moment, studying her heart-shaped face. She was wearing her hair differently now, swept back lightly from her temples and coiled loosely at the back of her head. It was a dark, gloriously rich frame for her features and, looking at her, Nathan was struck again by her eyes, how deeply blue they were, how soft and fathomless they could be. “I spoke with Father Patrick when I came in,” he told her. “He suggested I might find you back here and that you would be delighted to take me on a tour.”
“Delighted?”
“His word exactly. I hoped it might be true.” He studied her face, aware that she had marshaled her defenses and was determined to be cool. “Well?”
Lydia avoided Nathan’s light gray predator eyes. “Very well,” she said, making little attempt to be gracious. “I suppose I can show you around. The sooner that’s done, the sooner you can leave.”
Since they were in the wing that housed the bedrooms, Lydia took Nathan from one to another, talking a little about the children and their backgrounds. Her conversation was hardly personal; she had conducted dozens of such tours when she was trying to raise money for the new building. Nathan listened politely and asked questions now and again.
“Didn’t you get any of my messages?” he asked as they entered the chapel. Dust motes filled a row of sunbeams coming through the high, narrowly arched windows. Nathan shut the heavy oaken door behind him and leaned against it.
At the sound of the door closing, Lydia lost her train of thought. She dipped her fingers in the font and genuflected, then took a seat on the last rough-hewn pew. “What messages?” she asked when he sat beside her.
“I sent one every three or four days since I last saw you,” he said. “You never got one? Or the flowers?”
“Nothing.” She looked at him suspiciously. “You really tried to reach me? Sent me flowers?”
The chapel was still and peaceful and their voices were hushed respectfully. Nathan pointed to the golden cross on the altar. “This is not the sort of place where I’m likely to tell a lie.”
She looked away quickly, trying to hide her smile. When she had composed herself she said, “Three weeks was a long time not to hear anything from you. I suppose it was my mother’s doing. She wants to protect me.”
“But she allows you to see Brigham.”
“Yes. I’ve seen him twice since that night. How do you know about it? Does he…does he talk to you about me?”
“No,” Nathan said quickly. “It’s not what you’re thinking. I saw you with him at the theater one evening. Brigham and I rarely talk these days; we’re not even staying in the same hotel any longer. He’s moved to the Commodore.”
“Have you had a falling out?” she asked, folding her hands in her lap. “Brigham doesn’t talk about you, either.”
Nathan placed his hand across both of hers. “What are your feelings for Brig, Lydia?”
She jerked her hands away. “Why would I tell you that? I haven’t shared my feelings with Brigham. I’m certainly not going to share them with you.”
“I suppose that answers my question.” He stretched his legs out into the aisle and leaned back, resting his hands on the bench behind him. “If you had gotten my messages, would you have agreed to see me?”
“I’m seeing you now, aren’t I?” she asked. “Anyway, why do you want to see me? Knowing that you and Brigham are partners, well, it makes me feel as if I’m some bone you’re fighting over. I have no idea why you’ve both singled me out for your attention unless it’s my money. There are hundreds of women in San Francisco, most of them better looking than me and far more interesting.”
“Do you ever tell Brig any of this?”
“Of course. He told me I was imagining it.” Between softly teasing kisses Brig had told her that. “He said he didn’t need my money.” He had said that while his mouth was against her ear and when his tongue had traced the outer shell. “He said I was beautiful.” He had kissed her eyes closed then, touched his lips to her temples, and followed the line of her jaw with his mouth. “And as interesting as a woman ought to be.”
“You believed him?”
“Shouldn’t I?”
“What if I said those things?”
“It’s the way they were said,” she admitted.
His imagination told him everything she had not. Nathan wondered what he could say that would turn her against Brig without turning her against him as well. The truth damned them both and lies could easily be undone. “Brig is an old friend,” he said at last, “but that doesn’t mean I’ll give in easily. This has never happened to us before, Lydia. We’ve never shared any interest in the same woman so perhaps that’s why you’re feeling some rivalry between us. I can’t speak to what Brig wants from you, but I know what I want.”
“And that is...?”
Marriage, he almost said. Yet something made him hold back the word and stop short of proposing. A chapel was not the place to discuss the type of marriage he had in mind. “Another opportunity to see you,” he said instead. “Anywhere you want to go.”
“Do you mean that?”
“Yes.”
“Then let me think on it, Nathan,” she said softly, raising her eyes to his. “I may have something in mind.” Before he could reply Lydia stood up, stepped over his outstretched legs, and motioned for him to follow. “There’s still the matter of your tour, I believe.”
Lydia showed him the rooms they used for classes, the sitting and dining rooms, and finally the kitchen. John and Richard were sitting at a table in one corner, their legs dangling from stools much too high for them, eating raisin oatmeal cookies. They were also trying to kick each other under the table. Mrs. Finnegan was working at the large cast-iron stove while some of the older girls who lived in the orphanage snapped peas beside a butcher-block table. None of them paid the least attention to the two boys. It was Nathan who responded when John hit his brother’s stool with his foot and tipped it backward.
Rushing ahead of Lydia, Nathan caught Richard a mere heartbeat before boy and floor collided.
Richard came up grinning in Nathan’s arms until he tasted blood in his mouth. The screams that rent the air then caused Mrs. Finnegan to drop her spoon in the stew and the girls to overturn their pan of peas. Searching out the culprit, Mrs. Finnegan’s eyes alighted on John and she started for the table, intending to box the boy’s ears. He let out a shriek, slid off the stool, crawled under the table, and eluded the cook by running full tilt into Lydia’s legs. He clutched at her skirt and begged her to save him.
Well aware of Mrs. Finnegan’s keen and watchful eyes, Lydia caught John by the scruff of his neck and dragged him out of the kitchen. Nathan gave Richard a handkerchief for his bleeding lip and followed quickly, leaving a trail of smashed peas behind him. As soon as they were out of sight Lydia let go of John. She knelt in front of the boy. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?” she asked anxiously. Behind her she heard Nathan chuckle.
John stuck out his bottom lip a little and rubbed the back of his neck. “Not much,” he said, hoping she’d believe he’d been punished enough.
“All right,” Lydia said. John’s face brightened. She patted him on his bottom. “Now go tell Father Patrick what you did. And don’t think I won’t ask after you.” His narrow face grew solemn and he turned away, dragging his feet with each step he took. Clearing her throat to quell the urge to laugh, Lydia turned to Richard. He was sitting comfortably in the crook of Nathan’s arm, holding a handkerchief to his mouth.
“Let me see your lip,” she said, suspicious that there might be a devilish smile behind it. There was. “Oh, Richard. You are an imp.”
Nathan set the boy down. “That’s why he’s going to Father Patrick and tell him that he was stealing one of the other boy’s cookies when the accident happened. Aren’t you?”
Richard’s lower lip trembled as his eyes grew round. “Must I?” he asked, looking to Lydia.
“Yes, you must.”
Sucking on his injured lip, the boy returned the handkerchief to Nathan. “Thank you, sir,” he said gravely.
Nathan and Lydia waited until he was out of sight and hearing before they shared their laughter. “Neither one of them will see the priest,” said Nathan.
She sighed. “Probably not. They’re counting on me not to inquire.”
“Will you?”
Her expression was sheepish. “Probably not.” Nathan smiled then, and Lydia felt the force of it slam against the barriers she had erected. She hated the fact that he had been kind to the children, that she had found it so easy to laugh with him, that he had found her in the place she had come to consider a kind of sanctuary. “I’ll walk you out to your carriage,” she said.
That was that, Nathan thought. He accepted her offer. When they were outside he pointed out the cinnamon mare posted at the rail. “I didn’t hire a carriage today.” They crossed the dusty yard. “How often do you come here?”
“Several times a week. Why?”
“I wondered when I might be able to see you again.”
“Mrs. Newberry is having a party this evening to celebrate her husband’s sixtieth birthday. Were you invited?”
“No. I don’t know the Newberrys.”
“I’m going with my parents and Brigham,” she said. “If you want to attend, speak to my father. He’s a good friend of the Newberrys and he can probably arrange something. I’m not sure I understand it, but my father seems to like you. At least he’s asked after you these past few weeks.”
“Actually, I saw Samuel last night at the Silver Lady. That’s how I knew to come here today.” Untethering the mare, he mounted her in a swift, graceful motion. Looking down at Lydia, he saw she was still wearing a slightly confused, all-at-sea expression. He reached in his pocket and leaned toward her. “Here, Miss Liddy,” he said, mimicking the solemn, penitent air of the boys, “have a cookie.”
She stared at it for a moment, unbelieving of her own eyes. “Where did you—”
“Stole it, I’m afraid.” The mere suggestion of a smile touched his mouth, and for an instant his eyes were warm. “I’ll speak to Father Patrick about it later.”
“And then he handed me a stolen oatmeal raisin cookie,” said Lydia. “What do you think of that, Pei Ling?”
Pei Ling paused in brushing out Lydia’s hair and caught her mistress’s eye in the mirror. “I think Mr. Hunter want to see you smile. He know what I know. You beautiful when you smile.”
Lydia’s eyes dropped away from her reflection immediately and she busied herself collecting the hairpins Pei Ling would require. “I wonder if he’ll be there tonight.”
“He come. You have plenty young men admire you tonight. James will be there. Also Henry Bell. Mr. Moore escort you and Mr. Hunter try to take you away. Wish Missus Newberry invite me to party.”
Laughing, Lydia handed Pei Ling a hairpin. “I think it will be a dull affair.”
“No. Not that.” There was a knock at the door and Lydia and Pei Ling exchanged knowing glances before Lydia asked her mother to come in. Madeline’s reaction to Lydia’s gown was almost immediate. “Fireworks start now,” Pei Ling murmured.
Lydia pretended she didn’t hear. “Yes, Mother?”
“I came to see if you needed any help, but you seem to be almost ready.” Madeline’s emerald eyes were critical as they traveled over her daughter’s bare shoulders and the severely cut lines of her midnight blue gown. Tiny blue beads sparkled along the edge of the low cut bodice. They were worked into the tight sleeves at the wrists and decorated the gown’s hem and train. Lydia wore sapphire drop earrings, and when she turned her head to look at her mother inquiringly, they brushed against the smooth ivory stem of her neck. “Stand up, Lydia,” she said. “I want a better look at what you’re wearing.”
“In a moment, Mother. When Pei Ling’s finished with my hair.”
Madeline opened her mouth to argue, then thought better of it. Whatever she said in front of the Chinese girl would get back to Samuel and he would not hesitate to confront her. She could do without her husband’s criticisms these days.
Pei Ling took her time, winding Lydia’s sable hair into an intricate knot at the back of her head. She anchored it with pins that she hid and a gold comb that she did not. Purposely freeing a few strands of hair at Lydia’s temples and nape, Pei Ling created a softer look that contrasted beautifully with the severity of the gown. When she was finished, she touched Lydia lightly on the shoulders, offering her silent support before she left the room.
Lydia stood and turned so that her mother could see the gown from all sides. She hoped that what she might hear would be different from what she expected. It wasn’t.
“I don’t think I approve, Lydia. Not at all.” When Lydia stopped turning, Madeline walked around her. “Where did you get this? And when?”
After taking a calming breath, Lydia said, “I’d hoped you be pleased, Mother. After all, you’ve always wanted me to take more interest in my appearance. I had this made for me at Madame Simone’s. It was only finished yesterday.” She almost bumped into Madeline as she started toward her wardrobe. Madeline stopped circling and Lydia excused herself. She opened the door of her wardrobe and pointed to the row of new purchases. “I had half a dozen made and there are three more on order.”
“That was extravagant, Lydia. What is your father going to think when he gets the bill? You should have come to me and discussed it first.”
“I discussed it with Papa,” said Lydia. “He was agreeable.”
“And you said nothing to me.”
“I wanted to surprise you.” Was Madeline hurt? Lydia wondered. Was that what she heard in her mother’s voice?
Madeline indicated Lydia’s gown with a dismissive wave of her hand. “This is a surprise.”
“You hate it, don’t you?”
“On the contrary. It’s a lovely gown, but totally unsuited to you. You’re too young to wear something like this, Lydia, which I would have told you had you had the grace to ask to me to accompany you to Simone’s. You took Pei Ling, I suppose?” Lydia nodded, biting her lower lip. She felt herself shriveling inside her skin, becoming smaller and smaller as Madeline went on. “What on earth would she know about fashion? Someone your age requires pastels, or at the very least a printed fabric. And you’ve allowed Simone to neglect all the usual ornamentation. Oh, the beads are fine if you’re planning to lead the opening number in a dance hall, but I don’t know that they’re suitable for Mr. Newberry’s birthday party. The Newberrys are very circumspect, remember.” She took Lydia by the elbow and escorted her to the full-length mirror. “Your shoulders aren’t your best feature, darling,” she said, running her palms across them. “The collarbones are very pronounced, aren’t they? And the cut of this bodice…I’m not certain you want to expose this much…skin. What do you expect the men will think of you?”
Lydia ventured her thought softly. “Perhaps if I ask Papa what he thinks.”
“Your father would never say anything against it,” Madeline said truthfully. “He’d spare your feelings if you wore a sackcloth and ashes. Now, do what’s best for all concerned, and find something else to wear. We still have enough time. I’ll go and tell Samuel and Mr. Moore that you’ll just be a little longer.” She left the room without giving Lydia the opportunity to respond.
Still worrying her lower lip, Lydia stared dully at her reflection. She wanted to cry. She had been so certain she had made a good choice, and in less than two minutes Madeline had found all the flaws. If Madeline saw them so easily, then others would eventually. She had wanted to have admirers at the Newberrys’ party, and instead she was going to embarrass herself. And she would embarrass herself, Lydia realized, because she was going to defy her mother and wear the gown anyway. It would be like wearing a sackcloth and ashes, she thought, remembering Madeline’s phrase. Throughout the evening the gown would serve as a reminder that in all things she should learn to choose wisely.
Brigham Moore led Lydia onto the ballroom floor and took her into his arms. “My God but you’re lovely this evening.” He hoped he didn’t sound as surprised as he felt. When he had first seen her coming down the staircase in her own home, he thought she was a guest, a friend of Lydia’s perhaps, but certainly not Lydia. It was Lydia, though, and the entire time he watched her descend the steps, he felt Madeline’s eyes on him. She was worried, he thought, and she had every right to be. Tonight Lydia would outshine her mother. For Madeline it must have felt like the end of the world.
“You always make such pretty compliments,” Lydia said, smiling up at him. Her eyes were bright and her cheeks were flushed becomingly. “It’s difficult to know how seriously to take them.”
“Pretty compliments, Lydia?” He feigned a wounded look. “I speak the truth. I’m thankful you wrote me in on your dance card in three places before that crowd of young puppies descended on you.”
“Mr. Newberry is sixty today, remember? Hardly a puppy. And I’ve written him in twice.” She laughed gaily as he turned her several times in quick succession. “But it’s kind of you to make jealous noises, Brig. It cannot help but flatter me.”
“These aren’t jealous noises. I am jealous. Look at my eyes.”
“Your eyes are always green.”
He pretended to be much struck by this observation and elicited another smile from her. “My point exactly,” he said. “I was born to be jealous where you’re concerned.”
“Oh, Brig,” she said softly, and gave herself up to the music and the moment.
Samuel excused himself from his circle of friends and walked to the edge of the ballroom when he saw Nathan arrive. He raised his hand slightly to catch Nathan’s attention and motioned the younger man to join him. Nathan did so quickly, feeling every inch the intruder he was.
“Don’t look guilty,” Sam said, extending his hand in a warm, familiar greeting. “You have that invitation, don’t you?”
“Thanks to you, sir.”
“No thanks to me at all. I wouldn’t have thought of it if Lydia hadn’t put the notion in your mind. I’d say that things are looking up for you, Nath. She wouldn’t have suggested you come this evening if she hadn’t wanted to see you again.”
“I hope that’s what it means,” he said, his tone doubtful. “Are you giving Brig as much encouragement as you’re giving me?”
“Brigham? That one doesn’t need encouragement. But then you’d know that, wouldn’t you? Lydia tells me you’re business partners, though it’s a damn odd way you diggers conduct business.”
“This is a very special matter, Samuel. I’m assuming I can count on your discretion.”
“As long as it’s legal.”
“It is.”
“Good. The way you and Brigham work puts me in mind of confidence men. You’d be run out of town on your ear, and that’s only if you’re lucky. Most likely you’d be hanged.”
Nathan restrained an urge to fiddle with his cravat. Samuel was liable to interpret the gesture as a guilty one.
“I’d hate to think that you were after Lydia’s money,” Samuel went on, then added significantly, “Or mine.”
“Look at her, Samuel,” Nathan said, tilting his chin in Lydia’s direction. She was on the floor with James Early now, her head thrown back with laughter, the smooth curve of her throat exposed. She was as slender as a wraith, ephemeral in her beauty, and she fairly floated across the floor, as if she were held down by James’s hand on her waist and nothing else. “Do you really think that when a man looks at her, he only sees her bloody money?” He didn’t wait to hear Samuel’s response. He was dodging the other dancing couples on the dance floor, thinking of what he would say to Lydia when he cut in.
James Early stepped aside for Nathan reluctantly. “Why haven’t you married that boy?” Nathan asked, taking Lydia in his arms. He was careful not to hold her too tightly or draw her too close.
For a moment Lydia was too stunned to answer. Nathan had appeared from nowhere, summarily dismissed her partner, and now he was asking personal questions—all without so much as a greeting. She was hardly able to take it in, much less notice that his dancing form had improved immensely. He glided across the floor, turning her easily, and she didn’t have to think to follow him, it came as simply and naturally as breathing. “It would be like marrying a brother,” she said at last. “That’s how I think of James.”
“Have you told him that?”
“Several times. I think he feels the same way, but every so often he gets it in his head that he should take a wife, and I’m as good a candidate as any. A better one, I suppose, than most of the girls he sees. At least James can talk to me.”
“And what about that other young man I see hovering around you from time to time?”
“You must mean Henry Bell. Henry’s fine, but definitely not for me.” He’d also made the regrettable error of getting caught kissing Madeline in the Chadwick gallery. They both excused their behavior on the mistletoe overhead and the high spirits of the season, and as if to prove the innocence of the gesture, Madeline still pushed Henry at Lydia’s head from time to time. “Henry’s a pleasant enough escort, but that’s all.”
“He’s proposed?”
“Once. I accepted once…and then I cried off. It all happened in the space of an evening, Mr. Hunter, so there’s no wound to speak of.” Her cobalt blue eyes were grave as she studied his hard-edged features and tried to fathom his intentions. “Your questions are exceedingly personal. I wonder what you can mean by them.”
“Only curious about the number of hearts you’ve broken,” he said, his glance shuttered. A hundred, he thought, at least a hundred. The music drifted off and the orchestra picked up the strains of another waltz. Nathan had no choice but to give her up, but it cut him that he had to deliver her to Brigham.
“I’d like to go outside, if you don’t mind,” Lydia said when Brig took her arm. “I’ve had quite enough dancing for the time being.”
“Of course,” he said, immediately solicitous. “I’ve been wanting to speak with you alone anyway.” He glanced around the ballroom and saw Madeline standing with her back to them, occupied by her conversation with Samuel and several of their friends. It was the perfect time to approach Lydia.
The Newberrys had no gazebo or pond on their property, but they did have an immense marble fountain that Mr. Newberry had had shipped from Italy. Its three tiers consisted of ornate and fanciful sculptures of dolphins, water sprites, and at the pinnacle, Neptune himself. Lydia thought the entire affair rather ghastly in daylight, but at night, as long as the moon was not too full, it looked rather pleasant and the steady spray of water was soothing to the ear. Though no word passed between her and Brig, they gravitated toward the fountain as if by mutual agreement.
White marble benches, just outside of the circle of mist, surrounded the fountain. Brig led Lydia to the one that put the fountain between them and the ballroom, thus giving them the illusion of complete privacy.
“My business in San Francisco is almost at an end, Lydia,” Brig said, slipping his hand beneath hers. Their fingers intertwined. “When I came here I had no expectations of meeting someone like yourself, someone who would make me regret leaving California alone. I realize we have not known one another long, nor especially well, but I haven’t the luxury of many more days in your city. Perhaps I am presenting this in a backward fashion, but I don’t want you to think this is the impetuous proposal of a schoolboy. It’s no infatuation that I feel, for I have enough experience to know otherwise. I’d like you to be my wife, Lydia. Come back to Sydney and the station at Ballaburn with me. We could be happy there, I know we could.”
How beautiful this man was, Lydia thought. Strands of sandy hair gleamed silver in the pale moonlight and his green eyes were like precious stones. The boyish smile so often in evidence was absent now and the set of his mouth betrayed some of the anxiety he was feeling. There was the smallest tremor in the large, smooth hand that held hers.
Lydia’s eyes darted over his face, the stillness with which he held himself betrayed by the faint muscle working in his cheek. “I’m not certain it’s what I want,” she said finally. “What you’re asking…it’s so much more than marriage for me. It would mean leaving my mother and father, leaving behind everything that is familiar, and taking up a way of life in a land I’ve heard described as bleak and unforgiving.”
“But you’re not saying no,” Brig inserted quickly. “Is there reason for me to hope?”
Lydia eased her hand out from under his and stood up. “Of course you may hope, Brigham. In fact, I wish that you would. I shouldn’t like it if you gave up so easily. I’d like to think about it…give you my answer later.”
He also got to his feet and stood in front of her. “Later? You mean tonight?”
“Yes,” she said, raising her eyes to him. Her thick lashes framed eyes that were almost black and her lips were fractionally parted, wet and inviting. “I mean tonight. But not here. There are too many things I still want to know.” She hesitated, looking away.
“What is it, Lydia?” he asked gently.
She spoke in a rush. “Would you meet me later? Somewhere…I don’t know—at my home perhaps. I could let you in after my parents go to bed and we could finally talk privately and with complete candor.” She saw Brig’s frown and immediately began to retract her statement. “I’m sorry. I’ve been forward again, haven’t I? Oh, God.” Despair was rife in her tone and she caught her bottom lip between her teeth. “I shouldn’t have suggested it. If you want to take back your proposal, I’ll understand. I don’t know what made me think that you’d—”
“Come,” he finished for her. “I’ll meet you, Lydia. You’re an intriguing mixture of propriety and daring, aren’t you?” In that dress she was a damn siren, he thought. His eyes darted to the curve of her naked shoulders. “Something else to love about you, darling.”
Her eyes widened and darkened further at the center.
“I hadn’t said it yet, but surely you’ve known. I’m in love with you, Lydia Chadwick. Quite hopelessly in love with you.” He took her in his arms and kissed first her forehead, her closed eyes, then the tip of her nose before settling and lingering on the fullness of her ripe mouth. He kissed her deeply, almost drawing the air from her lungs, and didn’t release her until he felt her sag helplessly against him. “I’m not above using everything at my disposal to win your hand,” he said, lifting his head. He kissed her again, briefly this time, and then left her to regain her composure before she entered the ballroom, certain he had sufficiently unbalanced her heart.
Nathan excused himself from the men he was talking to when he saw Brigham come back inside. More than a minute later Lydia followed. She looked as if she could use a drink, something more powerful than the party punch he eventually offered her.
“Thank you,” said Lydia, holding the crystal cup between her palms. “You’re very kind.”
One of Nathan’s dark brows kicked up. “I’m not,” he said. “Not at all.”
Over the rim of her cup she smiled. “Say whatever you like. I shall think what I like.”
Frowning, Nathan slid his hand under Lydia’s elbow and urged her toward the exit.
“Where are we going?” she asked. “I just came from outside.”
“And I think you need to go back. It’s obvious to me at least that you need some fresh air. You haven’t cooled down sufficiently from Brigham’s mauling.”
Lydia laughed as they stepped onto the terrace. “Mauling? Why, Mr. Hunter, you sound almost jealous.”
His only response was to grip her arm a little tighter. Glancing sideways at her face, Nathan could still make out the high color in her cheeks and the swollen sweetness of her mouth. She was full of herself this evening, he thought, confident in a way he had never seen before.
“May I at least put down my cup somewhere?” she asked as they came upon the fountain. He didn’t say anything but paused long enough for her to set it down on one of the stone benches before pulling her into the shadowed recesses of the yard. Light from the house could not reach them; strains of music could. When they stopped walking, Lydia held up her hands, her face tilted to one side in question.
Nathan didn’t hesitate. When Lydia began to hum the melody, he took her in his arms and led her in a waltz. “How did you get out of the house in that gown?” he asked baldly.
What confidence Lydia had was shattered. Her steps faltered momentarily, and when she trounced his toes, it was her fault, not his. “I didn’t have anything else to wear,” she said softly. “Mother didn’t like it either.”
“Either?” Of course Madeline hadn’t liked it. “I didn’t say I didn’t like it. In fact...” She was radiant, luminous. Or she had been until she thought he’d been expressing disapproval. “...you should always have nothing else to wear.”
The smile that had faltered on her lips brightened fractionally. “You don’t think it’s too…too...”
“I do.” His eyes fell briefly on the hollow of her throat and then came to rest on her mouth. “Indeed, I do.”
Embarrassed by his regard, Lydia lowered her head. She said the first thing that came to mind. “You’re a much better dancer than you were a few—” She cut herself off, appalled by her lack of good manners, and looked up at Nathan to see if he was offended. It seemed that he was. His jaw was clenched now. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”
“It’s all right,” he said, his voice rough. He wasn’t about to tell her he had been practicing, taking lessons from Miss Wilhemenia Gardner at her School of Dance.
It was the first time Lydia had sensed any vulnerability in Nathan Hunter and she wondered at it, wondered if she had been mistaken about the aura of confidence, even arrogance, that he showed most often. She wouldn’t allow herself to think on it long, afraid it would sway her. After all, she already had Brig’s proposal. “I’m glad you came this evening,” she said. “I understand you have something to celebrate.”
“I do?”
She nodded. “Certainly. Brigham tells me he’s leaving for Australia soon. That can only mean the deal is close to being finalized. I assume you’ll be going as well.”
“Yes…yes, I suppose I will.” What was she talking about? The deal closed? Nathan couldn’t imagine that Brig had spoken of returning to Ballaburn without Lydia. In Nathan’s mind that meant one thing: Brigham had proposed. Was it too late? he wondered. Had Lydia already given her answer? But, no, he thought, she couldn’t have, because Brig would never have let her out of his sight. He’d have made the announcement tonight, before Lydia could think better of it. Nathan stopped dancing, never realizing the music had stopped sometime earlier.
“What is it?” Lydia asked.
Nathan’s hands rested on the curve of Lydia’s naked shoulders. His thumbs brushed her collarbones. “I want you to marry me, Lydia,” he said tersely. “I want you to come back to Australia with me. I know you don’t like me much, perhaps not at all, but I don’t think it matters for what I have in mind.”
Not matter? How could that be true? Since when didn’t feelings matter in a marriage? “I’m not certain what you mean,” she said quietly.
“Our marriage wouldn’t have to be the usual kind,” he said. “That is, it need never be consummated.” He ignored her gasp, and when she tried to pull away he held her fast. “It would only be temporary anyway. I need a wife for a year, Lydia. A single year. Then you could leave me. I’d send you back to San Francisco if you liked, or anywhere else that you wanted to go. It would be up to you.”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why do you need a wife at all?” she asked. “And why for only a year? Why me?”
Why indeed. She was asking all the questions Nathan couldn’t answer. It would have been easier to lie to her, tell her that he loved her, needed her, tell her all the things he imagined Brig had said. It would have been much, much easier, and still Nathan couldn’t do it. Ultimately she would be betrayed, or feel as if she had been, and that was where Nathan’s conscience had drawn the line. “It’s difficult to explain,” he said finally. Impossible, he thought. This time when Lydia tried to move out of his grasp, he let her. She didn’t go far, only a few feet, and then she turned her back on him.
“You can’t expect that I should answer you now,” she said. “How could I? I’ve never had a proposal quite like yours before.”
He came up to stand behind her. “I told you my intentions were so honorable you’d be insulted.”
Lydia laughed mirthlessly. “Yes, you did. I had forgotten that. Your actions weren’t always so honorable.”
“Lydia?” He spoke her name softly, a question in the sound. “What are you saying?”
“Nothing.”
He touched the nape of her neck with his fingertips, whispering across her sensitive skin and brushing aside a few loose strands of hair. He felt her shudder, not with distaste, he hoped, but with desire. “Lydia,” he said again. This time his mouth was near her ear. His lips touched the pulse in her neck just below her lobe. Her response was to tilt her head away from him and offer the beautiful line of her neck. He kissed her again, nibbling, tasting. The curve of her shoulder was warm and sweet. Her fragrance filled his senses. She turned toward him with no more urging, raising her arms around his shoulders. Her lips were parted and her eyes searched his face.
He watched her the entire time he bent his head. It was only at the last moment that she closed her eyes and gave herself up to him. She let him kiss her lightly at first, taste her mouth, draw her lower lip between his teeth and tug gently. It was the tip of her tongue that touched him a moment later, tickling the underside of his lip, pushing at the barrier of his teeth, and finally urging itself into his mouth. He took up the sweet battle without protest, finding the sensual dance more to his liking. He had her backed against the reddish-brown fissured bark of a hollyleaf cherry tree without quite knowing how he’d done it. One hand rested on her waist, the other traced the edging of her gown, fingers dipping below the cool satin to touch the soft, warm skin beneath it. He wanted to push her bodice lower, cup her breast, and run his thumb across the nipple until it was hard and swollen. He thought she just might let him, but he didn’t press.
“It wouldn’t have to be a marriage without pleasure,” he whispered against her mouth.
“Just without affection,” she answered. She could have pushed him away then, but she didn’t. She was greedy for the taste of him; the rough wetness of his tongue against hers was exciting. His fingers teasing the curve of her breast was frustrating. She wanted to lay his hand completely over her naked breast, wanted to feel the moist heat of his mouth there. Instead her own fingers pulled impatiently at his shirt so that she could touch the flat hardness of his belly. Her hand splayed across his abdomen; the skin beneath her fingers was hot. The press of his mouth was hard and hungry now and his hand had moved to the small of her back.
He leaned into her, cradling her with his thighs, wishing that she would raise her skirt and let him come into her. In his mind he saw himself lifting her until she opened for him, wrapped her legs around his flanks and settled against him, taking him full inside, her back against the hollyleaf tree, her breasts against his chest, her tongue inside his mouth imitating the rhythm that she wanted between his thighs, stroking him, building a fire in his loins…in his heart.
Abruptly Nathan pushed away. His breathing was harsh, his voice only a little less so. His predator eyes bore into Lydia’s dark ones. “There’s something else you should know about me,” he said, his jaw set, the tilt of his chin defiant, even angry.
She waited, frightened now, uncertain of anything except that things had somehow gone too far. The things she had been thinking, the things she had wanted from him, embarrassed her now. She didn’t want to look at him, couldn’t look away.
“My crime,” he said bluntly.
Lydia continued to look at him warily. She nodded once.
“Murder.” He didn’t try to read her face in the darkness. Instead he began to walk away.
“Nathan.”
He paused. Turned. “Yes.”
“I want to think about your offer,” she said calmly. “I also want to know more. Come to my house later tonight, after my parents have gone to bed. Two o’clock is good. You can use the side door. I’ll leave it open for you.”
“I don’t think—”
She raised her hand to stop his objection and regarded him steadily. The air was very still around her and there was expectancy in the stillness. “Come,” she said.
“Where will you be waiting?”
There was only the smallest hesitation before Lydia answered. “My bedroom,” she said. “I’ll wait for you in my bedroom.”