Eleven

“OH, MR. MACINTOSH! Phillip is it? I’m speaking to you, young man.”

Mrs. Reverend Bartholomew. She was bearing down on Portia as she walked across the Chautauqua grounds. Every time Portia saw her she was more convinced that the woman had descended from the ostrich family. Her ample bosom seemed to get ahead of her skinny legs and her chin jutted upward as though she were permanently tipped forward.

“I want to talk to you, young man. I insist that you stop.” Portia stopped and waited. Why not? The way she was feeling she should have expected such an encounter. But this time she intended to put the woman in her pious place, quickly and permanently.

“How may I be of assistance, Mrs. Bartholomew?”

“I want to know what you’ve done with that poor helpless child?”

“What I’ve done? I haven’t done anything with anybody, not yet.”

“But I distinctly heard two of those disreputable looking men on your crew talking about finding a sick child hidden in one of your trunks. They seemed to think that you’d taken him in. And I want you to know that we don’t intend to allow it.”

“We, who?”

“Why, the members of my missionary society. We are morally bound to instruct the heathen and care for the sick. It’s God’s will.”

“I don’t have the boy, Mrs. Bartholomew, but it seems to me that if God wanted you to have him, he’d have put him in your trunk. Now, please excuse me, I have work to do.”

Portia fought the urge to give physical expression to the biblical expression, smite thine enemy. The woman was doing what she considered the right thing. Except that if she got her hands on that boy, she’d have to fight Daniel Logan to do it. Good luck to her. Portia turned away, stopped and turned back again with a devious smile. Why not? After all, she was her father’s daughter.

“Oh, Mrs. Bartholomew, ma’am, if you really consider rescuing the boy to be your Christian duty, you might discuss the matter with Mr. Daniel Logan. He’s a guest at the Sweetwater. I believe that he’s taken the boy in.”

“Oh, the gentleman who has his own private railcar? Mr. Lane in the school office may have mentioned him to me, as a possible contributor to our cause.” Mrs. Bartholomew couldn’t conceal her momentary chagrin. It was obvious that Mr. Logan’s interference had caught her off guard.

“Oh, yes,” Portia said, in her most innocent schoolboy voice, “I’m sure that Mr. Logan would be most interested in making a contribution to your cause if you ask him. He is always interested in helping people.”

“Oh? I don’t suppose that you’d put in a word with him, in behalf of our missionary work, would you? I mean, you do have some connection to the gentleman, don’t you?” Portia suspected that Mrs. Bartholomew was tom between feathering her religious nest and giving in to the temptation of indulging in pure gossip.

“Oh no, not me. It is my sister, Fiona, who is affianced to Mr. Logan. You must have heard of Fiona, the stage actress.”

Portia felt a smile twitch her lips. Let Mrs. Bartholomew wrest control of the child away from Daniel if she could. Poor Mrs. Bartholomew.

Portia thought of the boy and wondered if she’d done the right thing. Why wish that woman on anybody? But Daniel Logan? Well he deserved it for taking over like some tyrant.

Picturing Daniel and Mrs. Bartholomew facing off made Portia’s devilish action more acceptable. Ha! The woman didn’t stand a chance. Daniel Logan would either swallow her whole or charm her silly. Soberly Portia reached the conclusion that her own position was not so very different from that of Mrs. Bartholomew. She was standing square in the middle of the lion’s den, and Daniel was slowly ingesting her, one wicked glance at a time.

Still, she couldn’t get the child off her mind. Poor little boy, he’d been pretty sick. She didn’t know anything about children, but she’d recognized the fear in his eyes. And she found Daniel’s concern confusing. Why would he care about an orphan?

Why did he care about any of this? It didn’t make any sense. From time to time she’d allowed some needy soul to join their entourage, staying long enough to get back on his feet, or, as in Bertha’s case, become a permanent member of the troupe. But the process of belonging took longer for her than it did for Daniel.

Fiona had always accused Portia of focusing her entire being on the family, never allowing herself to see anything or anybody beyond. Not Daniel Logan. He seemed to have no boundaries. He was a man of instant decision, instant action, instant results. And he’d become instantly involved in their lives. Everything about the man disturbed Portia.

BY THE TIME Portia got back to the stage work area, Rowdy and the others were busy applying fresh paint to the scenery. She grabbed a brush and worked with them until lunch time.

Afterward they put away their supplies and returned to the dormitory to get ready for the evening meal.

Gone were the days of simple bread and meat, if they were lucky, in a tavern and straight to bed. Here, they were forced to mind their manners and present a civilized face to the other residents of the Chautauqua. Tired and hungry, the troupe quickly made themselves presentable and hurried down to the dining room, leaving Portia blessedly alone.

Drawn to the window, Portia stared at Daniel’s room, wondering if he were watching her. The spectre of him met her at every turn. She tugged her cap tightly on her head and turned to leave. But sometime during the afternoon there had been an addition to their quarters, a large oval mirror in a free standing frame, a mirror that reflected too clearly the scruffy, unmatched garments she was wearing.

Fiona was right. She was a disgrace to the family. She looked like she belonged with that orphan child. When had she let herself become so threadbare? Maybe she’d looked like that all along and she’d just never taken the time to notice. It had never mattered before. No wonder Fiona was so concerned.

Portia wasn’t ready to become a lady, but maybe she could look more presentable at the dining table. Quickly, before she changed her mind, she tore off the boy’s clothing and pulled on one of Fiona’s spare petticoats, only one; she had no intention of being totally uncomfortable. In the chifforobe she found a simple day dress of soft pink and pulled it over her head. Running a comb through her hair she caught it in the back with a black velvet ribbon. The natural curl in her hair made a red-blond cascade that satisfied Portia’s taste. Not fashionable, but at least she looked like a girl.

Girl. She pondered her reflection in the mirror. She wasn’t Portia disguised as Fiona the woman, not the Fiona of last night. She was simply Portia the girl. That was new to Portia and for now that’s all she wanted to be.

Her heart beating with apprehension, Portia walked down the dormitory steps to the dining room on the first floor. Her pulse thudded wildly in her chest. What was she doing? All she wanted was to finish this engagement and get away from this place. Her courage failed her and she stopped at the door and looked inside. Good, her father and Fiona were already at the table. Suddenly she wasn’t hungry. She’d just skip dinner this evening.

“Portia? Is that you?” Rowdy gave a whistle that brought a blush to Portia’s cheeks.

Too late; she’d been seen. She’d have to go inside and eat. Feeling as if she’d walked on stage in the wrong costume, Portia walked across the dining hall toward her family.

“Portia, you look beautiful. Having two such lovely daughters purely makes my heart sing.” Horatio rose and made an elaborate production of seating his first born child at the table.

“It’s about time you stopped looking like a ragamuffin,” Fiona said with a frown that clearly expressed the recognition of her dress.

“I’m glad to see you’ve decided to return to the fold, Fiona,” Portia said sharply. Compliments weren’t customary and she felt everyone’s eyes on her. “What’s the matter? Edward, have to run home to the castle?”

“That’s not fair, Portia,” Fiona said quietly. “I came to check on Papa. Isn’t it wonderful,” she went on with a glance that dared Portia to continue, “he’s feeling much better? He insists that we all drink a glass of this mineral water.”

“I’ve had mine already,” Portia said crossly, knowing that she was behaving badly, but unable to stop herself. “Where have you been all afternoon, Fiona, while the rest of us were painting scenery?”

“Oh, I’m sorry about that, Portia. I didn’t expect the paint to arrive so soon. Mr. Logan said it wouldn’t be here until morning.”

“You were with Mr. Logan?” Portia didn’t mean to sound so sharp. She cleared her throat and took a swallow of mineral water to cover her confusion. “I mean, that’s good.”

“Well, yes. He came by and we discussed a temporary refurbishment plan. We decided to apply a fresh wash on the sets for Romeo and Juliet. By the time we decide on the next show, we’ll have totally new sets and costumes.”

“We did? How nice of you to take an interest in production, Fiona, particularly since you weren’t around to help implement those plans.” Portia was miserable.

“Fiona, don’t worry about our doing the work,” Rowdy interceded. “I could have come for you, but Portia turned up and helped us finish.” He turned to Portia with a frown. “What’s wrong with you, Portia? We knew where to find Fiona if we needed her.”

Portia’s “I see” was limp. She hadn’t told anyone where she was going. She’d only wanted to get away. The silence magnified Portia’s misery.

Horatio cleared his throat and looked around the table. He felt Portia’s confusion and wished that he could help her. For so long she’d been the mainstay of the family, using their need for her like a suit of armor. Now the need was being diminished by both Daniel and by Fiona’s emerging independence. Now Portia had to find herself at an age far past the time most girls did. And there was no easy way for her to do it.

He could direct the attention away from her. “So, Fiona, did you have a nice afternoon with Edward?” Horatio asked as he added a biscuit to his plate and passed the dish around the table to Portia.

“Yes, Papa, there are two other hotels down the road, fine hotels. Of course they aren’t as fine as the Sweetwater, but they’re very grand. Edward and I...”

“I thought you were told to stay out of sight,” Portia interrupted sharply.

“I’m sure she did, Portia.” Captain Macintosh poured a glass of mineral water and handed Rowdy the pitcher as though he expected Rowdy to follow suit.

Rowdy looked suspiciously at the Captain, shook his head, then quickly passed the pitcher to Fiona.

“By the way, my daughters,” Horatio went on smoothly, “We’re going to have a distinct honor. Evelyna tells me that later in the summer Mr. Joel Chandler Harris is going to be one of the guest lecturers at the Chautauqua. He’s going to read some of his original works.”

“Evelyna?” Portia pursed her lips into a frown. Her father’s newest infatuation was the next order of business she intended to address. But that had to take place privately. She’d already said too much before the crew.

“Harris? You mean the man who writes those children’s stories about the animals?” One of the other actors spoke up. And before long there was a lively discussion of the quaint tales delivered by Uncle Remus, the beloved old black man that Mr. Harris used as the story teller.

Portia picked at her food, took a few more swallows of the mineral water and let the swirl of talk carry on around her. She was simply tired, she told herself. She’d never found herself outside the center of the circle before. She didn’t care about ready-to-wear clothing, or silk stockings, or the new Sherlock Holmes detective stories. And she didn’t know what she was doing wearing Fiona’s gown, playing at dressing for dinner.

For the first time Fiona seemed more attuned to the activities of the group than she. She was the one who should have been there to direct the stagehands, not Fiona. She would never have gone off and left the hands to paint without supervision. Yet, they’d managed fine. When she’d arrived the work was nearly finished and she couldn’t find any fault with their effort.

Abruptly Portia shoved her chair from the table, stood up and whirled around. Muttering an “Excuse me,” she fled from the dining room, past the Reverend and Mrs. Bartholomew who were just entering.

“Well, I never.” Mrs. Bartholomew scowled. “There’s another one of them. Did you see that? It’s perfectly obvious from the way that dress hangs that she’s wearing no corset and only one petticoat. Actresses, the devil’s own handmaidens!”

“Be charitable, Frances,” her husband admonished. “She looked as though she might be in distress. She could need our guidance. We must pray for her, Mrs. Bartholomew.”

“Papa, what’s wrong with Portia?” Fiona asked with concern in her voice. “She’s acting very strange. Do you think that she’s becoming ill too?”

“No. She’s... what happened is very hard for her, daughter. You two are growing up. I hadn’t realized that. I guess I hadn’t realized that at all. I think that she’s very concerned about us. She’s given us so much, Fiona. Now we need to give her time.”

Horatio finished his meal quietly. He’d only been half right in his explanation to Fiona. The situation is more than hard for Portia, he wanted to say. You aren’t a little girl for her to supervise any longer. And she’s run into a strong man, who is usurping her place before she has time to make a new one. She’s becoming a woman and she’s fighting it every step of the way.

Had he been right in telling Daniel that Portia and Phillip were the same? He didn’t know. Maybe all of this would blow up and the life they’d had together would end badly. But he was tired of traveling, tired of the responsibility and no matter how much he pretended, he knew that he couldn’t continue as they had in the past. Dr. Garrett hadn’t told him anything he didn’t already know. He only hoped that the direction in which they seemed to be moving was right for his family.

“YOU’VE TAKEN ON what?” Ian dropped the dressing gown he’d been folding and stared at Daniel in disbelief.

Daniel bent down and retrieved the garment. “An orphan child, a small boy, about six or seven, I’d say.”

“Well, why not? How foolish of me to question one ‘catch colt’ when you’ve already taken over an acting troupe, a wily old thief and his two daughters, one of whom goes around pretending that she’s some tough from a Tenderloin street corner. Only one little orphan? Dog bite me, that’s simple.”

Daniel couldn’t help himself. He burst out laughing. For all the years he’d known Ian, he’d never heard him resort to slang.

“Ian, the boy has measles. He’d been living with his grandmother who died last week. He’s very sick at the moment, but Dr. Garrett assures me that he’s over the worst of it. We don’t have facilities here to take in young boys, but I’ve been told that a Mrs. Ethridge has a soft heart and if we pay for his keep she’ll give him a good home.”

“You mean that’s all I have to do, don’t you?”

“Well, no, Ian. I didn’t mean to imply that I expect you to make the arrangements, though I suppose, in spite of what I might say, that’s what I do, isn’t it?”

“No, Daniel. You’re just accustomed to taking charge. You’re the leader and I’m the follower, I’ve worked for you for too many years to change our patterns now. I don’t mind, really I don’t. I just had my mind on... something else and you caught me by surprise, that’s all. Where is the boy now?”

“At Mrs. Anderson’s house. She’s Dr. Garrett’s nurse. She would keep him, except she has to run the doctor’s office. I suspect she runs the doctor too. This Mrs. Ethridge who’s taking the boy in is a real suffragette. Thinks women ought to be allowed to vote.”

“So do I,” Ian commented dryly. “At least some women.”

“Some women, as in Mistress Victoria Trevillion?”

“Certainly not. Victoria wouldn’t know a politician from a scalawag. She’s the kind of woman who needs a man to care for her.”

“A man like you, Ian?”

“Really, Daniel! Well—maybe. Victoria is an impressionable young lady who is allowed far too much freedom by her father. I’m sure that I’m simply a challenge to her. What would she want with a stuffy old man like me?”

“I can’t imagine why any lady would want a wealthy, handsome, loyal man for a husband, Ian. I certainly can’t.” Ian was a fine looking man. Proper, yes, but he had a kindness about him that he’d learned to shield just as Daniel had. Victoria had improved her standing in Daniel’s eyes by her keen observation of, and sensitivity to, his friend. And Daniel suspected that in spite of his protesting, Ian returned the feelings.

“Husband?” Ian echoed in surprise. “Now just a minute. Just because I’ve been fortunate to have had dinner with the lady for two evenings...”

“And taken her for boat rides, bicycle rides, and for long private walks away from the hotel, without either her mother or a companion being present? Doesn’t that strike you as a bit unconventional, Ian?” Daniel covered a smile with a questioning fatherly attitude.

“Aside from being uncomfortable with the other guests, her mother isn’t well. Victoria explained that to me. And I do believe that her mother thinks that Victoria’s maid is accompanying us during the daytime.”

“And why isn’t she?” Daniel was finding it hard to keep his amusement hidden. Ian might have an intimate acquaintance with Belle’s dance hall girls, but the determination of one simple society girl seemed to have escaped him entirely.

“Well, Victoria knows that I would never compromise her reputation. Besides, her maid is much too silly. Victoria couldn’t be expected to tolerate such a country bumpkin. I mean, the maid doesn’t even know how to ride a bicycle.”

“Doesn’t ride a bicycle? Of course not. No doubt she couldn’t be trusted with the vote either, could she?”

“Certainly not.” Ian’s relief at the change of subject was more than apparent. “But I do think there are women who could become sufficiently informed to make those kinds of decisions,” he hastened to add. “There are many who do already.”

“Yes,” Daniel agreed seriously, “like Portia. If she were of a mind to, she could handle politics. She’d have made a great prospector, Ian. Can’t you just see her, working right alongside of her man? Belle would have liked her too.”

“No doubt. But Portia isn’t a lady, Daniel. And I think my friend, if you’re seeing yourself as that man, you’re forgetting how far you’ve come.”

“Maybe I have. And maybe I ought not to. Life isn’t nearly as much fun as it used to be, Ian.” Daniel walked out onto the terrace and glanced across the tree tops toward the dormitory. “I miss the excitement of dealing with the miners, the challenge of the elements, the taking of risks. Being wealthy is being secure, but it’s damned dull.”

“That’s just because there isn’t much you haven’t accomplished,” Ian said quietly. “That’s why you’re chasing jewel thieves for the Pinkerton brothers, for the pure challenge of outsmarting the crook. You certainly don’t need the risk, nor the money. You don’t even work at it. You just sit back and wait, knowing that sooner or later the thief will give himself away.”

“I’ve been lucky. But risks, Ian, risks are what makes life interesting, taking a gamble and assuming the responsibility for your actions. We’re so successful now that the only risks we take are in deciding what frock coat to wear.”

“Maybe, but there are some who take risks without studying the consequences,” Ian remarked with a twinge of concern in his voice.

“Oh? Did you have anybody special in mind?”

“Yes, Edward Delecort. He seems taken with Fiona Macintosh and I’m a bit worried about the girl.”

“Ah, Ian, there you go again being stuffy. What’s wrong with Edward and Fiona? They’re obviously smitten with each other and have been from the moment they laid eyes on each other. As a matter of fact, he’s going to marry her, as soon as they can resolve the problem of her leaving the troupe without a leading lady.”

“Then you already know?”

“Absolutely, Edward came to me the morning after they met and asked me to release Fiona from our engagement.”

“Then why are you still carrying on the charade?”

“Oh, Fiona is no longer my fiancée,” Daniel said with a smile, “Portia is the woman I’m engaged to.”

THE CHAUTAUQUA dormitory window was dark. Daniel felt a sense of disappointment. He’d only intended to shock Ian with his explanations.

Who was he fooling? It wasn’t the challenge of the acting troupe, or the jewel thief, or the child that had filled his mind, blocked his concentration, and had him pacing the length of his terrace. It was Portia. Ever since he’d kissed her he’d set off a kind of almost forgotten, unrestrained excitement.

As a child he’d watched the prospectors work with a frenzy when they smelled the presence of gold. They’d work around the clock, without food or sleep until they’d dropped from pure exhaustion. As he grew older he’d learned that there were other kinds of excitement. Belle taught him to read and write. She taught him to plan a course of action and keep his emotions hidden until that plan had been achieved.

Belle’s girls had taught him about passion and the ways of love. Daniel had reached out and embraced every new thing that came to him with the same kind of restrained frenzy as those miners. He became the manager of Belle’s Virginia City saloon, then of her general store, and finally of the hotel they’d built together. He’d been sad when Belle retired. He’d cried in private when she died. Afterwards he’d left Virginia City and moved to New York.

Now, those years of excitement and the drive to succeed seemed almost a dream. Except for Ian, he’d never allowed himself to be close to anybody else. Caring hurt too much—until he’d met Portia and she’d brought back a need that he’d thought he’d locked away forever.

Ian was staring at Daniel with an odd look in his eyes. After a long moment he cleared his throat. “Eh, Dan, I wonder if I could talk with you a little more about Victoria.”

“Sure, what’s on your mind?”

Ian turned and walked out on the balcony. “I’m meeting her for an evening coffee, Dan, and I’m... I guess, what I’m trying to say is that I’m a bit uneasy with the way things seem to be going.”

“Oh? How’s that?” Daniel followed his friend out into the darkness, sensing that Ian needed that anonymity to open up.

“It’s Victoria. She... we hold hands. Her foot plays with my ankles beneath the tablecloth at dinner. I can’t seem to keep any distance between us. One way or another we seem to always be touching. And it’s having an unsettling effect on me.”

“Whoa, Ian. You’re no schoolboy. You’ve had your share of women, though you’re discreet beyond reason. What’s the problem here?”

Ian rubbed his hands together. He couldn’t admit it to Daniel, but he seemed to have lost his sense of propriety. The little familiarities that he was describing were keeping him constantly on edge and he was very confused.

“It’s just that my intimate experiences have been with a different kind of woman. Victoria was schooled in England where she and a companion toured the Continent before returning. She’s been reared as a lady but she’s no simpering, silly little hothouse flower. I like her. I’m afraid I like her very much and I don’t know what to do about it.”

“Ian, I don’t know why you’re asking me. At the moment I may be as uncertain about how to handle a woman as you. I mean Portia is driving me crazy and I...”

Ian let out a deep breath. “I suspected as much. A fine pair of worldly men we are.”

“Maybe, but one thing I’m sure of, when a man and a woman are right together, they don’t need anybody to tell them what to do. Maybe we both need to stop fighting the inevitable, my friend. I suspect Victoria wants a great deal more than coffee and I’m damn sure you do. I’m going for a walk. Don’t wait up for me,” Daniel said. He grabbed his coat and let himself out the door.

“I shan’t,” Ian called after him. After a moment he flicked off the room light and slipped into the hall. He’d wondered how he could explain his assignation to Daniel. He’d half hoped that Daniel would find some reason to interfere so that he couldn’t get away.

Traveling with Daniel had introduced Ian to wealthy society girls. Hands off had always been the signal they’d given. Silly games, simpering laughter and downright uncomfortable little expectations had kept Ian from seriously considering any of them. He’d always preferred the ordinary folks. They were what they were and the rules were clear.

But Victoria had taken one look at him on the hotel porch and she’d turned him every which way for Sunday since. Being constantly alone with her had assaulted his senses unbearably. Her rich, warm laughter was contagious. She liked compliments. She said that his old world manners intrigued her. She seemed intent on pursuit and when he was with her, he couldn’t resist her.

Then she’d kissed him in the hallway. The kiss was not the innocent kiss of a young maid; he hadn’t expected that. If Daniel hadn’t come along and interrupted them—Ian blushed as he recalled his ungentlemanly response. He ought to have asked Daniel’s advice then. But Daniel had seemed so preoccupied that Ian hadn’t found the right opportunity to voice his own problem.

Now he was doing it again, falling in with Victoria’s unorthodox plans by walking softly down the corridor toward her room at midnight. He wasn’t sure how she planned to get away to meet him so late.

He wouldn’t admit it to Daniel, but he had fallen in love with Victoria. He was wrong for her, much too old and too reserved. But she was magic and he knew that he couldn’t stay away.

Ian came to a stop adjacent to the potted palm. What was he thinking of? Victoria might not know what she was inviting, but he did. He was the man and he knew that a proper lady should never suggest a midnight rendezvous. He stood in the corridor, wracked with indecision, only a second away from retreating down the hall to the safety of his room.

From nowhere two arms suddenly slid around his neck and jerked him into a darkened alcove beyond the plant. “Ian, I thought you’d never come.”

As the arms tightened around his neck, any misgivings Ian might have had vanished with the touch of Victoria’s eager lips. The dinner gown she’d been wearing when he left her an hour earlier had been exchanged for something silky and deliciously bare.

“What about our coffee?” he finally managed to say.

“I don’t think you want me to go downstairs half undressed do you?” Victoria said with a wicked growl, tweaking the hair on his chest.

Ian looked down at his open shirt and missing cravat in confusion. “Victoria I’m sorry. I can’t imagine what I was thinking of. I would never...”

“But I would, Ian. And I want to, with you, now, tonight.” She released the ties of her dressing gown and the sides fell open.

The alcove was dark. But the incandescent light in the hall illuminated her nude body with silver. Her breasts were full and peaked and Ian knew that no matter what happened, he would do what she wanted. Damn the consequence. She’d heated his blood to the point of no return. He knew that making love to Victoria was improper but he couldn’t refuse her invitation. “Victoria,” he growled hoarsely, “where?”

“My maid’s room, in here.” She turned the knob in the darkness behind her and pulled Ian inside.

“Where is your maid?” His shirt was gone. His pants were being unfastened.

“In my bed of course. Kiss me Ian Gaunt, or I shall die from wanting to be in your arms.”

Daniel wandered beneath the trees, carefully avoiding any late night strollers as he walked. It came as a surprise when he heard his name whispered from the shade of the magnolia tree at the corner of the hotel porch.

“Mr. Logan? Is that you?”

It was the undercover Pinkerton agent. “Ben, what are you doing here again?”

“It’s that Captain Macintosh. He’s in the hotel again.”

“Where? Have you looked for him?”

“Don’t know. He isn’t in the poker game, I managed to bribe a waiter. If he’s playing billiards, I couldn’t see him. What shall I do?”

Blast the man! He was harder to keep up with than a new silver strike. “Just keep your eyes open, Ben. I have other men on the premises watching. I suspect that I know where the good Captain is.”

Daniel knew that Horatio and Lady Evelyna had been spending a good deal of time together and Daniel was worried. They seemed an odd couple. He needed a full report from the Pinkerton office on the Countess.

“Just stay put, Ben, I suspect he’ll turn up.” Daniel turned away, stopping short as he heard the furtive crunch of a footstep behind him in the darkness.

“Who’s there?” Daniel swung around in time to catch sight of a slight young woman in a pink dress running away in the moonlight. As she ran, the ribbon in her hair came untied and spilled a mass of yellow hair down her back. Yellow—fool’s gold, he thought as he ran after her, an imitation of the real thing, something precious that could lure a man to his death. He picked up the pace.

“Fiona! Wait. What’s wrong?”

“Fiona?” Portia stumbled. So he thought she was Fiona. Well, why not? Only once had he seen Portia wearing anything but boy’s pants. She regained her footing just as Daniel reached down and caught her arm in his large hand.

“Why are you running away from me, little one?”

“Who says I’m running from you?” Portia jerked her arm from his grasp and looked up at him with sparks in her eyes. “I’m just out for a walk.”

“It’s very late for a walk, alone.”

“I couldn’t sleep.” Her back stiffened and without being aware, her small hands made tiny fists.

“Why? Are you distressed, darling?”

“Of course not. Do I look distressed?”

“You look,” he said huskily, “excited, as though you’ve just been kissed. “Are you...” he amended his question to, “...did someone bother you?”

This wasn’t Fiona. He was certain of that now. The girl standing in the moonlight before him, like a brave candle flickering in the dark of night, was Portia. She was breathing heavily, and the warmth of that breath against his face drew him like a moth to a flame. She held her slim young body arrow straight, shoulders squared, radiating her passion with every flickering breath.

“Bother me?” She planted her hands on her hips and dared him to argue. “Certainly not! I wouldn’t know how to... I mean, you’re the only man who’s ever—kissed me.” Daniel smiled and lifted his hand to her cheek, caressing it lightly with one fingertip. “You know how, darling. You kissed me and you kissed me very well. And I think that you want me to kiss you again.”

Her anger was replaced by wariness and she took a backward step. “Never. I’m—I’m a lady and a lady doesn’t kiss strangers!”

“But, my darling fiancée, we aren’t strangers, are we?” Even in the moonlight he could see the flush in her cheeks and the stubborn tilt to her head. Daniel inhaled deeply. Blast, she was beautiful. He had a sudden desire to reach down and touch the breast quivering with every breath she took. Instead, he slid the finger up her cheek to catch a strand of hair and push it back from her forehead.

“Are we...?” He almost said Portia, caught back the words and lowered his head.

Portia felt a twisting sensation in her stomach that was more severe than any physical pain she’d ever experienced. Being near the man hurt. But the hurt was delicious and she felt herself swaying toward him. Was she going mad like those patients in the sanitarium across from the Springs? Daniel’s finger curled around her ear, beneath her chin, sliding down her throat to pause for a long moment before moving back to lift her face.

Portia was shaking all over. She felt as if her very skin was on fire and the heat rippled through her like the waves on a pond pushed by the wind.

“Please, no.” She tried to speak. “You make me feel like a willow tree in a storm, Daniel. You mustn’t...”

“Yes, my darling, yes. I must.”

She could have lowered her head, but she didn’t. He was going to kiss her. And she’d let him. She wouldn’t run away like some schoolgirl. Tonight she was Fiona Macintosh, and Fiona would allow her fiancé one sweet kiss, just one, and then she’d turn away.

But Daniel’s face was so very intense. He was frowning. His lips were parted as if he were in great agony, agony that she was causing. More than that, he seemed dazed, like a mighty warrior caught in the spell of a sorceress, unable to stop himself from carrying out her wishes. And what she wished was that he would kiss her now.

A cloud darkened the night sky, and Portia was sure that she’d simply been swept up in a wonderful dream. As Daniel’s arms pulled her close it seemed natural to move against his warm, hard body. His kiss was slow and wild. Portia gave herself over to it, feeling the heat flare, jolting her lower body.

She pulled back, her eyes wide with wonder.

“What’s wrong, darling? Did I frighten you?”

“I felt... I mean the heat. I’m burning up. I feel all quivery and I can hardly stand.”

Daniel let out a deep breath and tried to speak in a reasonably controlled voice. “I think I understand the feeling.”

“But you couldn’t. It’s frightening. Oh, Daniel, now I’m so warm and still I’m shivering. I can’t breathe. I must be sick.”

Daniel couldn’t hold back his laughter. “Oh, darling, I don’t think so. Here, take my jacket.” He took his time removing his jacket and placing it around her shoulders.

“Now come over here and sit down in this swing.” He led her across the grass to a swing hanging from the limb of a giant water oak.

“Oh, yes—I think I do need to rest.” Portia pulled the coat about her tightly and sat down. When Daniel lowered himself to the bench beside her she felt a second shock run through her body. “See, there it is again.”

Daniel slid his arm along the back of the swing and let the weight of his body move them back and forth. “You’re all right, lass. I promise. Lean back against me and let me try and explain.”

Portia, stiff as frozen clothes on a line, allowed herself to lean back, but she couldn’t relax. “Explain.”

“If your mother had lived, she would have been better able to tell you these things than I.”

“Leave my mother out of this, Daniel. Explain. Why am I burning up one minute and shivering the next, if I’m not sick?”

“It’s what happens sometimes, when a man and woman kiss.”

“Nonsense. We often have to kiss on stage and this doesn’t happen. I’ve never seen anyone shiver and burn up from a kiss.”

“It’s a bit more than that, darling. It has to do with the man and woman and how they feel about each other. When a kiss is right, sometimes the couple want—I mean their bodies want more.”

“More?”

“Yes. Let me demonstrate.” Daniel dropped his fingertips to her shoulder and turned her toward him.

“No, remove your hand.” Portia slid from his touch, but she didn’t turn her face away.

“All right. That’s probably best. When a man and a woman kiss,” he lowered his head and touched his lips lightly to hers for only a second, “their bodies give and receive certain signals. Do you feel them?”

Portia hid her shock well as she analyzed the faint trembling that followed his touch and decided that if this was the signal he was sending, she didn’t have anything to worry about.

“Yes. But that wasn’t what I felt before. Therefore, I think you’re wrong, Daniel.” She jumped to her feet and smiled happily. “That just proves that you don’t know everything.”

Daniel reached out, took Portia’s hand in his and jerked her down into his lap, covering her small mouth with lips that released all the passion he’d held back moments earlier.

His sudden move and the warm, insistent invasion of his tongue shocked Portia’s senses, sending her spiraling into a dizzy rush of feeling that drugged her brain and turned her body into a raging inferno. She pulled her hand from his grip and tried to push against his chest. Instead her hands found bare flesh that convulsed beneath her fingertips. His skin was firm and strange, and its texture excited her. For a moment she was so absorbed by the response her touch was invoking that she almost didn’t feel his hand skim her breast.

Then his tongue was skating across the inside of her mouth as his hand moved intimately inside the neckline of her dress capturing the stiff peak of her breast with fingers of fire. Without knowing that she was doing so, she arched herself against him, filling his palm with her breast. She cried out under his devouring mouth.

What was happening was darkly wicked and exciting and Portia knew that whatever he was trying to prove to her was having an equally intense response in himself. Her hands rippled across the smooth expanse of his back. She could feel his muscles twitch beneath his silk shirt. Abruptly, his mouth left hers and traveled to her neck, where she could feel the rapid exhaling and inhaling of the heat of his breath against her chest.

His hand encircled her exposed breast for a long delicious moment then began repositioning her inside the dress that had somehow been opened to his touch. He lowered his head briefly and nuzzled the nipple through the fabric of her dress, then leaned back and shifted her position on his lap.

Daniel groaned. Portia’s eyes were half-closed, cloudy with passion, her lips still parted, inviting him to claim her once more.

It was then that she became aware of the throbbing protrusion from his body against her. She was aware too of the answering throb of her own body.

“I guess, Mr. Logan—Daniel...” she managed to say as she pulled away and began trying to adjust the bodice of her dress. “I’m aware that you know a great deal more about this sort of thing than I do.” There was no point in trying to pretend that she didn’t know what had happened or how right he’d been about bodies and signals.

Running her fingers through her tousled hair she tried unsuccessfully to still her breathing and ignore the disheveled state of Daniel’s dress. He wasn’t going to be of any help. Though she couldn’t bring herself to look at him she was certain that he was laughing at her. Finally she stood up, tugged her dress back into place and swept her hair defiantly behind her ears.

“I hope that you will understand when I say that this must not happen again. Obviously you know about women and how to... arouse them. I, on the other hand, have no knowledge of men. The lesson was a valuable learning experience that I shall have to think about.”

Portia straightened her shoulders and held out her hand, determined to keep it from trembling. “Good evening, Mr. Logan. I can find my own way back. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Daniel’s voice cracked huskily. “I think the lesson learned was mutual.” He stared at her stupidly for a moment as she continued to hold out her hand before he offered his. If she’d bitten him again he wouldn’t have been surprised. When she merely clasped his hand, shook it firmly and turned away, he began to smile.

“Goodnight, darling. Tell your twin that I expect—him—in my quarters at ten o’clock in the morning, sharp.” There was barely a stumble as she absorbed the thrust of his words. Then he wondered what he was trying to prove. Whatever it was, it might be that the lesson was proving to be more personal than he’d intended. When he stood he found that his legs were rubbery. His shirt studs were missing entirely and he had no idea where he’d lost his cravat. The only remnant of their passion was a black ribbon lying in a patch of moonlight, a ribbon as velvety soft as Portia’s breast. The smell of honeysuckle lingered sweetly in the air.

Daniel didn’t see Ian when he went to bed. It didn’t occur to him that it was after midnight and Ian wasn’t there. For he was filled with a longing for a small slip of a girl who had turned his insides into warm brandy and charged his mind with the fire of those incandescent lights that sizzled like sunlight in the shadows.