Chapter Fifteen

 

Malachai sprawled on one of Loretta’s back-porch chairs and eyed her fading autumn garden with an eye to the future. He really liked her house. And this garden, even in its present condition as winter loomed, touched something in his soul that he’d thought dead long since.

But it hadn’t died during those hard years, it had only been hibernating. It was ready to crawl out of its cave and perk to life here, right here. In Loretta Linden’s garden. Since he didn’t have anything else to do, he puzzled over this phenomenon for several moments.

It was a little early in the day to come calling, since Malachai knew for a fact that Loretta hadn’t gotten to bed until after four in the morning, but since he’d been too keyed up to sleep, he figured he might as well tackle the stubborn woman again about marrying him. Maybe lack of sleep would have lowered her resistance, and she’d agree that marriage was their only option now that they’d done the deed.

And if they could get hitched today, so much the better. He wouldn’t have to worry about it any longer. Not that he was worried, precisely.

Oh, hell, who was he trying to fool? He was, so, worried. If Loretta continued to refuse him, he really didn’t know what he was going to do. He should celebrate. That’s what any sane man would do, but Malachai guessed he was no longer sane. His association with Loretta had addled his wits, and he also feared that if she couldn’t be made to marry him, he might just . . . well . . . suffer. A lot.

Revolting thought.

Fancy her refusing to marry him! He scowled at the rose garden, still abloom here and there. That fellow who’d designed it, Fitz-somebody, had done a great job with it. Malachai liked the hedges lining the paths and the trellises, and the way he’d had wood chips put down on the walkways. It was real pretty. Homey. It’s exactly how he’d have done it himself, if he’d ever had a garden. He wanted one badly. This one, in fact, although it was beginning to look as if he might have to plant his own somewhere else. Damn Loretta Linden!

Women had no business with principles. And to have found one who had principles and actually acted upon them was so unusual in his life that he couldn’t quite believe it. He guessed he liked her for it, in a way, but to refuse marriage after giving up her virginity wasn’t principled. It was nuts. It was also causing him grief, and he didn’t appreciate it one little bit.

The back door opened, and Loretta, looking like a spring bloom on this gloomy November day, bounced out onto the porch, smiling gaily. Malachai frowned at her, thinking she had no right to be so damned happy.

She was dressed in yellow today, and her dark brown hair gleamed where the few rays of sunshine that managed to struggle through the clouds and fog touched it. She’d washed her hair, obviously. Malachai wished he could have been there and brushed it out for her.

Great God in a gun boat, he really had lost his mind!

“Malachai!” she cried, holding out both hands to him. “How nice of you to call.”

He took her hands and peered down at her, puzzled. “What the devil’s the matter with you?”

Her smile vanished. “What do you mean?” She bypassed confusion and went straight to rancor. “Why must you always be so cursed unpleasant, Malachai Quarles? I thought we’d advanced slightly in our relationship.”

“At least you admit we have a relationship,” Malachai said bitterly.

“Don’t be silly. Of course we have a relationship!”

A daffodil. That’s what she looked like. “Nice dress,” he said somewhat stiffly. He wasn’t accustomed to paying women compliments. Realizing he still held her hands, he squeezed them briefly and released them.

Loretta, shaking out her hands—he hadn’t squeezed them that hard, damn it—said, “Thank you. I like yellow. It’s a cheerful color.” She flounced over to a chair and sat, then looked around her yard as if searching for something. “Where’s Mr. Peavey?”

Malachai’s brow furrowed. “Peavey? How the hell should I know where he is? At the hotel, I expect.”

Her eyes were as clear and bright as if she hadn’t been up all night. Malachai thought that if she had any modesty at all, she ought at least to look sleepy. Or blush, for God’s sake. After all, he was the instrument of her ruin. Fool woman. Had no more common sense than a seahorse.

Those sparkling eyes narrowed now. “I thought we were going to take Mr. Peavey to Mr. Tillinghurst’s estate?”

Oh, hell, he’d forgotten all about that idiotic plan. “Yes, yes,” he said, unwilling to admit his forgetfulness, since Loretta would certainly object. “We’ll do that.”

“We ought to do it today. There’s no telling what Mr. Tillinghurst might do after last night’s commotion with the dogs. I don’t think he’ll chalk it up to chance.”

Malachai let out a heavy sigh. “No, he probably won’t. You really fouled everything up, didn’t you?”

She bridled instantly, and Malachai scolded himself for maladroitness. He was so accustomed to dealing with his sailors, who knew him to be a plain-spoken man and never expected him to coddle them that he’d got out of the habit of placating anyone. Loretta, however, was a special case, and even more prickly than most women.

Hell, he thought with an internal grin. He never had trouble with most women, because they were stupid and didn’t expect a man to actually talk to them. It was enough for most women if a man was strong and silent. Not Loretta.

“I did not foul anything up! I discovered your missing sailor, let me remind you, and probably the stolen artifacts, too. That’s not fouling things up!”

He held his hands up, palms out. “All right, all right. I take it back. You didn’t foul things up. But we have more important things to talk about today. The artifacts will hold. They’ve been around for a thousand years, and I expect they’ll stay around for another thousand.”

She jumped up from her chair, her fists clenched. “They might remain on this earth, curse you, Malachai Quarles, but where? If you think Mr. Tillinghurst is going to oblige us by keeping everything there after the commotion last night, you’re crazed.”

“Calm down, will you?” Damn the woman. She could go off on tangents better and quicker than anyone else he knew, including Derrick Peavey. “We can pick Peavey up at the hotel and go to Tillinghurst’s place, but first we need to clear up the marriage issue.”

She sat down again with a plop and looked at him as if she didn’t know what he was talking about. She would. Malachai perceived that he wasn’t going to win this one without a battle. But, since marrying Loretta Linden had become the most important issue in his life, surpassing even the stolen artifacts and the kidnapped Mr. Percival Jones, he was willing if not eager to wage it. He didn’t intend to be defeated, either.

“There is no marriage issue,” Loretta stated flatly.

Before Malachai could once more, and with exaggerated patience, explain to her that there was, too, a marriage issue, and that he didn’t intend for it to go away until she bowed to his wishes in the matter, the back door opened. A flushed Marjorie MacTavish and a grinning Jason Abernathy came out onto the porch. Reluctantly, Malachai rose to his feet. Damn it, he hated being interrupted during important arguments.

“Good afternoon, Captain Quarles,” Jason boomed in his heartiest voice. “How-do, Loretta?”

“Oh, Jason, how good of you to visit today. We may need you.”

“Oh?” The doctor’s bushy eyebrows arched over his twinkling blue eyes.

“I dinna know why,” muttered Marjorie. “He’sna good for naught.”

“Pooh, Miss MacTavish,” said Jason with a chuckle, and Malachai perceived that the two had been having words. According to Loretta, having words was a normal state of affairs for them.

Suddenly, Malachai decided to put this interruption to good use. “Good to see you again, Doctor,” he said, shaking Jason’s hand with vigor. “I think Loretta may be right. We probably can use you.”

“Good, good.” Rubbing his hands, Jason sat between Loretta and Malachai after shoving Marjorie into another chair. She shot him a furious scowl that affected him not. “What can I do for you?”

“You can accompany us to Mr. Tillinghurst’s estate,” said Loretta.

“You can stand as a witness to our nuptials,” said Malachai at the same time.

“Nuptials?” cried Marjorie, having zeroed in on the item that was of interest to females. Most females. Not Loretta.

“Tillinghurst?” said Jason, clearly puzzled.

Anticipating Loretta’s angry frown, Malachai met it with a grin. “You know it’s true,” he said.

“Pooh,” she said.

“Did you say something about nuptials?” Memory jogged, Jason’s furry eyebrows soared like two rainbows over his blue, blue eyes.

“Yes,” said Malachai.

“No,” said Loretta.

Marjorie, clasping her hands to her bosom, whispered, “Och, my,” and looked as if she might be experiencing an ecstatic vision.

Not Loretta. Giving her friends—and Malachai—a general, all-purpose glower, she jumped out of her chair, stamped her foot and said, “I will not marry you, Malachai Quarles! I don’t care if we are lovers, I won’t do it.”

Marjorie’s gasp of horror brought Loretta’s diatribe to an abrupt end. Loretta hurried to her secretary’s side, clasped her hand, and said, “It’s nothing, Marjorie. Don’t fret yourself. You know my feelings on the subject of free love.”

Marjorie, her green eyes starting out of a face that had gone white as chalk, stammered, “But—but I didna think you meant it.”

Feeling moderately vindicated—it was good to know a woman didn’t trust her sex to act upon its convictions any more than he did, not that it had any convictions for the most part—said, “She doesn’t.”

Turning on him in a flash, Loretta shouted, “I do, too!”

“Oh, brother.” Malachai would have liked to throttle the woman. Again.

“You mean . . .” Jason, frowning, looked from Loretta to Malachai. “Now see here, Captain Quarles, I know that Loretta is a handful—”

“I am not!” Loretta slapped Jason’s arm, something she often did in fun. Malachai sensed there was no fun in her at the moment.

Jason ignored her. “I know she’s a little—oh, very well, more than a little-difficult sometimes, but see here, man, if you think you can come in here and—”

Malachai held up a hand to stop the good doctor’s protest. “I know what you’re thinking, and you’re right. I was a cad. But I’m attempting to rectify the situation now. She claims she won’t marry me.”

“I won’t!”

“Still . . .” Jason was unmollified. “There’s such a thing as honor, man, and if you think you can get away with—”

“How dare you?” shrieked Loretta. This time everyone ignored her.

Feeling about on a par with dirt and worms and maggots and other disgusting creatures of the earth, Malachai muttered, “I know. I was a rascal. A cad. A lout. It was not only an ungentlemanly thing to do, but it was extremely foolish.” Damn Loretta Linden anyhow! It was her fault he was having to admit his sins in front of strangers. The urge to strangle his beloved intensified.

“I should say so,” said Jason, although the tone of his voice had eased up slightly from the censorious one he’d adopted at first.

“I should say not!” exclaimed Loretta, still being slighted by the three other people on her patio.

Not that Malachai blamed Jason for his censure. He himself thought he ought to be horsewhipped. He’d allowed himself to succumb to base lust, defying social wisdom, custom, practice, not to mention common sense and his instinct for survival, and that was something he’d never done before. “But my intentions are honorable. I said I’ll marry the woman.” He frowned, his choice of words and the voice in which he’d said them having plopped rather uncongenially into the early afternoon air.

“I wouldn’t have you on a bet!” cried Loretta, turning on him like a termagant inflamed.

Jason, continuing to disregard Loretta, nodded thoughtfully. “I see. Well, I guess that as long as you’re willing to face up to your—”

“I’m not his responsibility!” shrieked Loretta.

Malachai and Jason exchanged a knowing look.

Relief came from an unexpected source. Marjorie, who had fallen into a chair as if her knees had given out beneath her, said in a voice that rasped, “It’sna his fault. You ken that, Dr. Abernathy. It’sna his fault.” She stared at Loretta as if she were looking upon Satan himself. “It’s Loretta. She’s been begging to go to hell for years now. The poor captain is only her choice of vehicles.”

# # #

Loretta was still fuming as the taxicab pulled out of her driveway, although she was no longer screaming at the top of her lungs, having gone hoarse. She remained defiant, however. She’d be cursed if she’d marry Malachai just because they’d gone to bed together. Why, that sort of thinking was not merely old-fashioned and ridiculous, but it defied every single one of the tenets by which she lived.

Because she couldn’t contain her wrath, even if her throat hurt, she spat out, “The sexual instinct is inbred in all of us. In this modern day and age, there’s no earthly reason men and women have to be married in order to express it.”

Malachai heaved a sigh that all but rocked the cab. “I agree.”

She stared at him, disbelieving. “Then why are you insisting that we marry?”

Seated next to her in the back seat of the cab, he’d crossed his arms over his massive chest, planted his feet on the floor, and hulked there not unlike a gigantic marble slab that someone had shoved into the cab. He was looking at her slantways, as if assessing her mood. Her mood was savage, actually, but Loretta knew she couldn’t screech in a taxicab. By the time her voice had given out on her back porch, her entire household staff, and probably the whole of Russian Hill, had learned that she was no longer a virgin. If she resumed shrieking now, all of San Francisco would know it.

Already, the telephone wires were probably humming with neighbors calling her mother to relate the latest gossip about Dorothea’s unruly daughter. The notion of dealing with her parents almost made Loretta relinquish the battle and agree to marry Malachai.

But no. She couldn’t do that and remain true to herself and her causes.

It was all, frankly, embarrassing, although, Loretta told herself, not for the reason an ordinary, conventional person would think so. No. The reason for Loretta’s embarrassment stemmed from the fact that she’d remained a virgin until she was approaching the age of thirty. That seemed pitiful to her.

Still squinting at her out of the corner of his eye, Malachai said, “I’m insisting we marry because it’s time for me to settle down.”

She gaped at him, disbelieving. “I beg your pardon?”

“I’ve been thinking for some time now that I’d like to settle down. You know, have a home of my own. A settled place where I can have . . . well . . . a garden. And dogs. I like dogs. And I like San Francisco.”

An odd sinking sensation engulfed Loretta. Of all the reasons he might have given her for desiring marriage, this wasn’t one she’d even thought about. “You . . . you want to settle down? Have a dog? Leave the sea?”

His smile struck her as quite unpleasant. “Is that so odd?”

“Odd? Well, yes. Or no, I mean. I don’t suppose it’s particularly odd.” Unexpected, maybe. And . . . well . . . unemotional. Passionless.

Boring.

It was a word she would never have associated with Captain Malachai Quarles in a million years. Until this minute.

Disappointment warred with rage in her breast. Did he mean to say that any old woman would do for him at this point in his life? Did he mean that he was only insisting upon marriage because it suited his current plans? She wasn’t even sure how to ask the question. Or if she wanted to know the answer.

Because she found it very difficult, even under the most favorable of circumstances, to hold her tongue; and because she couldn’t seem to help herself, she said, striving for a coolness she didn’t feel, “I see. I’m convenient.”

The unpleasant smile evaporated, and Malachai roared, “Convenient? You’re the most damned inconvenient female I’ve ever met in my life!”

Borrowing his pose, Loretta folded her arms over her breasts. She might have planted her feet on the floor, as well, except they didn’t reach. “Well, then, I’m sure you would rather not marry me, since I’m so unsatisfactory.”

When she slid a glance at his face, his eyes seemed to be glittering strangely. Uncomfortable with this new phenomenon, she eased a little farther away from him on the seat of the cab.

“I didn’t say you were unsatisfactory, Loretta.”

She swallowed, suddenly aware that the air between them seemed rather thick. “Um . . .” But she couldn’t think of a thing to say.

“I don’t think you’re unsatisfactory at all.”

“Oh.”

“You’re a pain in the ass, but you’re far from unsatisfactory.”

Ah. Familiar territory. Loretta had puffed up and was about to give vent to a rant about how men always consider women who think for themselves and have opinions uncomfortable, but she didn’t get any farther than the first indrawn breath. Suddenly, she discovered herself on Malachai’s lap, being kissed with a thoroughness that drove all thought from her head.

His tongue pried her lips apart and drove home, and Loretta’s stiff posture dissolved until she felt like chocolate melting over a slow flame. Gradually, her own internal fire grew, until it totally engulfed her, and her hands began a frantic perusal of the planes of Malachai’s face. He’d shaved since they’d last been in each other’s arms, she noticed in passing.

His hand closing over her breast brought a moan of pleasure from her, and she reached for the evidence of his arousal. It felt something like an oak log, actually, and now that she knew what it was good for, Loretta squirmed to get the full benefit of it between her legs. It was Malachai who groaned this time.

She had no idea how long they played with each other in the cab, or how far they would have gone. On her part, she’d entirely lost track of their whereabouts. She knew for a fact that she’d have gone on to completion if Malachai hadn’t suddenly thrust her away as if she were a pesky gnat.

Blinking in confusion, Loretta hadn’t composed herself enough to ask why he’d stopped when she realized the cab no longer moved. Too, the back door had opened, God knew when. When she swiveled her head to ascertain what had happened and why, an amused voice shattered the remains of her mood as if it were a hammer cracking spun sugar.

“The Fairmont Hotel, sir.”

“Right.”

Loretta, squinting at Malachai through the wisps of lust-fog lingering on the edges of her senses, decided that he appeared too composed and collected. It didn’t seem right to her. It didn’t seem fair.

However, in justice to herself and all of womankind, she could but pretend to be as cool and composed as he. With hands that, she was disgusted to notice, trembled slightly, she arranged her pretty yellow woolen suit, tugging the skirt down to discreetly cover her ankles. She hadn’t even realized that Malachai had slid it up, and she wondered briefly how much of her leg the cabbie had seen. How embarrassing.

Lifting her chin, Loretta swore to herself that she’d not lose her head again in Malachai’s presence. Because he’d exited the cab to pay the cabbie—it was a measure of her discomposure that she hadn’t beaten him to that punch—and was now holding his hand out to her, she decided not to buck convention any more at the moment, and took his hand. He was gentle in helping her get out of the cab, and she appreciated him for it, although she’d never tell him so. After all, it was his fault she’d been caught with her skirt up in the first place.

With a grin and a quick salute, the cab driver squealed away from the curb. Loretta prayed her face betrayed none of her inner chaos. “You think Mr. Peavey is here? You don’t think he might have gone out?”

“Peavey doesn’t get around much, except at sea. He prefers to remain where he’s comfortable, and he’s only comfortable in familiar surroundings. He likes to read, and I gave him a couple of books and some newspapers.”

“I hadn’t pegged Mr. Peavey as a reader.”

Malachai’s deep chuckle did strange things to Loretta’s internal confusion. “Oh, sure. Peavey loves rip-roaring tales of the sea and things like that. He’s a big fan of Robert Lewis Stevenson. He doesn’t go in much for intellectual stuff.”

“Oh.” There was no getting around it: Mr. Peavey was a very odd duck. “Well, then, we shouldn’t have any trouble locating him.”

“Naw. He’ll either be in the restaurant or in his room.”

Malachai took her hand, placed it in the crook of his arm as if he were a normal, courteous, everyday sort of gentleman, and led her into the lobby of the Fairfield. Rather than speeding off, as was usual for him when he and Loretta were together, he slowed his long stride so that she didn’t have to scurry behind him. Her heart fluttered like a hummingbird, and Loretta was annoyed with it. It had no business behaving like a so-called normal female heart; Loretta’s heart ought to be tougher than that.

In an effort to disguise her reaction to his touch, she said, “Let’s look in the restaurant first, then, since it’s on this floor.”

“Good idea.”

She waited, but he didn’t add anything to moderate this expression of approbation. This was very strange. Loretta wasn’t sure how to react to Malachai when he wasn’t being provoking. It was just like him to confuse her this way.

“Are you hungry?” he asked, interrupting her flow of thought.

Peering at him closely, she discerned no suggestive twinkle or mocking intent. “No, thank you.”

“You sure? The Fairmont has a good restaurant.”

“Yes, I know. Thank you.” Loretta heard the mistrust in her voice.

His grin came out of nowhere, and his white teeth flashed against his tanned face. “I’m not trying to trick you, Loretta. I’m really acting like a gentleman, foreign as the behavior is to me.”

Because she couldn’t think of a retort cutting enough, Loretta contented herself with a soft huff. He chuckled again, and she could have screamed if her throat weren’t still sore. Every time he laughed like that, deep in his chest, she wanted to climb into his arms and curl up and purr. It wasn’t fair that she should have such a strong reaction to him. She’d have a chat with God about it, even though she wasn’t sure she was supposed to believe in God since so many of her friends purported not to. This attitude always rather shocked Loretta, although she tried not to show it. And she still attended church because she couldn’t force herself not to, mainly because she’d have to explain her decision to her parents, and she didn’t think she could.

Malachai waived away the Maitre D’hotel, and searched the restaurant. Loretta stood on tiptoes and scanned the room, as well. This wasn’t the Fairmont’s fancy dining hall on a lower floor, where Loretta’s friend Isabel used to dance for a living. It was the more casual coffee room, where hotel guests could take breakfast or luncheon if they were so inclined.

“I don’t see him,” she said. “Do you?” He was considerably taller than she, so she didn’t mind asking him. Too much.

“No. He’s probably in his room, reading or sleeping.” Again, he took her arm, this time to lead her to the elevator cage.

The notion of Mr. Peavey sleeping reminded her of something. “How’s his arm?”

“Fine. Your friend the doctor fixed him right up.”

“Jason’s a good doctor.”

“Seems to be.” They stepped into the gilt elevator cage, and Malachai said, “Six,” to the uniformed elevator attendant.

As if he were really the gentleman he was pretending to be, Malachai stepped aside and bowed slightly when the elevator clanked to a stop on the sixth floor. Loretta swept out ahead of him, thinking that if they were married and, say, on their honeymoon or something, this might well be a hotel in Paris or London or Austria, or even Cairo—she’d always wanted to go to Egypt. She gave herself a short, sharp mental slap, and reminded herself that. If she wanted to go to Egypt, she could jolly well go by herself. She was a modern American woman and didn’t need things like weddings and honeymoons.

You might not need them, her mental self answered back, but wouldn’t they be fun?

Curse it, she didn’t need arguments from herself as well as her friends and parents and Malachai. Loretta consciously thrust thoughts of marriage out of her mind and concentrated on Mr. Peavey. With him present to confirm her suspicions, Malachai couldn’t balk any longer at the notion that Mr. Tillinghurst was a thief and a villain. He’d have to admire her intelligence and cunning then, whether he wanted to or not. The notion of Malachai begging her to forgive him gave her a warm, fuzzy feeling in her bosom.

The feeling fled when Malachai next spoke, in a voice that had a strange note to it. “Something’s wrong.”

Her heart, which seconds earlier, and been singing, if slightly off-key, gave a hard spasm. “What do you mean?”

“The door’s open.”

That didn’t seem so awful to Loretta. Given Mr. Peavey’s unusual inclinations, she wouldn’t have been surprised to discover that he’d left the door open on purpose to rid himself of Moors. Or merely forgotten to close it.

Abandoning gentlemanliness, Malachai dropped Loretta’s arm and sprinted the last few paces to Peavey’s door. Loretta didn’t like the look on his face when he came to a halt and stared inside.

Hurrying to catch up with him, she said “What is it?” Her nerves started to jump.

“They’ve got him.”

Loretta gasped. Reaching his side and clasping hold of his arm, she, too, stared into the room.

It had been all but demolished, and Derrick Peavey was nowhere to be seen.