A Light For My Love (10 page)

He seemed to consider her offer, then shook
his head. "Naw, I want to sleep in a real bedroom, not in an
attic." He turned to go.

Oh, damn him, she thought. She was going to
have to give him everything he wanted. And that was the last thing
she wanted. "Jake, wait," she called after him again. He stopped
and shot her an impatient look. "Um, my father's room still has
furniture in it." She gestured awkwardly behind her. "Y-You could
stay there."

"Oh?" he replied softly. He gave her a
knowing look. He took two steps closer. "I thought you didn't have
any place for me down here."

"Well, it wasn't clean," she improvised. "But
if you can wait until after dinner, I'll make the bed and dust the
room."

Jake suddenly found circumstances to be
completely reversed. Instead of being elbowed out the door, the
high and mighty Miss Sullivan was asking him to stay. "Oh, I don't
know," he pondered. "If I go to the Occident, I'll get maid
service. They'll lay the fire, they'll make my bed every day."

"Well, we don't have a staff here anymore,"
China replied, "but I—I suppose I could clean the room and make the
bed."

Jake rubbed the back of his neck, apparently
giving the matter great thought. "At the Occident, I can get
something to eat whenever I want. They'll even bring it to my
room."

China tightened her jaw until her head began
to ache. Surely hell must be something like this, she simmered. She
wanted to shout, Then go to the damned Occident, damn you! But she
knew she couldn't. He stared at her, waiting for her response. "I
guess I could—" she began, then he cut in.

"But as you pointed out, this isn't a hotel."
After a moment, he tipped his head and said, "All right, I'll stay.
For the time being, anyhow."

Afraid of what she'd say if she spoke, China
led the way to the end of the hall and opened the door directly
across from hers. After lighting the gas fixture just inside, she
waved Jake into the room. It held a massive bed and other
furniture, a fireplace, and a corner sink, and a red oriental
carpet covered the floor.

Jake walked through the room, nodding his
approval. Then he looked across the hall toward her bedroom. "Isn't
that your door?"

China straightened her spine and, trying to
hide her anxiety, glanced at the cold fireplace. "Yes, it is." Oh,
how would she manage? She didn't want him in the house at all, and
now he'd maneuvered his way down from the servants' quarters to
this room directly across from hers. That meant he'd be here, just
a few feet away, all during the night. Althea Lambert and her
ruined reputation came to mind again. She had to stop thinking
about it or she'd go crazy.

Her eyes still on the mantel, she said, "I'll
get the bedding and do the dusting after dinner, if that's all
right."

"That will be fine. Thanks, China."

His voice had taken on a low, resonant
quality that made her look up. Expecting to find a smug grin on his
face, she was unprepared for the fleeting haunted expression she'd
seen only a few times before. It disappeared so quickly, she
wondered if she'd imagined it—and hoped she had. Something about it
stung her heart, and that was the last thing she wanted.

China turned and left the room without a
backward glance.

CHAPTER FOUR

China paused on the landing to look at the
watch pinned to her blouse, then hurried up the stairs to the
second floor. It was already past seven, and she still had to comb
her hair and wash her face before she met Dalton. Sending Aunt Gert
on her way to St. Mary's had taken some doing, but at last the
front door had closed.

China slowed as she approached Jake's room.
The door was open, and she could see the yellow-orange gleam of
flames from the hearth reflecting dully on the margin of hardwood
floor not covered by the runner.

He'd wasted no time moving in and making
himself at home last night, once she'd made the bed and dusted the
furniture. He'd simply given her that cocky grin, told her good
night, and shut the door in her face. She hadn't spoken to him
since. That made mealtimes stiff, uncomfortable affairs, but only
for her. Jake got on famously with the rest of the family, and they
didn't seem to notice her pique. God, he was infuriating!

Even when she'd told her aunt about his
outrageous behavior over this room (carefully omitting just how he
had gained the upper hand), Gert had merely given her a satisfied
smile and said, "Well, dear, I told you he should have had your
father's room from the beginning."

This morning, after Jake had gone out to do
whatever it was that kept him busy, China had dutifully, if
grudgingly, gone to his room to make his bed. She stood by the
mattress, looking at the rumpled sheets he'd so recently left, and
the depressions in the pillows where his head had lain. Obviously
he wasn't used to sharing a bed, she thought. And for the life of
her, she didn't understand why that notion made her hands damp and
her heart feel like a landed fish flopping around in her chest.

Now she stole a glance at Jake from the
doorway. Full of Aunt Gert's thrifty biscuits and gravy, he
slouched low in a deep chair and dozed in front of the fireplace,
like the lord of the manor. His shirttails were pulled out, the
shirt buttons open down to his navel. In the low firelight, his
bare skin was the fair copper color of a new penny, frosted by hair
that gleamed falsely red. China's eyes went directly to his coyly
displayed chest like a pair of arrows, and a shiver fluttered
through her. What was the matter with her? she wondered. After all,
he was just a man, not to mention the most irritating one she'd
ever known. She'd been tending men in various states of undress for
nearly two years for the league and had long since gotten over any
girlish timidity about the job.

Glancing away, she noticed that a book lay
open and facedown on the floor next to him. She couldn't read its
title from where she stood, not even when she came a step closer
and craned her neck. But she assumed it was some hack-written dime
novel that had captured his attention. She'd never known him to
pick up any book willingly, much less one that was worthwhile.

Curious in spite of herself, she remained
just inside the doorway, considering him. Sleep smoothed his face,
and the glow of the fire highlighted his pale hair and cast shadows
under his lowered eyelashes. She had to admit he didn't have the
look of a man baseborn. The bones in his face were fine but sturdy,
his forehead wide. His nose was long and straight, properly
positioned above a full, strong mouth. He was clean-shaven, which
was unusual given that most men wore either moustaches or full
beards, and his hair was longer than current fashion dictated.

She glanced at his hand where it rested on
his flat stomach, rising and falling with his slow, even breathing.
It wasn't a grubby-looking paw. His fingers were long, the palm
wide at their base.

She jumped when he shifted in the chair and
snuffled, stretching his stocking feet toward the fire. But he
didn't wake up and only settled deeper into the cushions. In
China's opinion, he looked altogether too comfortable and relaxed.
She was anything but, seeing him thus, and she didn't like the
jittery feeling it gave her in her chest. He might have had the
decency to close his door if he wanted to sit there half naked.
Then she wouldn't have to look at him that way.

Backing away, she went to her own room, her
face unaccountably hot. A few moments later, after lighting the
lamp in the hall window, she was on her way out and saw that he
still dozed in boneless contentment. Reaching for the doorknob, she
yanked hard and let the door close with a bang. She hoped it woke
him.

China herself had hardly slept at all last
night. Exhaustion would claim her soon if she didn't get more rest.
It felt strange enough to have that room in use again after all
these years. But every time she'd begun to drift off, she would
remember that it was Jake sleeping over there, and she'd curse the
bad luck that had brought him back to Astoria to upset her life.
Now as she wrapped herself in her shawl to go outside, the image of
him asleep in that chair crept into her mind again and it rankled.
He was the reason she had to go to the carriage house to wait and
worry.

A fine drizzle began to fall as she crossed
the dark yard, made even darker by the towering black fir trees
that blocked out the night sky. Walking as quickly as her limited
vision would permit, she reached the carriage house, on the
opposite diagonal corner of the property. China had sent a message
to Dalton this morning to let him know she needed to talk with him.
It was a two-word note she knew he'd understand; she'd used it
before. It said simply "carriage house." There was no sign of him
yet, so she let herself in with the key in her pocket.

The apartment was plain, almost rustic, with
raw wood walls and flooring, a table and two chairs, a narrow bed,
and a couple of other pieces of furniture. The quarters had two
windows with heavy shades, one that looked back at the house and
another that faced the street.

With a slightly trembling hand she struck a
match to light the old oil lamp that sat on the table. Once more
she looked at her watch. It was almost seven-thirty. There was no
fire in the stove, and the room's cold dampness penetrated her
shawl, but she didn't plan to be out here very long this evening.
Just long enough to explain what she'd done. And what would Dalton
say about it?

Would he be disappointed in her? Angry?

Trying to warm herself, she began pacing the
length of the floor. In the silence she could hear her skirt and
petticoats rustling softly around her legs. Now and then she went
to the street-side window and lifted the shade, looking for Dalton.
But there was nothing to see except darkness and her own
transparent reflection in the rain-streaked glass.

She'd spent many anxious hours in this room,
sitting by the bed while feeding and tending injured men who had
been snatched from the hands of crimpers. Dalton had devised a
system of signaling her by putting the oil lamp in the window to
let her know when he'd brought someone here. The strain of keeping
this secret and worrying over each man stolen from his family, his
job, his freedom, sometimes made China wonder how long she'd be
able to keep this up. Just sneaking out of the house under the
noses of three people taxed her ingenuity. Four people now, she
reminded herself.

Fortunately, Sister Theresa was still not
satisfied with the progress of the St. Mary's musicale performers,
and that kept Aunt Gert busy. Susan Price was upstairs in the
sewing room working on a hat, China thought. Captain Meredith sat
in his usual spot in the back parlor. And Jake—she knew where he
was.

She stopped pacing and settled into a
straight-backed chair at the scarred drop-leaf table. When it was
quiet like this, and especially when she was tired, her thoughts
tended to wander back to the days before her father had died,
before Quinn and Ryan were gone. There had been two horses in the
stable next door then, a carriage for the carriage house, and a
driver who lived in this unadorned apartment. They'd had a staff to
do the cooking and cleaning that now fell to China and Aunt
Gert.

China had had three beaux, Zachary Stowe
among them, who escorted her to dances and Sunday socials. All of
them had been well-groomed, polite, educated young men with
promising futures. All of them had been the complete opposite of
Jake.

When Zachary had asked for her hand, she'd
accepted. It hadn't been a love match, though it was a well-advised
one. But then she lost her money, her social position went with it,
and that changed everything.

Zachary had eloped with Camella Hooper a
month later. Camella's father owned two lumber mills.

Most of the people China had grown up with
and had believed to be her friends began to leave her out of their
plans and lives when word got around that the Captain had died
broke. At first, she was bewildered, then devastated. Popular as a
girl, she was astonished to discover how shallow those
relationships were. She felt betrayed and retreated into what
remained of her family, Aunt Gert and Ryan.

After that, any chance for China to marry was
lost. Now she was caught between two lives: the privileged,
comfortable existence she'd once known, and this one of pinching
pennies and stalling creditors. All she had left was this house,
and her pride.

That wasn't so bad, she supposed,
except—except, oh, sometimes she craved the intimacy of spirit she
had imagined marriage brought. Now and then she wished there was
someone with whom she could close her door and shut out
responsibility and the rest of the world. A companion to talk with,
a shoulder to rest her head on when she was tired, a hand to hold.
Someone to care for rather than to take care of. To answer the odd
quickening she sometimes felt pulsing through her body.

She usually tried not to dwell on what she
didn't have, and most often succeeded. Then last night Jake had
asked why she wasn't married. Given the circumstances, it was
enough that they still had a decent roof over their heads and food
to eat. She couldn't afford to wish that her heart be satisfied as
well.

China was jerked from her gray thoughts by
two short knocks on the door. She flew to answer it, responding
first with two more short knocks, then opened the door.

"I hope I haven't kept you waiting too long,"
Dalton said, his expression grim. He strode in, bringing the dean
scent of rain with him. After one last quick look outside, he
closed the door behind him.

Even though she had known him for two years,
a tremor of awe rushed through China. When Dalton Williams walked
into a room, the air sizzled with a dynamic force. He was not a
physically imposing man, nor was he typically attractive. His face
reflected his modest background, far more so than did Jake's, China
thought. Of medium build, he presented no illusion of strength. He
walked with a marked rolling gait that bespoke twenty years spent
at sea—over half his life. But his appearance was deceptive; she'd
seen him carry unconscious men into this room, a few of whom had
outweighed him by a third. And he radiated a fierce intensity that
burned like hellfire in his sharp cobalt eyes. In front of an
audience, he was a fiery and surprisingly eloquent speaker. It gave
him a charismatic aura of power that alternately drew people to
listen and made them back away in fear. It was his profound,
single-minded dedication to the abolishment of shanghaiing that had
won China's respect and her loyalty to his cause.