Always in My Dreams (45 page)

Skye turned to go. "I might have known," she said, under her breath.

* * *

They didn't go immediately to the St. Mark. The hansom cab that Walker hired took them on a slow, meandering tour through Central Park. The pond was still frozen over and there were a few skaters taking advantage of the ice. Skye watched a couple making several graceful turns. The colors of the setting sun were captured in the ice beneath their feet. Bands of rose and orange and mauve and gold glinted on the surface and blended in a kind of winter rainbow.

Inside her muff, Skye's hands folded and tightened. She made no comment about anything she saw. Walker appeared not to expect one. The cab circled the pond slowly and more skaters gathered. Lanterns were lighted on the edge. Laughter rose from one of the benches where a mother had collected her young children and was preparing to launch them onto the ice.

The cab turned down a path she recognized instantly as the one she had taken on a certain fateful night. She hadn't heard Walker give the driver any special instructions, yet Skye couldn't believe the route was entirely accidental.

"This is where we first met," Walker said softly. He wasn't looking at the path. He was looking at Skye.

She had the oddest sensation that Walker was courting her. She could feel the intensity of his gaze and had to will herself to continue to look out the window. "I remember," she said. "There were two men chasing you that night." She refused to ask the question that hovered at the forefront of her thoughts. By Walker's own admission, he was better at keeping secrets than at sharing them. It was something he was going to have to change.

"Before I came to New York I was a—" Walker paused, searching for the right word. "I suppose you would call it a diplomatic aide." Skye had become very still and Walker knew he had her attention. "I was attached to our embassy in London. One of our officials at the embassy had gotten himself neck-deep in trouble and I was asked to extricate him."

Skye's head had tilted slightly to one side. She had removed her hands from her muff and now they lay still. She was no longer twisting her wedding band.

"He had involved himself with a married woman. The wife of a powerful member of the House of Lords, as it turned out. He gave her a ring, a family heirloom that was easily identifiable as his. When her husband found out about the affair, he didn't confront it openly either with his wife or with our embassy man. He began blackmailing them both."

In spite of Skye's best intentions, she heard herself ask, "His own wife?"

"His own wife," he repeated. "She had money in her own right, a fortune he was trying to tap. Our embassy man was similarly well connected but didn't want to pay. Neither of them knew it was her husband orchestrating the blackmail—he worked through intermediaries—but they knew the ring had been found and taken and was what the blackmailer was holding against them. I was directed to get it back."

He made it sound so ordinary, Skye thought, as if it were not beyond his usual duties. She wondered if that was true.

"It took some time," Walker continued, "but once I confirmed who was holding the lovers as financial hostages, finding the ring wasn't too difficult."

"What did you do?" She was looking at him now, her eyes searching his face.

"I stole it back," he said simply. "People don't expect you to do that sort of thing, so they don't plan for it. The husband wasn't aware he had been found out, and he hadn't taken any particular care to hide the ring. It was in a box in his safe with some other valuables. Getting it back was the easiest part of the assignment." He sighed, shrugging faintly. "Everything was handled very quietly, discreetly. No one wanted the episode brought to light. I suspect my part in it was discovered because of our embassy man's gratitude. I think he recommended my work to someone he shouldn't have. It got back to his lordship, and he proved he could hold a grudge. His hired thugs have trailed me for months. I don't think he intends to kill me, but he certainly wants some kind of satisfaction for the difficulties I caused him."

"Difficulties
you
caused him?" she asked, surprised. "But you weren't the one having the affair!"

Walker's smile was faint. "True enough. But his lordship didn't care so much about the affair. He could tolerate his wife's indiscretion and probably had. He had a mistress himself in Mayfair. What he couldn't stand for was the interference in his scheme. In effect I killed the goose that laid the golden eggs."

"You said they've been after you for months. Then that evening in the park wasn't the first you met up with them?"

"No, not at all. It's never the same men. That makes it difficult for me to know that I've really lost them. There were three encounters before I left England What you witnessed was my second confrontation here in New York. No one's been able to track me to Baileyboro, it's only—"

"In the city that you're in danger," she finished for him. Her eyes were troubled. "Every day you're here is a risk."

Her concern warmed him, gave him hope, but he couldn't let her make too much of his situation. "It's not as dangerous as all that. They may have even given up."

"You can't know that."

She was right, of course. He couldn't know. "I'm not worried about it," he said. "And I didn't tell you so you could worry for me."

"Then why
did
you tell me?"

Walker didn't answer immediately. He wanted to lean over the space that separated them and take her hand. He wanted to kiss away the small crease between her brows and the downturned corners of her mouth. He did none of these things. "It's part of your life now," he said. "Because it's part of mine. You have a right to know these things."

"Sharing a secret with me," Skye said gravely, quietly, "is the same as keeping it to yourself. You could learn that in time, or you could just believe me now. Nothing you tell me is going to go anywhere else. Not ever."

Tension began to slowly seep out of the cords in Walker's neck. He put one hand to his nape and rubbed, feeling the pressure ease. The carriage swayed gently as it left the park and took the main thoroughfare toward the heart of the city. Walker leaned back against the soft leather cushions. It was dark enough now that the driver had lighted the outside lamps on the carriage. A mixture of twilight and lamplight bathed Skye's face. Her features were more relaxed than they had been at any time since waking this morning. Most notably the edge of anger that had sharpened her eyes had disappeared. No glance in his direction any longer held an accusation.

"I always assumed," she said thoughtfully, "that our first meeting was somehow related to Parnell. It's odd to discover he had nothing to do with it."

"Only indirectly," he told her. "I was in the city with him on business. He required some supplies for his work, and I had gone to a number of places to order them. I suppose I was seen then."

"You don't seem convinced."

He wasn't and he should have realized she would see it. "I returned once to the hotel room where Parnell was supposed to be waiting for me. He wasn't there. I had an idea where he might have gone, so I made some inquiries. No one admitted that they had seen him, but I'm fairly sure that's how I was seen."

"I'm not certain I understand. Where did you go?"

"Brothels."

"Oh."

He saw she was trying to be very worldly about this information. Only the faint flush in her cheeks betrayed her. "He told me later that he had been to the Sever Sisters, but the madam denied it when I was there. I don't think it really matters. The men who came after me could have seen me there or at Josie's or at any of the other places I visited. When I realized I was being followed, I couldn't return to the St. Mark." The memory of the chase that had ensued prompted a small smile. "I led them back and forth across lower Manhattan for over an hour before heading north to the park. They weren't easily frustrated. I finally had to turn and make a stand."

Skye pressed her hands against her middle. It was easy to call up the vision of that night and it still had the power to make her insides clench. "And now you're here again," she said. "They could find you."

"I haven't been frequenting any brothels on this trip," he reminded her. "I've spent most of my time at your place or at the St. Mark."

"Until today," she said. "Today you went out."

He was saved replying as the cab slowed then stopped. "We're here," he said.

Skye had been too absorbed in Walker to take note of their surroundings. She looked out now. "That isn't the St. Mark," she said.

"Delmonico's," said Walker. "Dinner first."

They were shown to a secluded table, a place where they could see others but not necessarily be seen. It wasn't for social status that Walker had arranged for dinner at one of New York's premiere restaurants. Walker gave the steward the wine order soon after they were seated.

Skye smoothed the edge of the crisp white tablecloth with her fingertips. She was finding it difficult to meet Walker's eyes. "Are you certain you wanted to order that wine?" she asked, risking a small glance in his direction. "I could make a fool of myself again."

"You've never made a fool of yourself," he said. "Even when you were pie-faced."

"Gallant," she said. "But a lie, I'm afraid. I'll do better this evening."

"I'm not worried." And he wasn't.

The wine arrived and Walker tasted and approved it. The steward filled glasses for both of them. Skye waited until the steward had disappeared before she tasted hers. It was a cautious sip. She set the glass aside while she examined the menu and didn't pick it up again until Walker had ordered for both of them.

"Was this Jay Mac's idea?" she asked, raising her hand in a sweeping gesture to indicate the restaurant.

Walker's eyes followed the graceful turn of her wrist and fingers. She could make the most mundane movement take on extraordinary beauty. She seemed totally unaware of it. Heads had turned when they'd entered the restaurant, and Walker would never believe it was because they all recognized Jay Mac Worth's bastard daughter. It wasn't her tarnished pedigree that people noticed; it was the powerful, unaffected spirit of her life they responded to. The wide smile. The bright eyes. The energy of her gestures. Skye, at her most demure, wasn't entirely successful in smothering these attributes. She fairly radiated life.

Delmonico's, it seemed, had been a good idea. And it had been his own. "I thought you might enjoy it," he said. "Was I right?"

Skye realized that he wasn't entirely sure of himself. Yes, she thought, he was definitely courting her. She wasn't immune to that sort of flattery, but she was also wary. She hadn't drunk enough wine to forget their earlier conversation. Was he trying to save their marriage or simply trying to get her back into his bed? And, Skye wondered, would she know the difference? "I'm enjoying myself," she told him. "I like Delmonico's. Their ballroom is spectacular. Have you seen it?"

"I've never been here before."

Skye noticed he was perfectly at his ease. On the occasions when she had dined with Daniel he had been so worried that he would make some gastronomic
faux pas,
like ordering the wrong wine or asking for a sorbet flavored with rum when Maraschino was considered the correct choice, that their pleasure in the experience was dimmed. Skye didn't care that much for convention, but in his own way, Daniel could be mired in it. She forgave him that because he was also willing to flout it enough to bring her to Delmonico's in the first place. "You must have been to places like it in London," she said.

"Not in London," he said. "In Paris."

"You've been to Paris?" She could not keep envy out of her tone. "I begged Jay Mac to let me make a European tour, but he was adamant that I should finish school." Cream of artichoke soup was set before her. Skye raised her spoon and skimmed the surface. She encouraged Walker to do the same. It was delicious. "A good choice," she told him. "Tell me about Paris."

He began to describe the city, the people, but Skye held up her hand and shook her head.

"I can read about that," she said. "In fact, I have. I want to know why
you
were in Paris."

"Before I was sent to London, I was attached to our embassy in Paris."

"Diplomatic aide?"

"For lack of a better description."

"Another affair to set right?" she asked drily.

He shook his head, his smile wry. "The French don't care about that. I was asked to help them recover a painting stolen from the Louvre."

She was skeptical. "They entrusted that to an American?"

"It was agreed I had the best chance of getting it back, since the theft had been perpetrated by Yanks. There was a fair amount of national honor at stake."

"I never heard about the incident."

"I'm not surprised. No one wanted it brought to the attention of the public. The French were embarrassed by their failed security measures, and you can understand the embassy's embarrassment. The theft was the mastermind of an assistant to the ambassador himself. No one knew that in the beginning. When it came out, it was decided that it was in everyone's best interest to keep the entire incident quiet."

"How did you recover the painting?"