Forbidden Fire (15 page)

And felt the whisper of her words against his flesh. A whisper so soft he could not hear the words …

No.

He tossed in his sleep, and the whispers became louder. Whispers of tenderness, of love.

He would never love again.

He could never touch her again.

She was his wife.

He jerked up, covered with sweat, and slammed his fists into his palm. He inhaled sharply as pain assailed him, and he was glad of the pain, for it released him.

Thank God it was morning. He would soon be on a ship headed for home. Feeling the ocean breeze, letting it cool his head.

And his loins.

He would forget her, forget the night they had shared. By God, he would.

“You look grand, Marissa!” Theo told her. He stared at her with obvious pride as he looked her over, still holding her shoulders after the hug with which he had greeted her. “So very grand. I can't seem to get over just how wonderful you look!”

Marissa smiled at him as the cool morning breeze lifted the tendrils of hair at her forehead and set them gently upon her face. It was a beautiful day. The sky was a radiant blue with just a few puffs of clouds. It was Sunday, so there was no dynamiting to be heard. The world seemed quiet, and the landscape, with its mauves and greens and browns, rolled in the gentle silence. Sheep and cattle grazed the fields that stretched beyond the ramshackle cottages of the village. The few creatures that added substance to the life eked out by the miners.

But then she turned toward the cottages, small, one-room residences for the most, pathetically reaching toward respectability as the miners' wives placed what fall flowers they could find upon the windowsills.

Grand. Theo thought she looked grand.

And here, perhaps, she did.

She had spent money on herself. Mary had warned her not to appear in San Francisco without a proper wardrobe, and had convinced her that they couldn't keep on sharing a wardrobe. “You've sacrificed your soul for the money—and for us, of course!” she had reminded Marissa. “You should have something for yourself.”

Mary would never know all that she had sacrificed, Marissa thought wearily, for Marissa would never tell her, no matter how close they were. But she did need clothing, so she had allowed Mary to guide her to the shops in London, but she had used her portion of the inheritance allowance very carefully. She had been far more careful of price than she had been of style, yet still, she had managed to select some very elegant pieces at very reasonable prices. Today she wore a simple cotton dress with a crocheted collar, but the designer had created a very elegant bustle just the right size for fashion, and she had found a charming bonnet with an egret feather that perched at an angle upon her forehead.

And perhaps, she thought, she appeared grand because there was no hint of coal dust upon her person.…

She had no right to be ashamed of the coal dust, she told herself. The miners were good people.

Far better than she. Most of them would probably look upon her deceit with horror.

She couldn't think about that now. She linked her arm with her uncle's, her smile still firmly in place, and started walking toward the house. “Uncle, I'm going to America with Mary.”

“America!” He stopped on the pebbled path and stared at her. “Marissa, so very far! Why, child! I'll never see you again.”

“Don't say that!” Marissa cried. She couldn't bear to hear such words. His slim face, haggard and worn and yet beautiful in the love and wisdom within the lines and crevices, was very dear to her. “You'll come to be with me soon enough.” It was a lie; he couldn't really be with her. Not for years.

Unless Ian Tremayne did sink to the bottom of the sea. And despite the tangle of emotions she felt for the man, she realized that she did not really wish his demise—by fair means or foul.

Just thinking of him brought color to her cheeks, and tremors raced along her spine. She lowered her face and quickly spoke. “You're to retire, Uncle, and I mean it. Mary has given me a fantastic salary, and I've more than enough to spare for you.”

“You're not to take care of me, child,” Theo told her, pushing open the door to his cottage. Marissa preceded him in and sat at the rough-hewn table before the cooking fire. A black pot sat above the flames, and a kettle sat upon a heated rock. Water for the kettle came from an outside well. There were no conveniences here.

Nothing elegant, nothing fine, she thought, but her eyes were stinging with tears. Except love, for Theo loved her, and wasn't that worth more than anything elegant or fine?

She exhaled, pulling off her gloves, and smiling at her uncle. She meant to keep him alive to love her, she reminded herself. He was staring at her worriedly, and she was suddenly afraid that she had changed somehow, that all the things she had done were emblazoned upon her features. No, that couldn't be, she assured herself. “Uncle Theo, be reasonable. You cannot continue in the mines.”

“Marissa—”

“Uncle Theo, do you love me?”

“Marissa, you know that I do!”

“Then you'll stay alive, for me.”

He made a sound of impatience, then his cough seized him and he doubled over, wheezing for breath. Marissa jumped to her feet and patted his back, then quickly poured him a glass of cool water from the clay pitcher on the table. He sipped it gratefully, eyeing her all the while. She made him sit. “Theo, you must listen to me. I mean to set up a little school. I went to see the new young curate about it and he assured me that I had provided amply to bring in a teacher. And they said that the old storage building could be suitably made over, but the teacher will need help with the people here, and with odds and ends and such. Uncle Theo, you must be the one to give the help, to be my representative, don't you see?”

He was still wheezing, and it took him several minutes to answer. “So you are moving to America,” he finally said softly.

“But you will come soon!” she insisted.

He didn't say anything, and she knew suddenly that he didn't want to come. This was his home, despite the soot and poverty. His friends lived and worked and had died here, and he had always thought to do the same.

Well, he wasn't going to die. And there had to be a better life for the others here.

“Uncle, you will come soon enough,” she said.

He nodded, and she squared her shoulders. One day she would have to find a way to come back for him.

“There's rumblings of protest against the shareholders, you know, Marissa,” Theo said. “The men are trying hard to find a way for better conditions.”

“And so they should,” Marissa agreed. “But, Uncle Theo, you're out of it now. Protest is for the young men.”

“Wait until the shareholders learn about your school,” he warned her.

“The vicar will not let the school be closed,” she said, praying that it was true. Not even Mr. Lacey dared defy the vicar, who had caused tremendous havoc when a lad of ten had died from overwork in the tunnels a few years past. “Uncle Theo, you have to make sure that the vicar hears about any trouble Mr. Lacey might decide to cause.”

Uncle Theo sat and stared at her, then sighed. “All right, my girl,” he promised softly. “I'm out of the mines, and living on your charity.”

“It's not my charity! What is mine is yours, Uncle.”

“Ah, but you work to earn it!”

“Working for Mary is no hardship,” she said uneasily.

“And glad I am that you're her companion, so fine and sweet a lady. At least I rest assured that she asks nothing difficult or ill of you, lass. She's indeed a great and moral lady, and I rest easy, knowing you're in her company.”

Marissa folded her hands in her lap and looked at them, feeling a burning sensation invade her once again. Mary was a very fine lady. And no, Mary would never ask anything ill of her.

The lies and deceit were all her own. And so was the night in which she had cast away her pride and innocence. For a stranger. A stranger she had married in a massive lie.

A stranger who seemed to hate her. Ever more deeply since the tempest and tenderness …

“Marissa, are you all right? You're pale as death!” Theo exclaimed.

She looked at him in dismay. “No, I'm—I'm fine, Uncle, honest.” She smiled quickly. “I'm simply famished, and the pot is sending off the most delicious aroma! Come, let's eat! You always could create the most wonderful meals from so very little. And, oh! I've got to get the coachman to bring in the things I've brought from the manor.”

“Ah, Marissa, did you take more from Miss Ahearn on my poor behalf?”

“We'll be leaving, Uncle. The larder was overstocked. You sit now, and I'll serve our supper.”

“Marissa—”

“Come, Uncle, please? I'll not be able to be with you for months and months now. Please, sit down and tell me the gossip and let me serve the soup!”

So coaxed, Theo sat, and as Marissa dished up the soup and made tea, he entertained her with stories about the mines and miners and their children. He told her about the day they had managed to “accidentally” knock over a bin of coal dust right on Mr. Lacey's head. “He was madder than a hornet, he was! But he couldn't find no one to blame, could he, and so we all had a good laugh at his expense!”

Marissa laughed, too, imagining Mr. Lacey's fat jowls covered in coal dust. Then she managed to give Theo more pounds sterling than he usually saw in a year, and his awe as he looked at the money suddenly made everything she had done seem worth it all. And there would be more. There would be a school that might save some child from this life, just as Mary had saved her.

No matter how tragic or humiliating her life might prove to be, it would all be worth it.

She sipped her tea, finding that her hand was shaking. Ian was gone, she reminded herself. He was somewhere on the Atlantic right now, and she still had weeks before she would have to see him again.

But there were so many things she couldn't forget! So many things that plagued her! Even now, sitting here, in Uncle Theo's cottage, she could see Ian's face. His eyes alive with fire in the shadows and the darkness. Sizzling with the heat as he moved within her …

She couldn't breathe, and she forced herself to see another picture. His eyes with the fire of fury within them as he warned her, “Don't ever deceive yourself. Don't ever deceive yourself. I am a crude and terrible man …”

She'd married him; she'd bedded with him. For money? What did that make her?

She felt as if she was going to be sick.

“Marissa, you're as pale as a ghost again. You can't be going to America if you're ill—”

“I'm not ill, I swear it! And I'll write, every week, I promise, Uncle Theo. Oh, Uncle! I do love you so much!” She threw herself into his arms and hugged him fiercely, and willed the memories away. She had done what she had to do, and nothing more.

“And I love you, child. Oh God, I do love you, more dearly than you shall ever know!” he promised. His gnarled hands moved over her hair tenderly, and she suddenly wished that she had never known a different life, that she could stay with him, sheltered in his arms and by his love.

She yearned to close her eyes and pretend that she had never gone to London with Mary, never seen Ian there. Never married him, and never been—touched by him.

But she could not. The die was already cast. And no matter what his anger toward her, she knew he would come after her if she did not arrive in San Francisco.

She could not betray Mary or Jimmy or her uncle.

“What is it, Marissa? What's wrong?” Theo asked her gently.

“Nothing. Just me, Uncle Theo. Hold me tightly, please.”

He held her until night fell and it was time to go.

Alone in Mary's handsome coach then, she waved goodbye until Uncle Theo was only a speck in the darkness. Indeed, all the mining village was nothing but a speck in the night …

Like a particle of coal dust.

And then she wept, silent tears streaming down her cheeks. She wept for Theo, for the village and for herself. And then she remembered again the first time she had seen Ian Tremayne, the very first time, here in this same dingy, little town fast disappearing into the night.

She remembered her fury, and her thoughts.

She would be a great lady. She would show him.

Ah, yes! She would show him!

She dried the tears from her cheeks and sat straight in the carriage.

And by the time she reached Mary and Jimmy and the manor, no sign of her distress remained.

She would show Mr. Ian Tremayne. She would never shed another tear.

One week later, at the appointed time, she, Mary and Jimmy stood by the ship's rail.

And this time, it was England's shore she watched disappear.

Mary cried softly. But Marissa was true to herself. She did not shed a tear.

She looked away. Toward the west.

To America.

And to the new life.

Chapter Eight

San Francisco

January, 1906

A
tap sounded on the door to Marissa's compartment, and she paused in the act of pinning her hat at a jaunty angle that defied the dread in her heart. When she did not respond to the knock, the porter called out cheerfully, “San Francisco! Next stop San Francisco! Five minutes now, Mrs. Tremayne.”

Five minutes, Marissa thought, a mere five minutes, and a journey that had seemed epic in its length and scope would be over. She had crossed the mighty Atlantic Ocean, traveling first class on a great ocean liner. Then she had boarded the first of the several trains that had taken her across the entire American continent.

There had been so very, very much to see, to assimilate. She was English, and proud of England.

But this country …

There could be nothing like it. A land of such startling contrasts and beauty. Earth that was green and covered with forests, and then deserts that were orange and gold and mauve and fascinating.