Forbidden Fire (16 page)

And then there were the people. Everyone seemed to live here. Everyone. German, Dutch, Scandinavian. Black, red, yellow. Oh, London was a melting pot, but this …

She felt such an excitement for the country. She loved each new day.

Until the end.

Today had brought them to the Bay, and to the train ferries, which had brought them into the city. Five minutes and they would arrive. And Mary and Jimmy would set up housekeeping in marital bliss, and she …

She had cast herself into a prison of her own making with a man who never ceased to infuriate …

And fascinate …

She closed her eyes. It was difficult to breathe.

She hadn't cared, she reminded herself. She had sworn to Mary that she wanted nothing more than security. That she had no patience with sentiment. And she had received all she wanted. Theo would be well, a school was under way, she was dressed in silks and laces, and she had traveled the North Atlantic and the great width of America, all in style.

And still, she could feel the bars of her prison closing in on her now. She could almost hear the clang of iron and feel the reverberation as it trembled deep within her soul.

Soon, very soon.

Her time of payment would begin.

Madam Lilli's was unique, even among the endless supply of waterfront dance halls that graced some of the lesser streets of the city.

The house had been there since before the gold rush. With the Victorian era, fine gingerbreading had been added to the quaint Colonial architecture. And Lilli, being fond of colors, had added paint and trim until the house stood out like a gilded lady herself, both tarnished and beautiful.

Lilli, arrayed elegantly upon a settee, twitched a feather boa over her shoulder and studied Ian with wide gray eyes as he stared out the window. “That's the third time you've pulled out your watch, Ian. And you haven't paid the slightest heed to a single word that I've said.”

He spun around, pocketing his watch, and leaned against the windowsill. “You're the one who said you had no need of conversation,” he told her, far more sharply than he had intended.

She seemed to flinch, and he was sorry. He swore inwardly once again at the wife arriving at the station this evening.

The wife who had best be arriving, he reminded himself. He wouldn't put it past her to fail to appear. And then what would he do? He'd have no choice. He'd have to find her.

“I don't recall asking a lot of you,” Lilli said evenly, the hurt evident in her voice. “I don't mind your Nob Hill mistress, and I don't expect to go to the opera or the theater with you. However, I do appreciate it when you at least pretend that you care who you are with.”

He exhaled slowly. “Sorry, Lilli.”

Lilli nodded, her lashes sweeping low over her face. He had hurt her, and he knew it, and felt the worse for it. There were no pretenses about Lilli. She was a showgirl with a place to run. She was careful when she selected her lovers, but she made love with a rare talent that bespoke her experience.

She wasn't anything like Diana. Indeed, she was the farthest thing in the world from Diana, with her voluptuous figure and tinted red hair. But it was the very fact of the difference and her forthright honesty that had brought him to Lilli—and the fact that she asked nothing of him, not even simple caring.

“Why do you keep pulling out your watch?” she queried softly. “It's none of my business, of course, and I'm not demanding conversation—”

He strode away from the window and kissed her on the top of the head. “My wife is arriving today.”

“Your wife!” She swept the boa around her and leaped up, stunned. “Wife?” she said again. Then she started to laugh, sinking down on the crimson day bed. “You're meeting your wife this evening and you came to see me this afternoon?”

“She's not a wife for real, Lilli,” he said flatly. He lifted an arm, looking for an explanation. “She's—she's a ward, really. I'm her guardian.”

“So you married her?” Lilli said, fascinated. “It can't be money, you've plenty of your own. I admit—I don't begin to understand.”

“Neither do I,” he muttered.

She smiled broadly. “Not that I mind. But the charming widow, Mrs. Grace Leroux, is going to mind terribly. In fact, I think I shall enjoy the way she will mind. Hmm. Guardian. Ward. How—how European. Tell me, what's she like? I conjure up images of a schoolgirl with pigtails. And perhaps buck teeth.”

“No, I'm afraid not. In fact, she's quite stunning.”

“You've a stunning wife arriving, and you're here?” Lilli said, her voice suddenly very soft.

He was here
because
his wife was arriving, he realized. Because he was damned determined he wasn't going to change his life. His voice hardened again.

“It was an arrangement, Lilli, nothing more. You know my feelings about marriage.”

“Yes, I know them,” she said, smiling ruefully. “But you see, I never expected you to marry me. Now Grace, she is going to have her problems. She's never believed that you wouldn't marry again. And of course, she was right, since you've a wife arriving. It's just that she assumed that she was going to be the wife.”

“Well, she shouldn't assume things, should she?” Ian said. To his annoyance, he realized that he had drawn out his pocket watch again. Irritated, he shoved it back where it belonged.

“It's all right—you can run out,” Lilli told him.

“I'll be damned if I'm running anywhere,” he said.

“You'll be late.”

“Then I'll be late,” he said flatly. He'd be as late as he wanted. He'd while away the evening with Lilli's sweet brand of forgetfulness.

But he hadn't come today for forgetfulness, he realized.

He'd come because he didn't want to remember the feel of the. golden-haired girl in his arms. He wanted to assure himself that he'd never fall beneath her spell again. There were other women to make love to. Women like Lilli.

“Tell me,” Lilli said huskily, sweeping him into her embrace as he sat beside her on the day bed, “is the new Mrs. Tremayne aware of this open marriage? Does she, too, intend to find her own brand of entertainment?”

He stiffened: “What?”

“Ian, I was teasing you.”

He stood and straightened his cuffs, suddenly impatient to be on his way. He kissed Lilli's cheek and strode toward the door.

“Ian!” Lilli called after him anxiously. “I've a new show opening Saturday night. Will you come? Please? Your patronage brings in so many others.”

“Yes, surely, if you think that it will help,” he promised. Then he paused. “No. I'd wring her pretty little neck.”

“What?” Lilli said.

“No, she's not part of any open marriage, Lilli. I'd wring her neck.”

Lilli laughed softly. Ian walked out the door, closing it quietly behind him. Then Lilli's smile slowly faded. A quiet ache formed within her heart. No, she had never deceived herself. She could have never been his wife. His feelings, what he gave her, had been real enough, but he was deceiving himself now.

The marriage meant more than he was willing to admit, it seemed. Far more than he was willing to admit.

A wife was one thing. A wife who mattered was quite another.

And so the ache in her heart.

She sighed softly and rose and walked to the window and looked out at the fog as it rolled in.

She'd still stand by him, as a friend.

She smiled slowly. It might even be amusing to see the very grand Mrs. Leroux meet the new Mrs. Tremayne.

Lilli spun around quickly, calling for her maid. She was suddenly very determined to see the new Mrs. Tremayne herself. Maybe she would even meet her.

Ah, the girl wouldn't want to meet a woman from her husband's past. But she should, for Lilli was not the real competition. And if the girl seemed to warrant it, Lilli just might be willing to offer her a certain assistance when she met the real dragon lady in her husband's past.

Marissa inhaled sharply. The train was braking. They were pulling into the station.

Mary burst into the compartment, breathless, her cheeks flushed. “This is it! We're here!”

They stared at one another for a minute, then they hugged fiercely. “Oh, Marissa! You've done so much for us!” Mary said.

Afraid that she was going to choke or cry, Marissa answered quickly. “Don't be silly. I'm the one living in the lap of luxury. And I'm afraid that we'll all sink if we're ever caught.”

“Don't you be silly,” Mary protested. “This is America. We're never going to sink.”

Marissa nodded. She should have been the one so determined.

Jimmy burst through the narrow doorway. “Ladies, come on, we're here!” He was carrying Mary's small travel bag and picked up Marissa's. Smiling, Mary turned to follow him as he hurried down the train aisle. He moved with confidence, Marissa thought. Both he and Mary had changed over the long journey. They'd found a new strength in one another.

And she had been losing her own determination in silly daydreams.

She squared her shoulder, dreading the moment when she would see Ian Tremayne again, yet curiously longing to do so, too. He had said that he would come to meet them. Had he done so? Or had he forgotten the wife he had not wanted?

She hurried after Jimmy and Mary. It was a new world. And she'd sworn to herself once that she would show Mr. Tremayne her mettle.

At the steps to the platform she paused for a moment. Twilight and fog were falling over the city. There was little she could see beyond the station, but as her eyes adjusted to the gaslight and the coming night, she became aware of the man standing on the platform.

He was framed in light and shadow, and she saw nothing but his silhouette at first, tall and dark. Even the shadows became him, enhancing the breadth of his shoulders, the leanness of his hips, the fit of his clothing.

She didn't need light to realize that he had not forgotten her. He had come to the station.

Her heart began to pound too quickly, and she was furious with herself. Yet she could not move for a long moment, but remained frozen at the top of the steps.

He must have seen her, for he stepped forward into the light. A hat sat rakishly low on his forehead. It was cream-colored like his suit, and the color contrasted with the black ribbon tie around his throat. As he walked toward her she realized that he was being followed by a young Chinese couple. The man was handsome, the woman extraordinarily beautiful with perfect skin, sleek raven hair to her waist and huge, dark eyes with an exotic, sensual twist. Both were dressed in loose trousers and orange silk Chinese jackets.

Marissa looked at Ian, meeting his eyes. They seemed to sizzle with the same blue fire that had ruled them the night he had left her. The night he had touched her, and somehow destroyed the blind determination that had brought her through a lifetime. She still wanted to hate him. And instead she felt a dizzying heat sweep through her, then tremors seized her and she stiffened, determined to show him no weakness. He was an autocrat, she reminded herself. He was the man who had knocked into a simple maid, heedless of the destruction he had caused.

Even then he had told her to come to America.

Well, then, she was here.

“Mrs. Tremayne?”

The porter was waiting to help her down the steps. She smiled, blushing, and took his hand at last, reaching the platform just as Ian reached her.

He made no pretense of a loving—or even polite!—greeting. He walked straight to her, staring at her still. “So you've made it,” he said.

She stiffened her spine and smiled sweetly. “And so have you.”

“I promised I would be here.”

“And so did I.”

“Perhaps I had reason to doubt you.”

“I have very great reasons to doubt you,” she reminded him, far more sharply than she had intended.

They were barely a foot apart. Marissa suddenly realized that the small space of air between them was thick with tension and that Mary and Jimmy and the porter and Ian's servants were all staring at them wide-eyed, trying to read the innuendo and cool reproach in the words they shot at one another. Perhaps Ian came to the same realization, for he turned to Mary with the smile that could be entirely charming when he wanted it to be. “Welcome to San Francisco. I hope your journey was not too difficult.”

“It was wonderful,” Mary assured him.

Then Ian remembered his companions and quickly brought the couple forward. “Marissa, Mary, James, may I introduce John and Lee Kwan, who tend my house. John, Lee, my—” he paused, then continued evenly enough “—my wife, Marissa, and her friends, Mary and James O'Brien. Mr. O'Brien is going to come to work for the emporium.”

Marissa wasn't sure what she expected, but she was surprised at the Chinese man's melodious, accentless speech as he greeted them. “I, too, would like to give you all welcome. Welcome to my city. You will see, she is one of the most beautiful on earth.”

Then the woman spoke, and her voice was soft with a musical flow to it. “Indeed, we welcome you. Anything that you might require, you've only to ask.'

“Thank you,” Marissa said, then she realized that the girl's beautiful, exotic eyes were nowhere near as warm as her voice. She seemed nearly as hostile as Ian.

“I'll get the bags,” John said. “If someone will direct me to the proper pieces?”

“Aye, of course,” Jimmy quickly volunteered. “And there's plenty of them, I am afraid.” He grimaced at Ian. “Women, sir, you know.”

“I know, and I imagine that it will take the three of us, Jimmy,” Ian said, flashing him a quick, easy smile. It was a captivating smile, Marissa realized. Mary was watching him with a curious affection and admiration, and when Marissa studied the beautiful and exotic Lee Kwan, she saw that the Chinese girl was staring after him, too.