Forbidden Fire (17 page)

He had his charm, indeed. She had discovered that herself. It was in his manner, and in his eyes, and even in his anger. She should know. She had fallen prey to it easily enough.

But she would not fall again, she promised herself, feeling her temper sorely tested. The girl kept his house, indeed. She gritted her teeth and reminded herself for the thousandth time that she had received everything she wanted from the bargain.

But she felt the clang of iron and steel again. And she thought that her prison might well be a torture chamber.

“We shall go to the carriage,” Lee told her and Mary. “Come, I'll show you the way.”

Marissa and Mary followed Lee through the crowded station and out to the street beyond. Leaving the station behind, Marissa paused. The cool air, rich with fog; touched her cheeks. The remaining daylight was dim, yet it made the scene all the more enchanting.

She could see the hills that looked down upon the bay, and the magical, beautiful homes that sat atop the hills. Painted in soft and rich hues, the city seemed filled with elegance. Victorian row houses, enchanting in their ginger-breading, lined some streets. More elegant grande dames looked down from rich, tree-laden properties. Gas lamps burned with a yellow glow against the growing darkness, and the fog gave it all a picture book quality. It might have been a fairy-tale land. She inhaled quickly, a deep breath, heedless of people passing by her.

It was beautiful. So beautiful. She had been awed by sophisticated New York, and had wondered at bustling Chicago, but here she felt a sweet trembling of excitement deep within her heart. This felt like home. This beauty was soft and enchanting, like the gaslight glow. It beckoned to her and seduced her. She loved the very feel of the air, the color of the night, the kiss of the fog.

She felt someone behind her, but paid no heed.

“It's magnificent!” she whispered.

“Indeed, she's a very great lady,” said a rich, husky voice.

She spun around. Ian stood there, carrying a bag in either hand. His gaze had lost something of its anger as he watched her; his eyes were probing hers. She could not speak as he stared at her. “Come on. You've had a very long trip. I'll see you all settled for the night. Tomorrow will be time enough for you to see something of the city.” He indicated that she should proceed, and she hurried ahead to his carriage. It was a large, handsome vehicle, drawn by two matching black horses with hides that shone under the lights as beautifully as Lee Kwan's hair.

A horn honked nearby, and an automobile chugged by in the street. A horse drawing an ice cart suddenly reared in fear of the motorized carriage. The auto veered onto the sidewalk. Another horse reared, and a cart of apples and produce went spilling into the street. The automobile sputtered to a halt.

“Progress!” Ian laughed.

“I believe greatly in progress, and I adore automobiles,” Marissa told him.

He watched her for a moment. “Good. May we go now? I'd like to get home.”

She hurried toward the carriage. She would have ignored him, but he set her bags down, and before she could mount the step, he had set his hands on her waist and lifted her up. John Kwan helped him with the bags, then Ian was beside her.

His scent was rich with leather and soap and his own masculine mystique. She was startled at the vehemence with which memories of a closer time between them returned to haunt her. She caught her breath, determined not to look his way, not to feel the heat and strength of his thigh so tight against hers.

“Ian, the city is wonderful,” Mary said. “Which way do we go?”

He pointed in the night. “Nob Hill.” He smiled at her. “The city
is
wonderful. There will be a lot for you to see and to learn.”

“Why is it called Nob Hill?” Mary asked.

He smiled, and Marissa felt his gaze upon her once again. “Some say that it's from the word ‘snob.' But it's not; it comes from the Indian ‘nabob.'”

Marissa gazed at him. His eyes were inscrutable, but she felt laughter in his tone, as if he thought she belonged in a place called snob hill!

She was determined to ignore him. Her eyes met his. “I'm sure I shall be very happy upon your Nob Hill, Mr. Tremayne.”

“Will you, my love?” he queried politely. “Well, we can only hope.”

Marissa started to turn, then thought she saw someone in the crowd watching them. She frowned, staring hard through the fog. She was right; someone was watching them.

It was a woman. Tall, with blazing red hair. She was dressed in a fashionable blue velvet gown whose well-cut lines hugged her stunning body like a glove. The woman realized Marissa was watching her, and she seemed to start. Then she smiled. It was a surprisingly warm smile.

Beside Marissa, Ian turned. Marissa looked at him and saw him frown when he noticed the woman. “Lilli!” he murmured. “What on earth is she doing?”

“A friend of yours?” Marissa asked sweetly. Oh, yes, a friend! Marissa thought, and she wondered why she should be so infuriated.

Because one of her husband's mistresses had come to the station to study her!

She felt a flush of red climbing up her cheeks and she wanted so badly to swallow her bitterness. Why should she care? She wanted nothing from him except a chance at a new life for herself and Jimmy and Mary. And that chance was now hers.

But he'd seduced her, then been furious with her because of it. It had devastated her life, taken over her dreams and her every waking moment. And it had meant nothing at all to him.

She suddenly wanted to tear out his hair.

“A friend?” she repeated.

“A friend,” he agreed flatly, staring at her hard.

Marissa turned and waved to the woman. “Lilli, hello!” she called cheerfully.

“What the hell do you think you're doing?” he demanded tensely, for her ears alone.

“Inviting your friend to the house. You do want to keep her, I imagine,” Marissa said innocently.

He swore, heedless of Mary, Jimmy and the Kwans. “Lady, you don't invite anyone to my house, do you understand? You don't know who the hell you're talking to!”

“A dance-hall girl, I imagine. But then, this is America. Land of opportunity—and equality,” she told him. His fingers were knotting, she realized. He was probably longing to wind them around her throat, and was just barely controlling the urge to do so.

“But I shall ask into my house those whom I choose, madame, not you!” he returned. His voice was soft but his tone warning, near savage. She fought the urge to draw away, and remembered her own fury.

“Do forgive me,” she whispered. “I merely wanted to show your—friend—that I intend her no harm. Mistresses are not always fond of the arrival of—”

“Wives. But then you are not the customary wife, are you, my love? No,” he answered himself. “Certainly not customary. My dear, dear lady.”

Not a lady at all, Marissa thought. A brat from the coal mines, with less financial potential, surely, than the red-haired woman who stood and watched her.

The anger within her grew. Perhaps he wanted to throttle her. She longed to give a good cut to the hard angles and planes of his face.

But Mary was staring at her.

“Not customary at all, I promise you,” she told Ian.

And he swore softly, then gritted his teeth and called out to John. “Let's go, please. Just circle around the confusion up ahead.”

The carriage jerked as John Kwan flicked his whip in the air and the fine matched blacks started up at a trot.

“Head straight for home, John,” Ian instructed, leaning past Marissa.

She closed her eyes, catching her breath. Home. It was his home.

But her home now.

No, his home. To which he could invite whom he chose when he chose. It would not really be her home. He had made that very clear.

She felt a strange fluttering in her heart.

The bars were closing tightly around her prison.

It would be a beautiful prison, she thought. The city had found a place in her heart already.

But still …

No matter how beautiful a prison it might be, it would still be a prison. She would live shackled by the agreement she had forced, furious with Ian Tremayne, fascinated by him.

Jealous.

No! Her eyes flew open. She felt him watching her. She turned quickly to him, and saw she was right. Bright against the darkness, his gaze was hard upon her.

Her jailer …

A shudder touched her soul.

Her jailer, her husband. A husband who did not want her here.

She turned and looked toward the station. The beautiful red-haired woman was still standing there. She lifted her hand and waved.

Fury entered her heart. He had told her he had women in his life. He had made it very clear.

But that was before he had touched her.

She wanted to be away from him! She had barely seen him again, and it seemed that already the night and her life were filled with tempest and pain. Oh, it was a lie, it was all a lie, and she had created it.

And there wasn't anything she could do.

It was time to begin living the lie.

Chapter Nine

T
he house was magnificent.

Jimmy and Mary had been left at the entrance to the grounds, where a caretakers' cottage had been done over for their privacy until they chose to find their own home. John and Lee Kwan had quietly disappeared on their arrival at the grand Victorian entryway, and Marissa was alone with Ian when she walked up the steps to the huge elegant porch with its engraved and beveled windows. He said nothing, but merely opened the front door, allowing her to enter first. And she did so, drawing her gloves from her fingers as she stared at the foyer. It was huge, with a grand chandelier hanging from a high ceiling. The ceiling allowed for the entire length of the extraordinary stairway of hewn and curved wood. The flooring was a light marble, taking away any sense of heaviness that might have been found in the elegantly carved doors leading to other parts of the house.

Marissa stared at the stairway, then realized that Ian was standing behind her, watching her.

“Will it suffice?” he asked.

She swung around to look at him. What was he expecting from her? Maybe she had forced the issue, but she couldn't see offering him eternal gratitude.

Not when she could still remember the woman at the station all too clearly.

He was proud of this house, she thought. And he had a right to be; it was elegant, it was beautiful, and it was still warm. He couldn't have built it himself, for it was far too old a structure, but he had probably added to it.

If she hadn't seen the redhead at the station, she might have been tempted to praise the house, to tell him with warmth and laughter and enthusiasm just how wonderful a house it was.

But she had seen the woman at the station.

He warned you! she taunted herself. And she stepped farther into the room, playing for time. She had fallen prey to him once. She would not do so again. She wasn't sure what she had expected from him, but not this distance and coldness. She was surprised at the way it hurt, and she was suddenly furious again over the last night she had seen him in England. If only he had never touched her!

“Yes,” she said quietly, without looking his way. “It will suffice.”

“I am so glad,” he told her. And the resonance of his voice showed her she had touched some chord deep within him.

She turned to meet his dark and enigmatic gaze. “It's been an extraordinarily long journey. Perhaps you'd be good enough to show me to my private quarters?”

A dark brow shot up, and his lip curved in a hard smile. “Your private quarters?”

“I should remind you, sir, that you were the one so insistent that your private life should not be disturbed in any way.”

“Very true. But may I remind you, my love, that you were the one so very insistent on marriage.”

“Indeed. And you were so very—kind—as to agree to marriage on my behalf. Yet you were very careful to remind me that you did have your own life. A fact you managed to demonstrate most amply this evening, and therefore I shall be incredibly happy to see that you are not disturbed in any way.”

“How very kind,” he murmured dryly, and indicated that she should precede him up the stairway. Above her, a stained-glass window graced the landing. It was dark now, but by the gaslight of the chandelier and the hall candles she could see the colors within it, beautiful blues and reds, then the white of a rearing unicorn that seemed to look down upon the stairway.

She reached the landing, with Ian upon her heels. His hand touched the small of her back and he urged her to the right where the hall split in two directions. He paused before a set of carved double doors and pressed the brass handle downward, opening one door. He turned up a wall lamp and soft light filled the room.

It was huge. A massive bed against one wall was covered with a white, gold-trimmed spread and set against a beautifully painted bed frame. The high ceilings were molded, and the walls were papered in a light yellow and mauve print. The hardwood floor was enhanced by an elegant Persian rug in complementary colors. One corner of the room was a hexagonal turret set with windows. A glass table and several chairs covered in a rich gold brocade had been comfortably arranged there. And there was a fireplace. With a marble mantel, two armoires, and a beautiful Art Nouveau dresser and elegant brocade-covered seat. There were two doors within the room, leading to opposite sides.

Tears suddenly stung her eyes. The single room was far larger than the entire cottage she had shared with Theo. The bedspread alone was worth more than Theo made in a year.

Ian pointed to one door. “There's a dressing room and bath beyond, and beyond that, a library, office or sitting room, whatever you choose. All are your private quarters. But by the way, madam, just what is it that I so amply demonstrated this evening?”