Forbidden Fire (26 page)

And as the night cooled them, he thought that he loved her indeed, and the words were on his lips, but he could not say them. Not yet. For now, it had to be enough to hold her, to love her in the silence of the night.

But then he fell to her side, and he heard the soft sigh of her whisper. “Ian?”

“Yes?”

“I …”

“What?”

“I …”

What was she going to say? He rolled over her, supporting his weight upon his hands. “What is it, Marissa?” he persisted.

Her lashes shielded her eyes. “I like making love in the hay,” she said at last.

He smiled, but he felt the disappointment in his heart. Had she been about to whisper softly of love?

No, it would have been deeper than that. She would have told him why that haunting misery so often came to her eyes when she did not know he was watching.

He lay down, holding her. He couldn't press her. It would do no good. When she was ready, she would tell him.

And she would whisper that she loved him.

The next afternoon Marissa sat upon a blanket on the grass next to a lovely little pond in Golden Gate Park. There were people everywhere, Ian among them. Mary and Jimmy sat beside her, Mary busily throwing dry bread to the ducks in the pond and Jimmy watching Mary while he chewed on a blade of grass, a look of absolute adoration on his face.

They'd met a number of people, among them the mayor, Eugene Schmitz, the man she had heard so much about already. He had been charming, absolutely charming. But his smile did come a little too easily, she thought.

And then Grace Leroux had discovered their little haven on the blanket, and she had most pleasantly managed to take Ian away.

Marissa hadn't minded watching the ducks for a minute or two, for it was a beautiful park and a wonderful day, but when Ian didn't return, she grew restless. “Oh, she is so much trouble!” she whispered in a sudden fury to Mary.

“Shh!” Mary told her. Marissa had never said much about the change in her relationship with Ian. There had been no need for her to do so. Mary had watched the changes in her. “You mustn't let anyone know that she bothers you in the least.”

“Why not? I'd like to rip her dyed hair out!”

Jimmy laughed and brought his opinion into the conversation. “You must not let anyone know that she bothers you, Marissa, because she wants to bother you, don't you see that?”

“But she is so pointedly after Ian!”

“She can't have Ian unless Ian agrees, and that's a fact, Marissa.”

That was true enough, Marissa decided. “It seems like there are just so darned many of them!” she murmured, thinking that he had left her once to see a show with Lilli. She had learned a little about the woman from Lee, and she had also learned that Lee liked Lilli a lot more than she liked Grace Leroux. “Why are men always so fooled?” she said to Mary.

Mary, looking over her shoulder, suddenly turned a dark shade of red. Marissa swung around to see that Ian had returned at last. “I don't think that they're so easily fooled,” he said, smiling as he settled down beside her. “It just depends on what they want at the moment.”

Marissa arched a brow at him. “I wonder what you were wanting when you met our dear Mrs. Leroux.” Her voice had a purr in it. Even Jimmy laughed.

“She has a way about her,” Ian said.

“Um. As does a black widow,” Marissa agreed pleasantly.

“I can see this is heading us nowhere good,” Ian said with a laugh. He rubbed Marissa's shoulders and pointed through the crowd. “See there, my love. That's Phineas Van Kellen.”

“It is?” Marissa asked. “Who is Phineas Van Kellen?”

“A very smart man. I've just agreed to build a place for him downtown. And he's just agreed to do it my way.”

“Oh, I'm so very glad, Ian!” Marissa declared happily.

He flashed her a smile, and for a moment she thought they shared the world.

If only she could tell him the truth about herself! She had almost done so that night in the carriage house. But it wasn't just her own life she held together with a lie—she had Mary and Jimmy to consider, too. And if Ian did despise her for the lie, no matter what their lives had become together, then the others might be hurt.

“See, Marissa?” Ian was saying. She had missed something, and she didn't know what. “Here—”

He had rolled over on the blanket, and Jimmy and Mary were doing likewise, she in her fresh white cotton dress and stockings, he in his light beige suit and handsome new Italian shoes. Bemused, Marissa joined them and laughed as Ian showed them the proper way to construct buildings with blades of grass. “Now see, when the earth shakes, you need a building with some sway. You must have pilings, and you must have steel, but you must also be careful to have that sway!”

He was so passionate about his creations. Marissa loved that in him. She smiled.

“Does the earth really shake so badly?” Mary asked Ian, sitting up.

He looked at her, but never replied, because Grace Leroux was standing over their blankets. “Ian, and dear, dear—oh, I am sorry! It's dear little Myrtle, isn't it?”

Ian had risen and helped Marissa up. “My wife's name is Marissa, Grace. And Mr. and Mrs. O'Brien, you must remember them.”

“Oh, yes! Of course.” Grace knew their names, Marissa was sure of it. But she could be so very rude with such an innocent demeanor!

Marissa forced herself to smile as Grace sweetly told Ian about certain men he needed to see. Then someone else called Ian, and he excused himself and stepped away from them. He turned back to point out the way to the tea garden.

Mary and Jimmy started toward the garden, and Marissa was momentarily left alone with Grace.

“You think that you've won, don't you?” Grace said. Her smile was gone and her eyes were hard and there wasn't a thing pleasant or innocent about her. “Well, mark my words, little girl, you haven't even begun to play.”

There was such venom behind her words that Marissa felt a tinge of unease, but she managed to smile. “Grace, should you forget my given name again, please feel free to call me Mrs. Tremayne.”

And then she stepped past the startled woman and hurried after Mary and Jimmy, her smile growing all the while.

Grace was wrong, she thought. She had won. And she won because Ian had allowed her to do so.

But later that night she wondered if she had been right after all. She had won for the moment.

But if she was caught, living out her lie?

That lie and the way she had to live because of it were the only things marring what was quickly becoming an otherwise perfect life.

And Ian had to wonder what she was doing with the allowance when he signed the papers for her each week. She lived in his house and, other than her excursions with Mary, it would seem she really had little to do with the money. He knew that she was still helping Mary and Jimmy, but he had no idea of just how much money she was sending home, and he certainly knew nothing about the long letters she wrote to Uncle Theo.

Ian did know, however, that she was making a contribution to the Orphan's Fund, although he didn't know that she had discussed it with Mary first. There was one little rascal, Darrin MacIver, of whom she had grown very fond during the Sunday meals at the emporium.

He was ten years old with the street wisdom of a hardened adult, huge brown eyes and long lashes, and a gaunt, haunted face that might one day be very handsome. Father Gurney had told her that his mother had been “a poor fallen angel” in the Barbary Coast area, and the poor wee lass had died there, leaving Darrin on his own. The child knew every vice game in town, played poker and could swear like a sailor. He had sassed Marissa one day, and all the training of the lady who had become Mrs. Tremayne had fallen from her shoulders and she'd given him a brisk talking to in turn. He'd grown quiet, but on his way out that morning—sweet rolls stuck into his pockets—he had paused to tell her that she was “an all right fellow.”

She had spent some money buying Darrin a new suit of clothing, a corduroy cap, flannel breeches, two cotton shirts, long socks, vests and shoes. His delight at the presents had brightened his eyes like lamps, but then the shine had faded and he had pushed the boxes toward her.

“Don't need no clothes, Miz Tremayne.”

“But you do need clothes, Darrin. You've holes in your britches, young man!”

“I can make it on what the old man gives me.”

“Father Gurney, you mean.”

“Yeah. The old man.”

“Father Gurney.”

“Weren't never a Catholic,” he said stubbornly.

“Well, we English are not customarily Catholics, either, Darrin, but I respect such a man sincerely, and therefore he is Father Gurney!”

“Father Gurney,” Darrin agreed at last. “But I'm not a charity case!”

If ever there was a charity case, it was Darrin, Marissa thought. But no matter how sweet life had become, she would never forget the taste and smell and feel of coal dust, and she understood him in a way that he must never know.

“Darrin, I need letters mailed every so often. And I'd like them kept quiet. The clothes don't need to be charity; you can mail the letters for me in return. You can start this Tuesday—meet me around the corner from the entrance to the emporium at about ten o'clock.”

He still didn't trust her, but at last he agreed. Just in time, it seemed, for Ian was coming toward them, interested in the boy who had seemed to capture so much of his wife's attention.

“You like the lad, eh?” he asked her.

“Yes, I do, very much.” She smiled at Ian. “Don't you like him?”

“Yes, I most certainly do. He reminds me of you. It's in the eyes.”

He was teasing her. “Ian, Darrin has very handsome brown eyes. Mine are green.”

“Yes, that's true. But upon occasion, it seems that you both have a very haunting shade of gray within them.” He walked by her without further comment, and she watched him.

He was not going to persist, she realized. He had just reminded her that he had not forgotten that he had many questions he might still want to ask her.

That night she was nervous through dinner, and uneasy when he came to her room.

But he didn't ask her any questions about her past. She stood looking out the windows in the turret of her room, her silk nightgown touched by the moonlight. He came to her there, and swept her into his arms, then carried her to bed.

And again, the night passed in magic.

She and Mary met Darrin by the emporium the next Tuesday, as she had planned.

The scamp was there, waiting for her in his new outfit. She greeted him, then handed him a letter for Uncle Theo.

He stared at the letter. “You could mail this yourself, you know. Quite easily.”

“Maybe. But I'd like you to.”

He shrugged. “Sure.” Then Marissa realized that he was looking over her shoulder, and that a hostile expression had come to his face. “It's the wicked witch, it is!”

She turned to see that Grace Leroux had just come around the corner. The woman stopped, surprised to see them.

“Darrin!” Mary said, startled by his comment.

“She's someone to keep a firm eye on!” Darrin warned Marissa.

“I can't stop her from shopping in the emporium,” Marissa told him. She realized that Grace was watching her intently, with a curious and cunning expression. Then she smiled suddenly.

Darrin was right—it was a wicked smile.

But it was a smile. Grace liked to play social games. Fine. Marissa waved. Grace hurried on.

“She is a wicked witch!” Darrin insisted.

“Darrin, she's so involved with the Orphan's Fund—” Mary began.

“She's involved to impress people, and that's all!” Darrin insisted. “Well, I'll be on with my business then, ladies. Good day to you.”

Darrin walked on, and Marissa suggested lunch.

They dined at Delmonico's, and Marissa ordered champagne. Sipping it, Mary looked around the restaurant at their fellow diners, the women in their beautiful gowns, the men in their frock coats and morning suits. She smiled and leaned closer to Marissa.

“Can you believe this, that we've come to be here? And everything is so wonderful.”

“Yes, things are wonderful.”

“I have never seen you happier,” Mary told her. “But then, I've never seen you in love.”

Marissa flushed and Mary laughed. “All right, so I have never been happier!” she agreed with Mary. Yet even as she spoke the words, she felt a chill settle into her spine. “And sometimes I'm frightened,” she murmured.

Mary set down her glass. “You've got to tell him the truth.”

“I can't tell him the truth! I don't dare.”

“You must.”

Marissa shook her head. “There have been times when I wanted to tell him. Times when the words have been right on the tip of my tongue. But then I remember that I cannot. Mary, I must think about all our lives! About you and Jimmy and Uncle Theo! Oh, Mary, what if he would not tolerate the truth?”

“He loves you!”

“He has never said that he loves me.”

“But he does love you! Oh, Marissa! It's in his voice when he talks to you, it's in his eyes when he looks at you. And dear Lord, Marissa! He has proven himself to be such an extraordinary man! Strong and ethical, and so very handsome and sure of himself!”

Marissa smiled. Oh, he was sure of himself! And they could still argue themselves silly, for she was jealous and he wouldn't lie.…

And there was still the fear that he might find her out.

“Shall we order?” Marissa suggested, giving her attention to the menu.

“Mmm. But what if he catches you? Wouldn't it be better to tell him yourself?”

“Yes, and if I can just find the right moment somewhere along the line, then I shall do so.” She looked at Mary, and saw that her friend still seemed to have a keen sense of excitement. “What is it?” she demanded.