Forbidden Fire (32 page)

And it was Ian's city.

She started to tremble, then she willed her hands to be still. Mary was right. She was a fighter, she had been born a fighter.

And she was going to fight for Ian.

The next night she stood on the platform at the station, waiting for Ian's train.

The train was late, and she tried to still her nerves by reading the paper. There was trouble in Russia again; the czar had put down a revolt. And a reader's poll showed that most people were convinced that the automobile would never be an alternative to the horse-drawn buggy. She tried to read further but she couldn't give anything her full attention. She was fooling herself. She couldn't give the paper any attention at all.

There were a large number of people waiting for the train. Marissa recognized a few of the matrons who lived not far from her on Nob Hill. Mrs. Nancy Masterson was down the platform from her. She had heard that her son was coming in from his college in the east. She caught the woman's eye and started to smile, but Mrs. Masterson turned from her quickly.

She was doomed, Marissa thought. Hold your chin high, she reminded herself. And she did so. Then she heard the train's whistle. She had to brace herself to keep from shaking.

The great brakes squealed and steam rushed around the wheels.

And then she saw Ian, standing by the rear of the third compartment, waiting to detrain. And behind him was Uncle Theo, looking tall and gaunt but dapper. And Marissa held her breath, waiting to see what would happen.

Please, Ian, please! she wished in silence. Don't ignore me before Mrs. Masterson! Then she realized that she didn't give a damn about Mrs. Masterson; she just didn't want Ian to ignore her. Should she rush to him? She didn't know what to do. It didn't matter. She seemed incapable of movement, as if her feet had been nailed to the platform.

It didn't matter. “Marissa!” She heard her name shouted with Theo's soft, slurring accent and she didn't have to run because he was running to her. Then she was crushed in his arms, and she hugged him fiercely, feeling tears running down her cheeks. Whatever else happened, she would be grateful. Theo was all she really had, and Ian had saved him for her. She looked into his eyes and saw the happiness there and the glistening of tears and she cried out and hugged him again.

“Marissa, oh, my God, love, but it's good to see you again! Thank you, thank you, girl, for sending that young man of yours. I owe the both of you my life,” Theo murmured, holding her closer.

“You're here, Uncle Theo, safe and sound, and that's all that matters,” she said softly in reply. But he had slowly slid her to her feet, and now she could see over his shoulder and she knew that that was not all that mattered in her life, not anymore.

Ian was almost upon them, tall and striking, and drawing attention within the station as greetings were called to him. He responded, but his eyes remained on Marissa.

Then he did seem to hesitate, and Marissa saw a frown darken his brow. And she realized to her horror that Mrs. Masterson was talking about her to someone, talking loudly.

“Why, she's nothing but an upstart, so they say. The downstairs maid. Tricked him into marriage, seduced him, I dare say.”

“Oh, my, no!” came an outraged reply from a tall, heavy-bosomed dowager in dove gray. She looked down a very imperious nose at Marissa. “And our own Mr. Tremayne was such a prize!”

“Perhaps he'll find a way to rid himself of her,” Mrs. Masterson said firmly, in her whisper that carried halfway through the station.

And despite her staunchest resolve, Marissa could feel the color flooding her cheeks. She prayed that Uncle Theo hadn't heard the things being said. If he did, he pretended not to.

And suddenly Ian was walking again, a slow smile curving his lips. He paused by Mrs. Masterson and took her hand. “Nancy!” he greeted her pleasantly, brushing a kiss over her hand. “How nice to see you. Edgar is due home for the break, eh?”

“Oh, yes, Ian!” She was positively tittering, Marissa thought.

“That's good, Nancy. He's a fine lad.” Ian tipped his hat to the dowager at Nancy's side. “Edith, how are you? A fine evening to you, ladies.” He started away, but then he turned back. “Oh, by the way, Nancy. My wife did not trick me into marriage. Anyone has only to look at her to discern why I was quite determined to marry her from the moment we met. Good evening, then.”

He walked away, leaving the women to gape after him. And it was only when he had almost reached her that Marissa could see the sparks of anger flying in his eyes. Eyes that touched her with hostility still, when she would have greeted him with so much gratitude. Indeed, she had almost thrown her arms around him in happiness.

But seeing his gaze upon her, she held still. “My love!” he greeted her loudly for other ears. And he set an arm around her shoulder, and kissed her cheek.

His lips were cold.

She looked at him. “Welcome home, Ian.”

“You needn't have come to the station.”

He was playing out a charade for the ladies, Marissa thought. And all she wanted was to go back to that brief time of complete happiness when she could have thrown herself against him, breathed in his cologne and the clean masculine scent of him, rubbed her cheek against the texture of his coat. Well, appearances mattered. He was playing for them. She could do the same.

She faced him with a radiant smile, running her fingers over his lapel. “I'd not have dreamed of it! I had to see you as soon as possible!”

“And your uncle, of course.”

“Oh, yes, and Uncle Theo, of course!”

She looped one arm through Theo's, and the other through Ian's, and she allowed her voice to slip huskily low for the benefit of Nancy Masterson. “Do let's hurry home, Ian. Dinner will be waiting, and you must feel that it's been a long, long time since you've slept in your own bed!”

“Mmm,” he agreed, placing a hand upon her arm. “Do let's get home.” There was a definite edge to his voice.

As they left the station, Marissa swallowed hard. They had escaped Mrs. Masterson, but Uncle Theo was an intuitive old soul and could surely sense the sparks between them. What would he think?

But what anybody thought didn't really matter at all.

Ian mattered.

And Ian was home.

Uncle Theo stood in the doorway of the house in Nob Hill and stared, jaw agape, at the chandelier and the marble flooring and the staircase rising high to the second floor. Marissa swallowed hard, thinking that Ian must be very aware of her roots now. But then he had to be aware of her past already—he had been to pick up Uncle Theo, he had seen the tiny cottage, he had breathed in the coal dust.

“Uncle,” she murmured, urging him forward. Then she was ashamed of herself for having been ashamed of him. And she was suddenly furious with Ian for making her feel so miserable.

Not that Ian had done anything, or indicated in any way that Theo was awkward in his rich surroundings. He walked in and called to Lee that they were back. Then he turned to Theo. “May I take your coat, sir?”

“What? Oh!” Theo let Ian take his coat. A new coat, Marissa saw. Ian must have bought it before they left London. Theo seemed unhappy to let the fine woolen garment go, but then Marissa realized that the men had done a great deal of shopping. Theo was newly clad from head to toe. He was wearing handsome black leather shoes, and a dove-gray suit with tiny charcoal-gray pinstripes. His shirt was white with a pleated front, and his vest was a charcoal gray that matched the pinstripes on the suit.

She realized suddenly that her uncle was a handsome man, tall, gaunt, very dignified.

“This—this is your house?” Theo said to Ian.

Ian smiled at him. “Yes, and I think you'll find it comfortable enough in time. John will see your trunks up to your room, and after dinner you can settle in.”

Theo took his hand and shook it heartily. “Thank you, Mr. Tremayne. Thank you so very much.”

“Ian, Theo, Ian. Please.”

Theo turned to Marissa and swung her into his arms, trembling. He looked over her head at Ian. “My God, I cannot believe you, sir! I am so grateful for Marissa, that this is her life. Ah, Marissa, but you did well.”

“Indeed,” Ian murmured dryly. “Very well.”

She stiffened, but then Lee came and said that dinner could be served immediately.

It was the most difficult meal of Marissa's life. She tried to comment on things that had been happening. Ian replied stiffly. Theo stared from one of them to the other.

At last the meal was finished. Ian suggested that Lee show Theo to his room. Suddenly unwilling to be alone with the man she had waited so desperately to see, Marissa jumped up and said that she would show her uncle up.

And upstairs, when Theo had seen the space that was to be his and his alone, he hugged her fiercely again and whispered, “Marissa, but this is fine. You've found yourself a fine, fine man. And all this, too! But God has smiled upon us. And bless God, girl, for you've deserved this!”

No, this was God's irony for the deceit she had practiced, Marissa thought. But she laughed and hugged her uncle in return. She had to give him this first night in San Francisco. Whatever Ian chose to do, Theo would at least have this night.

But when she started for the door, he suddenly called her back.

“Marissa.”

“What is it, Uncle?”

“Whatever is wrong, you can solve it. I know you can.”

“Nothing is wrong, Uncle Theo.”

“Ah, but I can see it, girl! I can see it in your eyes. But you mustn't be disturbed. You mustn't let some little quarrel upset you. He loves you, lass.”

“Did he say that, Uncle Theo?” she asked.

He shrugged. “No, no, he didn't so much as say it, but then I've spent some time with the man. He came to the jail and I was made to understand just who he was. You might have told me that you had married, Marissa,” he said, wounded.

“I'm sorry, Uncle Theo. I really thought I knew what I was doing. Good night, now, Uncle. I love you. And I'm glad to have you here.”

“Marissa, we'll get on, you and I. We always have.”

“Yes, Uncle, we always have.” She ran to him and they hugged tightly once again. Then she left him, still staring around his room, and retreated to her own.

She sat on the foot of her bed and bit hard into her thumb and waited. Ian would come; he would have something to say to her soon.

He didn't come. She stood and began to pace the room. She sat down on the foot of the bed again, and then she stretched across it. Maybe she should try to find him. But it seemed that he didn't want to see her.

She closed her eyes, and she must have dozed for a while. She checked the time by the clock on her mantel and was startled to realize that it was four-thirty in the morning.

She stood and pulled the pins from her dishevelled hair. In front of the mirror she brushed it out, fighting tears and a feeling of desperation. He hadn't even wanted to talk to her.

He hadn't wanted to touch her, even in anger. That was the most frightening. If she had lost his passion, she had lost everything.

She stared at her reflection, her eyes wide and haunted, her hair flowing thick and free down her back and framing the pallor of her cheeks.

Then she started, aware that John Kwan and Ian were outside in the hall.

“I can't imagine what's gotten into them!” Ian was saying.

“I've never seen the beasts so restless, sir,” John agreed. “But it does seem that you've got the bay settled down for the night. Thank you. I'm sorry you were disturbed on your first night back.”

“Curious night, John. I noticed the dogs barking downtown when we came in tonight. Oh, well, maybe the stars are aligning in a peculiar fashion or something. Who knows. Get some sleep, John, whatever you can.”

He was still awake. Marissa waited, holding her breath. But he entered his room from the hallway, and she could hear him shedding his coat in his room. She waited longer, hearing nothing but silence. And then she couldn't stand it anymore. She burst through the connecting doors to accost him face to face.

He was stripped down to his black trousers and white pleated dress shirt. It was open at the throat. He stood at the window, staring out at the night, or at the coming morning. Very soon, the first hint of dawn would streak across the sky, and the misty beauty of the city below them would be visible.

“Marissa,” he murmured, and his mouth took on a crooked, taunting smile. “What a time for a visit. And when your uncle is already here, and you've nothing left to bargain for.”

She gasped, stunned. “Oh, how dare you!” she snapped in fury. Fists clenched at her sides, she strode across the room to stand before him. “How dare you! I came here to thank you for what you did for him, and that's all. I can promise you, Ian Tremayne, I'll never come for anything more! I'll never touch you again, I—”

She broke off as his fingers shot out and circled her arm, dragging her to him. “But you're my wife, Marissa. Just where you wanted to be.”

She was so close to him. She felt the bitterness and the tension that had not died. She wanted his fingers to move across her cheeks with tenderness. She wanted a whisper of love, and if she could receive it, nothing else would matter.

But she wasn't going to receive it.

“You didn't want a wife, Ian. You made that clear enough. But then it seemed to be all right until you discovered that you married the maid. Not good enough for a scion of Nob Hill!”

“Why, you little witch!” he snapped heatedly, and she was jerked closer against him. The warmth of his breath fanned her cheeks, the scent that was inherently his filled her with the rampant heat of his body. “You lied to me! I gave you every chance, and you just kept lying and lying. You married me to climb a ladder.”

“I didn't—”

“You married for money. We both knew it. It was just that I thought it was your own damned money.”