If I Wait For You (25 page)

“
I dare, Miss Dawes,
because when you kissed me just a few nights ago, you didn’t
respond like a woman in love with another man.”

“
I hope you are not
insinuating that I still love you.” She laughed shrilly, a hateful
sound. “Don’t be absurd. And don’t flatter yourself, Mr. Mitchell.
You have an overactive imagination.”

With that, with her heart racing madly
in her breast, she turned and walk away with as much dignity as she
could muster all the time feeling, like heated pinpricks, his eyes
boring through her back.

West watched her go, trembling from
the need to drag her back, to make her admit that she loved him
still. Or at least admit that she wanted him. He told himself he’d
done a favorable job hiding what he felt when he saw his mother
staring at him, concern clearly written in her face. From this
distance, Julia Mitchell looked like a young girl, trim and pretty
holding her white parasol, sitting perfectly erect in one of the
cushioned chairs that dotted the Shelton’s lawn. With an inward
sigh, West strode toward his mother.

She did not equivocate. “Were you and
Sara having an argument?”

West pulled a chair next to his mother
and sat down. “I hardly know the girl well enough to have
formulated a differing opinion,” he said blandly.

Julia ignored his denial. “I wouldn’t
want a rift between any member of this family and Sara. She has
become like a daughter to me, West. And I believe will be a
daughter in fact in not too long.”

West knew his mother was studying him,
but he could not completely pretend indifference to her words. “Has
Gardner proposed, then?” Unwillingly, his eyes sought out his
brother, who was part of a laughing group of young men and women.
He quickly discerned that Sara was not among them and felt
unaccountably relieved.

“
No, he has not. Not yet.
But it’s obvious that they are in love.”

“
Not so obvious,” he said,
bringing out a cigar so that he would have something to do with his
hands other than clench them as he so badly wanted to do. “I didn’t
realize it until just moments ago.” He immediately cursed himself
for revealing too much, and his prayer that his mother would ignore
his mistake was futile.

“
West. Leave them
be.”

He lit his cigar and puffed gently to
light it. “I have no intention of interfering with them. And no
desire to do so.” It was a lie, of course. He wanted Sara for
himself, but he knew he was too noble to do anything as low as step
between his brother and the woman he loved.

“
You love her.”

He took a thoughtful drag. “Yes,
Mother, I do. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I think I’ve had about
enough of these happy nuptials. I’m going home.”

His mother uttered a sound of protest,
but he ignored her and walked purposefully toward the house. When
he reached the marble terrace, a servant swept open a door that led
to the ballroom and which would eventually lead him to the front
door. A few people, mostly elderly women, were gathered in the
coolness of the cavernous room, chatting or dozing. He nodded to
those he passed and made for the door where yet another servant
stood at the ready. He would have made it out of the house had he
not heard the rustling of skirts behind him on the stairs. For some
reason he knew it was Sara making her way down the curving steps.
She stopped when he turned, looking down at him, staring, almost as
if she were afraid to take the remaining steps. She did not look as
if she’d been crying. Indeed, she looked like any number of
well-bred young ladies: serene and self-possessed. Not at all like
Sara Dawes. His eyes swept over her, taking in for the first time
her intricately coifed hair, her stunning and stunningly expensive
gown.

“
You’ve done quite well for
yourself, Miss Dawson,” he said, stressing her last
name.

Her mouth opened slightly, but she
remained silent. Already he regretted his words and he took a step
forward, bringing his head down before looking her in the eyes
again. “I apologize, Sara.”

She seemed to hesitate, then walked
down the three remaining steps with quiet grace. “You’re
leaving?”

“
I find I’m not in a
celebratory mood.”

She bit one side of her full lower
lip. “I said awful things. I’m sorry.”

West clenched his jaw,
wishing she would say more awful things rather than stand here
before him feeling sorry. Even now he could feel his desire for her
building, a burning tension that held him in place, that made him
want to scream in frustration. Because he knew—
he knew
—she felt it, too. Two years
and it was the same, beating against his temples, throbbing between
his legs.

He moved closer to her, until she had
to crane her neck to look up at him. “We can’t be alone. Ever,
Sara.” His eyes swept down to her lips. God, how he wanted to taste
her. One more time. He swallowed past his growing desire and nearly
choked when he saw the same heated look in her eyes, noticed that
her lips had parted. “If you truly love Gardner, for God’s sake,
stay away from me.”

He stumbled from her, blindly walking
toward the door. Away from what his body and heart desired most in
the world.

Chapter THIRTEEN

A dull headache throbbed at the base
of her skull and Sara wanted nothing more than to sit in a dark
room until she could go home. She looked toward where the reception
continued, knowing she would be missed soon. Spying Julia, she went
over to her. It took only one look for the older woman to see she
was not feeling well.

“
I think I shall walk home.
I truly feel dreadful,” Sara said. She looked over to Gardner, who
was standing with a group of friends seemingly enjoying himself.
“Could you tell Gardner I said good-bye.”

“
Of course, dear,” Julia
said, giving Sara a worried look.

The Mitchell home was only a block
from the reception, an easy walk even for a person with an aching
head. She kissed Julia on the cheek and departed, feeling better
even as she walked out of the house and toward the street. An older
man whom Sara recognized as Judge Robert Reynolds stood by the gate
puffing on a pipe and looked up as Sara approached. He was a
handsome gentleman even though he must have been nearing seventy,
and when he smiled at her, Sara smiled back. Then he paused. “My
dear, have we met?” the gentleman asked.

“
Not formally, sir. We have
not had the pleasure. I’m Sara Dawson.” She held out her hand,
which the gentleman took gallantly.

“
Dawson is it?” he asked,
his brows rising. “Of the Boston Dawsons?”

Sara felt her face warm under the old
man’s scrutiny. “Hartford, actually.”

He smiled, but his eyes were intent on
her and Sara had the terrible feeling he knew she was lying. “Allow
me to introduce myself. I’m Robert Reynolds.” He looked down the
street. “Ah. Now I remember. You are staying with the Mitchells.
Fine family. Are you taking your leave?”

“
Yes, sir.”

“
Come walk with an old
man,” he said. “I live not far from here and, if you’ll allow me, I
can escort you home. It’s not every day I get to walk with a lovely
girl.” He winked and Sara relaxed. How foolish to imagine the judge
knew who she was. If he’d known, certainly he would have said
something before. Though they hadn’t been introduced, Sara had
attended a few functions also attended by the judge.

She walked by him, moving slowly for
the old man had to use a cane and progress was slow. During their
walk she entertained him with stories of her journey from Hawaii,
including her harrowing time in the typhoon.

“
You have been through
much,” he said. “And to lose your parents at such a young age.” He
shook his head in sorrow. “Have you no one?”

“
Oh, no. I have a
brother.”

“
A brother.”

“
Zachary is third mate on
the whaler
Julia
,” she said proudly.

“
Then you are not
completely alone in the world.”

Something in his voice made Sara look
hard at the older man. He seemed so very genuinely concerned, she
was deeply touched—and ashamed she had thought he might have an
ulterior motive to asking to walk her home. “No. Not alone. And I
also have Mrs. Mitchell. And Gardner.”

Judge Mitchell left her at the
Mitchell door, and Sara entered, breathing in a sigh of relief. Her
headache had nearly disappeared in the cool night air and she
looked forward with relish to crawling into her soft bed and
curling up to sleep. Though it wasn’t late, Sara did not want to
bother a maid to help her undress, and so went directly to her
room. A lamp was lit low by her bed, and Sara smiled, ever
appreciative of having someone looking out for her.

“
Are you wearing
it?”

Sara whirled at the sound of West’s
voice. He sat sprawled in a chair, his waistcoat unbuttoned, collar
undone, cravat discarded. He held a brandy sifter, half full, in
one hand, and as she stared at him he took a long drink.

“
What are you doing here?”
Sara said, glad her voice was steady, almost disdainful. “You
yourself said we should not be alone.”

“
I was looking for the
busk. Are you wearing it?”

Sara’s hands went immediately to her
midriff, her knuckles pressing into the whalebone busk West had
carved. “It’s the only one I have that fits into my stays,” she
lied.

West sat up, somehow looking menacing
in the half-light of the room. “I thought you wore it because
you’re still in love with me.”

Sara swallowed. “No.”

“
Ah. I’d forgotten. You
love Gardner.”

Sara moved her hands away from the
busk, not wanting to feel the solid proof that, just possibly, she
was still in love with West. “I do.”

West stood and placed the sifter on
the table near the lamp, then turned up the flame so that he no
longer looked menacing, simply weary. “I didn’t think you so
fickle. How soon were you here before you realized you loved my
brother?” His eyes stayed on the flame, and they blazed with an
emotion Sara could not recognize—or refused to
recognize.

“
How dare you imply that I
was somehow unfaithful to you.”

“
Is that what I’m
implying?” He gave her a grin, and she realized that he was quite
probably drunk.

“
I made a fool of myself
that day on the beach.” She closed her eyes against the memory of
her gazing up at him, declaring her love, telling him she would
wait for him. “I won’t do so again. I want you to leave my
room.”

Sara stalked over to her door, pulled
it open and waited for him to leave. Instead, he sat upon her bed,
his eyes on the amber liquid glimmering in the glass. “For two
years, I regretted my silence.”

“
What are you saying?” Sara
choked out.

She watched as the muscles in his jaw
bunched. “For two years I thought you were dead and I blamed
myself. Two years you haunted me. And then I come home.” He lifted
his head to look at her and Sara almost backed away from the
intensity of his gaze. “And you were alive. Alive and here all this
time. Forgive me, Sara, if seeing you again seems to have muddled
by brain.”

Sara didn’t know why it
mattered now, but she had to know.
Had
to
. “Did you write a note asking me to
wait?”

For an answer, he gave her a smile
tinged with bitterness. He stood and walked toward her until he was
just inches away, until Sara had to lift her chin to see into his
eyes. Then, without warning, she felt his hand upon her breast and
her knees nearly buckled. He simply kept it there, not moving, and
Sara couldn’t stop herself from leaning, just slightly, toward him.
His kiss was sudden, hard and quick, shoving her head back, making
her stumble a bit. He brought his head back as if to gauge her
reaction, and must have seen the invitation in her eyes, though she
was fighting it, fighting the desire that made her want to dissolve
at his feet. He kissed her again and this time she was ready, met
him half way, opened her mouth and invited his warm, swirling
tongue. She felt his hand snake around her back, felt him drive her
closer, and let out a sound that was almost a protest. Sara’s hands
gripped his opened waistcoat, fists buried in the fine material,
and she shook him. She hated what she was allowing him to do,
because she loved what he was doing to her. And she wanted more.
More and more.

His hands moved to her buttocks, and
he pressed himself against her. He was thick and hard and
undeniably aroused.

“
You don’t love him. You
don’t,” he said, dragging his mouth over her cheek, to her neck,
where he mouthed the sensitive skin near her scar.

His words brought her back from her
drugged stupor, slowly sinking past the mind-numbing passion and
into her brain. She drew back slowly, forcefully. When he made to
draw her back into his arms, she shoved him away with a small
cry.

“
Why are you doing this to
me?” she cried, turning away from him. “Why torture me? You said we
shouldn’t be alone together, and we shouldn’t.”