Kissing Comfort (27 page)

Comfort told herself to let the matter drop. She was used to confidentiality in banking matters. She pressed for information anyway. “I thought it might have something to do with the drawing I saw.”

“What drawing?”

“The one on your table. In your home above the Black Crowne Office. I think you were working on it when I went there. I interrupted you.”

“I was, and you did.”

She couldn't recall if she'd apologized for it. “Well, I'm sorry for that.” Having the desk between them, even if she was opposite her usual place, helped make his presence in her office more in the way of ordinary than outside of it. “It looked as if you were working on the design for a ship.”

“An iron paddle steamer.”

“I see.”

There was a wry tilt to his mouth. “Do you know what that is?”

“From your drawing, I'd say she's two things: a clipper and a riverboat. She has masts and a bowsprit like one and a steam propulsion plant amidships to turn two side paddle wheels like the other.”

He was impressed. “I didn't realize you'd gotten such a good look at it.”

“I don't think you wanted me to, so I apologize for that. As for remembering it, there are some things that just stay in my mind.” She closed her eyes a moment. “I can picture it.” She looked at him again. “Though I imagine it's been revised many times since I last saw it.”

“Many times.”

“There were erasure shavings all over the paper. I had the impression you were revising it almost as fast as you were sketching it.”

“I often do. I want to get it right.”

“Is there a right way?”

“Probably not. I should have said I want to make it better, the best it can be.”

She nodded, understanding. “It's important to do a thing well. When you're done, will you build her?”

“Eventually.”

Comfort sat down in a chair usually occupied by visitors. “She deserves to be built.”

“You think so?”

“Of course. She's beautiful. She has the majesty of a clipper and the strength of an ironclad. What will you name her?”

“I'm thinking, given your description, I should call her the
Queen Mother
.”

Comfort laughed, delighted by his arid accents. “See? There is your wicked sense of humor. Call her the
Alexandra Queen
.”

Bode found himself staring at her mouth again. Laughter made her lips as tempting as Eve's apple. Reluctantly, he lifted his gaze and met her eyes. “
Alexandra Queen.
Perhaps I will.”

“She'll like it. More importantly, she'll be flattered. I would be.”

“You'd be a schooner,” he said. “Swift. Sleek. A ship that's responsive to a light hand and easy to maneuver.”

Comfort's eyes widened fractionally. Her lips parted. She was able to resist placing her hands against her cheeks, which were warming rapidly. There was no need to call more attention to their deepening color. “Forgive my poor breeding and impoverished mind,” she said finally, recalling something Alexandra DeLong had told her. “But I'm afraid the proper response eludes me.”

“I meant it as a compliment.”

“It seemed as if you had.”

“But you should probably slap my face.”

“I wondered about that.” His sudden grin, full of mischief and boyish charm, put all thought of retaliation out of Comfort's mind. “That's Bram's smile,” she told him.

“Is it?”

“Yes. The one he uses when he knows he's been naughty and is about to be forgiven anyway.”

“I object to ‘naughty,' but I am in favor of being forgiven. Am I?”

She sighed heavily. “Yes.”

Bode appreciated that she offered surrender against her better judgment. “I wasn't certain I could do it,” he confessed. “It was my smile before it was Bram's, you know, but it's been a long time since I've had reason to use it.”

“Keeping it in reserve is probably a good strategy.”

Bode nodded. He set the paperweight on the desk. His smile faded, and his look became considering once more. “If I hadn't come here this morning, when would you have told me about the engagement?”

The change of subject didn't throw her. She'd known he'd bring her around to it eventually. He was like a dog with a bone. “I don't know,” she said. “I fully intended to do it right after I spoke to Bram. I didn't expect to spend so many days away from work—or anything else.”

“So you weren't avoiding me.”

“I might have been. You are not always a comfortable person to talk to.”

“I'm not?”

“No, and don't say it as if you're unaware.”

“All right. But doesn't it strike you the least bit odd that you find me comfortable enough to kiss?”

“Comfortable? That is ridiculously inaccurate.”

“Convenient, then.”

“Hardly.”

“Well?”

She fell silent as she searched for the appropriate word. “Compelling,” she said at last. “You're compelling.”

“Then we're staying with words that begin with C. That's good. I appreciate consistency.”

She rolled her eyes at his wordplay but couldn't quite smother her smile. “What do you think explains it?”

“You're curious.”

“Really? About what?”

“Kissing, for one thing. Me, for another.”

“I think I understand kissing.”

“You do now.”

She thought he sounded a tad full of himself, but she didn't take issue. Arguing would have had an effect opposite of what she wished, namely that the conversation be steered to a different course. In spite of that, she heard herself ask, “Why do you kiss me back?”

“For the pleasure of it.”

“Oh.” Comfort found that she was oddly disappointed by his answer, but then she wondered what sort of response would have satisfied. There was no time to dwell on it. She was suddenly aware of Bode's shifting attention. He was looking beyond her, just above her head, and she realized he was alert to some movement in the corridor. She twisted in her chair to share his view and was in time to see her Uncle Newt step into the hallway from the stairwell. Tuck followed closely on his heels. Bode must have heard them, she decided. His searching look had been in anticipation of their arrival, not because he'd already seen them. Here was further proof that virtually nothing got past his notice.

Bode stood and made himself visible in the open doorway. Newton and Tucker saw him at once and passed their office in favor of greeting him in Comfort's domain. Tucker rounded her desk and put out his hand to Bode while Newton stood behind Comfort and lightly rested his hands on her shoulders.

“I came to ask for a moment of your time,” Bode told them as they approached. “And Miss Kennedy was kind enough to allow me to disturb her while I waited.”

“How did he get your chair, Comfort?” asked Newt.

“Trickery,” she said.

“I prefer to call it misdirection.” Bode smiled pleasantly. “I distracted her by rearranging items on her desk.”

Tuck and Newt glanced simultaneously at Comfort's desk. It looked no different than it ever did.

“Apparently she's put it back the way she likes it,” said Tuck. “Chaotic.”

Newt squeezed Comfort's shoulders. “It was good of you not to slam his fingers under a paperweight.” He saw Bode wince. “Yes, you were surprisingly fortunate, but then I wonder if she's fully recovered.”

Tuck turned to Comfort. “Are you? Should you be home?”

“I'm fine. Really,” she added when he continued to regard her doubtfully. She reached up to her shoulder and tapped Newt's hand. “Please take Mr. DeLong to your office and make it a point to discuss something other than me. In fact, ask him about the
Alexandra Queen
.”

Comfort was gratified to see them accept her prompting so readily. Only Bode's sidelong, faintly sardonic glance told her that he wasn't fooled by her misdirection.

 

 

Alexandra DeLong sipped her tea with delicate precision and nodded approvingly at her guest. Sunday afternoons were her favorite time for intimate chats, and she'd been looking forward to spending time with Comfort. There was a great deal to discuss, and she favored Comfort's candid recitation of her dilemma. “I know, dear. It's distressing the way men use women. They have every advantage and we have every consequence.”

“Then you understand,” Comfort said, relieved.

“Heavens, yes. I cannot name another person in San Francisco, perhaps in all of California, who is likely to be as sympathetic of your predicament as I am.”

Comfort felt the hitch in her breathing ease. “I hope you will not think me too forward, but I thought that might be true.”

“Oh, that's very forward, but I'll let it pass. The circumstances are trying. Bram knows I am unhappy with him.”

Comfort felt a crease form between her eyebrows as she drew them together. She touched her fingertips lightly to the area and rubbed. “I'm afraid I don't understand. I made my entire explanation without you giving me any hint that you'd heard it all from Bram. I wasn't aware that he told you anything.”

“He did. Of course he did. That's what you asked him to do, isn't it?”

“Yes, but . . .” She fell silent, unsure how to proceed.

“I can't read your mind, Comfort.”

“I'm sorry, but I'd been given to understand that since I last spoke to Bram, a wedding date had been set.”

“Now, I wonder who could have given you that understanding?”

Comfort said nothing. Alexandra's ironic tone left no doubt that she not only knew the culprit but also was seriously out of patience with him.

“Naturally, I planned to consult you before making the announcement public. I heard you had taken ill, so I thought it better to wait. Bode shouldn't have shared any part of my conversation when nothing was set.”

Comfort didn't ask how Alexandra had learned that she was ill. It was inaccurate but the sort of assumption people were bound to make when she remained at home for so long. What she did know was that Alexandra DeLong had an extensive network of confidants and acquaintances that reported to her regularly, vying for favor by being the one to tell her something she didn't already know.

Comfort ventured tentatively, “Then Bode wasn't wrong.”

“Wrong? Bode? Goodness, no. It's his most annoying trait. I'm sure he was reasonably accurate repeating what I said. I was thinking a year was sufficiently long for your engagement, given that you and Bram have been friends since your formal introduction to society. In truth, people have expected him to propose for quite some time. You can't imagine how often I've made excuses for him . . . and for you. Frankly, I'm glad the matter's finally been settled, even in this unorthodox fashion.”

Comfort set her teacup in its saucer and returned both to the tray that separated her from Alexandra. “I don't think Bram's told you everything, Mrs. DeLong. Or perhaps he wasn't clear.” She shied away from saying that Alexandra misunderstood, perhaps deliberately, what her son told her. “I am not marrying Bram.”

Alexandra snorted. She managed to make the sound both derisive and dismissive. “He explained he never made a proper proposal, and I fully expect that he'll come around to it by and by, but surely it's a mere formality at this juncture.”

It was considerably more than a formality to Comfort, but arguing that point would only put her on a sidetrack. “I don't require a proposal,” she said instead. “I don't want to marry Bram.”

“What nonsense. You're in love with him.”

Someday, Comfort thought, when this was well behind her, she might be able to find the dark humor in her belief that she'd kept her feelings so well guarded. But just now, faced with more proof that she'd deceived no one as thoroughly as she'd deceived herself, amusement, even the self-deprecating kind, wasn't possible.

“I discussed this with Bram,” she said. “He knows my true feelings.”

“It's your uncles, isn't it? They have reservations. I thought I detected a certain reticence in their attitudes the night of the party. Do you want me to speak to them, Comfort? I'm sure I can persuade them to see that marriage is inevitable.”

“It's not inevitable, Mrs. DeLong, and my uncles will support me no matter whom I choose to marry.”

“Nonsense. They've objected to all your suitors.”

“But they didn't say I couldn't accept a proposal. That was a decision I made on my own, just as I'm doing now.”

“You sound unnaturally serious about this,” Alexandra said, inclining her head as frown lines deepened around her mouth and eyes. “Very much like Bode.”

Comfort could only stare at her hostess. Alexandra was dismissing her; insistent in not accepting that anything she had to say was significant. Comfort knew she was making her points clearly. They were simply having no impact. What she had always believed was Alexandra's iron will seemed to be nothing so much as an unfeeling disregard for the wishes and opinions of others.

“I'm truly sorry,” Comfort said. “I appreciate that you're disappointed in my decision, but I have to ask you to accept it. I am willing to entertain whatever advice you can give me about how Bram and I should make the end of our engagement public. We don't have to reveal how it came about, but I believe we should be united on how to put it behind us.”

Alexandra set her jaw so tightly a muscle twitched along its sharp line. Her fingertips whitened where they gripped the teacup and saucer. “I've already decided what must be done. You and Bram will go through with it. It's the only reasonable solution.”