Kissing Comfort (3 page)

“Your mother is made of stronger stuff than that. I do not think she has the capacity for mortification.” Comfort was tempted to point out that it seemed to be a DeLong family trait. “Even if you're right in this instance, Bram, what possessed you to make such an outrageous statement?”

“Didn't I just say? Everyone was talking about
him.
What is unreasonable about giving Mother's guests something else to discuss? And if you'll permit a small immodesty, I want to point out that Mother's event has been saved by my quick thinking. Our engagement put her over the moon.”

Comfort took a slow, calming breath and chose her words carefully. “I appreciate that you want her favor, but did you consider even for a moment what her reaction will be when our engagement is summarily ended?”

Bram's gaze sought out the fountain again.

Comfort sighed. “I didn't think so.” As there was nothing to say beyond that, Comfort simply joined Bram in his deep study of the torch-lit garden. She did not mind the silence settling between them, but experience told her it would be short-lived. Bram's inclination was to fill the void.

“Summarily,” he said. “Why summarily?”

“Pardon?” Her mistake, she supposed, was that she turned to look at him in the same moment his grin was breaking wide, changing his features from merely handsome to indecently so. His pale blue eyes met hers with unwavering directness and issued a challenge that still managed to be boyishly charming and full of mischief. She found herself asking the question she did not believe she had the courage to voice: “You intend our engagement to end, don't you?”

“Of course.”

Comfort was glad that she had steeled herself for just such a careless reply. He'd answered with no discernable hesitation. It was better that way, she told herself. She had nothing to grasp at, nothing that she would question later and perhaps attempt to interpret as uncertainty on his part. If he were uncertain, she would have cause to hope. Nothing good could come of that.

“Then summarily seems entirely appropriate,” she said. She was relieved to hear herself sound so sensible. She concentrated on schooling her expression to be equally imperturbable. “As we are in agreement that the engagement must end, it should be done without delay.”

One corner of Bram's mouth kicked up. Reaching out, he tapped Comfort on the tip of her nose with his index finger. “There it is again. Why should it be done without delay? Who says that's the better course?”

“I do.”

“Well, yes, but I don't think you've thought it through.”

Indignation made Comfort stiffen. “
I
haven't thought it through? You're saying that to
me
?”

Bram tapped her nose again. “Careful, dearest. You'll put this out of joint, and your lovely countenance will not be improved for it.”

She slapped his hand away. “Stop acting the fool, Bram. I
am
angry with you. Do not test the limits of my patience.”

Dutifully dropping his arm back to his side, Bram stood sharply at attention. Although he made the effort, he could not quite manage to affect a contrite mien. His mouth twitched.

Comfort stared at him. He'd recently run his fingers through his blond thatch of hair, and she quelled the urge to make the unruly runnels right again. Her fingers curled into loose fists at her side.

“If it will make you feel better,” he said, “you can blacken my eye.”

“Do not tempt me.” She relaxed her hands. “What makes you think I'd blacken only one?” She was gratified to see that gave him pause. Gathering the unraveled threads of her composure, Comfort said, “If you don't believe our engagement—our
sham
engagement—should be ended quickly, then you'd better explain yourself. What you've begun involves more than just the two of us. I am also thinking of my uncles. They did not welcome your announcement with the enthusiasm of your mother.”

“That's because I did not approach them first to state my intentions and ask for your hand. I grant you, that was an error of judgment on my part. There was no time to take them aside and do the thing properly.”

“And
that's
because you acted on the engagement the moment you thought of it. Why
me
, Bram?” She waved a hand toward the salon, where his mother's guests continued to chatter and laugh and spin themselves about the floor oblivious to the small drama unfolding just beyond the doors. “Look there. Amelia Minter.” Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him follow the sweep of her hand. She pointed again. “Deborah Brush. Oh, and there is Miss Arleta Ogden. All have something to recommend them besides the fact they're unattached. I know any one of them would have been pleased to participate in your scheme. I cannot think why you chose me.”

Bram's eyebrows rose. He regarded her with surprise. “I believed that was obvious. Aren't you my friend, Comfort? I should have been well and truly snared if I'd put myself in reach of any of those young ladies. You were my only choice. I trust you.”

There it was, Comfort thought. In her own way she was as predictable as he was. He'd never been disappointed by depending on her steadiness and good sense. “I should insist that you marry me,” she told him. “It would serve you right if I took offense to my own nature and behaved as rashly as you.” She took some solace from the small crease that appeared between his eyebrows. It would not last long, she knew, but he was momentarily wary.

“You wouldn't, would you?”

“God forbid.”

Relieved, he leaned forward and bussed her on the cheek. “
This
is why I adore you.”

Comfort was tempted to raise her palm to her face and make a shelter for the lingering imprint of his mouth. Resisting temptation was part and parcel of her long friendship with Bram DeLong. “And I adore you,” she said, meaning it. “That doesn't release you from making a full explanation, however. If our engagement is not to be ended summarily, you will have to say how you mean for us to go on. Further, do not suppose for a moment that I will keep the truth from my uncles. You may say what you like to your mother, but Newton and Tucker will hear the truth from me.”

Bram blinked. “Then I am a dead man.”

Unmoved, Comfort shrugged.

“Although that will summarily end our engagement,” said Bram.

For the first time since Bram joined her on the portico, Comfort smiled.

Bram chuckled. “Very well, I can hardly stop you from speaking freely to them. I hope you will find a way to soften the blow.”

“And I hope you will not be offended, but I believe they will be relieved by the news. You are not what they hope for me, Bram. If they were still prospectors, they wouldn't stake a claim on you.”

“A man who does not know his shortcomings as well as I do would take offense to your candor. It is to my credit, I think, that I am fully aware that my moral fiber is dangerously frayed.”

Comfort laughed. “Only you can manage to turn a slight upon your character on its head. Enough. You have one more chance to state your intentions before I announce to everyone in the salon that you were only pulling their collective leg.”

“Six months,” he said quickly. “We will allow our engagement to run its course in six months. You will end it in whatever manner you choose, publicly if you wish.”

“I would never do that.”

He ignored her. “You may humiliate me, make me the villain, turn me out for being the fool that I am. It would serve me right.”

“I'm sure it would, but you fail to appreciate how I would become an object of speculation and pity. We will end it quietly by simply dropping a word here and there with our most sympathetic but reliably indiscreet friends. The engagement will be ended that easily.”

“All right.”

“But six months?” she asked. “That is too long, Bram. You cannot manage to keep up appearances for so long, and I will not be made a fool while you troll the brothels for female companionship. Everyone knows where you take your entertainments.”

Bram's lips twitched again. “Plain speaking, Comfort, even for you. Is your objection to brothels in particular or me having female companionship in general?”

His amusement twisted her heart, but she brought up her chin and narrowed her eyes in a way that put him on notice. “It is my opinion that perhaps you can abstain from visiting your usual haunts for six weeks.”

“Only six weeks? Is it your contention that I behave like a satyr?”

“If the horns fit . . .” When he merely continued to stare at her, she added, “I said ‘perhaps.' I am not confident you can stay away from the Barbary Coast that long.”

“Are you challenging me?”

“No.”

“It sounds as if you're challenging me.”

“That's because you are filled with ridiculous notions this evening.”

“Six months, Comfort. I can do it. I tell you, I am flirting with responsibility. It wasn't so long ago that I was dispatched to Sacramento to attend to matters of business for Black Crowne. I held my own with the governor. I sat at the same table with railroad men and their Pinkerton agents and didn't blink. Six months is nothing compared to spending an evening with legislators who require money for favors but aren't nearly as straightforward about it as whores.” He realized his own speech had become rather plain, and he apologized.

She rolled her eyes. “I'm not asking for six months. Six weeks is sufficient. Moreover, people will expect that I come to my senses before then. If I wait as long as six months to end it, they will wonder at my discernment, and the public relies on my ability to recognize a good investment from a bad one. Jones Prescott is successful in part because of my facility for discriminating the levels of risk.”

Now it was Bram DeLong who rolled his eyes. “Not everything you do is a reflection on the bank.”

“You're wrong.”

“I'm not, but I see that you believe it. I do not accept the same yoke, and it
is
a yoke, Comfort. Everything I do is
not
a refection on Black Crowne. I am a person separate from the family enterprise, and if you do not know that to be true, then ask my brother. He will tell you the same.”

Comfort chose not to press him. Hadn't he just described his trip to the capital as a flirtation with responsibility? As far as she was concerned, Bram had made her point for her. “Six weeks,” she said.

“Four months.”

“Six weeks.”

“Three months.”

“Six weeks.”

“Two months.”

“That's eight weeks, Bram.”

“Yes, I know.”

“Very well.” She was not gracious in concession. “But if I learn before then that you've been a visitor anywhere in the vicinity of Pacific Street, I will break the engagement immediately. If there is gossip about you, whether it's whoring or gaming, I will break your thumbs. You understand that would be painful, I imagine.”

Bram had sense enough not to laugh. There was nothing in her expression to indicate that it was an idle threat. Comfort rarely spoke about her childhood, and there were likely only a dozen or so people who knew some of the truth, and only three that knew all of it, but in spite of the success of Jones Prescott, or perhaps because of it, there was always talk. The fact that the talk was mostly whispered seemed to lend it credence. It was possible that Miss Comfort Kennedy, she of the well-modulated voice and correct manner, might indeed know a thing or two about breaking a man's thumbs.

“Painful,” said Bram. “Yes, I understand.”

Comfort did not indicate that she was satisfied. She simply gave him her back and began walking toward the garden.

“Comfort.”

She didn't turn. “Don't follow me, Bram.” She could almost feel his hesitation. He wasn't used to being held at bay, and she had never had cause to do it before this evening. She was afraid the balance of their easy friendship had shifted, and if that were so, it fell to her to keep Bram from realizing it. She could not make herself that vulnerable. “Make some excuse for me. You'll think of something.” Well outside of his hearing, she added, “You always do.”

Even before she stepped onto the garden path, she heard the music swell and then recede as the door to the salon was opened and closed again.

She wondered how Bram would explain her prolonged absence, but the thought didn't occupy her. He had a gift for making explanations, and one would come to him far more easily than one would have come to her. His knack for making the most outrageous behavior seem reasonable, even acceptable, fascinated her. She could admit, at least to herself, that she was a little envious of his talent. Except in matters of virtually no consequence, she had an almost compulsive tendency to tell the truth. Lying came hard to her, and there were times when that was more curse than blessing.

Comfort veered away from the fountain. The steady rush of water was pleasant to her ears; the spray was not. She circled to the far side and followed the flickering torches all the way to the back of the garden. A hedgerow, carefully tended to take on a shape that was probably painful to its leaves and branches, bordered the rear of the property. Comfort removed one of her elbow-length gloves and ran her palm along the top of the hedge as she skirted the perimeter. She walked slowly, occasionally stopping to breathe deeply from the scent of the bay far beyond her. The ocean called to her from the opposite direction, still farther away, and in her mind she called back, taking the first tentative steps to the water's edge. A ship was waiting for her, a Black Crowne ship, bound for . . .