Pale Moon Stalker (The Nymph Trilogy) (8 page)

Max interrupted her disturbing thoughts, saying abruptly, "I'll give you half an hour to dress." With that, he walked past her and out the door.

After it closed behind him, she began putting on her chemise with trembling hands.
How will I survive a week with him in this room?

Chapter Four

As they descended the steep straight flight of stairs from the second story, Max offered Sky his arm gallantly. "Watch you don't fall," he leaned down and murmured in her ear. "By the by, you look quite ravishing tonight, m'lady."

Sky fought the unexpected wave of pleasure that shot through her at his whispered compliment and protective arm. She wore the deep rose silk gown she'd purchased in New York since the clothes she'd worn in England had of necessity been black. Being home with Clint and Delilah and their children made her feel like celebrating, not wearing a reminder of why she was here with this man under false pretenses.

"Thank you, m'lord," she replied with an air of insouciance. "Oh, I forgot to mention that Clint and Delilah allow young Rob to eat with the adults since he turned six. I know it's not the English custom—"

"I've lived in America for years, love. I know the customs. I believe I can manage one six-year-old boy," he said dryly.

"You haven't seen Rob in action," she replied with a chuckle.

As they entered the parlor, a tall, cadaverously thin man with stooped shoulders and an elongated face well seasoned by time turned and smiled at Sky. She rushed into his open arms, crying, "Uncle Horace! How I've missed you! How long has it been?"

"Nearly three years, child." He held her at arm's length and inspected her, saying, "I,
alors
, merely dodge the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, while you remain as fresh and lovely as a newly cut rose."

Then, he turned his shrewd black eyes on Max. "And this is your English bridegroom, I presume?" he asked, offering his hand in welcome. "My felicitations on your recent nuptials, even if they were somewhat precipitous. I know this young pup"—he gestured to Clint—"would have fancied giving away the bride. For that matter, as the senior member of this family, so would I." His eyes were crinkled with mirth.

"Deelie was the one who nearly had a case of the vapors, wanting to plan a big fancy weddin'," Clint said, giving his wife a teasing wink.

"I have never suffered 'a case of the vapors' in my life, Clinton Daniels," Delilah shot back. "Besides, Sky has a mind and will of her own. She's quite capable of deciding where and how she chooses to get married."

Clint threw up his hands in mock surrender. "I'm surrounded by females with minds and wills of their own, Lord deliver me."

As everyone chuckled, Sky enjoyed the easy camaraderie of her brother and his wife. She and Will had shared that...if not the sudden flaring of passion she occasionally detected between Clint and Delilah. Her first marriage—no, she corrected herself—her
only
marriage had been one of deep love and devotion, gentle and enduring...until Johnny Deuce ended all her dreams. Forcing the painful past from her mind, she concentrated on the present, watching Horace and Max laugh together at Clint and Delilah's antics.

Sky was relieved that Max's reputation had not put off her adopted uncle, who was a keen judge of character. Perhaps dinner would go well after all, and they could survive this visit without mishap.

Perhaps pigs could fly...

The adults enjoyed mint juleps and canapés in the sitting room, making small talk about various joint business ventures between the Danielses and Mathers. Sky glossed over how she and Max had met and married in Bismarck, then traveled to London to ensure his inheritance and title. She made certain that she gave the impression they had known each other for several months prior to his proposal.

Shortly, dinner was announced. Feeling they had just cleared the first hurdle, Sky and Max followed their hosts and Horace into the beautiful dining room, where a low arrangement of bright summer flowers adorned half the length of the table. The maid ushered young Rob in from the hall door. His face was pink and cherubic, but a bit of perspiration dotted his forehead. Like any proper gentleman, he wore a starched high-collar shirt and summer suit, albeit it with knee britches and high stockings.

Upon seeing Max, his big hazel eyes lit. "Uncle Max, I spent the afternoon reading all about England while my baby brother and sister were sleeping."

"Most commendable," Max said gravely, giving a nod of approval. "I trust you've not neglected to study the history of your own great nation as well."

As she seated her son next to her, Delilah said, "He was supposed to be napping, too, but I fear he's been far too excited about your visit for that."

"I'm too old for naps," Rob replied with a hint of stubbornness. "I've read all about the Revolutionary War. It started when England poisoned our tea," he pronounced as the soup course was served.

Horace arched an eyebrow. "Pray, elaborate, young sir."

Rob took a slurping sip of the consommé, then said, "Well, the Patriots dumped all that English tea in Boston harbor, so it must have been poisoned." He looked from his uncle Horace to his uncle Max for confirmation.

Both men attempted to keep their expressions serious. Horace gave Max a nod, as if to say, "You handle this. It's your country being inadvertently maligned."

"Well, it's a bit more complicated than that, Robbie," Clint interjected with an indulgent chuckle. "It was really about taxes the English king and his followers placed on the tea."

Not to be placated, Rob looked back at Max. "Aunt Sky says you're a baron in England. Is that like being a king?"

This time Max did smile. "Not quite. In fact, a baron is at the bottom of the ranks of noblemen, after dukes, marquesses, earls and viscounts. Only baronets are below us."

The child's face fell for an instant, then brightened again. "But you still get to chop people's heads off if they don't bow to you, don't you?"

Max choked on a mouthful of soup. Delilah looked alarmed. "Robert—"

"Please, Delilah, no harm done," Max quickly said. He turned back to the boy. Damn, could he be the victim of a send-up by a six-year-old? "Well, Rob, I fear head-chopping-off has been declared illegal in England. What your father and uncle are too polite to tell you in my presence, since I'm an Englishman, is that another reason for the Revolutionary War was that the English wanted to treat Americans like Englishmen." He waited expectantly.

The lad did not disappoint. "Oh! I see, Uncle Max. They wanted to chop the heads off Americans. Gee, that would really start a war, wouldn't it?"

Stanhope nodded with a broad grin. "Intelligent lad."

Horace, attempting to suppress his own grin, commented to Sky, "My dear, your husband has a bright future in scribbling penny dreadfuls, I fear."

Max smiled at her, charming her with a twinkle that she had never seen in those normally cold, green eyes.
He actually likes children.

But Rob wasn't done yet. "Uncle Max, if you're a nobleman, you must be a knight. Where's your armor? And your lance? Did you ever slay a dragon like the knights in my books?"

"Rob, you're being far too inquisitive," Delilah remonstrated. "I fear we've read him too many fairy tales."

"I'm too old for silly fairy tales," Rob protested.

"I don't mind explaining, if it's all right with you," Max said to his hostess. When she returned his smile and nodded, he turned to Rob. "It's been a long time since knights wore armor or slew dragons. In fact, all the dragons died out, so you might say we've been put out of work."

The child looked puzzled for a moment, then blurted out, pleased with himself, "So when the dragons died off, you came to America to kill bad men." He nodded, pleased with his reasoning.

This time Max not only choked on his soup, but some of it spewed out of his nose, quickly trapped by his napkin. He coughed and gasped as his wife thumped his back. Over the commotion a confident Rob explained to his mother what he had overheard. "Daddy told Uncle Horace that he checked up on Uncle Max, and he found out Uncle Max hunted down bad men out West—and got paid for it."

"Robert, you know you are never to eavesdrop!" Delilah said sharply, her face flushed with embarrassment.

This time it was Horace who coughed up a bit of soup as he eyed Max apologetically, but Clint coolly handled the matter. "There's a reason for your mother's rule, Rob. Boys don't always understand grown-up matters, so it's better to leave them to the adults. Do you understand?"

Rob knew that tone of voice when it came from his father. He nodded dutifully, even though Max caught a curious glance from the boy indicating that he understood more than the adults wanted him to.

Rob subsided while the meat course was served, struggling to cut his slice of juicy pink ham, resisting his mother's attempt to assist him. The conversation turned to the Stanhopes' plans for the future.

"We intend to stay in America, mostly," Sky said. "First a visit to Denver where Max has an old friend he wants me to meet, then, who knows? Perhaps San Francisco. I've never been to the Pacific."

"A city of grace and beauty, San Francisco. Truly the jewel of the West Coast," Horace averred, raising his wine glass in a toast. "To a safe journey."

"Hear, hear," echoed around the table.

By the time the lush triple-layer cake with freshly churned ice cream was served, Sky began to relax, noting that Max seemed to be handling her family with his usual smooth charm. All was going well until the dessert plates were being cleared and the adults rose to adjourn to the side porch for coffee and brandy, where the men could enjoy their cigars. Sky and Delilah did not follow custom and leave the men to their vices. Instead they intended to join them for drinks, even though they did not indulge in tobacco.

Delilah turned to Rob, saying, "Why don't you help me tuck in your sister and brother before you go to bed?" She extended her hand.

Not usually a disobedient child, Rob was fascinated by his new uncle—and perhaps a bit refueled by the sweet dessert. He'd had two scoops of ice cream. He shook his head and seized hold of Max's coattail. "My daddy was in the army. Were you in the army, Uncle Max? Did you kill any enemies?"

"Robert Horace Daniels!" Delilah cried, aghast.

Sky felt Max tensing. This time she intervened quickly. "Yes, your uncle was in the British Army. He was very brave, as was your father. But neither one wants to brag about it. They did their duty, Robby."

Max knelt down beside the boy, indicating with a gesture to Sky and Delilah that it was all right. "Rob, a wise person once told me that killing leaves a stain on your soul. I hope you never have to stain yours."

Sky covered her mouth, not knowing whether to be upset or honored by his using her words to explain to the boy. She stood mutely as Max continued speaking to Rob.

"Now, be a good lad and go with your mother. I bet she'll need your help corralling those little ones for bed," he instructed gently, tousling the boy's thick shock of straw-colored hair.

"Will you be here in the morning?" Rob asked eagerly.

"Yes, I will. Maybe we can even have a bit of a history lesson, eh?"

When Rob reached around Max's neck and gave him a hug, Sky could see he was taken aback for an instant, but he quickly recovered and hugged the boy in return.
Another conquest for the Limey.

* * * *

Preparing for bed with the two of them sharing a single room could have been an ordeal. To forestall the problem, Sky excused herself early, saying the train trip from Chicago had tired her and she wanted to get a good night's rest. By the time Max entered their room, she was covered head to toe in a night rail and robe, making up a bed for herself on the chaise.

"I expected you'd be sound asleep by now—in the bed," he said, nodding to the large mattress with the coverlet turned back.

"And I thought you agreed that you'd never fit on the chaise," she replied, then quickly changed the subject. "I hope Rob didn't upset you. He's such an inquisitive boy and quite taken with you."

Max tossed his suit jacket on a chair and began to remove his shirt studs. "He is bright as a new penny. My elder brother never had that kind of devilment in him, but according to Harry, I did. I was forever asking questions of the, er, impolitic sort. Let us hope our nephew will turn out better than his black-sheep uncle."

Sky's mouth was dry as ashes, watching him peel off his shirt, but she managed to mutter an agreement to his remarks. He had his back turned so she could admire the flex of hard muscles beneath his skin. As she had imagined, where his body was untouched by sun, it was indeed pale as his hair. Scars, some of them indicating quite serious injuries, dotted his sides and shoulders. She wanted to run her fingertips over that broad back and touch them.

To suppress her wayward thoughts, she said, "You did very well with Rob. I never would've suspected you liked children."

He turned around and looked her in the eye. "There are a great many things about me you would never suspect," he said with an enigmatic expression on his face. Without another word, he strode over to the chaise and lay down to test it.