Wild Star (24 page)

Ira felt ill. Indeed, he looked so white, Saint moved to him. “No,” Ira said quietly. “Living a lie—well, one isn’t always rational. So many things to regret—We will do as you wish. Don’t send Byrony back to her parents. Her father is cruel. He would abuse her endlessly.”

Del said, slanting a look toward Brent, “Who knows? Perhaps it would be best for her to return home. After all, what does she have here?”

Brent said very clearly, “As soon as the annulment is granted, I’m going to marry her.”

 

Byrony sat in Brent’s favorite chair, her legs tucked beneath her, a book lying unread on her lap. Nero had come to check on her once, to make certain, she supposed, that she wasn’t preparing to bolt. Maggie had shared lunch with her. But now she was alone again.

When have I ever really not been alone? she wondered. And now, soon, she would be alone again. She shook her head to clear her mind of the endless stream of questions that had no answers.

She heard the door to the outer office close, heard Brent’s footsteps coming toward the bedroom. It was odd, she thought, that she knew it was he, recognized the sound of his step. She met his eyes as he stepped into the bedroom. For a long moment they simply stared at each other, not saying anything.

Brent was looking at her with new eyes. He never denied that he’d been attracted to her from the first moment he’d seen her in San Diego, and no longer did he deny that he had endless lust for her. He’d admitted he felt fond of her, protective of her. The other, deeper, swirling feelings, he kept at bay. Yes, his fondness for her would be enough. It would not exceed that.

“How do you feel?” he asked, not coming into the room.

“I’m fine, really.”

“Good. Maggie told me that you ate a healthy amount for lunch.”

“Yes.”

He walked to her. “What is this? Don’t shrink away from me. I of all men won’t hurt you, God knows.”

Her eyes dropped, and she fiddled with the leather binding on the novel in her lap. “I know you won’t,” she said. “It’s just that everything is such a—mess. I don’t know what to do.”

“You don’t have to worry about anything now. The mess is in the process of being cleared up.”

“What do you mean?”

“Saint, Del, and I met with your husband and sister-in-law. Del is leaving today for Sacramento to have your marriage annulled. As for Ira and Irene, they will admit that the child is Irene’s, the father I suppose will become some sort of military hero who was killed before he and Irene could be married. You will not be blamed.”

She could only stare at him. “But it isn’t necessary, really, Brent. I have no intention of remarrying, I assure you. I’m leaving San Francisco. There’s no reason for them to—”

“Be quiet, woman.” He frowned down at her, turned, and walked to the fireplace, leaning his shoulders against the mantelpiece.

“Brent,” she said very calmly, “you know that I am leaving San Francisco. Why have you forced Ira to do this?”

“You’re not leaving,” he said shortly, almost angrily. “You, Byrony, have no more sense than a hummingbird. Just how do you think you’d survive anyway? The precious proceeds from that bloody necklace wouldn’t last long, you know.”

She raised her chin, a gesture he now recognized as digging in her heels. “I will do just fine, thank you. I do not intend to be anyone’s
affliction
in the future.”

Here he was making her angry. He hadn’t intended to. Where had she heard that “affliction” business? “Byrony, I want you to marry me.”

The novel fell to the floor with a sharp thump. She jumped from the chair, her fists at her sides, and stared at him in utter disbelief.

Some reaction, he thought, taking in her flushed face, to his very first proposal of marriage. “Yes,” he repeated, “I want you to marry me just as soon as your marriage to Ira is annulled.”

“Why?”

“Well, that’s short and to the point, isn’t it? I venture to say that there are many very valid reasons.”

What had he expected anyway? For her to fall to her knees in thanksgiving to him?

“I don’t think it would be a good idea,” she said finally. “You don’t like me, not really.”

That made him laugh. “Not like you? I can scarcely keep my hands off you.”

“That’s not the same thing, is it?”

He saw the pain in her eyes, the need for reassurance. Dear God, she thought so little of herself. “Do you care for me, Byrony?”

That damned gentle tone of voice. He used it to such devastating effect. “Yes,” she said. “I’m probably the biggest fool alive.”

He had no intention of reminding her that she could possibly be pregnant with his child. He could just imagine how she would react to that.

He shoved his shoulders away from the mantelpiece and walked to her. He clasped her shoulders. “Byrony,” he said in that same gentle voice, “I care for you too, you know. I want you to be my wife. I will try to be a good husband to you.”

He meant what he said. He wasn’t certain he could manage to keep that promise, but he intended to try. When she raised her eyes to his face, he saw that she believed him. “You are so lovely,” he said, and leaned down to kiss her. He felt her stiffen. “Don’t be frightened of me,” he said quietly against her pursed lips. “I won’t hurt you, I swear it.”

She thought with a sense of wonder that he was telling her the truth. He had no reason to lie to her. She wanted to tell him that she more than cared for him. She wasn’t exactly certain when it had come about, but she loved him. She pulled back slightly so she could look up at him. “Will you continue to insult me?”

Brent cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs lightly caressing her jaw, and gave her a crooked smile. “What will you do if I continue in that bad habit?”

“I don’t know,” she said honestly. “I have so little experience with men. You are so unpredictable, but you would never hurt me, would you—like my father?”

He felt pain in his gut, and for a moment he couldn’t speak. He pulled her tightly against him, but this time he felt no lust for her. “No one will ever harm you again.”

“You truly wish to marry me?”

“Yes, I truly do. Will you?”

She smiled, a dazzling smile that quickly made his lust return with startling force. “Yes,” she said. “Since you beg so gallantly—”

“Byrony.”

“Byrony what?”

“If ever I want to insult you, I’ll take you to bed instead.”

“Perhaps that wouldn’t be too bad.”

His eyes went to his bed. He pictured her naked, felt her flesh beneath his hands. He swallowed convulsively, but held himself in control. It wouldn’t be right, or fair to her. He said, “I hope Del Saxton returns quickly from Sacramento.”

 

A week later, they were married at Delaney Saxton’s house. Byrony was wearing one of Monsieur David’s creations, a white satin gown that was sewn over with at least five pounds of lace. I’m married, really married, she thought, staring about the Saxton drawing room. The Newtons were there, Saint Morris, Tony Dawson, Dan Brewer, Maggie, and of course Chauncey and Del. She knew she should be ecstatic, but each time she’d left Brent’s apartment, she’d seen people staring at her, seen the speculation in their eyes. She’d said nothing to Brent. She’d seen him rarely, as a matter of fact.

“Well, wife, what do you think?”

She jumped, spilling some of her champagne. He looked so handsome, she thought. His suit was pearl gray, as was his vest, his shirt white as new snow.

“It’s fine,” she said. “Everyone has been so kind.”

“What did you expect—a stone-throwing party at sun-down?”

“My ring, it’s beautiful.”

“I’m glad you approve,” he said, his voice equally as formal as hers. “It belonged to Chauncey and I bought it from her.”

“Chauncey? Not Del?”

“Some women do have money, you know,” he said, not meaning anything by his words.

And I have nothing, she thought as she watched him turn to speak to Dan Brewer, Del’s banking partner.

“What’s this, Mrs. Hammond? Grim thoughts already?” Maggie grinned at her, patting her arm.

“Oh, Maggie! I didn’t know—that is, I was just thinking that I don’t have any money. I was wondering what it would be like to be rich, to have real control over your life.”

“Few women ever have that feeling, my dear. Not unless husbands die and leave them money, or they endeavor to go into business for themselves. But that, Byrony, I wouldn’t recommend.”

Maggie flinched when Byrony raised lost eyes to hers and whispered, “Then I am to sit doing nothing and accept this husband’s bounty as I did the last?”

“Oh, Byrony, don’t. Everything will work out all right, you’ll see. May I ask you a question?”

Byrony nodded, her eyes on her new husband. He was laughing, a beautiful, rich sound. She watched his hands slash through the air as he made a point. Hands that had touched her. It seemed a long time ago, that night when he’d made love to her.

“Do you love Brent?”

“Yes,” she said so softly that Maggie had to lean close to her to hear the small word. What woman wouldn’t fall in love with that clever, handsome bastard? Maggie wondered.

“Well, may I join the conversation?”

“Lin’s buffet is lovely, Chauncey,” Byrony said.

Chauncey patted her rounded stomach. “Junior here is an obvious glutton. I thought he’d be asleep by now, but he’s still jumping about. Saint told me to drink a glass of champagne to calm him down for a while.”

So much for light conversation, Chauncey thought. She thought she’d been just a bit amusing. Byrony looked lost and frightened.

“Thank you for the diamond, Chauncey. Brent said you sold it to him.”

“It is lovely, isn’t it? The best of the lot, I thought.”

At that point Delaney called out for everyone’s attention to propose a toast. Byrony downed two more glasses of champagne in rapid succession.

“Am I going to have a drunk bride?”

“No, of course not.”

“Good, it’s time for us to leave.” He turned immediately to Maggie. “You’ll come back with us. I don’t trust you with that lecher Dan Brewer.”

“I?” Dan said. “I’m a staid banker.”

“Ha,” Maggie said, grinning at him. Dan flushed.

Byrony survived the constant flow of compliments and congratulations. In the carriage, she leaned her head on Brent’s shoulder and closed her eyes against the wave of dizziness.

She listened to Brent and Maggie talk about this and that with the ease of old friends. A madam and a gambler. Surely this is odd, was her last thought before she drifted into sleep.

“Good grief,” Brent said when the carriage pulled in front of the Wild Star. “I’ve got an unconscious bride on my hands.”

“Just carry her upstairs, Brent,” Maggie said. “The poor girl’s had a very trying day.”

“Perhaps,” Brent said, arching his black brow at her, “but I hadn’t intended for her night to be at all trying.”

“Knowing your appetites, I wouldn’t bet on it.”

He lifted Byrony in his arms and carried her up the back stairs to his rooms. He started to shake her, when Maggie whispered, “No, why don’t you just let her sleep for a while?”

 

Byrony awoke with a start. The room was dark. She was lying on the bed, covered with a blanket, still dressed in her wedding gown. “Oh dear,” she said. Slowly she swung her feet to the floor and rose. Where was Brent? The bedroom door was closed. Why had he left her? Why had he let her sleep? She padded to the door and slowly turned the knob. Her hand paused at the sound of Brent’s voice.

“Dammit, Maggie, don’t preach to me about my duty.”

What was he angry about? What duty?

“I simply asked if you’d spoken to Celeste. I know, my friend, that you spent several evenings with her before your marriage. I suppose you considered that the height of nobility, leaving Byrony alone until the ceremony.”

Who was Celeste? Why had Brent spent evenings with her?

“Celeste has the biggest mouth,” Brent said in disgust. “Can’t women ever keep anything to themselves? And no, Maggie, I haven’t spoken to Celeste. For God’s sake, why should I?”

“A man newly married doesn’t need a mistress, Brent. Surely you don’t intend to be unfaithful to Byrony, or should I say, continue in your randy ways?”

“Byrony is my wife. I will treat her as my wife. I married her, didn’t I? I really didn’t have a choice in the matter. Come, I intend to take very good care of her. Now, Maggie, if you’re quite through I think it’s time I woke up my bride.”

Byrony didn’t move. She couldn’t. Serves you right for eavesdropping, she thought. She heard their voices move away. Maggie was leaving. Brent would come to her very soon.

My husband.

At least he was spending this night with her and not with his mistress.

Brent was shaking his head as he doused the lamps in the sitting room and locked the door to his apartments. Maggie should mind her own business. Of course he was going to speak to Celeste. The last thing he needed now was a mistress. He opened the bedroom door quietly and entered. He was smiling now as he looked toward his bed. He whispered her name, but there was no answer. He lit the lamp beside the door; he didn’t want her to awaken too abruptly. As he straightened, he saw his wife standing in the middle of the bedroom.

In the next instant, the porcelain basin from the commode flew at his head.

“You bastard.”

He ducked the porcelain basin in the nick of time. It crashed against the wall behind him, shattering at his feet.

“Byrony. What the hell—”

The small lamp from the table beside the bed struck him on the shoulder and bounced off, breaking into two big pieces.

“Byrony, stop it. No, not my brass candlestick.”

He managed to catch the candlestick at its base. In the next moment he was struck full in the chest by his leather-bound copy of
The Works of Aristophanes.