With a sigh, Jake turned his face until it was hidden in the shadows. It was so like Hallie to be kind in her rejection.
“It’s all right,” he finally said, trying to spare her the embarrassment of expressing her objections, and himself the pain of hearing them. “I understand. I can’t blame you for not wanting to be saddled with a foul-tempered cripple. A woman like you deserves a whole man. One who can offer you a love untainted by a bitter past, and a houseful of children to love, which we both know I can’t give you.”
The quiet dignity of his voice lacerated her. Didn’t he realize that all she wanted was him? Finding her voice at last, she choked, “Jake—”
“No. You don’t have to say anything. Just remember that I’d be honored to remain your friend and to—”
Before he could finish the sentence, Hallie hurled herself across the narrow space separating them and threw her arms around his neck, knocking his top hat to the floor. Without further ado, she ground her lips fiercely against his.
“I love you, you foolish man,” she declared between kisses. “And I want you more than I can say.”
With a groan, Jake grasped her around her waist and hauled her onto his lap. “Not nearly as much as I want you, sweet Mission Lady.” And as their gazes met in the flickering lantern light, he found his salvation in the loving tenderness of her eyes.
Never in his life had he felt so alive as he did at that moment, for deep in the barren wasteland of his heart, Hallie Gardiner had planted seeds of hope, and her love, like the warm summer sun, had coaxed it to spring forth and bloom. Once again, after months of merely existing for the moment, he dared to dream of a happy future.
“I love you,” Hallie repeated, reaching up to cradle his face in her trembling palm. It was all too wonderful to believe. He really was her Jake. Hers to love, treasure, and touch. Hers to kiss whenever she felt the urge … which was now.
As if he had read her thoughts, Jake’s mouth smothered hers with a savage intensity that made her quiver. But this time she felt no guilt or shame at her desire, and she burrowed her hands into the ebony silk of his hair, boldly urging him on.
With reckless abandon, she returned his kiss, instinctively parting her lips to the heated demand of his questing tongue. And as the kiss deepened, she hungrily answered his seductive beckoning, letting her eager response match his with a passion that stunned her senses. If what she felt was sinful, then she would gladly burn in the fires of hell forever.
It wasn’t until Jake had eased Hallie back onto the yielding surface of the seat, his body covering hers, that he finally drew his lips away. He couldn’t help grinning like the proverbial idiot when she made a moue of disappointment. There was such unexpected fire in his prim little Mission Lady—he reveled in the joy of kindling it.
Propping himself up on one elbow, he let his gaze move from Hallie’s prettily flushed face down to where her breasts lay partially exposed in the tattered remnants of her gown. Rising softly with each breath, those globes were as succulent as perfectly ripened peaches, the delicate ivory of the skin blushing to dusky apricot where one nipple peeked out from the mound of fabric. His reaction to the sight of that tender peak was swift and violent.
He moaned. His manhood was rapidly becoming the bane of his existence. Ever since he’d met Hallie Gardiner, that particular region of his body had been chronically inflamed. Perhaps he should submit to one of her famous ice treatments. Or try dosing himself with some saltpeter.
He shifted his hips uncomfortably, trying to ease the now tight fit of his trousers. Damn thing ached. Worse yet, it was like a stick of dynamite—and Hallie was like a lit match. All it took was one touch from her and it exploded. Not a comforting thought, considering his dismal performance that morning.
Mustering every ounce of control he had left, which admittedly wasn’t much, Jake forced himself to pull away from the temptation of Hallie’s bewitching body.
God! That act alone should be enough to qualify me for sainthood, he thought, staring down at her longingly. Lying there in half-clothed splendor, her eyes luring him with sensual promise, Hallie Gardiner was enough to tempt the pope right out of his vestments.
Which was almost more than a man in Jake’s sexually deprived state could bear. His hands trembling with desire, Jake hastily covered the tantalizing sight of Hallie’s breasts with his cloak and tugged her into a sitting position.
“Jake?” she whispered, hurt by the abruptness with which he had pulled away. Had her inexperience been so obvious and her kisses so woefully lacking, that he found her efforts unpleasant? After all, he was the only man she had ever kissed. Well, the only man she’d ever kissed like that, at any rate. And a man like Jake was bound to have had plenty of experience in such matters.
Bowing her head to hide her distress, she murmured, “I’m sorry if I did something wrong.”
“Wrong, Mission Lady?” He chuckled, wrapping his arms around her midsection and drawing her close until her back rested against his chest. “You did everything too right. In another few minutes, you would have had me making a mess of my trousers again, and I had a hard enough time explaining the stain from this morning to Hop Yung.”
She felt her cheeks grow warm at the intimacy of his conversation. It was all so improper—and new—this talk of messed trousers. She flushed again.
After dropping a kiss on the top of her head, Jake rested his cheek on her shoulder. Gently nuzzling her neck, he murmured, “Don’t you know what you do to a man, sweetheart? Surely you’ve had admirers before?”
“No.”
His head jerked up in disbelief. “You’re teasing me.”
“Of course not.” Gesturing at her face and body, she retorted, “Just look at me!”
“I am.” The warm timbre of his. voice left little doubt as to the meaning of his words.
“Then if you don’t see why, I’d suggest you look into getting some spectacles.”
“Nothing’s wrong with my vision, Mission Lady. It’s you who needs glasses if you can’t see the reflection in your own mirror.” He cupped her chin in his palm and frowned. “What makes you think you’re not beautiful?”
She gave a brittle laugh. “I look like my mother. Everyone in Philadelphia said so. My father always said he’d never seen a more whey-faced pair than my mother and me.”
“Then your father is either a blind fool or a bastard who deserves to be on the receiving end of a discharging pistol.”
Hallie shrugged and tried to turn her head away.
But Jake tightened his grip on her chin, forcing her to look at him. “You’ve never told me much about your family.”
She sighed. “There’s not much to tell. I’m an only child. My mother died of yellow fever last year, and my father still lives in Philadelphia.”
“What kind of a man is your father, letting you come all the way to San Francisco with no friends or money?”
Hallie jerked her chin out of his hand and looked away. “Well, of the two types you mentioned, he isn’t of the blind fool variety. He was glad to be rid of me.” Though she tried to keep her voice neutral, Hallie couldn’t stop a note of grief from shrouding her words. “You see, my mother contracted the fever during a heat wave in the summer of ’64. Many of our friends and neighbors came down with it. I was fresh out of medical school, and I honestly believed I could save them all. I—I thought I could play God.”
As if defeated by some inner battle, she sagged back against Jake’s chest. Hearing the raw anguish in her voice, Jake hugged her close with one arm while stroking her hair with his other hand.
Hallie closed her eyes and let his nearness soothe her for a moment before continuing, “It was awful … so many people died. And then I contracted the disease. I was told my mother died alone.” She let out a jagged sob. “That’s the worst part. I should have been there. Nobody should have to die alone.”
Jake’s arm tightened around Hallie. “Your mother must have been a remarkable woman to have a daughter like you,” he remarked quietly.
“She was.” Hallie sniffed, groping in her pocket for the handkerchief Jake had given her. “Not only was she a popular hostess in society, she was an astute business woman. Why, if—” she paused to blow her nose. “—it hadn’t have been for her good sense, my father would have bankrupted the Sinclair Mines and foundries years ago.”
“Sinclair?” Jake tipped his head down to study her profile. “Then your mother was Georgianna Gardiner? I’m surprised that I didn’t see the resemblance right away.”
Hallie sniffled loudly with surprise. “You knew my mother?”
“I met her once. It was ten years ago, right after I’d lost both my parents in a fire. I was young and frightened, finding myself suddenly responsible for the vast Parrish empire, as well as for Penelope’s upbringing. I’d gone to Philadelphia to contract for iron to use in the new line of steamships my father had planned to build. Everyone knows that Sinclair iron is the finest in the country, so your mother was the first person I contacted. When she heard of my parents’ deaths, she took me under her wing and fussed over me like a mother hen. Rather like you have the tendency to do.”
With a noise that was halfway between a chuckle and a sob, Hallie retorted, “That’s because she was as much of a fool for a pretty face as I.”
“She did call me pretty,” Jake teased roguishly, pleased to see Hallie smile at last. “Then she invited me to dinner and proceeded to brag about her wonderful daughter. Her eyes positively glowed when she spoke of you. Rather like yours do when you’re discussing probing a wound.”
“Or stitching,” she snickered back, then laughed when he gave a groan of mock pain.
“They didn’t glow quite that much,” he chuckled. “Anyway, as she spoke, I remember envying your father. I found myself wishing that she wasn’t a married woman so I could court her. She was everything a man could want: intelligent, sensitive, kind … and beautiful. So it seems that your father was right in one respect: you are like your incredible mother.”
Hallie pivoted in Jake’s embrace until she faced him. Twining her arms around his neck, she pulled his face close. “You know something, Mr. Parrish? I really do love you.”
He suddenly choked. “Good God, Hallie! You smell worse than the wharf on a hot day. What is that smell?”
Her? Stink? Hallie was stunned. She was about to inform him that there was nothing wrong with the way she smelled and point out his rudeness at suggesting such a thing, when she remembered falling into the pile of rotten fish entrails. Looking down at herself, she saw that the repulsively stained section of her hem had twisted up to her waist. She sniffed and then frowned. After inhaling the foul scent all day, she must have become inured to it.
Struggling to pull herself out of his embrace, she grumbled, “You try getting knocked into a pile of rotten fish guts and being deprived of washing facilities. Then let’s see how sweet you smell.” Watching as Jake took several gulping breaths of air, she mumbled beneath her breath, “Of course he’s sensitive to smells. Bet the man doesn’t even sweat.”
Jake tightened his grip on Hallie’s waist, drawing her near again. “I seem to remember sweating quite profusely this morning. Or have you already forgotten our encounter in the parlor?”
“Of course not,” she groaned. “Neither, I imagine, has Lavinia Donahue or, by this time, the rest of San Francisco.”
“The wagging tongues will stop soon enough when Davinia leaks the rumor that you’re my fiancée. She’s almost as bad as that sister of hers when it comes to a piece of juicy gossip.”
“Sister?”
“Lavinia. Not that either woman makes any claim to the relationship. Bad blood.”
Hallie shook her head. “Can’t say I blame Davinia.” Then she slanted Jake an uneasy look. “But Jake, what are people going to say when we tell them that we’re not getting married?”
“Why would we tell them that?”
Her heart missed a beat. “You can’t mean that you really want to marry me?”
He shrugged and gave her a lazy smile. She couldn’t resist caressing his dimple. If only it were true. How she would love to marry him and see his smile every day for the rest of her life!
Giving her lower lip a quick bite, she ventured, “I can’t imagine why you would want to marry me. You don’t have to, you know.”
“I know I don’t, sweet Mission Lady,” he purred, bending close and giving her full lower lip a nibble of his own. “But it just so happens that I like a woman who can make me sweat.”
Chapter 16
Boom! An angry clap of thunder rumbled through the night, vibrating the Parrish house to its very foundations.
Hallie clutched at the satin coverlet uneasily. It wasn’t that she was afraid of storms; she’d conquered that particular fear when she was nine years old. No, she wasn’t precisely afraid, she was …
She flinched as the wind pounded against her windows with a force that made the glass rattle in their frames. Startled. Yes, that was it. She had been startled out of her sound sleep by all the hellish commotion.
Tell yourself that enough times, and you might start to believe it, taunted a voice from somewhere deep within the recesses of her mind.
I do believe it! But her fragile inner argument crumbled as lightning flashed through the windows and illuminated the room with an eerie blue glow.
“Oh, Lord!” she gasped. Had she seen something moving in the corner just now? She squinted into the gloom but could see nothing through the mask of darkness.
In the space of a heartbeat, the lightning was followed by a violent crack of thunder. Hallie jumped what felt like a mile into the air and, with a whimper, clapped her hands over her ears. In the stillness of the mansion the noise amplified and then resonated through the cavernous hallways.
It’s the sound of the gates of hell bursting open!
Hallie shrank deeper into the soft mattress. It was on nights like this that her father’s tale came back to haunt her.
She had been five at the time, and if she lived to be a hundred and one, she would never forget the fierceness of the storm that night. The wind had torn at the roof and the windows, shrieking its fury at earsplitting volume. Wild streaks of lightning bolted across the pitch black midnight sky, and the thunder—oh, Lord!—the thunder had rumbled so loudly that she’d been certain the world was coming to an end.
Terrified by nature’s violence, she had run sobbing from room to room, frantically searching for her mother. But it was to no avail. Her mother was nowhere to be found.
Finally, in an act of desperation, she burst into her father’s study, a room which she had been strictly forbidden to enter. There she found her father alone, sitting in the semidarkness, surrounded by his astounding collection of antiquities and relics. With a tenderness he had never shown his only child, he was cradling a large wooden crucifix in his arms, an artifact which Hallie later learned was a rare prize from the Spanish Inquisition.
Just the sight of his daughter, barefooted and clad in a thick flannel nightgown, was enough to make Ambrose’s handsome face contort with distaste. Eloquently his glare conveyed his wrath, silently vowing punishment for her unwelcome intrusion into his domain.
When he opened his mouth to vent his rage, there was another peal of thunder, a particularly bombastic one, and Hallie clapped her hands over her ears, crying out in alarm.
Her father smiled then, in a twisted caricature of goodwill that intimidated her far more than his scowl e
ver could. Beckoning her nearer, he whispered, Do you hear them?
Even in the dimness of the room and from a distance, Hallie saw the peculiar light glowing in his amber-colored eyes. His strange expression frightened her, and for a moment she was sorely tempted to run away. But she knew better than to disobey him. It was with trepidation that she crept nearer, daring to stop only when he motioned for her to do so.
As she stood trembling before him, he trapped her panicked gaze with his malevolent one and hissed again, Do you hear them?
Hallie swallowed hard and forced herself to listen to the storm outside. I hear wind and thunder, she finally ventured. And rain. N-nothing more.
Ambrose shook his head, his upper lip curled into a snarl. It’s the fury of the devil’s disciples you’re hearing. Ungodly creatures who ride the wings of the storm and prey on the souls of the unwary. Especially those of foolish children.
There was a crash of thunder then, one that sounded as if the earth was being torn asunder. Hallie whimpered aloud in terror.
Ambrose laughed, feeding off her fear. Gently caressing the crucifix, he growled, Do you know what that sound is?
Hallie bit her lip to keep from crying out again and shook her head.
It’s the sound of the gates of hell bursting open!
As if in response to his words, the wind clawed at the study windows like hobgoblins intent on mischief.
Pray, Hallie Gardiner! he keened, thrusting the crucifix just inches from her face. Pray hard and well this night, lest one of the demons whose name we daren’t speak sets its evil sights on you.
Hallie stared at the crudely wrought crucifix. There was a nightmarish quality about the carved face of the corpus Christ which frightened her almost as much as her father’s macabre tale.
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