“It is a severe revenge, I know,” she said, watching him from the doorway. Her voice was low and anguished. “And I know you may do something terrible to me in return. But I would rather suffer that than be forced to leave you. At least I can stay with honor now.”
“You did this because I tied you to the damned bed?”
“The bed? Hah.” She dismissed that indignity with a wave of one hand. “No. Because you accused me of disloyalty. I will be friends with Vittorio Salazar and any other gentleman I wish to cultivate. But I will never be unfaithful to you. I’ve never given you any reason to think that I would.”
He gripped the washstand fiercely. “No, you haven’t.”
“Then why distrust me?”
Because you don’t love me and I can’t stand the thought of losing you to some other man. “What kind of hellion are you? I knew you were different from other women, but I’ll be damned if I expected this.”
“I won’t be owned. I won’t be treated like an a-tsi-na-Ha-i. Do you finally believe that?”
“By God, I guess I do after this.”
He gazed at her, frowning. It was either take her on her terms or not have her at all. Before she had come into his life he wouldn’t have been capable of such a compromise. In the brutal world where he’d grown up, compromise meant defeat and humiliation. In her world, compromise meant honor and trust.
He looked into the mirror again. “You’ve changed me a helluva lot.”
“You still look handsome. The scar … I don’t mind it.”
He hadn’t been referring to his hair. He had meant the way she’d changed his attitudes, making him less selfish and more willing to negotiate. It was amazing. Right now, despite the disgusting stunt she’d pulled, he felt himself falling even deeper in love with her.
“I’ll be growin’ all of my hair back—includin’ the mustache.”
“If you want.” She hesitated. “Are you going to do something violent now?”
He grunted. “What’d you think I’d do after I woke up this morning? Hit you? Throw you out?”
She gazed at him, her eyes calm and confident. “No. You’re not that kind of man. I wouldn’t be with you if I thought you were.”
“What kind of man am I?”
“One who has a terrible time trusting anyone but himself, yet who wants very badly to trust. One who thinks only fools are kindhearted, but who can’t resist being a fool. One who hides his fears and doubts because the world has never been merciful with him.”
“So—if you’re right about me—is it good or bad?”
“Good.” She came to him and slipped her arms around his neck. “You look confused.”
“I ought to be so damned mad at you that I can’t see straight. I ought to tie you to the bed again and keep you there until you promise not to get within a mile of that cocky Spanish nabob.”
“But you’re not. And you won’t.”
He sighed and put his arms around her. “Be friends with the devil. I won’t say a word.”
“Dear Lord,” she whispered. “I can’t believe it.”
“I don’t want to wake up with something more important than my mustache missin’.”
“I’d never harm that.”
He jerked her to his naked body and ground his hips against her. “I’m still a little numb. What did you use on me?”
She smiled tentatively. “Ether. While you were sleeping I held it under your nose.”
“An ether frolic and a shaving party. You must have had fun.”
Her smile faded. “No. I felt sorry for you.”
“But not sorry enough to leave my mustache alone.”
She kissed him and ran her tongue over the edge of his lip. “Hmmm. It will be different. Interesting. Though I do want your mustache back.”
“I’m starting to tingle.”
Her voice became sultry. “All over?”
He picked her up. “Where it will do us both some good.”
He carried her to the bed. He was still fuzzy-headed, and she took advantage of it to make him forget the ludicrous indignity she’d done to him. When she finished her seduction, he lay on top of her in a languid daze. She licked and nuzzled his naked lip, and promised that he wouldn’t regret trusting her.
He nibbled her neck to hide his frown. He trusted her, but he would never trust Vittorio Salazar.
CHAPTER 15
DELMONICO’S was a place of fantasy, a romantic Italianate dream with gilded mirrors, marble tables, and waiters who were so formal and elegant that they seemed as elite as the diners they served. Katherine was torn between watching them and studying the menu, an artistic masterpiece that listed dozens of dishes, all described in French.
Even Adela, usually unimpressed by everything, was wide-eyed. Only Vittorio seemed perfectly at ease. He leaned toward Katherine and rested a hand on her forearm. She glanced down, startled. His hand was slender but strong, and it looked somehow unnatural and too commanding against the figured white material and blue lace of her sleeve. Katherine politely said nothing but wished that he would not touch her as often as had become his habit. She didn’t fear his motives—he was an exquisite gentleman—but she feared Justis’s reaction if he ever saw such familiarity between them.
A month had passed since the tempestuous night when she’d shaved Justis in revenge, and since then he had tolerated, even joked about, her association with Salazar. She didn’t want to endanger his newfound trust. Also, she would prefer that he not strangle Vittorio. The Spaniard was a charming escort and a wonderful conversationalist.
“Ladies, do you know who we’re sitting near?” he asked. “See that heavyset gentleman at the table of honor?”
Adela peered over her menu. Katherine glanced delicately to one side. “Yes?”
“That is William Astor. The son of John Jacob. You are looking at the heir to the richest fortune in America.”
“He is a very ordinary hombre,” Adela commented. “Like a fat frog.”
Katherine smiled. “But his money makes the waiters love him. See how they pamper him.”
“Ah, love,” Vittorio said. “Cras amet qui nunquam amavit; quique amavit cras amet. My Latin is poor—do you understand it?”
Katherine nodded. “ ‘May he love tomorrow who never has loved before, and may he who has loved love tomorrow as well.’ ”
“Do you believe in love, Señora?”
“Certainly.”
“And does your husband?”
She laughed, feeling uncomfortable and more than a little sad. “You’ll have to ask him that question.”
“Surely he expresses his love for you?”
“I am quite content with him.”
“Ah, the lady parries my question.”
Adela interjected drolly, “She may stab you with it if you persist.”
“Never,” Katherine assured him. “I would lose my only chess partner.”
He smiled directly into Katherine’s eyes. “I believe in love, Señora Gallatin. I love all beautiful things.”
Katherine clasped her heart dramatically. The man was a harmless flirt. “But do they love you in return?”
As a waiter approached their table, ending the discussion, Vittorio leaned close to her and whispered, “Aut viam inveniam aut faciam.”
Katherine felt a twinge of warning, but she laughed as if he’d made the merriest joke in the world. Where there’s a will there’s a way.
IT WAS THE most glorious feeling. He was sweaty and filthy, with his shirt torn, hand blistered, and forehead bleeding where falling glass had struck it. Justis lifted a glass of whiskey to the three equally disreputable-looking men who sat around the parlor table with him, their muddy boots propped on the marble surface. “To Ireland,” he said solemnly.
That produced a chorus of bawdy agreements, and they all swallowed another round of the hotel’s best stock, then immediately refilled their glasses. “To his fine self, Mr. Justis Gallatin, our host,” one man announced.
; “Who will be a fireman yet!” another added.
“Who risked his own ugly hide to pull a pair of wee tots from a terrrrible burning hoose!”
“I thank you,” Justis said. He downed the liquor, and they followed suit.
He wasn’t drunk, just pleasantly relaxed, and just loose enough to whoop when he heard Katherine’s key in the lock. He went to the door and slung it open, saying loudly and cheerfully as he did, “Come in, wife! I’ve got meself an Irish toothache, and soon as I kick these boys out, I’ll explain what that is!”
She stood there looking at him warily. Beside her, Adela Mendez dissolved into chortles. Vittorio Salazar appraised him with a slight, cool smile.
Katherine frowned at the blood on his forehead. “You’re injured!”
“It’s nothin’.” He stepped back, all humor gone, and gestured stiffly. “Looks like we both have guests today. I thought you were gone till after supper.”
“We spent all afternoon at Delmonico’s. We decided to forego supper and play cards.”
His three dirty, bloody, drunken friends staggered to their feet as Katherine ushered Adela and Vittorio into the parlor. Justis silently cursed the timing and Salazar’s patronizing expression. “Katie. Katherine. Mrs. Gallatin.” Damn introductions! “I’d like you to meet three of the finest lads in New York.” He waved toward the trio. “Mr. Gilhooly, Mr. Flannigan, and Mr. Connery.”
“Sirs.” As Justis had known she would, she smiled graciously and held out a hand to each of them. They nearly fell down trying to bow over it. She kept a pleasant expression on her face, but Justis recognized disgust in the hard set of her mouth.
“Gentlemen,” she said, “I’m very glad to meet you. These are my friends, Señora Mendez and Señor Salazar. They’re visiting from Mexico. The California area.”
“Mex’cans,” one of the men muttered darkly. “I was with Sam Houston when he whipped the murderin’ bunch in Texas. California’s next.”
Justis grimaced at the insult and hitched a thumb toward the door. “Time to go, lads.” But he couldn’t send them packing as if he were embarrassed to be with them. He’d spent too many of his early years ashamed to call himself Irish. Not anymore. He grabbed the battered, wide-brimmed hat he’d brought all the way from Gold Ridge and refused to throw away. “Come on, fellers. I’ll spring for supper down at one of the oyster cellars.”
He held the door for them and they doffed their caps to Katherine on their way out. After they were gone, Justis looked at her and saw the questions and insinuations in her eyes. “Is that the kind of business you usually devote yourself to during the day?” she asked. “Brawling and drinking? Where did you meet that bunch—at a saloon on the wharf?”
His intended words of explanation faded behind a defensive sarcasm he had honed since his days as a no-account Irish kid, the one who fought insults with insults. “Nah. I met ’em at a whorehouse,” he told her, and walked out.
HE CAME BACK well after midnight, sober and exhausted but still burning with a sense of betrayal. She had stood there and insulted him while that damned Salazar watched like a smirking shadow behind her.
The sleeping chamber was pitch dark. Justis dropped his clothes on the floor and got into bed, sensing her presence even though he couldn’t see her. He lay on his back and frowned into the blackness, too tense to sleep. He could smell the delicate cologne she used and feel the heat of her body only inches away.
With a soft rustling of the covers she shifted closer to him. Her hand settled gently on his shoulder. “Why didn’t you tell me they were firemen? Why didn’t you just say that you’d been helping them? I heard the truth from Thomas. His brother saw you at the fire.”
Justis frowned. He’d have to talk to the hotel porter about his damned wagging tongue. “What difference does it make? You took one look at me and made up your mind to the worst.”
“I’m sorry. I truly am. But you’ve never bothered to tell me that you’ve taken to fighting fires for sport.”
“I don’t tell you everything. Just like you don’t tell me what you and Salazar do together.”
“You never ask.”
“You wanted your freedom and privacy.”
“But I never meant to exclude you. I wouldn’t mind if you inquired politely—”
“I don’t feel like inquiring politely. I see the happy look on your face after you’ve been with him. It tells me all I need to know.”
“Perhaps I look that way because I’m glad to see you.”
“Hell.” He rolled toward her and explored with impatient hands. She was naked. “You’re glad to see me in bed.”
“Oh, Justis. No. It’s not only that.”
He tossed the covers back and found her belly with his mouth. As he kissed it roughly he pulled her legs apart. “Be quiet and let me do what you want.”
Her hands tightened convulsively in his hair as he lowered his mouth between her thighs. “I am proud of you for saving those children today,” she whispered in a choked voice. “Very proud, no matter what you think.”
His fingers dug into her thighs as bittersweet emotion twisted his throat. “Shut up.”
She whimpered. “All right. This is the only way you know how to say that you forgive me.”
“I don’t care what you think of me. There’s nothing for me to forgive.”
“Shhh.”
He took her with his mouth and tongue until her pelvis writhed upward and she trembled with release. As she collapsed, panting in the aftermath, he rested his head on her stomach, feeling weary and sad. She had assumed the worst about him today; it had shown him what she really thought.
She licked her fingers and gently smoothed them over the scratches on his forehead. “I am proud of you,” she whispered again. “And very sorry that I hurt your feelings.”
“Hurt my feelings? Hell, all you did was make me mad. Women get their feelings hurt. Younguns get their feelings hurt. I’m a grown man.” He moved away from her and turned his back. “Good night.”
“But I am truly—”
“Good night.”
He heard her exhale softly, defeated. “Good night, then,” she said, her voice ancient. “It’s no use.”
IF THERE WAS one luxury he had grown to crave, it was the copper bathtub that sat in the dressing room. Justis got up shortly after dawn to soak his sore muscles in hot soapy water. As he lounged in the wonderful contraption with his eyes shut, Katherine burst into the room, her robe half drawn and her mane of black hair tangled around her.
“Excuse me,” she murmured, and grabbed a towel from the washstand. She pressed it to her face and retched for a moment, then leaned heavily on the washstand and rinsed her mouth with water from the drinking pitcher.
Justis sat forward and watched her. Lingering traces of anger were pushed aside by concern. “Katie?”
She dabbed cold water on her face and kept her back to him. “What you said about the whorehouse. You’ve never gone to one of those with your friends, have you?”
He settled back in the tub, assessing her with shrewd eyes. “That notion been chewin’ at you?”
“Yes.”
“I ask no less of myself than I ask of you. I’ve not been unfaithful to you.”
“Good.”
“Why do you care? ’Fraid I’ll give you a whore’s disease?”
Her sharp gasp turned into a hiss of anger. “Your nasty temper is matched only by your vulgar mind.”
He reached out and grasped her wrist as she started out of the room. She jumped and wouldn’t meet his gaze. “Bein’ mad at me doesn’t usually turn your stomach. What else is wrong with you this mornin’?”
“I’m just worn out.” Finally she looked at him. “I think my flux is coming on, that’s all.”
“Oh.” Women’s monthlies were a mystery he’d never pretended to understand. “Why don’t you go back to bed? Maybe I’ll bring you some tea.”
“No, no. Go on about your day’s appointments. I’ll just sleep late
.”
He let go of her wrist with an abrupt little shove. She didn’t want coddling, but sometimes he forgot that. She didn’t want him around any more than she could help.
“Get on back to bed, then,” he ordered. “And give yourself a rest from that damned Salazar.”
She laughed shortly, her voice cracking, and fled out the door. By the time Justis finished dressing, she was curled on her side under the covers, sound asleep. He stood next to the bed and watched her in miserable uncertainty. She was unhappy. It was more than just the problem they’d had yesterday, something much more.
Salazar.
OVER THE NEXT few days Katherine felt Justis watching her closely, and she put on a good show of acting as if everything were fine. As in months past they had an understanding—she would tell him when her flux ended, and until then they would just hold each other companionably at night, warm and intimate in a different way, a way that always made her feel secure and happy.
But not this time. Worry gnawed at her. She avoided Adela by pleading headaches; above all she avoided Vittorio. She found it necessary to nap often, not for the kind of escape she had needed after Justis had rescued her from the trail, but because she was more tired than ordinary.
Finally she was forced to admit the truth. After Justis left one morning she rushed into the dressing room and threw up in the basin. She removed her nightgown and stared at herself in the mirror. Already her breasts felt swollen. She hadn’t had her flux this month, nor the last one. How much longer before the changes became obvious?
She braced her arms on the washstand and leaned toward the drawn, hollow-eyed face in the mirror. “I’m carrying a babe,” she whispered tearfully. “And even if Justis believes it’s his, he won’t want it.”
THOMAS MET HIM in a quiet alcove off one of the main halls. “You’d be wantin’ to see me, Mr. Gallatin, sir?”
Justis nodded. “You know everything that goes on in this hotel and half the what-all that goes on in New York.”
The porter grinned. “That’d be true, sir.”
“What do you know about Vittorio Salazar, the Mex upstairs?”
The Beloved Woman Page 24
