A Stranger's Wife

by Maggie Osborne

  Anger tightened his throat. “Lily would never use Miriam’s affair against me. If for no other reason, she wouldn’t expose the affair because she wouldn’t cause Oliver’s wife and children that kind of embarrassment or pain. And we needn’t worry about Oliver exposing the affair for the same reason.”

  “I believe Marshall Oliver was hired by the Van Heusens to romance Miriam, and I think he’s still on the payroll. That tells you how much he cares about his family. And believe me, the Van Heusens don’t care two cents about causing Oliver’s family pain or embarrassment. They’ll throw Oliver and his family to the wolves to take you out of the race at the most advantageous moment.”

  “I repeat,” Quinn said coldly. “Lily totally severed the connection with Helene. Oliver has no means to get a message to her. Further, she instructed Helene to inform Oliver that their liaison is finished.”

  “Miriam already told him it was over, but here he is again. I believe you can thank the Van Heusens for sending Oliver back to your door. God knows what Helene is telling him. Right now, I’d wager my carriage that the Van Heusens are feverishly trying to figure out another route for Oliver to reach Miriam.”

  They had discussed the affair and every possible consequence throughout Miriam’s pregnancy and afterward. Miriam had wept bitter tears and promised never to see Oliver again, and Quinn had beaten Oliver to within an inch of his life. He had believed the possibility of scandal was averted and all that remained was to pick up the shattered pieces of his marriage. Exhaustion tightened the muscles along his neck as he thought of dealing with this problem, this humiliation again.

  “Let me ask you something, Quinn. How well do you know Lily Dale? Are you very certain that you aren’t blurring the lines and transporting Miriam’s character onto Lily? Miriam walked away from Oliver presumably to spare his family any embarrassment and pain. Does Lily think the same way? Are you sure? If personal gain were at stake, would she care about protecting the family of Miriam’s lover? Lily is a rule-breaker. She puts what she wants before anything else, and the rules be damned. The rules of decent behavior say you don’t injure innocent people. Does that describe Lily? Did her innocent daughter ask to be born a bastard? Did the innocent bystander, Mr. Small, request that she fire a bullet into him?”

  Tenting his fingers under his chin, he stared into the fireplace. “I assume you paid Callihan.”

  “You can’t ignore this forever. Eventually we’ll have to discuss the Lily problem and talk about various bad endings.” Paul glanced at the door. “Did you hear something?”

  “Paul, Lily has done everything we’ve asked and more. She’s not the same person who had a child out of wedlock or who shot a man in a gambling hall. That couldn’t happen now.” He paused to consider, his gaze on the embers. “As to how well I know her, I know her well enough to say with utter certainty that blackmail will never be an issue. She’ll honor the bargain she made. And not because she fancies herself in love with the prince as you put it. She’ll leave quietly and with no threats because that’s what she agreed to. Lily Dale is a trustworthy woman. If she weren’t, she could have stolen a king’s ransom out of this house and left long ago.”

  “Believe it or not, I hope you’re right.”

  “Lily didn’t seek out Helene Van Heusen. Helene came to her with disturbing information, and ultimately she handled the situation to our advantage. I believe her when she says she didn’t mention Oliver earlier because she had no way of knowing for certain if I was aware of Miriam’s affair. She didn’t wish to be the person who told me if I didn’t know.”

  Standing, Paul stretched and yawned. “I just want you to be aware there are alternate interpretations. You know I like Lily, and I’ve come to admire her.” He smiled. “But I see her with clearer eyes than you do.”

  “If Lily will try so hard to keep the secrets of a woman she doesn’t know and will never know, I think I can trust her with my secrets,” Quinn said, rising and following Paul to the door.

  “You’re staking a lot on that hope.” Paul paused beneath the foyer chandelier and pulled on his gloves. “You know what the real Lily problem is, don’t you?”

  Quinn stared at him.

  Paul placed his hand on Quinn’s shoulder. Sympathy flickered in his eyes. “I’m sorry, but you know there’s no alternative. When the time comes, you have to let her go.” They shook hands, holding the grip longer than necessary.

  * * *

  Lily knew she shouldn’t have eavesdropped. Nothing good ever came from listening at doors. She’d waited half an hour after she heard the meeting adjourn and the men leave the house, then she had gone downstairs to ask Quinn if the meeting had ended well and to learn if he’d convinced the leaders regarding the speech he wanted to give on Thursday.

  Then she had overheard Paul mention her name. She’d intended to cough and announce her presence, but she didn’t. And after she heard Paul refer to a Lily problem, she couldn’t help herself. Careful not to make a sound, she leaned against the wall next to the library door and shamelessly eavesdropped.

  And she had overheard enough to chill her. What did it mean that the Miriam problem was solved completely? And how could Paul think for a moment that she would ever extort money from Quinn in return for not destroying him? That hurt.

  Pacing across her bedroom, she wished she had a bottle of whiskey hidden in her garter-and-stocking drawer. A strong calming jolt would sit well right now.

  It also hurt that they dismissed her life as a series of selfish rule breaking, hurt because they were right. But that was then, and this was now. What they apparently didn’t notice was that she had grown and changed and learned. Not a day passed that she didn’t regret the recklessness of her previous life.

  Opening the cedar chest at the end of her bed, she gazed down at the dolls and toys and fur mittens and earmuffs that filled the chest. Every time she went shopping, she bought something for Rose, pretending that Rose waited for her at the mansion.

  The items in the chest would not erase the fact that Rose had been born out of wedlock and had no father. Lily couldn’t change the past, but she would spend the rest of her life trying to atone and make it up to Rose that she had done wrong by her. And surely she had paid for wounding Mr. Small, hadn’t she? Wasn’t a five-year hole in her life payment enough?

  Did Paul and Quinn believe she was so thickheaded that she hadn’t learned the hard consequences of breaking rules? All right, it had taken her a while. But she’d learned her lesson.

  After shutting the lid of the cedar chest, she sank to the side of the bed and covered her face in her hands. She had never intended to injure anyone. Not Mr. Small, not Rose. And she would never do anything to damage Quinn.

  That’s what hurt the most. He hadn’t liked what Paul was saying, but he hadn’t mounted a vigorous defense either. He’d listened to Paul paint her in shades of deepest black. She tried to convince herself that Quinn had defended her after she stole away. Surely he had.

  He cared about her. She knew he did. She saw it in his eyes, felt it in his touch, heard it in his voice.

  Or was it all a lie? Part of the deceit that circled around and around like a dark, whirling maelstrom that pulled them into the murk and distorted their life together. There were so many lies. Lies of misdirection, half lies, outright lies, the silent lie.

  The silent lies disturbed her the most. Quinn and Paul had let her believe that Miriam was an ordinary woman who had led an ordinary life until the moment of her disappearance.

  And all the while, they had known about Marshall Oliver and that Quinn’s daughter was not his own. They had known about the fire in May and the anguish Miriam suffered because of it.

  Several mysteries were now solved. Now Lily understood Quinn’s lack of emotion when he mentioned Susan. She understood why he had made no attempt to search for Miriam. He didn’t want Miriam back.

  If Miriam was even alive. Quinn quietly insisted she was, but Lily’s instinct was that Miriam had
committed suicide after the fire and Susan’s death. Her life would have been at its lowest ebb.

  Miriam had been involved in a clandestine affair that would destroy her husband’s political future if discovered. She had driven the final nails into a floundering marriage when she became pregnant by her lover. With her choices dwindling, she had sworn to give up the man she loved in exchange for Quinn agreeing to continue a sham of a marriage and acknowledge Marshall’s child as his own. And finally, Miriam had run out of a burning building and left her infant daughter behind to die in the flames.

  Stronger women than Miriam Westin had been destroyed by a series of events as agonizing as these.

  And, Lily thought, pressing her palms to her eyelids, if Miriam is dead, then Paul was certainly correct to have believed the Miriam problem was completely and finally solved.

  But why lie about it? Why insist to her that Miriam was alive?

  Shaking her head, she pondered the questions until her temples throbbed. One question was answered only to generate more questions. They swirled in her mind like cold winds, sending chills down her body.

  And it frightened her a little that Paul had mentioned a Lily problem. Sudden goose bumps lifted on her arms when she recalled him mentioning “various bad endings.” If he sent her back to prison, she would die.

  “Lily?”

  Her shoulders jerked and she stared toward the sound of Quinn’s low voice calling from his side of the connecting door. Then she jumped to her feet, turned off the lamp, and sprang into bed as the door quietly opened. Squeezing her eyes shut, fighting to control her breathing, she pretended to be asleep.

  She heard him pause at the foot of her bed and sensed him looking at her, prayed he couldn’t hear her heart pounding.

  At length, she heard the door softly close, and she sat up in the darkness, vigorously rubbing at the chill that iced the back of her neck.

  Bewildered, she tried to understand what she had just done. It shocked her that she had fled from him. She loved Quinn. She loved him so much that she hurt inside when she thought ahead to the moment when she would have to leave him. Loved him so deeply she knew there could never be another man in her life. She loved him with all her heart and would have forgiven him anything.

  So why, for just a moment, had she been afraid of him?

  Disturbed, she drew her knees up under her chin and blinked through the darkness at their connecting door, looking at the thin line of light shining on the floor.

  It wasn’t too late. She needed him tonight, yearned for his strong arms around her, craved the comfort his mouth and hands could give her. All she had to do was slide out of bed and rap on the door, and they would be in each other’s arms.

  But she didn’t move.

  * * *

  Lily danced with a dozen men, including the handsome Russian duke in whose honor the ball was being given. But it was Quinn who made her heart race and her blood rush when he bowed before her, then took her hand and led her onto the ballroom floor.

  Pausing with his fingers hot on her waist, her gloved hand clasped near his chest, he gazed down at her with soft eyes the color of polished pewter. “Is the most beautiful woman at the ball having a good time?” he asked in a husky voice. His gaze settled on her parted lips.

  “It’s been wonderful.”

  “Then why do you look so sad?”

  The hotel ballroom blazed with candles and an enormous gaslit chandelier; the mingled fragrance of cologne and massive sprays of flowers perfumed every breath. Denver’s finest musicians crowded the dais. Tonight every man in the ballroom seemed handsome, and the women swirled around the dance floor like jeweled flower petals spinning on a gentle breeze.

  It should have been the most glorious evening of Lily’s life. There had been a flattering rush to sign her dance card. She had danced with a Russian duke and with the richest silver baron in the territories. Diamonds sparkled at her ears and throat, and she wore a lavender gown the color of her eyes that was strewn with tiny, glowing seed pearls. She had never felt as beautiful or as dazzling as she did tonight.

  And yet, a chill sense of unease distracted her pleasure in the evening. She gazed into Quinn’s eyes as the sweet strains of a waltz rose to surround them. “Did you read the newspaper this morning?” she asked, struggling not to sound breathless. “On page five there’s a report about the warden of the Yuma Women’s Prison being killed in a brawl on Blake Street.”

  Not a flicker of an eyelash, not a twitch of a finger betrayed surprise. “I wouldn’t think Ephram Callihan’s sordid demise would cause you a moment’s sadness or regret,” he murmured. Stepping forward, he expertly turned her into the stream of dancers circling the floor.

  They danced together as if destiny had created them for the waltz. Ordinarily Lily was aware of the admiring glances they garnered, overheard murmurs mentioning what a striking couple they made, Quinn so tall and dark, she so slender and blond. But tonight, the other dancers melted away, and it was as if they whirled alone on the floor, gazing into each other’s eyes, holding each other with a strange yearning need that poured through the reserve they had recently experienced with each other.

  When the music stopped, they stood locked together. And the forbidden words hovered on Lily’s trembling lips. It would ease the pressure on her heart to tell him that she loved him. But she remembered Paul warning that she would try to ensnare him before the end. And she didn’t utter the words engraved on her soul.

  But it was February. The clock ticked toward the election in April. The end of their time together rushed toward them.

  It wasn’t until later, when she visited the ladies cloak room, that she gazed into the mirror and recalled the hard satisfied smile that had quirked Quinn’s lips when she mentioned Ephram Callihan’s fortuitous death.

  He and Paul had found the long-term solution they sought. The Callihan problem was now conveniently solved.

  As if a dam had burst, a stream of unwanted conjectures poured into her mind. Paul and Quinn talking, talking, talking, reaching a ruthless decision to solve the Callihan problem completely. Paul, assigning someone to establish Ephram Callihan’s habits. And then arranging for an assassination in the midst of a barroom brawl.

  Staring into the mirror, she watched the blood drain from her face. Her knees trembled, and if the chairs hadn’t been occupied by chatting ladies, she would have stumbled to one and fallen into it.

  “No,” she whispered, her lips dry. “Don’t think this.”

  But she had been speculating all day, she realized, struggling with the growing disturbance that pushed at the back of her mind.

  Of all people, she had no reason to regret Ephram Callihan’s death. He’d been a crude, brutal man with no conscience. She had wished him dead a thousand times.

  But it hadn’t happened until Callihan threatened Quinn. A shudder passed over her bare shoulders. No. She was letting her imagination run away with her. Quinn was not a killer. He couldn’t be. And neither was Paul. Ambition stopped short of murder.

  Didn’t it?

  Lily couldn’t guess how long she might have stood motionless before the mirror, considering possibilities she didn’t want to think about, if Helene Van Heusen had not entered the room.

  Helene halted abruptly in a swirl of rose-colored silk, and her eyes met Lily’s in the glass. Then both women turned aside. Cheeks hot, Lily waited until Helene passed behind her, then she lifted her skirts and hurried out of the cloak room.

  In the corridor, she paused beyond the light cast by a softly hissing wall sconce and placed a trembling hand on her bosom. What was wrong with her tonight? She was seeing intrigue in Quinn’s smile and in Helene’s knowing black eyes. Reading dark intent where surely none existed.

  “Miriam.”

  Whirling, she peered into the shadowy corridor toward the source of a voice she did not recognize. But she could guess the man’s identity. Even Quinn had not addressed her informally tonight.

  He stepped out
of a dark niche in the wall where he had obviously been waiting. Impressions flooded her thoughts as her mind raced. Tall, as blond as the curls that bounced on her own shoulder, beautiful sad eyes. His face was soft, so finely chiseled as to appear almost delicate. As he stepped toward the light, she identified a weak chin and thin lips. As a young man going to war, Marshall Oliver would have been handsome, dashing, and achingly vulnerable.

  He came toward her, his eyes locked to hers, pleading, loving. Just as he reached her, the cloak room door opened and two women emerged, patting their hair, smoothing their gowns.

  Marshall bumped into her, apologized, and she felt him press something into her palm, then swiftly close her fingers. He bowed to her and to the ladies behind her, then touched the snowy stock at his throat and turned toward the staircase. After looking back at her, he descended out of sight.

  When the women had passed, Lily stepped beneath the wall sconce and opened her glove, then smoothed out a folded slip of paper.

  My darling dearest. I must see you. I beg you on my knees. Please. Same time, same place. With all my love, M.

  Chapter 19

  At the end of February Lily and Quinn drove the sleigh to the ranch for the weekend. There Quinn could escape the seemingly endless rounds of meetings and daily political crises that consumed more and more of his time and attention. With the election only nine weeks away, there was seldom an evening when he wasn’t scheduled to speak, attend a series of meetings, or confer with Paul. A steady flow of people called at the mansion, and social obligations had become hectic.

  “I need rest and air and sky,” he told Lily shortly after they arrived at the ranch. “Plus, I think best on a horse.”