Jade

by Jill Marie Landis

  “I told you what happened. If you don’t care to believe me, that’s your problem, not mine.” She snatched up her reticule and headed for the door.

  He stood and followed her.

  She could feel him close behind her as she turned the lock and opened the door. It was raining, just as he had said, and much harder than she imagined. It seemed a full-fledged storm had hit San Francisco.

  Her head ached. The tightly laced corset was killing her, and she wanted nothing more than to let her hair down, slip into a comfortable robe, and go to sleep. The clock chimed half past the hour.

  She rubbed her temples and felt the cool mist of rain.

  Jason reached around her and closed the door.

  “Listen,” he said, his tone contemplative, “you may as well go upstairs and try to get some sleep. I counted more than sixteen rooms up there with beds in them.” He was certain now that whatever her motive had been for stopping by, it was not to seduce him. He had given her enough chances and she had not taken them. Now, the storm would force them together for even longer.

  “I think I’ll try my chances out on the street, if you don’t mind.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You can’t go out in that rain,” he said, avoiding a direct answer to her question.

  “I can and I will, because what you are suggesting is impossible. I will not stay here a moment longer and I will positively not sleep here. I thought you were a gentleman.”

  “I’m still trying to figure out what you are,” he said.

  Heedless of the rain, Jade shoved past him and ran outside. The front steps were slippery and slowed her down some, but she was still able to dash across the porch and start down the drive. Beneath, the ground was quickly becoming a quagmire. With each step, her feet sank deeper into the muddy ground. Bunching her skirt in her hands, Jade kept running, heedless of the mud sucking at her shoes. Rain streamed down her face, into her eyes, and beneath the high collar of her gown. She chanced a glance over her shoulder. Jason was but a few steps behind. Suddenly, she found herself pitching forward, and let go of her skirt.

  Before she hit the ground, Jason caught up with her, grasped her arm, and pulled her upright.

  Jason held tight to her arm and spun her around. Jade glared up at him, blinking furiously to drive the rain out of her eyes. It was pelting down in sheets, driven by a steady wind that blew in off the sea. His wet shirt clung to him like wallpaper to a wall, emphasizing the well-defined muscles of his chest and shoulders.

  “Listen!” He reached out and grabbed her by both shoulders and held her at arm’s length as he shouted above the rain. “I promise to keep my hands to myself. You go on upstairs. Pick any room you want. I’ll stay downstairs and stretch out on the floor if it will make you feel any better.”

  “That’s just impossible!” She wanted to believe him, wanted to get in out of the pouring rain. Babs’s gown was fast becoming soaked, the once perky feathers of her hat were drooping sadly. Her hair was slowly sliding down her neck. “I can’t spend the night here. We are unchaperoned.”

  “We’ve been alone since afternoon and nothing’s happened. I think you ought to be able to trust me by now.”

  Nothing’s happened? She had been intimately, thoroughly kissed for the first time in her life and he dismissed it as nothing? Did that mean he had felt nothing?

  Jade tried again. “If anyone were to find out . . . and what about Babs? She must be worried sick. I’m sure she would have come for me if it hadn’t been for the storm.” She tried to hide the doubt from her tone. There really was no telling what Babs was thinking.

  “If I get you out of here early in the morning, no one will ever know. Besides, if this friend of yours was so all-fired worried about you, why didn’t she come after you earlier?”

  They were shouting over the pounding rain. It ran in rivers down his face and onto his clothes. They were fast becoming soaked to the skin, and still she wouldn’t budge. Tired of arguing in the rain, Jason swept her up in his arms and marched back to the house.

  “Put me down this instant!” Jade tried to wriggle free.

  He tightened his hold. When he was well inside the foyer, J.T. set her down and then locked the door. “I’ll take you home first thing in the morning. It’s bound to have stopped raining by then.” He leaned close to emphasize his next words. “Just remember, Miss Douglas, you’re the one who came calling.”

  Jade watched as he swung around and crossed the foyer with a slow, casual stride. He paused on the second stair and turned. There was something arresting about the look of him towering there, dripping wet at the bottom of the imposing stairway. The white linen shirt clung to his well-muscled chest and taut abdomen.

  “I’m going up to bed. You can sit up all night, or find a place to sleep, I don’t care, but I’ve had a long day in the saddle and I’m ready to bed down.”

  He reached up as if to tip his hat to her, then realized he wasn’t wearing one. He nodded in her direction instead. “’Night, Miss Douglas.”

  Jade watched him mount the stairs. When she was certain he meant to keep his word, she turned abruptly and peered through the stained glass panel that framed the front door. Outside, muted by the translucent emerald glass, sheets of rain continued to fall. She sighed and wandered back into the sitting room.

  One glance at the uncomfortable settee and she nearly faltered in her reserve. Then she spied the lush, willow-patterned Oriental carpet where Jason had sprawled earlier. It would serve him right if she ruined it. Jade slipped her soggy reticule from her wrist, knelt down, and then took off her hat and placed it carefully on the floor beside the settee. Thankful for a reprieve, she pulled out her hairpins, finger-combed her tangled hair, and tried to shake it free. Tamping down the sodden ruffles of her skirt, she stretched out before the fire and tried to make herself as comfortable as possible. Jade was determined not to think about the fifteen empty beds upstairs, or about the one that was occupied.

  Chapter Five

  Words spoken may fly away . . .

  The writing brush leaves its mark.

  THE SOUND OF horses’ hooves and carriage wheels on the drive were real, not part of his musing. Jason threw back the covers and stood up, gave a quick glance out the window, then reached for his trousers. A carriage had stopped at the front door. J.T. thrust one long leg in his trousers and hopped toward the door as he fought with the other pant leg. He nearly tripped and fell before he reached the door, but managed to yank it open and head downstairs without stopping to grab his shirt.

  An incessant pounding began at the front door as Jason bounded down the stairs, both hands groping to close his fly. Barefooted, bleary-eyed with sleep, he managed to fasten all but the top button before he flung the door wide and glared out into the morning light. A weak-willed sun tried to burn off the morning’s fog. The lawn and shrubbery near the house winked with raindrops left behind by the storm.

  A pert brunette with snapping brown eyes and the determination of a wild bronco glared back at him.

  “Where’s Jade? What have you done with her?”

  Before he could answer, she shoved him aside, searching for some sign of his reluctant houseguest. Just as he was about to tell the persistent woman it was none of her business where Jade was, they both spied the object of her search rising from the floor in the front parlor.

  The brunette turned and headed toward Jade. Jason followed close behind, unwilling to miss the exchange. He found a safe haven and casually leaned against the doorjamb, his thumbs hooked in his pockets.

  Although he was only half-dressed, he noted that Jade looked much the worse for wear. Her fine gown was water-stained and crumpled, her bustle misshapen. Her hair stood out like a wild sunset-red nimbus about her head, while deep shadows underlined her eyes. A
throw blanket she had appropriated from the wing chair was tangled in a heap near the hearth. The half-empty champagne bottle stood nearby. Her pheasant-feathered hat and reticule were forgotten beside it.

  He watched with undisguised humor as the flabbergasted brunette took in the scene. With her hands on her hips, she stepped close to Jade and hissed sotto voce, “Good God, Jade! I didn’t think you would go this far!”

  Jade blinked, put a hand against her forehead, and managed to mutter, “What are you doing here, Babs?”

  “Me? I came to get you out of here. Now!”

  “It’s nice of you to return after the way you left me here yesterday.”

  Jason smiled from where he lazed against the doorjamb. “Can’t you ladies at least stay for breakfast?”

  The woman Jade had called Babs hastily grabbed up Jade’s hat and bag and then took the other girl by the arm. She dragged her silent companion across the room and paused momentarily before him. He snuck a glance at Jade, and was not surprised to see her fuming silently as she stared at the floor. Her face flamed as bright as her hair.

  Babs drew his attention once again as she addressed him icily. “I would suggest you put something on. A reporter from the Chronicle is on the way over to interview you—he’s doing a piece on new arrivals in town.”

  “It’s nice to make your acquaintance, too, ma’am.”

  Too angry to speak to either of them, Jade frantically tried in vain to twist her hair into some semblance of order.

  “There’s no time for that,” Babs snapped. She pulled on Jade’s arm and led her past Jason into the foyer.

  Just as Jason wondered whether Jade needed to be rescued from the termagant who had her in tow, Jade took a stand and refused to budge. “What do you mean, reporter?” she demanded.

  “What I mean is that a reporter from the Chronicle stopped by my house to interview you, bright and early I might add, and I had to pretend you were still upstairs asleep. As a matter of fact”—she shot a quelling glance at Jason—“that’s exactly where Reggie thinks you’ve been since yesterday afternoon—sick in bed. When I told the reporter you weren’t up yet, he let it slip that he was on his way here to interview the other new arrival in town.” She got a better grip on Jade’s arm and yanked. “Let’s go!”

  Jade gave Jason one last parting glare and followed Babs out the door. Barbara Barrett’s driver sat staring straight ahead as if his employer had threatened him with a fate worse than death should he chance to glance in their direction. Jade climbed aboard, too embarrassed to meet Jason’s teasing smile, and stared ahead as stiffly as the driver on the box. The door slammed shut behind Babs and the carriage was away a second later, which proved not quite soon enough.

  J.T. watched as the first carriage swerved to avoid hitting a second vehicle making its way up the drive. As the carriages neared each other, he could have sworn he saw Jade and her captor dive for the floor of theirs.

  Fighting hard to bite back a laugh, he waited patiently on the stairs, the damp brick cold against his bare feet. The second carriage pulled up in the spot just vacated and the door swung wide to reveal a short, portly man dressed in a three-piece suit and bowler hat. Head down, he scribbled furiously over a notebook, then descended with a bound and hurried up the steps. He stopped abruptly in front of Jason.

  “I’m here to see Jason T. Harrington III. You can tell him Arnold Peterson of the San Francisco Chronicle has arrived to interview him.” The man pulled himself up ramrod straight, expecting Jason to leave to do his bidding.

  Jason had no intention of telling the worried-looking man who he was just yet. On close inspection, he could see the hair oil stain that had seeped through the reporter’s hat to form a second hatband. Peterson stood staring up at him.

  Jason was tempted to tell him J.T. Harrington was not at home, but his mother had taught him his manners, so he honestly admitted, “I’m J.T. Harrington. What can I do for you, Mr. Peterson?”

  Pop-eyed, Peterson stared up at Jason, then down at his bare feet, then back up to his bare chest, and then at the half-open front door, as if he expected the real J.T. Harrington to appear and set things right. “You?”

  “Yep.”

  Peterson cleared his throat and ran a finger around the inside of his collar. “It might be easier if we went inside.” His curious gaze flicked to the half-open door.

  Jason obliged him. “Fine with me. Come on in.”

  The little man stepped inside first and waited for Jason to close the door. Too late, Jason realized his tactical error as Peterson headed directly for the sitting room. Quick to note the champagne bottle and the rumpled blanket near the fireplace, the reporter scribbled furtively in his notebook. J.T. stifled the urge to rip the thing from the man’s hands.

  “I like to sleep on the floor,” Jason volunteered without having been asked. “Reminds me of sleeping out on the open range.”

  Peterson made another note and took a chair near the fire. Jason suddenly found himself regretting the game he had played with Jade Douglas last night. It had not been fair to use the rain against her—not when there were at least three vehicles in the carriage house he might have used to drive her safely home. He was surprised she had not thought of it herself—but then, why should she? She had been naive enough to trust him to tell her the truth, and he had only meant to teach her a lesson by avoiding it. She would think twice about finding herself alone and defenseless with a man again. But now this pompous little man was intrigued by the signs of what had been an innocent occurrence and was furiously noting every detail.

  “Do you know anyone here in San Francisco?” Peterson asked, peering up at Jason from beneath the brim of his hat.

  Jason knew the other man had seen the carriage leaving as he arrived, and furthermore, he believed a man’s business was his own. “My attorney.”

  “Pardon me?”

  “I know my attorney.”

  “Who is . . . ”

  “Who is none of your business.”

  Peterson looked nonplussed. “Do you plan to stay on here, Mr. Harrington? Take up the reins of the Harrington Import business?”

  “Nope. I intend to sell out.”

  “So, you plan to return to . . . ”

  “My home.”

  “Which is . . . ”

  “In the New Mexico Territory.”

  “And you don’t know anyone here outside of your attorney, nor do you have plans to stay on. Is that correct?”

  Jason wondered at the little man’s gall. He stifled the urge to pick him up by the lapels and carry him to the door. “I don’t know any more folks than I told you I did half a minute ago. You’re beginning to sound like a detective to me, Peterson. What is it you really want?”

  “Just the story, sir, just the story. Is it true your mother and father were divorced some twenty years ago?”

  “Is that any of your business?”

  “And what happened to your mother after that?”

  “She died.” There, he thought, that should shut the man up. But bluntness had no effect on Peterson at all.

  “You’re a cattleman?”

  “Nope. Horses. I plan on expanding my uncle’s ranch.”

  “I see.”

  J.T. sensed the man’s frustration, but he could not answer questions that he felt concerned no one but himself. Nor could he lie. Teasing was one thing, but he could not abide outright lying, so he avoided saying anything at all.

  “Might I ask the identity of the occupants of that carriage?”

  “What carriage?” Jason frowned.

  “The one that just left here.”

  “No, you might not.”

  “Are you married, Mr. Harrington?”

  “No. Are you, Mr. Peterson?”

  Just as Arnold Peterson seemed to h
ave reached the high point of frustration, there was another knock at the door. Jason excused himself and went to answer it. He was relieved to see Matthew Van Buren standing expectantly on the porch.

  “I need help,” Jason whispered to him as ushered Matt inside. “Let’s see if you can start earnin’ your keep.”

  Matt swiftly put an end to the interview by introducing himself and informing Peterson that Jason had a very important appointment within the hour.

  “Might I continue the interview soon, Mr. Harrington?” Peterson asked.

  “You might,” J.T. mumbled.

  “We’ll contact you if Mr. Harrington has any newsworthy announcements,” Matt added as he deftly ushered Peterson out the door.

  THE RIDE HOME from Harrington House had been short, but fraught with tension. Babs was certain that the reporter from the Chronicle had not recognized them. Jade had tried to ignore her friend’s ranting while she concentrated on finger-combing her hair into some sort of order. Babs made certain that Reggie had departed for work before the two of them snuck up the back stairs to Jade’s room, where Babs left her alone and went to order a tray of food sent up.

  Jade hastily changed into a flowing Chinese robe and long, silk pajama pants, then pulled one of her satchels out of the closet and began throwing what clothing she possessed into it. When a quick knock on the door heralded Babs’s return, Jade took a deep breath and bade her enter. One look at her friend’s smug smile warned her that Babs was in rare form. She could almost see the brunette’s mind at work.

  “What are you doing?” Babs asked when she spied Jade’s bag.

  “I’m leaving. I can’t stay here another minute.” She turned on Babs. “How could you do it? How could you leave me there? I made an absolute fool of myself, and I’ll never forgive you for your part in it. This time you’ve gone too far.”

  Babs took a deep breath and then smiled. “Just calm down and tell me everything. When’s the wedding?”