Perfect Romance

by Duncan, Alice

  “I won’t!”

  “Still . . .” Jason was unmollified. “There’s such a thing as honor, man, and if you think you can get away with—”

  “How dare you?” shrieked Loretta. This time everyone ignored her.

  Feeling about on a par with dirt and worms and maggots and other disgusting creatures of the earth, Malachai muttered, “I know. I was a rascal. A cad. A lout. It was not only an ungentlemanly thing to do, but it was extremely foolish.” Damn Loretta Linden anyhow! It was her fault he was having to admit his sins in front of strangers. The urge to strangle his beloved intensified.

  “I should say so,” said Jason, although the tone of his voice had eased up slightly from the censorious one he’d adopted at first.

  “I should say not!” exclaimed Loretta, still being slighted by the three other people on her patio.

  Not that Malachai blamed Jason for his censure. He himself thought he ought to be horsewhipped. He’d allowed himself to succumb to base lust, defying social wisdom, custom, practice, not to mention common sense and his instinct for survival, and that was something he’d never done before. “But my intentions are honorable. I said I’ll marry the woman.” He frowned, his choice of words and the voice in which he’d said them having plopped rather uncongenially into the early afternoon air.

  “I wouldn’t have you on a bet!” cried Loretta, turning on him like a termagant inflamed.

  Jason, continuing to disregard Loretta, nodded thoughtfully. “I see. Well, I guess that as long as you’re willing to face up to your—”

  “I’m not his responsibility!” shrieked Loretta.

  Malachai and Jason exchanged a knowing look.

  Relief came from an unexpected source. Marjorie, who had fallen into a chair as if her knees had given out beneath her, said in a voice that rasped, “It’sna his fault. You ken that, Dr. Abernathy. It’sna his fault.” She stared at Loretta as if she were looking upon Satan himself. “It’s Loretta. She’s been begging to go to hell for years now. The poor captain is only her choice of vehicles.”

  # # #

  Loretta was still fuming as the taxicab pulled out of her driveway, although she was no longer screaming at the top of her lungs, having gone hoarse. She remained defiant, however. She’d be cursed if she’d marry Malachai just because they’d gone to bed together. Why, that sort of thinking was not merely old-fashioned and ridiculous, but it defied every single one of the tenets by which she lived.

  Because she couldn’t contain her wrath, even if her throat hurt, she spat out, “The sexual instinct is inbred in all of us. In this modern day and age, there’s no earthly reason men and women have to be married in order to express it.”

  Malachai heaved a sigh that all but rocked the cab. “I agree.”

  She stared at him, disbelieving. “Then why are you insisting that we marry?”

  Seated next to her in the back seat of the cab, he’d crossed his arms over his massive chest, planted his feet on the floor, and hulked there not unlike a gigantic marble slab that someone had shoved into the cab. He was looking at her slantways, as if assessing her mood. Her mood was savage, actually, but Loretta knew she couldn’t screech in a taxicab. By the time her voice had given out on her back porch, her entire household staff, and probably the whole of Russian Hill, had learned that she was no longer a virgin. If she resumed shrieking now, all of San Francisco would know it.

  Already, the telephone wires were probably humming with neighbors calling her mother to relate the latest gossip about Dorothea’s unruly daughter. The notion of dealing with her parents almost made Loretta relinquish the battle and agree to marry Malachai.

  But no. She couldn’t do that and remain true to herself and her causes.

  It was all, frankly, embarrassing, although, Loretta told herself, not for the reason an ordinary, conventional person would think so. No. The reason for Loretta’s embarrassment stemmed from the fact that she’d remained a virgin until she was approaching the age of thirty. That seemed pitiful to her.

  Still squinting at her out of the corner of his eye, Malachai said, “I’m insisting we marry because it’s time for me to settle down.”

  She gaped at him, disbelieving. “I beg your pardon?”

  “I’ve been thinking for some time now that I’d like to settle down. You know, have a home of my own. A settled place where I can have . . . well . . . a garden. And dogs. I like dogs. And I like San Francisco.”

  An odd sinking sensation engulfed Loretta. Of all the reasons he might have given her for desiring marriage, this wasn’t one she’d even thought about. “You . . . you want to settle down? Have a dog? Leave the sea?”

  His smile struck her as quite unpleasant. “Is that so odd?”

  “Odd? Well, yes. Or no, I mean. I don’t suppose it’s particularly odd.” Unexpected, maybe. And . . . well . . . unemotional. Passionless.

  Boring.

  It was a word she would never have associated with Captain Malachai Quarles in a million years. Until this minute.

  Disappointment warred with rage in her breast. Did he mean to say that any old woman would do for him at this point in his life? Did he mean that he was only insisting upon marriage because it suited his current plans? She wasn’t even sure how to ask the question. Or if she wanted to know the answer.

  Because she found it very difficult, even under the most favorable of circumstances, to hold her tongue; and because she couldn’t seem to help herself, she said, striving for a coolness she didn’t feel, “I see. I’m convenient.”

  The unpleasant smile evaporated, and Malachai roared, “Convenient? You’re the most damned inconvenient female I’ve ever met in my life!”

  Borrowing his pose, Loretta folded her arms over her breasts. She might have planted her feet on the floor, as well, except they didn’t reach. “Well, then, I’m sure you would rather not marry me, since I’m so unsatisfactory.”

  When she slid a glance at his face, his eyes seemed to be glittering strangely. Uncomfortable with this new phenomenon, she eased a little farther away from him on the seat of the cab.

  “I didn’t say you were unsatisfactory, Loretta.”

  She swallowed, suddenly aware that the air between them seemed rather thick. “Um . . .” But she couldn’t think of a thing to say.

  “I don’t think you’re unsatisfactory at all.”

  “Oh.”

  “You’re a pain in the ass, but you’re far from unsatisfactory.”

  Ah. Familiar territory. Loretta had puffed up and was about to give vent to a rant about how men always consider women who think for themselves and have opinions uncomfortable, but she didn’t get any farther than the first indrawn breath. Suddenly, she discovered herself on Malachai’s lap, being kissed with a thoroughness that drove all thought from her head.

  His tongue pried her lips apart and drove home, and Loretta’s stiff posture dissolved until she felt like chocolate melting over a slow flame. Gradually, her own internal fire grew, until it totally engulfed her, and her hands began a frantic perusal of the planes of Malachai’s face. He’d shaved since they’d last been in each other’s arms, she noticed in passing.

  His hand closing over her breast brought a moan of pleasure from her, and she reached for the evidence of his arousal. It felt something like an oak log, actually, and now that she knew what it was good for, Loretta squirmed to get the full benefit of it between her legs. It was Malachai who groaned this time.

  She had no idea how long they played with each other in the cab, or how far they would have gone. On her part, she’d entirely lost track of their whereabouts. She knew for a fact that she’d have gone on to completion if Malachai hadn’t suddenly thrust her away as if she were a pesky gnat.

  Blinking in confusion, Loretta hadn’t composed herself enough to ask why he’d stopped when she realized the cab no longer moved. Too, the back door had opened, God knew when. When she swiveled her head to ascertain what had happened and why, an amused voice shattered the re
mains of her mood as if it were a hammer cracking spun sugar.

  “The Fairmont Hotel, sir.”

  “Right.”

  Loretta, squinting at Malachai through the wisps of lust-fog lingering on the edges of her senses, decided that he appeared too composed and collected. It didn’t seem right to her. It didn’t seem fair.

  However, in justice to herself and all of womankind, she could but pretend to be as cool and composed as he. With hands that, she was disgusted to notice, trembled slightly, she arranged her pretty yellow woolen suit, tugging the skirt down to discreetly cover her ankles. She hadn’t even realized that Malachai had slid it up, and she wondered briefly how much of her leg the cabbie had seen. How embarrassing.

  Lifting her chin, Loretta swore to herself that she’d not lose her head again in Malachai’s presence. Because he’d exited the cab to pay the cabbie—it was a measure of her discomposure that she hadn’t beaten him to that punch—and was now holding his hand out to her, she decided not to buck convention any more at the moment, and took his hand. He was gentle in helping her get out of the cab, and she appreciated him for it, although she’d never tell him so. After all, it was his fault she’d been caught with her skirt up in the first place.

  With a grin and a quick salute, the cab driver squealed away from the curb. Loretta prayed her face betrayed none of her inner chaos. “You think Mr. Peavey is here? You don’t think he might have gone out?”

  “Peavey doesn’t get around much, except at sea. He prefers to remain where he’s comfortable, and he’s only comfortable in familiar surroundings. He likes to read, and I gave him a couple of books and some newspapers.”

  “I hadn’t pegged Mr. Peavey as a reader.”

  Malachai’s deep chuckle did strange things to Loretta’s internal confusion. “Oh, sure. Peavey loves rip-roaring tales of the sea and things like that. He’s a big fan of Robert Lewis Stevenson. He doesn’t go in much for intellectual stuff.”

  “Oh.” There was no getting around it: Mr. Peavey was a very odd duck. “Well, then, we shouldn’t have any trouble locating him.”

  “Naw. He’ll either be in the restaurant or in his room.”

  Malachai took her hand, placed it in the crook of his arm as if he were a normal, courteous, everyday sort of gentleman, and led her into the lobby of the Fairfield. Rather than speeding off, as was usual for him when he and Loretta were together, he slowed his long stride so that she didn’t have to scurry behind him. Her heart fluttered like a hummingbird, and Loretta was annoyed with it. It had no business behaving like a so-called normal female heart; Loretta’s heart ought to be tougher than that.

  In an effort to disguise her reaction to his touch, she said, “Let’s look in the restaurant first, then, since it’s on this floor.”

  “Good idea.”

  She waited, but he didn’t add anything to moderate this expression of approbation. This was very strange. Loretta wasn’t sure how to react to Malachai when he wasn’t being provoking. It was just like him to confuse her this way.

  “Are you hungry?” he asked, interrupting her flow of thought.

  Peering at him closely, she discerned no suggestive twinkle or mocking intent. “No, thank you.”

  “You sure? The Fairmont has a good restaurant.”

  “Yes, I know. Thank you.” Loretta heard the mistrust in her voice.

  His grin came out of nowhere, and his white teeth flashed against his tanned face. “I’m not trying to trick you, Loretta. I’m really acting like a gentleman, foreign as the behavior is to me.”

  Because she couldn’t think of a retort cutting enough, Loretta contented herself with a soft huff. He chuckled again, and she could have screamed if her throat weren’t still sore. Every time he laughed like that, deep in his chest, she wanted to climb into his arms and curl up and purr. It wasn’t fair that she should have such a strong reaction to him. She’d have a chat with God about it, even though she wasn’t sure she was supposed to believe in God since so many of her friends purported not to. This attitude always rather shocked Loretta, although she tried not to show it. And she still attended church because she couldn’t force herself not to, mainly because she’d have to explain her decision to her parents, and she didn’t think she could.

  Malachai waived away the Maitre D’hotel, and searched the restaurant. Loretta stood on tiptoes and scanned the room, as well. This wasn’t the Fairmont’s fancy dining hall on a lower floor, where Loretta’s friend Isabel used to dance for a living. It was the more casual coffee room, where hotel guests could take breakfast or luncheon if they were so inclined.

  “I don’t see him,” she said. “Do you?” He was considerably taller than she, so she didn’t mind asking him. Too much.

  “No. He’s probably in his room, reading or sleeping.” Again, he took her arm, this time to lead her to the elevator cage.

  The notion of Mr. Peavey sleeping reminded her of something. “How’s his arm?”

  “Fine. Your friend the doctor fixed him right up.”

  “Jason’s a good doctor.”

  “Seems to be.” They stepped into the gilt elevator cage, and Malachai said, “Six,” to the uniformed elevator attendant.

  As if he were really the gentleman he was pretending to be, Malachai stepped aside and bowed slightly when the elevator clanked to a stop on the sixth floor. Loretta swept out ahead of him, thinking that if they were married and, say, on their honeymoon or something, this might well be a hotel in Paris or London or Austria, or even Cairo—she’d always wanted to go to Egypt. She gave herself a short, sharp mental slap, and reminded herself that. If she wanted to go to Egypt, she could jolly well go by herself. She was a modern American woman and didn’t need things like weddings and honeymoons.

  You might not need them, her mental self answered back, but wouldn’t they be fun?

  Curse it, she didn’t need arguments from herself as well as her friends and parents and Malachai. Loretta consciously thrust thoughts of marriage out of her mind and concentrated on Mr. Peavey. With him present to confirm her suspicions, Malachai couldn’t balk any longer at the notion that Mr. Tillinghurst was a thief and a villain. He’d have to admire her intelligence and cunning then, whether he wanted to or not. The notion of Malachai begging her to forgive him gave her a warm, fuzzy feeling in her bosom.

  The feeling fled when Malachai next spoke, in a voice that had a strange note to it. “Something’s wrong.”

  Her heart, which seconds earlier, and been singing, if slightly off-key, gave a hard spasm. “What do you mean?”

  “The door’s open.”

  That didn’t seem so awful to Loretta. Given Mr. Peavey’s unusual inclinations, she wouldn’t have been surprised to discover that he’d left the door open on purpose to rid himself of Moors. Or merely forgotten to close it.

  Abandoning gentlemanliness, Malachai dropped Loretta’s arm and sprinted the last few paces to Peavey’s door. Loretta didn’t like the look on his face when he came to a halt and stared inside.

  Hurrying to catch up with him, she said “What is it?” Her nerves started to jump.

  “They’ve got him.”

  Loretta gasped. Reaching his side and clasping hold of his arm, she, too, stared into the room.

  It had been all but demolished, and Derrick Peavey was nowhere to be seen.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Malachai had shaken her hand off and raced back to the elevator before Loretta had time to collect her thoughts. She’d rushed after him, but didn’t get there in time to hear what he’d asked the elevator operator. She quickly learned.

  “No, sir,” the elevator operator said in a shaky voice. “I didn’t take him downstairs in my elevator.”

  Loretta noticed that he’d backed himself into the corner of his cage and seemed to be cowering. She couldn’t blame him, as Malachai loomed very large and dangerous before him. Stepping up to the bat, as it were, in an effort to assuage the poor elevator boy, she smiled as sweetly as she was able. “We don
’t think you had anything to do with Mr. Peavey’s disappearance—”

  “Disappearance?” The elevator boy looked shocked. “He’s disappeared?”

  Loretta cursed her thoughtless words. “Well, not to say disappeared exactly—”

  ”Disappearance is exactly what we mean,” roared Malachai. “And if they didn’t take him down the elevator, where the devil did they take him?”

  “I d-d-don’t know, sir.” The boy saluted Malachai, plainly recognizing his authority, even though he was clad in a stylish heather-and-brown checked suit and derby hat and not his captain’s uniform today.

  Loretta tugged on Malachai’s coat sleeve. “Stop shouting at the boy, Malachai. You’re frightening him.”

  Malachai said, “Balderdash!” even as the boy nodded and shrank into as small an object as he could manage.

  Trying and failing to shove Malachai aside—he was not unlike a mountain, she noticed not for the first time, and fairly unshovable—Loretta stepped into the elevator cage and perked up her smile for the cowering lad. “You see, a friend of ours was stopping in room 612, but he’s not there, the door’s open, and the room is a mess, as if a struggle had taken place.”

  “Jeepers!” breathed the boy. “Want I should tell someone to call the cops?”

  Loretta looked over her shoulder at Malachai. She had to admit that, if she didn’t know him, his fierce scowl and immense presence would frighten her. Small wonder the elevator boy was all atremble. “Do you think we should involve the police?”

  Malachai’s glower grew fiercer. “I don’t know . . . . No. If I decide to call in the police, I’ll do it myself.”

  That was probably a good idea. The police would be much more apt to do Malachai’s bidding than an elevator operator’s. Stepping back out of the cage, Loretta continued smiling at the lad. She wondered if animal trainers worked like this: comporting themselves gently and tenderly in an effort to calm the shattered nerves of the animal they were attempting to subdue. “Are there some back stairs where someone might go downstairs without using the elevator?” she asked sweetly.