Forbidden Fire

by Heather Graham

“Yes, it might quell my urge to throttle you.”

  She flushed, still staring at the sheet. “You can start divorce proceedings,” she murmured, “and be plagued no more.” Then she gasped, raising her eyes to his. “None of this was Mary’s fault. It was my idea, solely my idea. She—she’s going to have a baby. You wouldn’t—”

  “No, Marissa, I wouldn’t cast Mr. and Mrs. O’Brien out on the streets,” he said.

  “You won’t fire Jimmy?”

  “Jimmy has proven himself useful,” he said, a definite edge to his voice.

  She stiffened. “And I have not, I take it?”

  “Oh, no, Marissa. You have proven yourself useful enough, too. But then, so have other women.”

  She forgot that she was completely at his mercy and leaped to her feet. But she had barely slammed her hands against his naked chest before he caught her arms and held her still against him. She felt again the masculine heat of his body against her own, and she wanted so desperately to lay her head against his chest. To make love again. To be held.

  Cherished.

  She cast her head back and met the cold blue ice of his gaze.

  He would never cherish her again.

  “Remember Uncle Theo, love,” he reminded her. He smiled and touched her cheek. “You really are so beautiful, love. A fool’s undoing, so it seems.” He smiled bitterly, and his fingers tightened around her arms. Then he released her and started for the connecting door.

  “Ian!”

  He turned back.

  “What are we going to do?” she cried.

  “I don’t know, Marissa. I just don’t know,” he told her. “Get dressed so that we can get this fiasco of a meal over with, and I can be on my way.”

  He didn’t bother with the clothes on the floor, preferring to stride over them and through the door.

  He closed it behind him with a very definite slam.

  In misery, Marissa sank down upon the foot of her bed and bit down hard against the threatening onslaught of tears. What was going to happen?

  He had already told her.

  He didn’t know.

  Chapter Sixteen

  “Marissa! It’s a telegram for you!”

  Sitting at the tea table in the little terrace at the caretakers’ cottage, Marissa felt her heart begin to pound quickly. She leaped up and hurried through the sunny kitchen and parlor to meet Mary at the doorway. A young uniformed man tipped his hat to her. “Mornin’, Mrs. Tremayne. I went up to the big house, but I was told you were down here, so I came on to find you. Hope that’s all right.”

  “That was very thoughtful of you, thank you,” Marissa murmured, eager to snatch the telegram from him. It was mid-April, and Ian had been gone over six weeks, and she had received only one message from him, that having come about three weeks ago. It had been short and terse. “Theo fine, in my custody. Leaving soon. Ian.”

  Her fingers shook as Mary bid the telegram man good day. She tried very hard to hold the paper steady enough to read this message.

  “Arriving San Francisco evening train on April sixteenth. Have John at station. Ian.”

  “What does it say?” Mary demanded.

  Marissa read the message out loud and sank down in one of the needlepoint chairs that flanked the door. “Oh, dear Lord, Mary. He’ll be home tomorrow night!”

  Mary knelt beside her, covering her hands with her own. “Well, that’s wonderful!” Marissa didn’t comment.

  “Marissa, it is wonderful, things will be all right!”

  No, things would never be all right again, Marissa thought. She could still remember the night he had left. They had both sat through dinner very politely with Mr. Whalen.

  Afterward she had tried to speak to him; she had tried to tell him that she appreciated the fact that he was going for her uncle. But her words had been stiff, and Ian had been cold, and it had been alarming to realize just how desperate he was to be away from her. One minute it seemed that he wanted to strangle her, the next he wanted nothing to do with her. He didn’t want to hear her voice.

  It was the distance that frightened her. The coldness.

  During his absence, she had clung to little things. She had been bitter at first that Ian had clearly ordered John Kwan to follow her everywhere she went. She could only assume that he didn’t trust her in the least. But when she had assured John one day that it wasn’t necessary to trace her every step, John had solemnly assured her that it was.

  “No one knows what happened, the day you were kidnapped, Mrs. Tremayne. I have given my solemn word that nothing will happen to you while your husband is gone. I am not the only one that watches.”

  She had been startled by his answer, and then she had begun to tremble—with pleasure that Ian had at least been concerned about her physical well-being.

  He might have been anxious for some enterprising soul to shanghai her now.

  But then again, he was a man of certain ethics, and perhaps those ethics would not allow him to let evil fall her way.

  But his two messages to her had been very cold and terse. It didn’t seem his feelings had softened one bit since he had been gone. And it seemed that she had lived on pins and needles since that night.

  Not that the days and weeks had passed in any outside torment. Society had discovered her. The wives of many of San Francisco’s most influential men had come to call on her. She had been very careful at first, but it seemed that the women’s interest in her had been natural and real. It had made her uneasy, however, to realize that she was beginning to move in a circle with Grace Leroux.

  And she had felt like a fraud with every movement she had made in Ian’s absence. It had been Mary who had insisted that she must keep up his social front for him while he was gone. Whatever he chose to do when he returned would be his decision.

  Marissa remembered now with what assurance she had told Grace that she had won. Well, the game had changed.

  But at least it seemed that she had not taken them all down with her.

  Ian had contacted his secretary, Arthur, before he had gone, and Jimmy had been given a great deal of the management power in Ian’s absence. Marissa had taken to spending a great deal of time at the emporium, helping with the breakfasts. She and Darrin had formed a fast bond, and she spent many afternoons with him. She’d tried to coax him into living at the mansion on Nob Hill in the servants’ quarters on the third floor, but Darrin had steadfastly refused. He wouldn’t do so until Mr. Tremayne had returned, and only maybe, then. He wasn’t beholden to anybody, really, and he liked Mr. Tremayne really fine, but he wanted to know Mr. Tremayne’s mind before taking on a job or a room at his place.

  Marissa had to swallow hard on that one. She wasn’t sure if Ian intended to keep her at the mansion, much less let her make any of the decisions regarding life there.

  Sometimes she tried to mask her fear and heartbreak with anger. He wanted nothing to do with her now because he had discovered the humiliating fact that he had married a servant girl. The maid. The coal-miner’s brat. She told herself that Ian was a snob, a member of the American aristocracy, and that she should hate him for the arrogance she had discovered that first time she had seen him.

  But his arrogance was in his boldness, and in his temper, and in his passion. And they were all things for which she had come to love him.

  There was no easy way to hate him. Especially when she lay awake and dreamed by night of that last evening between them.

  And especially when she was slowly becoming certain that that particular evening had led to certain results. She hadn’t said a word to anyone yet, not even Mary. She told herself that she wasn’t sure, even though she was. And then she wondered somewhat bleakly just what she should do, and what it would mean. She couldn’t tell Ian, not until they had come to some kind of an understanding about their future. If he meant to divorce her, she wouldn’t stop him with the news that she was expecting a child.

  And it frightened her, too, to know that his first wife had died in
childbirth. That she was alive and well and expecting might make him despise her all the more, and surely he would draw comparisons between his beloved Diana …

  And the English maid who had tricked him.

  “Marissa,” Mary murmured, her voice concerned, “you can’t worry so much! You’ve gone absolutely white. I’ll bring you something. You just stay there for a moment!”

  Mary disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a small glass of sherry. Marissa took it from her gratefully and swallowed it. “Sorry,” she murmured.

  “Don’t be sorry, just don’t be so nervous,” Mary told her. “I’m sure that he won’t take my—our!—allowance from the bank anymore, but Jimmy’s income at the store is quite sufficient now. And—”

  A wave of cold had come over Marissa. “Mary, don’t you understand? We all fooled him. What if he fires Jimmy?”

  “Why would he have put him in charge of so much if he meant to fire him?” Mary demanded with serene wisdom. “And he left word with Arthur to make sure that he had good seats for four to see Caruso.”

  “Ah, but what four?” Marissa murmured. “He might be intending on taking Grace—”

  “Oh, no! He’s taking us, I know it. He told Jimmy.”

  “Maybe he’s taking you and Jimmy and Grace,” Marissa murmured.

  “He’s not going to ask for a divorce,” Mary insisted. “He simply wouldn’t.”

  “Because of his social position?”

  “No.” Mary laughed. “He’d snap his fingers at his social position, surely you know that.”

  “But if he doesn’t divorce me, it just might be a greater hell,” Marissa said. She stood and paced nervously. “I couldn’t endure living the life I once thought I wanted. I couldn’t stay with him in name only and watch him head off to the Barbary Coast or to the opera or theater with his good associate, Grace, on his arm.”

  “You must stop being such a pessimist, Marissa,” Mary insisted with a sigh. “It’s not like you at all.” She smiled. “You’re the fighter, remember. You definitely put up a fight when Jimmy and I were down.”

  “It was easy to fight then,” Marissa said.

  “Because you weren’t in love then,” Mary told her. “But being in love, Marissa, you must fight for him even harder.”

  Marissa smiled after a moment, the glitter of the challenge coming to her eyes. “You’re right, Mary. I am in love with him, and I will fight for him. I’ll even fight him, if that’s what it takes.”

  Mary smiled serenely. “Things will work out. Have faith.”

  Marissa tried to have faith. She kissed Mary and hurried to the house. She had just called John to make him aware that they must be at the train station the following evening when Lee came to tell her that she had a visitor.

  “Eda!” she said warmly when Lee brought her into the parlor. She wasn’t sure if she had wanted a visitor or not, but maybe it was best not to be alone. “How lovely to see you,” she told the woman. “What can I get you?”

  “Not a thing, dear.” Eda stared at Lee pointedly and then waited for the beautiful Chinese woman to leave the room. Marissa offered a barely discernible shrug to Lee. Lee smiled, quickly lowered her head and left the room.

  “What is it?” Marissa asked.

  Eda Funston was not the type of woman to beat about any bush. “Marissa, you’ve suddenly become the talk of the town.”

  Her brows shot up. “More so than Mayor Schmitz and the arrival of Caruso?”

  “Indeed, I’m afraid so. I imagine I know where this rumor started, and it’s simply abhorrent, but still, the rumor is around, and I thought you should be warned.”

  “What is the rumor?” Marissa asked her.

  “That Ian Tremayne’s wife is not the daughter of an English squire. That she is a fortune-digging little maidservant who tricked him into marriage.”

  Marissa felt cold. As cold as ice. She folded her hands and stared at them, then looked evenly at Eda. “I was a maid, Eda.” She couldn’t admit that the rest was the truth as well.

  To her surprise, Eda waved a hand impatiently. “This is America, San Francisco more precisely. There’s nothing wrong in being a maid.” She smiled. “Half the occupants of this hill come from good old robber baron stock! Don’t you let any of this get to you, not one single bit! I’m quite sure I know where this all started!”

  Where? Marissa wondered, and she felt ill, wondering if Ian hadn’t told someone himself.

  “It’s that wretched Grace Leroux. She was always asking questions about you. She must have hired an investigator to dig into your past.”

  Had Grace done so? Or had Ian told her himself, because he was tired of his wife?

  “Keep your chin high, my dear,” Eda told her. “I didn’t mean to upset you, merely warn you. Forewarned is forearmed, so they do say!”

  Marissa smiled. “Thank you, Eda. I do appreciate your coming to forewarn me. Please, won’t you stay for dinner?”

  “Oh, no, thank you. Freddie will be expecting me. But you take care. Ian is due soon, isn’t he?”

  “Tomorrow night.”

  “Well, he’ll soon set things straight. Whatever you were, dear, you’re his wife now.”

  Eda gave her a hug and hurried out in her efficient way.

  Marissa stood in the foyer and suddenly felt that she was not alone. She looked up and saw Lee watching her.

  “It seems there’s quite a rumor about me,” Marissa murmured.

  “I’ve heard,” Lee told her.

  Marissa quirked a brow, but she wasn’t really surprised. San Francisco was a big town, but news traveled very quickly.

  “Well, it’s true, Lee. I am no lady.”

  Lee cocked her head and smiled. “You speak to John and me as politely as you speak to your friends. You tend to the children because their lives matter to you. I would say, Mrs. Tremayne, that you are indeed a lady.” She turned and disappeared through the dining room door, leaving Marissa in the hallway to ponder her words.

  Finally Marissa smiled, then wearily climbed the stairs to her room. She stood in the turret, staring out the window at the fog blanketing the city.

  She had been there a few seconds when Lee tapped on her door. She had brought a message. “There’s a boy outside awaiting your reply if there is any.”

  Marissa thanked her and ripped open the note.

  She smiled as she looked at the words, then she laughed.

  The note was from Lilli, and it warned her that a smear campaign had sprung up against her. And Lilli, too, told her that she must snap her fingers at the rumors and keep her chin high. “Someone else is on your side, Marissa. It seems that a few well-aimed tomatoes were thrown at Grace as she walked out of her favorite hat shop the other day. Thought you might appreciate that. Oh, and I thought you might also appreciate the information that the little scamp who hurled the tomatoes was not caught.”

  “Is there any answer?” Lee asked her.

  “Yes!” Marissa told her, still smiling. She penned out a thank-you to Lilli and sent it with a tip for the messenger.

  Then she stared out at the city again. The city she was coming to love so much for its raw beauty and its recklessness. She had friends here. Good friends. From all walks of life.

  And it was Ian’s city.

  She started to tremble, then she willed her hands to be still. Mary was right. She was a fighter, she had been born a fighter.

  And she was going to fight for Ian.

  The next night she stood on the platform at the station, waiting for Ian’s train.

  The train was late, and she tried to still her nerves by reading the paper. There was trouble in Russia again; the czar had put down a revolt. And a reader’s poll showed that most people were convinced that the automobile would never be an alternative to the horse-drawn buggy. She tried to read further but she couldn’t give anything her full attention. She was fooling herself. She couldn’t give the paper any attention at all.

  There were a large number of
people waiting for the train. Marissa recognized a few of the matrons who lived not far from her on Nob Hill. Mrs. Nancy Masterson was down the platform from her. She had heard that her son was coming in from his college in the east. She caught the woman’s eye and started to smile, but Mrs. Masterson turned from her quickly.

  She was doomed, Marissa thought. Hold your chin high, she reminded herself. And she did so. Then she heard the train’s whistle. She had to brace herself to keep from shaking.

  The great brakes squealed and steam rushed around the wheels.

  And then she saw Ian, standing by the rear of the third compartment, waiting to detrain. And behind him was Uncle Theo, looking tall and gaunt but dapper. And Marissa held her breath, waiting to see what would happen.

  Please, Ian, please! she wished in silence. Don’t ignore me before Mrs. Masterson! Then she realized that she didn’t give a damn about Mrs. Masterson; she just didn’t want Ian to ignore her. Should she rush to him? She didn’t know what to do. It didn’t matter. She seemed incapable of movement, as if her feet had been nailed to the platform.

  It didn’t matter. “Marissa!” She heard her name shouted with Theo’s soft, slurring accent and she didn’t have to run because he was running to her. Then she was crushed in his arms, and she hugged him fiercely, feeling tears running down her cheeks. Whatever else happened, she would be grateful. Theo was all she really had, and Ian had saved him for her. She looked into his eyes and saw the happiness there and the glistening of tears and she cried out and hugged him again.

  “Marissa, oh, my God, love, but it’s good to see you again! Thank you, thank you, girl, for sending that young man of yours. I owe the both of you my life,” Theo murmured, holding her closer.

  “You’re here, Uncle Theo, safe and sound, and that’s all that matters,” she said softly in reply. But he had slowly slid her to her feet, and now she could see over his shoulder and she knew that that was not all that mattered in her life, not anymore.

  Ian was almost upon them, tall and striking, and drawing attention within the station as greetings were called to him. He responded, but his eyes remained on Marissa.

  Then he did seem to hesitate, and Marissa saw a frown darken his brow. And she realized to her horror that Mrs. Masterson was talking about her to someone, talking loudly.