Fire Lily (A Dangerous Hearts Romance)

by Deborah Camp

  “Take care of yourself, Griffon. I shall always be in your debt.”

  “No.” He shook his head firmly. He wanted to embrace her and hold her forever, but he knew that his only hope was to let her go. Back in Fort Smith, she’d decide her fate. “Anything I’ve given you was given freely. I expect nothing in return.”

  Tears filled her eyes. Griffon sensed her pain, but couldn’t accurately translate it. He grasped her hand and pressed a kiss to her palm. Looking up into her cinnamon eyes, he wondered if she felt any of the pure love that filled his heart. Probing gently, he felt only her confusion, her uncertainty. She obviously didn’t know her own mind or heart. She still didn’t know if he was her destiny, her lover, a passing fancy, or a momentary indiscretion. Well, to hell with her! If she didn’t want the love that bloomed in his heart, then he wouldn’t force himself on her. He wouldn’t make a bigger fool of himself over her.

  “Good-bye, Lily. Godspeed.” He released her and sat straight and stiff.

  A single tear rolled down her cheek, and her throat flexed. “Good-bye, Grif-fon.” A sob broke his name in half, then she pivoted and hurried for the stairs.

  After she’d gone, he sat for a long time in the hotel parlor, his heart so heavy it felt like an anvil in his chest.

  Chapter 25

  From his office window at the American Society of Psychic Research, Griffon had a view of one of Boston’s garden spots. A number of people milled among the mounds of early marigolds and irises, but Griffon’s eyes took in nothing of the spring day, save for the bunch of tiger lilies growing near a pond where goldfish flashed amid coins. He made his own wish and tossed a mental coin into the water while his mind traveled lovingly to a day on the banks of the Arkansas River.

  “Griffon? Sorry if I’m intruding. I knocked, but …”

  He turned to his mentor and motioned for him to enter the book-lined office. “Good morning, Thurman. I didn’t hear you knock. Guess I was woolgathering.”

  Thurman Unger came to stand beside Griffon. A short man, Thurman was small-boned and had delicate features which were overpowered by thick eyeglasses. He glanced out the window to see what occupied Griffon’s attention.

  “Lovely day. May is my favorite month, as you well know. My green thumb is itching. Can’t wait to get home to my garden. Eva and Jasper are in it now, I daresay. They said something about spading up that strip behind my greenhouse to plant a few rows of vegetables.”

  “Thurman, if Eva and Jasper are too much trouble, I can find them other employment.”

  “Trouble? No, no. Lord knows I needed a housekeeper, and Eva is bloody marvelous at that. As for Jasper, well, he’s such a dear boy. We all get along famously.”

  “That’s good. They needed a safe place.”

  “Don’t we all.” Thurman clasped his hands behind his back and eyed Griffon curiously. “Why didn’t you go with Zar to Fort Smith? Your heart’s been there all along. I should think you’d want to collect it.”

  Griffon smiled faintly. “Thurman, you’re a romantic.”

  “Perhaps. That, however, is not an answer to my query.” He rocked on the balls of his feet. “Well?”

  “She’s not ready to see me.”

  “Has she written to you? Is that how you know this? Or do you know in that special way you have?”

  “I know. She has written once. The letter was warm, but not all that inviting. It wasn’t a love letter.”

  “Have you written her a love letter?”

  “No.” He lowered his brows, seeing where Thurman was heading. “I didn’t feel she wanted to read one.”

  “Ah. And you know everything. You know what’s best.”

  “Thurman, it’s not like that.”

  “Then enlighten me.” Thurman left the window and sat in the padded chair behind Griffon’s cluttered desk. “You’re pining away for that girl. I’ve kept my mouth shut on the subject since you returned, but it’s gone on too long now.”

  “I’m not pining,” Griffon objected.

  “I thought you’d end your sad vigil when Zar announced he was going to visit his Orrie. I was flabbergasted when you didn’t go with him. So, out with it, Griffon. What is your plan of action? If you won’t court any Bostonian females, then will you eventually become a priest, a monk, a crusty old bachelor like yours truly?”

  Griffon propped his hands at his waist, drawing back his jacket to expose his silver vest. “Finished? That was quite a speech, Professor Unger. I’ll not be courting any other woman until I have this one out of my system.”

  “How will that be accomplished?”

  “By giving her time to make up her mind about me.”

  “Are you saying she doesn’t love you?”

  “I believe she loves me, but she has not yet come to accept me.”

  “Ah.” Thurman tapped his chin with a narrow index finger. “I was given to believe she was psychic, too.”

  “She is.”

  “Then what is there for her to accept? Is it your Gypsy heritage she can’t stomach?”

  “That and my being psychic. It’s hard to put into words.”

  “Try. I want to understand. It’s obviously important to you, and therefore, I want to share it.”

  Griffon turned to face Thurman and leaned a shoulder against the windowsill. “And I will never be able to express my gratitude for your concern, Thurman.”

  Thurman waved aside the sentiment. “We understand each other, Griffon. None of us can choose our family, but we can our friends. We’ve chosen each other. So, tell me what’s in your heart.”

  Griffon crossed his arms on his chest and sought the right words. “It’s complicated. I embody all that Lily rejects and all that she fancies. She has fantasized about Gypsies, having been told romantic stories about them by Orrie Dickens. At the same time, she’s been brought up thinking herself above certain people—namely, Gypsies.”

  “Not uncommon, Griffon. Gypsies have a bad name.”

  Griffon nodded. “But I’d hoped that Lily would rise above such blind prejudice.” He shrugged, then removed his jacket and hooked it on a peg near the door. “She rejects her own psychic abilities, too.”

  “Well, well. She certainly doesn’t make it easy for a lovesick chap, does she?”

  Rolling up his sleeves, Griffon glanced sharply at Thurman. “I don’t much care for the adjectives you keep using. I’m not pining, nor am I lovesick.” He curled his upper lip, getting a laugh from Thurman. “You make me sound like bloody Heathcliff roaming the moors.”

  Thurman laughed again—giggled, actually, like a boy. “That’s who you make me think of! Heathcliff! Why couldn’t I make that connection for myself? So, tell me, do you have a connection to Lily just as Heathcliff was connected to Cathy?”

  Griffon started to tell Thurman to go straight to hell, but then the truth socked him. “Yes,” he said, stunned by his own admission. “We do have that kind of unearthly connection. I feel her, Thurman. Here.” He pressed a fist to the vicinity of his heart. “All the time I feel her.” One side of Griffon’s mouth quirked in a semblance of a smile. “I grew up steeling myself against those who looked upon me as unworthy, and I put on quite a suit of armor. I thought myself impenetrable until Lily came along with her fiery hair and gingersnap eyes. Her indecision cuts like a knife, Thurman. Like a knife.” He bent a little as if a blade had pricked him.

  “Heathcliff wouldn’t have stood around and done nothing. If his lady couldn’t make up her mind, he’d make it up for her. He’d have stolen her away and made her like it!” Thurman chuckled, enjoying that image.

  Griffon looked sideways at him, embracing the suggestion. “Kidnap her, you mean?”

  “Yes! Pluck a leaf off the Jeffers family tree.” Thurman laughed again, then shook a finger at him. “You should have gone with Zar.”

  “No, she’s leaving Fort Smith tomorrow.”

  “For where?”

  “Cambridge, to visit her father and stepmother.”

 
“So close? Will you stay here when your true love is a stone’s throw away?”

  Griffon shrugged. “Maybe she’ll come to me.”

  “Damned pride. It won’t warm your bed, Griffon.” He started for the door, but stopped and turned back to Griffon. “Was your grandmother’s prophecy right about you marrying outside the clan? Is Lily your destiny?”

  Griffon smiled. “It’s kismet, Thurman.”

  Thurman scowled. “Good God, you are besotted!” In the next moment, he joined Griffon in heart-lifting, boisterous laughter.

  “Here he comes!” Orrie whirled from her lookout post at the front windows and hurried to the door. “How do I look?” she asked, spinning around to Lily and Cecille.

  “Like a woman in love,” Cecille said, giving Orrie a push. “Go give Balthazar a big kiss!”

  “Stop that! For shame! A lady would never kiss a gentleman in a public street.” Orrie’s eyes danced with mischief. “I’ll wait until I get him alone!” Then she bolted out the door, arms waving above her head.

  Howard Meeker reined the team over to the curb, and the buggy jostled to a stop in front of the house. Lily drew a deep breath and smiled at Cecille.

  “I think I’ll go upstairs. I’m not in the mood for a sentimental scene.”

  “Chicken,” Cecille scolded. “You just wish your Gypsy was in the buggy, too. If you had any sense, you would have written to him and invited him.”

  “Maybe I should have.” Shrieks of laughter floated inside. Lily turned and started upstairs. Cecille followed her. “Go on and welcome Zar, Cecille. I’ll be fine. I must pack a few more things, then I’ll be down to add my welcome.”

  In her room, she moved like a sleepwalker, gathering pieces of clothing, folding them, placing them in her travel bag. Cecille watched, silent, understanding.

  “You’ll visit Griffon while you’re in Cambridge, won’t you? You won’t be an utter fool and not even try to give love a chance?”

  “I’ll see him, but I’m afraid. I’m afraid Orrie was right.”

  “About what? What did she say?”

  “That’d he’d forget all about me. Out of sight, out of mind.”

  “Oh, fiddley-dee! Don’t listen to such talk. Listen to your heart.”

  Lily smiled. “I’m glad your heart is still that of a romantic.” She sat on the bed and leaned back on locked arms. “It’s been a long time since we’ve sat on this bed and talked about boys.”

  Cecille smiled and made herself comfortable beside her cousin. “David Jefferson asked to escort me to the community chest dance.”

  “You didn’t accept, did you?”

  “Yes, I did.”

  “Cecille! After he lied to us! Why, if he’d told the truth, we might have found you weeks sooner.”

  “Yes, I know, but he lied to protect his mother.”

  “You mean he lied to protect his precious reputation.”

  “Speaking of which, I’m not in any condition to cast aspersions on those who still have reputations to protect.”

  Lily studied Cecille’s downcast eyes and tightly drawn mouth. “Cecille? What kind of talk is this? Your reputation isn’t ruined.”

  “Isn’t it?” Cecille let go a laugh. “Look again, dear cousin. I’ve been familiar with a man, as they say. Everyone in town is gossiping about me and Anson. Don’t you think I’ve heard the whispers?”

  “Everyone knows he forced himself on you.”

  “After he kidnapped me, yes.” Cecille lifted her lashes to reveal midnight-blue eyes. “Before, however, I consented. Why do you look so shocked, Lily? Surely you’d guessed.”

  Lily tried to speak, managed a choked sound, then tried again. “I didn’t want to think about that possibility.”

  “Do you hate me for giving in to him? I didn’t know he was married at the time, Lily. All I knew was that he was a dashing, romantic Gypsy. Of course, as it turned out, he wasn’t even that.” She shrugged, regret lining her face. “I was duped all around.”

  “I don’t hate you, Cecille. I could never hate you.” Lily stared off into the middle distance, struggling with her own need to confess. “How could I hate you for doing exactly what I’ve done?”

  “What you’ve …?” Cecille caught Lily’s gaze and held it. “You and Griffon?”

  Lily nodded. “That’s why it hurts so terribly that he’s marked me off as history.”

  “You don’t know that,” Cecille protested. “You didn’t invite him, remember? Perhaps he’s just as disappointed that Zar was invited and he wasn’t.”

  “It’s more than that.” Lily slid off the bed and went to the window. Outside, a breeze pushed the rope swing. Lily remembered the dream she’d shared with Griffon and how that realization had so unnerved her. “If I reach out to him, then I must be certain I’m ready to fully accept him and his life.”

  “And you’re not certain yet?”

  “I’m not sure. I’m going to see him face-to-face, Cecille. I’m going to tell him that I haven’t forgotten him and that what I feel for him hasn’t diminished.”

  “Good for you! Then this visit to your father’s is only a smoke screen for my folks’ benefit?”

  “Oh, no. I’m going to stop by and see Father. I have something to tell him … something I must tell him.” She bit her lip, worrying about how she’d confess her psychic abilities to her doubting father. It would probably sever their frail relationship, but she knew she had to step into the sunlight. She couldn’t tolerate the shadows anymore. Not even for her father.

  “What are you going to tell Uncle Edward, Lily?”

  Lily, who’d been staring out the window, shifted her gaze to Cecille. She took a deep breath before she answered. “That I’m psychic.” Lily waited for an expression of shock from Cecille that never came. “Did you hear me? I’m psychic. Griffon made me face it.”

  “I’ve known that since we were children.”

  “You—you have?”

  Cecille nodded. “I always wondered why you never admitted it.”

  “Because it’s frightening, that’s why. But it helped me find you. Griffon says he can help me use it to my benefit and to the benefit of others. That’s what he does.”

  “Why not let him?”

  “Oh, Cecille, it’s not so easy.” Lily leaned a shoulder on the window frame. “I love him, but pledging my life to Griffon means facing society’s scorn. Not only is he a known psychic, he’s also a Gypsy. You know how people feel about them. Our children … they’d be ridiculed.”

  “But he makes you happy?”

  Lily felt her heart sprout wings. “Oh, yes,” she admitted, her voice soaring. “The happiest I’ve ever been in my life.”

  “Then why have you waited? Are you afraid of what your father will think?”

  “Father and the rest of the family.”

  “Well, speaking for myself and my parents, we only want you to be happy. We all have the highest regard for Griffon. He certainly doesn’t court our ridicule. As for your father, will you let him stand in the way of your happiness your whole life? Lily, you can’t force someone to love you. They either do or they don’t.”

  “Father loves me!” Lily balled her hands into fists. Her temper spent itself quickly, vanquished by Cecille’s arched expression. “Well, he does in his own way.”

  “And his way stinks.” Cecille slipped off the bed. The sunlight burnished her blond hair as she moved to stand at the window with Lily. “Someone loves you and wants you in Massachusetts, and I’m not talking about your father. Go to your Gypsy, Lily. My romantic heart says that he’ll be thrilled to see you again.”

  “I’m scared.”

  “Oh, stop it. It’s time you and I faced ourselves, dear cousin.” Cecille grasped Lily’s shoulders and marched her to stand before the bureau mirror. “Now, let’s take a good, long look.”

  Lily examined the two young women and their serious expressions. Cecille was several inches shorter than Lily, fair-haired and blue-eyed, with a pert nose an
d pouty lips. She had changed minutely since her ordeal at Devil’s Den. Melancholy shone in her eyes, and her laugh was less carefree.

  “I see two young women who are ready to give their hearts to the right young men,” Cecille said, placing an arm around Lily’s waist and giving it a squeeze. “My father won’t be entirely pleased with my choice, and neither will yours. But they are our choices to make, Lily. Oddly enough, I find that I love David. When I returned, he came to see me, bearing a huge bouquet of roses.”

  “Yes, that was nice of him,” Lily allowed.

  “That took nerve. He knew we were put out with him, but he came calling anyway because I mean something to him. I told him all about Anson, and David said he doesn’t care. I’m still his lady. How can I not love a man like that?”

  Lily turned and embraced Cecille. “I just want you to be happy. If David Jefferson loves you and you love him, then I think it’s wonderful.”

  “He loves me for what I am. That’s how Griffon loves you, too. No other love could be better than that.” Cecille dimpled. “And, besides, one of us will realize our girlhood dream of marrying a dashing, romantic Gypsy!”

  Chapter 26

  Lily sat stiffly in the wing chair beside the empty fireplace in the parlor of her father’s house in Cambridge. Books lined the walls. The furniture was dark, old, gleaming from frequent polishing. Her father worried with his pipe, tamping tobacco, striking one match after another. Her stepmother leaned over her needlepoint, tilting it toward the light of the oil lamp.

  Thunder rattled the windows, and rain beat on the panes. Lily shifted, feeling out of place and wishing she were in Fort Smith or Boston. She felt like a stranger in this place. Her father and stepmother had been married for ten years, but Lily hardly knew Angela Armbruster Meeker. She didn’t think her father loved Angela in a romantic way. Angela had been the theology department’s secretary, and Edward Meeker had admired her organization and efficiency. He needed both in his life, and he needed a suitable woman to squire at college functions. Angela was perfect. Their marriage was durable, but not the stuff of dreams and romance. Edward had experienced that with his first wife, but didn’t require it of his second. As for Angela, Lily suspected she was pleased with herself, having made a good match. Marriage to a Harvard professor gave her a respected place in the community.