by Brenda Joyce
Hysteria won. "You are going to regret this! You are! When my father finds out, you are going to be dearly sorry! He shall see to it-"
"Your father?"
Too late, Regina realized her awful slip of the tongue. She blanched.
"George Sinclair is dead."
Regina pressed her spine into the wall. Her heart thudded. How could she have made such a mistake?
Slade gripped her shoulders, dragging her forward, up against him, thigh to thigh and chest to chest. "Who is your father? Who are you? Damn you!"
"Let me go! Let me go! I can explain!"
His hands found her face. For an instant she was afraid for her life. "Who are you?"
She wet her lips. She was impossibly dry, cotton-mouthed. If he wanted to, he could crush her skull. If he lost rationality, he would. "My name is Regina Bragg Shelton," she whispered. "I have remembered."
He stared, disbelieving.
"Oh, God," she whispered. "I… I was going to tell you."
He was clearly in shock. Then he tightened his grip on her face. "When? And how long-how long, goddamn you, have you known?"
She knew she was in jeopardy. A lie might save her, but only temporarily, for Edward knew the truth, meaning Slade would, too. She shook. "J-just be-before the wedding."
He stared into her eyes, furious but unmoving. "Goddamn you!"
Regina shook visibly. "P-please release me." She would flee, come back another time. She was afraid of him.
He did not release her. Time stood still. Rage coursed through his body, lit his eyes. His gaze was murderous. He was unrecognizable.
"I'll come b-back a-another time."
His hands tightened on her face.
"P-please!" It was a cry of pain.
Abruptly he dropped his hands, spinning away from her. "Get out! Get out now! Get out now, damn you to hell!"
She was frozen.
"Get out!" he roared, whirling to face her. "Before I hurt you!"
Regina did not have to be told again. She fled. And from behind her, she heard a thunderous sound, the crashing of his desk as he overturned it.
Chapter 19
“This is a surprise," Xandria said.
Edward and Xandria had just stepped out onto Van Ness Avenue. He smiled at her. "A nice surprise, I hope."
She halted, regarding him with a look that was partly amused and partly seductive. "Are we talking about them-or you?"
Edward grinned. "We both know we're talking about me-and us."
"Is there an us?"
He had not taken his eyes from her for a minute. "What do you think?"
"I think you haven't changed one bit since you last tried-and failed-to seduce me."
Edward laughed. "Darling lady, I was not seducing you, I was consoling you, and gentleman that I am, I restrained myself from taking advantage of you in your grief."
Xandria was calm and still amused. "Edward, you were not a gentleman then, and I doubt you are now. And you did not restrain yourself-I restrained you."
"And of course, you have been regretting it ever since, lying awake at night, pining for me hopelessly."
She laughed. Then, suddenly serious and holding his gaze, she said, "Frankly, I have had a thought or two about you over the years."
Edward was also sober. "Hmm. That's a start. I hope they were indecent, improper, and scandalous."
"A lady never tells all, Edward."
They both smiled.
"It doesn't seem like four years, Xandria," Edward said. "I hope you have not gone and done something stupid-like remarry?"
"No, I have not. In fact, I have spent the past three years since coming out of mourning holding off any and all suitors."
Edward cast an admiring gaze over her lush, perfect figure. "And undoubtedly there were many."
She sighed. "Many, but none of them as honest as you. I fear my inheritance, both from Richard, my husband, and Father, was more of a lure than anything else."
"Don't sell yourself short," Edward told her. "Do you really have an appointment? And if so, may I escort you to it?"
"I have many appointments," she said with another wry smile. "I am the manager of the Mann Grande Hotel, you see."
"I'm impressed."
"And to think I thought you would only be impressed by a woman's figure and her face."
"Now you underestimate me. Is that your carriage?"
Xandria nodded, and they began walking across the street.
"You have changed," Edward remarked. "You are no longer the naive, grieving widow I met four years ago."
"So you have noticed?" She was pleased.
"I have most definitely noticed," he said, with obvious admiration.
"You have changed, too," Xandria said, unable to resist. "You are no longer a little boy."
"Darling, we both know I was not a boy, not even at eighteen, and I hope to reassure you soon that I am anything but little."
They paused beside her curricle. Xandria regarded him, no longer smiling. She had not one doubt he spoke the truth, and that she would soon be reassured. Very willingly, she was transported back in time, remembering being half-unclothed in his embrace and in the throes of hot, carnal desire. Heat unfurled in her loins.
Four years ago she had been a widow of several months. Edward had been a cocky, too-handsome youth. In retrospect she could understand how his kindness had turned into lovemaking. Fortunately for her, she had kept some of her wits, and had not let his hot kisses and hotter caresses go any further than that. Yes, she remembered very well. And he had gracefully accepted her refusal to culminate what they had started, and undoubtedly he had found satisfaction elsewhere.
The idea did not perturb Xandria in the least, although four years ago she had been shaken to the core of her being by their brief but passionate encounter. Then, there had been no small amount of guilt. How she had changed.
In the succeeding years, along with success had come confidence, and with confidence had come power. She was now a secure woman, one who had come to terms with who she was and her needs. She was a very content woman.
And she had not remarried out of choice. She was a wealthy woman and an heiress; she was also strikingly beautiful. Yet she discouraged every suitor, and as Edward had guessed, there had been scores of them over the past three years. It had nothing to do with pining for her dead husband, whom she had been fond of, but not in love with.
But it had everything to do with who she had since become. Xandria had worked very hard to achieve the success she had, despite her father's protests. She had started out at the bottom as a clerk, and it had taken two years to work her way to the top to become the general manager of the Mann Grande Hotel. She was a modern woman, a businesswoman, considered eccentric by many, and proud of it. Never would she marry again. That would me
an giving up her life in order to manage her husband's household. It was unthinkable.
As it had turned out, she had discovered sometime after her husband's death that she possessed a strong libido. She was always discreet. Her father would never forgive her if he found out how she conducted herself. He was old-fashioned; he would not understand. She loved Charles dearly, and would never allow him to know the truth. So too, she cared for Slade, as much as she would if he were her real brother. But he was a prude. If he ever suspected that she had taken several lovers over the years, he would be shocked and disillusioned. Discretion was even more important to her than satisfying her appetite.
"Would you like to have supper with me tonight?" Xandria asked.
Briefly Edward was startled. Ladies, even eccentric ones, did not ask men out. Then his beautiful smile appeared. "I would love to have supper with you tonight, darling."
"Good. Is nine o'clock too late? We can dine in my office at the hotel. You can fill me in on what's going on with Slade and his wife."
Edward gave her a look. "I'm happy to fill you in any way you like, darling."
Despite herself, Xandria blushed.
Several hours later Slade threw down his pen with an oath. Ink splattered. He lunged to his feet and turned to the window. He stared down at Eddy Street but didn't see a thing. He could only see his wife's image there in his mind.
It was still unbelievable. That she wasn't Elizabeth Sinclair, that she wasn't James's fiancйe-that she had never known his brother, his brother had never known her. Whenever he thought of all the sleepless hours of anguish, of the choking guilt he'd endured, he felt murderous.
She had put him through hell.
The he had been monumental. There was no possible justification for it. And with the anger there was deep and bitter disappointment. She had the face of an angel, she spoke like an angel, she acted like an angel. But she was far from it. She was not a lady. Ladies did not lie. It was an act. She was an incredible actress, an incredible liar.
The betrayal was stabbing. He did not want to believe it.
He could not understand her motivation. He could not understand why she had married him once she regained her memory. After all, being both a Bragg and an aristocrat entitled her to a union far different, and far better, than the one she had made with him. Had she been infatuated with him? Perhaps, despite regaining her memory, she had still been filled with gratitude toward him. It did not really matter. She should have told him the truth. There was no excuse for such a deception.
She was also a far greater heiress than Elizabeth Sinclair had ever been. It was so ironic. It certainly made him pause. How could Rick, who had met Elizabeth, have made such a mistake? He did not think it possible. He was certain that Rick must have known her real identity and been gloating at the thought of a Bragg heiress marrying into the family. Not only had Regina deceived him, his father had, too.
He trembled with anger. Abruptly he wheeled and began pacing his office.
He was too angry now to care that he had hurt her by leaving her. Before her revelation, he had been unbearably moved by the anguish in her eyes; he had hated himself, even though he'd had no choice but to leave, thinking he'd made love to James's woman. Now it was almost funny. She didn't belong to James, so there had been nothing sinful in their liaison, in his love. Had he known who she was, he would have never left her. Had he known, there would be the bliss of paradise, not the pain of betrayal.
How far would she go to gain her divorce? For an instant he felt sick, realizing that even if she was not a lady, she must hate him very much to resort to an ugly, scandalous divorce.
His mouth tightened. He rebelled at the very idea. Which was ridiculous. There was nothing to be gained by staying married to her now. She despised him; he despised her. Such a marriage would be hell.
He tried to consider divorce. The sick feeling swamped him. It could not be possible, he told himself. After this betrayal, it could not be possible that he still harbore4 some affection for her. He refused to feel anything for her but anger and hate. Yet the truth was that hatred was an emotion that was out of the range of his grasp. No matter how hard he tried to summon it up, it eluded him.
He did not dwell on this failing, more disturbed than ever. He reminded himself that he had refused the divorce in a hot temper. That he didn't like being threatened, didn't like being bullied, and he didn't like being bribed, not by anyone, and especially not by her.
He also told himself that any feelings he still had for her were strictly carnal ones. And finally, here was the solid, undeniable truth.
He didn't have to think too hard or too long to remember every single detail of their wedding night. He instantly stiffened, aroused. The unbearable hunger he'd had for her had not dimmed. Indeed, guilt-free, it was stronger, more powerful, rawer than before. He sucked in his breath. It was the worst of reasons to remain married, but he would not be the first man who mindlessly obeyed the dictates of his cock.
He turned his thoughts away from sex with a great effort. She had hinted that she would fight him to obtain He would be a foo1 to go into the ring with her rather and the rest of her all-powerful family. Yet had never turned away from a fight. If challenged, like all the Delanzas he fought, and he fought to win. But… the idea of battling her family distressed him, and not out of fear of the consequences.
Too upset and agitated to decide about a divorce now, he prowled his office, working off some of his anger and tension. He thought about his home. Miramar needed her. Or more precisely, her money. He would have no qualms now about using her after her deception. Undoubtedly, if he and she began a fight, it would not be easy to gain her inheritance. He had been in business long enough to know that her name alone would be enough to stall the bank until he could work out an arrangement with his wife. But the possibility existed that her family might choose to fight him indefinitely, and even her name could not buy Miramar that much time.
There was a brief, familiar knock on his door-a welcome distraction from his problems. Slade turned to greet his boss, mentor, and friend. Charles paused a beat before entering without permission. It was a long-established ritual. Charles knew there was really no reason to knock at all.
"It's getting late," he said in greeting. His iron-gray eyes were assessing.
Slade shrugged, knowing that this was not a social or a business call. "I'm buried."
"So I see." Charles smiled. "I never could understand how you can find anything on that desk."
After having overturned it, it was worse now than ever. "At least I keep records."
"Ah, but I keep everything up here." Charles tapped his dark bowler hat. "Besides, your kind of chaos is
an indication of brilliance."
Slade flushed with pleasure. "Don't exaggerate."
"You know I don't exaggerate. Not unless I'm making a business deal. And you are brilliant. What would I do without you?"
"I'm not going anywhere, Charles."
"Good. I thought, perhaps, you might be returning to Miramar. Now that you're married."
Slade smiled in resignation and gestured to the seat in front of his desk. "So now we get to the point."
Charles didn't sit. He lightly clasped Slade's shoulder. "Let's go have a drink at the Palace Hotel."
"What? Not at the Mann Grande?" His tone was slightly teasing.
"I want to relax. More importantly, I want you to relax. And the Palace is closer."
Slade could easily refuse. He had not been productive since seeing Regina; he had intended to work very late in order to finish what he'd left undone. But he looked at Charles, needing very much to talk, and he agreed.
The Grand Court of the Palace Hotel was an atrium seven stories high and crowned with glass. Balconies looked down on the Court, often thronged with the hotel's guests, who were eager to catch a glimpse of what was going on below. The elite of San Francisco often chose to end their day there with a soft drink or something stiffer; then, too, the richest, most powerful men of the city might be caught there at any time of the day, engrossed in business and speculation. The wives of these men frequented the Court as well, especially in the afternoon. It was fashionable now to be charitable, and if these women were not immersed in gossip, they were plotting the latest gala in order to raise funds for any one of a dozen popular causes. The young publisher William Randolph Hearst often sent one of his newsmen there, or went himself, with the hope of sniffing out a story before it became a media jubilee.
