Judith Stacy

by The One Month Marriage

  “That’s half the fun of having a wife,” Noah said.

  Brandon shook his head. “Perhaps she needs more guidance.”

  “Perhaps she needs a distraction.”

  “Such as?” Brandon asked.

  “Get her pregnant.”

  Brandon groaned aloud and felt another wave of heat engulf him.

  “Believe me, I know from where I speak,” Noah said, giving him a proud smile. “Beth’s expecting.”

  “You’re—you’re going to be a father?” Brandon offered his hand across the desk, hoping Noah wouldn’t notice that he didn’t rise from his chair. “Congratulations.”

  “Thank you,” Noah said, looking altogether pleased with himself. “Beth is consumed with the upcoming arrival. And, I admit, I’m rather excited about it too. So, keep that in mind when you get home this evening.”

  “Thanks…” Brandon sank back in his chair as Noah left the office, closing the door behind him. He sat in the silence, only the noise from the street reaching his ears. The need to go to the window, to stare out, pulled at him, bringing with it recollections from long ago, memories that never left him alone.

  So many windows in so many houses. Standing on furniture, peering out. Watching. Waiting. Hoping…

  Brandon pushed himself out of the chair with such force that it banged into the wall behind him. If anyone needed a distraction right now, it was him. He shoved a few items into his satchel and left the office, barking to Mr. Perkins as he rushed past.

  In the hallway he ignored the birdcage elevator and took the stairs to the ground floor. He hit the street and walked north, forcing himself to take in the surroundings. Perhaps something would strike his fancy—another business opportunity he hadn’t yet noticed in the city.

  But other thoughts invaded his mind.

  Fine thing, Noah had already gotten his wife pregnant and Brandon couldn’t even get his wife into bed. Maybe he could change that. It would certainly go a long way toward improving his life.

  Yesterday morning after breakfast Jana had said they could discuss resuming their marital relations. There’d been no time for such a talk last night, with the house full of those silly women until all hours.

  Brandon drew in a breath. It was high time they got on with the discussion.

  “Mrs. Sayer!”

  Jana paused amid the swirl of pedestrians on Broadway, turning toward the sound of her name. Dozens of faces passed around her, men in suits and work clothes, women in fashionable attire or trailing children in their wake. Her gaze bounced from one to another, then settled on the familiar face of Oliver Fisk, the Messenger’s soon-to-be unemployed newspaper editor.

  “Mrs. Sayer, how good of you to stop,” Oliver said, touching the brim of his bowler.

  They stepped into the shade cast by an office building as the sun dropped lower in the sky. Oliver wore the same jacket she’d seen him in before, but it looked freshly pressed, neat and clean, like Oliver himself.

  “I’m pleased to see you again, Mr. Fisk,” she said.

  “On the way to your husband’s office?”

  An odd feeling crept over Jana. Brandon’s office was nearby?

  “The Bradbury Building,” Oliver said, nodding up the street. “There, on the corner.”

  She threw a glance in that direction. “Oh, yes, of course.”

  “Possibly the finest office building in the city,” Oliver said. Then his cheeks flushed. “But you already know that.”

  Actually, she didn’t. Jana stole another look up the block. If Brandon had ever told her his office was located there, she’d forgotten it.

  “May I have the honor of walking you there?” Oliver asked.

  He thought it odd, Jana was sure, to find her on the street alone. Though Los Angeles was civilized enough, decent women most always had an escort of some sort.

  “Thank you, Mr. Fisk, but I’m headed elsewhere,” she replied with a gracious smile. A smile that she hoped kept hidden the fact that she’d just come from the Morgan Hotel around the corner and another visit with her aunt. No one, not even Brandon, knew her aunt was in town. Brandon, apparently, assumed her aunt had gone to her own home in San Francisco while Jana had traveled to Los Angeles. It suited Jana’s purposes that her aunt was a homebody, content in the hotel’s suite, and no one—especially Brandon—knew she was in town.

  “I was doing some shopping,” Jana explained, thinking she’d be better off changing the subject. “I’m headed home now.”

  Oliver cast a quick glance around but saw no waiting coach or carriage, since none existed. If he thought it strange—and why wouldn’t he?—he said nothing.

  “I’ve been reading the Messenger,” Jana said.

  He gave her a brave smile. “Always glad to meet a reader, one of the dwindling few.”

  “I understand you have another six weeks to turn things around,” Jana said.

  His smile grew more brave. “I’m giving it everything I’ve got…although, I fear it’s a lost cause.”

  “But with six weeks you can—”

  “Mr. Sayer already has plans for the building.”

  Jana remembered Brandon telling her that. “They’re tentative though, aren’t they?”

  “In theory, yes. But in reality…” Oliver drew in a breath. “Your husband is already going forward with the Jennings project. He’s commissioned an architect to renovate the building, and is lining up new tenants.”

  “But that hardly seems fair,” Jana said.

  “I’m not giving up,” Oliver said, squaring his slim shoulders. “If I can make a significant increase in circulation and boost advertising, Mr. Sayer will have to keep the Messenger’s presses running.”

  All that hardly seemed likely in six weeks. And even if Oliver achieved it, would Brandon abandon his Jennings project after he’d paid what surely was a large retainer to the architect? Backing out of the project would be expensive, to say nothing of the blow to Brandon’s reputation. Jana feared the newspaper, and Oliver Fisk’s career, were doomed.

  But she put on a hopeful face for him. “I’m sending good thoughts your way, Mr. Fisk.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Sayer,” he replied, then drew himself up a bit. “My uncle was the original editor of the Messenger. A brilliant newspaperman. I only wish I’d had time to learn more from him before his death. But I’m soldiering on. That newspaper is his legacy. I can’t let it go without a fight. I’m praying for a miracle.”

  “Good for you,” Jana said, hoping she sounded encouraging when, in fact, she couldn’t share his optimism.

  Oliver Fisk would need a miracle to save his beloved newspaper.

  Just as Brandon had done, Jana had read the Messenger and the Times side by side. And the truth was, the Messenger was just plain boring. It covered the same stories as the Times—political and business news, world events, local happenings. But the coverage wasn’t as thorough, the stories not as well written. Nothing about the newspaper, to Jana’s mind, would beckon new readers or sustain loyal ones.

  “Good day, Mrs. Sayer.” Oliver tipped his hat once more and left her standing on the sidewalk. She waited until he disappeared into the crowd, then went to the corner and waited for the trolley back to West Adams Boulevard.

  When she arrived home, Charles met her in the vestibule and mumbled a greeting.

  “Good evening, Charles, I—”

  “You’re late.”

  Jana turned at the sound of Brandon’s voice. He stood at the edge of the foyer, his shoulders rigid, his jaw tight.

  “You’re late,” he said again. “You’re supposed to be home by six o’clock, and you’re late.”

  Jana glanced at the clock that sat on the marble side table. Four minutes past the hour.

  “You said you’d be home before six,” Brandon said. “You said you would. You promised. I’ve—I’ve been waiting.”

  Her first thought was to point out the very few minutes and scoff at his concern—not to mention his silly request. But s
omething in his tone, in his expression stopped her.

  She read no anger in it. Nor was there concern for her safety, worry that something had befallen her, causing her lateness. Was it betrayal? Vulnerability?

  A little of both, she realized.

  Where fourteen months ago Jana might have gone crying to her room over his disapproval, now her heart softened and the desire to comfort him rose in her.

  Jana went to him and gazed up at his tense expression. “It wasn’t my intention to upset you,” she said in her most soothing tone. She touched her palm to his cheek. “Let’s go into the sitting room and I’ll send for some tea.”

  For an instant, Brandon leaned into her palm, then pulled away as if embarrassed that he’d made a fuss, or that he’d allowed her to see his hidden need.

  It startled Jana and caused a new sort of ache to tighten around her heart. Brandon had always been this way, emotionally withdrawn, and she’d just now realized it. Courted by him, married to him, bound to him as only a man and woman can be, and she’d never noticed it before.

  How little she knew of the man who was her husband.

  “Let’s go have tea,” Jana said gently. “We have time.”

  Brandon’s expression clouded. “You didn’t invite people for supper again, did you?”

  For an instant, Jana was sorry that she had. Sorry that she’d upset him, sorry that his quiet evening would be interrupted.

  But then she remembered all the lonely evenings she’d endured fourteen months ago—and all that awaited her if she stayed in this marriage.

  “Yes, the Gentrys are coming,” Jana said.

  Brandon cursed. “I hate those people. Bob Gentry is overbearing. That wife of his is self-absorbed, and they’re both opportunistic, ingratiating—”

  “They’ll arrive at seven. I have to go change.” Jana started the staircase, then looked back. “I sent the landscape foreman to your office today to discuss the plans for the gardens, but he said you refused to see him.”

  “I didn’t know he was there.” Brandon shrugged. “Mr. Perkins must have refused to let him in.”

  “Brandon, we agreed that you’d oversee the landscaping,” Jana said. “It is your responsibility, you know.”

  “Of course I know, but—”

  “I hope in the future you’ll show a little more commitment to your duties.”

  Jana hurried up the staircase, not waiting for a reply, but feeling Brandon’s hot gaze following her.

  Supper was tiring and irritating. Halfway through the meal, Jana disliked the Gentrys as much as Brandon did.

  This morning when she was trying to come up with someone to invite to supper, a couple who would annoy Brandon to no end, the Gentrys seemed the obvious choice. She remembered them from the first three months of marriage when she’d been trying to fit into Brandon’s social circle. The Gentrys were, indeed, opportunistic, the only couple Jana knew who would accept a supper invitation on a few hours’ notice.

  Now that they’d departed, she was glad to see them gone. She headed up to her room wondering if, for her own peace of mind, she should think of a different way to annoy her husband.

  “Jana?”

  She stopped outside the door to her bedchamber, surprised to see Brandon striding up the staircase and through the hallway toward her. Since her first night back in the house when she’d told him not to expect any intimacy between them, he’d made himself scarce when she’d retired for the evening.

  She braced herself, expecting an earful over her choice of supper guests, but Brandon looked unruffled, as he approached, calm, thoughtful…

  Handsome.

  For an instant Jana gave in to the feeling, let it wind through her, coil around her heart.

  Good-looking, smart, successful, ambitious. What woman wouldn’t be attracted to such a man? As a girl of nineteen, Jana had been entranced by those qualities. But for a woman of twenty-one, they weren’t nearly enough.

  Brandon stopped in front of her, not coming too close, and slid his hands into his trouser pockets.

  “The Gentrys were…”

  “Obnoxious?” she suggested.

  Brandon grinned, sending a shiver arrowing through Jana’s heart. He smiled so seldom.

  “At least now people will know I actually have a wife,” he said, lifting his wide shoulders. “There was some talk…before…that I’d made you up. That I’d concocted an imaginary wife.”

  “No need to worry this time,” Jana said. “I intend to keep up on social obligations—even if it means filling the house with couples like the Gentrys.”

  Brandon didn’t protest, as she’d hoped. In fact, he said nothing at all, as if he hadn’t heard her. Then she knew why.

  He eased closer and his eyes darkened. A look Jana knew well.

  “You look quite lovely tonight,” Brandon said, his voice low and mellow.

  Jana’s heart picked up a little as he drew even nearer. She knew she should dart into her bedroom, yet something held her in place.

  “I haven’t seen you in this gown before,” he said.

  He glanced down at the low plunge of her garnet dress, his gaze alone making her breasts tingle, urging her to snuggle against his hard chest. She fought the temptation.

  And thought herself doing an admirable job of resisting that temptation until Brandon drew even closer and the heat of his body covered her. He touched his palm to her cheek and leaned down. For a moment, his face remained only inches from her, his breath fanning her lips. Then he kissed her.

  His mouth covered hers, warm and familiar, delicious and exciting. Jana opened her lips to him and he slipped inside, where he belonged. She sighed and rose on her toes. Brandon eased closer until their bodies met, then groaned deep in his throat. She looped his neck. He splayed his hand on her back and pulled her against him.

  A hunger claimed Jana, alluring and demanding. She hadn’t experienced it since—

  Fourteen months ago.

  Jana pulled away. Brandon’s lips stayed with hers, then finally released them. They hung in their embrace for a few seconds, hot breath puffing against each other.

  Jana stepped back. Heat throbbed in her cheeks. Her body warmed in old, familiar places that Brandon had brought to life fourteen months ago, and again now.

  “I—I told you I didn’t want us to resume our—our lovemaking,” she said, her voice a breathy whisper. She kept her gaze down, unable to meet his eye.

  “This is kissing,” he said, a gentle teasing in his voice. “Lovemaking is something entirely different.”

  Jana looked up at him then. He lowered his head but didn’t kiss her. Instead, he touched his cheek to hers, nuzzling her, brushing his lips against her.

  His mouth played along the curve of her jaw, then dropped lower until his lips fanned her neck.

  “If you’ve forgotten the difference between the two,” Brandon murmured against her ear, “I’ll be happy to demonstrate.”

  His lips claimed her neck once more, sending a rush through her. Jana closed her eyes for a moment, then drew in a breath and pushed away.

  “No,” she said, wanting to sound forceful but failing miserably.

  Brandon didn’t protest, but she saw the wanting in his darkened eyes, his heavy breath, his flushed cheeks. For an instant, Jana wanted to throw herself into his arms once more, have him carry her into her bedroom as he used to do.

  But that would only complicate things. As Jana already knew, all too well.

  Brandon seemed to read her thoughts. He backed up a step.

  “I always thought we made a good-looking couple,” Brandon said, his voice still low, heavy with need. “Both of us tall. A good match…physically. Did you like that about us, Jana? Before? Is that one of the things you liked about us? Surely, there was something…”

  He’d asked her that question the first day she’d come to the house, when she wanted a divorce and he wanted to try again. Wasn’t there something she liked about them as a couple?

&nbs
p; “No, Brandon,” she said, forcing strength in her voice. She straightened away and pushed up her chin. “No. There was nothing I liked about us.”

  She turned and hurried into her room, closing the door behind her, not wanting to see his face.

  Chapter Eight

  Brandon sprang in Jana’s mind the instant she opened her eyes the next morning. It didn’t surprise her, given that he’d prowled her dreams all night.

  She pushed herself higher on her pillows and yanked the coverlet up to her chin. Dozens of mornings—three months’ worth—floated through her mind. Mornings when she’d awakened with Brandon in her bed. Mornings when they’d awakened together after a night of lovemaking.

  Jana’s stomach quivered at the memory. From the very first night they’d spent as husband and wife, Brandon had been gentle and coaxing and loving. Never in a hurry, never annoyed with her inexperience, never distracted from the moments they shared. Alone in her bedroom—they never made love in his room—Brandon forbade the servants to interrupt; there would never be a circumstance that warranted it, she’d overheard him say. Her room was their world.

  From the whispers of her girlhood friends, Jana had learned the ways of men, how they visited their wives on occasion, then went on their way. Brandon never left her side. All night they lay together, listening to the rain or the wind, or watching the moon through the window as it arced through the heavens. In the morning, they awoke snuggled like kittens, and each morning Brandon whispered that he never, ever wanted to leave her. She believed him. She knew how he felt. She never wanted him to go.

  But he always did. He walked out of her room and, in crossing the threshold, became a different person.

  Jana gazed through the open curtains, out the window she and Brandon used to lie beneath. Her heart warmed at the memory of how handsome he was, how she treasured those moments, the feel of him next to her and the closeness she enjoyed.

  But she couldn’t remember one single thing they’d talked about.

  Jana sat up. How could that be? She recalled in great detail nearly every word the overbearing decorator Mr. McDowell had said, each and every slur bestowed upon her by the cantankerous cook. She remembered the other women in her newly evolving social circle, those who’d been accepting, those who hadn’t.