Orchids in Moonlight

by Patricia Hagan

  "That will not happen," she whispered huskily, stretching to lick and nibble his ear. "I am going to make him marry me, and then I will live like a queen. Till then, I want you for my lover."

  "I told you I'd be riding on."

  "Then love me as long as you're here. Say you'll meet me tonight."

  "And what makes you think you can slip out again? I remember plenty of times I waited here for hours, and you didn't show because he called you to his bed."

  Satisfied there would be a few more passionate encounters before Cord rode out of her life, Morena relaxed. "Don't worry about him. He's got other things to think about now."

  "Like what?" he asked, not really caring.

  She shrugged. "Some crazy woman who thinks he knows where her father is. He was one of the investors in Stanton's last mine, the one that left so many angry. He ran off instead of making good his pledge. She thinks Stanton knows where he is, but he doesn't."

  Like a thunderbolt, it came back to him. Jaime had said her father was investing in a gold mine with a man in San Francisco. "What was his name?" he asked and held his breath.

  "What do you want to know for?"

  "Maybe I know him."

  She laughed. "It happened before you came here, but since you're so curious, it's Chandler."

  "No, I don't know him," he managed to mumble, every nerve in his body going tight.

  "Don't forget," she called after him. "I will be here tonight."

  She watched him go, wondering as he disappeared around a cut in the rocks why he was suddenly in such a big hurry.

  * * *

  Stanton smiled as Jaime devoured the platter of steak and eggs. "I'm glad you're eating this morning. Enolita said you were already asleep when she took your tray last night."

  "Traveling all the way across the country and then finding my way here finally caught up with me, I suppose. I appreciate your letting me stay last night. I wasn't looking forward to the trip back to the city."

  "I sent the cart and horse back by one of my vaqueros."

  She looked up in surprise. "But why? I wanted to be on my way after we talked this morning."

  "Where would you go, my dear? What would you do? I want you to stay here. Maybe we can help each other."

  She made no comment, waiting for him to continue.

  He presented the plan he'd been up all night thinking about. "If I can find your father's mine, I'll work it and share the profits with you. Frankly, though, I'm at a loss as to where it's located. You see, I went to the claims office and had them look up the records, but your father never filed for a stake. Seems he didn't trust anybody. And that's sad, because if someone finds it in the meantime, he has no legal claim. All the more reason you and I should work together. I'll get back my investment, and you'll have money for your future. I'm still convinced his mine has a mother lode. It could be worth millions, but right now it's not doing anyone any good. So what do you say?" He held out his hand.

  Jaime looked from it to him and shook her head. "No, I can't accept your offer."

  "I'd like to know why not," he demanded, withdrawing his hand as his voice rose along with his ire.

  Jaime did not mince words. "As I told you last night, my father gave you a bogus map because he didn't trust you. I intend to do some investigating on my own. If I find out he was justified, I don't owe you anything. If, on the other hand, I find he was wrong, then I'll see you get what's coming to you. I'll make good his pledge."

  She jumped, startled, as he slammed his hands down on the table and roared, "That is unacceptable! I will not have you treat me as if I'm a crook."

  She responded coolly, undaunted by his explosion.

  "Finding my father is my first priority, but I'm also going to try and locate his mine, as well as discover whether yours was a legitimate investment."

  His eyes narrowed. "Then you have the map, don't you?"

  She forced the lie. "No. But my father wrote and told me approximately where it is. Maybe I can find it." She did not sound convincing even to her own ears.

  Stanton leaned back in his chair, satisfied that she did, in fact, possess that map, but for the moment he would play along. "Your father is probably dead," he said then, wanting to unnerve her. "You're all alone."

  Jaime closed her eyes, prayed he was wrong, then murmured, "I'll manage somehow. Right now, I suppose I'd better get my things and start walking to San Francisco. I've imposed enough on your hospitality."

  She started to rise, but his hand snaked out to clutch her wrist. "No, please don't go yet. I've got another offer."

  She sat back down, willing to hear him out to avoid an unpleasant scene but not about to relent.

  "Regardless of what you think of me, I did, at one time, hold your father in high regard. We were good friends. So for the sake of what used to be, and because I have nothing to hide, nothing to be ashamed of, I'm willing to help you despite how you feel about me. Stay here. I'll finance your investigation, your search for the mine, and when you find it, when you come to realize my own was a legitimate operation, perhaps you will prove your honor by paying your father's debt to me."

  She chewed her lip thoughtfully. His offer was tempting, but something made her leery.

  "What's wrong?" He chuckled. "Does it bother you so much to think you might discover it's your father who's the swindler? Are you afraid to give me a chance to prove my own integrity? Are you scared of what you'll find out?"

  "No, Mr. Lavelle." She looked him straight in the eye, deciding she really had nothing to lose and everything to gain. "After what I've been through the past months, there's not much that could scare me anymore. I'll accept your offer."

  "Good. Then it's settled." He smiled, satisfied, and jangled a silver bell to bring Enolita with more coffee.

  Jaime accepted another cup, as he changed the subject to brag about his empire, how he had turned a Franciscan mission into a magnificent estate.

  She was only half listening, lost in thought as she wondered where to start. Perhaps she should go to Drytown, to the area where the mine was situated. If her father was hiding out there, maybe he'd hear she was around and come to her. Dismally, she realized it was a long shot but she had no other plan for the moment.

  She didn't notice that anyone else had come into the room until Stanton bellowed to someone behind her, "What are you doing back? I told you to stay in the city and wait for the ship due in with my crystal chandelier from Austria."

  Jaime looked around to see a boyishly handsome man with dark hair and warm blue eyes coming toward her. Ignoring Stanton, he graciously took her hand in his to press it to his lips before introducing himself. "I'm Blake Lavelle, and I know already I'm pleased to meet you." He drew out the chair beside her and sat down, devouring her with his eyes. "God, you're lovely. That hair!" He reached to touch a golden strand. "Tell me, who are you?"

  Before she could respond, Stanton said in a bored tone, "Miss Jaime Chandler, meet my son, Blake." He went on to inform Blake. "Her father was one of my investors, and he's dropped out of sight. She's come all the way from the East to try and find him, and I've offered her our hospitality."

  "That must have been quite a disappointment to find him missing," Blake murmured sympathetically, "but rest assured, we'll do everything we can to assist, as well as make you comfortable. Will you be staying long?"

  "I'm not sure." She wished he would stop staring at her so adoringly.

  Suddenly, Stanton decided to take over the conversation. "I think we should have a party to show off both Miss Chandler and the new chandelier," he suggested jovially. "We haven't had a big social in a long time. What do you think, Blake?"

  "A splendid idea. We can't keep such a rare and precious treasure to ourselves—and I'm not talking about the chandelier," he added, with a wink for Jaime.

  She laughed, relieved the mood had become lighter. "That's kind of you, but I've nothing to wear, and besides, I need to concentrate on searching for my father."

  S
tanton seized the opportunity to enlighten his son as to Jaime's financial plight. "Unfortunately, our guest is in dire straits. She apparently has no money and very few belongings, but we can take care of that, can't we?"

  Jaime looked down self-consciously at the faded dress she was wearing.

  Blake's eyes flicked over her, taking in her dimensions and shape. "Yes, you're about the same size my mother was. She had lovely clothes, and they're still hanging in her armoire. You can take your pick."

  Jaime had been so absorbed in her own worries she'd not even thought about whether Stanton was married, and now she realized he was actually a widower. "Oh, no." She refused at once. "I couldn't—"

  Blake cut in to declare, "You can and you shall. She was a generous person, and if she were alive she'd insist on it herself," He stood, taking her hands to pull her gently to her feet. "I'll start making out the guest list for the party while you go through her things. Be sure to pick out a riding outfit, and I'll take you on a tour of the estate when you're done. Not all of Pointe Grande is situated on a cliff hanging over the sea," he added cheerily.

  Jaime found herself being whisked from the table and out of the room. Only moments after meeting Blake Lavelle for the first time, she was entranced by his warm and outgoing personality. His cheerfulness was a pleasant contrast to the gloomy mansion, and she found her spirits lifting.

  He held her arm as he steered her through the narrow corridors, talking all the while. "I'm still wondering if you're real. I've been waiting for you my whole life, you know."

  "Of course you have," she said playfully. "But I'm not real. I'm a figment of your imagination."

  "You mean a ghost? Well, that's all right. A lovely lady ghost is nice after all those dismal Franciscan fathers I've seen floating around. I hope you'll stay awhile."

  She become serious. "I'm afraid that would be imposing. Surely in a place as large as San Francisco I can find work and rent a room somewhere."

  "I won't allow it," he declared breezily, pausing before a closed door and searching his pockets for a key. "Besides, I'm going to marry you and then you won't have to work."

  She stared at him in wonder, not sure whether he was altogether teasing.

  He unlocked the door and pushed it open, moving to one side for her to enter.

  The furniture in the room, consisting of an ornately carved bed, tables, desk, and armoire, was all of dark wood. But everything else was done in shades of pink: the spread and canopy, the dressing-table skirt, the cascading curtains. Even the curving divan was upholstered in pink velvet, and a rug of soft rose covered the floor.

  "It's lovely," Jaime said breathlessly, in awe. "Your mother had excellent taste."

  "She was very dainty and feminine in everything she did. I like to think I inherited some of her charm."

  "I'm sure you did." She bit her tongue to keep from saying he couldn't have got it from his father.

  Blake went to the armoire and opened it. "Take your pick."

  Never had she seen such an array of stunning gowns, but she still felt uncomfortable.

  He sensed her reluctance and assured her, "You're welcome to it all. An hour should give you enough time. I'll be waiting in the dining room. Walk straight when you start back. Don't turn anywhere. The Franciscans intended for anyone wandering about to lose the way."

  She gave him a grateful smile. "I'll be fine."

  He started out, then paused to look at her quietly for an instant before proclaiming in a voice filled with emotion, "You look like her, you know."

  Not knowing quite how to respond, she thanked him.

  And then he was gone.

  She began to go through the dresses, thinking how, even though Blake was attractive and nice, it would be a long time before her heart could open to any man. It still hurt deeply to think of the one who had left her without a backward glance.

  Time slipped by, as, fascinated by such a vast collection, she could not make up her mind. Then, spying the one tucked way at the end of the rack, she gasped out loud with delight. It was fashioned of watered silk, shades of green and blue melded together in shadows of gold swirling throughout. It was off-the-shoulder, with a dipping bodice encrusted with tiny teardrops made of—what? She blinked in disbelief, drawing the creation closer to the window and the light, and lo and behold, saw her suspicions were correct. The teardrops actually appeared to be tiny gold nuggets.

  She knew this was the dress she wanted to wear, knew she had to try it on.

  Quickly changing, she stood before the full-length mirror, twisting and turning to marvel at the heavenly creation.

  The door to the next room opened slowly, quietly.

  Jaime was too absorbed in the exquisite gown to be aware of anything going on behind her.

  Then she saw it, in the mirror: the maniacal face of a woman enraged.

  And she was holding a knife.

  Chapter 19

  Morena had been in Stanton's room when she heard the noises coming from the one adjoining. Investigating, she was terrified for one frozen moment to think she was looking at the ghost of Emily Lavelle.

  Then it dawned on her.

  The woman could only be fames Chandler's daughter, and Morena had been momentarily taken aback because of her hair. It was like Emily's, a rare and brilliant color, almost like polished gold.

  Indignity replaced fear, and she slipped the knife from the sheath strapped to her thigh and crept up on her to demand harshly, "What are you doing in here?"

  Jaime stared with fear-widened eyes and began to back away as she stammered to explain. "Blake... Mr. Lavelle's son... told me I should come in here. Now put that away, please."

  "Pah, he has no say." Morena swung the blade in an arc. "This is not his house. It belongs to his father, which means it also belongs to me, for I am soon to be his father's wife."

  "Over my dead body."

  They both turned as Blake walked in.

  Jaime watched, relieved, as he crossed the room to grab Morena's wrist and squeeze until she dropped the weapon. Then he maneuvered her roughly to the door. "How dare you come in here and threaten a guest? You might sleep with my father, but so help me, if I ever catch you in my mother's room again, I'll give you the thrashing of your life."

  He flung her into the hall, but before he could slam the door she shrieked, "Your father will kill you if you touch me, you shit sack—"

  "I'm sorry." He whirled to face Jaime. "Pay no attention to her. She's my father's mistress, and I'm furious my father lets her live in the house. But she's not allowed in here, and I promise she won't bother you again. It's just a good thing I came to see why you hadn't finished yet."

  Jaime was still upset but pulled away as he tried to put his arm about her shoulders to comfort her. "I really think," she said raggedly, "I should go back to San Francisco."

  With a sweeping grin, he caught and squeezed her hands. "You'll do nothing of the kind. I won't allow it. God, you're magnificent in that color. And your resemblance to my mother is absolutely remarkable. No wonder Morena was so mad."

  He dropped her hands and walked to the bed, where she had spread out several outfits.

  "Did you find a riding costume? Ah, the garnet velvet, a splendid choice. Now hurry and change. I'm anxious to show you about."

  He breezed from the room, closing the door behind him. Jaime ran to lock it, as well as the one adjoining, then wondered dizzily what she had got herself into by being so desperate. But for the time being, she could only accept the Lavelles' hospitality and hope for the best.

  * * *

  Jaime was relieved that Stanton was nowhere around when she finally met Blake in the dining room. She declined his offer to have an early lunch, because she was anxious to see the rest of the estate.

  The horse she was given was a mare, dark red in color, and promised to be quite gentle. Blake's was a large dapple-gray stallion. Its high spirits were evidenced in the way it pawed the ground, snorting impatiently to be on its way.

>   They rode first through the vineyards, as Blake explained how the Franciscans in Alta California began growing grapes early in the eighteenth century. "By 1800, the groves here had every kind of fruit you can imagine, and my father cultivated date palms and plantains. He has a huge greenhouse where he experiments with different exotic plants and flowers, such as orchids."

  Jaime's memory was painfully jarred to think of her first orchid... her first love.

  He went on to describe life in the 1700s, when more than seven thousand Indian converts lived in the various missions up and down the coast. Artisans were brought from Mexico—masons, millwrights, tanners, shoemakers, saddlers, and potters—to teach them.

  "It was quite a place before the American conquest, and when my father was able to buy the mission here, he changed the name to Pointe Grande and built his own empire."

  "It's more like a fort, with all the guards and walls and fences," Jaime ventured to remark.

  "Yes—well, my father has some enemies, I'm afraid. I try to stay out of his business, and he never tells me anything. But I hear rumors now and then."

  "Did you know your father claims my father reneged on a pledge to invest in one of his mines?"

  She knew by the look on his face that he did, even before he began to hedge. "Well, a little something. That was a pretty big mine, and a lot of people got upset, but I really don't know any of the details."

  She hesitated, then decided it had to be said. "My father gave yours a bogus map to his mine as a pledge, because he didn't trust him."

  Blake raised an eyebrow. "You mean he thought my father salted his mine to lure people to invest in it?"

  "I don't know what you mean by salted."

  "Unscrupulous people do it to make hard-rock mines appear to have gold in them. It's done by shotgun or a large-caliber pistol. You load with fine gold dust instead of buckshot, and if the barrels have plenty of flare, and a man stands back far enough, he can blast the whole face of a barren drift with particles of gold."