Lia watched as Gus walked down the path leading to his car. Halfway there he stopped and turned around. “Lia?”
“Yes?”
He said nothing, but jogged back and abruptly took her in his arms, capturing her lips in his. His kiss was unlike the others—not deferential, not overpowering, just…exuding happiness. Pure and simple happiness. She sighed into the joining, which felt natural and right.
After a moment he broke the kiss and smiled ruefully. “Couldn’t help myself.” He then turned and jogged back to his car, waving over his shoulder. “Get some sleep,” he said.
Lia did sleep that night, but her dreams were filled with images of a dark angel who swept down upon her and engulfed her in his powerful embrace. She willingly gave him her body and boldly explored his. He had magnificent wings but strangely they didn’t bother her; in truth they only fueled his complete sensual domination over her. The sadness came afterward, when he used those wings to fly into the sky, away from her and their love. Lia woke up, damp with perspiration, and had to shake her head to rid herself of the disturbing feelings. Still the image remained and she could only assume she understood what it all meant. Beware, her mind told her. But her heart wouldn’t obey.
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Weeks went by and Lia settled into a productive routine of working on Gus’s mural for the part of each day when the light best suited her needs. Gus rarely interrupted her, although she was keenly aware of his presence when he was home.
As promised, he had rigged up an ingenious system to raise and lower what looked like a large bedspread over the work. Out of shyness, or perhaps insecurity, she had taken to dropping the cover over the painting whenever she thought he might appear. That was silly, of course; he could view it whenever he wanted to when she wasn’t there. But somehow she knew he respected her desire to keep it hers alone until it was finished; it was just one of many ways in which she felt instinctively in tune with her patron.
By early March she had made significant progress on the mural and took a morning off to scout for more pieces to add to Gus’s collection. He’d been so pleased with the selections she’d brought him so far that now he told her to simply put whatever purchases she deemed worthwhile on his account. It was thrilling to know he had such confidence in her.
Lia’s last stop of the morning was the Worth Gallery on Maiden Lane. Her good friend Gottardo Piazzoni was exhibiting several paintings in advance of the California Society of Artists’s annual fall exhibition. Like many other painters, Gottardo often previewed his work to gauge the public’s response to a new direction he was taking. No sense producing a lot of paintings that nobody wanted to buy! Personally, Lia felt that art should lead rather than follow, but she happened to love her colleague’s style. The painter took tonalism to an extreme; rather than realistically depict a particular location, his landscapes of various locales in northern California conveyed a given mood strictly through dramatic color and brush stroke. Gus, she knew, would understand what the painter was trying to say.
She was examining a promising piece entitled Putah Creek when a round, middle-aged woman wearing a fur coat and significant jewelry tapped her on the shoulder.
“Why, Miss Starling, I thought it was you!”
Lia recognized the woman immediately as Mrs. Hunter P. Mason, of the Fort Mason Masons. She’d been one of the half-dozen guests at the Firestones’ New Year gathering who’d told Lia she’d be contacting her regarding a commission. The society matron probably didn’t even remember she’d promised Lia a job. The memory of those first few weeks waiting for calls that never came swept over Lia like a shroud. It was New York City post-George all over again. She could feel the blush of humiliation creep over her skin, but she pursed her lips and willed it to stop. Why should she be embarrassed, anyway? If people thought it was amusing to lead someone on when they never intended to follow through, why, that was their problem, not hers.
No point in burning bridges, however. Lia’s practical side won over. She raised her chin and pasted on a smile. “Mrs. Mason. How are you?”
“Why I’m just fine, my dear. But it’s been over two months and I’m getting impatient. How is your mural for Wolfstone Enterprises coming along?”
Wolfstone? She’d been working for Gus, not his company. It dawned on Lia that maybe he ran the expense of her services through his business. She was a practical woman, but somehow that seemed too impersonal. “Ah, you mean Mr. Wolff? It’s…I’m making progress. How did you know about that?”
Mrs. Mason let out a hearty chuckle. “Well, I’m sure all of us who wanted to snatch you up are well aware of it. But I told Jim Caldwell that I was next in line and he’d just have to get behind me—that is if he could wrestle the spot from Letty MacIntire.”
James Caldwell? Letitia MacIntire? Those were two of her other potential patrons. “Mrs. Mason, I’m not sure I’m following you.”
Mrs. Mason clucked. “Oh that Mr. Wolff. After the party he approached all of us and, shall I say, gave each of us incentives to get in line behind him.” She admonished Gus in absentia by wagging her finger at Lia as if she were responsible for him. “But he was supposed to tell you we were all waiting in the wings, that rascal. Well, I imagine he didn’t want to rush you.” She put her chubby hand, which displayed an enormous emerald solitaire, on Lia’s arm. “But rest assured, we’re all anxiously awaiting our turn to be the next patron of the singular Miss Amelia Starling.” The woman turned to examine Gottardo’s painting. “So, tell me, do you like this Italian fellow, this Pizzani? I’m not sure I like the muddy paint he uses, but…”
Lia struggled to make small talk while she processed what the woman had unwittingly revealed. As it became clear, anger began to unfurl inside of her. “Oh, Mrs. Mason, I’m sorry, I have an appointment I must get to. But I promise I will be calling you very soon about your project. I so look forward to working with you.”
Leaving the matron smiling in her wake, Lia held herself together until she made it back to her cottage. She had told Mrs. Coats she’d be working on Gus’s mural beginning around two in the afternoon, but that was out of the question now. The idea that he had used his money to manipulate those people, and her, made her physically sick. After her marriage ended she’d vowed never to let another man control her again, and look what she’d done!
She was still fuming that evening when she heard an insistent knock on her door. She ignored it, but whoever it was wouldn’t give up. A moment later she realized why.
“Lia? It’s Gus. Open up.”
Lia remained silent, willing him to give up and leave. No such luck.
“Amelia Ruth, I’m getting worried. If you’re in there and can hear me, please open this door or I swear I will break it down.”
Damn, and he would too. She took a deep breath and marched to the front door, swinging it wide open. Gus stood there looking ruggedly civilized in his business suit, an overcoat slung over an arm and his hat in hand. His dark hair was disheveled and he looked tired. Part of her wanted to welcome him in and make him comfortable after what was probably a very tiring day. And feeling that way made her even more furious. “Okay. You can see I’m fine. Now go away.”
Gus looked at her and when she made to shut the door, he stopped it with his large hand. “Will you please tell me what the hell is going on? Yesterday, all was right with the world and today you’re in a royal snit. What’s the problem?” He stepped inside and shut the door.
Lia instinctively backed up, but stopped as soon as she realized that she had nothing to feel defensive about. “The problem is that I don’t appreciate men using their power and influence—and money—to manipulate me in any way, shape, matter, or form.”
He dropped his coat on the back of her one comfortable chair. “I’m sorry, but I haven’t a clue as to what you’re talking about.”
“Oh you don’t? Well maybe Mrs. Mason can enlighten you, or Mr. Caldwell, or how about Letitia MacIntyre?”
Gus ran his fi
ngers through his hair. “Ah,” he said. He gestured to the sofa. “Do you mind if I sit? Mrs. Coats said you were scheduled to come this afternoon, but when I got home this evening she said you never showed. It scared the hell out of me, so I got here as fast as I could. Just give me a minute to calm down and I’ll explain.”
Don’t let him get under your skin; hold your ground. She stood there with hands on hips, glaring at him and breathing hard but unable, in the end, to boot him out when he’d come all the way over just to see if she was all right. “Very well. But then you really have to go.”
“Thank you.” He walked over to her couch, loosening his tie as he did so. He unbuttoned his vest and rolled his shirt sleeves up before dropping down on the couch. He was entirely unaware that he was enticing her, but she was hopelessly drawn to the view of his muscular forearms, sprinkled with dark hair, and his large capable hands. She wanted to kick herself.
“Will you sit next to me?” he asked. “I want to explain and I’d rather be sitting face to face with you to do it.”
With a mulish set to her features she sat down, primly folding her hands in her lap. “I’m waiting,” she said.
Gus rubbed his face. “All right. When I saw you at the Firestones’ and realized you’d lied to me, I was furious. I’d been thinking about you ever since the gallery exhibition and feeling sorry for myself that someone so…unique…had slipped away without a chance to even get to know you better. So when I saw you, my, shall I say, less civilized side kicked in. I knew almost immediately that I’d made yet another poor impression. I couldn’t let you go another time.” He shook his head. “I’m sorry, I just couldn’t. When Will told me you had a number of potential clients lining up, I thought perhaps I could engage you on another, more professional level…and honestly, I was afraid that if you had any choice other than me, you’d take it and refuse to see me again.”
“So you told the others who might have hired me to get lost, costing me my livelihood. What did you threaten them with, financial ruin?”
Gus looked at her with sad eyes. “I didn’t threaten them with anything, Lia. I asked each of them if it was possible for them to wait a bit before hiring you. I told them I needed you for a very important corporate project. And they all said yes, they didn’t mind waiting.”
Lia narrowed her eyes. “But you sweetened the deal, didn’t you?”
Gus nodded. “I admit it. I did. But only to make sure they would still hire you down the road. I didn’t want you to lose any possible commissions on my account. Not that it matters, but I never use intimidation to get what I need from others.” He looked directly at her, his gaze intense. “Not from employees or business associates or even the green grocer down the street. And certainly never from women.” He paused and his lips quirked. “Wait. I take it back. I tried intimidating a landlady once and she nearly handed me my head on a platter. I never tried it again. I guess I’m just not made that way.”
Lia looked down at her lap and was shocked to feel tears streaming down her face.
Gus reached over, a look of alarm crossing his features. “Hey, hey there. Come on, be mad at me. Yell at me. Curse at me. I’m a big boy. Just don’t…don’t…” He stopped talking then and gathered her in his arms, stroking her hair and whispering, “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
Lia gave up trying to stem the sobs and let them come. She felt herself coming apart, but why now, after all this time? Because she could. Because the arms around her felt strong and safe and good—and because a little while ago she’d been afraid it was all a dream.
She sat up, finally, and dried her eyes with the back of her hand. Gus untucked his shirt and handed her one edge of it with a half-smile. She shook her head, took a deep breath, and let it out again. “I just couldn’t let it happen to me again, you know?”
“No, I don’t know,” he said gently. “Why don’t you tell me?”
He deserves to know, she thought, and began to talk. “My maiden name was Bennett. It’s an old New York name with a lot of prestige attached to it, but very little else. My father needed money so he married my older sister off to a wealthy but scurrilous man. The problem was, my sister had loved another man most of her life. He came from a prominent family too, but the timing was off for them to marry. When the time did come for him, I was available, so I said the vows instead of her.”
“I don’t understand,” Gus said. “You said your sister loved him.”
Lia nodded. “And he loved her. He still does. But our fathers, you see, would have their way.”
“I’m sorry, I still don’t get it,” he said. “It’s not the Middle Ages anymore. Why would the two of you—”
Lia could hear the razor sharp edge in her voice. “Because my husband’s father threatened to financially and socially destroy our family, including my sister, if we didn’t. I couldn’t do that to her, and George couldn’t either. So maybe you can see why I don’t want anyone using their power to manipulate me ever again.”
Gus leaned back on the sofa and took a deep breath. “Yeah, I do see, and it makes me sick to think you put me in the same boat as those louts. No wonder you were ready to tear me apart. But I’ve got to ask—what changed? Why are you here today and not still married to, George, was it?”
Lia stood up and put distance between herself and Gus. Admitting what she’d done was harder than she’d thought it would be. She soldiered on. “I guess I’m not so perfect either. My sister became a widow and the threat to her died along with her lug of a husband. But George was heartsick inside and so was she.” She paused, inhaled. “So I took the only means open to me to bring them together—I left him for another man. In New York, you see, the only grounds for divorce is adultery.”
Gus nodded. “And this other man was Sander.”
“Yes. Here we use the story that we’re cousins, but in fact we are only friends.” She looked at him. “Only friends.”
“I know.” Gus chuckled. “The state of your relationship was one of the first bits of information I pried out of Will.”
Lia’s answering smile was brief. “I’ll never be able to repay Sandy for running the gauntlet with me. It was hell for him, and for his family. My family as well.”
Gus rose and went to Lia, put his hands on her shoulders and waited until she looked up at him. “But nobody’s pain came close to yours, did it? Because you gave up more than anyone. Amelia Ruth, you are one of the most courageous women I have ever known.” He cradled her face in his hands and whispered, “I’m so damn sorry for what you went through, and I promise not to manipulate you in any way.” And with that he leaned in and kissed her. Softly at first, but then, as he had before, more intensely, insisting that she open her mouth to him. He explored her with his tongue and brought her body into full contact with his, caressing her back, slowly moving down to her hips and buttocks. She could feel the strength of him, and his power. Electricity shot throughout her body, knowing he wanted her. Knowing she wanted him, an extraordinary man who made her feel what she’d never felt before. It energized her. It mended her.
Gus finally ended the kiss, touching his forehead to hers and breathing heavily. “Please tell me you forgive me,” he pleaded.
Lia nodded and stepped away. “You’d better go now,” she said, not trusting what she might do if he stayed any longer. “I…I’ll be there tomorrow afternoon.” She shook herself slightly and smiled up at him. “I have to finish, don’t I? I have customers waiting.”
Gus heaved a sigh and smiled back. “Yes, indeed you do.” He picked up his hat and coat and went to the door to let himself out. She held it for him and he leaned in to give her one more hard kiss before heading out into the night.
Lia locked the door behind him and leaned against it, closing her eyes. How did one shift from thorough disgust to rampant desire in so short a time? It was exhausting. In the midst of her turbulent emotions, she was sure of only one thing: she was falling for August Wolff and didn’t know how she could stop it—or even if
she wanted to.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
The crisp, cold temperatures of January and February began their gradual climb in March. Sixty degrees was shirtsleeve weather for Gus as he met Will for a working lunch at the Cold Day Restaurant in the city’s financial district. Over steaming bowls of cioppino served with large hunks of garlic bread and washed down with ample steins of Anchor Steam beer, the two men reviewed the progress of their new shipping venture.
“Hate to say it, but this bubonic plague scare in Chinatown is working to our advantage,” Will said.
Gus dipped a hunk of bread into the fish stew’s pungent broth. “How so?”
“Existing lines are contracting their fleets on the Honolulu, Yokohama, and Hong Kong routes. They’re afraid of the quarantine threat. So I’ve been able to pick up four ships practically at cost. Mark my words, when they figure out the problem, the demand for those routes is going to shoot through the roof.”
“I put my money on the rats,” Gus said, taking a swallow of his beer.
“The rats?”
“Yep. Stands to reason. They say the plague came here from China on board ships. The crew members don’t seem to be gettin’ it from each other, so they’re gettin’ it from something else. If it’s not the food or the water, then what? What else lives on ships? Rats.”
“What—you’re saying the rats are biting the crew members?”
“Could be. But rats have fleas and you’re more likely to get bit by a flea than a rat. They say the fleas can pass on the disease, so it makes sense. At any rate, until they figure out exactly what’s causing it, I say we make sure every ship is rat-free.”
Will nodded. “Maybe we can use that pitch to get passengers to book our line.” He spread his hands wide as if to show a banner. “Reserve Your Stateroom on Pacific Global: the Disease-Free Way to Travel.”
Gus snorted. “Plague or not, this anti-Chinese hysteria has got to die down before white passenger travel to Asia picks up.”
The Art of Love: Origins of Sinner's Grove Page 17
