Sweet Fire

by Jo Goodman

  Lydia looked at her father expectantly, waiting for him to expound on his thoughts. He seemed about to when Mr. Hardy appeared in the doorway and announced the first carriage had just arrived. Hiding her disappointment, Lydia looped her arm through Samuel’s and escorted him to the entrance of the ballroom where they prepared to greet their guests.

  “I wondered if you were going to come this evening,” Nathan said as he alighted from a hired carriage and saw Brigham Moore waiting for him.

  Brig’s sandy hair caught the light from the carriage’s lanterns. A boyish, mischievous smile touched his mouth. At thirty-four he was not so far removed in appearance or temperament from the boy he had been half a lifetime ago. “I was invited, wasn’t I? The same as you.”

  “Hardly the same. Mr. Chadwick asked me. Mrs. Chadwick asked you.”

  “So? End’s the same. I’m here; you’re here. The game’s afoot.”

  Nathan put his hand on Brig’s forearm as the other man would have approached the Chadwicks’ palatial home. “That was a stupid stunt you tried to pull this evening.”

  Brig stopped and looked at Nathan with new interest. One tawny brow was raised in a rakish salute to his old friend’s cunning. “So you did see me. I wondered.”

  “I heard you first,” Nathan corrected. “You were never particularly light on your feet.”

  Brig shook his head, not accepting Nathan’s explanation. “I think you were expecting me, that’s why you heard me. Somehow you found out about my plan for Lydia and intervened in my place. That wasn’t very sporting, you know. But don’t worry, I don’t hold it against you. All’s fair. That’s what we agreed to at the outset, didn’t we?”

  “I think we’ve interpreted that phrase a little differently,” Nathan said softly. “I discovered what you had in mind quite by accident. I tell you that because you should be cautious about confiding in strangers. One of the men you hired to follow and frighten Lydia had a loose tongue before he set out on your mission. God only knows what he’s telling people now. Perhaps you want to get sent back to the bay in chains, but I don’t. Once was enough.”

  “Good. You protect my back and I’ll see to Miss Chadwick.”

  “As you saw to her this evening?” Nathan’s icy gray eyes narrowed. “I don’t think so. She was terrified by those men and with good reason. You were late getting there.”

  “An accident,” he explained. “I followed them following her. I still don’t know how I lost sight of them. You obviously didn’t.”

  “I wasn’t approached by the whores on the corner of Montgomery.”

  “Lucky me, eh?”

  “Brig,” Nathan said, trying to reason, “It was a foolish attempt at winning her confidence. Your hirelings might have done anything to her before you arrived.”

  “Raped her, you mean? I don’t think so. I wasn’t paying them to toss up her skirts. I’ve seen her, remember. I’d have had to pay them.”

  Nathan’s hand dropped away from Brig’s arm. He clenched it at his side. “Don’t hurt her, Brig. She’s an innocent in this bit of madness.”

  “Hurt her?” The open, boyish smile split his handsome face again. “That’s no part of what I have planned. I’m going to marry her, Nath.” He turned and went up the walk. Light scattered across the portico as the door to the mansion opened and Brig was ushered inside.

  Nathan watched the house swallow him up and still he did not move. He stood alone on the sidewalk, hands thrust in the pockets of his evening coat, wind ruffling his dark hair, and wondered why he could not approach this evening’s outing with the same nonchalance or confidence Brig displayed.

  “Mr. Moore,” Madeline said, a thread of excitement in her voice. “How good of you to come this evening. I wasn’t certain you would, given the fact we’re going to twist your arm for a donation.”

  Brig made a slight bow and gallantly offered his arm. “Twist away. I promise you, I consider the pain a small price to pay for the pleasure of your company.”

  Madeline responded to Brig’s engaging smile with light, trilling laughter. For the first time since the guests had begun to arrive, her gaiety was not forced. “I’d like you to meet my husband. Samuel, this is Mr. Brigham Moore. I told you about him,” she prompted. “The gentleman who rescued me outside of Sheridan’s department store last week.”

  “Oh, yes,” Samuel said, extending his hand. “The little tremor. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Moore. It was good of you to see to my wife’s safety at your own expense.”

  “I believe you’ve been misinformed,” Brig said genially. “I recall your wife pushing me out of harm’s way. That little tremor lasted only a few minutes short of eternity as far as I was concerned. I thought it was the end of the world.”

  Smiling, Samuel withdrew his hand. “Then it’s all the more commendable that you kept your head. From what Madeline has told me, you reacted with incredible calm despite your own injuries.”

  Brig touched the back of his head. “Nothing that a few stitches couldn’t set right.”

  Samuel turned Brig’s attention to Lydia. “Let me introduce our daughter Lydia. Lydia, Mr. Moore.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Moore,” Lydia said. “Mother’s sung your praises. She told us you’ve recently come from England. It’s rare for someone not native to this area to react with such presence of mind.” Lydia watched with some astonishment as color flushed Brigham Moore’s cheeks. Why, he’s embarrassed, she thought. Then he turned the full force of his smile on her and all coherent thought left Lydia. Had he gushed over her, made some asinine remark about her resemblance to her mother, or her beauty, or her gracefulness, Lydia would have recovered her senses, but Brig did none of these obvious things and managed to hold Lydia in his thrall because of it.

  “It’s an honor to be here,” he said sincerely, making another small bow. His green eyes held Lydia’s all the while, displaying his interest openly. “I’d be happy to hear about your plans for the new orphanage. No arm-twisting is necessary, I promise you.”

  “Oh?”

  “I was raised in a London workhouse,” he said. “I’ve no parents myself.”

  Though he said it simply, without apology, Lydia thought she detected pain in the depths of his eyes. She was moved.

  “Go ahead, darling,” Samuel said. “I know you want Mr. Moore to meet Father Patrick. Your mother and I will greet the remainder of our guests.”

  Madeline’s encouragement was noticeably cooler than her husband’s. “Perhaps you’ll start the dancing as well. I think there are several couples who would like to begin.”

  Lydia, who had already accepted Brig’s proffered arm, stood rooted to the floor at her mother’s suggestion. She could feel the tide of heat rushing to her face. Her mind worked furiously, searching for something to say that would extricate Brigham Moore from an obligatory offer. It came too quickly.

  “I’d be honored, Miss Chadwick, if you’d allow me to partner you for the first dance.”

  Wishing she were anywhere but where she was, Lydia forced a smile to her lips. “Of course.” She felt herself being led away and was grateful for her guest’s calm because she had none of her own. When they were out of earshot of her parents Lydia whispered, “I apologize for Mother. You needn’t feel that you have no choice but to dance with me.”

  Brig halted in his tracks and bent his head slightly in Lydia’s direction. “I’m afraid I should be the one to apologize for taking shameless advantage of your mother’s suggestion.” He looked quickly around the ballroom. “There are a number of gentlemen here this evening without obvious partners. Perhaps there is one to whom you’d rather give the honor?”

  At first she was taken aback, then Lydia’s tremulous smile brightened. She stopped biting her lower lip. “No…there’s no one,” she admitted, and added, “I’ve danced with all of them before.”

  Brig’s tawny brows raised slightly, his handsome face full of good humor. “And none of them met your standards?” he aske
d. “That doesn’t bode well for me. I’m not very accomplished on the dance floor.”

  “Oh, no…I didn’t mean…that is...” Her voice trailed off when she realized he was teasing her.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “You rise so beautifully to the bait that I can’t help but dangle my hook. Shall we?” He placed one hand on her waist and lifted his chin in the direction of the musicians warming up at the opposite end of the room. “I believe they’ll take their cue from you.”

  Lydia raised her face to look up at her partner and take measure of his sincerity. He was tall and slim, square-jawed, and even-featured. There was something young in his smile, a youthful excitement that made his green eyes bright. There was eagerness and expectation in his stance. His head was tilted to one side and a lock of sandy hair had fallen across his forehead. By slow degrees, as if full realization was against her will, she acknowledged that she liked what she saw. Her solemn dark blue eyes widened a shade. “All right,” she said softly. She caught the attention of the leader of the small orchestra and nodded once. Almost immediately the room was filled with the heady, lilting strains of a Strauss waltz.

  “What power,” Brig said as he turned Lydia gracefully about the ballroom.

  “Pardon?” Was that her voice? she wondered. That breathless, slightly husky tone, did it really belong to her? He had lied about his skill in the dance, she thought distantly. He led her through the steps effortlessly.

  “I was referring to the way you cued the orchestra. A regal nod from you and suddenly there’s music and laughter and dancing.”

  “Regal?” She shook her head. “I don’t think so, Mr. Moore. My mother, perhaps, but not me.”

  “At the risk of arguing, I’d like to point out that I’ve seen the queen. You, Miss Chadwick, were regal.”

  Feeling more comfortable than she could ever have imagined, Lydia laughed. “Tell me about London, Mr. Moore, and how you came to see the queen...”

  At the entrance to the ballroom Nathan’s hand was taken in a warm embrace. “Glad you could make it, Hunter,” Samuel said. “You’re the last guest to arrive. I was afraid you were going to stand me up. This is my wife, Madeline Chadwick. Madeline, Nathan Hunter. I invited him for the—”

  “Poker game,” Madeline said, finishing his sentence. “Don’t apologize, Mr. Hunter. I assure you, I’m quite used to this. I had hoped my husband would partner me in one dance...”

  Her voice fell away and she looked at Samuel with a sideways glance that was more suffering than amused.

  “Oh, but...” Samuel began, looking quickly for his poker partners.

  Nathan interjected. “Perhaps your husband would permit me the pleasure. I admit I enjoy holding a good hand at poker, but I enjoy holding a beautiful woman more.” Samuel looked as if he were about to object and Nathan shook his head, sweeping Madeline Chadwick into his arms and onto the floor. “Too late,” he told Sam over Madeline’s white shoulder.

  Samuel shrugged good-naturedly. “I’m going to go mark the cards.” He disappeared into the hallway, making a brief stop in the dining room on his way to the library.

  “So, what do you think of the plans, Mr. Moore?” Lydia asked. They were standing in a relatively quiet corner of the ballroom where Lydia had arranged the three-dimensional model of the proposed orphanage as well as the architect’s drawings on a table. “This will take the place of the mission Father Patrick’s using now. It’s been the site of the orphanage since fire destroyed the old one about a year ago. The mission was never really intended to house so many people, certainly not children, and is wholly inadequate to their needs.”

  Brig casually rested one hip against the table and studied the model. “It’s quite an undertaking. I’m impressed that you want to offer so much to these children. There was nothing like this when I was growing up.”

  “You make it sound like a lifetime ago.”

  “I’m thirty-four, Miss Chadwick. It was a lifetime ago—your lifetime.”

  Lydia extended her chin a notch, not flattered that he thought her so young. “I’m twenty, Mr. Moore.”

  “I beg your pardon,” he said, setting his mouth so as not to betray his amusement. He was not entirely successful.

  “Laugh if you will,” Lydia said. “I’m used to people not taking me seriously.”

  Brig straightened. “You’re wrong there. I’m taking you and your project very seriously.” He pointed to the model. “It’s plainly evident that you’ve given a lot of thought to the planning of this home.”

  “Father Patrick and I worked closely with the architect.”

  “You seem to know the sort of place children need to grow comfortably.”

  She warmed to the compliment but admitted, “The Father’s influence more than mine, although I spend as much time as I can at St. Andrew’s, doing what I’m able. They’re wonderful children and they deserve much better than they’re receiving from the community now. In a city where quakes and fire are part of life, where children can be orphaned in the blink of an eye, it only makes sense to provide for—” She stopped and concentrated on smoothing the curled edges of the blueprints. “I’m sorry. I tend to go on about my causes, this one in particular. Mother says it’s my worst fault.”

  “If it’s your worst fault, then you’re a paragon among women. There are worse things than feeling passionate.”

  Brig’s softly spoken words washed over Lydia and she blushed at his phrasing. Had he meant to be provocative? She stole a glance at him, decided his comment had been innocent, and felt a small pang of regret. His head was bent over the model. He was studying the area at the rear of the orphanage set aside for play. How different it must have been for him, she thought. He’d shared little about the London workhouse during their dance, and Lydia did not press, but she knew enough about such things to fill in the pauses in his story.

  Lydia pointed to the expanse of land adjoining the orphanage property. “We’d like to be able to buy this as well. The goal is to make the orphanage as self-sufficient as possible by raising our own beef and poultry. The garden would not only support the needs of the children but also allow us to sell some of the crop in the city. I think most children will find a measure of satisfaction in farming; a few may even enjoy it. The outdoors will be so much better for them than tedious piecework, and they tend to love being around animals. We’ll be able to have pets and—” Smiling guiltily, she shook her head. “I’m doing it again, aren’t I?”

  “I’m not complaining,” Brig said, his expression frank.

  “You’re too kind,” Lydia said, an impish grin touching her lips as she added, “But I’ll wager you’ll think twice before saving another woman in a Frisco shaker. Look where it’s got you.”

  Brig laughed, and Lydia knew she liked the sound of it.

  “Darling...” Madeline said as she and Nathan entered the circle of light laughter. “You can’t monopolize Mr. Moore. You have other guests.”

  The light that had been building at the back of Lydia’s cobalt-blue eyes was shuttered now. “Yes, of course,” she said quietly. For the first time she noticed the man on her mother’s arm. Surprise paralyzed her voice and her feet.

  Madeline made the introductions all the way around, and Lydia realized she must have responded in some appropriate fashion. At least no one was looking at her as if she’d grown a third eye. “Let me allow Mr. Moore the opportunity to meet some of our friends,” Madeline was saying, “while you show Mr. Hunter your plans.” She smoothly disengaged herself from Nathan and gave Brig no choice but to accompany her on a tour of the room.

  When she and Nathan were alone, Lydia turned her back on her guests and betrayed her nervousness by speaking quickly. “How did you find me and what do you want?”

  Nathan’s predator eyes narrowed slightly and he studied Lydia a moment before answering. She was clearly agitated by his presence, a factor he hadn’t counted on. While he hadn’t expected gratitude, as Brig had when he’d devised the scheme, neither h
ad Nathan anticipated his earlier rescue would result in such an annoyed greeting. “This may come as something of a surprise, Miss Chadwick, but I didn’t find you and I don’t want anything.”

  Lydia pursed her mouth to one side in plain disbelief. With an air of impatience, she crossed her arms in front of her.

  “Your posture speaks for itself,” he said tightly. “Excuse me, I’ll find your father.” Nathan turned on his heel and had taken three steps when he heard Lydia call his name. He kept on walking.

  Frustrated by his actions and embarrassed by her own poor manners, Lydia hurried after her guest. Trying not to be obvious, she slipped her arm through his and pulled him up a little.

  Nathan halted and turned cold eyes on her. “I’m not a horse to be reined in, Miss Chadwick.”

  Lydia had the grace to look away and stammer an apology. “But you can’t blame me for being startled,” she added, defending herself.

  “I don’t blame you for being startled. Only for being rude.”

  At the far end of the ballroom Madeline and Brig were passing in front of the orchestra. Madeline’s head was thrown back, a bright smile on her face as she laughed with evident enjoyment at something her partner said. With a coy tilt of her head and a sideways look, Lydia said, “A dance might improve my disposition.”

  Nathan had seen the direction of her gaze before it came to rest on him and understood her intent. “Don’t flirt. It’s not becoming.”

  Lydia blinked widely, not certain she had heard him correctly. And he called her rude! She considered telling him so, but then he was pulling her into his arms and spinning her across the floor.

  Chapter 2

  He was not an accomplished dancer. He lacked the fluid grace and practiced rhythm that had made Lydia so comfortable in Brig’s arms. She followed his fits and starts as best she could, but more than once she found herself trouncing his toes. Each time she apologized for her clumsiness. He said nothing. Lydia thought she heard him counting out the three-quarter time under his breath.