by Jo Goodman
“It was a stupid idea,” she said quickly, ducking her head. “The wager said nothing about—”
“Damn the bloody wager,” Nathan said. When Lydia’s head shot up Nathan cupped the underside of her chin with his forefinger. “I’d like to see your gardens. There’s a gazebo by the pond, isn’t there?”
“Yes.” Confusion still clouded her eyes. “But don’t you have to go? You looked at your watch as if—”
“I looked at my watch because I want to make certain I get you inside by way of a door tonight, preferably the front one.”
“Oh.”
“Oh,” he said, lightly mocking her. His hand dropped away from her chin and he offered his arm.
They stayed on the flagstone path as they walked, avoiding the damp grass they had trampled the previous evening. There was little they could see in the way of color, even with the bleached white half moon lighting their way, but the fragrances were rich and the night sounds of crickets in the hedges and fish leaping in the pond filled the strained breaks in their conversation.
Standing under the shelter of the gazebo Nathan drew Lydia into his arms. His silver-gray eyes held her motionless, and when he spoke his voice was a low, deep whisper. “Are you as curious as I am?” he asked.
Lydia’s natural honesty kept her from pretending ignorance. She knew exactly what he was talking about and denying it served no purpose that she could see. He fascinated and frightened her. In that moment she really didn’t care what his intentions were; she wanted to taste his mouth again.
Chapter 5
His lips were softer than she expected, his touch curiously respectful, even reticent. He made the kiss gentle in its seeking and Lydia was unafraid when he drew her still closer to him. She liked the way his mouth made contact with her for only a brief moment, just brushing her lips, urging them apart with only a suggestion of pressure.
Lydia’s hands rose between them, not to push Nathan away as he first suspected she might, but to grasp the front of his jacket and hold on as she swayed dreamily. It made him smile.
Her eyes opened and stared straight up into his. “Have I done something wrong?” she whispered. She drew in her lower lip, uncertain now, and a tiny frown appeared between her eyebrows. “You don’t want to kiss me anymore.”
“The truth is, Lydia,” he said quietly, “I’m not so sure I’ll ever want to stop.”
“That’s all right, then.” Standing on tiptoe, it was she who initiated the kiss this time, touching him in the same manner he had touched her. It satisfied, then frustrated, and it was then that Nathan took control again.
At the first faint stirrings of passion he pressed for a more intimate response. Tilting his head, his mouth slanted across hers. They shared a breath, an indrawn gasp, and he tasted the sweetness of her mouth as she gave him what he sought.
Nathan’s kiss excited her senses. Lydia knew the hard, angular planes of his body in contrast to hers, the beat of his heart through her fingertips, and heard the small sounds of her own passion rising. Behind her eyelids was a sunburst of color and in the center of her was another one of heat.
Backing Lydia against the gazebo’s latticework, Nathan’s hands slid from the small of her back to the underside of her breasts. Cornered, she stilled momentarily, aware and wary. He did nothing except wait, and when she swayed into him he knew she had accepted his touch.
His tongue traced the line of her upper lip, teasing a tiny shudder out of her. When the vibration was passed onto him he felt as though the kiss had come full circle. The innocence that was Lydia’s, however, could never be his. The most he could hope for was that she would share his guilt.
Lydia stretched, sliding her arms around Nathan’s shoulders, flattening herself against his chest. His thumb brushed the tip of her left breast and she sucked in her breath as she felt the tug of pleasure in the very soles of her feet. His lips were hard now; his tongue speared her mouth in a rhythm that was suggestive of another kind of intimacy.
“My God!”
The sharp, bitter invective drove a wedge between Lydia and Nathan. Nathan was surprised less by the interruption than by his own degree of disorientation. In spite of repeated warnings to himself, he hadn’t kept his head, and a single glance at Lydia told him she had not done nearly as well as he. His hands dropped to Lydia’s waist and he steadied her, drawing her away from the lattice. He took a half step in front of her, partially shielding her from the censure of the intruders.
Madeline released Brig’s arm, but she made no movement toward the gazebo steps. “That was an unbecoming display, Lydia,” she said coldly. “Come out of there at once and go inside. We’ll talk of this later.”
Before Lydia could move, Nathan spoke. “Good evening, Mrs. Chadwick,” he said with considerable civility. He nodded in Brig’s direction. “Brigham. It’s quite a pleasant evening for enjoying the gardens, don’t you think?”
Madeline was not amused by Nathan’s cool and unruffled tones. “The only thing that you were enjoying, Mr. Hunter, was my daughter. And she apparently had no qualms about letting you.”
“Mother,” said Lydia. The rush of heat to her face had scarcely lessened since she and Nathan had been interrupted, and some invisible pressure on her throat made it hurt to speak. “Please. It wasn’t—”
“You can explain it all inside, Lydia,” Madeline said, unwilling to listen. “Though how you shall explain it to Mr. Moore is beyond my comprehension. He dropped in to return a pair of gloves you left in his carriage this afternoon. You may as well have thrown them in his face.”
Lydia found it difficult to meet her mother’s eyes. She had not once ventured a look in Brig’s direction. “Gloves?” she asked, grasping at the conversation to shield her complete humiliation. “I don’t think I was wearing any. They must have fallen out of the pocket in my...”
Well acquainted with Lydia’s tears, Nathan sensed her struggle to control them now. He turned his back on Brig and Madeline long enough to ask Lydia if she wanted his escort to the house.
“No, thank you. I’ll be all right.”
He searched her downcast face and wished that he might lift her chin and raise her eyes so he would know the truth. “Will you?”
She nodded. “I just shouldn’t have let...” Lydia didn’t finish her thought. She pushed past Nathan and fled the gazebo and then the garden.
Madeline stared hard at Nathan. “Once my husband hears of this, Mr. Hunter, I don’t think you’ll be welcome any longer.” She thought that he would leave immediately, make an apology at the very least. Instead, he did neither of these things. He returned her look with an insolent half-smile and eyes that expressed contempt. Finally it was Madeline who turned away. “If you’ll excuse me, Mr. Moore,” she said.
“Of course,” he said gallantly. “And please don’t take Lydia to task on my account. I’d like to think she only wanted to make me jealous.”
Madeline hurried up the walk to the house. Neither Brig nor Nathan spoke again until they heard the door close behind her. Brig was carrying a crystal-knobbed ebony cane. He tapped the silver tip against the flagstones and laughed softly as Nathan came toward him. “If you’re going to throw a punch, Nath, at least let me move to the grass.”
Nathan stopped in front of Brig, but he made no move to lift a hand against him. “She wasn’t trying to make you jealous,” he said, “because she didn’t know you were there.”
“Are you certain about that?” Brig asked good-naturedly. “After all, she was facing in the direction of the house when Madeline and I came out.”
“You saw her?”
“Immediately.”
Which meant, Nathan supposed, that she could have seen him. “I don’t think jealousy was a motive.” But he wasn’t as certain as he had been a moment ago.
“Then perhaps she was just kissing you and thinking of me,” said Brig. “She’s halfway to being in love with me, you know.”
Nathan started up the walk and Brig fell in step
beside him. “You can’t be all that sure of her,” Nathan said, “or you wouldn’t have shown up here tonight.”
Brig laughed again. “You know me too well, Nath. By God, you really do.” Except for the light tapping of Brig’s cane it was quiet as they passed the pond. “You may be interested to know,” Brig said, “that Lydia knows I’m a convict. It’s only a matter of time before she learns the same of you.”
“She already knows. She asked me and I told her.”
“Did she ask you what you’d done?”
“No. I think she was afraid to. And I didn’t offer the information.”
“Wise man. I don’t think she’d have been kissing you like that if she’d known about…damn, what was her name?”
“Beth Ann Ondine.”
“Not likely you’ll ever forget, is it?”
“No, not likely,” Nathan said quietly. He wasn’t just thinking of Beth Ann. He was thinking of Ginny Flynt. Who would ever believe he hadn’t killed her? “Do you have a point?” he asked.
“Lydia’s not going to have anything to do with either of us if she knows too much.”
“The fact that she knows anything at all is your fault,” Nathan whispered harshly. They were standing near the edge of the portico, not far from where he’d shimmied up to the balcony the night before. “She heard it first from her mother, and we both know how Madeline came by the information. She may have guessed a few things in the beginning, but I’ll wager you confirmed most of her suspicions. You were insane to get involved with her. She’s a bitch, Brig, and where you’re concerned, she’s a bitch in heat.”
One corner of Brig’s mouth lifted. “Perhaps that’s where her daughter gets it from.” He was curiously disappointed when Nathan didn’t react. Had he misread Nathan’s interest in Lydia? “What’s she like, Nath? I haven’t even kissed her yet. You do plan to let me share in that pleasure, don’t you? Assuming it’s a pleasure.”
“You’re welcome to try your hand at her, Brig. I certainly don’t have a claim. What you did this afternoon smacks of a little underhandedness, but as you pointed out before, there are no rules where Lydia is concerned.”
“Underhanded?” asked Brig, his eyes widening innocently. “What do you—oh, the gloves.”
“Precisely. She didn’t drop them and they didn’t fall out of her cape. You lifted them and then you hid them and waited until tonight to return them. You knew Lydia was out with me, knew that I wouldn’t keep her late, and you came to the house hoping we’d come in while you were still here. I’d say you probably saw our carriage arrive, never shared that information with Madeline, and got her out here on the pretense of seeing the gardens. I think her shock when she saw Lydia and me was quite real.”
“It was.”
“And everything else?”
Brig shrugged, no remorse in the gesture. “All true, I’m afraid. Yet it’s hardly different than your timely intervention in the alley. Or should I say interference? And don’t forget the card game. If it hadn’t been for you, I’d have been with her tonight at the Cliff House, and quite possibly kissing her in the gazebo. Let’s not discuss underhandedness, shall we.”
Nathan sighed heavily, frustrated that Brig had out-maneuvered him. “Where’s Samuel tonight?”
“I don’t know. He’s not at home, though.”
Convenient, thought Nathan. “Let’s go, Brig. I’d say today ended in a draw.”
“A draw,” he agreed. He put an arm around Nathan’s shoulders as they rounded the corner of the house below Lydia’s window. “Too bad we can’t finish it that way. In the end there’s just going to be one winner.”
Nathan was only certain it would not be Lydia.
The mission that housed the orphans was a rabbit warren of rooms. Lydia hurried from one bedroom to the next looking for two of the youngest boys. She retraced her steps into the bedroom she had just left when she heard Richard’s smothered giggle. A few minutes later, after fussing aloud that she’d never find them, she pulled them out from under a cot. John’s hand was covering Richard’s mouth, but that did little to silence the younger child’s laughter. John’s narrow, angular face was softened by large brown eyes and a gap-toothed smile. Richard was a slightly broader, rounder version of his older brother with the same dark chocolate eyes and heart-warming grin. That grin was finally uncovered when John let his hand drop.
Lydia tried to be stern. “Mrs. Finnegan is waiting for you boys in the kitchen. It’s not a good idea to run off when there’s work to be done.”
Richard simply stared up at her soulfully and let his brother do the talking. “That’s when it’s the very best idea.”
She remembered thinking the same thing at six. “All right,” she said, pretending indifference, “but I heard her say there’s raisin oatmeal cookies for the boys who clean her pantry shelves. I’ll see who else—” She didn’t have to go on. They rushed past her into the hallway and ran for the kitchen, their shoes clicking loudly on the terra cotta floor. Smiling to herself, Lydia pushed the cot back in place and straightened the pile of blankets at the foot. She looked at her handiwork and then at the other five cots and straightened each one of them in turn. The room the six smallest boys shared was painfully neat and barren, more like a cell than a bedroom. Their few personal possessions were kept in wooden crates at the base of each cot. The walls were whitewashed and showed nothing more interesting than a few cracks in the stucco. The new orphanage could not be built quickly enough to suit Lydia.
She backed out of the room, pulling the door shut, and bumped into Nathan Hunter. “Oh! What are you doing here?”
He noted she seemed more surprised to see him than unhappy. He took it as a good sign. “I came to see you, of course.”
To give her hands something to do, Lydia smoothed the skirt of her soft gray gown. “I don’t know why,” she said with a credible amount of dignity. “It’s been three weeks since the Cliff House. I thought you’d gone back to Australia.”
“Not until Brig and I settle our deal.”
She made to go past him, but Nathan blocked her path. “I have work to do, Mr. Hunter. Father Patrick’s expecting me to help him in the classroom.”
“No, he’s not.” There was something different about her, Nathan thought, though he was hard pressed to identify what it was. Her bearing was much the same—the chin still lifted when she felt threatened—but there was something else in her manner, an aloofness that suggested fear perhaps, or pain. He said nothing for a moment, studying her heart-shaped face. She was wearing her hair differently now, swept back lightly from her temples and coiled loosely at the back of her head. It was a dark, gloriously rich frame for her features and, looking at her, Nathan was struck again by her eyes, how deeply blue they were, how soft and fathomless they could be. “I spoke with Father Patrick when I came in,” he told her. “He suggested I might find you back here and that you would be delighted to take me on a tour.”
“Delighted?”
“His word exactly. I hoped it might be true.” He studied her face, aware that she had marshaled her defenses and was determined to be cool. “Well?”
Lydia avoided Nathan’s light gray predator eyes. “Very well,” she said, making little attempt to be gracious. “I suppose I can show you around. The sooner that’s done, the sooner you can leave.”
Since they were in the wing that housed the bedrooms, Lydia took Nathan from one to another, talking a little about the children and their backgrounds. Her conversation was hardly personal; she had conducted dozens of such tours when she was trying to raise money for the new building. Nathan listened politely and asked questions now and again.
“Didn’t you get any of my messages?” he asked as they entered the chapel. Dust motes filled a row of sunbeams coming through the high, narrowly arched windows. Nathan shut the heavy oaken door behind him and leaned against it.
At the sound of the door closing, Lydia lost her train of thought. She dipped her fingers in the font and genuflected, the
n took a seat on the last rough-hewn pew. “What messages?” she asked when he sat beside her.
“I sent one every three or four days since I last saw you,” he said. “You never got one? Or the flowers?”
“Nothing.” She looked at him suspiciously. “You really tried to reach me? Sent me flowers?”
The chapel was still and peaceful and their voices were hushed respectfully. Nathan pointed to the golden cross on the altar. “This is not the sort of place where I’m likely to tell a lie.”
She looked away quickly, trying to hide her smile. When she had composed herself she said, “Three weeks was a long time not to hear anything from you. I suppose it was my mother’s doing. She wants to protect me.”
“But she allows you to see Brigham.”
“Yes. I’ve seen him twice since that night. How do you know about it? Does he…does he talk to you about me?”
“No,” Nathan said quickly. “It’s not what you’re thinking. I saw you with him at the theater one evening. Brigham and I rarely talk these days; we’re not even staying in the same hotel any longer. He’s moved to the Commodore.”
“Have you had a falling out?” she asked, folding her hands in her lap. “Brigham doesn’t talk about you, either.”
Nathan placed his hand across both of hers. “What are your feelings for Brig, Lydia?”
She jerked her hands away. “Why would I tell you that? I haven’t shared my feelings with Brigham. I’m certainly not going to share them with you.”
“I suppose that answers my question.” He stretched his legs out into the aisle and leaned back, resting his hands on the bench behind him. “If you had gotten my messages, would you have agreed to see me?”
“I’m seeing you now, aren’t I?” she asked. “Anyway, why do you want to see me? Knowing that you and Brigham are partners, well, it makes me feel as if I’m some bone you’re fighting over. I have no idea why you’ve both singled me out for your attention unless it’s my money. There are hundreds of women in San Francisco, most of them better looking than me and far more interesting.”
