by Jo Goodman
“I’d like to go outside, if you don’t mind,” Lydia said when Brig took her arm. “I’ve had quite enough dancing for the time being.”
“Of course,” he said, immediately solicitous. “I’ve been wanting to speak with you alone anyway.” He glanced around the ballroom and saw Madeline standing with her back to them, occupied by her conversation with Samuel and several of their friends. It was the perfect time to approach Lydia.
The Newberrys had no gazebo or pond on their property, but they did have an immense marble fountain that Mr. Newberry had had shipped from Italy. Its three tiers consisted of ornate and fanciful sculptures of dolphins, water sprites, and at the pinnacle, Neptune himself. Lydia thought the entire affair rather ghastly in daylight, but at night, as long as the moon was not too full, it looked rather pleasant and the steady spray of water was soothing to the ear. Though no word passed between her and Brig, they gravitated toward the fountain as if by mutual agreement.
White marble benches, just outside of the circle of mist, surrounded the fountain. Brig led Lydia to the one that put the fountain between them and the ballroom, thus giving them the illusion of complete privacy.
“My business in San Francisco is almost at an end, Lydia,” Brig said, slipping his hand beneath hers. Their fingers intertwined. “When I came here I had no expectations of meeting someone like yourself, someone who would make me regret leaving California alone. I realize we have not known one another long, nor especially well, but I haven’t the luxury of many more days in your city. Perhaps I am presenting this in a backward fashion, but I don’t want you to think this is the impetuous proposal of a schoolboy. It’s no infatuation that I feel, for I have enough experience to know otherwise. I’d like you to be my wife, Lydia. Come back to Sydney and the station at Ballaburn with me. We could be happy there, I know we could.”
How beautiful this man was, Lydia thought. Strands of sandy hair gleamed silver in the pale moonlight and his green eyes were like precious stones. The boyish smile so often in evidence was absent now and the set of his mouth betrayed some of the anxiety he was feeling. There was the smallest tremor in the large, smooth hand that held hers.
Lydia’s eyes darted over his face, the stillness with which he held himself betrayed by the faint muscle working in his cheek. “I’m not certain it’s what I want,” she said finally. “What you’re asking…it’s so much more than marriage for me. It would mean leaving my mother and father, leaving behind everything that is familiar, and taking up a way of life in a land I’ve heard described as bleak and unforgiving.”
“But you’re not saying no,” Brig inserted quickly. “Is there reason for me to hope?”
Lydia eased her hand out from under his and stood up. “Of course you may hope, Brigham. In fact, I wish that you would. I shouldn’t like it if you gave up so easily. I’d like to think about it…give you my answer later.”
He also got to his feet and stood in front of her. “Later? You mean tonight?”
“Yes,” she said, raising her eyes to him. Her thick lashes framed eyes that were almost black and her lips were fractionally parted, wet and inviting. “I mean tonight. But not here. There are too many things I still want to know.” She hesitated, looking away.
“What is it, Lydia?” he asked gently.
She spoke in a rush. “Would you meet me later? Somewhere…I don’t know—at my home perhaps. I could let you in after my parents go to bed and we could finally talk privately and with complete candor.” She saw Brig’s frown and immediately began to retract her statement. “I’m sorry. I’ve been forward again, haven’t I? Oh, God.” Despair was rife in her tone and she caught her bottom lip between her teeth. “I shouldn’t have suggested it. If you want to take back your proposal, I’ll understand. I don’t know what made me think that you’d—”
“Come,” he finished for her. “I’ll meet you, Lydia. You’re an intriguing mixture of propriety and daring, aren’t you?” In that dress she was a damn siren, he thought. His eyes darted to the curve of her naked shoulders. “Something else to love about you, darling.”
Her eyes widened and darkened further at the center.
“I hadn’t said it yet, but surely you’ve known. I’m in love with you, Lydia Chadwick. Quite hopelessly in love with you.” He took her in his arms and kissed first her forehead, her closed eyes, then the tip of her nose before settling and lingering on the fullness of her ripe mouth. He kissed her deeply, almost drawing the air from her lungs, and didn’t release her until he felt her sag helplessly against him. “I’m not above using everything at my disposal to win your hand,” he said, lifting his head. He kissed her again, briefly this time, and then left her to regain her composure before she entered the ballroom, certain he had sufficiently unbalanced her heart.
Nathan excused himself from the men he was talking to when he saw Brigham come back inside. More than a minute later Lydia followed. She looked as if she could use a drink, something more powerful than the party punch he eventually offered her.
“Thank you,” said Lydia, holding the crystal cup between her palms. “You’re very kind.”
One of Nathan’s dark brows kicked up. “I’m not,” he said. “Not at all.”
Over the rim of her cup she smiled. “Say whatever you like. I shall think what I like.”
Frowning, Nathan slid his hand under Lydia’s elbow and urged her toward the exit.
“Where are we going?” she asked. “I just came from outside.”
“And I think you need to go back. It’s obvious to me at least that you need some fresh air. You haven’t cooled down sufficiently from Brigham’s mauling.”
Lydia laughed as they stepped onto the terrace. “Mauling? Why, Mr. Hunter, you sound almost jealous.”
His only response was to grip her arm a little tighter. Glancing sideways at her face, Nathan could still make out the high color in her cheeks and the swollen sweetness of her mouth. She was full of herself this evening, he thought, confident in a way he had never seen before.
“May I at least put down my cup somewhere?” she asked as they came upon the fountain. He didn’t say anything but paused long enough for her to set it down on one of the stone benches before pulling her into the shadowed recesses of the yard. Light from the house could not reach them; strains of music could. When they stopped walking, Lydia held up her hands, her face tilted to one side in question.
Nathan didn’t hesitate. When Lydia began to hum the melody, he took her in his arms and led her in a waltz. “How did you get out of the house in that gown?” he asked baldly.
What confidence Lydia had was shattered. Her steps faltered momentarily, and when she trounced his toes, it was her fault, not his. “I didn’t have anything else to wear,” she said softly. “Mother didn’t like it either.”
“Either?” Of course Madeline hadn’t liked it. “I didn’t say I didn’t like it. In fact...” She was radiant, luminous. Or she had been until she thought he’d been expressing disapproval. “...you should always have nothing else to wear.”
The smile that had faltered on her lips brightened fractionally. “You don’t think it’s too…too...”
“I do.” His eyes fell briefly on the hollow of her throat and then came to rest on her mouth. “Indeed, I do.”
Embarrassed by his regard, Lydia lowered her head. She said the first thing that came to mind. “You’re a much better dancer than you were a few—” She cut herself off, appalled by her lack of good manners, and looked up at Nathan to see if he was offended. It seemed that he was. His jaw was clenched now. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—”
“It’s all right,” he said, his voice rough. He wasn’t about to tell her he had been practicing, taking lessons from Miss Wilhemenia Gardner at her School of Dance.
It was the first time Lydia had sensed any vulnerability in Nathan Hunter and she wondered at it, wondered if she had been mistaken about the aura of confidence, even arrogance, that he showed most often. She wouldn’t allow
herself to think on it long, afraid it would sway her. After all, she already had Brig’s proposal. “I’m glad you came this evening,” she said. “I understand you have something to celebrate.”
“I do?”
She nodded. “Certainly. Brigham tells me he’s leaving for Australia soon. That can only mean the deal is close to being finalized. I assume you’ll be going as well.”
“Yes…yes, I suppose I will.” What was she talking about? The deal closed? Nathan couldn’t imagine that Brig had spoken of returning to Ballaburn without Lydia. In Nathan’s mind that meant one thing: Brigham had proposed. Was it too late? he wondered. Had Lydia already given her answer? But, no, he thought, she couldn’t have, because Brig would never have let her out of his sight. He’d have made the announcement tonight, before Lydia could think better of it. Nathan stopped dancing, never realizing the music had stopped sometime earlier.
“What is it?” Lydia asked.
Nathan’s hands rested on the curve of Lydia’s naked shoulders. His thumbs brushed her collarbones. “I want you to marry me, Lydia,” he said tersely. “I want you to come back to Australia with me. I know you don’t like me much, perhaps not at all, but I don’t think it matters for what I have in mind.”
Not matter? How could that be true? Since when didn’t feelings matter in a marriage? “I’m not certain what you mean,” she said quietly.
“Our marriage wouldn’t have to be the usual kind,” he said. “That is, it need never be consummated.” He ignored her gasp, and when she tried to pull away he held her fast. “It would only be temporary anyway. I need a wife for a year, Lydia. A single year. Then you could leave me. I’d send you back to San Francisco if you liked, or anywhere else that you wanted to go. It would be up to you.”
“Why?”
“Why what?”
“Why do you need a wife at all?” she asked. “And why for only a year? Why me?”
Why indeed. She was asking all the questions Nathan couldn’t answer. It would have been easier to lie to her, tell her that he loved her, needed her, tell her all the things he imagined Brig had said. It would have been much, much easier, and still Nathan couldn’t do it. Ultimately she would be betrayed, or feel as if she had been, and that was where Nathan’s conscience had drawn the line. “It’s difficult to explain,” he said finally. Impossible, he thought. This time when Lydia tried to move out of his grasp, he let her. She didn’t go far, only a few feet, and then she turned her back on him.
“You can’t expect that I should answer you now,” she said. “How could I? I’ve never had a proposal quite like yours before.”
He came up to stand behind her. “I told you my intentions were so honorable you’d be insulted.”
Lydia laughed mirthlessly. “Yes, you did. I had forgotten that. Your actions weren’t always so honorable.”
“Lydia?” He spoke her name softly, a question in the sound. “What are you saying?”
“Nothing.”
He touched the nape of her neck with his fingertips, whispering across her sensitive skin and brushing aside a few loose strands of hair. He felt her shudder, not with distaste, he hoped, but with desire. “Lydia,” he said again. This time his mouth was near her ear. His lips touched the pulse in her neck just below her lobe. Her response was to tilt her head away from him and offer the beautiful line of her neck. He kissed her again, nibbling, tasting. The curve of her shoulder was warm and sweet. Her fragrance filled his senses. She turned toward him with no more urging, raising her arms around his shoulders. Her lips were parted and her eyes searched his face.
He watched her the entire time he bent his head. It was only at the last moment that she closed her eyes and gave herself up to him. She let him kiss her lightly at first, taste her mouth, draw her lower lip between his teeth and tug gently. It was the tip of her tongue that touched him a moment later, tickling the underside of his lip, pushing at the barrier of his teeth, and finally urging itself into his mouth. He took up the sweet battle without protest, finding the sensual dance more to his liking. He had her backed against the reddish-brown fissured bark of a hollyleaf cherry tree without quite knowing how he’d done it. One hand rested on her waist, the other traced the edging of her gown, fingers dipping below the cool satin to touch the soft, warm skin beneath it. He wanted to push her bodice lower, cup her breast, and run his thumb across the nipple until it was hard and swollen. He thought she just might let him, but he didn’t press.
“It wouldn’t have to be a marriage without pleasure,” he whispered against her mouth.
“Just without affection,” she answered. She could have pushed him away then, but she didn’t. She was greedy for the taste of him; the rough wetness of his tongue against hers was exciting. His fingers teasing the curve of her breast was frustrating. She wanted to lay his hand completely over her naked breast, wanted to feel the moist heat of his mouth there. Instead her own fingers pulled impatiently at his shirt so that she could touch the flat hardness of his belly. Her hand splayed across his abdomen; the skin beneath her fingers was hot. The press of his mouth was hard and hungry now and his hand had moved to the small of her back.
He leaned into her, cradling her with his thighs, wishing that she would raise her skirt and let him come into her. In his mind he saw himself lifting her until she opened for him, wrapped her legs around his flanks and settled against him, taking him full inside, her back against the hollyleaf tree, her breasts against his chest, her tongue inside his mouth imitating the rhythm that she wanted between his thighs, stroking him, building a fire in his loins…in his heart.
Abruptly Nathan pushed away. His breathing was harsh, his voice only a little less so. His predator eyes bore into Lydia’s dark ones. “There’s something else you should know about me,” he said, his jaw set, the tilt of his chin defiant, even angry.
She waited, frightened now, uncertain of anything except that things had somehow gone too far. The things she had been thinking, the things she had wanted from him, embarrassed her now. She didn’t want to look at him, couldn’t look away.
“My crime,” he said bluntly.
Lydia continued to look at him warily. She nodded once.
“Murder.” He didn’t try to read her face in the darkness. Instead he began to walk away.
“Nathan.”
He paused. Turned. “Yes.”
“I want to think about your offer,” she said calmly. “I also want to know more. Come to my house later tonight, after my parents have gone to bed. Two o’clock is good. You can use the side door. I’ll leave it open for you.”
“I don’t think—”
She raised her hand to stop his objection and regarded him steadily. The air was very still around her and there was expectancy in the stillness. “Come,” she said.
“Where will you be waiting?”
There was only the smallest hesitation before Lydia answered. “My bedroom,” she said. “I’ll wait for you in my bedroom.”
Chapter 6
“This way,” Lydia said, opening the front door to Brigham. The grandfather clock in the foyer struck the half hour. They both glanced at it at the same time. One-thirty. Brigham was punctual.
He gave her his hat and coat, but when she started toward the staircase he hung back. “I thought we would talk down here,” he said. “In the parlor.”
Lydia shook her head, a faintly coy smile on her lips. “No. Someone may rise and see the lamps. No one will think anything about it in my room. I often stay awake reading.”
“Your room? But your reputation…What if we’re found out?”
She laughed lightly. “Then you’d have to marry me, wouldn’t you?”
Brigham had little choice except to follow Lydia up the stairs. They didn’t speak until she shut the door to her room and turned to face him. Brigham trapped Lydia against the door, his arms braced on either side of her, and said, “I love you.”
Lydia lowered her head at the last moment and his kiss caught her on the cheek
and not her mouth. She ducked under his arms and walked to the sitting area of her bedroom. She gestured toward one of the armchairs and took the rocker herself. “We’ll have to keep our voices low,” she said, pointing to the fireplace. “My father’s room is the one beside mine. We share a chimney; sometimes one can hear things.”
“I don’t think I care,” he said, speaking in a normal tone. “As you said, if we’re discovered, you’d simply have to marry me.” He leaned forward and rested his forearms on his knees. His boyish smile was earnest, his green eyes frank and honest in their anticipation of what Lydia would say. She was still wearing her dark blue evening gown, and the beadwork on the bodice caught the firelight, drawing Brig’s attention to the fullness of her breasts. The line of her collarbone emphasized the shadowed hollow of her throat. It was difficult to look at her now and not think of taking her to bed, yet before this evening he had wondered how he was going to take her to bed while looking at her. “You’d make me a very happy man by agreeing to marry me, Lydia.”
“Why?” she asked.
He was startled for a moment. A frown appeared between his brows and he brushed back a lock of sandy hair with his fingertips. “Because I love you.”
“I know you’ve said that—and I hope you’ll forgive me for speaking so baldly—but other men have said the same thing to me. What they really meant was Lydia, I love your money.”
“Have I given you the impression I need money?”
“No, but then neither did they.”
“I see,” he said slowly. “Perhaps you need to know that your money would not be unwelcome. I’m not so removed from the workhouse that I couldn’t appreciate it. However, it’s not necessary. I don’t need it, Lydia. You can leave it all behind when we go to Ballaburn, let your mother spend it, give it to the orphanage or your maid. I don’t care. It’s you I need, nothing else…no one else. Can you understand that?”
