by Bobbi Smith
Jon set his drink aside and quickly rose to his feet. "You were worth the wait," he informed her gallantly as his dark-eyed gaze swept over her admiringly. As always he was impressed by her stunning good looks and he naively considered himself the luckiest man in San Francisco to have Catherine Chamberlain's love. He had been paying court to her for many months now, but, social butterfly that she was, it had been only recently that she'd come to return his affection.
"Why, thank you. Has Florence seen to your needs?" Catherine crossed the room to where Jon stood, tall and masculine.
Lifting the half-empty tumbler of bourbon for her inspection, he nodded. "She made me most comfortable, but there was one need she couldn't take care of."
In an impulsive movement, Jon pulled his love into his arms, not noticing her slight hesitation before she surrendered to his ardor. Pretending a response she certainly didn't feel, Catherine clung to Jon's broad shoulders as his lips found hers, and when they finally broke apart, she feigned breathless excitement as she drew him down onto the sofa beside her.
"Jon," she cooed. "I've missed you so and we've only been apart for a day."
"I've missed you too, Catherine," he declared fervently, totally besotted by her charms and the heady, seductive scent of her perfume.
Leaning toward him to encourage another kiss, Catherine felt victorious when he eagerly responded to her unspoken invitation and embraced her again. Though she had no real desire for Jon, she knew the best way to keep a man enamored of her was to promise more than she was willing to give, and that was just what she intended to do until their wedding. Only after the ceremony would she allow him into her bed. Withdrawing with seeming unwillingness from his passionate embrace, Catherine gave him a tender, adoring smile.
"I want you so, Jonathan, but you know we must wait until after the wedding."
"Of course." He touched her cheek with gentle fingers, then stood and moved away from her. "Catherine . . ." He called forth all the bravado he could muster. "Darling, we need to talk about our plans."
"I'm so excited, Jon. Why, just think! In a matter of months—no, weeks—if we want, we'll be man and wife." She turned her most seductive smile on him.
"I'm afraid, my love, that it's not quite that simple," Jon responded hesitantly.
Catherine frowned at his statement. "Is something wrong?"
"We won't be able to marry until late next summer."
"Next summer?" She experienced a moment of panic at the thought of putting off her creditors for almost a year. "But why?"
"It's Mitch, Catherine," he said lamely.
"Mitch?" For the life of her, Catherine could not make the connection. "What in the world does he have to do with us?"
"He's refused to give me permission to marry." There, Jon thought dramatically, it is out.
"Permission? Why do you need your brother's permission to marry me?" Catherine was confused and more than a little shaken.
"In accordance with our parents' will, Mitch was given complete control of my inheritance until I reach my majority."
"So? What does that have to do with our plans?"
"I'm sorry, Catherine, but Mitch told me he'd revoke my trust if I marry before I'm twenty-one."
"But that's not fair!" she cried, the distress in her voice very real. Then, to cover her blunder, she went into his arms. "I love you. I want to marry you!"
"And I feel the same way, sweetheart, but I won't tie you to me until I'm certain I can support you in the style that befits you."
Catherine was inwardly seething at the thought of Mitchell Williams's high-handed ways. How dare he! And what was she to do now?
"Jon, darling," she began, knowing with sickening certainty what his response would be before she started, "your money's not important to me. Being together is what matters. Let's run away. We can be married tomorrow; then no one can stand in our way."
Jon tightened his arms about her as he held her close. "Catherine, there's nothing I want more than to have you for my wife, but I refuse to marry until I can take care of you."
Catherine suppressed a sigh of relief; then she protested with just the right amount of urgency. "But, Jon! I have money." The lie flowed smoothly from her. "There's no need for us to wait."
Jon's smile was grim as he gripped her by the shoulders and held her away from him. "You're a wonderful, understanding woman, but I refuse to be a burden to my wife." He paused and then continued, his tone resentful. "No. We'll wait. It'll be best for all concerned. I'll be twenty-one next summer and in full control of my inheritance. We can be married then, and I'll never again have to ask Mitch for anything."
Catherine assumed an expression of tender devotion, but her mind was racing, trying to find a solution to her desperate problem.
Gathering her to him, Jon held her close. "Don't worry, and don't look so sad. It isn't that much of a delay; it isn't as though we can't be together."
"I know." Catherine sighed, silently cursing the arrogant Mitch Williams. I'll get even with him one of these days, she thought. "It's just that I had my heart set on being married to you by Christmas."
"And I, you." He bent to kiss her lightly. "But there's no reason why we can't begin to make our plans. My birthday is July fourteenth. Shall we be married on the fifteenth?"
"Why, that sounds lovely."
The evening passed very slowly for Catherine, yet she struggled to maintain the pleasant, sweet façade Jonathan had come to expect from her although she was grappling with seemingly insurmountable problems. She needed money and she needed it now, not next summer! She knew she could get some help from Roland, but her debts were so extensive, she doubted that he could take care of them all.
As the hours passed, her tension increased, and it was with great relief that she finally said good night to Jon. Mentally exhausted, she mounted the staircase, disheartened, hoping that a good night's sleep would give her a better perspective of her situation, but as the long night dragged on, she knew that she would find no relief in slumber.
It was well after two in the morning when Catherine left her bed and began to dress. She donned dark, nondescript clothing, and she didn't ring for Florence until she was almost ready to leave.
"What is it, Miss Catherine?" Florence asked wearily, for she'd been roused from sleep by her mistress's summons.
"Have Toby bring the carriage around. I'm going out."
The maid's eyes widened at the thought of Miss Chamberlain leaving home at such an ungodly hour, but she held her tongue, knowing that any comment would be dealt with severely. Catherine Chamberlain did not like to have her orders questioned.
Florence hurried to do her mistress's bidding, pondering as she did so the changes that had occurred since Gerald Chamberlain had died two years before. Catherine had only been seventeen at the time of her father's untimely demise, and having no one to set limits for her, she'd indulged to excess in the divertissements available to a woman of wealth.
Who would have thought that this lovely, young heiress would have turned into such a wanton? Florence clucked disapprovingly to herself as she woke Toby and informed him of the mistress's wishes. Though he grumbled in disgust at the interruption of his rest, Toby, too, knew better than to protest. He quickly pulled on his clothes and went to get the carriage as Florence headed back to the house.
The servants were well aware of Catherine's intimate relationship with Roland Stuart, and since Florence had told them the news that evening, they were now all agog at the prospect of her marrying the young Williams boy. Florence, though, knew the real reason behind Catherine's sudden decision to marry. She knew full well that Gerald Chamberlain's money was gone and that the mistress was in deep trouble if she didn't find a rich husband quickly. It only made sense that, desperate as Catherine was, she would try to find the richest, most easily influenced man around. Obviously Jonathan Williams was the man she'd chosen.
Florence almost felt sorry for him, for she knew Catherine would never be able to end he
r torrid affair with Roland. But there was little she could do; her loyalties lay with the family she had served for over fifteen years.
Moments later, the faithful servant watched unobserved as Catherine slipped quietly from the house and climbed into the coach. Then, with a rumbling of wheels and a muffled clattering of hooves, she and Toby disappeared into the night.
"Mitch Williams has control of Jon's money?" Roland asked incredulously.
"Every last cent!" Catherine declared vehemently as she stormed about Roland's office at the back of his saloon and casino, the Diamonds.
"What are you going to do?"
"I haven't decided yet."
"Have you broken your engagement to Jon?"
"Heavens, no!" Catherine glanced at him quickly. "I'm not burning any bridges yet! It took too long to get him to propose in the first place."
"I can help you somewhat, but most of my money is tied up." He gestured to his opulent surroundings.
"I know. There's got to be an easier way, a better way, than to wait until next July when he becomes twenty-one."
"What about marrying someone else? I've always thought Jon was too young—" Roland broke off as she turned on him angrily.
"That's exactly why I wanted to marry him. He's someone I can control! Damn Mitch Williams!"
Roland strode quietly across the room to where he kept a bottle of bourbon, and he poured a generous amount of it into a glass.
"Here." He handed her the drink. "This will calm you."
Without hesitation, Catherine drank it down. "Thanks."
"You're welcome." He grinned at her. "Now, sit down, and let's think about this."
"What's there to think about?" she remarked as she sat down on the plush love seat.
"Maybe there is some way we can get around this thing. You say Williams still wants to marry you?" he asked as he paced the office.
"Of course. He just doesn't want to do it until he can support me."
"Admirable, I'm sure." Roland sneered. "But not much help in the short run."
"Mitch is the only problem. He's standing in the way of my marriage."
"Didn't you make a play for him awhile back?"
Catherine flushed, a rare occurrence for her. "Yes, I did, and it was a complete fiasco. But that was when I first decided to start looking for a husband."
"That may be why he's so adamant about Jon's waiting." Roland nodded. "Mitch is one shrewd businessman. He probably knows more about your situation than you realize."
"Do you really think so?"
"It's a possibility," he admitted. "It would certainly explain his refusal."
Catherine frowned at the thought that others might know of her dire financial straits. "In that case, what am I going to do?"
"Why don't you leave it all to me; maybe I can come up with something," Roland offered magnanimously, as a devious plan was already taking shape in his mind.
"Really?"
"Have I ever let you down?"
"No, darling." Catherine rose gracefully and went to him. "Never."
"Trust me," he growled, taking her in his arms.
"I do, Roland—with my life," she vowed as she returned his passionate kiss.
Much later, after Catherine had gone, Roland called two of his men into his office.
"Mr. Stuart? Can we do something for you?" Joe Moran asked as he and Bill Roberts came into the room.
"I have a little job for you."
"Yes, sir," they replied, knowing that their boss paid well for "little jobs."
"Someone must disappear—quietly."
"Right," Joe Moran drawled. "How soon should he 'disappear'?"
"As soon as you can make the arrangements."
"We'll get right on it, boss. Who is it?" Bill Roberts asked.
"His name is Mitchell Williams. He runs Williams Shipping."
"I know who he is," Bill declared.
"Good. I don't want any mistakes. This has got to be a neat, clean job."
"You've seen our work before," Joe commented.
"Yes, you've done well for me. Just make sure this time things go smoothly. Do I make myself clear?"
"Completely."
"Good. Keep me informed, and I'll see that you're amply rewarded when the news of his demise is confirmed."
"We'll get back to you as soon as we take care of it."
"I'll be expecting to hear something soon."
"You will," Moran confirmed, and the two men left the office.
As Roland watched them go, he felt immensely pleased with himself. It was all so simple. The only obstacle to Catherine's happiness was Mitch Williams; by removing him, he'd put an end to her problems. He smiled to himself as he realized the opportunities that would come his way when Jonathan gained complete control of the Williamses' fortune. Why, with Catherine's influence, he was certain that he could make a lucrative arrangement with Williams Shipping to import the necessary "merchandise" he needed for his own business. Satisfied that he'd made the correct decision for all concerned, he turned his attention to his immediate affairs, knowing that he would hear from Joe and Bill as soon as they'd completed their assignment.
"How long has Williams been in there?" Bill whispered to Joe as they crouched outside an impressive South Park mansion the following evening.
"Over two hours now," his companion answered in hushed tones. "What do you suppose he's doing in there?"
"What do you think, stupid?" Bill responded, leering and jabbing Joe in the ribs for emphasis. "That's Lucinda Blake's house."
"Who?"
"You know. Alex Blake's widow."
"He the one that died a year or so ago and left all those millions?"
"The same. I guess the widow and Williams got a thing goin'." Bill chuckled as a light was lit on the second floor.
"Well, I just hope he hurries," Joe complained. "I want to get this over with. I need the money—bad."
"Who doesn't? But we have to be careful. This ain't no ordinary seaman we're going to roll. This guy's important."
"I know, but that doesn't make waiting here any easier. How we gonna do it? You got some kind of plan?"
"Nope. Nothing yet. We just gotta watch and wait until we can catch him unawares."
"Well, it sure ain't gonna be tonight. He's got his damn carriage and driver waiting for him."
Bill's expression brightened as an inspiration came to him. "I got it!"
"What?"
"We'll get rid of his driver. Then when he comes out . . . he's ours!"
"You sure he won't realize something's wrong?"
"No. You can put on the driver's coat. It's so dark, he won't notice anything. Then I'll be waiting inside the carriage."
"All right," Joe agreed enthusiastically. "He won't even know what hit him and . . ."
"And, what?"
"You got any objection to makin' a little extra on this?"
Bill, always eager for an extra buck, eyed him warily. "How?"
"Easy. We sell him to Shanghai Jack."
"You mean, we don't kill him?" Always one to follow orders, Bill hedged. "You know Stuart wants him dead."
"I know, but how long do you think Williams will survive if we give him over to Jack?"
"I see your point." Bill paused thoughtfully. "I tell you, it'll only work if we can convince the boss that we killed him."
"That's the easy part. All we have to do is go down to the Coast," Joe said carelessly. He knew how often unidentified dead men were found in the dark alleys of the infamous Barbary Coast. "We'll find us a stiff, switch their clothes, and dump the other guy in the bay. By the time they pull him back out, nobody—not even his brother—will be able to identify him."
"You're on," Bill declared, anxious to make any additional money he could. Then they settled in to wait for the right time to assault Mitch's unsuspecting driver.
"Darling," Lucinda Blake drawled as she nestled closer to Mitch in the wide expanse of her bed, "when are you going to propose?"
"Lucinda, you know how I feel about marrying. If you can't enjoy what we have, then we'll just have to part." There was a cutting edge to Mitch's voice.
"I most certainly enjoy what we have," Lucinda told him throatily as she rose up on an elbow to gaze down at him, "but we could have so much more!"
"I don't need anything more than what we already share," Mitch stated arrogantly.
"But, darling, I want you so."
"And you have me, Lucinda, but only if you can accept things as they are." He pulled her down for a deep, sensual kiss. "Don't try to force me. I don't respond well to coercion."
Lucinda feigned a pout, then relaxed a bit and smiled. "Well, I certainly don't want to risk losing you, but, Mitch, why are you so set against marriage?"
He glanced at her sharply, his eyes darkening at the question. "That, my dear, is none of your business. Just rest assured that I have no intention of being caught in that trap."
"I don't know why you consider it such a 'trap.' Why, Alex and I had a wonderful time together, living life to the fullest."
"I have no objection to living life to the fullest." Mitch chuckled, lightening the mood. "I just don't see why wedlock has to be a part of it."
"Oh, Mitch, I adore you." Lucinda laughed easily and then kissed him with spontaneous delight. "And we do get on well together, but someday you're going to meet a woman who won't succumb to your blandishments. Then, I think, you just might have to change your ways. Why, one of these days you might even fall in love." She looked down at Mitch fondly, caring deeply for him and yet knowing that he would never be completely hers. Kissing him softly, she murmured, "Lucky woman."
In a bold, dominant move, he rolled with her and pinned her beneath him. "Well, I don't think you have to worry overmuch on that account—especially right now."
"Oh, Mitch." Lucinda sighed as she gave herself up to the delicious sensations his practiced caresses always aroused.
Much later, when Mitch left Lucinda's home, he was pensive as he made his way to his carriage. Her earlier remarks about marriage troubled him, and he knew it was time to end their relationship. Sophisticated woman that Lucinda was, he had assumed she'd understood his feelings when he'd told her at the beginning of their liaison that he wanted no commitment, no permanent entanglement. Now, after long months of enjoying each other, she had introduced the possibility of wedlock, and that made him uneasy. She had caught him by surprise when she'd brought it up, but he knew that he couldn't continue to see her if she nourished the hope of getting him to the altar. Mitch felt only a little remorse as he decided to end the affair. He liked Lucinda and he found her sharp wit entertaining, but long ago he had decided not to marry.
