A Light For My Love (17 page)

"And it's none of your concern." He didn't
raise his voice. In fact, it was a low, ominous rumble, issued from
a tight jaw. "You're only a business partner, China. And our deal
doesn't have anything to do with ladies or—what was it you said?
Strumpets? And it doesn't have anything to do with who I give money
to or why. Paying for your gown is no different to me than paying
for the piano tuner. I expect you to get a dress, because I expect
you to look good that night. But if you think your reputation will
be ruined, then consider it a loan. I'll give you cash for the
dressmaker so there's no bill to send. You can pay me back later."
His expression stony, he leaned closer so that his face was within
inches of her own. Then he reached out and held her chin between
his thumb and forefinger. "Do you want to sign a note for it?"

She refused to respond, and she wasn't about
to blink. She pulled her head back like a turtle to get away from
his grip, but he held fast. The smell of him—soap, salt air, and
that vague male scent that was all his own—surrounded her. His
little gold medallion glimmered dully against his chest where his
shirt fell open. Her cheeks blazed as though she'd leaned over a
hot stove.

He released her chin. "I guess you don't. Now
you get started on that long list of yours. You've only got two
weeks." Then he turned and left the dining room.

China watched him go, her heart pumping
double-quick with fear and indignity from the stinging reprimand,
and with faint disillusionment. She felt for the back of her chair
with a cold, shaking hand, as reaction set in. Pulling it close,
she sank into it.

. . . Only business partners.
Of
course they were only business partners. Why, then, did she feel so
snubbed and humiliated by the reminder?

She'd made a horrible mistake, agreeing to
help him, although she hadn't expected to feel the regret so soon.
She yearned to fling their damned arrangement back in his face and
order him out of the house. That—that womanizer. But she didn't
have the freedom to do that. Her mind came back to the
boardinghouse Dalton had found. There were a number of
complications that entangled her with Jake, and a number of
opportunities, whether she liked it or not. She glanced down at her
cuff, already turned once and now slightly worn.

Shakily, she rose to her feet, resolute of
purpose. She had a chance to do some real good, both for the family
and for the Sailors Protective League, and if going forward with
this meant she had to acquire the appropriate costume, then by God,
that's what she'd do. As long as he made good on his end of their
bargain, Jake Chastaine could go to hell for all she cared.

Well, it sounded good to tell herself she
believed that.

*~*~*

China sent out invitations to the three names
on Jake's list. They went to a cannery owner, a lumberman, and the
owner of the flour mill. None of them were men that Jake had
already spoken with or tried to meet. She privately expected to
receive only letters of regret, but when the first acceptance came
back three days later, China went to the dressmaker's to order her
gown.

Jake and China kept a wary distance from each
other, and neither of them mentioned the scene in the dining room
again. But she couldn't forget what she'd seen outside the
druggist's, no matter how often she told herself that, as he'd
said, it was none of her business. Still, after their argument,
Jake was home on time for dinner almost every night. The only
reason for that, she supposed, was that eating the dried-up salmon
had cured him of being late.

Just as China had predicted, the time flew.
As the second and third acceptances arrived the project gained
momentum and she became increasingly fussy in her preparations. She
hired a cook and a serving maid from the Astor House Hotel, sent
the table linens to the laundry, and worked with Aunt Gert and
Susan Price to polish the silver flatware, candlesticks, and
serving pieces. She ordered flowers for the centerpiece, placed an
exacting order with Mr. Nyberg at Alderbrook Meat Market for a very
lean sirloin of beef, and brought in Mr. Frederickson to tune the
piano in the front parlor. In between, she returned to the
dressmaker's for three fittings.

Jake made good on his offer to help solve the
furniture dilemma in the front parlor. He spent most of a day
sweating and swearing, with dwindling patience, while she directed
him in moving the best remaining pieces in from the back parlor. It
took some artful arranging to give the room a graceful appearance,
and China appraised it from every possible angle. When she took off
her shoes and climbed to the marble-topped library table for a
higher view, Jake irritably threatened to quit. Despite her
preoccupation with the task, it was impossible for her not to
notice the sinew and muscle flexing under the fabric of his shirt
and the way its buttons strained across his chest. And though she
would happily have chosen death rather than admit it, she knew
she'd made him push that love seat around one more time than was
necessary, just to watch.

At the outset Jake gave her cash to pay with,
since her own credit was shaky and not many were inclined to
believe that Jake Chastaine should have credit at all. After a
while, though, China's repeat business and the quality of her
orders sweetened up the merchants somewhat and they began sending
the bills to Jake in care of the Sullivan house.

Once things started falling into place, China
began to relax—a little. All the while, she felt Jake's eyes
following her and the proceedings with proprietary interest. To her
secret amazement, all of the invitations had been accepted.
Regardless of the circumstances, she had to admit that it was great
fun to organize a party again, and to have enough money to do it
justice. Maybe, just maybe, if everything went well, this might be
a way to regain the social standing she'd lost when the Captain had
died. She'd tried not to miss this part of her old life, but the
truth was she did miss it dreadfully.

After losing his temper with China that
morning in the dining room, Jake decided he'd be better off to stay
out of the way. For the most part, he kept to the male-dominated
territories of the Blue Mermaid and Monroe's repair yard, where he
oversaw the caulking of the
Katherine
. When China showed him
the last letter of acceptance, he breathed a relieved sigh. His
plan could work, he just knew it could.

Once or twice he had the opportunity to see
China haggle with the baker and the wine merchant to get exactly
what she wanted, and at pretty much the price she wanted. She was
thrifty and imaginative, and despite their differences, Jake was
not unhappy with the job she was doing for him.

Now if only she wouldn't look at him the way
a butcher eyed a Christmas turkey . . . 

*~*~*

"There you go, dear, that's the last of the
hooks," Aunt Gert said. China stood in front of her cheval glass
and could see Gert looking over her shoulder at the reflection
there. "And, my, my, but don't you look beautiful." Her aunt shook
her head with appreciative wonder and beamed. It was good to see
the smile. Gert had been grumbling all afternoon about "those
strangers" in her kitchen, the people China had hired to cook "I
wish your mother could see you."

"Maybe it's just as well that she can't,"
China said. Her new gown was made of midnight blue moire taffeta,
cut low over the bosom, with enormous puffed sleeves lined with
stiff tulle to keep their shape. The bodice hugged her ribs,
requiring a tight corset that pushed up her breasts. The effect
gave her a long, narrow waist that seemed no bigger than an
afterthought. Styles had changed considerably since she'd last
bought a dress gown. In the dressmaker's mirror, China had thought
only that she looked fashionable. But now, before her own mirror,
she saw the swell of her bosom above the décolletage and wondered
if she'd chosen well. The bustle cascading over her bottom had more
fabric in it than the bodice of the dress did.

"Is it—do you think it's, maybe, you know, a
little too much? I mean, not enough?" she murmured uncertainly,
putting her hand over her cleavage. China gripped the edges of the
neckline and tugged upward, but it didn't budge. She had no jewelry
to wear at her neck, and she wasn't sure that would have been a
good idea anyway. There was no point in drawing attention to her
chest. "Maybe I ought to loosen the stays a little."

"I don't think you can. The waist on this
dress is pretty small," her aunt replied, assessing the
form-fitting bodice. "Stop worrying. It's lovely on you. I don't
know any other woman who could wear that shade of blue. It goes
with your eyes."

The gown's color wasn't the issue, but there
was nothing to do except wear it. The guests would be arriving in
just an hour, and she had no alternatives anyway. China dropped her
hands to her sides and took a slow, tentative breath, then let it
out. Inside the white-satin-and-whalebone cage of her corset, there
wasn't much room for air.

"I haven't worn stays drawn this tight in
years. I hope I don't faint."

Gert chuckled with a wicked sparkle in her
pale eyes. "I hope
Jake
doesn't faint when he sees you."

China frowned slightly, discomfited by the
reference to Jake. She'd already thought about what his reaction
might be, and that was unnerving enough. She walked to her dressing
table. Picking up her perfume bottle, she touched the stopper to
her throat and wrists. "Never mind about Jake. But do see that Cap
gets his medicine, will you? I'll be down in a minute to make sure
everything is on schedule."

Gert agreed and went to check on Captain
Meredith, leaving China alone to collect herself. She went to the
chair and perched on its edge, careful of her bustle, to slip on
her shoes. She extended her leg to examine the hosiery. Silk
stockings—she hadn't had silk stockings in ever so long. But she'd
done what Jake had suggested: she not only bought the dress, she
got everything that went under it as well.

She returned to her mirror and raised a hand
to poke at her high-swept hair, then took another look at the gown.
It irked her that Jake's money had paid for it, and even though
she'd selected the design, she imagined that it was the kind of
dress he would choose for a woman if given the chance. Realizing
that only made her more determined to pay him back as soon as
possible.

Her hands trembled slightly, and her face,
though pale, flamed with heat over her cheeks. Jake wasn't the only
one to whom this evening was important. She had worried over every
detail twice, once in her role as Jake's business partner and once
as herself. Picking up her sapphire earrings from her dressing
table, she slipped the wires into her ears. She walked to her door
and paused to smooth her hands over her skirt. Well, this was it .
. . She turned the knob and stepped into the hall.

At that precise moment, Jake's door opened
and he stood framed in the doorway, tall and broad, wearing a black
suit that had been well tailored to fit his wide shoulders. Being
blond, he looked very good in black and, to China's dismay, even
more strikingly handsome than usual. His hair was brushed back from
his face. She'd told him to cut it, but it appeared that he'd done
no more than have it trimmed. He was phenomenally stubborn. China
was surprised to see that his tie was expertly knotted over the
collar button of his crisp white shirt. She'd expected him to have
trouble with it. But hadn't he said something about the advantage
of a man's being able to tie a good knot? Oh,
yes . . .  Without thinking, she glanced down
at his large hands, then back up the length of his torso to the
clean lines of his newly shaved face. He caught the trail of her
gaze, and a knowing expression crossed his features. Her throat
constricted, suddenly dry as chalk.

Jake stared at her intently, his mouth open
slightly. He closed it, then he advanced one step toward her, and
another. She let him take her hands and hold them wide. Her heart
pounded inside her stays.

"Beautiful," he murmured on a breath. His
voice was so quiet she barely caught the word. His eyes swept over
her, resting briefly on her bosom, then rose to her lips. He didn't
leer at her. No, the look he gave her was grounded in many
thousands of years of instinct—primitive, territorial, possessive.
She stared back, spellbound. He freed one of her hands to slide his
own hand to the small of her back, drawing her closer. Power and
authority emanated from him. China found it confusing yet oddly
familiar, as though she needed to submit to him somehow. She could
smell him—soap, fresh air, male scent; she could feel his breath
fan her cheeks and eyelashes. His golden head slowly lowered to
hers, angling to the right as his lips neared her own, and his eyes
began to close and—

China came to her senses in time to wrench
herself away before his mouth could claim hers, to escape the feel
of his hands on her. She jumped back, her pulse thundering in her
head. They eyed each other, the air so charged between them that it
fairly crackled.

"Nice dress," he said finally, riveting her
with a hot green gaze. His jaw was tight, and a trace of anger
streaked his words. "Where's the rest of it?"

She resisted the self-conscious urge to put
her hand up to her cleavage again. Instead, she pulled herself to
her full height and took a deep breath. The effect was startling.
"My business partner told me to buy a gown," she replied tartly.
The memory of the insulting reprimand he'd dealt her that one
morning in the dining room was clear in her mind. "I am supposed to
'look good' tonight. Apparently, I've succeeded."

Jake's brows lowered as he glared at her, but
he said nothing.

"I—I'm going to the kitchen to check on
dinner and make sure the family eats first."