Betina Krahn (24 page)

“Mamma!” Clarice scolded, though she didn’t seem truly displeased.

“Oh?” Diamond made herself ignore the mention of Paine’s abrupt new interest in Emma Harding to focus on Clarice’s news. She puzzled over Clarice’s apparent pleasure in what was usually considered an odious task. “You’re going to care for someone who is ill?”

“I am.” The girl’s dark eyes danced. “It’s Morgan. He’s come down with the chicken pox.”

“How … awful for him. And how … wonderful of you to volunteer to help, Clarice.” Diamond didn’t know whether to feel wounded or to laugh. Clarice had had eyes for Morgan Kenwood since she and Diamond made their debut, four years ago. Now, with Diamond out of the way …

“Mrs. McQuaid … Mrs. McQuaid!” Hardwell called down the table. When she didn’t answer, Bear leaned down and gave her a nudge.

“I think he means you.”

Good-natured laughter broke out along the length of the table and she blushed. More toasts were offered, and as she listened to the good wishes of family friends and heard herself referred to again and again as “Diamond McQuaid,”
the impact of what she had just done came crashing down on her.

Diamond Wingate no longer existed. Someone named Diamond McQuaid was taking her place and Diamond had no idea who that was.

“And where will you be going after the wedding? Montana?” someone asked.

“Yes.”

“No.”

They answered at the same moment, then looked at each other, surprised. Bear explained: “Actually, I’ll be leaving for Montana soon … I have to start laying track right away. Diamond will be staying here.”

“
Tsk, tsk
. Abandoning your bride after so short a while,” someone else declared teasingly. “How soon will you be coming back, Mr. McQuaid?”

“A few weeks.”

“A few months.”

They responded together, then smiled tautly at each other, both annoyed and both praying it didn’t show. “Barton has a good bit of work to do.” She explained the discrepancy in their estimates with determined pleasantness. “I could never deprive his railroad of its most important asset.”

“Ahhh, you can see who’ll wear the pants in this family,” Hardwell said.

“Who?” Diamond and Bear demanded together.

Robbie giggled. “Kiss ’er again, Bear. An’ steal her pants when she ain’t lookin’.”

A heartbeat of shocked silence preceded a roar of laughter. Evelyn Vassar picked up her spoon and tapped her goblet and was joined instantly by others. Hannah took pity on Bear’s confusion.

“It’s a custom. You’re supposed to kiss the bride every
time someone calls for it with a ringing glass,” she told him.

He leaned over to Diamond and gave her a smacking kiss on the cheek.

“Aw, you can do better than that, my boy!” Hardwell laughed.

With a deep breath, Bear took her head between his hands and planted a scorcher of a kiss on her lips. Applause approved both his effort and its results.

Dazed and chagrined, Diamond looked up and saw for the first time a sizable, age-whitened scar at the edge of his jaw. Her gaze fastened on it as he traded quips with Philip Vassar, and she realized that she had no earthly idea how he got that scar.

What did she know about this man? He was born in North Carolina but had spent much of his life in the West … had been a cowboy and had run a ranch for a while before settling on building railroads. And he didn’t have any family. She had learned that when she suggested delaying the wedding to allow time for his family to attend.

Looking at his plate, she saw the braised squash and glazed carrot fans pushed to the side. He apparently didn’t like vegetables. She saw him signal for a refill of his glass. He apparently did like wine. When he downed half the glass in one swallow, her eyes widened. What if he liked it too much?

Her thoughts were interrupted when someone made a joke about Bear’s fortunes no longer riding just on rails. It was a pointed reminder that as the last “I do” was said, moments ago, he had assumed legal possession of all that was hers. Under the law, he was entitled to control and dispose of her property at will. Her anxiety bloomed. This was one of the issues she had had no time … or presence of mind … to discuss with him.

“No doubt you’ll want to make a few changes in the way the companies are run,” Mason Purnell, a longtime friend of the family, suggested.

“No more lotteries at board meetings, I imagine,” the secretary of her board of directors said, clearly relieved by the prospect.

“No more handing out money to every Tom, Dick, and Harry who thinks he’s found a way to turn lead into gold,” Vassar put in with a sly grin.

“There’ll be a sight fewer sad-faced orphans doggin’ her steps, each time she goes to town,” Hardwell said, beaming.

Even Hannah spoke up. “I suppose we’ll have fewer people at the gates, waiting for—”

“Not at all,” Diamond declared, sitting beet-red and rail-straight on the edge of her chair. “Things will go on just as before. Won’t they,
Barton
?”

“I believe we’ll have to see about that,
Mrs. McQuaid
,” he said, toying with his fork and pointedly avoiding her stare. He addressed the others. “My wife has done a fine job with the Wingate holdings. I don’t intend to interfere in her management of them”—just as her outrage began to wilt, he continued—“unless she refuses to learn the lesson I have been trying to teach her.”

There was a rustle of surprised amusement around the room, and all eyes focused on her reaction.

She turned to him with her fists at her waist and a haughty look on her face, hoping it would pass for teasing.

“Just what lesson is it you’ve been trying to teach me, Mr. McQuaid?”

“You still don’t know?” He gave a long-suffering sigh for effect, then raised a wicked smile to her and the others around the table. “
How to say no.
”

The laughter this time felt altogether too pointed and
too personal … like pins pricking her sensitive pride. She thought seriously of strangling him. Here. In front of God and everybody. But then, she decided darkly, to be wedded, widowed, and arrested for murder all on the same day might cause something of a stir.

It was well past dusk when the last of the guests departed. Hardwell and Hannah dragged Robbie off to his room and then tottered off to theirs in search of bicarbonate of soda and a pair of comfy slippers. As the light purpled and faded into the darkness of the warm spring night, Diamond was left alone to face Bear and the aftermath of her wedding.

Her fortune wasn’t all Bear McQuaid now controlled, she thought as she sank onto the bench in front of the stately vanity in the master suite. Peering into the shield-shaped mirror, she tugged her fashionable dressing gown so that its broad, scooped neckline lay centered, exposing each shoulder equally. With the slightest movement, one side slid downward, drawing the other side up and revealing altogether too much of her. She righted the blessed thing, only to watch it creep down her other arm and reveal a good portion of her breast.

Chewing the corner of her lip, she jerked the neckline all the way to one side and surveyed the damage. Her nipple, crinkled taut and erect, jutted out like a flag on the
top of a hill. With a gasp, she jerked the fabric up to her chin.

The door to the adjoining bedroom swung open, startling her. She whirled and came face to face with Bear, clothed in trousers and a half-open shirt. His feet were bare, his beard shadow was gone, and his hair was wet; he had just come from bathing. In his hands were a bottle of wine and a pair of long-stemmed glasses. Her gaze slid to his bare chest … the same tanned, sculptured physique she’d seen that day at Martene and Savoy … and in her dreams since.

Both her face and that one shameless nipple burned.

“I see you found your room,” she said, turning the heat of that erotic combustion outward.

“It’s purple,” he said. “A washed-out, sickly kind of purple.”

“Lilac Dream,” she informed him. “It was very popular on the Continent.”

“Sounds French.” He pulled his attention from her long enough to look around the great, domed bedchamber. The postered and draped bed was massive and the hand-carved chests, chairs, and paintings were crafted on an equally impressive scale. “I take it this isn’t your room.”

“It was my father’s. My mother died when I was very small, but when he built the house he put in a room for her, beside his,” she said, folding her arms over her chest and gripping them. “That’s the one you were just in.” She focused on the bottle of wine. “I hope you don’t intend to drink all that”—she was distracted by his movement as he shifted—“u-until a-after—”

“We’ve sealed our vows?” he supplied with a suggestive grin.

“A-after we’ve had a chance to
talk
,” she stammered, feeling her face redden. He was going to kiss her again, she knew, and pull her hard against that mesmerizing expanse
of living bronze. And take her to his bed. And take her to his …

She squeezed her bare knees together under her gown. How hard could it be, this “wifely duty?” Other women—women far less capable and determined than she—had lived through it. And from servant whispers and giggles, she surmised that some women actually came to enjoy a husband’s marital services.

“Talk?” he said with a hint of distraction. “About what?”

Transfixed by the sight of her seated before her mirror, her hair down around her half-bare shoulders and her eyes huge and dark centered, Bear couldn’t move. The light from the candles behind her spun strands of gold through her hair and highlighted her curves through the folds of her thin, light-colored gown. When she stood up, he felt heat sluicing downward through his body and pooling in his loins. The last thing he wanted to do was
talk
.

“About financial matters. I’m sure you’ll have to sign papers so that I can continue to vote the stock, and we ought to come to some sort of agreement—”

“We will,” he responded, strolling forward.

“I mean now. I believe it’s best to get it out of the—” She shrank from his approach, shooting to her feet and backing toward the massive window. “I am hereby serving notice that I intend to go on investing in inventions and ideas and making charitable donations as I see fit.” He could have sworn she was trembling. “And just what was that nonsense at dinner? Teaching me a lesson. As if I were a ten-year-old child. You have some nerve, Bear McQuaid.”

“Fortunately for you.” She was picking a fight with him, he realized, hoping to delay the inevitable. He hadn’t expected that. It betrayed a carnal innocence and uncertainty that added to the burden on his already strained scruples. “Otherwise, I’d be six feet under in some dusty
Boot Hill out West. And you’d be facing three very unhappy men and social ruination.”

All day he had been keeping his conscience at bay with a determined litany of “the ends justify the means.” Clearly, he had convinced himself, the ends of this marriage were positive on all fronts. In marrying him she was saved from three untenable engagements, public scandal and disgrace, and the solitary life she had claimed to prefer to marriage with any of her fiancés. In marrying her, he got his railroad loan and access to a stable financial base without having to reveal and humiliate himself by asking her for it.

When you got right down to brass tacks, their goals weren’t all that different. She wanted independence and so did he. He could give her the freedom she wanted while maintaining his own. Clearly, this marriage was the logical and reasonable solution to absolutely
everything
.

And all he had to do was continue to deceive her.

Shaking off his thoughts, he set the glasses on a nearby table, uncorked the wine, and poured.

“I’m not an unreasonable man. I’m willing to negotiate.”

She ignored the glass he offered her.

“Negotiate? I’ll do nothing of the sort.”

“Well, I’m not exactly keen on the notion, myself.” He thrust the glass into her hand and she had to accept it to keep it from spilling. “But it was your idea to talk and to come to some agreement. Sounds like ‘negotiations’ to me.”

When he sat down on the window seat she stiffened and edged back, thus declaring her intention to resist both husbandly edicts and advances. He exhaled patiently.

“All right, I’ll open,” he declared. “No more free meals at the front gates.”

“What?”

“That’s my first demand.”

“Demand?” Her eyes narrowed. “What gives you the right to—”

“Setting aside for the moment the fact that I’m your husband before God and humankind
and
the legal head of your household … I have rescued your rosy backside enough to have a major claim on it, and a stake in the way things run around here.” When she backed into the window seat and sat down with a plop on the pillows, he smiled. “No more free meals at the front gates.”

“But those poor people—”

“Can damn well line up for food elsewhere. They camp on your doorstep to make you feel guilty. And it works.” He narrowed his eyes. “Doesn’t it?”

“I suppose that’s not entirely unreasonable.” Her gaze slid to his chest and he saw she had difficulty swallowing. “But only if I get to donate to—”