Come Be My Love (3 page)

"It sure is pretty," Josephine said in a wistful voice, "but Papa would never let us wear anything so bright in color, and with the front so low. He'd say we were trying to tempt the devil, yielding to base sin. Papa's a God-fearing man."

"Then you'd best listen to your papa," Sarah said, finding Josephine's comment somewhat incongruous with what she'd seen of the man thus far. Jonathan Cromwell seemed anything
but
a God-fearing man.

After Josephine left, Sarah fetched her journal from the trunk, sat at the lady’s desk, and made an entry dated September 3, 1864:
Dear Diary, Victoria is everything I dreamed it would be. Every woman we passed on the ride through town wore yards of skirt, and I am here to change that. In fact, tonight will be my overture. I shall wear a brightly-colored gown to dinner, and without the layers of petticoats. No doubt Governor Cromwell will regard it as offensive, when, in fact, it is really quite in vogue. But, I shall not let the man dictate my fashion. In fact, I rather look forward to seeing his reaction
.

CHAPTER TWO

Jon poured a brandy and walked over to the parlor window. While slowly swirling the spirits in the snifter, he watched as the sun crept low on the horizon, the coppery-gold sky reminding him of the color of Sarah Ashley's hair. He couldn't deny it. The American woman with her jade green eyes, and delicate features, and unblemished skin possessed uncommon beauty.

He tossed the brandy and set the sniffer down with a noticeable clunk. Her kind could also lead a man straight to hell. He knew only too well. Snatch a man's heart, suck out his life blood and toss him away. He also suspected she'd left San Francisco under a cloud of notoriety, no doubt a sexual scandal. Her startled look when he'd implied as much all but told him so. And he had good reason to imply. Five minutes off the ship and she'd arranged a
tete
-a-
tete
with a merchant. And other facts supported his conjecture.

Travelling as a single woman, she’d arrived in a town where she admittedly knew no one and had no relatives, and she’d come without a letter of introduction. She obviously had money because her clothes were of good quality, and she had a personal maid. And although she observed proper etiquette, she was not a product of an old aristocratic family, but someone who'd recently acquired wealth. Her protocol wasn't natural, she seemed more a comrade to her maid than a mistress. And she'd been in awe of the coach. Definitely questionable circumstances.

Admittedly, he was a cynic now. But he hadn't always been. Before Caroline, he'd simply been a guileless fool replete with utopian notions. And then he saw her at the cotillion. Dressed in a gossamer gown, she was an exquisite fairy creature with eyes of crystal blue that sparkled with gaiety, and hair of spun gold that glittered with diamonds. And as he stared, absorbing her dazzling beauty, he fell in love. Passionately. Desperately. Irrevocably. The blood-heat of possession began to pump in his veins until he burned with the desire to make love to her, to possess her body and soul. Then came the realization that the elusive, intangible something he'd been waiting for was love—abiding, eternal love. And she, and only she, was the woman who could give him this love and make his life whole. So theirs had been a fairy-tale wedding...

What a blind fool he'd been, so susceptible to her whims that her every request became his promise, her every notion his impetus to action. He'd been ambitious because he'd wanted to be everything she wanted him to be—something of each of the suitors he'd bested. He'd have the
esprit de corps
of one, the grit of another, the enterprise of yet another, until he wasn't sure who he was. And then came the fire... And the truth. And he awoke to the realization that the elusive, intangible thing he'd waited for during his romantic youth did not exist. Love happened in fairy tales, not in real life, and he accepted that. Now he didn't hate women because of Caroline, nor did he avoid them. He romanced them, dallied with them, used their soft willing bodies for his pleasure. But he'd never again indulge in impossible dreams or search for the myopic love of his youth, never again give his heart and sell his soul, or find himself caught up in the futile emotional labyrinth in which he'd been trapped with Caroline. He would not be that fool again...

Short, quick footsteps brought his head around.

Too stunned to speak, he stared as Sarah Ashley approached wearing a satin gown of the most brilliant shade of green he'd ever seen. Richly embroidered in purple and blue, and with a décolleté neckline intended to draw eyes to her ample cleavage, her dress disregarded all convention of color, style and modesty. She wore her hair parted in the middle and pulled back over her ears, and a coppery bun decorated with silk pansies rested near the curve of her neck—an exquisite neck that beckoned a man's lips...

She could indeed lead a man to hell. And she knew it. She walked toward him with all the stealth and wile of a sleek, lissome feline—furtive eyes assessing her prey, claws retracted but poised for attack. Alluring. Mesmerizing. Lethal. He rather looked forward to dallying with this enticing little hellcat. "Good evening, Miss Ashley."

She smiled. "Good evening, Governor." The glow from the fixture above sparkled in her eyes, wide-set eyes with an upward slant that made them seem almost feline, drawing his gaze into their golden-green depths. Although her initial demeanor had been one of reserved modesty, she presented quite a different picture now. One that unquestionably caught his attention—an alluring, seductive
fille
de joie
who undoubtedly knew how to satisfy a man's needs. A titillating thought. That enticing body, soft and warm against him, the act performed without the distraction of sentiment to muddle his perception. With nightbirds like Miss Ashley, it was just a game, a sensual, hedonistic game.

As he pondered that intriguing thought, a lazy smile tugged at one corner of his mouth. "Please sit down," he said. "My mother and sister will be joining us presently. Can I offer you a glass of sherry, or perhaps Madeira?"

"Yes, thank you," she replied. "Madeira would be lovely." Lowering herself to the sofa, she glanced around. "Louella and Josephine? Won't they be joining us?"

Jon moved to a silver tray with a cut-crystal decanter. "I'm afraid not," he said. "They'll be taking supper in their rooms and retiring early."

"Oh. I rather looked forward to seeing them tonight."

Pouring a glass of wine, Jon offered it to her, his eyes resting where her gown dipped dangerously low on her bosom. "Yes, I did too, but my sister allowed them far too many liberties while they were on holiday," he said, taking in the sight of creamy white flesh pushing upward from her low bodice. The scent of blossoms wafted to him, sending a sultry heat rushing through his veins. He filled his lungs with the sweet woman-scent of her.

"Governor, is there something wrong?"

Raising his gaze, he peered into dangerous sea-green eyes fringed with dark, coppery lashes. He stood straight, realizing he'd lost himself for a moment. The fact was, Sarah Ashley, with her provocative smile and enticing curves, primed his body for action. Lustful, passionate action. "No," he said. "There's nothing wrong..."

‘...that a lively romp in the sack wouldn't cure..’

A glaringly idiotic idea, he decided. She was, after all, Esther's guest, not a common tart. A tart perhaps, but not a common one. Best to divert his thoughts to safer ground. He focused on the confrontation he'd had with Josephine before dinner, an argument concerning the purchase of a gown that dipped in front, revealing a portion of her chest. He knew now where the idea for the gown had originated. "My daughters seem very impressed with you," he said.

"Well, I'm impressed with them, too," Sarah replied. "They are both truly lovely. Josephine is so spirited. An absolute delight."

Jon took a swig of brandy and rolled it around in his mouth. "Josephine is also easily distracted from what's expected of her, and determined to have her way. And I am equally determined to instill in her" —his gaze dropped to Sarah's bosom—"high morals."

Sarah opened her fan and fluttered it at her chest, masking the décolleté neckline. "Both girls seem especially anxious to please you," she said. "That should make you very proud."

"Proud, but concerned," Jon replied. "Josephine sometimes finds it difficult to accept her position in life."

Wide green eyes stared up at him. "Her position?"

"As a woman," Jon said. "She's overly headstrong and independent."

Sarah gave him a cool, crisp smile. "And you think she should be less assertive? Better yet, a servile creature without an opinion of her own?"

"Josephine is entitled to her opinions," Jon said. "It's her manner of expressing them that concerns me. She's far too forthright and outspoken."

"Forgive me, Governor," Sarah said in a clipped, dry tone, "but I fear I too have been outspoken. After all, Josephine is your daughter, and you have a perfect right to be an autocratic, overbearing father if you so choose."

Jon cocked a brow. "When I deliver my daughters to the altar," he said, "I can assure you they will be" —his gaze dipped to Sarah's bosom again— "untouched. And if it takes an autocratic, overbearing father to accomplish that goal, then that's exactly what I'll be."

Sarah's lips tightened angrily. So the man based his wrong assessment of her character on the fact that she wore a stylish gown. Or... had the dreadful scandal followed her here? To her surprise, and alarm, he brushed a finger along her jaw and said in a low, suggestive tone, "Innocence, however, is only for my daughters. I prefer an experienced woman.”

Shocked by the man's implication, Sarah struggled to think of a proper retort, one that would exonerate her virtue while putting him in his place. But before she could respond, Esther appeared, accompanied by a small, gray-haired woman who stepped with a lively gait. "I would like to present our mother, Lady Cromwell," Esther said, directing the dowager Viscountess to where Sarah slowly stood to receive the older woman.

Lady Cromwell stared first at Sarah's gown. Then she raised the gold-rimmed spectacles that were attached to a gold chain pinned to her bosom and propped them on her nose. Her brows arched, and her thin lips gathered with distaste as she scrutinized Sarah's dress more thoroughly. Then a glint of fire came into her eyes, and she said, "My daughter informs me that you are removing to Victoria, Miss Ashley. Why, may I ask, have you chosen our city?" Her cool tone seemed unusually husky for such a frail looking woman.

Sarah caught the jaded overtones and noted the spark of challenge in the woman's eyes, and wondered again if the scandal had made its way from San Francisco. Or if, perhaps that old harridan from the ship, Harriet Galbraith, had already come to call. Trying to dismiss that uncomfortable thought, she replied, "With the goldfields up north drawing so many people to the area, I feel that in Victoria there are many opportunities for success."

Lady Cromwell's eyes narrowed, and she gave her a brittle smile. "Unfortunately, the best claims in the Cariboo have been taken," she said. "When those play out, there will be another exodus from the city. As in '59, stores will close, merchants will leave, and Victoria will slip into an economic depression. But even if that does not happen, certainly your American cities with their wealth of modern comforts offer more than our meager colonial outpost?"

Sarah looked into a pair of cool, unfaltering eyes. "I'm afraid our modern cities also attract problems," she said. "Swindlers, rowdies, and overcrowded streets."

"But we have all that right here in Victoria with the prospectors," parried Lady Cromwell.

"Yes, I see that you do," Sarah admitted, trying to hold her voice steady, feeling a growing unrest in the face of the woman's blatant hostility. As gracious as Esther had been on the ship, Sarah had not expected anything less from her mother. Struggling to hold her voice calm, she said, "But when the goldfields play out and the prospectors move on they should leave behind a prosperous city."

Lady Cromwell pinned her with an icy glare. "They will leave behind a city populated by greed-driven Americans."

Esther took her mother's elbow. "Come, Mother. Dinner is ready." She glanced back at Sarah, giving her a contrite smile.

Lady Cromwell looked over her shoulder at Jon and scowled, clearly displeased that he was not the one to escort her to dinner as protocol demanded. Jon ignored his mother. Collecting Sarah's hand, he tucked it into the crook of his elbow. Covering it with his palm, he looked down at her with hooded eyes, and said, "You'll have to excuse our mother. She was unprepared for visitors." He ushered her toward the dining room.

Sarah's palm, trapped beneath Jon's large hand, rested against a rock-hard forearm. "Yes, I can see that everyone was," she said, her attention divided between the gist of their conversation and the feel of an unusually muscular arm. Looking up at him, she added, "My maid and I will see to finding other quarters at once."

Something wickedly dangerous flickered in the dark depths of Jon's eyes. "That would be a bloody shame," he said, "and would hamper things greatly. If you spirit yourself away, how are we to conduct a proper dalliance?" His gaze lingered on her mouth.

Sarah gave him a faint, insolent smile. "We aren't."

Jon leaned toward her. "Now there's a grim thought which I'll simply dismiss."

Sarah looked at him sharply, and he gazed steadily back, giving no indication that her sharp look affected him. Rather, he seemed to derive amusement from it. Ignoring him, she focused on a table graced with exquisite porcelain dinnerware, fine crystal goblets, and a pair of elegant silver candelabra. Adjacent to the table stood a carved sideboard displaying an ornate silver tureen filled to the brim with steaming green pea soup; a silver tray with a poached salmon fancifully decorated with black olives, small onions, and egg slices; a white and gold porcelain platter holding a honey-baked ham garnished with whole cloves and pineapple slices; and several elegant silver serving bowls and trays containing glazed carrots, steamed chard, muffins, banana fritters, rhubarb tarts, cheeses, and an assortment of small cakes.

Jon seated first his mother, then Sarah, and lastly Esther. After the soup was served, Lady Cromwell, who sat opposite Jon at the end of the long table, took a dainty sip, swallowed, then looked down the table at her son and said, "Jonathan, there is need for more illumination in the streets. There was another incident in town. Young John Work stumbled on the planks on Government Street and fell into the ditch."