Edith Layton (5 page)

“Is that why you never remarried?” he asked curiously. “Your pardon,” he said when she stiffened, “I never meant to pry—no, there’s a lie. I did. Forgive me.”

She shrugged. “There’s nothing to forgive.” She gazed at him steadily, with effort. “Except, of course, for the fact that you still haven’t told me a thing about yourself.”

He smiled. “Simple enough. We have a lot in common, apart from shared laughter. I too was married. I’m a widower. I have a son and daughter at schools in England. I married young. My boy’s ready for university,” he added proudly. “His merit means I need use no influence to get him into the school I,
my father, and his father before him attended. I wish I could see both children more often. But even if I were home I’d only be able to see them at end of term, or on their vacations. We don’t keep our children at home as long as they do here, you remember. But since I’ve been here and seen how close families are, there have been times I’ve regretted that.”

He gazed down at his plate as though seeing something else in the pattern on it. “I came here as part of a plan for improvement, too. But now I’m here I also find I don’t know my future. My plans were up in the air,” he added softly, raising his eyes, bending closer, so close his knee grazed hers as his hand closed over hers. “But they’re coming further down to earth every day—every hour—every minute, actually.”

She didn’t know what to say. But she certainly knew how she felt. She reveled in his admiration, even though it set her heart racing like the girl she knew she wasn’t anymore.

“Ho! Apple pie!” Jamie cheered as he came back to his chair, following a maidservant bearing desserts.

“Just in time,” Wycoff told him, sitting back, “Another minute, and I’d have devoured the treat.” The look he bent on Lucy was rueful but bright, letting her guess exactly what treat he meant.

They drove back in silence. Jamie was quiet because he was full to bursting. Lucy seemed lost in thought. Wycoff kept still because he was very good at gaug
ing other people’s moods. That was why he could immediately see how enraged William Bellows was at the sight of Lucy getting down from the gig when they arrived in front of the Ames house. The front curtains were pulled back and showed his face clearly as he stood at the window looking out to the drive. It amused Wycoff. He made no comment as he let Lucy down, before he and Jamie drove around back to return the gig to the stables.

Lucy got down slowly, and walked to the house even more cautiously, with some uneasiness. She too had seen the furious face at the window. She didn’t owe William anything, and knew she hadn’t done anything wrong. But she’d been thinking of all the wrong things she could do. It made her defensive when William cornered her as she entered the house.

“Did you have a good time?” he asked tersely.

“Well enough,” she said coldly. “I’m a free woman, William, neither a slave or a bondwoman, I remind you. Or a promised woman either,” she added.

“Oh, aye. Who better than I to know that?” he said with a growl in his voice. “But I remind you that you don’t know what that gentleman out there is—or even if he
is
a gentleman at all. All you know is that he’s a visitor, and will probably be long gone before you ever find out what he is.”

She gave him a small smile with no joy in it. “Oh, but I know that. Believe me, William, that, at least, I know too well.”

T
hey stood around the piano and sang an old song about lost love and betrayal in the green fields of England. Not that everyone at the Ames Hotel was from England. The children were born Americans and many of the guests and staff had emigrated from other places. But English was everyone’s language and most knew the traditions of Old England as well as their own. And treasured them, which was odd in a country that had so recently been at war with England.

But America had only been its own master for a generation. So there was still something about English spoken with an obvious upper-class accent that inspired either instant obedience—or hostility. It hadn’t been a decade since the last war with Britain. The great war before that one had changed history.

It had been over for almost fifty years but was still within living memory.

That could have been why William Bellows, born in America, was brooding, when he wasn’t glaring at the English guest. That, or the fact that Wycoff stood so near Lucy while they sang, his smooth baritone blending with her melodious voice, weaving sinuously and seamlessly in and out together in perfect harmony. That, or because sometimes they put their heads together, literally, on a rippling run of phrase. Or because Wycoff never took his eyes off Lucy—and that Lucy grew a pleased, little flustered smile, then quickly concealed, whenever she took notice of it. Which was every three minutes, by William’s careful count. Just as he thought it probably had been all through dinner. A dinner he hadn’t been able to find an excuse to attend, because he wasn’t a guest at the hotel. A fact he’d never resented so bitterly as now.

Lucy always looked good to William, but tonight she looked radiant. She resembled a medieval princess in her rose gown. It had long sleeves and a high waist, and her figure was shown to advantage by the way the gown’s soft folds caressed her. She’d dressed her hair so it fell in ringlets on one shoulder. The firelight brought out the copper in it, and cast golden glimpses on her flushed cheeks.

His admiring thoughts were suddenly rudely interrupted. “He looks grand, doesn’t he?” Jenny sighed close to William’s ear. She was whispering to her sister. But William knew who “he” was. The
girls had been watching their English guest as closely as he had, if for different reasons.

William had dressed in a plain but proper suit of clothes tonight. Brown jacket, maroon waistcoat and buff pantaloons. He thought he’d looked very well when he set out from home. He might as well have been invisible. He looked like a sparrow alongside Wycoff, he thought in chagrin. If the man dressed like a peacock in order to draw glances, he could feel superior to him. But Wycoff didn’t have to be colorful. He knew how to be striking. He wore his severe black jacket slightly opened so it could be enlivened by glimpses of his blue and gold waistcoat, and had on black boots with gold tassels to draw attention to the flawlessly fitted gray pantaloons on his long muscular legs.

“Grand, he looks just grand,” Harmony whispered back to her sister. “I wish I was just five years older.”

“Or Lucy was five hundred years older,” Jenny giggled, “’cause no one can be a patch on her, and don’t he know it!”

William ground his teeth. He spoke up as soon as the last strains of “Greensleeves” had faded. “Cards?” he asked gruffly.

“Cards? How selfish of us!” Mrs. Ames cried. “We’re taking up the evening with song. But it’s been so pleasant…Of course, if anyone wants to play cards, we’ll set up tables at once.”

Mrs. Ames looked at her guests, a weary horse trader half-drowsing by the fire, a farmer and his
good wife resting overnight on their way up to Washington, and a fellow who sold textiles on his way south. The usual gang of local lads who spent their evenings goggling at her daughters were banned tonight.

The farmer rose to his feet. “Cards? Above our touch, and past our bedtime already. We just got caught by the pretty music. Thankee kindly anyway.”

“Well, if there isn’t going to be any more singing…” the salesman said when the only answer from the horse trader was a snore, “I’ll be glad to oblige you. Try your hand at piquet?”

“I thought whist,” William said, “a game we often play here at night. Right, Lucy?” he added with emphasis on the
we
.

“But I’ve too much to do tonight to join in,” Mrs. Ames said, “and Herbert’s not here. Perhaps…Mr. Wycoff? Would you care to take a hand?”

“Ordinarily, I’d be happy to,” Wycoff answered, though his slow drawl hinted that he found the prospect exciting as cold porridge, “but the drive this morning and then the longer walk Jamie took me on this afternoon have taken a toll. All that fresh air, to say nothing of the exhilarating company! It’s made me think of little but bed. I’m afraid I’d toss the game away by bidding nothing but hearts tonight,” he added with a small smile for Lucy. “And when I play, I do play to win.”

William’s eyes narrowed as Lucy’s widened.

“But thank you for the offer,” Wycoff told
William, with a sketch of a bow. “Some other time, perhaps?”

“You’re staying on here, then?” William asked.

“Certainly,” Wycoff said, though he wasn’t looking at William, but at Lucy.

“Although you’ve a house just a few miles down the road from here?” William asked belligerently.

“Even if I had two,” Wycoff laughed. “I’ve no staff, no servants, not even my valet with me. I’m a useless fellow, Mr. Bellows. Can’t turn a hand to a thing by myself. But I’ve found that most things worth doing are much more pleasurable done with company,” he added, looking at Lucy. “Except for reading, of course. But even there, a fair hand to turn the pages and plump up my pillow, or a soft voice to spare my eyesight. Now, if I had one of Mrs. Ames’s admirable staff at my personal beck and call, I’d certainly be tucked up in my own bed tonight, happier than any man has a right to be. But since I don’t—I must live in hope, mustn’t I?”

Lucy stifled a gasp. And then a grin. That was the most outrageously seductive thing any man she’d ever met had ever said in polite company. So evocative her skin tingled. And he’d watched her all the time he was saying it, with such a warm, amused look. She went over what he’d said, lost in admiration at the sheer audacity of it, as charmed and flattered as she was made nervous. He was cool, smooth, and polished as her looking glass, and she had to remind herself that he probably gave back as much of his true self as it did.

“No cards tonight,” Lucy said, looking at him, “no games of any sort for me, thank you.”

Wycoff seemed amused by the veiled rebuff, inclining his head as if in acknowledgment of the hit.

She nodded, pleased at his reaction. “So! I’m going to sleep, and you are too, Jamie,” she said to the empty air at the head of the stairs. “Good night, everyone. It’s been a long day. Unless there’s anything else you need of me, Cousin?”

“No,” Mrs. Ames said. “It’s my bedtime, too. The company’s so interesting the time just flew by. But if any wish to remain here, stay long as you like,” she hastily assured her remaining guests. “Only be sure the fire’s banked if you’re the last to leave. We aim to be a fine hotel. But we try to treat you all as guests in our home.”

“Now that would be a fine motto for over your door,” Wycoff said, “or on your stationery.”

“Why, so it is! Do you really think so?” Mrs. Ames asked, turning to him, all aflutter.

It was William’s chance to see Lucy alone. He seized it, and Lucy. “I need to talk with you,” he said, taking her by the wrist as she passed him on the way to the stair.

“What?” she said, looking at her wrist in annoyance, and then at his face with growing alarm. “What is it?”

“Not here,” he said.

“Is something wrong?” she asked, suddenly alert.

“Yes. Come with me. The library.”

She hurried along the hall with him, and threw open the library door. It was a glorified name for Mr. Ames’s office, which had some books and ledgers, and a few shelves of novels the girls had finished reading that Mrs. Ames thought guests might like. But there was a fireplace glowing with the small fire kept burning every evening in case a guest should wander in. In the same hopeful spirit, a lamp on the desk was lit. The scant light gave the little room an intimate feeling the salon had lacked. It would have made Lucy nervous if she wasn’t already so worried. Dimly lit rooms gave men ideas. William was a man she’d been trying to keep in the light.

“Tell me!” she begged him. “What’s wrong?”

“This!” he said and, snatching her up in his arms, pressed a kiss on her lips.

It was as unexpected as it was unpleasant. William’s mouth was hard and wet, the skin around his mouth bristly because of the lateness of the hour. It hurt. His grip was strong, and his scent tonight, Lucy noted as she struggled against his chest, something like wet wool and tallow. They’d kissed before, brief polite little salutes she never let deepen for fear he’d get carried away. There was no fear of that for her. But it was never like this, with him grinding his mouth against her lips trying to wedge them open by main force. She gritted her teeth and shoved.

“There!” he said, finally releasing her with every evidence of satisfaction. “That’s what was wrong,
and now it’s right. Enough, Lucy, my girl,” he said, straightening his jacket. “I’ve asked for your hand before, now I think you need me to demand it.”

She stared at him. His dark face bore a look of triumph.

“Are you run mad?” she asked. “Or have you been drinking? What gives you the right to do that? Who gave you permission to mishandle me? What in God’s creation do you think you’re doing?”

She advanced on him, her voice rising with every word. It was his turn to stare. He stepped back as she came forward, retreating before her accusing pointed finger. She tapped the front of his jacket when he finally stopped, because the next step would have taken him right into the fire.

“What is the meaning of this, William Bellows?” she demanded.

“Well, I thought…I mean to say…Well, I
have
asked you to marry me time out of mind,” he said defensively. “We’ve known each other all these years, and there you were simpering like a girl for that Englishman, and we both know you’re a grown woman of thirty odd. Well, there it is,” he said, turning to aggression again, because it had sounded like whining, even to him. “Time for you to make up your mind, my girl. That fellow wants nothing but someone to warm his bed before he gets out of it and moves on to find another. He said as much. I thought you were better than that. I thought maybe you needed to hear I offer you more.”

“I
am
better than that,” she said, her eyes kin
dling with blue fury, “As you should know. If you don’t know the difference between flirtation and…If you thought I…!” She stamped her foot. “I will ask you to leave right now, William Bellows, without another word—if you ever want one from me again, much less aspire to my hand. Which I will keep at the end of my own sleeve, thank you very much. Oh! I am so angry at you!” she shouted. “Good night!”

“Lucy…”

“I said, good night.”

He gave her a curt bow, spun on his heel and left.

She stood rigid, hearing him telling the salesman he had to leave and so couldn’t play cards, hearing him say good night to all. She didn’t relax until she heard the front door close. Hard.

Poor William
, she thought. She’d once contemplated marrying him…well, at least, thought about it. And how dare he! She wasn’t doing anything but flirting. She’d no more hop into Wycoff’s bed than she’d marry William. It was no crime to think about…
Was it?

She put a hand to her forehead. If she wasn’t going to marry William or succumb to imagined pleasures in a fascinating stranger’s embrace, then she’d better get busy and do what she’d been planning so long, even if it wasn’t exactly time yet. She’d been dawdling too long. There was just enough money to get there now. She could swallow her damnable pride and ask her mama for house room until she found a way to earn her way back again.

Time to go, if she really meant to. And if not?

Then there’d be time enough to marry William or another like him and live out the rest of a tepid, longing life. Or leap into bed and burn there with a rake like Wycoff, to have something to remember for the rest of that longing life.
Something to remember?
the small voice that ruled her asked.
Like a baby? Another child to raise, only this one born out of wedlock, oh clever Lucy?
She sighed. She was so weary with wrestling with the problem. Time to go to bed at least. Alone.

“Now what’s to do?” Wycoff asked as he strolled into the library. “Everyone’s left.”

“I thought you were tired,” Lucy said to cover her surprise and embarrassment.

“So did I,” he remarked. “But once I was left alone I found myself amazingly alert. But to what purpose? There’s no one to play cards. No company at all, except for the fire. And all it says is ‘crackle,’ with an occasional sigh. Your sigh is much more interesting, if only because it has the promise of more in it.”

“You hear promises in everything,” Lucy said, without thinking. “I never met a man who presumed so much on so little encouragement.”

“Unlike the worthy Mr. Bellows?” he said with interest. “Now, I’d thought he just presumed much more.”

She winced. He’d seen, then. “Yes,” she said, “and see how well that was received.”

“Yes,” he said, coming to stand by the fire beside
her, “but I thought perhaps that was as much because of the way he presumed. There is such a thing as skill and timing. Of expertise. Lovemaking isn’t a grab and run affair, if it is to be an affair of any interest.”

“It’s not to be at all—at least not for me. Not with William or any other man,” Lucy said wistfully, looking straight at him. He was so very attractive, she thought sadly. There’d been the attraction the moment they’d met, and it was only growing stronger. She wanted to simply step into his arms and take whatever he was offering. She’d never had an affair. She’d only known Francis, and that was something altogether different. This man tempted her; he was a living manifestation of the lovers of her fantasies. The kind of male who made her pulses beat like the crickets on long summer nights as she tossed and turned. The kind that made her shiver with more than cold on all those long winter nights.