Forbidden Love (7 page)

"Lisa, if there's something you want to talk about, say it quickly, because I must go to bed soon. I have much to do tomorrow."

He couldn't spend a few minutes with his wife? Did she mean so little to him? "Very well, William, if that's how you feel." She sprang to her feet and headed for the door. "Sorry to be taking your time. I'll leave right now. After all, I wouldn't want to deprive you of your sleep."

He grasped her arm. "Let's not be childish. Tell me what you came to say."

Get it over with
. She drew away from him and stared into the fire. "I . . . I get lonely sometimes. And so I wondered, why don't we spend more time together?"

"Lonely, Lisa?
We had dinner together a short while ago, and then we spent some time in the sitting room, as we always do." He shook his head slowly, a trace of mockery in his eyes. "Don't you have enough to keep you busy in the evening or during the day?"

"Of course I have enough to keep me busy! I just think we should spend more time together, do more things together, instead of going our separate ways in the evening." She stood by the mantel, her face flaming with such indignation she could hardly find the words. "Just because I want to see more of my husband . . .”She bit her lip, wondering if he caught the double entendre.

Either he didn't or he chose to ignore it. He
rose
, too, his handsome face set in stone. "I don't know
what's the matter with you
. You tell me you have enough to keep you occupied. You live in one of the finest houses in Shadyside." He held his hands wide. "I give you money for clothes or anything you desire. You have everything you could possibly want."

"Ah, yes, William. My cup
runneth
over."

"Don't be sarcastic, Lisa. It doesn't become you." His jaw set, he took her by the arm. "Come now, you shouldn't be about in only your nightgown. Best you go to bed now, where you can stay warm."

Yes! She wanted to lie in bed with him, let him make love to her as she'd dreamed of for so long. Despite her bewilderment, her utter frustration, she found herself warming at his touch. She ached for him to hold her in his arms, kiss her to distraction. Although he spoke with annoyance, she saw the passion in his eyes.
Make love to me, darling. Show me how much you care
.

"William." Driven by desperation, she pressed close to him, wrapping her arms around his neck. "Why don't we go to bed together?" she whispered in his ear.

He pushed her away, his mouth open with shock. "Now you are behaving like an easy woman. Lisa, I would have thought better of you."

“What!” Face flaming, she jerked back. “I’m your wife!”

“Then act like one.” He led her to the door, and she acquiesced, for she had nothing more to say, nothing else to do. "Now, let's forget we had this chat, shall we? By tomorrow, everything will look different, and you'll wonder what all the fuss was about." Holding the door open, he bent to kiss her forehead. "And let's forget this ever happened," he murmured.

That was all?
Just a kiss on the forehead?
"Next time, I'll make an appointment!" She bounded from the room and rushed down the hall. She'd played her last card . . . and lost.

* * *

At the bar of an old hotel on
Diamond Street
, William nursed his glass of whiskey, drumming his fingers on the dusty table. He wiped his hands on a napkin in disgust, his gaze flitting about the room as he searched for the person he'd come to meet, the woman who could give him such pleasure in bed.

For the hundredth time, he asked himself why he didn't take Lisa to bed, yet he knew the answer. She was a lady, gentle and well-bred, who served him well as his hostess. He knew plenty of the other kind, so why waste his efforts on his wife? He took another swallow of whiskey. Besides, he reminded himself, he had tried making love to his wife . . . and failed miserably.

Sighing, he wished he could see his watch, but the light in the room was too dim, no doubt to hide the dirt, he thought with another wave of disgust. Peering through the grimy window, he saw a light snowfall dust the squalid streets of
Pittsburgh
. He'd wait a few more minutes. He had better things to do than waste his time in some dreary bar. Besides, he'd told Lisa he'd be home by twelve. He smiled at her wifely solicitude, aware she'd worry if he arrived home much later. His smile widened at his deceit, since he'd told her he was meeting a client.

William tried to ignore the laughter of the few other patrons and the smell of cheap cigars, wanting only to get the hell out of the damned place.

The heady scent of patchouli and a light hand on his shoulder announced the arrival of the person William had come to meet. He turned around, throwing her a glance of relief, overshadowed by indignation that she should be late. No one ever kept William
Enright
waiting. Let her know how angry she'd made him. Hell, yes!
Might even make their coupling more satisfying.

"You're late!"

"Only a few minutes."

"More than a few minutes.
Don't ever be late again, if you know what's good for you."

She bent close, revealing a plunging neckline and voluptuous breasts. "Come upstairs to the room I've reserved for us," she purred. "I'll make your waiting worth the while."

William's pants tightened around his crotch. Thankful for the dim light, he scraped his chair back and rose. Home by twelve, he reminded himself. He wouldn't want Lisa to worry.

Chapter Five

William studied the suits in his closet, pondering what he should wear tomorrow night. He had to dress appropriately, to impress a woman he'd met last week, one he hoped would become his new mistress. He'd met her at a cheap hotel near Polish Hill, and what a beauty! If her charms in the bedroom matched her looks, she'd be a real prize, one any man would desire.

He could hardly wait for tomorrow. He knew her kind, knew it wouldn't take him long to get her alone, get her clothes off. After all, he'd had enough experience. Searching his mental directory, he tried to recall her name. Sarah? Sally? Oh, yes, Sadie. He chuckled. With a mistress in
Baltimore
and another in
Boston
and God knew where else, wouldn't it be hilarious if he called one of them by the wrong name? Worse, what if he called Lisa by one of their names?

Lisa, his wife.
Unbuttoning his shirt, William tried to envision taking her to bed but quickly told himself it didn't matter. A man couldn't enjoy his wife in a sexual way--certainly not a respectable woman like Lisa--and he wasn't about to try coupling with her again. Besides, with several mistresses scattered around the country, he had all the women he could manage for now.

Beginning to chafe in his marriage, he acknowledged that a man in his position needed a wife as a hostess, someone to give him respectability. Just the same, memories of his bachelorhood often taunted him. He yearned for the days before his marriage, when he didn't have to juggle his time between his home life and the nights with his mistresses, or worry about his wife discovering his infidelity.

He paused, pulling his nightshirt over his head. Best he
tell
Lisa he wouldn't be home for dinner tomorrow night. He tied his bathrobe around his waist and slipped into his bedroom slippers, then went to see his wife.

* * *

Lisa shivered inside her blue velour robe as she sat at her toilet table and reached for her hairbrush. She brushed her hair one-hundred strokes like her mother had taught her, listening to the crackle of electricity as she ran the brush through the thick locks. Outside, an icy wind howled through the trees and rattled the windows, a sure sign that winter would be with them for a long time.

A light tapping sounded at the door,
then
William stepped inside. A faint smile touched his lips, the usual scents of tobacco and musk clinging to him.

She stood and leaned against the table, her heart beating wildly. William's bold stare told her he was going to make love to her now, she just knew it! Resolved to conceal her trembling, she set her brush on the table and greeted him with a smile.

“William.”

His gaze swept over her, his expression warm and assessing as he approached her. He reached out to touch her hair, wrapping a lock around his finger. "Why don't you wear your hair like this all the time, long and flowing past your waist? Why must you always pin it up on top of your head?"

"Surely you know a lady doesn't wear her hair loose in polite society. It wouldn't be proper."

"Yes, I know, but why not? Who makes these rules?"

She shrugged. "They're just rules and always have been. Only a . . . a . . . low-class woman would wear her hair as you suggest." She smiled winsomely. "Now at home in the evening, for my husband . . ."

"But not all the time?"

"No, of course not."

"Why don't you try it? You might start a new style."

She laughed. "Yes, and I might be ostracized, put down as
a
um, lady of the night."

"Would that be so bad?"

"William!" Would she ever understand him? Only a few nights ago, he'd shamed her for acting like an easy woman.

He lifted his shoulders. "Just a suggestion, dear," he said with an unconvincing smile. "You mustn't take everything I say seriously." He turned to leave,
then
faced her again. "Oh, I almost forgot what I came to tell you. I'll have dinner at the Duquesne Club tomorrow evening, so I won't be home until late." With an enigmatic smile, he turned away.

Despair and resentment had been building inside her, waiting to burst free. Before she could analyze her actions, she gripped his arm. "William, please tell me what's wrong between us."

"Wrong?" He raised his eyebrows. "Did I say anything was wrong? Have I complained?" He eased from her hold, a guilty look on his face, quickly changing to one of defiance. "Tell me what you mean."

"You know what I mean. Ours is not a true marriage." She swallowed. "We don't even share . . . share a bed.
How about the other night, when I put my arms around you and asked you."

"Don't remind me of that! My wife, acting like a hussy! And I hardly think this is the time or place to discuss such a personal matter," he said with his usual frozen calm. "But I suppose I shouldn't be surprised." His mouth pursed in distaste, he turned away from her.

She grasped his arm again, forcing him to face her.
"Hardly the time or place!
If not here and now, then when or where?" Releasing him, Lisa glared at him, red spots dancing in front of her eyes.

"You're upset, and I don't want to talk about it." Shoulders set back in insulted
pride,
he stalked from the room and closed the door with calm deliberation.

She shook all over. Her eyes darted around the room, finally settling on a bottle of Venetian glass that graced her toilet table. She seized the glass in trembling hands and hurled it across the room, grimacing in bitter satisfaction as it smashed against a far wall and broke into dozens of pieces.

 
The next morning, Lisa picked the pieces of glass from the floor and dropped them into a wastebasket. "I've had enough!" It'll be a cold day in June when I try to lure William into my bed again, she vowed, wincing as she cut her finger on a sliver of glass.

She'd never resign herself to an empty marriage, but at the same time, she realized she'd gain nothing by confrontation. So for the sake of her pride and the family name, she'd continue as his hostess, pretend everything was fine between them. Bide her time, hope they would some day learn to love each other. Everyone thought they were the ideal couple. Hadn't so many friends told her that?
Mustn’t disillusion them.

Rising from the floor, she brushed her hand over her velour robe, and with a frank look in the mirror, saw all the hurt and heartache she'd tried so hard to conceal. An inexplicable yearning clutched at her heart, a desire that went beyond William and her marriage. No matter how hard she tried, no matter how much she attempted to deny her longing, the image of a gray-eyed steelworker refused to leave her mind. She laughed without mirth. A steelworker! Even if she were free to marry him, what made her think he cared for
her,
and what could they possibly have in common?