Tender Is the Storm (20 page)

She lowered her eyes, feeling quite dejected all of a sudden. “That’s irrelevant.”

“Why?”

“If you must know, he didn’t want me. He was furious when we were forced to marry.”

Marcus paled, then the color rushed back into his face. “This man dared reject
my
daughter?”

“For heaven’s sake, Father, my being your daughter had nothing to do with it. I never told
Lucas my background. In fact, he thought I was destitute.”

“So you weren’t good enough for him,” Marcus concluded. “A girl with no money.”

“No. I don’t think my means had anything to do with it. He simply didn’t want a wife.”

“Then he should have had the decency not to bed you before sending you home!”

Sharisse cringed. It made Lucas seem so callous, but how could she explain?

“He didn’t send me home, Father. I left of my own accord as soon as I had the means to do so. Lucas won’t end the marriage himself. He is leaving that up to me. I have little doubt that if I insisted he remain my husband, he would do so.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“We were compatible in many ways.”

Her manner became evasive again, and Marcus asked suspiciously, “Are you being completely honest with me, Rissy?”

“What do you mean?”

“Did this man really let you go, or did you up and take off from him like you did from home?”

“I didn’t consult him about it, if that’s what you mean,” she replied irritably. “For some reason that he wouldn’t tell me, he wanted me to stay for a while. But how could I stay with him after he admitted he didn’t want a wife?”

Marcus was thoughtul for a moment before asking, “Is it possible he might come after you?”

“No,” she said firmly. “Even if he wanted to, he doesn’t have the money for a long trip. There
is no reason why he would want to, anyhow. I really am tired, Father.”

“Of course,” Marcus conceded. “But there’s just one more thing.”

She sighed. “Yes?”

“Are you pregnant?”

Her eyes rounded with incredulity. She hadn’t thought, had never even considered…

“No!” she shouted.

“Then there should be no problem.” He gazed at her intently, for she looked alarmed. “Your ‘no’ was a bit hasty perhaps?”

“Perhaps,” she admitted miserably. “It’s just too soon to tell.”

“So it’s possible?”

“Yes!” she snapped. “It’s possible.”

Considering her reaction, Marcus said reluctantly, “I suppose we should postpone doing anything until you are sure.”

“Must we?”

He shrugged. “We could always invent a husband for you if it becomes necessary. But since you already have one, and since you’re reasonably certain you won’t ever see him again, anyway, I don’t see why we need invent a lie. Do you?”

“No, I suppose not. I’ll just have to wait and see.”

After Sharisse left, Marcus sat back, drumming his fingers on his desk. Both his daughters were married. He had given neither of them away. All his careful planning had come to nothing. Was this a dream? He shook his head.

One daughter was happy. Edward could be
talked around. And the other daughter? Well, she had been evasive about her feelings for this man Holt, but it hadn’t passed his notice how quickly she had come to his defense. And she had glowed when describing him. Did she love the fellow perhaps without knowing it? Was she only hurt by his rejection?

The rejection rankled Marcus. Who the hell did Lucas Holt think he was? He had a good mind to—no, he ought to leave well enough alone. Still, something Sharisse had said intrigued him. Holt was like him. That was the only thing wrong with young Joel. He was capable enough, but he lacked backbone.

Stubborn, arrogant, she had called Holt. A man cut from the same mold as himself. Marcus smiled for the first time that day. He knew he ought to leave the situation alone. But on the other hand…

Sharisse lay back on her bed and closed her eyes. She had just spent two incredibly long hours being fussed over by Jenny. Her skin still tingled from the hard scrubbing she had received in Jenny’s vain effort to remove her new skin color. Jenny had done nothing but cluck and
tsk
over the unfashionable dark tan, but it wasn’t going to come off with a brush.

Charley had settled right in after sniffing every corner of the room. He had taken up his old favorite position in the center of the bed, watching the bustle around him, yawning every once in a while. He knew he was home.

When Sharisse joined him after Jenny finally left her in peace, Charley curled up against her side. He started purring even before she began stroking him. At least one of them was content with the end of their journey.

His mistress continued stroking Charley, preoccupied. A baby. Was it possible? Of course it was.
Her monthly times were always far apart, so that wouldn’t tell her much. She had been with a man, a virile, passionate man. She had let him love her, and that was all it took.

Did she want Lucas’s child? A boy to grow up like his father—strong, handsome, arrogant. Or a girl. What would his daughter look like? She knew she shouldn’t be thinking about it yet, it was too soon. But she couldn’t help herself. Now that the shock had passed, she was filled with a strange kind of wonder. To have created something from that wonderful passion she had shared with Lucas was magical. She did want his baby, just as much as she still wanted him. The despicable man. She still ached for him. Yet he had probably already forgotten her.

“Oh, Rissy!” Stephanie burst into the room without warning, scattering Sharisse’s thoughts. “Father just informed me he has sent an invitation to Joel for dinner tonight. It’s to officially welcome him into the family. I don’t know how you did it! I’m so grateful. I just knew you wouldn’t let me down.”

Sharisse sat up slowly, her eyes trained on her sister. “I didn’t do it for you, Stephanie. I did it for me.”

“But—”

“Father still wanted me to marry Joel. Of course that was out of the question.”

“Well, of course. It wouldn’t be right after Joel and I—well, you know,” Stephanie whispered.

“No, I don’t know.”

Stephanie blushed. “We didn’t come directly
home after the wedding. There was an inn we went to, and…”

“For heaven’s sake, why didn’t you tell Father that?” Sharisse snapped.

“I couldn’t say something like that to him,” Stephanie gasped. “You saw how angry he was. It wouldn’t have mattered.”

Sharisse shouted in exasperation. “Of course it would have mattered. If you’ve been with Joel as man and wife, your marriage can’t be annulled. Don’t you know anything?”

“Oh, dear. I believe Joel said that. But I was so upset today, I just didn’t think.”

“You never think anymore,” Sharisse replied angrily. “You don’t think of consequences, you don’t think of—”

“I don’t see what you’re displeased about, Rissy. It worked out fine, didn’t it?”

“For you, yes. But I had to give Father a reason why I couldn’t marry Joel, and it was something I wanted to keep to myself. Oh, I don’t know why I’m even speaking to you after everything you’ve done!”

“Oh, Rissy, don’t be like that,” Stephanie pleaded. “I can explain everything.”

“Can you?” Sharisse demanded. “Then begin by telling me where my jewels are. Because I didn’t have them, I was forced to go all the way to Arizona. Why did you take my jewels?”

“You know how impetuous you are, Rissy. I was afraid you would change your mind and come right back. And I was right, wasn’t I? You wrote
immediately that you didn’t want to stay in Arizona.”

“There is. A monumental difference. Between staying alone. In some quiet town. And staying
where I was
.” Sharisse ground out the words. “Do you have any idea what it was like? Indians still raid. Men wear guns on their hips and think nothing of shooting each other. And the sun does this to your skin, Stephanie.” She pointed to her face. “This is not theatrical makeup I’m wearing. It will take months for it to wear off.”

“Well, goodness, Rissy, why didn’t you mention any of this in your letter?”

“Because I was thinking of your feelings! I thought that if you knew my true plight, you would be so upset about me that you wouldn’t be able to work rationally on our situations. But I can see now that it wouldn’t have made any difference. You’re not at all sorry.”

“That’s not true. If there were any other way—”

“Oh, shut up, Stephanie! I have heard enough.”

Sharisse crossed to her vanity, dismissing her sister. But Stephanie was reluctant to leave. She stared at Sharisse’s stiff back and said peevishly, “You said you gave Father a reason why you couldn’t marry Joel. Why didn’t you just use that excuse before? Then you wouldn’t have had to go away in the first place.”

Sharisse glared at Stephanie in her mirror. “Obviously my reason is a fairly new one, or I would have. I can’t marry Joel because I already have a husband—thanks to my stay in Arizona.”

“What?” Stephanie felt sick. “You married him? But you couldn’t have!”

Sharisse turned slowly in her chair. “Couldn’t?”

“You weren’t supposed to. Why did you?”

“You don’t just live in the same house with a man and then refuse to marry him when the preacher comes around,” Sharisse said dryly. “I had no choice.”

“Oh, this is just terrible, Rissy. I didn’t want anything like this to happen to you.”

“I know,” Sharisse sighed.

“What did Father say?”

“He wasn’t exactly pleased.”

“But you’re not going to stay married to Mr. Holt, are you?”

“No.”

“Can you get out of it?”

Sharisse nodded. “He didn’t want a wife.”

Stephanie gasped. “Yes, he did. He—”

“—was as deceitful as I was. He never had any intention of marrying me or anyone else.”

“Why, that’s despicable!” Stephanie gasped indignantly. After a moment, a new realization dawned. “Oh, dear! If you married him, that means you had to…make love with him. Without loving him. How awful for you, Rissy. With Joel, it wasn’t at all what I expected, but at least I love him. You must have been so unhappy.”

Sharisse smiled. She couldn’t help it. “That was not one of my complaints, Stephanie.”

“You don’t mean you liked him?” The younger girl was aghast.

“Lucas is a devilish rogue, handsome, exciting all the time. He has more faults than saving graces, but as a lover, he was superb, Steph. I was very happy.”

Stephanie didn’t know what to say. She was shocked by her sister’s candor. And she was also envious after her own disappointing experience with Joel.

At last she said petulantly, “I don’t know what you’re so angry with me for. Why, you had a wonderful time during your stay with Lucas Holt.”

Sharisse had no reply.

Lucas was beginning to think that if you’d seen one gambling club, you’d seen them all. The one Henri had found in the south of France was more opulent than most, and spacious, with ample room for tables to be set wide apart. The late April climate allowed them to leave the long windows open, and the perfume of pink laurels filled the air, vying with the fragrances of the women. And there were many women in the room.

“That one is married,” Henri said as he noticed Lucas staring at a statuesque brunette. “But it is good to see you finally taking an interest,
mon ami
.”

Lucas grunted. “I take it you can tell me a little something about everyone in the room, as usual?”

“Of course. I did not waste my time today as you did, walking on the beach. I found a waiter who loves to gossip. He was very informative.”

One of Henri Andrevie’s special talents was knowing the people he gambled with. He never
failed to learn something about each of them before he sat down and proceeded to take their money away from them. Information of a personal nature was his edge, and Henri managed to support himself very well.

He was a little man, and he and the tall Lucas made quite a pair. Blond, with dove-gray eyes that twinkled mischievously, he looked younger than thirty-nine. He was a devil-may-care rascal who could talk his way out of any situation and could charm the ladies with just a smile. Lucas had seen, in the months they had been traveling together again, that Henri hadn’t lost his touch.

“You will find the English play together, as you see there and there,” Henri pointed out. “They come here to gamble, not to decipher languages, and there are many different languages represented here. That graying fellow is a duke. He plays seriously, but he never wins.”

Henri chuckled here, and Lucas couldn’t help grinning. He knew Henri so well. “You will have all his money before the night is through.”

“I think you are right,
mon ami
. Now those two, the
messieurs
Varnoux and Montour, are brothers. But they do not wish this known, so they use different names. They send each other signals, clues, so stay away from their table. That fellow there you might enjoy playing against.” Henri pointed out a well-dressed man who was so good-looking as to be almost feminine. “He knows nothing at all about cards, but he is a gambler at heart and he will bet on anything. By the way, that was his wife you were staring at. Pretty, no?”

“Very.”

Henri sighed. “As much as I have been trying to get you to enjoy yourself, I must warn you against trying that one—unless you wouldn’t mind having the husband watch.”

“I think not.”

“Yes, they are a decadent pair. I was told his specialty is seducing virgins, and he takes wagers on how quickly it can be done. His wife knows all about it. Isn’t that charming?”

“But is he never challenged by an irate father or brother?”

“Occasionally. For that very reason, he and his wife never stay too long in one place.”

Lucas scoffed. “You can’t believe everything you’re told, Henri.”

“Ah, but there is always a grain of truth in every lie.”

A memory nagged at Lucas. “His name wouldn’t be Antoine, would it?”

Henri shrugged. “Gautier is their name. I do not know the first. Why? Do you know of him?”

“It would be too coincidental if I did. I don’t know why I even thought of it.”

Only he did know. He had been alone too long that day, and as usual when he was alone, he had thought about Sharisse without stopping. All of their conversations were recorded in his mind as if they had happened only yesterday, not last summer. And today he had remembered about Antoine. Antoine had wanted only one thing from her, just as this Gautier wanted only one thing from his victims—sport.

It couldn’t be the same man, but damned if Lucas didn’t wish it were. He felt so bad over his own treatment of Sharisse that he wouldn’t have minded exacting a little revenge for her sake. Trouble was, she would never know about it. As impossible as it had been to forget her, it would be disastrous ever to see her again. He was still hoping time would make the memories less potent, ease some of the pain, put an end to this ridiculous longing he still had for her.

Undoubtedly, she had had no trouble forgetting him. She would have got her annulment a long time ago. Maybe she was even married again. Even if he had wanted to see her, he didn’t know where to find her. The money he had deposited for her in a New York bank was still there, uncollected. Four months of inquiries had produced no results. The only John Richards to be found was an immigrant hat maker without daughters. There was no Mrs. Hammond that fit her description, no Miss Richards, either.

Henri continued telling Lucas a little something about each person in the room, but Lucas listened only sporadically. They finally parted, Henri going to the Duke’s table.

Lucas continued to watch the dandified Gautier. After a while he quit his table and joined two gentlemen, apparently acquaintances. From their conversation, which soon became animated, and their many covert glances at a pretty dark-haired girl across the room, Lucas imagined a wager taking place.

Curiosity drew him to the bar where the three
men were just finishing their conversation. Thank heavens he had learned French well, mostly through Henri.

“Two weeks?”

“A week and a half, Antoine, no more.”

“Agreed.”

Antoine
. Was it the same man? It was a common French name, and there were no doubt many men who found it amusing to seduce young girls on a dare. Or a wager.

Gautier seemed well pleased with himself after his two companions left him. He ordered a drink, then turned to stare at the dark-haired girl across the room.

“Allow me.” Lucas paid for the drink and handed it to the shorter man.

Gautier accepted, eyeing Lucas speculatively. “Do I know you,
monsieur?
”

“No, but I believe I’ve heard of you. Antoine Gautier, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“So I thought, after that interesting wager I just overheard.”

Gautier chuckled, relaxing. “Perhaps you wish to join my friends in losing some money?”

“Not if you already know the girl.” Lucas played along with him.

“No, I have not had the pleasure yet,” the dandy assured him. “Claude has been rebuffed by her, which is why he made the wager.”

“Claude is one of those men who just left?”

“Yes. He hopes to soothe himself by seeing me fail as well. But if you doubt me,
monsieur
, pick
any girl in the room. I would enjoy a double challenge.”

Lucas barely managed to conceal his disgust. The man’s eyes were gleaming in anticipation. With those dimples and that eager look, he was downright pretty. Were women actually attracted to this peacock?

“You seem confident of winning,” Lucas pointed out. “I wonder why.”

“Because I never fail.”

“Never? Ever?”

Antoine flushed. “Ah, yes, you did say you had heard of me. I suppose you have met Jean-Paul and he told you? It has been three years, but he still likes to brag to one and all that he is the only one who has collected from me on a wager like this one.”

“The girl eluded you?” Lucas’s voice turned very casual.

“Yes, she did. She was a sweet innocent. Eighteen. How naive they are at that age. And I almost had her. Just another few moments and my record would not have been broken.”

Eighteen three years ago? That wasn’t Sharisse. Lucas was going to be terribly disappointed if he had no reason to bash the bastard’s face in.

“What happened?” Lucas asked.

Antoine clucked in disgust. “My wife was impatient for my company. She had to walk in and ruin everything, revealing that she was my wife.”

“Your wife doesn’t mind your conquests?”

“Not at all, which is why I cannot understand why she deliberately ruined my chances with the
American. And it
was
deliberate, although she still will not admit it.”

“Jealous?”

“Perhaps.” Antoine sighed. “If the girl had been only an ordinary beauty, Marie would not have interfered. But the Hammond girl was different, vibrant—”

“Hammond?” Lucas cut in smoothly. “I know a Mrs. Hammond. An American, too.”

Antoine stepped back from him. “You…you need not fear I have trifled with…an acquaintance of yours. I do not bother married women.”

“Sharisse.” Lucas threw the name out viciously and watched the Frenchman pale. “Sonofabitch!” Lucas growled, dropping the French they had been speaking.

Antoine was shocked. “You are an American, too?”

“Right. I think you and I better take a walk.”

“I do not understand.”

“Outside, Gautier, now.”

Antoine understood perfectly. His stomach turned over. The American’s incredible size had not gone unnoticed.

“
Monsieur
, I deplore violence. Be reasonable. I did the girl no harm.”

“I doubt she feels that way.” Lucas propelled Gautier toward the doors. “Don’t make a sound,
mon ami
, or I will break your arm,” he added in a deadly whisper.

“What…what is she to you?”

Lucas walked him into the garden, well away from the building. He let go of the Frenchman,
who stood facing Lucas. What was Sharisse to him? The rage Lucas felt said it all.

“She’s my woman.”

“But you know I failed with her!”

“Only because of your wife’s interference. It was your motive, Gautier, that sickens me. To go after a woman because you want her is one thing, but to seduce her on a wager! Did she find out?”

“What?”

“Don’t push me, Gautier,” Lucas growled. “Did she know you pursued her over a bet?’

Antoine was too frightened to lie. “My wife did mention it in her presence, yes.”

“So she was humiliated as well as hurt.”

Lucas said it softly, so softly that Antoine was taken by surprise when he felt his nose break. He staggered back from the blow, falling into the bushes, clutching his face in agony.

“Please…” he moaned.

Lucas yanked him to his feet before he could finish. “Give this your best effort, pretty face, because I’m going to show you the same mercy you show your victims.”

Antoine did try, but there was never any question as to who would walk away the winner. Lucas was heavier, taller, in better shape, and furious enough not to care that it wasn’t a fair fight. He showed no mercy. Every punch was calculated to do as much damage as possible, especially to that pretty face.

It was over in a very few minutes, the Frenchman groveling on the ground, barely conscious. Lucas stood over him, wrapping a handkerchief
around his bloody knuckles. He was still churning with anger.

“You can thank your wife that all I did was rearrange your face,” Lucas said. “If you had succeeded with Sharisse, I might have killed you. But I don’t think you’ll have such an easy time winning your disgusting wagers now, Monsieur Gautier. Next time you look in a mirror, remember me.”

Lucas walked away, his stride quickening with a new anger. She had lied to him, lied about her age, her name, her supposed marriage. He recalled her reaction the day they were married. Surprise? Bullshit! She had panicked. That meant she’d had no intention of marrying him. It also meant that he had been torturing himself with guilt all these months over nothing. She’d undoubtedly been delighted to hear he didn’t want a wife, and even more delighted when he told her an annulment was possible. Hadn’t she left immediately? And where the hell had the money to leave come from? Was her being destitute also a lie? Was any part of Sharisse not a lie?

His anger had reached a dangerous level by the time Lucas arrived at his hotel. But he hid his feelings expertly as always. The desk clerk didn’t suspect at all as he handed him a letter. It was from Emery Buskett and had taken five months to reach Lucas.

Lucas waited until he was in his room before he opened the travel-worn letter. Anything that would take his mind off Sharisse, even for a few
moments, was welcome. The bottle in front of him was welcome, too.

Lucas read the letter one more time before he crumpled it and threw it across the room. So Sharisse was back home with her father. A runaway, not estranged, not destitute. Was there no end to the lies she’d deceived him with?