Wings of a Dove (52 page)

    The frantic drive to his home was a nightmare, but Dr. Willis had been at Allie's bedside within minutes. The next few hours passed in a blur, and he lived a lifetime as he waited for Allie to awaken from her unnatural sleep.

    During that time he thought very little about the child who clung so tenaciously to her mother's bedside. He felt nothing for her beyond a mild sense of relief when Dr. Willis examined her, found her miraculously uninjured, and concluded that her limp was due to a hip problem that was not related to the wreck.

    Allie's whimper brought Delaney's thoughtful meanderings to an abrupt halt. She moved in her sleep, and Delaney stepped closer to her bedside and crouched beside her. A multitude of memories flooded his mind as he stroked her cheek. It was strange how the years of separation seemed to slip away now that she was here, close to him again. He had never been able to strike from his mind the texture and fragrance of Allie's skin,

 the purity of feature that was exclusively hers. Gently brushing a few pale strands of hair away from the dressing on her forehead, he reaffirmed in his mind that there was no match for the pale silk of her hair, in color or texture, just as he knew there was no match for Allie in any way at all.

    He sought the physical changes that years had wrought, but he could find few differences. Maturity had touched Allie lightly. She was still slight, her frame as delicate as that of the child he had held in his arms years earlier. The planes of her cheeks were more clearly defined by the years in a way that simply added to the grace of their line, and the light brows and the fan of lashes, which lay on her skin, subtly complimented her fragile appeal. The years had refined Allie's delicacy, and the pallor, the "lack of color" Allie had despised, had become the gossamer luster of a rare, unconventional beauty. It was a beauty that would go unacknowledged by some, but which he had seen in her from the first moment of their meeting. It had torn at his heart years ago, and it tore at it still.

    Allie's breast rose and fell in a gentle natural sleep as Delaney trailed his hand along the rise of her cheek, the line of her jaw, the slender column of her neck. His fingertips rested lightly on the spot where the narrow lace edging on the oversized sleeping garment Miss Hatcher had furnished met Allie's throat. He paused in his caress when the glimmer of silver around her neck met his eye. He stiffened.

    His heart began a rapid pounding as he turned the lace down with trembling fingers, then jerked back from contact with the familiar chain as if he had been burned.

    Drawing himself to his feet, Delaney took a step back, self-anger transfusing his mind. What was the matter with him? Allie was no longer a child. She was a grown woman, married to another man and mother of another man's child. She had changed, and so had he. It made little difference that she still wore the medal he had given her. That was part of a past that was irrevocably lost.

    Jerking spasmodically in her sleep, Allie gave a low gasp. As if in the throes of a frightening dream, she moved once more, but the effort seemed to cause her pain and she trembled visibly.

    Fear replacing the anger that had filled his mind only seconds before, Delaney crouched at her side. Uttering soft words of    consolation, he drew her close, curving his arms as tightly around her as he dared. Leaning toward her, he pressed his cheek to hers, allowing the warmth of his presence to still her unconscious fears.

    The past was dead and gone, but the memory lingered, and he could not deny that Allie had touched him in a way no other woman ever had or ever would. She was with him now, and he would take care of her until she was well. He owed her that.

    Allie's tormented shaking had ceased, but Delaney did not draw away. A smile touched his lips as he again stroked her cheek. Allie had always felt safe in his arms. Much had changed between them, but that had not.

    Her lips twitching with suppressed anger, Sybil strummed her fingers impatiently on the velour seat beside her. Through the carriage window she looked at the early morning streets as her lumbering conveyance made its way at an unbearably slow pace along Wabash Avenue. She had risen at an ungodly hour with the specific purpose of speaking to Delaney at home before he left for the office. She had no intention of confronting him anywhere near the
Tribune
building where he had embarrassed her so dreadfully three days before.

    Her tender sensibilities still outraged, Sybil fumed with renewed heat as she recalled the way Delaney had turned his back and abruptly dismissed her from his mind at the first mention of the train wreck. And then he had turned her over to that popeyed, red-haired adolescent to be delivered home like some unwanted baggage! As if that was not enough, Delaney had left her to stew in her own fury for three days, during which he had not even attempted to apologize!

    Her anger and disappointment at Delaney's boorishness and the cancellation of the lovely afternoon she had intended they would spend together had finally begun to fade as she dressed for Harriman Bain's party the previous night. She began to mellow, recalling that she had always forgiven Delaney his minor transgression, and thinking that things would change after she managed to maneuver him into marriage. The rumor that reached her ears during the party, however, was the last straw. She'd be damned if she'd be dropped for some unknown woman he had    picked up at the train wreck and taken home with him! It was humiliating!

    With a furious sweep of her hand, Sybil smoothed her raven locks and adjusted the guinea fowl plume on her stylish Windsor hat. Delaney was a fool! Didn't he realize whom he was tossing aside for some common wench? Sybil gave a short, angry nod. Well, if he didn't, she intended to make sure he did!

    All but twitching as the carriage turned onto Peck Court, Sybil drew herself stiffly erect. She was well aware she looked lovely in her striking royal blue wool gown and matching wrap, that the shade deepened the azure hue of her eyes and complemented her vibrant coloring. She knew she far surpassed the other women on her social level in natural beauty, good taste, and cultivated grace, and she was certain she would outshine the cheap trollop Delaney had taken to his bed. She was also determined to dispense with the woman once and for all!

    The shadow of a smile touched the outer corners of her lips as Sybil added a well-considered postscript to that thought. She would then forgive Delaney but when the time was right, she would make him pay.

    The carriage drew to a halt before the stone facade of Delaney's home, and Sybil made a last-minute check of her appearance as her driver opened the door. With a short admonition for him to wait for her, she stepped down onto the sidewalk and stalked toward Delaney's door. Olga responded to her sharp knock. The old Dowd’s startled expression might have amused her under other circumstances, but her agitation allowed no reaction but annoyance.

    "Is Mr. Marsh at home, Olga?"

    "Yes, he is, Miss Davidson, but he"

    "You needn't tell him I'm here. I'll let myself up."

    Brushing past the flustered woman, Sybil walked directly to the staircase and climbed to the second floor. She was familiar with the location of Delaney's bedroom, and she intended to become even more familiar with it, as well as with the remainder of Delaney's adequate but entirely unappealing bachelor residence. She had already formulated in her mind the changes she would make in the decor after they were married. She would turn it into a showplace.

    But first things first.

    Stepping onto the second floor landing, Sybil headed for the master bedroom at the end of the hall, only to be startled as a door on her left opened unexpectedly.

    "What are you doing here, Sybil?"

    Stepping stiffly into the hallway, Delaney pulled the door closed behind him. Sybil was startled by his appearance. He did not look at all like a man who was enjoying a three-day romp with a woman of questionable virtue. Quite the contrary. He had never looked more intense. He was casually clad in an open-necked shirt and trousers tailored to the exact measurements of his impressive lower portion, and Sybil's heart gave a little leap at the sheer masculinity he exuded. His handsome face was sober and a bit drawn, with shadows apparent underneath his clear eyes. A shock of black hair hung forward on his forehead, as if he had run his fingers through it with an anxious hand. Jealousy surged anew within Sybil at the thought that it might not have been Delaney's hand that had caused the disarray.

    "I've come to see you, Delaney." Forcing a smile, Sybil attempted to close the gap between them, but Delaney held her back with his arm.

    "I'm not in the mood for visitors. If I were, I would have extended an invitation, Sybil. I did not extend one to you."

    "Oh, did you not!" Enraged, Sybil glanced at the doorway through which Delaney had just emerged. "if rumor is correct, it wasn't necessary to extend an invitation to the guest you're hiding in that room. It's my guess that
she
usually extends the invitations especially to men! Really, Delaney, I'm disappointed in you! You needn't have resorted to a common woman you found at the train wreck for company. I'm certain I could do as much for you as she and much, much more."

    "Keep your voice down, Sybil."

    Glancing again toward the doorway behind him, Sybil felt a slow flush rising to her cheeks. "Why? Does your ladybird resent being awakened early? That's unfortunate, because it's time she was pushed out of the nest!"

    "And who's going to do the pushing, Sybil? You?"

    "If necessary!" Sybil turned toward the door, but Delaney grabbed her arm roughly. Almost lifting her off her feet with the strength of his grip, he turned her forcibly toward the staircase

    and started down, dragging her behind him. Halting at the front door where Olga still stood, openly staring, Delaney glared heatedly into Sybil's flushed face.

    "I think it's time for me to make myself perfectly clear to you, Sybil. The situation is as follows. This is my house. I invite those whom I choose to invite into it, and I invite those whom I choose to invite into my bed as well. The lady in the room upstairs is here at my invitation, and you are not. She will stay as long as I wish her to stay, whereas you are leaving right now!"

    "You're making a mistake, Delaney." Jerking her arm in an attempt to free herself from his grasp, Sybil was tight-lipped with fury as he threw open the front door. "You'll regret your treatment of me."

    Delaney's response was a brief, infuriating laugh that did not touch his eyes as he moved her out onto the doorstep with a firm, unyielding thrust. "Perhaps I will, but I doubt it very sincerely. Good-bye, Sybil."

    Humiliation, rage, and an almost overwhelming desire to cry robbing her of words as Delaney closed the door in her face, Sybil whirled to face the street. Raising her chin, she made no effort to look around for witnesses to her debasement as she descended the front steps at a carefully controlled pace. Walking directly to the carriage that awaited her, she didn't bother to assess her driver's expression as she ordered imperiously in a slightly quaking voice, "Take me home, Barnes."

    Holding herself rigidly erect, the stain of humiliation still coloring her face, Sybil vowed her revenge.

    Delaney turned away from the door, his anger apparent as he met his housekeeper's apprehensive gaze.

    "I'm sorry, Mr. Marsh," Olga said. "I wasn't expectin' I mean, the lady pushed right past me!"

    Ignoring the woman's halting apology, Delaney responded in an ominously low voice. "Miss Davidson is no longer welcome in this house. If she appears unexpectedly again as she did today, you have my permission to tell her so and close the door in her face. Under no circumstances will I suffer her entrance. Is that understood?"

    "Yes, sir."

    Turning away from his housekeeper, Delaney started back up the staircase. He took a deep, steadying breath in an effort to control his anger at Sybil's denigrating remarks about Allie, and her supreme presumption in entering his house and attempting to eject one of his guests. It would never have occurred to Sybil that a man could prefer another woman to her. He had been amused by her antics for a short time when he first met her, and his amusement and her considerable expertise in more intimate matters had kept him pleasantly entertained. But he was tired of her conceit, her snobbishness, and her maneuvering. Most of all, he was tired of her. He was fairly certain he had gotten that message across to her. He hoped he had.

    Dismissing Sybil Davidson from his mind as easily as he had closed the door behind her, Delaney experienced the return of the anxiety that had been his constant companion since Allie had reentered his life. After three days, Allie still had not regained full consciousness. It was too long. That thought had prompted him to summon Dr. Philip Selby, a renowned specialist in head injuries, the previous day. After a brief visit, Dr. Selby confirmed Dr. Willis's assessment of Allie's condition. She was mending slowly and would regain full consciousness when the pressure of her concussion lessened enough to allow it.

    It could not be soon enough.

    His dark brow knitting in a frown, Delaney took the last three steps to the second floor and stood staring at the closed door of Allie's room. The house was quiet. Margaret had not yet awakened, and Miss Hatcher, who had been on duty through the night, had gone home. The day nurse had not yet arrived. He had planned it that way so that he could spend some time with Allie alone. He had had little opportunity for such a luxury since the night he brought her home.