Wings of a Dove (54 page)

    "Wabash Avenue and Peck Court."

    James settled himself on the spotless velour upholstery, and the carriage jolted into motion. The elegant address Marsh had supplied had not really surprised him. James had made it his business to keep track of Marsh in the time since he had left the farm. Marsh's continued contact with Max Marshall until the editor's death had provided a flow of information about the success of his journalistic career. It was only after Marshall's death that James had learned that Delaney had also maintained contact with one of his less respectable associates in town. He supposed it gave Lil Trevor great pleasure to pass along information about Marsh's financial success now and again. They were, after all, birds of a feather.

    James frowned with a familiar resentment. He had long ago given up trying to understand the twists of fate that had continued to rain financial misfortune on him even as Marsh became more successful each year. He supposed the irony of it was never so clear as now, as he made his way in his worn Sunday best to the posh address of the prison boy to whom his family had once given a home. Still, he knew that Delaney's wealth would not bother him at all if it wasn't for Allie.

    But Allie loved him, of that James was certain. He had seen her change as the years passed, and he knew she had put Delaney Marsh behind her. She was his wife, and she had made a commitment to him. There was no way in the world Marsh would make her compromise that commitment.

    Impatience edged James's thoughts as the hack continued its steady pace through the crowded streets. Lifting his hat, James ran his fingers through his damp fair hair in an anxious gesture. The facilities on the train had been inadequate, and he was less     than fresh. He was also aware that he needed a haircut, that his clothes reflected the abuse of travel, and that the sleepless nights he had spent since receiving Marsh's wire had left visible marks of strain on his face. He was not at his best, and were he not so anxious to see Allie, he would not allow Marsh the advantage of seeing him this way. But he could delay no longer in seeing Allie. He needed to know she was all right, that she would soon be well. He needed to hold her in his arms and assure them both that whatever strange twist of fate had again touched their lives, she would soon return home with him.

    And when Allie and Margaret did return home, James was determined to work every waking hour of the day toward giving them the life they deserved, even though he did not fool himself that he could ever match the affluence Marsh was rumored to have attained. He consoled himself, however, with the knowledge that he offered Allie something Marsh was incapable of giving the security of love. He knew Allie had come to that same realization the day Sarah revealed that she, too, carried Marsh's child.

    The hot rage of hatred James had experienced in that moment of revelation, years ago, was still alive and strong within him. Knowing Allie, loving and understanding her, James knew she might one day forgive Marsh for what he had done. But she would never forget.

    The hot spring sun beating down on the stuffy carriage raised a flush of perspiration on James's brow, and he wiped it away with the palm of his hand. The carriage had turned onto a quiet tree-lined street of well-built, graceful homes. Low, elaborate iron railings separated the entrances from wide sidewalks shaded by new foliage, which lent a sweet scent to the air. It was serene and lovely, but James frowned as the driver drew the carriage to a halt.

    Withdrawing the fare from his pocket, James stepped down from the carriage, paid the driver, and picked up his suitcase. The carriage continued down the street as he crossed the sidewalk, pushed open the gate, and started up the stone steps toward the carved oak door.

    Taking the brass knocker in his hand, James rapped sharply. His gaze flicked over the gray-haired woman who opened the door, then rose toward the handsome, light-eyed man who had     paused on the staircase behind her to stare coldly in his direction. Returning his stare, James stated flatly, "I'm here to see my wife."

    The well- accoutered carriage that had followed James's hack down the street at a prudent pace drew to a halt a short distance away from Delaney's house. Leaning toward the window, Sybil felt a hand on her elbow as a low voice cautioned, "I thought you didn't want to reveal yourself in this surveillance, dear."

    Annoyed, Sybil jerked her arm from the man's grasp. "This is none of your affair, Harriman. I informed you of my intentions before I consented to lunch with you today, and I told you I would not accept your invitation if you had any intention of interfering."

    Harriman Bain's narrow, intelligent face moved into a faint smile. "You're correct, Sybil. It's to my discredit, I suppose, that I'm so much a fool over you that I'll agree to almost anything that will enable me to enjoy your company for a few hours, even something as foolish as helping you spy on an old lover."

    "Harriman, please!"

    "You know Delaney Marsh was your lover, and I know it. As a matter of fact, there are few people in our set who don't know about the affair, with the exception of your father. And the only reason he doesn't know is because no one has the courage to tell him."

    "It would make little difference to me if he did know."

    "It might make a difference to Marsh."

    "Never! Delaney isn't afraid of him. That's why Father dislikes him so."

    "Oh? I thought your father disliked him because Marsh all but accused him of being a hypocrite and a crook."

    "I don't want to discuss it! I'm interested in something else right now, and you're distracting me."

    Leaning his slender, perfectly tailored form forward, Harriman watched Delaney Marsh's front door as a fair-haired, commonly dressed fellow with a suitcase in his hand ascended the front steps. He turned back to Sybil's beautiful face, his jaded heart leaping in a way it did for no other woman. He supposed he would never completely understand his love for her. Sybil had been a willful, spoiled girl of fourteen when he had first    met her, but, six years her senior and considerably indulged by parents wealthy enough to make them social equals with the Davidsons, he had found her amusing. Her aggressive pursuit of life had often mirrored his own youthful experimenting, and he had experienced both admiration and unexpressed dismay as he listened to the tales of escapades she boastfully recounted only to him. His response to her confidences had earned him the position of friend and confidant, which had become the bane of his existence as his own wild youth had slipped away and he had begun to view the beautiful, desirable woman Sybil had become in a different light. But despite his most diligent attempts, he had been unsuccessful in persuading her to take him seriously. Totally subservient to his passion for her, he had temporarily accepted the role Sybil chose to foist on him, but not without considerable impatience and occasional irritability.

    Despairing once more at her malevolent chuckle, Harriman followed Sybil's gaze as she motioned toward the man standing at Delaney Marsh's front door.

    "Rather common-looking, wouldn't you say? You do know who he is, don't you?"

    "No, I don't. Nor do I care."

    Sybil gave him an impatient glance. "That fellow is the husband of Delaney Marsh's latest amour, the woman he found at that stupid train wreck and took home with him."

    "Sybil, really. You're making up a story to suit your own purposes. It's a well-established fact that the woman Marsh took into his home was injured in the wreck and is too ill to be moved."

    "No one will ever make me believe that's all there is to it! I know Delaney, and I saw the change in him the moment he stepped out of that woman's bedroom. You should have seen him! He told me to keep my voice down, and he propelled me down that staircase like… like"

    "Did it ever occur to you that you had gone too far by forcing your way into Marsh's house and attempting to oust his invited guest?"

    "Don't be a fool, Harriman! My behavior was high-handed and foolish, but I've been high-handed with Delaney before. Previously, my antics amused him, and I was able to get my way in spite of them. Under other circumstances, I would have

    been able to get out of the situation, but he was a different man that day. The look in his eyes when he came out of that woman's room was possessive, protective, almost fanatical! I think if I had taken one step closer, he would have dragged me away by the hair!''

    Harriman's smile bore an incredulous light. "Sybil, you amaze me. I would think you'd be humiliated to admit the fellow threw you out."

    Sybil hesitated, considering his remark. "I've never hidden anything from you. I suppose I've never felt the need. You're always on my side, and no matter how outlandish my antics, you never disapprove."

    "Oh, but I often do."

    "Well, you never show it."

    "That's because I love you, and I know it would alienate you to show you how jealous I am of your lovers."

    Sybil cast Harriman a slightly amused glance. "Take care, Harry, dear. One day I may decide to take you seriously, you know."

    "I wish you would."

    Her gaze lingered briefly on Harriman's pleasant face; then Sybil turned abruptly. "You're distracting me. Now, look at that fellow. What do you suppose he does for a living? He's from Michigan someplace. You don't suppose he's a farmer?"

    "A very honorable occupation."

    "Really, Harriman, be serious! Wait, look! The door is opening. It's Olga. It doesn't look like that old witch is going to let him in. Damn her, she'd better. The sooner he gets in, the sooner I'll be rid of that easy piece in Delaney's bed."

    Harriman shook his head, incredulous. "Think what you're saying, Sybil! You're one of Marsh's former lovers yourself, but you don't have the sense to see that he's finished with you. Now you've completely overstepped the bounds of accepted behavior by paying someone in his house to spy on him and report back to you."

    The polished oak door opened wide and the fellow on Delaney's doorstep stepped in. Releasing a satisfied breath as the door closed behind him, Sybil sat back and gave her companion her full attention as she spoke with a confident smile.

    "Well, it won't be long now until Delaney is free and missing

    me desperately. In any case, I'm sure I'll find out tomorrow exactly what happened from the moment that unappealing fellow stepped into the foyer." Sybil was obviously pleased. "You may tell your man to drive on, Harriman. I've suddenly developed quite an appetite for lunch."

    Suddenly serious, Harriman studied Sybil's beautiful face. "Must you always get your way?"

    "Yes."

    Harriman shook his well-groomed head. "I'm sometimes appalled by my complete fascination with you, Sybil. I've become so sensible in all other aspects of my life. You are quite ruthless, you know."

    "Perhaps." Sybil held his gaze. "But you've maligned me, unfairly in one respect, Harriman dear."

    "Have I?"

    "Yes. I can't take credit for hiring a spy in Delaney's household, when the truth is simply that the temporary maid Delaney's housekeeper hired is a busybody and fond of gossip. Neither can you hold me responsible for the coincidence that finds her using the same greengrocer my maid uses."

    "Coincidence! Sybil, you live miles from here!"

    Sybil lowered her heavily lashed eyelids seductively. "Well, perhaps I am responsible, then." As Harriman raised his eyes to the ceiling of the carriage in disbelief, Sybil slid her arm under his. "Anyway, I'm ravenous. We'll have a delicious lunch together, and a very entertaining time. You know I always enjoy myself when I'm with you, Harriman."

    Snuggling down at his side, extremely satisfied with herself, Sybil directed her gaze again toward the street as the carriage jerked into motion.

    Sybil's carriage turned the corner and disappeared from sight, and a small man discreetly hidden on the opposite side of the street heaved a sigh of relief. He turned his attention back to the stone facade of Delaney Marsh's home, slapping at an insect that buzzed annoyingly at his pockmarked cheek.

    He didn't like being in this part of town, and he was anxious to see this job come to an end. Sybil Davidson, nosy bitch that she was, was only making things harder by getting in his way, and he was glad to see the last of her for the day.

    The man who had gone into Marsh's house a few minutes ago was a stranger to him. The way he looked and walked made that fellow seem as out of place in this neighborhood as he was. Something was going on in Marsh's house, and it was only a matter of time until he found out what it was.

    Finding out was his job, and he was good at what he did.

    His gaze intense as James stepped into the foyer, Delaney felt the stir of old animosities. He knew instinctively that his feelings were returned in kind and that time and circumstance had changed little between them. This man could never be his friend.

    That thought causing him little regret, Delaney was acutely aware that this confrontation would be different from those in the past. James was now in his house, needing something from him. The reversal of their roles gave Delaney particular satisfaction, as did the realization that James would have to seek
his
goodwill now. Delaney's expression tightened with the silent acknowledgment that no goodwill would be forthcoming.