“Stop acting like a whipped dog.”
Byrony smiled for the first time. “Don’t you mean ‘bitch’?”
She turned to Maggie, whose eyes were narrowed on Brent’s face. “Thank you again.”
She wanted to laugh when, twenty minutes later, she crept silently into the house. No one was about. There was no one to see her. She went to her room, carefully removed Maggie’s clothes, and folded them away. She pulled a warm nightgown over her head and crawled into her bed.
She wondered if Ira and Irene were sleeping together on the other side of the adjoining door.
I’ve got to do something, she thought yet again.
The answer was so simple, really.
She pulled the covers to her chin and slept.
THIRTEEN
Byrony paused in the doorway of Ira’s study, then forced herself to pull the door quietly closed behind her and walk forward. She studied him a moment, seated behind his oak desk, before he saw she was there. He was reading a newspaper, totally absorbed. There was a quietness about him, a serenity that used to soothe her, calm her, just being in his presence. No more. Did she somehow imagine that he would look different? Now that she knew? But he didn’t, of course. His fair skin, pale blond hair, only two shades darker than his daughter’s, the beautifully sculptured aristocratic bones. An angel indeed, she thought. His hands had always drawn her admiration—long, narrow, the fingernails perfectly shaped. Gentle hands, hands that caressed his half-sister’s body. Oh, God.
“The idiots can’t really mean to do that,” Ira said to the newsprint. He sensed her presence then, and slowly began to fold the paper before he looked up. “How are you feeling, my dear?” he asked, rising from his chair. “You’re still looking just a bit pale. I was worried about you, you know.”
“I’m fine now, Ira. Thank you.” How very normal we both sound. She drew a deep breath and said, “I must speak with you, Ira.”
“Of course, my dear.” He was tired today, having dealt with labor disputes at the foundry the past two days. The last thing he wanted or needed was another damned household fight. “Here, sit down.”
“No, I don’t want to, really.” How many times during the past three days she’d gone over and over in her mind exactly what she’d say to him. He touched her hand, and she jerked away.
He frowned, but said nothing.
“Ira,” she said very calmly, “I know.”
He remained silent, his expression telling her nothing. He knew exactly what she meant, understood her perfectly, but he said, nonetheless, “What do you know, Byrony?”
“I know about you and Irene and Michelle.”
“I see.” It was over, and he felt an odd surge of relief, then a coursing of fear. They’d been so careful. Had Eileen said something? No, of course she wouldn’t. “May I ask how you know?”
“I saw you. Both of you, in your bed.”
There was distaste in her voice, and he suddenly hated her, wanted to strike her for despising something she could never understand. But of course he couldn’t hit her, he’d never struck a woman. His father had taught him very early that women were to be cherished, to be protected. Long-buried memories raced through his mind. His father and Irene’s mother were dead, killed in that unexpected winter storm. They were alone in the house, and his grief had overwhelmed him. Then Irene, only fourteen but so wise, had come to him. Held him. He’d not had many women in his twenty-eight years, and never a virgin. She’d given herself to him completely, suffering her virgin’s pain in silence, loving him. Forever, she’d whispered.
How odd, Byrony thought, looking at him closely. He still looks like an angel; even my new knowledge of him doesn’t change that. But she wasn’t blind to the pain in his eyes.
“May I ask what you intend to do?” he asked her, his voice polite, almost uninterested.
“I will do nothing. I will say nothing, if you will release me from this farce of a marriage and—”
His brief moment of relief was dashed, and his expression tightened into anger and distrust. “What is this ‘and’? For a blackmailer, there must be more.”
“You must continue to give my parents the same sum of money you are now sending them each month. It isn’t that I care about my father, but without the money, I imagine he would quickly turn on my mother. I don’t want her hurt.”
“That is all you want?” he asked as he turned away from her. Don’t trust her, he told himself.
“Yes, that is all.”
“What do you mean ‘release’?”
“I’ve thought about all the problems. I’m willing to leave San Francisco, willing to let it be believed that I deserted my husband and my child. Your secret will remain safe with me.”
He turned again to face her and she saw that he was thinking frantically. She could see it in his eyes.
“I’m not a blackmailer, Ira, but I would ask, though, that you give me, say, one hundred dollars. I don’t have any money, as you well know. I doubt I could get very far from San Francisco even if I sold all the clothes you’ve bought me. And I don’t think it wise for me to sell the necklace you gave me at Christmas. Someone might recognize it, perhaps wonder, and ask questions.”
“You have considered this carefully, I see.”
“Yes, I have. I’ve had nothing else to do for the past three days, save think. I do not wish you ill, Ira. It’s true that I do not understand your feelings for Irene, nor hers for you. But it is not for me to be your judge. There’s just one more thing, Ira. I fully intend to keep in touch with my mother. If I learn that you’ve stopped sending them money, I will ruin you.”
“I will think about it,” he said finally.
Byrony left the study without another word. She closed the door behind her and sagged against it. She was trembling with relief. What had she expected him to do? Scream at her, try to justify his relations with his half-sister? Ira, the consummate gentleman. God, it was over. She left the house and rode her mare to the ocean. It wasn’t raining, but there was a high wind, and she felt grains of sand whipped against her face, stinging her eyes.
It didn’t surprise her at all to see him there, astride his big Arabian stallion, still and alone.
“Hello, Brent,” she said, wishing the sight of him didn’t bring her such pain. His thick hair was tousled by the stiff ocean breeze, and his eyes roamed over her.
He said nothing for several moments, merely studied her face. “You are all right?”
“Yes, I’m fine. Just a bit of a cough left, but nothing more.” She climbed off Thorny’s back and walked to the edge of the water. Her booted foot crunched on a shell, and she leaned down to pick it up. She examined the pink striations with great concentration, fully aware that he was standing behind her.
She turned slowly. “I hoped you would be here. I wanted to thank you for taking care of me.”
“You gave me no choice. I couldn’t very well leave you in the mud.”
“No,” she said, smiling, “I don’t suppose you could.”
“You still aren’t going to tell me what happened, are you?”
“No. I can’t.”
Brent turned away from her, striking his riding crop against his thigh. He’d ridden out here for the past two days, like a damned fool. But he hadn’t been able to help himself. “Did you manage a believable lie for your dear husband?”
“I had several prepared, but no one saw me come in. No one even knew I’d been gone.”
“Don’t forget them. I’ll wager you’ll have need of them in the future.”
She said, surprised, “Why should I?”
He wanted to shake her. “When you take another lover, Mrs. Butler.”
She drew back her hand and slapped him hard.
Her head snapped when he slapped her back. She gasped, more in surprise at his action than in pain, though her cheek stung.
“Damn you,” he said, and jerked her into his arms. He kissed her fiercely, not a lover’s kiss, but a furious man�
��s punishment. She felt his hands in her hair, felt his lips gentle as they touched her jaw, her cheeks, her nose. He was devouring her. He was marking her.
Byrony stopped struggling. She felt his teeth nibbling on her lower lip, felt his tongue try to probe between her lips. “Open your mouth,” he said.
She did. He didn’t thrust his tongue into her mouth, or savage her, but slowly, and very gently, he entered her mouth, then withdrew, giving her time to get accustomed to him. Brent felt the exact moment she responded to him, and something deep within him stirred. She gave a small cry of surprise, then willingly pressed herself against him, rising on her toes to fit herself better against him.
I’ve gone mad, he thought. Utterly mad. He stopped kissing her, looking down at her parted lips, moist from him. She was trembling. She wanted him. At last. She opened her eyes, and he saw they were filled with disappointment that he’d stopped. Dreamy eyes.
“I want you, Byrony,” he said, pressing his mouth against her temple. “Not here. Tonight. Come to me tonight.”
The marvelous new sensations that had been crashing through her body abruptly stopped. She shook her head, trying to clear her mind.
“Say yes to me. I’ll give you pleasure, more pleasure than that old man you’re married to ever gave you. More than your other lovers.”
Tears stung her eyes. So many lies, so many deceptions. Very softly she said, “I’ve never had a lover.”
She saw the flash of disbelief in his dark eyes. So blue they were like midnight without a moon to lighten them. Eyes that mirrored his thoughts, at least in this moment.
“I’ve never had a lover,” she repeated.
His hands tightened on her shoulders. “I don’t want your lies. I don’t care if you’ve had a dozen other men. They don’t matter. All that matters is that I have you.” Suddenly he laughed deeply. She watched the muscles contract in his throat. “Shit, I wouldn’t care if you had the damned pox.”
“Stop it, Brent,” she said very calmly, very precisely.
She was stiff now, unyielding. He’d let her desire fade. Her eyes were clear, her expression unreadable.
“Let me go,” she said.
He dropped his hands. “Are you frigid, Mrs. Butler? Is your passion all an act? Or is your coldness an act? Do you like to tease men, make them crazy with lust before you let them take you?”
She raised her hand, but he grabbed her wrist in an iron grasp. “Be glad I stopped you, Byrony. I’m very close to taking you right here. The way I’m feeling right now, I seriously doubt you would enjoy it.”
Suddenly he jerked her hand downward and pressed her fingers against his sex. “Does that please you, Byrony, to feel how much I want you? Does it make you feel powerful?”
She was silent with shock. She felt him straining against her hand. A man. It felt hard, alive, dangerous, and terrifying. And so hot. She felt the heat of him through his clothes. Her fingers clutched inward, closing around him, and his moan shocked her.
He was panting, his whole body shaking with need. When she jerked her hand away, he managed to focus on her pale face, on her wide, uncomprehending eyes.
Another act, damn her. “Your hand is nice, Mrs. Butler, as I’m certain you’ve been told before. I would prefer your mouth, of course. Are you skilled with your mouth and that pink tongue of yours?”
“I don’t know,” she said. She had a sudden vivid image of her on her knees in front of him, taking that part of him into her mouth. How could she possibly do that? He’d felt so hard, so large, against her hand.
“It’s a quite acceptable way, as you know, to pleasure a man and avoid pregnancy. Perhaps you are not so skilled. I would be delighted to instruct you. Tonight, Byrony. I want you to come to me tonight. With all the lies you’ve prepared for your husband, it shouldn’t be so difficult.”
His words flowed over her. Why, she wondered, did she continually think about him, want to see him, be with him, when he did nothing but insult her? All he wanted from her was her body. He wanted nothing else. For an unwanted instant her body reminded her of the startling sensations he’d made her feel. Why not go to him before she left?
“I can’t,” she said, not in response to his words, but in answer to herself.
“I’m not a whore, Mr. Hammond.”
He grinned at her. “No, of course you’re not. Whores, my dear girl, are really quite honest.”
“I’m leaving San Francisco.”
Brent froze, undefined thoughts, feelings, and pain racing through him at her stark words.
“I suppose I wanted to see you one last time before I left. Why, I don’t know. Perhaps I just wanted to thank you again for helping me that night.” She shrugged. “Well, now it doesn’t matter.”
“Why did you come to me that night? Why?”
She said quite honestly, “Because for some inexplicable reason a part of me trusts you completely. I’m really quite a fool, I suppose. But you did help me, and I thank you for it. Now, good-bye, Mr. Hammond.”
“Why?” he yelled after her. “Why did you want to see me again? Not just to thank me, I know.” She paused a moment, but didn’t turn back.
He stood on the beach, the soothing sounds of the lapping waves in his ears, watching her climb onto her mare’s back. She never looked back.
“Where is she?”
“Eileen said she was eating dinner in her room. We needn’t worry about her. What are we going to do, Ira?”
“Have we a choice? She is willing to leave. I will divorce her quietly. Then we will be free, Irene. And our child.”
“Will we?”
He was arrested by the odd note of bitterness in her voice. “Of course. I believe Byrony.”
“Then you are a fool, Ira. Does she plan to return to her father’s house in San Diego?”
“She didn’t say, but I’m certain she won’t. She hates him, and Madison DeWitt, well, he’s an animal.”
“Just what do you think will happen when she runs through the money you’ll give her? Become a shopgirl? Make bonnets, for God’s sake?”
“She isn’t a bad girl, Irene,” he said patiently. “I know, love, that you’ve had problems, the two of you, but I’ve never seen her behave viciously or maliciously.”
“There will be talk, awful talk. You speak of a quiet divorce. It won’t be possible, Ira. We’ll be dragged through scandal.”
“You know as well as I that the woman is the one blamed. And Byrony will be seen as deserting not only me but also her child.”
“People will wonder why she left, and of course, she won’t be here to blame. I don’t like it, and unlike you, I don’t trust her. She will always be there, and we will always wonder and worry.”
Ira sighed deeply, and thrust his hands into his trouser pockets.
“We must protect Michelle.”
Ah, his baby. He would do anything to ensure that she was safe. Anything. “What are you saying, Irene?” he asked finally, meeting her eyes.
The jealousy she felt toward Byrony threatened to choke her. She couldn’t simply blurt out what she wanted to do to the little bitch. She was a threat. She would be a threat forever. She’d seen Ira softening over the months toward her. She’d been terrified that he would treat her as his wife indeed.
“She mustn’t leave,” Irene said.
“She will leave, Irene. She won’t stay here, not after—”
“I realize that.” She rose from her chair and walked into his arms. She rubbed her cheek against his shoulder, feeling the tension in his body begin slowly to ease. He hugged her to him, and she felt his desperation, his fear, his love.
“I think she should die.”
He shoved her away, his face pale with shock. “I am not a murderer,” he said.
“And when she spends the money, do you really believe she won’t return? Won’t continue to threaten us? Ira, for God’s sake, think of Michelle.”
“I am not a murderer,” he repeated.
She knew him well
, knew he wouldn’t change his mind. She wondered vaguely if she could cause Byrony’s death. He was gazing at her with something akin to horror in his eyes. She felt herself go pale, and quickly said, “No, no, of course neither of us could do it.” She threw herself against him and sobbed softly. “I’m so afraid, Ira. So very afraid.”
“I know, my darling, I know.”
I love him, she thought, but he is sometimes weak. I must protect what is ours. I must protect my child. “Ira,” she said, gulping down her sobs, “I think I know what we must do.”
That night, Brent lost nearly a thousand dollars to James Cora. He tried drawing to an inside straight, but couldn’t manage to bluff his way with the damned three of diamonds he’d been dealt. He drank steadily, and occasionally cursed vilely, for no particular reason that James Cora could see.
“My dear fellow,” Cora said, leaning back in his chair as Brent scraped up only about a hundred dollars from the center of the table. “Surely you could have won a bit more if you’d been paying the least attention. Three kings. Lord, I only had a pair of jacks. Colin over there was ready to go the limit with his queens and eights.”
“I’m a fool,” Brent said in the very precise voice of a man who’d drunk too much and was trying to act sober.
Cora laughed, lit one of his thick cigars. “Woman trouble, I’ll wager. No, don’t try to deny it. I’ve far too much experience, you know. Lord, what Belle hasn’t taught me.”
“She’s a bitch and a liar.”
“Ah. I trust you’re not referring to Belle? No, of course not. Do I have the pleasure of knowing this paragon?”
Brent got a belated hold on himself. “No, you don’t.”
“You lie as poorly as you’re playing tonight, old fellow. Look, one woman’s as good as the next. I’ll continue taking your money, but you really aren’t much sport. Go see your Celeste. When you plunge that sex of yours into her, just shut your eyes. You’ll see anything you want. Elephants, birds, anything.”
Brent grunted, and drank the rest of his whiskey.
“Keep swilling that rot, and you’ll barely be able to stiffen your tongue.”
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