Tender Is the Storm

by Johanna Lindsey

  When she arrived home and took off her hat and gloves, her father appeared at his study door.

  "I would like a word with you, Rissy."

  "Can't it wait, Father? Robert is taking me to a play tonight, and I don't have much time to get ready."

  "Then you should have finished your shopping sooner," he said disagreeably. "And it's about your recent purchases that I want to talk to you."

  Sharisse sighed and followed him into his sane turn. "You're not going to chastise me for spending too much, are you? It was only a few dresses, Fa­ther."

  "A few? I believe a dozen boxes were delivered here last week, and more arrive every day."

  "Well, the full bustle is becoming popular again. You can't expect me to make do with last year's fashions when they have changed so drastically. And besides, you've never begrudged me a good wardrobe."

  "That is not why I called you in here, Rissy. I don't care if you purchase a hundred new gowns. I just want to know who's paying for them."

  "Paying? Why, you are, of course."

  "Am I?"

  Sharisse frowned. "I don't understand."

  "I happened to be on Broadway this morning, in the midst of that infernal 'Ladies' Mile,' as you girls call it. I thought I would stop in at your dressmaker, as long as I was there, to settle your account. But the lady tells me your bill has been taken care of."

  "But how-?"

  "That's what I would like to know. She couldn't tell me anything except that a boy had come around with the money and said it was to take care of your bill. She assumed the money came from me, includ­ing a large tip."

  "It must be Joel seeing to Steph's gowns."

  Her father shook his head. "Your name was speci­fied by the errand boy."

  "Well, it must be a mistake then."

  He shook his head again. "I went to three other shops where I know you trade."

  Sharisse knew by his look. "They were paid up, too?"

  "Yes."

  She sat down next to his desk, thoroughly con­fused. "I don't know what to tell you. You know I never carry cash when I go shopping. Everything is charged to you. But if neither of us paid those bills, then who did?"

  "Robert?"

  "Certainly not! I barely know him. I wouldn't be seeing him at all if Joel and Steph hadn't kept pes­tering me about it."

  "I know he's a close friend of Joel's, so I thought . . . You haven't been seeing anyone else, have you?"

  "Father, really! Are you suggesting I'm some man's mistress?"

  He cleared his throat uncomfortably. "No, of course not. But you apparently have a generous ad­mirer, although his approach is certainly unusual. Who could it be?"

  "I've met several gentlemen recently who are new in town, but none impressed me as showy or extrava­gant. No, I can't imagine anyone I know doing this. It's intriguing, though. Those bills you mentioned weren't for trifling amounts."

  "Your bills never are, my dear."

  She ignored that. "It is an unusual way to bestow a gift. Flowers or trinkets could be returned, but I'm not going to give back my new clothes after all the time I spent in fittings. I hope you will have cash available so that I can give the money back when I find out who this man is."

  "Why don't you let me handle that. I don't like the idea of a stranger paying for your necessities. Buying you little gifts to win your favor is one thing, but paying your bills is downright auda­cious. It must be a foreigner. They have funny ways of doing things."

  Sharisse grinned at his conclusion. "Well, who­ever it is, I'm sure he will reveal himself soon enough. Now I really must go and get ready, Father.

  Will you be going to your club tonight? I hate to think of you being at home alone."

  "Don't you worry about me. I think I'll wait up for you, just in case you learn anything this eve­ning."

  Chapter 38

  THE first act of the play was already in progress when she and Robert arrived at the Academy of Music on the east side of Union Square. Its plain ex­terior, next to the more impressive Tammany Hall, failed to prepare one for its lovely interior. Balls were held there, as well as operas and amateur the­atrical performances like the play that night.

  Carriages lined the street, but not everyone was there for the play. Across the street couples strolled in the square or took advantage of the benches en­closed by grass and foliage. Mornings and afternoons would find the benches and walks crowded with white-capped nurse maids and children, idlers from the tramp to the overcome tippler, and pedestrians seeking the quiet shelter of trees in that "bit of coun­try in town." At night, lamps hung from the trees gave one a cozy, sequestered feeling. At night it was a place for lovers.

  Sharisse didn't know why she was gazing at it with such longing as she entered the Academy on Robert's arm. Robert certainly didn't tempt her. Oh, he was attractive enough with his light brown hair and blue eyes, and attentive enough. And he made it clear that he wanted to be far more than just as es­cort. But if she were going to take a lover, she would want someone taller, darker, a little wider in the shoulders, more like . . .

  She cleared her mind of annoying thoughts and tried to concentrate on the performance. It worked for a while, but then her ring caught her eye, the large peridot surrounded by brilliants that matched her necklace and earrings. She had done it again, au­tomatically chosen those jewels to wear tonight, just as she had chosen them for every formal occasion she had attended since her return to New York. Pearls would have looked better with the new silver-gray gown, or even her emeralds. But the large oval peri­dots were exactly the right color, with just enough yellow to make it seem that a fire was banked in their depths—just like his eyes.

  Why couldn't she forget him? A year had passed, a whole year since she'd seen Lucas Holt, yet his image rose in her mind as clearly as if she'd seen him only yesterday.

  "Sharisse! I thought that was you!"

  She looked up to see Sheila Harris squeezing through the crowd to get to her. The intermission lights were on, and most of the audience was heading for the lobby. Robert excused himself to do the same, and Sheila sat down in his seat. She looked excep­tionally colorful in a dark blue gown with gold bril­liants running through the bodice. Sheila never conformed to fashion modes, but she always looked beautiful no matter what she adorned herself with.

  At the moment, her blue eyes were wide with curi­osity, and she leaned forward as soon as Robert was well out of hearing. "Whatever are you doing with him?"

  "Hello, Sheila," Sharisse grinned. "It's nice to see you, too."

  "Oh, yes, hello," Sheila said impatiently.

  "We missed you today."

  /'Today? Oh, no! Was it today I was supposed to meet you and Carol? I forgot. You will forgive me, won't you?"

  "Of course." Sheila never failed to amuse Shar­isse.

  "Well? Answer me about Robert."

  Sharisse shrugged. "Robert has been my escort for some time. You know that. You see me with him all the time."

  "I know. I didn't mean it that way. I only thought . . . well. . . why would you be with Robert now that he's back?"

  "He? Make sense, Sheila."

  "Don't play coy with me, Sharisse." Sheila nar­rowed her gaze. "I behaved like a perfect fool when I met him, and it's all your fault. I was just so sur­prised that I was speechless—and you know I've never been speechless in my entire life."

  "Sheila, if you don't explain yourself this minute!" Sharisse warned in exasperation.

  "It was completely unfair of you to give me so little warning. I begged you for details, and all you told me was 'he's different.' Now if that isn't an understate­ment! 'Different!' He's gorgeous. Why didn't you just say so?"

  Sharisse sat back, shaking her head. It wasn't pos­sible.

  "You say you met . . . him. When?"

  "Last night, at the Stewarts' soiree. Donald intro­duced us. You know Donald."

  "Yes, yes, the man you've been seeing, I know Donald. Get on with it, Sheila."

&n
bsp; Sheila continued, and Sharisse prayed she wouldn't ask why she wasn't in touch with Lucas. "Well, Don­ald didn't associate his name with you and only in­troduced him as Mr. Holt. Of course, how many Holts do we know? I simply had to ask him right out if he was your husband. I didn't expect him to be, not after your careless description of him. You can imagine how surprised I was when he said yes,"

  "What . . . what else did Lucas say?"

  "Well, not much. He's not much of a talker, is he? I asked him about his ship." Sharisse looked upset, and Sheila asked anxiously, "What's wrong?"

  "Nothing. Go on." -

  "I asked about his ship and if his trip to the Orient was successful, but he was awfully evasive. And of course I asked why you weren't with him, and he said you weren't feeling up to it. But you must be better, or you wouldn't be here tonight with . . .oh, dear. He asked a lot of questions, mostly about Robert."

  "What? You told him about Robert?"

  "/didn't tell him," Sheila said in a wounded voice. "I assumed you already had, since he knew Robert's been escorting you recently. He wanted to know what Robert was like, but I couldn't tell him much since I only returned to the city two months ago, and before I went away you were still upstate with your aunt. But your husband certainly was curious about Robert. I suppose that's only natural, though, with him being away on business for so long. Such a long separation wasn't an ideal way to begin a marriage, but it couldn't be helped, could it?"

  "What?" Sharisse could barely think at all.

  "Will he be around for a while now before he has to leave on another voyage? I did wonder how you could marry a ship's captain, even if he did own his own ship, but I can certainly understand why now! He might be away for long periods, but when he's at home, oh, I do envy you."

  Sharisse heard herself blurting, "I ... I don't know when he is leaving again, Sheila. We . . . ah, we haven't got around to discussing that yet."

  "But where is he now?"

  "Busy," Sharisse snapped, then quickly smiled and said casually, "Just because he's home doesn't mean I get to monopolize his time. He has a lot of business to take care of. Things that were neglected while he was away."

  "Is that why you're with Robert?"

  "Yes. And now I really must go and see what's keeping him," she said firmly.

  She rose to leave, but her friend grabbed her arm.

  "What about your sister's party this Saturday? Surely you can get your husband to take you to that. After all, who among our friends has met him be­sides me?"

  Oh, no! "I don't know, Sheila. We'll just have to wait and see," Sharisse muttered, desperate to get away.

  She found Robert as quickly as she could and asked to be taken home immediately, using the throbbing headache she was fast developing as a le­gitimate excuse. She hardly said a word to him on the way home and left him with a quick, distracted good-bye. Mrs. Etherton met her in the foyer and took her cloak and gloves, worrying over Sharisse's pinched expression.

  "Where is my father, please?"

  The housekeeper sniffed disapprovingly and said stonily, "In the kitchen, miss."

  "Raiding again?" Sharisse grinned.

  "I believe so, miss."

  Sharisse was still grinning as she went to find her father. She liked to think of him upsetting the ser­vants by entering their domain. It was so like him. She found him alone in the kitchen, a cold chicken and a loaf of bread before him on the kitchen work table. Well, he wasn't quite alone. In the corner was Clarissa, the cream-colored female cat it had taken Sharisse weeks to find after she got home. Clarissa was suckling her litter of three. And there was Charley, never far from his little family, curling his way around Marcus's feet. Sharisse was astonished to hear her father say, "Damned cat. I suppose you want some of this?"

  "Why, you old softy!"

  Marcus jumped, turning around to glare at her. "I'm too old to be startled like that!"

  "I'm sorry." She sat down near the work table and picked up a piece of chicken.

  He eyed her curiously. "You're back early. Did you find out who your secret admirer is?"

  "No. Well. . . maybe. Oh, I might as well tell you right out and see what yo u can make of it. Sheila was at the Academy, and she told me she met Lucas last night at the Stewarts'."

  "Lucas? You mean . . . Lucas?"

  "Yes."

  "Well, well, isn't this interesting."

  "Alarming is more like it. Couldn't it be someone else pretending to be Lucas?" Sharisse asked hope­fully. But she knew it couldn't be, not with Sheila's adoring description.

  "What did you tell her?" her father asked.

  "I couldn't very well tell her that I didn't even know he was here. How would that look? But she did have one thing to say about him," she added testily. "She thought he was gorgeous."

  "What kind of way is that to describe a man?" Mar­cus asked.

  "Sheila's way. She found him quite attractive," she said nastily.

  "As I recall, you did, too. All right, let's assume this man is your husband. He's here. What are you going to do about it?"

  "I'm not going to do anything," she said flatly. "I'm certainly not going to see Lucas."

  "You may have to, my dear. I can't very well deny him access to this house if he demands to see you. He is still your husband. He might not have been aware of that fact when he arrived here, but he's obviously found it out. And he's also made sure that you are aware of his rights as your husband."

  "What do you mean?"

  "He paid for your purchases. I doubt that was sim­ply a matter of owning up to his obligations. I would call it an extravagant message. A message to you."

  "In other words he wants me to know that if he wants to play the role of my husband, he can?"

  "Exactly."

  "I don't know, Father. Lucas is more straight for­ward than that. He would just barge right in here and-"

  "Then why hasn't he?"

  "Oh, how should I know what's on his mind!"

  "I'm sure you can guess. He's going to want to know why you're still married, Rissy. Are you going to tell him?"

  "No," she replied adamantly, "absolutely not."

  "Then you better think of something pretty soon, because I don't think it'll be much longer before you meet Lucas Holt again."

  Chapter 39

  SHARISSE was just finishing lunch when her sister came into the dining room, moving faster than Sharisse had seen her move in a long time, though slowly by any normal standards. Stephanie, five months pregnant, was barely showing yet, but from the moment she'd learned of her condition, she'd begun to pamper herself, just as their mother had done. No matter how often Sharisse tried to tell her it would be healthier if she wouldn't treat herself like an invalid, her younger sister wouldn't listen.

  Today Stephanie was downright animated as she made a quick glance around the room to be sure she and Sharisse were alone.

  "What brings you here, Steph? I'd have thought you'd be riding roughshod over your servants all day in preparation for your party tonight."

  "Honestly, Rissy, wherever did you pick up such funny expressions? 'Roughshod' indeed." Stephanie sat down, making an elaborate show of getting com­fortable before she said, "Father isn't in the house, is he?"

  "On a Saturday? You know he always has lunch with your father-in-law on Saturdays."

  "I just wanted to make sure. I wouldn't want him to overhear this."

  "I don't keep secrets from Father anymore, Steph."

  "You didn't tell him about my part in—"

  Sharisse hastened to calm her. "No, no, relax. But I have nothing to hide from him now, anyway."

  "Not even that Lucas Holt is in New York?"

  Stephanie believed she was delivering monumen­tal news, and her face fell as Sharisse said, "We know that."

  "You do? Well good heavens, why didn't someone tell me? I had to hear it from Trudi today. She heard it from Barbara Stewart, and you know what Bar­bara-?"

  "I get the picture, Steph," Shar
isse cut in dryly. "I think Sheila is making sure everyone knows. She met him, you see. At the Stewarts'."

  "Well?"

  "What?"

  Stephanie waved her hands impatiently. "Well, what's he doing here?"

  "I don't know."

  Stephanie was reaching the boiling point. "You're just not going to tell me, are you?"

  "I'm not hiding anything from you, Steph. I really don't know why Lucas came here. I haven't seen him."

  Sharisse wouldn't admit how vexed she was that Lucas hadn't come to see her. What did he mean by playing this hide-and-seek game with her?

  "I thought I heard my girls," Marcus called as he walked into the room.

  Sharisse was surprised to see him. "Didn't you have lunch with Edward?"

  "I cut it short. Something came up. And what brings you here, my dear?" he asked Stephanie, giv­ing her a kiss.

  "I needed a breath of fresh air. All the cleaning going on at our house, you know. Will you be coming to my party tonight, Father?"

  "Heavens, no. That's for you young people. I'll be spending the evening at my club."

  "Well, I really should get back and see how things are going," Stephanie said, reluctant to leave.

  "If you hurry, my carriage should still be out front. It can take you home, Stephanie."

  Sharisse groaned. "You're as bad as she is, Father. Her house isn't a block away. She needs the exer­cise."

  "Nonsense, Rissy," Stephanie said cheerily as she hoisted herself up to go. "It never hurts to be care­ful."

  When they were alone again, Sharisse chided her father, "You shouldn't encourage her."

  "I know. But right now she reminds me so of your mother. You certainly didn't. All the way to the end you acted as if nothing special was happening."

  "I was fortunate. Someone once showed me . . . oh, never mind. What interrupted your lunch?"

  "This was delivered to the restaurant." He dropped a folder on the table. "I've been waiting for it for two days. It's a report on your husband."

  "You didn't!"

  "Of course I did. He's staying at the Fifth Avenue Hotel and has been for a little over a month."

  "That long? But that's a luxury hotel. Where is he getting the money? I wonder if he sold his ranch?"