Forever, For Love

by Becky Lee Weyrich

  “Pandora, I’m sorry.” Ward sounded truly sincere. “I won’t mention it again… ever. I want you to enjoy your stay in New York. And I think it’s high time we began this adventure.” He offered his arm and a warm, pleading smile. “Shall we, Miss Sherwood?”

  After only a moment’s hesitation, she took his arm and smiled up into his dazzling, dark eyes. “Indeed, Mr. Gabriel, lead the way.”

  By the time they arrived downstairs, the sun was peeking through the clouds and the rain had stopped.

  “What first, Pandora? Madison Square Garden? Trinity Church? The Statue of Liberty? Or shall we take a hansom cab up Fifth Avenue and have high tea with the Vanderbilt clan?”

  Pandora laughed at his exuberance. “My parents were on quite good terms with the Roosevelts and the Clintons, but I’m afraid I’ve never been introduced to the Vanderbilts. New money, you know!” Then turning serious, she said, “You know what I’d really like to do?”

  “You have only to name it.”

  “I’d like to walk through Madison Park. I played there as a child. My mother used to take me on sunny days, but I haven’t been back in years. Somehow, I could never bring myself to go there alone.”

  The six-acre expanse of green, with its shady walks, marble statuary, and comfortable benches, lay directly across Fifth Avenue from the hotel. Pandora entered the place, feeling a rush of nostalgia. It seemed that nothing had changed since she last walked this very path over ten years before. She led Ward to the imposing statue of Admiral Farragut.

  “This was new the last time I was here. Let’s see, that must have been 1881,” she told him, staring up at a cluster of pigeons seated on the Civil War hero’s broad shoulders. “Augustus Saint-Gaudens did the statue and Stanford White the base.”

  Ward shuddered slightly. “It looks like a tomb. I hope he’s not buried there.”

  Pandora laughed at his reaction. “I don’t think so. But he might be. Actually this whole park was originally the city’s first cemetery for paupers.”

  Ward gave another shiver, thinking that at this very moment he might be standing atop the remains of some poor, destitute Dutchman.

  “How do you know so much about this place, Pandora?” He took her arm, gently leading her out of the park that seemed to him to be haunted by Pandora’s memories and the ghosts of New Amsterdam’s poor.

  “My mother came from New York. She was born and raised in a house on Twentieth Street. She always loved to roam the city. She took me almost everywhere.”

  “You were a lucky child. I never knew my mother.”

  “I’m sorry, Ward,” Pandora said gently.

  “Enough sad talk!” he boomed, smiling broadly again. “We are supposed to be having a grand outing. I say it’s time we got on with it.”

  “Oh, yes!” Pandora enthused. “I want to see it all! We’ll cover every step from the Bowery to the Bronx!”

  Ward had to laugh at her passion. He only wished he could stir her to such heights of enthusiasm. He guessed that only his floral and poetic bribes and Jacob Saenger’s permission had given him access to this special woman. He supposed he’d have to be satisfied with escorting her for the short time he had. He wasn’t about to stoop to stealing another’s fiancé. He had given himself several stern lectures already on that subject.

  Jacob, my boy, he thought with a wry smile, unfortunately for me, you can rest easy!

  The sun went behind the clouds and a chill wind whipped about them. Pandora leaned close to Ward. “Br-r-r! I’m cold. Let’s get inside. There’s a nice tavern in the hotel. I can show you the paintings of Franconi’s Hippodrome, the circus that once stood where the hotel is now.”

  Ward steered her instead toward Broadway. “I have a far more exotic idea. Have you ever been to the Hoffman House, Pandora?”

  She stopped dead in her tracks and stared up at him. “The Hoffman House? Ward, you can’t be serious!”

  His eyes twinkled with merriment, going almost black with some change of emotions. “They have a painting, too.”

  “So I’ve heard!” Pandora answered curtly. Then she glanced right and left, grinned up at him, and whispered, “But I’ve never seen it. Do we dare?”

  “My dear young woman! These are the 1890s! If you can’t have a respectable glass of mulled wine in a respectable tavern with an even more respectable escort, then I simply don’t know what this country’s coming to. Let’s go!”

  Eyes cut surreptitiously to examine the handsome young couple as they entered the popular watering hole on Broadway. Even at this early hour, the Hoffman House was crowded—mostly with men, but a few women were sprinkled about in the taproom. Women of Abbie Allen’s ilk, Pandora was sure.

  Ward led Pandora to a dark back corner. Ordinarily, she would have objected, but not here. She wanted to be a discreet distance from the bar and the infamous attraction that hung over it. Jacob would have heart failure if word got back to Galveston of such a daring escapade.

  “Well?” Ward whispered. “What do you think of it?”

  “It’s very nice—warm, cozy, clean,” she answered, knowing full well that wasn’t what he’d meant.

  “Not the place. You know!” He motioned with one hunched shoulder toward the bar and the gaudily magnificent frame hanging over it.

  Pandora reddened slightly and put one gloved hand up to shield her eyes. Slowly, she turned her head toward the bar. She squinted and peered through a crack between her fingers, seeing at first only a blur of pastels inside the gilt frame. She moved her hand and opened her eyes a little wider.

  “My God, Ward!” she gasped, swinging quickly away from the tavern’s main attraction—Bouguereau’s painting of a naked nymph frolicking with a group of amorous satyrs.

  Pandora covered her mouth with her hand to stifle a giggle of embarrassment. What had come over her? She had not only seen nude portraits before, she had painted them herself. Some of her best works were her plump, naked cherubs. Even now, they hung in the rooms of the Sherwood mansion in Galveston. Of course, they were discreetly covered with lace curtains whenever guests came to call. No such curtains protected the modesty of Bouguereau’s frolicsome nymph.

  Her reaction was more that of a naughty child than a mortified Victorian lady. Pandora could feel no real embarrassment while Ward Gabriel sat across the table from her, stifling a laugh.

  A giggle escaped. In trying to suppress it, she choked. Ward started to pound her back, then thought better of it.

  “Here, drink this!” He handed her a glass of mulled wine.

  She took a sip, then coughed more.

  “Don’t drown in it! Drink it!”

  Pandora downed the rest of hers and then drank Ward’s. Her head felt light. She was suddenly warm all over.

  “You know,” she said thickly, “I’ve always thought that the life of an artist who paints scandalous pictures like that one must be exciting.”

  Ward could hardly keep a straight face. “For whom? The artist or the model?”

  She shook her head and gazed up at him, trying to make her eyes focus properly. Strong wine! she thought. Then she grinned and said, “I don’t know. Maybe one of these days I’ll try it.” She leaned close and whispered, “I’ll let you know afterward whom it excited!”

  Ward said nothing. He was too amazed to come up with a quick reply.

  Pandora, staring at the painting, went on in an oddly husky voice. “I’ve always thought it might be fun to run away to Paris and become an artist. I’d have wonderful adventures and many, many lovers.”

  “Of course,” Ward replied, still fighting to keep a straight face.

  Pandora went on to tell Ward of her art studies and her plans to continue her painting while in Paris. Her enthusiasm cooled as she said, “Of course, once I’m married, I’ll have to confine my subject matter to bowls of fruit and the like.”

  Ward grinned at her. “Maybe not. You could get your husband to model for you.” He nodded to
ward Bougue-reau’s shocking masterpiece. “Like that.”

  Pandora shot him a startled look. “Not Jacob!”

  Suddenly, Pandora put her empty goblet to her eye and turned her head toward the painting, squinting through the distortion of the glass, cocking her head this way and that.

  “What are you doing?” Ward asked.

  “Getting a better perspective,” she replied. “The droplets of wine add a new dimension, and the glass makes the whole painting look softer.”

  Ward picked up his glass and followed Pandora’s example. Before long, everyone was staring at them. Moments later, the other customers were holding their glasses to their eyes.

  Pandora—slightly tipsy—waved an arm to encompass the entire room and said in a disgusted tone, “Look at them, Ward! Just look at them! A bunch of sheep following the bellwether. Why are people that way? It’s depressing!”

  “Can’t answer that one, Pan. But if you’re getting depressed, let’s get out of here. Fast!”

  “Good idea! Where to next?”

  “I chose the Hoffman House. You choose this time,” he said, hurrying her out of the barroom as the other customers all turned to stare.

  They were outside now and the stinging cold of the wind felt good in Pandora’s face.

  “I have an idea,” she said. “Let’s make this a real adventure. We’ll go places one or the other of us has never been. We’ll explore the whole city.”

  “Marvelous,” he agreed. “Now it’s your turn to take me somewhere new. Where shall it be?”

  For the rest of the afternoon, they traded off. She took him to St. Patrick’s Cathedral; he took her for a ride across the Brooklyn Bridge. She chose to show him the Dakota Apartments, so named, she informed him, because when the structure was built in 1881, overlooking Central Park, its location was considered to be as far from the center of New York as the Dakota Territory was from civilized parts of the rest of the country. Ward, in turn, insisted they drive down Fifth Avenue and hang around outside the Vanderbilt compound to see if they got invited in for tea.

  After they’d been told by a uniformed security guard for the second time to move along, Pandora pleaded, “I’m cold and hungry, Ward. And, as unique an experience as it would be, I really don’t relish the thought of spending a night in jail for loitering when I have a lovely, soft bed awaiting me at the hotel.”

  “Dinner at Delmonico’s?” Ward asked brightly.

  Pandora shook her head and crinkled her nose in an impish frown. “I’ve been to Delmonico’s. I’ve even seen them serve a whole roasted bear.” She brightened and looked up at him. “Why not something different?”

  “You name it!”

  Her smile was absolutely devilish. Ward wondered what she had up her fancy beaded sleeve now?

  “I’ve never entertained a gentleman in my hotel suite. Why don’t you join me for dinner? We’ll have it brought up from the dining room.”

  Ward was too surprised to reply at first. This was not what he had expected at all—what he’d hoped for, perhaps—but definitely not what he’d expected! As for entertaining a gentleman… well, he hoped he wouldn’t disappoint her.

  “I’m both flattered and delighted, Pandora. It’s the best offer I’ve had since I arrived in New York.”

  “Then, shall we?” she said, hailing a passing hansom without his assistance.

  Ward was not nearly as surprised by Pandora’s suggestion as she was herself. Inviting a man to her room was something no proper young lady would do. She shuddered to think what Jacob would say if he knew. Cassie and the waiter would be there. She and Ward wouldn’t actually be alone. It would be a different matter if she had schemed to get Ward, but she hadn’t planned this. After their special day together, it simply seemed right. Ward seemed right, she mused. During the past hours, something had happened between them. They had become close friends. It was almost as if they had known each other for years—for lifetimes. Pandora felt so comfortable with him. She would start a sentence, only to have him finish it for her. Their thoughts were in tune. They understood each other. And very few people, she reminded herself, had ever understood Pandora Sherwood.

  The beef was rare, the asparagus tender, the Baked Alaska done to perfection, and the champagne was from a vintage year. The only thing that surpassed the excellence of the meal, Pandora thought, was the company. Ward was at his most charming.

  Now, as they sat before the fire, relaxing after dinner with brandy and coffee, alone together for the first time all evening, Pandora sighed contentedly.

  “That sounds nice,” Ward commented.

  “It’s been a nice evening,” she said.

  “We could make it even nicer.” Ward made no move, but sat very still, waiting to hear her response.

  She tensed beside him. “I think I’ll ignore that,” she answered at length. “Ward, you know I’m engaged. Please don’t spoil a perfect day.”

  “It has been wonderful, hasn’t it?” he said, staring into her eyes.

  Pandora knew he wanted to kiss her. And—dammit to hell!—she wanted him to. She turned away from his gaze, trying to calm her raging emotions. She belonged to Jacob. She was going to marry Jacob. That was real! Whatever she was feeling for Ward Gabriel at the moment had nothing to do with reality.

  Sensing her mood, he said, “Perhaps I’d better go. It’s getting late.”

  They rose from the sofa and Pandora saw him to the door.

  “Remember,” he said, smiling easily again, “tomorrow I have a surprise for you. I’ll call for you at eleven. We need to get an early start.” He paused, then added, “We’ve only two more days.”

  “Time goes so quickly,” she said wistfully. Then she smiled up at Ward. “I’m looking forward to tomorrow. I’ll be ready.”

  When he leaned down to kiss her, it seemed the most natural thing in the world that she should let him. A simple thank-you kiss, that’s all it was, just as she had given him that night at his cottage.

  His lips were warm and soft and brandy-flavored. As the blood in her veins began to stir, he drew away.

  “Goodnight, Pandora. Sweet dreams.”

  Pandora’s dreams that night were anything but sweet. Confused images of herself and Ward, herself and Jacob, overlaid other visions of the ebony-haired woman and the green-eyed man.

  She watched the phantom pair in her dreams as they lay together in a huge red hammock. Her handsome phantom slipped his arm beneath his lover’s shoulders and drew her to his bare chest—warm and bronzed by the sun. When his lips captured hers, Pandora could feel his caressing tongue sliding into her own mouth. A hint of Spanish wine was in his kiss and salt from the sea air, mingled with the sharp, sweet taste of her lover’s urgent longing.

  One of his hands tangled in her long hair, drawing her head back while his mouth traced a flaming trail down her throat. With his other hand, he untied the string that held her loose peasant blouse on her shoulders. He slipped the silky fabric down over her breasts. They were lying in the open with the noon sun flickering over them through the branches of a tree.

  “Darling, no! What about the men?” she protested, trying to pull away.

  “Let them find their own women!” he answered against her bare breast.

  A moment later, her protests turned to sighs as her blood warmed to his touch and desire flooded through her, making Pandora toss and moan in her sleep.

  “Boss! Boss, come quick!” came a male voice from somewhere nearby.

  The man in the hammock cursed and quickly pulled the blouse up to hide her modesty. He left her to answer the summons and he left Pandora’s dreams.

  The vision faded into a blur of hot colors.

  “Don’t go!” Pandora’s own words woke her. She tried to go back to sleep, but tossed and turned instead, aching with need, sobbing into her pillow. Was she going mad?

  Who were these strangers who had invaded her life? Why did they haunt her and torment her so?r />
  “What do you want with me?” she moaned, drifting in and out of slumber.

  Several times during the night Cassie woke to her mistress’s cries. To her total shock and amazement, it was not Jacob Saenger Pandora called for but Ward Gabriel.

  Dawn crept over the city before Cassie rested peacefully. Pandora knew only troubled sleep that night as her body and heart ached for something—someone—beyond her reach.

  Chapter Six

  When Pandora awoke at last, it was near ten, long past time for her to be up and dressed.

  “Cassie,” she called. “Why didn’t you wake me? My breakfast, my bath! I have to hurry! I’ll never be ready in time!”

  After splashing through a quick bath, Pandora charged about the suite like a whirlwind, gulping down scalding, black coffee as she dressed and nibbling at toast smeared with raspberry jam as Cassie did her hair.

  When Ward arrived, she was ready, dressed in a fetching Paris walking costume of taffeta, the color of a pigeon’s breast. The perfection of her appearance bore no hint of haste.

  “Obviously, you are ready to go,” he said.

  She smiled and nodded. “Whenever you say, Ward.”

  They hurried out like two over-anxious children seeking a great adventure. Pandora couldn’t remember when she’d felt this excited over a morning outing.

  The approaching winter weather had forgotten New York for the moment. The harsh winds and chill rain of the day before were replaced by balmy breezes and bright sunshine. The change in weather chased the night’s unsettling dreams from Pandora’s mind. She clung to Ward’s arm, feeling ready to take on the world.

  “A perfect day!” Pandora told Ward brightly as they walked out onto the bustling street. “Now, what is this great surprise you plan to spring on me this morning? A circus? An art show? I know—a ride in a hot air balloon!”