by Nora Roberts
tear-streaked face. “It was just a way to take care of her kids.”
“Then you can be proud of her.”
No mother, she mused, had ever had a wiser son. “I got married before. Max knows about it, but nobody else.”
“Then nobody else’ll know now, if that’s what you want.”
“It was a mistake, such an awful mistake. I was just seventeen, and he was so good-looking.” She smiled a little again, knowing how silly it sounded. “I got pregnant, so we got married. He didn’t like being poor, or having a wife who got sick in the mornings. He knocked me around some.”
She felt Luke tense, felt a little curl of shame, and hurried on. “When he kept it up, I told him I was leaving. My mama’d raised me better than to be a punching bag. He told me my mama was a whore and so was I. He beat me good that time, and I lost the baby.” She shuddered once, from old memory. “It messed me up inside so they said I wouldn’t be able to have another.”
“I’m sorry.” And helpless, he thought. Completely helpless.
“I’m telling you so that you can understand where I came from. About that time my mother died. I think knowing how hard she’d worked so that I could have good things helped me get strong. So even when he came by and said how he was sorry and he’d never hit me again, I did leave him, and I got work at a carnival. Told fortunes, worked some of the booths. Small cons. That’s how I met Max.
“He was magic even back then. Him and little Roxanne. I guess I loved them both so much right off I nearly burst with it. He’d lost his wife, and maybe a little bit of himself, too. And I wanted him, so I did what any smart woman would do and seduced him.”
Luke held her closer. “I bet he put up a hell of a fight, didn’t he?”
That made her laugh, and sigh. “He could have taken what I gave him and left it at that. But he didn’t. He took me in. Treated me like a lady. He showed me the way it’s supposed to be between a man and a woman. He made me family. Most of all he loved me—just for me, you know what I mean.”
“Yeah, I do. But I don’t think it was all one-sided, Lily. I figure you gave as good as you got.”
“I always tried. Luke, I’ve loved him for almost twenty years now. I just don’t think I could stand to lose him.”
“What makes you think you could? He’s nuts about you. That’s one of the things that always made me feel the best, the way the two of you are with each other.”
“He’s pulling away.” She took a couple of steadying breaths to strengthen her voice. “Oh, he’s still sweet to me, when he remembers I’m around. Max would never hurt me, or anybody on purpose. But he spends hours and hours alone, going through books and notes and journals. That damn stone.” She sniffled, digging into her pocket for a lace hankie. “At first I thought it was kind of interesting.” She blew her nose. “I mean, suppose there really was such a thing? But he’s gotten so caught up in it there’s hardly room for anything else. And he’s forgetting things.” She worried her bottom lip and wrung her hands. “Just little things. Like appointments and meals. We were nearly late for a performance last week because he forgot all about it. I know he’s worried because he can’t do some of the sleight of hand anymore, and it’s affecting his . . .” She trailed off, wondering how it could be put delicately. “What I mean to say is that Max has always been, well, robust, sexually. But lately we hardly ever . . . you know.”
He did, but devoutly wished he didn’t. “Well, I, ah.”
“But I don’t just mean the performance, so to speak. The romance of it. He doesn’t turn to me in the night anymore, or take my hand, or look at me that way.” Another tear bloomed over and slid down her cheek.
“He’s distracted, Lily. That’s all. All that pressure to do another special, to write another book, to go back and tour Europe. Then the jobs. Max has always taken too much on himself in the planning and execution.” He wasn’t going to mention that on their last job, he found Max standing in front of an open safe as if in a trance. Or that it had taken Max nearly five minutes to come back to himself and remember where he was and what he was doing.
“You know what I think,” he said, taking the useless swatch of lace and drying Lily’s eyes himself. “I think you’re as stressed out as Max is—what with Rox’s graduation, getting ready for this summer gig. And I—wait!” He grabbed her hand, turning it palm up. “I see a long sea voyage,” he continued as Lily gave a watery chuckle. “Moonlit nights, salty breezes. Romance.” He winked at her. “And great sex.”
“You don’t read palms.”
“You taught me, didn’t you?” He pressed his lips to her palm, then curled her fingers in his. “You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known, and Max loves you—nearly as much as I do. Hey, don’t start dripping again, please.”
“Okay.” She blinked furiously at tears. “Okay.”
“I want you to trust me when I say it’s all going to be fine. We’re going to get away for a little while, relax and drink champagne cocktails on the poop deck.”
“Maybe he does just need to rest.” Her shoulders shifted in one last sigh. “I wasn’t going to dump on you, Luke, really I wasn’t. But I’m awful glad you were here.”
“Me too. You dump anytime you like.”
“I’m done.” Brushing tears from her lashes, she sat up. “Sure you don’t want me to pack for you?”
“Already done. I’m as anxious to leave in the morning as you.”
“I’m anxious all right.” Recovered, she reached for her lemonade and sipped to ease her raw throat. “But I haven’t packed a thing. Roxanne’s got everything all neat and tidy, and in only two cases. I don’t know how she does it.”
“The brat’s been an organization maniac since she was eight.”
“Hmm.” She sipped again, watching Luke. “She’s not eight anymore. Wait till you see the cocktail dress she bought for the captain’s party.”
Luke merely shrugged and sat back. “How about you? Any sexy numbers in those bags?”
“A few.”
Knowing just how much Lily enjoyed displaying her purchases, Luke played along. “Going to show me?”
“Maybe.” She fluttered still damp lashes and turned to set her glass down again. Her glance passed over the letter he’d left on the table, then cut back to it and froze. “Cobb.” Nerves fluttered in her throat. “Why are you writing to him?”
“I’m not.” With a vicious inner curse, Luke scooped up the letter and jammed it in his pocket. “It’s nothing.”
“Don’t lie to me.” Her voice was suddenly brittle as glass. “Don’t ever lie to me.”
“I’m not. I said I wasn’t writing to him.”
“Then what’s in the envelope?”
His face went blank and still. “It’s nothing to do with you.”
She said nothing for a moment, but a dozen varied emotions played across her tear-streaked face. “You’re everything to do with me,” she said quietly as she rose. “Or so I thought. I’d better go.”
“Don’t.” He swore again, violently, and put a hand on her arm. “Damn it, Lily, don’t look at me like that. I’m handling this the only way I know how. Leave it to me.”
“Of course.” She had a way, as certain women did, of being perfectly agreeable, and cutting a man off at the knees. “You’ll be at the house by eight, won’t you? We don’t want to miss the flight.”
“Damn it all to hell. I’m paying him, all right? I send him some money now and again and he leaves me alone.” His eyes were fierce and deadly. “He leaves all of us alone.”
With a nod, Lily sat again. “He’s blackmailing you?”
“That’s a polite term. A bloodless term.” Furious with himself, Luke stalked to the window. “I can afford to be polite.”
“Why?”
He only shook his head. Not to her, not to anyone would he speak of it. Not of what had been, nor of the nightmares that plagued him a day or two after he found that plain white postcard in his mailbox.
&n
bsp; “As long as you pay him, he’ll never go away.” Lily spoke quietly from just behind him. Gently, she laid a hand on his back. “He’ll never leave you in peace.”
“Maybe not. But he knows something I’m ashamed enough of that I’m willing to pay him to keep to himself.” The tap dancers had gone off to other pastures, Luke thought. Pigeons fluttered in the park. “And he can insinuate a great deal more, twist lies with truth in such a way that I couldn’t live with it. So it costs me a few thousand a pop for this kind of illusionary peace. It’s worth it to me.”
“Don’t you know he can’t hurt you anymore?”
“No.” He turned back then, torment in every muscle. “I don’t. Worse, I don’t know who else he could hurt. I won’t chance it, Lily. Not even for you.”
“I won’t ask you to. I will ask that you trust me enough to come to me. Always.” She stood on tiptoe to kiss his cheek. “I know I’m silly, flighty—”
“Stop.”
She only laughed. “Honey, I know just what I am. And I’m not sorry about it. I’m a middle-aged woman who wears too much makeup and who’ll die without letting the first gray hair show. But I stand behind those I love. I’ve loved you for a long time. You send that check if you feel a need to. And if he asks for more than you can spare, you come to me. I’ve got my own put aside.”
“Thanks.” He cleared his throat. “But he doesn’t squeeze too hard.”
“There’s one more thing I want you to remember. There’s nothing you’ve done or could do I’d be ashamed of.” She turned and began to gather her bags. “I’d better get on home. It’s going to take me half the night to figure out what to pack. Oh, goodness.” She pressed her hands to her cheeks. “I have to fix my face first. I can’t go out in public with mascara all over.” She dashed toward the bathroom, purse in tow. “Oh, Luke, you know you could come on home with me, spend the night in your old room. Might be easier getting things together in the morning.”
It might at that, he mused and dipped his hands into his pockets. It would be even better to go home, even if just for one night.
“Let me get my bags,” he called out to her. “I’ll drive you home in style.”
17
The accommodations for the entertainers aboard the Yankee Princess weren’t quite as luxurious as Roxanne might have hoped. Because of their special guest-star status, they had been given outside cabins—slightly above water level.
The two-berth cabin was tiny enough that she was grateful she wouldn’t be required to share its space over the next six weeks. Her practical nature tugged her away from the porthole to unpack the contents of her two suitcases. As a matter of habit, everything was neatly folded or hung in the stationary bureau and gnome-sized closet. She was romantic enough to want to hurry and be on deck when the whistle blew to signal castoff.
She took time to set out the antique bottles and jars she’d collected over the years, all carefully filled with perfumes and lotions. They’d been a bitch to pack against breakage, and she knew plastic would have been wiser. But seeing them there, all those pretty shapes and colors, made her smile. The extra weight and trouble had been worth it.
She checked herself in the mirror first, glad that her hair had grown back to past her shoulders after her rash decision two years before to crop it chin length. It, too, was a great deal of trouble, taking enormous amounts of time to dry and groom. But she was vain enough to consider the time and effort well spent.
Pleased that the piped-in music included a classical station, she touched up her makeup—a bit more bronze shadow on the lids, a whisper of extra blusher along the cheekbones. That wasn’t vanity—precisely—she assured herself. Part of the job the Nouvelle troupe had taken on was to mix and mingle with the passengers, to make themselves companionable, presentable and pleasant.
It was little enough to pay for a six-week run on an elegant floating hotel.
Grabbing her roomy canvas bag, she headed out, and up. Boarding passengers were already roaming the narrow passageways, seeking their rooms or exploring. Piles of luggage were stacked in front of cabin doors. Larceny tugged gleefully at Roxanne’s heart. It would be so pitifully simple to pluck a bit here, snatch a bit there. Like picking daisies, she mused, smiling at a round-bellied man in a baseball cap who inched by her.
There’d be time for fun and games, she reminded herself. Six long weeks’ worth of time. But this afternoon she was on vacation. She turned at the top of the stairs and wound her way through the Lido Lounge, out to the deck at the stern, where eager passengers were sipping their complimentary cocktails, taking videos or simply leaning at the rail waiting to wave good-bye to the Manhattan skyline.
She took a hurricane glass filled with blush pink liquid from the tray of a waiter and, sipping the oversweet rum drink, sized up her fellow sailors.
At a guess, Roxanne gauged the mean age to be sixty-five. There were a few families with children, a sprinkling of honeymooners, but for the most part there were older couples, elderly singles and a scattering of aging gigolos on the prowl.
“Maybe we should call it the Geriatric Boat,” Luke said close to her ear and nearly had her spilling the rum concoction.
“I think it’s sweet.”
“I didn’t say it wasn’t.” Despite her barbed tone, he slipped a friendly arm around her shoulders. He’d decided if they were going to be in such relatively close quarters for the next few weeks, they should try to be civil. “Check this dude.”
He’d bypassed the rum for a bottle of Beck’s and gestured with it toward a dapper, silver-haired gentleman wearing a double-breasted navy blazer and natty white trousers. He already had a cluster of admiring female senior citizens around him. “Joe Smooth.”
“Of the Palm Beach Smooths,” she said, amused. “What do you want to bet he does a mean cha-cha?”
“Probably got a rumba or two in him. And there.” He gestured again, using only an arched eyebrow to have Roxanne’s gaze shifting. Near the portside rail was a big, frowsy blonde in a shocking-pink jogging suit. She had a camera and a pair of binoculars slung around her neck, and was busily lifting one then the other in between sips of her rum surprise. “Sally Tourist.”
“Snob.”
He only grinned. “Come on, you pick one.”
She scanned the deck, then touched her tongue to her top lip. “Mmm. I’ll take him. Tom Terrific.”
Luke studied the ship’s officer, bronzed and blond and gorgeous in his dress whites. His mood immediately soured. “If you go for that type.”
“I do.” Unable to resist, she heaved an exaggerated sigh. “Oh, I do. Look, there’s Mouse.” Roxanne gave a wide wave to bring him over. “What do you think?”
“It’s great.” His big, pale face was flushed with pleasure. Muscles bulged beneath the cropped sleeves of the flowered shirt Lily had picked for him. “They let me go down in the engine room. I gotta check the equipment for the show and all, but later, they said, I could go up on the bridge and everything.”
“They got any women down there?” Luke asked.
“In the engine room?” Mouse grinned and shuffled. “Nah. ’Cept in pictures on the walls.”
“Stick with me, pal. I’ll find you some real ones.”
“Leave him alone, you walking hormone.” In defense of Mouse, Roxanne slipped a hand through his arm. “Listen.” She squeezed as the ship blew two long blasts. “We’re casting off.”
“One deck up,” Luke murmured when she began to crane her neck.
She looked up and saw them. Lily, looking festive in a flowing blue sundress, Max dashing in an off-white jacket and navy pants, and LeClerc, hovering like a shadow behind them.
“He’s going to be fine.” Luke took her hand, linking fingers.
“Of course he is.” She shook away the seeds of doubt. “Let’s go up. I want to get some pictures.”
It wasn’t going to be a walk on the beach. The first onboard staff meeting dispensed with any notion that the next six weeks would be a
free ride. The Nouvelles would give a mini-performance that night to welcome the passengers on board, along with shortened acts from the other entertainers. A French chanteuse, a comedian who spiced up his monologues with juggling and the six-member song-and-dance group who made up the Moonglades.
In addition to their act, they were asked to assist in daily activities from bingo to shore excursions. When it was discovered that Roxanne spoke fluent French, she was immediately dragooned to help the ship’s two interpreters.
Rules were also dispensed. Being friendly and personable with the passengers was mandatory. Being intimate was not. Accepting tips was not permitted, drunkenness was frowned on. Meals were to be taken only after the passengers had dined. And, in the event of trouble at sea, all members of the crew and staff would man the lifeboats only after all passengers were safe.
There was some groaning from the more seasoned members of the staff when weekly assignments were handed out. The cruise director, Jack, a youthful vet with ten years’ experience on cruise ships, took it in stride. “If there’s anything you need, just ask. And don’t pay any attention to these gripers. Most of the extra work with the passengers is pure fun.”
“So he says.” A tall, slender blonde called Dori aimed a considering smile at Luke. “Let me know if you need any help getting adjusted.” She smiled at Roxanne to include her in the invitation. “We’ve got a very shaky run-through rehearsal scheduled at three-thirty in the movie theater. That’s on the Promenade Deck, aft.”