Love and Adventure Collection - Part 2

by Jennifer Blake

  “A man has the right to be certain the child who takes his name is his own.”

  “That didn’t trouble you when Sean was born,” she pointed out, her tone soft.

  “There was never any chance he was mine; there was no way you could pretend he might be.”

  “You love Sean as your own; you made him your heir.”

  “But he will never be mine.”

  That was unanswerable. “Does it matter so much?”

  “It matters.”

  Serena pressed her lips tight against the urge to tell him of the baby Consuelo was carrying. She could not betray the Spanish girl, and it was she who had said the time was not now.

  “Well, Serena?”

  “Since you must know, it’s true. I was there.”

  “Serena, look at me. Why?”

  His voice was ragged, his face pale. Serena met his hazel gaze without flinching. Her mind teemed with things she must not say, things she could not tell. At last she said, “Because he sent for me.”

  He stepped toward her, leaning over her to place a hand on either arm of her chair. “And that’s the only reason? He sent for you and you came running? I get down on my knees and beg, and you give me nothing, while all he has to do is send for you!”

  As his voice rose, Serena knew a flicker of uncertainty. Perhaps she had pushed him too far. He deserved more of an answer than she had given, no matter what it might cost her. What was it Ward had suggested she tell Nathan?

  “No,” she said, “it wasn’t like that. I had no choice except to go. He — he was blackmailing me.”

  Nathan straightened, all expression wiped from his face by his surprise. “Blackmail? Ward?”

  Serena told him of the death of Otto, of Ward’s appearance, his aid in disposing of the body, and his subsequent demands that she meet him or have the sheriff brought into the matter.

  “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “You weren’t here when I met Ward the first time. You had left for points north and east — with Consuelo.”

  “No, I mean about this attack on you. When I think of what might have happened — and of you sitting beside me, keeping it hidden, showing nothing—”

  “I — was afraid.” It was the truth, though she did not expect him to understand. In the back of her mind, she heard in the words an echo of those Consuelo had spoken. She had not trusted Nathan’s instinct either.

  He didn’t understand. He paced up and down, running his fingers through his hair, asking again and again why she hadn’t seen fit to confide in him, and yet at the same time vowing to see to it that heads rolled in the sheriff’s office for letting dogs like Otto run loose to accost women.

  “Things like that, and worse, happen to women on Myers Avenue every day. There doesn’t seem to be anything anyone can do to stop it.”

  “And you went back down there alone, after I asked you not to. God, Serena, it drives me insane to think of it.”

  It was not merely the danger that troubled him, she knew. “It could not be helped.”

  “Apparently not. Ward, that — to think that I called him my friend. He won’t get away with this, that much I can guarantee. When I get through, he’ll wish he had never been born.”

  Serena sat forward. “What do you mean to do?”

  “Hanging’s too good for a man who would force a woman like that, no matter what went on between them before.”

  “Please, Nathan, you can’t. If you do anything to him, he’ll go to the sheriff, and everything will come out.”

  “Ward won’t go to the sheriff, that’s not his way. We’ll settle this between us.”

  “How can you be sure he won’t, a man who would take a bribe, accept money to take himself out of the way and leave me to you?”

  Nathan halted to stare at her, a curious look in his hazel eyes. “Do you mean the mining stock I offered last winter? I thought you knew he turned that down.”

  “Then he did, but if he didn’t take it this past summer, why did he stay away so long?”

  “He didn’t take it, because I didn’t make the mistake of offering it again. As to why he stayed away, I suppose it was because of his accident, just as he said.”

  The color retreated from Serena’s face. She sank back in her chair. When she spoke her voice was scarce above a whisper. “There was no money involved, no payoff of any kind?”

  “None.” He stood gazing down at her, a slow frown gathering on his high forehead.

  She had wronged Ward, had refused to listen to him. When he mentioned his discovery of gold on a mining claim won at poker, she had assumed he was lying, trying to explain away the windfall she was certain he had received from Nathan. If he had not stayed away from Cripple Creek by choice, then the fact that another man had given his son a name was his tragedy as well as hers, and she had flung it in his teeth, flaying him with it. He had tried to tell her, and she wouldn’t listen, wouldn’t believe him. Anguish took her breath, moving deep inside her, awakening every sense she had thought dead, every feeling of betrayal and grief, shame and despair.

  “The other night,” Nathan said, his head tipped to one side and his eyes like agate, “I invited you to trust me, and you refused. You refused and sat here listening to my miserable confessions, knowing all the while that you were a murderess and an adulteress.”

  “Nathan, no! I told you then I could not be honest with you. The reason is the same; I was afraid. And you said it didn’t matter, you didn’t want to know.”

  “You hide things so easily, Serena; you lie so well. I’m beginning to wonder if you’re telling the truth now, or if you are only afraid now, as always, of what I might do to Ward.”

  “I have one man’s death on my soul. I would as soon not have another.” She had said the same to Ward and he had not been impressed. Nor was Nathan.

  “I think you’re lying to yourself if you believe that. In any case, I said nothing about killing him. I had in mind breaking him, putting him out of business, before I put him out of this town, this state.”

  “You tricked me into marrying you, and gave Ward’s son your name. I will admit I was grateful at the time; I still honor you for helping me when I needed it so badly, whatever your motives — but don’t you think that is revenge enough?”

  “Maybe, if I knew you went to Ward against your will, instead of conniving at your own blackmail.”

  Serena lifted her head. “You make it sound as if it’s me you want to punish, instead of Ward.”

  He stared at her, his eyes bleak. “You may be right, my darling, Serena, you may be right. If I give you my word I won’t lift a hand against Ward, will you come with me to Europe in two days’ time?”

  Serena’s fingers curled around the arms of her chair. It was a threat for all that it was softly spoken. She felt as if there was a heavy weight on her chest. Her voice caught in her throat as she spoke. “Nathan — don’t do this.”

  “Why not?” he inquired. “You seem susceptible to this kind of arrangement.”

  “I don’t blame you for being bitter, but this isn’t necessary. I would have gone with you anyway.”

  He closed his eyes, turning away. “Damn you, Serena,” he whispered. “Now I’ll never know.”

  “No,” she answered on a sigh that was threaded with pain and compassion.

  “It doesn’t matter.” He swung back to face her, a hard set to his mouth and his hands knotted into fists. “You will be mine. I’ll make you forget Ward, forget the Eldorado and Myers Avenue, forget everything but me. And we’ll start where it all began, in my private railroad car; mine, Serena.”

  “No.” Serena came to her feet, the color draining from her face.

  “Yes! Unless you would prefer starting here and now?” His gaze traveled slowly over her in a deliberate insult, something she had never received from him, not even when she sang on the stage of the Eldorado barroom.

  “Mrs. Anson will be announcing dinner any moment,” she said through stiff lips.

&n
bsp; “She can wait.” He moved toward her.

  “You will regret this.” Serena retreated a step.

  “Someday, maybe, but not tonight.”

  “You will hate yourself tomorrow, and so will I.” Serena held out her hand. “Oh, Nathan, please. I think I could love you in time. I am your wife and — and I would like to forget Ward. I would like to forget so much.”

  She had backed against the Renaissance dresser. He stopped before her and the tension left him. Lifting his hand, he touched the back of one finger to the tears that trembled on her lashes, carrying it to his lips where he tasted the salt.

  “Serena, lovely Serena,” he said, his voice low and strained, “you don’t play fair.”

  “It — it isn’t a fair game,” she answered.

  “I suppose not, from your point of view. All right, then. My first inclination may have been right. We’ll go down to dinner now. I’ll tell Mrs. Anson to start packing, including things for Sean and Mary. I’ll see about hiring an extra car for them for the train trip. In the meantime, I have a few details to work out on the hoist. As soon as it is in operation, we will pull out. But be warned. Only death itself will prevent me from making you mine once my railroad car starts on its way toward the sea.”

  21

  It was impossible, the housekeeper declared. To pack the necessary clothing and other paraphernalia needed by five adults and an infant in arms for an extended period, to put the house in dust sheets, clear the larder, and complete the dozens of small tasks involved in closing the house, could not be done, not on such short notice. She would try, but no one must blame her if they were unable to leave on schedule. She and Dorcas had only one pair of hands each. Jack Coachman and the stableboy could be pressed into service, yes, though a useless lot they were, all thumbs, more apt to get underfoot than be of help. Notes must be carried to stop the drinking water and milk and butter deliveries, and there was that order to the butcher for a side of beef and a pork loin that must be canceled; the stableboy could make himself useful that way. It would be different, of course, if Mr. Benedict had intended to take his own carriage and pair; that would have meant a great deal more preparation. Since he did not, the two males of the household who were being left behind could serve as watchmen for the estate. There would be no need for special arrangements of that sort.

  Serena had protested to the idea of taking Mrs. Anson and Dorcas with them. She had no need for personal servants. But who, Nathan asked reasonably, would cook and serve their meals aboard the train? Who would attend to their clothes on the Atlantic crossing, and in the grand hotels of Europe? Everyone of any consequence traveled with an entourage. Was she going to descend to the basement laundries herself to rinse out their underclothing and linens, rubbing elbows with the. superior maids and valets in their uniforms? Nonsense!

  Having settled that point, and mollified Mrs. Anson by listening with half an ear to her complaints and giving her a bracing endorsement of her ability to get things done, Nathan left the house for the mine. He lifted his hand to Serena, standing on the veranda, as he drove away. Watching him out of sight, Serena’s mouth twisted in a wry smile. Quietly arrogant, Nathan gave his orders and expected them to be obeyed. He arranged matters to suit himself, giving little thought to the consequences for other people. What he could not change, he chose to ignore, and it was as if it did not exist. There was much kindness and goodness in him, but he could also be insensitive. If he was generous, he had also a driving need to own things, to gain them by whatever means proved necessary, to take them and hold them as his own. It was a trait common to most humans, but few had the means to attain their ends. Her eyes bleak, Serena turned back into the house.

  Mrs. Anson, bolstered by Nathan’s confidence, was everywhere. She issued orders, directed, and scolded in grim-lipped impatience. Serena thought of offering her aid, then decided against it. It would not be appreciated, she knew, and would probably be looked on with contempt that she should so lower herself.

  It was just as well. There was something Serena had to do, a job that could not be delegated. She had wished since the night before that she could be spared the necessity. She could not; still, there was no reason she should not take the simplest way out.

  Moving into the parlor, Serena seated herself at the secretary desk. She took thick, cream-colored notepaper from the drawer and drew the silver inkstand toward her. Opening the inkwell, she dipped the pen and sat poised, thinking.

  What words could she use to tell Ward she was going away with Nathan? How could she explain? She could not tell him she was going to protect him. Though that was a part of the agreement, it was not the whole truth. Would Ward understand her sense of obligation and duty? Would he be able to grasp the ambivalence of her desires when she was not certain she understood them herself? She could not claim to be in love with two different men, and yet Nathan’s touch was not repulsive to her. He might not affect her senses to the degree that Ward did, but she felt that if she had never known Ward, she might have been content with the man who was her husband.

  Was it necessary to convey this to Ward? Did he deserve such honesty? Would he care? Was there any purpose in telling him anything beyond the barest facts? She was leaving. She had told Nathan of her meetings with him, and of the tragedy and coercion behind them. She was free of him at last; he no longer had the power to hurt her. What else did he need to know?

  Dipping the pen once more, Serena began to write. She signed her name, slipped the single sheet into an envelope, and sealed the flap. That done, she went in search of the stableboy to ensure that he delivered her missive when he carried the other messages for Mrs. Anson. When she caught sight of him an hour later, bobbing down the drive on his way into town, she gave a sigh of relief. It was strange, however, how that deep-drawn breath failed to ease the ache in her chest.

  By mid-afternoon, the house was in a state of organized chaos. Shelves had been stripped of valuable ornaments and a few of them packed to be taken to give their hired rooms a personal touch. Trunks lined the upstairs hall. A steamer trunk stood open in Serena’s bedroom, and her clothing was spread over every available surface. The only room not in dust sheets was the study, and in its corner tower, books had been pulled from the shelves and stacked ready to be packed in cartons. The baby, sensing the coming upheaval in his world, was crotchety, crying off and on for no reason. Between concern for her charge and fearfulness over the coming voyage, Mary was even more withdrawn than usual, responding only to Sean. Dorcas flew here and there in answer to her mother’s bidding, her eyes wide with excitement. The coachman, who would have liked to consider his job done when he had tooled the baggage wagon up to the front door, grumbled as he stomped up and down the stairs, lugging boxes and cartons and shifting heavy trunks.

  In the midst of such confusion, no one heard the clatter of the buggy coming up the drive. They were not aware of the visitor until the firm knock came on the front door. Even then, it was only Dorcas who heard it as she passed through the hallway with an armload of books. So demoralized was she by the knowledge that the parlor, where the gentleman would ordinarily have been asked to wait, was not presentable that she left the front door wide open and the visitor standing in the hall with his hat still in his hand while she ran upstairs calling for her mother it the top of her lungs. It was Mrs. Anson who came in search of Serena.

  “There is a gentleman to see you, madam,” the housekeeper informed her, staring down her nose at Serena sitting in a patch of sunshine on the carpet of the nursery, trying to entertain her small son.

  “Who is it?” Serena handed the baby to Mary and reached up to smooth her hair, tucking loose wisps back into her low chignon.

  “Mr. Dunbar, madam. I tried to tell him Mr. Benedict was not at home, but he insisted on seeing you. I put him in the study.”

  Serena went still. It was the last thing she had expected. In view of their last meeting, she would not have been surprised if Ward had shrugged the whole thing off, cuttin
g his losses, considering himself well out of a bad situation.

  “Very well,” she said finally, pushing to her feet. “You needn’t trouble with refreshments. I doubt the — the gentleman will be staying long.”

  “As you wish, madam. I’ll get on with what I was doing then.”

  Serena followed the woman from the nursery. At the head of the staircase she paused, glancing down at herself. She had donned an apron to cover her gray merino while she played with the baby. She removed this and draped it over the banister, then rolled down her sleeves, fastening the de-mute, lace-edged cuffs. She touched the locket, her mother’s that she wore beneath the matching lace collar, and with a lift of her chin, descended the stairs.

  Ward stood with his back to the door, one booted foot on the brass fender of the fireplace. As Serena entered, closing the panel behind her, he straightened and turned to face her. His green eyes were dark as he watched her come toward him, and the chiseled firmness of his mouth pressed into a hard line.

  “Whatever possessed you to come here?” The question rose to her lips without plan, without preamble. She came to a halt in the center of the room, her hands clasped tightly at her waist.

  “There was a time when I was welcome here, when I came often.”

  “But now, of all times?”

  “I came because I had your letter, of course.”

  “It will do no good. My mind is made up.” She met his gaze squarely, her blue-gray eyes clear.

  “So Nathan wins, Nathan and his money? What if I told you I was rich? What if I said I would marry you as soon as you could get a divorce from Nathan?”

  “Please, Ward. Don’t make it more difficult than it already is.”

  “You don’t believe me,” he said, his voice flat.

  “Can you think of any reason I should? If you had wanted to marry me, why didn’t you say so long ago — or even the last time I saw you? Why wait until now?”

  “How could I ask you to share my disgrace, or hope you would tie yourself to a man with the uncertain prospects of a gambler? And when you had married Nathan, and he had draped you in diamonds and furs, what chance did I have, except to bind you to me with fear? Once I had done that, how else could I expect to hold you?”