by Sharon Ihle
Deciding to trust that instinct, she admitted, "He, er, did try to get me to come stay in his room the other night." She could feel her cheeks growing hotter by the minute. "But I—well, he was a little drunk, and I got too scared to go with him."
"Scared... of what? Whiskey doesn't make Donovan mean—he don't drink too much often, but when he does, it puts him to sleep. There ain't but one reason I can think of for a woman to turn tail and run from a man like Donovan." Lil chuckled as she added, "And it's been so long since either of us crossed paths with a woman of virtue, I doubt we'd recognize her."
Libby couldn't stop her embarrassed groan or prevent the sudden splash of color on her cheeks. Lil's bright blue eyes grew huge. "Oh, come on," she chided. "You're not trying to tell me that you've never... that you're as pure as the driven snow."
"Except for a few of Donovan's shameless kisses, yes, ma'am, that's exactly what I'm saying." Libby held her head high, but avoided meeting his mother's gaze.
Lil, who'd been pacing again, came to an abrupt halt. "In that case, I suggest you run as fast as you can. Go back to Laramie, and never think of him again."
"Oh, no, ma'am. I can't do that."
"And why not?"
Libby, who wasn't used to baring her heart and soul this way to anyone, much less to a woman such as this, hedged a little as she admitted, "I like Donovan a lot, enough that I don't want to go back just yet."
"In other words, you're falling in love with him?"
Libby sighed. "I think that maybe I am."
"Then get out of town before you take the tumble, because you'll only get your heart—and your virtue—destroyed." Lil leaned across the desk. "Donovan's a bit of a cold shake when it comes to personal attachments." She uttered a short, harsh laugh. "Wonder where he gets it."
"I'll keep that in mind." Libby needed a change of subject. "There's another reason I'm here, and it has nothing to do with your son. Will you help me?"
"If you expect to get anything out of me, you'd best get one thing straight right now." Lil flattened both palms against her desk. "I've gone to a lot of trouble around here to hide the fact that Donovan and I are mother and son. It's strictly for business purposes, you understand. I think it's better for both of us if the employees believe that we're simply good friends. If you want to stay around here, you won't refer to him as my son again."
"No, ma'am, I won't."
Lil straightened and gave Libby a little smile. "And quit calling me ma'am. I'm sure as hell not your mother." Libby had to chuckle over that, and at once felt at ease. Laughing with her, Lil said, "Now let's get down to bedrock. Why have you come to me? I've already told you what kind of man Donovan is, and I can't change his mind if he doesn't want you around."
"Oh, no, I wasn't looking for help with him. I need a place to stay and a little help learning how to get along with society-type folks, is all."
"You mean the Savages, don't you?"
It was the first time Lil had looked angry since Libby had twisted her arm. Libby quickly explained about her newspaper, and what she hoped to accomplish with R. T. A few moments later, Lil was laughing.
"In that case," she said, pacing again. "I can help you out with a room, I expect. As for the rest, I'll warn you right now, I don't know a whole lot about society or 'respectable' folks."
"You know more than I do, I'll wager." Libby pushed out of the chair. "I want to thank you for talking to me and for the offer of the room. I wasn't sure, after what happened, you know, with us and all—"
"I think we'd best forget that for now. As for the rest," Lil clucked, "I don't do nothing for free, sugar—I learned that little lesson a long time ago. You've seen what kind of a place I run here. If you can't sing, dance, or serve drinks, then I don't see how I can help you. You sure an innocent like you is up to working here?"
Libby gave herself a minute to think it over. She didn't know much about singing, dancing, or serving drinks, but she realized that she did know one thing for sure right then—she loved Donovan at least enough to give it a try. "My pa used to say that I couldn't carry a tune in a corked jug, and I never did learn how to dance, but I think I can serve drinks without much trouble."
Raising her eyebrows with admiration, Lil said, "All right. But before I hire you, let's talk about what you can do for me."
* * *
At around five the following afternoon, Donovan managed to slip off on his own for the first time since he'd stepped through the sumptuous portals of the Savage family estate, high atop Nob Hill. Discreetly concealing himself behind the lush fronds of a potted palm tree in the corner of the ballroom, he sipped a glass of champagne and watched as a parade of beautifully turned-out men and women paid homage to his father.
They were passing in hordes through the ballroom on the main floor of the mansion, the nattily suited gentlemen commiserating with R. T. over the loss of his son, the bejeweled ladies in velvet and satin ball gowns falling all over themselves in an effort to become acquainted with the handsome son R. T. had recently found. Through it all, Donovan remained aloof, neither taken by his new family, their lavish home, and their affluent friends, nor affronted by any of it either. He remained a distant observer, his curious nature the main reason he'd come to the affair in the first place, and even found himself mildly amused by some of the antics he'd witnessed since stepping into the manse—that is, with the exception of his introduction into society.
Despite his new siblings' efforts to make him feel comfortable, Donovan still felt awkward and embarrassed around them. He sensed gazes on himself, curious speculative eyes of strangers wondering, no doubt, about his mother and the circumstances of his birth—wondering, too, he supposed, whether this "newfound" son had blackmailed his way into the Savage family. He even supposed he was providing his father's guests with a little entertainment.
Most of the entertainment for Donovan did not come from those curious guests or the tuxedoed jugglers slowly rotating around the Italian marble fountain gracing the center of the room. Nor did the serving girls, their lithe young bodies barely covered by Grecian drapes, catch his eye for long. He was having far more fun watching his brothers, Thomas and Francis, greet the other millionaires as they arrived, each trying to outdo the other when it came to dazzling their guests with glib rhetoric.
And then there was Susan, the sister Donovan had long wished for, a genteel, polite woman, attractive enough to have captured the heart of an honest-to-God duke with close ties to the Crown, no less. And yet she was not quite the sort of sister his childhood dreams had conjured. She lacked something he craved but for the life of him, he couldn't figure what.
Perhaps, Donovan thought, berating himself, he was being too demanding, too critical and wasn't giving this newfound family of his a chance. Maybe if he was to seek them out, to actually engage one of his siblings in a private conversation, he might discover a common ground that had nothing to do with his suddenly enviable bloodlines.
Donovan was just trying to decide whether to start with one of his brothers, or dear sweet Susan, when he noticed another woman being escorted into the room by one of several purple-liveried servants. She looked vaguely familiar at first glance, but Donovan might have thought nothing of it had he not decided to take a second look at the newcomer. That's when he caught her surreptitiously scanning the room with a pair of spectacles perched near the tip of her nose. Libby had crashed the party.
He didn't have any idea where she'd gotten it, but she was dressed in a flashy gown of bright rose-colored sateen that sported a scandalously low-cut bodice of emerald velvet. At the valley between her breasts, where the gown dipped to its lowest, she wore a large satin rose that matched the skirt of the gown. He'd imagined Libby at this shindig more than once already, and with a good deal of remorse as he pictured her wide-eyed curiosity and bubbling laughter over some of the excesses he'd witnessed here today. But never had he dreamed that she'd actually show up. And yet, there she was, nervously making her way across the ball
room.
She was glancing this way and that, searching, Donovan supposed, for his father. When she was close enough, he reached out and grabbed her arm. "What the hell are you doing here?" he demanded.
Libby yelped in surprise, then quickly turned to him with fire in her eyes. "I was invited, remember?"
"I also remember that I sent you packing." That's what he told her but Donovan couldn't stop thinking about how good she looked, how great she smelled, or how badly he wanted to drag her back behind the palm with him and kiss her till the rose between her breasts wilted from the heat. He went on, unaware at first that he was shouting, "Why aren't you back in Laramie, where you belong?"
"You tossed me out of your house," she gently reminded him. "But I don't believe you have the authority to toss me out of the city, too. I've as much right to be here as you do."
Donovan took a fast glance around to see if anyone had heard him shout, but as far as he could tell, the little disagreement between himself and Libby had gone unnoticed. Determined to keep things that way, he roughly pulled her back behind the palm with him. "Where are you staying? I know you can't afford a hotel. And where the hell did you get that... that dress?"
Removing his hand from her upper arm, Libby made a great show of studying the row of faint dots his fingertips had left on her skin before favoring him with an answer. "If you must know, and I'm not sure you have the right to know anything about me anymore, I met someone who was more than happy to fix me up with a decent gown so I could attend this party."
"Decent? I don't think so." Donovan's gaze automatically dipped into the bodice of her dress. Near as he could figure, the only thing keeping him from a shocking glimpse of her nipples, was a double row of rose-colored lace tucked beneath the lush green velvet. But something else troubled him even more. "Exactly where are you staying?"
After popping her silk fan open, Libby peered over the top edge of it and murmured, "Again, I'm not sure that it's any of your business, but my new friend has taken me in for a few days."
"What?" Donovan's eyes flared with outrage and the veins in his neck surfaced like a pair of dueling swords. "Dammit all, Libby. You can't go around trusting strange men, especially in a big city like this."
"I didn't have much choice." She paused to fan her flushed cheeks, knowing they must be scarlet with excitement. Dell had always said, the best way to find out whether a man cared or not, was to try to make him jealous. While Libby didn't know that jealousy was the emotion turning his throat red above his starched white collar, she thought it might be close. Pouting, she added, "I had to make a new friend after you banished me from your home, didn't I? I had nowhere to go and practically no money. Naturally, when I was befriended by the nicest, kindest—"
"Befriended, my ass." Champagne splashed along the back of his hand as Donovan waved his arms, but he hardly noticed. "All you would have had to do was twitch your tail at any man in town, and you'd have had a place to stay for as long as you liked. Hasn't it occurred to you that before the night is over, your 'friend' will have you on your back with your bloomers down around your ankles before you can even shout 'uncle'?"
Smiling demurely, Libby waved her fan just beneath her nose. "Why Donovan, I thought you knew me well enough to realize that I'm the kind of woman who'd never shout 'uncle' once I'd agreed to be someone's 'friend.'" He made a kind of strangled sound over that, pleasing her immensely. "If you'll excuse me, I see your father over by the punch bowl. I want to thank him for inviting me to such a lovely party."
Before he could respond, Libby snapped her fan shut, swished around to head toward the fountain, then released the palm frond she'd pulled aside as she made her exit—which in turn slapped Donovan full in the face. Behind her, Libby heard him yelp, but she didn't dare turn around to see what kind of damage she'd inflicted on him. Her legs were shaking so badly she was lucky to be still standing, much less making her way across the room. But so far, knock on wood, everything was working out just the way she'd hoped it would—maybe even a little bit better. Libby didn't know much about men, but she could tell that Donovan Savage cared about her at least a little—enough to be jealous, at any rate—or her name wasn't Liberty Ann Justice. Now if she could just make a good impression on his father, her troubles might finally be over.
Back in his corner nursing his wounds, Donovan stewed for several minutes in the juices of his anger. He absently rubbed at his right cheek, soothing the welt one of the palm spears had made as it snapped back into position, and worked at calming his suddenly explosive temper. He glanced at what was left of his champagne, thought of tossing it back, but dumped it into the base of the plant instead. At this point, alcohol would only make him feel even more deranged than he already felt. Tugging at the stiff collar of his formal dress shirt, feeling choked by it, he watched Libby sashay up to his father and begin a rather animated conversation. It was then Donovan decided to act as her escort for the rest of the evening. To hell with her new "friend," whoever and wherever he may be. Someone had to protect her from herself.
"...and, I'm sorry to say," R. T. commented, "I haven't had the time to review your request. Let me think about this a moment." As he considered his options, the man's gaze skimmed Libby's bosom, lingering there long enough for his eyebrows to lift a little in spontaneous homage. "Tell you what we'll do. My son Francis actually handles most of the newspaper business for me—he's managing editor—so I think it'd be best to turn your problem over to him. If you like, I'll introduce you to him a bit later, and maybe the two of you can set up an appointment."
"Oh, well, if that's what you think is best..." She was tired of having her business problems put off. Then, aware that Donovan had drifted up beside her, Libby gave him a brief smile of acknowledgment and gracefully accepted R. T.'s decision. "Then that's what we'll do."
"Good. I'm pleased to know that's settled." R. T. beamed at Donovan. "There you are—I was wondering where you went off to. Your friend here was just..."
As his father droned on about editorials and such, Donovan sneaked several furtive glances at Libby. He couldn't help wondering all over again how she'd come to be here and who her new friend might be. Who'd fixed her hair, piling perfect little curls into an artful coif, complete with a spray of satin roses woven throughout? Where had she gotten not just the gown and matching accessories, but the simple strand of pearls draped provocatively around her throat?
Something ugly churned in him at the thought of another man outfitting her so seductively, of that faceless interloper touching her silken skin even long enough to fasten the clasp of the necklace. The next thing Donovan knew, he was picturing himself tossing Libby onto his bed, then mussing those carefully arranged curls until they were strewn across his pillow. Adding to the illusion, he mentally stripped her until she was wearing nothing but that somehow tantalizing strand of pearls. His entire body quickened at the thought, then grew rigid with sudden desire—along with something else, something just as urgent and explosive: a rush of anger. Who the hell had taken her in, he wondered, enraged again. And what could he do to prevent her from returning to the bastard tonight?
"Donovan?" said R. T. "You look ready to commit murder."
"What?" He had no idea what his father could be talking about.
"Are you all right, Son?"
Jamming his hands in his pockets, angry at himself now for letting his imagination run away, Donovan muttered, "Sure. All this is just a little overwhelming, I guess."
"Ah, yes, I'm feeling that way myself. Tell you what—why don't we slip away from the party for a while. We haven't had a moment to ourselves, given all the well-wishers and nosy chatterboxes. Come, I'll show you parts of the house where guests are forbidden to enter."
Although R. T. hadn't actually included her in the invitation, in fact, hadn't so much as looked her way when he'd issued it, Libby tagged along with the men. Not only was she curious about the way the Savage family lived, but she had a job to do for Lil that required her to keep eit
her R. T. or his newest son by her side at all times.
Trying to keep from looking too awestruck over the place as she moved out of the ballroom and into an inside courtyard filled with aromatic flowers, bubbling fountains, and marble statuary of Grecian design, Libby recalled the way Savage had classified his living quarters as a house. To her way of thinking, she lived in a house in Laramie, and Donovan lived in a nicer house in San Francisco. However, this Italianate villa constructed of cut stone and marble was anything but a house. This was a shrine, an art museum, a palatial castle, all rolled into one.
Marveling over the profusion of oil paintings, gilded furniture, Oriental carpets, and bowed windows featuring dramatic views of the city and bay as R. T. guided her and Donovan toward the home's vast foyer, Libby paused to admire the spiral staircase that led to the second and third floors. She expected to be led up the elegant Oriental runner gracing those circular stairs, but the magnate bypassed them and beckoned her to join him at an elaborately scrolled iron gate a few feet beyond the staircase.
"I thought we'd take the elevator," R. T. explained to Donovan, ordering the attendant to open the gate by just crooking his finger. "I usually like to climb the stairs, but Olivina finds it cumbersome and even dangerous to negotiate them in her ball gowns. Since Miss Justice decided to join us, I thought we should show her the same consideration." He swept his arm toward the car. "After you, dear lady."