I kept telling myself that I’d done the only thing I could do under the circumstances. But it didn’t help. He had looked so forsaken, so lost, and then he had smiled that cocky smile, even as his world collapsed around him. “You’re all I have,” he had said. What had I done? What in God’s name had I done? I was all he had, he claimed, and it was true. It was true. Anthony was all I had, too, and I had flung him away.
The dressing room door flew open and Millie whirled in, resplendent in a gold silk gown; her golden hair pulled back and worn in dangling ringlets in back. Bradford was right behind her, looking uncomfortable in formal attire. Millie’s cheeks were flushed, her blue eyes sparkling. The long gold ringlets bounced as she pulled Bradford into the room.
“I thought we’d never make it!” she exclaimed. “Everyone in the immediate area is trying to force their way backstage, matrons in velvet and men with silver hair! Men with more flowers, young men with lovesick eyes! You’ve never seen such a crush! James had to knock a dozen people down before we could reach the door!”
“Only one or two,” he drawled.
“They’re still out there!” Millie continued. “Your carriage is waiting in front of the theater and the horses have already been unharnessed—a dozen men ready to pull you through the streets. There must be at least four hundred people waiting for you to appear.”
“I went and got my buggy,” Bradford said calmly. “I brought it around to the stage entrance in back, just as a precaution. I thought you might not want all that fuss tonight.”
“Thank God.”
“I’ve never seen anything like it!” Millie vowed. “The whole city’s gone mad over you, Elena, and no wonder! You were electrifying! Marvelous! That final number—I still can’t get over it!”
She shook her head and glanced around the dressing room.
“Where’s Anthony?” she asked.
“He—he left.”
“I’m not at all surprised! Just like him. One of the biggest nights of your life and he disappears! You’d think he could at least take you out to dinner! Not our Anthony! It might cost him a dollar or—”
Millie saw my expression. She cut herself short, changing her manner abruptly. “Is—is something wrong?”
“I’m all right.”
Millie didn’t believe me. “You’re exhausted,” she said quickly, trying to hide her concern. “Of course you are. It’s only to be expected after all that tension and strain. We—James and I will take you back to the hotel.”
“Thank you.”
She took my hand and squeezed it. “Don’t just stand there, James! Open the door. Thank goodness the buggy’s waiting in back of the theater. You’re in no condition to face that mob.”
We left the dressing room, Bradford in front of us, Millie holding my hand firmly. She kept glancing at me with concern as we moved down the hall toward the stage door. Did I look so bad? Was it so obvious? The doorman saw us coming and leaped up to open the door for us. The night air was cool and damp as we stepped outside. I hesitated on the metal step, suddenly unable to move. I gripped Millie’s hand so tightly she winced in pain.
“Millie—”
“Elena! My God—”
A premonition swept over me like a dark cloud, engulfing me, and for a moment I thought I might actually faint. Something was going to happen. I felt it in my bones. I felt it in my blood. Through a swirling haze of blackness I saw something dreadful, something bright and blurry and terrible. The sensation was like a physical blow, jolting me, leaving me stunned, and I began to tremble. Millie gathered me in her arms, terrified.
“James!” she cried. And he was suddenly at my side, his arm around my waist.
“I’m all right now,” I said.
“You’re sure?”
“I—I just—felt a little weak.”
“Good lord, you gave me a turn!” Millie exclaimed. “I thought you were going to pass out. Your face was white as a sheet, and your eyes—the look in your eyes was absolutely frightening!”
“Shut up,” Bradford said curtly.
He handed her up into the buggy and then helped me up beside her. Millie moved over a bit to give me more room, while Bradford stepped around the back of the buggy and took his place on the other side of her. We could hear the noisy crowd in front of the theater. They were cheering, calling my name.
“We’d better go on down the alley and take the side street,” Bradford said.
As the dappled gray started slowly down the alley, the buggy shook gently from side to side, creaking with each turn of the wheels. Suddenly, I knew what I had to do. I leaned forward to speak directly to Bradford.
“Do you know how to get to The Golden Nugget?”
“Reckon I do,” he said.
“The Golden Nugget!” Millie cried. “Have you lost your mind? You’re going straight back to the hotel!”
I ignored her. “Will you take me there?” I asked.
“If that’s where you want to go.”
Millie opened her mouth to protest further, but Bradford silenced her with a stern look. As we pulled out into the street, he reached under the seat and took his gun from its hiding place. He placed it on the seat beside his thigh. Millie recoiled. Though she was very upset, she kept silent. She took my hand and sat back, her gold silk skirt rustling.
Everything would be all right once I found him. I would ask him to forgive me. He would sulk a while, but eventually he would condescend to accept my apology and then he would grin, and put his arm around my shoulder and say ‘We’re a team, luv,’ and everything would be all right. Later, at the hotel, we would make love and I would hold him to me, hold him fast. He was all I had. Millie was going to marry Bradford, and she would leave. Anthony was all I had.
I loved him. I didn’t love him the way I loved Brence—I would never be able to love anyone else that way, but what I felt for Anthony was just as real. He was a thorough rogue, exasperating and mercurial and impossible most of the time, but I loved him just the same. I remembered the premonition, and I squeezed Millie’s hand, consumed with fear.
“Please—please hurry,” I begged.
“Can’t go any faster down these muddy streets,” Bradford said.
“Are we almost there?”
“It’s not much further.”
The sidewalks were crowded as we passed restaurants and saloons, more respectable-looking than they had seemed in the afternoon. Several carriages moved along the street, men on horseback as well. The thick, treacherous mud made our progress agonizingly slow, and it seemed to take us forever to reach the area lined with plush, expensive gambling casinos. Torches in stanchions burned in front of each establishment, illuminating the gaudy façades.
Music spilled out into the street, accompanied by the sounds of revelry. Several men in evening clothes paraded up and down the sidewalks, peering into the windows, trying to select the right place to lose their money. I looked anxiously at the signs and finally spotted The Golden Nugget half a block ahead of us. As the horse trudged forward, I saw the white doors swing open. A tall, slender man in formal attire stepped out, pausing under the portico. He shook his head and reached up to shove a brown wave from his brow, and then he moved over to the edge of the sidewalk, peering up the street.
“There’s Anthony,” Millie said.
“Thank God,” I whispered. “Thank God—”
“He’s probably lost his last cent,” she remarked. “Honestly, luv, the things you put up with. I’ll never understand it if I live to be a hun—”
Suddenly, out of nowhere, three men on horseback came tearing down the street, shouting raucously, firing their pistols wildly. A window shattered. A woman shrieked in terror. The gunfire was deafening, explosion following explosion, as shards and splinters went flying in all directions.
As the riders raced past, Bradford stopped the buggy and grabbed his gun. I cried out. Up ahead Anthony looked up, startled and confused as the horsemen tore past him. Then, clutching his chest, he
reeled forward, stumbling into the street, and fell to his knees as a vivid red stain spread across his white satin waistcoat.
Millie tried to hold me back, but I tore free and leaped from the buggy. Slipping and stumbling in the mud, elbowing my way through the gathering crowd, I ran to Anthony. He was still holding his chest, that same startled expression on his face.
“A doctor,” I pleaded. “Please get a doctor.”
“Elena,” he said. “Is that you? Elena?”
“It’s me, Anthony. I’m here.”
“Don’t know what happened. I was just standing there, looking for a carriage, and—”
He gasped and closed his eyes. The wet red stain grew. He tried to say something else, but he couldn’t speak. Sitting down in the mud, I pulled his head and shoulders onto my lap. He opened his eyes and looked up at me. I smoothed the hair from his forehead. His cheeks were a deathly white, as he looked up at me with glazed eyes. He frowned, unable to understand why I was holding him, why all those people were gathered around us.
“Must be dreaming.…” he muttered.
“Anthony—”
“Elena? What are you doing here, luv? Elena! Christ—something hit me. What hap—”
“Don’t try to talk. They’ve gone to get a doctor. Everything is going to be all right. You were hurt, but—”
“Hurt? I—I can feel it. Elena—you came. Knew you couldn’t stay angry with me, luv. I have something to tell you. I—”
He gasped again, his eyes widening. I held him tightly, my tears falling onto his face. He grimaced as the pain increased, and then he sighed and looked exasperated with the whole thing.
“What I meant to say—been meaning to for years, luv—what I want to say is—What are we doing out on the street? Who are all these people? You’re getting your gown all muddy, luv. Just look at it. What’s going on? Did—am I going to—”
“Hush,” I said. “Hush, my darling.”
“I love you. That’s what I meant to say. It was always you. I never told you before because—I didn’t want you getting any—big ideas. I could never settle down, and—”
Gazing up at me with wide blue eyes that could no longer see, he tried desperately to focus, and after a moment he recognized me again. He started to say something else and then he went limp in my arms. I cradled him, holding him against me while my tears splattered on his face. He could no longer feel them. Anthony was dead.
XLVI
Nick Wayne helped me down from his carriage with the same thoughtful concern he had shown every day over the past five weeks. He was a polite, attentive, kind gentleman and I felt completely at ease with him. He seemed so capable of handling any situation that I had come to depend on him. Certainly, I would never have been able to get through the period after Anthony’s death without him. He had taken over, arranging the funeral, settling with the theater management, doing everything he could to make things easier for me. And though I owed him a great deal, Nick had never indicated he wanted anything in return. During all this time he hadn’t so much as attempted to kiss me goodnight. I was grateful for that.
“It’s rather a steep climb,” he said. “Think you can make it?”
“I’m not an invalid, Nick. I wish you’d stop treating me like one.”
He smiled his attractive smile, which was both warm and humorous. Nick Wayne was born to dominate. The full curve of his lower lip suggested a hearty sensual appetite, and his powerful build indicated unusual prowess. Any woman would feel fortunate to have him. I knew that I could. Of course he was merely biding his time. And I wondered what I would do when he finally made his move.
“Climbing hills outside the city isn’t my idea of the perfect afternoon outing,” I remarked.
“Wait till we get to the top. The view is spectacular.”
“I’ve worn the wrong shoes. I can see that already.”
Nick smiled again and took my hand as we started up the rocky, chaparral-studded hill, one of several that rose beyond Stockton Street. Rocks and scrubby brush and coarse grass made the climb difficult, and a brisk wind didn’t help matters. The skirt of my dark blue dress billowed up over the ruffles of my white petticoats, and strands of hair fluttered across my temples as the wind tore at my French roll.
I stumbled over a rock. Nick gripped my hand firmly, supporting me, and we continued to climb. Though I pretended to be put out, actually I was enjoying myself. It was a glorious afternoon, the sky a clear light blue, sunlight sparkling, the air laced with the aroma of wild plants and soil. Since Anthony’s death, Nick had kept me engaged almost every evening, and several afternoons we had gone for rides along the coast in his open carriage. Despite his attentions, I had spent far too much time alone in my hotel room, grieving, filled with remorse. It was good to be out in the open, to be moving about.
“How much further to the top?” I inquired.
“We’re almost there.”
“Does this hill have a name?”
“Officially it’s called Fern Hill, but a number of very wealthy men have been buying lots up here—society people—and a lad in the land office refers to it as snob hill. Only he doesn’t pronounce the ‘s.’ So, folks are beginning to call it Nob Hill.”
“Enchanting,” I said.
We reached the top of the hill, and Nick let go of my hand. I brushed the strands of hair from my face, only to have them fly back a moment later. My skirt lifted and billowed, and the green scarf around Nick’s throat whipped against the lapels of his suede jacket. His reddish-brown hair, burnished by the sunlight, had taken on a bronze hue. His size and strength made me feel very vulnerable, very feminine. I was extremely grateful to this man who had devoted so much time to me, who had helped when I most needed help.
“Here it is,” he said.
Looking around at the scrub-covered land, I was at a complete loss. “Why would anyone want to purchase lots up here?” I asked. “There’s no way you could build, no way you could get the materials up the hill.”
“Strong wagons and mules could make it, particularly if some system of pulleys were installed to help. San Francisco is growing by the minute, Elena, and it’s bound to grow in this direction.”
“You own some land?”
“I own the land we’re standing on. I’m going to build a house here, a grand mansion. I already have an architect drawing up plans. In a few years Nob Hill will be the most exclusive area in the city.”
“Impossible to reach,” I added.
“We’ll work something out. Turn around, Elena.”
As I turned, I caught my breath. The view was spectacular indeed, all San Francisco spread out below us, hills sloping and leveling all the way down to the shoreline, great clusters of houses and buildings and intersecting streets bathed in brilliant sunlight, rooftops jutting up at different angles, water and ships beyond. It was beautiful and somehow inspiring. I saw immediately why Fern Hill might become a desirable location for homes of the wealthy. A man would feel like a king standing there on the steps of his home, surveying the city below.
“It was worth the climb,” I said quietly.
“How do you feel about San Francisco, Elena?”
“I—I don’t quite know what you mean.”
“Do you think you could be happy here?”
“Happy? I no longer think in terms of happiness.”
“I could make you happy,” he told me.
He was standing next to me and he took hold of my arm just above the elbow, drawing me back against him. I wanted to lean back, to rest against that large, sturdy body, forget all my cares and let him take command. He wanted to, and it would have been so easy to let him. It would have been nice to let someone else take care of me. But I stood very still, refusing to lean back, not yet ready to make that decision. His fingers tightened slightly on my arm. His deep, beautifully modulated voice was husky in my ear.
“You know I want you, Elena.”
“I know, Nick.”
“I’ve been very p
atient.”
“I realize that and I appreciate it.”
“I wanted to give you time. I know Duke’s death was a terrible blow, and—”
“I don’t want to discuss it, Nick.”
“You made no effort to leave San Francisco. You’ve made no plans at all, as far as I know. I thought perhaps you were staying because of me. I’d like to think so.”
“You’ve been—very good to me, Nick. It was marvelous of you to settle with Clark. I know he intended for me to fulfill my contract, but I—I could never have done it. After that night …” I hesitated, a tremor in my voice. “I know you had to pay Clark a great deal of money to buy out my contract.”
“I did so willingly.”
“You’ve been kind and attentive and—I don’t think I would have made it if it hadn’t been for you. I’m grateful, Nick, but I’m not in love with you.”
“Not yet,” he said.
His strong arms inched around my waist, drawing me against him, and I didn’t try to resist. As I rested my head against his shoulder, I could feel his warmth, and I could smell the masculine odor of his body. I felt fragile and weak, knowing he could crush me in his arms, but I felt secure, too, knowing he wanted to cherish and protect me.
“I thought you would leave,” he said. “Every day I was afraid you would tell me you’d packed, that you were going home.”
“I have no home. There’s no place to go back to.”
“Make your home here, Elena. With me.”
“Nick—”
“I know why you turned down all my gifts,” he continued. “You thought my intentions were dishonorable, and they were. I might as well admit it. I wanted to sleep with you. I thought I could win you with jewels—have the famous Elena Lopez as my mistress. It would have been a great coup. Every man in California would have envied me. I still want to sleep with you, Elena, but I want to do it legally. I want to marry you.”
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