Louisa's eyes flickered hatred, and she made an effort to control herself. "Unless you return the necklace to me now, Marguerite, I shall inform General Hoffmann of your many liaisons with the men who have plotted to overthrow the government."
"Really, Louisa!" Marguerite laughed. "I have a fondness for souvenirs, otherwise I'd gladly hand the bauble to you." She obviously enjoyed taunting Louisa. "After all, you have so many mementoes of the man, can't you spare me one?"
"If it were a memento from Aaron Sumner, the man you knew, the man with whom we've both shared so many pleasant hours, it would be one thing. But it is a 'trinket' of another sort. And I have every intention of not leaving here without it." Louisa sat down on the bed as if she intended to stay for a while. "Really, Marguerite, you do underestimate General Hoffmann. Not everyone is as tolerant as the colonel, and the countryside is, as the general described it―a tinderbox. How long do you think your husband would keep his position if it was known that his wife consorted with many of the men on the general's list headed Suspected of Treason? How long would you continue to flourish in the style you so love if Hoffmann were to hear those names in connection with yours? These are very different days than even the last few months have been. Are you prepared to give up all you have?" Louisa asked, stroking the satin coverlet on Marguerite's bed. "If you make it necessary, I'm prepared to tell a very interesting story to your husband's superior officer. And what is more, he will listen. If suspicion is enough to hang a man, as it nearly was in Aaron's case, surely suspicion is enough to end a man's military career."
Marguerite was no longer cheerful. Nor did she doubt Louisa's intention to do just as she said. She tossed her smoky dark curls, and took a deep breath, despising the bargain, pouting as she opened her jewel box and removed Louisa's glittering necklace. "It's gaudy―I've had little occasion to wear it," she said, carelessly dropping the necklace into Louisa's outstretched hand.
Louisa caught her precious necklace, cradling it gently in her hand, watching the diamonds that shimmered about the tear-shaped pearl as they glittered in the lamplight, and some of her weariness seemed to ease from her. But it was not enough just to hold the keepsake in her hand, and Louisa quickly fastened the pendant securely around her neck where it lay against her skin. Louisa closed her eyes and touched the pearl at her throat, then stood to look at herself in Marguerite's mirror. She saw the dark-haired beauty standing behind her and she read the woman's animosity, the sneer she had for Louisa's fondness for a souvenir from a man she had loved. "It's something you will never in your lifetime understand, and I pity you for it," Louisa whispered.
Then she turned around to face the woman. "Good evening, Mrs. Hill. The pleasure this evening has been mine," and she left Marguerite staring after her as she flew down the stairs and out of the house.
Her cape covered the necklace she'd claimed, and although Aaron could only guess her purpose for going to see Mrs. Hill, he saw from the expression of joy and satisfaction on Louisa's face she'd obtained just what she wanted.
Chapter One Hundred-Nine
THE next morning Aaron expected to find Louisa waiting for him in the hotel's lobby when he came down. But instead he found only Alfredo. There was no sign or word of Louisa. Finally Aaron went to Louisa's room and knocked, and when there was no answer he turned the doorknob to find it locked as he expected. He knocked again, and once more there was no response.
At first the hotel desk clerk was reluctant to disturb her, but a look on Aaron's face made him think better of declining the man's request. As soon as her door was opened, Aaron could see she was still sleeping, and he went to her and sat on the edge of the bed. "I suggested you stay over until the boat sails, but you insisted we leave today, and you named the hour," he said, touching her shoulder as she lay on her stomach with her face turned away from him. But she didn't stir. "Louisa," he said, shaking her gently, and then he felt the incredible temperature of her body and the dampness of her bedclothes from the sweat that poured from her. "Louisa," he said still more loudly, turning her in the bed to face him. She opened her eyes, instantly closing them against what seemed like the morning's blinding brightness. Her mouth was dry and her lips were already cracked with fever. When she tried to speak no sound was heard, and the effort was greater than she seemed able to repeat.
Aaron raised her a little on the pillows. "My God, woman, you're on fire!" he said, wiping glistening perspiration from her face with a handkerchief. "I'll get a doctor." Louisa tried to protest. "This time you've no choice but to do what I say." But he said it with a smile and with worry in his eyes, which in her weakness Louisa failed to see.
The doctor had little to say after Alfredo informed him where they'd come from and the contact she'd had with Luther Dobson's illness. "Keep her from getting chilled and get as much liquid in her as possible, even if she sends it right back," he ordered. "And don't be surprised if she gets to be much worse. I hear a number have died―mostly children and babies though," ·he concluded without much encouragement.
"I'm an unlikely nurse," Aaron said to Louisa when the doctor left, "but you're stuck with me." And Louisa closed her eyes, vaguely aware of being bundled in blankets and lifted to a chair, while her bed was made fresh and she was assisted into a clean nightgown. She was forced to drink liquids she didn't taste, and it seemed whatever she swallowed reappeared with violent and exhausting regularity. Someone was with her whenever she opened her eyes, yet she seemed not to get any rest. She was far too frequently sick, wishing to be dead quickly and not to die over a prolonged period as she seemed to be doing.
At times Louisa felt she was freezing, and Aaron covered her with blankets, but her teeth still chattered. Sometimes he held her close, not sure she was really cognizant of what was going on. He hoped the warmth of his body, the security of his arms would help her, knowing nothing else he could do, noticing that her frightful shaking was relieved when he held her.
The San Francisco weather was dismal and cold, the dampness pervasive, and Aaron felt it even more than Louisa did. But the chill that settled over him was not only a matter of climate, for in his hours of longing and denial, and occasional regret, there had been some eternal flame of hope flickering in spite of his doubts and uncertainties; some remote confidence.
Now the fever and weakness of Louisa's body made Aaron despair. She was alternately burning with heat, then shaking with cold. Aaron helped her drink broth or water or specially prepared juices from the hotel kitchen as often as she would allow. He tried to keep her warm just as the doctor had ordered, but was frustrated by her temper when she threw off the blankets, seeming to exhaust herself in fits of childish tantrums directed at him. Other times she would huddle beneath those same covers fearing she would never again be warm, welcoming his arms when he held her.
Sometimes she slept against him, other times she stared vacantly about the room having no idea where she was. Occasionally she would push away from his grasp and stare at him weakly, his few words, even his voice, confusing her, but then she would lean against him once more, sometimes sighing deeply as she went back to sleep.
That day seemed long and the night interminable. On the second day, Louisa seemed no better, but no worse, Aaron reassured himself. Her fever was still incredibly high, and though she still slept fitfully, she began to keep down some of the fluids Aaron insisted she consume.
The second night passed even more slowly than the first. Louisa stared for long hours into the dark moonless night. She felt Aaron's presence, his arm around her, his body providing heat and comfort whenever she permitted his closeness, and her vanity surfaced.
She wondered how dreadful she must look, feeling herself swim in the sweat of fever, knowing well how tangled her hair must be from her tormented thrashing. Yet, when she could see through her haze, she saw sincere concern on Aaron's face, wondering if she could read more; she was afraid, praying now only for recovery, remembering Luther Dobson.
She most feared she would never ev
er hold Rachel safely in her arms again. When she thought of her soft round child, Louisa's eyes would fill with tears, and she struggled to stop her sobbing, finding her bouts of crying left her even weaker. She did not really regret her efforts for Aaron, her regrets lay much deeper than that. When she found his arms around her in the night, she hoped it was more than illness that left her numb and unfeeling, and her conflicting emotions only made her already confused mind reel.
He was there hour after hour, looking after her needs, as faithful and with a look as worried as any she'd seen on Carmen's face. That night when the fever finally broke, whenever she stirred in the darkness she would hear her name on his lips. She woke from her distorted dreams, thinking she heard him say he loved her, needed her, never wanted to be without her again, but she could only sigh, unsure enough of reality, especially in the dark, to keep silent.
When she woke in the morning, she was alone, with her head aching, yet reasonably clear. She did not feel strong enough to move, so she lay stiff and uncomfortable, wondering what she had dreamed the last few days, and what had been real. For once, she was terribly thirsty, even hungry.
She was not awake long before Aaron and two women she did not recognize entered the room with armloads of clean linen and pots of steaming water. It was a sight which buoyed Louisa beyond Aaron's expectations, and it was he who remained to assist her, peeling away her ruined nightclothes, covering her with clean linen, bathing her parched, uncomfortable body, little by little, with soothing hot water and fragrant soap, careful to see she did not get chilled. She was embarrassed by her condition, but much too much had passed between them to make the gentle care he now gave her anything but restorative.
When she was clean and dressed in a soft nightgown her tangled hair combed and tied, she lay gratefully in the fresh bed. She smiled at Aaron and closed her eyes and slept, exhausted but confident that she would be well and hold her child again.
Aaron let her sleep, looking after his needs, refreshing himself. He sat with her into the morning, held her in his arms, steadying her shaking hands so she could drink countless cups of tea, beginning to quench her thirst. She ate some fruit and bread, but the strong lemon-laced tea was what she really craved.
Louisa slept most of the day and had no energy to protest their continued stay in San Francisco. "We'll sail next week," he told her, when she asked about going home, but they said very little to each other. Louisa was still weak and not inclined to speak, and when she was awake she watched him, and he watched back, knowing when the time came, when she was strong enough, Louisa Boyd Hudson would have words enough. What needed to be said could wait.
In the night, he held her again, and his body felt so familiar, his scent wonderfully soothing. She smiled at the hardness of his body he could not conceal, and when he did not advance against her, Louisa turned to face Aaron and put her arms around him in loving welcome. As he began to speak of his love and his regret, Louisa sighed deeply in his arms, letting him take her gently, slowly but eagerly going with him, and as they made love, Louisa knew for certain she had not always been dreaming.
Chapter One Hundred-Ten
A week later, Louisa was only just beginning to regain her strength. She could have easily stayed a while longer in San Francisco before traveling south, but Aaron knew when she was able to walk to the hotel-room door without her knees giving way, it was useless to try to persuade her to stay on.
"I'm glad we didn't stay," Louisa said at the ship's railing just before the anchor was weighed. Her cheeks were bright with color, but from the cold wind on the bay, not from fever.
She didn't stay above deck long, retreating to a very confined cabin in a ship more accustomed to modest passengers than those who required luxury. "It'll be all right for the few days we're aboard," Louisa whispered. "It's not like we're going around Cape Horn." She undressed and put on a warm nightgown. "See, I can rest just as well aboard ship as I could in a hotel room. Better, since I know I'm going home," and Aaron lifted her into his arms, and into their bunk.
"Get some sleep this afternoon. We'll have dinner with the captain. He rarely has the likes of you at his table," Aaron said, kissing her and seeing the covers pulled around her protectively before he left the cabin.
Aaron knew there remained a great deal to say to Louisa. In the last few days, they had loved each other again, and their encounters had been almost unbearably satisfying. Yet he knew it would only be a matter of time before they would have to meet each other face to face and speak of things that would otherwise always come between them.
At least he knew he had a few things to say. He hoped it would be the beginning of a lifelong dialogue with her, and not the end of a short conversation, but he'd sworn to himself during one of those hellishly long nights when she was sick, he would not begin with her again unless he spoke his mind once and for all.
He smiled as he climbed topside: at least aboard ship, there would be nowhere for Louisa to run. She would have to hear him out this time.
The anticipation of at last clearing the air with her could almost be read in his face at dinner. Louisa was for once ravenous, and even the modest meal seemed delightful. She noticed Aaron's edginess; but dismissed it lightly, for he always seemed a bit restless at first when they went to sea.
When they retired to their cabin, she was ready to sleep again, the captain's brandy having had a very mellowing effect.
"Don't go to sleep yet, señora," Aaron insisted.
"Mmmm. Why not? I can barely keep my eyes open," she whispered, snuggling against him. He sat up suddenly, and his movement in the bunk jostled her unpleasantly. "What is it?" she demanded, not concealing her irritation.
"Louisa, we have a number of things to discuss."
"Not now, please," she said, trying to pull him under the covers again. When she realized he was immovable, she opened her eyes and frowned at him, then plumped the pillows behind her head and leaned into them. "What is it, Aaron?"
"I don't intend to go around and around with you again until we have a few things settled." There was a definite determination in his voice which made Louisa's sleepiness disappear all at once.
"You sound so very serious," she offered hesitantly.
"I am. I see very little use in putting any of this off for another day―or another night. The last time we separated, if you'll recall, I never expected there'd be time for us again. If you'll notice, each time we disagree, the fighting is more bitter, and the parting uglier." Louisa nodded. "We're not children, Louisa. Long ago, the quarrels we had were settled and forgotten in minutes. Now it's not so simple." He stopped to watch her stare at him. There were tears beading her lashes, and he reached to brush away one that slipped silently down her cheek. "You're afraid, aren't you?"
"You know me very well," she said, trying to compose herself, sitting a little straighter in the bed. "All right, Aaron. The moment of truth has arrived. No more pretending. No more hoping the unanswered questions will go away, like bad dreams often do," she said, reaching for an embroidered drawstring purse stashed in a rack above the bunk. "Perhaps we can begin with this," she said, opening the bag and removing Juliet's locket and ring suspended on Aaron's thick gold chain. "General Hoffmann gave me your personal effects but you never bothered to ask for them."
Aaron smiled wryly, reaching for the chain. "A mark of how eager I was to be out of the Presidio's walls!"
"Well?" she asked after a few moments of silence during which Aaron stared reflectively at the golden chain and its ornaments.
"It's as good a place to begin as any," he said, lifting the chain over his head. "The reason it never looked right on you is that it was never meant for a woman to wear. These trinkets are all I have left of a young woman I loved desperately, probably as desperately, in my way, as you loved Marshall. And you came by them unfairly."
Louisa's mouth dropped open, and he laughed at her look of astonishment. Then he told her of their first encounter in Jason Russell's house in New Orle
ans, and how deeply she had affected him. He told her he had loved her even then, and was now ashamed he had used her―not unlike others had, only for needs of his own. "I didn't seem able to stop myself. For a long time I'd dreamed of making love to you, and there you were, so willing in my arms. I never considered whether it was just or unjust to make love to you that way. I thought I had to test my impersonation. But even then I knew my real reasons. I wanted you for myself, however I could have you. And if you'll remember, your consent was for no one but Marshall."
Louisa lay back in the pillows and looked at Aaron as he sat beside her in the dim lamplight. Theirs had been a trauma-filled relationship with few moments of serenity. She looked into his face, into his deep dark eyes, at his lean hard body, which she was sure she would never stop yearning for. And she remembered the encounter he was speaking of. It touched her that he would tell her, that he would humble himself to confess his shame and sadness. She held her hand out to him and took his fingers to her cheek. "At the time, Aaron, I hardly even knew my own face when I saw it in the mirror. I was half crazy. Yet, I remember how different Marshall felt in my arms that night. But I was much too terrified to question ghosts who came to me in the darkness, especially a ghost with Marshall's face, one who spoke with his voice, who seemed not to want to hurt me―only to soothe and love me."
Aaron didn't speak, sensing she had more to say. But Louisa only watched him, staring almost vacantly, drifting through her memories. She knew she'd judged Aaron wrongly―and she had damned herself equally and as mistakenly. Aaron had seen what she had―great misery and sadness, things he had yet only alluded to, and while she had found hope in the depth of Marshall's love and had been able to sustain herself for an incredible length of time, Aaron had seen too little love, doubting love could fulfill even its simplest promises. This courageous, risk-taking man who seemed to fear very little in life―he had been afraid of what she promised: afraid to trust, afraid to feel, afraid to be hurt, afraid to hurt her―afraid of himself.
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