“We can’t let him do this to us,” Carolyn told him as they descended the short flight of steps.
“It’s none of your business, Carolyn.”
“She ruined your life in Charleston. Are you going to let her do the same thing here?”
He said nothing. They were nearing her carriage now, so she stepped in front of him, her eyes pleading desperately. “You could lose everything, don’t you see?”
His eyes fixed on her face. “I told you, if s none of your business.”
She stared at him in disbelief. He couldn’t mean that. He simply couldn’t. “You would have done more than kiss me if he hadn’t interrupted,” she cried.
Drayton couldn’t deny it. He had wanted her. It had been so long since he’d had a woman that he’d responded to her softness, her femininity.... He was angry with himself now for having given in to a purely physical urge without considering the consequences. “Matt kept me from making a very bad mistake,” he told Carolyn bluntly.
“No! You don’t mean that! Admit it, Drayton. You want me every bit as much as I want you.” She flung her arms about his neck and sought his mouth, thinking that he would respond to her now as he had just a few moments before.
But he only grasped her shoulders and pushed her away. ‘’For heaven’s sake, Carolyn, stop it. Haven’t you any pride?”
Her struggles ceased abruptly at his words, and her tear-filled eyes riveted on his face. With a tiny sob she broke away from him and ran to her carriage, departing without a single backward glance.
Matt was leisurely puffing on his second cigar when Drayton returned. He leaned forward in the chair to flick an ash in the tray on Drayton’s desk. “Terribly sorry if l said something to upset her,” he lied. He rose from his chair and walked to the single small window and glanced out. “But I thought Carolyn knew you were married.” He turned to Drayton and shrugged. “Everyone seems to know all about your wife, Drayton. I thought I knew all about her too. But it turned out I was wrong. I didn’t know she was one of the prettiest little magnolias ever to leave South Carolina,” he drawled. “Why, I do believe she’s enough woman to have started that little ol’ war all by herself.”
“Are you finished?” Drayton inquired calmly.
“Not quite.” Matt smashed the tip of his cigar into the tray. “I think it’s time you used a little more discretion in your dealings with Mrs. Craig. A warehouse in broad daylight is hardly the time or the place for-”
Without warning Drayton’s temper snapped, and Matt instantly felt a rock hard fist smashing into his jaw, sending him flying backward over the desktop. Papers flew everywhere as he struggled to gain his balance. He came to his feet slowly, supporting himself on an elbow until the fuzziness in his head faded a bit. His brown eyes met Drayton’s, and he winced at the thinly restrained anger he saw there still. He wasn’t really surprised that Drayton had thrown that punch, not after he’d pushed the man like he had.
“My personal life is none of your business,” Drayton ground out through clenched teeth.
“The hell it’s not.” Matt was still unsteady on his feet as he tossed back the retort. He paused to press his fingertips gingerly to his jaw. ‘’Your business is backed by my bank. And until you’re independent of all your financial obligations to that bank, you aren’t free to turn your back on polite society or live a life of public sin. There are other paint manufacturers in town-upright family men who go to church and live good, clean lives...or at least they appear to. And each and every one of your customers is going to turn to them if you offend their delicate sensitivities. As for Ken Galbraith, he likes you, Drayton. But he’s not quite sure about trusting you. He’s heard too many rumors about your wife, and he knows all about Aaron. He can’t help wondering if you and your stepbrother are two of a kind.”
He let out a sigh and shook his head at the stubborn set of Drayton’s mouth. He wasn’t getting through. “Think, man,” he said earnestly. “A woman like Carolyn Craig can’t do anything but hurt your chances at this point. You can’t afford to risk a public affair. There’s already too much gossip, and you know it. Take a mistress if you need one. Take several. But for heaven’s sake, don’t flaunt them. Be discreet. Or you’ll lose any chance you have of making a fortune.” He paused, then added pointedly, “And you’ll also lose a friend.”
A bitter smile twisted Drayton’s mouth. “Thank you for the advice... friend. ‘’
Matt straightened and dusted off his lapels. “Don’t mention it.’’ He retrieved his hat from the desk and gave something that looked like a smile. “I will expect to see you and your lovely wife Friday next...’’
Chapter 44
The sun had long since disappeared from the sky when Mandy finally fell asleep in Ambrosia’s arms and was carried off to her bed. Ambrosia smiled to herself as she pressed a light kiss to her baby’s cheek and tiptoed from the nursery. It had been a long day for both of them, since Mandy had suddenly become an expert explorer, curiously inspecting everything within her reach and trying desperately to reach everything that wasn’t. This afternoon, the moment Ambrosia’s mind was elsewhere, Mandy had promptly left her toys and crawled from the parlor to the dining room. Within minutes she was pulling herself up on a chair and then onto the table by grasping fistfuls of the linen tablecloth. It seemed that she was forever climbing, reaching, scrambling into trouble ever since she’d learned how to crawl.
With a sigh that was a mixture of pride and exasperation, Ambrosia descended the stairs and entered the parlor. She collected her sketch pad and a few pieces of charcoal and took a seat in a chair. Lily was seated nearby, playing solitaire at a small table. She drummed her fingers in frustration against the tabletop. ‘’Is Mandy asleep?”
“Finally.” Ambrosia looked up from the sketch she had just begun and grinned. ‘’I wonder where she gets all that energy. “
Lily smiled in response and slowly began to go through her stack of cards again. She’d been through them four times already without finding a single play. But perhaps she had missed something, she told herself. She scowled as she turned the cards face up, snapping the last several loudly on the table as she did so. With a sigh of annoyance she finished with the cards and straightened them into a neat stack. She might as well admit it. She’d lost another game. She made to gather in the cards, then stopped and reconsidered. She tossed a brief, sidelong glance at Ambrosia to assure herself that the younger woman was already deeply engrossed in her drawing. With a pensive nibble at her bottom lip, Lily hurriedly slipped a few cards from the thickest facedown stack and added them to her playing cards. A fox like smile curved her mouth as she placed a red queen on a black king, a play which made possible at least five consecutive plays.
“It doesn’t count, you know.”
Lily’s eyes lifted in startled amazement. “What, dear?” she inquired innocently.
Ambrosia’s eyes remained on her sketch. “I said, it doesn’t count as a win if you steal cards from underneath.”
Lily frowned as she stared at Ambrosia, then at her cards, then at Ambrosia again. “How did you know? You weren’t even watching!”
“I was listening.”
Lily lifted an indignant brow. “What does that mean?”
Trying hard to hold back a grin, Ambrosia laid aside her sketch and met Lily’s eyes. “When you’re winning, you talk to yourself. When you’re losing, you make all sorts of irritating noises with those cards. And when you’re cheating”-she could no longer hold back the smile-”you’re as quiet as a mouse. “
Lily’s eyes widened in dismay. She quickly gathered up the cards and made to change the subject. ‘’What are you sketching?”
Still chuckling to herself, Ambrosia retrieved her sketch and gave a shrug. “Nothing in particular,” she answered lightly, carefully closing the pad and rising to pace before the fire. The April day had been wonderfully mild, but the nights
were still brisk and a fire was a wonderful luxury. With her back to Lily, she idly began to warm her hands before it. Lily sighed as she watched Ambrosia stare at the flames, knowing full well what occupied her thoughts. She had caught a glimpse of Ambrosia’s sketch and recognized it instantly as a portrait of Drayton.
For a long moment the room was silent. But suddenly both women started at the sound of Drayton’s voice cutting like a blade through the room. “Ambrosia.”
She whirled, her eyes riveting on the threshold where he stood clad in a white cotton shirt and dark, tight-fitting trousers. Work clothes, obviously, since both shirt and pants bore stains of many colors and oils. Ambrosia’s face lit up when she saw him, but almost at once that light died. His eyes were raking over her with open hostility, moving slowly over her pink muslin gown, upward to the ribbons that drew her hair into an attractive cluster of curls. She felt her stomach knotting, felt the color draining from her face.
Lily rose, struggling from behind the table to make her way toward her nephew. He had come home only three times since the holidays, and all of his visits had been made on Sundays. Something was very different now, something was very wrong. “Drayton? What is it? What’s happened?”
He made no move to enter the room, and suddenly Lily stopped, aware of the tension that flared between Drayton and Ambrosia, aware of the way he was staring at her as if he wanted very much to slap her face. ‘’Drayton?”
“I need to speak with my wife, Lily,” he said softly. His blue eyes never wavered from Ambrosia’s face even as he spoke the words. “Alone.”
Lily’s eyes flew helplessly from one to the other, but Drayton’s expression was ruthlessly cold, and Ambrosia’s was cool and distant, a strange look Lily had not seen since Mandy’s birth. They were bracing for a fight that could only hurt them both. “Drayton-”
“I shall be waiting in the library,” he said tersely, ignoring Lily’s stammering attempts at pacification. He turned on a heel and left the room with a brisk, angry stride.
For a long moment Ambrosia did not move. It seemed an eternity before she could find the strength to square her shoulders and lift her chin. Then, without a word or even a glance at Lily, she followed after him.
The fireplace lay cold and empty in the library. A chill pervaded the room. Ambrosia stood in rigid silence as Drayton lit the desk lamp and a second lamp on a nearby table. A soft yellow glow dispelled the shadows, but the terrible chill remained. He turned to face her, his mouth set in a tight, angry line, his eyes icy as they once again flicked over her new clothing. It was so much softer, prettier than the black gowns she had worn, and her hair seemed to beckon the touch of his hand. She stood straight and silent, meeting his eyes without any show of emotion. Just like before, he thought, she was being coldly defiant. “I was informed by Matt Desmond today that you plan to make an appearance at their anniversary party next Friday.” His eyes never left hers.
She said nothing. She had known he would be angry. For a time she met the fury in his eyes, but then her control faltered. She stared at the floor.
“Well? Is it true or isn’t it?”
“Mr. Desmond invited Lily to the party,” Ambrosia admitted softly. ‘’And out of politeness, he extended the invitation to me as well. But you needn’t worry, Drayton. I have no intention of going.’’
It was what he had come to hear. Yet the words in no way eased his anger. Without knowing why he felt a surge of new resentment. “What excuse do you intend to give?’’ he demanded.
She stared at her hands, her fingers lacing tightly. “The same excuse you have used this past year, unless you can think of a better one.” She paused, her throat so painfully tight that she could scarcely speak at all. “If that’s all you wished to speak with me about...” She turned as if to leave.
He moved to block her path. ‘’I can hardly claim that you’re seriously ill now, after you came into town the picture of health and put yourself on display for all the world to see.”
She met his eyes, her lip trembling, her eyes bright with unshed tears. “I’m terribly sorry I’ve ruined your little lie,” she told him with heavy sarcasm. “I can assure you it wasn’t intentional.”
His eyes narrowed. ‘’I think it was,’’ he accused hotly. “I think you had it in your mind to attend that party just to humiliate me.’’
She stared at him, her face reflecting the hurt she was feeling at his accusation. Then her eyes became distant, uncaring, far away.
“Matt told me you accepted the invitation,” he went on. “He expects you to be there. He’s probably told a dozen people that you’ll be there.’’
“Well then,” she returned with a weak attempt at a smile, “he’ll be disappointed, won’t he?” She let out a shaky breath and struggled to calm herself, to detach herself from what was happening. “Don’t worry, Drayton. I wouldn’t dream of going and ruining your lie for the rest of your friends.”
When she would have passed him, his hands shot out to take hold of her arms. He could not allow her so easy a retreat. He was too indignant for that. “You are going to that party, Ambrosia. Not behind my back, the way you planned it. You’ll arrive on my arm as my devoted wife, finally recovered from a lingering illness.’’ His fingers tightened painfully about the flesh of her arms. “And if you say one word or make one move that’s out of line, I promise you, you’ll never see Mandy again.” He released her abruptly, his anger suddenly spent as he saw the tears coursing swiftly down her cheeks. He had hurt her deeply, just as he had wanted to do. He wondered fleetingly why he felt so little satisfaction, even a twinge of guilt. He turned away.
Humiliated at being reduced to tears by his threat, Ambrosia wiped her cheeks with the back of her hand and struggled to straighten her spine. How long had it been since she had played out this same scene with this same man, listening to his threats, her strength crumbling beneath the weight of them? She had hated him then, had done everything in her power to destroy him. Just as he was destroying her now. She rubbed briskly at the flesh of her arms as a chill made her tremble within. “Is that all?” she whispered.
“I will expect you at my house by seven o’clock Friday,’’ he said with cool authority, not even turning back to face her. He let out a lengthy breath before he abruptly turned and left the room.
Lily hobbled clumsily from one end of the hallway to the other, leaning heavily on her cane and resisting the urge to listen at the library door. If only Drayton hadn’t been so terribly angry. If only he would stop a moment and see the changes in her. Surely he must have noticed her dress, her hair. He wasn’t a man if he hadn’t noticed that. And surely he would listen to-
“Lily.”
She whirled about, her eyes lifting in an unspoken plea. He was eyeing her with cold resolution as he buttoned his coat. He picked up his hat and gloves. “Since my wife wants so much to attend a party in the city, I’m going to oblige her. She tells me that you were invited as well.”
Lily moved to close the distance between them.
“Drayton, listen to me. The party wasn’t Ambrosia’s idea. She didn’t even want to go.”
He pulled his wide-brimmed hat low on his brow, catching sight of Ambrosia as he glanced back at his aunt. “I will expect to see you at my house Friday at seven sharp. I hope I can trust you to see that she wears something appropriate,” he added, knowing full well Ambrosia heard the remark. Before Lily could respond, he was gone.
Chapter 45
The air was warm as they began their early-evening ride to town, though as the sun began its descent, it cooled considerably. Lily made a conscious effort to keep quiet during the greater part of their trip, and her warning glances at Bessie instructed the maid to do the same. She had not really thought about this being the first overnight separation for mother and child until she watched the way Ambrosia held her baby, her eyes pressed tightly shut, her mouth quivering with emoti
on. Mandy gave her a brief hug, then playfully waved byebye, a trick she had recently learned from Debbs. Lily gnawed nervously at her bottom lip as she watched Ambrosia gaze sullenly at the passing landscape. At the very least tonight would be difficult for her. She would be stared at and whispered about and probably questioned unmercifully all evening long. They were all dying to see her, this mysterious woman Drayton had married and then “locked away” in the country all these months. They were all speculating on her illness, on the hasty marriage that had produced a child and then driven Drayton away to live a life of his own in the city, to take a mistress...No, Lily told herself firmly. She didn’t really believe that he’d done that, in spite of what Isabel said.
And tonight would put an end to the gossip. Everyone would finally see for himself.
Darkness was descending as the brougham rolled to a smooth stop before the Gramercy Park brownstone. Debbs quickly moved to assist Ambrosia and Lily from the carriage, then saw to their safe entrance to the house. The entrance hall was long and dark, cluttered with paintings and sculptures that seemed eerie and uninviting in the flickering gaslight. Ambrosia disliked the house the moment she entered it, hated the gaudy scrollwork that gilded everything, the objets d’art that filled every nook and comer, cluttering every inch of open space. A painfully thin, bent old man dressed in crisp servant’s attire bowed and introduced himself as Bryson. He was the only servant in the house since all but a few of the rooms were closed arid Mr. Rambert lived alone. Bryson settled them in their rooms with surprising efficiency, announcing in his proper British accent that Mr. Rambert would join them in the parlor precisely at seven.
Alone in the room that had been assigned her, Ambrosia stared at her reflection in the mirror, trying hard to summon courage from what she saw there. Her fingers lifted shakily to touch her cheek, pale beneath the slight touch of color Lily had insisted she use. She had never worn face paint before, had never even considered it, since it was something a Southern woman of breeding simply would not do. But the women here in New York were different from the women Ambrosia had known throughout her childhood. This world was a different one. And if she hoped to survive here, if she hoped to endure this night, then she could not allow anyone to see that she was terribly afraid.
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