He did not open them again that night. He stretched his legs out on top of the desk, loosened his shirt and dozed with the sheer exhaustion that came from traveling from continent to continent.
He heard the rap on the door, but he had told the proprietor of the boardinghouse often enough that he did not wish to be disturbed. He opened his eyes and stared evilly at the door, but he did not hasten to rise, nor did he reply.
To his amazement, the door opened.
And to his further amazement, he saw that his early morning visitor was none other than his new, wayward ward.
She was elegant this morning, more beautiful than she had appeared last night in the gaslight of the prim Victorian parlor.
She wore a soft blue day dress with a low-cut bosom and a small, very fashionable bustle. She carried a parasol, wore immaculate white gloves and small elegant boots that just peeked out from beneath the hem of her gown. A matching brocade jacket covered her shoulders, but was fetchingly cut to offer both modesty—and the hint of a very fine cleavage.
She wore no hat, nor had she pinned her hair up, and it fell over her shoulders in sweeping waves like the rays of the sun. It was wonderful hair, hair that rippled and cascaded and fell to her waist, red and gold, fascinating.
She entered the room, and her eyes widened as she saw him at his desk with the brandy bottle before him, his shirt opened all the way down the front and his legs carelessly tossed upon the desk.
He did not bother to move. “Well, well,” he murmured. “To what do I owe this honor?”
“I need to speak with you,” she murmured.
“Obviously.”
She didn’t make a move, but seemed frozen against the door. He smiled slowly, wondering if he admired her or disliked her intensely.
No, he did not dislike her, he realized. He disliked what she was doing to his life. He wanted her to be passive and well-behaved and to follow him home and live quietly in her room, so docile that he could forget her.
Cared for, yes, cared for well. But so quiet and well-mannered that he scarce need know she was there.
He would know she was there, he thought. He would always know she was there. She was beautiful, and she must be well aware of it. She had already cast herself into the disgrace of a lover, and in honor of Sir Thomas’s memory, he must make certain that she not do such a thing again. She was hardly quiet, and the furthest thing in the world from docile.
Those eyes …
She could tempt and taunt like the most practiced vixen, he thought, and was startled to realize that she had annoyed him last night and annoyed him now because she need only stare at him with those fascinating eyes and he felt the stirrings of longing, hot and pulsating, within his groin. He inhaled sharply, and exhaled, and spoke to her far more harshly than he had intended.
“What? You’ve come. You’ve entered unbidden. Speak!”
Green eyes flashed with fury. He was certain that she was going to turn and leave the room. And then he would have to chase after her.
But she seemed to stiffen and lock her jaw. She did not move. Her gaze swept over him scornfully. Her eyes locked upon his bare chest, then rose once more to meet his. She appeared to fight for nerve, then found her courage. She raised her chin, and once more her gaze was imperious.
“I wish to follow my father’s will to the letter, Mr. Tremayne. I wish—” She hesitated only the flicker of a second. “I wish to—to marry you.”
Chapter Three
“You what?” Ian’s feet hit the floor. His eyes narrowed sharply, and his voice rang with surprise.
For a moment, Marissa couldn’t quite catch her breath. The man seemed to be more formidable than ever. No, he had made a promise to Sir Thomas, and he was merely irritated with her attempts to thwart him. His voice could be gentle; he could be every inch the gentleman.
He didn’t look much the gentleman at the moment. He looked every inch the rogue. His chest was nearly naked, very hard muscled and thickly matted with crisp dark hairs against which a gold medallion of St. Luke rested. He was scowling crossly, and a lock of his near ebony hair was dangling haphazardly over his forehead. He had spent the evening drinking brandy, so it appeared.
He was still a gentleman, she assured herself, despite his appearance.
After all, Sir Thomas had trusted him with his daughter’s future.
And still …
Deep within her, tremors had begun. To her dismay, she discovered that she was frightened, but also excited. There was something decadently tempting about the taut muscles that formed his chest. Something that made her long to touch …
And then start to tremble anew.
No, no, she didn’t want to touch anything. She had to make that clear. Abundantly clear. But just thinking about it made her feel a curious unease.
He didn’t want to marry. He had said that he had no intention of marrying again. So he had been married. She had to convince him that … that they could marry one another and lead separate lives.
“I want to marry you,” she managed to repeat.
“Whatever for?” he demanded crossly.
“That’s entirely obvious, isn’t it, Mr. Tremayne?” she said with exasperation. “I need my allowance.”
“I am willing to care for you.”
“I don’t want charity. I want what is mine.”
“You don’t want charity—but you’re willing to marry a stranger for your allowance?” A single dark brow was raised high with incredulity. “Excuse me, Miss Ahearn, but I would think that marriage to a near stranger would have to be less appealing than the simple acceptance of the stranger’s largesse.” He was amused again. He was not in the least taking her seriously.
“Mr. Tremayne, this is important to me.”
“It seems that our newly entwined futures must be important to us both. I am serious, too, Marissa. Marriage is a contract, legal, binding.”
“Yes, I know.”
“It is also much, much more,” he reminded her sharply.
“It wouldn’t have to be like that,” she said hastily.
“Like what?” he demanded. He was taunting her, she knew. Baiting her, purposely. He was angry, and he meant to draw blood.
She pushed away from the wall, moving into the room at last. But then she paused, for he was now standing. He moved around to the front of the desk, crossing his arms over his chest.
Awaiting her.
She was silent, and he sat back comfortably on the desk, smiling suddenly. “Pray, do enlighten me, Miss Ahearn.”
Enlighten him! She longed to smack the amusement from his face.
An ill choice of action, she decided, if she was to coerce him to her will.
She swallowed her anger and tried to speak intelligently and with dignity. “My father’s will has devastated me, Mr. Tremayne. There are certain—charities to which I am deeply committed, and I would use my own funds for these expenses. You—you said that you did not intend to marry again. If we marry one another, then you will not have to marry again.”
A quizzical expression passed over his face, then he laughed outright. “Obviously. I shall be married to you.”
“But not really.”
“You cannot collect your inheritance by going through a pretense of marriage.”
“No, no, I will marry you, really—”
“I don’t wish to marry.”
Marissa exploded with a sharp oath of impatience that brought amusement to his eyes, and both his brows shot up. “Mr. Tremayne, you have told me that you are not averse to accepting certain advances from certain women. I can only assume this to mean a certain kind of woman, sir. Harlots and whores, Mr. Tremayne, if I do comprehend your words correctly. I—”
“And dance-hall girls, Miss Ahearn,” He added. “We do have some very fine establishments in San Francisco.”
“Excuse me. And dance-hall girls. They can be very amusing, I’m certain—”
“Oh, much more than amusing.”
�
�But what of the nights when you might wish to entertain at home? When you need someone to welcome important associates? When you wish to play the gentleman, Mr. Tremayne, which I do assume you do upon occasion!”
“And you are the epitome of graciousness!” he snapped suddenly.
She was silent for a moment, then murmured, “And you, Mr. Tremayne, seem capable of being a master of cruelty.”
He sighed softly. “Marissa!” Curiously, her name sounded almost like a caress. “I am sorry, truly. I never meant to be cruel. I wanted this all to be as easy as it could be.”
Marissa lowered her lashes, unnerved by his sudden gentleness. “There is no way to make this easy!” she whispered vehemently.
“Do you know what you’re asking me?” he demanded.
“Yes!”
“I don’t want a wife,” he said harshly.
“You don’t wish a wife to whom you would be obliged to offer affection!” she corrected him.
His startled look gave her a sudden advantage, and she determined to pursue it. “That is why it is all so perfect!” she exclaimed passionately. And once again, she stood before him. Too closely before him. Her hands rested upon the desk and she stared into his eyes, nearly pleading. He was still smiling. “Oh, don’t you see!” she moaned.
“I do apologize, but your logic simply eludes me.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to—I wouldn’t expect you to behave as a husband.”
“Ah. And how does a husband behave?” he queried her.
She pushed away from the desk and strode with agitation across the room. Then she realized that she was facing his bed and she swung around, her cheeks flaming. He was taunting her. He knew darned well what she was saying.
“Mr. Tremayne, we could form a marriage in name only. I could receive my inheritance, and in turn—” She paused.
“Yes, well, it’s that part I am interested in hearing about,” he said dryly.
“I could protect you.”
“You could protect me?”
“From unwanted advances.”
He burst into laughter. All the grimness left his mouth, and a sizzling sparkle touched his eyes. If nothing else, she had amused him.
“You’re being very rude,” she informed him coolly.
“Oh! Do forgive me, Miss Ahearn. It’s just that, though I do not wish to marry again, there are certain, er, advances that I rather welcome, if you know what I mean.”
Her cheeks flamed and she willed herself to betray no emotion, no anger, no embarrassment. She tried her very best to stare at him with nothing more than scorn and to speak as softly as she could. “You would be more than welcome to your diversions, Mr. Tremayne. That is my whole point. You could wander at will, and be plagued by no woman, for you would already have a wife. A wife to whom you owed nothing at all, a wife who would stay out of your way, I might add, and in her gratitude, make your life as comfortable as possible.”
“Comfortable?”
She gritted her teeth. “I make a very good hostess for business dinners and all social occasions,” she assured him primly.
“Oh, I’m sure that you do!” he said.
She had no further arguments for the moment, and he was still staring at her without replying.
“Well?” she prompted him irritably.
“Well?”
“Have you an answer?”
“I’m thinking,” he told her.
“You at least knew something of this arrangement!” she reminded him with a flare of anger.
“But I knew nothing about acquiring a wife,” he murmured. “And if I am about to find myself with this wonderful hostess and entertainer who will boldly stand guard against all mamas who wish their daughters married, I am still afraid that I might have a few requirements of my new paragon of virtue.”
“Such as?”
“Well,” he drawled softly, his blue gaze sweeping over her with a lazy regard, “I would like her to be just that—a paragon of virtue.”
Marissa gasped, infuriated. “Just as you are a paragon of virtue, Mr. Tremayne.”
“Sorry. I am afraid that it is still required much more of the female in this day and age.”
She swirled around, heading for the door. He watched her without protest. Her fingers closed over the knob.
She turned, quivering with anger, but very aware that she was the one playing for the high stakes—he really did not want a wife.
“What do you want out of me?” she demanded.
“The truth.”
“Why?”
“You’re asking me to marry you,” he said harshly. “I want to know something about my future wife.”
“Such as?”
“What of your young lover? I’ll have no man trailing after you to my home. And I’ll be damned if I’ll ever give any woman my good name for her to make a cuckold of me by playing at any game with another.” She realized then that he was amused, but he was also angry. Very angry. The open shirt displayed the pulse against his throat, and muscles bulged on his naked chest as his arms almost imperceptibly tightened over one another.
She leaned against the door and moistened her lips. Her eyes met his.
“I have never had a lover, Mr. Tremayne,” she said flatly.
“You admitted it when I spoke of your father’s fears,” he reminded her.
“No.” Her eyes fell from his, and she shook her head. “I admitted that I knew a man, but …” She forced her eyes to meet his. To offer the honesty that was still a lie. “He was never my—lover.”
He rose from the desk and walked to the door. She was tempted to throw it open and run.
She held her ground. His arms came around her as bars on either side of her head, his hands flat against the panels of the door. “I wonder if you are telling the truth. I wonder if you are capable of telling the truth.”
“What difference would it make?” she cried out passionately. “I want no real marriage. We could put it in writing, we could—”
“No!” He seemed to thunder out the word, sharp and savage. “You are not listening, my lady. I’ll not have my name abused. And I’ll have no contract for pretense written down upon paper. And neither will I make any damned agreements about what a marriage will or will not be. One a hostess, the other the provider of an income.”
“It is my own income!”
“Not without me.”
Oh, please! she thought. She could not face him much longer without screaming. His sudden change from laughter to passion and anger was unnerving. She could not bear it.
“I have told you the truth, I swear it!” she cried suddenly. “There is no man, there has never been a man. I plan to play no games, I just wish to live with a certain dignity—”
“And what, pray tell,” he demanded savagely, “if you should discover yourself falling in love again elsewhere?”
“I will not fall in love elsewhere.”
“Ah, how assured you are for one so young!”
“Well, you are certain you’ve no wish to marry again, and you are not yet decrepit!”
“Ah, but I have known love, my lady, and there’s the difference,” he said, his tone suddenly, deceptively soft.
“Please—”
“What are these charities of yours?”
“They are personal.”
“Perhaps a young man is included in them?”
“No!”
He pushed away from the door, turned and paced across the room. A moment later he pulled out the chair at his desk and sank into it. “How strange. I don’t see you being such an incredible philanthropist, Marissa.”
“I told you—”
“Spell it out!”
“I—I have a maid. No, she is no longer really my maid. But she wishes to be married. They are both young and poor and her health is failing, and I want to bring them both with me. She has been a dear friend all her life. And there is a small mining town I wish to help—”
“And certain miners?” he inquired p
olitely.
“I tell you, sir, that my intentions are entirely honorable!”
“Are they?” he mused, and he sat at the desk, idly tapping his fingers against the wood as he stared at her. He threw up his hands. “Lady, you did not want a guardian, and yet you would accept a husband!”
“I have explained—”
“Ah, yes, well then, let me explain.” He leaned forward, folding his hands upon the table, his eyes seeming to impale her as his temper rose with his every word. “I am not an easy man, Miss Ahearn.”
“You said that you are often gone—”
“But when I am home, I can be a tyrant. I am demanding and exacting, and I have a horrible temper.”
“Indeed? What a shock!” she said with wide eyes and sweetly dripping sarcasm.
“You are asking for this,” he reminded her.
“Pray, go on, Mr. Tremayne.”
“Bear in mind that I’ve no wish to marry.”
“So you’ve informed me.”
“That I shall go my own way.”
“That, sir, will give me the greatest pleasure.”
A long finger was suddenly pointed in her direction. “While you, my dear, will be that wonderful paragon you have promised. And you will be at my beck and call for whatever social amenities I might require.”
Her heart was hammering. It was a devil’s bargain, made in hell. But she had already known that she would pay nearly any price to make this work.
She had paid part of the price, for the lie she was already living was agonizing.
“You make it sound like torture,” she murmured, her lashes falling over her eyes.
“On the contrary, I do not beat or abuse women, Marissa.” The harshness in his voice had suddenly faded, and she opened her eyes to his once again. “I have merely tried to show you your folly.”
Again she moistened her lips to speak. “I came here, sir, with my mind set.”
“There are times,” he said quietly, “when you may think I resent you just because we are married.”
She frowned. “I don’t understand—”
“Never mind. There is no way to explain.” He rose suddenly. “And I make no promises, no agreements. That is understood?”
Forbidden Fire Page 5