Forbidden Fire

by Heather Graham

  He was still wheezing, and it took him several minutes to answer. “So you are moving to America,” he finally said softly.

  “But you will come soon!” she insisted.

  He didn’t say anything, and she knew suddenly that he didn’t want to come. This was his home, despite the soot and poverty. His friends lived and worked and had died here, and he had always thought to do the same.

  Well, he wasn’t going to die. And there had to be a better life for the others here.

  “Uncle, you will come soon enough,” she said.

  He nodded, and she squared her shoulders. One day she would have to find a way to come back for him.

  “There’s rumblings of protest against the shareholders, you know, Marissa,” Theo said. “The men are trying hard to find a way for better conditions.”

  “And so they should,” Marissa agreed. “But, Uncle Theo, you’re out of it now. Protest is for the young men.”

  “Wait until the shareholders learn about your school,” he warned her.

  “The vicar will not let the school be closed,” she said, praying that it was true. Not even Mr. Lacey dared defy the vicar, who had caused tremendous havoc when a lad of ten had died from overwork in the tunnels a few years past. “Uncle Theo, you have to make sure that the vicar hears about any trouble Mr. Lacey might decide to cause.”

  Uncle Theo sat and stared at her, then sighed. “All right, my girl,” he promised softly. “I’m out of the mines, and living on your charity.”

  “It’s not my charity! What is mine is yours, Uncle.”

  “Ah, but you work to earn it!”

  “Working for Mary is no hardship,” she said uneasily.

  “And glad I am that you’re her companion, so fine and sweet a lady. At least I rest assured that she asks nothing difficult or ill of you, lass. She’s indeed a great and moral lady, and I rest easy, knowing you’re in her company.”

  Marissa folded her hands in her lap and looked at them, feeling a burning sensation invade her once again. Mary was a very fine lady. And no, Mary would never ask anything ill of her.

  The lies and deceit were all her own. And so was the night in which she had cast away her pride and innocence. For a stranger. A stranger she had married in a massive lie.

  A stranger who seemed to hate her. Ever more deeply since the tempest and tenderness …

  “Marissa, are you all right? You’re pale as death!” Theo exclaimed.

  She looked at him in dismay. “No, I’m—I’m fine, Uncle, honest.” She smiled quickly. “I’m simply famished, and the pot is sending off the most delicious aroma! Come, let’s eat! You always could create the most wonderful meals from so very little. And, oh! I’ve got to get the coachman to bring in the things I’ve brought from the manor.”

  “Ah, Marissa, did you take more from Miss Ahearn on my poor behalf?”

  “We’ll be leaving, Uncle. The larder was overstocked. You sit now, and I’ll serve our supper.”

  “Marissa—”

  “Come, Uncle, please? I’ll not be able to be with you for months and months now. Please, sit down and tell me the gossip and let me serve the soup!”

  So coaxed, Theo sat, and as Marissa dished up the soup and made tea, he entertained her with stories about the mines and miners and their children. He told her about the day they had managed to “accidentally” knock over a bin of coal dust right on Mr. Lacey’s head. “He was madder than a hornet, he was! But he couldn’t find no one to blame, could he, and so we all had a good laugh at his expense!”

  Marissa laughed, too, imagining Mr. Lacey’s fat jowls covered in coal dust. Then she managed to give Theo more pounds sterling than he usually saw in a year, and his awe as he looked at the money suddenly made everything she had done seem worth it all. And there would be more. There would be a school that might save some child from this life, just as Mary had saved her.

  No matter how tragic or humiliating her life might prove to be, it would all be worth it.

  She sipped her tea, finding that her hand was shaking. Ian was gone, she reminded herself. He was somewhere on the Atlantic right now, and she still had weeks before she would have to see him again.

  But there were so many things she couldn’t forget! So many things that plagued her! Even now, sitting here, in Uncle Theo’s cottage, she could see Ian’s face. His eyes alive with fire in the shadows and the darkness. Sizzling with the heat as he moved within her …

  She couldn’t breathe, and she forced herself to see another picture. His eyes with the fire of fury within them as he warned her, “Don’t ever deceive yourself. Don’t ever deceive yourself. I am a crude and terrible man …”

  She’d married him; she’d bedded with him. For money? What did that make her?

  She felt as if she was going to be sick.

  “Marissa, you’re as pale as a ghost again. You can’t be going to America if you’re ill—”

  “I’m not ill, I swear it! And I’ll write, every week, I promise, Uncle Theo. Oh, Uncle! I do love you so much!” She threw herself into his arms and hugged him fiercely, and willed the memories away. She had done what she had to do, and nothing more.

  “And I love you, child. Oh God, I do love you, more dearly than you shall ever know!” he promised. His gnarled hands moved over her hair tenderly, and she suddenly wished that she had never known a different life, that she could stay with him, sheltered in his arms and by his love.

  She yearned to close her eyes and pretend that she had never gone to London with Mary, never seen Ian there. Never married him, and never been—touched by him.

  But she could not. The die was already cast. And no matter what his anger toward her, she knew he would come after her if she did not arrive in San Francisco.

  She could not betray Mary or Jimmy or her uncle.

  “What is it, Marissa? What’s wrong?” Theo asked her gently.

  “Nothing. Just me, Uncle Theo. Hold me tightly, please.”

  He held her until night fell and it was time to go.

  Alone in Mary’s handsome coach then, she waved goodbye until Uncle Theo was only a speck in the darkness. Indeed, all the mining village was nothing but a speck in the night …

  Like a particle of coal dust.

  And then she wept, silent tears streaming down her cheeks. She wept for Theo, for the village and for herself. And then she remembered again the first time she had seen Ian Tremayne, the very first time, here in this same dingy, little town fast disappearing into the night.

  She remembered her fury, and her thoughts.

  She would be a great lady. She would show him.

  Ah, yes! She would show him!

  She dried the tears from her cheeks and sat straight in the carriage.

  And by the time she reached Mary and Jimmy and the manor, no sign of her distress remained.

  She would show Mr. Ian Tremayne. She would never shed another tear.

  One week later, at the appointed time, she, Mary and Jimmy stood by the ship’s rail.

  And this time, it was England’s shore she watched disappear.

  Mary cried softly. But Marissa was true to herself. She did not shed a tear.

  She looked away. Toward the west.

  To America.

  And to the new life.

  Chapter Eight

  San Francisco

  January, 1906

  A tap sounded on the door to Marissa’s compartment, and she paused in the act of pinning her hat at a jaunty angle that defied the dread in her heart. When she did not respond to the knock, the porter called out cheerfully, “San Francisco! Next stop San Francisco! Five minutes now, Mrs. Tremayne.”

  Five minutes, Marissa thought, a mere five minutes, and a journey that had seemed epic in its length and scope would be over. She had crossed the mighty Atlantic Ocean, traveling first class on a great ocean liner. Then she had boarded the first of the several trains that had taken her across the entire American continent.

  There had been so very, ver
y much to see, to assimilate. She was English, and proud of England.

  But this country …

  There could be nothing like it. A land of such startling contrasts and beauty. Earth that was green and covered with forests, and then deserts that were orange and gold and mauve and fascinating.

  And then there were the people. Everyone seemed to live here. Everyone. German, Dutch, Scandinavian. Black, red, yellow. Oh, London was a melting pot, but this …

  She felt such an excitement for the country. She loved each new day.

  Until the end.

  Today had brought them to the Bay, and to the train ferries, which had brought them into the city. Five minutes and they would arrive. And Mary and Jimmy would set up housekeeping in marital bliss, and she …

  She had cast herself into a prison of her own making with a man who never ceased to infuriate …

  And fascinate …

  She closed her eyes. It was difficult to breathe.

  She hadn’t cared, she reminded herself. She had sworn to Mary that she wanted nothing more than security. That she had no patience with sentiment. And she had received all she wanted. Theo would be well, a school was under way, she was dressed in silks and laces, and she had traveled the North Atlantic and the great width of America, all in style.

  And still, she could feel the bars of her prison closing in on her now. She could almost hear the clang of iron and feel the reverberation as it trembled deep within her soul.

  Soon, very soon.

  Her time of payment would begin.

  Madam Lilli’s was unique, even among the endless supply of waterfront dance halls that graced some of the lesser streets of the city.

  The house had been there since before the gold rush. With the Victorian era, fine gingerbreading had been added to the quaint Colonial architecture. And Lilli, being fond of colors, had added paint and trim until the house stood out like a gilded lady herself, both tarnished and beautiful.

  Lilli, arrayed elegantly upon a settee, twitched a feather boa over her shoulder and studied Ian with wide gray eyes as he stared out the window. “That’s the third time you’ve pulled out your watch, Ian. And you haven’t paid the slightest heed to a single word that I’ve said.”

  He spun around, pocketing his watch, and leaned against the windowsill. “You’re the one who said you had no need of conversation,” he told her, far more sharply than he had intended.

  She seemed to flinch, and he was sorry. He swore inwardly once again at the wife arriving at the station this evening.

  The wife who had best be arriving, he reminded himself. He wouldn’t put it past her to fail to appear. And then what would he do? He’d have no choice. He’d have to find her.

  “I don’t recall asking a lot of you,” Lilli said evenly, the hurt evident in her voice. “I don’t mind your Nob Hill mistress, and I don’t expect to go to the opera or the theater with you. However, I do appreciate it when you at least pretend that you care who you are with.”

  He exhaled slowly. “Sorry, Lilli.”

  Lilli nodded, her lashes sweeping low over her face. He had hurt her, and he knew it, and felt the worse for it. There were no pretenses about Lilli. She was a showgirl with a place to run. She was careful when she selected her lovers, but she made love with a rare talent that bespoke her experience.

  She wasn’t anything like Diana. Indeed, she was the farthest thing in the world from Diana, with her voluptuous figure and tinted red hair. But it was the very fact of the difference and her forthright honesty that had brought him to Lilli—and the fact that she asked nothing of him, not even simple caring.

  “Why do you keep pulling out your watch?” she queried softly. “It’s none of my business, of course, and I’m not demanding conversation—”

  He strode away from the window and kissed her on the top of the head. “My wife is arriving today.”

  “Your wife!” She swept the boa around her and leaped up, stunned. “Wife?” she said again. Then she started to laugh, sinking down on the crimson day bed. “You’re meeting your wife this evening and you came to see me this afternoon?”

  “She’s not a wife for real, Lilli,” he said flatly. He lifted an arm, looking for an explanation. “She’s—she’s a ward, really. I’m her guardian.”

  “So you married her?” Lilli said, fascinated. “It can’t be money, you’ve plenty of your own. I admit—I don’t begin to understand.”

  “Neither do I,” he muttered.

  She smiled broadly. “Not that I mind. But the charming widow, Mrs. Grace Leroux, is going to mind terribly. In fact, I think I shall enjoy the way she will mind. Hmm. Guardian. Ward. How—how European. Tell me, what’s she like? I conjure up images of a schoolgirl with pigtails. And perhaps buck teeth.”

  “No, I’m afraid not. In fact, she’s quite stunning.”

  “You’ve a stunning wife arriving, and you’re here?” Lilli said, her voice suddenly very soft.

  He was here because his wife was arriving, he realized. Because he was damned determined he wasn’t going to change his life. His voice hardened again.

  “It was an arrangement, Lilli, nothing more. You know my feelings about marriage.”

  “Yes, I know them,” she said, smiling ruefully. “But you see, I never expected you to marry me. Now Grace, she is going to have her problems. She’s never believed that you wouldn’t marry again. And of course, she was right, since you’ve a wife arriving. It’s just that she assumed that she was going to be the wife.”

  “Well, she shouldn’t assume things, should she?” Ian said. To his annoyance, he realized that he had drawn out his pocket watch again. Irritated, he shoved it back where it belonged.

  “It’s all right—you can run out,” Lilli told him.

  “I’ll be damned if I’m running anywhere,” he said.

  “You’ll be late.”

  “Then I’ll be late,” he said flatly. He’d be as late as he wanted. He’d while away the evening with Lilli’s sweet brand of forgetfulness.

  But he hadn’t come today for forgetfulness, he realized.

  He’d come because he didn’t want to remember the feel of the. golden-haired girl in his arms. He wanted to assure himself that he’d never fall beneath her spell again. There were other women to make love to. Women like Lilli.

  “Tell me,” Lilli said huskily, sweeping him into her embrace as he sat beside her on the day bed, “is the new Mrs. Tremayne aware of this open marriage? Does she, too, intend to find her own brand of entertainment?”

  He stiffened: “What?”

  “Ian, I was teasing you.”

  He stood and straightened his cuffs, suddenly impatient to be on his way. He kissed Lilli’s cheek and strode toward the door.

  “Ian!” Lilli called after him anxiously. “I’ve a new show opening Saturday night. Will you come? Please? Your patronage brings in so many others.”

  “Yes, surely, if you think that it will help,” he promised. Then he paused. “No. I’d wring her pretty little neck.”

  “What?” Lilli said.

  “No, she’s not part of any open marriage, Lilli. I’d wring her neck.”

  Lilli laughed softly. Ian walked out the door, closing it quietly behind him. Then Lilli’s smile slowly faded. A quiet ache formed within her heart. No, she had never deceived herself. She could have never been his wife. His feelings, what he gave her, had been real enough, but he was deceiving himself now.

  The marriage meant more than he was willing to admit, it seemed. Far more than he was willing to admit.

  A wife was one thing. A wife who mattered was quite another.

  And so the ache in her heart.

  She sighed softly and rose and walked to the window and looked out at the fog as it rolled in.

  She’d still stand by him, as a friend.

  She smiled slowly. It might even be amusing to see the very grand Mrs. Leroux meet the new Mrs. Tremayne.

  Lilli spun around quickly, calling for her maid. She was s
uddenly very determined to see the new Mrs. Tremayne herself. Maybe she would even meet her.

  Ah, the girl wouldn’t want to meet a woman from her husband’s past. But she should, for Lilli was not the real competition. And if the girl seemed to warrant it, Lilli just might be willing to offer her a certain assistance when she met the real dragon lady in her husband’s past.

  Marissa inhaled sharply. The train was braking. They were pulling into the station.

  Mary burst into the compartment, breathless, her cheeks flushed. “This is it! We’re here!”

  They stared at one another for a minute, then they hugged fiercely. “Oh, Marissa! You’ve done so much for us!” Mary said.

  Afraid that she was going to choke or cry, Marissa answered quickly. “Don’t be silly. I’m the one living in the lap of luxury. And I’m afraid that we’ll all sink if we’re ever caught.”

  “Don’t you be silly,” Mary protested. “This is America. We’re never going to sink.”

  Marissa nodded. She should have been the one so determined.

  Jimmy burst through the narrow doorway. “Ladies, come on, we’re here!” He was carrying Mary’s small travel bag and picked up Marissa’s. Smiling, Mary turned to follow him as he hurried down the train aisle. He moved with confidence, Marissa thought. Both he and Mary had changed over the long journey. They’d found a new strength in one another.

  And she had been losing her own determination in silly daydreams.

  She squared her shoulder, dreading the moment when she would see Ian Tremayne again, yet curiously longing to do so, too. He had said that he would come to meet them. Had he done so? Or had he forgotten the wife he had not wanted?