Moonfire

by Linda Lael Miller

  Reeve threw back his head and laughed. “The hell it was,” he replied.

  Maggie moved to push him away, but before she could, he was suspended above her, his weight pinning her arms to her sides. She squirmed, furious. “Let me go!” she hissed.

  “Not yet,” he said, his lips playing with hers. “Oh, no, Yank—not yet.”

  Maggie was beginning to want him again and that, after the night just past, was more than she could bear. She started to protest, but her words were trapped in his mouth as he kissed her, and her resolve was greatly weakened by the way he gently moved his hips against hers.

  Presently, he drew back from her mouth, but his hips remained solidly in place and his beautiful blue-green eyes laughed into Maggie’s snapping gray ones. “Let me love you, Maggie, or I swear I’ll make you beg.”

  Maggie knew that he could make her do just that; he’d done it over and over again the night before, and she found the prospect unappealing. Besides, she could feel the heated length of him pressing against her skin. “Oooooh,” she moaned, for that was all the protest she could manage, and when Reeve entered her, slowly and tenderly, she welcomed him.

  * * *

  Sydney seemed somehow changed since Maggie had seen it last; it was less intimidating, less strange, and far more beautiful, with its sparkling harbor and bustling streets.

  As Reeve’s carriage rattled over the macadam, bringing her back to Victoria Street, Mrs. Lavendar, and her duties, however, Maggie’s high spirits began to sag a little. During the long ride from Parramatta, Reeve had been with her, but he’d thought it better that she arrive at the Kirk house alone and had gotten out of the carriage in front of his office downtown.

  Now, as the carriage came to a stop in front of Duncan Kirk’s house, Maggie was feeling a very real need to go back to Reeve and plead with him to take her in as his mistress.

  She was instantly ashamed of that, and as she alighted from the carriage, her reticule in hand, Maggie kept her chin high. No one had to know, if she didn’t let on, that she was forever changed, and she wasn’t likely to confide what had happened even to Tansy, who probably knew anyway.

  After a brief thank-you to the driver, Maggie went through the Kirk gate, up the walk, and around the side of the house. As one of Mrs. Lavendar’s serfs, she didn’t dare enter by any way except the rear.

  Only it wasn’t Mrs. Lavendar that Maggie found in the kitchen, but Mr. Duncan Kirk himself. He was standing by the table, his hands gripping the back of a chair so tightly that his knuckles were white, his green eyes snapping.

  “You came home in Reeve McKenna’s carriage,” he said in an expressionless voice that made Maggie pause and clutch her reticule in front of her like a shield.

  Maggie bit her lower lip, wondering how anyone could tell one carriage from another. They all looked the same to her, except for the ones belonging to the gentry back in England, of course—they had crests on their doors. “Yes,” she finally admitted.

  For a moment the green eyes assessed her, and Maggie prayed there was no way that Mr. Kirk could discern what she and Reeve had done. Then, in a clipped voice, he told her, “Get your things together. We’re leaving for Melbourne on the evening train.”

  “Mel-Melbourne?” Maggie echoed, puzzled.

  “I have business there, with the governor, and I may have to remain for some time. I would like you and the boys to be with me.”

  Maggie didn’t want to leave Sydney, and Reeve, but neither did she truly want to live as Loretta Craig had. And she still had to earn her own living. “All right,” she said meekly, then, unable to bear Mr. Kirk’s perusal any longer, she dashed past him and up the stairs to her room.

  Mrs. Lavendar was there, packing the clothes Maggie had bought at Mr. Kirk’s request into an enormous leather trunk with the smell of newness still about it.

  “Hello,” she said somewhat breathlessly to the broad bombazine-covered back.

  Mrs. Lavendar stiffened. “So that Irishman is done with you, is he?” she asked.

  Maggie was as stunned as if the woman had slapped her. “I beg your pardon,” she said, staring.

  The housekeeper turned, her eyes keen, seeing through Maggie’s flesh to her spirit. “You’ve made a terrible mistake, lass,” she warned, and Maggie couldn’t tell whether the words were meant to be friendly or sinister. “A terrible mistake.”

  Maggie let go of her reticule and it made a thumping sound as it struck the floor. “What on earth do you mean?” she asked, meaning to brazen it out and pretend that Mrs. Lavendar’s insinuation was unfounded.

  Mrs. Lavendar turned back to her packing. “I’ll not be explaining to you, miss. You’ll have to find out for yourself.”

  Maggie remembered some of the things Reeve had said about her employer and it struck her that the malice he’d expressed might be returned, in spades, by Mr. Kirk. “They’re enemies,” she muttered more to herself than to Mrs. Lavendar.

  “From the first day they met,” Mrs. Lavendar replied, apparently forgetting her vow not to explain. “If I were you, lass, I wouldn’t go to Melbourne. In fact, I’d leave this house and never come back.”

  Maggie rounded the housekeeper’s bulk then, to face her, annoyed. “I’ve got to earn my living, Mrs. Lavendar,” she said coldly. “Just like you do.”

  “Mr. McKenna will take care of your living,” Mrs. Lavendar retorted, undaunted, “as long as you please him.”

  “This is nonsense!” Maggie cried, too proud to admit to the truth even in the face of this woman’s obvious knowledge. “I was stranded at Parramatta and Mr. McKenna was kind enough to send me home in his carriage!”

  Mrs. Lavendar nodded sagely. “If that’s your story, miss, then so be it. I’ve warned you and that’s all I can do.” With that the housekeeper left the room.

  Trying to ignore the dread she felt, Maggie went about packing the last of her new clothes.

  Chapter 11

  THE TRIP TO MELBOURNE WAS A LONG ONE, AND BY THE time the train had reached its destination, Maggie and her two young charges were rummy with fatigue and dawn was breaking, pink and gray. Mr. Kirk, who had spent the night in the club car, was in fine spirits nonetheless. Except for the clinging scent of cigar smoke, he was as impeccably groomed as ever. To Maggie’s relief, his glowering mood had apparently passed.

  A carriage was waiting at Melbourne Station and, after Maggie and the two boys were settled inside, Mr. Kirk took the seat across from them. His shrewd emerald eyes swept over Maggie’s dress once and flashed with some singular annoyance, but he seemed determined to be pleasant.

  As the carriage rolled over paved streets, Mr. Kirk pointed out this building and that, the most impressive, by far, being Government House. It was truly a palace, with many windows and more archways than Maggie could count, along with a high, square tower that seemed to touch the sky.

  Jeremy and Tad were unimpressed, having been to Melbourne before, but Maggie could barely contain her eagerness to explore the city, particularly the manicured grounds and gardens of Government House.

  “As my hostess,” Mr. Kirk said pointedly as the grand structure disappeared behind the carriage, “you’ll be presented to the governor on a number of occasions. It’s proper to address him as ’Your Lordship.’”

  Maggie was painfully conscious of the simple cotton dress she wore; now she understood why Mr. Kirk had instructed her to buy evening dresses. She flushed and lowered her eyes, unable, for the moment, to speak.

  Mr. Kirk laughed softly. “I’ve made another list,” he said, extending a folded paper to Maggie. “This time, will you please do as I ask and buy the proper clothing?”

  Maggie took the paper and shyly raised her eyes to Mr. Kirk’s handsome, freshly shaven face. She nodded.

  “Excellent. As soon as we’ve reached the house and the boys are settled, I would like to speak with you privately, Miss Chamberlin. In my study.”

  Maggie felt a tremor of alarm, though she managed to keep her sleepy sm
ile firmly in place and her chin up. Now she was going to get a lecture about the Parramatta episode; she only hoped that, unlike Mrs. Lavendar, Mr. Kirk hadn’t divined the truth of it all.

  Soon enough the carriage came to a lurching stop in front of a house as every bit as splendid as the Kirk residence in Sydney. Maggie drew in her breath at the sight of its glistening white walls, showy gardens, and shimmering windows.

  Mr. Kirk left the carriage first, followed immediately by his two boisterous sons, who ran whooping and hollering through the open gate and up the wide flagstone walk. Maggie could see that she was going to have to work with the children’s manners as well as their sums and spelling.

  Her employer took her hand in a grip so tight that it was almost painful as she moved to alight, and his gaze, companionable only moments before, seared her. “My study,” he said in a quiet voice. “Fifteen minutes.”

  Maggie swallowed a “yes, sir” and nodded her head. “I’ll be there,” she answered, and her legs seemed a bit unsteady as she stepped down to the ground.

  “See that you are,” Duncan Kirk replied, and then he released Maggie’s hand and she felt him watching her as she fled toward the open front door of the house. Not daring to look back, she bolted through the doorway and found Jeremy and Tad sliding down an elegant oaken banister, carrying on like banshees.

  “Enough!” Maggie snapped in a not-to-be-ignored tone, and both boys stopped where they were, watching her with wide green eyes.

  She drew a deep breath, regretting that she’d spoken so sharply, and began again. “Please show me where your rooms are.”

  With a sulky glower rather reminiscent of his father’s. Tad raced off to parts unknown, in blatant rebellion. It was Jeremy who took Maggie’s hand and said, “This way, please, Miss Chamberlin. Shall I tell on Tad? Papa will give him a trouncing if I do.”

  Maggie bit back a smile. “Mustn’t be a tattletale, Jeremy. I’ll deal with Tad myself, if you don’t mind.”

  Jeremy nodded solemnly, and Maggie knew that he was wondering how she intended to manage such a feat. Indeed, Maggie was pondering that question herself. Tad was a difficult boy, and, for all her love of little ones, she’d had no real experience with problem children.

  In this house, unlike the one in Sydney, the boys did not have separate rooms. Instead, there was, on the third floor, a nursery area, complete with a schoolroom, sitting room, cramped quarters for a governess, and a rather austere-looking bedchamber for Jeremy and Tad.

  “Will we start our lessons today, miss?” Jeremy asked, yawning as he hoisted himself onto one of the two matching beds and sat with his feet dangling.

  Maggie felt sleepy herself since she hadn’t been able to rest on the train, and forced back a yawn of her own. “Perhaps this afternoon,” she said. “For now, I want you to rest.”

  For just a moment Jeremy looked as though he might lodge a protest, but he quickly remembered his status as a young gentleman. “All right,” he said on a long-suffering sigh, thrusting himself backward onto the bed.

  Smiling, Maggie removed his shoes and covered him gently, her hand stroking his bright auburn hair back from his face. A warm feeling of love welled inside her for the little boy, and she was wondering whether or not it would be proper to kiss him, when he said in a piping little voice, “Could you please give me a good-night kiss, miss, the way Mum used to do?”

  Maggie felt tears gathering in her throat and wondered what Mrs. Kirk had been like. She bent and placed a gentle kiss on Jeremy’s freckled forehead. “Like that?” she asked softly.

  He nodded, his eyelids obviously growing heavy. “Yes, miss, just like that,” he said, and then, as quickly as that, he was asleep.

  “You don’t need to think you’re ever going to kiss me,” Tad remarked from the doorway. “Besides, it isn’t time for good-nights, it’s morning.”

  Maggie took a moment to compose herself before turning to face her other pupil. He was standing in the doorway, leaning indolently against the jamb, but his face and the expression in his eyes showed Maggie a vulnerability she’d only suspected was there before. “Hello, Tad,” she said, ignoring his challenge.

  “Are you going to tell Papa that I ran off?” Tad demanded, watching Maggie with both suspicion and hope.

  The mention of Mr. Kirk reminded Maggie of the setdown she was about to receive in the study. “Absolutely not,” she said. “But I would appreciate it if you would tell me where your father’s study is.”

  Tad looked pleased and, conversely, worried. “You’re in trouble, ain’t you?”

  “That was a terrible abuse of the King’s English, Tad Kirk, and I will thank you to rephrase it.”

  Tad gave a sigh. “You’re in trouble, aren’t you, miss?” he asked. Then, stubbornly, he added, “We don’t have a king. We have a queen now—this year is her Golden Jubilee.”

  Maggie was developing a headache. She was hungry and tired and unnerved at the prospect of the coming interview with Duncan Kirk, but she was determined to reach Tad somehow, to win his respect if not his affection. For this reason she did not take the trouble to explain that the King’s English is always the King’s English, no matter who might be on the throne at the time. “We’ll be discussing Her Majesty’s reign in our lessons.”

  Tad frowned. “I don’t call her that, you know,” he confided. “I’m half American, and Americans don’t have kings and queens.”

  “I realize that,” Maggie responded circumspectly.

  “Papa’s going to take us there to visit one day. To America, I mean.”

  Maggie was smoothing her skirts and her hair, wondering if the stated fifteen minutes had passed. “I envy you,” she said truthfully. “I’m not sure I’ll ever find my way back.”

  Without speaking, Tad crossed the room and took Maggie’s arm. In a gentlemanly fashion he led her out of the bedchamber, along the hallway, and down the first set of stairs. Maggie knew that he was escorting her to his father’s study and she was touched at his attempt to be as mannerly as his brother was.

  They were standing outside a massive set of double doors on the second floor before Tad released his hold on Maggie’s elbow and whispered somberly, “I hate it when I get called to Papa’s study. I always get my hide tanned.”

  Maggie was careful not to smile, and she bent slightly to whisper back, “I’m a bit nervous myself.”

  “You’ll be all right,” Tad assured her manfully. And then he was on his way back up the stairs, covering a yawn with one hand.

  Maggie took a moment to straighten her shoulders and draw a deep breath, then she lifted her hand and knocked softly at one of the study doors. There was always the chance that Mr. Kirk had forgotten about the intended lecture and left the house on business.

  There was no such luck. “Come in, Miss Chamberlin,” called a somewhat weary male voice from the other side of those towering doors.

  Maggie dragged in another restorative breath and turned one of the brass knobs, stepping into a spacious room graced with Oriental rugs, brass fixtures, bookshelves, and a desk. Mr. Kirk leaned against that massive, ornately carved desk, his arms folded across his chest.

  “Sit down, Miss Chamberlin,” he said peremptorily, and before Maggie could rebel, she found herself obediently sinking into a leather chair.

  His face expressionless, Mr. Kirk drew a folded paper from the inside pocket of his suit coat and held it out. “Do you know what this is?” he asked.

  Maggie took the paper and unfolded it, recognizing it as a certificate of the sort so highly touted at Lady Cosgrove’s establishment. If properly signed and witnessed, the document assured a young woman of future employment. The flowery certificate was, of course, completely blank.

  Her throat suddenly too tight to permit speech, Maggie merely nodded her head.

  “Good,” Mr. Kirk answered in a clipped tone, taking back the paper, refolding it, and slipping it back into his pocket. “From this day forward, Miss Chamberlin, your behavior will be exe
mplary, I trust. There will be no more dalliances with Reeve McKenna or any other man, and when I give you instructions, you will follow them.”

  Maggie’s face went bright pink. How on earth could Mr. Kirk know that she’d been with Reeve at Parramatta? He must have had spies there. At that instant Maggie remembered seeing Loretta Craig get out of a carriage one night, remembered eavesdropping on a part of the conversation Miss Craig and Mr. Kirk had shared. Maggie went rigid in her chair.

  “Tomorrow night,” Mr. Kirk went on, his arms still folded, his gaze locked with Maggie’s, “you and I will dine at Government House. I shall expect you to be dressed properly, Miss Chamberlin.”

  Maggie swallowed hard. She had no idea what a lady would wear for such an occasion, and she opened her mouth to say so.

  Mr. Kirk stopped her with a brusque, “I have arranged for one of my friends to accompany you to the shops this afternoon. You will buy as she instructs you to buy, Miss Chamberlin. Is that clear?”

  Maggie’s cheeks were burning and she knew there was insurrection snapping in her eyes. She stood up slowly, planning to tell Mr. Kirk that she liked neither his arbitrary tone nor his manner, but once again he spoke before she could get a word out.

  “You will find me to be a most generous and understanding employer, Miss Chamberlin,” Duncan Kirk said, “but if you disobey me, you will also discover that I can be ruthless. I will not tolerate any more trysts or rebellions, minor or otherwise.”

  Maggie knew only too well the choices that would be left to her if Mr. Kirk should terminate her employment, leaving her without a signed certificate to serve as a reference. She would end up either on the streets or in some love nest provided by Reeve McKenna, and both prospects were patently unacceptable. As much as she’d flowered in that man’s bed, she had no intention of becoming his plaything, to be coddled and pampered for a time and then tossed away as Loretta had been tossed away. She wouldn’t be able to bear that.

  “Your friend wouldn’t be Loretta Craig, by any chance?” Maggie asked coldly, her chin high as she rose out of her chair and stood facing Mr. Kirk.