They made small talk as they mounted the front steps of her house. Porch lights spilled across the lawn, the snow a dazzling white. A lone carriage rumbled down the snow-packed street, drawn by two matching grays.
Lost in her thoughts and entranced by Owen's presence, Lisa had almost forgotten to ask him the question that meant so much to her.
Her heart thudded and she felt foolishly shy, like a child about to give a recitation. "Do you like Shakespeare?" she blurted. Now he'd think she was insane.
"Shakespeare?" he asked with a puzzled expression. "Hated it when I was in school, but I enjoy reading it now." He darted her a questioning look. "Why do you ask?"
She chose her words carefully. "Well, I just wondered if you heard that an English acting troupe will present Hamlet at the Alvin Theater next week. That should be most entertaining, don't you think?" She continued in a rush of words, "The troupe will be there for only one week before it goes on to Cincinnati, and I hope to attend next Saturday night." Aware that she'd made herself so obvious, heat flooded her cheeks.
He scratched his chin. "Oh, yes, I remember reading about the play in the newspaper. Possibly I'll go on Saturday night, too, since I don't work on Sunday." A warm smile spread across his face. "It might be enjoyable." A frown replaced his smile. "You'll go with your husband?"
"No, friends," Lisa replied with cautious optimism. If only he could go, and she'd see him there. They could meet after the play, she thought as her imagination soared. But no, he'd consider her much too bold to suggest that. She shuddered with the cold, yet she didn't want to go inside, wanting only to stay with him all night long. Their time together must end. What if William came home this very minute?
Her shyness returning, Lisa held her hand out to him. "Goodnight, Owen." How she hated these goodbyes. Even if she could see him tomorrow, it would still be too many hours to wait.
Owen held her hand a bit longer than necessary, seeing the depth in her gaze but unable to identify the reason. Unhappiness? But why should this lady be sad? She'd been married only a short while; surely she and her husband were very much in love.
His eyes took in the three-story red brick mansion, obviously built with a solid Georgian elegance, the grandest he'd ever seen. Never in his wildest dreams would he own such a house. Miniature snowdrifts clung to every windowpane, pale light glimmering through the curtained front windows. The last time he'd come here to see Lisa's husband about business, he'd been too angry to notice the structure. Now, it took on a special meaning because Lisa lived here with her husband, damn it!
A kaleidoscope of memories flickered through his head as he recalled all their times together, her easy laugh, the gentle touch of her hand, the look in her eyes. Could she possibly feel for him the love he felt for her? Foolish thought! If only he could enclose her in his arms, ask her what troubled her so . . . And yes! if she were his wife, he'd take her to bed now. He'd leave her with no doubt of his love and passion.
A carriage rattled past, wrenching him back to reality. A dog barked in the distance. He released her hand, striving for calm. "Goodnight," he murmured, then turned and walked away.
For the longest time, Lisa watched his long, purposeful strides until he disappeared into the darkness. She released a deep sigh, wanting to follow him, go with him wherever he took her, or even, she dared to wish, hold him in her arms throughout the night. Opening the front door, she wondered if the desires she'd kept hidden in her heart could ever be more than empty dreams.
Later, in the long, dark hours of the night, she lay tossing and turning in bed, so filled with memories of Owen she couldn't even consider sleep. Yet, such a chasm stretched between them, a wall most clearly revealed by their differences regarding a possible steel strike. And don't forget your marriage, her aching heart reminded her.
Hours later, she fell into a doze but jerked awake as a thought flashed through her mind. He'd forgotten to return her book. Ah, well, at least he had something of hers. If only she possessed something of his.
Chapter Eight
Talk and laughter swelled around Lisa as she directed one more searching look from her seat in the theater. She sank back, resolved to conceal her distress. She leaned across Lawrence and murmured to Elizabeth, "Just as I feared. Owen isn't here." She caught Lawrence's sympathetic look, grateful that he understood, since Elizabeth had apprized him of her loveless marriage. With no knowledge of how barren her marriage actually was, he was at least aware that William had scant regard for his marriage vows.
"It's still too early to tell," Elizabeth said with an encouraging smile. "Look how crowded the theater is. Wait until intermission, if you don't see him before then."
"I know he didn't have to work," Lisa said in a firm voice. "He told me his schedule." She turned her head right and left and behind her, giving one more look around the dim theater.
Forcing a smile, she settled back in her seat, determined to give the impression of absolute enjoyment in the evening. She smoothed a hand across her strawberry-red gown, luxuriating in the elegant texture of the silk moire, the play of light on the rich material. Her eyes flicked down its low neckline, her face growing warm as she imagined Owen beside her, his gaze on her bosom. Captivated by the thought, her fantasies took flight as she pictured him with her now, his gaze fixed on her, his hard-muscled body so close. Wave after wave of heat swept over her, making her so weak she became conscious of every breath, every heartbeat.
The lights dimmed further, and the audience became quiet, save for an occasional murmur or cough. Slowly, the curtain rose to reveal the courtyard of Elsinore Castle. Lisa tried to concentrate on the play, but words and actions became meaningless jumbles, lost in a quagmire of intense regret. If only Owen were her husband, if only he were with her now. If only . . . if only.
Too depressed to pay but cursory attention to Hamlet, she waited for intermission, unsure if she could last that long. Tapping her on the arm, Elizabeth gave her a reassuring smile and mouthed the word "wait."
After an eternity, intermission arrived. Lisa rose from her seat, a contented smile pasted on her face. Her heart pounded against her corset, her throat dry as stale bread.
Elizabeth hugged her waist. "Let's go see," she said with a warm smile. "Surely he'll be in the lobby."
"He's not here," Lisa insisted, as if by some perversity of fate her constant denial would make her dearest wish come true.
The buzz of conversation mingled with laughter in the lobby, everyone crowded so close together Lisa could scarcely move. She eased through the crowd, greeting a married couple she recognized. Electric lights twinkled from crystal chandeliers, bringing gems and gowns into vivid focus.
The ladies gossiped and preened in their shimmering silks, satins, and glittering jewels. Several matrons, their ample bodies enclosed in satin, held lorgnettes to their eyes as they surveyed the mass of humanity. Several men fumbled in their pockets for a cigar and a dollar bill to light it with, eager for a quick smoke. In no time, a gray haze layered the lobby, drifting to the ceiling.
Lisa threw one more desperate look around the room--and saw him. Her heart jumped. She felt like a child on Christmas morning, given everything she'd ever wanted. Owen lounged against a far wall, his head turned away from her, his face showing a pensive expression. What is he thinking about? Lisa wondered as her heart beat ever faster. Is he thinking of me?
She nodded toward the wall where deep crimson draperies fell from the ceiling to the floor. "There he is," she whispered, so thankful Elizabeth and Lawrence were broad-minded, abetting her in her search for happiness . . . however fleeting that happiness might be.
"Where, dear?" Elizabeth said, following Lisa's gaze.
"Over there," Lisa whispered again as she lifted her hand to indicate where Owen stood. "You see that man with dark hair and no mustache standing against the wall by himself?" She stared at him, willing him to look her way.
"Oh, now I see who you mean," Elizabeth gushed. "You didn't tell me how attract
ive he is." She tossed Lawrence a teasing glance. "Now, if I didn't already have a husband . . ."
Lawrence sighed hopelessly, rolling his eyes in mock exasperation. "We're wasting our time. I'll lead, you ladies follow," he said as the threesome wove their way among the press of people, heading in Owen's direction. . . .
Owen turned broodingly away from the laughing, gossiping men and women with their suave manners, flashing jewels, and heavy scents. But no Lisa. Damn it! He should never have come. What a country bumpkin he must appear to all these society folk, Lisa's kind of people. And what a fool for thinking she might be here. She'd certainly given the impression she'd attend, but everyone knew a woman had the prerogative to change her mind. He tried to swallow his disappointment . . . tried and failed.
Then he saw her as she approached, looking so lovely, garbed in the most beautiful gown he'd ever seen. His eyes strayed to the gown's low neckline, but he forced himself not to dwell on her alluring breasts, knowing too well where his thoughts would lead. Tenderness and passion blended inside him, leaving him defenseless, with only love as a guide. As she moved closer, he managed to feign a cool demeanor, and despite his heart's throbbing, he offered her a relaxed smile. She appeared to be with friends, but his gaze remained only on her.
Their eyes met, the rest of the world forgotten. Her friends stood aside, looking for all the world like two matchmaking parents who've just snared the city's most eligible bachelor for their daughter.
Lisa held her hand out to him. "Owen, how nice to see you!" Relief and pleasure dizzied her, leaving her faint. Surely he saw his effect on her.
Owen clasped her hand in his strong one, his gaze never leaving hers. "Lisa," he murmured in his husky voice, "this is a pleasant surprise, although you did mention you wanted to see the play, didn't you?"
She turned away for a moment. "I’d like you to meet my friends," she said, so proud of him, as if he were her lover, her husband, the man who would take her to his bed and make love to her like nothing she’d ever dreamed of. A cloud of cigar smoke enclosed the lobby, but she ignored the haze, the laughter of the women, the rumbling voices of the men. For a few precious moments, she could pretend Owen was her husband, that she'd go home with him, that they could hardly wait to make love.
While the crowd began to thin, the two couples made small talk, their conversation running the gamut from the play to the weather and what a bitter winter the city was having. Why are we discussing such trivial things? Lisa fretted, when all I want is to tell Owen how much I've missed him and that he means more than life to me.
A bell sounded to indicate the play would resume in five minutes, and with much chatter, the crush of people straggled from the lobby, until only a few patrons remained.
"Why don't we all meet after the play and come back to our house for a while," Lawrence suggested, his glance covering all of them. "We always enjoy getting acquainted with new friends."
Owen shook his head regretfully. "Thank you, but I'd better not. A long ride home," he explained.
Lawrence placed his hand on Owen's shoulder, a persuasive grin on his face. "Oh, come now, Mr. Cardiff." He paused. "Do you mind if I call you Owen? No? Good. We'd really enjoy having you, and if you don't have to work tomorrow, why not come with us? We've known Lisa for years, and any friend of Lisa's is our friend, too."
Lisa sighed inwardly. Lawrence might be overdoing it a bit. Nevertheless, she held her breath, waiting for Owen's reply.
"Well, then . . . thank you," Owen said. A rush of relief rendered her speechless. He included all three in his disarming grin. "It would be my pleasure."
* * *
A strong northerly wind howled through the trees, bending bare branches and driving blinding snow with it. Inside the Hunter mansion, red-hot logs sputtering in the wide fireplace warmed the parlor. Lost in a dream world of unbridled sensations, Lisa leaned back in the wide armchair and listened to the conversation around her. She made an occasional cogent remark and absorbed every word Owen uttered, words to be remembered and treasured, like precious gems.
The talk segued from music to science, finally settling on the inevitable topic of such gatherings--politics. Would Benjamin Harrison run for a second term, Owen wanted to know, and if so, did Cleveland have a chance of defeating him?
Reluctant to reveal her feelings, Lisa turned away to stare outside and noted the wind had increased, shaking the window with a persistent ferocity, fluttering the brocade draperies. The logs on the fire fell apart with flying, sizzling orange sparks, the warmth of the room belying the harsh weather outside.
With growing uneasiness, Lisa listened to the storm raging outside, even while she tried to suppress the storm within her. Reluctant to interrupt, she nevertheless felt she had to make some comment. "Did you hear that?" She gestured toward the outside.
"Hear what?"
"Listen," she said. "The wind." She rose from her chair and rushed to the window, the others following. "Look at that, would you!" She indicated the blinding snow outside, the snowflakes coming down hard and fast, driven by a squally wind. Large flakes flew past the window, swirling and dipping in the frigid night air. Distressed for Owen's sake, she wondered how in the world he'd get home tonight. He had much farther to go than she.
Despite the storm, Lisa could think only of Owen. He stood so near, their shoulders touching. She wanted to lean against him, lose herself in his embrace, let him kiss her until he drove her out of her mind. If only they were alone. . .
Owen smiled wryly at the others. "Rather late in the season for a blizzard, wouldn't you say?"
"I agree," Lawrence replied, "but it seems we've got one." He clapped his hand on the other man's shoulder. "Owen, my friend, you'll never get home tonight. So just plan on staying here. No trouble for us, believe me. We'd love to have you."
"Oh, I'm not going to let a snowstorm stop me," Owen said, looking more doubtful than his words. He glanced out the window again, a worried frown on his face.
"Come now," Lawrence said, "no two ways about it. You can stay here."
"Very well, then. The blizzard gives me no choice, and I thank you for the invitation.” Elizabeth drew Lisa aside. "Lisa, I've been meaning to tell you about the meeting of the ladies' charity group at church yesterday. I'm sure our talk would bore the men, so we'll go off by ourselves." They headed for the sitting room, leaving the men alone in the parlor.
After settling themselves on the sofa, Lisa threw Elizabeth a questioning look, certain her friend hadn't intended to discuss church affairs. Excitement warmed her body, as if she had stepped into a brilliant ray of sunshine.
"Honestly," Elizabeth whispered with a wink, "I didn't plan this storm, but it's rather nice it happened, don't you think? You can make a telephone call to William if you like, that is, if the lines aren't down." She flashed her a mischievous smile. "And certainly, you must stay here tonight, as Owen obviously will."
Lisa's hands flew to her hot cheeks, aware she must make a token protest. "Now, you mustn't get any of your broad-minded ideas."
She clasped Lisa's hand and smiled in affectionate complicity. "Just let things happen as they will. . . ."
Much later, after giving instructions about sleeping arrangements, Elizabeth and Lawrence went to bed, and Lisa found herself alone with Owen.
She desperately searched for something to say. “It must still be snowing outside.” Here I am with the man I love more than life, and that’s the best I can do?
He twisted around to glance out the window, then turned back to her. “Yes, I believe it is.”
She looked his way across the spacious parlor, unable to fathom his expression. How handsome he looked in his dark suit and tie, his ankle resting on the opposite knee. His gaze appeared to be one of studied nonchalance, but the set of his mouth gave him away. Did she see love in his eyes, or was that only wishful thinking? How I want you, Owen, bare skin to bare skin. I want to know your kisses, your caresses, want to feel ... Her face warmed at the thought of
sharing the ultimate intimacy with Owen, and she turned away for a moment, then stole a glance at him from under her eyelashes. What was going through his mind? Was he thinking the same as she?
To have him near and yet so far! What if she went to him now and told him all that he meant to her? Would he respond and take her in his arms, or would he spurn her and treat her advances with contempt? The awkward moments slid past, until she finally settled on the least profound subject that came to mind.
"This has been a pleasant evening, don't you think?" She forced herself to hold her hands loosely in her lap, so afraid of betraying her emotion. "The talk, the company . . ."
"Indeed." His gaze held hers. "A very pleasant evening."
"I enjoyed the play. I always like Shakespeare."
He smiled. "So do I."
Lisa stifled a sigh, wanting to tell him the secrets she'd kept hidden in her heart but afraid he'd think her a wanton.
"Lisa . . . I . . ." Shaking his head, he waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. "Nothing important." He paused. "One thing I wanted to tell you--how lovely you look tonight."
"Thank you." Lisa caught her breath, unable to say another word. Meeting his gaze, she waited . . . for what? For words of love? Did he want her now--in his bed? Fearful he'd read her mind and her heart, she turned away to study a cluster of purple crocuses in a white porcelain vase. Why wait for things that would forever remain unspoken? Better to depart, for she was getting nowhere with him. She rose from the chair, unsure if her legs would take her to the stairway.
"It's getting late, so I'd better go to bed. Goodnight, Owen."
He rose and made a slight bow. "Goodnight, Lisa. Sleep well."
As if she could!
* * *
No matter the weather, Owen always slept unclothed, reveling in the unrestrained comfort of his nakedness. In the late night hours, he tossed and turned in bed, wanting Lisa as never before. If only she were with him now, to hold against his chest and run his fingers through her long, loose hair. He recalled her lavender scent, the entrancing drape of her gown, the glimmer of her golden brown hair under the electric lights, all these treasures that meant so much to him.
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