"Sure, honey," he said soothingly. "Stay home for a while. Everyone will forget in time."
She tossed back her head. "I have no intention of staying home. Why should I let Jake Deverell spoil my fun?" Because, Arabella, it's impossible to function when your heart is in pieces.
"Have you seen the morning paper?"
Jake jerked the receiver away from his head for a moment to allow his eardrum to return to normal. "No, I haven't, Edward. What's wrong? Have we gone to war again?" Intentionally, he had not read the paper, knowing exactly what would be in it. He could still see Arabella's stricken expression, and there was a cold, empty place in the pit of his stomach because of it.
"You've gone too far this time, Jake. You've not only disgraced that poor girl, you've disgraced our family name."
"It's only my name by adoption, Edward. I don't have any particular fondness for it. And as for Arabella, I haven't disgraced her. These days everyone has love affairs. Find me someone who doesn't and I'll notify Randolph, because that will be news."
"Decent men don't have love affairs with decent women."
A vein began to pound in Jake's temple, his fingers clenched around the base of the handset, and he brought the mouthpiece closer to his lips. "You had an affair with my mother, you rotten bastard, and if you ever even think the thought that my mother wasn't a decent woman, I'll do what I should have done years ago and kill you with my own hands."
"Well—" Edward broke off with a spasm of coughing, then moments later resumed. "Well, naturally I wasn't thinking of your mother when I said that. But I would like to make one more point, and that is a decent man doesn't flaunt his affairs and then announce to the world that he will never marry."
One by one Jake's fingers unclenched from the base of the handset. "I guess that means I'm not a decent man, then. But you knew that, didn't you? I'm your bastard." He paused. "You know what I've never been able to understand? The fact that you didn't even take the time to get to know me before you told me you would never acknowledge me as your son. To me, your actions are as indecent as mine, old man. Maybe more so."
"Dammit, Jake! Why do you have to continually bring that matter up? I've explained it to you time and again. Why can't you grasp the delicacy of your situation and the proper balance you must maintain in order to be part of society?"
"The delicacy of my situation?" Jake's voice rose and hardened with each word. "The proper balance? Don't you mean why can't I understand a father who refuses to acknowledge his son?" He set the base of the phone down and pressed his finger and thumb against his lids. An ache had formed behind his eyes. And in the darkness of his mind he could see Arabella, exquisite, breathtakingly beautiful, and in pain. Even though the whole purpose of the last couple of weeks had been to hit Edward in the area where it would hurt him the most—his obsession for a great family dynasty—he wasn't enjoying this conversation as he had thought he would.
"It's obvious, Jake, that you and I will never agree on this subject. You didn't work for years to be accepted in society like I did. Your entree was handed to you—by me. So I suggest we drop it and go on to another subject that is weighing heavily on my mind. What are you going to do about the Linden girl?"
Jake opened his eyes and found he could still see Arabella. What was he going to do?
"There's nothing to do, Edward. Randolph printed the truth. I never plan to marry, and I've told you why. God forbid I should sire another Edward Deverell. And as for Arabella, it is my hope to continue as we've been going. She makes me happy, and there are not a lot of things or people who do."
A click sounded in his ear, then a droning buzz. So Edward had hung up on him. The corners of his mouth turned up, and he dropped the telephone receiver onto its hook. In times past, he realized, he would have laughed out loud. In times past he wouldn't have admitted to himself the truth of what he had told Edward. Arabella did make him happy, very happy. His expression turned grim. And he was going to see her now.
"I'm sorry, sir, but Miss Linden has gone out."
Arabella's butler was pompous and balding, and Jake was having a hard time being civil to him. "What do you mean, she's gone out? It's not even noon yet!"
"That is true, sir, however, Miss Linden has definitely left."
A muscle jerked along Jake's jawline. "What is your name?" he asked as politely as he could manage. "Perkins, sir."
"Well, Perkins, could you please tell me where Miss Linden has gone?"
"She was not specific about her destination."
"I see. Then did she say when she would return?"
"I believe she mentioned that she wouldn't be home until late."
Jake exhaled a long breath. "AH right, then. Would you be kind enough to tell Miss Linden when she returns that Mr. Jake Deverell was here to see her and asked that she please telephone no matter the time." He drew a notebook from an inside pocket, scribbled two numbers on a page, then tore it out and handed it to Perkins. "One of these numbers is my office, the other is my hotel. I'll be at the office until six-thirty, after that I'll be at my hotel. Do you have that?"
"Yes, Mr. Deverell."
The expression on the butler's face told Jake that he had offended the man. But Jake couldn't be bothered with watching his words.
He was frantic to see Arabella. He should never have let her leave the nightclub in that damned taxi the night before without trying to talk to her, even though he didn't know what he would have said. Just as he didn't know what he would say when he spoke with her later this afternoon.
As the afternoon passed, however, and the evening progressed, Jake began to realize he might not get a chance to talk to her. He telephoned the Linden house and was told by Perkins that Arabella had come in and then gone out again. And, yes, he had given her Jake's message. Since there were thousands of speakeasies operating in Boston and hundreds of private parties going on, Jake had no idea where to look for Arabella. And he was forced to wait until the next day to try to see her again.
But in the morning when he presented himself at the house, Perkins informed him that Arabella had gone out of town for an unspecified length of time. And no amount of cajoling or threats could get any more information out of him.
Jake went away, angry and miserable, and the cold, empty space in his stomach grew.
Chapter 7
In front of the Beacon Hill mansion of Jas's parents, Jake parked his Sport Phaeton in between a gold Packard Runabout and a cream Mercedes-Benz and switched off the ignition.
Arabella was inside.
He had spent days trying to see and talk with her, only to be frustrated at every turn. Even his letters were returned unopened. He had learned early on that the Sphinx had nothing on Perkins. Kenneth, too, had been conspicuously unavailable.
He had finally resorted to enlisting his friends. But every time someone would spot her and call him, she would be gone by the time he got there.
Finally tonight Lucas had telephoned to tell him Arabella was at Jas's, and that he and Vanessa would keep an eye on her and make certain she didn't leave before he could get there.
His heart beat loudly in his ears as he stared at the massive three-storied house with lights and music spilling from the Palladian windows and fanlights. The Lindens had an equally impressive home not far away, as did Edward. Jake's mouth quirked as he remembered that when he graduated from Harvard, he had refused to live with Edward. Instead, he had settled with grand style into an apartment in the Hotel Vendôme. Its comfort and convenience had suited him, besides putting him close to the new house he had bought his mother. Last year, though, he had moved downtown into the new Ritz-Carlton. His apartment overlooked the lovely Public Garden, and the hotel's service was high class. Even so, in the past he hadn't stayed home much.
Now he was home each evening, afraid to leave in case Arabella called. He wasn't sleeping, he was barely eating. In fact, the only thing that was going well in his life at the moment was his work. But his triumphs in the financial world
had come to matter less and less to him. Arid all because of a woman.
An unforgettable woman.
He slammed his fist against the steering wheel. Lord help him, he was stalling.
With a curse, he opened the door and got out.
In the middle of a lively fox trot to a jazzy rendition of "When My Baby Walks Down the Street," Arabella froze.
Her dance partner, a young banker named Ed Forsyth, looked down at her with concern. "Is there anything wrong?"
Dismayed, she stared toward the back of the large room. Lucas and Vanessa were there, chatting casually with Jas. Lord, why hadn't she noticed them before? How long had they been there? Had they seen her? It didn't matter, she told herself firmly. Either way, she had to leave.
"Arabella, are you ill?"
Giving him an apologetic smile, she stepped away from him while inventing an excuse. "No, not at all. It's merely that I completely forgot I wrote Mother and Father and told them I'd be back home tonight in time to receive their transatlantic call."
"Oh? Where are they?"
She made a vague gesture with the large ostrich-feather fan she held. "On the Nile somewhere. I really enjoyed our dance, but I must leave now."
"I understand. May I ring you tomorrow?"
With another smile and a flirting move that were both purely automatic, she swept the soft, lush royal-purple plumes of her fan across his chest. "I would have been disappointed if you hadn't asked. Goodbye, Ed."
Making her way off the dance floor was fairly easy, since none of her dancing friends realized she planned to leave. As she walked into the hall, she breathed a sigh of relief.
Then Lucas stepped in front of her, blocking her escape. "You're not leaving yet, are you? It's early."
Ways to get past the handsome man briefly flew through her mind, but she dismissed them all as either silly or impractical. No, she thought, this time she was caught. But then, she had known she wouldn't be able to evade Jake forever.
With a flick of her wrist she opened her fan to its full five-foot span. Relaxing, she began to gently move the fan back and forth. "Hello, Lucas." She turned her head to Vanessa, taking in the vision she made in a glittering Chinese-blue dress and matching cap. "Hello, Vanessa."
The expression in Vanessa's extraordinary dark blue eyes was cool. "Arabella."
"You must have worked up quite an appetite out on the dance floor," Lucas said. "May I get you a plate of food?"
"No, thank you. I've eaten." She paused. "I make it a point never to miss a meal, unlike your good friend Jake."
Vanessa glanced at Lucas but remained silent.
Arabella closed the plumed fan, then opened it again. "By the way, how long are you estimating it will take Jake to get here?"
With a twinkle in his eye, Lucas slipped his hands into his trouser pockets. "Not long. That Sport Phaeton of his is new, you know, custom made to his specifications. He's really proud of it, and he drives it like the wind."
"Or like demons are pursuing him?" she asked with casual interest. "You know, the strangest thing happened my last night at SwanSea. I came downstairs in the middle of the night—I may eat, but occasionally I can't sleep—and I saw Jake in the great hall below me, hurling a ball against a wall so violently, it was as if he was trying to rid himself of demons. You two were on the stairway."
Lucas and Vanessa exchanged another glance.
"Are you sure you wouldn't like a plate?" Lucas asked again. "Perhaps a glass of champagne?"
"No, but thank you for asking."
Vanessa touched Lucas's arm. "I would love some food, darling."
Lucas gazed at her for a long moment, and the watching Arabella felt a pang of jealousy that she would never know the kind of closeness these two had, where words were unnecessary.
He nodded and smiled. "A little of everything, I suppose?"
"A lot of everything."
He bent and kissed her cheek. "I'll be right back."
"Take your time." After he left, Vanessa turned to Arabella, her expression now thoughtful. "I understand you've been having a grand time lately, out every night, quick trips out of town."
Arabella fixed a bright smile on her face. "Having fun is what life's all about, isn't it?"
"Tell that to Jake. He hasn't been having too much fun lately."
"Gee, I'm sorry to hear that."
Vanessa gazed so calmly at her that Arabella momentarily regretted her flippancy. She would love to know what had given such a young and beautiful woman eyes that looked as if they had seen the world and had found very little of it to like.
"Jake's a good guy, Arabella."
Her lips quirked. "I'll have to take your word for it."
"My word is good."
"Vanessa, why are you talking to me like this?"
"Because I'm concerned."
A genuine smile spread across Arabella's mouth. "And somehow I don't think it's me you're concerned about."
"You're right."
"Vanessa, I've never seen anyone more capable of taking care of himself than Jake."
"I thought you said you saw him at SwanSea in the great hall your last night."
For once Arabella didn't have a snappy comeback.
Lucas reappeared, waving a mounded plate. "Here you are, Vanessa. Lots of everything, as ordered."
She smiled up at him. "Thank you."
And suddenly Arabella realized that when Vanessa looked at Lucas, her eyes didn't appear old.
Jake was startled when he first saw Arabella with Lucas and Vanessa. He had never seen her in a color as dark as royal purple, but as usual her taste was exquisite. The dark, rich color made a perfect foil for her fair beauty. Her metal moire dress was tubular, its only decoration tiny straps made of deeply purple amethysts that went over her ivory shoulders. And she was holding the ostrich-feather fan at an angle so that the plumes cascaded to the floor in a dramatic, graceful fall.
How had he gone so long without seeing her?
Vanessa, the plate in one hand, the fork in the other, delightedly regarded the food Lucas had brought her. "You really made a mistake, Arabella, when you didn't let Lucas get you a plate."
"It won't be my first mistake lately," she said, and to her surprise Vanessa ignored the pointed tone of her remark.
"You should reconsider. This is going to be wonderful."
"Tell me something, Vanessa. Why is it that your friend Jake doesn't relish food the way you do?"
Vanessa paused, her fork halfway to her mouth. And Arabella had the oddest feeling Vanessa was about to say something, but she didn't have the opportunity to find out.
"Hello, Arabella."
With wildly racing pulse, she pivoted slowly toward Jake. It must have started snowing, she thought absently as she tried to cope with her suddenly sharpened senses.
Every small detail about Jake seemed to register with her at once. The fact that he wasn't wearing a hat, the fact that snowflakes dusted his coal-black hair and the broad shoulders of his big black wool overcoat. The fact that beneath the overcoat he was dressed casually in an open-neck white shirt, V-neck gray and black patterned sweater, and gray trousers. The fact that all his energy and vitality was concentrated solely on her. The fact that his jaw was shadowed with a faint growth of beard, making him appear even more ruggedly masculine than usual.
"Hello, Jake."
"I want to talk to you."
"Then we are at an impasse, because I don't want to talk to you. I waited for you only because it's almost become more trouble than it's worth to avoid you. And because your friends were so charmingly determined to make sure I didn't leave." She glanced over her shoulder and discovered that Lucas and Vanessa had vanished. "Well, Lucas was charming. Vanessa was"—she paused, searching for the right word—"interesting." She shrugged her shoulders, then caught the attention of a passing footman. "Would you please get my wrap for me. I'm leaving now." The servant nodded and hurried away.
Jake dosed long fingers around her upper
arm and drew her to the side of the staircase to give them more privacy. "I'm not letting you go until you agree to talk to me."
She wrenched her arm from his grasp as anger shot through her. And all her inner hurt and fury came screaming out in a rush of words that were even more effective because they were so quietly spoken. "All right, then, Jake, by all means let's talk and get it over with. For a couple of weeks you took me out. We dined, or rather I dined, we danced, we laughed, we had a great time. Poor foolish me, I thought we were in the middle of a wonderful courtship. And if you had been any other man, it would have been a courtship. But then that was where I made my mistake. You're not any other man, and it was a tremendous blunder on my part to believe you were even remotely like others. But I understand everything now. Where I believed, hoped we were establishing a relationship that one day might become permanent, you saw me only as someone you wanted to have an affair with." She paused to draw a breath. "Now, as I see it, this is where it gets a little tricky, because during the time you were squiring me around town, you never once tried to make love to me."
"I was trying to wait until you were ready."
"Damn you, don't you dare gloss it over and make yourself sound noble. You knew that if you pressed the issue too soon, I would refuse. No, Jake, you were trying to gain my confidence and sweeten me up so that when you finally did make your move, I would fall into your bed with the same ease as all your other girlfriends have done before me. Now, strangely enough, there's a part of me that can almost accept that. You're not the first man to use strategy on me to try to get me into bed. And I'm sure people would say you were simply an average red-blooded man doing what every other average red-blooded man does when he is attracted to a woman. Except, just as I did, they would be making a horrendous mistake to think you were like anyone else. Because, Jake"—she jabbed him in the chest with a rigid finger—"for some twisted reason I cannot fathom, you were trying to make sure everyone in Boston believed we were having an affair." She paused to draw a breath. "Now, can you tell me why that is?"
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