I do, I do, I do

by Maggie Osborne

  My, how she had missed the small civilities of mannerly conduct. Receiving and responding to a proper invitation spread a satisfying warmth through her body. After she'd handed her reply through the tent flap, she sat back on her cot, half listening to Clara and Zoe, and she wondered where a prospector had learned to compose a proper invitation. She would have said that she knew Ben's character well, but there were gaps in her knowledge.

  "Is number twelve Main Street the address of the hotel?" she asked, worried. Hoping that Bear had been mistaken, she had ventured a look. The hotel was worse than Bear had suggested. An out-of-tune piano assaulted the ears in the saloon on the ground floor. She had gathered her courage, stuck her head inside, and noticed gaps in the ceiling through which she could see cot legs. Knowing hotel guests could look between their shoes and see down into the noisy saloon was almost as disgusting as the overpowering stink of stale beer and tobacco juice.

  She couldn't imagine having dinner in such primitive surroundings.

  "Who knows? None of the buildings are numbered," Clara said, going back to her discussion with Zoe about what had to be done to pull Juliette together for her evening.

  Juliette gazed at them with sudden startling affection. On her own, she might well have talked herself out of accepting Ben's invitation. It surprised her how much their approval meant, and how it settled her mind and affected her decisions.

  Drawing a deep breath, she moved to sit on Zoe's cot. "Well, what would you two advise? Shall I wear my brilliants?"

  Two hours later, while Zoe was giving her a manicure and they were nearing a consensus on her ensemble, Juliette realized how much she missed having sisters. And she hadn't even known it.

  Luc called for her at a quarter to seven, assisted her into her snowshoes, and carried her small bag containing evening slippers, a second handkerchief, an evening fan, and various toiletries. An argument had ensued after she'd inspected the toiletries that Clara and Zoe had assembled.

  "What is this?" she'd asked curiously, examining a pink ribbon attached to a ring-shaped collapsible object.

  Zoe and Clara glanced at each other and then Clara whispered, "It's a pessary."

  Shock made her drop the object and then stare at it with wide horrified eyes. Occasionally married women on the cusp of respectability whispered about such items, but decent women weren't supposed to know about contraception. "Where did you get this?"

  "Mrs. Eddington helped." When Clara saw Juliette's face, she spread her hands. "Mrs. Eddington thinks it's forme."

  "How dare you!" Anger and mortification made her hands shake. She sputtered. "I have no need of this, none at all!"

  Zoe touched her arm. "Very likely you're correct," she agreed soothingly. "But just in case…"

  "There is no 'just in case.' Mr. Dare and I are having dinner together, and that is all!" Fire blazed in her cheeks and throat. "How could you believe that I… What kind of a woman do you think I am?"

  "Despite what you'd like to believe, you're not a saint," Clara said briskly, tucking the pessary back into Juliette's bag. "None of us are."

  Zoe's face turned almost as red as Juliette's. "If, and all I'm saying is if, things should, ah, move in a, say, direction you don't now anticipate, then you should—" She cast a helpless look at Clara.

  "You should protect yourself," Clara finished firmly.

  Zoe nodded. "I'm sure many a woman wishes she'd had the foresight to protect herself before circumstance placed her in a position that… that…" She pressed her palms against burning cheeks. "You know."

  Juliette stared and understood positively that Zoe and Tom had been together. Clara also knew her suspicions had just become a certainty. Confirmation confused everything. If someone Juliette respected and considered an honorable woman could be with a man outside marriage, then…

  "I see," she said slowly, uncertain how to proceed. "Well, thank you for thinking of me, but I won't need a… a…" She couldn't say the word. "And I don't need these items either." Frowning, she focused her attention on the other toiletries. A comb and extra hairpins, a washcloth, body powder, replacement buttons, for heaven's sake. Items one would need to reassemble oneself.

  "Juliette." Clara gave her a hard-eyed stare. "Must you be a shortsighted idiot? If you don't need these items, fine. If you do need them—and that's your own business—then you'll have them." She closed Juliette's bag, snapping off conversation.

  Now that she knew about Zoe and Tom, Juliette couldn't take the high road without sounding judgmental and thus embarrassing Zoe. After chewing her lips for a moment, she sighed. "I won't need these items, but thank you for being concerned about my welfare." Best to leave it at that. "How do I look?"

  "Beautiful!" they said in unison.

  Their answer made her smile. She'd never been beautiful, but tonight she thought she approached that happy state as closely as she ever had. They had brushed her hair until it shone glossy brown, then pulled it up and back with her brilliants, and they'd used the curling iron to create long fat curls that fell from her crown to her shoulders. Beneath her heavy trail coat, she wore a black cape, and beneath that she wore the only dress gown she'd packed, a smart combination of black velvet and cream-colored satin. The gown was lower necked and revealed more cleavage than she would have preferred for an evening alone with a man, but the puffy shoulder sleeves worried her more. A gap opened between her long gloves and the sleeves. She didn't think she was at her best when she was shivering and her teeth were clicking together with cold. On the positive side, she didn't have to concern herself about dragging the gown's train through slush and heaven knew what else. Zoe had put her needle to work and had shortened the train to walking length.

  As Juliette and Luc traveled down Linderman Lake's noisy Main Street—such as it was—she eyed the tobacco-stained snow and whispered a silent thank-you to Zoe. She wasn't dragging a train through the slop. And thanks to Clara, her cheeks had a healthy glow, but the lard had softened and smoothed the chapped rough spots.

  For several minutes Juliette believed Luc must have made a mistake as he led her past the last weathered building at the end of the street and they moved onto a sled track lit only by a half moon. Just as she was about to inquire, they entered a curve in the road, and she spotted the shimmer of light at windows.

  Luc escorted her to a small log cabin and rapped his knuckles on the door. At once the door swung open, and Ben smiled at her.

  For a stunning moment Juliette didn't recognize him. He looked years younger without the scruffy prospector's beard. It occurred to her that he was likely in his middle thirties; she had guessed him a full ten years older. And she seldom saw him without his fur hood or a hat. But tonight his hair was carefully parted in the middle and brushed back in dark wings. He wore a tailored three-piece black suit and the only starched collar and cuffs she had seen since leaving Seattle. For a full minute she could not breathe. This Ben Dare was a strikingly handsome stranger.

  Suddenly feeling shy, she waited in silence while Ben took her bag before he thanked and dismissed Luc. "I won't need you any more this evening, Luc. Thank you," he said pleasantly. Then he turned those blue eyes on her, and her heart skipped a beat. "Let me help you out of your snowshoes."

  He knelt before her, and she steadied herself by placing a hand on his shoulder. Beneath the expensive wool of his jacket, he was rock solid, the hard, honed Ben that she knew.

  After placing her snowshoes just inside the door, he led her into the warm cabin. A colorful hooked rug covered the plank floor in front of a crackling fire—that's what she noticed first. She wouldn't have to worry about shivering through dinner.

  "The windows!" Surprise widened her eyes.

  "They're blocks of ice," he said, laughing.

  Turning slowly, Juliette took in the cabin. The furnishings were sparse, but appeared comfortable. Someone had hung framed magazine covers on the walls, had assembled a collection of books in a low case. A small, minimally equipped kitchen was separate
d from a claw-foot table by a serving counter. Though small and plain, the cabin was snug and possessed a certain charm.

  "Who owns this?" she asked, almost afraid to look at him. She didn't think she could without staring. Or without causing an odd fluttery eruption in her stomach.

  "The cabin belongs to Bill Prather, who owns the general store. He agreed to let me rent his home for three days."

  Juliette knew the price of things in this part of the world. "It must have cost a fortune!" If a pound of butter cost twenty dollars, what on earth had he paid to rent a whole cabin?

  For three days. Suddenly her mouth went dry, and her hands began to tremble. Three days. And he had not asked Luc to return to escort her back to the tent.

  "Ben…"

  "The bedroom is through that door," he said, curving her fingers around her bag of toiletries. "If you'd care to freshen up."

  They were alone together in a cabin with a bedroom. Which he had rented for three whole days. She licked her lips in indecision.

  "A decent woman would remove herself from this compromising situation!" A tiny and indignant Aunt Kibble spoke from her left shoulder.

  "At once!" Her tiny mother added from her right shoulder.

  "When you return, we'll have sherry beside the fire," Ben said, interrupting the flow of admonitions. And then—and then he bent and lightly brushed his lips across hers.

  Electricity seared through her body. For an instant, she could not move, could not think, could not function. It was as if lightning had struck and paralyzed her.

  "Leave this very instant!" Aunt Kibble demanded, outraged.

  "This man is no gentleman!" her mother's voice huffed.

  "He's only interested in your inheritance!"

  "Shut. Up." Juliette stated the two words silently but with firm command. Throughout her lifetime too many evenings and too many situations had been spoiled as she did the right thing according to other people's notions of propriety. Tonight she was not going to be timid prissy little Juliette March.

  Tonight, she was a modern woman, dashing and liberated from constraints better left to another life. Tonight, she would set her own rules of deportment.

  After touching her lips, she lifted her head and walked toward the bedroom door.

  Tonight she was a worldly woman with a pessary in her bag, by heaven. A femme fatale eagerly prepared for come what may.

  Ben had kissed her. It was a different world now.

  * * *

  Chapter 17

  Ben had thoughtfully lit a lantern atop the bureau so Juliette could see as she removed her heavy coat and mittens and her cape, laying them across a colorful bed quilt. The bedroom was a small jewel of a room with peeled log wails that still retained a faint scent of pine, and there was enough furniture to seem cozily crowded. But what caught her eye was a bathtub next to the interior wall, the first she had seen in months. It was old-fashioned, like Aunt Kibble's, and had to be filled with water heated in the kitchen, but it was a real bathtub, and she envied Ben for having the use of it for three days.

  She imagined him lying naked in the tub, a cigar between his teeth, his eyes narrowed against the smoke. Suddenly she felt excessively warm. Spinning from the sight of the tub, she faced the mirror atop the bureau and frowned while she smoothed her hair, retied the black ribbon around her throat, and repuffed her shoulder sleeves. Then, leaning forward, she examined the hint of cleavage that showed at her low neckline.

  For an instant, she regretted wearing an evening dress. On the other hand, tonight was a night fashioned for boldness and daring. She was a woman who had decided to make her own rules, who was having dinner alone with a man in his rented house. And he had launched the evening by kissing her. Oh, my heavens.

  She pulled her fan from the bag and furiously fanned her face until she felt less overwrought by her own recklessness.

  Then, while retrieving her evening heels from her bag, she withdrew the pessary and examined it in the light of the lantern. Her heart beat faster merely from touching and looking at such an item. Who would ever suppose that Juliette March knew about contraception, let alone would have a device in her possession. And might have need of it. Lordy. Pink flooded her cheeks.

  Well, of course she would not have need of it. But how thrilling it would be to know she was modern and devil-may-care enough to wear a contraceptive device. That she, intrepid traveler as she had become, would be prepared for whatever wicked adventure wild destiny might fling her way. Oh, yes, there was more to Juliette March than anyone knew. She nodded wisely at her image in the mirror. Beneath her admittedly prissy little heart beat the pulse of a brazen hussy.

  Or maybe she was just talking herself into something.

  But tonight would never come again. Impulsively making the decision, she sat on the bed, flipped up her skirts, and after several failed attempts, managed to insert the pessary. The embarrassing immodesty of touching herself there was overshadowed by the guilty pleasure of having a thrilling secret.

  Trembling at her daring, she pressed down her skirts, drew a deep breath, and then she twisted off Jean Jacques's wedding ring. Ben was not wearing the green scarf tonight. She could do no less. She dropped the ring into her bag, muttered good riddance, then lifted her head and returned to the living room. Wearing a pessary gave a woman flair and confidence.

  Ben's reaction was all she had dreamed it might be. He inhaled sharply and stared, his eyes going smoky blue and hard. "Words fail me," he said in a husky voice. "It doesn't do justice merely to say that you are exquisite."

  So was he. Anyone seeing him tonight would never have guessed that he was a prospector on his way to the gold fields in search of a fortune. He looked like a gentleman in every detail, from the gold watch fob crossing his waistcoat to the jet studs at his cuffs and shirtfront.

  Taking her arm and pressing it to the side of his chest, he escorted her to facing chairs before the fire. After touching his sherry glass to hers, he leaned back and studied her with such obvious fascination that Juliette glanced down and blushed.

  "May I ask a personal question?" After she nodded, he said, "You're such a lovely woman. I wonder why you've never married. I assume you chose not to?"

  "There was someone…" His question fairly quivered with underlying implications, but she didn't let herself think about them. Instead, she turned her face toward the fire in the grate and considered love and truth. She couldn't tell Ben about Jean Jacques, certainly not tonight, but Ben was too important to her not to come as close to the truth as possible.

  "You see, I am an heiress," she confided after a brief hesitation. If she hadn't squelched the tiny Aunt Kibble on her shoulder, Aunt Kibble would have been having an apoplectic fit. The worst thing to tell a man seeking gold was that a fortune sat not three feet in front of him. "My aunt, who sought to protect me, was ever alert to fortune-hunters. And sadly, those were the men who wished to come courting."

  Ben nodded. "I assumed it must be something like that."

  "You did?" Her eyebrows lifted.

  "I overheard Miss Wilder mention that you paid Tom to pack her and Miss Klaus to Dawson. She didn't sound happy about it," he added with a smile. "Only someone of means could afford such a generous gift." His gaze traveled slowly to her breast, waist, and then down the length of her gown. "And your clothing suggests a comfortable status."

  "You knew all along!" The color drained from her face, and she forgot to deny that it was she who had paid Tom. She had believed Ben cared for her because she thought he knew nothing about her money. Now his attentions fell beneath a cloud of suspicion, and horror widened her eyes. She had done it again. She had fallen in love with a man who saw only her inheritance.

  He laughed at her expression. "Dear Juliette. If you're thinking I'm interested in your money, I assure you I am not."

  "That's what I'm thinking," she whispered.

  He pulled his chair beside hers, took the sherry glass from her fingers, and held her hands. "I have a confessio
n to make. I didn't guess your background from your attire or by overhearing Miss Wilder. I asked the hotel manager in Seattle who you were, and I recognized your name."

  She was flabbergasted. "How could you possibly recognize my name? I'm positive we haven't met before."

  "We haven't." His smile was almost a caress. "I know your name because the Bay City Bank in San Francisco manages your inheritance, and I own the Bay City Bank. You're not our largest investment account, but you're among the top fifty."

  Her mouth rounded, and she stared. "Good heavens. I've heard my aunt mention you. She calls you 'the brawling banker.' "

  He laughed. "Banking in the West isn't the gentleman's profession that it is back East."

  "I thought you… I…" She had never imagined that he was anyone other than who he appeared to be, a stampeder hoping to find salvation in the gold fields of the frozen north.

  "Frankly, I was pleased that you didn't recognize my name. I didn't want my background known. Most of the prospectors we've met are desperate men. I doubt they'd look kindly on a competitor who doesn't care if he ever sees a gold nugget. And there was another reason I preferred not to mention that I'm your banker." He hesitated, and his expression sobered. "You have a substantial inheritance, Juliette, but…"

  "But your fortune is far greater." It took a moment, but the significance sank into her mind. "My heavens! You feared if I knew the truth, I might be more interested in your wealth than in you!" She stared at him before bursting into laughter. "Oh, Ben."

  After she'd caught her breath, Ben turned her hand and ran his thumb along her gloved palm. "The thought occurred to me, but not immediately. When I discovered you aboard the Annasett, I considered the coincidence remarkable. That the first woman who had caught my eye in a year kept crossing my path. But I didn't anticipate that you and I would…" He smiled and shrugged.