Connie Brockway

by Anything For Love

  “Why?” Noble asked.

  Milton shook his head. “Everytime he looks at Venice, I imagine he sees Juliette. Venice’s mother.”

  “He loved her that much?” Noble asked, certain that if her mother had been so like Venice, he must have loved her greatly. Still, that was no reason to make a little girl suffer.

  “Trevor hated Juliette. That’s why he divorced her.”

  “What?” Noble straightened and looked down at the older man in disbelief. “I thought Venice’s mother was dead. That she died when Venice was a baby.”

  “That’s what everyone was supposed to think. That’s what Trevor made Venice tell everyone.”

  “Why?”

  “A man of Trevor’s rank? With his position in society to consider? Divorced?” Milton asked with uncharacteristic bitterness. “Think of the stigma. If it were discovered that he was divorced, he would never be allowed in polite society again. His career would be ruined, his political future dashed. Society has only a few sacrosanct rules, Noble. Marriage unto death is one of them.”

  “Then Venice’s mother is alive?”

  Milton shook his head sadly. “Not anymore. She died when Venice was sixteen.”

  ‘Did Venice ever visit her?”

  “No. Trevor refused to allow Juliette to see her daughter. After the divorce, Juliette returned to France, where Trevor first met her.”

  “How could a mother abandon her own child?” Noble demanded.

  “Venice asked me that once,” Milton said softly. “It surprised me. She was always so careful, even as a child, to keep her hurt to herself. In order to reveal herself like that, she must have been desperate for an answer.”

  “What did you tell her?”

  “I told her the truth, that a divorced woman has no rights. None.”

  “She didn’t have to get divorced,” Noble protested.

  “Trevor had made his mind up. Juliette was to be dispensed with and dispensed with she was.”

  Noble nodded. He had firsthand experience with Trevor’s expedience. “But divorce,” he said. “With all the potential for scandal, why would Trevor go to such lengths? Why not just send Venice’s mother away? Buy her off?”

  “Trevor did not want Juliette to have any legal hold on him or Venice whatsoever. He didn’t want to run the risk that she might suddenly appear at some future point and disrupt his life.”

  “Could she do that?”

  “No. And she wouldn’t have even if she’d had the power. But Trevor sees in others what are really flaws in himself. He was sure that given the power, Juliette would try to destroy him.”

  “Why did he marry her in the first place?”

  “Marrying Juliette was probably the only impulsive act Trevor ever took,” Milton said flatly. “And even then, I suspect it wasn’t all motivated by passion. I believe it was a gamble gone bad. Juliette was beautiful, you see. Every bit as beautiful as Venice. And quixotic and appealing. And poor.”

  “Poor?”

  “Yes. Her family worked for one of the great vineyards in Champagne. Trevor met her on a wine-buying junket. I imagine he was enthralled by Juliette and I also imagine, having known Juliette, that she would have none of Trevor’s propositions except one that involved a ring.”

  “But he must have loved her, to haveproposed marriage.”

  Milton shrugged. “As much as Trevor can love, perhaps. I think he saw Juliette as a valuable commodity, an exotic addition to his Park Avenue mansion. Someone the other men would covet and the drab New York City hostesses would emulate.

  “It didn’t work out that way. Juliette withered in the city. She was offended by the advances of Trevor’s male friends and disapproved of by society matrons. She didn’t have any notion of how to become a successful political hostess and, worse, she didn’t want to. She loathed New York, Trevor’s friends, and Trevor’s way of life, and she made no secret of it.”

  Noble nodded. He could easily understand the fury such behavior would have incited in someone as proud as Trevor.

  “Trevor divorced her within a year of her arrival here. He told everyone that she died while on holiday in Italy. I don’t even think Venice knew her mother was alive until she was seven or eight. And by that time Trevor had worked on Venice’s sense of loyalty to him to the point where he trusted her not to reveal his secret.”

  “She never even told me,” Noble said.

  “She wouldn’t have seen it as her secret to share.”

  “But it was her mother!”

  Milton didn’t reply.

  “How did Trevor explain the divorce to Venice?” Noble asked, though he thought he already knew.

  “He told her that Juliette’s background made her incapable of living in the city. That it had been a terrible, terrible mistake to try and mix their two worlds, but that neither of them should have had to spend the rest of their lives regretting their mutual error.”

  “That doesn’t sound like Trevor.”

  Milton’s mouth flattened into a hard line. “I told Trevor that if he told Venice anything different, I would make sure the world heard about his divorce.”

  Noble was quiet, replaying in his mind Venice’s words to him the morning Milton had arrived. Clearly, she thought they were on the verge of repeating the same disastrous pattern as her parents. Milton’s well-intentioned explanation of her parents’ divorce had built a mountain of self-doubt and fear of being hurt between Venice and him.

  But, hell, he scaled mountains for a living.

  Milton was regarding Noble closely. “Venice loves you, Noble. Don’t let her turn her back on love now, when she’s finally so close to finding it.”

  “I got some courting to do,” Noble said softly. “And I promise, nothing’s going to make me give up trying . . . not even if it takes me the rest of my life.”

  Chapter 23

  They weren’t hurrying to Salvage, Venice thought, they were sauntering.

  Somewhere, somehow, in the past twenty-four hours the impelling need for haste had been lost and their trip had become a tour.

  They had strolled along the trail this morning. Carter had stopped to examine every bit of fauna. Milton had lagged behind to study some odd geologic structure, and Templeton had constantly dived into the underbrush after early spring berries. The Utes had disappeared and reappeared at odd moments, their expressions noncommittal. And Noble had decided to make camp after only four hours in the saddle. “Why?” she demanded. “And why are we going so slowly?”

  “Honey” He tched. “You have to make allowances for your uncle and Carter’s advanced years. They aren’t used to riding for any length of time.

  Milton and Carter nodded owlishly.

  “Besides,” he continued, “who could be unhappy about spending a bit more time in such beautiful surroundings?”

  When she didn’t answer, he just shrugged in what she was sure was feigned apology

  She wasn’t in a very appreciative mood at dinner, in spite of the delicious trout and wild greens Templeton somehow conjured. She retired soon after eating and spent the rest of the evening listening to the murmured conversation of the men.

  The next morning, looking about the campsite, Venice had to agree with Noble. How could anyone want to hurry through this?

  The mountain air was so clean and clear, it made her light-headed. The sun, beaming down benevolently, had swollen the tree buds until they had finally, overnight, burst open. Butterflies flitted like brilliant confetti strewn by a capricious hand.

  Having risen early, Venice made coffee and went for a short walk around the campsite long before anyone else was stirring. She delighted in the rich, loamy smell of rain-scented earth, the early morning cacophony of migrating song birds, and the fresh, bright pigments of spring. With a sigh of regret at having to abandon her walk, she retraced her footsteps back to camp.

  Coming around the corner of her tent, she stopped short. Noble stood a dozen feet away . . . shaving. They’d been on the trail a scant
day now and it seemed as if he had spent half of that time bare-chested.

  Here he was again, sans shirt. He was standing sideways to her, peering into a square of polished tin he’d propped on one of the lower branches of a tree, lathering his face. The muscles on the back of his left arm and across his shoulder rippled smoothly beneath golden skin. A few white plaster strips still covered the cuts on his long, sleek body. The bandage she’d tied around his ribs hung loosely.

  He had the widest shoulders, the flattest belly. All she could think about was how warm and alive and strong he had felt pressed naked against her. Even his spine was provocative: a shallow, muscle-flanked line that disappeared beneath the soft, worn denim of his pants. His long, thick hair, tied back in a single tail of streaked gold, lay between his shoulder blades.

  As Venice watched, Noble plucked his razor from the branch. Opening the blade, he reached out and pulled tight a leather strip he’d tied waist level to the tree trunk. Carefully, he started stropping the blade.

  She was mesmerized by the razor’s hypnotic movement over the leather strap. He held the blade precisely, angling the sharp surface just so, smoothly pushing the razor away from him in a sensual, sweeping motion and then turning it over and gliding it back toward him.

  As though he felt her watching him, Noble lifted his gaze without moving his head. His gaze locked with hers in the mirror. A knowing smile stretched the white lather on his face.

  Lazily, he closed his eyes and Venice knew he was feeling her watch him. He looked like a big, half-tamed puma about to purr. Tilting his head back, he angled his chin high and she saw his eyes had opened again and he was studying her in the mirror.

  Carefully, he laid the razor against his throat. Even from where she stood, Venice heard the rasp of the blade against his skin. A long, burnished line of smooth skin was exposed by the swath he shaved. His throat looked strong, supple, masculine.

  Venice wet her lips with the tip of her tongue. Noble’s eyes narrowed. Carefully, he wiped the razor clean on a towel hanging overhead.

  “Honey,” he drawled, “if you stand there watching me like that, you’re likely to have my death on your conscience. ‘Cause I surely will cut my throat, the way you’re makin’ my hand shake.”

  She couldn’t help but laugh. She knew it wasn’t fair to encourage Noble, but she couldn’t help being drawn into his game when he teased her like this. He was too appealing.

  “Oh, I don’t think you’re in too grave a danger.”

  He straightened, placing his hand over his heart and swore, “You take my breath away. I can’t think straight, talk straight—hell, Venice I can’t even walk straight when you’re around.”

  “Then it sounds as though I’d better ride well behind you or we’ll end up back at the excavation site,” she retorted.

  “Don’t do that! I’d spend so much time swinging my head around just to get a glimpse of you that I’d probably lead us all straight off a cliff!”

  “Humph.”

  “It’ll be better for everyone if you just stay close to me . . . forever.” He was still smiling, but his eyes shone with sincerity.

  “Noble—”

  “When are you gonna have pity on me and marry me?”

  “I’m not.” She left him before he could get his shirt on, hastening away from his seductive words.

  Drat and blast the man! she thought. She should be concentrating on what ramifications Milton’s find would have on Salvage. Salvage, she reminded herself sternly, where people were depending on her. She didn’t have time to waste wishing for what couldn’t be.

  And why couldn’t it be? an inner voice urged. Because she loved Noble far too much to marry him and end up as her parents had, hating and resenting each other.

  Oh, he made it sound so easy. “Give up the foundation. Let others run it.”

  But she’d spent her life wanting to accomplish something worthwhile and as a member of the foundation’s board, she’d be able to do just that. She couldn’t give that up; not for love. Love was too capricious. Time after time, example after example, it had been demonstrated to her that love didn’t last.

  Her father, her cousin, her social acquaintances, even Cayuse Katie—they all testified to the same thing: don’t build your life around someone else; you’ll only end up alone and embittered.

  “Venice.”

  She tried darting away, but Noble caught her wrist in a gentle, unbreakable clasp, staying her. “Venice, don’t run away.” He put a hand on her other shoulder, turning her to face him.

  He’d put on a clean shirt and the brilliant white cotton contrasted tantalizingly with his tanned skin. Immediately selfconscious, she started tucking in the loose tail of her own sweat-stained, grubby garment.

  “I’m not running away,” she said gruffly Liar, she told herself.

  “Good.” He grinned. “Because there’s something I want to show you.” He paused a second, taking in her suspicious expression, and suddenly burst out laughing. “Nothing like that! I swear! My, you have a dirty mind, Venice Leiland.”

  Her cheeks and throat burned. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Right,” he said, still chuckling. “Though if you really want—”

  “I don’t!” she burst out.

  “I thought you didn’t know what I was talking about.”

  “I don’t,” she said haughtily. “But knowing you, I deduced what sort of lascivious suggestion you were likely to insinuate.”

  He leaned forward. “You’re right. Where you’re concerned, I’m capable of a whole book full of lascivious suggestions.”

  “I see.”

  “But not this time. I just found something I want to share with you.” The teasing tone dropped from his voice and he held out his hand, so confidently that before she realized what she was doing, she took it.

  “I don’t suppose it would be a bathtub?” she asked wistfully.

  “I’m afraid I can’t help you there. Besides, you look beautiful.”

  “Sure,” she said sardonically, holding back. “I’m a veritable wood nymph, one that’s so covered in dirt she’s about to send out shoots.”

  He laughed and pulled her forward. Delight lighting his handsome face, he led her by the hand up a narrow trail. They picked their way a quarter mile along the eastern face of the mountain until they came to a huge rock outcropping, rising hard against a stand of lodge pole pines.

  “Wait here,” Noble said. He walked under one of the taller trees and, grabbing hold of the lower branch, swung himself easily into the lower boughs. He climbed effortlessly to the top and, while Venice held her breath, leapt from the top of the tree to the top of the boulder.

  “Was that necessary?” Venice shouted.

  “No, but this way we save an hour of hard climbing,” he returned, uncoiling the rope he’d looped over his arm. He dropped the end to her.

  “Tie this around your waist and then lean back against the rope while—”

  “While I walk up the side of the boulder and you pull,” she said, doing as he’d told her and positioning herself at the base of the huge outcropping.

  “You’ve done this before.” He took up the slack.

  “Twice before. I thought it was exhilarating.”

  “Then prepare to be exhilarated for a third time, Venice,” he said, and started pulling her up.

  It went smoothly. She scrambled up, hand over hand, leaning against the taut rope. In a few minutes she reached the top. Noble grabbed hold of her jacket collar and lifted her up beside him.

  Together they stood on top of the boulder, grinning at each other and panting.

  “Okay,” she said, pleasure and excitement warring for precedence. “What next? Where do we go from here?”

  Wordlessly, Noble placed his hands gently on her shoulders and turned her around.

  Beneath them, a meadow was being born.

  Amongst the black, charred remains of a burnt-out forest, green grass spread out like a
bolt of the finest cloth. A delicate interweaving of tender, long grasses and mountain flowers rippled in a gentle breeze.

  “It’s fantastic,” Venice murmured.

  Noble nodded. “It always strikes me that way, too. It’s nearly magic the way the earth reclaims what it loses.”

  “How long ago was the fire?”

  “Three years.”

  “You’re teasing me! It would all be burnt earth if the fire were that recent.”

  “I know it’s hard to believe, but it’s true. I was worried I wasn’t going to make it out of this particular fire’s path.”

  “You were here?”

  “Not right here.” He chuckled. “About two miles southeast. I saw the smoke. Let’s go down there.”

  He lowered her down the side of the boulder and quickly descended after her. Upon reaching the ground, he once more took her hand and led her into the field. The thick grass cushioned their steps as they made their way amongst the oddly dignified spires of charred tree trunks that lent the meadow a cathedrallike quality.

  “I feel as though I should whisper,” she said.

  “Me, too.” He stopped and released her hand and pointed to a fluttering movement in a low bush. “It won’t have this solemn atmosphere for much longer. Already the birds are back and from the amount of berries around I wouldn’t be surprised if the bears were back, too.”

  “Bears?” Venice asked.

  He reached for her, his brows arching wickedly. “Don’t worry, Venice. I’ll protect you from the big, bad bears.”

  “Ha,” she said, swatting his hands away. “I’m not worried about the bears. I’m interested. I’ve never seen a grizzly bear. If I were worried about needing protection from anything, it would be from you.”

  He bent closer. “Wise woman,” he said, his tone playful.

  “Yeah? If I’m so wise, what am I doing out here with you?” The words were out before she could stop them.

  Immediately, Noble became sober. “Because you love me and you want to be with me, just as I love you and want to be with you.”

  “Love isn’t enough, Noble,” she said sadly.

  “Why? Because it wasn’t enough for your father and mother?”