Scarlet Lies (Author's Cut Edition): Historical Romance

by Jo Goodman

  "I'll speak to him, Aunt Louise." Ryland settled back in his chair again, his cinnamon eyes hooded. "If he won't listen to reason, then perhaps Miss No Last Name will."

  Ryland slept late the next morning, but unless he missed his guess, the day being Sunday, Drew would sleep even later. Ryland splashed water on his face and shaved, then shrugged into his robe and padded barefoot down the hall to Drew's room. He stood beside the bed for a few minutes, watching Drew sleep, remembering when he had peered over the crib to make certain the baby was still breathing.

  Drew was breathing now. Loudly. Ryland picked up a spare pillow and clobbered Drew over the head with it.

  "What the hell?" Drew mumbled sleepily.

  "Wake up! You're louder than an engine straining to get up the High Sierras!"

  "Ry! You're home!" Drew sat up, took the pillow by its corners and hammered it back.

  Ryland caught it at his middle, faked great pain, and toppled on the bed. "Seriously wounded," he moaned.

  "Damn, but it's good to see you! When did you get in? How long are you staying? Do Mother and Dad know you're home? Damn, but this is good!"

  Ryland rolled off Drew's legs and sat cross-legged at the foot of the bed. "It's good seeing you, too. It would have been nice seeing you last night. What time did you get in?" He studied his cousin closely. Drew resembled Louise more closely than he did the North side of the family. He was slightly built—not precisely thin, but without the breadth and height of his father and the uncle he never had known. Drew had the clear, guileless face of an angel and his mother's bright green eyes. The tips of his ears reddened as he answered Ryland's question.

  "About four this morning," he admitted. "If I'd known you were coming I'd have broken my engagement."

  "Bad choice of words," Ryland pointed out. "If I understand your parents correctly you already have one broken engagement to your credit. That's more than enough for any man."

  Drew groaned softly and leaned back against the brass rails at the head of the bed. "Not you, too. Spare me, Ry. I know what I'm doing."

  "I'll spare you for now," Ryland said pleasantly. "You're looking a bit green in the face. Doesn't go with the color of your ears at all." Ryland got up from the bed. "I'll see you downstairs for breakfast. Eggs. Fresh bacon. Biscuits and gravy. Orange slices. Drew? Drew! Where are you going?" Drew's reply was muffled as the door to his bathroom slammed shut. Ryland smiled and left the room, whistling softly under his breath.

  Ryland thought Drew looked considerably better when he joined him in the dining room, but his cousin still ignored the spread in front of him and opted for a cup of coffee instead. Ryland tucked into his breakfast as if nothing were wrong.

  "You don't have to be so cheerful," Drew said sulkily.

  "Can't think of a single reason not to be. I'm enjoying myself immensely."

  "I hate it when you gloat."

  "I hate it when you behave like an ass."

  Drew laughed shortly. "I was, wasn't I?"

  Ryland shrugged and bit into a biscuit.

  "Where are the folks?"

  "Your parents are at church. After that they're having luncheon with some associate of your father's."

  "Not Adam Melrose, I hope."

  "I sincerely doubt it. I believe it's Leland Stanford."

  Drew was visibly relieved. "Good. Their association with the Melroses only perpetuates the problem."

  Ryland raised an eyebrow. "Oh? What problem is that?"

  "Forget it, Ry. I'm not a snot-nosed kid any more. I know what brought you home, and if I had any doubts you put them to rest when you wanted to talk about broken engagements first thing this morning."

  "I wasn't very subtle, was I? But then, I didn't think I needed to be. Is tact so important between brothers?"

  "Brothers? A lot you know about it. You spent a few months here seven years ago and you were gone for over four years before that. I would think you'd want to get reacquainted before you jumped in the middle of something you don't even understand." Drew's soft mouth curled to one side derisively. "Pardon me, you're not jumping in the middle. You've already taken sides, haven't you?"

  Ryland listened to Drew consideringly. Clearly Andrew had his own opinions these days and was not shy about expressing them. Ryland was impressed, if not with Drew's argument, then with his ability to speak up for himself. "Not necessarily. I'm interested in what you have to say. Look, Drew, I apologize for charging in like a wild bull. I know what Aunt Louise and Uncle Robert have told me, and that doesn't mean I'm not willing to listen to you. But I gather from them there is some urgency. Your mother thinks you're getting ready to ask Lyn to marry you."

  "Mother doesn't know everything, Ry. I've already asked Lyn."

  Ryland drew a calming breath. "And?"

  "And she's thinking about it."

  "I see." Ryland picked up his fork and began eating again, though his pleasure in the meal had vanished. "When did you ask her?"

  "Last night. So you were a bit late if your mission was to talk me out of it."

  "Apparently. When will she give you an answer? This evening?"

  "No, not tonight. Lyn doesn't work Sundays. I'll see her tomorrow. She's promised to let me know then."

  "So... tell me about her. What is she like?"

  Drew relaxed, reading the sincere interest in Ryland's face. "She's like no one else in the world, Ry. She's beautiful."

  "Somehow I suspected that. But what is she like, Drew?"

  "Well, I don't know how to describe her exactly."

  Drew had it worse than Ryland thought. "Give it a try."

  "She's kind. Witty. Somehow she's sad, too. She doesn't laugh very often. You know, she doesn't really laugh. That's what she likes about me, she says. I can make her laugh."

  Wonderful. Drew could play the court jester throughout his married life. "Does she know who you are?"

  "You mean does she know I'm wealthy." He waved his hand carelessly as if it were of no account. "I suppose she does. We've never discussed it. She's not after my money, Ry. She could have her pick of a dozen men with more money than me. I don't think money is very important to her;"

  "What about Caroline Melrose?"

  "Money was extremely important to Caro," Drew said.

  "That isn't what I meant. What happened between you and Caroline?"

  "Nothing. I thought I was in love with her. I proposed and she accepted. When I realized that Caro and I would never get on I broke the engagement."

  "This realization... I take it it occurred after meeting Lyn."

  "As a matter of fact it did, but Lyn can't be held responsible. She didn't even know I existed then."

  Ryland drank some coffee. "Drew, if you're no longer in love with Caroline then you did the right thing to break the engagement. No one, certainly not your parents, wants you to marry someone you can't get on with. But how do you know you'll be any better off with this Lyn? You haven't known her very long."

  "Four months," he said quickly, defensively.

  "And you knew Caroline three years before you proposed and then another six months went by before you called it quits. Think, Drew. In three and a half years you could feel the same way about Lyn. Marriage is much more difficult to get out of than an engagement."

  "If she'll have me, there will be no getting out of the marriage." Drew pushed away from the table. "I love her, Ry. If you'd put aside your prejudices about where she works and how she earns a living, you might see her as I do." He stood, bracing his arms on the table. "You sound like half a dozen snooty society matrons I could name, my own mother included. But they don't speak for all of Frisco. In this town money still buys acceptance, and as my wife Lyn will be accepted. I'll make sure of it."

  Ryland watched Drew almost knock down Hung Ly as he stalked out of the dining room.

  "Mister Andrew very, very angry."

  "That would sum it up nicely, Hung Ly." Ryland stood, tossing his napkin on the table. "Nothing else for me now. If anyone asks
I'm out seeing the sights."

  "Very good." Hung Ly bowed slightly as Ryland passed him.

  "She'd better be," Ryland growled under his breath.

  All during the ride to the Hamilton Hotel, Ryland thought of how he could have approached Andrew differently, wondering if the outcome could have been changed for it. It seemed unlikely given the fact that Drew had already proposed to Lyn. Ryland knew his primary mistake had been in thinking that Drew was still a child. There was nothing to be gained by that approach. Obviously. Because he believed he owed it to Andrew, Ryland decided the only thing that made sense was to meet this Lyn. He would do what Drew asked and put prejudice aside. It was the least he could do, considering there remained a slim possibility that Drew knew exactly what he was doing.

  The lobby of the Hamilton was a showcase for wealth and opulence. The vaulted ceiling was enormously high, like a cathedral's. The walls were paneled in dark walnut wood and polished to such a sheen that they reflected the light from the overhead chandeliers. Oriental carpets divided the lobby into ten different sitting areas, each affording some privacy by the arrangement of the plush furniture. Living in a first-class hotel like the Hamilton marked the residents as having a certain social availability. If they had lived in boardinghouses or merely rented single rooms the situation would be vastly different. Drew had been correct that money, even the illusion of it, brought or bought acceptance.

  Ryland leaned against the lobby desk as he waited for the clerk to give some mail to a resident of the Hamilton.

  "May I help you, sir?"

  Ryland straightened. "I have an appointment with Lyn, but she neglected to give me her suite number." He checked his pocket watch. "I'm late already."

  The clerk's expression became bored, but he made an effort not to give offense. "I'm sorry, sir, but Lyn does not receive guests on Sundays."

  "But I'm not a guest. I'm a friend."

  "Lyn does not receive friends on Sundays," the clerk replied gravely.

  Ryland was scanning the boxes behind the clerk, taking special note of those without keys lying inside. He would have liked to write the numbers down but had to rely on his memory instead. To buy more time and give him access to the upper floors Ryland asked for a room.

  "We don't rent rooms," he said.

  "Do you have a suite available?" Ryland asked, striving for patience as he continued to scan the boxes.

  "Several."

  "Good. I'll take one for the night."

  The clerk coughed delicately, hiding his smile behind his hand. "We don't let suites for one night, sir. You may have one for the month."

  "All right, then," Ryland gritted. "I'll take one of your suites for the month." He felt a measure of satisfaction when he saw the clerk's eyes widen in surprise.

  "Very good, sir." The clerk reached under the desk and pulled out some papers. "If you'll sign here. And of course I'll need half your payment in advance."

  "Of course." Ryland reached for his billfold. "How much?"

  "Do you want a suite with one or two bedrooms? We have both available."

  "One bedroom," Ryland growled. Lord! Drew's intended had better be worth this aggravation.

  "That would be four thousand dollars," the clerk said smugly, expecting Ryland to balk as so many others had. "Gold or silver is preferred." He took note of Ryland's harsh stare and added quickly, "But greenbacks will be perfectly acceptable if that's all you have."

  "Good," Ryland said, baring his teeth. "Because it is all I have." He laid out the money. Only in San Francisco, he thought. Sometimes Californians forgot they were members of the Union and that the rest of the country found paper currency worked quite well.

  The clerk's square-cut face paled slightly as he gathered up Ryland's money. He was obligated to rent a suite if someone had the money, but he knew very well what Ryland's intentions were. It crossed his mind to warn Lyn, but a second look at Ryland, his size and his build and his simmering anger, stopped him cold. He stuffed the money in the safe and turned back to Ryland. "Luggage, sir?" he asked politely.

  Ryland made a show of looking around him. "Well, what do you know? I've come all this way without my luggage." He leaned across the desk, facing the clerk at eye level. "I want the key to my rooms... and I want it now."

  The clerk quickly got the key and placed it on the desk. "Third floor, sir." He pointed to the wide, red-carpeted staircase. "Take that. Turn left on three."

  Ryland palmed the key. "Thank you," he said sweetly. "Good day, sir."

  Ryland didn't stop on the first floor to investigate any of the suites. The keys to those rooms had all been in the boxes, meaning the occupants had gone out or the suites were vacant. On the second floor there were four suites that Ryland checked, offering excuses and apologies to the people he disturbed. None of them were Lyn. The third and fourth floors were equally unyielding. There were six suites on the fifth floor. Three were vacant, and two were occupied by couples clearly put out by Ryland's interruption. The last suite, a corner set of rooms, did not seem to have anyone in it. Ryland started to walk away, thinking he had made a mistake when he had tried to memorize the keys. He had taken two steps from the doors when it opened. He turned, preparing to make his greeting.

  Ryland felt as if he had received a blow to his midsection. His hand automatically went to the scar at his temple. "Jesus! It's you!"

  Chapter 5

  Brook tried to slam the door shut but Ryland was too quick for her. He wedged his foot in the opening and pushed hard, sending Brook stumbling backward. She caught her balance a moment before she would have knocked over an end table. She made no attempt to save the crystal vase that crashed to the floor. Water spread in a pool beneath her feet. Long-stemmed white roses scattered.

  Ryland shut the door quietly and leaned against it, forearms crossed against his chest. One corner of his mouth lifted in a mocking smile. "Be careful of the thorns." He noticed that she did not even glance at her feet. Her attention was riveted on him, every slender line of her body poised for flight. It struck him that four years had hardly altered her appearance. Her eyes still held the brilliance of a blue-white star. Cool colors. Fascinating heat. Her chestnut hair was plaited in a single braid that fell over her left shoulder. The pale blue ribbon at its tip perfectly matched the satin dressing robe she wore. The robe was belted tightly at the waist but it had been done hastily. The lapels were not pulled closely together, and Ryland watched a tiny bead of water trickle from the hollow of Brook's throat, across the smooth skin of her chest, and disappear below the curve of her breasts. His hooded gaze dropped to her bare feet, then slowly lifted again. His smile remained unchanged. "It would seem I disturbed your bath."

  It was his insolent stare more than his words that sliced cleanly through Brook's shock. She opened her mouth to scream. Again, Ryland was quicker. He fairly leaped away from the door as she turned to run, drawing her into his arms and covering her mouth with his hand. Her cry, as well as her air, was cut off. She struggled as long as she could, flailing at Ryland with her hands and feet. She tried to bite his hand and bit her inner lip instead. Thoughts spun dizzily through her mind, and only one made sense. Ryland North was going to kill her. The inevitability of it calmed Brook. Her eyes fluttered closed; there was a black void on the edge of her vision. Her heart seemed to thud harder but less often. She felt her knees give way, and she fell weakly against Ryland, supported only by his strength.

  "Don't scream," Ryland whispered against Brook's ear. "Promise not to scream."

  Brook couldn't think, let alone promise anything. She realized vaguely that Ryland took the sudden drooping of her head for her assent. His hand slipped from her mouth. Brook's lungs burned fire as she gasped for air.

  Ryland knew she must despise herself for leaning into him, for clinging to him for help. Perhaps if she multiplied that feeling by a hundredfold she might begin to know how he felt about her. There was no compassion in his voice as he told her to breathe slowly and deeply.


  Ryland glanced around Brook's sitting room. She had done splendidly for herself these past four years. He wondered how much of the money he had on the Mary Francis had been used to add to the exquisite furnishings of her suite. The chairs, sofa, and tables no doubt belonged to the Hamilton, but Ryland did not think the same was true of the oil painting above the mantel.

  The elaborately scrolled gilt frame barely contained the artist's vision of a stormy sea lashing out furiously at an outcropping of rocks. A pair of hands clutched one of the rocks, straining for purchase. At first Ryland thought they were the hands of some fisherman, caught unaware by the storm; then he noticed the tiny slip of a gossamer fin bending in the white-water waves. His eyes narrowed on the fin and traced the line of the mermaid's tail to the point where the mermaid's hair swirled around her naked breasts. Her face was partially hidden by a spray of water, but Ryland thought he saw anguish in the peculiar ghostly features. It was a dark, violent painting and not the sort of thing that would appeal to many people. There was something terrifying in the fanciful rendering of the mermaid's plight in the storm.

  Ryland grimaced, wondering why Brook had chosen such a piece and why it should disturb him. With an angry motion Ryland swung Brook into his arms and carried her into the adjoining room, kicking the connecting door closed behind them. Brook tried to roll away as she was dropped like so much baggage on top of the bed. Ryland stopped her instantly and effectively by straddling her waist and clasping her wrists in his hands, forcing them above her head.

  Brook whimpered as Ryland settled back, forcing her to accept the weight of him on her pelvis. The tender skin of her wrists was twisted around her bones. She made one attempt to throw him off, arching and bucking like a filly. The amusement that flickered in his darkening eyes infuriated her.

  "Go ahead," he said. "Say it. You've been wanting to ever since you saw me in the hallway. I know what you're thinking."