Midnight Star

  Chauncey had no idea that she even possessed such wild, uncontrollable emotions, the gamut of which she had totally exhausted throughout the long night. She was drained, utterly limp and listless the following day. She wandered about the house like a ghost, not really caring, not really thinking about anything at all. She ignored Mary’s questioning looks and sent Lin’s breakfast back to the kitchen untouched.

  When Lin appeared in the doorway of the drawing room that afternoon, her almond eyes narrowed in concern, Chauncey merely looked at her, saying nothing.

  “Miss Chauncey, Lucas like to speak to you.”

  “Send him in, Lin.”

  Lucas limped into the room. “Excuse me, ma’am. Mr. Del’s ship the Jade just docked. I wanted to tell you that Olaf is outside, if you need him. I’m going to help unload the ship.”

  Chauncey stared at him. “Which warehouse, Lucas?” she asked very calmly.

  “He had a new one built, off the end of Sansome Street.”

  “I see.” Indeed, she did see, everything. “I should like to accompany you, Lucas.”

  He looked taken aback, but for only a moment. Miss Chauncey needed to get out, and he would be there to protect her. She couldn’t stay indoors all the time, after all, until they’d caught that man Hoolihan. Still, he felt a bit of uncertainty, concerned about what Mr. Del would think when he saw his wife. “Certainly, ma’am. Could we go shortly?”

  “I’ll just be a moment, Lucas.”

  Ten minutes later, Lucas helped Chauncey to mount her mare, Yvette. The afternoon was overcast, with thick fog drifting over the hills toward them.

  “You warm enough, ma’am?”

  “Yes, indeed,” Chauncey said, and urged Yvette to a trot. At last, she thought. At long last. She saw Lucas tip his hat to Olaf as they rode from the house. She’d spoken only briefly to the big Swede. He looked as fierce as Lucas in his own way, and like Lucas, he seemed as gentle as a puppy.

  As usual, the downtown area of San Francisco was filled with men, wagons, and horses. She could hear the tinny piano music from a saloon on Kearny Street. She found herself scanning the men’s faces as they rode past, almost smiling in anticipation. Come on, Hoolihan, she thought, her fingers curling about her small derringer.

  When they reached Delaney’s large warehouse, she wanted to shout with glee. It was set apart, newly built, a massive wooden building that, she thought, her lips tightening, would burn quickly and completely. She knew well enough every San Franciscan’s fear of fire, but just this warehouse would burn, nothing else. Only Delaney would be hurt. She had learned something of shipping from Thomas Gregory during her two months with him in London. Given that the Jade was returning from the Orient, it must have many, many thousands of dollars’ worth of goods.

  They dismounted near the large entrance to the warehouse. Dozens of men, many of them sailors from the Jade, were hauling wooden boxes into the building.

  “Chauncey! What the hell!”

  She turned at the sound of Delaney’s sharp, surprised voice. He had shed his frock coat and rolled the sleeves of his white shirt to his elbows. Sweat glistened on his face. He strode over to her, his eyes narrowing on Lucas’ face.

  “Don’t blame Lucas, Del,” she said quickly. “I . . . I wanted to get out of the house. Please, let me stay.”

  As she spoke, her eyes veered to his ship, a large clipper, modern and sleek.

  He looked at her closely, seeing the excitement in her eyes, and sighed. It was true, he thought, she couldn’t remain virtually a prisoner. “All right,” he said, smiling at her, “but just for a few minutes.” She appeared to have forgotten their virulent argument of the previous night.

  All I need is a few minutes! She could feel the blood pounding and surging through her body. She ignored the brief pleasure the sight of her husband had brought her. He’d left her the previous night and gone to his precious mistress. He’d finally shown her his true colors. He wasn’t honorable, not at all. I will feel no guilt. None at all.

  “Tell me about the goods you’ve brought over,” she said, her voice bright.

  He conducted her through the warehouse, opening some of the crates to show her bolts of incredibly beautiful silk, old and ornate furnishings, and vases from Chinese dynasties she’d never heard of. So many beautiful things that would cease to exist. Soon. Very soon.

  She was charming, radiant, and hung solicitously on his every word. He allowed her to stay longer than he’d planned. When finally she rode away with Lucas, he stood staring after her, his eyes narrowed, his expression thoughtful.

  20

  I’m finally revenging you, Father! Finally I’ll do what I must.

  Chauncey stilled all guilt, all doubts, and concentrated on her dinner.

  “You’re looking very thoughtful this evening,” Delaney said as he lifted his goblet of wine to his lips.

  “Am I?” she asked brightly. She smiled at him, a dazzling smile that made his body leap in response. “I was just thinking about the Jade and what a beautiful ship she is. And all that cargo! When will you move it, Del?”

  “Beginning tomorrow. Don’t look so surprised, love. The ship was late, and merchants have been awaiting the goods for nearly a month now.”

  Tonight. It must be tonight!

  “I suppose the cargo must be worth a great deal of money.” Careful, Chauncey, don’t act too interested.

  “Yes, a great deal,” Del said.

  Worth enough to ruin you?

  “The warehouse is most impressive. Thank you for showing me through it.”

  “The warehouse too is worth a great deal. It was just finished six months ago. Others will begin building on the wharf soon. Sam Brannan . . .”

  Chauncey heard Sam Brannan’s plans with half an ear. I am hurting no one, she told herself yet again. No one save Delaney Saxton. Would he come to her for money, she wondered, when it was all over?

  “I must go out for a while, love,” Del said, interrupting her thoughts. “I won’t be long. though.” He paused a moment, looking at her thoughtfully from beneath his lowered lashes.

  Was this to be a repeat of last night? “Where are you going?” Her voice sounded shrill and she fought for control. “This time, that is.”

  He cocked an interested brow at her. “Do you really wish to know?”

  She ground her teeth. “Can’t you simply answer a question? No, it’s more amusing for you to taunt me! You won’t go to her again tonight, Delaney! You mustn’t! Surely you are too tired?”

  “I suppose I am somewhat tired,” he said in the blandest of voices. He watched her with a mild show of interest.

  Chauncey rose quickly from her chair and stamped her foot. “Did you sleep with her last night?”

  Delaney sat back in his chair and studied her flushed face thoughtfully. The silence stretched long between them. “Would it bother you if I had?”

  “You are my husband!”

  “It pleases me that you remember.”

  She wanted to scream at him, hurl her chair at his head. “You didn’t answer me, Del. Did you sleep with her last night?”

  “Not much—sleep, that is. She was warm, giving . . . a woman, Chauncey. Unselfish and honest in her needs.”

  Suddenly her reason for not wishing him to leave was lost in her fury. She hadn’t really expected him to admit seeing his mistress. She jerked backward, feeling disoriented. She heard her own voice, low, filled with pain. “You wouldn’t. You are not that kind of man—”

  “No, I am not. It infuriates me, my dear, that you would even ask me such a question. Now that we’ve enacted this charming little scene, I’m leaving. I will be home within two hours. If you wish it, I’ll make love to you when I return.” He walked slowly to her, lifted her chin with his fingers, and studied her upturned face. “Wait up for me, love. You’ll see that I’m not too tired to see to your pleasure.”

  He kissed her lightly on her mouth, turned, and left the dining room.

  So he hadn??
?t visited his mistress. So what? It didn’t change a thing, damn him. Wretched elusive beast!

  She was ready for him two hours later, dressed in the delicious confection of nightgown and peignoir he’d bought her for their wedding night. He will suspect nothing, she thought.

  “Hello,” she said softly when he quietly entered their bedroom.

  “Hello yourself,” he said. He rubbed the back of his neck. “Lord, I’m tired.”

  “Not too tired, I hope,” she said, trying for a seductive tone of voice.

  He grinned at her. “Never too tired for you, love.”

  She watched him strip off his clothes, then handed him a glass of wine. “Did you put an aphrodisiac in this?” he asked her in a teasing voice.

  “No,” she said.

  “To us, Chauncey.”

  “To the . . . future,” she said, and sipped her wine.

  He drank the entire glass and set it down on a table. “Come here, wife. I want to kiss you.”

  He must have no doubts, she thought, no doubts at all. She felt guilty and afraid, but walked quickly into his arms. She tried to detach herself from the outwardly warm and loving woman in Delaney’s arms.

  Del was nuzzling her neck, his hands kneading her full hips. He felt a sudden wave of overwhelming fatigue wash through him, and yawned deeply. “I’m more tired than I thought,” he said, shaking his head.

  “Come to bed then,” she said, drawing her hand through his arm.

  “I’m sure to lose my fatigue once I’m on my back . . . or you’re on yours.”

  But he didn’t. Tiredness drew down his lashes, numbed his mind and his body. The physical labor he’d done today on the dock shouldn’t have had such an effect on him, he thought, his mind hazy. He felt Chauncey’s warm body pressed against him, but his desire for her was fading as the deadening sleep overtook him.

  Chauncey didn’t move for a good five minutes. She stared down at his sleeping face, listening closely to his even breathing. She waited another hour, until the clock downstairs chimed twelve strokes. Resolutely she slipped out of the bed.

  She was trembling as she quickly dressed in an old muslin gown. She left off all her petticoats and pulled on stout shoes. Delaney mumbled something, and she froze. He turned onto his side, his sleep unbroken. She was being silly. The laudanum she’d put in his wine would keep him sleeping soundly all night.

  She drew a deep steadying breath and stealthily slipped into the darkened corridor. Lucas’ room was downstairs. Surely by now he was sleeping nearly as soundly as his master. As for the Swede, Olaf had left earlier in the evening. She slipped out the kitchen door, careful to keep it unlocked for her return.

  The stables were dark, but she’d studied her route this afternoon, and her steps were sure. Yvette nickered softly and Chauncey quickly rubbed her velvet nose, speaking to the mare quietly. “Come, girl, it’s a midnight ride for us. You must be surefooted and brave.” I’m talking to myself, she thought, trying to give myself courage and resolution.

  She slipped a bridle over Yvette’s head and led her from her stall. No saddle this night. She hoisted herself onto her mare’s back and quietly urged her forward.

  The night was overcast, with only a few stars glittering through when the clouds shifted. A thick fog blanketed the wharf area, making the air cold and damp. She pulled her cloak more closely about her, careful to keep the hood well over her head. She rode toward the Sansome Street wharf from the south, avoiding most of the still brightly lit gambling saloons. There were still men on the streets, and each one made her quiver with fear. Was that Hoolihan slouching in the ally between those two buildings? No, he was Chinese. But what about the man reeling into the road in front of her?

  “Stop being a damned coward,” she said aloud, the sound of her own voice making her more confident. “Hoolihan would have no idea that you left the house. He might even be long gone from San Francisco. Concentrate on what you must do. Concentrate.”

  Twenty minutes later, Yvette’s hooves were clomping loudly on the wooden wharf. It was ghostly quiet. The Jade rode high at anchor at the end of the wharf, her high bare masts looking eerie in the thick fog. The warehouse loomed up huge and dark. Chauncey slid off Yvette’s back, afraid to ride closer, and tethered her to one of the wharf posts. Her teeth were chattering with cold and fear as she drew into the shadow of the warehouse. Suddenly she stopped cold, rooted to the spot. There were two men wrapped in blankets slumped against the wall of the warehouse, obviously asleep. Of course there would be guards. How could she have been so stupid as not to realize that? She stood perfectly still, watching them and thinking. She didn’t want to hurt them. She drew a deep breath, loud and raspy in her own ears, and stealthily walked toward the large double doors, her back pressed against the building. Just a little farther.

  There was a thick crossbeam holding the doors closed. She stared at it for a long moment, the snoring of the two men loud in the quiet. Slowly she tugged the bar upward, at the same time moving it to the side, in its slot. The bar creaked. One of the men snorted, then began a staccato series of loud snores.

  Carefully, move very carefully, she told herself. At last one of the doors was free of the heavy bar. She slipped her fingers into the opening between the doors and gently pulled. It groaned on its hinges and she felt gooseflesh rise on her arms. “Please,” she whispered. “Just a few more inches.”

  She slipped through the narrow opening. Huge crates loomed before her, covered with pale tarpaulins, like shadowy ghosts. She stopped and looked about her. The warehouse was nearly filled. Thousands upon thousands of dollars’ worth of goods were here. She pictured the shimmering bolts of Chinese silk, the exquisite vases and paintings. All of it belonged to Delaney Saxton, the man who had sent her father to his death. Her husband, the man who would give his life to protect her.

  “Stop it!” she hissed aloud into the utter stillness.

  I have to do it! I have to!

  Angrily she pulled the matches from her cloak pocket and struck one. It made a harsh sizzling sound before illuminating the small area where where she stood.

  Like an automaton, she walked down the narrow aisle to the middle of the warehouse. The match burned out, and she struck another. She held it outward over a tarpaulin that covered some goods on the floor. Her hand shook. “Oh God,” she whispered, “I can’t do it!”

  The match light flickered and went out, burning her fingers.

  “Delaney.” His name was a soft, agonized cry. She struck another match, willing herself to act.

  I love him. The thought seared through her mind and body. I cannot betray him. But what of your father? He died because of this man! No, her mind screamed silently, he died because he couldn’t face what had happened.

  She felt salty tears streaming down her face, felt a numbing pain, a pain so great that she moaned softly. But she couldn’t do it. The match flickered and she threw it from her. Home, she thought. She wanted only to go home. Home to Delaney; home to lie in his arms and accept his love. Suddenly she was surrounded by gunfire. Quick, loud reports cracked at her. She screamed, dashing toward the door. She whirled about, staring behind her. The tarpaulin was aflame and bright-colored sparks flew upward, popping, sizzling, making odd shapes before flickering away.

  The damned match! She had to put out the fire! But the noise—what was it? Suddenly she heard men’s loud voices and the doors flew open. She lurched behind a large crate and sank to her knees. She couldn’t be found here!

  “Jesus!” one of the men yelled. “Quick, Damon, we can beat it out. It’s those damned Chink fireworks!”

  She watched the men rush to the flaming tarpaulin, ripping off their blankets as they ran. She quickly made her way behind the crates and slipped unseen from the warehouse. Her heart was pounding so loudly she was certain they would hear her.

  She reached Yvette, sobbing for breath, when she heard a loud explosion. Oh God, no! She scrambled onto her mare’s back and whipped her down the wharf.
A dozen men were running toward her and she shouted, “Quickly! There’s a fire in the warehouse! Hurry!”

  What have I done?

  The refrain spun in her mind, giving her no peace. She had no thought of Hoolihan as Yvette galloped back toward South Park. The horrible sound of the explosion sounded again and again in her ears. She deserved to be in that warehouse. She was the one who deserved to die, if die someone must. If any of the men were hurt, she didn’t know what she would do.

  The stables appeared so normal, as if nothing at all out of the ordinary had occurred. She slipped off Yvette’s back and forced herself to do what she must. All her movements were utterly mechanical. When she finally slipped through the bedroom door, she felt faint with fear. She jerked off her clothes and stuffed them under the bed.

  “Mr. Del! Wake up! It’s a fire!”

  Chauncey stared wide-eyed toward the door, seeing Lucas surge into the room. Delaney moaned softly beside her.

  “Mr. Del!” Lucas limped to the bed, ignored Chauncey, and began shaking his master. “Wake up!”

  Delaney jerked awake. His head felt stuffed with cotton. He blankly at Lucas for a moment. “Fire?” he repeated, trying to shake the heavy veil of weariness from his mind.

  “The warehouse! Damon is downstairs. Quickly!”

  Delaney jumped from the bed, oblivious of his nakedness. He pulled on his trousers, shirt, and boots in rapid succession.

  “What is it, Del?”

  “A fire, love,” he said, turning to regard his pale, disheveled wife. “I’ll be back soon. Don’t leave the house, Chauncey. Lucas is staying here with you.”

  Even with this emergency he doesn’t forget his protection of me. She felt numb with guilt. Swiftly Delaney leaned down and kissed her. “Stay put,” he said again, then strode out of the room, leaving her to gaze after him with pain-filled eyes.

  She heard the front door slam. Such a final sound. What if he is killed? What if . . . ?

  Chauncey dressed quickly. The house was well lit by the time she made her way downstairs. Mary was talking to Lucas, with Lin hovering beside them, wringing her hands. It was four o’clock in the morning.