“Make tea and coffee, please, Lin,” she said, shocked at how calm her voice sounded. “Mr. Del should be back soon. He’ll need it.”
What if the laudanum makes him slow? What if there’s another explosion? What if . . . ?
She wasn’t aware that she’d moaned until she felt Lin’s thin arms wrapped around her shoulders. “Mr. Del be just fine, Miss Chauncey. Just fine. You see.”
She sobbed, deep racking sounds. She felt Lucas’ strong arms go around her, and she leaned against him, all her guilt and anger at herself flowing out, like a dam bursting. She banged her fists against Lucas’ solid chest, sobbing over and over, “No! Please, no!”
Lucas said nothing, merely held her. Over her head he mouthed the words “Some hot tea” to Lin. Gently he led Chauncey into the drawing room. He efficiently laid a fire and lit it.
“Do you know anything, Lucas?”
He frowned at her flat, emotionless voice. The tears and loss of control he understood, but this?
“No, ma’am. Damon just said they’d nearly got the fire out and he came to get Mr. Del.”
“I see.”
Lin brought in the tea, and Chauncey sipped at the scalding liquid. She wasn’t aware that her hands were trembling until she spilled the blistering tea on her forearm.
“Oh!” It was a burn. Fires burned. Flesh. People died in fires, horrible deaths.
Lucas took the cup from her hands and set it on the table beside the sofa. He saw the dazed fear in her eyes and prayed that Mr. Del would return home soon. He had no idea how to handle this situation.
The minutes went by with agonizing slowness. Chauncey was huddled on the sofa, her knees drawn up to her chest, staring unseeing into the fire.
Lucas heard approaching horses and quickly let himself out of the house. If Mr. Del was hurt, he wanted to know it first. Thank God, he thought when he saw him dismount. He was covered with soot, black smudges on his face, but he was fine, just fine.
“We didn’t lose too much,” Delaney said, managing a smile for Lucas.
“Lord, I’m glad you’re back in one piece! Miss Chauncey is in a bad way, Mr. Del, a very bad way.”
He felt a surge of fear. “What the hell do you mean?”
“Upset about the fire and you. You’re all right?”
“Yes, of course. Please see to Brutus, Luc.”
Delaney strode into the house. He felt both exhilarated and exhausted.
Chauncey stared at him. He was filthy and his white shirt was burned at the shoulder. She let out a cry and launched herself at him.
“What is all this?” he teased her gently, stroking her tangled hair. She was trembling and he drew her closer, forgetting how dirty he was. “Hush, love. Everything is all right, I promise you.”
“I’m sorry,” she sobbed, clutching at his neck, choking him. “Oh God, Del, I’m so sorry!”
“Sorry for what?” he asked, kissing her temple.
“I . . . I shouldn’t have let you go! Not alone!”
“I know. It was selfish of me. Come, sweetheart, I survived. All of us survived. Even most of the goods survived. It was just a minor disaster.”
He gently pushed her back so he could see her face. She was utterly without color, her eyes huge and dilated. There were now two black smudges of soot on her cheek. There was something different about her; he sensed it. Not just her obvious fear for his safety, but something else.
“I couldn’t have . . . continued if you’d been . . .” The words choked in her throat and she pressed herself hard against him, burying her face in his shoulder. “I can’t hate you, I can’t!”
Delaney grew very still. Why in the world would she even think of hating him, for God’s sake? She had chased him down, not the other way around. It had taken the damned fire to make her realize that she didn’t hate him? He shook his head, bewildered. “I know you don’t, love,” he said. “Perhaps someone should have set that fire sooner,” he added, more to himself than to her.
“Someone set it?” she whispered.
“So it would appear. The warehouse doors were open. One of my men found some burned matches on the floor. Fortunately for me, the fellow must have accidentally tossed a match onto the Chinese fireworks and panicked. They make a god-awful noise. There’s some smoke damage, but for the most part, the bulk of the goods are in good shape.”
Her hand touched the rent in his shirt. “You’re hurt! Damn you, you told me you were all right!”
“It’s my shirt that’s hurt, sweetheart, not my body.” He cupped her face between his palms. “Now, stop carrying on like a mother hen who’s afraid her chick is in the soup pot. I am perfectly all right. I suggest we both go upstairs and clean up.” He rubbed the black smudge on her cheek with the tip of his finger. “You’re adorable, but a bit dirty.”
To his utter astonishment, her eyes fell and she began to twist her hands together. The words trembled on her lips. Dear God, what was she to do? She’d failed at every scheme she’d attempted, except marrying him, her enemy. Only now she loved him. Deep inside her, she could no longer accept that he could be guilty of swindling her father. He simply couldn’t do anything like that. “Delaney, I must tell you . . .”
“Chauncey, love, what is it? What’s wrong?”
“I . . . I love you!”
“Ah,” he said with great satisfaction, “finally.”
His odd words jerked her from her roiling thoughts. “What do you mean, ‘finally’?”
“Perhaps,” he said very softly, “perhaps someday you’ll tell me. Now, let’s get bathed and back to bed. I don’t know what’s the matter with me, but I feel ready to drop.”
He didn’t see her face twist with guilt.
21
Delaney was gone when she awoke late the next morning.
“Mr. Del have plenty mess to clean up,” Lin told her as she served breakfast.
“Yes,” Chauncey said dully, “I suppose he did.”
She wanted to ride to the warehouse and assess the damage she’d done, but Agatha Newton arrived and she was compelled to listen to the good woman carry on about the Sydney Ducks, the brutes most likely responsible for the fire. “At least,” Agatha said, “Del’s men kept the looters at bay, thank God!” By the time Agatha gave her a hug and left, Chauncey was ready to yell her frustration and guilt.
Lucas caught her just as she was preparing to have Olaf drive her to the wharf.
“Ma’am, Mr. Del sent me,” he said, swinging toward her. “He needs some papers from his desk. Insurance papers.”
Chauncey nodded and walked back into the house. She’d been in Delaney’s library only once, and she’d thought then how very English it looked with its paneled walls, bookcases, and huge maghogany desk. She walked to his desk and pulled the top drawer open. Her hand stilled. By God, she thought, what a fool I’ve been! She found the insurance papers quickly and sent Lucas on his way.
She returned to sit behind the impressive desk. She opened each drawer, thumbing carefully through the papers and letters within. Nothing about her father. In the bottom drawer was a locked wooden box. She picked it up and shook it. There were papers inside. Slowly she pulled a pin from her hair and fit it into the lock. It finally clicked and she raised the lid. For a moment she was afraid to examine the papers and letters. She realized that she didn’t want to confirm that Delaney was guilty. There was a folded piece of paper on top, and resolutely she pulled it free. It was obviously a copy of a letter he had written some four months earlier. It was to Paul Montgomery. She read it slowly, the neat black script blurring as the truth became obvious. She studied each copy of the bank drafts to her father over the past months. Huge amounts of money going to him. Delaney was innocent. Paul Montgomery had lied about everything.
The money never reached her father.
Chauncey sat back in Delaney’s high-backed leather chair and closed her eyes. It was all too incredible; incredible but true. Paul Montgomery had cheated her father of all the money.
No wonder he’d acted so strangely when she told him she was coming to San Francisco! He knew she would discover the truth. He knew she would realize Delaney wasn’t the scoundrel he’d wanted to convince her he was.
Paul Montgomery is the one who wants me dead.
But to kill her simply because she would discover that he was a crook and a liar? She rubbed her hand wearily over her forehead.
You’ve got to tell Delaney. Everything.
She moaned softly. Dear God, she loved him. If she told him the truth, he would despise her, send her back to England without a second thought. He would hate her for her deception. And she wouldn’t blame him a bit.
She sat staring blindly toward the thick tomes in the bookshelves against the opposite wall. She heard the front door open, footsteps on the marble entryway, masculine steps. Delaney. She quickly stuffed the papers and letters back into the box and shoved it into the bottom drawer.
“Whatever are you doing in here, love?”
She gazed at him clearly for the first time. She would willingly die for him. His face was shadowed in the dim light, except his beautiful eyes, like clear honey, filled with tenderness for her.
The enormity of her situation hit her hard. She couldn’t seem to speak, only stare at him, memorizing his features. She couldn’t bear to see the tenderness change to outrage, to utter fury, to hatred.
“Chauncey? Are you all right?”
I’ll make him love me, make myself indispensable to him, then confess the truth. I’ll conceive his child. He wouldn’t send me away then. Oh God, another deception.
“I’m fine, Del,” she said. She rose from the chair and walked as in a dream toward him. She stopped inches away from him and looked up into his face. Slowly she glided her fingertips over his jaw. “You are so beautiful,” she whispered.
Delaney blinked, and one mobile brow shot up. His thoughts throughout the morning had veered to her and her strange behavior of the night before. He didn’t understand her. She had changed.
“Am I now?” he said, his eyes locked to hers. “What brought this on?”
What if he discovers the truth before I tell him? What about Paul Montgomery? I don’t want to die!
“Oh no,” she said, unaware that she’d spoken aloud. She knew now there was no choice. She had to tell him the truth. She stopped abruptly. No. She wanted one more day and night with him, with the husband who cared for her, laughed with her, loved her so completely with his body and soul.
“Are you feeling all right?” She felt his hands stroking gently over her arms.
“Yes,” she said. She leaned forward, resting her forehead against his shoulder. “Aren’t we still on our honeymoon?”
“For the next twenty years, I’d say.”
“Must you go to the bank today? Or back to the warehouse?”
“What did you have in mind, sweetheart?”
She stood on her tiptoes, fitting herself tightly against him. “I want you to stay . . . with me.”
“I think that can be arranged,” he said, and gently kissed her.
* * *
“Mr. Saxton! We’ve got him!”
Delaney turned from his conversation with Dan Drewer at Jed Randall’s excited voice.
“What’s all this about, Del?” Dan asked. “Got whom?”
“Nothing to concern you, Dan,” he said to his partner. “I’ll be back later. A Mr. McIntyre is coming to see me about a loan. Would you deal with it? The file’s on my desk.”
“Certainly,” Dan said, staring after Delaney as he quickly accompanied the other man from the bank.
Delaney said nothing until they’d stepped outside the bank into the street. “Hoolihan?” he asked.
“Yes, sir. Actually, it was Monk who found him. He was in bed with a whore on Washington Street—Hoolihan, that is.”
“Where have you taken him?” Delaney asked, not bothering to inquire what Monk was doing at the brothel.
“To your warehouse, sir. Monk had to rough him up just a bit, but not too badly.”
Delaney nodded and increased his pace. Just as long as Monk Dove hadn’t broken Hoolihan’s damned neck, he didn’t mind what he’d done to him. Monk was a mountain, his strength incredible.
Ten minutes later, Delaney and Jed were at the warehouse. Men were working outside, replacing burned wooden planks, loading ruined merchandise into drays. The interior still smelled of smoke and the peculiar acrid odor of the Chinese fireworks.
Three men were standing in front of the tattered Hoolihan. Monk saw Delaney, and his mouth split into a wide grin, showing broken yellow teeth. “Got him, sir!”
“Excellent, Monk,” Delaney said, his eyes on Hoolihan’s face. The man was obviously frightened, his light-colored eyes dilated, his beard-stubbled jaw working spasmodically. When he saw Delaney, he paled even more and drew back.
“Now, now, mate, don’t be so shy,” Monk said, twisting his arm just a bit.
“Good work, Monk,” Delaney said. “Now, gentlemen, if you would leave us alone for a moment. Mr. Hoolihan and I have quite a bit to discuss.”
Delaney waited until the men had moved a respectable distance away. “Now, Hoolihan, I have just one question for you, and you will answer it, my friend. If you don’t, I will have Monk and his other friends shred you into small pieces. Do you understand me?”
“You’ve made a mistake! I don’t know what you want!”
“Do you understand me?” Delaney repeated very calmly. He read the violent, desperate attempt in Hoolihan’s eyes and added, “If you try to take me, I’ll shoot you. In your legs, both of them. I don’t want you dead, Hoolihan, but if you try something stupid, I’ll make you feel a great deal of pain, more than your poor mother when she birthed you. Now, I’m growing bored with this. Who hired you to kill my wife?”
Hoolihan licked his lips but remained silent.
Slowly Delaney drew out his derringer. “Your left leg first, Hoolihan. Your knee, to be specific. I wonder if your whore will like you as a cripple— if you don’t die of blood poisoning first, that is.” He carefully aimed the small pistol.
“No!” Hoolihan shrieked. “I don’t know! I swear it!”
“After the left knee, I’ll put a bullet through the right. Perhaps James Cora will let you sit on the sidewalk outside the El Dorado and beg for money, for you’ll not be walking.” He pulled back the hammer.
“Listen to me,” Hoolihan said, desperation and defeat in his voice. “It was a man I don’t know. He paid me a thousand dollars to sign on the Scarlet Queen. He knew you’d be traveling to Sacramento. I swear it. I don’t know his name.”
Delaney gently caressed the barrel of the small derringer. “Was the man English?”
“He talked funny, if that’s what you mean. Not like the blokes from Australia, more proper-like. Dressed like a real dandy.”
He’s telling the truth, Delaney thought. “Tell me, Hoolihan, what reason did he give you for killing my wife?”
“All he told me was that the lady had to be shut up. She knew too much. About what, I swear I don’t know!”
“What does he look like?”
“If I tell you, will you let me go?”
“Trying to bargain, Hoolihan?” Delaney asked, his voice sounding coldly amused. “Let me be blunt, my friend. I won’t turn you over to our local authorities. You’d be free in twenty-four hours if I did. No, if you don’t tell me everything you know, I’ll kill you. If you do cooperate, on the other hand, you’ll not be killed. But you will take a nice long trip on one of my ships. Hong Kong is really quite nice this time of year.”
Shanghaied, Hoolihan thought, forced labor of the lowest sort, but better than being six feet under with worms eating your flesh. He drew a deep breath, wincing slightly at the pain in his stomach. “He was old, and wore spectacles. Kind of heavyset, but soft-looking, like he’d really lived a grand life.”
“How old?” Age in San Francisco was a very relative term. Most of the male population were under t
hirty-five. Any man over forty was considered old.
Hoolihan thought frantically. “In his fifties, I’d say. Graying hair, thin on top.”
Delaney felt a surge of elation. Chauncey had to know who he was from Hoolihan’s description. “Just how, Hoolihan, did he plan to ensure you’d carry through with your part of the bargain? I can’t believe he simply handed you a thousand dollars without some sort of collateral.”
“He gave me five hundred,” Hoolihan said simply. “Told me I’d get the rest when he confirmed that your wife had fallen overboard and drowned.”
“All to be a tragic accident, then,” Delaney said more to himself than to the fidgeting man. “So our heavyset gentleman is still in San Francisco.”
“I don’t know. I came back here . . .” Hoolihan swallowed, his eyes dropping before the fury in Delaney’s.
“Yes, you returned to arrange another accident. Well, Hoolihan, I’ve decided that your trip to the Orient can wait awhile. You, my friend, are going to keep very close company with Monk. You’re going to find this man for me. Do you understand?”
Hoolihan nodded readily, so relieved that he couldn’t speak for a moment.
“Monk, Jed!” Delaney turned to look at the men ambling toward him. What a collection of utter villains, he thought with grim amusement.
Delaney didn’t return home right away. Instead he called his loyal assistant, Jarvis, into his office and gave him instructions. He was to visit every hotel in San Francisco and inquire after the Englishman. He gave Jarvis enough money for bribes and sent him on his way. Bless Jarvis, he thought. He’d asked no questions, merely nodded.
Delaney walked back to South Park, deep in thought. He tried to concentrate on all Hoolihan had told him, only to have Chauncey’s passion-lit eyes appear in his mind. Until yesterday she’d never before initiated their lovemaking, much less touched his body with such excited and dedicated interest and possessiveness. Even when she’d turned utterly wanton after her fright, she’d been passive, letting him bring her release, staying somehow separate from him. But not yesterday, not twice during the night. He smiled briefly, picturing her as she’d caressed him, not really understanding his body well enough to know how to pleasure him. He’d taught her a bit, and she had reveled in it. He was sure of it. There had been no hesitancy in her, only excitement and love and tenderness. She’d given herself to him completely.