Ask a Shadow to Dance (13 page)

“Lisette—”

“Not until Aunt Portia returns, if you don’t mind.”

Andrew nodded curtly. Apparently unable to get comfortable, he went back to the hearth and held out his hands toward the flames to warm them, in spite of his forehead beading with perspiration.

When Aunt Portia arrived with a tray, Lisette took her time serving him, performing as the perfect hostess. Andrew took the offered cup, the tea steaming, sat down, sipped, and let out a cry.

“God Almighty!”

Portia was quick to chastise him. “Mr. Westmoreland, I’ll thank you not to blaspheme in this house.”

“The tea is scalding!”

Lisette tried not to smile. Aunt Portia had taken revenge on Andrew in such a way he could not accuse her. “We dislike lukewarm tea, Andrew.” Lisette took a sip of her own tea, which had cooled to the point she could drink it straight down—so she did. Andrew’s eyes widened.

“Delicious, Aunt Portia, as always,” Lisette said with a smile.

Andrew set his cup on the turtletop table beside the chair and bolted across the room, stopping just short of the rear door to the foyer, behind them. He took several deep breaths, and straightened his double-breasted jacket over his striped wool trousers. When he turned, his smile appeared somewhat strained.

“Forgive me, Lisette, Miss Morgan. The only reason I can offer for my stupid and frightful actions is the fear of being outcast from this family. Ever since you married my father and he introduced you to me; I have considered it a privilege to accept you as my stepmother. My father was extremely fond of you, and after he suffered the agony of yellow jack, grew increasingly concerned about your welfare after his death. He knew he was dying, Lisette.”

Lisette refused, for a moment, to meet Andrew’s eyes. It hadn’t taken a whit’s worth of brain to know that yellow fever had weakened James’s heart beyond recovery. She tried to blot out those last weeks, immune to the emotion Andrew was attempting to elicit from her. What was he leading up to?

“When my father knew the end was near, he asked me to take an oath.” His eyes actually grew moist.

Lisette thought she might be ill. Andrew had never cared for his father. Repeatedly, after tending to James, she suffered the indignity of Andrew coming to her room, offering “comfort.” He’d put his hands on her then too. If James had known what his son had attempted—but it was no more than he had done himself a thousand times. Still, James was a selfish man. Had he known, he would never have tolerated sharing his wife with Andrew. She would have informed James if she hadn’t feared Andrew’s retribution—and James’s accusations that she provoked Andrew’s attentions.

Andrew went on after a pause which, she surmised, was clearly meant to evoke sympathy.

“He asked me to take his place, Lisette.
As your husband.”

Aunt Portia had heard enough.
“Liar! James Westmoreland would never—”

“My father was God-fearing. It was in the Biblical sense that he asked this of me. Surely, Miss Morgan, you are familiar with account after account in the Bible of a man marrying his dead brother’s wife in order to spare her a life of poverty and misery.”

Lisette felt like screaming precisely what she thought about this pompous, presumptuous speech. And she knew Aunt Portia was about to do precisely that. Lisette placed one hand on her arm, reminding her to let Andrew speak his mind. The last words spoken today would be Lisette’s.

Andrew turned to Aunt Portia. “I also owe you the deepest apology, kind lady. I have agonized over the pain I’ve caused your niece. I cannot expect you to forgive me. Just know that I wish with all my heart it had never happened. When it seemed that I would not be able to carry out my father’s last wishes,
I—”

Lisette could not allow him to say more. “That’s enough, Andrew. I think we understand.”

Aunt Portia said nothing. Her expression testified she believed none of it.

“You, Lisette, deserve this explanation and the most heartfelt apology of all.” He paused, giving Lisette a chance to respond, which she did not. “After promising my father I would do all in my power to grant his dying wish, I was not able to convey that promise to you. I felt it improper to raise the subject during the most painful time of mourning, immediately following my father’s wake. Since then I have most grievously betrayed your trust in me. I have no right to expect you to offer me a chance to redeem myself and that trust, but I plead with you to consider giving me that opportunity. I do not expect your decision now. I shall await your pleasure—and I shall abide by your wishes without question.” Andrew glanced at Aunt Portia, then lingered when he looked at Lisette again. “Thank you for listening.”

Andrew hurried to the front door and out before either of them could respond.

Aunt Portia was first to speak. “If he thinks we’re going to fall for that little piece of acting, he’s got another thought coming!”

Lisette couldn’t believe it! He left so suddenly; she’d had no chance at all for rebuttal. He’d had the last word after all. Andrew had won this little contest, in spite of all efforts for this to be their last confrontation.

Aunt Portia gathered the cups and saucers. “He couldn’t possibly be that contrite after treating you in such an abominable manner. He can’t be thinking we would even consider giving him another chance?” When Lisette didn’t answer, lost in thought over what they were going to do, Aunt Portia added, “Another chance to harm you!”

That brought her full attention to Aunt Portia. “Certainly not.”

Aunt Portia released a sigh. “Thank goodness. I thought for a moment you might have been deceived by that heathen.”

“Heathen? I wouldn’t call him a heathen, Aunt Portia. A bastard, perhaps, but not a heathen.”

Portia started at her use of the vulgar word,
then laughed aloud. “What are you planning? Even as a child, I could tell when that mind of yours was full of mischief.”

“I have something to ask of you. You won’t like it.”

“What?”

“Give Andrew another chance, just as I am prepared to do.”

Portia’s jaw tightened. “Never.”

“I know how you’re feeling now, but—”

Aunt Portia raised her chin defiantly. “Lisette, listen to what you are saying. That—bastard—struck you, then manhandled you. Your arms are no doubt black and blue. If he’s capable of doing this to you in front of total strangers, try to imagine what he might do to you in private.”

Lisette agreed completely, knowing what Andrew was capable of doing in private, but they had to proceed carefully if they were to arrange the future to
best advantage.

“I shall make it clear to Mr. Westmoreland that any violent action on his part toward me, or any member of my family, will be met with the strongest reprisal. I do not think he will dare to raise a hand to me again. The lieutenant was quite specific.”

She couldn’t depend on Andrew’s eloquent apology to represent anything but his own selfish interests. Andrew knew his acceptance into the Morgan family would never take place if he didn’t placate Lisette. And she knew in her heart that avarice and greed and desperation had prompted Andrew’s pretty words today. Somehow she would have to use that knowledge against him. Otherwise they would never be allowed to live their lives the way they chose—without fear.

David’s face caressed her mind like a warm breeze. David would never strike her. She had no real basis for that knowledge, yet it was as secure as Aunt Portia’s love. Something about David Stewart was different from any man she’d ever known. And his confession he was willing to take her anywhere she’d like to go … and had been so many places himself …

“I think I’ll go upstairs to rest now. Aunt Portia, could you bring some ice for my bruises?”

“Ice?”

“Doctor Stewart prescribed it for my face. It should work as well on my arms.”

“Of course, child.
I’ll be there in two shakes. You just rest.”

Lisette gave her a quick kiss on the cheek. “I know this seems an odd way to proceed, but I hope you’ll trust me. I have a plan to hopefully rid us of Andrew Westmoreland forever.”

Lisette went upstairs to her room and removed her dress. As feared, her arms were dark with bruising, tender to the touch.

Aunt Portia arrived soon with a clean cloth filled with splintered ice from one of the blocks in the icehouse. Lisette’s plan was forming, bit by bit.

“Aunt Portia, I have to see Doctor Stewart again.”

“By all means, we’ll see the doctor.”

Lisette sat on the edge of the bed while Portia pressed the cool cloth bundle against one arm, then the other. The ice soothed some of the pain away.

She didn’t tell her that seeing Dr. Stewart actually had nothing to do with the bruises, although she suspected David would bristle and want to smash Andrew for inflicting another injury on her. The thought of David coming to her defense, offering protection, made her strangely warm. No, this visit would be strictly social. More than anything she wanted to hear all about the places David had been and what he’d seen of the world. And she wanted to ask if he still would be willing to take her anywhere she wanted to go. Did his offer include Aunt Portia and her father? David was not the type person to turn them away.

“Aunt Portia, I think everything might just work out.”

“I hope so, child. I can’t bear to see you unhappy.”

“I know. Now, listen carefully. I’m going to need your help if I’m to see Dr. Stewart again soon.”

Chapter Seven

“Damn it, Greg, be careful!”

Greg Chandler stopped wrapping David’s ankle and grinned. “Now, now, Doctor. Your impatient side is showing.”

He gritted his teeth. Not one of these people had the slightest idea of what had happened. “All right, I’ll try to be still. But you’re wrapping it too tight. It hurts, damn it!”

“That’s because it’s badly bruised. Another round. Lana, hand me that tape, please.”

“Certainly, Doctor.”
Her smile would’ve brightened the lowest dungeon. If the lights in the dome of the pyramid ever went out, they could hire Lana to fill in.

It made David want to—He kept his mouth shut. If he could just get out of here, there might be a chance to find Lisette. He’d actually been there—in the nineteenth century—along with that bastard, Westmoreland. Just thinking about the way he’d dragged Lisette from the hotel made him want to smash something.

Greg finally finished. The bandaging job looked like a picture from a first aid text. “Stay off of it for at least a week. It isn’t sprained, but you could injure it further.”

As if David didn’t know how to take care of a bruised ankle.
Stay off it a week? Until tomorrow, maybe. He let it go, kept his mouth shut, because Lana was still right there, pride radiating from her, along with her perfume, which, for David’s taste, was too brash.

Lisette’s perfume had been much more feminine and subtle.
Exactly the right fragrance to focus his thoughts on one thing and one thing only. Of course, the atmosphere wasn’t exactly conducive to such thoughts. And he hadn’t been there long enough to do anything about turning those thoughts into reality.

“David?”

They stared at him. He must have missed something, or said something aloud he didn’t mean to say. “What is it?”

“Joe will drive you home.”

At least he hadn’t embarrassed himself by saying aloud what he’d been thinking. “No! I have to go back to the Peabody. Hasn’t anyone heard what I said?”

“We heard, Bro. Come on. We’ll talk about it in the car.”

Joe offered a hand, but David didn’t accept. At the moment he was too pig-headed.

“Okay, show us how big and strong and stoic you are.”

“Very funny.” The first step on the ankle was murder. The second was intolerable. He’d have to use those damn crutches—at least for the rest of the day. An hour in the Jacuzzi would fix that ankle. Until then? He hated worse than anything having to admit he was wrong, but under the circumstances … “I give up. Hand me those damn things.”

Lana did so without commenting, giving Greg another smile.

“I’ll take care of everything here at the office, David,” Greg promised. “No need for you to even come in for at least a week.”

“A week!
Even if it were broken, I wouldn’t need a week to—” Wait a minute. A week without clinic or hospital duties would give him a week to find Lisette. “You know, Greg, I think you’re right. Sorry if I gave you a hard time. I’m not used to being the patient.”

Greg laughed. “Doctors make the worst patients of all. Relax a little. Take it easy.”

David did his best to smile, crammed the crutches under his arms and swung out of the examination room. “Come on, Joe. I’m not sure how crutches and car doors mix.” He also wasn’t sure how much longer he could perpetuate this charade.

Joe caught him at the front door, opened it, let him go through,
then hurried to open the car door too. They stashed the crutches in the back seat.

Joe backed out of the parking space. “I know.
The Peabody. You can stay in the car. I’ll see if she’s there.”