Forbidden Love (12 page)

"Shakespeare?" he asked with a puzzled expression. "Hated it when I was in school, but I enjoy reading it now." He darted
her a
questioning look. "Why do you ask?"

She chose her words carefully. "Well, I just wondered if you heard that an English acting troupe will present
Hamlet
at the
Alvin
Theater
next week. That should be most entertaining, don't you think?" She continued in a rush of words, "The troupe will be there for only one week before it goes on to
Cincinnati
, and I hope to attend next Saturday night." Aware that she'd made herself so obvious, heat flooded her cheeks.

He scratched his chin. "Oh, yes, I remember reading about the play in the newspaper. Possibly I'll go on Saturday night, too, since I don't work on Sunday." A warm smile spread across his face. "It might be enjoyable." A frown replaced his smile. "You'll go with your husband?"

"No, friends," Lisa replied with cautious optimism. If only he could go, and she'd see him there. They could meet after the play, she thought as her imagination soared. But no, he'd consider her much too bold to suggest that. She shuddered with the cold, yet she didn't want to go inside, wanting only to stay with him all night long. Their time together must end. What if William came home this very minute?

Her shyness returning, Lisa held her hand out to him. "Goodnight, Owen." How she hated these goodbyes. Even if she could see him tomorrow, it would still be too many hours to wait.

Owen held her hand a bit longer than necessary, seeing the depth in her gaze but unable to identify the reason.
Unhappiness?
But why should this lady be sad? She'd been married only a short while; surely she and her husband were very much in love.

His eyes took in the three-story red brick mansion, obviously built with a solid Georgian elegance, the grandest he'd ever seen. Never in his wildest dreams would he own such a house. Miniature snowdrifts clung to every windowpane, pale light glimmering through the curtained front windows. The last time he'd come here to see Lisa's husband about business, he'd been too angry to notice the structure. Now, it took on a special meaning because Lisa lived here with her husband, damn it!

A kaleidoscope of memories flickered through his head as he recalled all their times together, her easy laugh, the gentle touch of her hand, the look in her eyes. Could she possibly feel for him the love he felt for her? Foolish thought! If only he could enclose her in his arms, ask her what troubled her so . . . And yes!
if
she were his wife, he'd take her to bed now. He'd leave her with no doubt of his love and passion.

A carriage rattled past, wrenching him back to reality. A dog barked in the distance. He released her hand, striving for calm. "Goodnight," he murmured, then turned and walked away.

For the longest time, Lisa watched his long, purposeful strides until he disappeared into the darkness. She released a deep sigh, wanting to follow him, go with him wherever he took her, or even, she dared to wish, hold him in her arms throughout the night. Opening the front door, she wondered if the desires she'd kept hidden in her heart could ever be more than empty dreams.

Later, in the long, dark hours of the night, she lay tossing and turning in bed, so filled with memories of Owen she couldn't even consider sleep. Yet, such a chasm stretched between them, a wall most clearly revealed by their differences regarding a possible steel strike. And don't forget your marriage, her aching heart reminded her.

Hours later, she fell into a doze but jerked awake as a thought flashed through her mind. He'd forgotten to return her book. Ah, well, at least he had something of hers. If only she possessed something of his.

 
Chapter Eight

Talk and laughter swelled around Lisa as she directed one more searching look from her seat in the theater. She sank back, resolved to conceal her distress. She leaned across
Lawrence
and murmured to
Elizabeth
, "Just as I feared. Owen isn't here." She caught
Lawrence
's sympathetic look, grateful that he understood, since
Elizabeth
had apprized him of her loveless marriage. With no knowledge of how barren her marriage actually was, he was at least aware that William had scant regard for his marriage vows.

 
"It's still too early to tell,"
Elizabeth
said with an encouraging smile. "Look how crowded the theater is. Wait until intermission, if you don't see him before then."

"I know he didn't have to work," Lisa said in a firm voice. "He told me his schedule." She turned her head right and left and behind her, giving one more look around the dim theater.

Forcing a smile, she settled back in her seat, determined to give the impression of absolute enjoyment in the evening. She smoothed a hand across her strawberry-red gown, luxuriating in the elegant texture of the silk
moire
, the play of light on the rich material. Her eyes flicked down its low neckline, her face growing warm as she imagined Owen beside her, his gaze on her bosom. Captivated by the thought, her fantasies took flight as she pictured him with her now, his gaze fixed on her, his hard-muscled body so close. Wave after wave of heat swept over her, making her so weak she became conscious of every breath, every heartbeat.

The lights dimmed further, and the audience became quiet, save for an occasional murmur or cough. Slowly, the curtain rose to reveal the courtyard of
Elsinore
Castle
. Lisa tried to concentrate on the play, but words and actions became meaningless jumbles, lost in a quagmire of intense regret. If only Owen were her husband, if only he were with her now.
If only . . . if only.

Too depressed to pay but cursory attention to
Hamlet
, she waited for intermission, unsure if she could last that long. Tapping her on the arm,
Elizabeth
gave her a reassuring smile and mouthed the word "wait."

After an eternity, intermission arrived. Lisa rose from her seat, a contented smile pasted on her face. Her heart pounded against her corset, her throat dry as stale bread.

Elizabeth
hugged her waist. "Let's go see," she said with a warm smile. "Surely he'll be in the lobby."

"He's not here," Lisa insisted, as if by some perversity of fate her constant denial would make her dearest wish come true.

The buzz of conversation mingled with laughter in the lobby, everyone crowded so close together Lisa could scarcely move. She eased through the crowd, greeting a married couple she recognized. Electric lights twinkled from crystal chandeliers, bringing gems and gowns into vivid focus.

The ladies gossiped and preened in their shimmering silks, satins, and glittering jewels.
Several matrons, their ample bodies enclosed in satin, held lorgnettes to their eyes as they surveyed the mass of humanity. Several men fumbled in their pockets for a cigar and a dollar bill to light it with, eager for a quick smoke. In no time, a gray haze layered the lobby, drifting to the ceiling.

Lisa threw one more desperate look around the room--and saw him. Her heart jumped. She felt like a child on Christmas morning, given everything she'd ever wanted. Owen lounged against a far wall, his head turned away from her, his face showing a pensive expression. What is he thinking about? Lisa wondered as her heart beat ever faster.
Is he thinking of me?

She nodded toward the wall where deep crimson draperies fell from the ceiling to the floor. "There he is," she whispered, so thankful Elizabeth and Lawrence were broad-minded, abetting her in her search for happiness . . . however fleeting that happiness might be.

"Where, dear?"
Elizabeth
said, following Lisa's gaze.

"Over there," Lisa whispered again as she lifted her hand to indicate where Owen stood. "You see that man with dark hair and no mustache standing against the wall by
himself
?" She stared at him, willing him to look her way.

"Oh, now I see who you mean,"
Elizabeth
gushed. "You didn't tell me how attractive he is." She tossed
Lawrence
a teasing glance. "Now, if I didn't already have a husband . . ."

Lawrence
sighed hopelessly, rolling his eyes in mock exasperation. "We're wasting our time. I'll lead, you ladies follow," he said as the threesome wove their way among the press of people, heading in
Owen's
direction. . . .

Owen turned broodingly away from the laughing, gossiping men and women with their suave manners, flashing jewels, and heavy scents.
But no Lisa.
Damn it! He should never have come. What a country bumpkin he must appear to all these society folk, Lisa's kind of people. And what a fool for thinking she might be here. She'd certainly given the impression she'd attend, but everyone knew a woman had the prerogative to change her mind. He tried to swallow his disappointment . . . tried and failed.
 

Then he saw her as she approached, looking so lovely, garbed in the most beautiful gown he'd ever seen. His eyes strayed to the gown's low neckline, but he forced himself not to dwell on her alluring breasts, knowing too well where his thoughts would lead. Tenderness and passion blended inside him, leaving him defenseless, with only love as a guide. As she moved closer, he managed to feign a cool demeanor, and despite his heart's throbbing, he offered her a relaxed smile. She appeared to be with friends, but his gaze remained only on her.

Their eyes
met,
the rest of the world forgotten. Her friends stood aside, looking for
all the
world like two matchmaking parents who've just snared the city's most eligible bachelor for their daughter.

Lisa held her hand out to him.
"Owen, how nice to see you!"
Relief and pleasure dizzied her, leaving her faint. Surely he saw his effect on her.

 
Owen clasped her hand in his strong one, his gaze never leaving hers. "Lisa," he murmured in his husky voice, "this is a pleasant surprise, although you did mention you wanted to see the play, didn't you?"

She turned away for a moment. "I’d like you to meet my friends," she said, so proud of him, as if he were her lover, her husband, the man who would take her to his bed and make love to her like nothing she’d ever dreamed of. A cloud of cigar smoke enclosed the lobby, but she ignored the haze, the laughter of the women, the rumbling voices of the men. For a few precious moments, she could pretend Owen was her
husband, that
she'd go home with him, that they could hardly wait to make love.

While the crowd began to thin, the two couples made small talk, their conversation running the gamut from the play to the weather and what a bitter winter the city was having. Why are we discussing such trivial things? Lisa fretted, when all I want is to tell Owen how much I've missed him and that he means more than life to me.

A bell sounded to indicate the play would resume in five minutes, and with much chatter, the crush of people straggled from the lobby, until only a few patrons remained.

"Why don't we all meet after the play and come back to our house for a while,"
Lawrence
suggested, his glance covering all of them. "We always enjoy getting acquainted with new friends."

Owen shook his head regretfully. "Thank you, but I'd better not. A long ride home," he explained.

Lawrence
placed his hand on
Owen's
shoulder, a persuasive grin on his face. "Oh, come now, Mr. Cardiff." He paused. "Do you mind if I call you Owen? No? Good. We'd really enjoy having you, and if you don't have to work tomorrow, why not come with us? We've known Lisa for years, and any friend of Lisa's is our friend, too."

Lisa sighed inwardly.
Lawrence
might be overdoing it a bit. Nevertheless, she held her breath, waiting for
Owen's
reply.

"Well, then . . . thank you," Owen said. A rush of relief rendered her speechless. He included all three in his disarming grin. "It would be my pleasure."

* * *

A strong northerly wind howled through the trees, bending bare branches and driving blinding snow with it. Inside the Hunter mansion, red-hot logs sputtering in the wide fireplace warmed the parlor. Lost in a dream world of unbridled sensations, Lisa leaned back in the wide armchair and listened to the conversation around her. She made an occasional cogent remark and absorbed every word Owen uttered, words to be remembered and treasured, like precious gems.