Forbidden Love (15 page)

 
She took in every feature as if seeing him for the first
time,
saw every line of his face. She saw the play of firelight on his dark hair, the firm set of his mouth, his strong, expressive fingers that could be so gentle. Seeing all these things, she knew her love for him would imprison her until the end of time.

 
A long pause ensued. "You don't understand--"

 
"I understand enough." He shuddered and took long, deep breaths. He turned toward her, and the lines of misery and grief reflected in his eyes pained her as nothing else ever could. "Why do you think I'm not coming back to the literary group?" he asked. "I can't continue to see you, because if I do--." The sentence remained unfinished as he shook his head, another sigh escaping him. "I've committed many sins in my life. I'll not add adultery to them." He looked long and fully into her eyes, as though wanting to imprint her features in his mind.

 
"Let me tell you about my husband. He doesn't--"

 
"Ah, yes, your husband.
Let us never forget you're a married lady," he
said,
heavy sarcasm back in his voice. His gray eyes raked her, his expression softening. "I could spend forever with you, you know that? But there can never be anything more between us, my sweetheart.
Nothing more than friendship.
The sooner we both face that truth, the easier it will be."

 
"Please . . ." She reached out a hand to him.

He pulled back. "No! Don't tempt me with your touch that can make me want to . . ." He stopped, shaking his head, a look of desolation twisting his face. “Make me want to take you to bed,” he said under his breath.

 
After a moment, he gave her a long look, a harsh set to his mouth. "And if you weren't married to that stockbroker husband of yours, would you be willing to share your life with a steelworker from
Homestead
?"

 
She swallowed, trying to deny--if only to herself--what she'd considered time and again. Could she marry Owen and live in
Homestead
, away from her friends and her own people? She twisted her fingers in her lap. Agony tore her apart.

 
"Never mind.
You don't need to answer." Abruptly, he stood, running his fingers through his tousled hair. He stared down at her, his face etched with sorrow. "Best I leave now," he murmured.

Lisa watched in silence as he turned away and strode to the front door. Without looking back, he opened the door and walked out into the dark night.

 
She knew she would never see him again.

Chapter Ten

Setting the Wall Street Journal on the dining room table, William reached for his coffee cup. As if seeing him for the first time, Lisa studied him across the table, his handsome face shadowed by the pale early morning light. She wished she could dredge up some warm feeling for him but saw only the outward shell of a man. Dressed in his finest black wool suit and pristine white shirt, a gold chain hanging from his watch pocket, he gave the appearance of a prosperous and successful businessman. And what else was there to him? Nothing!

"Something must be bothering you," he remarked in his nasal voice as he raised his cup to his mouth. "You haven't been your usual cheerful self lately. How is your mother, by the way? You mentioned she's been unwell." He spread a large dab of butter on his toast, a look of indifference on his face.

Lisa took a slow sip of tea, giving her time to collect her thoughts. "My mother is no better. If anything, she's worse. I fear the shark's tooth is upon her," she said in a trembling voice. "She seems to be wasting away." She brushed a shaky hand across her eyes as tears threatened to spill. Too well aware that William lacked a shred of feeling for anyone but himself, she fought to remain calm.

"Well, illnesses are unpredictable." He gave her a forced smile and ran his finger along his mustache, checking for crumbs. "She may rally any day now."

"I pray so." But she knew better. "In any event, I intend to visit her today, maybe cheer her up if I can. Also, I should make arrangements for the servants at the house, in the event of . . . of my mother's demise," she said in a choking voice. She pressed her lips together as she struggled for control.

William patted her hand. "I'm sure your mother will recover. You mustn't worry so." He drained his cup and slid his chair back. "I can't tarry any longer." He dropped his crumpled napkin on the table. "Oh, and I meant to tell you, I'll be late tonight, so don't wait for me. Dinner with some friends at the Duquesne Club," he said with a quick smile.

Did he expect her to believe that?

After William had closed the front door behind him, Lisa sat at the table for the longest time, unable to touch her scrambled eggs while her tea chilled. She watched as the first pale streaks of sunshine filtered through the dining room window and gradually suffused the room with a golden glow, highlighting the wallpaper, the mahogany furniture. With a spurt of resolve, she pushed her chair back and stood, knowing she'd accomplish nothing by her continual moping.

Clutching the folds of her wrapper, she mounted the carpeted stairs, each step an effort. Maybe William is right, she prayed as she reached the landing where the morning sunshine pierced the stained glass window, casting a rosy iridescence on the carpet. Perhaps her mother would recover. Yes, surely she would.

What if she told her mother about Owen? She walked down the carpeted hallway and opened the door to her bedroom. What would her mother say? Lisa shook her head, knowing she could never tell her mother about her beloved. Like a knife, raw pain sliced through her as she realized it would be best to forget him, pretend they'd never met. If only she could.

* * *

"'I am the resurrection and the life,
saith
the Lord: he that believeth in me, though he
were
dead, yet shall he live: and whosoever
liveth
and believeth in me shall never die.'"

Lisa sat next to William in the Shadyside Presbyterian Church, listening to the minister deliver a eulogy to her mother. Glancing to both sides of the hard wooden pew, she marveled at all the people who'd come to pay their last respects, the church filled to overflowing. Because of her mother's charitable activities, just about every
Pittsburgh
newspaper had given prominent attention to her demise.

She stole a glance at William through her gossamer thin black veil and wondered what was going through his mind. She wondered, too, if he had any idea of her thoughts and worries, of the sorrow she'd kept hidden for so long,
a sadness
for her empty marriage. Of course he had no concept of her heartache; how could he? A wall existed between them, as solid as concrete and as impenetrable. She shifted her position on the pew and stared straight ahead, clenching her gloved hands in her lap while she tried to concentrate on the minister's words.

The eulogy ended, and with her arm entwined in William's, she left the pew on shaky legs, drawing comfort from the presence of so many friends and neighbors.

Now, all she wanted was to go home and--

Owen! Lisa stifled a gasp. Sitting in one of the last pews, he gave her a steady look, his eyes full of sympathy. Her heart pounded as she met his gaze, never wanting to take her eyes from him. Nodding imperceptibly, she forced herself to walk on, wanting only to rush into his embrace, feel his strong arms about her. She'd tried so hard to drive him from her mind these past several weeks, but he remained a part of her and always would, until the end of time.

* * *

"I should be able to get a good price for your mother's house and furnishings." William sat forward in his armchair to give Lisa a hard, level look. "You've told me she had some very fine jewelry. Strange she didn't sell it if she needed the money so badly."

"William, I'd rather not talk about money now. It's been only a few hours since my mother's . . . my mother's funeral. Why don't we discuss these matters some other time?" Tears flooded her eyes, and she swallowed, determined to conceal her grief. "Not now," she repeated firmly, hoping he'd have the delicacy to understand.

"Now is as good a time as any, I should think, while I've got the time." He drummed his fingers on the arm of the chair, his temper evident in the grim line of his mouth, the tense set of his shoulders. "I'm leaving for
Boston
tomorrow morning, and my time is very limited, as you well know."

"Another trip!
My mother has just been buried, and already you're leaving me!" Owen would never desert her. She knew that as well as she knew his every feature. For once, couldn't William understand her feelings?

"We don't need to sell anything," she said after a pause. "I'd like to keep the house and its furnishings within the family. Even if we never have children," she said with a catch in her voice, "I still have relatives who might be interested in the house or the furnishings. So let's wait and see."

"You mean give them anything they want?"

"Not necessarily. As for the jewelry and some of my mother's porcelain and personal things, why yes, we could let my relatives choose among them. The house can remain unoccupied for now. I'll see what to do about it later."

William gave her a hard stare. "Don't forget that as my wife, your possessions belong to me. Everything is in my name. You own nothing."

She met his look without flinching. "I'd hoped you wouldn't remind me of that." After a defiant glare in his direction, she turned to look out the window, sickened by her husband's inconsideration. Outside, gray, leaden skies darkened the neighborhood, and drizzling rain tapped against the window and ran down the windowpane. A chill pervaded the room that even the logs blazing in the fireplace couldn't dispel. Rubbing her arms, Lisa stifled her shivers, unsure if the coldness was due to the room's temperature or the iciness in her heart.

"What's the point of keeping an empty house?" he asked, setting the paper aside.

She waved her hand. "Have done with it for now. I told you in the first place, I didn't want to talk about it."

William scrambled to his feet.
"Very well.
We'll continue this discussion at a later date. But we are
not
done with it." With one last hard stare, he lumbered from the room, floorboards creaking beneath his heavy step.

Lisa released a deep sigh as she shifted her position on the sofa. Running her fingers along the skirt of her black silk dress, she absently smoothed out its wrinkles, fighting the tears that threatened to spill. Her mother was gone, and Owen would never be hers.

Despite every attempt to expel Owen from her mind, she saw him now as she'd seen him at church, with his wide shoulders, his mass of dark hair,
those
gray eyes that revealed his every mood. She remembered his hands, strong and workmanlike, yet gentle in their touch. Above all, she recognized that his soul--his inner self--matched his strength, and she loved him all the more for that. She smiled to herself, knowing he'd understand her anguish.
He’d never make a business trip, leaving her alone with her sorrow. And she could never forget their last time together, his lips on hers,
his
hand on her breast. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, reliving every moment of that evening.

Lisa rose from the sofa to pace the room, pondering her dilemma. She was locked in a loveless marriage, her heart given to a man she could never have. There was no way out.

A gust of wind slammed against the house, a reminder that spring hadn't made a full appearance, and she continued to pace, her arms folded across her bosom. Too upset to go to bed, she retrieved the newspaper William had thrown aside,
then
returned to the sofa. She settled the paper in her lap and scanned the news in an attempt to forget her troubles, if only for a while.

A headline caught her attention:
The Amalgamated Association
, it began, with a brief description of the skilled steelworkers' union.

She read the article quickly, her mood brightening. Just as quickly, guilty shame flooded her for even thinking of Owen on the day of her mother's funeral. Yet she must seize these chances while she could. She recognized an opportunity, to good to miss.
Very well, she'd go with her inclination, not let anything stop her.