Midnight Star (21 page)

“Well, that is certainly true, but you knew that, love.”

Think, you silly fool! “Del, I won’t become pregnant, will I?

She felt him tense and his hand stilled on her back. He said in blank surprise, “Is this . . . resistance of yours what this is about? This is why you fight me and yourself?”

“Yes,” she said baldly. “I do not wish to be pregnant . . . just yet. It frightens me.”

He could hear the ring of truth in her voice. He thought of the sponges and the vinegar solution in his trunk, and the instructions Marie had given him. Jesus, he thought, he hadn’t kept his word to Chauncey. In truth, he’d forgotten all about it. “I understand, love,” he said, gently kissing her temple. “Before we make love again, I will show you what to do.”

He heard her sigh of relief, felt her thick lashes brush against his throat, and wondered yet again if that were all of it.

He lay quietly after she slept, staring into the
darkness, this time his thoughts more humorous, drawn to the scene with Marie.

“You what,
mon cher?”
She stared at him, her hurt for the moment quashed in utter surprise.

“I need your advice on contraception, Marie. My wife doesn’t wish to become pregnant too quickly.”

She burst into laughter, hugging her sides. “It is too funny,” she gasped. “You ask your mistress for help with your wife!
Dieu!
You men!”

He’d laughed too, appreciating the humor of the situation. He remembered Marie telling him about a woman’s cycle, and wondered if Chauncey were about to start her monthly flow. He counted in his mind the number of times they’d made love. “Damn,” he muttered into the darkness. He’d just as soon forget the whole business, but he had promised. He grinned suddenly, picturing how he would instruct Chauncey in the use of the sponge.

They spent the remainder of the return trip on deck, Delaney pointing out the sights. “This is the Carquinez Strait,” he said. “Soon we’ll be in the San Pablo Bay, then dead south to the San Francisco Bay.”

“At least there are trees lining the shores,” Chauncey said, eyeing the oaks, ashes, and willows. “Captain O’Mally told me how luxuriant and beautiful nature was here, but really, Delaney, look beyond! There’s nothing but sandy, dusty plains. Surely he speaks in comparison to San Francisco.”

Delaney grinned at her. “I suppose to some used to the civilized, tamed, and otherwise
cosseted nature of England, you would think that San Francisco is rather desolate.”

“Harrumph,” said Chauncey. She tightened the bow of her bonnet against the stiff wind. “There are so many islands,” she observed after a moment. “Are they all uninhabited?”

“For the most part. Occasionally, Indians and trappers visit, but there aren’t enough vegetation and animals to support life.”

“It is certainly unlike England.”

“True. The first time I traveled by boat inland, I realized I’d never felt so free in my life. It was wide open, wild—uncivilized, if you will. The thousands of gold seekers have brought great change. I sometimes wonder how long this vast land would have remained untouched if gold hadn’t been discovered. Fifty thousand souls now live in San Francisco. When I arrived in 1849, there were but a thousand. You know that Mexico ceded California to the United States some five years ago. Our touted progress and men’s greed will shortly bring the Californios to extinction. Already their land grants are being tossed out of our corrupt courts, their cattle stolen and butchered, their acres taken over by squatters.”

“Who are these Californios?”

“For the most part, they are either Spanish or Mexican and have wielded great power in the near past. They are the old aristocracy of California, feudal landlords, more or less. Their land-grant
ranchos
many times exceed two hundred thousand acres. Then we Yanquis poured in.” Delaney paused a moment, his jaw hardening and his eyes narrowing in anger. “It amazes me that
we
have such contempt for peoples with
different languages, different cultures. Most the men I know call them ‘greasers.’ The Chinese are called ‘diggers.’ Pleasant, isn’t it?”

Chauncey frowned up at his set profile. “No, not particularly, but to be honest, Del, I’ve never thought about it. I know you saved Lin from a dreadful fate, but these Californios. You seem to take their problems personally.”

“I suppose I do. They’re a proud, easygoing people, and a man’s word is considered his bond. They live and die by their honor, and thus they will not survive. One family I know quite well. Don Luis Varga saved my life once back in fifty. Unfortunately, when I was out of California in fifty-one, his family lost some of their lands to gold seekers, their cattle to rustlers, and the rest to banks. They were forced to take residence in Monterey. Don Luis was brutally murdered when he tried to protect his cattle from the bandits. As I told you, they are a proud breed of people, and they believe in honor above all else. I suppose you think I’ve painted a perfect people with no flaws at all.” He smiled ruefully. “Actually, they love to gamble and are wretched at it. Those Californios who have found gold have lost it just as quickly. In many ways, they’re simple as children, with no clear concept of high interest rates or rampant inflation or . . . Still, what’s happening to them makes me mad as hell, and there’s little I can do about it.”

“I should like to meet the Varga family. I’ve never gambled, but I’m probably wretched at it too.”

“Perhaps you shall, one day.”

How very honorable he himself sounded, she
thought, her softened mouth tightening into a thin line as she remembered, She said flippantly, baiting him, “It seems to me that you could do something for them. After all, aren’t you very rich?”

Delaney turned his head to stare at her thoughtfully. “Yes,” he said slowly, “I am rich, but not rich enough. And there’s a matter of power. One man can’t wield enough power to turn the tide of what is happening, and corruption is rife, both in the cities and in the state government.” He smiled wryly. “Did I tell you that a group of our most civic-minded men in the Pacific Club want me to run for the Senate?”

“You are considered so honest, then?”

“Isn’t that rather an odd question from a loving wife?”

“Come, Del, haven’t you ever . . . cheated anyone to gain an advantage?”

She was watching his face closely, and drew back at the sudden fury in his eyes. Then his thick lashes covered his expression and he said curtly, “No.”

“Not even during your travels? To England for instance? After all, it’s a great distance away. It seems to me that you could have promised anything and there wouldn’t be any retribution if you didn’t make good.”

He studied her silently. She spoke lightly, as if in idle speculation, but he felt tenseness radiating from her. “Would you care to explain, Chauncey?” he asked quietly.

She shrugged elaborately and turned her attention to the willow trees whose dipping branches nearly touched the water at the edge of the river
some fifty yards away. “I was just making conversation. Theoretical questions, that’s all.”

She was lying, of that he was certain. But why the questions about his honesty? A woman wouldn’t marry a man she didn’t believe in and trust, would she? “Perhaps those are the theoretical questions you have about your aunt and uncle. What did you say their name was?”

“Penworthy,” she said without thinking.

She sucked in her breath, realizing the information she had just given him. Fool, she screamed at herself silently.

But he seemed to have lost interest. She breathed a sigh of relief. Still, she sought to distract him. “I noticed a scar on your shoulder. How did you get it?”

She is so transparent, he thought, turning again to face her. “I fought a duel with a rather gruesome individual named Baron Jones. Yes, I can see from the expression on your face that you remember him.”

“A duel,” she repeated blankly. “That is . . . barbaric!”

“Indeed,” he said dryly. “Unfortunately, out here it is sometimes unavoidable.”

“Did you try to kill him?”

“No, but I probably should have. He still occasionally presents me with . . . problems.”

“Why the duel?”

To her surprise, he flushed.

“You didn’t like the cut of his coat?” she asked.

“Actually,” he said, goaded, “he tried to force himself upon Marie, my mistress. That’s why I got you out of his sight as quickly as possible.”

“How distressing for both of you,” she
managed, both surprised and furious at herself for the bolt of jealousy that shot through her. He grinned widely at her and she realized that she’d given him the upper hand.

“A man doesn’t like other men to poach on his preserves.”

“Preserves! What an uncivilized, arrogant—”

He dipped his head down and kissed her pursed lips.

“I am not your
property,
your—”

He kissed her again.

There was a muffled guffaw from a fellow passenger. Chauncey jerked away, her face flaming.

“Have I the last word, do you think, sweetheart?”

“I don’t suppose there are any sharks in these waters?”

He threw back his head and laughed heartily.

“Weak,” he said, shaking his finger at her. “Very weak, but I should make allowances, shouldn’t I? You are but a woman, after all.”

Chauncey cocked one eye open and frowned at Mary, who was humming an Irish ballad off key, as chirpy as any bird.

“It’s awfully early for such high spirits,” Chauncey said on a wide yawn when Mary reached the end of her verse. She swung her legs over the side of the bed, realized she didn’t have a stitch on, and felt her face burn. Damn him, she cursed silently. Mary began singing again. “Have you been visiting the bottle, Mary? Your mood is just too nice.”

“My, my, aren’t you in a twitty mood,” Mary said, turning from the armoire to face her mistress. “Would you like a robe?”

“Of course I would!”

“It is rather chilly this morning. Just look at that rain! Coming down in sheets! You know,
Miss Chauncey, you should ask that husband of yours to give you a nightgown before he leaves you in the morning.”

“Mary,” Chauncey said, gritting her teeth, “why are you trying to make me scream?”

“Lucas has told me quite a bit about Mr. Del,” Mary continued calmly as she assisted her mistress into a yellow velvet dressing gown. “He’s not a bad man, Miss Chauncey.”

Chauncey snapped fully awake, and stared incredulously at her maid. “I just don’t believe you! You’re ready to dismiss what he did to my father after living three weeks in his house? Oh yes, I know, he’s so
bloody
charming, isn’t he? Or is it Lucas’ charm?”

Mary felt her cheeks grow warm, but she was ready to give as good as she got, and said blandly, “It seems to me that you’re quite charmed with him too, particularly in bed.”

Chauncey chewed vigorously on her lower lip. “That,” she said bitterly, “is a weakness. It has nothing to do with anything.”

“It occurs to me, miss, that this weakness can quite rapidly result in a child.”

“Oh no! That is, I will take measures to ensure it doesn’t.” Perhaps tonight, she thought, wondering just what these measures would be. She closed her eyes a moment, remembering the previous night when they’d arrived back in San Francisco. More of her husband’s damned charm. She’d never seen such a wide smile on Lucas’ pirate face. And Lin, hovering about, chattering like a berserk parrot everything that had happened in their three-day absence. And Mary, smiling fondly, with that gleam in her eyes. To her
surprise, her husband hadn’t initiated lovemaking with her after he’d stripped off her nightgown. He’d merely kissed her and held her until she’d fallen asleep. She could sense his preoccupation, but asked him no questions.

“By the way, Miss Chauncey, Mr. Del told us this morning what had happened and why you returned so quickly. He told Lucas not to let you out of his sight when he wasn’t with you. You will cooperate, won’t you?”

“Of course,” Chauncey said. “I’m not a complete fool.” She fell into brooding silence.

“Mr. Del asked me all about your aunt and uncle. He’s worried, Miss Chauncey. Lord, here I’d almost convinced myself that that accident in Plymouth was really just that.”

Chauncey’s head snapped up. “You didn’t tell him about Paul Montgomery, did you?”

“No, but I wanted to. I’m worried too, Miss Chauncey. This entire situation is cockeyed! Here you are trying to hurt Mr. Del, and someone else wants to hurt you, and Mr. Del could get himself killed trying to protect you.”

“Mary, listen to me, please. I’ve thought and thought, but I can’t think of anyone who would go to such lengths to do away with me. I know Paul Montgomery was somewhat disturbed that I didn’t allow him to handle my money, but that wouldn’t make him want to kill me, surely. Good grief, he was one of my father’s best friends.”

“Unless your aunt and uncle promised him some of your inheritance,” Mary said, cocking her head thoughtfully to one side.

“I’ve thought of that,” Chauncey said on a sigh. “In fact,” she added on a crooked grin, “I
think I’ll write to them and tell them I’ve lost everything. Plead with them to let me come back to England and live with them.”

“Actually, Mr. Del mentioned something of the sort this morning. He’s ready to try anything, Miss Chauncey.” Mary began fidgeting with Chauncey’s hairbrush. “He’s guessed that there’s something you’re keeping from him. He just kind of sighed when I finished telling about the Penworthys. He didn’t push me, but he knows there’s something you’re not telling him.”

“I know. Whatever else he is, he isn’t a fool.”

“You know, Miss Chauncey, whoever the fellow is, he’ll probably try again.”

“Yes, I know. I’ll not step a foot out of the house without my derringer. Perhaps,” she added with false brightness, “I can catch him myself.”

Mary fell silent and began to unpack Chauncey’s trunk. “Mrs. Newton came by yesterday afternoon,” she said. “Such a nice lady, but you know, she asked me all sorts of questions about you. When I looked a bit put off, she told me that that little twit Penelope Stevenson was still holding a grudge toward you. She told me she wanted to spike their guns. You know, tell everyone where you’re from in England and who your parents were.”

That aroused Chauncey from her gloom. “Let them all go to the devil,” she said.

“Perhaps so,” Mary said stiffly, “but you don’t want Mr. Del hurt by any talk.”

“Here you go again! Of course I want him hurt, dammit!”

“Don’t use bad words, young lady!”

“For God’s sake,
Miss
Mary, you’re younger than I!”

“And just maybe I see things more clearly than you do!”

“Ha! Do you know that your Mr. Del fought a duel over his damned mistress?”

“Well, he wasn’t a married man when he did. Lord knows,” she added on a chuckle, “Mr. Del isn’t a celibate!”

Chauncey closed her eyes for a long, pained moment. Mary had defected to the enemy camp. She’d never felt so alone. She jumped off the bed. “I want a bath.”

A half-hour later, Chauncey was seated in front of her dressing table staring vacantly into the mirror as Mary brushed out her hair. She jumped at the sound of Mary’s voice.

“What are you going to do now?”

“Always carry my derringer about, as I told you.”

“That isn’t what I meant, Miss Chauncey, and you know it!”

“Perhaps I shouldn’t tell you. After all, you’re so in love with Mr. Del, or is it Lucas the pirate?” She sounded nasty and mean and sarcastic, but couldn’t help it.

“I’ll tell what I would do,” Mary said, unmoved. “I’d talk straight to my husband. I’d tell him the truth, all of it.”

“Lovely idea! I can just picture it now. I’d be on the next ship back to England and he’d be free as a bird!”

“What is this about a ship back to England?”

Both women froze at the sound of Delaney’s voice.

“Good morning, Mary, Chauncey. Or should I say afternoon?” He strode over to Chauncey and gave her a fond kiss on her cheek. “You’re not planning to leave me, are you?”

“I thought you’d gone,” Chauncey said, “for the day.”

He raised a brow. “I leave you? This is our honeymoon. Besides, it’s raining buckets. Mary, leave her hair down. Lin’s kept your breakfast warm for you. Are you about ready?”

Over a breakfast of eggs, bacon, and crunchy toast, Delaney told her about a meeting that evening at the Pacific Club. “Horace isn’t going to let me get off, I fear,” Delaney said. “They want someone as honest as a virgin for senator. Perhaps,” he added, his expressive eyes twinkling, “they’ll find a dank skeleton somewhere lurking in my checkered past. Then I’d be off the hook. Maybe I should invent one.”

“But you want this, don’t you?” Chauncey asked slowly. “You want to be in politics.”

She watched his strong fingers curl about his coffee cup. “Yes, I suppose I do. You’re getting to know me too well, love. But I don’t want to end up in Washington. I want to do something here in California. I’ve been a part of several committees and found it most exhilarating. I would like to be one of the men to set up these committees, select the members, and see that a decent job is done. Paul Donner died a couple of months ago. What I would like to propose to Horace and the other gentlemen is that I run for the state legislature.”

“How would it work?”

He grinned at her. “I forget that you’re
English and used to a very different system. Well, perhaps not too different. I’d have to have the party’s nomination and then tromp around to various towns in California to convince men to vote for me.”

“It would take a great deal of money, wouldn’t it?”

“Indeed it would. A good deal of my money, and sizable contributions. Would you like to be a politician’s wife, Chauncey?”

Although his voice was light, she sensed the seriousness in him and knew without a shadow of a doubt that this was something he wanted above anything. Was this the way to ruin him? She gave him a dazzling smile. “I should love it.”

The excitement faded from his expressive eyes. “First things first. There’s the matter of the idiot who wants you dead.”

“Yes,” Chauncey said, her voice very calm, “Mary told me how you’d pumped her this morning. I don’t think I care for your methods.”

Delaney very carefully set his coffee cup in its saucer, rose from his chair, and strode to the wide bow windows in the dining room. He seemed mesmerized for many moments by the rain lashing against the windowpanes. He said over his shoulder, “No, I don’t imagine that you would, but then, a husband must feel somewhat odd when his wife doesn’t trust him.”

“You’re weaving fantasy into a cloth that doesn’t exist, Del. Why on earth wouldn’t I trust you?”

“If I knew the answer to that, I could take more direct action, couldn’t I?” He turned from the window to ace her. “I’m tired, Chauncey, tired to the bone of your evasiveness. Even now
you’re tensing up on me. Your face is far too expressive for your own good, sweetheart.”

Prove to him that he’s wrong! Chauncey planted a smile on her face and walked to her husband. She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him firmly on the mouth. She felt his surprise, felt his drawing away from her, and clutched the lapels of his frock coat. His lips parted, as if against his wishes, and she whispered softly into his mouth, “You are my husband. I must have traveled halfway around the world to find you.”

He grew very still.

“My . . . evasiveness, if there is such a thing—why, it’s probably due to the newness of my situation. Everything is very different from England.”

He wanted to believe her, she could see it in his eyes. She felt a surge of guilt and closed her own eyes. He saw too much. Always too much.

Chauncey paced through the dining room, across the wide entrance hall to the drawing room. How can I ruin him? She’d discarded several wild ideas during the past few hours. She glanced toward the clock on the mantel. Ten o’clock. He’d be home soon from his meeting at the Pacific Club, and she was no closer to coming up with a plan that could possibly work. I am not a schemer, she decided reluctantly. She slammed a fisted hand against her open palm and forced herself to review again one of her less fantastic ideas. Even if she did manage to circulate scandal stories about him, it wouldn’t make him one whit poorer, just deprive him of his political hopes.

And his bloody assets were simply too diverse. How could she ruin him?

Chauncey sat down on the sofa and leaned her head back. Everything was becoming so difficult, almost impossible, really. She simply didn’t have the freedom of movement even if she did come up with something that could succeed. She shivered, remembering all too clearly the man who had tried to haul her over the rail and into the murky night waters of the Sacramento River. Who?

And Delaney. He was becoming too real to her, too important. Damn him, why didn’t he behave the way she’d thought an evil man should behave? Why couldn’t he be mean, nasty, and awful? She wanted desperately to hate him, to loathe him.

“I am becoming a hysterical female,” she said aloud to the empty room. “All I have are myriad questions and a dithering mind.” And she was afraid. Afraid to be alone, yet afraid when he was with her. Afraid of herself and what she was beginning to feel for him.

She rose and resumed her fruitless pacing. “If only there were someone I could trust,” she muttered. She shook her head even as Agatha Newton’s face came to her mind. No, all the people in San Francisco would be loyal to Delaney, not her, a foreigner.

“I think I see the beginnings of a hole in the carpet,” Delaney said, coming into the room some fifteen minutes later. “Come here and let me kiss you. It will keep you in one place and save our belongings.”

She saw the sheen of raindrops on his thick
hair, darkening it a rich honey color. His eyes, as rich a honey color as his hair, were filled with anticipation and that odd tenderness that he seemed to reserve just for her. She gulped.

“Hello,” she said, not moving. “Are you to be the new power in the state of California?”

“I really don’t give a damn at the moment. Come here.”

She went to him and nestled her cheek against his shoulder. His arms went about her, squeezing her tight.

“I missed you. I’m a rotter for leaving you alone during our honeymoon. Forgive me.”

She felt his fingers lightly caressing her jaw, then cupping her chin. She wished she needed to force herself into acting the loving wife, but at the moment she didn’t. She raised her head wanting him to kiss her. “Do you know how beautiful you are, Chauncey?” His voice was soft, beguiling, but still he didn’t kiss her, merely ran the tip of his finger over her lips.