Only My Love (49 page)

Ethan grinned. He gave her a little bounce in his arms to distribute her weight better. "You could put your arms around my neck," he told her.

He glanced down at her when she merely snorted. She wasn't helping him in the least. Her arms were defiantly folded in front of her and she had that familiar stubborn and mutinous set to her mouth. God, how he wanted to kiss that mouth!

Jogging lightly down the stone steps of the chapel, Ethan caught the hansom driver's attention. The hack jumped down from his perch and opened the door to the cab. The man had a generous smile and it widened fully as he tipped his hat to Ethan. "Seems like I just got you to the church on time." The hack's eyes dropped to Michael's burgeoning belly and his smile faltered. "Then again, maybe not."

A small horrified gasp escaped Michael's lips. She wriggled in Ethan's arms, hoping to get him to set her down. He did, but it was only to get her inside the hansom. She climbed in, spurning his help or that of the driver, and sat in the corner of the closed carriage. She heard Ethan thank the driver for waiting and give him the St. Mark Hotel as their destination. Then he stepped inside. At least he was wise enough to take the leather bench seat opposite her.

A hundred questions occurred to her. She stared out the window rather than ask even one.

"Your father told me you were living at the St. Mark," he said. "From the way he said it, I gather your living quarters weren't quite so nice in the past. Did Logan Marshall give you a raise when you returned?" His question was met with silence. "I can't imagine Jay Mac would have approved of you living anywhere that wasn't reasonably comfortable. He probably offered to support you in the past." She turned her head long enough to glare at him and then went back to looking out the window. "But you'd never accept anything from your father, would you?"

"You don't know anything about it."

"I think I do," he said quietly. "Jay Mac said you'd cut off your right hand rather than ask him for anything. But I also saw how he likes to wield his influence and control. He offered ten thousand dollars to stop your sister's wedding. I imagine that's the sort of thing your father's been doing for years."

She didn't say anything for a moment, but pressed her forehead to the cool pane of glass. The colorful parade of pedestrians on the boulevard blurred as she blinked back tears. Impatient with herself, she swiped at her eyes. "All my life," she said. She shook her head slowly, sadly. "How could Jay Mac do that to Rennie?"

"He was afraid your sister was making the biggest mistake of her life."

"Other people would have the right to learn from their mistakes," she said bitterly. "Jay Mac's daughters have to fight for the right." Her laughter was short and humorless. "When he found out I wanted to be a reporter he used his influence to get me a position at the
Herald.
I told him I wouldn't work at the
Herald
if they made me city editor. I got the job on the
Chronicle
on my own." She paused, then added quietly. "At least I think I did. When Jay Mac's your father it's difficult to know what you've earned and when the deal's been cut behind your back."

"It's because he loves you."

She nodded. "That's part of it. But he also feels guilty. Five bastard daughters is quite a burden, even for a man of Jay Mac's wealth and influence. It's his conscience he's trying to appease." Michael looked at Ethan now. "Rennie won't thank him for what he's done. It doesn't matter that he was right about her making a mistake. I thought so, too. We all did. But we respected her enough to allow her to go through with it."

"You were trying to talk her out of the marriage when I got there."

"Of course," she said simply. "But it's not that same as offering a... a
reward
for stopping it. Only Jay Mac would be that outrageous. Rennie has a mind of her own. She should be allowed to use it."

"Like you."

Michael shrugged and turned away again. "Like me."

"Why did you never tell me Rennie was your twin?"

One of Michael's hands absently stroked her distended belly. "In the beginning... I don't know... habit perhaps. Rennie and I liked to see people's astonishment when they saw us together for the first time. It was always our natural inclination to avoid telling people about the other one. Later, as I came to know you better, I couldn't tell you."

"Couldn't?"

Her hand stopped moving across her abdomen. "Couldn't," she repeated. "I wanted too badly to be unique in your eyes." The moment the words were out she knew she had said too much. Without sparing Ethan a glance to gauge his reaction, Michael's beautiful mouth flattened and the faint worry line appeared between her brows. The subject was closed as far as she was concerned.

Ethan was not of a similar mind. "There's no one else like you, Michael. There couldn't be. Not even Rennie." He paused and added softly. "Not to me." He watched, waiting for some response, but there was nothing. It wasn't so much that she was ignoring him, but that she was telling him what he had to say was unimportant to her. Sighing, Ethan looked away himself and stared out the window.

The St. Mark Hotel was an impressive white marble residence on Broadway. Although the management was careful to call their clientele guests, never tenants, and treat them accordingly, fully two-thirds of the occupants maintained a permanent address there. It was a prestigious location, known for its gracious living quarters and the family atmosphere. There were reading and dining rooms open to the public but the St. Mark also reserved private areas for guests only.

Ethan didn't need to see his rumpled reflection in the glass entrance to know he was out of place. The furtive glances of the other guests assured him that he was. Crossing the wide lobby with its polished mahogany paneling and crystal chandeliers, Ethan followed Michael to the registry desk. She asked for the key to her room then looked at Ethan expectantly. He didn't understand what it was she wanted him to do.

"You have to register for your room," she said.

He started to tell her he had every intention of staying with her, then thought better of it. It was not the sort of discussion they could have in the lobby of the St. Mark. He signed for his suite, one floor above Michael's, and asked the manager to have his bags brought to the hotel from the train station. He turned to go but Michael didn't follow suit. "What is it now?" he asked impatiently when she continued to stare at him.

"Your gun," she whispered. "You should check it here."

"Like hell."

Michael turned to the harried manager. "It's all right, Mr. Denton. He's a marshal."

"A Marshall?" His nervous smiled eased somewhat. "Oh, well, that's different, I suppose. The St. Mark has a certain affection for the Marshalls since one of them actually designed this hotel. Perhaps we can accommodate..." His voice trailed off as Ethan slipped his arm through Michael's and began to lead her toward the staircase.

They climbed the staircase in silence until Michael stopped on the landing of the third floor. "My suite's down this hallway."

"I know. 305. I saw your key."

She hesitated, expecting him to continue up to his floor. He didn't move. "Your suite's one flight up."

He nodded. "That's what it says on the registry."

"Well then?" Michael pointed upward. "What are you waiting for?"

"I'm waiting for you."

"I'm going to my apartment."

"Then I'm going with you."

Michael stood her ground. "Like hell."

Ethan simply took the ground away from her. He scooped her up and carried her down the hallway. He set her down in front of 305 and held out his palm for the key.

"You're not staying with me, Ethan." Ignoring his outstretched hand, she opened the door to the suite herself, stepped inside quickly, turned, and blocked his entrance with her body. Although she was flushed with hot anger, her voice was calm and even. "This isn't Kelly's saloon," she said, "and you aren't my husband."

She closed the door in his face.

Numb, as with the immediate aftermath of a punishing blow, Ethan simply stared at the door. He had no idea how long he'd been standing there, a few seconds, or few minutes, when the door opened again. This time Michael pushed a sidechair through the opening.

"If you're going to camp here in the hallway, you may as well have this," she said.

"Michael..." Everything else was left unsaid as she shut and bolted the door. Ethan looked down at the chair, grimaced, and kicked the door out of frustration. It held solidly. "Damn her," he said quietly. He set the chair against the wall, sat down, slouched, and stretched out his legs. His arms were folded across his chest and his dusty hat slipped low over his forehead. "Damn me."

Without meaning to he slept off and on. People passing through the hallway woke him up. They looked at him oddly but always without comment. Ethan put his marshal's star on the outside of his coat in the hopes of averting being reported and thus saving himself trouble with the hotel's management. It worked. No one bothered him. He caught sight of his bags being taken to the next floor by one of the hotel porters, but he didn't bother trying to get them. He thought if he could just wait long enough Michael would come around, let him in, and they could talk. He thought he could also get a hot bath, a decent meal, and a bed to sleep in. He wasn't even particular about the order. For a while Ethan considered the merit of picking the lock. He dismissed it when he realized she'd probably find some way to have him arrested. He was no good to her in jail.

On the heels of that thought came another. "I'm not much good to her anywhere," he said, sighing. The pattern of roses on the wallpaper was hypnotic as his eyes traced the swirl of leaves and thorns and dark red petals. Against his will his heavy lashes slowly lowered. He shrugged off the cloak of weariness twice before it covered him completely.

Chapter 14

It was the aroma of baked ham that woke him. His mouth watered. He could taste the texture of the salty meat on the tip of his tongue. The fragrance of hot buttered rolls tempted him. He opened his eyes reluctantly, half afraid he was dreaming, and sought out the source of the delicious odors. At his side on the floor, directly in front of Michael's door, was a tray of covered dishes. Ribbons of steam escaped the silver lids. Ethan breathed deeply and his stomach growled.

He rapped twice on the door. After a moment it opened a crack. "Your dinner's here."

"It's not mine," she told him. "I went to the dining room to eat. I brought that back for you." She started to close the door again but this time Ethan was not being compliant. Michael threw her weight against the door as his intent was clear. She was not quick enough. Ethan pushed from the other side. The tray of food was kicked out of the way, the chair overturned, and Michael did not have to see the cold light in his eyes to know that he was suddenly, blindingly angry. No match for his strength, Michael assessed the situation and calmly stepped to one side. The move was so unexpected that Ethan had to catch the frame to keep from falling into the room.

He glared at her as she serenely walked around him and picked up the dinner tray. She ducked under his outstretched arm and put the tray on an end table in her sitting room.

"You may eat in here," she said, "but then out you go." She started to walk away only to be brought up short by Ethan's hand on her wrist. His grip was bruising. She turned toward him and raised her face. There was nothing defiant in the gesture, only a certain sadness. "You're hurting me."

Ethan looked down at his hand. His knuckles were bloodless around her forearm. His fingers loosened a fraction and his eyes returned to her face. "I want to hurt you," he said in his deep whiskey-smooth voice. "I want to shake you so badly I'm trembling with it. Why are you acting as if there's no danger? I've never believed you were stupid, Michael. Don't you care what happens to you?"

Michael tried to ease her wrist out of his grip. His fingers hadn't loosened that much. "I don't know what you mean." Ethan didn't so much let go of her as he did throw her away from him. It was as if he couldn't bear to touch her a moment longer. Michael's face paled as she took a step backward and massaged her wrist.

Closing the door behind him, Ethan leaned against it. "I suppose I was giving you the benefit of the doubt," he said. "Thinking you were only
acting
stupid. Do you understand at all the threat that Houston and Detra pose to you? When you let me sleep in that hallway while you blithely went to the dining room, did it even occur to you that perhaps you were putting yourself in danger? Or were you so hellbent on making me seem foolish that risking your life was worth it?"