The Midwife's Secret (16 page)

Hand-cut crystal chandeliers from Austria adorned the arched ceilings. Gleaming mahogany chairs lined the corridor, Spanish-carved railings curled their shapes up the massive spiral staircase, and wall candelabrum cast dancing shadows as he passed. His black high-topped shoes marched over squares of Italian terrazzo, their echo combining with the orchestral sounds wafting from the ballroom, mixing with the chatter of English noblemen, French aristocracy and his fellow countrymen.

The violinist standing at the entry directly ahead of Tom began to play, welcoming the guests as they disembarked from their carriages and made their way through the doors. “The Blue Danube,” Tom recognized with a smile, by Johann Strauss.

Pierce had already arrived with his friends, and Tom had seen to it they were settled at a table close to the front of the ballroom, hoping young Margaux would arrive with Amanda to keep Pierce company and enjoy herself for one lovely evening.

Heads turned in Tom’s direction as he strode, women mostly, but he took notice only because he was scanning faces, searching for Amanda. He had no guarantee of when or if she would arrive.

He went out to wait by the carriages. Some folks had chosen to come in buggies, being practical in the rough terrain, also knowing the hotel’s carriages would be very
busy this evening. When he thought he caught a glimmer of blue inside a buggy, his heart began to pound. Was she in it?

He strained his neck to see. No. It was Ruby and her husband.

The transfixing sound of horses on cobblestone played in his ears. More carriages, more people Tom knew, but no Amanda.

When the fifth carriage pulled up and wheeled around him, its back to him, he thought he spotted an ankle he recognized, descending from its depths.

A glimmer of blue satin and lace. She was here!

Her delicate, high-buttoned leather shoes with slender high heels looked better on her sensuous legs than they had in his hands. The gentle curve of her ankle made him swallow hard. While the footmen helped her and Margaux disembark, Tom’s awestruck gaze followed up Amanda’s legs to the rest of her.

Blue satin clung to her curves. A deep, plunging-V caressed the swell of her breasts. Another daring-V exposed her beautiful bare back, one he longed to strum with his fingertips. Her short sleeves were capped, but little skin was exposed on her arms because her long gloves, made of the same blue satin as her gown, gracefully met with the sleeves at the line where her arm muscle curved. It was the same blue satin, he realized, that Mrs. Warren had used to tailor his cravat.

The pleats at Amanda’s waistline accentuated her femininity, and the curled, silky black hair that flowed down one side of her front made him ache to feel the silky strands wrapped around his body.

While Margaux, dressed in a long green velvet gown,
raced around to help Amanda straighten her satin train behind her, Tom didn’t move.

Amanda dipped her face to Margaux’s, her delicate cheekbones curving upward as the two laughed about something together. Swirling in her gown, turning toward the entrance, Amanda glanced up the stairs, and finally, after his eternity of waiting, found his quiet face in the crowd.

W
hen Amanda spotted Tom standing at the top of the stairs in the golden moonlight, one tanned palm resting on the rail, the other tucked inside the pocket of his black jacket, her heart reacted with a beating flutter. She’d never seen him looking more imposing.

A starched, white collar stood out against his neck, and a cool blue cravat—made of her own gown’s satin, she realized proudly—contrasted with the warm tones of his face.

His thick, black hair was slicked around his ears, but a few uncompromising strands slid to his brow. Those friendly lips she was used to seeing smile bore no smile now as his bold eyes swept over her. His clean-shaven jaw tightened. She was dismayed at the magnitude of her own response, and extremely aware that she must look different to him, too.

And he was her companion? For the entire evening?

She pulled her soft angora shawl tighter around her shoulders and watched as he walked down the stairs to greet them, every muscle moving with an easy fluid motion, culminating in a graceful stride.

He cast his eyes on Margaux first. “I didn’t realize you were such a pretty young lady.”

Margaux smiled and adjusted her spectacles, and Amanda felt herself glow at Tom’s thoughtfulness. That a grown man would take the time to think of a girl’s feelings, to make Margaux feel accepted in this town with other teens her age, was undeniably appealing.

“How’s your brother doing tonight?”

“He’s fine. He’s already sleeping.”

Tom chuckled. When he took Margaux’s white, gloved hand and bowed, she beamed so brightly, it made Amanda catch her breath with happiness.

She met with Tom’s twinkling eyes.

“And you,” he said, ever so softly, bringing her gloved hand to his lips, “are breathtaking.”

The pulsing contact of his warm hand on hers, even through the cloth, made her yearn for more. His lips coaxed an involuntary quivering which raced from her fingertips to her toes. “Thank you. And thank you for inviting us both.”

“I’m glad you came.” He spun around to stand between them, cupping their hands in the crux of his elbows. The confident way he carried himself gave him an aura of fearless pride. “Shall we?” he asked, motioning to the stairs.

They passed through half a dozen doormen, some holding lit torches in one hand while opening heavy doors with the other. Tom stood head and shoulders above them. Amanda noticed the interested gazes of other women following his movements, and she felt elated to be at his side.

When the threesome stepped through the doors, listening to the violinist, Amanda gaped at her surroundings. She’d never seen anything so plush and regal. “Are you sure we’re invited?”

His dark brow wrinkled with humor. “Of course you are.”

Margaux’s eyes widened as she raised her head to the chandelier. “Uh-hh….”

“Right this way to the ballroom.”

With a possessive hand at Amanda’s waist, he wove his way expertly through the crowd, seating them at a table near the front, next to friendly folks Amanda didn’t know. She spotted Pierce in the corner with his friends, a group Margaux said she’d join later, after the speeches. For now, Amanda recognized that the girl felt more at ease by her side, like a shy daughter might by her mother’s.

There were perhaps eight-hundred people here this evening. Not only tourists and townsfolk, but vice presidents and engineers of the Canadian Pacific Railway, all the way from Edmonton, Toronto, Quebec City and Halifax.

When William Van Horne, the CPR president, rose to give a toast, the crowd followed. Amanda stood beside Tom, trying not to react to his striking presence, trying to concentrate on the awe that filled everyone around her.

They were bathed in splendor. While some drank the finest champagne from France, others authentic port from Portugal, Tom and Amanda sipped cognac from Venetian goblets imported directly from the island of Murano.

Three more speakers rose to the podium, then finally Tom. He bowed slightly to Amanda as he left her side, then made his way to the front. As she listened to his marvelous speech—describing the grit and determination of the townsmen during construction of the grand hotel, his pride at being involved in Canada’s first national park, how smitten he was by the mountains and the unrelenting human spirit of Banff—she realized Tom was a born leader. He did his best under the most difficult of circum
stances, caring for the folks around him as deeply as he did his own brothers and father.

When his eyes penetrated the crowd and found hers, she swallowed tightly. It was a good thing she intended on taking this evening one step at a time. No promises, no commitments, just as he’d said to her on the train.

No commitments.
She sat mesmerized, watching the chandelier lighting capture the curve of his dark cheek. Why did that leave her with an emptiness?

Why had she come tonight? Was part of the reason she was here because of Margaux? So that the young girl could experience this once-in-a-lifetime evening?

When the speeches were over and Tom was again attentively by her side, the tables were cleared for dancing while the orchestra began to play. She and Tom rose with Margaux and encouraged her to join her classmates. Two of them were lovely girls Margaux had mentioned before, and of course, Pierce O’Hara.

The sixteen-year-old boy rose to greet them. With a gangly awkwardness, his father’s suit a bit too large in the shoulders and legs but nonetheless looking charming on him, he handed Margaux a little white box and grinned.

Margaux took it and smoothed her hair. “What’s this?”

“A present. Tom helped me pick it out. He said we should get you somethin’, since you weren’t gettin’ a new gown.”

Amanda looked to Tom. She was again caught off guard by this unpredictable man. He shrugged his broad shoulders and with a quirk of his full lips, tilted back his head to watch Margaux’s and Amanda’s reactions.

With a small gasp of delight, Margaux opened the lid and pulled out what looked to be one shiny piece of inexpensive jewelry. “Earbobs? For me?”

Pierce gazed shyly at the girl’s face. “I thought they’d
match your eyeglasses. Gold and gold. You look much older with spectacles, you know. I thought you were at least fifteen when I first saw you.”

Margaux flushed, obviously pleased. “You did?”

Amanda lost herself in the comfort of being with the teens. Margaux obviously felt relaxed, and Amanda realized how important the girl’s happiness was to her. She hoped she had much more time to spend with Margaux and Josh before anyone took them away.

Tom nudged Amanda’s shoulder and lightly took her hand. She tingled with the excitement of being this near to him. His exploratory gaze traveled over her face then descended to the bare expanse of her throat, to the string of smooth pearls nestled there that had once belonged to her other grandmother. His tantalizing look could almost seduce her to do anything.

His grip tightened. “Would you care to dance?”

Her lips quivered. In order to dance with her, he would have to touch her body.
Touch her everywhere.

She succumbed. “I’d love to.” Glancing to the orchestra, a dozen men and women who were playing piano, harp, violins and flutes, she placed an arm around Margaux. “And the children?”

“They’ll be fine, won’t you?” Tom asked.

“Yeah,” replied Pierce.

With her new earbobs dangling from her ears, Margaux brushed at her green velvet dress and nodded.

“And you remember now, Pierce,” Tom continued, tugging his long fingers in between Amanda’s, making her heart race. “The return carriages and chaperones begin at ten-thirty for you young people. That’s roughly an hour and a half. The adults are staying later, but you’re to start home without us. Eleven o’clock at the very latest.”

“I’ll remember, sir.”

A new waltz began. Tom clenched her hand and wove ahead of her, pulling her through the throng of heated bodies. Facing him on the dance floor, she could barely keep her heart from beating wildly beneath her breast. Did he notice how nervous she was? Would he be able to feel how sweaty her palms were? Looking down at her, he lifted his left hand for the dance, she slid in her right and they began.

She gulped at the desire she saw in his eyes. Would this be a night of heartache, or would this be a night of surrender?

“I’d like to thank you for this gown,” she said, trying to think of other things, trying to concentrate on the six-inch space between them rather than the parts that were pressed together. But every dip of his muscled body stirred a reaction in hers. “However did you manage it?”

His long lashes swept over her. “Mrs. Warren made it.”

“The town dressmaker?”

Her steps slowed. He suddenly tugged her closer and spun her around to the music. “I called in a favor.”

“Well, I’ll have to thank her, too.” His broad hand tightened around her waist and her body arched toward him. “And the shoes, Tom,” she whispered, “I’ve never owned a pair that were made simply for dancing.”

“It’s about time, then.” With the next fast twirl, she had to hang on tighter to his back. His eyes flashed and his mouth responded with a slight smile of flushed approval.

They moved gracefully around the others, his palm flat against her lower back, over her gown. Some of the men from Europe were wearing gloves, but he wasn’t. Many formalities in the West had been done away with for practical reasons and for less fuss, and she liked it better that way.

They danced without speaking, in time to the rush of
music. Other people on the dance floor, both men and women, turned to watch them. Her pulse quickened at the speculation of what she was doing, of what might happen between them. She had a need to press her body closer, but with tense control, kept her arms at the proper distance.

When Tom moved his palm higher on her back, then lower again, adjusting his hand ever so slightly, she realized he was having difficulty knowing where to place it. She hadn’t thought of it, but the fact that her back was exposed made it improper for him to place his hand directly on her skin.

During another swirl, he guided her around the floor, but his hand must have been sweaty, too, for it slipped off the fabric of her gown. When his hot fingers dug into the curve of her naked spine, his touch seared her flesh.

She shivered.

He shuddered.

Their eyes locked.

He didn’t remove his hand! Heat rushed to her face. He let his fingers sit where they’d slipped. She should say something, she should object.

His eyes challenged hers, but she said nothing!

As the music continued and the melodic chords vibrated through her body, she let his hand slowly stroke her skin, letting it caress her, letting it mingle with the sweat and salt of her own body.

She wanted him in every sense of the word. To make love to him, to explore his body and linger over every part of it like a turbulent lover would. When his breathing grew raspy, he tore his gaze down to her open lips, looking as though he longed to bury his mouth there.

She wanted to surrender. She felt the desire race from the tips of her breasts down her trembling stomach.

It would never happen here, in this public forum. Would it happen anywhere?

The dance ended. He whispered into her hair, but she broke free of his arms. How could they continue this?

Excusing herself, she grabbed her reticule from the table and rushed to find the powdering rooms. Just a moment was all she needed to bring her senses back from the clouds.

The wooden privies were indoors, she remembered as she tore down the hallway. She raced into the crowded rooms with a sigh of relief. How far would she let this go with Tom?

Porcelain bowls filled with water sat on top of carved walnut counters, and she headed that way to splash water on her face. Hand mirrors lined the countertops for women to attend to their powdered noses, and those lines were full.

She saw Ruby enter the room from the other door, waving hello to her through the throng of women. But Amanda couldn’t face anyone and hoped Ruby would keep her distance.

What she needed was to catch her breath. Why had she come here tonight? Was it only for Margaux’s sake, as she’d rationalized earlier?

No,
her heart answered. She’d come for Tom. For herself. She’d come for what she’d wanted all along.

She wanted to be with Tom and to see how it felt to be held in his arms. She wanted to imagine for one moment that there was a man out there for her, beyond her devastating divorce, and that maybe, just maybe, she wouldn’t have to spend her life alone.

Her hand trembled on her reticule. The room was hot. Stepping into the shortest line for a mirror to straighten her hair, she waited for the seated woman ahead of her to finish
at the counter and wondered how on earth she’d go back out there to face him when she was obviously so affected.

“Good evening,” the woman said above the chattering voices in the room, glancing at Amanda in the circular mirror that rested in front of her. “I’ll only be a moment.”

Amanda nodded and pressed her hands to her hot cheeks, trying to calm down. Tom wanted more from her than just a dance.

But if not a commitment, then what?

A small tin canister clattered on the counter, distracting her. She glanced up at the woman again, who was rubbing a pale cosmetic from the tin then applying it to her lips. Amanda tried not to stare, but her medical background made her curious about the woman’s health.

The young woman was very pretty; curly chestnut hair fell down her shoulders, some of it tied up in stylish twists on her crown, but she was brushing powder over one cheekbone that looked slightly swollen and lightly bruised. How had she sustained the injury she was trying to hide?

She was dressed in an amazing burgundy gown, shimmering of sequins and silk. Her jewelry was distinct. Diamonds glittered at her throat, and the silver bracelet on her wrist clanged against the counter as she applied her elegant powders.

“Are you with someone?” the woman asked, peering at Amanda through the mirror again, her large brown lashes amplified.

Amanda cleared her throat, trying to regain her composure. “A good friend.”