Thief of Hearts (43 page)

But the basis of the friendship between Neil and his brother still puzzled him. Nick had been, at least outwardly, a pillar of the community, a self-made businessman, exactly how self-made had been his own ironic secret, who had married the boss's daughter and cultivated friends like Edwin Middaugh. Neil Vaughn, not to mince words, was a degenerate.

Later, much later, they'd gone to a brothel, although Brodie had no recollection of how he got there, only of arriving. He'd followed a girl upstairs. He remembered she had long black hair, straight as a stick. He remembered lying beside her, fully clothed, and her naked, struggling with his belt buckle. Then he'd passed out.

If John Brodie had done such a thing, they'd have taken his money and thrown him out in the street. But Nicholas Balfour was a gentleman. He'd been allowed to sleep it off in a whore's bed until dawn, then gently told to go home to his wife. They'd even given him a cup of coffee.

"Hello, Papa."

He jerked his head up. As usual the sight of her, small and lovely, and now tragic-eyed twisted and wrenched at his insides. So he stayed away from her, only this time she'd taken him unawares. He wanted to look away, but he couldn't. The sun shot arrows of fire at her red-gold hair, defying and dramatizing the severe style she'd chosen. She was the most beautiful woman in the world to him, there would never be another, and merely looking at her caused him a pain he could scarcely endure. She bent to kiss her father's cheek and spoke softly in his ear. The old man smiled vaguely and nodded, staring off into space. Then she straightened her back and shifted her somber, wary gaze to Brodie. He stumbled to his feet. Without a word, he strode toward the house and didn't look back.

Why didn't he just take a knife and stab her in the heart? Anna thought hysterically. She murmured something to her father. He didn't seem to hear, but she left him anyway and marched toward the house with long, purposeful strides, arms swinging. She found Miss Fitch in her room, reading, and sent her outside to her father. Brodie she found in the library.

She almost stumbled over his model engine that still sat on the floor. Gathering dust now, he'd abandoned it with all of his other work since the day she'd confronted him with the evidence of his theft. He was sitting in a chair by the open window, pretending to read a newspaper. His refusal even to acknowledge her tripped what was left of her temper.

"What are you waiting for?" she demanded, hands on hips, eyes blazing. "Why are you here?
Why don't you just go
?"

Brodie lowered the paper to his knee. The chill of his smile matched his eyes. He decided to tell her. "I'm waiting for the fourth of August." That shut her up. Confusion and apprehension flitted across her features. He liked confounding her.

"Why?" she finally asked.

Because I want to see the look on your face, Annie, just before I walk away. Aloud he said, "Why not?"

She flung away angrily and went to stand beside the bookcase on the far wall. The fourth of August was two days from today. Had he chosen to leave her then, the day of her twenty-fifth birthday, on purpose? If so, it showed a new dimension of cruelty she hadn't suspected. She made herself face him. "I know you don't care anything about me. But have you thought of what your sudden disappearance will do to my family, to the reputation of my father's company? Do you hate us all so much that you would take pleasure in ruining us?"

That made him mad, at the same time it made him want to comfort her. He stood up and moved toward her. It pleased him that the closer he got, the harder she pressed back against the bookcase, as if she'd like to merge into it. When he was standing in front of her he growled, "Don't worry about your precious reputation. I'll make sure it stays intact."

She wet her lips, frightened and thrilled by his nearness. "How?"

He ignored that. He had a question of his own. "Why didn't you tell anyone about the money? Why hasn't Dietz come to get me?"

She felt herself flushing and tried to move around him, but he leaned his arm against the shelf behind her, blocking her exit.

"Well? Why haven't you turned me in, Annie? You didn't even tell Aiden, did you?"

She started to tremble. She never thought he would ask her this. Bastard! Couldn't he take what she gave him and leave her in peace? Did he have to torture her, too? "Stephen will tell them. He said a few days, and then he would tell."

"But why not you?" he persisted, soft-voiced, leaning in. "Why not now?"

He knew why. And she was helpless, unable to lie, unable to do anything but stand, not meeting his eyes, and wait for him to kiss her. She wanted him to, longed for it. Was she moving toward him, subtly lifting her face? If he would touch her, she would be healed, if only for a moment. It would be worth it. Her eyes closed.

She heard nothing, but she felt a change in the air. When she looked he was halfway to the door, moving fast. "John," she cried, softly, hoping he wouldn't hear, praying he would. He didn't stop.

"But you must have been in love with him sometime, Milly, at least when you first married him."

"Of course I was. I thought he was a god—I loved him passionately! And I really believed he would rescue me from the tedium of my life at home."

"Was it so very bad?"

"You know it was, it was worse than yours before you married Nicholas. Nothing but endless visiting, call-paying, and card-leaving. Writing letters and reading out loud. Taking walks. Fancywork! Making shell boxes and seaweed albums and wax flowers."

Anna laughed ruefully, remembering it well. "But to work, to do anything truly useful with your life, might make people think you needed the money."

"Horrors!"

"So the essence of gentility is to do absolutely nothing."

They shook their heads at each other, smiling grimly.

"Doesn't your aunt hate it that you go to the docks with Nicholas almost every day, and now you even have your own office?"

"Yes, she's appalled. She can't even talk about it."

"God, Anna, I envy you. You have everything, a wonderful husband who doesn't mind that there's work that you love. Children someday."

Anna tried to smile, but without success. There would never be children and she longed to tell Milly so, so that she could comfort her. She had no husband. And Nicholas's permissive attitude about her work had been the result of indifference, not tolerance.

She put her teacup in the saucer and set them on the table between her chair and Milly's, straightening her shoulders. The Lord Street sitting room was sparsely furnished but still cramped, the furniture old and unmatched. It was always damp and usually dark. What saved it from complete shabbiness were Milly's small, eccentric touches, the odd or humorous prints cut from magazines and pasted to the dingy walls, an Indian rug that hid all the sins of the lumpy old sofa, candles of every size and color lining the mantelpiece and the homemade bookshelf. There was no servant except for a girl who came for an hour or so in the afternoon to sweep and to bring Milly a meal from the pub down the street. But despite the discomforts and the dramatic difference between her friend's old life and this new one, today Anna noticed an excitement in Milly, not just nerves, but a real enthusiasm for living that she hadn't seen in her for a long time.

"What was it like in the beginning with you and George?" she asked diffidently, brushing the arm of her chair with her fingertips, staring down at her hand. "How did it feel to be in love?"

"You should know that," Milly smiled. "You've been in love with Nicholas for eight years."

Anna stirred restlessly. "Did you… were you… ?" How absurd to be this tongue-tied with her best friend. "Did you ever experience physical passion?" she asked directly, blushing a little but relieved now that the question was out.

Instead of answering, Milly stood and went to a cloth-covered three-legged table under the window. She opened a box and brought out a small yellowish object. Anna's mouth dropped open when she saw that it was a cigarette. "Want one?"

She shook her head, wide-eyed.

"It's an affectation." Milly struck a match against the brick mantel, lit the cigarette, inhaled, and blew out a big gray puff of smoke. "I don't' really like the taste." She stood with her back to the fireplace, arms crossed, the hand that held the cigarette draped over one shoulder. "I was younger than you when I married George, and even more ignorant."

"If such a thing is possible."

"It's incredible, isn't it?" she exclaimed, distracted. "How utterly stupid women are about sex? But that's how they want us, I truly believe it. It gives them even more power over us. But anyway." She waved her cigarette in the air, as if to say she didn't want to get started on that subject. She took another deep drag, and didn't exhale this time. Anna stared, fascinated, as the smoke exploded fitfully from Milly's mouth and nose while she talked. "When we were first married, when we made love, I didn't enjoy it."

Anna nodded sympathetically, remembering her first time. Then she smiled in anticipation, recalling her second. "But then?"

"Then… " Milly flung the cigarette into the fireplace and turned away. "Then it got unspeakably worse."

Anna's smile dissolved. "Oh, Milly." She stood up uncertainly. Was this what had made her leave George? She went to her side. "Did he hurt you?" she asked, taking Milly's hand, brushing the dark hair back from her cheek to see her face. "Did he?"

"Yes. Sometimes." Her lips trembled but she was dry-eyed. "On purpose." She gave a short, bitter laugh. "I was so naive, I wasn't even sure, for
years
, that there was something wrong with him. I thought all men must be that way." She turned away again. "For all I know, they are."

Anna thought of Brodie and how, even at his most outrageous and impossible, he had always wanted her pleasure at least as much as his own. "They're not," she said, quietly but positively.

"I'm glad I told you," said Milly, brushing ash from her skirts and turning brisk. "I've wanted to tell you before now, so many times, but I felt ashamed." She jerked her head up. "Which is ridiculous! I'm not the one who's done something wrong!"

"Of course not. And you were right to leave him. He's a beast, you should have left him sooner."

"I should have. That's the one thing I am ashamed of."

"Does Mr. McTavish think there will be any trouble with the divorce?" Anna asked after a pause, to change the subject. She had an idea Milly wasn't ready to say more about what her marriage to George had been like, at least not right now.

Milly moved away and went to sit on the sofa. She draped one arm over the back and said, quite casually but looking away, "That's the other thing I've been wanting to tell you."

Anna raised questioning brows.

"Mr. McTavish isn't my lawyer any longer."

"No? But I thought you liked him."

"I… do like him. I like him very much. Indeed."

Anna blinked. After a moment she joined her friend on the sofa. "How much?" she said softly.

Milly's face was a study. In it Anna saw a clash of worry and excitement, hope and despair. "Mr. McTavish and I have become," she traced the Indian rug pattern on the sofa with an apparently idle fingernail, "friends."

"Friends."

"Yes."

"Good friends."

"Yes." Finally she met Anna's fascinated stare. "I think I'm in love with him. He says he's in love with me, too. It was impossible that he could stay in my employ any longer as my solicitor under... under the circumstances."

"No, I can see that." She laughed in sudden delight and seized Milly's hand. "But how wonderful! I'm so happy for you! His name is Mason, isn't it? What's he like? Tell me everything." Milly slipped her fingers out of her enthusiastic grasp and stood up, as if she wanted to put distance between them. Anna frowned and finally asked, "What's wrong?"

Milly leaned against the fireplace mantel and folded her arms defensively, Anna thought. "You may not feel quite so happy for me when I tell you what I've done. In fact, you may despise me."

Through her puzzlement, Anna almost laughed again. "That seems exceedingly unlikely. What have you done?"

"I've…I've been intimate with him. And I am not sorry. I have no intention of marrying again, even though he's asked me to. But I'm not willing to give him up. Do you understand what I'm saying?"

"I think so," Anna said slowly, returning Milly's serious, intent gaze in kind. "You mean to take Mr. McTavish for your lover. Indefinitely."

"Exactly. So." Her tone turned brittle. "You don't know what to say to that, I can see. Now you know why I've been trying to protect you. This is a bit more than you bargained for, isn't it? If my relationship with Mason becomes known, your reputation will suffer almost as much as mine, simply because you've been my friend. I expect this means—"

"Milly, stop trying to make me angry. Come over here and sit down." After a few seconds, she came. Anna closed her eyes and rested her head against the back of the sofa. "I gather you're expecting me to condemn you for this. Pick up my things and walk out, never see you or speak to you again. Is that what you think?"

"You'd have the right. You've always cared more about convention than I have. You've lived your life by the rules. Your husband is respectability itself, your aunt" She broke off, bewildered by Anna's sad laughter.

Anna faced her, not bothering to disguise her unhappiness. "Listen to me. I would be the last person in the world to judge you for the things you do because you love this man. The very last person. All I want for you is happiness. If Mason McTavish can give it to you, my advice would be to take it. While you can, in any way that's available to you."

Milly's eyes filled with tears. "Oh, Anna," she whispered, snuffling, fumbling for her handkerchief. "Thank you. I'm sorry, I didn't know what you would think, what to expect. I should have known you'd be like this. What would I do without you?"

The clock on the mantel struck twice. "Muddle through somehow, I expect." She stood up, blinking back tears of her own. "I don't want to leave. There's so much we need to talk about, such as why you won't marry a man you're in love with who wants to marry you. But I'll be late for my aunt's tea if I don't go now, and she's angry with me for so many other reasons already, I—"