Wings of a Dove (57 page)

    Standing up, Delaney scooped Allie into his arms. He ignored her wagging head and hushed objections, meeting them with a firm "shhhhh!" as he carried her out of the room and down the steps.

    Allie's arm tightened around his neck as he reached the foyer and turned down the narrow hallway toward the rear of the house. Ignoring curious glances from Olga and the temporary maid, he carried Allie through the kitchen and into the backyard.

    He paused briefly when the sun touched Allie's pale skin and she emitted a soft gasp of pleasure. His reward complete, Delaney watched as Allie's dark eyes appreciatively surveyed the garden just bursting into life around them. His gardener's meticulous preparations were evident in the newly turned earth of rose beds and flowering shrubs, and he silently applauded the talent that had arranged to have daffodils nod in cheery greeting as he carried Allie along the path, and a bed of violets in full bloom encircling the bower toward which he headed. A chaise was lightly shaded by an oak tree and heaped with pillows and a coverlet in expectation of this afternoon's outing.

    Lowering Allie gently onto the chaise, he adjusted the pillows behind her back, carefully slipping another beneath her splinted ankle before covering her legs. When he had adjusted the coverlet around her, he raised his eyes to find her studying him intently. He sat on the chaise beside her and brushed back a wisp of hair from her cheek, the uncomfortable thought registering in the back of his mind that he had used the wayward strand as an excuse to touch her.

    "I thought you might like some air today. You haven't been out since the accident, and this afternoon was too good to waste."

    Anxiety touched Allie's expression.

    "Is something wrong, Allie?"

    "I get confused sometimes, Delaney. Things are foreign and yet familiar in so many ways. It's been that way since I woke up after the accident. Everything still seems unreal sometimes. I have the feeling I'm going to wake up and find out this has all been a dream and I" Allie shook her fair head. "Dr. Willis says this occasional bewilderment will pass, but it leaves me uncertain at times."

    "Uncertain about what, Allie?" Concerned, Delaney reached

   for Allie's hand. It was surprisingly cold, and he enclosed it in both of his, his gaze intent on her pale face.

    "Uncertain about what's real and what isn't."

    Delaney gave a short laugh that belied his concern. "That's easy to clarify. You're here with me now, in the garden. You've been in my house for two weeks, and you're getting better every day. The doctor says your shoulder is all but healed, your bruises have faded, the worst of your concussion is past, and in a few more weeks your ankle will be as good as new." Delaney touched the small, ragged mark on her forehead. "You may have a small scar…"

    Suddenly realizing his hand had lingered longer than necessary, Delaney dropped it to his side, releasing her other hand as well. "But you'll still be beautiful."

    "Beautiful?" A familiar disbelief replaced the uncertainty on Allie's face. "I'm no more beautiful now than I ever was. You're the one who's beautiful. You were when we were children, and you're even more beautiful now that you're a man. I remember thinking when I was a child that it was all right that I was plain, because you were beautiful, and that made me beautiful, too. But I'm long past the fancies of childhood, and beauty isn't important to me anymore."

    His smile reflecting a sudden sadness, Delaney shook his head, his gaze moving to the chain barely visible at Allie's neckline. "So you've buried the past… Is that why you still wear the medal I gave you?" At the unexpected glimmer of tears in Allie's dark eyes, Delaney reached out for her.

    "Oh, Allie…" Drawing her against his chest, he held her comfortingly close and stroked her hair as he had when she was a child. "You'll always be a part of me, Allie, just as I'll always be a part of you. We were bonded long ago by everything that happened to us, by the medal, by what it means to you and what it means to me. It's all mixed together for us, and no matter what else changes, that never will. I tried to deny that a long time ago, but it wasn't any good. It isn't any good now, either."

    Drawing back, Delaney smiled down into Allie's sober face.

    "I want to help you, Allie, you and Margaret. I promised myself a long time ago that I would take care of you, that I'd never let anyone hurt you, but something went wrong. I still don't quite understand what happened, but even if it's too late     for us in some ways, it's not too late to make other things right. When we part this time, Allie, I want to know things didn't go all wrong again. I don't want my memories tarnished with bitterness and pain this time. James will never understand, but I think you do. Don't pull back from me, Allie. Let me take care of you. Trust me. That's all I ask."

    Allie's sober expression flickered momentarily and Delaney held his breath. He saw the final barriers she had erected between them waver, and an intense, aching need rose inside him. He wanted, he needed

    "Mama!"

    Margaret's voice reverberated in the stillness of the garden and her step resounded on the path in the moment before she burst into view.

    "Mama, I woke up and you were gone! I was afraid something had happened to you, but Olga said you were in the garden." The glance Margaret turned toward Delaney was almost accusing, and Delaney experienced a familiar irritation. He turned back toward Allie as she spoke quietly to the agitated child.

    "Mr. Marsh thought I might benefit from fresh air and sunlight, Margaret." Allowing Delaney an unreadable glance, Allie continued quietly, "But he was wrong, dear. I'm not feeling at all well, and he's decided to take me back to my room so I may rest. Isn't that right, Delaney?"

    Startled at Allie's withdrawal, Delaney remained motionless for a moment before slowly drawing himself to his feet. Feeling a deadening sense of loss, he responded with a nod as he picked Allie up in his arms and started back toward the house.

    The last bold streaks of the setting sun were fading from the twilight sky as silence finally settled over Allie's room. The door had closed behind Margaret a few minutes before, and Allie knew her daughter would soon be asleep in her room down the hall.

    Allie faced the thoughts she had kept at bay while her daughter claimed her attention for the major part of late afternoon.

    Uninvited, pale blue eyes, almost translucent, again invaded her thoughts, the plea in their depths touching her heart:
Let me take care of you, Allie. That's all I ask. Trust me
.

    Each word had struck Allie's heart with longing. She would never be able to tell Delaney how dearly she wished she could erase the pain of the past from her mind. She loved Delaney in so many ways that it hurt her to refuse him. She did not doubt that he loved her, in his way. It was the quality of that love she questioned.

    Love you, Delaney? How could I not?

    Trust you? My dear Delaney, can't you see? You ask too much.

    Unconscious of the passage of time, except as a steady ticking emanating from the timepiece on the mantel, Delaney paced the floor of his bedroom. It was dark, and he was suddenly aware of the silence of the house around him. A quick glance toward the clock revealed it was a little past two in the morning, and a low sound of disbelief escaped his lips.

    Was it possible that almost ten hours had passed since he had carried Allie back from the garden that afternoon? He had walked out of the house after that, his sense of loss acute. He had wandered the streets for hours, returning home at twilight to have Olga tell him that Mrs. Case was sleeping and did not wish to be disturbed.

    He had then retired to his room, and Olga had brought up a He glanced toward the nightstand. The tray was still there, exactly as she had left it.

    The heat in the room suddenly oppressive, Delaney stripped off his shirt and threw it onto a chair. He was stiff, his body aching as if from strenuous exercise. He ran his hand through his hair in an anxious gesture as he attempted to gather his thoughts.

    What had gone wrong between Allie and him in the garden? He had sensed the final barriers between them falling and joy had begun to swell within him. The fragile moment had been shattered by Margaret's appearance, but he had not expected Allie to become distant, shutting him out even more effectively than before.

    Why was Allie holding back? He knew he couldn't blame James's disapproval or Margaret's dislike of him. Allie had gone against disapproval and popular opinion too many times in his defense. It was something else.

    His agitation increasing, Delaney walked to the door of his      room, stepped into the dark hallway, and headed toward Allie's room. Alert to the silence within, Delaney entered the room and approached Allie's bed. The lamp on the night table was turned low and she was asleep. He looked down at her clear, beautiful countenance unmarked by the anxiety of their encounter in the garden that afternoon. Beautiful how she fought that description of herself. Why couldn't she understand that she was incomparably beautiful to him, that she always would be? Why couldn't she accept that truth from his lips? Why couldn't she read it in his eyes?

    His gaze lingered. The soft glow of the lamp lent faint shadows to the fragile contours of Allie's face. The pale gold of her hair strewn across the pillow was a matchless halo; her delicate features were composed, serene.

    Delaney's heart began a ragged pounding. Allie was small, vulnerable, and helpless and he wanted her with every ounce of strength in his body.

    The shock of his sudden realization held Delaney momentarily immobile. Lies, all of it! Everything he had said to Allie, everything he had told himself was a lie fabricated to escape a reality he could not face. He had never stopped loving or wanting Allie. He never would.

    Delaney closed his eyes against his anguish. The ragged fabric of the life he had woven and named contentment had started unraveling the moment he had seen Allie again. The loose threads now littered his mind with lost dreams and broken promises, and a love that was so much a part of him that it would not die without taking his life as well.

    Had Allie read in his eyes the truth he had denied even to himself? Was that the reason she held back from him?

    Shaken, Delaney turned abruptly from Allie's bed. He walked back out into the dark hallway and closed the door behind him. In his room moments later, he felt a sudden, wild urge to laugh. Delaney Marsh had set stringent goals in his life. He had wanted success, and he had achieved it. He had wanted wealth, and he had attained it. He had wanted respect, and it was his. But Delaney Marsh had been too much a fool to realize that everything was nothing without the woman who gave life to his soul and joy to his heart.

    But Allie had chosen another man over him, and Delaney     knew that his distress would only cause her grief. There had been too much grief between them. He could not be responsible for more.

    Lying abed in his darkened room, Delaney stared at the shadowed ceiling over his head. Allie's image was clear before his eyes, her pale hair glowing, her dark eyes sober. She suddenly smiled, filling his heart, and he smiled in return, despite the choking thickness in his throat.

    He would take care of Allie, just as he had promised. And when she no longer needed him, he would let her go. He loved her. It was the least and the most he could do.

Chapter Twenty-Three

    ''You're in trouble, Marsh."

    Delaney frowned at Mulrooney's harsh words as he approached the scowling man's desk. The editor stood as he neared, drawing his impressive bulk erect, glaring, but Delaney was not surprised at his reception. The message to see Mulrooney had been waiting for him when he arrived at the office at an unusually early hour. Taking into consideration the articles he had been writing for the past few weeks, Mulrooney was probably upset. "I've been in trouble before," Delaney said.

    "Not like this."

    Delaney stood before the older man with growing impatience. He definitely was not in the mood for guessing games this morning. "Get to the point, Mulrooney."

    "A messenger delivered some papers late yesterday legal papers." Picking up a packet of papers from his desk, he shoved it toward Delaney, waiting only until it was in his hand and he was scanning the top sheet before continuing. "Otis Davidson is threatening to sue us."

    Delaney shrugged. "So? The
Tribune
has received legal threats before. He's bluffing, but it doesn't really make much    difference, you know. Every word I've written about him and his business dealings is true, and I can back it all up with evidence."

    "That's not the point."

    Delaney raised light eyes bright with anger to Mulrooney's unyielding countenance. "What
is
the point, then, Mulrooney?"

    "The point is, your attack on Davidson's management of his holdings in Conley's Patch and Healy Slough was supposed to be your cover for a bigger and a more important story about murder and a white slave prostitution ring, but you're letting it get out of control. Davidson is
not
our target here! We've been printing your articles, but that's all come to an end. I don't know what's gotten into you in the past few weeks, Marsh, but you've thrown your objectivity to the winds, as well as your common sense! Your original assignment was to bring to the public consciousness the need for fireproof buildings in Chicago, and you were supposed to start with large real-estate holders like Davidson, remember?"