Come Be My Love (10 page)

"I repeat. You are no gentleman."

Jon inched closer. "Perhaps you're right. No gentleman would have the thoughts I'm having right now." His gaze roamed up to meet hers. "And you, my sweet little mooncalf, are driving me insane." He curved his hand behind her head and drew her mouth to his, pressing his lips to hers. For a few moments, her eyes remained open. "Little love," Jon whispered, moving his lips from hers just long enough to speak. "Close your eyes."

Sarah's eyelids glided dreamily shut, the darkness heightening the sultry feel of Jon's lips moving against hers, warm, sensual lips that seemed familiar. "Umm," she moaned, infused with the taste of him, savoring the sweetness. Filled with a yearning she couldn't quell, her hands crept up his back and slid around his shoulders, and her fingers curled in his hair. The kiss deepened, and her breathing became ragged, until she had to break the kiss to draw in a breath.

Jon gazed at her with hooded eyes. "It gets better and better, doesn't it, love."

Sarah ran her tongue over her lips, finding the taste of him lingering. "I suppose."

"And did you feel as if you'd been subjected to unwarranted physical advances?"

Sarah shrugged. "I suppose not."

"Then shall we try it again?"

Her only response was to raise her lips to meet his...

It was some time before Sarah realized the carriage had rolled to a stop. Breaking from Jon's hold, she straightened her hat and smoothed the curls escaping the braids coiled at her nape. Glancing toward the legislature building, she was certain she saw someone move from the window and into the shadows. "You have an almost uncanny way of drawing attention to us when we least need it," she said. "Your timing is abominable."

"I apologize for my timing," Jon replied, "but not for the kiss. I've wanted to do that all morning."

"You take liberties," Sarah said, "but you forget, I have no intention of getting involved with anyone."

"My sweet, lovely Sarah," Jon replied in a low, quiet voice, "that thought never leaves my mind.” He pushed a lock of hair from her forehead. “But I suspect it does leave yours. Am I right?"

As Sarah peered into Jon's eyes, she knew he was right. She was allowing herself to become involved, a thought that had a decidedly sobering effect on her. "Whether you are right or not is irrelevant," she said, "because it will not alter the facts. I have no intention of becoming any man's property, I will see my mercantile business become a success, and I will maintain my earnings, my independence, and my integrity."

Jon traced the contour of her bottom lip with the pad of his thumb, and as he did, Sarah licked her tingling lip, the tip of her tongue touching Jon's thumb. He raised his moist thumb to his tongue and tasted it. "It's true," he said, holding her gaze. "You are sweet... very, very sweet indeed. And I have a craving for sweets, a craving for you, one I have every intention of satisfying." He kissed her lightly and climbed down from the carriage.

As Sarah watched him stroll up the stairs to the legislature building, she touched her fingers to her lips. Why was he doing this to her? And why was she letting him? She was allowing him to toy with her affections and strain her sensibilities. She was also allowing him to quell the restless, unnamed loneliness that haunted her. But she refused to give in to him, to surrender her heart and her soul on the blind chance that love might be waiting for her, that it might even exist.

No matter how much she wanted to believe.

For now, there was only one path to take. And it most definitely did not lead into the arms of Governor Jonathan Cromwell. It led to the mercantile district, where she intended to find a building to let and set up her shop. Tapping rapidly on the driver's window, she motioned for the coachman to proceed.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Sarah peered out of the bedroom window, and through a veil of drizzle, watched the
Mariah
ease away from the wharf under tow by a longboat. For a few fleeting moments, when she'd seen it arriving from San Francisco two days before, she'd toyed with the idea of returning to San Francisco. But the notion quickly passed. She knew only too well what awaited her there.

Lies, lies, and more lies. Horrible, hateful lies.

How could Hollis and Tyler have set her up as they had? How could they have betrayed her so? Worse, how could her friends—people she'd known all her life—have believed the appalling gossip? She should have been suspicious when Hollis informed her that a broker wanted to meet with her to discuss setting up her business, and he'd send a coach around for her. She'd never met the man before climbing into the coach, and before she’d had a chance to introduce herself, the trap had sprung and she'd been caught like a dumb, trusting animal. The man, believing her to be a prostitute that Hollis had procured for him, hastily ripped her bodice and chemise from her while blocking her protests with a brutal kiss. The man's wife, alerted by an
anonymous
note, arrived to find her husband sprawled atop Sarah, and Sarah stripped to the waist.

The terrible gossip that followed had been intended to destroy Sarah's good character and show her as an unscrupulous, wanton woman in the eyes of the judge, Hollis's attempt to sway the case in his favor in his lawsuit to gain her money. The stage at that point was set: She was of low character, having an affair with a married man and being caught in a compromising way. Her mother was of low character, having a bastard daughter and living with a man who was not her husband. The money was not money either woman had earned, but money stolen from their father and sequestered away.

So there was no question of returning to San Francisco. Now, Sarah just wanted to put the nightmare behind and get on with her life. Yet everything in Victoria was still so uncertain.

She'd arrived just short of two weeks ago, and by now, she expected to have leased a shop and be living in the rooms above it, to be in the process of setting up sewing machines and garment tables, and to have arranged a display window showing her sample garments. And by the third week, she expected to have hired two women to operate the sewing machines for the manufacture of her garments, while she and Mandi would be taking orders and selling the bloomer costumes and shirtwaisters that filled the two large trunks she'd brought from San Francisco. How far removed those objectives seemed now.

Not only was she still roosting on Jon's doorstep, but it seemed that no one would lease a building to her until she obtained her business license. The only good thing that happened since her arrival was that Mr. Pemberton agreed to lease the cottage to her, and by tomorrow, she and Mandi would be settled there, away from Lady Cromwell, and more importantly, away from Jon and the unsettling effect he had on her. But, for the moment, her gravest concern was to be out of Jon's house before the editorial appeared in the Colonist.

She looked across the rain-soaked lawn at the muddy road. Another miscalculation. She had not anticipated the weather turning on her, too. But it had, and now the road which would take her to the cottage looked almost impassable. With a despondent sigh, she turned from the window.

Mandi glanced up from her packing. "If we don't get out soon,” she said, “Ah '
spect
there'll be a heap o'
carryin
' on around here, what with Lady Cromwell so gravitated about what happened with you and the
guv'nor
out at the cottage."

"Gravitated?"

"That's what Ida said. She heard Lady Cromwell
fussin
' at the
guv'nor
about what happened... said she sounded real gravitated."

"Well, if Lady Cromwell is aggravated now," Sarah said, gathering an array of fichus, scarves, and cravats, "I can only imagine what she'll be like after she reads the editorial. All I know is, we'd best pack faster and make sure we're out of here first thing in the morning."

"Ah suppose
you's
right." Mandi opened the top drawer of the bureau and began lifting out undergarments and placing them on the bed. She opened the drawer below, gathering nightcaps, and corsets, and chemises. Gradually, her movements grew unhurried, and her dark eyes brightened. She bundled a stack of corsets and chemises to her bosom, looked off with dreamy eyes, and said, "Yesterday, when Ah was in town
helpin
' Ida with the
shoppin
', Ah saw that same man again. Ida said his name is Wellington Brown. He
sho
' is a handsome
fella
, and he was
smilin
' at me like Ah was real special. He's not married, either—Ida told me that—so Ah '
spect
he's
lookin
' for a wife... just like the
guv'nor's
lookin
' for a wife." She gave Sarah a rueful smile.

"You can forget that last absurd fancy," Sarah said, wanting to dismiss such a ludicrous notion. "Even if the governor was considering marriage, he would not marry a woman who was starting a business. His idea of the exemplary wife is one who either stays home tatting and crocheting, or trails along on his arm as a decoration. Since there are any number of eligible women in the colony from whom he might choose, it's obvious he's not after a wife."

"Oh, he's
lookin
' all right," Mandi said. "Ida says he's been
seein
' lots of women, but none seem to fit what he wants. So he
jes
' keeps on
flittin
' from one to the next."

Sarah began layering basque waists between tissue paper and placing them in the trunk. "Just because he's seeing a few women doesn't mean he's looking for a wife." As she said the words, a feeling of melancholia settled over her. The thought of Jon holding another woman in his arms—kissing her the way she knew he kissed, and calling her his little love or his little mooncalf—made her chest feel tight.

"Ah '
spect
you's
right," Mandi said, wrapping a lace parasol in tissue paper. "Ida says the
guv'nor
will never find someone as right for him as Lady Caroline—that's how his wife was called since she was the daughter of an earl—"

"I know who Caroline Cromwell was," Sarah snapped. "And you and Ida should not be discussing the governor's wife. It isn't proper to talk about the dead."

"But Ida wasn't
sayin
' nothing bad. She never says nothing bad about Lady Caroline, only that she was pretty, and clever, and a special good mama. And that she could do just about anything with a needle. Least that's what Ida heard from the
guv'nor's
daughters. Ida didn't work for the
guv'nor's
family until they came here."

Sarah grabbed a stack of camisoles and shoved the bundle into the trunk. "There is nothing particularly extraordinary about being able to stitch!" She shoved another stack into the trunk, and another. "And I doubt if Caroline Cromwell could ride a horse, or shoot a pistol, or even play croquet, for that matter—"

"Miss Sarah?" Mandi looked at her, puzzled. "You
sho
' you want to pack like that? Those camisoles will get real mussed up."

Sarah stared at the untidy heap of undergarments, then at Mandi's curious expression. Giving her a bland smile, she said, "I'm just overwrought about... how poorly things are going right now, the problem with the business license and all."

Mandi lifted the camisoles out of the trunk and began folding them into a neat pile. "What happens if you don't get the license?" she asked, repacking the garments.

Sarah's shoulders drooped in a weary slump. "I don't know. But since I can't lease a building without it, I'll have to figure out a way to get around it. Meanwhile, if I could rent some space from one of the merchants where I could display my handbills and some of my garments, I could at least introduce the shirtwaisters and bloomer costumes to the ladies here. But, thanks to Jon and his esteemed cabinet, no one will rent to me!"

"Wellington Brown might let you put some things in his store—"

Mandi's words were cut short when Ida appeared in the doorway, and said, "Miss Ashley? There are two gentlemen here to see you. They are waiting in the parlor."

"Who are they?" Sarah asked.

"They said they are old friends," Ida replied.

Sarah looked at Mandi, bewildered. "I can't imagine who they could be since no one knows I'm here. Meanwhile, keep packing and I'll go see." Sarah started down the hallway, but at the landing she paused to listen. Hearing no voices, she descended the stairs. But when she stepped into the parlor, her stomach lurched and her heart began to pound erratically.

"Well, well now, Ty. If it isn't our little sister," the older of the men said.

Sarah stood, back stiff, chin raised, eyes riveted on her half-brother. "Hello, Hollis," she said, struggling to keep her voice devoid of emotion. She saw that even here among ragged prospectors, Hollis had painstakingly anointed his brows with salve and combed them into place, his bristly side whiskers were freshly trimmed, and his dark hair was dressed with
Macassar
oil. She looked past Hollis to Tyler, a younger version of Hollis, who maintained a bored and studious calm. One side of Tyler's mouth quirked upward in aloof recognition, then he turned away, appearing to peruse the books in the bookcase behind him. Sarah wouldn't expect Tyler to say much, if anything. He was merely a craven hanger-on to his brother. Hollis was the instigator of whatever they were up to. She turned her gaze on him.

Hollis strolled across the carpet, while trailing a finger along the carved rosewood back of an armchair and over the smooth marble surface of a library table. He paused to contemplate the hand-painted globe of a table lamp. After a moment, he turned. His mouth curved in a scornful smile. "Well, little sister," he said, allowing his gaze to roam the surroundings, "it looks as though you're doing reasonably well for yourself. But then, you were never one to lack for material comforts, were you? Your mother always saw to that."

Sarah noted the hard line of Hollis's mouth and the venom in his steel-gray eyes. "How did you find me?" she asked.

The lines slanting from the sides of his nostrils and around the corners of his mouth lifted in an ironic smile. "Even the most trustworthy servants talk when confronted with certain consequences. And once we were here, it wasn't too difficult to find you. I showed this—" he flashed a daguerreotype "—around town. Almost every man in town seems to know you. But it did take several stops to learn that you were living with the governor. Of course, I'm not surprised that you've taken up with a man, considering your past behavior."

The brusque remark succeeded in raising Sarah's ire, as it was meant to. But she refused to humiliate herself by acknowledging it. She intended to confront Hollis with as much pride and dignity as possible. Fixing her chilliest gaze on him, she said. "Why don't you get to the point. What exactly do you want?"

"Only to wish you well. I must hand it to you. You've managed to hold out for a very—" he swept his hand in a grand circle "—opulent lifestyle. None of your suitors in San Francisco held such high estate, nor did any own a town coach with four blacks."

"You know you didn't come all the way to Victoria to wish me well, so get to the point.”

Hollis shrugged. "The point is, since you're the governor's mistress—"

"I am not the governor's mistress," Sarah cut in. "I'm here as the governor's sister's guest." She couldn't discern whether Hollis made up the aspersion that she was Jon's mistress or if he'd heard it in town. Harriet Galbraith could have intimated such a notion.

Hollis cocked a glossy brow. "You expect us to believe you're living in the governor's home as his guest, without consideration... of any kind?"

"I don't expect you to believe anything," Sarah said. "You and Tyler have no scruples. Therefore, it makes no difference what you believe, since what you say to others bears no relation whatsoever to what you know to be the truth."

Hollis's lips curved in a cunning smile. "Don't you think it's a bit ironic for you to talk about scruples? After all, anyone who would bed a married man is certainly lacking scruples by any standards."

Sarah's eyes blazed on hearing Hollis reiterate the base lies he and Tyler had broadcast all over San Francisco. "Get out," she said in a tight voice. "Both of you get out."

Hollis gave her a cold, hard look. "I'm not finished with you yet. I warned you what would happen if you refused to turn over the money. You could have married any one of several suitors, and by now be living comfortably. But Tyler and I were not so fortunate. We needed the money to save the business. And now, because of you, we have nothing."

"You know that's an outright lie," Sarah said. "Any money that ever fell into your hands was gambled away."

"I admit, we do enjoy faro," Hollis said. "But then, most gentlemen indulge in gaming. It's to be expected."

"Then losing is also to be expected." Sarah looked from Hollis to Tyler and back. "Why don't you for once in your lives take responsibility for your own actions?"

"Oh, how noble we are," Hollis said. "But the fact is, we are taking responsibility. We're here to claim what's ours. So if you don't want to face ugly litigation and have a lot of filthy laundry aired, I suggest you make out a bank draft for, say, half the money, since I'm in a generous mood, and we'll be on our way."