Forbidden Fire (11 page)

She loved them both, and she was delighted that it was because of her they could be so very happy. But watching them that night gave her the first pang of emotion regarding all that she had given up.

Mary and Jimmy sat together on the sofa, held hands and gazed into one another's eyes. And there was such a look of adoration between them that she felt as if she was an intruder, and then she realized that she was. She retired quickly and left them alone.

In bed she lay awake staring at the ceiling and relived every moment of her own hasty wedding, then thought about the man she had married. He was definitely not Jimmy, she thought with a sigh. He would never sit before a fire, gazing adoringly into her eyes.

And yet she could not forget his touch, his kiss. And the more she remembered their encounters, the warmer her thoughts made her grow, the more she felt a quaking within, a sizzling of apprehension …

Of excitement.

In the morning, Mary seemed more beautiful than she ever had before. Her eyes sparkled and shone, her cheeks were flushed, and there was no sign left of the fever that had so seriously plagued her just weeks before.

She had dressed in a day dress of soft ivory satin with an elegant Spanish veil that had been left to her by her mother. Her enthusiasm and happiness were contagious, and Marissa could not resist her good humor. They very decadently decided to order champagne for breakfast, and by the time Jimmy came for them in a hansom cab, they were both giggling and giddy.

“So you have to be tipsy to marry the likes of me, eh?” Jimmy teased Mary, but she laughed and uninhibitedly reached her long fingers around his neck and dragged his head down to hers and kissed him so long and sweetly that Marissa finally had to clear her throat to remind them of her presence.

Jimmy laughed a little huskily, and he offered an arm to each girl. They arrived at the church and spoke to the reverend, and Jimmy checked that all their papers were in order. The minister's plump and beaming wife came out to play the organ and sing, and she did both beautifully.

And then the ceremony began, with Marissa and the minister's wife as witnesses. It was small, as small as her own pretense of a wedding had been.

But it was different. So different.

Marissa thought that she had never seen such love in anyone's eyes as that which shone in Mary's and Jimmy's eyes. She had never seen a couple so devoted.

Their vows were barely whispered, but their hearts were in their whispers. When the minister told Jimmy to kiss his bride, and Jimmy did so, Marissa felt she was about to cry. She didn't understand why; weddings did not usually make her want to cry. She realized that she was witnessing something she had never considered might exist. Something that was far, far out of her own reach.

And then some curious inner sense made her turn around.

She inhaled sharply, feeling a cold shiver sweep over her.

Ian Tremayne was at the back of the church, leaning against one of the huge white pillars. Casually, comfortably. She had the feeling he had witnessed all of the ceremony.

The blood drained from her face. What was he doing there? How had he come upon them?

She had lied to him, introducing Mary and Jimmy as man and wife. And now here he was at the back of the church, watching the ceremony.

He was standing in the shadow. She could not see his eyes; she could not begin to fathom his thoughts.

But she knew he was staring at her. And she seemed frozen, unable to tear herself away from that gaze.

“Mrs. Tremayne!” the minister called to her. “If you will, please, we need your signature!”

Those words propelled her into action. Mary's real name was on those papers. She had to get them signed and put away. What if Ian should chance to see them?

She sped down the aisle to the side pulpit and quickly scratched out her name, K. Marissa Tremayne. Ian was walking down the aisle.

Mary caught Marissa's eyes and realized that they didn't dare allow Ian to see the papers. She rushed forward, blocking Ian.

“Mr. Tremayne!”

“It was a lovely wedding, Mary. Really beautiful,” he told her.

“Thank you. If I'd known you were planning on coming—”

“Well, Mary, I wasn't planning on coming. It was my understanding that you and Jimmy were already wed.”

Mary blushed furiously. “Ah, that's Marissa! She was trying to—defend us.”

“Defend you?”

“Well, it must have appeared that we …” She let her voice trail away delicately with a note of distress. “She did not wish you to think ill of us.”

“Oh, Mary, I did not think ill of you or your young man for a moment,” Ian said smoothly. He looked up and smiled crookedly at Marissa over Mary's shoulder. “I did not think ill of you at all.”

Jimmy was rolling his set of papers into his jacket while the minister shuffled his. Jimmy, flushing, paid and thanked the minister and his wife, then he, too, hurried down the aisle.

Marissa remained by the pulpit, stiff and straight.

Ian congratulated Jimmy, and Jimmy began to stammer. Ian waved a dismissing hand in the air. “You did nothing wrong, Jim O'Brien. And I did truly enjoy witnessing the ceremony.”

“How did you come to be here?” Mary asked him at last.

“The parlor maid from the hotel sent me here when I arrived at Marissa's room with your traveling papers. Since I did make arrangements for a Mr. and Mrs. O'Brien, I'm glad to see that you are man and wife in truth.”

He stepped past them and walked down the aisle to the pulpit where he faced Marissa. He didn't say a word to her, but his eyes were hot upon her and she felt the simmering anger within him.

He wasn't mad at Mary or at Jimmy. He was furious with her. She had lied to him.

He reached out to take her arm. She almost flinched from his touch, but managed to refrain.

“Ah, so this must be Mr. Tremayne!” the minister said jovially. “Elizabeth, had we known Mrs. Tremayne's good husband was going to be here, he could have served with his wife as witness!”

Marissa paled slightly, thinking of the trouble they would have been in if Ian had seen papers that joined James O'Brien and Katherine Mary Ahearn. Ian greeted the reverend and his wife solemnly, adding, “I'd really no idea that I was attending the wedding; my wife did not invite me.”

“Oh!” the minister murmured, distressed.

Ian offered him the slight curl of a smile. “It was quite a service, though, and I am very glad that I did not miss it. Good day to you, sir.”

He doffed his hat and spun Marissa around. She wanted to wrench free from his hold, but it was firm, and she was swept along without making an effort to escape him.

In the middle of the aisle they reached Jimmy and Mary. “Well, it seems we've quite an occasion here,” Ian murmured. “Would you be so kind as to accept a wedding supper from your new employer, Mr. O'Brien?”

Jimmy's mouth worked for a moment without sound. Then he managed to speak. “Sir, it's kind, but I can't accept more from you—”

“Nonsense. Any man can accept a wedding dinner from another. Come along while the night is young. Neither Marissa nor I would want to intrude upon too much of this special time, yet neither would we have you begin this new life without proper celebration. Eh, Marissa?”

Was he serious, or was he taunting her? What was his game? His eyes were still filled with fury when he touched her. His grip was tight with tension.

“Marissa?”

“Of course,” she murmured.

He was always in control, she thought. On the street he quickly hailed a cab and asked the driver to take them to an exclusive but expensive club near Parliament, one that was patronized by members of the royal family. Jimmy did not know the name. Mary's eyes widened. “Mr. Tremayne, you needn't—”

“Mary, indulge me,” he said.

Soon they were at the club. The doors to the hansom were opened for them, and Ian was lifting Marissa down. A doorman swept them into the club, greeting Ian by name. He spoke with the maître d', and they were quickly led to a table in a private room.

Potted palms adorned the room. The chairs were huge, elegant with carved lions' feet. The table was covered in snowy white linen, and the flatware upon the table was golden while the wineglasses were of the finest crystal. Soft light shimmered from candles in a chandelier.

Ian seated Marissa. Jimmy did a fair job of imitating him as he seated Mary. Ian ordered rack of lamb from the waiter, who obviously knew him. And champagne.

When the champagne came, Ian lifted his glass to Mary and Jimmy.

“To a lifetime of health and happiness!” They all sipped champagne.

“Aye, and thank you!” Jimmy exclaimed, leaping to his feet to toast in kind. “And to you, sir, and to Marissa! A lifetime of—”

He choked at the end, realizing that there was really little to wish them. The slow, taunting curve came to Ian's lip, and he lifted his glass to Marissa. “A lifetime of wealth,” he murmured, “and health and happiness, too, of course.”

Marissa smiled coolly. “Thank you so very much.”

He turned from her with a shrug and spoke to Jimmy. “I'll be leaving tomorrow morning.” He reached into his jacket pocket and produced a parcel of documents, which he handed to Jimmy. “Tickets, transfer points, the address and phone number for my home in San Francisco, everything you might need, I hope. I plan on being at the train station when you arrive, but should something prevent me, a carriage or a car will meet you.”

Jimmy nodded gravely, accepting the packet. “Thank you, Mr. Tremayne. Thank you.”

“Ah, another toast!” Ian said. He lifted his glass again. “To a long and prosperous business relationship between us!” he said.

“Hear, hear!” Mary cried, delighted.

Ian filled the glasses. Marissa discovered that she was acquiring quite a taste for champagne. It went down so easily, and it smoothed out the rough edges of discomfort and unease.

And fear! she thought unhappily. He had come so very close to seeing the name on Mary's wedding papers today!

Ah, but he hadn't really thought to look at them. He didn't suspect. He thought he remembered Marissa at times, but he didn't realize she had been the maid in the shadows or the child in the mining village. And still, tonight, each time he glanced her way, she knew he was condemning her for the one minor lie he had caught her in …

Her glass was empty. He filled it. She felt the sharp probe of his blue eyes, and lowered her lashes to study her crystal glass.

The food was brought and it was delicious. Marissa was saved from much conversation, for Ian questioned Jimmy, and Jimmy talked about Ireland, and wool—he knew wool very well. Ian told him how alike San Francisco and London could be at times, blanketed in fog, mysterious, beautiful. And through the fog you could see the bridge and the bay, and the houses with their gingerbreading and pastels and colors, and they were beautiful. Marissa listened to him, and was suddenly afraid again.

She didn't want to leave England. She didn't want to sail the distance of an ocean, then travel across a continent.

She looked up. Ian was watching her again. She flushed slightly, and her lashes lowered.

She toyed with dessert. The check was signed, and they were soon out on the street. “I'll hail you a cab,” Ian said to Jimmy. “And see Marissa to her rooms.”

She glanced up, startled, then realized that Jimmy and Mary were married. Legally. Naturally Ian presumed that Mary would be staying with Jimmy. But the thought of being left alone with Ian terrified her.

“Oh, but it's early yet!” she said hurriedly. “Perhaps they'd like to return to my suite for a while.”

“For more champagne?” Ian asked politely.

How much champagne had she already swallowed, she wondered. Not enough. She felt dizzy, and guessed she would have a headache later, but at least she felt a little more capable of dealing with him.

“Champagne, sherry, conversation—” she began.

“They are
true
newlyweds, my dear. And surely seek their privacy,” he said. He lifted his hand and flagged down a hansom.

There was nothing Marissa could do. She quickly hugged Mary, not wanting to let her go. She kissed Jimmy, and perhaps clung to him too long.

Ian's arms disentangled her. “I'll see you in America!” he called to Jimmy.

“Aye, sir, in America!” And the bay horse pulling the cab clip-clopped into the night.

“Come on,” Ian said roughly. He tugged Marissa's arm and she saw that a second cab was awaiting them.

“I can see myself to the suite,” she said with what casual aplomb she could manage.

“You can scarcely walk,” he said flatly, “and I wouldn't dream of allowing my dear wife to travel the streets of London alone.”

He lifted her up and set her into the cab, then climbed up beside her, calling the address to the driver. They didn't speak but she felt the warmth of him beside her, the flex and movement of his every muscle. She felt the tension that had stayed with him, no matter how smooth his manner, since he had seen her in the church.

They came to her suite. When she had entered the parlor she tried to turn swiftly and thank him for the meal and for escorting her back.

He none too gently pressed her forward, entering determinedly behind her, then closing the door behind himself.

Marissa swept off her cape and moved into the room, dropping the cape upon the settee. Ian leaned against the door, his blue gaze searing.

She fought the champagne, for it was making her dizzy, and her vision was blurry. Perhaps it was for the best, when he stared at her so.

No! She needed her wits to deal with him.

She yawned extravagantly. “Really, Mr. Tremayne, it is late—”

“You were just saying that it was early.”

“But I am suddenly so exhausted.”

“Well, exhausted or no, Mrs. Tremayne, you've an explanation to make, haven't you?”