Judith Stacy (4 page)

But she held her tongue. A sense of calm came over Jana.

“You have no idea how relieved I am to hear you say that,” she said softly, never meaning anything more in her life.

Brandon smiled, apparently pleased with himself. “Good. I’m glad that settled things.”

“Oh, that settled things, all right.”

Jana left the study, determination and strength lengthening her strides as she bounded up the stairs and into her room.

Yes, Brandon’s assessment settled things, all right. But not the way he thought.

Jana drew in a deep, cleansing breath, knowing without a doubt what would happen next.

She’d leave.

Nothing had changed in the past fourteen months—including Brandon. Everything that had driven her from the house was still firmly in place.

The servants who ignored her instructions.

That awful decorator Mr. McDowell who bullied her.

Not being allowed to have guests in her own home.

The loneliness.

The loneliness had been the hardest. She’d left all her friends behind in San Francisco when Brandon had brought her here. Aunt Maureen, hundreds of miles away. Everything that was familiar, friendly, comforting.

And Brandon, always gone. Up early, not wanting her presence at the breakfast table. Out late, business keeping him occupied well into the evenings.

Crying alone in her bed at night.

He had seemed almost a stranger during those first three months, always busy, in a rush, hurrying off to attend to something important. She hadn’t felt she
could approach him about anything—certainly not her unhappiness.

Jana drew herself up and took a deep breath. She wasn’t crying anymore.

Perhaps nothing in this house had changed in the past fourteen months, but she certainly had. The decision she’d made in London now looked all the more correct.

She absolutely would not live her life under these circumstances.

She was leaving.

Jana pressed her lips together. She’d never last the remaining four weeks under this roof. Yet she’d given her word, committed to stay. Her only escape would be Brandon himself releasing her from her promise.

A slow smile spread across Jana’s mouth. Brandon would ask her to leave.

She’d see to it.

“G
ood morning.” Jana breezed into the breakfast room, her smile as cheery as the sun streaming in through the lace-covered windows.

Brandon’s gaze came up from the two newspapers on the table in front of him, frowning slightly.

“Jana, I thought we agreed that I was to have breakfast alone. You know I need this time to think over the day, get a jump—”

“I was simply too excited to wait.” Jana yanked out the chair at his right elbow and planted herself in it. “First of all, I have to thank you for clarifying things for me last night. I realized you’re absolutely right. We both must live up to our duties and responsibilities if our marriage is going to work.”

Brandon nodded thoughtfully. “Good. I’m relieved to hear you say that.”

“Yes, I thought you would be.” Jana plucked a grape
from the fruit bowl on the table and popped it into her mouth. “And I’m glad we’re in agreement.”

Brandon’s gaze lingered on her lips. “Well, huh, yes, so am I.”

Jana took another grape, rolled it against her lips, then pushed it into her mouth, her finger lingering a few seconds between her lips.

“So, today,” she went on, rubbing her lips together, “we will both go forth with a new commitment to our roles as husband and wife. I’m excited.”

Brandon shifted in the chair. “I’m growing excited myself.”

“I’m starting on the house today. The decorating is long overdue. I intend to give it my full attention. Nothing will be left undone.” Jana selected a banana from the serving bowl, peeled it and slid it past her lips. She paused, not biting into it, and pulled it out again. “If that’s all right with you, of course.”

“Huh?”

She touched her tongue to the tip of the banana. “Do I have free rein to decorate the house?”

He just looked at her.

“Brandon? The decorating?
Brandon?
”

He dragged his gaze from her lips up to her eyes, then ran his finger under his shirt collar. “Oh, yes, the decorating. Of course. Do whatever you want. The house is yours.”

“And you’ll take care of the grounds?” Jana asked, biting slowly into the banana.

He gulped, his gaze dropping to her mouth again. “What…whatever you want.”

Jana chewed slowly, then swallowed. “The grounds, like so many other things here, are in need of some long overdue attention. Wouldn’t you agree?”

His breathing picked up. “Oh, hell yeah…”

“I’ll inform the gardeners of the changes I want, and you’ll oversee their work, if that’s all right with you.” She closed her lips around the banana once more and bit into it.

“Certainly…”

She swallowed quickly, laid the banana aside and jumped to her feet. “Excellent. I’ll get started immediately.”

“You’re—you’re leaving?” He came out of his chair.

“Duties and responsibilities call,” she said briskly and snatched up both newspapers from the table. “I’ll need these.”

Brandon looked at the spot where the newspapers had lain, then up at her. “What for?”

“As I recall, the
Times
has the best advertisements for all those fabulous stores along Wilshire.” Jana waved her hand about the room. “Brandon, I have an entire house to decorate.”

“What about the
Messenger
?” he asked, gesturing lamely to the other newspaper.

“After you explained to me last night about the situation with the
Messenger
, I wanted to look it over, see if I can discern exactly what you mean,” Jana explained.

“But I always read the newspaper on the way to the office,” Brandon said.

“I’m sure that after our breakfast together this morning, you’ll have plenty to occupy your mind.” She flicked the tip of her tongue along her bottom lip, gave him a slow smile, and left the breakfast room.

“Jana! Wait!”

She turned back to see Brandon hurry after her. His cheeks were slightly flushed and a tiny drop of perspiration hung in his sideburn.

She’d seen those things before.

Brandon eased closer. “Does our new commitment to our duties and responsibilities include a resumption of our…marital relations?”

She frowned thoughtfully, then nodded. “Oh, you mean our lovemaking. As we used to do. You and me rolling around beneath the covers until the wee of the morning? All those delightfully sinful moments we shared?”

His breathing quickened. “Yes?”

“Hum…” Jana tapped her finger against her lips. “Perhaps we could consider that.”

“Now?”

She tsked. “Brandon, we have our responsibilities to see to today.”

“Yes, but—”

She touched his chest with the newspaper. “Let’s discuss it at supper tonight, shall we?”

“I’ll be home early,” he promised.

Jana gave him a saucy little grin and left him standing in the doorway.

“What the hell!”

Brandon’s roar rang through the house, down the hallway and into the sitting room, bringing Jana up out of her chair.

Though she felt a little guilty about her blatant flirting and not-so-subtle innuendo this morning at the breakfast table, she’d assuaged her conscience today with the conviction of her decision: if she couldn’t get him to stay home, she could never torment him enough so that he’d ask her to leave.

She glanced at the mantel clock and smiled to herself. Just past the stroke of six and Brandon was home.

So far, her plan was working beautifully.

Jana left the sitting room and found Brandon in the foyer glaring at the scaffolds, reams of wallpaper, cans of paint, tools, equipment and the dozen workmen extending down the hallway.

“Good evening, Brandon,” she greeted him, a placid smile on her face. It wasn’t easy holding that expression in place against Brandon’s scowl, even though she’d expected it in this next phase of her plan.

“What the hell is going on?” he demanded, raising his voice over the din of banging hammers and grinding saws.

“I’m decorating,” she said. “Remember? We discussed it at breakfast this morning.”

“This isn’t
decorating
!”

“It’s the way
I
decorate,” she said crisply. “I’m knocking out a few of the walls.”

“Knocking out the—
what
?” He gaze pinged around, then turned back at her. “Jana, you can’t knock out a—”

She drew herself up a little. “You told me this morning that I could do whatever I wanted with the house.”

He blinked. “I said that?”

“Oh, yes. My mind reeled with the possibilities. After all, you put me in charge of this project so I want to do my very best to please you. And, of course, to live up to my duty as your wife.”

Brandon’s gaze crawled over the workmen. “I never said you could do all of
this
.”

“But you did put me in charge of the house, correct?”

“Yes, of course, I did. But—”

“And you do expect me to take my responsibilities seriously?”

“Yes—”

“And it is my duty as your wife to take over the house, is it not?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“Good. I’m glad I have your approval. Come along. I want you to see everything I’m doing.”

Jana led the way down the hallway, skirting workmen, stepping over tools, and stopped at the doorway to the parlor. She waved her arm.

“I’m taking out those two walls, widening this whole wing of the house and lowering the floor.”

“Lowering the—”

“And wait until you see what I’m doing to your study.”

“My study?” Brandon bristled further. “My study is—”

“—part of the house, correct?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“I take the responsibilities you’ve given me very seriously, Brandon,” she informed him. “I’m reworking the entire house, which includes your study. Come, I’ll show you.”

Jana ducked under ladders and sidestepped scaffolding until she reached Brandon’s study. With the furniture pushed to the center of the wall and shrouded beneath a tarp, three carpenters stripped the walls, ceiling and floors.

Brandon pressed his palm against his forehead, his eyes wide. “What the…?”

“I’m renovating the entire room, floor to ceiling. For you,” Jana announced.

“Where the hell am I supposed to work?”

“I found you a new spot,” Jana told him. “A room off the kitchen.”

He frowned. “What room?”

“The one next to the pantry.”

“That’s a storage room.”

“It will be cozy. You’ll feel snug in there,” Jana assured him. “Your things are already in place…those that fit, anyway.”

“This is unacceptable,” Brandon declared. “I need a place to work.”

She gazed up at him. “Didn’t you say we both had to accept our responsibilities? Are you saying you’re not willing to do that?”

“Of course, but—”

“Then you understand that we both have to make a few minor adjustments to get our marriage back on track. Isn’t that what you want?”

“I need my study,” he insisted.

“And you’ll have it,” she assured him. “I’m instructing the carpenters to make this room their first priority. Now, here’s what I’m doing with your study. You’ll love it. It’s going to be pink.”

“Pink?”

“Pink.”

“Pink?”

“It’s the rage in Europe. I don’t know why it hasn’t caught on here yet,” Jana declared. She gestured to the walls. “There’ll be a mural of lambs and ducks over there, and cherubs frolicking on clouds on the ceiling. It will be very soothing.”

Brandon closed his eyes, pressed his fingertips against his temples and rubbed little circles. He drew in a breath and looked at Jana.

“When you said you were going to decorate, I didn’t think you meant—”

“See? You’ve just proved my point. You’re tense and anxious after a hard day at the office, and the new,
more restful motif in your study will be just the thing to relax you.”

He blew out a tired breath. “Jana, I don’t—”

“The workmen are leaving momentarily.”

“Good,” he mumbled, releasing a heavy sigh.

“Our guests are arriving shortly.”

He jerked upright again. “Guests? Tonight? You know I prefer quiet evenings at home.”

“A man in your position has social obligations, all of which have been overlooked for far too long,” Jana told him. “But don’t worry, I’m taking charge of that also. Just as you wanted.”

Jana strode off down the hallway toward the kitchen. “Do change your shirt,” she called, not looking back.

When she reached the kitchen door she paused and glanced back. Brandon stood among the disarray, the pounding hammers and grinding saws, rubbing his forehead.

A pang of guilt swept through her. She’d never seen him look so distressed. For an instant she wanted to shout at the workmen to leave, take Brandon to the sitting room, place a cool cloth on his head.

But Jana did none of those things. She pushed into the kitchen hoping with all her heart that Brandon would ask her to leave soon. This plan of hers was harder to execute than she imagined.

H
e couldn’t remember a more miserable evening.

Slumped in his office desk chair, Brandon threaded his fingers together across his chest, remembering the hellish evening he’d spent last night—in his own home, no less.

Bad enough that he’d walked in on the complete chaos of workmen, loud noises and flying sawdust. Then he’d had to endure supper with two young women he didn’t know and whose names he’d forgotten before the soup was served.

Friends of Jana’s, she’d explained shortly before their arrival. She’d run into them that morning while shopping on Wilshire and invited them for supper. Brandon had hardly been able to get through the meal for all their incessant chatter about fabric, hats and closet space.

He’d have left the table had it not been for Jana’s gown—or, more accurately, Jana’s bosom.

The familiar craving claimed him once more, just as it had all evening, all during the night and all morning. His desire for Jana simmered, bubbling up over and over by thoughts of her continually popping into his head. He’d cancelled an appointment today to hide out in his office, not thinking himself fit to be seen in public.

Oh, God, how he wanted her.

He’d done an admirable job of controlling himself, he thought, since her return. Not an easy undertaking, given that she was under his roof, steps away, even more beautiful and voluptuous than when she’d left fourteen months ago.

Yes, he’d managed just fine until last night…until she showed up at the supper table in that gown.

Brandon ached anew at the recollection of sitting at the opposite end of the table from her with a nearly unfettered view of his wife’s breasts which threatened to escape her bodice at any moment.

Or so he’d caught himself hoping.

He’d never seen the amethyst gown on her before so he figured she’d purchased it while in Europe. Perhaps the style was different there, gowns cut lower than usual. Her creamy white skin had shone in the lamplight, glistening against the dark purple fabric of the gown. Her full, plump breasts undulated with each breath, each movement, mesmerizing him.

He’d nearly groaned aloud when she reached for the salt.

Jana had magnificent breasts. He remembered that
from their first three glorious months together. But somehow, they looked bigger now.

Or perhaps it was just that he hadn’t seen them in a while. Or touched them. Or—

A brisk knock sounded on his office door and Noah Carmichael stepped into the room. Brandon rolled his chair farther under his desk, and grumbled, “What do you want?”

Noah frowned. “Still no marital bliss, huh?”

“I know you have an office in this building, so why don’t you stay there?” Brandon asked, squaring off the stacks of papers and ledgers on his desk.

“I take it the answer to my question is no,” Noah said, settling into a chair in front of Brandon’s desk. He held out a piece of paper. “Several more people interested in the Jennings Building. You and I are going to make a fortune on this thing.”

Brandon snatched the paper from his hand and, after a cursory glance, slapped it down. “I don’t know why the hell it should be so difficult to have a wife.”

“No honeymoon,” Noah told him.

Brandon pressed his lips together to stifle a moan as another wave of wanting swelled in him.

“You should have taken Jana on a honeymoon,” Noah continued. “Just the two of you. Endless days of mindless lovemaking. Nothing to do but burrow beneath the covers and—”

“At the time, I had a very important business deal in the works,” Brandon blurted out. He drew in a breath,
trying to control himself. “I asked Jana to pick a different wedding day, but she insisted that particular date was important to her.”

“Too bad,” Noah said, then sighed wistfully. “Honeymoons are important—tiring, but important.”

“Yes, well, thank you so much for your brilliant insight,” Brandon grumbled, “but it’s a little late for that. Right now, I have to deal with the problem at hand.”

“Which is?”

“She’s redecorating the house. And she’s inviting guests for supper.”

“Damn her…”

Brandon threw him a sour look. “Everything in my life is in disarray.”

“That’s half the fun of having a wife,” Noah said.

Brandon shook his head. “Perhaps she needs more guidance.”

“Perhaps she needs a distraction.”

“Such as?” Brandon asked.

“Get her pregnant.”

Brandon groaned aloud and felt another wave of heat engulf him.

“Believe me, I know from where I speak,” Noah said, giving him a proud smile. “Beth’s expecting.”

“You’re—you’re going to be a father?” Brandon offered his hand across the desk, hoping Noah wouldn’t notice that he didn’t rise from his chair. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” Noah said, looking altogether pleased with himself. “Beth is consumed with the upcoming ar
rival. And, I admit, I’m rather excited about it too. So, keep that in mind when you get home this evening.”

“Thanks…” Brandon sank back in his chair as Noah left the office, closing the door behind him. He sat in the silence, only the noise from the street reaching his ears. The need to go to the window, to stare out, pulled at him, bringing with it recollections from long ago, memories that never left him alone.

So many windows in so many houses. Standing on furniture, peering out. Watching. Waiting. Hoping…

Brandon pushed himself out of the chair with such force that it banged into the wall behind him. If anyone needed a distraction right now, it was him. He shoved a few items into his satchel and left the office, barking to Mr. Perkins as he rushed past.

In the hallway he ignored the birdcage elevator and took the stairs to the ground floor. He hit the street and walked north, forcing himself to take in the surroundings. Perhaps something would strike his fancy—another business opportunity he hadn’t yet noticed in the city.

But other thoughts invaded his mind.

Fine thing, Noah had already gotten his wife pregnant and Brandon couldn’t even get his wife into bed. Maybe he could change that. It would certainly go a long way toward improving his life.

Yesterday morning after breakfast Jana had said they could discuss resuming their marital relations. There’d been no time for such a talk last night, with the house full of those silly women until all hours.

Brandon drew in a breath. It was high time they got on with the discussion.

“Mrs. Sayer!”

Jana paused amid the swirl of pedestrians on Broadway, turning toward the sound of her name. Dozens of faces passed around her, men in suits and work clothes, women in fashionable attire or trailing children in their wake. Her gaze bounced from one to another, then settled on the familiar face of Oliver Fisk, the
Messenger
’s soon-to-be unemployed newspaper editor.

“Mrs. Sayer, how good of you to stop,” Oliver said, touching the brim of his bowler.

They stepped into the shade cast by an office building as the sun dropped lower in the sky. Oliver wore the same jacket she’d seen him in before, but it looked freshly pressed, neat and clean, like Oliver himself.

“I’m pleased to see you again, Mr. Fisk,” she said.

“On the way to your husband’s office?”

An odd feeling crept over Jana. Brandon’s office was nearby?

“The Bradbury Building,” Oliver said, nodding up the street. “There, on the corner.”

She threw a glance in that direction. “Oh, yes, of course.”

“Possibly the finest office building in the city,” Oliver said. Then his cheeks flushed. “But you already know that.”

Actually, she didn’t. Jana stole another look up the
block. If Brandon had ever told her his office was located there, she’d forgotten it.

“May I have the honor of walking you there?” Oliver asked.

He thought it odd, Jana was sure, to find her on the street alone. Though Los Angeles was civilized enough, decent women most always had an escort of some sort.

“Thank you, Mr. Fisk, but I’m headed elsewhere,” she replied with a gracious smile. A smile that she hoped kept hidden the fact that she’d just come from the Morgan Hotel around the corner and another visit with her aunt. No one, not even Brandon, knew her aunt was in town. Brandon, apparently, assumed her aunt had gone to her own home in San Francisco while Jana had traveled to Los Angeles. It suited Jana’s purposes that her aunt was a homebody, content in the hotel’s suite, and no one—especially Brandon—knew she was in town.

“I was doing some shopping,” Jana explained, thinking she’d be better off changing the subject. “I’m headed home now.”

Oliver cast a quick glance around but saw no waiting coach or carriage, since none existed. If he thought it strange—and why wouldn’t he?—he said nothing.

“I’ve been reading the
Messenger
,” Jana said.

He gave her a brave smile. “Always glad to meet a reader, one of the dwindling few.”

“I understand you have another six weeks to turn things around,” Jana said.

His smile grew more brave. “I’m giving it everything I’ve got…although, I fear it’s a lost cause.”

“But with six weeks you can—”

“Mr. Sayer already has plans for the building.”

Jana remembered Brandon telling her that. “They’re tentative though, aren’t they?”

“In theory, yes. But in reality…” Oliver drew in a breath. “Your husband is already going forward with the Jennings project. He’s commissioned an architect to renovate the building, and is lining up new tenants.”

“But that hardly seems fair,” Jana said.

“I’m not giving up,” Oliver said, squaring his slim shoulders. “If I can make a significant increase in circulation and boost advertising, Mr. Sayer will have to keep the
Messenger
’s presses running.”

All that hardly seemed likely in six weeks. And even if Oliver achieved it, would Brandon abandon his Jennings project after he’d paid what surely was a large retainer to the architect? Backing out of the project would be expensive, to say nothing of the blow to Brandon’s reputation. Jana feared the newspaper, and Oliver Fisk’s career, were doomed.

But she put on a hopeful face for him. “I’m sending good thoughts your way, Mr. Fisk.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Sayer,” he replied, then drew himself up a bit. “My uncle was the original editor of the
Messenger
. A brilliant newspaperman. I only wish I’d
had time to learn more from him before his death. But I’m soldiering on. That newspaper is his legacy. I can’t let it go without a fight. I’m praying for a miracle.”

“Good for you,” Jana said, hoping she sounded encouraging when, in fact, she couldn’t share his optimism.

Oliver Fisk would need a miracle to save his beloved newspaper.

Just as Brandon had done, Jana had read the
Messenger
and the
Times
side by side. And the truth was, the
Messenger
was just plain boring. It covered the same stories as the
Times
—political and business news, world events, local happenings. But the coverage wasn’t as thorough, the stories not as well written. Nothing about the newspaper, to Jana’s mind, would beckon new readers or sustain loyal ones.

“Good day, Mrs. Sayer.” Oliver tipped his hat once more and left her standing on the sidewalk. She waited until he disappeared into the crowd, then went to the corner and waited for the trolley back to West Adams Boulevard.

When she arrived home, Charles met her in the vestibule and mumbled a greeting.

“Good evening, Charles, I—”

“You’re
late
.”

Jana turned at the sound of Brandon’s voice. He stood at the edge of the foyer, his shoulders rigid, his jaw tight.

“You’re late,” he said again. “You’re supposed to be home by six o’clock, and you’re late.”

Jana glanced at the clock that sat on the marble side table. Four minutes past the hour.

“You said you’d be home before six,” Brandon said. “You said you would. You promised. I’ve—I’ve been waiting.”

Her first thought was to point out the very few minutes and scoff at his concern—not to mention his silly request. But something in his tone, in his expression stopped her.

She read no anger in it. Nor was there concern for her safety, worry that something had befallen her, causing her lateness. Was it betrayal? Vulnerability?

A little of both, she realized.

Where fourteen months ago Jana might have gone crying to her room over his disapproval, now her heart softened and the desire to comfort him rose in her.

Jana went to him and gazed up at his tense expression. “It wasn’t my intention to upset you,” she said in her most soothing tone. She touched her palm to his cheek. “Let’s go into the sitting room and I’ll send for some tea.”

For an instant, Brandon leaned into her palm, then pulled away as if embarrassed that he’d made a fuss, or that he’d allowed her to see his hidden need.

It startled Jana and caused a new sort of ache to tighten around her heart. Brandon had always been this way, emotionally withdrawn, and she’d just now realized it. Courted by him, married to him, bound to him as only a man and woman can be, and she’d never noticed it before.

How little she knew of the man who was her husband.

“Let’s go have tea,” Jana said gently. “We have time.”

Brandon’s expression clouded. “You didn’t invite people for supper again, did you?”

For an instant, Jana was sorry that she had. Sorry that she’d upset him, sorry that his quiet evening would be interrupted.

But then she remembered all the lonely evenings she’d endured fourteen months ago—and all that awaited her if she stayed in this marriage.

“Yes, the Gentrys are coming,” Jana said.

Brandon cursed. “I hate those people. Bob Gentry is overbearing. That wife of his is self-absorbed, and they’re both opportunistic, ingratiating—”

“They’ll arrive at seven. I have to go change.” Jana started the staircase, then looked back. “I sent the landscape foreman to your office today to discuss the plans for the gardens, but he said you refused to see him.”

“I didn’t know he was there.” Brandon shrugged. “Mr. Perkins must have refused to let him in.”