Delilah's Flame (22 page)

He did have a few doubts left. He still didn’t know how Lilah could change the color of her hair. But he put nothing past Delilah. If she and Lilah Damon were the same woman, plenty of explanations were due. And no shrinking-virgin act would get Lilah out of his grip this time.

He knew one way to make certain, provided he couldn’t get a confession out of her. Below her left breast, Delilah had a small mole, one exotically dark spot on the whitest of flesh. If Lilah Damon had the same mark, it would remove his last uncertainty. The problem was, he would have to undress her to find out. If Lilah didn’t have the mark, he would have compromised a lady. The irony was, he didn’t know if he preferred finding it there or not.

*     *     *

Two days of worry, and now this. Lilah paced the floor of the drawing room. Angrily she crushed the torn envelope bearing the lion crest of the Fontaine Hotel into a ball and tossed it into the fireplace.

Tabor Stanton’s invitation, quite clearly for her alone, was for a small dinner party in his suite. She couldn’t imagine how he could afford the Fontaine or whom he knew in San Francisco to invite to a dinner party. By his own admission he had no friends in the city. She supposed he had been there long enough to make new ones. Surely they weren’t persons of her acquaintance. That was some consolation.

What had he been doing the past two days? He hadn’t made any accusations since seeing the horse. Why? The man wasn’t a complete fool. Maybe he had accepted that the animal was lost to him. After all, she had proof of ownership. He had signed the stallion over to her. On the other hand, she couldn’t be sure of Tabor. Maybe he was waiting for her to make the first move. He might simply want her to pay him for the horse—or return it.

Did she dare refuse the invitation? His note asked that a response be sent by evening. Whatever was she to do?

“I swear, miss, I’ve never known you to fret about your age.” Bess untied the linen strips that had Lilah’s hair set in sausage curls. “You hardly look as old as Dinah with those ringlets.”

“They’re just the way I want them, Bess.” Lilah turned to get a view of both sides and the back of her head in the dressing table’s triple mirror. “Pull them back and tie the ribbon in.”

Bess did as asked, tying up the little-girl curls with a blue satin ribbon. When done, she stood back and shook her head in dismay. What had gotten into her mistress?

“Bring the white watered silk, Bess,” Lilah said, touching just a hint of lemon scent to her wrists and throat.

“Are you sure, miss?” Bess believed those fainting spells had set her mistress back a little. She wondered if she should tell Mrs. Dearborn how strangely her niece was acting. An infantile hairstyle, and now a dress that had been out of style last year. It wasn’t like Miss Damon to wear anything that wasn’t the latest in fashion.

“I’m sure, Bess,” Lilah said, giving the maid a reassuring smile. “And no, I haven’t lost my senses. I’m having dinner with people who aren’t...Well, I wouldn’t want to make anyone feel uncomfortable.”

Relieved, Bess smiled. That explained it. The mistress didn’t want to make others feel she was above them by dressing too stylishly.

Lilah smiled too, seeing the concern leave Bess’s face. The lie about her choice of dress came so easily she wasn’t even aware she had told it.

Bess hooked the last of the buttons on the bodice and adjusted the folds of the bustle, then hooked a string of pearls around Lilah’s neck. The gown had long sleeves cuffed with ivory lace and a square but modest neckline. It did absolutely nothing to flatter Miss Damon. Bess said she looked more appropriately dressed for a morning in church than for dinner at the Fontaine. But since a look of innocence was her goal, Lilah was satisfied.

The night was too warm for more than a light shawl. Lilah called for a white one and as an afterthought draped it over her head. She took a final look in the mirror as she pulled on her gloves. Just a trace of a smile curved her lips. With the addition of a rosary, she might be mistaken for a nun.

*     *     *

“Lilah, welcome.” Tabor opened the door of his suite and showed her in. He contained a laugh. Not that she wasn’t as beautiful as ever. It was just that he had entertained a thought that the fiery-haired Delilah might be the one to accept his invitation. He was somewhat unprepared for the maidenly white gown and the virtuous expression an angel would envy. “Let me take your shawl,” he said politely.

While he put the shawl away, Lilah’s eyes roamed the room. Seeing a small table covered with a lace cloth set for four eased her skepticism somewhat. She didn’t completely trust Tabor, and the invitation for dinner in his hotel suite could easily have been a ruse to get her alone. But it did look as if he expected two more guests.

Had she missed them? Perhaps they had stepped into another room of the suite. She looked around again. This time her eyes took in every detail. The room had a warm red-on-red wallpaper, gold-and-red carpet, and black Italianate chairs at the table. Red velvet curtains, layered over lace, accented the tall windows. The same deep red was to be found in the upholstery of the settee and armchairs. It was a beautiful room, as were those she could see through the open doorways. What they lacked were people—other than Tabor and herself. She saw no sign of anyone, no other wrap on the rack.

“Your other guests appear to be late,” she said, skepticism returning.

Tabor grinned. “I’m sure they will be here any minute.” He ushered her to the settee but to her relief did not sit down beside her. “Perhaps you would like a glass of sherry while we wait?” He lifted a bottle and started to pour.

“I never drink it,” Lilah responded.

“Perhaps you prefer brandy.” A smile flashed on his lips.

“No, thank you. I don’t partake of spirits in any form.”

“How admirable.” Tabor’s eyes twinkled as he poured a glass of sherry for himself. “You won’t mind if I have a drink? I find a glass of sherry before dinner stimulates the palate.”

“I have no objection,” Lilah said, sitting stiffly erect.

“I do appreciate your tolerance.” Tabor seated himself on the armchair nearest her and sat staring and smiling. As the seconds grew into minutes, Lilah became more and more edgy and more and more suspicious.

“Mr. Stanton,” she said when at last she could not separate the beat of her heart from the tick of the mantel clock, “you
are
expecting other guests?”

Tabor’s smile widened at the use of his surname. Her patience had lasted a little longer than he had expected. “Why, Lilah,” he said, pretending offense, “you don’t think I would lure a lady here under false pretenses?”

Lilah steamed beneath the surface. She thought exactly that, but she didn’t dare say so until she was sure no one else was coming. She didn’t want to anger him without good reason. Too much was at stake.

Hands folded in her lap and feet crossed at the ankles, Lilah gave him a prim look. “It seems odd that they have not yet arrived.”

“It does at that,” he agreed, looking crestfallen.

Another stretch of silence ensued, Lilah finding the passage of it intolerable. When it was clear Tabor would not break the uneasiness, her brows lifted suspiciously and she presented another question.

“Just who are your other dinner guests?”

Tabor finished his sherry before answering. “Two ladies I’m sure you’ll have much in common with. Miss—”

“Ladies?” Lilah sputtered. “What ladies?”

“Are you sure you wouldn’t like a glass of sherry? It’s very calming and you seem a trifle nervous.”

“I told you I didn’t care for any,” Lilah said slowly, attempting to remain civil but losing the fight. The very idea of inviting her to a private dinner party with two of his lady friends. She wouldn’t be surprised if they were residents of a bordello. A rosy flush bloomed on her throat. Flinty sparks gleamed in her eyes. “What ladies, Mr. Stanton?”

Tabor gave her an indulgent look. He would almost be willing to let the stallion go to know what was running through her mind right now. A bemused smile ruffled his lips. “Lilah.” He spoke her name softly. “We do know each other better than that. Call me Tabor. Please.”

Lilah slid to the edge of the settee, ready to spring to her feet if need be. Her anger at the insult overswept the reason she had accepted his dinner invitation to begin with. How malicious of him to refer to that dreadful episode in the conservatory. What a scoundrel he was! Did he actually think she would sit down to dinner with two lowly trollops?

Her voice crackled. “What ladies, Tabor?”

“Didn’t I say?” he asked smoothly.

“You know you didn’t.”

“Why, Lilah,” Tabor said, cocking his head to one side to study her expression. “I believe you’re angry.” He smiled as he might at a disagreeable child. “I think I understand. You expected to be my dinner partner. Well, you need not be jealous, you’ll have no competition for my attention.”

Seething, Lilah rose. “You are despicable, Tabor Stanton. I don’t know what this is about, but I won’t stay here and be insulted. You may tell your ladi—”

“Excuse me,” Tabor interrupted, and left her standing mouth open as he crossed the room to answer a knock at the door.

Lilah was relieved to see the person seeking entry was only a bellman delivering the dinner. She quickly turned her face away, deciding it was better if the young man could not identify her. She heard Tabor tell him they would serve themselves. The door clicked shut and Lilah whirled, ready to leave. She gasped softly as she saw Tabor standing guardlike in front of the door.

Lilah marched to the brass coat rack and whipped her shawl from the hook. Tossing it over her shoulders, she marched defiantly toward Tabor. Giving him a look of outrage, she wagged a finger at him.

“I don’t believe you actually invited anyone else, Mr. Stanton.”

“Tabor, please,” he reminded as he gently plucked the shawl from her shoulders and folded it over his arm. “I assure you I did.” Lilah stepped back. His cold smile terrified her. “Another young woman of impeccable background, like yourself,” he continued. “And a performer you may have heard about.” Tabor took Lilah’s arm and led her to the table, helping her to be seated.

The tiny hairs on the back of her neck stood up in dread. “Who is that?” she asked weakly.

“A charming woman.” Tabor paused until he had also seated himself. Dark amusement filled his eyes. “I’ve actually met Delilah. I do confess I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting Miss Alden.”

Looking every bit the damsel in distress, Lilah trembled under Tabor’s harsh stare, teetering on the verge of hysteria. The shadow of panic crossed swiftly over her face, but was chased away by her rising anger. Tabor had set a trap worthy of Delilah. If she could have found any kind words for him she might have commended his tactics. But her mind quickly sped to those she wished to protect: Dinah, Loo, Papa. As much as she wanted to storm out of the room, she had to stay.

“What is it you want, Tabor?” Her voice took on a trace of huskiness, her movements a languid grace.

“That’s amazing,” he said, noting the change in her. “A slant of the eye, a curl of the lips, a slight change in the voice, and Lilah Damon is gone. I wonder what Miss Alden is like.”

Her eyes flashed and she threw her head back proudly. “Miss Alden is merely a name on a hotel registration, a convenience for making a transition. You know that, of course.”

“I assumed it,” he corrected. “You are remarkably good at what you do, Lilah...Delilah.” He laughed. “I don’t know which one of you I’m talking to.”

“We are one and the same.”

“I’m still not certain of that,” he said, reminded he had done himself out of the more intimate confirmation. “If it hadn’t been for seeing the horse, I would never have known.”

“About the horse...” she said.

“My horse.”

She sighed. “Your horse. I suppose you want him back or to be paid what he’s worth.” Tabor didn’t respond so she went on. “You’ve seen how Papa feels about the stallion. If it’s all the same to you, I prefer to buy him.”

He let her wait because she did it so poorly. “It isn’t,” he said.

Nibbling at her lip, Lilah realized she had to try to change his mind. The thought of taking the stallion from Papa was painful.

She spoke softly. “I’ll make it worth your while. I’ll pay you twice what he’s worth. I’m sorry about having you jailed. That was a mistake.”

Tabor continued to stare, fascinated by the shifts of personality he observed. Delilah demanding. Lilah pleading. Which woman was actually here? Which one was real?

“You can keep the horse.”

“Keep him?”

The amazement in Lilah’s voice, the girlish smile almost undid Tabor. But he couldn’t quite give himself up to it.

His voice hardened. “You can keep him provided you live up to the terms of our bet: you as my love slave for a week. That’s more than fair, considering I could keep the horse and collect on your debt too.”

She tensed, feeling her blood run cold. “You can’t mean what you’re saying.”

“I can. I do. Either make good on Delilah’s bet or give me back the horse. I’ll explain to your father myself.”

“No!”

Tabor grinned sardonically. “I was right, wasn’t I? Clement knows nothing about his daughter being Delilah, Flame of the West.”

“You must not tell him,” she said, panic lifting her voice. “Papa has a weak heart. The shock might bring on an attack. It might kill him.”

Tabor shook his head. “I won’t tell him.” He paused until she relaxed a bit in her chair. “Not unless you refuse to honor the bet.”

Lilah paled and looked helpless as a lost lamb. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”

He shrugged away a pang of guilt, recalling her skill as an actress, finding it difficult even then to remember that the deceitful Delilah lurked behind that guileless face.

“I’m asking that you honor a bet made in good faith. If anybody has a reason to be upset about this, it’s me. To begin with, you cheated in the card game. After that I had a knot on my head for a week. I spent that week and another in Walsh Peregrine’s jail. I lost my horse. And if that wasn’t enough, I got duped again just trying to do the honorable thing by a woman. You owe me that week, Delilah.”