Honor (33 page)

His expression grew bleak. “’Course I did. Even after the law caught the sidewinder who killed her.”

“What happened to him?”

“They tried him, found him guilty, and hanged him. Actually, they let me slap his horse’s rump, so you could say that I hanged him. Then I put the incident behind me and moved on.” He stroked her cheeks with his thumbs. “Did you ever tell anybody—your mother, your aunt—you felt this way?”

Honor shook her head. “My mother was so devastated by what had happened that I couldn’t bring myself to tell her I thought I could have prevented it. I feared she wouldn’t love me anymore.”

“Honor, that’s a terrible burden for anyone to bear alone. It must have torn you up inside.”

She told him about her recurring dream. Trying to describe her father going to the gallows made her stumble over the words. They came faster and faster, tumbling out of her as she described her own helpless terror and impotence, and the black chessmen scattered in the snow, mute reminders of her own culpability.

When she finished, uncontrollable sobs of acceptance and release shook her shoulders, and tears streamed down her face. The harder she cried, the lighter her omnipresent burden became.

“Let it go,” Nevada murmured, taking her in his arms and holding her until she had no more tears to shed. “Just let it go.”

She envisioned the prison yard. The gallows was gone. Her father smiled at her before his image faded, then vanished.

It’s not my fault, she thought. I’m really not to blame for my father’s death.

Dream snow melted in a blaze of warm, healing sunlight. The chess pieces disappeared. The walls of the prison crumbled, and when Honor opened her eyes, she was standing on the riverbank, held safe in Nevada’s arms.

They separated. She gave him a shaky, wondrous smile. “I feel as though the weight of the world has been lifted from my shoulders. Strange. I hadn’t felt like telling anyone—until now.”

His brows rose in surprise. “Not even your husband?”

“Especially Robert.” Honor stared out across the river to the steeply sloping opposite bank. “I think I feared he would dismiss it as trivial.”

Nevada gave her a curious look. “Then why tell me?”

Her gaze fell to his cravat. “I don’t really know. I must trust you.”

His lips brushed her forehead in silent thanks.

A wry smile touched her mouth. “It’s ironic. I remember facing you in these very woods the first time I came to Coppermine and brazenly insisting that I didn’t trust you.”

“You had your reasons.”

“Foolish ones. All of them.”

His expression turned serious. He took her face in his hands, holding her fast so she couldn’t evade him. “That day in the woods I told you that I’d broken laws, done things I’m not proud of. Are you telling me that you don’t hold that part of my past against me?”

“I can’t,” she replied. “You’re not the same man you were then.”

He looked skeptical, but released her and searched through his pockets. “I’ve got something for you.”

“For me?”

He took her hand, turned it palm up, and placed a small envelope there.

When Honor opened the packet and saw what was inside, she smiled. “Nevada LaRouche…a chain for my locket.” Her first gift from her lover, a gift from the heart. She dangled it from her fingers so the thick, sturdy gold links gleamed in the sun. “It’s beautiful.”

He smiled. “This chain won’t break like the others.”

Honor kissed him too quickly to be aroused. “Strong and solid. Just like you.” She opened her cape, removed the locket, and replaced its cord with the chain.

“Allow me,” he said. He took the locket and slipped it over her head.

She gave it an experimental tug. “It should withstand any abuse.”

He slid his arms around her waist and pulled her against him so he could kiss her.

Honor wrapped her arms around his neck and molded her body against his, trying to feel him through her thick woolen cape, her shirtwaist, her damned confining corset. In the cold morning air his mouth burned hers. Desire shrieked through her blood.

Honor pulled away, breathless. “Shall we go back to the house?”

A teasing smile warmed his eyes. “I thought you wanted to go for a walk.”

“It’s too cold.”

“Then let’s go inside where it’s warmer.”

A week after returning from Coppermine, Honor stopped at Nevada’s office on her way to court. She had something important to ask him, and she didn’t know how he would react to her request.

Kept waiting by Miss Fields, who said that Mr. LaRouche was in a meeting, Honor tried to remain nonchalant, but her thoughts kept turning to Nevada behind that thick oak door. What would he say when she asked him?

She stirred. What was taking him so long?

Fifteen minutes later his office door finally opened and several men filed out, each glancing at her. When the last man closed the door behind him, Miss Fields rose from behind her typewriter and went into Nevada’s office to announce Honor.

“Send Mrs. Davis in,” Honor heard him say through the open door, “and don’t disturb me for any reason.”

“Mr. LaRouche will see you now,” Miss Fields said.

Honor rose and went inside. She barely had time to close the door before Nevada grabbed her, bent her head back, and plundered her mouth with ruthless abandon.

Laughing, she pushed him away. “Please. I’m due in court. What will the judge and jury think if I arrive looking as though I’ve just come from your bed?”

He glanced at his desk, his eyes gleaming wickedly, his intention plain.

Honor recoiled in panic. “You wouldn’t!”

“Don’t tempt me.” He kissed her again. “Will you come to the house tonight? Or shall I come to your apartment?”

She sighed regretfully. “I have too much work to do tonight. And you’re so distracting.”

He stroked his mustache and sighed. “How about tomorrow night?”

“I’ll make sure I’m free.” She tugged on her locket with its sturdy new chain. “I’ll be going to Boston to spend Thanksgiving with my aunt. She has invited you also.”

He looked at her, plainly surprised. “You want me to meet your aunt?”

She nodded and held her breath.

“Why would she want to meet me?”

“She’s dying of curiosity about the man who has been so kind to me,” she replied. The man who saved her life after the beating. The man who offered a strong shoulder after Robert deserted her.

“It’s an important occasion when a woman takes a man to meet her family,” he said softly. “Means she has strong feelings for him.”

Honor’s heart raced at the look in his eyes. Suddenly overcome with doubt, she stepped back and turned away so she would have time to compose herself if he refused. “If you don’t want to go, I’ll understand.”

Nevada placed his hands on her shoulders and whispered in her ear, “That would depend on exactly how strong your feelings are.”

Honor smiled. “Very, very strong.” Regaining her confidence, she turned to face him with a defiant toss of her head. “I wouldn’t be sharing your bed if they weren’t, now, would I?”

“No, ma’am.” A devilish twinkle danced in his eyes. “Will your aunt put us in separate bedrooms?”

“Of course. She may be unconventional, but she wouldn’t want to shock the servants. Once everyone is asleep, you could”—she ran one fingertip across his lower lip—“visit me.”

He grasped her hands and brought them to his lips. “How can I resist such an invitation?” When he released her, he said, “Did you think I’d refuse?”

“For a minute or two,” she admitted. “I can see it was foolish of me to doubt you. You’ve never disappointed me.”

“And I never will.”

She kissed him on the cheek and stepped back. “I really have to get to the courthouse before the judge finds me in contempt.”

She bade him good-bye and left.

Once alone in his office, Nevada sat at his desk and stared at the closed door. He could still smell the faintest trace of her rose scent clinging to his collar. Still feel her, soft and warm in his arms.

He realized the significance of her invitation only too well, and it pleased him mightily. But why had she thought he would refuse to accompany her? Was she still so uncertain of him?

He was determined to find out.

Chapter Seventeen

The tall, narrow house in Boston reminded Nevada of New York’s brownstones. Like the rest of this cradle of American civilization, it radiated an air of unostentatious dignity and gentility.

Old money, he thought. Money so old it’s grown whiskers.

A light, leisurely snow had been falling since they arrived at the train station in Delancy’s private railway car, and now it dusted the steep steps. Standing there with Honor on his arm, Nevada shivered, but not from the cold. He rarely cared what other people thought of him, but he desperately wanted the approval of Honor’s aunt.

“Nervous?” Honor whispered, squeezing his arm. Snowflakes clung to her black fur collar, and several melted on her lower lip.

He cleared his throat. “Why should I be nervous? I’m only going into your home to meet the woman who took you in.” Suddenly he felt like a Clovis, gauche and bumbling, with hay sticking to his shoes.

Honor’s eyes gleamed with amusement. “Are you telling me that the brave Nevada LaRouche, who has stared death in the face more times than he can count, is afraid to meet a harmless woman?”

“If she’s anything like you, she’s not harmless.”

She kissed his cheek. “Oh, stop fretting, Clovis. She’s not an ogre. She’ll love you.” Honor pulled at his arm, guiding him inexorably to his doom.

He assisted her up the steps, steadying her so she wouldn’t slip on the slick snow. When they reached the top, before he had a chance to ring the bell, the front door swung open to reveal not the butler, but a regal, beautiful woman who looked too young to sport that upswept coif of shocking white hair.

“Sweet Portia!” the woman shrieked with delight, opening her arms wide, unmindful that the November air swirling about them was too cold for her light silk tea gown.

“Aunt Theo!” Honor flung herself into her aunt’s arms for a lingering hug while Nevada stood watching them in silence and wondering why Honor’s aunt called her Portia.

When they parted, Theodate Tree regarded him with a mixture of curiosity and interest. “And you must be Nevada.”

At least she hadn’t called him Mr. LaRouche, surely a good sign. He tipped his tall silk hat. “Yes, ma’am.”

She smiled warmly. “I’m Honor’s aunt Theo.” She took his hand in both of hers and pulled him through the doorway. “Come inside before you catch your death.”

The foyer was perhaps one-quarter the size of the one in Delancy’s mansion and lacked a marble floor, but its elegant simplicity made Nevada feel welcome. He especially admired the bowl filled with branches heavy with small, bright orange berries.

“Did you have a good trip?” Theo asked as Honor unbuttoned her coat.

Honor gave Nevada a mischievous look. “We came by train in Nevada’s private railway car.”

“Delancy’s private railway car,” he corrected her.

Now the butler made his appearance to exchange warm greetings with Honor and take their coats.

Theo said, “Let’s go into the parlor, shall we?”

Once upstairs, Honor looked around the parlor at all the new paintings Theo had acquired and said, “You certainly have been busy in my absence, Aunt Theo. You have so many paintings one can hardly see the wallpaper.”

“My friends tell me that if I keep on going the way I am, I’ll have enough paintings to open my own museum.”

Honor gave all the paintings a cursory glance, but stopped at the one hanging over the fireplace. “What a lovely painting!”

Theo’s eyes sparkled with pleasure. “I just received it two weeks ago.”

Nevada stepped forward to admire the portrait of Theodate Tree. “It’s by John Singer Sargent, isn’t it?”

Two pair of eyes regarded him with unabashed astonishment.

Theo recovered first. “Honor didn’t tell me you were knowledgeable about art.”

“I don’t know a thing about art,” he replied with a self-deprecating smile. “I’ve seen other portraits by Sargent, and I’ve always liked the way he captures a woman’s spirit as well as her likeness, that’s all.”

Theo beamed. “That is exactly why I adore him myself.”

“As you can see,” Honor said, “art is Aunt Theo’s passion. Don’t encourage her, or she’ll go on for hours and show you every painting she’s ever collected.”

Theo gave an indignant sniff. “I resent your implication that I bore my guests with my passion.” She paused, studied Nevada for another agonizing second, then nodded. “Nevada, would you like a beer?”

She caught him by surprise, but he recovered quickly. “Bourbon, if you have any.”

“Indeed I do,” Theo said, going over to the bellpull to summon the butler. “My late husband was a bourbon man. Honor, I suppose you want tea?”