Secrets (28 page)

“Slade…”

He rained kisses on her throat, panting, his hands moving down her body. “Regina?”

“I do,” she moaned. “God, I do. I love you, Slade.”

T
he next few days passed quickly in a haze of happiness. Regina had not exactly intended to move in with Slade by organizing his home and staff, yet that was precisely what happened. After a fabulous supper, proving that Monsieur Bertrand was worth every penny, she again found herself in Slade's arms and in his bed. When she fell asleep after several impassioned hours, he did not awaken her to send her home. She was surprised to wake up that next morning with him—but more than a little pleased.

She expected Slade to remark upon their reconciliation. He did not. Perhaps, because they were married, there was no point in bringing up the unhappy past. He was the one who had refused her request for a divorce, after all. Perhaps he was afraid of where too blunt a discussion might lead. Regina was. She was on tenterhooks. But she did know one thing. She did not want to return to her uncle's—she belonged in Slade's home, she belonged at Slade's side. She did not even want to leave his home in order to retrieve her belongings. The situation was too delicate. Slade saved her from having to do so. Over breakfast—in bed—he casually suggested he send a servant to fetch her things. Enthusiastically Regina agreed. It seemed as if they had reached an
understanding to carry on with their marriage after all. Yet somehow the unspoken pact seemed tentative and tenuous.

During the next few days Slade did not treat her as a wife, but as a bride. He gave himself a holiday from his work in order to squire her about the city. It was a honeymoon which Regina would never forget. He took her to Little Italy and introduced her to pasta, which she now craved. On the Embarcadero they dined at Maye's Oyster House on fresh seafood and raw oysters, washed down with iced beer. The Castle-Observatory on Telegraph Hill was not to be missed. They attended a show at Lucky Baldwin's Academy of Music, which they so enjoyed they returned for a second performance.

They took the Marin ferry to Sausalito and cycled on Siamese-twin bicycles along the shore. They went horseback riding in Golden Gate Park and boating on Stow Lake. One afternoon they even went to the Sutro baths. Regina had never seen anything like it. There were six kinds of bathing—salt, fresh, warm, cold, deep, and shallow—and the museum there was filled with charming curios and contests for people of all ages. Slade talked her into trying the slide, which was one of the most thrilling experiences of her life.

And during it all was their passion. It had not faded one whit. Slade was a merciless man. He did not like being confined to their bedroom and he admitted it candidly. Regina tried not to remember making love in their carriage, not once but on two separate occasions, and she tried not to remember his hot kisses behind the slide at the Sutro baths. He had made love to her on Ocean Beach, too, in a hurried but thoroughly satisfactory manner, and they had just escaped discovery. And he had taken her in the ruins of an old mission just south of the city.

Thinking about him made her breathless. Thinking about him made her wish that he was home today and not at the office. She blushed scarlet with another vivid recollection. Yesterday Slade had insisted that they stop at his office to pick up a contract, one he wanted to
read that evening. Yet once in his office he had not even bothered to look for the papers. Instead, his smile promising, he had pushed her on top of his desk, sending files and folders flying to the floor. He had lifted her skirts, kissing away her protests, and made love to her on top of his paperwork. Regina fervently hoped that no one had any idea just what had been going on in his office that day. She suspected that Slade's assault had been well-planned; that he had never intended to retrieve a contract at all.

He was impossible. How she loved him. If only she could be sure that he loved her, too.

And she was not sure. His passion for her was boundless, so Regina could not help thinking that he must be fond of her as well. Yet men had mistresses all the time, mistresses they dismissed in the blink of an eye. Regina could not understand it, but it was evidence that a man did not need love to feel passion. She wished that Slade would tell her, just once, of the feelings he had for her. But he did not.

And to compound her worry was the fact that, despite the excessive physical intimacy they shared, there was little emotional intimacy outside of the bedroom. Slade was not giving all of himself to her. She was certain that he kept some sort of guard up around her, that he was careful to restrain his feelings, that he did not want to become too involved with her, his own wife. Slade had gotten a declaration of love from her, but Regina was beginning to fear that she would never get such a declaration from him.

She told herself that it was unimportant and that she could live without it, as long as she had him. But she could not stop herself from yearning for more.

When Slade returned that night after his first day at work since they had reconciled so subtly, Regina greeted him at the door herself. She was all smiles. Seeing her, he smiled just as widely.

She took his briefcase and his arm, pulling him into the foyer. “Hello! How was your day?” She leaned close, dropping the briefcase.

Slade took her shoulders in his hands. “Is this the greeting I'm going to get every day when I come home?”

“Yes,” she whispered, her palms sliding along his strong neck.

“I guess there's something to be said for marriage,” he joked, kissing her. Regina clung to him. It felt as if days had passed, not hours, since she had last seen him.

When the long, scandalous kiss had ended—after all, servants were about—Regina pulled Slade into the salon. “I have something to show you!”

“I'll bet,” he said wickedly.

She gave him a look, then pointed at the couch.

He went still, his smile fading. He eyed the couch, which was covered with different swatches of fabric. “What's that?”

“Samples,” she said happily. “I'll do your suite first. In our new home on Franklin Street. What do you think?” She rushed to the couch and held up a swatch of moss-green velvet. “For a soft, comfortable reading chair? And this—for your sofa? And of course, I know how you like burgundy, so I thought maybe you'd like this for the bed.” She waved a paisley print and regarded him eagerly.

Slade said nothing.

Regina put down the fabrics, her own smile vanishing. “You hate it? All of it?”

“No, I don't hate it.”

“I don't understand.”

His jaw flexed. “We're not going to move into the Henessy place.”

She was stunned. “But why not?”

He said tightly, “Because I can't afford it.”

Regina stared. Finally she shook the cobwebs free from her brain. “Of course you can! We have my inheritance, remember? Father will be here any day now, and he'll transfer the funds to your bank and—”

“No.”

She blinked. “Excuse me?”

“I said no.”

“I don't understand, Slade.” Not liking his hard, closed expression, she sat down on several of the samples. She began to tremble.

“I'm not going to take your inheritance.”

“
What?
”

He paced across the room to pour himself a drink. “I don't want to take your money.”

It sank in. A thrill swept through her. He did not want her money, not now, when he had married her for her money in the first place. “Why not?” she whispered.

He glanced at her. “I have pride. I don't want to use my wife or her money.”

“Oh, Slade.” She stood, wringing her hands. It couldn't be all pride. He cared for her.

Regarding her darkly over his glass, he sipped his bourbon.

In the next instant, the enormity of what he was doing—the ramifications—struck her hard. “But—Miramar? You need the money to save Miramar!”

“I've borrowed some funds from Charles.”

Regina sat back down, trying to think. “So Miramar is safe?”

“It won't be easy.” He stared at her. His tone seemed to hold a warning. “The next five years will be tight. We'll have to live simply, frugally. But by then I hope to start showing a decent profit.”

“I see.” Regina gazed at him. “Isn't it silly to live like that when we have all the money we could ever need—”

“No. I said I'm not taking your money and I mean it.”

Her temper flared. “This is ridiculous! And what about the Henessy place?”

“We'll close it up. Maybe I'll sell it. I'm thinking about it. If I don't, in five or ten years we'll be able to open it and use it for vacations and weekends. Until then, if you want, I can keep this house for you to use when you come to the city.”

“Slade.” She stood. “This is ridiculous. We have a fabulous home and I'm not going to allow you to sell it!”

He faced her. “You're not going to
allow
me to sell it?”

She knew she should back down, but she would not. “No.”

He stared, not responding, anger hardening his expression.

She was trembling, she did not feel brave, but she forged on. “And to close it up for ten years! Please reconsider. You knew I was an heiress when you married me—you married me because of it! Why should we struggle and live like paupers if we don't have to? It's ridiculous!”

“That's the third time you've said I'm ridiculous.” His tone was dire.

“No! That's not what I—”

He cut her off. “We're not going to live like paupers, Regina. At least, not by my standards. But maybe by
your
standards we
will
be in poverty. Do you want to leave me?”

The last question was out of context. He said it so simply and swiftly he took her by surprise. “No! Of course not!”

“Then it's settled,” he said, setting his glass down unnecessarily hard. He turned and strode from the room.

Regina sank onto the couch. For a moment she was still, her lips quivering. Then she picked up one of the samples, the moss-green velvet, and hugged it to her breast. A tear wet it.

Slade had said the issue was settled, but as far as she was concerned, nothing was settled. To the contrary, she had the terrible feeling that he had just opened Pandora's box.

 

Xandria was impressed.

A butler had shown her into the parlor and within moments, a maid had brought her a tray of tea and cakes. She looked around at the room, smiling. The monstrous couch had been replaced, the organized clutter, which was so unlike Slade, had vanished, and a
new Oriental rug was underfoot. The few changes had brightened and cheered up the room considerably. She was so glad that Regina had returned to Slade last week, and her abilities as a decorator were not why.

They hadn't advertised their reconciliation, though. Xandria had not seen Slade since the dinner party she had given for the newlyweds. She would not have known their estrangement had ended had Edward not told her—at a rather startling time. She smiled in recollection of the moment he had chosen, when she was shuddering in his embrace, her shirtwaist undone, her corset pushed down, her skirts about her waist—in her office, for God's sake. With her clerk right outside the unlocked door, in the middle of the workday. Edward seemed to thrive on danger as well as love. Not that Xandria minded.

And then the devil himself walked into the room.

Xandria sloshed the tea she was pouring over the rim of her porcelain teacup. Her body also remembered him, too well, instantly. “What a surprise, Mr. Delanza.”

He grinned. “Good morning, Mrs. Kingsly.”

They shared a look. Xandria knew he was recalling the fact that the sun had awakened them both in one of the Mann Grande's hotel rooms, and that before she had slipped out, unseen, he had brought her to a wild, keening orgasm. For the sake of convenience, Edward had chosen to take up residence there, instead of with his brother. It made every rendezvous so much easier. Xandria would never bring a man home to her own apartments, even though her staff would undoubtedly be discreet.

“You are looking rather sleepy today, Mr. Delanza. Have you passed a difficult night?” she asked innocently.

“Very difficult, madam. You see, I was pressed hard to entertain a certain friend of mine, one who showed no respect for the time—indeed, one who seemed intent upon the particular entertainment I offered, too intent to care about my need for sleep.”

“Perhaps you need a different friend, Mr. Delanza.”

His mouth quirked. His eyes moved over her warmly, stripping her naked. “I do not think so, madam. This particular friend knows how to entertain as well as how to be entertained. In fact, even now I look forward to our next meeting.”

By now, she knew exactly what that meeting would be like, but not when it would be. Fire licked her thighs. His words were enough to inflame her. She really was a shameless hussy, but Edward was a shameless rake. They were well-suited. Then she saw the gleam in his eye.

“Don't you dare!” She held up a hand as if to ward him off.

Ignoring her, he approached. “Why not?”

She tried to push him away. “Regina will be here in an instant.”

Grinning like a very naughty boy, he continued to ignore her, pulling her into his arms and kissing her deeply. When he had finished with her, she was breathless and ready for him. “You are a bastard, Edward,” she said without rancor.

“And you are my kind of woman,” he returned warmly.

They both heard the approaching footsteps. Edward distanced himself from her, another grin lighting up his face. “You look very pleased with yourself,” Xandria said, somewhat scoldingly. A glance in the mirror showed her that she was flushed; several wisps of her hair had escaped its coil and were curling around her face.

“I am,” Edward said. “But I am also pleased with you.”

It was impossible not to be thrilled. Fortunately she was an experienced woman, or this unrepentant charmer would have her falling head over heels in love with him. She felt sorry for any young woman foolish and naive enough to cross his path.