Susan Johnson (36 page)

Asking the operator for Mrs. Braddock-Black was an unnerving experience; he’d avoided thinking of her in those terms.

When the butler answered the phone, he was starkly reminded of the reality of his marriage. “The Braddock-Blacks’,” he intoned. “May I help you?”

Trey couldn’t bring himself to use the formal address, calling her Mrs. Braddock-Black. He asked for Valerie, and when the butler haughtily asked who was calling, it galled him to give his name.

He was put through immediately with sycophantic acknowledgment.
Why not?
Trey thought.
I’m paying his fucking salary.

“Good evening, darling.” Valerie’s voice was replete with sweetness, and if he hadn’t needed the piece of information he’d called for, he’d have hung up on the cloying treacle.

Without preamble he curtly inquired, “When is your child due?”

“Why, darling, how like you to have forgotten. But unless we want everyone in town to know,” she said pointedly, aware that the operators at the central exchange knew everyone’s business, “we shouldn’t discuss this over the phone.”

“Hell,” he said softly, debating for a brief moment whether it mattered. But anything to do with this forced marriage was best kept in the family. He wanted no impediments to his divorce. “Right,” was all he said, and hung up the receiver.

He swiftly walked the two blocks to Valerie’s new home, a pink sandstone mansion in the same fashionable hill area, his wedding gift to her, she’d archly said when she’d selected it and asked for a check to pay for it.

The possibility she’d be entertaining hadn’t occurred to him, with his mind almost exclusively occupied with thoughts of Empress. He should have known better. Valerie was the ultimate social butterfly, and now, with a house of her own and a generous allowance, she’d hardly become a recluse.

Refusing to be announced, he told the butler he wanted to see Valerie in the study. He paced while he waited—paced and watched the clock. Poured himself a whiskey, paced some more, and watched the clock. The bitch was true to form. She knew he wanted his information; she also knew he wasn’t about to join her party.

Three drinks later the double doors opened, and she stood posed in the brilliant light from the hall chandelier. Her gown was cloth of gold, the fabric shimmered iridescently, diamonds sparkled in her ears, and he thought for a bitter moment that it was a shame all that beauty clothed such corruption. “How sweet of you to stop by, Trey,” she cooed mendaciously.

“No sweetness is intended, Valerie.” His face was set and still. “I came for the date.”

Stepping into the room, she pushed the doors shut and, standing in the frame of gilded wood, ignored his statements
and said, “I understand the woman and her family you’ve been
hosting
”—she languidly slurred over the word—“have left on the train for the East Coast. Did she tire of the mountain winter—or perhaps the isolation of the ranch?”

There was a short silence.

“You’re a grade-A bitch, Valerie,” Trey replied curtly, certain now that Valerie did have people watching him and the ranch. Although gossip traveled fast in a city this size, news of Empress’s departure would not have reached her so precipitously.

“You always did have a wonderfully fiery temper, darling,” she purred, reminded of some of their more physical moments making love. Valerie enjoyed teasing provocation and its sequential effects. And the consequences of physically provoking Trey were always tangibly erotic.

“A temper that’s about reached its limits with you. In future, Valerie, I’d appreciate it if you’d refrain from visiting any of my friends.”

“But we have so many mutual friends, darling, in this small city, I’m afraid that’s impossible. But if you mean that little blond woman, I can’t possibly visit her again, now can I?” The diamonds at her throat caught the light. They were enormous. How much, Trey wondered, violent death prominent in his thoughts, did those cost me? But handy for garroting, he decided.

“Valerie,” he said very softly, “you don’t know how close you’re getting to being strangled.”

“She wasn’t your type, Trey,” Valerie replied from her new position of strength, with her only serious rival on a train headed East. “She was much too docile. You would have been bored with her by spring.”

“Someday,” Trey growled, “I’ll pay you back for interfering in my life.”

“You should thank me, dear, for sending the tramp on her way.”

“You’re the only tramp I know.”

“Darling, you forget, I’ve watched you cut a very wide path through the female population of Montana.”

“I repeat,” Trey said, his eyes as cold as ice.

“Really, sweetheart, I never knew you had this moralizing streak in you. You were always interested in pleasure without
restrictions. Does it feel different with someone who’s morally pure?”

“If I ever have the inclination to debate sexual morality with you”—his words were clipped and short—“I’ll let you know. Now, if you’ll kindly give me the information I called for, I’ll leave.”

“Judd Parker’s here tonight, and Bo Talmadge. Why don’t you take your coat off and stay for another drink?” Valerie was as cool as if they were discussing next week’s menu. She had the advantage, of course, of having won very largely that day. She’d run Trey’s newest girlfriend, the only live-in female he’d ever taken, had run her out of town with only one brief visit and a few well-chosen lies. Valerie was feeling cheerfully triumphant. Not only did she have Trey’s name, she had a tidy sum of his money and the satisfaction of a clear field in the future. Miss Jordan was surprisingly easy to defeat. Trey would be more difficult to bring under control, but she was optimistic.

“You managed the marriage ceremony, Valerie, but you didn’t get me. There are limits to my duty to the clan. I have no intention of joining your party. The child’s birthdate if you please, and I won’t keep you from your guests.”

“Why,” she asked bluntly, “do you want to know?” Suspicious by nature, resistance was her first impulse.

“I’m setting up my social calendar for the summer, pet, and want to be in residence to welcome the newest Braddock-Black into the world.” His sarcasm was vicious.

“I don’t know if I care to tell you,” she replied, irritated by the naked hostility of the man she’d married.

Trey took a deep breath and ran his hands over the smooth fur of his coat, as if the movement would keep his booted feet anchored to the floor when a killing impulse was urging him to lunge. “Look, Valerie,” he said with hard-leashed forbearance, his voice hushed, “this entire pregnancy has nothing to do with me, so there’s no need for coyness at this late date. I have agreed, thanks to your blackmail, to be the father of this child. I don’t care if it’s a three-month pregnancy or a thirty-month pregnancy—the timing, the elusive father, none of that concerns me, except the damn due date. Now if you can see your way clear, I’m not trying to catch you out—
I
just want to know.
” The last sentence was forbidding in its plainness.

And for once Valerie Stewart understood the limits of bravado. “September tenth,” she answered in an uncharacteristically honest reply.

“Thank you. I’ll see myself out.”

When she didn’t move from the doorway, Trey hesitated briefly, controlling the violent urge to tear her to pieces. “Dammit, Valerie,” he ground out, his deep voice barely above a whisper. “Don’t push me. Get the hell out of my way.” Reaching out, he put his hands around her waist and lifted her aside bodily. Thrusting the door open with a forceful, stiff-armed shove, he stepped out into the marble foyer, crossed its black polished floor in brisk strides, and nodding good night to the butler, passed through the held-open door.

September 10, he thought with weary relief, flexing his fingers, which had been unconsciously clenched. The snow was falling more heavily, great large flakes, drifting down gently, sparkling, like lacy crystals in the glow of the streetlamps, making the world pristine, dazzling. “Not a lifetime, only September tenth,” he breathed, then stuck out his tongue to catch a glistening snowflake, feeling better suddenly.

When he reached his room once again, he flipped forward the pages on the calendar to September and boldly circled the tenth. “Freedom … and Empress,” he whispered into the silence of the high-ceilinged room. Inexplicably, despite his melancholy over Empress’s departure, he felt immensely relieved. There was an end. There was eventually a
goddamn
end to his servitude.

A
landscape existed beyond the frost-tinged win-dows of their train compartment, but the blur of unshed tears in Empress’s eyes curtailed the view. Confused, unhappy, hurt, she wished it was possible to be alone. Perhaps with solitude the vast sense of betrayal could be dealt with; she could neatly arrange all the doubts against the certainties, balance the inequities with the happiness, find some peace with her decision to leave. But she wasn’t alone; the children’s persistent inquiries required answers, answers unaccompanied by weeping sobs.

Why had they left, they’d ask, why was Guy’s bid for the title undertaken, why did they want a title, why had they left without seeing Trey? And when Empress explained … again … only fresh queries would result: Exactly when would Trey arrive then, they wanted to know, and how would he find them in France? Was Empress sure he
could
find them?
How
was she sure? Forcing back the threatening flood of tears poised just beneath the surface of her control, she’d paraphrase the previous replies about the existence of letters and
directions, Trey’s busy schedule, extenuating circumstances that placed Trey at the Capitol when their train left.

“Guy’s old enough now to take on the responsibility of the estates,” Empress declared mildly, as if she hadn’t uttered the identical reply scarcely ten minutes ago, “if the courts are willing to consider our case, and Trey’s extremely involved at the moment with some boundaries on reservation land.”

“Why couldn’t we wait for him?” Genevieve asked again. “I don’t see why we couldn’t wait until Trey had time to leave too. Emilie said the other day that she didn’t mind staying in Montana forever,” and Genevieve looked to her older sister for support. Four years her senior, Emilie was mature enough to see beyond the moderation of Empress’s replies and, cognizant of Empress’s red-rimmed eyes, diplomatically kept silent.

“We shouldn’t be going alone,” Genevieve maintained morosely, ignoring her sister’s lack of encouragement. “
You
said he would always be with us.” she said, accusing Empress.

“Hush, Trey
can’t
leave now,” Empress quietly refuted for the umpteenth time, wanting to scream. “He simply
can’t
with the legislature still in session.” And it would be inconvenient now, she thought dispiritedly, for him to break away from his newly acquired wife.

Eduard, his face swollen from crying, suffered most obviously from Trey’s absence, refusing to eat since they’d boarded the train, resentful and argumentative. Whenever Empress attempted to comfort him, he pushed her away, sobbing, “Me want Trey … go back … find Trey …”

“We’re going on a splendid journey, Eduard,” Empress cajoled, “like you’ve seen in the picture book with boats … and Guy will be a count. Do you know what a count is?”

“Don’t care!” Eduard shouted, his little face puffy and reddened, “bout dounts. Want Trey!”

“When
will
we come back?” Emilie asked wistfully, her dark eyes reflecting her own unspoken fear at their sudden departure.

“I don’t know,” Empress said with a soft sigh, haunted by the possibility of “when” being boundless eternity if Trey’s interest was indeed focused on his new wife. “Maybe—”

“Hate you!” Eduard shouted at Empress, single-minded in
his grief, tears streaming down his face. “Dummy! Dummy, doodoo!”

And Guy, more perceptive of Empress’s unhappy reasons for leaving, and with Valerie’s humiliating visit still fresh in his mind, awkwardly tried to divert Eduard from his fretful misery. “You’ll have a room of your own in our new house … a whole big room, not a loft you share with others.”

“Trey’s house bigger,” Eduard retorted. “Want Trey!”

“You can have a pony all for yourself. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

“Don’t want pony,” Eduard muttered sulkily, “want Trey.”

Empress’s stomach lurched as if in sympathy with Eduard’s lament.
Don’t we all want him?
she thought poignantly, the finality of their departure reinforced with each clicking revolution of the train wheels, and she clenched her hands in her lap against the yearning she felt.

“I’ll buy you a candy at the next stop,” Guy coaxed, but Eduard, kneeling on the pullman seat with his nose pressed to the window, only shook his head stubbornly. “I’ll bet they’ll have the purple-and-white taffy,” Guy teased.

“Pink.” Eduard’s muffled response left condensation on the cold glass.

“Oh, is it pink-and-white taffy you like?” Guy replied with feigned surprise. “I wonder how many pennies I have here to buy pink-and-white taffy?” And he dug noisily in his pocket for his change. The lure of his favorite candy was irresistible, even to a heartsick little boy, and a moment later Eduard was snuggled in Guy’s lap counting pennies.