The black swan (103 page)

Adam took the letter. He was tense, awed by the weight and feel of the thing she had written just before she had decided she preferred death to living. He could barely bring himself to read it.

For a moment he stared at her handwriting, the ink making designs of curving lines, row upon row. The scent of her perfume lingered faintly on the paper. Then he forced his eyes to read. "My dearest Adam, Perhaps you will never see this, but it will ease my heart to write it. I have just seen your father . . ."

Before his eyes was a picture of Dulcie sitting at a desk in a room he had never seen, writing this letter to him, keeping nothing back, saving no shred of pride, offering him no blame, absolving him, a man who had turned nis back on her pleas, on her love the moment he had j&rst found her again.

He forced himself to read on, to learn of the life she had led since the shipwreck. Every word carried her message of longing for him, her undying will to survive anything that they might one day be together again, and finally her desperate misplaced trust that Edmund would help her find Adam.

Adam's mind flitted back to memories of himself trying to drown sorrow and despair in the arms of the slut Ramona; how he had sought peace in the arms of Leah— Leah, who offered him the same promise of being able to live without Dulcie as Edmund Revanche must have offered Dulcie.

Both of them had gone through the fires of torment and loneliness and longing. But how had they come to such cross-purposes? How could either of them forget what the other had done? Even now, he could not remember Dulcie sitting beside Edmund Revanche, her life pledged to him, without feeling the hot searing grip of anger around his heart. Nor could he believe that Dulcie could ever erase from her mind the names he had called her in anger, his rejection of her, the humiliation he had dealt her when he left her with Revanche, promising to divorce her and never see her again.

He stared at his hands. "She won't want to see me, Mrs. Raymer. You asked me to be kind. I would be kindest by leaving now."

"That's for you to decide, Adam. That's why I thought you should read the letter first."

He folded the letter and tucked it into his breast pocket, then he took his seaman's cap from the stand, and looked back to Mad. "It isn't that I don't want to see her . . ." His eyes were moist, his face set as his words trailed off.

"Go up to her, just for a moment."

He shook his head.

"You love her, don't you? Adam—no harm ever came from love. Go to her."

He looked toward the staircase, the letter hard and thick against his breast. Slowly Adam climbed the stairs.

As if by instinct he turned toward the slightly ajar door at the north end of the hall. He entered the room, quietly shutting the door behind him.

Dulcie lay pale and thin, lost in the large bed. Her skin had the translucent pallor of the very ill, her cheeks unnaturally flushed, her auburn curls pulled back into long pigtails not unlike those she had worn as a child. The freckles across her nose gave her the look of an innocent.

Adam remained motionless, unable to bring himself to move or disturb her. The ticking of the clock was loud, the sound of her breathing soft. Then she stirred, her hand weakly smoothing the pillow by her cheek. As she turned her head to find comfort again, her eyes opened, and she saw him standing by the door.

She stared at him, showing no surprise or sign of greeting. It was as if she always saw him wherever she looked, and that he should be in her room now was nothing strange, neither was it real.

He couldn't make his throat work to bring out the words, so he took her hand, holding it in his own two, gently, marveling at the feel of it against him. He kept his eyes down, aware that she watched him, but unable to meet her gaze. When he did, it was to see tears ready to fall.

"You shouldn't have come, Adam. I bring you nothin' but pain."

It was a long time before he could control his voice. Even then it came out a whispering rasp. "I don't want to be without you." His face worked, and he looked away

from her. "Don't . . . don't ever do that to yourself again, Dulcie."

She took her hand from his, turning her face into the pillow. "Adam, don't say any more. Please. Leave me. Let me think I was dreamin'. I can't stand to hear you speak to me this way. Adam . . . please go."

He touched her hair and cheek. "I don't want to lose you ever again, Dulcie. I'll be here in the city. I'll wait for as long as it takes. Don't—don't leave me alone now, Dulcie. I need you."

She did not see him leave, but her senses followed him until the front door closed.

Adam went to Rod Courtland's brownstone.

"Adam!" Rod's hand shot out to take his son's in a bone-crushing grip of welcome. "Come in, come in! Did you get my letter? I mean did Zoe get it to you? Obviously you got it, or you wouldn't be here. Have you been to see Dulcie?" The look on Adam's face finally stopped him. "Oh, hell, I'm sorry, Adam. Come into the study. We can have a drink and talk in private."

Seated, a drink untasted in his hand, Adam told Rod about the message from Oliver and his hasty trip to New York. "She frightens me, Rod. So pale, so—transparent As if she has akeady left me."

Rod cleared his throat. "I heard, from Oliver."

Finally Adam sipped his drink. "I'm staying in the city. After she's recovered, if she still doesn't want to see me, I suppose I'll accept it."

"What about Edmund Revanche?"

Adam walked restlessly to the window, drawing back the heavy drapery to stare out into the bleak March drizzle. "I don't know. Mad says Dulcie never wanted to marry him. Dulcie said—oh, hell! She probably fell for every lying word he fed her. She would. If she really believed he was trying to help her find me, Dulcie would have trusted anything the bastard said."

They fell silent, each of them thinking. "You'll stay here with me, of course. Your mother will be arriving soon."

"Thanks. I'll be grateful for your companionship."

Rod scratched his neck, self-conscious, trying to think of a way to phrase what he wished to say so that Adam would not know how much it meant to him. "You won't like being idle. Not for long, anyway."

"I've had more practice at it of late," Adam said lightly. "I'll manage."

"Be better if you had something to keep you occupied.'*

"I can't leave here. Not until she's well."

Rod hamimphed. "Ever think about working on land?"

Adam swung around to look at his father.

Rod's cheeks pinkened, and his hand tugged at his collar in agitation. "Well, hell! You are my partner, and you aren't bringin' in a damned penny sitting here on your tail! And—damn it—you are my son. Courtland and Son." He looked diffidently at Adam.

Adam stared at him as the fact of Rod's parentage slowly sank in and became something real and immediate. The words had been so easy to accept. They hardly had meaning other than his mother was happy. Now the father was speaking to the son. Slowly the smile that started inside crept to his face, his own cheeks flushing in self-conscious pleasure. Then he thrust his hand into Rod's. "Courtland and Son."

Rod pulled Adam toward him in a hard masculine embrace, which hid the tears that both hastily blinked away.

Adam went to the office with Rod each morning. Before the second week had passed, both knew that Adam was not suited to working with paper transactions; he was, and would remain, a man who required action.

Daily he waited for Dulcie to call him to her, but no missive came. Often that month he visited Mad, making her promise that she would not tell Dulcie he had been there. "I don't want to force her back to me, Mad. I want her to come only because she wants to be with me. How is she?"

Mad's reports varied little. Dulcie had been out of bed. Dulcie had felt strong enough to eat her supper sitting up in a chair. Dulcie needed Adam, Mad insisted. At the end of each conversation she urged him, "Go see her just once more. It will be different this time. Don't let pride stop you."

"It isn't pride. She'll ask for me if she wants me. If she doesn't, I'll give her her freedom."

"Divorce her! Just let her go, without even seein' her again!"

"If that's what she wants."

"It isn't! I know it isn't. She needs you. She loves you, Adam."

"She hasn't asked for me. I told her I'd wait, that I didn't want to lose her."

Mad, her eyes filled with questions, looked sadly at him. How many times had she tried to talk with Dulcie about Adam and been confronted with Dulcie's stubborn silence. Yet Mad knew Dulcie listened with eager attention to every sentence that contained Adam's name. Mad's face twisted as she burst out, "I don't know why she doesn't ask for you! Neither of you makes sense 1 Why do you fight so?"

Fight so? Adam walked away from the Raymer house. Was he fighting? He didn't think he was. All he wanted was to give her a free choice for once: Come to him or remain away. Neither of them had ever had that choice, it seemed. Always they had been thrown together, acting out of the heat of a moment, first loving in forbidden, out-of-the-way places, then marrying as they fled his pursuers, living in the midst of a war that made everything urgent and impermanent.

His feet took him unknowingly toward the Hudson River. As he had come to do so often the last weeks, he stood on the bank of the Hudson, staring sightlessly across its expanse. The bustling sounds of the dock intruded not at all on him. They were the pleasant background noises of "home," sounds that were less intrusive than the soft scratch of Daniels's pen across his papers.

April came and fled with no word from Dulcie. It was long past the time Adam had promised himself he would set her free if she did not wish to see him again. Still, he waited, wading methodically through the days in Rod's office, gaining skill and expertise but no feel for the work. He seemed to have come to a complete stop, unable to be at peace where he was and unwilling to take the final step that would take him away from Dulcie for good. He temporized, promising that if tomorrow didn't bring what today denied, he would give up and return to his ship and the dying cause of the South. With everything that was in him, he knew that was where he belonged. Yet he continued in New York, waiting and hoping, for what he didn't know. Mad told him Dulcie was stronger, even able to be out of the house when she chose. But never had she mentioned Adam's name, never asked for him.

One evening, the end of a warm, singular April day when the blossoms on the trees showed tender green against the weak sun-filled sky, Adam walked home. He had given

up using a carriage, needing both the exercise and the feel of wind in his face. Hannah opened the door, her face in a perpetually hopeful pout as she hung up his coat. "There's a visitor for ya."

"Where is he?"

She brushed the coat with the greatest care. "It*s not a he, it's a she—some brazen she-goat that hasn't—"

For a moment Adam's heart rose, then he pushed the feeling down. "Who is it?"

"How should I know? She'd not give me her name. I told her neither you nor Mr. Courtland tended business in the home. But did she listen? No, she did not! Sashayed into the study and sits herself down like the queen. Shall I be tellin' her you'll not have the time to see her?"

Adam was tempted. He was tired from a long day of clients whose voices droned on monotonously about their endless investments. But he said, "I'll see her. Tell cook Mr. and Mrs. Courtland won't be in for supper but to prepare a collation for six after the theater."

"Miz Zoe di'n't say nothin' to me. This is my night off."

"That is why she sent the message home with me. Now you will be needed tonight," he said with irritable deliberation.

Hannah flounced toward the kitchen, defiance in each jolting switch of her hips.

Adam stepped inside the shadowy study, lit only by the light of a single lamp that stood on Rod's desk. Deep in the shadow of the leather armchair he could see the shape of the woman. He walked purposefully toward another lamp. "Hannah could have spared you enough light to see. My apologies, Madame." He turned, the match still burning, to see Dulcie's pinched, uncertain face.

Drawing in his breath sharply as the flame touched his fingers, Adam shook it out, his eyes never leaving her. Taking some command of himself, he walked toward her. It had been almost two months since he had seen her. Weeks since she had been well enough to see him had she wanted to. Now he would not allow himself to hope. "You're the last person I expected to be sitting here. Hannah prepared me to do business with a lady dragon."

Dulcie smiled. "Hannah took an instant dislike to me."

He had nothing to reply. The silence in the room became awkward. Restlessly he got up. "Rod must have some cordial."

"I don*t care for anythin', thank you, Adam. It was you I came to see.

Unreasonably he didn't want to hear the reason for her visit. He didn't want to hear her speak the final words that would end it between them. He had promised her he'd give her her freedom when the time came. He didn't want to hear her ask for a divorce, which he would be bound to grant. "You're looking well, Dulcie. Nothing seems to alter you. You look beautiful no matter what."

"I can't stay much longer. Mama and Aunt Mad will worry if I'm not home soon. It is already dark. I told Aunt Mad where I was goin', but Mama and Daddy don't know. They still look after me as though I might break."

He poured her the unwanted cordial. He handed her the glass, his hand drawing back hastily as his fingers touched hers, as though he had done something wrong.

Again the awkward, heavy silence fell, blanketing them, smothering their ability to say the common words because their feelings rose and choked them. Finally Dulcie shook her head, her eyes misty. "Oh, Adam, this is so awful! I shouldn't have come. I knew I shouldn't." She struggled trying to rid herself of the glass and draw on her gloves.

He was out of his chair and at her side in a moment. "Why did you come?"

She rose, her gloves on her hands again, her suit smoothed. "Aunt Mad said you had stayed in the city. She said you are workin' with—with your father. I'm so glad you found him, Adam. I—I'm happy for you."