Page 17 of Forbidden Fire

“M arissa! It’s a telegram for you!”

Sitting at the tea table in the little terrace at the caretakers’ cottage, Marissa felt her heart begin to pound quickly. She leaped up and hurried through the sunny kitchen and parlor to meet Mary at the doorway. A young uniformed man tipped his hat to her. “Mornin’, Mrs. Tremayne. I went up to the big house, but I was told you were down here, so I came on to find you. Hope that’s all right.”

“That was very thoughtful of you, thank you,” Marissa murmured, eager to snatch the telegram from him. It was mid-April, and Ian had been gone over six weeks, and she had received only one message from him, that having come about three weeks ago. It had been short and terse. “Theo fine, in my custody. Leaving soon. Ian.”

Her fingers shook as Mary bid the telegram man good day. She tried very hard to hold the paper steady enough to read this message.

“Arriving San Francisco evening train on April sixteenth. Have John at station. Ian.”

“What does it say?” Mary demanded.

Marissa read the message out loud and sank down in one of the needlepoint chairs that flanked the door. “Oh, dear Lord, Mary. He’ll be home tomorrow night!”

Mary knelt beside her, covering her hands with her own. “Well, that’s wonderful!” Marissa didn’t comment.

“Marissa, it is wonderful, things will be all right!”

No, things would never be all right again, Marissa thought. She could still remember the night he had left. They had both sat through dinner very politely with Mr. Whalen.

Afterward she had tried to speak to him; she had tried to tell him that she appreciated the fact that he was going for her uncle. But her words had been stiff, and Ian had been cold, and it had been alarming to realize just how desperate he was to be away from her. One minute it seemed that he wanted to strangle her, the next he wanted nothing to do with her. He didn’t want to hear her voice.

It was the distance that frightened her. The coldness.

During his absence, she had clung to little things. She had been bitter at first that Ian had clearly ordered John Kwan to follow her everywhere she went. She could only assume that he didn’t trust her in the least. But when she had assured John one day that it wasn’t necessary to trace her every step, John had solemnly assured her that it was.

“No one knows what happened, the day you were kidnapped, Mrs. Tremayne. I have given my solemn word that nothing will happen to you while your husband is gone. I am not the only one that watches.”

She had been startled by his answer, and then she had begun to tremble—with pleasure that Ian had at least been concerned about her physical well-being.

He might have been anxious for some enterprising soul to shanghai her now.

But then again, he was a man of certain ethics, and perhaps those ethics would not allow him to let evil fall her way.

But his two messages to her had been very cold and terse. It didn’t seem his feelings had softened one bit since he had been gone. And it seemed that she had lived on pins and needles since that night.

Not that the days and weeks had passed in any outside torment. Society had discovered her. The wives of many of San Francisco’s most influential men had come to call on her. She had been very careful at first, but it seemed that the women’s interest in her had been natural and real. It had made her uneasy, however, to realize that she was beginning to move in a circle with Grace Leroux.

And she had felt like a fraud with every movement she had made in Ian’s absence. It had been Mary who had insisted that she must keep up his social front for him while he was gone. Whatever he chose to do when he returned would be his decision.

Marissa remembered now with what assurance she had told Grace that she had won. Well, the game had changed.

But at least it seemed that she had not taken them all down with her.

Ian had contacted his secretary, Arthur, before he had gone, and Jimmy had been given a great deal of the management power in Ian’s absence. Marissa had taken to spending a great deal of time at the emporium, helping with the breakfasts. She and Darrin had formed a fast bond, and she spent many afternoons with him. She’d tried to coax him into living at the mansion on Nob Hill in the servants’ quarters on the third floor, but Darrin had steadfastly refused. He wouldn’t do so until Mr. Tremayne had returned, and only maybe, then. He wasn’t beholden to anybody, really, and he liked Mr. Tremayne really fine, but he wanted to know Mr. Tremayne’s mind before taking on a job or a room at his place.

Marissa had to swallow hard on that one. She wasn’t sure if Ian intended to keep her at the mansion, much less let her make any of the decisions regarding life there.

Sometimes she tried to mask her fear and heartbreak with anger. He wanted nothing to do with her now because he had discovered the humiliating fact that he had married a servant girl. The maid. The coal-miner’s brat. She told herself that Ian was a snob, a member of the American aristocracy, and that she should hate him for the arrogance she had discovered that first time she had seen him.

But his arrogance was in his boldness, and in his temper, and in his passion. And they were all things for which she had come to love him.

There was no easy way to hate him. Especially when she lay awake and dreamed by night of that last evening between them.

And especially when she was slowly becoming certain that that particular evening had led to certain results. She hadn’t said a word to anyone yet, not even Mary. She told herself that she wasn’t sure, even though she was. And then she wondered somewhat bleakly just what she should do, and what it would mean. She couldn’t tell Ian, not until they had come to some kind of an understanding about their future. If he meant to divorce her, she wouldn’t stop him with the news that she was expecting a child.

And it frightened her, too, to know that his first wife had died in childbirth. That she was alive and well and expecting might make him despise her all the more, and surely he would draw comparisons between his beloved Diana …

And the English maid who had tricked him.

“Marissa,” Mary murmured, her voice concerned, “you can’t worry so much! You’ve gone absolutely white. I’ll bring you something. You just stay there for a moment!”

Mary disappeared into the kitchen and returned with a small glass of sherry. Marissa took it from her gratefully and swallowed it. “Sorry,” she murmured.

“Don’t be sorry, just don’t be so nervous,” Mary told her. “I’m sure that he won’t take my—our!—allowance from the bank anymore, but Jimmy’s income at the store is quite sufficient now. And—”

A wave of cold had come over Marissa. “Mary, don’t you understand? We all fooled him. What if he fires Jimmy?”

“Why would he have put him in charge of so much if he meant to fire him?” Mary demanded with serene wisdom. “And he left word with Arthur to make sure that he had good seats for four to see Caruso.”

“Ah, but what four?” Marissa murmured. “He might be intending on taking Grace—”

“Oh, no! He’s taking us, I know it. He told Jimmy.”

“Maybe he’s taking you and Jimmy and Grace,” Marissa murmured.

“He’s not going to ask for a divorce,” Mary insisted. “He simply wouldn’t.”

“Because of his social position?”

“No.” Mary laughed. “He’d snap his fingers at his social position, surely you know that.”

“But if he doesn’t divorce me, it just might be a greater hell,” Marissa said. She stood and paced nervously. “I couldn’t endure living the life I once thought I wanted. I couldn’t stay with him in name only and watch him head off to the Barbary Coast or to the opera or theater with his good associate, Grace, on his arm.”

“You must stop being such a pessimist, Marissa,” Mary insisted with a sigh. “It’s not like you at all.” She smiled. “You’re the fighter, remember. You definitely put up a fight when Jimmy and I were down.”

“It was easy to fight then,” Marissa said.

“Because you weren’t in love then,” Mary told her. “But being in love, Marissa, you must fight for him even harder.”

Marissa smiled after a moment, the glitter of the challenge coming to her eyes. “You’re right, Mary. I am in love with him, and I will fight for him. I’ll even fight him, if that’s what it takes.”

Mary smiled serenely. “Things will work out. Have faith.”

Marissa tried to have faith. She kissed Mary and hurried to the house. She had just called John to make him aware that they must be at the train station the following evening when Lee came to tell her that she had a visitor.

“Eda!” she said warmly when Lee brought her into the parlor. She wasn’t sure if she had wanted a visitor or not, but maybe it was best not to be alone. “How lovely to see you,” she told the woman. “What can I get you?”

“Not a thing, dear.” Eda stared at Lee pointedly and then waited for the beautiful Chinese woman to leave the room. Marissa offered a barely discernible shrug to Lee. Lee smiled, quickly lowered her head and left the room.

“What is it?” Marissa asked.

Eda Funston was not the type of woman to beat about any bush. “Marissa, you’ve suddenly become the talk of the town.”

Her brows shot up. “More so than Mayor Schmitz and the arrival of Caruso?”

“Indeed, I’m afraid so. I imagine I know where this rumor started, and it’s simply abhorrent, but still, the rumor is around, and I thought you should be warned.”

“What is the rumor?” Marissa asked her.

“That Ian Tremayne’s wife is not the daughter of an English squire. That she is a fortune-digging little maidservant who tricked him into marriage.”

Marissa felt cold. As cold as ice. She folded her hands and stared at them, then looked evenly at Eda. “I was a maid, Eda.” She couldn’t admit that the rest was the truth as well.

To her surprise, Eda waved a hand impatiently. “This is America, San Francisco more precisely. There’s nothing wrong in being a maid.” She smiled. “Half the occupants of this hill come from good old robber baron stock! Don’t you let any of this get to you, not one single bit! I’m quite sure I know where this all started!”

Where? Marissa wondered, and she felt ill, wondering if Ian hadn’t told someone himself.

“It’s that wretched Grace Leroux. She was always asking questions about you. She must have hired an investigator to dig into your past.”

Had Grace done so? Or had Ian told her himself, because he was tired of his wife?

“Keep your chin high, my dear,” Eda told her. “I didn’t mean to upset you, merely warn you. Forewarned is forearmed, so they do say!”

Marissa smiled. “Thank you, Eda. I do appreciate your coming to forewarn me. Please, won’t you stay for dinner?”

“Oh, no, thank you. Freddie will be expecting me. But you take care. Ian is due soon, isn’t he?”

“Tomorrow night.”

“Well, he’ll soon set things straight. Whatever you were, dear, you’re his wife now.”

Eda gave her a hug and hurried out in her efficient way.

Marissa stood in the foyer and suddenly felt that she was not alone. She looked up and saw Lee watching her.

“It seems there’s quite a rumor about me,” Marissa murmured.

“I’ve heard,” Lee told her.

Marissa quirked a brow, but she wasn’t really surprised. San Francisco was a big town, but news traveled very quickly.

“Well, it’s true, Lee. I am no lady.”

Lee cocked her head and smiled. “You speak to John and me as politely as you speak to your friends. You tend to the children because their lives matter to you. I would say, Mrs. Tremayne, that you are indeed a lady.” She turned and disappeared through the dining room door, leaving Marissa in the hallway to ponder her words.

Finally Marissa smiled, then wearily climbed the stairs to her room. She stood in the turret, staring out the window at the fog blanketing the city.

She had been there a few seconds when Lee tapped on her door. She had brought a message. “There’s a boy outside awaiting your reply if there is any.”

Marissa thanked her and ripped open the note.

She smiled as she looked at the words, then she laughed.

The note was from Lilli, and it warned her that a smear campaign had sprung up against her. And Lilli, too, told her that she must snap her fingers at the rumors and keep her chin high. “Someone else is on your side, Marissa. It seems that a few well-aimed tomatoes were thrown at Grace as she walked out of her favorite hat shop the other day. Thought you might appreciate that. Oh, and I thought you might also appreciate the information that the little scamp who hurled the tomatoes was not caught.”

“Is there any answer?” Lee asked her.

“Yes!” Marissa told her, still smiling. She penned out a thank-you to Lilli and sent it with a tip for the messenger.

Then she stared out at the city again. The city she was coming to love so much for its raw beauty and its recklessness. She had friends here. Good friends. From all walks of life.

And it was Ian’s city.

She started to tremble, then she willed her hands to be still. Mary was right. She was a fighter, she had been born a fighter.

And she was going to fight for Ian.

The next night she stood on the platform at the station, waiting for Ian’s train.

The train was late, and she tried to still her nerves by reading the paper. There was trouble in Russia again; the czar had put down a revolt. And a reader’s poll showed that most people were convinced that the automobile would never be an alternative to the horse-drawn buggy. She tried to read further but she couldn’t give anything her full attention. She was fooling herself. She couldn’t give the paper any attention at all.

There were a large number of people waiting for the train. Marissa recognized a few of the matrons who lived not far from her on Nob Hill. Mrs. Nancy Masterson was down the platform from her. She had heard that her son was coming in from his college in the east. She caught the woman’s eye and started to smile, but Mrs. Masterson turned from her quickly.

She was doomed, Marissa thought. Hold your chin high, she reminded herself. And she did so. Then she heard the train’s whistle. She had to brace herself to keep from shaking.

The great brakes squealed and steam rushed around the wheels.

And then she saw Ian, standing by the rear of the third compartment, waiting to detrain. And behind him was Uncle Theo, looking tall and gaunt but dapper. And Marissa held her breath, waiting to see what would happen.

Please, Ian, please! she wished in silence. Don’t ignore me before Mrs. Masterson! Then she realized that she didn’t give a damn about Mrs. Masterson; she just didn’t want Ian to ignore her. Should she rush to him? She didn’t know what to do. It didn’t matter. She seemed incapable of movement, as if her feet had been nailed to the platform.

It didn’t matter. “Marissa!” She heard her name shouted with Theo’s soft, slurring accent and she didn’t have to run because he was running to her. Then she was crushed in his arms, and she hugged him fiercely, feeling tears running down her cheeks. Whatever else happened, she would be grateful. Theo was all she really had, and Ian had saved him for her. She looked into his eyes and saw the happiness there and the glistening of tears and she cried out and hugged him again.

“Marissa, oh, my God, love, but it’s good to see you again! Thank you, thank you, girl, for sending that young man of yours. I owe the both of you my life,” Theo murmured, holding her closer.

“You’re here, Uncle Theo, safe and sound, and that’s all that matters,” she said softly in reply. But he had slowly slid her to her feet, and now she could see over his shoulder and she knew that that was not all that mattered in her life, not anymore.

Ian was almost upon them, tall and striking, and drawing attention within the station as greetings were called to him. He responded, but his eyes remained on Marissa.

Then he did seem to hesitate, and Marissa saw a frown darken his brow. And she realized to her horror that Mrs. Masterson was talking about her to someone, talking loudly.

“Why, she’s nothing but an upstart, so they say. The downstairs maid. Tricked him into marriage, seduced him, I dare say.”

“Oh, my, no!” came an outraged reply from a tall, heavy-bosomed dowager in dove gray. She looked down a very imperious nose at Marissa. “And our own Mr. Tremayne was such a prize!”

“Perhaps he’ll find a way to rid himself of her,” Mrs. Masterson said firmly, in her whisper that carried halfway through the station.

And despite her staunchest resolve, Marissa could feel the color flooding her cheeks. She prayed that Uncle Theo hadn’t heard the things being said. If he did, he pretended not to.

And suddenly Ian was walking again, a slow smile curving his lips. He paused by Mrs. Masterson and took her hand. “Nancy!” he greeted her pleasantly, brushing a kiss over her hand. “How nice to see you. Edgar is due home for the break, eh?”

“Oh, yes, Ian!” She was positively tittering, Marissa thought.

“That’s good, Nancy. He’s a fine lad.” Ian tipped his hat to the dowager at Nancy’s side. “Edith, how are you? A fine evening to you, ladies.” He started away, but then he turned back. “Oh, by the way, Nancy. My wife did not trick me into marriage. Anyone has only to look at her to discern why I was quite determined to marry her from the moment we met. Good evening, then.”

He walked away, leaving the women to gape after him. And it was only when he had almost reached her that Marissa could see the sparks of anger flying in his eyes. Eyes that touched her with hostility still, when she would have greeted him with so much gratitude. Indeed, she had almost thrown her arms around him in happiness.

But seeing his gaze upon her, she held still. “My love!” he greeted her loudly for other ears. And he set an arm around her shoulder, and kissed her cheek.

His lips were cold.

She looked at him. “Welcome home, Ian.”

“You needn’t have come to the station.”

He was playing out a charade for the ladies, Marissa thought. And all she wanted was to go back to that brief time of complete happiness when she could have thrown herself against him, breathed in his cologne and the clean masculine scent of him, rubbed her cheek against the texture of his coat. Well, appearances mattered. He was playing for them. She could do the same.

She faced him with a radiant smile, running her fingers over his lapel. “I’d not have dreamed of it! I had to see you as soon as possible!”

“And your uncle, of course.”

“Oh, yes, and Uncle Theo, of course!”

She looped one arm through Theo’s, and the other through Ian’s, and she allowed her voice to slip huskily low for the benefit of Nancy Masterson. “Do let’s hurry home, Ian. Dinner will be waiting, and you must feel that it’s been a long, long time since you’ve slept in your own bed!”

“Mmm,” he agreed, placing a hand upon her arm. “Do let’s get home.” There was a definite edge to his voice.

As they left the station, Marissa swallowed hard. They had escaped Mrs. Masterson, but Uncle Theo was an intuitive old soul and could surely sense the sparks between them. What would he think?

But what anybody thought didn’t really matter at all.

Ian mattered.

And Ian was home.

Uncle Theo stood in the doorway of the house in Nob Hill and stared, jaw agape, at the chandelier and the marble flooring and the staircase rising high to the second floor. Marissa swallowed hard, thinking that Ian must be very aware of her roots now. But then he had to be aware of her past already—he had been to pick up Uncle Theo, he had seen the tiny cottage, he had breathed in the coal dust.

“Uncle,” she murmured, urging him forward. Then she was ashamed of herself for having been ashamed of him. And she was suddenly furious with Ian for making her feel so miserable.

Not that Ian had done anything, or indicated in any way that Theo was awkward in his rich surroundings. He walked in and called to Lee that they were back. Then he turned to Theo. “May I take your coat, sir?”

“What? Oh!” Theo let Ian take his coat. A new coat, Marissa saw. Ian must have bought it before they left London. Theo seemed unhappy to let the fine woolen garment go, but then Marissa realized that the men had done a great deal of shopping. Theo was newly clad from head to toe. He was wearing handsome black leather shoes, and a dove-gray suit with tiny charcoal-gray pinstripes. His shirt was white with a pleated front, and his vest was a charcoal gray that matched the pinstripes on the suit.

She realized suddenly that her uncle was a handsome man, tall, gaunt, very dignified.

“This—this is your house?” Theo said to Ian.

Ian smiled at him. “Yes, and I think you’ll find it comfortable enough in time. John will see your trunks up to your room, and after dinner you can settle in.”

Theo took his hand and shook it heartily. “Thank you, Mr. Tremayne. Thank you so very much.”

“Ian, Theo, Ian. Please.”

Theo turned to Marissa and swung her into his arms, trembling. He looked over her head at Ian. “My God, I cannot believe you, sir! I am so grateful for Marissa, that this is her life. Ah, Marissa, but you did well.”

“Indeed,” Ian murmured dryly. “Very well.”

She stiffened, but then Lee came and said that dinner could be served immediately.

It was the most difficult meal of Marissa’s life. She tried to comment on things that had been happening. Ian replied stiffly. Theo stared from one of them to the other.

At last the meal was finished. Ian suggested that Lee show Theo to his room. Suddenly unwilling to be alone with the man she had waited so desperately to see, Marissa jumped up and said that she would show her uncle up.

And upstairs, when Theo had seen the space that was to be his and his alone, he hugged her fiercely again and whispered, “Marissa, but this is fine. You’ve found yourself a fine, fine man. And all this, too! But God has smiled upon us. And bless God, girl, for you’ve deserved this!”

No, this was God’s irony for the deceit she had practiced, Marissa thought. But she laughed and hugged her uncle in return. She had to give him this first night in San Francisco. Whatever Ian chose to do, Theo would at least have this night.

But when she started for the door, he suddenly called her back.

“Marissa.”

“What is it, Uncle?”

“Whatever is wrong, you can solve it. I know you can.”

“Nothing is wrong, Uncle Theo.”

“Ah, but I can see it, girl! I can see it in your eyes. But you mustn’t be disturbed. You mustn’t let some little quarrel upset you. He loves you, lass.”

“Did he say that, Uncle Theo?” she asked.

He shrugged. “No, no, he didn’t so much as say it, but then I’ve spent some time with the man. He came to the jail and I was made to understand just who he was. You might have told me that you had married, Marissa,” he said, wounded.

“I’m sorry, Uncle Theo. I really thought I knew what I was doing. Good night, now, Uncle. I love you. And I’m glad to have you here.”

“Marissa, we’ll get on, you and I. We always have.”

“Yes, Uncle, we always have.” She ran to him and they hugged tightly once again. Then she left him, still staring around his room, and retreated to her own.

She sat on the foot of her bed and bit hard into her thumb and waited. Ian would come; he would have something to say to her soon.

He didn’t come. She stood and began to pace the room. She sat down on the foot of the bed again, and then she stretched across it. Maybe she should try to find him. But it seemed that he didn’t want to see her.

She closed her eyes, and she must have dozed for a while. She checked the time by the clock on her mantel and was startled to realize that it was four-thirty in the morning.

She stood and pulled the pins from her dishevelled hair. In front of the mirror she brushed it out, fighting tears and a feeling of desperation. He hadn’t even wanted to talk to her.

He hadn’t wanted to touch her, even in anger. That was the most frightening. If she had lost his passion, she had lost everything.

She stared at her reflection, her eyes wide and haunted, her hair flowing thick and free down her back and framing the pallor of her cheeks.

Then she started, aware that John Kwan and Ian were outside in the hall.

“I can’t imagine what’s gotten into them!” Ian was saying.

“I’ve never seen the beasts so restless, sir,” John agreed. “But it does seem that you’ve got the bay settled down for the night. Thank you. I’m sorry you were disturbed on your first night back.”

“Curious night, John. I noticed the dogs barking downtown when we came in tonight. Oh, well, maybe the stars are aligning in a peculiar fashion or something. Who knows. Get some sleep, John, whatever you can.”

He was still awake. Marissa waited, holding her breath. But he entered his room from the hallway, and she could hear him shedding his coat in his room. She waited longer, hearing nothing but silence. And then she couldn’t stand it anymore. She burst through the connecting doors to accost him face to face.

He was stripped down to his black trousers and white pleated dress shirt. It was open at the throat. He stood at the window, staring out at the night, or at the coming morning. Very soon, the first hint of dawn would streak across the sky, and the misty beauty of the city below them would be visible.

“Marissa,” he murmured, and his mouth took on a crooked, taunting smile. “What a time for a visit. And when your uncle is already here, and you’ve nothing left to bargain for.”

She gasped, stunned. “Oh, how dare you!” she snapped in fury. Fists clenched at her sides, she strode across the room to stand before him. “How dare you! I came here to thank you for what you did for him, and that’s all. I can promise you, Ian Tremayne, I’ll never come for anything more! I’ll never touch you again, I—”

She broke off as his fingers shot out and circled her arm, dragging her to him. “But you’re my wife, Marissa. Just where you wanted to be.”

She was so close to him. She felt the bitterness and the tension that had not died. She wanted his fingers to move across her cheeks with tenderness. She wanted a whisper of love, and if she could receive it, nothing else would matter.

But she wasn’t going to receive it.

“You didn’t want a wife, Ian. You made that clear enough. But then it seemed to be all right until you discovered that you married the maid. Not good enough for a scion of Nob Hill!”

“Why, you little witch!” he snapped heatedly, and she was jerked closer against him. The warmth of his breath fanned her cheeks, the scent that was inherently his filled her with the rampant heat of his body. “You lied to me! I gave you every chance, and you just kept lying and lying. You married me to climb a ladder.”

“I didn’t—”

“You married for money. We both knew it. It was just that I thought it was your own damned money.”

“Then let us both out of this! I don’t want your money, I never wanted your money. I just want out. And then you won’t have to worry about what people think or say—”

“I don’t give a damn what people think or say.”

“Then go ahead—divorce me!”

“There will be no divorce.”

“But you just said you don’t give a damn about propriety, about the things people say—”

His vise around her arms was so tight that she nearly cried out. His eyes were the silver-blue of a dagger as they pierced into her heart.

“There will be no divorce, Marissa. And it hasn’t a thing to do with others, it has to do with a vow. Till death do us part.”

“So you will let us live in this agony!”

“I would let us live in hell, madam!”

She stared at him in silence for a second and then she cried out. “I cannot! I cannot! I cannot live with you when you—”

“You will live with me. And as a wife!”

She trembled with hate and fury and excitement, and with love and hope. At least she could still anger him, still arouse him. She could have his touch this moment if she so desired.

No.

“No! I can’t live this way because I cannot bear it!” she told him. “I—I love you—”

“Liar!” he thundered.

But he seemed so startled that his hold on her loosened, and she wrenched free from him. They stared at one another for a moment, and then she cried out and ran from his room.

“Marissa!”

His voice bellowed after her. She ignored him, and tore down the stairway. She burst outside, knowing that he would be after her.

And now she didn’t want to see him. She had bared her heart and soul once again to try to convince him that she loved him. He didn’t believe her, or else it didn’t matter. She couldn’t endure his mockery right now.

She raced to the carriage house and into her mare’s stall. The animal bolted, nervous, skittish. “Oh, please, what is the matter with you!” she whispered to the horse. What was wrong with all the animals? She soothed the mare quickly, then bridled her and leaped upon her back without bothering with a saddle.

The first streaks of dawn were becoming apparent in the far east as she trotted out of the carriage house. Ian was on the lawn.

“Marissa!”

She nudged the animal into a canter, knowing that he would follow her soon. She’d had no plan, but now she realized that she could race for the store. It would be open because Sandy and others would be preparing for one of the orphans’ breakfasts today.

She raced recklessly through the streets, seeing the city as she began to come to life. Most people would still be in their nightshirts, but several grocers were setting up their produce. Newsboys were already on the streets. Some sleepy soul swore at her as he jumped out of her way.

Feeling guilty, she plowed on, and soon reached the store. She jumped from the mare and tethered the animal. She looked up the street to see that Ian was already thundering down upon her.

She quickly flung open the door and nodded to the security guard who greeted her retreating back. Then she hurried down to the basement, anxious to be with others.

Across the room she could see Darrin. His freckled face broke into a broad grin and he rose to greet her. He began to frown, taking in her wild hair and disheveled appearance.

She couldn’t hide behind children, she thought. If Ian was angry enough, he’d drag her out of the basement and demand a confrontation. She had no right to be here. She should have faced him, no matter what.

“Mrs. Tremayne!” Darrin called to her.

And then there was a rumbling beneath her feet.

“What the—” someone cried.

“Shaker!” Darrin shouted. “Shaker! It’s a shaker! A big one.”

The rumbling became a cacophony, and it seemed as if the world began to crumble and break.