Page 9 of Forbidden Fire

San Francisco

January, 1906

A tap sounded on the door to Marissa’s compartment, and she paused in the act of pinning her hat at a jaunty angle that defied the dread in her heart. When she did not respond to the knock, the porter called out cheerfully, “San Francisco! Next stop San Francisco! Five minutes now, Mrs. Tremayne.”

Five minutes, Marissa thought, a mere five minutes, and a journey that had seemed epic in its length and scope would be over. She had crossed the mighty Atlantic Ocean, traveling first class on a great ocean liner. Then she had boarded the first of the several trains that had taken her across the entire American continent.

There had been so very, very much to see, to assimilate. She was English, and proud of England.

But this country …

There could be nothing like it. A land of such startling contrasts and beauty. Earth that was green and covered with forests, and then deserts that were orange and gold and mauve and fascinating.

And then there were the people. Everyone seemed to live here. Everyone. German, Dutch, Scandinavian. Black, red, yellow. Oh, London was a melting pot, but this …

She felt such an excitement for the country. She loved each new day.

Until the end.

Today had brought them to the Bay, and to the train ferries, which had brought them into the city. Five minutes and they would arrive. And Mary and Jimmy would set up housekeeping in marital bliss, and she …

She had cast herself into a prison of her own making with a man who never ceased to infuriate …

And fascinate …

She closed her eyes. It was difficult to breathe.

She hadn’t cared, she reminded herself. She had sworn to Mary that she wanted nothing more than security. That she had no patience with sentiment. And she had received all she wanted. Theo would be well, a school was under way, she was dressed in silks and laces, and she had traveled the North Atlantic and the great width of America, all in style.

And still, she could feel the bars of her prison closing in on her now. She could almost hear the clang of iron and feel the reverberation as it trembled deep within her soul.

Soon, very soon.

Her time of payment would begin.

Madam Lilli’s was unique, even among the endless supply of waterfront dance halls that graced some of the lesser streets of the city.

The house had been there since before the gold rush. With the Victorian era, fine gingerbreading had been added to the quaint Colonial architecture. And Lilli, being fond of colors, had added paint and trim until the house stood out like a gilded lady herself, both tarnished and beautiful.

Lilli, arrayed elegantly upon a settee, twitched a feather boa over her shoulder and studied Ian with wide gray eyes as he stared out the window. “That’s the third time you’ve pulled out your watch, Ian. And you haven’t paid the slightest heed to a single word that I’ve said.”

He spun around, pocketing his watch, and leaned against the windowsill. “You’re the one who said you had no need of conversation,” he told her, far more sharply than he had intended.

She seemed to flinch, and he was sorry. He swore inwardly once again at the wife arriving at the station this evening.

The wife who had best be arriving, he reminded himself. He wouldn’t put it past her to fail to appear. And then what would he do? He’d have no choice. He’d have to find her.

“I don’t recall asking a lot of you,” Lilli said evenly, the hurt evident in her voice. “I don’t mind your Nob Hill mistress, and I don’t expect to go to the opera or the theater with you. However, I do appreciate it when you at least pretend that you care who you are with.”

He exhaled slowly. “Sorry, Lilli.”

Lilli nodded, her lashes sweeping low over her face. He had hurt her, and he knew it, and felt the worse for it. There were no pretenses about Lilli. She was a showgirl with a place to run. She was careful when she selected her lovers, but she made love with a rare talent that bespoke her experience.

She wasn’t anything like Diana. Indeed, she was the farthest thing in the world from Diana, with her voluptuous figure and tinted red hair. But it was the very fact of the difference and her forthright honesty that had brought him to Lilli—and the fact that she asked nothing of him, not even simple caring.

“Why do you keep pulling out your watch?” she queried softly. “It’s none of my business, of course, and I’m not demanding conversation—”

He strode away from the window and kissed her on the top of the head. “My wife is arriving today.”

“Your wife!” She swept the boa around her and leaped up, stunned. “Wife?” she said again. Then she started to laugh, sinking down on the crimson day bed. “You’re meeting your wife this evening and you came to see me this afternoon?”

“She’s not a wife for real, Lilli,” he said flatly. He lifted an arm, looking for an explanation. “She’s—she’s a ward, really. I’m her guardian.”

“So you married her?” Lilli said, fascinated. “It can’t be money, you’ve plenty of your own. I admit—I don’t begin to understand.”

“Neither do I,” he muttered.

She smiled broadly. “Not that I mind. But the charming widow, Mrs. Grace Leroux, is going to mind terribly. In fact, I think I shall enjoy the way she will mind. Hmm. Guardian. Ward. How—how European. Tell me, what’s she like? I conjure up images of a schoolgirl with pigtails. And perhaps buck teeth.”

“No, I’m afraid not. In fact, she’s quite stunning.”

“You’ve a stunning wife arriving, and you’re here?” Lilli said, her voice suddenly very soft.

He was here because his wife was arriving, he realized. Because he was damned determined he wasn’t going to change his life. His voice hardened again.

“It was an arrangement, Lilli, nothing more. You know my feelings about marriage.”

“Yes, I know them,” she said, smiling ruefully. “But you see, I never expected you to marry me. Now Grace, she is going to have her problems. She’s never believed that you wouldn’t marry again. And of course, she was right, since you’ve a wife arriving. It’s just that she assumed that she was going to be the wife.”

“Well, she shouldn’t assume things, should she?” Ian said. To his annoyance, he realized that he had drawn out his pocket watch again. Irritated, he shoved it back where it belonged.

“It’s all right—you can run out,” Lilli told him.

“I’ll be damned if I’m running anywhere,” he said.

“You’ll be late.”

“Then I’ll be late,” he said flatly. He’d be as late as he wanted. He’d while away the evening with Lilli’s sweet brand of forgetfulness.

But he hadn’t come today for forgetfulness, he realized.

He’d come because he didn’t want to remember the feel of the. golden-haired girl in his arms. He wanted to assure himself that he’d never fall beneath her spell again. There were other women to make love to. Women like Lilli.

“Tell me,” Lilli said huskily, sweeping him into her embrace as he sat beside her on the day bed, “is the new Mrs. Tremayne aware of this open marriage? Does she, too, intend to find her own brand of entertainment?”

He stiffened: “What?”

“Ian, I was teasing you.”

He stood and straightened his cuffs, suddenly impatient to be on his way. He kissed Lilli’s cheek and strode toward the door.

“Ian!” Lilli called after him anxiously. “I’ve a new show opening Saturday night. Will you come? Please? Your patronage brings in so many others.”

“Yes, surely, if you think that it will help,” he promised. Then he paused. “No. I’d wring her pretty little neck.”

“What?” Lilli said.

“No, she’s not part of any open marriage, Lilli. I’d wring her neck.”

Lilli laughed softly. Ian walked out the door, closing it quietly behind him. Then Lilli’s smile slowly faded. A quiet ache formed within her heart. No, she had never deceived herself. She could have never been his wife. His feelings, what he gave her, had been real enough, but he was deceiving himself now.

The marriage meant more than he was willing to admit, it seemed. Far more than he was willing to admit.

A wife was one thing. A wife who mattered was quite another.

And so the ache in her heart.

She sighed softly and rose and walked to the window and looked out at the fog as it rolled in.

She’d still stand by him, as a friend.

She smiled slowly. It might even be amusing to see the very grand Mrs. Leroux meet the new Mrs. Tremayne.

Lilli spun around quickly, calling for her maid. She was suddenly very determined to see the new Mrs. Tremayne herself. Maybe she would even meet her.

Ah, the girl wouldn’t want to meet a woman from her husband’s past. But she should, for Lilli was not the real competition. And if the girl seemed to warrant it, Lilli just might be willing to offer her a certain assistance when she met the real dragon lady in her husband’s past.

Marissa inhaled sharply. The train was braking. They were pulling into the station.

Mary burst into the compartment, breathless, her cheeks flushed. “This is it! We’re here!”

They stared at one another for a minute, then they hugged fiercely. “Oh, Marissa! You’ve done so much for us!” Mary said.

Afraid that she was going to choke or cry, Marissa answered quickly. “Don’t be silly. I’m the one living in the lap of luxury. And I’m afraid that we’ll all sink if we’re ever caught.”

“Don’t you be silly,” Mary protested. “This is America. We’re never going to sink.”

Marissa nodded. She should have been the one so determined.

Jimmy burst through the narrow doorway. “Ladies, come on, we’re here!” He was carrying Mary’s small travel bag and picked up Marissa’s. Smiling, Mary turned to follow him as he hurried down the train aisle. He moved with confidence, Marissa thought. Both he and Mary had changed over the long journey. They’d found a new strength in one another.

And she had been losing her own determination in silly daydreams.

She squared her shoulder, dreading the moment when she would see Ian Tremayne again, yet curiously longing to do so, too. He had said that he would come to meet them. Had he done so? Or had he forgotten the wife he had not wanted?

She hurried after Jimmy and Mary. It was a new world. And she’d sworn to herself once that she would show Mr. Tremayne her mettle.

At the steps to the platform she paused for a moment. Twilight and fog were falling over the city. There was little she could see beyond the station, but as her eyes adjusted to the gaslight and the coming night, she became aware of the man standing on the platform.

He was framed in light and shadow, and she saw nothing but his silhouette at first, tall and dark. Even the shadows became him, enhancing the breadth of his shoulders, the leanness of his hips, the fit of his clothing.

She didn’t need light to realize that he had not forgotten her. He had come to the station.

Her heart began to pound too quickly, and she was furious with herself. Yet she could not move for a long moment, but remained frozen at the top of the steps.

He must have seen her, for he stepped forward into the light. A hat sat rakishly low on his forehead. It was cream-colored like his suit, and the color contrasted with the black ribbon tie around his throat. As he walked toward her she realized that he was being followed by a young Chinese couple. The man was handsome, the woman extraordinarily beautiful with perfect skin, sleek raven hair to her waist and huge, dark eyes with an exotic, sensual twist. Both were dressed in loose trousers and orange silk Chinese jackets.

Marissa looked at Ian, meeting his eyes. They seemed to sizzle with the same blue fire that had ruled them the night he had left her. The night he had touched her, and somehow destroyed the blind determination that had brought her through a lifetime. She still wanted to hate him. And instead she felt a dizzying heat sweep through her, then tremors seized her and she stiffened, determined to show him no weakness. He was an autocrat, she reminded herself. He was the man who had knocked into a simple maid, heedless of the destruction he had caused.

Even then he had told her to come to America.

Well, then, she was here.

“Mrs. Tremayne?”

The porter was waiting to help her down the steps. She smiled, blushing, and took his hand at last, reaching the platform just as Ian reached her.

He made no pretense of a loving—or even polite!—greeting. He walked straight to her, staring at her still. “So you’ve made it,” he said.

She stiffened her spine and smiled sweetly. “And so have you.”

“I promised I would be here.”

“And so did I.”

“Perhaps I had reason to doubt you.”

“I have very great reasons to doubt you,” she reminded him, far more sharply than she had intended.

They were barely a foot apart. Marissa suddenly realized that the small space of air between them was thick with tension and that Mary and Jimmy and the porter and Ian’s servants were all staring at them wide-eyed, trying to read the innuendo and cool reproach in the words they shot at one another. Perhaps Ian came to the same realization, for he turned to Mary with the smile that could be entirely charming when he wanted it to be. “Welcome to San Francisco. I hope your journey was not too difficult.”

“It was wonderful,” Mary assured him.

Then Ian remembered his companions and quickly brought the couple forward. “Marissa, Mary, James, may I introduce John and Lee Kwan, who tend my house. John, Lee, my—” he paused, then continued evenly enough “—my wife, Marissa, and her friends, Mary and James O’Brien. Mr. O’Brien is going to come to work for the emporium.”

Marissa wasn’t sure what she expected, but she was surprised at the Chinese man’s melodious, accentless speech as he greeted them. “I, too, would like to give you all welcome. Welcome to my city. You will see, she is one of the most beautiful on earth.”

Then the woman spoke, and her voice was soft with a musical flow to it. “Indeed, we welcome you. Anything that you might require, you’ve only to ask.’

“Thank you,” Marissa said, then she realized that the girl’s beautiful, exotic eyes were nowhere near as warm as her voice. She seemed nearly as hostile as Ian.

“I’ll get the bags,” John said. “If someone will direct me to the proper pieces?”

“Aye, of course,” Jimmy quickly volunteered. “And there’s plenty of them, I am afraid.” He grimaced at Ian. “Women, sir, you know.”

“I know, and I imagine that it will take the three of us, Jimmy,” Ian said, flashing him a quick, easy smile. It was a captivating smile, Marissa realized. Mary was watching him with a curious affection and admiration, and when Marissa studied the beautiful and exotic Lee Kwan, she saw that the Chinese girl was staring after him, too.

He had his charm, indeed. She had discovered that herself. It was in his manner, and in his eyes, and even in his anger. She should know. She had fallen prey to it easily enough.

But she would not fall again, she promised herself, feeling her temper sorely tested. The girl kept his house, indeed. She gritted her teeth and reminded herself for the thousandth time that she had received everything she wanted from the bargain.

But she felt the clang of iron and steel again. And she thought that her prison might well be a torture chamber.

“We shall go to the carriage,” Lee told her and Mary. “Come, I’ll show you the way.”

Marissa and Mary followed Lee through the crowded station and out to the street beyond. Leaving the station behind, Marissa paused. The cool air, rich with fog; touched her cheeks. The remaining daylight was dim, yet it made the scene all the more enchanting.

She could see the hills that looked down upon the bay, and the magical, beautiful homes that sat atop the hills. Painted in soft and rich hues, the city seemed filled with elegance. Victorian row houses, enchanting in their ginger-breading, lined some streets. More elegant grande dames looked down from rich, tree-laden properties. Gas lamps burned with a yellow glow against the growing darkness, and the fog gave it all a picture book quality. It might have been a fairy-tale land. She inhaled quickly, a deep breath, heedless of people passing by her.

It was beautiful. So beautiful. She had been awed by sophisticated New York, and had wondered at bustling Chicago, but here she felt a sweet trembling of excitement deep within her heart. This felt like home. This beauty was soft and enchanting, like the gaslight glow. It beckoned to her and seduced her. She loved the very feel of the air, the color of the night, the kiss of the fog.

She felt someone behind her, but paid no heed.

“It’s magnificent!” she whispered.

“Indeed, she’s a very great lady,” said a rich, husky voice.

She spun around. Ian stood there, carrying a bag in either hand. His gaze had lost something of its anger as he watched her; his eyes were probing hers. She could not speak as he stared at her. “Come on. You’ve had a very long trip. I’ll see you all settled for the night. Tomorrow will be time enough for you to see something of the city.” He indicated that she should proceed, and she hurried ahead to his carriage. It was a large, handsome vehicle, drawn by two matching black horses with hides that shone under the lights as beautifully as Lee Kwan’s hair.

A horn honked nearby, and an automobile chugged by in the street. A horse drawing an ice cart suddenly reared in fear of the motorized carriage. The auto veered onto the sidewalk. Another horse reared, and a cart of apples and produce went spilling into the street. The automobile sputtered to a halt.

“Progress!” Ian laughed.

“I believe greatly in progress, and I adore automobiles,” Marissa told him.

He watched her for a moment. “Good. May we go now? I’d like to get home.”

She hurried toward the carriage. She would have ignored him, but he set her bags down, and before she could mount the step, he had set his hands on her waist and lifted her up. John Kwan helped him with the bags, then Ian was beside her.

His scent was rich with leather and soap and his own masculine mystique. She was startled at the vehemence with which memories of a closer time between them returned to haunt her. She caught her breath, determined not to look his way, not to feel the heat and strength of his thigh so tight against hers.

“Ian, the city is wonderful,” Mary said. “Which way do we go?”

He pointed in the night. “Nob Hill.” He smiled at her. “The city is wonderful. There will be a lot for you to see and to learn.”

“Why is it called Nob Hill?” Mary asked.

He smiled, and Marissa felt his gaze upon her once again. “Some say that it’s from the word ‘snob.’ But it’s not; it comes from the Indian ‘nabob.’”

Marissa gazed at him. His eyes were inscrutable, but she felt laughter in his tone, as if he thought she belonged in a place called snob hill!

She was determined to ignore him. Her eyes met his. “I’m sure I shall be very happy upon your Nob Hill, Mr. Tremayne.”

“Will you, my love?” he queried politely. “Well, we can only hope.”

Marissa started to turn, then thought she saw someone in the crowd watching them. She frowned, staring hard through the fog. She was right; someone was watching them.

It was a woman. Tall, with blazing red hair. She was dressed in a fashionable blue velvet gown whose well-cut lines hugged her stunning body like a glove. The woman realized Marissa was watching her, and she seemed to start. Then she smiled. It was a surprisingly warm smile.

Beside Marissa, Ian turned. Marissa looked at him and saw him frown when he noticed the woman. “Lilli!” he murmured. “What on earth is she doing?”

“A friend of yours?” Marissa asked sweetly. Oh, yes, a friend! Marissa thought, and she wondered why she should be so infuriated.

Because one of her husband’s mistresses had come to the station to study her!

She felt a flush of red climbing up her cheeks and she wanted so badly to swallow her bitterness. Why should she care? She wanted nothing from him except a chance at a new life for herself and Jimmy and Mary. And that chance was now hers.

But he’d seduced her, then been furious with her because of it. It had devastated her life, taken over her dreams and her every waking moment. And it had meant nothing at all to him.

She suddenly wanted to tear out his hair.

“A friend?” she repeated.

“A friend,” he agreed flatly, staring at her hard.

Marissa turned and waved to the woman. “Lilli, hello!” she called cheerfully.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he demanded tensely, for her ears alone.

“Inviting your friend to the house. You do want to keep her, I imagine,” Marissa said innocently.

He swore, heedless of Mary, Jimmy and the Kwans. “Lady, you don’t invite anyone to my house, do you understand? You don’t know who the hell you’re talking to!”

“A dance-hall girl, I imagine. But then, this is America. Land of opportunity—and equality,” she told him. His fingers were knotting, she realized. He was probably longing to wind them around her throat, and was just barely controlling the urge to do so.

“But I shall ask into my house those whom I choose, madame, not you!” he returned. His voice was soft but his tone warning, near savage. She fought the urge to draw away, and remembered her own fury.

“Do forgive me,” she whispered. “I merely wanted to show your—friend—that I intend her no harm. Mistresses are not always fond of the arrival of—”

“Wives. But then you are not the customary wife, are you, my love? No,” he answered himself. “Certainly not customary. My dear, dear lady.”

Not a lady at all, Marissa thought. A brat from the coal mines, with less financial potential, surely, than the red-haired woman who stood and watched her.

The anger within her grew. Perhaps he wanted to throttle her. She longed to give a good cut to the hard angles and planes of his face.

But Mary was staring at her.

“Not customary at all, I promise you,” she told Ian.

And he swore softly, then gritted his teeth and called out to John. “Let’s go, please. Just circle around the confusion up ahead.”

The carriage jerked as John Kwan flicked his whip in the air and the fine matched blacks started up at a trot.

“Head straight for home, John,” Ian instructed, leaning past Marissa.

She closed her eyes, catching her breath. Home. It was his home.

But her home now.

No, his home. To which he could invite whom he chose when he chose. It would not really be her home. He had made that very clear.

She felt a strange fluttering in her heart.

The bars were closing tightly around her prison.

It would be a beautiful prison, she thought. The city had found a place in her heart already.

But still …

No matter how beautiful a prison it might be, it would still be a prison. She would live shackled by the agreement she had forced, furious with Ian Tremayne, fascinated by him.

Jealous.

No! Her eyes flew open. She felt him watching her. She turned quickly to him, and saw she was right. Bright against the darkness, his gaze was hard upon her.

Her jailer …

A shudder touched her soul.

Her jailer, her husband. A husband who did not want her here.

She turned and looked toward the station. The beautiful red-haired woman was still standing there. She lifted her hand and waved.

Fury entered her heart. He had told her he had women in his life. He had made it very clear.

But that was before he had touched her.

She wanted to be away from him! She had barely seen him again, and it seemed that already the night and her life were filled with tempest and pain. Oh, it was a lie, it was all a lie, and she had created it.

And there wasn’t anything she could do.

It was time to begin living the lie.