“Is he?” she demanded, and his black eyes locked with hers before he answered reluctantly.
“He’s taking care of some business.”
A terrible suspicion flared in her mind, burning like a newly struck match. “Where is he?”
Chapter 13
She had never seen Damon look so ill at ease. “I don’t know.”
“Damon,” she said, deliberately using his first name. Her voice was low and insistent, fraught with tension. “You gave your friendship to me. I thought I could depend on it. I’m not asking for your help or your advice . . . I’m just asking for you not to stand in my way. You know where he is. If you won’t tell me, I’ll find him somehow. I’ll walk every street of this city—”
“You can’t. That’s dangerous—”
“And I’ll find him on my own. But it’s not your right as my friend to keep this from me.”
“It’s not fair to bargain with friendship.”
“I’m fighting to keep my husband. Rules don’t apply. Maybe when you’re married, you’ll have a better idea of what desperate lengths you’ll go to . . . for your sake, I hope not. Now, where is Heath?”
“Mrs. Rayne . . . I can’t tell you.”
“I understand,” she said evenly, her eyes shining with determination. “I’m going, then. Could you at least suggest where I should start looking? Near the Long Wharf? The Marketplace? The—”
“God, no. Lucy, don’t. The most god-awful things could happen to you, and I’d never forgive myself for—”
“If anything does happen to me, I certainly wouldn’t blame you. And I suppose Heath wouldn’t either. Well, I have a great deal of territory to cover, and I must be starting. Goodbye.”
“Wait.” Damon looked at her with a mixture of wonder and outrage, never having dreamed that she was capable of manipulating him so deftly or exerting such unfair pressure on him. They both knew that he would feel responsible if she went out alone and was harmed. He had been reared to be a gentleman in everything he did, brought up so perfectly that he was never at a loss in any situation—but Good God, what was a gentleman supposed to do when faced with something like this? “He’s at Parker’s,” he finally said, looking as if he hated himself. “Having lunch.”
Lucy nodded slowly, with a bitter smile. “Of course. À la carte at any time. I should have guessed.”
He caught her wrist lightly as she turned away. “Stop, Lu—I mean, Mrs.—”
“I’m going to Parker’s. There’s no use in trying to stop me.”
“There’s nothing you can accomplish by going there.”
“I have to see with my own eyes if he’s with her.”
“Wait for his explanation. Don’t try to corner him.”
“It’s no longer your concern.”
He let go of her wrist and combed his fingers through his raven hair, trying frantically to think of what to do. “Wait. Wait right here. I’m going to put the city editor in charge, and I’ll be back in a few seconds. I’m going with you. Don’t move. Don’t go anywhere.” He disappeared through the office door and plowed through the editorial room, snapped out a few hasty commands and charged back to the hallway. No one was there except the doorman, who had resumed his post. “Where is she?” Damon asked a little wildly.
“I’m afraid I don’t know, Mr. Redmond. She left right after you went through the door.”
Swearing violently, Damon went out to the street, where the office hack had just arrived. After yanking a hapless reporter out of the small vehicle, he informed the driver that they were going to the Parker House, and that he’d better snap to it.
Heath arched a dark brow as he stared at Raine, his eyes cool and blue-green. She returned his gaze without shame or pleading, while the perfect oval of her face glowed pale and clean against the muted burgundy background of the restaurant. The waiter moved quietly around the table, refilling their water glasses without spilling a drop on the smooth white tablecloth. As soon as the waiter left, Heath spoke quietly.
“If it were just up to me, you could live in Boston. You could live right down the street and it wouldn’t make a difference to me. I don’t care. It probably doesn’t say much for my sense of compassion . . . but I don’t care.”
“You can’t convince me that there’s nothing in your heart for me.”
“Truthfully? . . . maybe a scar or two. But nothing more.”
“Not even anger?” she asked, watching him intently. “I find that hard to believe.”
“I was angry for a long time. And then I began to understand why you did it—why you married Clay, why you didn’t want me there after the war—”
“But I wanted you! I did!” The hard note of desperation entered her voice. “For so long I’ve wanted to take back that day and live it all over again. I’d take back everything I said—I didn’t mean any of it. I wouldn’t have hurt you. I never meant to hurt you, but I already had too much to think about without having to worry about your feelings as well. We all had to be selfish . . . you were selfish, too!”
“I was selfish, too,” Heath repeated softly.
“Then you do understand—”
“I understood and forgave you a long time ago.”
“Then what’s stopping us from being together now?” she asked, bewildered.
“To begin with, I’m married.”
“I’m not asking you to break up your marriage. I’m not after a wedding ring . . . I just want you. I’ll stay here, and welcome you whenever you need me. My arms will always be open—”
“I don’t need them. After I let go of all the anger, I stopped wanting you.” Heath paused, disliking the necessity of being blunt and callous. But Raine had left him no alternative. “I stopped thinking about you.”
“I won’t believe that.”
“I doesn’t matter what you believe, as long as you leave Boston within the next twenty-four hours.”
“But if you don’t care whether I leave or not—”
“My wife does, and that’s all that matters. If I have to personally load you onto the next ship that sails out of the harbor or the next train that pulls out of the station, then I will. You have the rest of the world to live in . . . anywhere but Massachusetts.”
“What about you? Lucinda won’t always be able to keep you happy. Soon you’re going to want someone who understands you, someone from the place where you were brought up, someone who can talk about the old days with you. You don’t have a past with her. You have a past with me.”
There were a hundred different ways Heath could have answered her. There were so many things he could have tried to make her understand—how little the old days meant to him, how well Lucy understood him, and how easy it was for her to make him happy. He could have told her how much his life up here pleased him, and about the sense of purpose and fulfillment it brought him, but there was only one thing truly necessary for Raine to understand, and only one way he knew how to say it.
“I love her, Raine.”
“Once you loved me.”
“I was attracted to you. I cared for you. But that wasn’t love. It wasn’t real.”
“Nothing else has ever been as real for me.”
“Then I’m sorry for you. And I hope that one day you’ll find someone. But there’s no hope for you and me. Raine . . . I’ve been looking for her all my life. Now that I have her, no one else could ever be anything but second-best.”
“S-second-best? To her?”
“Yes. Don’t ever doubt that.”
“Heath . . . Heath, I don’t understand.” Her stubbornness began to falter, and her heavy lashes fluttered with confusion. “What do you see in her? What has she done to trap you? Is she . . .” Raine floundered vainly for words. “Is she prettier than I am? Is that what you think? Is it that she likes to talk about that newspaper with you?”
The pity in his eyes was genuine as he looked at her. “I don’t know if I can explain something to you that you can’t see, or touch, or feel. You w
ouldn’t understand. It’s nothing that she’s done or said . . . it’s not the way she looks—though God knows I couldn’t find fault with that. Sometimes people don’t have to do anything to make you love them . . . you just do, and there’s no help for it.”
She looked down at the tablecloth, refusing to answer. But he read her silence accurately, and he knew that tomorrow morning she would be leaving Boston.
The hack made it to the Parker House just as Lucy’s carriage did. Damon leapt onto the curb and was at the door of the carriage in the blink of an eye.
“Lucy, let me in there—let me talk to you for just a minute. Please.”
At Lucy’s reluctant assent, the disapproving coachman opened the door for Damon, who slid inside immediately. Closed in the dark quietness of the carriage, Damon sat next to her and rapidly sorted through his options. What could he say to her?
“Don’t go in there,” he said finally, feeling like a tongue-tied idiot as he read the deep misery in her eyes.
“I don’t want to,” she replied, her voice cracking. “I’m afraid that I’ll see Heath and Raine together, and then I won’t have any choice but—”
“They are in there together . . . take my word for it. So there’s no need to go in there and make a scene.”
“Damon . . . why is he with her?” she whispered. “Why didn’t he tell me? I don’t know what to do.” She searched clumsily in her handbag for a handkerchief as she started to cry. Her tears were too much for him. After pulling out a handkerchief from his pocket and handing it to her, Damon listened to her muffled weeping for a few seconds, feeling more helpless than he had in years. Carefully he took her into his arms, in a loose, brotherly embrace that communicated no hint of passion. As her weeping continued, his hand moved over the back of her head in a light, protective caress, and his eyes closed for a split second as he gave in to the painful luxury of pretending.
It was too dangerous a game to be playing. He regretted his offer of comfort as soon as he felt her sobbing against his shoulder, but he could no sooner turn away from Lucy’s tears than he could stop his heart from beating. He thought of what Heath’s friendship meant to him. He thought of his own honor. He thought about Lucy’s happiness. There was only one path before him.
“Here’s something for you to think about,” he said, his voice deliberately light. “At the moment, it would appear to an objective bystander that the two of us are in a far more incriminating situation than Heath and Raine.” Startled, she pulled away from him, her eyes wide. “Which should remind us,” Damon continued evenly, “not to judge by appearances.”
“What are you saying?”
“That nothing’s ever exactly what it seems. And instead of jumping to conclusions, you should let your husband explain his actions. He deserves that chance. He doesn’t deserve to be put through hell because of some misunderstanding.”
“There’s one thing I understand very well,” Lucy said, wiping her wet cheeks with a corner of the handkerchief. “He lied to me. Every minute that he was with me and didn’t tell me that she was still in Boston, he was lying.”
“So would I, if I thought I’d lose you.”
Coming from Damon, that was the response Lucy had least expected. “You wouldn’t really. You’re a gentleman. I don’t believe you would lie . . . would you?”
He sighed. “The problem with having such high expectations of people, Lucy, is that those standards aren’t always easy to live up to. We’re all bound to make mistakes . . . and from where I’m standing, I’d say that Heath makes less mistakes than most.”
“Are you saying I should excuse him for lying to me?”
“Look at it this way: why would Heath risk telling you that Raine was still in Boston when he had every reason to believe you wouldn’t find out? What you didn’t know wouldn’t have hurt you.”
“You’re trying to justify his dishonesty!”
“I’m trying to explain why he didn’t tell you. He thought he could take care of the problem himself and protect you from ever knowing—”
“I don’t need that kind of protection.”
“Then tell him. He’ll listen.”
“How do you know?” she asked suddenly, blowing her nose with a vigorous gust.
“I’ve never seen a man who listens to his wife the way he listens to you.”
“He just humors me.”
“No. No, that’s not it at all. Lucy . . .” Damon broke off with a rueful laugh. “God, he’ll kill me if he ever finds out I told you. But you need to know it, and it’s not right to keep it from you. Lucy, Heath never planned to stay in Massachusetts for more than a few months. It was all because of you that he stayed. You’re the reason he bought the house in Concord and eventually the Examiner. You’re the reason he decided to live in New England instead of going back to the South.”
“W-what? That can’t be true.”
“I’ll swear it on a stack of Bibles. He came to visit me before leaving New England. He said he was leaving here for good, that he hadn’t found what he was looking for, and I thought that was the last I’d ever see of him. He had the look of a man who’d lost his roots. A lot of the veterans turn out like that—they start to wander. Some start walking the rails and jumping boxcars for the rest of their lives—”
“Heath would never have been reduced to that.”
“No, but there was something in his expression . . . something unsettled . . . homeless . . . I can’t explain. You’d have to see it to understand what I’m talking about. It was gone the next time I saw him. He came back a month later and told me he’d bought a place in Concord. Heath said he’d decided on the girl he was going to marry, and he had this ridiculous idea about him and me buying the Examiner, which was sinking like a stone at the time.” Damon laughed softly. “I’m no fool when it comes to money, Lucy. And I didn’t have too much at the time, so I intended to be careful about what I did with it. But I’m damned if Heath didn’t eventually talk me into buying the paper, and then he showed up with you as his wife.”
“Wait a minute . . . did you say that he had decided on the girl he was going to marry right after he bought the place in Concord?”
“It was in late May. He even told me your name.”
“But . . . but that was before he even met me,” Lucy said, astounded. Her mind flew back to that January when he had pulled her out of the frozen river. Heath had bought the house in Concord the summer before that. “He’d only seen me crossing the street, and through the window of my father’s store . . . and you say that he had already decided—”
“What he saw, he must have liked.” Slowly Damon smiled. “What I’m trying to tell you is that it was all for you. You’re the reason for everything he’s done. For that matter, you’re the reason I’m the managing editor of the Examiner. If it weren’t for you, Heath would never have talked me into buying the paper.” Damon regarded her quizzically. “Do you feel better about everything now? No? Then I’ll tell you one more thing . . . no matter what appearances are, only a fool would think that Heath would choose someone else over you. As far as he’s concerned, no woman alive could compete with you. He’s branded for life.”
“Why do you seem so convinced of that?”
Damon appeared to choose his next words with great care. “He’s changed since he met you. When I knew him before, Heath was a different man.”
“Different in what way?”
“He lived very . . . loosely. He drank hard, all the time. And . . .” Damon paused and looked at her with dark, unfathomable eyes. “He used and discarded women with no more thought than if he were going through a box of King Bee cigarettes.”
Lucy’s cheeks colored. “King Bees—”
“Twenty for a nickel. Preferred by men who choose quantity over quality. One after another. I see I’ve embarrassed you. But you understand what I’m saying . . . have you ever seen him even look at another woman?”
“Not while I’m around, but—”
“He d
oesn’t when you’re not around, either. I’d stake my life on the fact that he’s completely faithful to you. I’ve been with him when beautiful women have passed by, and he’s never spared any of them a glance. You’re the reason why.”
“You’re trying to pacify me, but—”
“I’m not trying to pacify you. I’m trying to tell you that I’ve never seen a man so in . . . well, I’ll let him tell you that. I’ve already overstepped the boundaries too far. Tell me . . . what’s your decision going to be? Are you going in there or heading home?”
“I’m not sure.”
“If you go home, I’ll talk to him when he gets back to the Examiner. I’ll tell him that you know Raine is in town. You should be able to handle things from then on.”
She nodded and raised her eyes to his, seeing nothing but quiet friendliness in his gaze, never suspecting what lay beneath it. “Damon . . . I’m sorry for the things I’ve said to you today. I held our friendship over your head like a whip—”
“Whatever works,” he replied, and shrugged.
“Well, if nothing else, today has accomplished one thing . . .”
“What’s that?”
“We’re finally on a first-name basis.”
Her innocent smile brought him both pleasure and pain. For her sake, he would never treat her with anything but brotherly affection. And, in love with Heath as she was, she would never recognize Damon’s real feelings for her. He was relieved that she didn’t suspect, despite the deeply buried desire to unburden his heart.
“Aren’t we, Damon?” she prompted, and his mouth curled with a self-mocking smile.
“That we are, Lucy.” He opened the door of the carriage and gave her a brief salute before swinging lightly onto the pavement.
The hour was late, and still Heath had not returned home. Lucy ate dinner in dispirited silence and went upstairs to take a bath. Sinking into the hot water until she was immersed up to her shoulders, she half-closed her eyes and let her mind drift from one thought to another. No matter what condition Heath arrived in or what hour he walked in the front door, she was determined to talk to him. They would have to come to an understanding; she couldn’t live with this uncertainly any longer. If she had to force his hand, then she would, but after tonight she would know the truth about his feelings, and he would know the truth about hers.