A Wedding Story (17 page)
Authors: Susan Kay Law
Tags: #American Light Romantic Fiction, #Romance fiction, #Historical fiction, #Romance - Historical, #Fiction, #Romance, #Romance: Historical, #Historical, #Fiction - Romance
“You’re not going in there.”
“Here.” He tossed his shirt in her direction and began to pick his way down the slope toward the water.
“Hello!” Their heads swiveled in tandem toward the sound. Charlie Hobson wavered on the narrow ledge that led to the cave’s entrance. He ventured a wave, bobbled, then flattened himself against the side.
“What the hell?” Jim clambered back up to her side.
“Well.” Charlie pointed his thumb back up the slope. “Let’s meet topside, shall we?”
Jim grabbed his shirt and shrugged into it. The trip back up seemed much easier than down. It felt like only a few moments had passed before they rounded the top to find Hobson waiting for them, red-faced and sweating in the cool morning mist.
“Well, well. You do show up in the most interesting places, don’t you?” Jim said.
“Part of my job.” He spoke to Jim, but he
looked
at Kate. “Rough night?”
Two words, and Kate was suddenly, unbearably conscious of how she must appear. A glance at her skirt showed it to be hardly worthy of a rag basket. Her hand crept up to her hair and found it a snarl the size of a bird’s nest near the back. She must look…
old. Ordinary
.
Jim edged between her and the reporter, blocking the man’s gaze. For a second she was grateful. And then she thought,
no. No.
She stepped out from his protective shadow. “Actually, it was surprisingly…comfortable.” Beside her, she felt Jim’s amazement and didn’t dare glance his way. “No, it’s his insistence on a morning swim that’s disturbing me.”
“Is that what you were arguing about?” Hobson asked.
“Arguing?”
“When I first saw the two of you, you looked a bit…intense.” Was that the reporter’s stock in trade, Kate wondered? A leading comment, a level gaze, then the pregnant waiting silence that encouraged one to blurt something,
anything,
to fill it?
“Facing a choice between swimming in
that
and starving to death on this rock tends to make me a bit serious,” she said smoothly.
He smiled blandly. “I suppose it would.”
“Convenient of you to show up,” Jim put in. “Very timely. Seems to be a habit of yours.”
“I try.”
“How’d you know we were here?”
“Been following the competitors. Everybody has to show up here, sooner or later.”
“Everybody?” Kate asked, all innocence. “Who’s been here so far?”
“Oh, no.” Charlie waggled a chiding finger. “I’m not telling you how far along anybody else is.”
“I was just curious.”
“I’m sure you were. Anyway, I saw you two come over yesterday. When you didn’t come back—”
“Yesterday? You saw us then and just
left
us here all night?”
“Hey, now, how was I supposed to know?” He spread his hands. “Thought maybe you two wanted to be alone. Deserted island and all that.”
“That wasn’t the plan, no. Our boat left without us.”
He shrugged. “Sorry. This morning, I figured I’d row on over and see what was up. Just in case.”
“How lucky for us,” Jim said without inflection. “Much as I’ve enjoyed the chat, I’d as soon get going.”
“Wouldn’t do to get too far behind, would it?” said Hobson, his smugness almost perfectly disguised. He knew very well where everyone else was, Kate thought, and thoroughly enjoyed knowing something they didn’t.
“Let’s go.”
Hobson had tied his boat behind a boulder out of sight of most of the island. No wonder they hadn’t seen him coming. Jim’s hand hovered at Kate’s elbow as she clambered over the rough rocks, perfectly correct on the surface, but his thumb stroked inside her elbow with easy sensuality that had her stumbling along the way.
“Bet you’re glad to see that boat,” Hobson said.
“I most certainly am,” Kate answered, and wondered why she wasn’t nearly as happy as she should be.
I
t’ll do
, Hobson thought. The handsome, shirtless adventurer with a wild reputation and the beautiful woman, cloistered together on a romantic island rising out of the mists and the sea. Yeah, it will do.
He gave a hard pull on his oar, feeling the twinge all across his shoulders, knowing he’d be feeling it tomorrow, too. Beside him, Lord Bennett was stroking smoothly, barely putting any effort into it. But that was his way, wasn’t it? Born with position and looks and money, he’d probably never had to put much effort into anything his entire life.
It would have been better, Hobson knew, if he’d have found them in a more compromising position. That was certainly what he’d hoped for, planned on. Readers ate that kind of thing up. You could write the best story in the world about a legislative committee, really important stuff, and they’d go for the lurid every time. He’d gotten two raises in six months once he’d finally figured that out.
But while he could selectively present the truth, had no problem nudging it along now and then, he couldn’t outright make it up. He’d been in Havana Harbor when the
Maine
had been blown up, for Christ’s sake. Teddy Roosevelt himself had said he’d written the very best account of the taking of San Juan Heights, so vivid he’d requested his own signed copy of the article. He was a real reporter, not a novelist. And he never forgot it.
But these two…they’d sell a few papers for him before he was done. And let that mystery reporter Fitz had dug up who’d gotten so damn lucky with his first story try and keep up with him this time.
Dear Emily,
I have only a moment to dash this off, but I trust you will make sure the important points find their way to Anthea as well. I’m sure I’ve had the wires humming and the cables flying between Montana and Colorado for the last few weeks already.
I know the news is abysmally slow to reach you two out in the hinterlands, but maybe you’ve heard of the Great Centennial Race? Sponsored by the
Daily Sentinel?
I suggest you begin paying attention, for I’ve entered.
All right, take your time. Finish laughing. I have. You won’t read about me in the papers—I’m traveling under an assumed name. No reason to let that out if I don’t have to. And I’m not going to tell you what it is. You can guess. Consider it fair compensation for all you put me through this year.
And here, my dear sister, is where you can say “I told you so.” I know you love that. Perhaps there is something to be said for this adventuring thing after all. Not that I’d ever want to do it again, mind you—heaven forbid!—but it is rather educational to have experienced it once, if only to reinforce my previous opinions of such matters.
You cannot imagine all the places I’ve been sleeping! Some of them make me downright nostalgic for that horrible floor of your hut. Last night I stowed away on a railroad car! I am almost certain it was once used to transport cattle.
I must go. We’re behind, and you know how I hate that. One last thing, however. You remember that other helpful suggestion you made? About having one wild affair in my life?
I confess I am seriously considering it.
Must go. I’ve got a boat to catch.
All my love,
Kate
“Are you sure they’re going to be all right?” Kate asked.
“I promised, didn’t I?” Jim replied with admirable patience, given that he’d answered that question at least three dozen times in the last thirty-six hours as they’d raced to reach New York before the
Emperor
sailed. “I made it worth the kid’s while to make sure of it. He’ll get both horses back to the stables at the Rose Springs. And if he doesn’t, he’ll be answering to me. I made that
very
clear, believe me.”
“Now there’s a terrifying thought, answering to you.” She gave a mock shudder, her eyes sparkling with that teasing light that seemed to reduce him to stuttering faster than anything else on earth. Then she sobered. “I’m going to miss her, that’s all.”
“I know.” Kate had grown almost absurdly fond of her little mare. Not that kindness to animals wasn’t a truly commendable quality, but still—“After we win, you can go back and buy her, all right?”
“Promise?” she asked, and he would have done anything in the world she requested just to put that expression on her face.
“I swear,” he said solemnly, and then turned his attention to the matter at hand. Around them bobbed the chaotic, colorful hubbub of the Hudson River piers; above them beamed a warm, benevolent autumn sun. “So what do you think?”
Kate contemplated the
Emperor,
moored snugly into her jetty. If the ships got any bigger, she thought, they were going to have to rebuild the docks to get them to fit. Out in the river, her attendants awaited her, a floating court of tugboats, lighters, fireboats, and what had to be the entire membership of the New York Yacht Club, decks packed with partiers.
The
Emperor
lived up to her name. France’s attempt to finally wrest the prize for the fastest Atlantic crossing from England and Germany, who’d held the title for years, she’d done just that, winning the coveted “Blue Riband” on her maiden crossing from Le Havre. But she was a beautiful thing as well, majestic in her size, glorious in her formal tuxedo colors of black and white, punched with a few vibrant shots of red. She settled firmly into the water, commanding it easily, her four funnels—the first full four-funnel ship built in France, none of that three-funnels and a dummy business for her—tilted slightly back, making her look as if she were steaming quickly through the ocean even while at rest. Flags snapped from every pole, fluttering against the clear sky, as if she were dressed for a party. Which, in a manner of speaking, she was.
“Hmm. I might be able to…” She glanced down at herself and grimaced. “Not like this, I can’t.” She snatched up her bag and slung it over a shoulder, an easy gesture that looked as if she’d been packing it herself for years. “Will you wait?”
“Will I wait for what?”
“You’ll see.”
She glanced around, then clipped off across the docks toward a small office building, entering without knocking. For five minutes, perhaps more, he waited for her return before wandering over to the edge of the pier.
Water, a deep gray-green, threaded with dying seaweed, bobbing with refuse tossed from ships and shore, slapped at the pilings, the dark wood slick and green where the water slid over it, striking and retreating again, a relentless attack, and he started to plan.
“There you are,” she said from behind him, her voice breathless, a bit perturbed. “I thought you were going to wait.”
“I did. I’m still here, aren’t I? I…” He turned and whatever he was about to say evaporated like alcohol held on the tongue.
Surrounded by the ragged, work-grimed men that toiled on the wharf, she stood as if alone in the sunlight, everything else gray and smudged. A queen’s necklace in a pile of tin and dirty crystals, shining and true.
Silk shimmered and flowed over her elegant form, the fabric the color of the very heart of the orchids he’d found in the jungle where they bloomed in wild luxury. It was a perfectly proper dress, tight-necked, long sleeved, but with dozens of buttons like tiny pearls, winking at him in the sunlight as if they dared him to pop them off. A swath of filmy fabric encircled her waist, drawn through twin circles of hammered silver before fluttering to her hem, drawing his eyes to the narrow slope of her waist, the lush curve of her hip beneath the silk.
Her hair was almost completely uncovered, bits of lace and feather peeping flirtatiously from within the rich tumble of gold. She’d twisted and turned the strands, pinning them in a haphazard manner that looked as if a maid had labored over it for hours to achieve just that studied disarray.
“Where the hell did you get that?”
“Magic bag.” She patted it fondly before dropping it to the ground. “Aren’t you glad you let me pack it myself?”
“How—” He had to stop to breathe. He’d nearly forgotten she could look like this, every man’s fantasy taken human form, just real enough to dream about but too far beyond any human’s reach ever to think that she might actually be yours. To admire, but never touch. “But—”
“Oh, stop stuttering,” she snapped. “You’ve seen me in my natural state—” She stopped, reddened prettily. “You’ve seen me in an unguarded state for weeks. You, of all people, should no longer be reduced to idiocy.”
Interesting. She’d made no secret of her wish to be admired, nor of how accustomed she was to the appreciation of men. And here she didn’t want his, at least not like this…
interesting,
he thought again.
“It’s just shock. Not to mention annoyance that you’ve been wasting precious storage space hauling around useless fripperies like that. I could have used more rope.”
“Oh, it’s not useless,” she said airily. “Just you wait and see.”
Three men—two bearded dockworkers with shoulders the size of tugboats and a tall, thin gentleman in a charcoal gray suit, a gold-tipped cane swinging over his arm—stopped dead at the sight of her, spurring a logjam in the human traffic on the docks. She flashed them each a smile in turn, one that somehow managed to make them preen and blush but held them all at a safe distance.