Gift of Gold (14 page)

“Save your thinking for tomorrow, sweetheart,” he tried persuasively.

She smiled grimly in the shadows. “That’s a typically male piece of advice. I think I’ve already done enough tonight without thinking about it first. I need some time to myself. Good night, Jonas.”

“Fifteen minutes ago, you were begging me to make love to you again,” he reminded her bluntly.

“That was fifteen minutes ago. I’ve changed my mind. It’s a woman’s right. I want you to leave, Jonas.”

“Verity, this is crazy. You can’t kick me out now.”

She tilted her head curiously. Verity ran her own life. She was not accustomed to the notion that she could not run it the way she wished. “Why not?”

He shot to his feet, running a hand through his hair in exasperation. “Why not? Dammit, nothing has changed. You want me and I want you. We’ve already made love once. There’s no reason we shouldn’t spend the night together.” He was rock hard and ready for her. More than anything else on the face of the earth he wanted to lay her down and sheath himself in her again.

But she was busy throwing him out.

“Good night, Jonas.” She walked to the door and opened it. The sheet trailed behind her like a royal train. Once again it occurred to him that when she was at her most haughty, Verity reminded him vaguely of someone else.

“Dammit, Verity…” But it was useless to argue with her. He could see that now. Reluctantly he yanked on his pants, aware that he had lost this round. As he picked up his shirt the earring tinkled again. He reached down and scooped it up off the floor and dropped it into his pocket. “This is stupid.” He tried one last, weak excuse: “It’s not fair to make me face your father alone. He’s going to have a good idea of what happened here tonight. What am I supposed to say to him?”

Verity smiled her first real smile since she had found the earring. It was a smile of glittering secret amusement. “My father will be thrilled. He has been worrying for the past five years that I’m gay.”

Jonas discovered he was on the edge of losing his temper all over again. The little tyrant was baiting him now. “He’s a father. Somehow, I’m not so sure he’ll be all that delighted to know I’ve just screwed his precious virgin daughter.”

“Ex-virgin,” she stated proudly, as if taking personal credit for the transformation.

What remained of Jonas’s temper went up in smoke. As usual when he got very angry, his voice got very quiet. He showed his adversary a lot of teeth in a savage smile. “Ex-virgin is right,” he said. “Thanks to me. Remember that, lady. You didn’t manage your new status all by yourself. You needed me to do the job. Having done it very thoroughly, I intend to claim a reward. I deserve it.”

He stalked to the door and out into the night before Verity could respond to the harsh words. The door was slammed shut behind him with enough force to echo through the trees.

His red-haired tyrant was angry.

Well, so was he, Jonas thought vengefully. Things had started out smoothly enough this evening, but they had wound up disastrously. The fact that he had no one to blame but himself did not alleviate his mood one bit.

The lights were off in the cabin when he reached it. He opened the door and saw the dark shape on the bed. So much for flipping a coin to see who got the sleeping bag. Possession was nine-tenths of the law.

There was no sound from Emerson Ames. Jonas was grateful. He didn’t feel like making explanations for his prolonged absence. Emerson was no fool.

Jonas unrolled the old, musty-smelling sleeping bag he had found in a closet and stripped off his clothes. He was sliding into the bag when Emerson’s sleepy voice came from the direction of the bed.

“You’re back earlier than I expected. What happened? Did my daughter kick you out of bed?”

Jonas swallowed an oath and decided to evade the question. “Your daughter reminds me of someone, Emerson.”

“Yeah, I know. I’ve often thought the same thing.”

“Yeah?” Jonas was intrigued in spite of himself. The elusive comparison had been haunting him for some time.

“Sure. I finally figured it out a few years ago. Think about it. It’ll come to you. Small, red-haired, sharp-tongued, acts like she’s royalty, especially around men. Smart as a whip and just as dangerous. Picture her in a white lace ruff.”

“Christ. The young Elizabeth the First.”

“You’ve got it,” Emerson said smoothly. “Watch out you don’t follow in the Earl of Essex’s shoes.”

Jonas remembered how England’s great Renaissance queen had sent Essex, a former court favorite, to the headsman. “It’s not my head I worry about when I’m around your daughter,” he told Emerson bluntly.

Ames chuckled. “I know. It’s your balls you’ve got to protect. A word of advice, pal. Old Liz the First could take care of herself. If nothing else, I like to think I’ve taught my daughter to do the same.”

“You did a good job,” Jonas grumbled. “Maybe too good a job.”

“Had to. When she’s doing her Elizabeth the First routine, she’s damn near invincible. But when she smiles…”

“I see what you mean,” Jonas said quietly. He folded his hands behind his head and stared up into the darkness. Verity’s smile was a double-edged sword. It could bring out a man’s latent gallant instincts, if he had any. It could make him long to prove himself worthy of her. But it could also tempt another kind of man to reach out and vandalize the alluring promise of sweet chastity and integrity. Verity’s smile made her vulnerable in ways she didn’t even dream.

“Good night, Quarrel. Whoever gets up first makes the coffee.”

Emerson rolled over and went back to sleep. Jonas stayed awake for a long time. When he finally fell asleep, his dreams were far from pleasant. He spent most of the night trying to catch Verity as she ran ahead of him down an endless corridor.

Verity woke very early the next morning and found it impossible to go back to sleep. It was going to be a long day.

When she slid slowly out of bed she discovered that all the small aches she had noticed after Jonas’s lovemaking had intensified during the night. Her inner thighs felt as if she had been riding a horse. The thought amused her briefly as she made her way into the shower.

The idea of putting a saddle and bridle on Jonas Quarrel was more than mildly humorous; it was downright interesting.

She felt better after the shower, but still not up to her normal morning standards. A glance at the clock told her that she had plenty of time before she had to go to work. Verity decided to head for the spa. What she really needed was a good, long soak in one of the hot mineral baths. She also needed some time to think. At this hour of the morning the baths would be nearly empty. Laura and Rick wouldn’t mind her using the facilities.

Verity dressed in her jeans and an old shirt, snagged her terry robe out of the closet, and headed for the Sequence Springs Spa.

The morning was cool and crisp and invigorating. By noon Sequence Springs would be pleasantly warm. In the distance the white-walled resort building gleamed in the bright sunlight. The lake was as still and reflective as a mirror. Here and there a small boat dented the perfect surface. A surreptitious glance toward the other cabin revealed no signs of life.

Typical of a man to be able to have no trouble sleeping after a night spent making love to a woman and then traumatizing her with wild tales of lost earrings.

Verity’s mouth tightened as she replayed the night’s events. She still felt dazed. Last night she had known a sense of certainty when she gave herself to Jonas. This morning she did not understand where that certainty had sprung from but she still felt it. She could not figure out why she was sure he was the man she had been waiting for all these years. The man had undoubtedly lied to her from the moment he appeared on her doorstep. Jonas’s tale was simply too crazy to be believed.

On the other hand, it was impossible to accept the conclusion that she had waited all this time to give herself to a man she could not trust. She had always prided herself on having a reliable sense of intuition. She could not have been that wrong about Jonas Quarrel.

Once again she reviewed his story. Men in this day and age didn’t set out on such quixotic quests, she told herself for the thousandth time. But she couldn’t think of any other explanation for Jonas’s actions, unless she had been right when she suspected some link with her father’s gambling debt. That possibility was frightening. She grappled with it the rest of the way to the spa.

The blue and white tiled bathing room that housed the women’s spa was, as Verity had expected, almost empty. Caitlin Evanger was lounging naked in one of the bubbling pools. Another woman hovered near the edge with a stack of towels.

“Hello,” Caitlin said pleasantly. “Another early riser, I see. Come and join me, Verity. We have the place to ourselves. I don’t believe you’ve met Tavi Monahan.” Caitlin’s sleek, gilded head turned slightly as she smiled briefly at the other woman. “Tavi is my friend and companion. She takes excellent care of me. I don’t know what I’d do without her. Tavi, this is Verity Ames, the owner of the restaurant I told you about.”

Verity smiled. “Nice to meet you, Tavi.”

Tavi nodded politely in greeting. “Miss Ames.” Her voice was gentle and calm, her eyes oddly serene.

Tavi’s hair was dark brown with the faintest hint of silver at the temples. She wore it parted in the middle and pulled back into a simple classic twist. There was a quiet elegance about her, Verity thought. She wore a pair of brown well-cut slacks and a cream-colored pullover that went well with her olive complexion and dark, veiled eyes. Those eyes, Verity decided, were eyes of a woman who could hold an infinite number of secrets.

“What got you out of bed so early, Verity?” Caitlin inquired politely. “Or do you always get up at the crack of dawn as I do?”

“I am an early riser but generally not this early.” Verity smiled again as she started toward one of the changing rooms. She wondered if Caitlin noticed any outward change in her, then chastised herself for the juvenile notion.

Halfway to the slatted booth she remembered she had forgotten to bring her bathing suit. She stopped.

“Something wrong?” Caitlin asked.

Verity cleared her throat. “No. I’ll be right back.” She went determinedly toward the booth, considering what had happened last night, it was probably high time she learned to lead a more daring lifestyle. The thought made her grin. She stepped into the booth, took off all her clothes, and returned to the pool wearing only a towel and a smile.

She tried to appear nonchalant as she walked back to the pool. This sense of awkwardness about displaying herself was the price she paid for never having attended high school gym classes, Verity decided ruefully. But she was determined to get over it.

She dropped her towel at the edge of the pool and stepped into the warm, foaming water. The mineral scent filled her nostrils. It felt very therapeutic. Just what she needed. Verity sighed and lounged back on the underwater seat.

“It’s a sign of anxiety, you know,” Caitlin remarked from the other side of the pool.

Verity arched her eyebrows. “What is?”

“Waking up too early and being unable to get back to sleep. It can be very disturbing.” Caitlin leaned her head against a towel Tavi had placed on the edge of the pool. She closed her eyes. “I have endured the problem for years. Night after night.”

“I’m sorry.” Verity wasn’t sure what to say. She felt a sudden welling of compassion for this strange woman. She sensed painful depths in her and wished she could offer comfort. “Have you, uh, seen a doctor?”

Caitlin’s eyes opened again and she looked at Verity with cold amusement. “There is no need to consult a therapist. I know exactly what is wrong with me. I’m aware of the source of the anxiety.”

“I see.” Jonas wasn’t the only one with ghosts in his eyes, Verity thought.

Caitlin lifted a hand out of the water in a dismissive gesture and then allowed it to drop back under the surface. “It’s not all bad, you know. I do some of my best work in the dawn hours. Isn’t that right, Tavi?”

“Yes, Caitlin.” Tavi’s voice was soft as she spoke to her employer. There was a trace of sadness in the words, but Caitlin seemed oblivious to it. Tavi stood motionless, holding the stack of towels. “Some of your best paintings have been completed just before dawn. But I’m not sure that the money you have made from them has been worth the price you’ve paid to finish them.”

Caitlin grimaced. “One of the reasons I have employed Tavi all these years is that she is unrelentingly honest with me. Honesty is a rare trait in this world.”

Verity thought of Jonas. “It’s nice to be able to trust the people one hires,” she said grimly.

Caitlin gave her a speculative glance. “Are you having problems with your new employee, Mr. Quarrel?”

The temptation to confide in another woman almost overcame Verity. Caitlin was holding out the lure of mutual feminine understanding at a time when Verity badly needed some. She deeply appreciated the offer, but she managed, barely, to restrain herself. This was between her and Jonas. “No, not really. He’s a good worker. I can’t complain about his dishwashing skills and he’s good with the customers. His background is a little unusual, though.”

“An interesting man. He really was quite brilliant in his field, you know. I’ll never forget that lecture I heard him give at Vincent, and that was just a routine classroom talk. He had the whole room in the palm of his hand, even those of us who had no real interest in Renaissance warfare. You could almost see the blood and guts and treachery. He had such a passion and a knowledge of the subject that you could even believe he might actually have lived the life of a
condottiere.

“A Renaissance mercenary soldier?” Verity was suddenly fascinated. “Jonas reminds you of one?” She remembered that the bustling Italian cities of the time had squabbled constantly. The great families who governed Florence, Venice, and the other city-states had figured out quickly that it was easier and more economical to hire freelance generals with private armies to fight their endless wars than to rely on hometown loyalty and enthusiasm from the citizens. There was never any lack of work for an able-bodied mercenary during the Italian Renaissance.