Honor (34 page)

“Of course.”

Though Nevada shared Theodate Tree’s appreciation of Sargent’s work, he still sensed that the woman disapproved of him.

He had an uneasy feeling that before this holiday was over, he and Honor’s beloved aunt were headed for a showdown.

It came sooner than he expected.

That evening the three of them were sitting in the upstairs parlor after dinner when Theo rose. “Honor, would you mind taking Mrs. Jameson one of the pumpkin pies that Cook baked for Thanksgiving? She always asks for you, and I think she’d enjoy the company.” Theo smiled at Nevada. “Mrs. Jameson is an elderly woman who lives next door and doesn’t have many callers. Surely you wouldn’t mind keeping me company while Honor dashes off for a few minutes, would you?”

“Of course not.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Honor roll her eyes at the obviousness of her aunt’s ploy.

Theo beamed. “I knew you were an understanding man the moment I met you. Off with you, sweet Portia, on your errand of mercy.”

“Anything to brighten someone’s holiday,” Honor muttered, casting an apologetic glance at Nevada before rising and leaving for her call.

When Nevada and Theo were alone, he said, “That’s right neighborly of you, to cheer an old lady.”

She smiled coolly. “The pumpkin pie was merely an excuse to leave us alone, as I’m sure you’re well aware.”

“The thought had occurred to me.” He rose and went to stand by the fireplace. “I think you wanted to get me alone so you could talk to me about my intentions toward your niece.”

“First I’d like you to tell me about yourself.” Before Nevada could reply, Theo added, “Honor told me about your background when she was last here. I want to know what kind of man you are.”

Now he knew how Honor’s father must have felt facing the gallows. He took a deep breath. “I’d like to think of myself as a decent man, Mrs. Tree, trustworthy and loyal to my friends. I’m more successful than some, less successful than others. I would never hurt your niece or ask her to lie for me.”

Theodate Tree drummed her restless fingers against the arm of her chair and sat in silence as if collecting her thoughts. “Honor is a bright, strong-willed young woman who has chosen an unconventional path in life. Are you able to handle the challenge of such a woman?”

He thought of Sybilla. “Yes.”

“I’ve been told Honor is a good lawyer.”

“She’s still green, but I’ve heard she shows promise.”

“Even as a child she was always very level-headed and clear-thinking.” Theo rose to stand behind her chair. “Unfortunately, she’s as emotional and soft-hearted as any other woman when it comes to love and men.”

Nevada grew still. “I’m not Robert Davis, Mrs. Tree.”

“That is very reassuring. She is as dear to me as the daughter I never had, and I would hate to see her make another mistake in judgment.” She took a deep breath. “Honor’s told you what happened to her father and to the man who brought about his downfall?”

“She has. And I can understand your mistrust of wealthy men involved in commerce.”

She looked around the room. “I have nothing against wealth or commerce. I wouldn’t be living a life of privilege and ease in such elegant surroundings if it hadn’t been for my husband’s vast wealth. It’s dishonesty that I abhor. Many financiers are ruthless and don’t care who gets trodden beneath their heels as long as they profit.”

Nevada stirred uneasily. Damon Delancy wasn’t called the Wolf of Wall Street for nothing. He could be ruthless when the occasion demanded. Would Theodate Tree consider Nevada guilty by association?

Honor’s aunt said, “If you are not an honest man, Nevada, you and Honor will never suit. Her husband expected her to lie and compromise her values so that he could profit. He fooled us with his false sincerity and underdog charm, but I will not be fooled again.”

“It’s not my intention to fool anybody.” Wasn’t it? He had never dared tell a soul the truth about August Talmadge, the banker who had murdered Sybilla.

Theo walked over to him. “Honor told me how you cared for her after she was beaten and what you did to the man responsible. For that alone I’ll be forever in your debt.”

“I just did what needed doing, ma’am.”

“No, you did more than that.” She moved about the room in a feminine rustle of silk. “Tell me, has Honor received any word from her no-account husband?”

“Not a word. He just vanished without a trace.”

“So she can’t divorce him?”

“Not until he’s found.”

Her black eyes flashed. “He is beneath contempt for such cowardice. Honor will never be free of that—that albatross around her neck.”

“Maybe not”—he looked at her—“but I’ve hired a Pinkerton detective to search for Davis. I haven’t told Honor because I don’t want to get her hopes up.”

Theodate Tree’s brows rose. “A Pinkerton detective… You must be very fond of my niece to incur such an expense.”

“I am right fond of her.”

She smiled with genuine warmth for the first time since they had begun their discussion. “I can see that you are.” She extended her hand. “I must admit that I had reservations about you, but you’ve laid my misgivings to rest.”

He took her hand and bowed over it. “I’m relieved to hear you say that, Mrs. Tree.”

“Theo, please.”

He smiled. “As I was saying, Theo, I couldn’t live with myself if I caused a rift between Honor and her kin.”

“You needn’t worry about that. I can see that you’re an honest, decent upstanding young man.”

Nevada shifted uneasily. Would she still think so if she knew the truth about the night August Talmadge died?

By the soft light of the lamp on the nightstand, Honor waited impatiently in her bedroom, her gaze trained on the door. The clock on the mantel chimed midnight, reminding her that they had all retired an hour ago and Nevada still hadn’t come to her.

What was keeping him?

She sat up in bed, hugged her knees, and wiggled her toes. Perhaps his personal code of honor restrained him from making love to her beneath her aunt’s roof. She smiled and flung back the covers. In that case, she would have to go to him.

No sooner did her bare feet touch the floor than the doorknob slowly turned. She rose, one hand held against her racing heart. The door opened just wide enough for her lover to slide through, then he shut it quietly behind him.

Honor stood there poised at her bedside, studying him. His blue wool robe was loosely belted at the waist, revealing a tantalizing expanse of chest, and he was barefoot, all the better to move with silence and stealth down the hall. In the dim lamplight, Nevada’s blue eyes blazed with a desire matched by Honor’s own.

They moved together with the impatience of lovers too long denied, meeting in the center of the room in a tangle of limbs.

Honor entwined her arms around Nevada’s neck and pressed her body tightly against his, resenting even the barriers of silk and wool. “I thought you weren’t coming,” she murmured between kisses.

He sifted his fingers through her hair, his gaze roving over her face. “I wanted to make sure everyone was asleep.”

She slid her hand beneath his robe, caressing his chest until he shuddered. “I feared you were having second thoughts about making love to me in my aunt’s house.”

He grinned. “Some men would, but I want you too badly.”

Honor ignited at his arousing touch. She pulled back, but only long enough to strip off her peignoir, then allowed Nevada a few seconds to stare his fill before she grasped both his hands and drew them to her breasts.

He caressed her until she groaned. “Not so loud,” he whispered, “or you’ll wake someone.”

Honor stifled a shuddering gasp as his fingers tormented her with consummate skill. She wanted to scream in glorious abandon, but the prospect of discovery paradoxically deterred and aroused her even more. When Honor’s knees finally buckled under the strain of restraint, Nevada lifted her effortlessly into his arms and strode over to the bed. He set her down gently, shrugged off his robe, and slid in beside her.

She kissed him hungrily, her hands stroking and tickling, reveling in the masculine textures of rough hair and hard muscle covered by smooth skin. Except for deep, ragged breathing, Nevada manfully made not a sound until Honor’s hand closed over his aroused flesh.

“Hush,” she said with a mischievous smile, “or you’ll wake someone.”

“You do try a man’s patience, woman,” he muttered between clenched teeth before his mouth closed over hers, and he covered her body with his own.

Honor’s last coherent thought before she succumbed to her rising passion was that she had slept in this bed as a child, and now she was making love in it as a woman.

Later, when they both lay sated and spent, Honor whispered, “What did my aunt have to say to you when I went to Mrs. Jameson’s?”

Nevada rolled over and propped his head on his hand. “She wanted to make sure I wasn’t a no-good varmint like your husband.”

Honor suppressed a smile. “You evidently succeeded in convincing her. I noticed the way she kept beaming at you for the rest of the evening.”

“That’s because we reached an understanding.”

Honor stroked his smooth cheek. “I’m delighted to hear it. I wanted her to approve of you.”

“And if she didn’t?”

Her fingers sought her missing locket. “She would force me to choose between you, and she would lose.”

He brushed her cheek with his fingertips. “You were skittish about asking me here. Why? Were you afraid she wouldn’t accept me?”

Honor’s mouth went dry, and she suddenly felt chilled. “No. I was afraid you’d think me too forward and refuse my invitation.”

A puzzled frown appeared between his brows. “Too forward? Why would I think that?”

Honor turned her head away, focusing on the fireplace concealed deep in shadow on the other side of the room. Why could she be so eloquent on behalf of a client, yet have so much difficulty expressing herself in matters of the heart? Finally, she said, “I’m afraid I’m hopelessly in love with you, Nevada LaRouche.”

His mustache twitched with his smile. “Took you long enough to admit it, but I’ve always known.”

“You have?”

“I grew up with women who could make love to a man without loving him, but you’re not that kind. You wouldn’t welcome a man into your bed unless you loved him. I figured you wouldn’t have come to Coppermine that weekend if you didn’t love me.”

But what about his feelings for her? A man who had once patronized a brothel and kept a mistress could obviously make love to a woman without loving her in return. Honor shivered.

“Cold?” Nevada drew her against his own body to warm her and held her tightly. “I never thought I’d ever love another woman after Sybilla. But I sure do love you, Honor Davis, and that’s the God’s honest truth.”

Relief and happiness lightened Honor’s heart, and she hugged him with a fierce possessiveness. “Even if I’ll have white hair before I’m forty, and everyone will think I’m your mother?”

He grinned. “Even if you have white hair. But no one will ever mistake you for my mother.” He trailed his fingers down her arm. “I’ve been meaning to ask you, why does your aunt call you Portia?”

“Portia was a lady lawyer in a famous Shakespearean play called
The Merchant of Venice.”

“Never read any Shakespeare.”

She kissed him. “It doesn’t matter. You have other attributes.” Suddenly she grew serious. “I felt awkward asking you here because I was afraid that you didn’t love me in return. I didn’t want you to think that I was trying to force you to love me.”

“I don’t have to be forced to love you.”

“That sets my mind at ease.”

“Sometimes it’s hard for me to put my feelings into words.” He flung back the covers, letting his gaze rove over Honor’s naked body. “It’s easier for me to show you what’s on my mind.”

Much to Honor’s delight, he was most eloquent.

Later, when Nevada returned to his own room, he found sleep eluded him despite the lateness of the hour.

Theo’s words kept echoing through his mind. “If you are not an honest man, Mr. LaRouche, you and my niece will never suit.”

How could he declare his love for Honor and accept hers in return without being totally honest with her? She knew about August Talmadge’s death, but like everyone else, she thought it had been an accident. Nevada had said nothing to disabuse her of that notion.

He rose and walked over to the window, flung back the curtains, and stared into the dark street below, where not a soul stirred except a tomcat skulking in the shadows. Should he tell her the truth about that night? He could imagine the shock on her lovely face and the disgust that would fill her dark eyes. Whatever love she felt for him would surely die.

Nevada rubbed his jaw. No, there was plenty of time for the truth later, when her love grew and bound her tighter to him and he could make her understand. He returned to bed and slept a deep sleep unencumbered by dreams.