If I Wait For You (23 page)

They did get on so very well and
everyone told them what a lovely couple they made. Sara had fun
with Gardner, she laughed, she danced, she was carefree for the
first time in her life. A lifetime with Gardner would be a
wonderful thing. She told herself this over and over, but it did
nothing to help ease her mind. For some ridiculous reason, she felt
as though if she married Gardner she would somehow be betraying
West. It was silly to think such a thing, and Sara rationalized
that it must be because she was still so hurt by his rejection. She
refused, completely and utterly, to believe that she still loved
him. West Mitchell was a figment of her imagination, a man built up
in a young girl’s heart, a man who did not exist. The real West
Mitchell pitied her for her love. He could not have been more
direct, more cutting: “Don’t wait for me Sara.” He’d been trying to
be kind, to let her off as easily as possible. She knew that, but
still it hurt. Even now.

A knock sounded on the door, and Sara
stood quickly, smoothing down her skirts. She wore the loveliest of
her many gowns, all given to Sara by Julia who claimed to be in
heaven buying clothes for a young woman who wore them so well. A
daughter to spoil, she said, for a woman plagued with three
sons.

Her dress was mint-green silk with
cream lace trim and a smart little bows down the back of the wide
skirt. Her sleeves fairly frothed with lace and she thought the
effect quite pretty. And, of course, she wore the bustle West had
given all those years ago. It was, Julia had told her, the perfect
dress to wear on a warm summer’s evening to an engagement
reception.

She was just leaving her room when
Gardner approached, giving her a grin. “There you are, imp. We’re
going to be late, you know.”

“
We are going to be no such
thing and you know it,” she said lifting her chin. “Oh, don’t you
look dashing this evening.”

“
I have to if I want to
keep all the gentlemen away from you.”

She waved a hand at him and laughed.
He led her down the hall toward the entry away, chatting about who
was expected to be in attendance, and Sara stopped dead. West was
home. He stood just in the doorway, looking just as stunningly
handsome as Sara remembered.

She moved without thinking, unable to
stop herself, she threw herself into his arms, laughing and crying
and so filled with pure happiness she didn’t stop to think how this
would look to anyone watching. West was silent, his arms at his
sides, and Sara was about to step back when he moved his cheek
against her hair and brought a hand to the back of her head,
pulling her close for two breathless seconds.

Sara pushed away, but kept her hands
at his waist as she looked up at West. She was far too happy at
that moment to think about how inappropriate her enthusiastic
reception was. She was unaware that her hands were still about his
waist, unaware of the scowl that marred Gardner’s face as he stared
at her hands on his big brother’s waistcoat.

“
West, good to have you
home, brother,” Gardner said heartily.

Sara stepped back, smiling widely from
one brother to another.

“
Oh, I wish we did not have
to go,” Sara said. “But you’re home for good, now, and we’ll have
forever to talk.”

West remained silent, his expression
not quite happy, not quite anything. Sara’s stomach gave a nervous
little twitch as she realized for the first time that perhaps he
was not nearly as happy to see her as she was to see
him.

Gardner looked from her to his
brother, obviously torn about what to do. “Hell, Baxter would
choose tonight for his damned prenuptial party. I’m the best man
and haven’t got a choice of whether to go. Damnation.”

“
Go on,” West said. “I’ll
see you tomorrow. I’m hellishly tired as it is.”

Sara took Gardner’s arm, pushing down
her disappointment. She turned as they were about to walk through
the door. “It’s good to have you home, Mr. Mitchell,” she said,
switching back to her formal address as if that might erase the
previous few minutes of guileless abandon.

She and Gardner walked silently down
the wide steps toward their waiting carriage. It was dark now, with
a sky brilliant with stars and a three-quarter moon.

“
I should have brought a
wrap,” she said, feeling the coolness of the night air on her bare
arms.

Gardner began removing his coat when
Sara put her hand on his arm.

“
Oh, Gardner, I don’t want
to go. I haven’t seen my brother in two years and I’ll just go
insane thinking that I’d rather be talking with him than a bunch of
silly debutantes.”

Gardner let out a sigh. “All right,
then. But give me a kiss, princess, for me to remember you
by.”

Sara gave a jaunty little movement of
her head before closing her eyes and pursing her lips. The only
kisses Gardner had ever bestowed upon her were quick, almost
impersonal pecks on the lips or cheeks. But tonight, his kiss was
harder, more insistent, and Sara’s eyes flew open with surprise.
She moved her head back, away from his sudden ardor.

“
I’m sorry,” Gardner said,
dropping his hands from her upper arms. He smiled at her, rakishly,
his white teeth glinting in the darkness, putting Sara at ease.
“Good night, Sara.” Even then he hesitated, his smile hiding some
other darker emotion. Then he turned away and stepped aboard the
carriage without looking back, leaving a confused Sara behind. She
wanted to call after him, to tell him that he’d nothing to be sorry
about. But she didn’t. Instead, she turned toward the door, skirts
swirling about her, and ran up the steps. At that moment, the door
swept open.

Sara gave a startled
oh
, stopping herself
just before crashing into West’s chest. She beamed a smile into his
face, once again filled with happiness that West was home. Slowly
her smile faded as her mind took in his expression—she had no name
for what she saw in his eyes, but a tingling of unease swept
through her.

“
What’s wrong, Mr.
Mitchell?” she whispered. “You’re looking at me so
strangely.”

“
Call me West.”

“
You want me to call you by
your given name?”

“
I do.” His eyes swept over
her, quickly, hungrily, and Sara took a small step back.

“
What is wrong?” she asked
again, the beginnings of panic filling her.

West blinked, then he looked at her
with a kind of awe, the way a man looks at a comet streaking across
the sky. Purposefully, he put his hands on her upper arms, his
sudden smile startling in its intensity. He began laughing, a sound
of pure joy that did nothing to settle Sara’s nerves. He was acting
like a madman, one minute looking fierce, the next laughing with
abandon.

“
Mr. Mitchell, stop it.
Please. Your frightening me.”

“
I’m frightening
you
?” he said, still
laughing. “Oh, Sara. My girl. Sara.” He shook his head, chuckling.
He moved one hand to her face, moving his fingertips along her jaw.
“I thought you were dead, my girl.”

Sara stepped back. “Dead?”

“
The typhoon. The
Bonnie Lassie
sunk, did
it not?”

“
It did. But it sank in the
most fortuitous place. Only a short swim to Maui and not a shark in
sight. I floated on a small barrel the entire way.”

He grinned down at her as if drinking
her in. Well, she supposed anyone would be happy to see someone
they thought dead. “I’m alive and well and not going to a
reception. I’m off to see my brother. He’s still with the
ship?”

West nodded. “He is going to be
overjoyed when he sees you. My God, the lad is going to
faint.”

“
I do hope not,” Sara said.
“How dreadful for him to have thought I was dead. Poor Zachary.
Could you escort me, Mr. Mitchell? I’ll just change and be down
shortly.”

With that, she turned and fled up the
stairs, leaving West behind feeling decidedly unsettled. It
occurred to him that while she’d seemed pleased to see him, she was
not acting like a girl greeting her long-lost love, a man for whom
she’d promised to wait. A man who’d proclaimed his love in writing
begging her to wait.

“
I want to thank you for
sending me Sara, West. She has brought joy into this household,”
his mother said, following his eyes up the stairs where Sara had
just disappeared.

He told his mother about the typhoon
and his belief she had died, which he hoped would explain his
reaction to seeing her. “My goodness, what a shock it must have
been. And her brother thinks she died, too?”

“
He believes he is all
alone in the world, which is why he volunteered to stay on the
ship. She has a way of touching everyone she meets.” He swallowed.
“Frankly, I’m surprised she has not married. Does she have lots of
beaux?”

“
Three proposals to date,”
Julia said. “I believe Sara finds them a bit perplexing. She truly
has no idea how pretty and charming she is.”

West could not stop the red hot
jealousy that surged through his veins. It erupted so quickly, he
had to forcefully control his expression so that his mother could
not guess his thoughts. “Only three?” he asked blandly. “Is she
waiting for true love, a European title, or simply for someone
exceedingly rich.”

“
Exceedingly rich,” Sara
said from the stairway, her eyes flashing angrily. “But a title
would not be rejected out of hand. As long as it came with scads of
money.”

Julia laughed lightly. “I think Sara
is waiting for love,” she said conspiratorially. “And I think she’s
found it.”

West’s chest constricted, but he
maintained his bored mien. “Ahh. Love. Not very practical,” he
said, giving Sara a hard look. Was she in love? With
whom?

He felt the sudden, primitive urge to
find the man, to tear him from limb to limb, to stomp on his inert
body.

Julia looked from her son to her ward
with concern, as if aware of a sudden blooming emotion between the
two. “West,” she said, an obvious attempt to keep her tone light,
“stop pretending to be of such a practical bent. I know you
better.”

“
It depends on what your
definition of love is, I suppose, Mother. Some people are incapable
of that emotion.”

Sara walked to the bottom of the
stairs, her simple skirt trailing behind her. “I imagine you speak
from experience?” she asked, tilting her head as if truly
curious.

West narrowed his eyes, his mind
filled with images of Sara with another faceless man. “I
do.”

Sara flushed becomingly, but damned if
West knew why. He would have thought shame or chagrin, but her eyes
held something close to anger.

“
Shall we go see your
brother, Sara?”

Sara gave him a genuine smile, and his
breath caught in his throat. She couldn’t love someone else, he
refused to believe it. The thought that she would bestow such a
smile upon another man was unthinkable.

Despite the chill in the air, it was a
lovely evening and West and Sara by tacit agreement decided to walk
to the wharf. Sara, once again, was that animated, happy woman
she’d been in the first moments of his arrival. She could not
contain her excitement of seeing her brother, of imagining the look
on his face when he first saw her, and West found himself smiling
simply from the sheer enjoyment of hearing her talk.

“
How should we do it?
Should I just walk in on him? Or should you go and then tell him
I’m alive and well. I think I should surprise him,” she said,
answering her own question.

They walked side by side, her
chattering happily, as if the tense moments in the foyer had never
happened, as if he wasn’t dying inside knowing she loved
another.

“
Oh, West,” she said,
stopping and grabbing one of his wrists with two hands, her
happiness uncontained. “I’m so glad you’re back and
safe.”

West felt as if he’d been sucker
punched. He could barely bring enough oxygen into his lungs to
sustain himself. Indeed, he felt a bit light-headed looking down at
her. At Sara. Sara Sara Sara. Her name had been a prayer in his
head for so long, her image haunting him, that he still could not
quite believe she was standing before him, astonishingly alive. And
here she was, holding his wrist, smiling up at him, telling him she
was glad to see him. So glad.

“
Sara.” He saw her eyes
widen just slightly before he brought his head down to kiss her.
Ah, sweetness. He let out a groan, an entreaty, a sound of thanks,
when she clung to him, her hands clutching his arms. Without
conscious thought, he moved into an alley, a few steps only, to
hide them from any passerby. He pressed her against the rough
brick, his hands on either side of her head, and brought her mouth
hard against his. In some part of his brain, he knew he was being
mad, a man made insane from months and months of longing, a man
whose heart had shattered only to be miraculously repaired in an
instant.

West swept his tongue into her mouth,
tasted her, savoring the sounds she made. How could he have lived
so long without her, without seeing her, touching her, tasting her?
Truth be told, he hadn’t truly been living these last months. He’d
been existing, breathing. It was only now that he felt truly
alive.