Part 16 (2/2)
No, this kind of confrontation would probably be more dangerous a hundred years from now, in the middle of a modern city. Or in the jungle, where no rules applied.
Victorian San Francisco, on the surface, was civilized.
The carriage lurched to a stop at the curb a few blocks farther down the street. Liam jumped out before the driver left his seat.
”Wait here,” Liam commanded.
”Hold it. Where are youa””
But he was already striding away toward a building of nondescript brick and wood, three stories high and studded with rows of plain windows. A sign on the ground floor, neatly lettered, proclaimed ”Rooms and Suites Available.” Was this where Liam intended to put her up?
She didn't have long to wait. After a few minutes Liam came charging back, his expression more grim and forbidding than ever.
”The Palace,” he rapped to the driver, who was impressed into swift obedience by Liam's glare.
”Didn't they have any rooms available?” Mac asked as he sat down beside her.
He gave a narrow-eyed look. ”I think you'll prefer the Palace Hotel. You have heard of it, haven't you?”
She nodded. The Palace Hotel of Liam's day was an extravagant marvel in a city of extravagance. It had been home to the moneyed elite, wealthy travelers, and diplomats. It was also extremely expensive. ”Is that where you live?”
”Hardly. But it should do well enough for youa”for the time being.”
It would have to. Mac turned to the window again and watched for the first sight of the Palace.
The wait was brief. Only a few blocks away rose a building taller than any other Mac had seena”seven stories plus a mansard roof, square and imposing and lined with row upon row of bay windows. It dominated the block like an emperor among genuflecting subjects.
She'd seen pre-earthquake photos of it, but they didn't do it justice. Nothing short of reality could.
”It's incredible,” she said.
”I'm glad you approve. I wouldn't have wanted to disappoint you.”
His faint derision couldn't rob Mac of her wonder. She noted the sign for New Montgomery Street as the coachman drove under a great arch to the side of the building and on through a gated entrance big enough for two carriages side by side.
The sunlight dimmed. Hoofbeats echoed in the vast s.p.a.ce of an open court within the hotel itself, a gla.s.s-domed rotunda overlooked by seven balconied and columned galleries. A line of carriages waited in the circular drive to take on or deposit pa.s.sengers; men and women and children looked down on the courtyard, their voices drifting disembodied from the heights.
Mac angled her head for a better view of the gla.s.s dome high above. ”This isa””
”I know. Incredible.” Liam jerked her hood up and fastened a b.u.t.ton under her jaw. ”Keep this up. I don't want gossipmongers prying into my business.”
She pushed the hood back. ”Afraid people will wonder who you're smuggling in here?”
He tugged the hood forward again and didn't bother to reply. Mac had a good idea what he was thinking. The Palace was a social center in the city, and it wouldn't do for people to see him bringing one woman into a hotel when he was planning to marry another.
That was the curious part of all this, that he'd keep her around at all. But she'd play along while she could, hoping she'd learn enough in the meantime to form a better plan.
Mac's preoccupation melted away when the carriage door swung open. The strangeness of it all came cras.h.i.+ng down like old buildings in an earthquake. The smell of smoke and horses and perfume laced the air. Pairs and groups and crowds of people in period costume moved in stately patterns among columns and potted palms, decorative fish in a vast and antique aquarium. Muted voices became a roar as overwhelming as a storm-tossed ocean.
This was undeniably real, and she was as alien as if she'd dropped out of the sky in a flying saucer.
”Oh, boy,” she whispered, feeling dizzy. ”Oh boy, oh boy.”
At least Liam was otherwise engaged and not a witness to her distress. He spoke briefly to the coachman and turned to consult with a uniformed bellhop. The employee produced a sheet of paper, on which Liam scribbled a note, folded it, and returned it to the other man. Mac watched the figures fade in and out of focus.
Stay on your feet, Mac. That was all she had to do. Stay upright until she could get to someplace quiet, where she could sink into a nice, peaceful faint. Or at least have a minor fit of hysterics.
Right. Probably acceptable behavior for a Victorian female, but not for MacKenzie Sinclair. She could just imagine herself swooning artistically over a sofa or settee, handkerchief draped from languid fingersa ”Are you all right, Mac?” Liam asked, rejoining her.
”Fine,” she said, pitching much like Liam's steamer had done on rough seas off the coast of Baja California a few days ago. She tried desperately to focus on Liama”the one familiar face, the single link between her time and his.
He took her arm. ”You're pale as a ghost. You're not about to swoon on me, are you?”
”Me?” She chuckled weakly. ”Not hardly.”
”Good. The last thing I need now is a fainting female.” And a public scene, Mac added silently. But the rough disdain of his tone was belied by the firm, gentle hold he kept on her arm, lending her the support she needed to stay on her feet.
The bellhop already had her pathetically small carpetbag. ”The room is ready, sir,” he said. ”If you'll follow mea”
Liam swept Mac into motion, m.u.f.fling her against his chest so thoroughly that virtually all she could see was the cloth of her hood and his coat. She was uninterested in offering the faintest protest. His strong, masculine scent was almost soothing. She closed her eyes and let herself be carried along, past knots and eddies of chattering guests and out of the echoing s.p.a.ce of the Grand Court.
When Mac risked another glimpse of their surroundings, they were in a pillared hallway punctuated by gaslights and potted palms. The bellhop led them through a door and into a richly upholstered, windowless room. The room lurched and began to move, and Mac realized they were in an elevator. The thing was carpeted, mirrored, ornate, and empty of other pa.s.sengers except for the bellhop with her bag and the operator in the corner.
It was certainly no modern express elevator, but at length they reached whatever floor Liam had requested. He hustled her out and into another hall with a gallery along one side, undoubtedly one of those Mac had seen overlooking the rotunda. She heard the bellhop's low-voiced comment, and there was the sound of a key turning in a lock.
Liam got rid of the bellhop with a jingle of coins and a terse dismissal. The door slammed. Mac felt herself set down on a beda”a large one, from the feel of it. A heavy weight pulled the mattress down beside her; she could feel the heat of Liam's body through her cloak.
He pushed the hood away from her face, calloused fingers brus.h.i.+ng her cheek. ”How are you feeling now, Mac?”
She propped herself up on her elbows, testing her dizziness. It was fading rapidly. Liam's arm supported the small of her back, warm and strong.
”A lot better, thanks,” she said. ”I guess it was the strangeness. .h.i.tting me all at once.”
”Too much grandeur for you?” he asked, tucking layers of pillows around her until she could hardly move. ”I warned you that civilization could be dangerous.” He vanished for a moment and returned with a crystal gla.s.s of water, which she was glad enough to have. Her mouth had gone dry as a bone.
The place was a showpiece of Victorian excess, replete with richly polished woods, sumptuous fabrics and lavish decoration. It was big, high-ceilinged, and worthy of royalty. Mac knew she didn't belong here.
The walls were painted a delicate peach, with wallpaper ticked in tiny flowers. That was the single concession to subtlety. The floor was sleek-grained wood, covered by an Oriental carpet that looked too expensive to walk on. The bed on which she sat was a carved mahogany Eastlake half-tester, made up with a quilted satin bedcover and piled with gaudy fringed pillows, more than enough to suffocate under.
Against one of the two plainer walls stood a mahogany wardrobe and matching dressing table complete with a gilt mirror and a delicate cus.h.i.+oned chair. A rolltop desk was positioned at the other wall, and an additional cheval mirror stood in the corner. Two more overstuffed chairs upholstered in burgundy and brown were arranged in front of a marble fireplace, already occupied by a crackling fire. Heavy drapes swept down in graceful arcs from wide bay windows.
There was even an electric clock on the mantel. Mac had almost forgotten how to tell time, she'd been so long without her watch. The clock was comfortingly ordinary.
”I don't suppose,” she said, ”that there's a bathroom in here too. Era”a water closet?”
Liam pointed toward the rear of the room.
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