Part 17 (2/2)
a”Leo Tolstoi THE LATE AFTERNOON air was clear and crisp, with no hint of fog: a perfect autumn day, and still quiet on n.o.b Hill while its inhabitants completed their business in bank and office and began the serious pursuit of drink and pleasure in the bars and hotels along the c.o.c.ktail Route.
Liam hardly noticed. The beauty of the evening meant nothing to him; he was not thinking of the business colleagues and acquaintances he might have joined in their endless rounds of libations.
He was trying not to think of Mac, who was safely sequestered in her room at the Palace and, unless he missed his guess, was even now realizing she couldn't leave. There'd be time enough to attend to her when Perry was dealt with.
Perry, who at this very moment was courting Caroline. Liam had been a fool to think Perry would be lounging about in his rooms on Market for a single precious second.
Liam leaned forward in his seat as the brougham rounded the corner onto California Street. He'd been waiting for this ever since Mac had given him the proof of Perry's treachery. For weeks he'd been patient; the sea voyage had been worst, for he'd had little to occupy his mind but thoughts of the coming confrontation and what he was going to do with Mac.
Now the waiting was over. By day's end he'd have the truth, if he had to beat it out of Perry's blue-blooded hide.
The brougham came to a stop beside the wrought-iron gates of the Gresham mansion. Like Hopkins's monstrosity at the crown of n.o.b Hill, it had been built with wealth earned in the past thirty years by a man who'd started from virtual obscurity. Edward Gresham had earned his money in the gold fields of the '50s by providing the miners with necessities, and then built on those riches with canny investments and stubborn persistence.
Gresham was gone, but his daughter remained behind those grandiose Italianate walls. Caroline, the girl for whose sake Gresham had demanded from Liam a solemn deathbed oath: to protect her all her days, to see that none of life's harshness ever touched her delicately shod feet or the hem of her Paris gowns.
To Liam had been granted Caroline's legal guardians.h.i.+pa”Liam O'Shea, former street urchin, who'd worked his way west on the building of the railroad and made his own fortune on the Comstock. ”Lucky Liam,” who'd once saved Edward Gresham's life and had known his daughter since her childhood.
At almost eighteen Caroline was no longer a child. In almost every respect she was the lady Gresham had wanted her to be. The lady Liam expected her to be.
But she was flawed with the weakness of her female nature, vulnerable enough to respond to the underhanded charms of the son of an English viscount, a man with little money but a very impressive pedigree. Liam was the only one who could save her. And, infatuated or not, Caroline must be spared the sordid details of Perry's betrayal.
Liam jumped out of the carriage, ordered the driver to wait, and strode through the gates. His sharp knock on the vast mahogany double doors was answered by the Gresham butler, a stiff-rumped Englishman who'd been lured away from some New York nabob. A very useful stiff-rumped Englishman, and one who had a definite taste for silver.
The butler looked somewhat startled to see Liam, which was understandable enough. Liam had sent word only to Chen that he was home, and he'd never turned up at the Gresham door directly from an expedition.
But there were exceptions to every rule. If Biggs's surprise had a more malign explanation, Liam would know soon enough.
”Ah, Mr. O'Shea,” the butler said belatedly. ”What a pleasure to see you returned.”
Liam pushed through the door. ”Didn't expect me, Biggs?”
The butler looked uncomfortable. ”When Mr. Sinclair arrived before you, we were told your return might be somewhat delayed.”
Somewhat delayed. Liam smiled grimly enough to send Biggs gliding back a step. ”Perry is here now,” he said.
”He is, sir.” Biggs took Liam's hat, staying well out of his way. ”I kept your man Chen informed, but I fear I was unable to do anything to preventa””
The sound of a lilting piano melody drifted along the hall. Caroline; there was no mistaking that finesse. ”Sounds as if they're having a nice little party. I think I'll join them. No need to announce me, Biggsa”it's a surprise.”
He paused long enough to drop a sizable bribe into the hat Biggs held and started down the hall. He could have found his way to the music room blind. And when he entered it, he was invisible just long enough to take in the cozy little picture of romantic felicity.
Caroline sat at the grand piano, her skirts draped with perfect elegance, her golden hair gathered in curls and ringlets. Her sweet, unaffected voice accompanied the ballad she played. Her performance was all for the man who leaned attentively over the instrument.
Peregrine Wallace Sinclair, youngest son of the Viscount Holdridge. Dark-haired and handsome, flawlessly aristocratic in his fine suit and polished shoes, the ideal scion of England's peerage. That he had no wealth of his own didn't make him any less welcome in San Francisco's highest social circles. Or any less interesting to Caroline's naive and unsophisticated imagination.
Liam plunged his hand into his coat pocket and gripped Perry's watch in a stranglehold. Until now his rage had been reined in by necessity and some small hope that he might be wrong.
Belief came easily when he saw Caroline and Perry together, and with it came fury and grinding pain.
He stepped farther into the room. Two heads, blond and dark, swung toward him.
”Good evening, Caroline,” he said. ”Perry.”
Caroline's fingers found the first sour note on the keys. ”Liam?” she whispered. The piano bench sc.r.a.ped back. ”Liam! You're home!”
She gathered her skirts and rushed across the polished parquet floor. Halfway to him she must have seen the look on his face; her impetuous rush slackened to a walk. She closed the remaining s.p.a.ce with ladylike decorum, her hands clutched in the folds of her skirt.
”Oh, Liam,” she stammered. ”I thoughta I feared you might be lost.”
Liam well knew his first responsibility; he didn't indulge his desire to look at Perry's face, to see the dawning alarm in the Englishman's eyes.
Instead he kept deliberately mute, examining Caroline from dainty feet to the crown of her golden head. Not a hair out of place. He could see her blus.h.i.+ng under his inspection and struggling to hold her dignified pose, but there was no sign that any real damage had been done by Perry's early return.
No damage to Caroline, in any case.
He smiled faintly. ”Who gave you the idea that I might not return, my dear?”
She uttered a nervous laugh and began to offer some inane witticism she'd undoubtedly learned in finis.h.i.+ng school, but he was hardly listening. His initial concern was satisfied, and there was far more urgent business at hand than playing at pointless social rituals of welcome.
Perhaps she deserved some rea.s.surance; she had, after all, been worried about him. But he was in no mood for gallantry. Caroline was his ward, and she'd obey, niceties or not.
”As you see,” he said impatiently, ”I'm well. I've only just returned, and I have important matters to discuss with Perry. Elsewhere.” He glanced around the room. ”Where is your aunt?”
”Oh, upstairs having one of her headaches.” There was distinct petulance in Caroline's tone, umbrage at Liam's failure to pay her proper homage. Perry had surely been giving her plenty of that.
”Then I suggest you go find her and ask her if she needs anything, since she's too indisposed to carry out her responsibilities as chaperon,” Liam said. ”I won't be staying for tea.”
”I should hope not, coming here in all your dirt,” a light, cultured voice interposed. ”Though I suppose I ought to welcome you home, old man.”
For the first time Liam looked up to meet Perry's gaze.
He didn't know what he'd expected: instant fireworks, perhaps, or fear and trembling on the traitor's part as he realized his schemes had been foiled.
But Perry wasn't trembling. He was regarding Liam from across the room with a faint half-smile, devoid of even a trace of shame. He strolled away from the piano to join Liam's ward. ”Caroline was worried about you,” he said. ”I tried to a.s.sure her that nothing in the world could do you in without your permission. I'm delighted to have you prove me right.”
Good G.o.d. The man's gall was incredible, his coolness beyond belief. The rage Liam had kept in check began to boil over. If he didn't get out of here quickly, dragging Perry with him, there'd be a very nasty scene Caroline could not be allowed to witness.
Perry knew it. Sudden wariness flickered in the Englishman's gaze.
”Perry's right,” Caroline said, ignoring Liam's command as easily as she recovered her air of insouciant feminine charm. She inserted herself between the men with a muted hiss of satin and petticoats and took Liam's arm. ”I was so worried, and I haven't welcomed you home properly. If I'd known you were back, I would have arranged a dinner, at least. And you can't go until you've told me everything that happened on your journey. You did bring something back for me, didn't you?” She fluttered golden eyelashes in a practiced gesture of flirtation. ”Look what Perry brought me from the jungle!”
She put a hand to her bodice. Just below the high neck of her gown, on a golden chain, hung a piece of carved and polished jade.
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