Midnight Star (Star Quartet 2)

“I enjoy enlivening conversation, ma’am,” Chauncey said, drawn to the older woman, who in some elusive way reminded Chauncey of her mother’s sister, Lucy, who had died when Chauncey was fifteen years old.

“I did not find it so amusing,” Penelope said.

“No,” Agatha said soothingly, “of course you did not. You will play for us, will you not, Penelope? You present such a charming picture at the piano.”

“She will wait for the gentlemen,” Mrs. Stevenson said.

“You are right, ma’am,” Chauncey said. “There is no reason to waste talent on us.”

Agatha Newton was not at all surprised to see the gentlemen troop into the drawing room a very short time later. She was surprised, however, to see Delaney Saxton stroll immediately to Penelope Stevenson and stick to her like gum plaster. Odd, she thought. Very odd. Poor Tony. He hadn’t a prayer with Miss Jameson.

Delaney could not explain his actions to himself. He found Miss Jameson utterly fascinating, her wit razor sharp. They had sparred like a couple of duelists, and he’d enjoyed the hell out of it. But he had drawn away from her. He grinned sardonically as he strode up the steps to knock on Marie’s door, knowing full well that he intended to use his mistress’s lovely body to assuage his lust for Elizabeth Jameson.

Even as he caressed Marie a short time later in her bedroom, he was picturing Elizabeth Jameson’s white breasts in his mind. His fingers tingled.

“Mon amour,” Marie whispered softly as she guided his hand downward, “how do you think?”

“I am thinking how much I want to be deep inside you,” Delaney said, automatically translating her charmingly fractured English. He pulled Marie on top of him and plunged himself into her. “Ah,” he said. “Now I’m not thinking anything.”

His last thought before his body exploded in release was how Elizabeth Jameson would look astride him, her back arched and her hair flowing down her white back.

He didn’t stay the night, somewhat to Marie’s consternation. I didn’t treat her very well, he thought as he rode through the quiet night back home, and it’s all that little witch’s fault.

What, he wondered, laughing softly, would she do next?

Two days later, Delaney joined Tony Dawson, Dan Brewer, and Horace Newton for lunch at Captain Cropper’s.

“This damned fellow Limantour,” Horace grumbled, forking down a bite of broiled terrapin. “You know, Tony, the scoundrel met with us at the Land Commission, filed a ton of documents and all that nonsense. He claims to own a goodly chunk of the city, Alcatraz, and Yerba Buena.”

“Don’t forget the Farallon Islands,” Delaney said.

“It’s all a swindle,” Tony said. “No one is really excited about it yet, Horace.”

“I wonder, though,” Dan said. “I get the distinct impression that the man is going to cause us a lot of trouble in the long run.”

Tony ordered another round of beer. When the frothy mugs arrived, he raised his. “Here’s to your Midnight Star mine, Del. Dan tells me she’s producing at a great rate.”

“Well enough,” Delaney said. “The ore is rich as hell, but I have a feeling that the quartz vein isn’t going to last much longer.” His thoughts skittered briefly to Paul Montgomery, and he frowned. It would be months before he heard anything. He’d made the decision that he wouldn’t send any more money until he had heard from the man.

“Heard you had some trouble,” Horace said, belching behind his hand.

“A bit,” Delaney agreed. “A couple of Sydney Ducks more than likely, who had more greed than brains.”

“At least the bastards are gone from San Francisco,” Tony said. “Lord, Del, you missed all the excitement when the Vigilantes took over in the summer of fifty-one and you were over in England playing around.”

“With the Midnight Star as the result,” Delaney said dryly. He shrugged. “I just hope the claim jumpers will steer clear for a while. I don’t particularly care for being both judge and executioner.”

“Speaking of trouble, Del, when are you going to take the plunge? I saw old Bunker Stevenson the other day and he’s beginning to wonder if you’re running shy.” Horace gave him a wink over the rim of his glasses.

“Methinks,” Dan said slyly, “that Del here is running, but who will catch him is another matter.”

“I?” Delaney asked blandly, though he was aware of an increase in his heartbeat. “I never run, dear boy, at least from a two-legged filly.”

“Well, Agatha can’t say enough about the girl,” Horace said. “I have heard her mutter, though, that she’s too bright for her own good. Wonders what man would put up with that.”

“Sam Brannan was telling me that Cory Miniver threw his hat in the ring, along with another dozen males in San Francisco,” Dan said. “She turned him down flat.”

“I’m taking her to Maguire’s Opera House this evening,” Tony said. “There’s some Shakespearean drivel playing, and Miss Jameson being English and all, I thought she’d enjoy it.”