Midnight Star (Star Quartet 2)

He leaned forward, his expression intent. “Any pain now?”

She stiffened, remembering her mewling weak groans. “No,” she said in a clipped voice. Now she had only occasional twinges from the bruise at her temple, and her ribs were only a dull ache.

“I don’t believe you, of course, but no more laudanum until you’re ready to go to sleep. Tell me, Chauncey,” he continued without pause, “when did your father die?”

Her eyes flew to his face. “How . . . how do you know about that?”

“You were delirious the night of your accident and spoke of many things. You thought I was your father.”

“He died last April,” she said. Oh God, what did I say?

“I’m sorry.” He saw that she was regarding him with something suspiciously like fear, and wondered at it. Perhaps, he thought, she was in pain and didn’t want to admit it to him. He rose and walked to the fireplace, picked up the poker, and stirred the glowing embers. He could feel her eyes boring into his back.

“You’ve been calling me Chauncey.”

“You insisted,” he said, turning back to her. “It suits you, you know. How did you get it?”

“My Irish nurse, Hannah, dubbed me that when I was only six years old. She said that for such a wee little mite I took too many chances. Her accent was a bit peculiar, you know, and the ‘chances’ sounded like ‘chaunces.’ ”

“I trust you won’t be taking more chaunces in the near future.”

You were so damned elusive, what was I supposed to do?

He saw her flush, and smiled. “I find you most unusual,” he said. “I was beginning to believe you a very sophisticated lady until your untimely accident.”

“I am,” she said.

“Oh no,” Delaney said quietly. “You’re strong-willed, and likely stubborn as hell, but not a blasé woman of the world.”

Her eyes fell. She had planned this so carefully. Being in his house, being alone with him in intimate conversation. But still he seemed to elude her, even make sport of her. She must make him interested, dammit, she must!

“It came as something of a shock to me,” she heard him say, “to find a soft, very vulnerable girl in my bed.”

“I didn’t mean to be,” she said stiffly.

“Had your accident really been a fake, I can only imagine how you would have behaved. It boggles the mind, I assure you.”

“It is unfair of you to mock me now.”

He gave her a crooked grin. “I sense that if I don’t take full advantage of the opportunity, you’ll never allow me another chaunce.”

She returned his smile. She didn’t want to, but couldn’t seem to help herself. “I am tired.”

“Ah, that must mean that you can’t find a sterling retort to put me in my lowly man’s place. I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me exactly why you executed that charade?”

She looked him straight in the eye and drew a deep breath. “I like you and you persisted in ignoring me.”

“I did rather ask you for an answer, didn’t I?”

“Now you have one.”

“Why me, Chauncey?”

“Why not?”

He stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Dan Brewer was wondering aloud what the devil a rich young lady was doing in San Francisco. We decided, all in facetious good humor, of course, that you were probably hanging out for a rich husband.”

“I don’t need a rich husband.”