Midnight Star (Star Quartet 2)

“Which obnoxious thing?”

“Your responsibilities as a new husband. It sounded quite condescending to me.”

“No, not really,” he said, shaking his head. “Actually, I was feeling very sorry for myself. You see, my dear”—he waited until she’d taken another bite of croissant—“it was my intention to make love to you all day, but you’re likely not up to it. Most disheartening, but I assure you I do understand.”

Chauncey felt the soreness between her legs and shifted uncomfortably in her chair. He had seen her, touched her, and thrust inside her body. She flushed, wishing she could disappear, wishing he would disappear and that she could despise him. Why wouldn’t he act like the knave he was? Why didn’t she feel degraded after he’d taken her? “I don’t like you,” she said in a militant voice.

“Ah, Chauncey,” he said, clearly amused by her, “you will never bore me.”

“But you bore me, sir!”

“In that case, I should forget about your soreness and make love to you.” He half-rose from his chair, but stopped as Chauncey gasped and shot up, tipping the table.

He grabbed it, laughing as he did so. Once it was steadied, he sat down again and steepled his long fingers together, eyeing her over the tips of them. The silence stretched between them, and Chauncey squirmed in her chair. What an idiot she was to let him draw her!

Unexpectedly he asked, “Will you tell me now why you came to San Francisco?”

She stared at him stupidly, her wits having gone begging. I came to ruin you, you miserable bastard! She licked her suddenly dry lips. But you don’t act like you’re supposed to and I don’t understand! “Wanderlust,” she said succinctly. “London bored me. I wanted adventure, to see new things and places and people.”

“I see,” he said. “That is certainly an interesting reason.” He saw from her expressive eyes that she was formulating more outlandish reasons, and said quickly, “I thought, my dear, that you might enjoy taking a riverboat to the city of Sacramento. It’s grown tremendously the past couple of years, become quite an interesting and cultured city as a matter of fact. In all likelihood it will become the capital of California in the near future. What do you say? With all your wanderlust, you must want to see more of California than just San Francisco.”

“Indians,” she said, grasping at the first straw that came to mind. Dammit, she had to stay here and make plans!

“We’re not going overland. If you see any, they’ll be on the shore, a goodly distance away.”

“There’s water all the way to Sacramento?”

“Yes, all the way. Truly, love, I think you’ll enjoy yourself. A riverboat is nothing like the ship you traveled from New York on. It’s the height of opulence, and if we weren’t married, we’d likely gain a good deal of weight from all the delicious food.”

Chauncey could well picture the exercise involved in remaining skinny. She shrugged inwardly. It would be the same in any case, and there was nothing she could do about it. Why didn’t she feel more put upon? “Yes,” she said, realizing that a happy bride should want a wedding trip, “I should like to visit Sacramento.”

“Excellent. They endured a huge fire just last year, but like San Franciscans, they rebuilt the city bigger and better. We will leave this afternoon, if that suits you, love.”

“Everythng is already arranged?” she asked, raising a brow at him.

“Indeed. I want you never to be disappointed about anything.”

“Ah,” she said, wiping her hands on the linen napkin, “the responsibilities of a husband.”

The Scarlet Queen was like no boat or ship Chauncey had seen before. “American steamers are the finest imaginable,” Delaney told her as he escorted her down the wide wooden Clay Street wharf. “Many visitors call them water palaces. As opposed to water closets, of course.” Chauncey ignored his jest and stared at the steamer. It did look more like a house than a ship, several stories high, with large doors, windows, and what looked like many galleries. “At night on the water, the Scarlet Queen will look like an enchanted castle, for there are lights blazing from every window and the chimneys look like volcanoes belching fire.”

“You become a poet, sir,” she said, secretly very impressed. She turned at the sound of a man shouting. The wide wooden dock was filled with workers loading and unloading crates from several other ships docked there, and horses neighed as drivers whipped them up, navigating their wagons and drays through the throng of people. She shivered,

for the afternoon was chill and overcast, wispy fog curling about the long wharf.

“Chilly? Let’s get on board.” Delaney quickly eased her out of the way of a Chinese who was balancing two buckets of shrimp slung on a long pole over his shoulders. “Lucas already delivered our trunks,” he continued. “You will like the captain, I promise you. His name is Rufus O’Mally, and he has a poet’s smooth Irish tongue with the ladies, but a greater martinet I’ve yet to meet.”

“You sound like you know him well,” Chauncey observed, not really paying attention, for the activity on the wide deck of the Scarlet Queen held her eye. She supposed that she should, by now, be accustomed to seeing ladies in silks and gentlemen in top hats and fancy suits alongside rough-looking men garbed in baggy trousers and slouched flannel hats. She thought of such a scene in London and nearly laughed aloud at the incongruity of it.

“He works for me,” Delaney said smoothly.

His words sank in and she whirled about, gazing at him in some consternation. “You own this boat?” she asked slowly.

“Actually, Sam Brannan and I are partners. Sam has his fingers in more pies than I care to count, including many in Sacramento, and he talked me into this venture. It’s paid off very well.” He saw that she was frowning, and added in some surprise, “Aren’t you pleased that your husband can afford to provide well for you?”

“I am not some kind of pet monkey to be kept in a gilded cage!”

“No, and your mixed metaphors are charming.”