“How would it work?”
He grinned at her. “I forget that you’re English and used to a very different system. Well, perhaps not too different. I’d have to have the party’s nomination and then tromp around to various towns in California to convince men to vote for me.”
“It would take a great deal of money, wouldn’t it?”
“Indeed it would. A good deal of my money, and sizable contributions. Would you like to be a politician’s wife, Chauncey?”
Although his voice was light, she sensed the seriousness in him and knew without a shadow of a doubt that this was something he wanted above anything. Was this the way to ruin him? She gave him a dazzling smile. “I should love it.”
The excitement faded from his expressive eyes. “First things first. There’s the matter of the idiot who wants you dead.”
“Yes,” Chauncey said, her voice very calm, “Mary told me how you’d pumped her this morning. I don’t think I care for your methods.”
Delaney very carefully set his coffee cup in its saucer, rose from his chair, and strode to the wide bow windows in the dining room. He seemed mesmerized for many moments by the rain lashing against the windowpanes. He said over his shoulder, “No, I don’t imagine that you would, but then, a husband must feel somewhat odd when his wife doesn’t trust him.”
“You’re weaving fantasy into a cloth that doesn’t exist, Del. Why on earth wouldn’t I trust you?”
“If I knew the answer to that, I could take more direct action, couldn’t I?” He turned from the window to ace her. “I’m tired, Chauncey, tired to the bone of your evasiveness. Even now you’re tensing up on me. Your face is far too expressive for your own good, sweetheart.”
Prove to him that he’s wrong! Chauncey planted a smile on her face and walked to her husband. She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him firmly on the mouth. She felt his surprise, felt his drawing away from her, and clutched the lapels of his frock coat. His lips parted, as if against his wishes, and she whispered softly into his mouth, “You are my husband. I must have traveled halfway around the world to find you.”
He grew very still.
“My . . . evasiveness, if there is such a thing—why, it’s probably due to the newness of my situation. Everything is very different from England.”
He wanted to believe her, she could see it in his eyes. She felt a surge of guilt and closed her own eyes. He saw too much. Always too much.
Chauncey paced through the dining room, across the wide entrance hall to the drawing room. How can I ruin him? She’d discarded several wild ideas during the past few hours. She glanced toward the clock on the mantel. Ten o’clock. He’d be home soon from his meeting at the Pacific Club, and she was no closer to coming up with a plan that could possibly work. I am not a schemer, she decided reluctantly. She slammed a fisted hand against her open palm and forced herself to review again one of her less fantastic ideas. Even if she did manage to circulate scandal stories about him, it wouldn’t make him one whit poorer, just deprive him of his political hopes.
And his bloody assets were simply too diverse. How could she ruin him?
Chauncey sat down on the sofa and leaned her head back. Everything was becoming so difficult, almost impossible, really. She simply didn’t have the freedom of movement even if she did come up with something that could succeed. She shivered, remembering all too clearly the man who had tried to haul her over the rail and into the murky night waters of the Sacramento River. Who?
And Delaney. He was becoming too real to her, too important. Damn him, why didn’t he behave the way she’d thought an evil man should behave? Why couldn’t he be mean, nasty, and awful? She wanted desperately to hate him, to loathe him.
“I am becoming a hysterical female,” she said aloud to the empty room. “All I have are myriad questions and a dithering mind.” And she was afraid. Afraid to be alone, yet afraid when he was with her. Afraid of herself and what she was beginning to feel for him.
She rose and resumed her fruitless pacing. “If only there were someone I could trust,” she muttered. She shook her head even as Agatha Newton’s face came to her mind. No, all the people in San Francisco would be loyal to Delaney, not her, a foreigner.
“I think I see the beginnings of a hole in the carpet,” Delaney said, coming into the room some fifteen minutes later. “Come here and let me kiss you. It will keep you in one place and save our belongings.”
She saw the sheen of raindrops on his thick hair, darkening it a rich honey color. His eyes, as rich a honey color as his hair, were filled with anticipation and that odd tenderness that he seemed to reserve just for her. She gulped.
“Hello,” she said, not moving. “Are you to be the new power in the state of California?”
“I really don’t give a damn at the moment. Come here.”
She went to him and nestled her cheek against his shoulder. His arms went about her, squeezing her tight.
“I missed you. I’m a rotter for leaving you alone during our honeymoon. Forgive me.”
She felt his fingers lightly caressing her jaw, then cupping her chin. She wished she needed to force herself into acting the loving wife, but at the moment she didn’t. She raised her head wanting him to kiss her. “Do you know how beautiful you are, Chauncey?” His voice was soft, beguiling, but still he didn’t kiss her, merely ran the tip of his finger over her lips.
“You’re just saying th
at because you have to,” she said, her voice gruff.
“How true. Your body now—”