Midnight Star (Star Quartet 2)

“No,” Delaney said, easily reading her thoughts from her shifting expressions, “I don’t believe it has anything to do with money either.” He added in some surprise, “You really don’t have any idea, do you?”

“No, I don’t. I told you I didn’t.”

He saw fear and something else he couldn’t fathom in her eyes. Guilt? He shook his head. It made no sense. But then again, he thought, her lack of trust in him made no sense either. “It’s all right, love,” he said gently. “Why don’t we go upstairs now and you can seduce me with whalebone.”

Her fear made her as wildly abandoned as she’d been aboard the Scarlet Queen. I’ve been used, he thought when at last he held her in his arms and she slept. Used to still her fear and make her forget for at least a little while. She awoke in the middle of the night, fighting free of Delaney’s arms and the heavy covers. She cried out once, feeling the cold fathomless waters closing over her head, drawing her down.

“Oh, God,” she whispered as he held her, rocking her against his warm body. “Please, Del, make it stop!”

He did. She responded feverishly and he took her quickly, almost roughly. He felt a stab of guilt until he felt her body tense beneath him and felt consuming cries of pleasure against his shoulder.

This has got to stop, he told himself, angry at her even as he took his own release.

“Hoolihan jumped ship the day after we left the Scarlet Queen,” Delaney said matter-of-factly the following evening over dinner. “I hired six men today to find him.”

The tasty shredded pork turned to ashes in Chauncey’s mouth. She slowly, very precisely laid down her fork.

“Luckily,” he continued, “I found one of his boat mates and got an excellent description. I even had a sketch made of him. If he is still hanging about San Francisco, I’ll have him, and quite soon.”

Still, she simply looked at him.

“Also, if you happen to see a giant of a man with blond hair outside the house, he’s a Swede by the name of Olaf. I’ve hired him to share duties with Lucas.”

“You are going to a lot of trouble for me,” she said finally. “Thank you, Del.”

His fork fell with a clatter onto his plate. “You’re my wife, damn you, Chauncey! Just what the hell did you think I’d do? Ignore the situati

on? Issue an invitation to this scum asking him to come and take you off my hands?”

She stared at him helplessly, her face devoid of color. His anger startled her, for it was so unlike him. But she understood it. She could think of nothing to say.

He willed her to speak to him, to trust him, but she lowered her eyes and stared at her plate.

He tossed his napkin on the table and scraped back his chair. “You’re driving me crazy. I’ll see you later.”

He strode from the dining room without a backward glance.

A picture of Marie’s intimate smile at Delaney flashed suddenly through her mind, and she called out, her voice shrill, “Where are you going?”

He said curtly over his shoulder, “Out.”

“Don’t you dare go to that woman!” she yelled at him, jumping up from her chair.

He stopped cold at the jealous fury in her voice. “Why the hell not?” he asked softly, turning to face her. “After all, my dear, I let you use me last night—twice, as a matter of fact. Why shouldn’t I go use her?”

She cringed at the memory of her wild response to him. Had she really used him? Chauncey was stunned by her own reaction. “You . . . you wouldn’t, you can’t—”

“My dear wife,” he said very slowly and very calmly, “I wouldn’t have married you, despite your relentless and elaborate pursuit, if I’d only wanted sex from you. God knows, it requires quite a bit of ingenuity and persistence just to make you willing. Except, of course, when you want a man’s body to keep your nightmares at bay. You’re entirely selfish, Chauncey, in bed and out of it. If you decide you want to give me more, let me know. Good night, madam.”

And he was gone.

“I hate you!” she shouted after him, but the words came out as a broken whisper. “At least I’m not a swindler and a thief!”

Chauncey had no idea that she even possessed such wild, uncontrollable emotions, the gamut of which she had totally exhausted throughout the long night. She was drained, utterly limp and listless the following day. She wandered about the house like a ghost, not really caring, not really thinking about anything at all. She ignored Mary’s questioning looks and sent Lin’s breakfast back to the kitchen untouched.

When Lin appeared in the doorway of the drawing room that afternoon, her almond eyes narrowed in concern, Chauncey merely looked at her, saying nothing.

“Miss Chauncey, Lucas like to speak to you.”