“How old?” Age in San Francisco was a very relative term. Most of the male population were under t
hirty-five. Any man over forty was considered old.
Hoolihan thought frantically. “In his fifties, I’d say. Graying hair, thin on top.”
Delaney felt a surge of elation. Chauncey had to know who he was from Hoolihan’s description. “Just how, Hoolihan, did he plan to ensure you’d carry through with your part of the bargain? I can’t believe he simply handed you a thousand dollars without some sort of collateral.”
“He gave me five hundred,” Hoolihan said simply. “Told me I’d get the rest when he confirmed that your wife had fallen overboard and drowned.”
“All to be a tragic accident, then,” Delaney said more to himself than to the fidgeting man. “So our heavyset gentleman is still in San Francisco.”
“I don’t know. I came back here . . .” Hoolihan swallowed, his eyes dropping before the fury in Delaney’s.
“Yes, you returned to arrange another accident. Well, Hoolihan, I’ve decided that your trip to the Orient can wait awhile. You, my friend, are going to keep very close company with Monk. You’re going to find this man for me. Do you understand?”
Hoolihan nodded readily, so relieved that he couldn’t speak for a moment.
“Monk, Jed!” Delaney turned to look at the men ambling toward him. What a collection of utter villains, he thought with grim amusement.
Delaney didn’t return home right away. Instead he called his loyal assistant, Jarvis, into his office and gave him instructions. He was to visit every hotel in San Francisco and inquire after the Englishman. He gave Jarvis enough money for bribes and sent him on his way. Bless Jarvis, he thought. He’d asked no questions, merely nodded.
Delaney walked back to South Park, deep in thought. He tried to concentrate on all Hoolihan had told him, only to have Chauncey’s passion-lit eyes appear in his mind. Until yesterday she’d never before initiated their lovemaking, much less touched his body with such excited and dedicated interest and possessiveness. Even when she’d turned utterly wanton after her fright, she’d been passive, letting him bring her release, staying somehow separate from him. But not yesterday, not twice during the night. He smiled briefly, picturing her as she’d caressed him, not really understanding his body well enough to know how to pleasure him. He’d taught her a bit, and she had reveled in it. He was sure of it. There had been no hesitancy in her, only excitement and love and tenderness. She’d given herself to him completely.
And she’d stopped him when he mentioned the sponge. The thought of her wanting him to plant his seed deep in her body had made him wild with passion.
No, he thought, clearing his mind. Not completely. There was still something hidden, something that held her back. Soon, he thought, he’d know. He would see it in her eyes the moment she recognized the Englishman from the description Hoolihan had provided. He stopped suddenly, uncertain if he wanted to know what she was keeping from him. Don’t be a fool, he told himself firmly. Whatever it was couldn’t be that bad.
She held me tightly, keeping me deep within her, keeping my seed deep within her. “God, I’m thinking like a randy goat,” he said aloud, and watched a pigtailed Chinese eye him oddly as he passed.
He found her drinking tea with Agatha Newton in the drawing room. She sucked in her breath when she saw him. Joy filled her face, and she jumped to her feet, rushing to him.
“Good afternoon, love,” he said, giving her a quick kiss. “Hello, Aggie. Any interesting gossip?”
“Oh Lord, isn’t there always?” Agatha grinned at him. “I’ll be sure to pass along that Mr. and Mrs. Delaney Saxton are still on their honeymoon.”
“That,” he said, squeezing Chauncey, “is nothing less than the truth.” But how much longer will it last? What will she say, how will she react when I confront her?
“Well, I can see that my presence is the last thing you two want at this moment.” Agatha rose and shook out her burgundy skirts. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Chauncey—that is, if your husband will allow you out of his sight.”
Chauncey flushed, smiled, and murmured something unintelligible.
“Give my best to Horace, Aggie,” Delaney said. He released his wife and walked with Agatha to the front door. She paused a moment, planting her bonnet firmly over her gray hair. “You’re a lucky man, Del,” she said. “Very lucky.”
“Yes,” he said, grinning down at her, “yes, I know that.”
“Just don’t forget it, young man,” she said, poking him in the stomach. “Lucas,” she called out, “fetch my man for me! He’s likely ogling the new maid at the Butler’s house!”
Delaney returned to the drawing room. Chauncey was standing in the middle of the room, her eyes narrowed on the carpet, her shoulders slumped.
He took her into his arms. “Do you know, I like that yellow silk gown. You’re the only woman I know who looks almost as delightful with clothes as without.”
“I . . . Thank you, Del. I wasn’t expecting you home so early.”
“I enjoyed your greeting.”
“Well, I was surprised.”
He gently pushed her back and studied her face a moment before saying baldly, “My men found Hoolihan.”