Wild Star (Star Quartet 3)

Chauncey Saxton stood quietly in the middle of Monsieur David’s salon, watching the black woman guide Byrony Butler out the door. She was a very sweet girl. She should speak to Agatha about her. And she was close to Chauncey’s age. There were so few young ladies in San Francisco, and Chauncey felt a rush of optimism. Anyone would be more pleasant than that snit Penelope Stevenson. Why didn’t she marry someone and move somewhere, hopefully out of San Francisco.

“Eileen,” Byrony was saying outside the shop, “let’s walk around a bit. I’ve seen so little of the city, and it’s such a fine day.”

“Very well, Miz Butler,” she said, “but not too long.”

Byrony watched two Chinese carrying impossibly heavy loads of lumber on their narrow shoulders across the street. Pigtails, she thought; how very odd. There were so many men, some dressed in the height of fashion and others looking as if they hadn’t changed their clothes in months. She drew a deep breath of sheer pleasure. So many different smells, so many different kinds of people.

“Miz Butler,” Eileen suddenly hissed in her ear, “keep your eyes down.”

Byrony blinked, but before she obeyed, she saw two very beautiful women walking toward them. There were loud compliments from passing men, and whistles, and the women giggled and preened.

She wanted to stare, but she felt Eileen’s disapproval. Suddenly she was looking straight at a man’s throat; then she bumped into him.

“Pardon me, ma’am. I fear I wasn’t watching my progress.”

She stiffened as straight as Eileen. His hand dropped from her arm as if he’d been burned. Slowly she raised her head and stared into Brent Hammond’s dark blue eyes.

“You?”

“What, no flour today? No, I suppose not. You’re far beyond your flour days, aren’t you?”

Dear God, he looked so—beautiful. She swallowed, trying to build up the anger he’d made her feel so many months before. But she couldn’t. “Hello, Mr. Hammond,” she said. It was too soon. She hadn’t had the chance to put him into proper perspective.

She’s staring at me like a

lost lamb, Brent thought. Damn, he’d hoped he wouldn’t see her, at least until—

“Miz Butler,” Eileen said. “We really must be on our way.”

Byrony looked at her with vague eyes. “In just a moment, Eileen. Mr. Hammond is a friend of Mr. Butler’s. I haven’t seen him since our return. Please, why don’t you step into that shop and see if they’ve any riding hats.”

Eileen shot her a puzzled look. “Very well, Miz Butler. Just a few minutes, mind.”

“What is she, your keeper?”

“She has been with Ira and Irene for a number of years. She is protective, I suppose.”

“You need protection, believe me. If I weren’t with you, you’d be besieged by any number of hopeful men.”

“I love San Francisco,” she said. “All the noise and the activity. I know that I’m truly alive here. And all the men are very nice. They’re not forward, not really, just lonely, I think.”

“You’re looking remarkably fit,” Brent said, interrupting her.

“Why ever shouldn’t I?”

“Cut line, lady. For a woman who’s given birth, quite recently, I expect, you look very fine indeed.”

“Oh.”

“Although you are a bit skinny, I’d say.” She felt his eyes roving over her. “I would have thought that those lovely breasts of yours would be a bit fuller.”

“Please, Mr. Hammond, don’t—”

“You’re right, of course, Mrs. Butler. It’s no concern of mine, is it?” Damn her. He’d hoped when he saw her again that he would be able to look through her, with no stirring in his guts. “How long have you been back, ma’am?”

“Two weeks. This is the first time I’ve been downtown. That odd-looking man over there, who is he?”

Brent turned and smiled at Jeremy Glossop, a newcomer to San Francisco who fancied himself the epitome of a civilized gentleman. “He’s from England and a terrible gambler.”