Wild Star (Star Quartet 3)

Chauncey saw that Byrony didn’t realize what they were laughing about, and quickly said, “You must bring Michelle to visit. It’s time I got used to babies, and she is so sweet. I’d hoped you would bring her today.”

“She has a cold. Irene didn’t think it would be a good idea to take her outside.”

“Has Saint seen her?” Agatha said.

“No. I didn’t think it was necessary.”

How very curious, Chauncey thought, after the two women had left. Byrony had truly not understood their jest. Indeed, so many things about Byrony simply didn’t fit together. She said as much to her husband that evening over dinner.

“And she simply didn’t understand, Del. It’s true, I suppose, that our jesting was just a bit improper, but we are all married women, for heaven’s sake.”

Delaney laid down his fork and raised his eyes to her face.

“And her child, Del. She’s never brought her here to our house. In fact, the only times I’ve ever seen Michelle are with Irene hovering about. It’s all rather odd.”

“Perhaps you’re reading too much into this, love.”

“Maybe.”

“Did I tell you that Ira’s becoming a total bore? He’s always been reticent, I guess you’d say, except when he talks about his child. Do you think I’ll become like him?”

He raised his hand quickly when he saw the twinkle in her eyes. “All right, I guess I’m already a total bore about my wife, so my friends will believe me much more interesting after the baby comes.”

“I shoul

d be so lucky.”

Later that night, when Chauncey was settled in for the night, her cheek pressed against her husband’s shoulder, she murmured, half-asleep, “I am worried about Byrony, Del. There’s something wrong, I’m certain of it. Sometimes I think if I invited her, she’d move in with us.”

“A very pretty girl. I shouldn’t mind.”

Brent hadn’t been at all gentle in his lovemaking with Celeste. But then, she liked him to be fierce and demanding. She’d already curled up against his side and was fast asleep. He lay on his back, his head pillowed on his arms, and stared up at the dark ceiling, reviewing the day’s events in his mind. He thought about Delaney Saxton’s proposition to buy into his shipping business. The Orient, he thought. I’d like to go there.

“You’ve got to do something smart with all the money you’re raking in,” Del had said over lunch. “All you’re doing is piling it up in my bank.”

“You’re right, of course.” Brent fell silent a moment, his thoughts going to his father’s plantation, Wakehurst. It would have been his, had he not been such a bloody fool. He unconsciously rubbed his fingertip over the scar on his cheek. So many years had passed, yet he still remembered those terrible few minutes so vividly. He had betrayed his father. But you were only eighteen, a stupid boy, he’d tell himself, but the guilt was still there. Damn, but he missed his father. All because he’d been a randy boy, all because Laurel had wanted him—

“If you don’t take me up on it, Brent,” Del had said, “I think I’ll talk to Maggie. Now, there’s a lady with ambition.”

“I think every man who gambles in my saloon pays her girls a visit. They lose fifty dollars to me, then pay her a hundred.”

“That’s one thing I’ve always admired about San Francisco,” Del said, swirling the beer about in his glass. “Men are men and don’t apologize for it. It isn’t at all that way back where I grew up.”

“It had to be worse in the South,” Brent said. “Everyone wanted to be wicked, and indeed everyone was, but so discreetly, and with such hypocrisy.”

“You’re originally from Natchez? Don’t look surprised, Brent. I asked Maggie. She told me you are a planter’s son.”

“Yes, I am. Or was. My father disinherited me.”

Del raised a brow, but asked no more questions. He said after a moment, “That’s another thing I like about the West and San Francisco in particular. A man’s—or a woman’s—past is nobody’s business. You are, out here, what you make of yourself. I sometimes believe my own father would have booted me out if it hadn’t been for my older brother, Alex. He was always the great peacemaker.”

“Is your brother in the shipping business?”

“He builds ships, in New York. And like me, he’s married to an Englishwoman. Therein lies a tale, but unfortunately, I don’t see him and Giana, his wife, often enough to weasel it out of them.”

“Speaking of tails—” Brent broke off and grinned.

“I’ve got the spelling, go ahead.”