Wild Star (Star Quartet 3)

She wondered if Ira and Irene were sleeping together on the other side of the adjoining door.

I’ve got to do something, she thought yet again.

The answer was so simple, really.

She pulled the covers to her chin and slept.

THIRTEEN

Byrony paused in the doorway of Ira’s study, then forced herself to pull the door quietly closed behind her and walk forward. She studied him a moment, seated behind his oak desk, before he saw she was there. He was reading a newspaper, totally absorbed. There was a quietness about him, a serenity that used to soothe her, calm her, just being in his presence. No more. Did she somehow imagine that he would look different? Now that she knew? But he didn’t, of course. His fair skin, pale blond hair, only two shades darker than his daughter’s, the beautifully sculptured aristocratic bones. An angel indeed, she thought. His hands had always drawn her admiration—long, narrow, the fingernails perfectly shaped. Gentle hands, hands that caressed his half-sister’s body. Oh, God.

“The idiots can’t really mean to do that,” Ira said to the newsprint. He sensed her presence then, and slowly began to fold the paper before he looked up. “How are you feeling, my dear?” he asked, rising from his chair. “You’re still looking just a bit pale. I was worried about you, you know.”

“I’m fine now, Ira. Thank you.” How very normal we both sound. She drew a deep breath and said, “I must speak with you, Ira.”

“Of course, my dear.” He was tired today, having dealt with labor disputes at the foundry the past two days. The last thing he wanted or needed was another damned household fight. “Here, sit down.”

“No, I don’t want to, really.” How many times during the past three days she’d gone over and over in her mind exactly what she’d say to him. He touched her hand, and she jerked away.

He frowned, but said nothing.

“Ira,” she said very calmly, “I know.”

He remained silent, his expression telling her nothing. He knew exactly what she meant, understood her perfectly, but he said, nonetheless, “What do you know, Byrony?”

“I know about you and Irene and Michelle.”

“I see.” It was over, and he felt an odd surge of relief, then a coursing of fear. They’d been so careful. Had Eileen said something? No, of course she wouldn’t. “May I ask how you know?”

“I saw you. Both of you, in your bed.”

There was distaste in her voice, and he suddenly hated her, wanted to strike her for despising something she could never understand. But of course he couldn’t hit her, he’d never struck a woman. His father had taught him very early that women were to be cherished, to be protected. Long-buried memories raced through his mind. His father and Irene’s mother were dead, killed in that unexpected winter storm. They were alone in the house, and his grief had overwhelmed him. Then Irene, only fourteen but so wise, had come to him. Held him. He’d not had many women in his twenty-eight years, and never a virgin. She’d given herself to him completely, suffering her virgin’s pain in silence, loving him. Forever, she’d whispered.

How odd, Byrony thought, looking at him closely. He still looks like an angel; even my new knowledge of him doesn’t change that. But she wasn’t blind to the pain in his eyes.

“May I ask what you intend to do?” he asked her, his voice polite, almost uninterested.

“I will do nothing. I will say nothing, if you will release me from this farce of a marriage and—”

His brief moment of relief was dashed, and his expression tightened into anger and distrust. “What is this ‘and’? For a blackmailer, there must be more.”

“You must continue to give my parents the same sum of money you are now sending them each month. It isn’t that I care about my father, but without the money, I imagine he would quickly turn on my mother. I don’t want her hurt.”

“That is all you want?” he asked as he turned away from her. Don’t trust her, he told himself.

“Yes, that is all.”

“What do you mean ‘release’?”

“I’ve thought about all the problems. I’m willing to leave San Francisco, willing to let it be believed that I deserted my husband and my child. Your secret will remain safe with me.”

He turned again to face her and she saw that he was thinking frantically. She could see it in his eyes.

“I’m not a blackmailer, Ira, but I would ask, though, that you give me, say, one hundred dollars. I don’t have any money, as you well know. I doubt I could get very far from San Francisco even if I sold all the clothes you’ve bought me. And I don’t think it wise for me to sell the necklace you gave me at Christmas. Someone might recognize it, perhaps wonder, and ask questions.”

“You have considered this carefully, I see.”

“Yes, I have. I’ve had nothing else to do for the past three days, save think. I do not wish you ill, Ira. It’s true that I do not understand your feelings for Irene, nor hers for you. But it is not for me to be your judge. There’s just one more thing, Ira. I fully intend to keep in touch with my mother. If I learn that you’ve stopped sending them money, I will ruin you.”