Wild Star (Star Quartet 3)

“I remember when I met you in San Diego,” he said finally. “I spoke to that old man, my thought at the time merely to learn your name. I told you about him and what he’d said.”

“Yes, I remember.”

“It was all a lie.”

“Of course. I told you it was.”

“Why would a girl’s father lie about her, Byrony?”

She made a slashing movement with her hand, and now there were bitterness and anger in her voice. “He is an animal. He called me a slut, and much worse. I had only one friend, a young Californio, named Gabriel. My father accused me of sleeping with him and carrying his bastard. He went to see Gabriel’s father and extorted money from him.” She paused a moment, then continued, her voice very sad and soft. “Poor Gabriel was shipped off to Spain. He was a nice boy, a friend, someone I cared about.”

She shifted, then bowed her head.

“What, Byrony?”

“I have no one to ask. There’s blood on me, and I was frightened. Is that natural?”

He swallowed, a shaft of pain in his belly. “Yes, it’s natural. It won’t happen again. Come here, Byrony.” He saw the wary look in her eyes, and added quickly, “I won’t make love to you again. I just want to hold you.”

Still wary, she watched him as she slipped onto her back to lie beside him. He brought his arms down, and very slowly, not wanting to frighten her, drew her against his side.

She didn’t know what to do with her hand, and gingerly laid it on his chest. She felt him stroking her hair, and eased, resting her cheek on his shoulder.

He said after a moment, “Then Ira Butler came to San Diego? No, Byrony, it’s time for the truth, all of it. I won’t let you be hurt again, I swear it. Please trust me.”

He could practically feel her thinking, arguing with herself, weighing his words now against his past actions toward her. “Yes, Ira came then,” she said finally, her decision made. “He wanted to marry me. He is a distant cousin of my mother’s, and very rich. I agreed to it because he signed a document stating he would pay my father so much money a month. I did it for my mother. My father, I learned quickly, isn’t so violent if there is enough money for him to spend.” She sighed and fell silent for a moment. Brent said nothing, merely waited. “There was nothing for me in San Diego. I begged my mother to escape with me, far away from my father, but she refused. So I accepted Ira. I remember telling you once that I’d had no choice, and I suppose it’s true. At least I thought it would be, had to be, a calmer life. He was very kind to me. It was on the trip to San Francisco that he told me the real reason he’d married me. Irene was pregnant, he told me, the father of her child a married man. He’d married me to save Irene from a dreadful scandal. Her child was to be mine. I felt so very sorry for Irene and proud of Ira for being so caring of his sister. I agreed, of course.”

“So that’s why Butler kept the both of you in Sacramento,” Brent said.

“Yes. Michelle was born and we returned to San Francisco. There began to be problems, of course. Irene didn’t want me near her child. The situation was becoming dreadful. Ira tried to keep peace, but it wasn’t always possible. The servants’ loyalty was to Irene, not me. I was nothing more, really, than a boarder.”

“That night you were ill, and I saved you from those two drunks—had you had a fight with Irene?”

To his surprise, she began to shake. He eased her onto her back, balanced on his elbow, and stared down at her. “Tell me what happened. Byrony, tell me.”

“I don’t know what to do.”

“Tell me, Byrony.”

It was as if the dam had burst, and she said, “Michelle is Ira’s daughter.”

He didn’t understand her, not at first, and she continued, speaking quickly. “I was visiting Chauncey one evening, but I wasn’t feeling well—the influenza. Lucas drove me home. There was no one about, and I can remember being surprised that none of the servants were there. I heard noises coming from Ira’s bedroom. I remember thinking that perhaps Ira had the influenza too. I was worried about him. The noises—Oh God, he was in bed with Irene.”

Incest, he thought, stunned, a subject never spoken of. He closed his eyes a moment, seeing in his mind’s eye what she must have seen, feeling what she must have felt. “You ran from the house and came to me.”

“Yes,” she said. “I came to you.”

“You came to me knowingly, because you trusted me.”

She was nearly undone by the gentleness in his voice. She’d heard it so seldom since she’d known him. Tears stung her eyes. “Yes.”

“You confronted Ira after that, didn’t you?”

“Yes, I told him I knew the truth and I wanted to leave. My only demand was that he continue paying the money every month to my father. Otherwise I told him I would ruin him. I could think of no other way to protect my mother. I thought it was little enough to ask of him; considering what he’d done.”

“Obviously,” Brent said, “he didn’t believe you’d keep your end of the bargain.”

“It was Irene, I think, not Ira. That was when I became ill.”