Jade Star (Star Quartet 4)

Saint gently clasped Jules’s hands, and brought her close to him. “Now, what’s wrong, Jules?”

“Wrong?” she repeated in a shrill voice. “Whatever do you mean, Michael?”

“You went out with Chauncey Saxton, and now you’ve got a long face. Didn’t you find any gowns you liked?”

“Certainly, but they needed altering and will be delivered tomorrow.” I’m not going back to get them—not alone, in any case.

“Did someone say something to you?” She was so guileless, he thought, her eyes gave everything away. He could see her trying to manufacture a quick lie, and gently shook her. “What happened?”

“I met Penelope Stevenson!” she said.

“Oh no, not that godawful twit! Did she say something unkind to you?”

Penelope hadn’t, but Jules nodded vigorously.

“What?”

“She said I was a . . . an adventuress!”

“Jules,” Saint said very patiently, “I am still the master storyteller in this house. Don’t try to outmaster the master. If you don’t tell me the truth, I’ll . . . well, I don’t know what I’ll do. Maybe beat you, or lock you up and not feed you for three days.”

I’d rather starve and be beaten than have Wilkes hurt you, she thought in silent misery.

“I’m waiting.”

She shook her head, stubborn as a mule. He looked at her, his frustration mounting. There came a

knock at the front door. Another damned patient. He released her, a frown furrowing his forehead. “Don’t you dare try to make up another story before I get back to you, Jules.”

“Michael,” she called after him, “would you like me to assist you? I’ve got a very steady stomach, you know.” What an inspiration, she thought, inordinately proud of herself.

“No, certainly not,” he called back when he saw who his patient was. One-armed Johnny. The last thing he wanted was for Jules to meet one of the most dishonest little bastards in the city.

“Saint, I’ve got a friend who got coshed on the head. He’s bad, Saint, real bad.”

“All right. I’ll be right along. Jules, don’t wait dinner for me. This might take a while.”

“Good-bye,” she said. “Take care!”

With One-armed Johnny to protect him, he didn’t have a thing to worry about, he thought, giving his wife a reassuring wave of the hand.

Her shoulders drooped when the front door closed behind Michael and that disreputable-looking man. She walked slowly into the parlor and stared about her. At least back home she could have spent hours wandering the beach and swimming. Identifying birds, feeding the fish, just enjoying the sun on her face . . . playing with Kanola’s children. But Kanola was dead. So much had happened in such a short time. Too much, and yet not enough. Not only did she now have a husband, she was also a prisoner.

She decided to write to Thomas.

“Well, if it isn’t Saint Michael and his lovely bride! Come on in, both of you.”

Saint shook his head ruefully. “You’ve done me in,” he said to Jules. “All right, Del, have your sport, but my wife is sworn to silence.”

“You mean silence about your other name?” Jules asked innocently, and he squeezed her until she squeaked.

Del Saxton grinned as he led Saint and Jules into the parlor. “Here’s our guest of honor, Chauncey,” he said. “Lord, you picked a beauty, Saint,” he added, giving Jules an appreciative look.

“Don’t show your true colors just yet,” Chauncey said, buffeting her husband lightly on the shoulder. “Remember you’re a very married man with a child to boot. Lovely, Jules, really lovely. The gown is perfect for you.”

“I agree,” Saint said. “The green nearly matches your eyes, sweetheart.” He’d had the strong urge, when she’d come downstairs to join him, to rip that lovely gown off her. Her shoulders were bared, milky white above the lace. “Lovely” wasn’t the word he would have chosen for her. Her waist looked minuscule and he guessed that Lydia had pulled her stays very tight. He disapproved of that, but Jules had looked at him with such eagerness, such hopefulness, that he said nothing about the damned corset. “Beautiful,” he’d managed in a choked voice.

“Truly? You’re not just saying that?”