Jade Star (Star Quartet 4)

He saw her quiver, but she didn’t look up at him. No, I feel like I’m living a half-life. I’m frightened that Wilkes will take me every time I leave the house. I’m afraid that Wilkes will send men after you.

“Of course,” she said, forcing her head up. He flinched at the haunted look in her eyes, but he didn’t know what to do. Dammit, he thought, so frustrated that he wanted to yell. How much longer could they continue living like this? He knew she had to have time, time to forget, to heal, but God, it hurt. He heard himself say in a tight, very controlled voice, “I want you to be happy.”

“Yes,” she said, “I know that you do.”

The day before the subscription ball, Thomas DuPres arrived in San Francisco. He looked fit, handsome, and darkly tanned, and Jules didn’t want to let him out of her sight. He limped only slightly. Saint, pleased to see his wife laughing, chattering like a magpie, her face flushed with pleasure, sat back drinking a brandy, watching the two of them. Unlike Jules, Thomas had brownish-red hair and his eyes were brown. But, he saw, they both were possessed of the same stubborn chin.

“I must say, Thomas,” he said during a brief lull in the conversation, “you’re looking much better than I thought you would. No more pain?”

“Narry a bit, Saint. Reverend Baldwin gave me a clean bill of health three weeks ago, said my leg was mending just fine, then told me to fatten up before I came here. He said you’d blame him, Saint, if I showed up on your doorstep looking like a scarecrow. Jules,” he continued to his sister, “we’ve both been disowned by our father, but I didn’t think you’d mind particularly.”

“No, not really,” Jules said. “Thomas, is Sarah happy now? Is she all right?”

“If you mean by that is she pregnant,” he said in a hard voice, “the answer is no, she isn’t. She is the most godawful female, and now with John Bleecher gone, she’s become a total shrew.”

Saint saw that Jules was upset, and said quickly, “Perhaps things will be better for her soon.”

Thomas threw his brother-in-law an incredulous look, but said nothing.

It was nearly midnight when Jules yawned loudly. “Time for you to go to bed, sweetheart,” Saint said, rising with her. “Thomas and I will be up shortly. You can take him about tomorrow.” He gave her a chaste kiss on her cheek. Thomas squeezed her tightly, and held her a moment.

“I’m so glad you’re here, Thomas,” she said. “Oh, you’ll be in the spare bedroom, second door on your right upstairs.” With those words, she left the two men alone, one smiling, the other staring after her, the meaning of her words like a death knell in his mind. He’d been an idiot not to realize that Jules would have to move back into his bedroom. He closed his eyes a moment, picturing her in a pristine, virginal nightgown, curled up beside him.

“Saint, you want another brandy?”

He shook his head. Thomas kept him up another hour, discussing medicine. If Thomas noticed that his brother-in-law was distracted, he was polite enough to ignore it.

Please let her be asleep, Saint thought when he very quietly opened the bedroom door. She was, and sprawled in the middle of the bed on her stomach.

He sighed, undressed quickly, and slipped in beside her. Too late he realized he should have worn one of the nightshirts Jane had made for him. She didn’t awaken, but before he fell asleep, she was curled up next to him, her slender arm thrown over his chest.

Saint, a light sleeper, awoke immediately at the sound of knocking on the front door. It was barely dawn. He rose instantly, and dressed more quickly than he ever had in his life. He took one last look at his sleeping wife, now curled up on her side, before he slipped out of the bedroom.

There were three scruffy-looking individuals, two of them supporting the third, whose face was pale and drawn with pain. “Limpin’ Willie told us to bring you old Sam here, Doc. He got hisself knifed in the back.”

Saint sighed, wondering if the knife wound, which turned out not to be too bad, was the result of a victim fighting back. Sam pressed fifty dollars in his hand an hour later, and staggered out again, supported by his friends.

Jules was so excited she could scarcely sit still in the swaying carriage. Thomas, his costume that of a pirate, complete with a black eye patch, looked dashing. Saint wore a black broadcloth suit and a long black velvet cloak and a black velvet mask.

“Your stays too tight, little sister?” Thomas asked her. “You’re jumping about like one of those Mexican beans I read about.”

“Oh no, I just can’t wait to get there. Michael, we’ve never waltzed together before. And Chauncey told me that the orchestra is all the way from Sacramento. Do you really like my costume? Agatha said I look the perfect shepherdess, and if she had any sheep, she’d give—”

“Lord, do you run on, Jules!”

Saint took her hand into his. He wanted to tell her that she looked so exquisite in the draped white gown that he wanted to touch and kiss every inch of her, dressed and undressed. “You are perfect,” he said in a light voice. “I also like your hair piled up like that—most effective. Ignore your brother. Brothers aren’t supposed to appreciate their sisters.”

“Everyone will know who you are, Jules,” Thomas said, eyeing her hair, “even with your mask on.”

And everyone did, of course. But Jules didn’t care. Even if she’d been completely disguised, Saint’s size would have given her away.

They waltzed, chatted with friends, admired costumes, mentally counted the money the ball was bringing in, and drank champagne. Saint had watched Bunker Stevenson very closely when they’d arrived. If he had been one of the men at the Crooked House that night, he didn’t show it. Even when Saint looked him straight in the face, his eyes hard and flat as he introduced Jules, Bunker showed no sign of recognition or embarrassment. He hadn’t been at the Crooked House, Saint thought. As for the others, doubtless many were here and they would recognize Jules. But they would say nothing. They wouldn’t dare. He grinned at Penelope, gowned in a dampened Regency-style dress, her very nice nose in the air, as was her wont.

But Penelope was excited, even though she had no trouble disguising the fact.

Until she met Thomas.

“Well,” said Penelope, eyeing Thomas without much interest, “I understand that you are Mrs. Morris’ brother. Good evening, Mrs. Morris.”