Jules felt a wave of color wash over her cheeks. She sank down a few inches in the water. Why should I be embarrassed? she thought, suddenly angry. He knows . . . everything. “I shall be finished in just a moment,” she said, raising her chin.
Saint made the mistake of allowing his eyes to leave her face. He felt an instant tightening in his loins at the sight of her soft white shoulders, the tops of her breasts. He swallowed, and backed up. “I’ll be downstairs, Jules. I need a bath also. Just call me when you’re finished.”
He disliked her so much he couldn’t bear to be in the same room with her! She was sorely tempted to climb out of the tub and hurl the water at him. But she didn’t. She said only, her voice nasty, “How sorry I am that you had to work so very hard this afternoon. What was wrong with Mrs. Branigan, anyway?”
He forced his eyes back to her face. He thought of the damned gun, of her visit to Maggie. Here she was attacking him like a shrew for his visit to Jane! For God’s sake, he’d told her he wouldn’t sleep with Jane anymore! His eyes darkened, and he said coldly, “Why, nothing at all was wrong with Jane. Nothing at all. Not everyone I visit is ill, you know.”
She wanted to yell at him, but she pressed her lips together and lowered her head. She heard his harsh breathing, heard the bedroom door slam, then listened to his retreating footsteps down the corridor.
“He’s a miserable man,” she whispered, and hated herself for the wretched tears that trickled down her cheeks. “I guess that makes us about even, since I’m a miserable woman.”
Penelope had never before been in Saint Morris’ house. It was dreadfully small and not at all well-appointed. Well, she was here and she supposed she must make the best of it. After all, Saint was Thomas’ brother-in-law. She greeted Saint with cool politeness and tried her rarely used charm on Thomas’ sister. What wild red hair, she thought, thankful of her own smooth flaxen tresses.
“How nice to see you again,” Jules said, wondering for perhaps the dozenth time what Thomas saw in this dreadful girl. Her voice could chill the wine.
“Yes,” Penelope said. “Dr. Morris,” she added, gracefully inclining her long neck. “My parents send their regards.”
“How about a glass of sherry, Pen?” Thomas asked.
Jules watched Penelope turn a beguiling smile on her brother. Pen! Penelope’s voice softened as much as her eyes. “Oh yes, Thomas, that would be very nice.”
Saint was markedly silent until the Hammonds arrived, full of good cheer and laughter. Byrony’s stomach was well-rounded now, and her skin had that glowing, almost translucent look that some women gained when pregnant. “As I live and breathe,” Byrony said in a very sweet voice. “Penelope! How very delightful. How I wish the Saxtons were here also.”
Penelope didn’t know what to do. She felt Thomas’ hand on hers, squeezing, and she forced a big smile. “Hello,” she said. “It is very good to see you both again. Mother is so pleased with the amount of money we raised for your slaves, Mr. Hammond.”
“There are no slaves in California,” Byrony said sweetly.
“Yes, Pen,” Thomas added, “you must begin to listen and perhaps read the newspaper. It would give you all sorts of useful information.”
Brent Hammond was watching this interplay with some interest. He said quietly to Saint, “Your brother-in-law has more guts that I. Does she always roll over and play dead when he tromps on her?”
“He does handle her,” Saint said, “and very well, it appears. I doubt you’ll hear too many sly innuendos out of her tonight.”
“How is Thackery?” Brent asked abruptly.
“Fine,” said Saint. Brent followed his friend’s gaze to Jules. She looked inordinately lovely in a dark green silk gown that was fashioned low on her white shoulders. Her flame-colored hair was intricately arranged in thick coronet braids atop her head. Curling tendrils framed her face.
“I spoke to him briefly before we came in,” Brent said. “He informs me that your wife is a handful. But when I questioned him further, he became as closemouthed as a clam. I fear he’s shifted his loyalty to your little one there. He is, I suppose one would say, firmly in her pocket.”
Saint didn’t want to talk about it. He didn’t even want to think about it, at least not this evening. “Does Byrony have any more nausea in the mornings?” he asked.
Brent arched a questioning brow, but allowed the shift in topic. “No, she informs me she’s healthy as I am, but fatter. You don’t expect any problems, Saint?”
Saint did, but he didn’t say anything. No sense in making Brent worry. If the child grew large, Byrony would have difficulties, for her pelvis was narrower than Jules’s. “No problems,” he said aloud. “Just make certain I’m around a couple of days before she’s due to deliver.”
“We’ll be settled in Wakeville for the winter. You don’t mind trekking down? You’ll stay with us as our guest. Jules also, of course.”
“That would be fine. And don’t worry, Brent.”
“If you insist. Incidentally, Maggie was telling me that Jules—”
Saint raised his hand. “No, I don’t want to hear it. I’ve already been informed. I intend to speak to Maggie tomorrow. Now, let’s join the ladies and masterful, romantic Thomas.”
To her profound surprise, Penelope found that she was enjoying herself. Certainly the fact that Thomas squeezed her hand in a meaningful way occasionally under the table made her smile, but she hadn’t imagined that she would actually enjoy having dinner with a gambler and a girl from Maui and a doctor. And a pregnant lady!
“. . . and then Limpin’ Willie told me that he returned the hundred dollars to the man’s pocket and sent him on his way,” Saint said. “He told me the fellow had one of my bandages on his arm. Thought I’d be upset if he did him in after I’d fixed him up.”
He paused a moment to let the laughter die down.