Midnight Star (Star Quartet 2)

“Particularly when you get what you want?”

Something suspiciously like pain glistened in her eyes, but she was laughing again, and he thought he must have imagined it.

“Particularly then,” she agreed.

He gave her a flourishing bow and offered her his arm. He was aware of every male eye upon them as he escorted her out of the bank.

“The wood-plank sidewalks are a good idea,” Chauncey said, eyeing the muddy street. The light rain had stopped early that morning, but the air was still damp and thick with fog.

“Yes,” he said, moving to the street side to protect her.

“You men are lucky, sir, with your boots and trousers,” Chauncey said, observing men walking in the wide street, oblivious of the mud puddles.

“And practical, Miss Jameson. Our vanities lie in other directions.”

“I assure you, sir, that it is men and their vanity who have forced women to adopt such ridiculous garments!”

“Acquit me, ma’am. I should much enjoy seeing you garbed in trousers and boots.”

His drawing comment found its mark, but Chauncey quickly recovered. “Perhaps someday you may get your wish,” she said blandly, shooting him an impish smile.

She turned away from him, absorbing the raucous noise that surrounded them. There is endless excitement here, she thought, gazing at the merchants, vendors, and myriad drays and wagons that filled California Street.

“Your city is alive, sir,” she said. “Every sense is awakened.”

“I have found other cities boring in comparison. I see you are wondering about all our modern brick buildings.” At her inquiring look, he laughed. “Even if you weren’t, you should. They are our defense against fire. All of the original argonauts, as we’ve been dubbed, have lost everything to fire in the past, myself included. Careful, Miss Jameson, that gentleman is a bit worse for drink.”

“You do not appear to be suffering overly now, sir,” Chauncey said, watching the stumbling man pass them.

“No,” he agreed blandly, smiling down at her. “Have you attempted climbing any of our hills?”

“Yes, I visited the semaphore on Telegraph Hill. Most intriguing. As for the rest of them, I believe I will wait.”

“Ah, here we are. Pierre’s Culinary Establishment. A very upper-class restaurant, I assure you, ma’am. Quite draining on the purse.”

The restaurant was a marvelously gawdy place, its huge front room hung with dark blue velvet draperies. Chauncey quickly saw that she was the only female present. Delaney greeted many of the other men, but did not pause.

“François,” he said, smiling at the small potbellied man who was hurrying toward them. He added under his breath, “His real name is Jud Stubbs and he hails from Pennsylvania, I believe.”

“Mr. Saxton, and the lovely new English lady. Such a pleasure, madame.”

“Your fame has spread, even to the kitchens,” Delaney murmured to Chauncey.

“I pray you will be polite, sir. After all, I am paying!”

François ushered them to a quiet table away from the windows, hovering over them as he gave them the menus.

“You will love the menu, Miss Jameson. François has himself endeavored to produce it in French.”

Chauncey managed to contain her giggles until François had left them to themselves.

“François joined forces with a very real Frenchman, Pierre LeGrand, some six months ago. I assure you that Pierre does the cooking. Really, Miss Jameson, you must contain your mirth. I cannot imagine what all the gentlemen now staring at you must be thinking.”

“Doubtless what they are thinking redounds to your benefit, Mr. Saxton.”

“So sure of yourself, Miss Jameson?” he drawled. To his delight, she did not appear at all discomfited.

“Of course, sir. Have I not already received three proposals of marriage in but a week and a half?”