Wild Star (Star Quartet 3) - Page 79
He arched a black brow.
“I guess I’m rather ignorant,” she began.
“But very receptive.”
“Does a man want to make love all the time?”
“Not more than every hour or so.” She looked horrified, and he had to laugh.
Then she looked down, her expression all demure, and said, “Has it been an hour yet?”
He’d never seen her flirt before and he was enchanted. “Very nearly,” he said. He wondered briefly if he would ever have his fill of her. It was a heady thought, having a wife. It was also a commitment and a responsibility he’d never before considered, and that was scary as hell. He leaned toward her, delighting in the fact that she wanted him too, and took the tray from her lap.
“Now, sweetheart,” he said, “my hour is up and you can have your way with me again.” He cupped her face between his hands and began kissing her. He quickly forgot about their honeymoon, building a house, and an unknown future filled with responsibility. He’d also wanted to speak to her about their fiasco argument of the previous night, but not now. No, not now.
“You are looking quite splendid, Byrony,” Chauncey Saxton said, smiling at her friend. “I see that marriage agrees with you.”
“Brent is—” Byrony paused a moment. “He is, oh, I don’t know. Thank you for shopping with me, Chauncey.”
“My pleasure. I thank the elements it isn’t raining. Come, love, let’s have a cup of tea, and let me rest a moment.” She patted her growing belly. “This little brute is jumping about, and Saint told me tea—only mint tea, mind you—would calm him down.”
Byrony quickly agreed. They entered the small pastry shop called Mortimer’s on Market Street and the smiling, very rotund Timothy Mortimer led them to a small table. “Ladies,” he said.
After they’d ordered, Chauncey sat back in her chair and drew a contented sigh. “Oh course, Saint has no idea how to calm down this wild child of mine, but his suggestion of mint tea—with lemon, of course—I find delightful. You must give me your advice, Byrony, if you would be so kind. Del and I will be married a year next week and I haven’t the foggiest notion of what to give him.”
But Byrony was silent.
Chauncey looked up and saw Mrs. Stevenson and Penelope in the doorway to the shop. “Ignore them,” she said. “Besides, we don’t know which of us they disapprove of more. Dear Penelope has always been a mild thorn in my side. It’s all too silly, you know.” She nodded toward the two women.
“Ah, our tea. Thank you, Timothy.”
“Certainly, Mrs. Saxton. Tell Del that the new oven is working better than I ever dreamed it would.”
At Byrony’s questioning look, Chauncey said, “Del loaned him some money for the famous oven.”
“At least he spent it on an oven and not in Brent’s saloon.”
Chauncey laughed and toasted Byrony with her cup of tea.
“How is the new bride?”
Byrony slowly set her teacup into its saucer and raised her eyes to Penelope’s face. “Hello, Miss Stevenson.”
“The new bride looks marvelously happy,” said Chauncey, “doesn’t she, Penelope?”
Penelope considered this a moment. “Do you always look marvelously happy when you marry, Mrs. Butl—Mrs. Hammond? At least for a short time?”
Byrony locked her eyes on the blue-and-white-checked tablecloth.
“I saw your child the other day. What is the poor little thing’s name? Michelle?”
“Poor Penelope,” Chauncey said, shaking her head. “It must be so difficult to ignore facts and wallow in fiction.”
“I should say that most of the ladies in San Francisco think it appalling that a woman would leave her child and husband to marry her lover. Don’t expect to be greeted fondly, Mrs. Hammond.”
Brent had warned her, of course. Still, chilling looks were easier to take than this direct attack. I can’t allow Chauncey to continue protecting me, she thought, and raised her eyes to Penelope’s face. “I think, Miss Stevenson,” she said slowly, very precisely, “that you shouldn’t have any lemon with your tea. Your lips are pursed so tightly now, you just might find yourself permanently wrinkled.”
“Indeed, Penelope,” Chauncey said, “take yourself off and regale your mother with all your nasty little tales. Better yet, find yourself a husband, then you’ll be kept too busy to spread gossip about other people.”
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