скачать книгу бесплатно
The warmth of her greeting relieved him. He hadn’t known how she would be—growing up in this huge mansion and after all these years. He’d halfway wondered if she’d forget about him.
She glanced down the hall, pressed her finger to her lips and then grabbed his hand and pulled him the other way—outside. She led him down the front steps and onto a path through a flowering trellis that led to a large rose garden. Their floral scent filled the warm evening air along with something he hadn’t smelled in years—night-blooming jasmine. In the center of the garden, a bronze sundial stood next to a wrought iron swing. She sat down, a conspiratorial smile on her face, and patted the bench seat beside her.
He took care not to crush her fancy party dress as he joined her. “Just what are you up to, Hannah-girl?”
Her eyes shone, drinking him in and making him feel all of ten feet tall. You were gone a very long time. Where have you been?
“Alaska mostly.”
Her eyes widened into saucers. Looking for gold? Did you find any?
He chuckled, enjoying her exuberance. He gave a push with his feet to set the swing in gentle motion. “Some. Bears, too. Big black ones.”
You are lucky to have so many adventures—see so many new places.
“You’re pretty lucky yourself.” He tilted his chin toward the mansion behind her. “This looks like a big adventure in its own way.”
Instead of agreeing, like he thought she would, her shoulders sank, the movement nearly imperceptible.
He hadn’t intended to put a damper on the day. After all, it was her birthday party. “So how have you been, Miss Hannah?”
She blinked and seemed to shake off the mood. Next week I’m going to see a man about my voice.
Apprehension tasted sour in his stomach. “Thought you’d been down that road before.”
She frowned. I thought, of all people, you’d understand best.
Great. He hadn’t been here five minutes and they were arguing. “Understand what? Understand how many times you’ve had your hopes trampled? This isn’t some endurance contest, Hannah. You were all broke up the last time when it didn’t work like you hoped.”
But this is different.
“How so?”
It’s called hypnosis.
Coldness spread through his gut. “Like at a carnival? Some mind reader playing tricks with your brain?”
It won’t be like that. He’d be doing it to help me, not to make fun.
“Sounds crazy to me. Crazy and dangerous.”
She wilted at his words. Must have thought he’d be as enthusiastic as she was. He felt bad—selfish even—for throwin’ cold water on her hope. “I’m sorry I can’t be more excited for you. I just don’t want to see you hurt again. To my way of thinkin’ you’re fine just the way you are.”
That’s because you can read my hands. Not everyone can and... Her hands dropped to her lap.
“And what?” he prodded, knowing his voice was harsh and not caring. The gal would keep at this like a dog worrying a sore paw.
I...I... She squeezed shut her eyes. Never mind. I’m sorry I spoke of it.
Now he really felt like an ass. He just didn’t want to see her hurt. “Go on. I won’t laugh or give you any more grief.”
She took a deep breath. I want to sing.
It was a dream any young girl might have—rich or poor. Taken by surprise, he grinned. “Guess I’d like to hear that myself.”
You’re just scared I’ll talk too much once I learn how.
He smirked. That sounded more like the Hannah he knew—a bit on the sassy side. “Could be. But whatever happens—whether this hypnosis thing works or not—you’re still Hannah to me. Nothing can change that.” He said the words to convince himself. She was changing—right before his eyes, she was growing up.
A coyote howled in the distance, and the sound pulled him from his thoughts. The stars were popping out, too. Guess he best say what he’d come to say so she could get back to her party. He fished in his pocket and pulled out the leather pouch. “I...ah...have a little something for you—for luck.”
Her eyes took on a sparkle. A birthday present?
“Call it that if you want. Been carryin’ it for a while. It’s not much.” He handed her the pouch.
She loosened the drawstring cord and upended the bag. The necklace he’d had made slid into her waiting palm—a swirl of silver and abalone in the warm twilight. He watched for her reaction.
Her eyes opened wide in recognition.
She remembered. Unaccountably pleased, he said, “I’ve had that piece of shell with me ever since we found it on the beach. Been my good-luck piece. Figured it was your turn to have it.”
It...it is lovely. Will you put it on me?
She handed him the necklace and flounced around on the swing, turning her back to him. The movement wafted her flowery perfume up to fill his nose. His gaze slid down the gentle slope of her neck and farther to her shoulders. He’d never seen so much soft, creamy skin. Queer sensations pooled in his stomach as he circled the silver chain around her head. A tendril of hair danced in the breeze where he needed to lock the clasp. He leaned close and blew it out of the way.
She inhaled sharply.
He smiled at her reaction and then leaned in to tease her. “Goose bumps?”
She didn’t indicate she’d heard. In fact, she was mighty quiet. And goose bumps had formed on her upper arms. His fingers stilled in their task. He’d only meant to move the hair out of the way. After all, this was Hannah. He hadn’t given any thought to his actions being more than that. Suddenly they were. Suddenly they seemed...intimate.
He finished locking the silver clasp and pulled back. “Done.”
Hannah fingered the pendant as she turned to him. The gleaming shell rested just above the rose-colored satin neckline of her dress. He liked the way it sat there all shimmery on her smooth skin. “It’s not emeralds...or pearls....”
I have those things. It... She stilled her hands and then started over. This is special. It means a lot to me.
She leaned up and kissed him softly on the cheek.
Drawing back, she stopped close enough for her breath to tickle his skin. Gray eyes, large and luminous, blinked up at him. Her nearness set his entire body to thrummin’—not exactly the reaction he’d expected.
“You’re sure sayin’ a lot for someone who can’t talk,” he mumbled, unable to look away. They were friends—practically brother and sister. And she was way too young to be lookin’ at him like that. To give in to the urge forming—the urge to kiss her properly—would change things between them forever. He should get up and walk away right now, put some distance between them before he did something stupid.
Trouble was, his head told him one thing and his heart said another. And the second was drowning out the first. So he sat there like a dang fool, caught betwixt and between. Those pretty gray eyes of hers grew bigger, and she tilted her face up. His heart lurched to a new rhythm in his chest. Apparently the little lady was wantin’ the same thing. A fool he might be, but he didn’t need to be asked twice.
He slid his hat from his head, barely conscious of the motion. Then, leaning forward, he tested the waters—a quick brush of his lips to hers. When she didn’t pull back, he took her by the shoulders and bent down to her mouth—careful to keep the kiss light. A birthday kiss. A sweet-sixteen birthday kiss. Gentle. Chaste. Her lashes swept down, and likewise he let himself enjoy the moment. She had the softest lips he’d ever felt, the smoothest skin he’d ever touched.
And she was an innocent. She trembled under his mouth, stiff and a bit awkward in a way only first kisses can be. That she’d chosen to share her first kiss with him humbled him. It was a gift—the gift of herself.
He broke contact and then brushed her forehead with a parting kiss, murmuring against her skin, “Happy birthday, Hannah.”
When he pulled back, heightened color stained her cheeks, and her gaze was slightly out of focus.
Well, he was right there with her—in as much shock as she. Imagine that.
The tap of metal clicked on the flagstone path. “Hannah!” Dorian’s harsh voice boomed through the garden.
Reluctantly, Caleb released her and stood to face her grandfather.
Dorian made his way toward them until he stopped three feet before them. Quietly, Hannah stood. Dorian took in the pendant she wore, took in her flushed face and cut a barbed look to Caleb before addressing his granddaughter. “You are ignoring your guests. Please, return to the house immediately.”
Caleb glanced toward the front door. The partiers had wandered onto the open marble landing at the top of the steps and stared out over the railing, curiosity splashed across their faces. On the path behind Dorian, Rachel, large and awkward with child, hurried forward, followed by her husband, Stuart.
Rachel rushed up and hugged him fiercely. “You’re here! When did you arrive? Did you stop at the house?”
He squeezed her tentatively, in awe of her changed form. “Hi, sis. Yes, I left my things there.”
“Oh, it’s been too long this time.” She sniffled, and he saw the start of tears forming in her eyes.
Uncomfortable with the display of emotion, he turned to his brother-in-law, reading the dark bent of his expression. Tread carefully, it said. Rachel didn’t need any worries, and an argument between him and Dorian wouldn’t do her any good.
“Don’t mind me. Really,” Rachel said, blinking away her tears. “It’s just something to do with being in a family way. I seem to cry at the drop of a hat.”
He grinned at that. Seemed women could always muster up a good cry—sometimes in honest feeling and sometimes only to manipulate. He’d experienced both. “Guess I interrupted quite a party. I’ll head to the house and you come on back when you’re good and ready.” Turning to Hannah, he resettled his hat on his head and tugged the brim down. “Your grandfather is right. Your guests are waiting.”
Hannah pouted but moved her hands gracefully in answer.Thank you for the gift. You’ll come by tomorrow?
Caleb caught the smoldering anger in Dorian’s eye. “Sure. Tomorrow evening.”
She smiled, reassured, and turned down the stone path to the house.
The moment she was out of earshot, Dorian faced him squarely. “Please don’t make contact with Hannah again.”
“I’d say that’s up to Hannah, Mr. Lansing.”
Rachel’s face blanched.
“You will honor my wishes with my granddaughter.” Dorian didn’t raise his voice, but Caleb heard—no, he felt—the underlying steel. This was a man who got his way. “Hannah is young and impressionable, and she has been brought up to a finer style than one to which you are accustomed. I believe you would agree with me when I say that she deserves better.”
Caleb nearly choked. The man was anything but tactful. “Our friendship goes back way before Hannah came here to live with you. Money doesn’t figure into it.”
Dorian raised his brows. “You’ll find, Mr. Houston, that money has everything to do with her life now, the merchant business and her future.”
Rachel gasped—a strangled, half-swallowed sound—and the corners of her mouth tightened, pale and drawn. Her hand clutched her bulging abdomen. “I...I believe I really must start home.”
The way she said it, more than the words she used, had Caleb moving toward her to catch her by the arm. Stuart did the same, clutching her opposite arm in support. “Rach?”
Her attempt at a reassuring smile faltered. “We should be going.”
“The midwife?” Stuart asked, looking at Caleb over her bowed head.
She shook her head. “It will pass. I need to lie down for a bit. Just overdid things today. That’s all.”
Stuart quirked his head. The look was subtle, but Caleb understood. He was to take Rachel home. Stuart would go for the midwife. It didn’t matter that Rachel thought it unnecessary.
“Thank you for having us, Dorian,” Rachel said. “Give Hannah our love.”
Dorian stood aside to let them pass. Caleb could almost hear the thoughts swirling as the man assessed him one last time. “Mr. Houston. You’d be smart to remember what I said.”
The challenge rang in the damp evening air. Caleb ignored it, but as he stepped away, flanking Rachel’s side, he felt the man’s gaze sear his shoulders. Dorian Lansing was not someone to turn his back on. He’d best remember that.
* * *
The guests were gone, the servants abed, the house quiet. Yet in one room, Hannah’s sitting room, the gas lamp burned steadily. Hannah sat at her writing desk watching Grandfather stride the length of the apartment, his bow tie hanging loose at his collar and his face tight with controlled anger.
“I cannot believe that you left your guests, friends who had traveled considerable distances, to consort with that ne’er-do-well. Have you no pride in yourself? No sense of decency?”
Caleb is a good friend, too— Grandfather turned away before she could finish signing. She dropped her hands into her lap. She wasn’t surprised. He had little patience for the way she communicated. Since the day she’d arrived ten years ago, unable to speak, she had been a disappointment. Each doctor she had seen, each professional opinion, each unsuccessful visit had frustrated him further. Yet she had no control over this wretched solitude. If only she could be the same as everyone else, if only she could force the words out, then everything would be righted. Grandfather would have to listen.
He stopped pacing. “Tonight’s inappropriate behavior must be addressed. In view of what has occurred, I feel I must contain you to your room for the time being.”
But she was supposed to see Caleb! Thoughts of his kiss came back full force. What a flood of sensations had come over her with that kiss. Was that what it was supposed to be like? One thing was certain. She wanted to talk to him about it. And she wanted another one.
But of that, Grandfather would not approve. She did, however, need to keep her appointment with the hypnotist. Opening her secretary, she withdrew a sheet of paper and dashed off the words Appointment. Hypnotist. Ten o’clock.
Grandfather frowned. “I haven’t forgotten, but I regret now giving you leave to go. That man is not a physician. I find it distasteful to visit his establishment, to be seen in his part of town.”
No! Grandfather mustn’t change his mind! She had to see the hypnotist! Quickly she wrote Edward’s name.
“It’s not a matter of who will accompany you. This person is no more than a carnival charlatan—a waste of time. With further consideration, I cannot allow you to keep your appointment.”
The thought flitted through her mind that he sounded much like Caleb had in his assessment of the hypnotist—a similarity she refused to dwell on at the moment. She had to go, had to try, no matter how slight the chance it would work.
“We’ll talk more tomorrow, after you have time to consider your actions and how they’ve disgraced the family.”
Grandfather was nearly to the door. She tugged at his arm.
He looked down at her, his mouth a firm line of disapproval. She’d seen that expression a number of times over the years since coming to live with him and Grandmother Rose. Nothing she did would change his mind.
Then, as she watched, the resolve on his face shifted.
She stepped back, unsure what this might mean.
“Your mother was the same, you know,” he said. “Impulsive. Headstrong. I had hoped you would not take after her in that regard.”
Her mother? He never spoke of her. That he said anything emphasized how upset she’d made him. She’d been three years old when Mother drowned—and she had stopped speaking. At least that was what Stuart had told her when she was old enough to understand. As much as she would have liked to remember her mother, she couldn’t. Her memories started at the lighthouse with Stuart taking care of her.
Grandfather sighed and patted her arm. “I don’t wish to do this, you know—punish you like a young schoolgirl. Not at your age.” He moved back to the window seat and sat, hands on his knees, and stared at the floor—a sign he was deep in thought.
