“How odd, I would have sworn that it was one of your major concerns.”
“You are in a snit,” Byrony said. She shrugged, and waved her fork at him. “Actually, I feel more comfortable when you act sarcastic. When you’re nice, I don’t know what to do or say.”
He cursed.
I thought only my father knew those kinds of words. And my brother, of course.”
He frowned at her, thrust his hands into his trouser pockets. “I’ll see that your bathwater arrives. Do you need any help?” His question was innocuous to begin with, until his mind gave him a vivid picture of her naked in his bathtub with him looking on.
“No, I’ll be all right.”
“Good. I’m relieved that you’re looking so fit.”
“Yes. I should be well enough to leave tomorrow.”
“I doubt I’ll be that lucky. Do I next rescue you in San Jose?”
Her chin went up. “I have only one favor to ask of you, Mr. Hammond. I have no money—”
“What very poor planning on your part. I would have thought that you’d saved quite a bit by now. Married nearly a year, right? Ira wasn’t such a besotted fool, then?”
“—but I do have a very valuable necklace that I will have to sell.”
“So you did manage to get something out of him?”
“Yes, a Christmas present. I would appreciate it if you would sell the necklace for me.”
“Perhaps I can sell it back to your husband. Better yet, perhaps I should have a talk with your husband. Ask him why he came to detest his bride in such a short time. At least that’s the way it seems. He wants you back only to have you shut up away from the world.”
She stared at him. “What do you mean?”
“Saint told me that your precious husband is spreading the tale that you’re suffering from delusions, female hysteria, that sort of thing. Says you’re a danger to yourself and should be confined for your own good.”
She was silent for many moments, her eyes on the roasted chicken on her plate. “Irene,” she said. “It must be Irene’s doing.”
“Is he right?”
“What do you think?”
“I think you are the most maddening female it has ever been my misfortune to meet. I’ll see you later, much later.”
He walked from the bedroom without a backward glance. She heard the door to the sitting room slam.
Brent stood by Nero, his assistant, a huge black man who’d lost his right ear at the hands of his owner in Georgia. He trusted Nero as much as Maggie trusted his brother, Caesar. Both men had managed to escape and make their way to California the year before.
Business was good. But then, it always was. There was one fight, and the two combatants were quickly and efficiently hauled outside by Nero. Brent roamed about the huge room. He didn’t want to gamble, nor did he want to drink. He wanted to go upstairs and make love to Byrony. There, he’d finally admitted it to himself, brought it into the open. What difference could it make, anyway? He had saved her. Didn’t she owe him?
He shook his head. He was being a crude bastard. He felt himself stiffen suddenly. Through the front swinging doors walked Ira Butler with Stephan Bannion, a lawyer and business associate. Brent’s eyes glittered. He walked to the table where the two men had just sat down.
“Good evening, gentlemen,” he said. “Welcome to the Wild Star. Your first time here, Butler. Have you come to try your luck?”
Bannion answered, “Old Ira needed some cheering up. How ’bout some of your whiskey, Hammond?”
Brent signaled the bartender, then turned back to the two men. He studied Ira Butler. He did look depressed as hell. Brent’s eyes fell to Ira’s pale, narrow hands, an aristocrat’s hands, he thought, and saw those long fingers stroking over Byrony’s body. “What’s the problem, Butler?” he asked. “Oh, I forgot. It’s your poor wife, isn’t it?”
Ira felt furious and utterly helpless. He wished he hadn’t allowed Stephan to drag him here. He’d gone over and over it in his mind. She obviously had escaped out her bedroom window. But where had she gone? She hadn’t taken her mare. Someone had to have helped her. But who? Why? He’d sent one of his men to Saint’s house, but she hadn’t been there. Was Saint hiding her somewhere? Had some of the city scum caught her and killed her? His head ached. He became aware that Hammond was talking about Byrony, and blinked. “My wife? Oh yes, my wife.”
“The poor demented girl,” Stephan Bannion said, shaking his head. “We’ve looked everywhere. Still no sign, no word of her.”