Page 89 of West Wind

She stopped and drew from the shelf the only book that had interested her in the past two weeks. Percy Bysshe Shelley.

There had been no more violent outbursts, no more profanity since that morning Wendell Yates had dared to show his face in this house. Still, she often found Nicky looking at her with a strange and distant look in his eyes, as if he didn’t know her anymore.

Poor Nicky. He wanted so badly to press for details about the months she’d been missing. She’d asked for time, and her uncle had called on tremendous restraint to give it to her.

She jumped a little when she turned around and found him standing in the doorway, watching her intently. “Nicky.” She gave him a small smile, all that she could manage. “I didn’t know you were still up.”

“What’s the matter, Brat?” Her uncle moved into the room with deceptive lethargy. “Can’t sleep?”

She shook her head. “Is Isabel sleeping?”

He smiled gently. “Like a baby.”

Nicky was a loving, devoted husband, and one day he and Isabel would have children. Babies. She tried to imagine him as a father, and couldn’t. How would a man who led such a controlled life deal with the chaos of a baby? In his own way, she imagined. He’d probably order the baby not to cry, and not to wake at night while he and Isabel were asleep. He would expect the child to obey.

“Isabel’s worried about you,” he said gently, laying his hand on her arm. “She thinks you’re too pale and too thin and far from ready to resume your career.”

“What do you think?”

He shrugged his wide shoulders. “I heard you rehearsing yesterday. You were fabulous, as always.”

She clasped the book to the bodice of her new pale green dress. She hadn’t told Nicky any of the details of her trip West, and it was obviously trying for him to be patient. He wanted to know everything, but he hadn’t hounded her. She had Isabel to thank for that, she was certain.

He’d taken her under his protective wing, as she’d known he would, and made his home her haven. He’d threatened every newspaper in town with endless lawsuits if they dared to print a word she didn’t approve, and had hired a personal maid for her until Pierre and Lisette could arrive. His home was hers for as long as she wanted to stay. He’d been trying to persuade her to return to San Francisco for good.

What was waiting for her in Paris? More notoriety. A return to the way of life she’d once loved. Henri was gone. She was forever changed. The idea of returning to Paris left her empty.

“I’ve been thinking.” She approached the subject with more than a little hesitation. “About your offer. I don’t want to intrude. You and Isabel haven’t even been married a year. You don’t need me underfoot.”

Nicky smiled broadly. “It’s a big house, Brat.”

“I’ll get my own place eventually, Icky.” She gave him a genuine smile. “I did see that personal ad you placed, by the way. It gave me hope when I needed it most.”

He placed his arm around her shoulder. “You only found one? I placed that ad in every newspaper west of the Mississippi for two and a half months.”

She laughed lightly. “I found it in a discarded newspaper in the filthiest, most out-of-the-way general store… She stopped suddenly, as memories flooded over her.

“So, when am I going to get the entire story?” He encouraged her with a gentle squeeze.

“Maybe never.” She lost her smile. “I was frightened most of the time, until Shelley…’’

Nicky obviously wanted to urge her on as her sentence trailed away, but he took a deep breath and patted her arm consolingly.

“That Bartholomew Shelton. Should I expect him bright and early again tomorrow?”

“Yes. He’s going to show me the bay.”

“You’ve seen the bay.”

“Well, he insisted.”

“Is this serious, Annabelle?” He walked with her from the library and up the stairs.

“Bart?” She wrinkled her nose at her overprotective uncle. “Good heavens, no. He’s just a friend.”

“Does he know that?”

“I expect he does.”