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  On his first attempt he missed the balcony’s overhang completely and nearly sent Lydia sprawling on the portico’s flagstones as he fell off the balustrade. Glaring at her and ordering her to stay out of his way, he climbed back up and came within an inch on his next try. The third and fourth attempts were ultimately failures. Nathan caught the lip of the slippery balcony but could not hold on to pull himself up. He moved to the end of the railing where a smooth granite column supported one corner of the portico’s roof. This time when he jumped, he wrapped his legs around the shaft and half shimmied, half pulled himself upward. When he was high enough he threw one leg up on the lip of the balcony and hauled himself up the rest of the way. Seconds later he was over the balcony’s decorative railing.

  Crouching down, Nathan hurried toward the house. Once he was safely at an angle where he couldn’t be seen from the windows, he stood up, leaned back against the sheer wall of the house, and caught his breath. After a few minutes he looked over the edge of the balcony and saw Lydia standing out in the rain again, watching him. He could imagine the cobalt blue eyes, bright with expectancy, wide with worry. At least Nathan hoped she was worried. There was a very good chance he was going to break his neck for her.

  Nathan estimated the distance from where he stood to Lydia’s window as a little more than four feet. The face of the house was rain-slick, as slippery and as cold as ice. He couldn’t just lean toward the windowsill and hope to catch it; there was no toehold, no place to wedge his fingers. He would have to make an angled leap, get his hands and arms inside the window without getting tangled in the flapping and slapping drapes, and pray he didn’t knock himself out when he slammed into the house. He was not hopeful. As he recalled, the flowerbed below Lydia’s window was filled with rosebushes.

  Wiping a combination of rain and perspiration from his forehead, Nathan paced off three feet at a right angle to the house, knowing that would make his angled leap to the window just about five feet, a distance he thought he could make, or prayed he could. When he found the proper angle and distance he climbed back over the railing, stood on the narrow lip of the balcony, and didn’t give what he was going to do another thought.

  Nathan jumped.

  His hands caught the drapes. The rods held for a heartbeat before tearing away from the anchoring wall. Nathan felt them give. He scrambled, feeling as if he were flailing in vain, trying to crawl up something that was falling down, then he felt the solidness of the sill and thrust one arm inside the window. He hung there, swinging under Lydia’s window from the momentum of his leap. With strength born of determination and a certain amount of anger, Nathan managed to get his other arm through the window. He felt another seam in his sleeve give way.

  His feet slipped on the outer wall of the house as he tried to find purchase. Just pushing off the house helped Nathan raise himself a little higher. With nothing but grit and a prayer, Nathan pulled himself up until he could shoulder his way through the open window. He rested briefly when he got his upper torso in, then slid the rest of the way through until he was facedown on the braided area rug, his arms tangled in the fallen draperies.

  He had done cleaner and slicker second-story work, but considering the amount of improvisation involved in this one, Nathan was pleased with his night’s work—so far.

  Water puddled on the floor as he stood up. He untangled himself, kicked the braided rug aside, and pushed open the sash as wide as it would go. Leaning out, he waved Lydia over to the window. “Take off your cape and throw it here.” He was gratified to see that she didn’t hesitate to obey.

  The cape was heavy with water, and it took two tosses before Nathan caught it. He let it hang out of the window, twisting it so it lost water and formed a tight rope. “Grab the end and hold on. I’ll pull you up.”

  Lydia jumped once at the makeshift rope dangling above her and hung on for all she was worth. Within seconds Nathan was hauling her into the bedroom. She stumbled when he set her on the floor and fell into his arms as he steadied her. She stiffened and he, sensing her discomfort, separated himself from her.

  “Thank you,” she said. “I could never have gotten here on my own.”

  “If I had my way,” he said caustically, “you’d never get out.”

  “Does that mean you’ve changed your mind about the Cliff House tomorrow?”

  “Today,” he corrected. “In an hour or so this house is going to be waking. And I’m going to hold you to your promise.”

  Lydia could only imagine one reason that he would want to. No matter what he said, it had to be her money. He certainly made little effort to hide his dislike for her. “Very well,” she said. “I’ll be ready.”

  Nathan went to the window, hesitated, then, without warning, turned on Lydia and pulled her into his arms. He kissed her deeply, firmly, and swiftly, giving her no time to react, let alone protest. He didn’t give her time to respond later either. Easing himself out the window, he cursed softly in anticipation of the ache in his legs, and jumped.

  The next few minutes he spent covering his tracks in the yard and locating his evening coat and putting it on.

  He was ready to leave the yard when he heard his name. He looked up, shielding the rain from his eyes with his hand. At the last moment he dodged the missile that came flying from the window: Lydia’s sodden, soiled, and borrowed dress.

  “Get rid of it,” she said in a loud whisper. Almost as an afterthought she added, “Please.”

  Nathan scooped up the gown and rolled it into a ball. What the bloody hell, he thought. After the fire Lydia had set in his loins, he’d been thinking of returning to Miss Bailey’s anyway.

  Chapter 4

  “This has to stop, Lydia.” Madeline pushed past Pei Ling and swept into her daughter’s bedroom like a cold Sierra Nevada wind. “It’s almost noon and you’re still abed. I simply will not be put off by your Chinese dragon any longer.”

  Over Madeline’s shoulder Lydia could see Pei Ling standing by the door, her features perfectly composed, even serene. There was nothing remotely dragon-like about her countenance. Covering her urge to smile with a yawn, Lydia dismissed Pei Ling and sat up in bed. “Is it really noon?” she asked.

  “Of course it is. You’d know if you’d let a touch of sun in.” Madeline went to the windows and pulled back the velvet drapes, first on the window where they were still anchored firmly, then on the window where Nathan and Lydia had made their middle-of-the-night entrance. “Why you insist on keeping this room so…what’s this? Lydia, this drapery rod is about to fall down. What happened here?”

  Lydia knew it was about to fall down. After Nathan left she’d spent close to twenty minutes securing it as best she could on either side of the window frame. A little more of Madeline’s fiddling and they would…fall. Lydia’s eyes dropped to the draperies on the floor, partly to avoid her mother’s cold and disapproving stare. She felt all of five years old, clumsy and inadequate. “I left the sash up when I went to bed last night,” she explained. “The heavy rain soaked the drapes. You can see what’s happened as a result.”

  “You’re so careless, Lydia.” She sighed, kicking away the drapes with the toe of her shoe. She went over to the bed and sat down on the edge near Lydia’s feet. “I’ll ask Mrs. Leeds to fix them this afternoon. Now, tell me what possessed you to leave your own party last night. Pei Ling said you didn’t feel well. You looked overwrought to me, but that was no reason for you to abandon your guests. It’s not done, Lydia. Not done at all.”

  “I did it.”

  Madeline looked at her daughter sharply. “I don’t find that sort of tone amusing, Lydia.”

  Lydia looked down at her hands. “I’m sorry.” She picked up a pillow and crushed it against her chest, drawing her knees toward her as well. The barriers helped her face her mother again. “I know it was the worst sort of manners to leave the guests, but it couldn’t be helped. I spent most of the afternoon before the party in my room with a sick headache; I probably should never have tri
ed to attend.”

  Only slightly mollified, Madeline said, “Your guests were sympathetic, and I managed your duties.”

  “I knew you would, Mother. I’m sure I was barely missed. Thank you.”

  “Yes, well, I shouldn’t want this to become a habit on your part. If you choose to host a party, then you have to see it through, sick headache or anything else that puts you under the weather. I must say, you’re looking well enough now.” She placed the back of her hand on Lydia’s forehead, then felt her flushed cheeks. “You’re not warm, but there’s color in your face for a change. It even flatters you a little, Lydia. And your eyes are bright. Are you certain you feel all right now?”

  “I’m fine, Mother. Really.” She would have liked to run to her mirrored vanity and see what her mother was talking about. Were her night’s adventures somehow evident? Lydia raised her fingertips to her mouth and touched her sensitive lower lip. It was easy to imagine Nathan Hunter’s mouth on hers. Could her mother suspect? She was anxious to turn the subject away from her physical condition. “How much money was raised last evening?”

  Madeline got up and went to Lydia’s wardrobe. She opened it and began sifting through the contents, looking for something for Lydia to wear. “You exceeded your goal,” she said. “There’s no question but that St. Andrew’s will be built. In fact, I understand from your father that you were responsible for one of the larger donations.” She paused in examining Lydia’s gowns and looked at her daughter. “What were you thinking when you agreed to that ridiculous wager? Offering yourself like that. It’s pagan. I could hardly believe you would agree to such a thing. When your father first told me about it this morning, I was certain he was merely trying to goad me. When I realized he was quite serious…well, I don’t think our discussion bears repeating. Suffice it to say that Samuel refuses to renege on his wager, so it will be up to you to put a stop to it.”

  At different times last night Lydia remembered she had wanted to put a stop to it, too. Today she remembered she had given her word and she found herself strangely reluctant to go back on it now. “Why, Mother? Why must I stop it? It’s only an invitation to dine at the Cliff House. I’ve been there with Henry before and several times with James. It’s perfectly acceptable, you’ve said so yourself.”

  “You’re purposely being obtuse.” Madeline laid a pale green gown over the back of a chair and went to stand at the foot of Lydia’s bed. Her carriage was stiff, and when she spoke, the aloofness of her posture became part of her tone. “You know this is a different matter entirely. You bartered yourself like a common dance hall girl. Do you hear what I’m really saying?” She held up her hand as Lydia sucked in her breath and began to object. “I’m sure you think my judgment is harsh, yet how else can you describe what you’ve done? Those men were exchanging money for you. Any one of them could be forgiven for thinking you meant to offer more than your company.”

  “But—”

  “And what do we know of Mr. Hunter? He’s merely an acquaintance of your father’s, a gambler and a foreigner. I found his manner a bit rough around the edges, his dancing abominable, and his conversation inadequate. He was only playing at being a gentleman. Indeed, a gentleman would not have accepted the wager.”

  “It was Mr. Moore who proposed the wager, Mother. He was your guest, remember?”

  “Now you’re being insolent. If Mr. Moore proposed the wager, which your father neglected to tell me, then it can only mean that you did something to command his attention in an unacceptable fashion. He would not have made such a bold wager if he didn’t believe there was just cause for it. I think I know something about Brigham Moore’s character. After all, he saved my life.”

  “I don’t believe I did anything untoward, Mother. I danced with Mr. Moore and Mr. Hunter, spoke with both briefly about the orphanage, and conversed with them at dinner. In fact, our dinner conversation took place after the wager had been made and won, so I can’t see that it matters in the least.”

  Madeline was undeterred. “If you did nothing to draw their attention to you, then you must ask yourself where their interest lies. If you reflect upon it, I’m certain you’ll arrive at the same answer I have.”

  “My fortune,” Lydia said dully. She had found herself thinking about it many times with Nathan Hunter, but she was uncharacteristically reluctant to believe it about Brigham. Lydia hugged her pillow tighter and for one moment closed her eyes.

  “Naturally, your fortune. I have every right to be concerned, Lydia, as you should be. Your friend James Early is many times more appropriate as a partner for you, yet you hardly spent any time with him last night. Mr. Moore and Mr. Hunter are nearer my age than yours.”

  “So old?” Lydia asked without thinking. Madeline was, after all, her mother, and that alone made her seem older than her years in Lydia’s eyes.

  Madeline’s mouth flattened. “I can see that it’s no good talking to you now. Perhaps once you’ve dressed and eaten something you’ll be more agreeable. I’m going for a fitting soon, but I’ll be back before four. We’ll discuss your plans for this evening then.”

  “Mother, I’m sor—” But Madeline had already given Lydia her back. The room seemed to shudder as Madeline closed the door, then Lydia realized it was only her reaction, not the room’s.

  Pei Ling glided into the bedroom moments after Madeline’s exit. From Lydia’s pained expression it was not difficult to imagine what had happened between mother and daughter in her absence. The maid drew Lydia a bath, brought her a light brunch, and set out a gown she deemed more appropriate than the one Madeline had chosen.

  “You very late last evening,” Pei Ling said as she combed through Lydia’s damp hair. “I think perhaps I misjudge Nathan Hunter and he mean to do you harm.”

  “No,” Lydia said. “You didn’t misjudge him. He was very helpful.” She told Pei Ling most of what happened the previous night. The bedroom in Nathan’s suite was never mentioned.

  “I sorry for Charlotte and baby. I know you sad and aching in heart. Poor Charlotte not so lucky as me. I not be here today if not for you, Miss Liddy. Please not to forget. And little children have no home if not for you. You do many good things. Only this thing not end so good.”

  “Thank you for that, Pei Ling,” Lydia said softly, catching the girl’s eyes in the mirror. “And for everything else you did. Keeping Mother and Papa away from my room couldn’t have been easy. I think it’s a good thing you’re so protective. Last night was very…difficult.”

  Pei Ling continued to comb and dress Lydia’s hair. “I like to see you drunk, Miss Liddy. I think you must be very funny.”

  Lydia smiled. “Mr. Hunter would disagree.”

  “You like him?” Pei Ling asked, seeing her mistress’s smile.

  “No,” she said quickly. She paused and then added, “I’m not certain. He’s rude and rather arrogant actually. And he’s not above threatening to get his own way. But if you had seen him with Charlotte, Pei Ling…the way he spoke to her, the way he held the baby…he seemed a different man entirely.” And his hands, she thought, his strong, beautiful hands. “I don’t think I could really ever understand him. Mother’s probably right about him. He’s too old for me and his interests are centered on my money. I should be thinking of some way to excuse myself from going to the Cliff House with him.”

  “You think same about Mr. Moore?” she asked.

  “I don’t know him very well.” In the mirror Lydia saw that her color deepened.

  Pei Ling saw it also. “I think you have fine opportunity to know him better. He downstairs now, waiting to take you for ride in carriage.”

  Lydia’s cobalt-blue eyes widened. “He’s here? Why didn’t you say something before?”

  “I say something now,” Pei Ling said reasonably. “You not ready before now, so why say? No good rush, rush, rush. Mr. Moore come after Mother leave, while I get breakfast. He wait in front parlor. Mother always say not so bad to keep man waiting. Only thing Mother say I like.
Better than Chinese way, wait on man all the time.”

  Lydia stood up and smoothed the bodice and skirt of her rose gown. She frowned at her reflection, plucking at the short, puffed sleeves of the gown. “Do you know, Pei Ling, I’ve been thinking I should go to Madame Simone’s and choose some of my own things. That would please Mother. She’s always wanting me to take notice of my appearance.”

  “Very good idea.” Pei Ling did not add that she knew it would not please Madeline.

  “I’ll do it,” Lydia decided suddenly. “We won’t even tell Mother.”

  Pei Ling said nothing, her dark eyes fathomless.

  Lydia accepted Brigham Moore’s invitation to go riding with an alacrity she prayed was not forward or unbecoming. He was a comfortable companion, amusing, solicitous, and charming, so unlike Nathan Hunter that Lydia found herself resenting Nathan for extracting her promise. The air was cool, but the sun was shining, and Brigham’s open carriage was the perfect conveyance for enjoying San Francisco’s sites. The driver took them down Powell Street and into the noisy and lively center of Chinatown and Portsmouth Square. Lydia passed all the places she had the previous evening, yet in Brigham’s company none seemed sinister or dangerous. Lydia felt as if her senses were heightened in Brig’s presence, as if she could taste the color of the beautiful silks on display or touch the delicious odors coming from the kitchens all along Grant Avenue. People shouted in a language she barely understood, yet she heard music in the staccato speech and saw the artistry in the gracefully curved calligraphy of their written word.

  She brightened under the attention Brigham paid her; his questions and interest warmed her. In turn he answered her questions, sharing his childhood in the workhouse, the hardships. He spoke of a farm in the country, his interests in mining and shipping. Knowledgeable and opinionated, Brig was also curious about Lydia’s opinions. She believed she was heard.