Always in My Dreams Page 2

  Jay Mac looked at his wife. "Your daughter's a flibbertigibbet, ma'am, I'll never get used to it."

  "Our daughter," Moira said, "is a breath of fresh air. You can't harness her."

  "I'd be satisfied if she'd sit for ten minutes."

  Moira ignored his attempt to sidetrack her. "I think you'd better tell me what's really going on. I won't have Skye exposed to any danger, and I can't believe that you would, either. There's something not quite right, and I don't think it has anything to do with that inventor. You're hatching a scheme... I just know it."

  "Scheme?" he asked, with an exaggerated show of innocence. Chuckling, he took Moira's hand and bade her rise. He came to his own feet and casually rested his hands on either side of his wife's waist. He liked the way she automatically laid her palms on his arms and raised her face to him. After thirty years together, she only seemed more beautiful to him. "Let's go into the parlor."

  Moira stood on tiptoe, kissed her husband on the mouth, and let herself be led out of the dining room. Under her breath she added, "Said the spider to the fly."

  "What was that, darling?"

  "Nothing, Jay Mac. Lead on."

  * * *

  "He wants you to be a spy?"

  Skye continued to lace her skates, not bothering to spare a glance at her companion. "Don't be so melodramatic," she said, echoing her father's words. "This is Jay Mac we're talking about. My father, remember?"

  Daniel Pendergrass shook his head. "I'm not likely to forget." He brushed a bit of crusted snow from the tip of one skate. "He hates me," he said forlornly.

  "Now you're being ridiculous. He doesn't hate you. When you think about it, he hardly knows you." Skye looked up from her lacing and grinned at her friend. "He hates the idea of you." Daniel's forlorn look became morose. Skye laughed. "We wouldn't suit, Daniel. We both know that. We've known it since our very first kiss."

  Daniel's pale cheeks flushed with color. "Do you have to bring that up? I didn't know what I was doing. I'm sure I'd do it better now."

  Skye finished with her skates and thrust her hands into her ermine muff. "That's because you've been practicing with Evelyn Hardy," she said, without a trace of jealously. She stood up. The park bench wasn't comfortable enough to allow them to linger in conversation. A cold wind was blowing across the pond. The skating party they'd been invited to join was circling on the far side of the ice. Skye could hear their laughter. "Come on, Daniel. Your friends are waiting."

  Daniel watched Skye Dennehy step gingerly onto the ice. By the time he came to his feet she was already moving away, her sweep across the ice both confident and graceful. He adjusted his hat over his fair hair and tightened the scarf around his neck. Tall and lanky at twenty-two, it seemed that he hadn't yet grown into his skin. His course across the ice was much less graceful than Skye's and infinitely less confident. But he was a good sport, amiable, and humorously disparaging of his own shortcomings. Skye assured him, in spite of the fact that she wasn't interested, that he was also quite handsome. He grinned. Evelyn Hardy thought so, too.

  When Daniel reached his group of friends, Skye was skating by herself, intent upon cutting a perfect circle in the ice. Daniel's easy grin faded. It was no accident that she was alone. Skye's presence was merely suffered by most of his friends, permitted because he invariably insisted upon it. She had chosen her words deliberately earlier. The group of skaters they were about to join were his friends, not hers. Skye was skating at the pond at his invitation, not theirs. It seemed incredible to him that anyone still cared she was a bastard.

  Skye looked up as Daniel approached and promptly lost the line she had been tracing. "See what you made me do?" she said. "You took your time getting here." If she was hurt by her exclusion from the others, she didn't show it. Her features were made lovelier by her animated smile, the brightness in her green eyes, and the color in her cheeks. Her hat was set forward at a jaunty angle and a fringe of white fur touched her forehead. Not far away, a bonfire on the bank cast all the skaters within its circle of light in a gold and orange glow. Where Skye's hair peeped out beneath her hat and scarf it was like a flame.

  He held out his elbow and waited for her to slip her arm in his. He thought tonight she seemed to grasp him more tightly, as if he had extended a lifeline. Daniel studied her face again. No, there wasn't a hint that anything was wrong. Skye would never let anyone see what she was feeling; she rarely let anyone know what she was thinking.

  "What happened?" he asked, as they skated toward his friends. Someone called out his name and he raised a hand in recognition.

  "Nothing happened."

  "Skye."

  "Nothing happened," she repeated. "Exactly that. They cut me dead."

  Daniel shook his head, hardly able to take it in. His friends were not often so deliberately cold to Skye. He looked around as they joined the pairs of skaters crossing the ice in a large circle. A band played on the bank, loudly enough for them to match their movements to music, but not so loudly that it interfered with conversation. "Hi, Charlie. Alice." He cast a quick smile over his shoulder so as not to misstep. "You remember Skye Dennehy, don't you?"

  Charlie looked distinctly uncomfortable. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. Alice offered a wan smile. "Skye. It's a pleasure." They offered their greeting in unison, and as if shocked by the volume of it, they bent their heads and concentrated on their footwork.

  Skye's laughter was bright and unfettered, but she leaned closer to Daniel. "I've known Alice Hobbs since we were six," she whispered. "And just last week Charlie confided in me that he intended to ask for her hand." Behind them, Charlie and Alice had left the circle and were waiting to join it in another place. "What's wrong with everyone?" she asked. She had been snubbed before; in fact, she took something of a perverse pleasure in forcing people by the very act of ignoring her to acknowledge her existence. This was different. There was something almost vicious in the way she'd been cut out tonight.

  Daniel shrugged. "I'll be damned if I know," he said. The band on the shore struck up another tune. The introduction of a banjo increased the tempo and the skaters picked up their pace. There were bright flashes of gold and crimson as the women whirled, their skirts lifting to reveal white petticoats and flannel leggings. Now it was Daniel who leaned into Skye for support. She held him securely and made certain their feet didn't cross paths. "I'll never understand it. The circumstances of your birth are hardly your fault."

  Skye knew that Daniel meant well. In truth, it made no difference to him. She had sensed that from the very beginning, which was why he probably knew her better than anyone outside her own family. But he was naive about it. She could have pointed out that his parents had never invited her into his home, although they would have been pleased to have made Jay Mac's acquaintance.

  The circumstances of her birth, as Daniel referred to them, had taken on a new twist in recent years when John MacKenzie Worth had actually married his mistress. It had made some difference to New York's social elite that he had seen fit to make a match after the death of his wife, although behind closed doors they had blamed him for her suicide. Prior to Nina's death, Jay Mac had openly kept Moira Dennehy as his mistress and had raised five bastard daughters with her.

  Skye was no more accepted in the social circle of her peers than her mother or sisters had been; she merely worked harder at it. There was an awkward transition when Jay Mac married Moira, but by then people were so used to cutting out the Dennehy women no one knew quite how to stop. Then there was the fact that Skye had not been moved to take "Worth" as her own surname. She had grown up as a Dennehy. She was not enamored of the idea of replacing it with something else.

  That last thought brought Skye back to her earlier conversation with her father. "He's got some sort of plan up his sleeve, you know."

  Daniel's light brows came together as he frowned. "Who? Charlie?"

  "No, not Charlie. I don't care about Charlie or Alice or any of the others." Which was more or less
the truth. "I'm talking about Jay Mac. This inventor business is just a bit suspicious. It's not like my—" Without warning, Daniel's left foot slipped to the side and caught the blade on Skye's right skate. They wobbled, clutching one another, scrambling to hold their balance. Somewhat to Skye's amazement it was Daniel who managed to compensate, his lanky figure folding and unfolding like the pleats of an accordion. Skye went down with an unladylike oooff and sprawled across the ice on her stomach. Her face was protected by the ermine muff she had managed to raise at the last possible second. It cradled her head on the ice while she caught her breath.

  She was vaguely aware that she and Daniel had become the center of some confusion and attention. A few couples had managed to avoid bumping into them as they had teetered on the ice, but two others not paying attention had gone down hard. Skye heard her name used like a curse. She smiled, closing her eyes as she took a quick inventory of body parts. She sensed, rather than saw, Daniel hunkering down beside her and the beginnings of a crowd gathering around them both.

  "Skye? Are you all right?" he asked, touching her temple. "Where do you hurt?"

  She opened one eye and said drily, "All over."

  "Is anything broken?"

  Skye was still taking inventory. She stretched her legs and rotated her ankles. "Nothing's broken."

  "Do you think she'll lose the baby?" someone in the crowd whispered, loudly enough to be heard.

  "She shouldn't have been skating," said another. "She probably wanted to be rid of it."

  "I think she fainted," said a third.

  The conversation around her was so absurd, so patently ridiculous, that at first Skye had no idea she was the subject of the scandalous speculation. It was the stricken look on Daniel's face that made her take notice of the talk and eventually apply it to herself.

  "It's happened before in her family," a voice whispered knowingly. The confidential tone was carried on the back of the wind to all parts of the gathering circle. "Her sisters, you know."

  "Not all of them, surely. Isn't one a nun?"

  "Why do you think she went into the convent?" came a reply. It was said with the authority of gospel.

  "My mother says this is the final straw," said a young woman. "I'm not allowed to accept any more invitations if she'll be there. It doesn't matter who her father is. My mother says it's what happens when a Protestant like Jay Mac takes up with a Catholic." There was a small pause, as if the speaker was shuddering. "If she knew about tonight..." She let her voice drift away, allowing her friends to imagine the consequences she might suffer if her mother heard about this incident.

  Skye was too angry to be mortified. Did they think she was deaf? She held out her hand to Daniel. "Will you help me up?"

  He took her hand and her elbow and assisted her into a sitting position. "You're certain you're all right?"

  "I will be, as soon as you get me out of here." She hardly recognized her own voice. The words had been said through clenched teeth.

  The crowd began to disperse as Daniel helped Skye to her feet. His own balance wasn't steady but no one offered to lend a hand. Looping his arm under Skye's, he supported her as they skated away from the party to the edge of the pond and the bench located on the perimeter. After she sat down he knelt in front of her and began loosening the laces on her skates.

  "You shouldn't pay them any attention, Skye," he told her. "They were speaking without thinking."

  Skye's low chuckle was humorless. "They were speaking exactly what they were thinking."

  "They were showing their ignorance."

  Skye had nothing to say to that. "How do these rumors start?"

  He shrugged. "It seems as though there has to be someone to scapegoat."

  "But this time it's me."

  Daniel pulled off her skates and found Skye's shoes under the bench. "Put these on. I'll take you home." He sat down beside her and wrestled with his own laces.

  "Remember the masquerade at the Bilroths' last month?" Skye asked.

  "Of course I remember." He had had his share of attention as a buccaneer. Skye had had hers because she was one of two women to faint in the hot and crowded ballroom. The other was Mrs. Spencer, a matron in her sixties who was said to suffer a heart condition. Daniel supposed that that was the origin of the rumors.

  Skye saw by his changing expression that he understood. "I suppose it's easy for people to think the worst of me." She sighed. "Though, truth be known, there are a lot worse things than being pregnant."

  Daniel blushed at her plain speaking. "Watch your voice," he cautioned her. "People will hear."

  "What if they do?" she said recklessly. She raised her voice purposefully and repeated, "There are a lot worse things than being pregnant."

  Daniel wanted to slink off the bench and into a nearby snowdrift. Skye's timing had been perfect. A lull in the music permitted her voice to carry across the pond unfettered. He saw several people in the skating party glance in their direction. "You've convinced them now."

  "They were already convinced. They probably think—" she raised her voice again, "—you're the father."

  Daniel turned on her, yanking his scarf away from his face. "Skye! That's not amusing!"

  She couldn't find it in herself to be contrite. "Would you be ashamed to be the father of my child?"

  "Don't be ridiculous," he said, dismissing her.

  Skye had expected a fervent denial from him, not some comment on the absurdity of her statement. "Daniel?" She turned toward him, studying his profile. "Would you be ashamed?" she asked softly. She watched the play of emotion on his face and heard in his hesitation an answer for which she wasn't prepared. "Oh, Daniel," she said sadly. "You, too."

  He sat up a little straighter, defending himself. "You haven't let me answer."

  "Yes, I have." She finished slipping on her shoes and picked up her muff. "It's all right. Don't give it another thought. I know I won't. It's not as if I wanted to have a child by you so I don't know why I'm disappointed. Perhaps it's just because I thought you were my friend."

  "I am your friend."

  "You wouldn't be ashamed." She stood, turned her back on Daniel, and began walking away. He called to her, but he was tangled in his skate laces. Skye didn't look back. When she heard him call again, she increased her pace. It was important to get away from Daniel right now. What his friends thought only touched her a little; Daniel's silent admission seemed more like a complete betrayal.

  Skye found one of the paths in the park and kept to it. Where the snow hadn't been cleared it was crusted, and her leather boots made a crunching sound as she hurried along. She concentrated on the sound, trying to block out more intrusive thoughts, but she was only marginally successful. In the silent spaces she heard the condemning voices. She not only heard what they had said; she imagined she heard the reproachful things they'd all been thinking.

  In her mind she heard them call her mother an Irish Catholic whore. The way they said it it was difficult to know which word carried the most disapproval. Skye heard old, familiar phrases like "The apple doesn't fall far from the tree," and "Like mother, like daughter." It didn't matter that Moira Dennehy and Jay Mac Worth had been together for more than a quarter of a century, that her mother had loved no other man. She was a whore, her five daughters bastards; and while Jay Mac's wealth and considerable influence sometimes altered the way the Dennehys were treated, it did little to change what anyone thought of them.

  The family had weathered scandals more damaging than this little rumor, Skye thought, but it was the first one that had touched her so personally. She wondered if her father had heard the rumor. Was that why he was offering her the opportunity to get away?

  It was something worth considering, and Skye promised herself she'd confront her father directly on the matter. He'd scowl at her straight talking, probably waggle his finger at her for being impudent, but she'd be able to see through his bluster to his heart. She'd know if he was lying.

  A sound behind her c
aught Skye's attention, stopped her musing, and halted her in her tracks. She felt the hair rise at the back of her neck as the crunching sound came again, this time closer. She had wanted to believe it had been her own feet making the noise, that the sound had been an echo of her own steps. She had to stop pretending that now.

  Skye stepped off the path and moved into the shadowed area of some pines. The evergreen canopy sheltered her. She hugged the rough bark of one tree, making herself nearly invisible. She couldn't even say why she was suddenly wary, why she suspected it was someone other than Daniel sharing the path with her. Her breathing became light and shallow. She waited and watched.

  The man who came along the path had established a pace that was both hurried and somehow restrained, as if he wanted to run but was holding himself back. Skye saw him pause not far from her grove of trees. He never once looked in her direction but cast a backward glance over his shoulder. It was then she realized she had never had anything to fear from him, that he wasn't following her, but that someone was following him.

  His breath seemed to hang in the air a moment as he considered his options. He blew on his ungloved hands to warm them while his eyes darted around, looking for protection in the bushes and trees. Skye could hear another set of footsteps approaching, then realized it was at least two men, perhaps more. She almost called to the man on the path, beckoning him to join her, when she saw he had made his decision not to hide or run. He was turning in the direction of his pursuers, his fists clenching and unclenching lightly at his sides.

  His body crouched slightly, his lean frame coiled in a way that made him seem powerfully wound. His feet weren't planted, his shoulders weren't braced, he held himself lightly and loosely, giving the impression of lithe tensile strength. He wore neither a hat nor a scarf. In the moonlight his hair only appeared dark and overlong at the nape where it brushed the collar of his coat. His profile was clean-shaven and stark, the lines of his face hard. He was so still that he might have been a statue.

  They came upon him suddenly. There were two of them, Skye saw, relieved that there weren't more, though why she should be favoring the lone stranger she couldn't say. They were both burly, hard muscular men with shoulder spans that seemed as wide as they were tall. They both wore wool caps that covered their hair and ears. One cap appeared black, the other a lighter color, probably yellow in daylight. Their faces were broad and their cheeks were hidden by large side-whiskers. Their chins were bare.