Frost Fire Page 3

  Harriet gazed at him hopefully, but Gray Kincaid gave a resolute shake of his head. "My dear Mrs. Stowe, you surely cannot expect me to go blithely on about my business, abandoning you here all alone when you feel so ill." Although studiously polite, his deep voice carried an uncompromising note. "Allow me to take your arm, madam, and I'll see you safely to your bed."

  Harriet lurched noticeably as Tyler grabbed her ankle. Gray Kincaid frowned and reached out to steady her. Underneath Harriet's voluminous hoopskirt Tyler was now pinching the back of Harriet's calf. Obviously, she wanted Harriet to let him help her to bed.

  "Well, perhaps I can make it, Mr. Kincaid, if you will be so good as to lead me. But we must walk slowly, very, very slowly."

  Oh, please, please don't let him see Tyler under my dress, Harriet moaned inwardly as Gray Kincaid's fingers closed firmly around her upper arm. She couldn't even imagine the humiliation she would feel if the well-mannered, elegant gentleman towering over her found a young, scantily clad woman cowering beneath her hoop! Barely able to draw a breath, she withdrew her handkerchief from her sleeve and pressed it to her mouth as they moved one tiny step at a time the short distance to her chamber. Perspiration broke out on her brow as her hoop bumped against Gray's leg, ballooning out behind her. Tyler jerked it back into place, and Harriet stopped, mopping her face, which now had taken on the color and sheen of a South Seas pearl.

  "Try to hold on a bit longer, Mrs. Stowe, we're nearly there. You're as white as chalk," he added with concern.

  "I'm sure I can make it by myself now," Harriet murmured as he leaned around to open the door for her.

  "I really would feel better if you'd allow me to escort you to your bedside," he insisted, a trip which seemed to drag out to well over a day and a half. Never had Harriet been so ecstatic to merely lean against a bedpost. Her host stared down at her, still supporting her arm, and Harriet's face went from white to crimson as she felt Tyler slither like a snake from under her hoop to take refuge beneath the ruffled eyelet bed skirt.

  "I really think you should have a good, long rest, Mrs. Stowe. The physician I mentioned was called away on an emergency earlier this evening, but I've sent word for him to pay a call on Miss Lancaster in the morning. He'll need to examine you, as well, I fear."

  "Perhaps not, Mr. Kincaid. I'm feeling uncommonly improved of a sudden."

  "I'm pleased to hear that. You do look a trifle better. The color is coming back into your cheeks." Gray Kincaid's extraordinary azure eyes searched hers. "And don't worry about your niece. I'll check on her on my way downstairs."

  "No need," Harriet squeaked out. "She was sound asleep when I left her."

  "I'll look in on her anyway," Gray insisted affably. "Are you sure you're all right?"

  "Please, don't concern yourself. I'm quite myself again."

  "Then I'll leave you now so you can rest." Plagued by the heaviest foreboding she had suffered yet, Harriet watched him depart. He was going to find Tyler gone, and then what in heaven's name would they do? How could they ever explain what Tyler was doing in Harriet's room?

  Before the door had closed all the way, Tyler scurried out from under the bed and raced to the porch, her white gown streaking behind her. She barely felt the frosty flagstones beneath her bare feet as she sprinted the few yards to the twin doors of her own bedchamber. She flung them wide just as Gray Kincaid knocked. She pushed the French doors shut behind her, then flew toward the sanctuary of the bed. Before she was three steps across the plush black and purple Chinese carpet, Gray Kincaid opened the door. She froze where she was, and for one awful moment they just stared at each other in stupefaction. Then Tyler did what her uncle had always told her to do in a dire emergency. She grabbed the back of the chair beside her and prepared to fake a graceful swoon.

  3

  Gray Kincaid reached her very quickly, too quickly for her to fall all the way to the floor, so Tyler was forced to lean weakly against his big, sturdy frame. The shaking of her voice had more to do with her near discovery than any fainting spell.

  "I—I heard a knock," she temporized as best she could, "but once I was up, I couldn't think where I was—"

  Her speech faltered when, without a word, he leaned forward and swept her into his arms as he had done twice previously in the short time since they had met. Tyler, hoping the feel of her lightly draped body might convince him that she wasn't the child he had called her earlier, immediately looped her arms around his neck as he strode with her to the bed. Her plot depended on his being attracted to her.

  "You shouldn't be up yet. You're not well," he told her, lowering her gently to the bed.

  Tyler watched his face as he carefully drew the soft, downy comforter up over her. For the first time she got a good look at him, having had to keep her eye closed during most of the rescue. With his black wavy hair and dark skin, he was handsome, she had to admit. His brows were slightly arched, his jaw square, lean, and clean-shaven. But his eyes riveted her gaze. Sky-blue with darker blue rings around the irises, they settled on her face, clear and penetrating, and filled with something—what was it? Worry? Wouldn't that be lucky!

  "Don't be afraid. I'm the one who pulled you out of the river. Do you remember going through the ice?"

  Tyler shook her head, making her eyes very round and guileless. "Only that I was so cold and afraid." She glanced around, as if puzzled. "Where am I? This isn't my hotel, is it?"

  "No, I carried you to my house since I lived close by. And you mustn't worry about your aunt. Mrs. Stowe is resting right next door."

  "I see."

  Awkward silence reigned for several seconds, during which his piercing blue eyes roamed freely over her face.

  "Are you warm enough now?" he asked; then, to Tyler's shock, he sat down on the edge of the bed beside her. For some reason, she was dreadfully embarrassed by such familiarity from a complete stranger, especially from her avowed enemy. Why, not even her uncle Burl had ever sat upon her bed when she was in it! She blushed, until she could actually feel her skin burning. Her unlikely reaction to his boldness surprised her. She never blushed!

  "Why, yes, I'm quite comfortable now," she began, moistening her dry lips, and was further startled when he picked up her slender hand and held it sandwiched between his large, warm ones.

  "Your fingers are like ice. I'll see if I can find another coverlet for you."

  He released her hand, placed an equally heated palm against her cheek, then touched the back of his long, tanned fingers to her forehead, as if checking for a temperature.

  "Your face is too warm. I'm afraid you might have a touch of fever," he announced. Tyler stared at him, thinking it wasn't fever, but humiliation. Just who did he think he was anyway? she fumed inwardly, then checked her ire. She shouldn't mind him touching her; that was what she had intended all along.

  "I've summoned a doctor to see about you and Mrs. Stowe. He will probably call tomorrow morning, if he makes it at all. This storm is turning into a blizzard, I fear."

  "Is Etty ill?" she asked, gazing at him with just the right amount of innocent concern.

  "Frankly, I was worried about her a few moments ago. She nearly swooned outside in the hall and was acting peculiar. But as far as I know, she's resting comfortably now."

  "Are you certain she's all right?" Tyler decided it would be wise to brace up Harriet's rashly concocted story. "She has a heart affliction."

  "Yes, she told me. That's why I want Dr. Bond to see her. But don't worry. I made sure her weak spell had passed before I left her alone."

  "I think I should go see her."

  "No, you're not strong enough yourself. I'll have one of the chambermaids tend to you both from time to time throughout the night, if it would ease your mind."

  "You're too kind, Mr. Kincaid," Tyler murmured, shyly lowering her lashes.

  "How did you know my name?"

  Tyler stiffened, but under her uncle's tutorage she had become adept at making up quick lies. They had practiced often when she had come to live with him. He had made it into a game that was fun for a twelve-year-old child.

  "Harriet told me when I first woke up. I recall her telling me that before she left, but little else. Isn't that curious?" She made a mental note to have Harriet back up that lie if Kincaid ever confronted her with it. "Wait, I remember now that she said you were very brave to save me the way you did." He'll like that, she thought smugly. Every man she had ever known enjoyed having his vanity stroked. Compliment, defer, disarm—how many times had Uncle Burl repeated that formula?

  Gray Kincaid smiled, as she knew he would, revealing strong, even white teeth.

  "I only pulled you to safety, Miss Lancaster. You were a very courageous young lady not to panic. Most women I know would have."

  "Oh, no, you are too modest," she protested, filling her eyes with earnest adoration. "I owe you my life."

  Tyler raised her gaze in time to see a glint of amusement in his eyes. Suddenly an alarm blinked in her brain. Perhaps Gray Kincaid was one of the few men who didn't value shy, retiring women with empty heads and vacuous smiles. She knew that most Southern gentlemen prized such qualities, but a few males she had met, especially among the Yankees, seemed to prefer a lively intellect in a feminine head. As far as Tyler herself was concerned, the modern-thinking men were the better of the two, even if they were more dangerous to scheme against.

  "I must say I'm pleased to have happened along at such a propitious moment."

  His answer was gracious, and as he finished, those vivid eyes she found so disturbing dipped to contemplate the softness of her lips. Inexplicably, Tyler was affected, but she hastily decided that the heat searing in her cheekbones was due to the thickness of the flannel blanket and nothing more. Well, at least he seemed to be taking mor
e notice of her womanly attributes.

  "There's a chill in the air," he was saying now, rising from the bed. "I better stoke the fire and get that blanket for you."

  Tyler watched silently as he crossed to the hearth. He was taller than most men she had met, with shoulders broad enough to cause his tailor extra work, but he was not at all heavy. In fact, his large frame had a sinewy leanness, despite the bands of muscle that bulged noticeably under the fine black silk of his evening jacket as he bent to shovel fuel from the ornate brass coal hod.

  She wondered what he did to maintain such an impressive masculine physique. Why wasn't he soft and pampered like the other rich businessmen she had swindled? Most of them had pudgy paunches and palms every bit as smooth as her own. But when Gray Kincaid had held her hand, his fingers had been hard, strong, and bronzed by the sun.

  A sound from the doorway abruptly drew Tyler's attention from her examination of the Yankee's manliness. She was surprised to see a young girl enter the room and carefully draw the door closed behind her. She was pretty, about fifteen or sixteen, with blond hair coiffed in fashionable, elaborate puffs, braids, and a frizzled fringe of curls over her forehead.

  Wondering if she should make her presence known, Tyler watched the young woman glide gracefully toward Gray Kincaid, who was still busily poking at the fire.

  "Gray?" the blonde said softly. He jerked around, his dark face registering surprise.

  "Betsy, what are you doing here?"

  The girl twisted her lace handkerchief. "I realize it's frightfully forward of me to be in here with you, but I just had to talk to you alone."

  "Is something wrong? Is your father ill?"

  "Oh, no, don't concern yourself with Father. He's quite all right." She paused momentarily, then hurried on, as if she was afraid he would stop her. "I just want you to listen to me, please."

  "Of course. Do you need my help with something, Betsy?"

  "No, that's not it," the girl replied hesitantly; then her words came rushing out in a flood of emotion. "I love you, Gray, I really do. I have for the longest time, ever since that first day when you came to see Father on business."

  Tyler gasped. A declaration of devotion had been the last thing she had expected. And Gray Kincaid looked positively abashed, the expression on his handsome face almost comical.

  "But, Betsy, you were only five years old when I met your father."

  "I know, but even then I knew I'd love you forever. Please, Gray, don't you love me just a little?"

  Tyler began to feel sorry for the girl, but she wasn't sure if it was because poor Betsy loved a monster of a man like Gray Kincaid or because she had innocently avowed it to him in the presence of an unknown female. Tyler wished she could disappear and, for Betsy's sake, rolled over to face away from the couple, pretending she was asleep as Gray Kincaid said, "Betsy, please don't go on. We're not alone."

  Even from across the room Tyler could sense the poor girl's shock. She kept her eyes closed, barely breathing underneath the bedclothes.

  "Who is she?" Hurt, humiliation, and fear mingled in Betsy's whisper.

  "She's a guest," Gray hastily informed her, his voice low. "She fell through the ice as I was passing the Clark Street Bridge tonight, and I brought her here. She's the one I wanted your father to see earlier."

  An awful silence descended, marred only by the hissing and snapping of the flames. Gray Kincaid spoke a moment later, evidently trying to reassure her. "I believe she's been asleep for a while. She didn't hear what you said."

  No answer came from the lovesick girl.

  "Betsy, I can't tell you how flattered I am by what you told me a moment ago, but you're so young. You haven't even had your coming-out season yet—"

  "I'll be seventeen in just a few weeks," Betsy interrupted him, her voice trembling, "and Papa said I could have my debut then. He told you that last Friday when you dined with us, don't you remember?"

  Gray remained silent for a moment, then said in a kinder tone, "You know how much I think of you, Betsy. But it's not that kind of affection. I've always considered myself an uncle or older brother to you. Believe me, sweetheart, someday the perfect man will come along—"

  "Stop, stop," the girl whispered hoarsely. "I won't listen. You're talking to me like I'm a child, and I'm not! I love you!"

  Tyler remained motionless, then heard Betsy sob and her skirts rustle past the bed. The door closed and the Yankee released a long-drawn-out sigh. When he spoke again, he was standing very close to Tyler.

  "You can open your eyes now. I know you're not asleep."

  Tyler did as bade, turning onto her back. Their gazes locked, and Gray Kincaid gave a small, sheepish shrug.

  "I apologize for you having to witness such a private conversation." He ran his fingers through the thick black waves at his temple. "But I appreciate the sensitivity you showed for Betsy's feelings. It would have been worse for her if she had known you had heard our conversation."

  "You were very kind to her," Tyler said in an attempt to win his good will, then realized with a start that she did admire the way he had handled the awkward situation. He had been gentle and considerate, not at all what she would have expected from a libertine like Gray Kincaid.

  "Betsy's a sweet girl, and her father, Charles Bond, is one of my oldest friends. Our families are very close. I guess I should have seen this coming." He stopped, shaking his head. "But the possibility never occurred to me. I had better go and find her. Do you need anything else, Miss Lancaster?"

  "No, I'm just tired, is all."

  "Then rest well."

  "Thank you, Mr. Kincaid. Good night."

  The Yankee smiled down at her for an extra moment, which Tyler took as an encouraging sign. After he was gone she lay back against the soft silk pillows, a satisfied smile carving deep dimples in her cheeks. What an odd course her scheme had taken! Her carefully laid plans had gone amiss from the beginning. Yet, despite her bad luck, she was actually lying in one of Gray Kincaid's guest rooms, basking in his good will. And he liked her—she had read it in his smile.

  Despite all of Harriet's blunders, Tyler was in an excellent position to entice Gray to buy the bogus stocks she had had printed in St. Louis. But since Gray Kincaid was a bachelor, propriety dictated that tomorrow she and Harriet return to their lodgings at the hotel, and that would make things more difficult. Why, she hadn't even discovered where the Yankee hid his safe!

  Her delicate brows drew together as she leisurely stretched her arms and then laced her fingers beneath her head to contemplate the purple canopy. She would just have to find a way to stay right where she was without drawing the wrath of society upon them. After a few minutes of intense reflection, she knew exactly what she must do.

  If I have a sudden relapse, she thought, and I am too ill to move, who will condemn the Yankee for letting me stay until I recover?

  Yes, she decided, her grin widening, in the morning she would be so deathly sick that even Gray Kincaid's doctor friend would be appalled.

  She laughed softly, convinced her new plan would work, and she turned on her side to stare at the dancing shadows playing on the wall across from the dwindling fire. She lay still for a long time, content and comfortable, then became too warm and kicked off the coverlet. Her mind raced over the details of her deception; she devised a Plan A and then a Plan B, just in case something went wrong. Uncle Burl had taught her to be ready for any and all unexpected exigencies. Two plans are better than one, he used to say, and three are better than two.

  Time ticked on, measured by the gentle, hypnotic swaying of the pendulum of the ormolu anniversary clock on the bureau. Tyler tossed and turned, throwing off the rest of the bedclothes, barely aware that her body had grown increasingly hot. Her muscles felt stiff and achy, and each breath became a labored effort, as if she were imprisoned in a lead corset. She slept, but only fitfully. Long before Gray Kincaid's friends had bundled themselves up in fur hats and velvet cloaks and bustled out the door, Tyler writhed in the throes of a raging fever.

  In Tyler's delirious dreams, she was a little girl again. The wide, shiny oak floors of Rose Point stretched out before her, and wavery, indistinct lights glowed out of a strange white mist. She felt frightened standing alone in the dim and eerie place, and she held tight to the toy snowscene her father had given her for Christmas. She started slowly down the hall, her bare feet peeking out beneath her long white nightdress. The polished wood felt cold underfoot, and somehow she knew she was all alone in the great plantation house. No one answered her forlorn cries or appeared from the strange fog to take her hand.