Page 72 of I Do, I Do, I Do
Tonight, she was a modern woman, dashing and liberated from constraints better left to another life. Tonight, she would set her own rules of deportment.
After touching her lips, she lifted her head and walked toward the bedroom door.
Tonight she was a worldly woman with a pessary in her bag, by heaven. A femme fatale eagerly prepared for come what may.
Ben had kissed her. It was a different world now.
Chapter 17
Ben had thoughtfully lit a lantern atop the bureau so Juliette could see as she removed her heavy coat and mittens and her cape, laying them across a colorful bed quilt. The bedroom was a small jewel of a room with peeled log walls that still retained a faint scent of pine, and there was enough furniture to seem cozily crowded. But what caught her eye was a bathtub next to the interior wall, the first she had seen in months. It was old-fashioned, like Aunt Kibble’s, and had to be filled with water heated in the kitchen, but it was a real bathtub, and she envied Ben for having the use of it for three days.
She imagined him lying naked in the tub, a cigar between his teeth, his eyes narrowed against the smoke. Suddenly she felt excessively warm. Spinning from the sight of the tub, she faced the mirror atop the bureau and frowned while she smoothed her hair, retied the black ribbon around her throat, and repuffed her shoulder sleeves. Then, leaning forward, she examined the hint of cleavage that showed at her low neckline.
For an instant, she regretted wearing an evening dress. On the other hand, tonight was a night fashioned for boldness and daring. She was a woman who had decided to make her own rules, who was having dinner alone with a man in his rented house. And he had launched the evening by kissing her. Oh, my heavens.
She pulled her fan from the bag and furiously fanned her face until she felt less overwrought by her own recklessness.
Then, while retrieving her evening heels from her bag, she withdrew the pessary and examined it in the light of the lantern. Her heart beat faster merely from touching and looking at such an item. Who would ever suppose that Juliette March knew about contraception, let alone would have a device in her possession. And might have need of it. Lordy. Pink flooded her cheeks.
Well, of course she would not have need of it. But how thrilling it would be to know she was modern and devil-may-care enough to wear a contraceptive device. That she, intrepid traveler as she had become, would be prepared for whatever wicked adventure wild destiny might fling her way. Oh, yes, there was more to Juliette March than anyone knew. She nodded wisely at her image in the mirror. Beneath her admittedly prissy little heart beat the pulse of a brazen hussy.
Or maybe she was just talking herself into something.
But tonight would never come again. Impulsively making the decision, she sat on the bed, flipped up her skirts, and after several failed attempts, managed to insert the pessary. The embarrassing immodesty of touching herselftherewas overshadowed by the guilty pleasure of having a thrilling secret.
Trembling at her daring, she pressed down her skirts, drew a deep breath, and then she twisted off Jean Jacques’s wedding ring. Ben was not wearing the green scarf tonight. She could do no less. She dropped the ring into her bag, muttered good riddance, then lifted her head and returned to the living room. Wearing a pessary gave a woman flair and confidence.
Ben’s reaction was all she had dreamed it might be. He inhaled sharply and stared, his eyes going smoky blue and hard. “Words fail me,” he said in a husky voice. “It doesn’t do justice merely to say that you are exquisite.”
So was he. Anyone seeing him tonight would never have guessed that he was a prospector on his way to the gold fields in search of a fortune. He looked like a gentleman in every detail, from the gold watch fob crossing his waistcoat to the jet studs at his cuffs and shirtfront.
Taking her arm and pressing it to the side of his chest, he escorted her to facing chairs before the fire. After touching his sherry glass to hers, he leaned back and studied her with such obvious fascination that Juliette glanced down and blushed.
“May I ask a personal question?” After she nodded, he said, “You’re such a lovely woman. I wonder why you’ve never married. I assume you chose not to?”
“There was someone.…” His question fairly quivered with underlying implications, but she didn’t let herself think about them. Instead, she turned her face toward the fire in the grate and considered love and truth. She couldn’t tell Ben about Jean Jacques, certainly not tonight, but Ben was too important to her not to come as close to the truth as possible.
“You see, I am an heiress,” she confided after a brief hesitation. If she hadn’t squelched the tiny Aunt Kibble on her shoulder, Aunt Kibble would have been having an apoplectic fit. The worst thing to tell a man seeking gold was that a fortune sat not three feet in front of him. “My aunt, who sought to protect me, was ever alert to fortune-hunters. And sadly, those were the men who wished to come courting.”
Ben nodded. “I assumed it must be something like that.”
“You did?” Her eyebrows lifted.
“I overheard Miss Wilder mention that you paid Tom to pack her and Miss Klaus to Dawson. She didn’t sound happy about it,” he added with a smile. “Only someone of means could afford such a generous gift.” His gaze traveled slowly to her breast, waist, and then down the length of her gown. “And your clothing suggests a comfortable status.”
“You knew all along!” The color drained from her face, and she forgot to deny that it was she who had paid Tom. She had believed Ben cared for her because she thought he knew nothing about her money. Now his attentions fell beneath a cloud of suspicion, and horror widened her eyes. She had done it again. She had fallen in love with a man who saw only her inheritance.
He laughed at her expression. “Dear Juliette. If you’re thinking I’m interested in your money, I assure you I am not.”
“That’s what I’m thinking,” she whispered.
He pulled his chair beside hers, took the sherry glass from her fingers, and held her hands. “I have a confession to make. I didn’t guess your background from your attire or by overhearing Miss Wilder. I asked the hotel manager in Seattle who you were, and I recognized your name.”
She was flabbergasted. “How could you possibly recognize my name? I’m positive we haven’t met before.”
“We haven’t.” His smile was almost a caress. “I know your name because the Bay City Bank in San Francisco manages your inheritance, and I own the Bay City Bank. You’re not our largest investment account, but you’re among the top fifty.”
Her mouth rounded, and she stared. “Good heavens. I’ve heard my aunt mention you. She calls you ‘the brawling banker.’”
