Memory's Embrace by Linda Lael Miller Read Free Book Online

brace up and even to smile as she served punch to guest after guest. The men were eagerly polite, the women venomous.
    It was very late when the occasion ended; Mrs. Hollinghouse-Stone retired to her room in the “east wing,” and that prompted the departure of her audience. As Tess helped Juniper clear away the mess, she told herself that she was glad Joel Shiloh had disappeared again. Glad! The sot, he was probably passed out in a drunken stupor.
    Which was better than his spending the night in Derora’s room, she had to admit. Mr. Waltam had been chosen for that honor, anyway; he’d tried to be subtle about the whole thing, but as Tess washed glasses and dessert plates at the kitchen sink, she saw himclimb the wrought iron steps of the car that pointed due south.
    The moment she realized that it was Sunday morning, Tess Bishop’s eyes flew open and she bounded out of bed, raced across the hallway to the bathroom, and made short work of her morning ablutions. If she hurried, she could get out of the house before it was time to leave for church.
    Because Juniper would already be in the kitchen, preparing breakfast, Tess made her escape through the front door. The morning was gloriously clear, washed with rain and tinted gold by a spring sun. Lilacs, in white and purple, spilled their luscious perfume into the dewy air.
    For all her problems and all the curious feelings that had kept her up half the night, Tess had to hold back a shout of pure joy.
    “Good morning,” greeted a familiar masculine voice, from the vicinity of the fence.
    Tess squinted, saw Mr. Waltam between the pickets. Wearing no coat or vest, but only a lacy white shirt, he was kneeling on the sidewalk, his hands busy with the bent wheel of her bicycle.
    “Good morning,” she answered, feeling alarmed but drawn to the actor nonetheless. “What are you doing?”
    He gave a great wrench at the tire, using both his hands, and then stood up, looking pleased. His fingers were stained with grease, and there was a splotch of the stuff on his elegant shirt, too. “Fixing your tire. It is your bicycle, isn’t it?”
    Tess nodded, amazed. Roderick Waltam certainlydidn’t look like the mechanical sort, but apparently he was. The wheel was straight again, she could ride whenever she wanted. “Thank you.”
    “Not so fast,” he said, in a teasing voice, using a handkerchief to wipe his long-fingered, callous-free hands clean. Or, at least, nearly clean. “There is a price for my services.”
    “And what would that be?” demanded a second masculine voice, from behind Tess.
    She whirled, startled, to see Joel standing behind her, his arms folded across his chest, his bowler hat at a cocky angle on his head. Gone was the fashionable suit he’d worn the night before; today he was clad in ordinary trousers, a vest, and a patched shirt.
    “A ride on her bicycle,” answered Roderick Waltam evenly, holding Joel’s gaze as he had not been able to do the night before. Perhaps a night of abandon had made him brave.
    Speechless, sensing that the two men were discussing something completely unrelated to a common bicycle but having no clue as to what it was, Tess turned her eyes back to Joel. A muscle leaped in his jaw and stilled again, as though forced into submission.
    The fresh air was suddenly charged; each man took a step nearer the other. God knew what would have happened if Derora hadn’t appeared at that very moment, wearing a lavender satin dressing gown, on the front porch.
    “Tess, dear!” she sang out sweetly. “Church!”
    Church. Tess shook her head. Although Derora was anything but religious, whenever she entertained a gentleman guest of a Saturday night, she invariably attended services the next morning. The curious thingwas that the special smile on her face and the light in her eyes showed no inclination whatsoever toward penance.
    “I’m not going to church,” Tess summoned up the courage to say. “I have a headache.”
    Derora opened