Wild Star by Catherine Coulter Read Free Book Online Page A

out on her mother. But no, he’d already drunk so much by the time she and Ira had left, he would be snoring now, sodden with whiskey. And he now had money.
    “Our wedding was just as I wished it to be—no fuss and no gawking people. Private and simple.”
    “The parson, Mr. Elks, hates my father. He only conducted the ceremony because of my mother.”
    “Mr. Elks is a man of discernment. Don’t look so surprised, Byrony. I know well your father’s reputation, his character. Now you are safe from him.”
    What about you? Am I safe from you?
    “And don’t, I pray, Byrony, feel concern for your mother’s welfare. That is why I am paying your father on a monthly basis. She too is safe now.”
    She turned to face him, too startled to speak for a moment. “You are very kind,” she said at last.
    “It is just that I despise injustice. I need to speak to you, Byrony, then you may judge just how kind I really am.”
    She jerked at his words. “Yes, Ira?” Was he going to tell her that he wanted their wedding night to begin now? She held herself stiffly.
    He remained silent for a few more moments, then said finally, “When I met you, I realized that you were, thankfully, a very kind person yourself. Understanding, I suppose. I know you did not marry me because you loved me, Byrony, just as I know you did not marry me for my wealth. As for myself, I am fond of you, very fond, but I wouldn’t have rushed both of us were it not for—”
    He broke off, and she saw that his face was very pale and his hands were clenching and unclenching at his sides. She waited.
    He turned to face her and smiled slightly. “You see, Byrony, I must ask you for a very large favor, and I pray that you will give me the answer I must have.”
    “Yes?” She was more confused than ever.
    “I’ve mentioned my half-sister, Irene, to you. I have practically raised her, our parents dying when she was but fourteen years old. I was all she had in the world. And I still am.”
    He drew a deep breath and said, “Irene became involved with a man some months ago. I did not discover this liaison until it was too late. You see, the man is married. He lied to Irene, seduced her, and now she is with child.”
    Byrony stared at him. She heard the anguish in his voice, realized his deep love for his half-sister. “I’m sorry, Ira. Your poor sister.”
    “You are my wife now, Byrony. I know you are frightened of me as a husband, of my making demands on you. How could it be otherwise? Raised by a maiden aunt who distrusted every man, and a father who is a brutal tyrant. I will not force myself on you, I swear it. But the favor I ask will bind me to you, earn my unending gratitude to the day I die. I ask, Byrony, that Irene’s child be yours, that you save my poor sister from a scandal that would destroy not only her but also both of us. I ask that you pretend pregnancy, then, after the child’s birth, treat it as your own.”
    “So,” she said quietly, “the only reason for our marriage is to save your sister.”
    “Yes.”
    Freedom from a man’s demands. Freedom to be myself, to remain untouched. “How could this be done, Ira?”
    How very reasonable and logical she sounded. She sensed the relief in him. “I own a home in Sacramento. I would escort you and Irene there as soon as we reach San Francisco. You will remain there for seven or so months, then return home. I fear you will be a bit lonely and confined during that time, but I can see no other alternative. No one must know that it is Irene who carries the child and not you.”
    “I don’t know. It seems outrageous, impossible.”
    “I also fear for Irene’s life,” he said. “She is writhing in guilt. I fear she might try to kill herself.”
    Byrony looked out over the still water. The half-moon cast silver shadows over the gently cresting waves. Again, was there really any choice for her? Why had he waited until after they were married to tell her of this? It was not important, not