Jade Star - Catherine Coulter [88]
“You should also know,” Jane continued carefully after a few moments, “that she visited Maggie the other afternoon. I heard it from a man who came to pick up his shirts. He didn’t understand why Saint Morris’ wife was visiting a whorehouse.”
“Shit,” said Saint very softly. “Sorry, Jane.”
“There appears to be a serpent in paradise.”
Yes, he thought, the serpent was his damned manhood! Such a ridiculous thought brought a momentary smile to his face. A rigid serpent. He laughed, a harsh, grating sound.
“Saint,” Jane said, moving quickly to him and laying her hand lightly on his shoulder, “I’m sorry, but I thought you should know.” She regretted her sarcastic comment, and wanted to make amends. “Please, Saint, if you want to talk about it, you know I’m a good listener.”
“There’s nothing whatsoever to talk about,” he said. “I suppose I knew things weren’t going all that well, but there’s nothing like keeping one’s eyes closed, is there? No, don’t answer that, Jane. I’ve got to be going. I have the dubious pleasure of having Penelope Stevenson to dinner this evening.”
“Good luck, Saint,” she called after him softly, but he didn’t hear her.
Saint entered their bedroom close to an hour later. Jules was splashing like a happy, unconcerned child in the tub. He paused in the doorway, wondering whether or not to retreat. She saw him and fell instantly silent.
“Hello, Jules,” he said awkwardly.
Jules felt a wave of color wash over her cheeks. She sank down a few inches in the water. Why should I be embarrassed? she thought, suddenly angry. He knows . . . everything. “I shall be finished in just a moment,” she said, raising her chin.
Saint made the mistake of allowing his eyes to leave her face. He felt an instant tightening in his loins at the sight of her soft white shoulders, the tops of her breasts. He swallowed, and backed up. “I’ll be downstairs, Jules. I need a bath also. Just call me when you’re finished.”
He disliked her so much he couldn’t bear to be in the same room with her! She was sorely tempted to climb out of the tub and hurl the water at him. But she didn’t. She said only, her voice nasty, “How sorry I am that you had to work so very hard this afternoon. What was wrong with Mrs. Branigan, anyway?”
He forced his eyes back to her face. He thought of the damned gun, of her visit to Maggie. Here she was attacking him like a shrew for his visit to Jane! For God’s sake, he’d told her he wouldn’t sleep with Jane anymore! His eyes darkened, and he said coldly, “Why, nothing at all was wrong with Jane. Nothing at all. Not everyone I visit is ill, you know.”
She wanted to yell at him, but she pressed her lips together and lowered her head. She heard his harsh breathing, heard the bedroom door slam, then listened to his retreating footsteps down the corridor.
“He’s a miserable man,” she whispered, and hated herself for the wretched tears that trickled down her cheeks. “I guess that makes us about even, since I’m a miserable woman.”
Penelope had never before been in Saint Morris’ house. It was dreadfully small and not at all well-appointed. Well, she was here and she supposed she must make the best of it. After all, Saint was Thomas’ brother-in-law. She greeted Saint with cool politeness and tried her rarely used charm on Thomas’ sister. What wild red hair, she thought, thankful of her own smooth flaxen tresses.
“How nice to see you again,” Jules said, wondering for perhaps the dozenth time what Thomas saw in this dreadful girl. Her voice could chill the wine.
“Yes,” Penelope said. “Dr. Morris,” she added, gracefully inclining her long neck. “My parents send their regards.”
“How about a glass of sherry, Pen?” Thomas asked.
Jules watched Penelope turn a beguiling smile on her brother. Pen! Penelope’s voice softened as much as her eyes. “Oh yes, Thomas, that would be very nice.”
Saint was markedly silent until the Hammonds arrived, full of good cheer and laughter. Byrony’s stomach