Free The Marrying Kind by Sharon Ihle Page A

to him in anyway, she added, "Since you're willing to do all that for me, I'm willing to call it even between us."
    "Done," he said magnanimously, sensing that he'd finally gotten the upper hand with the sassy little ink-slinger.
    * * *
    As promised, Donovan had taken Libby shopping for clothes, and had even spent a whole afternoon showing her the sights of San Francisco—most notably, a lovely carriage ride through heavily wooded and thoroughly charming Golden Gate Park. Having lived in Laramie all her life, Libby had never seen anything like it or the San Francisco Bay, with its throngs of sea gulls and fishing boats. He'd even treated her to restaurant suppers twice now: once at Sam's Grill, where she'd tried green turtle soup; then again last night, when he'd taken her down to the wharf, to a place called the Cobweb Palace, for clam chowder and cracked crab. "A prelude," he'd said then, "to the victory supper of lobster we will soon share at Delmonico's."
    Libby didn't have a reason in the world or the right to complain about a thing. Donovan went off to the "theatre" each and every night, leaving her to manage on her own. He slept most of the day, and then disappeared into the night again. His long absences did not bother her, as he did have a business to run, no matter how morally questionable this "theatre" of his might be. Besides, what woman in her right mind groused because a man treated her like a lady?
    Left alone much of the time, she'd filled her time by writing editorials and letters home to Jeremy, as well as making a few journeys around the city on her own. Her only source of irritation was Gerda, who'd come by the house another four times since Libby's arrival from Laramie, and still treated Libby as if she were one of the painted ladies from Lucky Lil's. The fact that the Frau steadfastly refused to set foot in her room didn't bother Libby much since she was unused to having anyone do her chores for her. But she was tired of feeling like an outcast, especially now that Black Monday—as she'd begun to view it—was here.
    Her nerves feeling taut as she sat in one of the lavish waiting rooms at Savage Publishing, Libby made a fast study of her appearance—again. She was wearing the smashing new outfit Donovan had bought for her—the tight-fitting jacket made of terra-cotta sateen set off by olive trim, the draped skirt checkered in strawberry red and white. He'd even insisted on buying her a saucy little English straw bonnet trimmed with pink roses and an ecru ostrich plume, a hat she could wear with everything she owned. She'd never possessed anything quite so cosmopolitan as her new outfit, or so comfortable as the soft kid leather shoes beneath it, but still, she couldn't lose the feeling that something wasn't quite right.
    Turning to Donovan for reassurance, Libby held her gloved hand out to him and said, "Look at me—I'm shaking so badly, I can't even hold my fingers steady."
    He reached for her hand just as an attractive young woman approached. "Mr. Savage will see you now, Mr. Donovan."
    Giving Libby's fingers a quick squeeze, he whispered, "Wish me luck." Then he lifted himself and Andrew's satchel up from the plush leather couch, and disappeared with the secretary through a pair of wide double doors at the end of the hall.
    Donovan walked into the publishing scion's office, sniffing the air. As he'd expected, it was permeated with the heady aroma of money and all the trappings such a vast fortune could buy. The scent of fine leather and premium burled walnut drifted past his nose along with a whiff of rich pipe tobacco. Blindfolded, Donovan would have known in an instant that he'd stepped into the domain of an extremely wealthy man.
    Not that another's prosperity made him feel humble or inferior in any way. In fact, ostentatious displays had always annoyed his sense of fair play, or something close to it. Answering what he viewed as a challenge, Donovan displayed the only riches he'd ever