Free In The Face Of Death by Chelsea Quinn Yarbro Page B

chicanery to refuse to unite east and west by rail, I am convinced of it. The trouble is that California is an enigma; not even those who live here understand it.” He folded his arms, his shirt-sleeves suddenly too little protection against the encroaching fog. “I will get my coat.”
    “Bring mine, will you?” She strolled deeper into the little grove of trees, listening to the sounds around her, the rustlings and flutters that reminded her that there were other occupants of the copse, many of which began their day when the sun went down. It was cool enough to be unpleasant, and she was relieved when Sherman came and held her nip-waisted coat for her as she slid her arms into the leg-o’-mutton sleeves. He rested his hands on her shoulders as he stood behind her, then slid them down to cover her breasts.
    “How can I give this up?” he murmured, drawing her to him, holding her tightly as he moved his hands down the front of her body; he did this with ease, being slightly more than a head taller than Madelaine. Suddenly he stopped his rapt exploration. “I must be mad.”
    “For planning to give me up, or wanting me in the first place?” She avoided any hint of accusation in her mild rebuke, but she could not shake off the sadness that swept through her at her realization that she would have to leave San Francisco and Sherman before long.
    “Both,” said Sherman with utmost conviction, turning her to face him, staring down into her violet eyes as if he wanted to meet her in combat. “I am not a man who loves easily, and I am . . . possessed by you. What is it about you? You are more of a mystery than this place.” His countenance was stern, his brows drawn downward.
    “Had I thought I would be so . . . so wholly in your thrall, I would never have begun with you.”
    “ Bien perdu, bien connu ,” said Madelaine, hoping to conceal the sting she felt from his abrupt words.
    “But you are not well-lost, that is the trouble. I do not need to lose you to know you, Madelaine.” He surrounded her with his arms, his mouth rough on hers. He strained to press them more tightly together, then broke away from her. “But I will not compromise my marriage.”
    “So you have said from the first,” Madelaine reminded him, as much to assure him that she still understood his requirements of her as to lessen his defensiveness. “And I have never protested your devotion. I will not do so now.”
    “And I meant it. I mean it still.” He reached out and took her face in his long-fingered hands. “I treasure you as I have never treasured another woman, and may I be thrice-damned for it.”
    “Tecumseh,” she said gently. “I have no wish to bring you pain.”
    He released her and moved away, leaves crackling underfoot. His voice was low and his words came quickly. “But you will, and that is the problem. There’s nothing that can be done about it now: you are too deeply fixed in my soul for that. Oh, it is no fault of yours; you have been honorable from the first, if that is a word I may use for our adultery. Never have you asked, or hinted, that you want me to leave my wife: it is just as well, for I will not, no matter what sorcery you work on me. Yet when you go, as go you must, you will leave a wound in me that no enemy could put there. When you are gone—” He stared down at the ground as if trying to read something there in the last of the light. “I have never known anyone who so completely won me as you have.”
    Madelaine did not go after him. “Then we must make the most of the short time we have, so that your joy will be greater than your hurt, and you will remember our time together with happiness.” She did not add that she longed for his ecstasy to sustain her in the months ahead.
    “How can we?” He met her eyes in the dimness. “Why take the risk? We have been discreet so far, but I must resist my impulse to set all caution aside.”
    “Why? Who is to know what passes between us? When we are