Page 22 of Silver Lining
She crossed her arms on the table and tilted her head to indicate the string quartet at the back of the dining room. "The music isn't too lively."
"Lively music isn't considered beneficial to digestion."
"And a walk…" She hesitated, then spoke in a rush. "Actually, if you don't mind too much, I'd like to get the poking over with." Circles of color burned on her cheeks. "The longer we put it off, the more nervous I'm getting about the whole thing. And the way I figure, tonight would be a good time. I might not look this good again."
Of course, he had known the moment was coming. He couldn't avoid it forever. And he'd halfway promised that tonight would be the night they made the first attempt toward the baby she wanted.
Suddenly he felt the presence of the Piney Creek prospectors. A prickle along his neck raised the uncanny impression that if he looked over his shoulder, he'd see the miners standing behind him, waiting to hear him deliver the correct answer.
"We could do that," he said reluctantly, frowning and tugging at his collar.
"Good!" A relieved smile curved her lips, and for a moment she looked almost pretty. "Let's get to it, then."
This time as they crossed the lobby and climbed the staircase he was glad she kept her head down and her gaze fixed on the floor. He didn't want her to note his unwillingness, even though he couldn't imagine that she'd fooled herself into believing he was eager to bed her.
The first thing he did upon entering the suite was walk directly to the drink cart and pour himself a generous splash of whiskey. The scent of soap and kerosene announced she'd followed.
"I'll have one of those, too."
He gave her the whiskey he'd fixed himself and poured another.
Raising her glass, she tipped it against his. "I sure hope this works the first time." After she'd drained half the whiskey, she stepped back from him and pressed her lips together. "How do you want to go about doing it?"
He was doing a lot of throat clearing tonight, especially in the last few minutes. "Why don't you go into the bedroom and get ready," he suggested uncomfortably, turning the whiskey glass between his fingers.
"I'll join you in a few minutes."
"You mean I should get out of this rig before you come, so we don't waste any time. All right." Their shoulders collided as they both turned to the drink cart, and she jumped back as if he'd scalded her. Max stepped aside and let her pour a refill. She tossed down the whiskey and filled her glass again. "Can I trust you not to sit on the chairs while I'm in the other room?"
This was not the moment to argue about sitting on the chairs. He nodded and filled his whiskey glass to the brim.
"I didn't like that sherry," she said, carrying her whiskey toward the bedroom. At the door, she straightened her shoulders and turned back to him. "There's a couple of things I need to say before we get started."
Of course, he thought with a sigh. This was not a woman who regarded silence as a virtue.
"First, I want to thank you for taking your duty seriously and for living up to your promise to the boys and to me."
"Do we have to talk about that?" Even from across the room and in dim light, he noticed her fingers were shaking.
"I told you already that I did this before a long time ago. I didn't like it much, and I wasn't good at it, so don't get your expectations up. Just do what you have to do and don't dawdle around."
Without thinking, he sat down and crossed his ankles on the ottoman. "Damn it, Low Down, tonight won't be the first time I've been with a woman. I don't require instructions."
"I knew I couldn't trust you about this! I just knew you'd sit on a chair!" Her chin came up and her eyelids narrowed, and for the first time tonight she looked like the woman he'd known in the schoolhouse. "As for the other, all I'm saying is get to it and get done with it." Whirling on her heels, she slammed into the bedroom, but not before she gave him a stony look and muttered something about getting thrown out of the Belle Mark and it would be his fault.
Never in his life had he felt less like making love.
Rising, he walked to the window and pulled back the drapes, gazing down at the young trees lining Fourteenth Street . A set of carriage lamps appeared, then passed his line of sight.
If his life had proceeded according to plan, he would have married Philadelphia in a matter of days.
Instead, he was about to take another woman to bed. He lifted the whiskey glass to his lips with one hand and gripped the green marble with the other. Nothing about this felt right or honorable.
"Max? I'm ready."
Turning from the window, he caught sight of a billow of nightgown, then heard the bed springs squeak.
Grimly, he drained his whiskey glass, then rubbed his palms against the legs of his trousers. The only thing that could make this situation worse was if he couldn't perform at the critical moment. On that issue, he had to trust that his body wouldn't know that his mind was unwilling. Or that he was damned near as nervous about the next few minutes as Low Down appeared to be.
