Love, Come to Me(112)

“But you thought you’d come here to ask him about it anyway?”

“Yes.”

Something about the way Damon was behaving . . . so carefully, so politely, gave Lucy the sense that he was keeping something from her.

“I have a suggestion,” he was saying, with a charming smile—a little too forced, that smile—“why don’t you go home and wait for Heath there? I’ll make certain he leaves the office early tonight, and you can work everything out—”

“He isn’t usually out of the office at this time, is he?” Lucy interrupted.

“It depends on—”

“Is he?” she demanded, and his black eyes locked with hers before he answered reluctantly.

“He’s taking care of some business.”

A terrible suspicion flared in her mind, burning like a newly struck match. “Where is he?”

Chapter 13

She had never seen Damon look so ill at ease. “I don’t know.”

“Damon,” she said, deliberately using his first name. Her voice was low and insistent, fraught with tension. “You gave your friendship to me. I thought I could depend on it. I’m not asking for your help or your advice . . . I’m just asking for you not to stand in my way. You know where he is. If you won’t tell me, I’ll find him somehow. I’ll walk every street of this city—”

“You can’t. That’s dangerous—”

“And I’ll find him on my own. But it’s not your right as my friend to keep this from me.”

“It’s not fair to bargain with friendship.”

“I’m fighting to keep my husband. Rules don’t apply. Maybe when you’re married, you’ll have a better idea of what desperate lengths you’ll go to . . . for your sake, I hope not. Now, where is Heath?”

“Mrs. Rayne . . . I can’t tell you.”

“I understand,” she said evenly, her eyes shining with determination. “I’m going, then. Could you at least suggest where I should start looking? Near the Long Wharf? The Marketplace? The—”

“God, no. Lucy, don’t. The most god-awful things could happen to you, and I’d never forgive myself for—”

“If anything does happen to me, I certainly wouldn’t blame you. And I suppose Heath wouldn’t either. Well, I have a great deal of territory to cover, and I must be starting. Goodbye.”

“Wait.” Damon looked at her with a mixture of wonder and outrage, never having dreamed that she was capable of manipulating him so deftly or exerting such unfair pressure on him. They both knew that he would feel responsible if she went out alone and was harmed. He had been reared to be a gentleman in everything he did, brought up so perfectly that he was never at a loss in any situation—but Good God, what was a gentleman supposed to do when faced with something like this? “He’s at Parker’s,” he finally said, looking as if he hated himself. “Having lunch.”

Lucy nodded slowly, with a bitter smile. “Of course. À la carte at any time. I should have guessed.”

He caught her wrist lightly as she turned away. “Stop, Lu—I mean, Mrs.—”

“I’m going to Parker’s. There’s no use in trying to stop me.”

“There’s nothing you can accomplish by going there.”

“I have to see with my own eyes if he’s with her.”

“Wait for his explanation. Don’t try to corner him.”

“It’s no longer your concern.”

He let go of her wrist and combed his fingers through his raven hair, trying frantically to think of what to do. “Wait. Wait right here. I’m going to put the city editor in charge, and I’ll be back in a few seconds. I’m going with you. Don’t move. Don’t go anywhere.” He disappeared through the office door and plowed through the editorial room, snapped out a few hasty commands and charged back to the hallway. No one was there except the doorman, who had resumed his post. “Where is she?” Damon asked a little wildly.

“I’m afraid I don’t know, Mr. Redmond. She left right after you went through the door.”

Swearing violently, Damon went out to the street, where the office hack had just arrived. After yanking a hapless reporter out of the small vehicle, he informed the driver that they were going to the Parker House, and that he’d better snap to it.

Heath arched a dark brow as he stared at Raine, his eyes cool and blue-green. She returned his gaze without shame or pleading, while the perfect oval of her face glowed pale and clean against the muted burgundy background of the restaurant. The waiter moved quietly around the table, refilling their water glasses without spilling a drop on the smooth white tablecloth. As soon as the waiter left, Heath spoke quietly.

“If it were just up to me, you could live in Boston. You could live right down the street and it wouldn’t make a difference to me. I don’t care. It probably doesn’t say much for my sense of compassion . . . but I don’t care.”

“You can’t convince me that there’s nothing in your heart for me.”

“Truthfully? . . . maybe a scar or two. But nothing more.”

“Not even anger?” she asked, watching him intently. “I find that hard to believe.”