Valley of the Vapours (The Americana Series Book 4) Read online

  When she reached the side entrance, she glanced through the window pane of the door and saw Roarke sitting at the kitchen table with Blanche. The troubled expression on his face stopped her hand as it reached for the knob. It was eavesdropping, she knew, but she paused anyway to listen.

  "Are you positive she said she was just going for a walk?" Roarke asked.

  "Yes," her aunt returned patiently, a solemn expression on her usually animated face. "Besides, her car is still here and her clothes. I know she hasn't run away."

  Tisha wasn't certain what she thought she was going to hear, perhaps some comment that would reveal they were all conspiring to get her to marry Roarke, but they seemed to be only concerned with her whereabouts. With a resigned sigh, she opened the door and walked in.

  "There you are!" Blanche rose quickly to her feet, a forced smile of brightness on her face. "We were wondering where you'd gone."

  "First I considered throwing myself off the steepest cliff, but I couldn't find one," said Trisha. "Then I thought about getting lost in the woods, but I kept ending up in somebody's back yard. So here I am," she finished bitterly.

  "Don't joke about things like that." her aunt murmured, a worried frown lining her forehead.

  "I'm sorry, Blanche," Tisha sighed wearily. "Chalk it up to pre-wedding nerves," darting a resentful glance at Roarke, who was watching her closely. "And how's the prospective bridegroom?"

  "Doing as well as can be expected," he answered. His gaze followed Tisha as she walked to the counter and poured a cup of coffee. "Grab a chair and sit down."

  "I don't feel like it!" she snapped. The combination of her own strain and his unruffled demeanour unleashed her temper.

  She intercepted the look he sent Blanche, who immediately got to her feet. "You two would probably like to be alone. I'll go and play with my paints for a while."

  As soon as she heard the studio door close behind her aunt, Tisha turned towards Roarke, her green eyes blazing with anger.

  "Well? The wedding is on Saturday!"

  "I know," he answered, calmly meeting the challenge of her gaze.

  "If you know, why aren't you doing something about it?" she demanded.

  Very slowly, he uncoiled his long length from the chair and walked over to the counter where she stood. "The world hasn't come to an end." The sunlight glinted on the bronzed gold highlights in his hair.

  "Not yet," she retorted bitterly. "I'm beginning to wonder if you have any plan at all to rescue us from this disaster."

  "I thought you were going to trust me." The gentleness in his voice reached out to soothe her.

  "I was." Her own voice was very low, barely squeezing through the painful lump in her throat.

  "That's the past tense. Does that mean you don't trust me any more?"

  Tisha looked up at him, her chin trembling as she tried to hold back the misery that was welling to the top. "I don't know any more."

  "Hey?" His head tilted down as she lowered her chin to escape his searching eyes. Not even the teasing reassurance of his voice could raise it again. "What happened to that little redhead who was always so positive about things? Could this be the same girl admitting that she doesn't know everything?"

  "No, I don't know everything," she admitted, breathing in deeply and rapidly to hold back the tears. In spite of all her efforts, one tear slipped from her lashes and trickled down her cheek.

  "You're crying," Roarke accused gently.

  "You're darned right I'm crying!" she flared, as more tears followed the first. "And if you were any kind of a man, you'd offer me your shoulder instead of standing there looking so righteous!"

  "I didn't think you'd want my shoulder," he mused softly, reaching out to draw her into his arms. The beat of his heart was oddly reassuring as he cradled her against his chest. His head was bowed near her forehead. "Of course, on the other hand, I didn't realize you would give in to tears," he murmured. "Go ahead and cry, Tisha. It's about time you got rid of some of your independent inhibitions"

  She needed no more encouragement than that to weep freely, sparing only a fleeting thought that she was getting his shirt wet as she huddled closer to him. When her sobs had subsided to hiccuping sounds, Roarke offered her his handkerchief, wiping the excess tears off her cheeks himself. Her head stayed nestled against his chest as she finished the rest.

  "Feel better?" he asked gently.

  "Yes." Her answer was accompanied by a tiny shake of her head. "Hold me, please," she requested, knowing that when she left the shelter of his arms that terribly lonely feeling would descend on her.

  "Gladly." She could feel him smile against her hair while his hold tightened reassuringly around her.

  "I walked up to your house to find you," she said after a few minutes of silence.

  "And I came down here to see you," Roarke returned. One arm was removed so he could reach his hand in his pocket. "I have something I wanted to give you."

  In the next minute, he was holding a glittering diamond solitaire ring in front of her. The size of it drew a gasp of delight from her as the sunlight was caught by its cut surface and reflected a rainbow of colours.

  "Is it real?" she whispered.

  "It's very real," he mocked. "Touch it. It won't disappear."

  Her initial elation faded. "No," she said firmly, moving against the back of his arm as he brought the ring closer. "That's an engagement ring. It's beautiful, but—"

  "Your father expects you to have one."

  "He expects a wedding, too," Tisha reminded him none too gently.

  "Trust me."

  The warmth of his gaze rested on her face as she glanced warily at him. "I'll take it," she surrendered grudgingly. "But I'm going to give it back to you as soon as this whole thing is over."

  Roarke slipped the ring on her finger. "You can give it back if you want to, or keep it as a souvenir."

  "That wouldn't be right." The ring was a perfect fit, if a little snug, and she couldn't help admiring the way it sparkled when her hand moved. "You shouldn't have bought something so expensive. What if I lose it?"

  "I had it made a little small to make it harder to get off your finger in case you threw it at me during a temper tantrum," he mocked.

  "I wouldn't do that," she murmured, self-consciously moving out of his arms.

  "Oh yes, you would," he grinned.

  "Roarke," a worried frown swept away the glow that had been on her face, "what are we going to do about Saturday?"

  "Leave everything to me."

  "Yes, but—"

  "No buts. I'll take care of everything. It will all work out for the best."

  "I wish I knew what you were going to do," she sighed.

  "Right now I'm going home—and you, stop worrying." He touched the tip of her nose and moved towards the door. "Tell Blanche thanks for the coffee."

  "When will I see you?"

  He stopped at the door and turned around. His eyes moved over her in a touching caress that quickened her heartbeat.

  "Tomorrow."

  Chapter Nine

  BY two-thirty the following afternoon, there was no sign of Roarke. Somehow Tisha had received the impression that when he had said he would see her tomorrow, he had meant in the afternoon. She had been clinging to the slim hope that he would arrive before her father returned from another mysterious errand, but she could hear her father greeting Blanche as he came in the door and knew that if Roarke did come now, there would be little chance to see him alone.

  She wished now she had been more persistent yesterday in finding out how he intended to postpone the wedding. Twenty-four hours ago, she had trusted him. She had let his charm persuade her to leave all the details to him. Today she scolded herself for being so foolish. It was her life and she had a right to know what was going on.

  The diamond on her finger sparkled brilliantly in the sunlight streaming through the skylight of the studio. A shudder quivered down her spine at the implications of marriage the ring carried. Her stoma
ch was a mass of butterflies beating their wings against its walls. Tomorrow they were going to be married, unless he stood her up at the altar. Perhaps that was what he was planning, she thought desperately. But something like that would only enrage her father and Roarke seemed to be intent on pacifying him. If only she knew what he was planning!

  "What's my little bride-to-be doing today? Working?"

  At the sound of her father's voice, Tisha turned from her blank canvas. His handsome, smiling face was peering around the studio door, looking very much like a grown-up boy who had a secret he was bursting to tell. A sad smile was all she could manage to return.

  "Come on in, Dad," she invited with an absence of emotion. "I'm not really doing anything."

  "No, you come here. I have something I want to show you," he insisted.

  Tisha wanted to refuse, but there wasn't any point in doing so. Reluctantly she followed him as he led her to her room, not really interested in whatever it was he had to show her.

  "Couldn't work today, huh?" he inquired gently.

  "No."

  "Don't be so dejected. It's only pre-wedding nerves," he assured her, opening the door to her room.

  "Please, Dad, I don't want to talk about it." The tension that was pounding at the back of her head put a sharp edge to her voice.

  "I bought you a present." A gesture of his hand drew her attention to the box on the bed. "I hope you like it."

  Tisha stared at it in a kind of frozen silence. The shape of it indicated a dress. She bit into her lower lip, knowing that if she opened it and saw a wedding dress, she would scream.

  "Go on, open it," he prodded her gently.

  With trembling fingers, she slowly pulled the string off the box, trying to summon the courage to lift off the top cardboard. After an apprehensive glance at her father, she removed the top and swept aside the tissue paper. Her eyelids fluttered down in relief when she saw the tiny bouquets of blue flowers sprinkled over the white material of a dress. With a little more spirit, she unfolded it and held it up against her, the long, filmy sleeves trailing over her arm.

  "It's very pretty, Daddy. Thank you," she murmured, her lips gently touching his shaven cheek.

  There was so much love shining in his eyes when he looked at her that a lump rose in her throat. He caught at her hand and looked down at it as if he too needed a moment to control his emotions. Pushing the empty box to the back of the bed, he sat down and patted the cover beside him.

  "Sit down, Tish. I think it's time you and I had a little talk."

  Carefully she laid the dress over the foot of the bed and joined him near the edge. Some of her apprehension returned as she tried to anticipate what he wanted to talk about. One of his hands covered the tightly clenched fingers in her lap while the other arm moved around her shoulders to draw her again him.

  He gazed tenderly into her face, a small loving smile lifting the corners of his mouth. "I can't remember the last time that I told you how very much I love you. Maybe it's something that parents aren't supposed to tell their children. It's taken for granted, I suppose. But I wanted to say it out loud. I wanted you to know how very much you mean to me."

  Tears sprang to her eyes. "Oh, Daddy, I love you, too," Tisha whispered as his arm tightened in an affectionate hug.

  "After you were born and your mother and I found out she couldn't have any more children, she felt that she'd let me down by not giving me a son. I don't believe I ever convinced her that I was satisfied with the beautiful child of our love. Oh, I did want a son—every man does. But you were never second best, honey," her father assured her, his hand stroking the head that rested against his shoulder. "If I could have traded you in for a boy the minute you were born, I wouldn't have done it. Do you believe me?"

  "Yes." The simple answer erased the little frown that had gathered on his forehead.

  "I want you to be happy, but sometimes I know I've gone about it in all the wrong ways. There were many times when I should have been more understanding, but I'd never been a parent before."

  "I wouldn't have traded you for anyone." Tisha hadn't felt so close to her father in years. She couldn't even bring herself to be angry over his high-handed treatment that was forcing her into marriage with Roarke.

  "These last few days," he went on, "I've had several opportunities to talk to Roarke. He's very concerned that I'm rushing you into something you aren't prepared for."

  Unconsciously Tisha held her breath. Was this the moment? Was this when her father would agree to the long engagement that Roarke wanted?

  "Last Sunday, my temper ruled my judgment," he went on. "Your welfare was all that concerned me. When my anger cooled, I had second doubts that I hadn't done the wise thing, that I'd acted too hastily. But after talking to him and realizing how much he wants your happiness to be placed first, I know he'll be a better husband for you than I had a right to expect."

  Her heart plunged to the pit of her stomach. It hadn't worked! The wedding was not going to be postponed. A thousand cries of protest rose in her throat, but none escaped her tightly drawn lips. Tisha had only one thought—to tell Roarke his plan had failed. They had only a few short hours to come up with another one.

  "Are you very angry with me for making all the arrangements for the wedding without consulting you?" her father asked gently.

  "No," she answered truthfully. What did she care about a ceremony that was never going to take place, even if she had to run away to prevent it?

  "When your mother and I were married, we had an enormous wedding," he told her. "She was an only child, too, but her parents insisted on making a production of it, every great-aunt and uncle and fourth cousin was invited. The celebration lasted all day and probably all night, but we slipped away before it was over."

  He paused, his eyes taking on a faraway look as if he were reliving the precious memory of that day.

  Some seconds later, he continued, his voice low and unbelievably tender, "When we'd driven some distance, I remember Lenore said she wished the ceremony had never happened. I was stunned at first because I thought she was regretting marrying me. Then she explained that she felt our love was a precious blessing from God, a private, beautiful emotion that wasn't meant to be flaunted. There were tears in her eyes when she told me that she wished it could have only been the two of us standing in front of the altar without all the bridesmaids and groomsmen around, only the two of us exchanging our holy vows in God's house. We happened to be driving through a small town when she told me this. I saw a church with the lights on and we stopped. We made our vows a second time in front of a simple altar with rows of empty pews behind us. We loved each other, Tisha, more than words can ever say."

  His voice cracked as he took her face in his hands and stared into it, a poignant sadness in his eyes.

  "And that is why, my darling, darling daughter," he murmured tightly, "your wedding to Roarke is going to be so simple. Not because I want to hide anything or make it a hurry-up affair. It was the second time that we pledged our love that your mother and I treasured. For you I want it to be the first, with no other memory to detract from it."

  She turned her face in his hands, pressing a kiss against his palm, a conflicting tide of emotions swamping her. How could she tell him that she couldn't go through with the ceremony he planned?

  "I never realized completely how much you loved my mother," her voice still smothered in his hand.

  "She loved me, too," he whispered, gathering her against his chest. "Seeing you with Roarke this last week has reminded me of it so vividly. Whenever he's around you hardly take your eyes off of him. You're constantly sending little messages to him the way Lenore used to do with me. I bet you didn't think your old dad noticed things like that, did you?" She could feel him smile against her forehead and frowned. "I realized last night that the biggest reason you don't want to marry him, or say you don't want to marry him, is because of the speed at which it's all happening, as if the two of you had done something to be ashamed
of last week-end. I know you didn't."

  "What?" Tisha breathed.

  "You've never lied to me, honey, and you didn't when you told me nothing had happened. I've already seen for myself that Roarke respects you too much to have taken advantage of the situation. I know it's terribly old-fashioned to say that I'm glad you waited, but I am. Do you remember a couple of weeks ago?" he chuckled, and gently held her away from him. "It seems longer than that. But you told me that I would never approve of the man you married, that I would find something wrong with him. You were wrong. Roarke might even be too good for you, but I doubt it. You couldn't have made a better choice if you'd searched the whole world. I'm not only going to have a daughter I adore, but a son-in-law, too. A father couldn't be any luckier than that."

  Tisha could only stare at him in dumb amazement. None of this was happening to her. She was overwhelmed. There seemed to be no arguments left. Her mind refused to think.

  Her father glanced down at his watch and shook his head wryly. "Here I've been rambling on and paying no attention to the time. We have to be at the church in forty-five minutes, and you haven't had a chance to try the dress on to see if it fits."

  The rehearsal, she thought dejectedly as she got to her feet. At least Roarke would be there. She would have her chance to see him and reveal her father's new stand. She picked up the dress and fingered the material of the flared skirt.

  "Did…did you want me to wear this?" she asked hesitantly.

  "Slacks would hardly he appropriate," he smiled. "Can you be ready in fifteen minutes?"

  "Yes," Tisha nodded.

  As she absently changed into the dress her mind kept flitting back over her father's words. His expression of love for her moved her even as it seemed to trap her. The alternatives had been narrowed down to one—flight. The tragedy was that her father was convinced she loved Roarke.

  It was true that she looked at him a lot. His presence had a way of dominating a room. But she told herself that she looked at him because he promised a way out. He, too, was trapped into marrying her. That was the bond that held them, not the love that her father saw.