nice to be here.”
“May I take your shawl?” asked her husband. He was six inches shorter than his wife and slightly hunched.
“Please.”
“And your hat?” asked Mrs. Dunleigh.
Cassandra hesitated, then slowly slid it off. No one paid her any mind. Jack hadn’t realized how tense he was about the whole hat thing until she finally gave it up, and he breathed out a sigh of relief.
He peered toward the table by the door, and the overflowing letter holder there.
“The mail came this morning, sir,” said Dunleigh. “Some correspondence appears to need your attention immediately. One letter is from the auction house in San Francisco.”
“I’ll get to it shortly.” There seemed to be a never-ending pile of paperwork from his suppliers and customers.
“Dr. McColton,” chirped the housekeeper, “I’ve set some refreshments on the terrace.”
“Very good.” Jack ushered Cassandra through the house.
He wished they would warm up to each other, but there was only strain. She took in the view as their boots tapped on the clay-tiled floors. Colorful rugs lay scattered in the sitting room between the horsehair sofas and chairs and fieldstone fireplace. Mexican artwork adorned the plaster walls. Twenty feet up, timber rafters crisscrossed the ceiling.
The kitchen, with two fireplaces, butcher-block counters, sideboards lining two walls, and a wide pine table, overlooked one of the terraces. The dining table could easily accommodate fourteen.
“My, Jack,” Cassandra said. “I had no idea your house was this huge. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Everything in California’s big. I didn’t notice.”
She tilted her head, eyes sparkling as if she didn’t quite believe him, and he noticed with a quickening of his pulse that there was some tenderness in her gaze.
“Shall we sit outside?” he asked.
She nodded. They made their way to the bamboo chairs beneath a trellis. Thankfully, the color had returned to her face, which was shaded by the lush fronds of the palm trees above. “What a gorgeous spot.”
Jack adored the view, too. It was why he’d decided to buy this piece of property. Land as far as the eye could see. Rolling vales and sloped vineyards that blended into a big blue sky. The scent of earth and wind, and a feeling that Mother Nature had taken extra care when she’d created Napa Valley.
“Sir,” interrupted the butler. “Two gentlemen to see you from San Diego.”
“Today? But they weren’t supposed to arrive till next week.”
“They mentioned they had business this way, sir, and wished to call on you today. Shall I—” Dunleigh glanced at Cassandra, who seemed to withdraw “—ask them to return next week?”
“Please go ahead, Jack.” Cassandra lifted a cool drink to her lips and sipped.
This wasn’t what he’d had in mind for her visit. He’d hoped to spend the whole day with her. However, the rest of the afternoon continued in the same manner. Every time they’d begin to talk, there’d be an interruption, and he was called away. Every time he’d try to lean over and say something more intimate than “Help yourself to another bite of cheese and grapes and walnuts,” one of the Dunleighs walked in with another announcement.
He found Cassandra outside two hours later, steps from the terrace, gazing at the colorful flowers and shrubs he and his gardeners took such pride in. She bent lower and sniffed a wild rose, a pink one, and her hair tumbled over her shoulder. She pushed it back with pretty fingers.
“Now I know where you got that beautiful bouquet.”
“Sorry for all the interruptions.”
“I think I’d better get back. There’s much I have to do for tomorrow.”
“Won’t you stay for dinner?”
“There’s something very charming about the tradition of being separated from the groom the night before the wedding. Don’t worry about me eating, I’ll order from the hotel. Sorry, I’m not very hungry now.”
He was concerned. “Are you feeling any better?”
“Yes, much.” Her eyes were brighter, her lips fuller and pinker.
“Do you need help with anything at the hotel? I’m sure Mrs. Dunleigh would be pleased to lend a hand. With your wardrobe, for instance.”
“I’ll be fine.”
He felt suddenly shut out of her life.
He understood she was a bride needing her privacy, but back in Chicago, she’d always shut him out of her thoughts and feelings. He shoved his hands into his pockets, brought back to their days there, when he’d been much younger and much more nervous around the fairer sex. Hell, he was a lot more experienced than he used to be, and being with Cassandra shouldn’t affect him. But the five years he’d spent carousing in saloons with entertaining women didn’t seem to help him now.
“I hope you’ll consider this a fine home, Cassandra,” he said.
“I look forward to it very much.”
He wondered whether he should show her the second floor, where the bedrooms were located—his, soon to be theirs—but decided not to. It would be awkward to press something so personal upon her, in full view of the staff, when he and Cassandra weren’t yet married.
“Tomorrow at six,” he reminded her. “I’ll have the Dunleighs come to your hotel at quarter to the hour to escort you to the church.”
She nodded and kept her distance.
He stayed at arm’s length, too. He wanted to kiss her, but his staff persisted in intervening. Cassandra didn’t seem to expect, nor did she appear to miss the fact that he didn’t approach her. When he was called away again by his foreman to check on a sluggish colt, Jack said goodbye to her and asked Mr. and Mrs. Dunleigh to accompany her to the hotel.
“We’ll see each other tomorrow,” Jack said.
“Have a good evening,” she replied, as cool as a moonbeam. She pulled her shawl around her slender shoulders and was gone.
* * *
He hadn’t kissed her!
Hours later, alone in her hotel room with a towel wrapped around her newly washed hair, Cassandra still couldn’t believe the slight. It was all she’d thought of since the moment they’d parted, during her ride back to town with Mr. and Mrs. Dunleigh, and during her bath on the lower floor of the hotel.
She stared at his pink roses on the nightstand. She’d placed them in a vase beside the lone lantern, which cast a dim glow. Why hadn’t Jack tried to kiss her? Had he found her repulsive?
She didn’t think so, for he was about to marry her. Most men wouldn’t wed a woman unless they found her appealing in some way. Besides, the way his burning gaze sometimes raked over her, she knew with a rush to her pulse that he sometimes found her attractive.
Perhaps he’d wanted to be affectionate, but the sight of her marred cheek had stopped him.
She couldn’t imagine how their wedding night would go. Was that promise of sexual excitement in his dark brown eyes deceiving? Or would his physical skills match the apparent appetite in his hungry gaze? If he was a passionate man, then why in blazes hadn’t he kissed her?
Some men put up a good act, pretending to be what they weren’t. Troy Wainsborough had been a prime example. On the surface, he’d been a successful attorney, a protégé of her father’s at his law offices. She’d been coaxed and prodded for years in his direction by her father. Beneath the surface, however, Troy had a darker side that involved drinking