Wild Star by Catherine Coulter Page A

marriage. But then, were it not for the child, there would have been no marriage, would there?”
    She looked straight through him. “No,” she said, “you are right about that.”
    He rose suddenly and towered over her. “So it is true. Damn you, I would have—” He broke off, stunned at the thought that would have so readily formed into words. I would have married you.
    She saw the rage in his eyes. She didn’t understand him or his rage. He had nothing but contempt for her, didn’t he?
    “I hope you won’t lose your lovely figure,” he said.
    “I won’t, Mr. Hammond. But why do you care?”
    “I don’t, damn you!”
    It was he who strode off, quickly, angrily. She stared after him.
    “I must go see to Irene,” she said aloud. “Yes, I will go see Irene.”
    Byrony hated Sacramento. It was hot and damp even though it was spring. Ira’s house was small, airless, but at least it was close to the river. And the river, thank God, wasn’t off limits to her. She sat across from Ira and Irene in the square sitting room, listening to her husband speak.
    “Don’t forget, Byrony, that you mustn’t mingle with the townfolk. I am acquainted with some of them, and it wouldn’t do for them to see my wife obviously unpregnant when she is supposed to be.”
    Byrony shifted slightly in her chair as a trickle of sweat snaked its way between her breasts. She sighed. “All right, Ira.”
    “I realize this will be a difficult time for both of you, but I can think of no other alternative.”
    Byrony was tempted to ask him why they couldn’t go to Nevada City, for example, where no one would know or care who they were. But she held her peace. She’d given her word and must keep it.
    “I have paid your doctor, Irene, to keep his mouth closed. His name is Vincent Chambers. He’s a good man, and he will shortly pay you a visit. I know you are a great reader, Byrony, and I’ll provide you with as many books as I can find here. Now, if you ladies will excuse me, I must conduct some business before I return to San Francisco.”
    Byrony let Irene walk her brother to the front door. She knew he was worried about his sister, and since she had nothing really to say to him, it was better this way.
    “I made some iced lemonade, Miz Butler. You’re looking peaked.”
    “Thank you, Eileen.” She took a deep swallow and leaned her head back against the chair cushion. Brent Hammond’s face appeared instantly, as if she’d conjured him. He had about as good an opinion of her as did her father. Why did she care if he believed her a slut? She knew she’d let him believe her pregnant—the crowning blow—but she’d had no choice, after all. She couldn’t betray Ira or Irene. She forced herself to rise and walk slowly to the window that looked onto the river. She tried to open it, but it wouldn’t budge. She felt drained of energy, drained of hope, and leaned her forehead against the glass, closing her eyes.
    Leave me alone, Brent Hammond, she said silently to the man in her mind. Just leave me alone. But part of her wondered what he was doing, wondered how long he would stay in Sacramento. Her hands fisted. Tears mixed with the sweat on her face, but she didn’t notice.

SEVEN
    Sacramento, 1853
    “It’s what everyone believes, isn’t it, Ira?”
    Ira looked at Byrony, knowing that she’d wanted to ask him this for quite a long time. She was quite bright, he’d realized, and wondered why she hadn’t brought it out in the open before now. He said very gently, “Yes, Byrony, yes, that’s what everyone thinks.”
    “I’m not surprised, not really. When we return to San Francisco, I with my child in tow, then it will be confirmed. Will anyone even speak to me?”
    He truly regretted the isolation he’d enforced on Byrony and his sister. His weekly visit each month had offered some respite, but not much. “Byrony, you will, perhaps, not believe me, but the good people of San Francisco think more of us for removing