Christmas Pie Page 10

  In a formally polite gesture, he crooked his elbow. Then, cocking his head in a manner he knew from experience ladies found appealing and giving her one of his most endearing smiles, he said, “Please? It would be my pleasure. Besides, my dog has taken quite a fancy to you. You really should help me name him.”

  She paused much too long for coyness and James realized she felt genuinely uneasy about accepting his escort. “I’m not as bad as I’m painted, Miss MacNamara. Truly, I’m not.”

  “Oh, no, I’m sure you can’t be.” Then, realizing she had phrased her statement indelicately, Polly stammered, “I—I mean—”

  But James only laughed again and shook his head. This demure type-writer was obviously not an accomplished flirt. Why, she blurted out whatever thoughts came into her head.

  “You needn’t apologize, Miss MacNamara. I’m all too well aware of my unfortunate reputation. But I promise you will be safe with me.”

  The dog, who had reluctantly come to James’s side, took that opportunity to sit down right in front of Polly. He looked up at her with the most pleading expression James had ever beheld on a canine’s face, and lifted one disreputable paw, the spotted one, as though begging Polly to give in.

  Never one to miss an opportunity, James said, “There. You see? You can’t possibly resist such an invitation.”

  Being, after all, only human, Polly couldn’t contain her giggle. “Well, if you’re sure it isn’t a bother, I should be happy for your company. I’m afraid it’s very late. Mother worries when I’m late.”

  “I can understand that,” said James, who didn’t. To the best of his recollection, nobody had ever worried about him in his entire life.

  So Polly put her hand on James’s arm, rather tentatively, and the three of them began to walk down Grant. The fog had lifted during the excitement of the evening, and stars now glimmered in the heavens above. Since they were in the metropolis of San Francisco, gas lamps lighted their path all the way to Pacific Avenue. Once they turned the corner, though, traffic thinned and only the moon and stars lit their way.

  The picket fence beside them glittered as if gilded by the full moon’s glow. Patches of staked chrysanthemums gathered starlight on their dewy petals and seemed to wink at them as they strolled past. To James, whose nature had never been whimsical, the evening seemed nearly magical, and it fairly stunned him.

  “Well, now, Miss MacNamara,” he said an in effort to ward off his fanciful impression, “can you think of an appropriate appellation for this beast?”

  Her walk, James decided, was as regal as that of a princess. He guessed her height to be about five feet five inches, somewhat tall. He appreciated her height since he was a tall man. Her hat had obviously seen several seasons’ duty, but she wore it with flair. The two of them fell into step with each other, even with the ridiculous hound tagging along beside him, with ease and grace.

  “A name,” Polly mused.

  James watched her take another quick peek at the hound and saw a tiny frown crease her forehead.

  “Is he really yours, Mr. Drayton?”

  Her beautiful eyes reflected starlight, her soft smile an enchanting accompaniment. A faint flush stained her cheeks, and James felt a catching somewhere in his chest. My God. Polly MacNamara, his staid, prim type-writer, at this moment looked to James like an elfin being, an enchantress sent to earth to tempt him.

  “He certainly is, Miss MacNamara.” He knew his smile had gone lopsided.

  Polly gave a brisk, businesslike nod and the spell was almost—but not quite—broken.

  “Well, then, in order to preserve your dignity, I believe the first thing we should do is establish a breed for him.” She peeked at him as if to ascertain his reaction to her imaginative suggestion.

  His reaction was so strong he had to restrain himself from pulling her into his arms and kissing her right here on the street, dog and the public be hanged.

  Good Lord.

  After clearing his throat with some difficulty, he grinned. “So you think my already tarnished reputation won’t survive this creature?”

  Polly, unused to bantering conversations with adult males, had to still her racing heart. She couldn’t believe she’d just said so pert a thing to James Drayton. Yet some compulsion with which she was totally unfamiliar seemed to be guiding her tongue this evening, and she said, “Well, I’m not altogether sure how tarnished your reputation is, but, well—” She peeked at the dog once more. “—a breed wouldn’t hurt.”

  James couldn’t recall another time when he’d been so delighted with a female companion. “Well, then, what breed do you recommend, Miss MacNamara.”

  “It will have to be a rare one,” she said with feigned gravity.

  He nearly choked. “Of course.”

  “He looks rather like a hound.”

  “Yes, I believe he does exhibit a certain houndish quality.”

  “Perhaps he could be—” Another look at the dog prompted Polly to finish with, “—a rarely seen Portuguese Tapir Hound.” Upon her pronouncement, she honored James with a large, mischievous grin.

  Laughing so hard he could scarcely speak, James managed to stammer at last, “Are there tapirs in Portugal?”

  After a considering pause, a small frown wrinkled Polly’s brow. “You know, I’m not altogether sure. Perhaps we should select another animal.”

  “Or another country.”

  “Of course! Why didn’t I think of it before? He can be a rarely seen Philippine Tapir Hound. I believe there are tapirs in the Philippines, and very few people have been there, so nobody will ever suspect.”

  The urge to kiss he was so strong James had to grab the lapel of his overcoat to keep his hand from reaching out to her. “And just what will nobody ever suspect, Miss MacNamara?”

  The warmth and delight he detected in his voice surprised him. He’d never heard it there before; never felt it before. Delight was an emotion entirely foreign to James Drayton. Warmth was something one got from a stove.

  “Why, that his origins are dubious, of course. That he’s an American, Mr. Drayton. A blue-blooded, dyed-in-the-wool, low-bred American mutt.”

  James couldn’t help it. The street was dark and his companion enchanting, and he simply couldn’t help it. Holding Polly’s kid-encased hand in his, he turned her toward him and gave her lovely cheek the kiss he longed to bestow on her succulent lips.

  Chapter Six

  James, who had flirted with innumerable society maidens and done infinitely more than that with several of those damsels’ more experienced sisters, aunts, and mothers, heard Polly’s gasp of astonishment and knew he’d made a grave tactical error. This was one female whose sensibilities were too fine even for such a chaste kiss as this.

  Immediately, he lowered Polly’s hand to his arm again and hoped she wouldn’t remove it and bolt from his side. When she stiffened up like a retriever on point, he guessed she was too shocked to run.

  Polly put her free hand to her breast in a gesture he was coming to recognize. His burgeoning irritation at her dramatic recoil from his prim kiss, melted. Poor Polly. First Lawrence Bullock and now James Drayton, a man who should have known better.

  He murmured stoically, “I’m sorry, Miss MacNamara. I meant no disrespect. It was wrong of me to presume such a liberty.”

  “Oh! I—I mean—it’s—it’s all right, Mr. Drayton.”

  “No, it’s not all right. I had no business to kiss you.” With a rueful grin, he asked, “Will you forgive me?”

  “Of—of course,” came out in a voice so small, James barely heard it.

  When she peered up at him, her glorious eyes a testament both to her amazement and her longing, he very nearly lost control of himself again. Good Lord, what was the matter with him?

  With an effort, he suppressed his baser instincts and cleared his throat. “Well, now that we have this animal’s breed taken care of, what do you suggest I name the beast?”

  At that very moment, “the beast” took exce
ption to a cat James hadn’t noticed. With a sudden lunge and an impressive bay, it jerked James’s arm nearly out of its socket in a frenzy to reach and slay the feline.

  James stumbled forward, leaving Polly to grab at his hand in an effort to keep him upright. She missed, and James ultimately brought his exuberant pet to a halt by yanking on the leash. The dog, unhappy at having its attempt at assassination thwarted, strained at the lead so hard it began to choke. Still, it wouldn’t give up.

  “Stupid dog,” James muttered.

  Then he heard Polly’s tinkling laughter and looked over to find her giggling. He grinned and guessed the dog wasn’t so stupid after all. James hadn’t expected that so simple a thing as being made to look a fool would smooth over an awkward social situation with such ease.

  “Miss MacNamara,” he said severely, “I believe you’re laughing at me.”

  “Oh, no, Mr. Drayton,” Polly gasped through her giggles. “Certainly not.”

  “Humph.”

  The dog didn’t seem inclined to give up its pursuit, even though the cat had shown the good sense to flee the second it heard the hound’s bay. James, through vigorous tugging and firm commands, tried to convince the animal of the futility of its endeavor. His attention was divided, though, because he kept looking at his beautiful type-writer.

  After watching in amusement for a moment or two, Polly said, “Lurch.”

  James cocked a brow. “Lurch?”

  “I believe you should name that particular rarely seen Philippine Tapir Hound Lurch.”

  Utterly charmed, James could only grin. After another moment or two, during which man and hound fought for dominance, he brought the dog under control. It seemed to sulk when James made it behave, a circumstance James found did not surprise him. He walked the animal back to Polly.

  “Miss MacNamara, I don’t believe even my besmirched reputation could withstand the snickers sure to greet a rarely seen Philippine Tapir Hound named Lurch.”

  “You really think not?”

  James found it telling that Polly did not seem at all shy about taking his arm this time. Nor did she exhibit any of the restraint his indiscreet, though pure, kiss had earlier precipitated. If she only knew the manner in which he truly wanted to kiss her, she’d run like that spooked cat.

  “I’m sure of it.”

  The rest of the walk to Polly’s home was accomplished without incident. The dog, nameless and with a soul unblemished by homicide, moped along at James’s side while James and Polly tested appellations. None quite seemed to fit, and they arrived at the MacNamara porch without having decided on a suitable title.

  “Perhaps a name will occur to you after you’ve lived with him a little longer,” Polly offered without much hope.

  James peered at his pet doubtfully. “Perhaps.”

  They climbed the porch steps and James was about to take a reluctant leave when the door flew open. They both jumped.

  Polly whirled around and James was sorry to see a flash of guilt cross her face. Lillian MacNamara’s worry was clear to see, thanks to the gas light spilling onto the porch from inside the house.

  “Oh, Mother! I’m so sorry to be late!” Polly darted to her mother and quickly bent to kiss the older woman’s cheek.

  “Good evening, Mrs. MacNamara. It’s a pleasure to see you again.” James swept his hat from his head and bowed formally before giving Polly’s mother his patented, ice-melting smile. “I’m very sorry to be bringing your daughter home so late. I’m afraid she ran into some trouble on Grant Street, and I was seeing her home. Then this creature, which has recently adopted me, caused us another slight delay.”

  “Good evening, Mr. Drayton.” Lillian’s voice sounded strained. “I confess I was a little worried about her. What sort of trouble did you run into, Polly dear?”

  “It was nothing really, Mother. Mr. Bullock—from the law firm?—Well, I’m afraid he suffered a small accident. Fortunately, Mr. Drayton was walking his dog in the area and came to the rescue.”

  She smiled gloriously at James, and he smiled back. “Yes, and Miss MacNamara has been helping me think of a name for the animal on the way here.”

  “I see.” Lillian offered him a gracious smile. “Well, won’t you and your dog come into the house and have a cup of tea, Mr. Drayton? I’m sure you can use a cup of tea to warm you up before you walk home again. You don’t have your fine motorcar with you today, and the weather is chilly.”

  James, who had been warmed by Polly’s company, hadn’t given a thought to the weather. Mrs. MacNamara was correct, though. The autumn night air held a distinct snap. There would undoubtedly214D be frost on the ground tomorrow morning.

  “Thank you, Mrs. MacNamara, I should like that, if you’re certain I won’t be a bother.” Looking down at his hound, however, he had second thoughts. “Er, although, I’m not entirely sure what to do about this—”

  “Rarely seen Philippine Tapir Hound,” Polly supplied in all apparent innocence.

  Her expressive eyes twinkled merrily and provoked another smile from him. “Exactly. I’m not sure what to do with my rarely seen Philippine Tapir Hound.”

  “Why that’s no problem at all, Mr. Drayton. Your dog can take a nap in the hallway. Stephen’s dog Bruno used to sleep on the braided rug there all the time.”

  At the mention of Polly’s missing brother, a fine mist of sadness seemed to settle on them for a moment. Polly dispelled it with a shake of her shoulders. “Oh, my, it really is chilly out, isn’t it? Let’s go inside where it’s warm.”

  Her feelings rioted when she guided her mother’s wheelchair around and pushed her into the house. Ecstasy at being in James Drayton’s company for a few moments longer warred violently with the certain knowledge that she shouldn’t be taking such pleasure in his company.

  In spite of her turbulent emotions, Polly enjoyed the tea the three of them shared in front of the fireplace. The MacNamara parlor owed little to wealth, but it was a pleasant place for all that. It’s air of coziness seemed especially potent this evening.

  Oriental pieces from earlier, more prosperous times, nestled artistically on the mantel and inside a glass-fronted hutch. Polly had been able to refresh her arrangement of chrysanthemums, thanks to Mother Francis Mary’s generosity. A wicker cornucopia preserved from her childhood and filled with wax apples, pumpkins and squash added an Occidental flair to the room’s autumnal ambiance.

  The fire warmed Polly’s chilled bones. Her mother’s alarms at the lateness of her arrival soon faded and a jolly mood prevailed, thanks in large part to James Drayton’s polite manners and easy good humor, a circumstance Polly thought strange. None of the things she’d heard about him ever gave mention of his personable social graces. In fact, most of the whispers she’d heard spoke of a cold man, one who did not care for the company of his fellows. Constance and Juliana hinted he was, moreover, one who treated females in much too cavalier a manner.

  As Polly watched James tease her mother out of her worries, she could detect nothing of the roué in his deportment. Rather, he appeared to strive to please. He pleased Mrs. MacNamara’s daughter, for a fact.

  Polly fingered her charms absently and wished they could spend more time like this, just the three of them, getting to know each other in an easy, friendly atmosphere. His offices were so formal. So cold. So—so—

  So much his life and not yours, Polly MacNamara, you foolish, foolish girl.

  The grim reality of their lives stole Polly’s smile for a good five minutes until James noticed its absence and teased it back again.