Read Online Midnight Star by Catherine Coulter - Free Book Online

and dainty figure. She already treated his house with proprietary complacency, as did her mother and wealthy father, Henry Stevenson. Henry, known to his business cronies as Bunker, was beginning to press him, intimating in that brash, loud voice of his that his little girl could have her pick of eligible men.
    It was true. There were still few marriageable ladies in San Francisco. The majority of women were whores, rich men’s mistresses, or tight-lipped matrons who sought continually to improve the society of the city with their endless subscription balls, charity dinners, and Shakespearean productions. Penelope was quite pretty, Delaney thought objectively, pretty when her little mouth did not pout or turn down sullenly at the corners. And for some reason, she wanted him. Why was he still hesitating to ask that fatal question? He shook his head, knowing well the answer. He didn’t love Penelope. She was eighteen years old, still childish in so many ways, capricious, vain, utterly spoiled by her doting father, and an outrageous flirt.
    “Mr. Saxton, do you want me to take Brutus to the stable?”
    Delaney turned at the sound of Lucas’ deep, rumbling voice.
    “Yes, please, Lucas. The old fellow needs agood rubdown.” He added ruefully, “And I’ve been a poor master, standing here like a fool, woolgathering.”
    “Miss Stevenson and Mrs. Stevenson will be here soon, sir, for tea.”
    Delaney snorted. “Tea, for God’s sake,” he muttered. “As far as I know, Mrs. Stevenson has not one whit of English blood in her fat veins.”
    Lucas’ bland expression didn’t change. “Lin Chou has made cakes, but I don’t think they’re particularly English. Made with rice.”
    Delaney laughed. “I suppose I had better see to improving my appearance. I’m certain Mrs. Stevenson won’t approve of male sweat.”
    “Likely not,” said Lucas. “You were at the post office, sir?”
    “Yes. I’ve a letter from my brother in New York.” He saw Lucas’ face drop and said with more optimism than he actually felt, “Not a letter today from your sister, Lucas. You know the mails as well as I do.”
    “Aye, I know.” But Lucas was disappointed. His sister, Julia, lived in Baltimore. Lucas had written her dozens of letters, begging her to join him in San Francisco. She would agree in one letter, only to put him off in the next.
    Delaney patted Brutus’ glossy neck and strode into his house. His booted steps sounded loud on the Chinese granite entryway, and the large chandelier overhead rattled with his movement. He climbed the beautiful carved oak staircase to the upper floor. His bedroom was enormous, the floor covered with several beautiful carpets from China. The huge bed was made of rosewood, as were the night table and armoire. Possessions, he thought,standing quietly for a moment in the middle of the room. At last I have all the possessions I could wish for, and still . . . A large high-backed sofa faced the marble fireplace, with two wing chairs flanking it. Delaney sank down into one of the chairs and pulled his brother’s letter from his waistcoat pocket.
    “Dear Del,” he read, “I hope this letter finds you in your usual good health. Actually I will be glad if this letter finds you! Giana is doing splendidly, as are Leah and Nicolas. My life is never dull, I can promise you.” Delaney skimmed the next page of the letter that dealt with Alex’s business and suggestions to Delaney on investments he might consider. “Speaking of investments, brother, I’m enclosing a clipping from the London Times. Wasn’t Sir Alec FitzHugh one of the men who invested in your mine in Downieville? It appears he’s quite dead, has been, as you can see from the clipping, for nearly ten months now. Unfortunately, Giana and I hadn’t noticed it. In fact, she was wrapping a gift to send to her mother when she came across the paper, and wondered if you knew about his demise. I trust you were duly informed long ago by his