Gift of Gold

Jonas had said something about joining her in the spa. But it was obvious he had other plans for the evening. Another chess game, probably.
    She could hardly blame him, she told herself. After all, she hadn’t been very encouraging all day. The man had a right to suspect she wanted to be alone tonight. But the truth was that she didn’t want to be alone. For better or worse, she was getting accustomed to having Jonas Quarrel around in the evenings.
    With a barely stifled groan of frustration, Verity let herself into the empty spa room and undressed. She had rarely needed the therapy of the pools as much as she did tonight, she reflected as she slipped into the hot, aromatic water. Her love life was a disaster, some gunman had nearly killed Jonas and her father, and she had spent the day sniping at the two people she loved.
    At least Jonas hadn’t been turned into a killer by the whole thing. She didn’t waste any sympathy on the man he had downed with his knife, but she was grateful that Jonas wouldn’t have to add one more ghost to his collection. He had enough phantoms in his eyes.
    She leaned back against the tile, closed her eyes, and sent out a silent apology to Jonas. Depressingly confident that she was not the least bit telepathic, she added a mental call for him to join her in the baths. It would be so much easier to use passion rather than words as a means of smoothing over the awkwardness between them. She was not good at apologizing to men like her father or Jonas who seemed inclined to get themselves into trouble. They hardly qualified as innocent victims in this world; therefore, she felt a strong tendency to lecture them on their flaws.
    No, she told herself, she definitely did not owe Jonas or Emerson an apology for her short temper today. Both men were far too much at ease with violence. They didn’t need to be coddled or encouraged in that direction.
    Half an hour later. Verity realized Jonas wasn’t going to show. So much for her poor powers of telepathy. She would become a prune if she stayed in the spa any longer.
    Slowly she got out of the pool, dried herself, and dressed in her jeans and shirt. She left her hair pinned up in a shower of curls clustered at the top of her head. Then she let herself out of the spa and started back toward her cabin.
    The lights in her father’s cottage were still on, she noticed as she neared her place. The chess game must be a nightlong marathon.
    For a long moment she stood on the path, trying to make up her mind. Going over to the other cottage would probably look like an act of feminine weakness on her part. Men such as Emerson and Jonas would be quick to pounce on any sign of weakness.
    But she had nearly lost both of them last night and the knowledge would send chills through her for a long time to come.
    Verity made up her mind. Flinging her damp towel over her shoulder, she strode up the path to the cottage. Her brusque knock was met with a slurred response.
    “Enter at your own risk,” Emerson called.
    Verity winced. Her father sounded as if he’d had one too many vodkas. When she opened the door and stepped hesitantly inside, she saw that she was right. Nor was her father the only one who had made inroads into the new bottle of vodka that Emerson must have purchased that afternoon. Jonas was sprawled on a chair, his legs stretched out in front of him, his dark hair falling forward over one eye.
    The remains of an unfinished chess game sat on a table. Jonas’s golden eyes glittered at her between narrowed lids as she entered. He lifted his glass in mocking salute.
     
    “
Behold, my lady doth appear,
a noble goddess, fair and wise.
    She doth fill the room with beauty
and
a warmth
which lasts until
    You see the shrew
who
looks at you from the depths of blue-green eyes.
”
     
    “What are you two celebrating?” Verity asked mildly.
    “Got the money wired to Yarington this afternoon,” Emerson announced. “We’re celebrating the fact that no one else is going to show up on our front door step with a mini-howitzer this evening.”
    “That’s a reassuring piece of news.” Verity peered at Jonas. “Are you very drunk?”
    “If I’m not, I will be soon. I’m working hard on the project. You should be proud of me, little tyrant. You’re always giving me lectures telling me how I should apply myself and stick with something until I’m successful. I’ve decided to take your advice. Tonight I am applying myself. I’m going to get