“I just did what the director told me to do.”
“You don’t know anything about the history of San Francisco? Or your character, Cole Goodman? What about Sam Kendal? Or Bess Kendal?”
“Whoa.” He put up his hand. “Slow down. Is this a test? Do you often harass men with so many questions?”
I pulled back, feeling both embarrassed and chastised. “I’m just curious.”
“I don’t remember much about any of it.” He reached into his coat again and this time pulled out the flask. He held his finger to his lips as if to suggest I be quiet, then took a sip of the contents. “I’ll only have a little,” he said with a wink.
Irritation replaced my embarrassment. I wasn’t a prude, but I also wasn’t willing to get into trouble—with the press, the authorities, or my fans. My voice hardened. “If you plan to drink while we’re together, then this agreement is off, Mr. Hayes. My father was right. I have a reputation to uphold, and I cannot be—”
“Whoa,” he said again, slipping the flask into his coat, frowning. “You’re serious, aren’t you?”
“Of course I’m serious.” I spoke louder than I intended and had to lower my voice as I checked to see if anyone noticed. “If we’re going to make people believe we’re romantically involved, then you’ll have to act like a man I would date.”
He gave me a devastating smile, one I’m sure he’d used on countless other women. “No one will have a hard time believing you’re interested in me.”
I wasn’t about to fall for it, so I gave him a look that wiped away his smile.
“You’re right.” He held up his hands. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I won’t drink again.”
“Perhaps this wasn’t a good idea.” I scanned the ballroom for Mr. Mayer.
Spencer sobered as he took a step closer. “I’m sorry, Miss Bennett. Really, I am. I need this more than you might realize. I can play by the rules. Trust me.”
I studied his earnest face, looking for any pretense or guile, and found none.
“Fine. But I will have Mr. Mayer’s lawyer include a caveat in the contract. If you drink even a drop of alcohol during this agreement, all bets are off.”
“You have my word. I will be a saint—today is the last day I’ll drink.”
It went against my better judgment, but I nodded and then turned to leave him.
“Miss Bennett?”
“Yes?”
“There is one thing I remember about San Francisco from 1849. The first big fire took place just before midnight on August 30, 1849.”
Frowning, I asked, “How do you remember that?”
“Because August 30th is my birthday.” His handsome smile was lopsided. “Tomorrow I turn thirty-two.”
“Happy birthday.”
He started to walk backward. “This year is looking better than the last one. I’ll see you in the morning.” With a final salute, he turned and joined the others on the dance floor.
I sighed, already regretting my decision.
Vicky’s gaze followed me across the room, and when I smiled at her, she turned back to her friend.
I went to the punch bowl to fill a glass but realized with sudden clarity that if I didn’t get Hazel and Father out of Bess’s Place tomorrow, we might be caught in the fire that Sam would start.
And that Bess would die in.
3
August 30, 1849
