And then she thought of Tansy.
Mona was aware that Kat sometimes confided in Tansy and that Tansy never told a soul. She kept the silence of the confessional, whether by design or inner flaw. Mona herself had never taken advantage of it, content to share all her secrets with Fitz. But even she had experienced the power of Tansy’s serenity to banish terror.
Serenity seemed as far away as the galaxy’s edge. All morning, Mona’s every thought had been ambushed by wonder and terror and debilitating indecision. She had considered buying a pregnancy test and enabling herself, perhaps, to laugh away her fears.
But part of her was already certain. And part of her cringed from confirmation because then she would have to act. She would have to take steps…to end or to begin. Each was fraught with fear, ponderous with implications.
What Mona desired more than anything else was to put off any reckoning. Her queasy stomach roiled in a sea of tumult, and her mind swayed precariously atop the mast.
So it was that she found herself at her father’s apartment while he was out once again with Julie Hart. She resisted the urge to comment on how often that was happening, instead exchanging perfunctory greetings with Mrs. Hodgson. Mona walked down the hall toward Tansy’s bedroom, drawn toward her sister as lodestone and savior. In Tansy’s refuge, would she find answers?
Tansy sat on the floor, an ancient hatbox in her lap. Photographs lay like a shower of rose petals on the floor around her. With one delicate fingertip, Tansy traced the faces in the photo held gently in her hand. A sweet, sad smile played on her lips.
“Tansy?” Mona said quietly.
Tansy turned, the unfamiliar glitter of tears in her eyes. To Mona’s knowledge, Tansy had seldom, in all these years, cried over anything. She drifted through life with a calm that Mona envied, protected somehow by the spindrift of her dreams.
“What’s wrong?” Her own problems superceded, she moved to Tansy’s side. “Why are you crying, sweetheart?”
“Look, Mona. It’s Mama with Paris and me.”
Mona accepted the offered photo of her mother with the infant twins in a rocking chair Mona could almost hear creaking. “Nana’s front porch.” She sank to the floor beside her sister, stung by longing, sharp and bittersweet. For a moment, she could hear Nana’s rooster crowing, hear the constant West Texas wind playing the bass note beneath a quiet so deep it settled into your bones.
“She seems so happy,” Tansy said.
Mona couldn’t take her gaze off the photo, suddenly feeling a kinship with her mother she’d never experienced. Her mother had experienced this sea change not once but three times. How had she felt? Had she been terrified, too? Or had she possessed something lacking in Mona, an inner certainty that she would be enough? Had Juliette been afraid or elated? Had she realized the cost she’d bear? She’d had a career far more glamorous than Mona’s.
“She loved you both so much.” If her mother had ever had doubts, it seemed they’d been dismissed when the twins arrived. Mona couldn’t begrudge Tansy their mother’s devotion. Twins required a lot of care, and she’d been born too soon after.
“She loved you, too. She called you her Rose Red.”
Mona reared back in surprise. “I’d forgotten.”
“Her dark-haired beauty. The good princess,” Tansy teased. “Paris and I were her handful, recall her saying that?”
Mona grinned. “Someone had to behave. You seldom did.”
Tansy giggled, then returned to digging in the hatbox. Soon, she found what she sought, and placed it in Mona’s hands. “She had enough love for all of us.”
Mona glanced down, and her breath stalled. It was her mother and herself at perhaps five. Memory stirred. Her first day of kindergarten, and her mother had insisted on taking Mona alone. Their housekeeper had escorted the twins to school separately. Mona could almost feel the crisp morning air of September, the brush against her leg of the bag of pencils and crayons and scissors. Her hand clutching her mother’s as they walked up the sidewalk toward the school steps.
Then her mother knelt before her, one hand outstretched. In her palm lay a bracelet with one tiny charm. A heart.
As she fastened it around Mona’s wrist, Juliette spoke. “I’m sending my heart with you, sweet girl. I’ll be there with you every minute. You’re going to have a wonderful time at school, but if you ever feel the tiniest bit lonely, just touch this heart and feel my arms around you.” Juliette embraced Mona. “You’re my brave, good girl. You’re going to be your teacher’s pride and joy.” Leaning back, she held Mona’s shoulders. “After school, it’s your job to return my heart to me. And I’ll be waiting to hear every single thing about your day. All right?”
The grown Mona could hear the tears the child had not. She cupped her hand around the photograph of her beautiful golden mother and the darkling child and wondered where the charm had gone. “I wanted to see her again, Tansy.” A long-buried sob crowded her throat. “Why did she let Daddy abandon us? Why couldn’t I be with her one more time, too?”
“I don’t know,” Tansy soothed, gathering her into a hug. “She had our pictures by her bed in the hospital. She held yours and Kat’s in her hands while she slept.”
Mona reared back. “You remember that?”
Tiny lines appeared between Tansy’s brows. “I…” Her gaze slid inward. Quietly, she continued. “She was still pretty. So pretty. She hugged us, but it hurt her to be touched. Paris hugged too hard, and she made this sound—”
Mona held her breath, wondering why, after all this time, memory reared its head.
“Paris cried. He asked to stay, but we had to go back to Carlton’s.” She wrapped her arms around herself, fixing her gaze past Mona’s shoulder, slender frame rocking.
“Tansy?” Mona touched her sister’s shoulder, but Tansy pulled away and rose to her feet. She walked to the window and stared down at the park, still holding herself. Still rocking.
“Tansy, what’s wrong?” What was she recollecting?
Tansy’s head shook from side to side with the steady beat of a pendulum. “No,” she whispered. “No, Daddy, I don’t want to go.”
“Where?” Mona frowned. “Where don’t you want to go?” When her sister said nothing, Mona tried again. “Tansy?”
“Don’t let him take me away, Mona.”
“Who? Take you where?”
But her sister didn’t answer. Instead, Tansy pirouetted, her skirt lifting in a graceful arc with her movement, her mood suddenly light. “I dreamed of my prince, and now he’s here, just as Mama said. He’ll save me.”
Oh, Tansy. She’d gone away again. Mona would hear no more about her mother. She would not confide.
Tansy’s eyes spoke of sorrow. “I miss him so much. He makes me feel safe. But in my dreams he still comes to me.” She glanced up. “I painted his face. Would you like to see?”
Mona couldn’t care less about Tansy’s imaginary prince, but she stifled the urge to weep and rail at the fates that had stolen her sister from her just as surely as they’d taken Paris and her mother. She summoned a smile. “Absolutely. Let’s have a look.”
She followed Tansy into her tiny studio. The painting was stunning, a bold knight on white charger. The knight’s helmet had tumbled to the ground, and raven hair spilled around his shoulders.
At first glance, he appeared handsome and strong, just as she’d expect. But when she stepped closer, she realized his was not a young, smooth face. This knight had eyes older than time. Though he smiled, it was not the triumph of an invincible champion. The weight of great suffering shadowed his face.
“Who is he?” she asked, frowning. Something about him…
“My prince.”
“No, I mean who’s the model?”
“My prince.” Tansy reached out as if to stroke the face, but her fingers halted just shy of the still-wet paint, her eyes soft and her mouth tilting slightly at the corners.
Mona sighed and turned away. She didn’t give a hoot about som
e imaginary prince. She needed to go back to the pictures, to dig deeper and find out if Tansy had other memories of their mother’s last days that might give Mona the answers she needed.
Wanted to confide. Tansy, I think I’m going to have a baby.
But Tansy had slid once more behind the mists. Mona grasped for a way to bring her back, though she knew from experience that you had to take what you got with Tansy.
Then she remembered one task she hadn’t yet completed, though her father’s party seemed frivolous and unreal to her now. No matter; she’d promised. “I’d like to see your new dress, Tansy. May I?”
Tansy’s eyes danced with delight. “Want me to try it on?”
“Sure.” Mona cast one last glance at the careworn prince, then followed her sister back to her room.
In her workspace at the gallery, Kat lined up two sections of framing material. She hummed while she labored, her mind lost in memories of Gamble. His hands. His body. How he made her feel—
“That could almost resemble a tune.”
Kat whirled, gasping. “Armand—” She pressed one hand between her breasts. “You scared the hell out of me.”
His green eyes scanned her face, implacable as always. “You look very well, Katharina. Something agrees with you.” He removed his coat, then his gaze dropped to the workbench behind her. His focus shifted from her as he stepped closer to the sketch she was framing.
“It’s only a—”
“Sh-h.” All his attention centered on the sketch, until he spotted two more. He picked up first one, then the other.
Kat would have stood for this from no one else. Armand was as knowledgeable a collector as she’d ever met; still, this was personal. He was her closest friend, but she felt somehow naked.
And not simply because she was naked in the sketches.
“Gamble Smith?” he asked.
Unsigned though they were, still Armand recognized them.
“Yes.”
He stood motionless, focused on the drawings. Kat felt like nothing so much as a schoolgirl called into the headmaster’s office.
She laughed. “Shocked? Not you, surely.” Nothing could dampen her mood. In an hour or so, she’d be with Gamble. Probably naked again.
God, she hoped so. She was far from having her fill of him yet.
“Were I ever easily shocked, you’d have cured me of that by now.” The faintest trace she couldn’t quite pinpoint prowled through his voice. He turned to her, oddly intent. “Be cautious, Katharina. This one will not take it well when you decide to move on to greener fields.”
“Maybe I won’t—” She stopped in shock.
Armand appeared just as startled. After a long pause, he cocked one dark eyebrow. “I see.” He glanced away, and Kat waited to hear more.
One muscle ticked in his jaw as he stared at an empty wall. She was surprised by a strong need, however foolish or unexpected, to have his understanding. His approval. The feeling was most unusual. And unwelcome. “Armand, it’s none—”
“None of my business? I suppose that’s true.” Again, the odd note. “Unless you consider that I happen to be concerned about your welfare.”
She went stiff. “Your investment is safe. I won’t run away to Texas and abandon the gallery.”
Disappointment painted the curve of his mouth, deepened furrows between his eyes. “I wasn’t thinking of my money, Kat.” His use of her nickname was almost as surprising as the tenderness in his voice. “It’s your heart that concerns me.”
She snorted, safe in the euphoria that had kept her head buzzing for days. And nights…nights unlike any she’d ever known. Just the idea that she’d be with Gamble again tonight had the power to muddle her thoughts. She’d lost a lot of hours to daydreaming lately, though she’d never voice a one.
But beneath the glare of Armand’s scrutiny, her euphoria slipped, melting away as fog in noonday sun.
“My heart’s the same as it ever was.”
“Your capacity for self-deception has always been remarkable.”
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
Smiling like a damn Cheshire cat, he returned his attention to the sketches. “Will you hang them in the gallery?”
Her response was emphatic. “No.”
That eyebrow again. “These would sell for a pretty penny, my dear.”
“Don’t ‘my dear’ me. You make yourself sound a thousand years old.”
“I seem to recollect being called fatherly.”
She grinned. “You can’t hold me responsible for what I say when I’m mad.”
“What about when you’re in love? Are you to be held accountable then?”
“Love?” she scoffed, even as a shiver rippled up her spine. Don’t fall in love with me, Kat. I won’t be good for you. She resorted to reliable defenses. “Love and I are not on speaking terms.” She reached for the sketches, no longer comfortable with Armand’s perusal. “Go get your own dirty pictures, Delacroix. The peep show’s over.”
One hand touched her arm. “I’m sorry if I’m making you uncomfortable, Katharina. They’re stunning. Certainly you are aware of that.”
She wasn’t confident of anything. Too much was jumbled up inside her now.
“You’re right not to hang them here. They’re much too intimate.” True to the gentleman he had always been, Armand stepped away. “Have you decided on your next show?” Smoothly, he shifted the topic.
She should have been grateful. Instead, she felt the sting of conflicting urges: to demand that he retract the ridiculous idea that she could be falling in love with Gamble Smith. And the equally strong desire to lean her head against his shoulder, just for a moment. To ask him for advice.
Ridiculous. If he didn’t laugh at her, she’d definitely do it herself.
So Kat grasped at the conversational lifeline he’d thrown. “The bedsprings are still available.”
Armand glanced over his shoulder, a frown already forming. Then he saw her grin. And chuckled, nodding as if the idea were worthy of consideration. “It would definitely establish your credentials.”
Her eyebrows lifted. “As—?”
“Someone who refuses to knuckle under to the tyranny of good taste.”
Kat laughed, and Armand laughed with her, all discomfort forgiven. It felt so good that she should have left well enough alone, but that would be a stretch she’d not yet managed. Poking sticks into anthills was one of the things Kat did best.
Their laughter slid away, and the urge to know seized her and wouldn’t let go.
“Armand, have you ever been in love?”
The green eyes she’d trusted as no others shied away from hers, a swift spear of darkness lancing through them. For the first time, Kat realized she had the power to hurt this good man. It was a revelation: the urbane, ever-controlled Armand Delacroix was not made of stone. “I’m sorry. It’s not my place—”
“That’s true. It isn’t.” Seconds passed, the air between them shimmering with more than she knew how to interpret.
Then she remembered the way he’d looked at Tansy and felt ashamed of herself. No matter how beautiful or sweet Tansy was, a man of Armand’s sophistication would be acquiring a lifelong burden with her care.
“Never mind.” She returned to her workbench, put up her tools. There would be no more creation tonight. All at once, she yearned to be with Gamble, to indulge in the flesh and let her mind rest from the turbulence Armand had introduced.
“Yes.”
“What?”
He chuckled faintly. “Try to keep your mind on the questions you’re asking, Katharina. Yes, I’ve been in love.”
“Did you do anything about it?”
“I’ve never married, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“Why not?”
“My mother would tell you that I’m a romantic.” A faint frown crossed his face. “One day I might have to admit to her that she’s correct, I’m sorry to say. Watching my parents conduct a forty-five-yea
r love affair has perhaps kept my standards too high. I’ve never been willing to settle for less. Never thought I’d find a woman who wouldn’t bore me over the course of a lifetime. Then I found her, but—” His tone was wry and world-weary. “Not that it’s any of your business, but the lady is not available to return my affections.”
“And you’re just leaving it at that?”
Armand smiled. “Sometimes you’re so young.”
“Don’t patronize me,” she snapped.
But his smile only widened. “Has it never occurred to you that you are a romantic to the bone, Katharina?”
If he’d slapped her, Kat couldn’t have been more shocked. “That’s absurd. You’re dead wrong, Armand.” Her fingers fumbled on her tools, and she dropped one.
He was there first with a lightning, muscular grace she seldom remembered he had. Usually, he moved as though he possessed all the time in the world and might miss something delectable if he hurried.
He placed the awl in her hand. Kat felt the brush of warm fingers. Armand touched her only rarely, and somehow the impact was too strong for everything else tangled inside her tonight.
He stepped back, his voice carefully neutral. “Think what you will. We seldom see ourselves clearly.” His gaze flicked to his wristwatch. “I have to go. Shall I escort you home first?”
She could hear his impatience and felt an absurd reluctance to let him depart.
Gamble. She had to see Gamble. A round of fast, hot sex would make everything tumble into place. “No,” she said, “But thank you. I still have a few things to do around here.”
“Before you go to him.”
She tilted her chin higher. “Yes.”
He nodded evenly. “I won’t ask you again to be careful. It would be asking a bird to walk instead of fly.” That darkness flashed again, so briefly she might have imagined it. “I will, however, ask you to remember that I am your friend. Call me if you need me.”
So gently was it said that Kat felt the prick of tears. All at once, she saw him as she never had. He’s lonely. A wealthy man who could not have what he most wanted. “Armand…”
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