by Lyn Cote
She was struck dumb at the look in his eyes and could manage only a shake of her head.
He took her hand and she let him draw her away from the light over the back entrance to the dubious shelter between two cars. “Hey, I mean it. Surely you know how gorgeous you are?”
She gave him her profile. She knew she had features that were pleasant to the eye—her father’s use of her for political reasons was proof of that—but no one had ever talked to her this way. His flattery left her bemused. Was he teasing her?
His hands claimed her shoulders and he turned her to face him. “You’re beautiful, really lovely.” His voice was low, urgent, sincere. “Kitty told me about you but I didn’t believe it. That’s why I came home with her this weekend—to meet her friend Chloe.”
In the shadows, Chloe shook her head at him. She wanted to believe him, but it all seemed so unreal—to have seen this man for the first time only this morning, and yet to have him whispering in her ear now. “You can’t be serious,” she finally managed, trying to add a dose of commonsense to the moment.
He bent his face over hers and held it just inches away. Chloe had time to think, He’s going to kiss me. Then his lips brushed hers and her knees became jelly. She clung to his shoulders. She’d received chaste kisses before. But there was nothing chaste about the way Theran’s kiss progressed. He assaulted her mouth, insisting, invading. She was without defense. So she answered his every demand, letting her mouth become a part of his, and his a part of hers.
Finally he ended the kiss and folded her close. She heard his breathing—ragged, hard—as she rubbed her cheek against his stiff white collar and the smooth fabric of his suit jacket. Her hat fell to the earth and she didn’t care. She sniffed his collar and caught the scents of soap, starch, and him, his flesh. “No one’s ever kissed me like that,” she admitted, unable to stop herself.
“I believe it. You’re like an angel. Sweet, innocent, lovely. A man would think twice about touching you.”
“You keep that up, sir—” She tried to protect herself by lightening the tone. “—and you’ll turn my head.”
“But I don’t want an angel,” he went on as if she hadn’t spoken, “I want you as a woman.”
His candid words shook her. What did he mean, he wanted her as a woman? “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Out of her depth again, she tugged free of him.
“I’m rushing you, aren’t I?” He prevented her from leaving. His gaze captured hers as he cradled her face between his strong hands.
“You . . . you . . . I’m not used to men talking this way.” She recalled the way her father made up to women sometimes when he didn’t know she was listening. “Is that how gentlemen talk to ladies in New York? Is this your version of sweet talk?”
“This is no sweet talk,” Theran whispered close to her face, his breath warm against her skin. “Kitty dared me to meet you and not fall for you. She was right. You are my doom.”
“Why your doom?” Chloe felt as if she’d caught the tail end of a hurricane. Nothing he said was making sense. Surely he wasn’t serious? “Is that bad or good?”
“I know I’m rushing you, but I don’t have time. I saw this war coming and I enlisted. I didn’t want to miss a war from being slow. In a week, I report to training camp. I’ll be heading to France in a few months.”
The news struck her as if she’d known him forever—that his leaving would render her bereft and heartbroken. She reached for him. He moved closer, enfolding her, and she rested her hands on his lapels. “No.”
“Yes, I told Kitty that guys who enlisted and then fell in love were idiots. A man should have better control over himself—not leave a girl behind.” He shook his head. “But Kitty dared me to meet you and not fall for you. I should have known better. Kitty’s as sharp as they come.”
“You don’t know me.” Chloe slid her forefingers up and down his notched lapels. “I don’t know you.” This isn’t happening, she thought.
“How long does it take to fall in love?” He lowered his mouth and paused, leaving only a breath between their lips.
She stared at his chest, at the white shirt front against the black coat, gleaming in the low light. She shook her head.
“It only took me one minute.” He claimed her mouth again.
Every part of Chloe’s body was jolted once more into that peculiar heightened consciousness. She clung to his lapels as the world around her softened and blended. It felt as though she had become part of the night, of Theran and earthy spring. She pressed closer to him, letting his heat flow into her, warming her against the clammy, chill April evening.
The crunch of footsteps on gravel and a low voice inserted itself into Chloe’s consciousness. “Miss Chloe,” Roarke said politely.
She jerked away from Theran, allowing one startled glance at him before bringing her hand to her lips and turning away, unable to look either man in the eye. She heard Theran swear softly.
Roarke acted as if he hadn’t just caught them kissing. Calmly, he bent and picked up Chloe’s hat and offered it to her. “It’s time we went home.”
“It’s early yet,” Theran objected, his chin jutting toward the young banker. “We’ll come back inside. I’ll play by your rules.”
Chloe tucked her hair under her hat, flaming and vibrating with embarrassment.
“It’s time we got the ladies home.” Roarke took out his pocket watch and swung it in front of Theran. “After all, tomorrow is Sunday and church.”
With no further comment, Roarke turned for the car. Afraid to look at Theran, Chloe followed him. Mute, eyes downcast, she walked beside Roarke, her hands tucked into her elbows, her thoughts jumbled. What did Roarke think of her kissing a man she’d just met? And kissing like that—so wantonly? What if her mother ever found out? Chloe hadn’t behaved herself as a Carlyle of Ivy Manor should. Silent in her humiliation, she let Roarke lead her to his Model-T.
Kitty was waiting for them beside it. “Well, Mr. Black, was I right or what?” She ignored Roarke’s quick, angry look.
“You win, Kit—Miss Kitty,” Theran answered lightly. “I went down in flames.” At that, Chloe saw Roarke’s lips tighten as he handed her into the car.
For her own part, Chloe collected this strange exchange of words and promised herself she’d think them over later. Right now, all she could handle was the explosion of feeling inside her—the awareness of Theran that refused to quiet and the appalling realization that she hadn’t conducted herself as a lady should. Roarke’s stolid presence beside her in the car made the riot inside her even more acute.
Unaffected, Theran and Kitty chattered in the backseat while Chloe and Roarke rode in silence. After a moment, without a word, Roarke’s large comforting hand covered Chloe’s on the seat. It was like an unspoken acceptance of her, of her actions.
She glanced at Roarke’s profile. Then, within his grasp, she turned her hand up and linked her fingers between his. He squeezed her hand and held it. And Chloe relaxed. Roarke, her dear friend, didn’t think less of her and that meant a lot. Theran could go back to New York and brag about how he’d sweet-talked and kissed a Maryland girl. But she’d be okay.
In the paneled church sanctuary the next morning, Chloe sat in the Carlyle pew, the one her family had occupied since the new church had been built in 1827. The worn maple pew cradled her between her parents as she tried not to fidget. Her father always attended church during elections. Her mother attended when she was at Ivy Manor. She liked to scan her neighbors and pick out who was letting herself go, and who was flirting with whom.
Usually Chloe listened obediently to the formal liturgy and then the homily, trying to draw near to God. After all, that’s what she came to church for, wasn’t it? But today all her concentration honed in on the McCaslin family pew, which was to her right and several pews forward. In navy trousers and matching blazer Theran Black had come to church with the McCaslins. She couldn’t take her eyes off the back of his well-shaped head.
She wondered what thoughts were going on inside that head. She felt herself burn at the thought of the kisses they’d exchanged and at her own shameless willingness. She hadn’t acted like the lady she’d been raised to be. And she’d barely slept last night, going over and over what he’d said, why she’d given way like that. He was just sweet-talking me, she decided. I know that. I should just be glad for the fun of dancing the tango and having a college boy kiss me.
But it hadn’t felt like fun. He’d said things no man had ever said to her. At her debut, shy young men had danced at arm’s length with her and brought her glasses of punch and told her what colleges they would be attending. A few had come calling and sat with her mother and her in the parlor and drunk tea politely. But none of them had kissed her the way Theran had. None of them had talked of love and leaving for war.
Could she believe anything he’d said last night?
Everyone around her rose to say the Nicean Creed. Chloe was caught not paying attention and got to her feet a phrase into the Creed. Her mother looked at her suspiciously. Chloe closed her eyes as if in devout meditation and recited the words, “. . . very God of very God begotten not made being of one substance of the Father by whom all things were made . . .”
The service proceeded. The priest celebrated communion and then the organ swelled with a majestic postlude. Chloe walked between her parents up the aisle. She was very aware of the fact that Theran Black strode behind them. Was he watching her, following her? A dangerous and delicious shiver slithered up her spine.
At the door of the church, her mother greeted the priest languidly and asked after his wife. Chloe shook hands with him and her father pounded him on the shoulder. “Good sermon, preacher.”
Her mother’s lip curled.
As they moved away down the steps, Kitty accosted them. “Mr. Kimball, Miss Lily, I don’t think you’ve met my classmate Theran Black.”
Shaken, Chloe kept her eyes downcast as Theran bowed over her mother’s gloved hand and shook her father’s. “It’s an honor to meet you, sir. I caught part of your speech yesterday. Good luck on your candidacy.”
The older man beamed.
“But,” Theran said, claiming Chloe’s hand, “I was most impressed by your daughter’s speech for you. You, sir, are fortunate indeed to have such a lovely supporter.”
Chloe couldn’t stop the blush that warmed her cheeks as she gazed up at him, tongue-tied, knowing every gossip in the county had cocked an ear her way.
“You have a discerning eye, sir,” her father approved. “It’s too bad you’re leavin’ for New York today or we’d invite you to Ivy Manor.”
“As it turns out, we will be taking a later train.” Theran turned to the McCaslins. “Kitty here wants to stay just a bit longer. She’ll miss her early Monday classes, but it will give me a chance to get to know your lovely daughter better.”
For once, her father didn’t appear to have a ready reply.
“May I call on you this afternoon, Miss Chloe?” Theran asked, a grin in his eyes.
Chloe glanced at her father and then her mother. Both looked startled. She took advantage of this. “Yes, of course, Mr. Black. I—My parents and I look forward to receiving you.”
CHAPTER THREE
Later that afternoon, Theran sat beside Chloe on the edge of an antique settee. Rich mahogany and warm maple gleamed with a mellow polish and he was aware that the room must be filled with old family pieces. The exterior alone of Chloe’s home, a white-pillared and ivied manor, should have been enough to tell him he was out of his league. But the interior bespoke a daunting history of wealth and family heritage. Now, in the formal parlor, the atmosphere wasn’t chilly. It was frigid.
Mrs. Kimball’s nose was in the air. Across from him, she sat like the queen, her back stiffly held away from touching the matching loveseat. She’d just poured tea from a sterling silver tea service. Having refused a cup, Mr. Kimball stood by the fireplace. He had one hand on the ornate mantel and one hand in his jacket pocket and looked as if he were about to begin a speech.
Edging forward on the settee, Theran turned sideways to face both the parents. Chloe sat frozen beside him like a store mannequin. Was she having second thoughts? Her pale loveliness had captivated him all over again. She had “beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear.” He didn’t have words of his own to describe her, so he was left quoting Shakespeare. But she’d barely looked at him when he’d been announced by the Negro butler. He couldn’t believe Chloe had a butler. Not even Kitty’s family had a butler. He’d only seen butlers in moving pictures. Meeting Haines at the door had thrown him. And a young, pretty black maid in uniform had brought in the tea tray. Had he come on a fool’s errand?
He stiffened his resolve and suppressed the urge to tug at his tight white collar. “Faint heart ne’er won fair lady,” or something like that. He grinned. He’d never been beaten yet.
“Excellent tea, Mrs. Kimball,” he said and gave the grande dame his most charming smile—one that usually sweetened up mothers and austere aunts.
“What are you studyin’ up at that college?” Chloe’s father asked, giving him the beady eye.
Theran smiled to himself. The old man didn’t want him taking anything for granted. “I’m a civil engineering major.” Theran remembered Kitty’s coaching and added, “sir.”
“And what does a civil engineer do?” Mr. Kimball gave Theran his full and unflattering attention. Theran was reminded of a bulldog.
“The automobile is going to change the way America travels.” Theran infused his voice with confidence. “I’ll be planning bridges, routes, viaducts for the new highways automobile travel will demand.”
Chloe looked sideways at him. “That sounds interesting, don’t you think, Daddy—”
“Think you’ll make a good living at that?” Her father cut her off and rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet.
Theran gave Chloe a reassuring smile. “I’m glad you asked that, sir. Yes, I’ll make a good living and will be able to support a wife. You see, that’s why I’m here. I want to ask your permission to court your lovely daughter.”
Chloe’s lips parted, but she said nothing.
Theran wondered why. She’d acted the shy little thing yesterday—but only until he’d kissed her. After last night, she couldn’t be opposed to his suit, could she? Not after the way she’d returned his kisses. His blood warmed nicely at the remembrance.
Mrs. Kimball sat up straighter and gave Theran an affronted look. “You presume too much, young man—”
Mr. Kimball was laughing. “No, he doesn’t. If he’d presumed too much, he wouldn’t have asked for permission.”
“Just so, sir.” Theran’s thin china cup and saucer rattled briefly as he set them down on the piecrust table beside him. “I realize that you don’t know me, but I can give you references if you wish. If Chloe were a New York coed, this would be easier. We’d date awhile and then I’d be taken home to meet her parents. But Kitty explained to me that courtship is a little more old-fashioned out of the city.”
“We certainly don’t act as rashly as this,” Mrs. Kimball said in a dismissive voice. “You just met Chloe last night and we know nothing of your background, your family. You can’t make me believe that you—”
“He’s young.” Her husband cut her off, his voice a slashing counterpoint to her heated tone. Theran had never heard his quiet, dignified father use that tone of voice to Theran’s mother. He looked back and forth between man and wife.
“And there’s a war on.” Mr. Kimball paced back and forth in front of the fireplace. “He’ll be drafted soon—”
“I’ve enlisted, sir,” Theran said. “And I’ll leave for officer’s training camp in a week’s time.” He stood and faced Chloe’s father squarely. “I took my final exams early and my degree will be mailed to my parents after the commencement in May. I’ll be in uniform by then, trained and ready to sail for France.”
“Indeed?” Mr. Kimball li
fted both eyebrows, but a cagey look lingered in his eyes.
Theran didn’t have time to try to figure out what that meant. “Yes, I couldn’t wait around for the draft board. I like to be in the thick of things.”
“Then your suit is most certainly out of the question,” Mrs. Kimball declared.
“I won’t be gone long.” Theran turned to her. “The Germans are hanging on by their fingernails. A few sorties by fresh American troops and they’ll lay down their arms and surrender. Germany is nearly bankrupt.”
“I honor you, young man.” Kimball used the same voice Theran had heard him use at yesterday’s speech. “Europeans will be no match for our doughboys.”
“That is neither here nor there,” Mrs. Kimball snapped. “I’m sure you are a patriotic and even admirable young man, but my daughter will marry a gentleman—”
“Mrs. Kimball—” Theran interrupted, but to no avail. The grande dame marched on.
“The Carlyles, my family, have lived in this house for over two hundred years. Our ancestors arrived on the Dove, one of the first two ships to arrive in Maryland.” She lifted her voice and squared her slender shoulders. “We have connections to the peerage in England. Who are your parents, Mr. Black?”
“My father owns a grocery store in Buffalo, New York.” Theran looked her directly in the eye. “He’s of Scottish descent. My parents don’t appear on any social register.”
“A grocer?” Mrs. Kimball looked aghast.
“It’s an honest way to make a living.” Theran was stung by her expression. “My father has a large library and is an intelligent man but circumstances prevented him from fulfilling his dream of a college education. I’m benefiting from his ambition and so will my sister. I am not now nor will I ever be ashamed of my parentage.”
Mrs. Kimball frowned and glared at the same time. “No doubt, but Chloe has been to finishing school.”
“Well, I won’t hold that against her.” Theran grinned. He couldn’t be too angry with Chloe’s mother. After all, his mother wouldn’t be thrilled to hear he’d fallen in love with a girl she’d never even met.