"How are you going to prove anything? There's no woman here."
"You're a woman, and you're here."
"But you're not interested in me."
He stood. "I'm very interested in you."
She backed away a step. "Only because you think I'm allowing my father to drink and endanger his patients."
"This particular interest has nothing to do with that."
"What interest?"
"I'd rather show you than talk about it."
"I'd rather you talked about it."
She looked ready to run out of the room. "Are you afraid of me?"
"No."
"Then why are you backing away?"
"I didn't realize I was."
He stepped forward, and she immediately retreated a step. "See, you did it again."
"It's habit. I'm not used to being alone in a room with a strange man."
"You've known me for two weeks. Your father's patients have an excuse to think of me as a stranger. You don't."
"I'm still not comfortable being in a room alone with you."
"Why?"
How do you tell a man you like him and are attracted to him at the same time as you're angry about what he's doing despite the fact you respect him for standing up for his principles? He'd think she was crazy. Sometimes she wondered if she wasn't a little bit crackbrained.
"Are you afraid of men?" he asked.
"No."
"And you do like them."
"Of course I like them. What kind of question is that?"
"The kind you asked me."
"I didn't mean it that way. It's just that you seem so obsessed with Vivian, you don't see other women as women. I mean, not the same way you see Vivian."
He smiled and came a step closer. She held her ground.
"Believe me, I'm able to make the connection."
"I'm glad," she said, wringing her hands nervously. "I was worried."
"In what way?"
He came closer. She desperately wanted to retreat, but she held her ground even though her heart seemed to be beating too fast for her to take a deep breath. "I was afraid you might never find Vivian. Or that if you did, she would be married, or wouldn't love you, or you wouldn't..."
She let the sentence die away. He was looking at her in a way that made her temperature rise so quickly she expected perspiration to pop out on her forehead.
"If you couldn't see other women as women, you wouldn't have anybody. I mean, you wouldn't fall in love and get married."
"Why would I need to get married?"
"Every man wants to get married," she said, searching blindly for responses because her brain wasn't working as well as it should. He was too close, and his expression was akin to that of a cat about to pounce on a particularly tasty morsel. If she hadn't known he was obsessed with Vivian, she'd have sworn he was about to pull her into an embrace.
"Some men prefer a mistress," he said. "That way they're not tied to one person for the rest of their lives."
"But what about children?"
"They prefer to devote their lives to pleasure rather than providing for progeny."
"Is that how you feel?"
"I don't know about progeny, but I'm all for pleasure."
"One shouldn't indulge in pleasure without responsibility," she said. Her feet had carried her backward, bringing her up against the wall, her escape cut off by a chair and a table.
"Why not?"
"It's not right." That sounded like the kind of answer a person gave when she knew she was wrong and couldn't think of a reason to support her position.
"What's not right about it? If it involves just two people, whom are they hurting?"
"Nothing can ever involve just two people. Unless it was Adam and Eve. And even they had God and the snake to worry about."
She knew she was sounding like an idiot.
"I guess the two people would have to decide whose needs are more important, their own or those of the people around them," he said.
"They'd be very selfish not to consider other people."
"Satisfying one's needs doesn't mean one can't satisfy the needs of another person at the same time." He was practically touching her now.
"I think trying to keep everybody's needs straight would be too complicated."
"A very good point. Let's forget everybody else's needs and think only about our own."
"Our own!" Her voice ended in a squeak.
"You need proof I'm interested in women other than Vivian."
"I believe you."
"But I won't be happy until I've banished every doubt."
He reached out and took hold of her hands. She gripped them together to stop their nervous movement.
"Why are you frightened?" he asked.
"I'm not."
"Nervous, then?"
"I don't know what you're going to do."
"Does my holding your hands make you nervous?"
"No." It really didn't. Anybody could hold a person's hand. People did it all the time. He'd pried them apart and now held each of her hands in one of his. It should have been a simple act, a harmless act, even a practically meaningless act, but it wasn't. She felt that something momentous was about to happen. Maybe it already had.
"You ought to be used to men wanting to hold your hand or put their arms around your waist. You're a very attractive woman. Beau Stregghorn saw that right away."
"I don't know any men like Beau Stregghorn."
He placed her hands on his chest, forcing her to come closer to him. The energy pouring out of him rushed through her body, sapping her strength, making it nearly impossible for her muscles to function. When her father was in Scotland, a medical student from South America had told him about catching hold of an electric eel and feeling as if his body was jolted with so much energy, he couldn't control his muscles. That was how she felt now.
"Maybe you ought to meet some new men."
"I'm content with my life as it is."
His smile was almost sly, as if he'd caught her at last with no possible means of escape. "Maybe your mind is content, but your body isn't."
"What makes you say that?"
"You're trembling again."
He'd released his grip on her fingers and was running his hands up her arms toward her elbows. The nerve endings in her skin telegraphed his progress to her brain at a screaming pitch. Not even Beau had caressed her like this.
"I'm just not used to what you're doing."
"What am I doing?"
Driving me crazy, she wanted to shout. She wanted to break contact and run from the room, but something even more powerful prevented her from moving out of Holt's reach.
"I'm just touching you," Holt said.
Now his hands were on her upper arms. Because it was a warm spring day, her arms weren't covered by sleeves. Holt's touch was light, barely skimming the surface of her skin, but her upper arms were even more sensitive than her forearms. The sensations had become so intense, she could hardly remain still. She wondered where he would stop.
She wondered if he would stop.
"I've never let a man touch me like this."
"Do you want me to stop?"
She wanted to shout yes, but her throat muscles choked the word off before it was born. Unable to speak, she shook her head.
"Has anybody ever kissed you?"
She didn't know why he thought he could ask such a question. She refused to answer.
"The men in Galveston can't be typical Southerners. They'd gobble up a woman like you on first sight."
"I wouldn't like that."
"Then they'd keep persuading you until you did."
His hands had moved to her shoulders, but they weren't still. They roamed about, massaging here, rubbing there, caressing someplace else. It was hard to listen to what he was saying, especially when he began to massage the muscles in her shoulders.
"You're tense," he said.
"I'm worried about my father." She was more worrie
d about Holt.
"You can stop worrying. I'm here to help you."
But it didn't feel as if either of them were talking about her father. Holt's hands moved to her neck. His thumbs slid along her jaw, gently massaging away the tension. His touch was positively hypnotic. With a little encouragement, she could melt right into the floor.
"You've got to learn to relax more," Holt said. "It's not good for you to be so tense."
"I am relaxed."
That was partly true. One part of her felt so relaxed, she couldn't move. The other part felt so tense, she couldn't move.
Holt started massaging the muscles at the back of her neck. It took about ten seconds for Felicity to realize she could fall in love with a man who'd massage her neck. She hadn't experienced anything so wonderful in her whole life. She hoped he wouldn't stop.
"You worry too much," Holt said.
She didn't have anybody to worry for her. It would be nice to have Holt around to help take care of things. She didn't always agree with him, but he was the kind of man you could depend on. He was certainly attractive enough to hold her attention. He was big enough to defend her honor. He was also kind and thoughtful. That was important.
Of course, he didn't think she was qualified to take care of patients, he was inflexible about her father, and he was in love with Vivian. Still, he'd already begun to show more respect for her abilities, and he was helping her with her father, treating him with kindness. He seemed to understand her better than anyone else ever had. No one else cared enough about her to force her out of her rut.
She felt something warm and soft brush her lips. Until her eyes flew open, she hadn't realized she'd allowed them to gradually close. Holt's face was only inches from hers, his eyes wide, trying to read her reaction to his kiss.
That must have been what she'd felt. She'd never been kissed on the lips, but what else could it have been? She wondered if he'd do it again. She hadn't been paying attention the first time. It might never happen again. She wanted to be able to remember what it felt like.
Apparently able to read her thoughts, Holt kissed her again.
His lips were incredibly soft. She didn't know that anything about a man could be that soft. It was like the touch of a gentle breeze on a warm summer night, like when she went down to the beach and turned her face into the gentle wind coming off the Gulf of Mexico.
But his lips lingered, moving back and forth over her mouth, planting tiny kisses along the way. She couldn't move. She didn't breathe. She waited in a state of suspended animation, anticipating something more but not knowing what it might be.
"Now do you believe I like women?" Holt asked. His voice was soft, almost a whisper.
She couldn't answer.
"Do you need more convincing?"
Again she was unable to answer. She continued to look at him smiling down at her, trying to put what had happened to her into the frame of what she called her life. So far it didn't fit. There was no way to explain this experience, no way to catalog how it made her feel. Just now he cradled her head in his hands, turned her face up so that she looked him full in the face. She'd never realized his eyes were so black. They were like onyx, opaque and fathomless. Yet they glistened, drew her into their unseen depths.
"Maybe I've been too tentative," Holt said.
She felt Holt's hands on her face as he leaned down and his lips covered her mouth in a kiss that was as unmistakable as it was riveting. There was no brushing, no gentle wandering, no tiny scattered kisses. This time she responded. She moved into his kiss, gave back the pressure, moved into him until her breasts came into contact with his chest.
She kissed him back.
Shocked down to her toes, certain she'd be so mortified she'd run from the room, she was even more stunned to realize she was kissing him even more passionately than he was kissing her. She was out of control, acting so unlike herself she wouldn't have believed what was happening if she hadn't been the one it was happening to.
She couldn't describe the sensations that flooded her body. Her life had been so uneventful, her behavior so circumscribed, her contact with interested suitors so infrequent, she wasn't prepared to have so many feelings and emotions jostling each other at the same time. It was just like--
The sound of a doorknob turning and a door opening caused her to spring away from Holt.
"I'm looking for the doctor," a man said. "Nobody answered when I knocked on the door."
"I'm the doctor," Holt said. "Is it time for your appointment?"
"Yes. I'm Jimmy Powell. I wanted to see you about..." He looked at Felicity.
"Miss Moore often assists me or her father."
"Can't I see you alone?" the young man asked.
"Certainly." Holt turned to Felicity, his expression calm despite the extra brightness in his eyes. "We'll finish our discussion later," he said.
"Of course," Felicity said, leaving the room as quickly as possible. She was certain Jimmy Powell knew exactly what had been happening when he opened that door. Whatever had possessed her to let Holt kiss her?
What could have possessed her to kiss him?
Holt must think her a desperate old maid who would throw herself at any man who showed her the slightest bit of attention. She practically ran up the stairs, tripping on the hem of her gown in her hurry to reach the safety of her room.
How would she ever explain her outrageous behavior to Holt? She certainly couldn't tell him the truth, that she liked kissing him so much, she didn't want to stop.
Well, what was done was done. And in a way, it was all her fault. She'd asked him if he was interested in women. What did she expect any red-blooded male to do but attempt to prove himself on the spot? She'd asked for what she got. There was only one problem.
She liked what she got. And she wanted more. Soon.
"I really appreciate your coming to this party with me," Holt said to Felicity as the carriage bounced along.
"I don't know why you don't go alone. You seem perfectly at ease with strangers."
After the kisses they'd shared, he'd had a difficult time getting her even to look at him. She didn't attempt to back out of helping him with patients or avoid him at mealtimes or at any other time when their paths would normally cross. But she'd kept their meetings to a minimum and had spoken to him only when necessary. Her coolness had been so obvious, her father had asked Holt if they'd had an argument. Never one to back away from the truth, Holt had explained that he'd kissed her.
Rather than get angry, demand an apology, or order Holt out of his house, Dr. Moore tried to pretend he wasn't smiling. Holt was certain she wouldn't have agreed to go with him tonight if her father hadn't practically pushed her out of the house. He said Mrs. Bennett had offered to sit with him, and he wanted the young people out of the house so they wouldn't have anybody looking over their shoulders.
"There aren't many really rich people in Galveston," Felicity said. "You become the friend of one, and you'll soon know everybody."
"You're Charlotte's friend. Why don't you know everybody?"
"We move in entirely different circles."
She'd been telling him that all week. He knew she was doing it to put distance between them--she was still upset that he had kissed her.
He wasn't an experienced lover like his friend Owen, but he could tell when a woman returned his kisses, and Felicity had definitely kissed him back. With passion. He'd speculated more than once on what might have happened if Jimmy Powell hadn't shown up early for his appointment. Nothing should have happened; he was in Galveston to look for Vivian.
Yet there was something about Felicity that refused to let him go. He guessed his confusion came from being an inexperienced lover. If he were as skilled as Owen, he'd be able to catalog the different kinds of attraction. He was definitely attracted to Felicity, but he loved Vivian. Somehow one should cancel out the other, but it didn't.
"How long do you plan to stay at this party?" Felicity asked. "If you don't see Vivian w
ithin the first half hour, that probably means she isn't coming."
"Let's see how things go. The people are probably nice, and I'm sure the food will be excellent. Gloria said there'd be dancing."
"I don't want to dance."
But he could tell she was excited. She had bought another new gown. I can't wear the same dress to two parties in a row, she'd told him, as though to do so would create a scandal. Mrs. Bennett had told him it was made of ecru buff brilliantine trimmed with slate satin-bound scallops. She looked damned pretty all the time, but she was downright beautiful now. He'd have to stick close to her tonight. There were bound to be lots of men wanting to get to know Felicity a little better. Holt couldn't understand why she kept saying men didn't find her attractive. He'd even dreamed about her.
"Try to enjoy yourself," Holt said as the carriage came to a stop before a handsome house made of red brick and rising three stories above the street. "I'm told the house is spectacular inside."
Holt had grown up with a Vermonter's liking for spare and plain. Even some of the farmhouses he'd seen in Virginia's Shenandoah Valley during the war seemed like mansions to him. But this house outdid anything he'd ever seen.
"Papa used to drive by when they were building this house before the war," Felicity said, standing with Holt to take in the expansive exterior with its wrought-iron porches on two floors. "He used to say it took a lot of cotton to build a place like this."
"Have you ever been inside?"
"Of course not. When people in this part of town get sick, they don't call doctors from our part of town."
"Well, you're a guest tonight, so hold your head high."
Holt had to admit to feeling slightly anxious. It had nothing to do with the size of the house or the sumptuous furnishings of the interior. The moment he entered, his gaze swept expectantly from one end of the room to the other. He craned his neck to see every guest as they entered. But after thirty minutes he gave up on finding Vivian. Either she wasn't coming, or the woman Gloria Webster had met wasn't his Vivian.
"She's not coming," Felicity said. "Let's go."
"Why? You've had a steady stream of men asking you to dance, offering to bring you food, show you the garden, bring you more champagne than both of us could drink. And you've turned them all down."
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