by Gini Rifkin
Blotting his image from her mind, she idled about the room turning down the lamps. She mustn’t burn oil unnecessarily—economizing was another of father’s favorite crusades. With a smile, she crossed the room, moving by sense of touch, circumventing the big desk and overstuffed leather chairs. As she drew near the door, the figure of a man blocked the opening. Cut off from the light in the hallway, it rendered him an ominous faceless shadow. Was it Spring Heeled Jack? She quickly dismissed the crazy notion. He’d not been known to accost people in their homes. She shouldn’t have read that gruesome article about him in the Times. It had to be one of her guests who stood before her.
“I’m sorry,” she said, “but the library is off limits tonight.
The man remained silent, and stepped into the room.
“Who are you? What do you want?”
“I’ve come to steal your heart, madam. And I warn you, any resistance on your part shall be quite futile.”
With relief, she recognized Lucien’s voice. “Sweet mother of God,” she exclaimed. “You scared me half to death, Lucien.”
“Sorry, darling. When I couldn’t find you amongst the jubilant crowd I went searching for you.”
She retreated farther into the room, and turned up the single lamp she had left burning. Light spilled across Lucien. He cut a dashing figure in his black evening wear, but a feeling of reluctance to go near him niggled at her. She sought the mirror hanging above the fireplace mantel, and with her back to the room, pretended to check her hair and makeup. Lucien’s reflection appeared over her shoulder. Before she could move away, he turned her around and they stood toe-to-toe and face-to-face.
“Lord above,” he marveled, “you are magnificently beautiful.” His words were as feverish as the hands he placed possessively upon her shoulders. “You shall outshine every woman present here tonight.”
Desire was blatant in his eyes, and the smoldering passion in Lucien’s voice took her off guard. He’d never looked at her this way before, and while her few previous suitors had offered lovesick expressions, there had been nothing so worldly or pagan or wild in their demeanor. This hinted at territory unknown to her, and for some reason fear overshadowed curiosity.
Before she could distance herself, Lucien took her in his arms, and without question or consent, sought her mouth. The mantelpiece denied her escape from behind, and pressing home the advantage as well as his body, Lucien arched against the length of her. She opened her mouth to chastise him, but he only groaned and tried to thrust his tongue past her lips. His hands dropped lower, coming to rest upon her hips, drawing her ever closer. With a shock she felt his manhood, distinctly aroused. This went beyond playful touching. And although she wished to be found irresistible, the consequences were a bit frightening.
She wrestled free, and raised her hand to strike Lucien’s face. He caught her wrist before she could follow through, and they stood as if frozen in time, their lips only inches apart, each of them panting and trying to regain control of their emotions. Lucien recovered first. He stepped away as if she’d turned to flame, too hot to touch.
“Forgive my unspeakably knavish behavior,” he apologized. “You drive me senseless. I cannot be near you without wanting all of you. I didn’t mean to frighten you. In fact, I wanted to formally ask you to marry me.”
At the enormity of Lucien’s announcement, her anger withered away. Her life was in complete turmoil, she was on the verge of emotional exhaustion, and he expected her to make the most important decisions of her life. Dumbfounded she stared at him, her mind in a whirl.
A month ago, she would have seriously considered saying yes. Probably would have given in with only slight hesitation. But now uncertainty weighed heavily, and it was all because of Captain Garrison. Her mind was in a tailspin, the situation outrageously impossible, almost laughable. A bubble of mirth at the absurdity of it all grew until it filled her chest and begged for release. She giggled, then hiccoughed, then laughed right out loud. She knew it was improper, but couldn’t stop, the champagne spurring her on.
“Lucien,” she said, catching her breath and sobering her expression, “I’m flattered and honored by your proposal, really I am. But I can’t possibly make such a decision right now.
At her words, his gaze turned cold, his features so hard and unmoving he seemed carved from stone.
“I’m sorry,” she added. “You know I care for you. And we have toyed with the idea of marriage. But things are different now. I can’t make any commitment to you after everything that has happened of late. And I shall be quite busy with the shipping line. I’m taking an active interest in it, you see.”
“But if we were married,” he persuaded, with renewed animation, “I could help you run the shipping line. It’s hardly a place or a job for a woman. I could be your partner.”
“Captain Garrison is my partner. He’s been most helpful.”
Lucien reared back as if her words had been a physical slap to his person. Teeth clenched, he stared at her.
“Is the good Captain here now?” His eyes narrowed to slits as he awaited her answer.
“No.”
“Then I rest my case.”
“It’s true he’s not yet arrived. But… ”
“But nothing. He’s crude and rude and probably can’t find his way here in the dark.”
“It’s still early,” she said wistfully, “and you’re being very rude as well.”
“It’s just that I don’t wish to share you with anyone,” he pressed. “At least I shall have you all to myself when we visit the Crystal Palace. A unique experience of our own making.”
“Oh, dear...”
She hadn’t had a chance to tell Lucien about Walker’s irresistible invitation scheduled for tomorrow night.
“What?” he queried. “Do not tell me we must again postpone our engagement.”
“Captain Garrison managed to acquire invitations for the special evening event. The one being held in honor of the Queen.”
The veins in Lucien’s neck stood out, and the color drained from his face.
“Lucien, are you all right? Sit down, you look quite ill. Now don’t be peevish,” she soothed. “How could I say no? It’s the opportunity of a lifetime.” She put her hand on his arm, intending to guide him to a nearby chair.
“How indeed.” He snatched his arm from her grasp as if she were some monstrous beast. “Must you parade yourself in public with this foreign no-account.”
“It’s just a bit of innocent fun, Lucien. Nothing more.”
“The man is an uncouth commoner. I’m surprised you wish to be seen with him.”
“That’s a horrid thing to say. You know nothing about Walker.”
“Walker, is it? You’re on a first name basis now. I forbid you to go with him.”
“We are not engaged or affianced in any manner. You have no right to bid or forbid me anything. I shall do as I please.”
Lucien appeared positively livid. His hand clenched and unclenched as if he thought to strike her.
“You’re going to regret your association with this American rabble,” he warned. “I guarantee it.”
“Your manners are unacceptable tonight in more ways than one. And if this is to be your attitude, I must insist you take your leave.”
With a fierce glower, he pushed her out of the way, and made good her request.
Trelayne stood trembling in the middle of the room, wondering what in the world had just happened. Lucien’s behavior was shocking and frightening. He had no right to care if Walker was to be her business partner, or if she spent one evening with him at the Crystal Palace. It was just a frolic. Yet he seemed sorely distressed and unreasonably jealous over both possibilities.
The magnitude of his temper-outburst came as a surprise. No doubt her refusal of his marriage proposal had stung—injured male pride and all that. And she shouldn’t have laughed, hadn’t meant to, it was the situation that was ludicrous, not him. Once he’d had time to reflect on his behavi
or, he would no doubt apologize, and she would do the same.
Hand at her throat, she tried to regain her composure. Lucien’s hungry kisses, and the feel of his body pressed uncensored against hers, had been disconcerting. In her books, such intimate touching was supposed to be thrilling, pure delight. But she hadn’t enjoyed it. Perhaps the fault lay with her? Or maybe it depended upon who was doing the touching.
Slipping away to the library had not been the tranquil respite she had envisioned. Employing a piece of letterhead stationary from her father’s desk, she fanned her face. What if someone had walked in? Their compromising scene could have led to, if not unwarranted, at least unwanted gossip. Lucien had acted like a different man tonight, showing a side unseen before. Injured pride or not, it was unflattering, and not something she wished to experience again.
With a deep breath to settle her frenzied nerves, she stopped fanning and glanced at the embossed lettering on the page.
Garrison/St.Christopher Shipping
New Bedford - London - Canton - Bombay
Dear generous Father, he had given Walker top billing. It was so like him to be indulgent when he was dealing with someone he trusted and respected. He must think very highly of his new partner. Should she also put her faith in him? It seemed each day brought a new social obligation or demanding business difficulty. It would be quite easy to let someone else do the thinking and decision making….
No, she countered. This was her time to show her parents how capable and intelligent she was. Taking care of herself and the household, even running Poppa’s business, were challenges she had to meet. She could do this. She was not the fragile cosseted child her parents insist she remain. They couldn’t keep her at home forever, sheltered from all danger and the cruelties of life. Now was her opportunity to take charge and break free, show them what she could do.
Still, there were times, when she yearned to be held in strong loving arms, and be told that everything would be all right—even if it was a lie. Walker came to mind to fulfill those needs.
The clock in the hall struck ten o’clock. Goodness, she’d been away from the festivities far too long. Tongues would wag at her absence. She rushed from the room then her steps faltered. Lucien had abandoned her, and Walker had yet to arrive. She had no formal escort at her own party. Perhaps no one would notice if she just slipped back in and mingled about.
Utilizing the servants’ back passageway, she headed toward the kitchen on the far side of the house. She would see how things were going on the way. As the familiar passageway shifted to the right, she recalled the happy hours she had spent playing here when her sister was alive. Even her brother, although declaring himself too old for such folly, couldn’t help but occasionally join in the fun. The dark catacomb halls and cubbies were the perfect backdrop for games of hide and seek, and for telling ghostly tales of dragons and demons and monster of varying disposition. It was still a bit eerie and spooky with the muffled sounds of the party pulsing just beyond the walls. It seemed otherworldly, another time and place.
Gaining the small door at the far end of the corridor she paused, her hand upon the knob. The urge to remain hidden in the refuge of childhood memories raced through her. Then common sense won out. She squelched the notion, opened the door, and entered the butlery.
Before she took one step, a tall figure loomed up over her shoulder. Taken by surprise, her blood still running high from Lucien’s scandalous behavior, she balled her hands into fists and turned to as if to ward off an attack. In his own defense, Walker slipped one arm around her waist, and drew her up against his chest. An amused smile found shelter beneath his mustache.
“You gave me one heck of a start, little lady, the way you suddenly materialized right in front of me.”
“I gave you a start? You nearly scared my hair gray sneaking up behind me.”
“That truly would have been unforgivable.”
He gazed at the curls framing her face, his expression one of consideration. All the while, his arm held fast, keeping her close, so close she could smell the bayberry soap with which he had washed. So close she could feel the hard muscles of his body and the warmth of his breath. It felt much nicer than when Lucien had held her.
“Your hair is just the right color,” he added, with conviction.
“And what color is that, pray tell?”
“The color of chestnuts in the fall, the color of good rich earth that will grow anything a man’s heart desires.”
Well, she’d never been compared to nuts and dirt before, but somehow the way he said it made it sound like the most sought after compliment in the world.
“Careful, Captain Garrison, you’re waxing poetic.”
He lowered his arm and stepped back. His expression faltered then took on a harder edge. Now she’d hurt his feelings. It seemed her specialty tonight.
“I’m sorry,” she amended. “It was a statement of surprise rather than ridicule at your kind compliment.
“Being out to sea offers a man many an hour for wrestling with thoughts and words. Why there’s even time for reading books, and reflecting on the contents,” he added, sarcasm unmistakable in his speech.
“Again, I’m sorry. I too enjoy reading. It’s a wonderful pastime, and has filled many a lonely hour for me.”
“It’s hard to believe a woman as beautiful as you could ever be lonely.”
She studied his face. He seemed serious, not toying with her emotions. She couldn’t think of anything to say. It was silly. She’d been told before she was pretty, even beautiful, but it hadn’t mattered. Hadn’t rendered her speechless.
“Perhaps I’m many things you may find hard to believe,” she countered, with a coquettish smile, and high hopes of stirring his interest.
His intense perusal told her she had, but the silence went on so long she began to rue her remark.
“Why are you here in the back kitchen area?” she asked, unable to bear the quiet a moment longer. “Good heavens. Have we run out of food at the buffet? Surely the party hasn’t already run amuck.”
“I was speaking with Merrick,” he explained. “Nothing important,” he quickly added, “just a few questions that needed clarifying. And,” he grinned, “I was trying to wedge myself into the formalwear he generously loaned me. Merrick said it belonged to their son. It was a true kindness for him to allow me to wear it, although I believe it’s a bit out of style.”
She cocked her head to one side and gave him the once over. Her heart fluttered at least twice. The fabric strained at all the seams, especially the jacket as it fought valiantly to accommodate the broad expanse of his shoulders and chest. The chest he had recently held her against.
“You look marvelous,” she reassured. “Besides, with such a glorious anatomy, who would notice your clothing?” Oh mercy, she meant to think that, not blurt it out.
His grin deepened. He took her hand, placed it in the crook of his arm, and propelled her toward the ballroom.
“Have I missed the first waltz?” he asked, escorting her to the center of the room.
“No,” she confirmed. “I’ve allowed none to be played, and my poor guests are near to the point of exhaustion from quickstepping about the room.”
He chuckled, and took a step back, his gaze gliding over her from head to toe. “You appear to have held up beautifully.”
As they stood before one another, a hush blanketed the room. It was one tiny moment, filled with a lifetime of anticipation. Coming to her senses, she caught Penelope’s attention and nodded toward the orchestra. Her friend rushed toward the musicians, nearly tripping on the hem of her dress. The lilting strains of Tchaikovsky swirled through the air like a welcoming breeze, and her guests issued playful hurrahs as they hurried to find their partners.
Captain Garrison, male elegance infused with animal-like grace and strength, swept her into his arms—and into a dream come true.
When he placed his hand solidly at the small of her back, a tingling sensation shot straig
ht up her spine to the roots of her hair. The resulting effect was more potent than wine. She was dizzy with desire, giddy with happiness. She must remember to breathe.
They stood so close—only their clothing and the heat of their bodies between them. What a glorious temptation, just beyond reach. Teasing and taunting, it was a fleeting taste of what she yearned to partake of fully.
“I’ve thought a time or two about holding you in my arms,” he admitted, in a husky voice. “It feels even better than I imagined.”
“What other thoughts have crossed your mind?” she dared to ask, finding the courage to stare up at him.
His eyes crinkled at the corners, but his gaze held passion as well as amusement. “Things a man ought not discuss with a lady.”
Chapter Nine
Beatrice stopped crying and stared forlornly at the “token” Lucien had given her. Compared to the gifts he’d lavished on the little rich bitch in the past, it was nothing to crow about. Then a romantic notion skipped through her mind. If she could garner a snippet of Lucien’s hair, and secret it away inside, that would be something special to treasure.
With renewed happiness she eased opened the slender locket. The hinge cracked and the little metallic heart split in two. Her heart felt as broken as the necklace. Then her fist closed around the jagged pieces.
It wasn’t fair. That St.Christopher woman had everything, why couldn’t she leave Lucien alone? He was all Beatrice wanted in the whole wide world. Just Lucien. But nothing ever workout for her. No one ever listened to what she wanted or needed. So it had been her whole life. She guessed it would be that way until she died.
She threw the necklace against the wall. Not tonight, damn it. Tonight she would do whatever she bloody well pleased.
On the way out, she grabbed her cloak and the money secreted away in the vase by the door. Feeling extravagant, she hailed a hansom cab.