“Linda, I know nothing about horses.”
“That should make you a good match for him since he knows nothing at all.”
“He can’t be that bad.”
“Oh, I assure you, he is. This is really a choice group, a definite coup for Margaret, who has in her time been known to orchestrate the most deadly assemblies since the Montague boys attended the Capulet ball.”
“Nobody interesting will be here?”
“Interesting? Well, George Mortimer’s mother shot his father about ten years ago, if you call that interesting. Of course, no one discusses such an unfortunate incident—very bad form, you understand.”
“Is that really true?” Karen asked, momentarily nonplussed.
“Certainly. There’s also the matter of Lucy Forrester’s insane husband, but again, don’t bring it up over the savory.”
“‘Insane husband’?” Karen said faintly. They had paused in the front hall and were conversing in hushed tones.
“Crackers, darling, absolutely mad as a hatter. Locked up in one of those expensive loony bins lined with cotton wool and hidden behind a stand of Lombardy poplars. I hear he still thinks it’s World War II, and every time a fire siren goes off he crawls under the bed to hide during the air raid.”
Karen bit her lip.
“Oh, you may well laugh at our little eccentricities. If you think that’s funny, I won’t tell you about Margaret’s brother, the painter, who moved to Paris when he was twenty and has been painting the Louvre ever since.”
“His painting is in the Louvre?”
“No, dear, just what I said. He’s been painting the exterior of it, great beastly canvases filled with acrylic gobs that no one can stand to look at, much less buy.”
“But how does he live?”
“On his trust fund, of course—how does anyone live? Just don’t mention him to Margaret. He’s a sore spot in a family that has quite a few of them, take my word for it. Her parents, who comprise another subject I won’t get into, managed to raise the most amazing goblin brood you ever saw in your life. Margaret is a brick by comparison with the rest of them. Stick to the weather and the food and the shocking conditions of our British rail system. That should exhaust her mentally in no time and let you off the hook, as you Americans say.”
“I don’t know if I’m ready for this,” Karen murmured.
“Of course you are. If I can stand it so can you. They all look harmless; you’d never guess what was going on if you judged by appearances. Just make polite chat, like the well bred young lady you are, and they’ll all be wild for you.” She tugged on Karen’s hand and managed to hustle her along the hall.
Karen had to agree that Linda’s assessment of the situation was correct. Margaret’s guests were perfectly behaved and said the right things, and if Karen hadn’t heard the gossip in advance she never would have guessed the truth. Peter Mainwaring was a bore, but all she had to do was nod enthusiastically when he made an infrequent comment in an accent she could barely decipher and he seemed satisfied. Karen knew so little about British politics, “the Royals,” or the races, which were the main topics of conversation, that she was forced into the role of agreeable dummy, seconding everything anyone said. Her jaw ached from smiling. She was taking a break, standing by the ormolu clock in the front hall while the after dinner drinks were served, when Linda found her.
“Ah-ha,” Linda said. “Just as I suspected. You managed to tear yourself away from Peter, you clever girl.”
“Please don’t make me go back in there yet. I’m ready to do a tap dance down the center of the table to give them something new to talk about.”
“I take it you’ve already covered the trompe l’oeil Zuber wallpaper and the Turkish carpet,” Linda said sarcastically.
“I can give you chapter and verse on the wallpaper. It depicts India during the sixth century, was made from the original blocks cut during the early nineteen hundreds, and was hidden in a cave during the blitz, which explains the moss stains on the seams.”
“My, you have been listening. Margaret is very proud of that paper, outbid a couple of old crones from the historical society to get it, though I can’t think why. It seems a moldy depiction of a child’s nightmare to me. Even the bananas look wrong, like yellow balloons.”
“I’ll see it in my dreams tonight,” Karen sighed.
“Psst, they’ve found us,” Linda hissed dramatically as Margaret, wearing her nailed on smile, appeared in the doorway of the dining room and gestured for them to join her.
They went back in to the party. Karen accepted a glass of sherry, taking a sip while Linda, wearing a numbed expression, listened to a Mrs. Merriwether tell her about her daughter’s special school. Karen was certain that it was a wonderful school, perfectly suited to the child’s exceptional abilities, but didn’t stay to hear about it. She wandered off to a corner to occupy herself by licking the top layer off a selection of petits fours. There she was joined by George Mortimer, who proceeded to inform her of the evils of refined sugar while she was wolfing down the fondant icing. She put the last confection on a tray and smiled at him weakly.
“Excuse me, I have to speak to Linda,” Karen said evenly. George nodded and turned to his companion to continue his lecture.
Karen went to her friend’s side and took her arm.
“May I see you for a moment?” she said between her teeth.
Linda excused herself from Mrs. Merriwether.
“The only school that dreadful brat should go to is a Borstal,” Linda observed darkly, referring to her recent conversation.
“Linda, I have to get out of here,” Karen said. “Tell them I went upstairs with a headache, tell them I died, anything.”
“You’re not going to leave me alone with this crew,” Linda said, outraged. “And to think what I’ve done for you.”
“Linda, please,” Karen insisted, near tears. “I can’t even concentrate on what they’re saying.”
“Nobody could concentrate on what these people are saying,” Linda observed crossly.
“I’m going,” Karen said.
“I don’t think so,” Linda said softly, looking over her shoulder.
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t think you’ll want to leave just yet,” Linda went on, gesturing toward the door.
Karen turned, and her heart leapt into her throat.
Standing just inside the sliding cherry panels to the hall was Colter.
Chapter 9
Conversation in the room began to die out as more of the diners caught sight of the apparition in the doorway. Finally a stunned silence fell as Colter’s eyes bypassed the others and settled on Karen, who stood transfixed, relief and joy welling up within her.
Colter was wearing a navy double-breasted pea jacket, open down the front, with the collar turned up to his chin. Under it was a royal blue Shaker sweater, paired with tight faded jeans and well worn boots. There was a patch of gauze on his forehead, tied in place by a narrow strip of cloth, and his left hand was bandaged, wrapped in tape to his wrist. The formally attired partygoers stared at him with a mixture of fascination and disdain, but he seemed unaware of them, his attention fixed on the woman he had come to see.
“I’m sorry, madam, I tried to stop him, but he said he knew Miss Linda...” Field was saying nervously in the background to Margaret, who stood by, unsure what to do. The intruder certainly looked questionable, but if she threw him out she risked breaking the cardinal rule of British etiquette: “Thou shalt not make a nasty fuss in front of thy guests.”
Suddenly, as if on cue, Colter opened his arms, and Karen ran into them.
He embraced her so tightly that he lifted her off her feet, swinging her in an arc. The diners looked on in shock, unable to believe what they were seeing.
Margaret was appalled. Linda’s American friend had really been less trouble than she’d first anticipated, but this was too much. Throwing herself at this person who’d barged into a private home a
nd a private party, dressed like some navvy from the docks... It was unforgivable. She glanced around worriedly at her company, but they were too fascinated with the scene unfolding before them to pay much attention to her discomfiture.
Karen clung to Colter as he set her down and lifted her chin with his good hand.
“Hi,” he said softly.
“Hi, yourself,” Karen replied, half laughing.
“You all right?” he asked, smiling into her eyes.
“I’m wonderful,” she answered. “But what about you?” She reached up to touch the dressing on his head.
“I’m fine.” He smoothed a tendril of hair back from her brow. “Now.”
Karen closed her eyes, willing back the tears. He embraced her again, cradling her against his side. Karen sighed, at peace for the first time since he’d left.
Linda coughed behind them and they both turned to look at her. They had forgotten their audience.
“Hello, Colter,” Linda said archly, nodding to him.
He nodded back, breaking into the grin that made him look like an errant but irresistible teenager. “Thanks for taking care of my girl,” he said to her.
“It was my pleasure,” Linda replied.
Margaret, beginning to recover, inched forward cautiously. Linda stepped in front of her, taking Karen’s arm and leading her a few paces away.
“Get him upstairs to your room immediately,” she said in Karen’s ear.
“But what about the party, your stepmother?”
“I’ll handle Margaret,” Linda said firmly. “Just take him out of here before one of these frustrated matrons attacks him. They haven’t been in the same room with that much vigorous masculinity since the canteens during the war, and in a moment they’re going to stop being stunned and start salivating.”
Karen chuckled. “Linda, you’re awful.”
Linda patted her hair. “Yes, I know, and I find it a full- time occupation. Now go before one of these overstuffed grande dames passes out from the strain.”
Karen glanced around her. “They do look terribly shaken, don’t they?” she said, giggling.
“I’m surprised dear Margaret didn’t lose all those expensive jackets on her teeth.”
“Won’t she tell you to ask Colter to leave?” Karen said with concern.
“She had better not try,” Linda answered grimly. “This is still my house and you two are my guests, and there’s an end to it.”
Karen wasn’t going to argue the point any further. She went to Colter and took his hand.
“Linda has asked us both to stay,” she said evenly, holding his glance with her own. “Do you want me to show you upstairs?”
He nodded, going along with her. They left the dining room together, walking down the hall to the foot of the staircase. Behind them they heard the rustle of clothing and the murmur of subdued voices as the guests emerged from their trance.
“What the hell’s going on?” Colter said to her as soon as they were out of earshot. “Are they calling the bobbies on me, or what?”
She threw her arms around his neck. “You’re spending the night,” she informed him happily.
“With you?” he said warily.
“No, silly, with the Queen Mother. Of course with me.”
“Well, all right,” he responded, bending his head to kiss her.
It was as if he’d never been away. The taste and feel of his mouth was the same and the urgency of his lovemaking remained unchanged. When he pushed her back against the wall and dropped his hands to caress her bare shoulders, Karen pulled away.
“We’d better get out of here,” she whispered, jerking her head toward the stairs. “Margaret’s liable to come after us with a broom.”
“Is that the aging Barbie doll?” he asked, as they ran up the stairs together.
Karen nodded.
“I doubt if she’s ever used a broom in her life,” he said sarcastically. “Except to ride on, of course,” he added as an afterthought. “I think I gave her a tic when I arrived; did you see her twitching?”
Karen snickered.
He paused on the landing. “Which door?” he said in confusion. “This place looks like the White House.”
Karen took him to the room where she was staying and he closed the door behind them and locked it. He turned to her instantly and pulled her into his arms.
“God,” he sighed, burying his face in the soft sweep of her hair against her neck, “you don’t know how often I thought of this. It kept me going until I could get back to you.” He moved his head and trailed his lips along the smooth line of her exposed shoulder. “This is some outfit,” he murmured huskily.
“Do you like it on me?” she asked, drawing back and looking at him.
“I’d like it better off you,” he answered and reached for the zipper at the back. He ran it down the track to her waist and then peeled the strapless bodice away from her torso, exposing her breasts. He took one shell pink nipple in his mouth and sucked greedily until she clutched at him, weak kneed, then he picked her up and carried her to the bed.
He had her dress off in seconds and disposed of the rest of her underthings summarily, dropping them on the floor. Then he stripped hastily, tossing his jacket and pants on a needlepoint chair that stood by the side of the Dutch tiled fireplace. He threw himself down next to her on the woven counterpane and pulled her tightly against him, gasping at the electric contact of her bare flesh with his.
Karen closed her eyes as he kissed her lightly, then opened her lips when he increased the pressure of his mouth. He ran his uninjured hand down her body, caressing her, and she arched upward, yielding eagerly to his touch. Colter tried to go slow but they were both too hungry. When he pulled away to turn Karen on her back, she held him, slipping her leg between his. Colter moaned, his unfulfilled need during their time apart taking over, and he pressed her into the bed, letting her feel his arousal.
Karen pulled her mouth from his and pressed her lips to his neck, past the stubble of his beard to the soft flesh at its base. She felt the pulse of life beating there, pumping wildly, an indication of his excitement which matched her own. Increasingly impatient, he bunched his fists in her hair and pushed her down, crushing her breasts against his chest. She lay mute with anticipation as he lifted himself on his hands and poised himself above her. Her eyes locked with his as she curled her legs around him and he entered her.
Karen made a sound in her throat, a soft growl of pleasure, and dug her heels into his hips, forcing him deeper inside her. He bucked wildly but carried her with him, and they fell back on the bed together at the end, spent and satiated.
They lay drowsily entwined for a timeless period, content just to realize they were together. Then Karen half sat and draped her arm across Colter’s chest, looking down into his face.
“Do you think all those people on the first floor know what we’ve been doing up here?” she asked Colter, smiling slightly.
He touched the tip of her nose. “It’s a sure bet they don’t think we’re playing backgammon,” he replied dryly. “What an ossified group. I don’t see how your friend Linda fits in with that bunch.”
“She doesn’t; that’s the problem. She and Margaret don’t get along and she isn’t very happy here.”
Karen touched the bandage on his wrist.
“How did you do this?” she asked.
“It’s a powder burn,” he answered.
“Oh.” Karen paused, and then said, “That must have been very painful.”
“You can block out pain if you concentrate on something else, something good,” he said, covering her fingers with his other hand. “You just have to have a positive ideal in mind, a fine thing to think about that’s more powerful than the pain.”
“What did you think about when you hurt your hand?”
His eyes sought hers guilelessly. “You.”
Karen’s face changed and she didn’t respond for a long moment. Then she spoke quietly.
“Stev
en, that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”
He continued to stare up at her as if surprised. “Is it?”
She nodded seriously. “Yes.”
He looked disturbed. “I don’t say enough nice things to you, do I? I mean, I don’t compliment you enough, make you feel special.”
“You make me feel special,” she said tenderly. He didn’t know that he charmed without effort. His personal comments were artless but heartfelt, all the more precious for their rarity.
He shook his head. “No, that’s not true. I’d like to think of the right things to say, but I’m just not good that way.” He sighed, frustrated, and dropped his eyes. “I wish I were different,” he said fiercely.
“I don’t,” Karen said, snuggling next to him and putting her head on his shoulder. “I think you’re terrific just as you are.”
“So many things would be better then,” he murmured, as if to himself.
“Steven,” Karen said absently, shifting her weight to get comfortable, “what are you babbling about?”
“Nothing,” he muttered. But his expression was still distracted, unhappy, as he pulled the side of the spread up from the floor to cover Karen.
“Steven?”
“Mmm?”
“Why were you gone so long? I was terribly worried.”
“The prison had very tight security. It took a long time to plan the raid.”
“Did it go off all right?”
“Like clockwork.”
“You got him out?”
He smiled. “Sort of. We raided the exercise yard and quite a few of them got out.”
Karen turned her head to peer up at him.
“You sprang a whole bunch of them at the same time?”
“Yeah. It was unplanned but very satisfactory.” He sounded pleased with himself.
“But maybe some of them were dangerous.”
“Nah. They were all political prisoners; none of them belonged inside in the first place.”
Men of Intrgue A Trilogy Page 44