by Tami Hoag
Nick laughed. “Don't tell me Washington slept here too.” Nearly every town he'd been to in Virginia boasted of at least one visit from the father of the country.
“He did indeed,” Katie answered, stopping on the path to face him. “And Madison and Monroe and Harrison. The Virginia gentry was a very close- knit community.”
Nick drew her into his arms and smiled down at her. “Do you realize your face positively glows when you talk about the past? You're such a romantic, Kathryn.”
As he would have predicted, she blushed and pretended to be annoyed by his remark. Heaven forbid anyone should think she was anything but the level- headed businesswoman. “Oh, pooh,” she scoffed, picking an imaginary piece of lint off the lapel of his tux. “I'm just a history buff, that's all.”
Nick chuckled and pressed a quick kiss to her forehead. “Stubborn. Shall we go in? I can't wait to see all the men drooling over you in this dress,” he said just dryly enough to hint at jealousy. He wouldn't mind other men looking, so long as Katie stayed on his arm. He shot her a questioning glance. “Is it dark green?”
“No,” Katie said with a laugh, shaking her head. “It's dark red.”
“Gorgeous is what it is.”
She smoothed a hand over the fabric of her skirt, a self- satisfied smile tilting her lips. She had turned the stores around D.C. upside down looking for the dress. It was burgundy- colored silk. The style was the ultimate in simplicity—thin straps over the shoulders, a deep vee in back that ended a safe inch above the scars from her back surgery. The bodice was a second skin that arrowed down over her stomach. The skirt fell from soft gathers, two whisper- thin layers ending in long fingerlike petals that swirled around her calves. She wore her hair up in an intricate knot of braids, and she looked as much like a princess as any woman Nick had ever seen.
The house overflowed with guests and enthusiasm. Everyone seemed to be talking and laughing at once as they mingled and moved through the elegantly restored mansion, while the chamber orchestra played Bach in the front parlor. The place was a sea of black and white tuxedos liberally splashed with the brilliant hues of evening gowns. Waiters decked out in colonial- style livery circulated through the crowd with silver trays of champagne glasses. The scent of expensive perfume mingled with the soft fragrance from the elaborate arrangements of fresh- cut flowers that graced the tables in each room.
At the foot of the grand staircase the president of the Society for the Preservation of Virginia Antiquities took Katie by the arm and congratulated her on a job well done.
“Thank you, Mrs. Byrd.” Katie smiled at the older woman in the ruffled pink dress. “But I certainly didn't do this on my own. I was just a helper.”
Mrs. Byrd gave her a sideways look with shrewd green eyes. “I know you, Kathryn. You're no simple worker bee. My spies tell me you were the one who persuaded the town to take this project on. Be modest if you will, but I intend to give credit where it's due.”
Katie looked embarrassed. Nick nearly popped a stud on his shirt, he was so proud of her.
The ballroom was beautiful. Housed in its own wing off the south side of the house, it had French doors running the length of the room on either side of the polished wood floor. People wandered in and out through the open doors to the gardens. The band had set up at the far end of the room and played at a volume that allowed people to hold conversations without shouting. Around the perimeter of the room groups of three and four people stood chatting and sipping champagne. A small crowd had gathered on the dance floor to shuffle and sway to a slow tune from the twenties.
Exchanging a meaningful look, Nick and Katie headed straight for the dancers. He was careful with her. Careful not to turn too quickly, careful not to let other dancers bump into her, careful to keep the steps slow and simple. Nick was such an accomplished dancer, his caution wasn't noticeable. No one in the room knew he was holding back for Katie's sake—except Katie. She pushed the thought from her mind, too happy to let it spoil her mood.
She focused instead on Nick himself. He was breathtaking in a tux, his dark good looks inten sified by the white of his shirt and the sharp styling of his jacket. She remembered how he had looked in his attic- turned- studio, in a T-shirt and jeans with the white, sunless light falling on him through the rain- spattered window. She remembered the eloquent plea for trust in his brown velvet eyes. She had given him her trust, and he had given her the chance to move and float, to dance when she had been so sure she would never be able to. Her heart swelled with love for him.
As they made their way around the floor they spotted Ry and Maggie. Maggie wore a pained smile and a strapless dress of black charmeuse. Ry was moving with all the grace of a dancing bear. He looked distinctly unhappy in a tuxedo, as if he were afraid to breathe too deeply for fear the seams of his jacket would split. Katie's heart went out to him. She knew how nervous he had been about dancing.
“Relax a little bit, will you?” Nick whispered to him when the song was over and the four of them gravitated toward the punch bowl.
“I hate this damn suit,” Rylan grumbled, scowling. He ran a thick finger along the inside of the starched collar of his white shirt, swallowing uncomfortably. “Trussed up like a rump roast on Easter Sunday. Cripes. They must've saved these shoes from the Spanish Inquisition. They couldn't hurt any worse if the farrier had nailed them to my feet with big iron spikes.”
“Just cool out, will you?” Nick said, patting Ry's massive shoulder with brotherly affection. “Have a glass of punch and wait for a waltz. You're doing fine. Just remember to listen to the music and relax.”
Maggie leaned toward Katie. “I'm afraid to look. Do I still have two feet? I could have sworn he ground one right into the floor during that last song.”
Katie bit her lip and gave her friend a pleading look. “Be patient with him, Mary Margaret. He's trying so hard.”
“Sugar, if he tries any harder, he's liable to kill me.” She glanced at Ry as he picked up two glasses of pink punch, and sent him a smile. He spilled half a glass and scowled at the serving girl as if it were her fault. “Don't ask me what I see in him. He's surly and churlish and sarcastic. We bicker constantly and never agree on anything.” A soft sigh slipped through lips that had been painted ruby red. The light in her brown eyes softened. “He's a handsome devil in that tux, though, isn't he?”
Katie reserved comment. Handsome was not a word most people used to describe Ry. It was too tame and pretty a word for him. Rugged was probably the most polite thing she'd heard him called, but Maggie thought he was handsome. They were an unlikely pair, her big scowling brother and her social- butterfly best friend. For some reason Katie thought their differences made them all the more perfect for each other.
While the band took a break, the four of them stood on the sidelines enjoying the breeze that drifted in through one of the French doors, bringing in the rich scents of the garden and the warm Virginia evening. Conversation centered on the house, the party, the people in attendance. Ry and Maggie bantered back and forth in their usual fashion, Ry having left all his shyness about dating his sister's best friend out on the dance floor. Zoe and Darrell Baylor joined them. Zoe was stunning in an electric- blue sheath. Darrell wore the required tuxedo and his usual pleasant smile.
“Evening everybody,” he said in greeting. “It's a lovely party, even if it's not exciting enough for my wife.”
Zoe gaped at him. “I never said that!”
Darrell gave her an innocent look. “You said the tourism committee would have done better if they'd skipped the orchestra and hired those male dancers from Hepplewhite's.”
Everyone laughed while Zoe made an embarrassed face. She shook a finger at her husband. “Just you wait until we get home.”
Darrell lifted a brow above the gold rim of his glasses. “Are you going to make me dress up like the Highwayman again?”
Katie and Nick exchanged an amused look while the others teased Zoe mercilessly.
Looking off acros
s the room Katie's gaze settled on a woman who could have walked right off the cover of Vogue. Black hair skimmed angular shoulders and framed an oval face. Katie had a feeling the emerald- green dress the woman wore probably matched the color of her eyes. “Who's that with Doll Harris?”
“That's John's niece from New Orleans,” Maggie said, sipping her punch. “Jayne Sutton. She's visiting for a few weeks. Lost her husband several months back. She's awfully nice, and if she doesn't have the most darlin’ baby girl, I don't know who does. She writes and illustrates children's books—Jayne, that is.”
“Jeepers cripes, Mary Margaret, why don't you just write a book?” Ry asked in his sarcastic drawl.
Maggie narrowed her eyes at him and discreetly tugged up the slipping bodice of her strapless dress. “Some people like to keep up on what's going on around them, Rylan.”
They were joined then by the Harrises and their niece. Jayne Sutton was exactly as Maggie had said—nice. Friendly and outgoing, everyone liked her instantly. One minute introductions were being made, the next Jayne was inviting everyone to a picnic in Donner Park. She seemed to have an innate ability to put people at ease and treat strangers as if they were lifelong friends.
As the orchestra swung into a forties big- band number, the couples moved back out to the dance floor. Maggie even managed to tug Ry off the sidelines.
Jayne's toe began tapping to the bouncy beat as she watched the couples dancing. “I love this old jitterbug stuff.” She grinned at Katie and Nick and motioned them out to the crowded floor. “You two should be out there dancing up a storm.”
Nick felt Katie's shoulder stiffen under his hand. She kept a smile in place as she said, “Not me. I couldn't move that fast if my life depended on it.” She looked up at Nick and felt as if she were plunging a knife into her own heart. “Why don't you ask Jayne to dance?”
A fist of tension knotted in Nick's stomach. Why would she suggest such a thing? Deep in her gray eyes he could see hurt and sadness hiding behind her phony smile, and a ribbon of foreboding snaked through him. He felt her pushing him away—emotionally, then physically, as she put a hand on his arm.
“Go on, Nick. I'm sure Jayne would enjoy it.”
Jayne looked as confused as Nick felt. Un cer tainly she said, “If you're sure you don't mind.”
“Don't be silly,” Katie said brightly. “It's only a dance. Why would I mind?”
Only a masochist wouldn't have minded, Katie told herself as she watched Nick and Jayne head for the dance floor. It was the worst kind of torture to stand there and watch the man she loved dancing with the woman she could never be. They made a striking couple—tall and athletic, grinning and laughing as they negotiated the quick steps and turns of the jitterbug. Nick was graceful, his movements a fluid blend of instinct and instruction. Jayne was less certain of herself but full of enthusiasm and determined to keep up with her partner. Nick didn't have to be careful with her.
Katie suddenly felt as if she had three left feet— all of them flat. She felt puny and slow… and hollow—a feeling she hadn't experienced since before her first night of lovemaking with Nick. He had made her feel like a whole woman. But she wasn't.
He was a healthy, active man, a man with a talent she could never fully share and dreams she could never fulfill. What right did she have to keep him from them?
The dance ended with a flourish on the drums. Nick spun Jayne around so hard her dress twirled around her legs. They came back to Katie breathless and happy.
“Oh…that was…fun,” Jayne declared between gasps as she combed her hair back out of her eyes. She gave Katie's shoulders a friendly squeeze. “Thanks for lending him to me, Katie.”
“Anytime,” Katie said, earning her a perplexed look from Nick.
As Jayne made her way toward the punch bowl, Nick slipped his arms around Katie from behind and dipped his head down next to hers. “Are you feeling okay?”
“I'm fine. My back's a little sore, is all.” She couldn't have said which was the bigger lie.
Nick brushed a kiss against her temple, concerned. Katie never complained about aches and pains even though he knew she had them. In fact, she always had been stubbornly determined not to mention them to him. “You want to go home? I'll give you a back rub.”
“No,” she said absently, watching Jayne tilt her head and laugh at something Zoe Baylor said. “I'll be fine. Jayne is awfully nice, don't you think?”
“Yeah, she's nice,” he replied in an offhand tone. He wanted to get away from the subject of Jayne Sutton, because he had a feeling it wasn't just Jayne they were discussing. Even now, with Katie in his arms, he could feel her pulling away, going into that little room inside herself and closing the door between them. Something had upset her. No doubt the fact that she hadn't been able to dance the swing number with him. He still didn't understand why she had pushed him to dance with Jayne instead. He wasn't sure he wanted to understand.
What he wanted was to bring Katie back to him—the laughing, smiling Katie he had brought to the party. He hated it when she distanced herself from him. Whether she knew it or not, she took a part of him with her when she went and left him feeling empty and alone. He hadn't been looking for love when he'd met Katie, but he'd found it. She colored all his thoughts, all his perceptions. Most of the time it was an exhilarating thing. When she pulled away from him, it was scary.
“Let's go out in the garden,” he suggested. Without waiting to hear her opinion, he headed in that direction with Katie in tow. Avoiding the other couples who had come outside for a breath of fresh air, he led her down the worn brick path. When he found the corner farthest from the house, he leaned back against the low wall and pulled Katie into his arms.
She went willingly, feeling tired and drained. It was nice to stand against Nick, to lean on his solid strength, to breathe in his warm, clean scent. She leaned against him and cleared her mind until there was nothing in it but the night with its sliver of moon and shower of stars, the garden, rich with fragrance, and Nick.
Nick slowly slid his hand back and forth across her bare shoulders as he stared out into the night, willing them both to relax. Finally he asked Katie, “Why did you want me to dance with Jayne Sutton?”
She wasn't quite ready to discover the real answer to that question herself, so she gave him the most logical one instead. “She wanted to dance. You wanted to dance. Neither of you had a partner.”
“I had a partner,” he corrected. “And you never bothered asking me if I wanted to dance. Maybe I didn't want to. Maybe I wanted just to stand with you and enjoy the music.”
Loyalty. It was one of his strongest virtues. And one of his biggest faults, Katie thought. “Dance with the girl you brung. Leave on the horse you rode in on,” she murmured.
“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing. Don't pay any attention to me. I guess I'm just feeling sorry for myself. I know how much you love to dance, and I wanted to be able to dance with you.”
“You did dance with me.”
“You know what I mean.”
He cupped her stubborn chin in his hand and tilted her face up. “I know Kathryn Quaid is the lady who made this evening possible. I know she's the one who worked like a demon to save this magnificent old house. I know she has the respect not only of her friends and neighbors, but also of a great many other people.” His smile went from gentle to teasing in the blink of an eye. “All that and you want to be able to jitterbug too? You're a greedy woman.”
Greedy for him. She wanted everything for Nick. It wasn't that she couldn't live the rest of her life without playing Ginger Rogers. Katie had accepted her limitations. But she wanted to shed them for Nick. He had given her so much. Why should he have to settle for less than everything in return?
“It's not that important to me, Katie,” he said, as if he had read her thoughts. “Dancing isn't the most important part of my life anymore. You are.”
Telling her with words wasn't enough. He
told her with his kiss as well. Long, deep, just a little desperate, as if he were afraid she wouldn't believe him. When he lifted his mouth from hers, his breathing was as unsteady as his heartbeat.
“You know,” he said, struggling to give her a smile that would offset the tension that had seeped into his kiss, “I've always thought the jitterbug was highly overrated. What we were doing in my attic—now that was a dance, my favorite dance.”
Katie smiled in remembrance, pushing away the melancholy mood that had settled over her like a damp cloak. There was no sense in ruining the evening mourning things that could never be. It was better to enjoy the evening and make memories she could store away in a satin- lined box in her heart, memories she could take out later to fill an empty night. She reached up and brushed back a lock of black hair that had tumbled onto his forehead. “That was my favorite dance too.”
“So maybe we should save our energy for later,” he suggested, running his hand down her back, loving the feel of her warm, smooth skin where her dress left her exposed, “when we can have a dance floor all to ourselves.”
She nodded against his chest. “For now, we should go back in and make sure Ry hasn't trampled Maggie into the floor.”
Nick pretended offense. “Is that an insult to my abilities as a dance instructor?”
“No, it's an insult to Ry's abilities as a dance student.” She slid her arm around his waist and hugged him as they walked back toward the light and noise of the party. “I have no complaints about the way you taught me how to dance.”
“Ry didn't get the same kind of personal treatment.”
“Thank heaven,” she said dryly.
ELEVEN
IT WAS A perfect summer day. The sky was cloudless, the sun unyielding, but a merciful breeze kissed the skin, and the humidity, which so often smothered Virginia in summer, had taken the day off. It was the kind of day tailor- made for picnics in the park.