All of a sudden, she brightened as an idea came to her. Slowly, a pleased expression crossed her face and a smug little smile curved her lips upward. Why not? If she hurried, the timing would be just about perfect. With a quick skip, she scurried down the path that would take her back to the house, thoughts of sweet revenge tumbling madly about in her brain.
Laurette Mayfield drew her lips into a sensual smile as she accepted the glass of sherry Garrett handed her. Her black cloak lay flung across the Queen Anne armchair, just inside the door where Garrett had removed it, and now, as she took a slow step toward him, wearing a clinging, low-cut dressing gown of scarlet satin, her voice broke into a low, throaty laugh.
"I had to hide this gown at the bottom of my valise and then go through all sorts of mechanics to keep the Trevellyans' maid from helping me unpack it! Oh, but it feels good to be wearing a color besides black!"
She looked Garrett silently in the eye for a moment. "You approve?"
Garrett sipped his brandy. He ran his naked gaze deliberately over her curving body, taking his time as he did so. "If you're asking for approval of your breaking of the mourning code, you'll get none from me—nor any disapproval either. Making moral judgments of others' actions just isn't my style. But if you're wondering whether I approve of how you look in that scarlet piece of finery, well, that's another matter," he said, setting down his brandy as he stepped closer to her.
Laurette's breathing quickened as she looked up at him, taking in the towering figure he presented, sensing the barely controlled sexuality that emanated from him. Quickly she set her glass down on a small stand nearby, just in time to feel his arms draw her into a crushing embrace!
His lips seared hers in a demanding kiss that she at once began to return, tongue meeting tongue, as each practiced knowledgeably the age-old rituals of enticement and foreplay. Garrett's fingers moved swiftly to untie the scarlet ribbons and sash that held her gown together, and in seconds it was about their feet. Hotly and expertly, his hands moved over the voluptuous mounds of her coral-tipped breasts, bringing them to immediate peaked excitement. When his mouth moved to her throat, he heard her begin to make low, animal-like noises. Then he felt her hand reaching down for the bulge at the front of his breeches, while at the same time he felt her small white teeth sink into the flesh at his chest. Sweeping one large hand down over her creamy buttocks, he let its fingers come to rest briefly in the wet warmth of the nest below before sliding his hand still further down the backs of her thighs and then around and behind her knees to catch her up and carry her to the bed.
Laurette had begun to writhe sinuously in his arms, her tongue darting feverishly between his teeth as his mouth once again covered hers.
Laying her on the bed, Garrett had just removed his shirt when a loud knock at the door echoed in the quiet chamber.
Startled out of her sensual reverie, Laurette grasped at the silken coverlet, pulling it up around her as she whispered fiercely, the words coming out more like a hiss than a whisper.
" 'S'blood! Who should that be! I thought you said we'd be completely private!"
"And so should we be," returned Garrett, grabbing his robe from a nearby hook as he motioned for her to hide under the coverlet and be still.
Quickly, he crossed to the door and called, "Yes what is it?"
"Returning your laundry, sir," came the muffled reply.
Garrett couldn't believe his ears, but he gave voice to his anger that now threatened to erupt in full force.
"Laundry! Who in hell brings laundry at this time of night?" he growled, throwing open the door to reveal the culprit.
Christie Trevellyan stood demurely before him in the moonlight, with one slender arm held up ceremoniously before her as she presented him with the shirt he had lent her the day of the swimming episode. There was a wide, devilish grin on her face as she looked at him, self-delight clearly evident on all her features. When she spoke, her tones were irately silky and smooth, her manner insinuating.
"Oh, Garrett, I'm so terribly sorry to be intruding at this late hour, but I simply had to return the shirt you lent me before Father found out I had it. It would never do for a gentleman's shirt to be found in the chambers of a young lady, you see. Thank you ever so much for its use, though. I would have been practically naked without it! It shows you were gentleman enough to partly amend the damage you did, sir!"
Then, smiling her sweetest smile at him, she bade him good night, turned on one dainty heel, and made her way blithely back to the house.
As he watched her graceful form disappear in the darkness, Garrett's first reaction was one of speechless anger. Then, as he closed the door, the enormity of her brazenly clever ploy stuck him; somehow she had known Laurette was here! Throwing his head back, he roared with laughter. Little Christie had bested him in rare form, and he would be the last to let the wit of her jest go unappreciated. The wench had even more spirit than he'd allotted her, and amid his laughter he made a mental note not to underestimate her in the future!
Then, still chuckling, he turned to find a fully reclothed Laurette reaching for her cloak. Frowning, he grasped her forearm and turned her toward him.
"Leaving so soon, my lady? And with the evening's pleasures just barely tasted?"
"Take your lusty, child-seducing hands off me, Garrett. There will be no more pleasures tonight!" spat Laurette.
"Not so fast, dear widow," warned Garrett. "The wench is gone—will not return. What possible obstacle can you now see—?"
"What possible obstacle!" hissed Laurette. "You lure me here, at peril of my reputation, stand idly by while I crouch under bedclothes in uncertain indignity as the latest tart you've bedded knocks at your door; then you laugh in my face as she presents the evidence of your recent exploits under my very nose, and you expect me to remain and spread my thighs for you as if 'twere no 'possible obstacle? Stand aside, Sir Rut! I return to my chamber!"
Garrett's temper rose in earnest now. He almost began, for a second, to explain the nature of the jest to her, but then thought better of it. He owed explanations to no woman! Savagely, he grasped her by the shoulders and drew her against him, his tone menacing as he spoke.
"You will go when, and if, I permit you to go, lady! And don't speak to me of lures to entice you to my bed. You came here of your own accord, and I acceded. Now you are here—so be it. And now, I desire you to stay!"
Brutally, he took her surprised mouth with his, forcing her lips apart, bruising them with his own. Laurette resisted for a moment, before finding herself going weak at the knees as desire replaced anger, and in a moment she found herself returning his kiss with renewed passion and warmth.
"Oh, Garrett," she breathed, "I'll make you forget the Trevellyan slut. You need a woman in your life, not a skinny-hipped child like that. I can warm your sheets handsomely over many a long winter's night."
Instantly, Garrett released her, his jaw suddenly tight, his mouth hard.
"You deceive yourself, madam. I made no promises of any permanent or long-lasting arrangements!" Garrett's eyes glittered coldly as he looked down at her startled face.
Laurette's eyes narrowed into dark slits as she took in the full meaning of his words. "So, you just thought to toy with me, dallying for a brief night or two, and then to be merrily on your way! Well, I'm no one-night doxie! Go bed yonder blonde bitch again, if that's to your liking. I'll have none of you!" And with a swing of her cloak over her shoulders, Laurette opened the door and marched resolutely down the path.
Garrett closed the door behind her and turned to face the empty room. Disgust was evident on his handsome features. So much for the pleasures of his evening! Damn, but this was Christie Trevellyan's fault! He'd been aware, sensed- with the instilled alertness that came from years of being pursued by predatory females, that Laurette had had a permanent relationship on her mind. But he had thought to keep those inclinations at bay, pushing them into the background while he found his pleasures briefly with her. Hadn't he wor
ked a similar game in numerous previous engagements? But little Christie's game had wrecked the careful control he normally assumed in such involvements. He had been thrown off balance by it. Damn, but he owed her something for this! And with an angry gesture, he snuffed out the last candle and went to bed.
Chapter Seven
Garrett heard the stable door open and then slam shut as he bent to retrieve the hoof pick he had just dropped at Jet's feet. As it was early, he was surprised to hear someone else about. Even Trevellyan's grooms didn't materialize until after six, the very reason he had chosen such an early hour to work at cleaning' the black's hoofs. His mount was unusually touchy about who handled his feet and yesterday there had been a near disaster when one of the grooms and two stable boys had insisted such work was not fitting for Mr. Charles's guests and had tried to clean Jet's hoofs themselves. Garrett had come on them just in time to avert a nasty display on the part of his temperamental stallion; but even then, the stable crew had been outraged that the gentleman from Carolina should wish to do the task himself. Not wanting to cause a scene or create disharmony among his host's help, Garrett had invented some excuse to take Jet for a ride, suggesting they could see to the hoof-picking later. Then he had risen early this morning to attend to the matter himself. Now, he thought to himself with annoyance, one of them had
chosen to arrive unusually early and the nonsense of yesterday would commence all over again. Perhaps, if he were very quiet, the servant wouldn't realize he was here and would go away long enough for him to finish and leave. He leaned against the side of the large stall and waited, but soon a female voice told him the intruder was no stableboy.
Christie's melodic tones drifted across to him from several stalls away. "Good morning, Thunder! I've missed you, you big sweetheart! And just as I promised last night, we're taking an early ride this morning—Garrett Randall or no Garrett Randall! Besides, this time I'm up early enough to catch the jump, even on him. We'll be long gone before he or anyone else is about. And in just a couple more days, he'll be gone and we can go back to our normal schedule for good—oh, come on, now, don't go looking for more sugar than you're entitled to! Now, hold still while I remove your halter, will you?"
Garrett was undecided. Never a willing eavesdropper, he would have made a noise or some signal to make his presence known, but Christie's words had come tumbling out so quickly, he'd had little time to act, and now, having heard what she said, he was reluctant to step forth and give evidence he'd been privy to a speech not intended for his ears; the result was sure to engender a locking of horns, and this morning he was in no mood for such an encounter with the wench. Moreover, his pride would not suffer him to allow her the satisfaction of accusing him of eavesdropping, so he decided to remain hidden and give her the chance to go off on her ride in peace.
He listened to the sounds of tack and saddle being taken from their place on the wall near Thunder's stall. He'd had no idea she'd been so discomfited by his presence that she'd taken extreme pains to avoid him. And it had cost her what he knew was one of her fondest pursuits—time with her gray. Garrett frowned. Heaven knew, he'd been fond of baiting the little chit, but he had no wish to stand in the way of her simple pleasures! He himself knew what it was like to lose oneself in a carefree solitary ride as a means of rejuvenating the spirit and washing away cares. Surely he had no right to take that away from Christie.
Suddenly he sensed his mood taking an unfamiliar turn and caught himself. Why, he'd almost allowed himself to become remorseful and sentimental over the wench! If he weren't careful, that child-in-a-woman's-body would have him acting in all sorts of strange ways unnatural to himself!
At that moment, he heard the stable door open again, and Christie obviously seemed startled by it as she called out in a voice slightly tinged with alarm, "Who's there?"
A boy's soprano replied, "It's only me, Miss Christie—Jonathan Ryan."
"Jonny! Oh, it's good to see you, sweetheart," said Christie, "but what are you doing over here so early?"
"Oh, miss, I've been an early riser for weeks, now. Ever since I came to live with Granddad—you know, since .. . since—"
Christie sighed so audibly, Garrett could hear it from where he stood. "Ah, Jonny, I do know. I lost a
parent myself, as you know. Of course, your mother and father were both torn from you, and years before their time. . . . You're taking it hard, aren't you, sweetheart?"
"No, miss, not too hard . . . that is . . . oh, Miss Christie!"
"Go on, now, Jonny. You can cry in front of me if you've the need. There's no shame in the shedding of tears for a good reason."
Garrett heard the sounds of a youngster softly sobbing. He shifted uncomfortably against the wall of the stall.
"You miss them both very much, don't you Jonny?" asked Christie.
"Aye, miss. Not that Granddad Tim isn't wonderful, sharin' his lodgin's with me and trainin' me to know horses and such, but—oh, Miss Christie, why did they both have to be in the house when it burned—or—or, why not me with 'em?"
"Now, you hush with that, Jonny Ryan!" Christie's attempt at sternness was belied by an undertone of unmistakable tenderness. "If God wanted you, he'd have taken you, but he didn't, so you'll just have to stay and make the best of it!"
"Aye, miss."
"Jonny, how old are you?"
"Be eleven next All Saints' Day, Miss Christie."
"Eleven! Why, you're almost a man, Jonny! . . . Sweetheart, I know you're grieving after your parents, and it happened only a month ago, but, Jonny, listen to me. Try to look at the positive side of it. You know, my mother was taken from me on the night I was born. I never knew her, Jonny. Now, I'll admit, at that tender age, I was spared the pain, but I was not spared the loss. And over the years, do you know what was the hardest thing to bear? The fact that I never knew her. I would go about the house and barns, sometimes so sad, or feeling alone—you know, the way we can get sometimes, apparently over nothing—and at those moments, especially if Father was away or not available, as frequently happened, I would yearn for a mother I never knew, wish for her, somehow, to come to me, even if only in a dream, so I might come to know what she was like and then perhaps have that knowledge to take to sleep with me on certain nights, or to comfort me during a difficult waking moment. . . . But you, Jonny, you've had God's good grace to have known both your parents, and for nearly eleven good and joyful years! Ah, I tell you, sweetheart, it's a small comfort, but a comfort nevertheless! You'll always have your memories of your mother and father to hold and cherish; no one can ever take those away from you. . . . You see, Jonny, sometimes life's a tradeoff as I see it. There are balances of a kind. Now, here we stand, you and I. One of us lost a parent she never had, but was spared the other one through God's kindness; the other was fortunate enough to have had both parents, but only for a short time here on earth. Now, why, do you suppose, the two of us chanced to meet here in this stable so early of a morn. Was it by chance? Or by some grand design? You know, I think we can learn from each other, we human beings who travel under God's sky together, don't you?"
Answering, the boy's voice sounded much brighter. "Aye, Miss Christie, I do." Then he added, "Hey, there, Thunder! Here's your carrot!"
"Carrot!" exclaimed Christie. "Do you mean to tell me, Jonathan Ryan, you've been making it a habit to come to Thunder's stall regularly to feed him treats?"
The boy's tone was abashed. "Aye, miss. I—I hope you don't mind. I know I'll never have the chance to ride Thunder, but I surely do enjoy visitin' with 'im and feedin' 'im a carrot or two. You're—you're not cross with me, are you?"
"Cross? Heavens, why should I be cross? I think it's kind of you to give him the extra attention he's come to expect; especially since I've been forced to neglect him myself lately. Jonny .'. . you've become rather expert in the saddle, haven't you?"
"Well, miss, Granddad does let me exercise Captain, and he's a fine animal."
"Exactly. So how would you like to do
me a favor this morning and exercise Thunder for me?"
"Thunder! Oh, Miss Christie, you don't mean it!"
"Of course, I mean it, silly! I was just coming out here this morning to do it myself, but I really haven't the time, what with my birthday tomorrow, and the ball and everything. I really need this time to . . . er . . . work on my new hair style for tomorrow night, and I was just apologizing to Thunder when you came in, for having changed my mind about riding him, and feeling so guilty about it! But now I won't have to feel guilty because I'll know he has someone else who cares about him to take him out. Please— you will do it won't you?"
"Oh!" exclaimed Jonathan. "Oh, you know I will, miss! And I'll be ever so careful with 'im, won't I, boy? Oh, thank you, Miss Christie!"
"On the contrary, Jonny! Thank you! Here, let me open the door for you—all set? See you later!"
Garrett heard the stallion's hoofs moving away from the stables as he continued to lean quietly against Jet's stall. Then he heard Christie coming his way. Damn! Now he'd be forced to crouch down and conceal himself like some ninnyhammer schoolboy spying on his elders!
Christie approached the outside of the stall and stopped. "Hello, there, big fellow! How are you, Jet? Looking for a carrot, too?"
Garrett saw her slender hand reach out to pet the black's nose and cursed himself for the position he was in.
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