Disguised Enchantment

by S. Quinn McAfee

  "Please don't worry about it," Shannon smiled. "I understand you're very busy."

  "That's not the point," Ben replied. "I meant it when I said I'd call you, and I never renege on a promise. Besides, I really want to take you out--get to know you a little better. So, would you consider having dinner with me Saturday night? If you don't have a previous engagement, that is," he grinned.

  While Shannon studied his inquiring expression, her mind drifted back to the Ball and the Marquis. As far as she was concerned, making love with him constituted a commitment, and she didn't feel comfortable going out with another man. "Well, I-I don't..."

  "Come on ... its just a little dinner. And I still don't bite," he coaxed teasingly.

  Shannon smiled at his comical demeanor as a faint blush colored her cheeks. She realized his gentlemanly offer was just his way of being polite, and turning him down would most likely hurt his feelings. "Oh, okay," she conceded. "Saturday night would be fine."

  "Great!" Ben beamed. "I'll pick you up about seven. By the way, I'm a café-out-of-the-way kind of guy, so don't worry about anything fancy."

  "All right. I'll keep that in mind," she nodded.

  Ben's eyes remained fixed on Shannon's delicate features as he slowly rose to his feet. "I hate to rush off," he frowned. "I have a ton of lines to memorize before tomorrow, but I'd be glad to help you take all these things to your car."

  "Thanks, I could really use a hand," she laughed, quickly rising from the bench to gather her belongings.

  When Shannon arrived home she made herself a light supper, then immediately set to work sketching. Initially, her pencil flew over the paper, laying down the images that filled her mind. Then slowly, gradually, another image--one involving a black silk hood and penetrating blue eyes--began infiltrating her thoughts and breaking her concentration. With a frustrated sigh, she put down her pencil and gave into the nagging question torturing her mind. What would the Marquis think if he knew she'd accepted a date with Ben? Would he be angry and consider it a betrayal?

  "Oh, don't be silly," she told herself out loud. Ben was just a friend, and she had no interest in becoming romantically involved with him. Once the date was over, she would simply resume her relationship with the Marquis.

  During the next few days, Shannon chose to forget about her upcoming date with Ben. Instead, her mind was totally consumed with the thought that her designs, and perhaps her career, rested in the hands of a few editors of a needlecraft magazine. Every day she would come to work anxiously hoping Mrs. Phillips would have news for her, but every day there would be nothing, only the discouraging negative shake of her head.

  By the time the weekend arrived, Shannon was anything but chipper. The realization that she might never hear anything about her designs coupled with the fact that her date with the dapper Mr. Tate was fast approaching left her feeling quite jittery. She tried putting all of her nervous energy to work cleaning and scrubbing every nook and cranny of her small home that Saturday morning. By late afternoon she could no longer pretend the date wasn't going to happen, and finally traded in her cleaners for a long, hot soak in the tub. An hour later, she stood in front of the bathroom mirror peering critically at the cream-colored, seed-stitched cardigan sweater and the long, floral georgette skirt she'd chosen to wear for the evening. She remembered Ben assuring her that their date would not be a fancy affair, yet her Southern upbringing would not permit her to wear something that wasn't appropriately feminine--a trait she hoped he wouldn't find obsessive or vain.

  With the seventh chime from her antique grandfather clock in the living room, Ben's red sports car pulled into her back drive. Shannon scurried into the kitchen desperately trying to quell the butterflies in her stomach as she watched him get out of the car. He was certainly sincere about them not going to a fancy restaurant as he was dressed comfortably in black jeans and a black, charcoal, and white sport coat that complimented the soft, white, banded-collar shirt he wore beneath it. His rugged, yet appealing good looks made her catch her breath when she opened the door to greet him. "Well, hel-lo pretty lady," he drawled, looking her over top to toe with that ever present gleam in his eyes. "You look positively enchanting."

  "T-thank you," she stammered nervously, realizing again just how self-conscious she felt in his presence.

  Ben waited while Shannon locked the door then followed her down the walkway to his car. As he opened the door and handed her inside, she couldn't help recalling the last time she had sat in this very seat. She remembered how uncomfortable the close proximity of their bodies inside the compact interior made her, and couldn't keep the same tense feeling from creeping over her again. Ben slid into the other side of the vehicle and glanced over at her pensive face. "I thought we'd drive to Santa Monica, if that's all right with you," he said softly. "There's a little place on the beach I think you'll like."

  "Sounds good to me," she smiled shyly as he backed out onto the street.

  During the drive to Santa Monica, Ben told her about the times he'd been swimming and scuba diving at the various beaches along the way. "So you're the athletic type too," she said matter-of-factly.

  Ben glanced over at her somber demeanor. "I try to keep in shape," he commented wryly. "Especially since I play a life guard on TV. It kind of goes with the territory."

  Shannon colored deeply at his amused perusal. Try to keep in shape! she thought. He was practically a walking advertisement for a muscle magazine! "I'm sorry to say I've never seen your show," she admitted somewhat embarrassed. "I guess I'm just not a big TV fan. I'd rather spend my free time sketching."

  "Heyyy, there's no need for you to apologize," he exclaimed laughingly. "Watching my show is not a prerequisite for going out with me."

  Shannon gaped at him in utter amazement. She was under the impression actors had huge egos that were in constant need of stroking. Ben, however, seemed quite indifferent to the fact that she had never seen his show and, judging by the way he squeezed her hand, quite forgiving as well.

  Soon they arrived at the restaurant. It was a cozy little cafe with sawdust on the floor, red-checkered tablecloths, and flickering candlelight. Shannon fell in love with it immediately. Ben seated her at a table near a window that afforded a spectacular view of the ocean and promptly ordered cappuccinos. Over the steaming cups of pre-dinner coffee, they talked quietly. "Do you have any idea how nice it is to see you again without being interrupted or having to rush off somewhere?" he asked, gently taking her hand.

  "It is nice," Shannon smiled. "It's very nice here too. Thank you for inviting me."

  "My pleasure," he assured, leaning closer. "I know it's dark," he gestured toward the window, "but perhaps you'd like to take a stroll on the boardwalk after we eat."

  "Out there?" she gasped, watching the rising waves break against the shore. "I-I don't know. I've never been to the beach before."

  "Well, then. We'll just have to remedy that, won't we?" He grinned at her wide-eyed uncertainty as the waitress brought their dinner orders of butter steak with special herbs, tossed vegetable salad, and crusty bread.

  An angry wind buffeted their hair and clothing as they left the restaurant and headed out for their walk. Overhead, a sky full of black clouds, gilded by the sliver of a pale moon, watched them stroll hand in hand along the wooden walkway.

  "It's beautiful, Ben," Shannon breathed. "No wonder you spend so much time at the beach. I don't think there could ever be another place as beautiful as this."

  "Now I find that hard to believe," Ben smiled. "There are beautiful places everywhere. It just depends on how you look at them or perhaps with whom you're looking at them."

  "I-I s-s-suppose you're r-r-right," she nodded, trying to keep her teeth from chattering as a barrage of violent shivers gripped her petite form. "B-but..."

  "But you're freezing," he said, quickly taking off his jacket and placing it around her shoulders. "What do you say we get out of this wind and drive back to the city? We could visit a couple of night spots
in Hollywood, if you like?"

  "Yes, yes. I'd like that very much," she replied, immensely grateful for his timely suggestion.

  As they drove toward Hollywood, however, the blacker the already threatening sky became and, when a growling roll of thunder broke from the ebony firmament, its ominous intention was justly revealed.

  Scowling darkly, Ben glanced out his side window. "Looks like we're in for a storm. Could be a nasty one too."

  No sooner had he said that, when a jagged bolt of lightning ripped open the clouds and rain began pouring in torrents. "I'm afraid we're going to have to postpone your Hollywood tour for tonight," he said, taking her hand and briefly holding it against his thigh. "The next time, though, I promise. Right now I'd better get you home before this gets any worse."

  Ben continued driving toward the Valley, but quickly realized it was already too dangerous to go much farther. The storm had picked up tremendously. The pounding rain and fierce wind made it almost impossible to see where he was going. Suddenly, up ahead behind a wall of traffic barriers, Ben caught sight of a highway patrolman flagging them down. Safely steering his car onto the berm of the road, he lowered the window a fraction as the patrolman approached.

  "What's the trouble, officer?" Ben asked loudly over the booming thunder.

  "An accident, sir," the man shouted. "We're closing this part of the freeway, so you're going to have to turn around. This weather is really causing problems all over and isn't expected to let up until dawn, so I suggest you find shelter as soon as possible." Ben heeded the officer's advice and headed back in the opposite direction. He was dead silent as he drove, and Shannon was too scared to say anything to him. She just sat there growing more nervous with each flash of lightning and praying he wouldn't take her to a motel to wait out the storm.

  After what seemed like an hour's drive, Ben pulled up in front of a small, wood-sided house on the side of a gently sloping hill. "Well, it's not a palace," he grinned wryly, "but at least it's dry."

  "W-where are we?" Shannon faltered, realizing the place looked nothing like a motel. "My place," he winked. "Want to try to make a run for it?"

  Shannon stared at the bungalow in utter shock. She thought he was a big TV star with a salary to match. Somehow the little house didn't fit into the picture. But when she considered the fortune he undoubtedly spent on the sports car, she quickly concluded that possessing a flashy vehicle was much more important to him than an expensive home--especially when it came to impressing women.

  Ben cleared his throat noisily as he shut off the car's engine. "I don't want to rush you, but if we wait much longer, we may just be stuck out here the rest of the night."

  "Oh, gosh! I'm sorry,' Shannon gulped. "I-I was just wondering how I'm going to make it all the way to the porch without falling in the mud somewhere."

  "Don't worry. I'll take care of that. You just get out as fast as you can and hang on."

  Shannon opened the car door and stepped out into the driving rain. Almost instantly, she felt Ben snatch her up into his arms and sprint toward the house. When they were safely on the front porch, he set her on her feet and quickly unlocked the door. Shannon couldn't help giggling at his soaking wet hair and water-streaked face.

  "What's so funny?" he asked, mopping his brow with a handkerchief.

  "You look a little like a drowned rat," she laughed teasingly.

  "Oh, really? You know I could say the same about you ... if I weren't a gentleman." He dabbed her nose with the wet cloth.

  Shannon made a face at him. "You really are incorrigible, aren't you?"

  "Just get in there," he growled, gently pushing her through the open door.

  Inside, Ben motioned Shannon into the living room, then headed for the kitchen. "Find a seat, Shannon. I'm going to make some coffee and round up a few candles. I'll be just a moment."

  Now it was Shannon's turn for silence. Slowly she made her way toward the shadowy outline of a couch sitting near the fireplace and sat down numbly. The realization that she would be spending the night at Ben's home was beginning to sink in, and she was suddenly very uncomfortable. A few seconds later, Ben returned to the living room with coffee cups and candles in hand. He sat them on the circular table in front of her then moved on to the fireplace where he quickly ignited the small pile of logs within it. When the fire had grown bright and crackling, he returned to the couch.

  "You okay?" he asked, easing down beside her.

  Shannon glanced nervously about the room. The dancing flames clearly exhibited his bachelorhood, as the room's decor was strictly masculine. Brown leather furniture, chunky end tables, and bold brown and yellow plaid draperies further exemplified he was certainly a man of simplicity.

  "I'm fine," she smiled, trying to hide the awkwardness she felt. "I-it's just that thunderstorms really scare me. Back home in Virginia one this bad would sometimes generate tornadoes."

  Ben lifted one of the cups from the table and handed it to Shannon. "You don't need to worry about that here," he said gently. "Granted this storm is quite severe for southern California, but I'm fairly certain there won't be any tornadoes."

  "I hope you're right," she grimaced, cringing at a brilliant flash of lightning.

  Ben studied the distress on Shannon's face as he slowly sipped his coffee. "So you're from Virginia," he grinned slyly. "I thought I detected a slight Southern accent every now and then."

  A hint of color crept into Shannon's cheeks as her eyes lifted to his mischievous expression. "I'm afraid attending school in Atlanta is more to blame for that than growing up in northern Virginia."

  "Atlanta ... wow!" he exclaimed with a low whistle. "So that's where you learned that left side of the brain stuff you were telling me about not so long ago."

  "Oh, dear!" Shannon laughed. "I'd completely forgotten about that but, yes, the Institute of Art is quite renowned for its teaching methods--among other things."

  "Now that sounds positively ominous," he growled.

  Shannon nodded in agreement. "It was," she choked. "In fact there were many nights I cried myself to sleep worrying that I'd never make it through the courses. Not only was the curriculum difficult, but their standard of discipline and propriety was intolerable."

  "Good lord," Ben snorted. "What on earth did they make you do?"

  "Mostly repeat assignments until they met the instructor's expectations. I remember working for weeks on the same pen and ink drawing, many of those days well into the night, only to have the instructor tear it up in the end leaving me no option other than to begin again."

  "I don't understand," Ben frowned. "Why were they so demanding?"

  "Simple," she shrugged. "In the art world, you have to learn all the mediums starting with pencil, pen and ink, water color and so on, and you can't move on to the next until you've satisfactorily mastered the previous one."

  "Whew!" he breathed. "And I thought acting classes were tough! You really must have wanted to be an artist to put up with that."

  "I did," Shannon smiled. "When I was a little girl, I spent hours in the fields and orchards of my parents' horse farm sketching the animals and landscape. Fortunately, they recognized my budding talent and were quite willing to see that I received the proper training."

  "Horse farm, huh ... and you said there couldn't be any place more beautiful than the beach. Now I know you were just humoring me. I bet you get homesick," he imparted softly.

  "Sometimes," she sighed. "This past Christmas was especially hard. I really missed the sleigh rides in the snow and all the family get-togethers."

  "You didn't go home?"

  Shannon shook her head. "I couldn't. I'd only been in LA since October and just started working at the Boutique."

  "I see," Ben said, eyeing her shrewdly. "You must have been very determined to make a go of it here to sacrifice the holidays with your family."

  "I was--I am," she corrected adamantly. "Al-although, I must admit, there was a time or two last month I seriously considered returning
home, but of late things have taken a turn for the better. There's even a chance my career could finally get the boost it needs."

  "I'm very happy to hear that," Ben professed. "But I'm even happier you didn't leave LA because then I would never have known the pleasure of your company ... and that would indeed have been unfortunate."

  Shannon smiled at his flattering remark while trying unsuccessfully to smother the irrepressible yawns that suddenly possessed her. The room had become warm and cozy from the crackling fire, and she quite literally could not keep her eyes open. Finally, her eyelids grew heavier and heavier, drawing her deeper into that amorphous world between wakefulness and slumber where everything, including the sturdy body cradling her in loving security was lost in sweet oblivion.

  For a while, Shannon's deep, peaceful sleep remained dreamless. Then, as if a switch had been thrown in her subconscious, a misty swirl of images began invading her tranquil slumber. She saw herself walking on the boardwalk with a man she thought was Ben. Yet something was very wrong with the picture. His form and face were obscured, hidden in shadowy darkness. Just then the moon sailed out from behind the clouds and she saw him clearly. It wasn't Ben at all. It was the Marquis! And he was holding her, speaking close to her face in an intimate, seductive voice.

  Even though the roar of the ocean drowned out most of his words, there were moments when she heard him plainly. "You belong to me, Shannon,' he charged. "Our hearts, our bodies and our souls are rooted in infinity. No other man can love you the way I can ... you know that. You feel it with every breath you take."

  Then he was kissing her, holding her snug against him with such warmth it left her weak and yearning. Moaning softly, she let the Marquis' arms draw her closer as his kiss deepened both in length and intensity. He was so real, so passionate. She tried fighting up from the dark, misty depths of her dream to open her eyes, but soothing murmurs lulled her back to sleep, and she surrendered to the warmth of the brawny shoulder beneath her head.