"Yeah, positive," Donna nodded.
Shannon sank down on the low stool setting beside her box of merchandise as her mind flew into a frenzy. She knew Mattie's call had to be a signal that the Marquis wanted to see her. But at lunchtime? Certainly his sexual appetite was ravenous any time of the day or night, but it wasn't like him to summon her for that purpose alone. Shrugging off the nagging suspicions that crept into her thoughts, she reckoned his lunch invitation couldn't have come at a better time. Now she would be able to tell him about her new job and upcoming trip to San Francisco without relying on Mattie or a note to explain the reason for her sudden departure.
* * * *
The Chateau parking lot was full of vehicles when Shannon drove onto the grounds a little before noon on Friday. It seemed odd that the men would be entertaining so many clients during a weekday lunch hour, but she gave it little cause for concern. Parking her car near the doors of the underground garage, she entered the house through the lower level entrance and took the elevator to the kitchen. Inside the spotless galley, her attention was immediately drawn to the dining room where the sound of exuberant feminine voices and sporadic laughter emanated. Thinking that Mattie must have invited her to lunch with Jillian and the other girls, she headed for the dining room, rushing through the doors in eager anticipation of some friendly companionship. What her eyes saw next, however, was a sight for which she was ill prepared.
A dozen or so gaudily dressed, jewel-bedecked, middle-aged women, including the buxom Ms. Marsha, sat at the table feasting on an assortment of sumptuous California cuisine, as well as some other tantalizing tidbits being offered by the outrageously clad being strutting before them. Realizing it was the Marquis those reaching, groping hands were pawing, Shannon gasped in disbelief as she stared at the scene before her. She had become accustomed to his fondness for wild costumes but, nevertheless, assumed he reserved their use for private, nighttime titillation. What he was brandishing today, in broad daylight, could only be described as down right raunchy.
His upper body, naked, except for a wide, black leather and metal studded collar fastened about his neck, glistened with a generous coating of oil that extended down the length of his arms to the black, shiny latex gloves on his hands. The pants he wore, slung low on his hips, were fashioned of the same shiny black latex--with an added attraction--a stretchy, mesh-like crotch embellished with a harness of silver chains that boldly flaunted his well-endowed anatomy. Completing the get-up was, of course, his black mask and sexy, knee-high boots.
While the Marquis' sleazy attire was certainly a shock to Shannon's system, it compared little to his disgusting behavior. As he moved around the table laughing and teasing the women with his potent sexuality, he suddenly stopped and scooped one of them up in his arms, then quickly dropped into the empty chair with her squirming gleefully in his lap. A wicked grin played at the corners of his mouth as he plucked a huge strawberry from a bowl full of the succulent, red fruit and dipped it into a container of whipped cream. Bringing the berry to the woman's mouth, he proceeded to dab the cream onto her lips, nose and chin before allowing her the pleasure of its sweet taste. The woman followed suit, taking a berry and smothering it with the whipped cream, but instead of lifting it to his mouth, she brazenly smeared it over the front of his chest, leaving a trail of little, white gobs dripping down to his navel--the point at which she began licking the gooey confection from his body.
Shannon was so stunned, she wasn't aware that the manila envelope containing the material from San Francisco had slipped from her hand until it landed on the tiled floor with a loud "smack." Instantly, the bawdy laughter and rank chatter ceased, and a roomful of inquiring eyes fastened themselves on her rigid form.
The Marquis, appearing not the least bothered by what Shannon had just witnessed, disengaged himself from the woman on his lap and stepped toward her dabbing the remaining whipped cream on his chest with a linen napkin.
"Mademoiselle McAllister. I was not aware that you would be visiting today."
Obviously! The word burned in her throat. She wanted to scream it at him, but she feared if she opened her mouth to speak, the only thing forthcoming would be a torrent of bitter sobs.
Quickly blinking back the tears that threatened to wreck her superficial composure, she watched in breathless silence as he knelt to retrieve her envelope. Normally, she would not think such a simple movement to be a blatant show of indecency, but in his case it could be considered little else. The pliable crotch section of his pants was stretched to the breaking point beneath the rows of dangling chains as he squatted in front of her, deliberately affording her an exclusive view of his huge, bulging penis.
A strange mixture of disgust and desire surged through her as she stood staring at him, and it wasn't until he began speaking again that she tore her eyes away from his flagrant display.
"I believe Mattie is upstairs in the study. Perhaps she can be of more assistance to you than I at the moment." A mocking grin formed on his lips as he rose to his feet, envelope in hand.
Realizing he was grinning at the direction of her ardent perusal, she blushed furiously, and uttering a terse "thank you," grabbed the envelope from his grasp and fled from the room in absolute mortification with the sound of their roaring laughter echoing in her ears. She didn't care whether Mattie was upstairs or not. She had no intention of looking for her. All she wanted to do was go to her car and get out of there as fast as possible.
Bitter tears of anger and resentment stung her eyes as she steered her car through the main gate and onto the streets of Beverly Hills. The Marquis' salacious performance had put a hole in her heart the size of Utah, and the gut-wrenching pain ripped apart her soul with the equivalent of a jagged shard of glass. Thank God Mrs. Phillips had given her the rest of the day off to pack and prepare for her trip tomorrow because she was certainly in no shape to return to work.
Shannon shot into the driveway of her home and jumped out of her dilapidated vehicle. The feeling that she was about to be sick quickened her pace up the back walkway and all the way to her bedroom where she threw herself on the bed. The thick, softness of her pillow muffled the anguished scream that erupted from her, but all the pillows in the world couldn't absorb the deluge of tears that followed. She had believed him last weekend when he told her he loved her, but after what she saw today, she knew those words were just that. Words. The Marquis didn't love her. Never did and never would. He had succeeded in getting her into bed and, God knows, that's all he ever wanted. She was just another conquest. Another pretty face to add to his collection, and she was a blind fool to think he was committed to her. He was nothing but a slimy con artist, and she fell into his trap like a fly mesmerized by the glistening beauty of a spider's web, not seeing until it was too late that it had sealed its own doom.
Shannon pushed herself up from the bed and reached for the tissue box setting on her night table. She had been crying for what seemed like hours, and now there were no more tears left in her. A kind of emotional numbness had settled over her and for the first time in many months she was able to think clearly without her heart ruling the outcome of her decisions. Nothing, not even the man she'd been so in love with, was more important than her designing career, and it was high time she put the Marquis and the mistakes she made behind her and move on with her life--starting with her new job in San Francisco.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Saturday morning breakfast at the Chateau began much the same as any other day. The men emerged from their chambers to take their places at the dining room table while Mattie bustled about serving their various requests of hot cakes, cereal, juice and coffee. The Marquis sat apart from the others staring dolefully at the cold contents of his cup. Shannon's untimely appearance yesterday roiled in his stomach like sour milk that, besides ruining his appetite, rendered him sick at heart as well.
"How 'bout a warm up, lad?" Mattie tendered softly.
The Marquis shook his head and then, on second t
hought, motioned at the chair beside him. Setting the coffeepot on the table, Mattie lowered her stout form to the plush seat.
"What's the matter, lad? Ya look like the hounds o' hell been eatin' at ya." She peered at him sympathetically.
"For sure they have, Mattie," he grimaced, leaning toward her in confidence. "Tell me you didn't invite Shannon to come here yesterday around noon."
Mattie's eyes grew round with alarm. "Nay, lad. I didn't. I would ne'er do such a thing 'less you requested it."
The Marquis sank back in his chair, an angry scowl whitening his lips. "Then who the hell did?"
"Who the hell did what?" A light-hearted, slightly sultry voice chortled out of the blue.
All eyes transferred to Marsha as she sauntered into the dining room and headed for the Marquis. Slowly he raised his head, glowering at the smug, self-satisfied grin on her full, scarlet lips.
"You bitch!" he roared, leaping out of the chair. "It was you! You arranged for Shannon to come here yesterday, didn't you?"
"Of course, I did, darlin'," Marsha beamed, quite pleased with herself for executing such a brilliant scheme. "Someone had to get rid of her."
"Damn you, Marsha!" he fumed. "You've done some rotten things in your day, but to purposely subject her to one of those ... those weekly sleaze sessions you insist on conducting to amuse your wealthy friends is the dirtiest stunt you've ever pulled!"
"Oh now, get real, my dear Marquis!" Marsha blustered. "I had to do something. That little twit was wasting your time and my money! In case you haven't noticed, our profits over the past three months have dropped considerably. And it's all because of you!" She jabbed her index finger into his chest. "Oh, yes," she hissed. "I know all about your secret night time liaisons. I've watched that brat sneak out of here many a morning just before dawn. Why, it's a wonder we're still in business at all since you've stopped seeing most of your clients so you can spend all your time fucking Miss Snow White."
The Marquis' hand clamped painfully around Marsha's wrist. "Get real, huh?" He eyed her viciously. "Okay, Marsha, I'll get real! As real as it gets!" Reaching behind his head, he ripped loose the ties of the black hood, pulled it off, and thrust it in her face. "Get yourself another stud. I quit!" He stared at her stunned expression momentarily, watching as it slowly turned to one of sly contemplation. "Don't get your hopes up, Marsha," he snarled, flinging her hand from his grasp. "I have no intention of leaving here so you can turn this place into a sleazy bordello. Yeah, that's right," he sneered. "I'm still going to be here. I just won't be for sale any more." He shot her a devious grin then stormed from the room.
"You just couldn't let it alone, could you, Marsha?" Jean Laffite jeered, coming up behind her. "Tell me. What did you really hope to accomplish by coming between the Marquis and Shannon?"
"You heard me!" Marsha barked defensively. "I was trying to prevent certain disaster--which was exactly what was going to happen if something wasn't done soon."
"I don't think so," he shook his head, a sardonic grin playing at the corners of his mustached mouth. "You couldn't stand the idea of him being romantically involved with someone other than yourself, so you devised that little scheme to undermine their relationship and drive Shannon away."
"So what if I did!" Marsha spat bitterly. "Everything was just fine between us until she showed up. Of course, I schemed to get rid of her. What was I supposed to do? Stand by and let her steal the man I wanted for myself? No way!"
"Well, I'll tell you what," Jean ground out. "Your conniving may have disposed of Shannon, but it's also done a lot more than that!"
"I don't know what you're talking about!" Marsha huffed.
"Simply this," Jean snarled. "Your despicable, underhanded deeds will most certainly bring about your downfall, Marsha and, I wouldn't be surprised, after what transpired here this morning, if the Chateau as we know it ceases to exist." He fixed her with a cold, complacent look, and then moved off toward the ballroom. Inside, the Marquis stood gazing aimlessly out the huge, drapery-covered windows, his heart struggling to contain the horrible pain that was tearing him apart. He wasn't aware that Jean had entered the room until he felt his friend's hand on his shoulder. "You all right, mate?"
The Marquis turned and looked at his colleague, a veil of unshed tears clouding his eyes. "I've lost her, Jean. I've really lost her. I played around and played around and hurt her so badly she'll never have anything to do with me again."
"Aw, come on," Jean frowned, "you had no way of knowing Marsha was behind what happened yesterday. You can't blame yourself for that."
The Marquis shook his head. "I'm afraid there's more to it than that," he sighed, raking a hand through his disheveled hair. "It was bad enough that she had to see me at my raunchy best, but the icing on the cake was the cavalier, pompous-assed way I treated her ... but what else could I do?" He slammed his fist into the palm of his other hand. "I couldn't let those nymphomaniac matrons see what Shannon really meant to me! Lord knows, they might have decided to threaten or hurt her in some way. I wouldn't--couldn't, under any circumstances--let anything happen to her."
Jean placed an understanding hand on the Marquis' arm. "Of course, you couldn't," he said softly. "And that's why you can't give up on her. It's clear you love her very much."
"Love her? She's my life! Without her, there's nothing for me. No purpose for existing. No Marquis. Nothing!"
"Then for God's sake, man, you can't just stand by and let this destroy what you share together. If she's everything you say she is to you, then you've got to fight for her. Do whatever you have to. Anything. Anything and everything it takes to make things right again!"
* * * *
Ben breezed into the Tapestry Boutique a little before six Monday evening with the hope of seeing a certain dark-haired damsel before she left for the day. Donna spied him standing in the middle of the shop as she came out of the storage room.
"Well, well, if it isn't the renowned Mr. Tate," she scoffed.
Ben flashed her a capricious grin. "Ah, Donna. It's a pleasure as always, but alas, I came to see Shannon."
Donna snorted at the simple expression contorting his face. "I think that's going to be rather difficult seeing how she's in San Francisco right now."
"San Francisco? What's she doing up there?" His demeanor was suddenly dead serious.
"I guess she's meeting with the editors of a prominent cross-stitch magazine," Donna shrugged nonchalantly. "Apparently, they hired her to design for their publication."
Ben's eyes narrowed thoughtfully. "When did all this come about?"
"Last Friday," Donna quipped. "Mrs. Phillips received a letter and airline tickets from them, and the two of them took off bright and early Saturday morning--leaving me in charge," she smiled proudly.
"I don't suppose you have any idea when they'll be back."
"Not really," Donna shook her head. "Mrs. Phillips seemed to think she'd be back in a couple of days. But Shannon? Possibly a week from this Friday evening..."
A distraught look intensified the craggy features of his face as he stood contemplating Donna's words.
"Aw, what's the matter?" she taunted. "Did your little love muffin go and leave town without telling you?"
A devilish glint sparkled in Ben's eyes as he fixed her with an ornery gaze. "What Shannon is to me is none of your business, Donna, but I will say this ... If you hadn't made her love life your number one priority, I probably would never have met her. And for that I am eternally grateful." He tossed her an impish wink, and then promptly exited the store.
* * * *
To say that the Marquis was miserable over Shannon was putting it mildly. He locked himself in his chamber every night and refused to come out. Mattie tried reasoning with him, explaining that his clients were asking questions and, at the very least, he owed them an explanation for his sudden unavailability. Yet with all her pleading, he kept to his word and adamantly refused to see a single one, leaving the uncomfortable task of explaining the s
ituation to poor Mattie. His seclusion may have protected him from the probing, demanding questions of his clients, but it did little to shelter him from his own torment.
Everywhere he looked, everything he touched inside his chamber reminded him of Shannon and the love they shared. His nights, consequently, were hell. He tried sleeping in his bed, but the memory of Shannon's warm, soft body pressed against him nearly drove him insane and he would find himself standing at its foot overwhelmed with loneliness and despair while his mind replayed the intimacy of the nights they had spent there. Ironically, the chamber that was designed for love and romance had become his prison cell where long hours of anxious pacing and fitful catnaps on the settee were now the rule of the day.
Sunday brunch that weekend was hardly a jovial affair. The uncertain future of the Chateau hung over the men and their ladies like a great ominous cloud. Music of any kind was noticeably lacking as they sat unenthusiastically picking at the food on their plates while trying in vain to make pleasant conversation. Even the unexpected appearance of his Lordship, the Marquis, late in the afternoon did nothing to lift the gloom. If anything, it only made matters worse. His insistence on playing every sad, broken-hearted love song he could find grated on everyone's nerves until the room fairly cracked with tension. Finally, realizing his presence was helping no one, including himself, he abruptly switched off the music and departed.
* * * *
With two weeks worth of anxious anticipation churning inside him, Ben headed to the Tapestry Boutique early Friday evening praying that Donna had told him the truth about Shannon returning from her trip. For days, his mind wrestled with the words to express the love he'd so carefully hidden in the secret places of his heart. Eventually, though, he came to realize that no amount of "rehearsing" was going to prepare him for what he had to reveal, and that he was probably better off playing it by ear as the moment warranted. One brilliant deduction did come of his mental deliberation, however, and he quickly took care of the deed before he lost his nerve entirely.
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