Wilde, Jennifer

by Love's Tender Fury

  When I returned to the ballroom, the Spaniard in dress uniform who had come with Corinne asked me to dance. I nodded graciously. He was a superb dancer, and those dark, flashing eyes seemed to devour me. When the dance was over, he made a highly improper suggestion. I smiled, pretending to be flattered, and crushed his hopes with a polite refusal. He executed a formal bow, clicking his heels together, then sought out a more responsive partner. Someone else asked me to dance, then someone else, and it was wonderful to be desirable, to be dancing, to be wearing a golden ball gown and diamonds, to be at peace after three weeks of anguished indecision.

  Another hour passed. It was after midnight, and the ball was officially over at one. The candles were starting to burn down, the roses beginning to wilt. Many people had already left for more private entertainment, Jean Paul with his blond, the Spaniard with a brunette in red. Angie had disappeared, too, and Kyle was no longer at his post. I imagined they had gone into the shadowy courtyard or perhaps even upstairs to one of their rooms. They would be good for each other, I thought. Angie would make Kyle less grim, and Kyle would keep her in line.

  The musicians were taking a well-deserved break before the last session. No more than thirty people were left in the ballroom. Standing with a glass of champagne in my hand, surrounded by a small group of men who hadn't yet found partners for the remaining hours of the night, I smiled and chatted lightly. They teased me about Jeff's abrupt departure, volunteering to keep me company in his stead. It was all good-natured, relaxed, diverting.

  Five gorgeously gowned women stood together at the other end of the room, near the door, gossiping, toying with their fans. Couples sat on the sofas or wandered up and down waiting for the music to resume. The floor was empty, gleaming still, reflecting the candlelight. Looking around, I saw the tall man with the scar enter the ballroom. The courtesans stopped talking, and then, as one, they moved toward him, colored skirts swaying. He paused, cool gray eyes searching, and when he saw me he started toward me, ignoring the fluttering beauties who fell back in disappointment.

  I handed my empty champagne glass to one of the men and asked them to excuse me. They grumbled. Returned to their stand, the musicians began playing as I moved forward to greet Derek Hawke. Couples began to dance. And I paused to wait for him to reach me. My emotions were in wonderful control. I had made my decision. I would be polite. I wasn't scared, wasn't even nervous. I felt very strong.

  He was wearing black, his waistcoat a deep maroon embroidered in black silk. The slight hollows beneath his cheekbones that I had noticed that night in the moonlight were still there, and he looked thinner, taller as well. That thin, jagged scar made him look like a handsome pirate, sinister and romantic. It was difficult to associate this elegantly attired stranger with the farmer in sweat-damp shirt, old breeches, and muddy boots.

  "Hello, Derek," I said politely.

  "I intended to get here earlier, but I had one or two errands I had to run."

  "I'm glad you could make it."

  "Are you?"

  "We welcome all comers as long as they pay. I assume you bought a ticket."

  He nodded. "There was no one at the door to collect it."

  "Keep it. The ball is almost over. I'm afraid you're not going to get your money's worth."

  "I imagine I shall."

  "Oh?"

  "Where's Rawlins?" he asked.

  "Jeff had to leave some time ago."

  "Shall we dance?"

  "I'm rather weary, Derek. There are at least a dozen very attractive women who'll be delighted to dance with you. You might even persuade one of them to go home with you."

  "We'll dance," he said.

  He took my hand, wrapped his arm around my waist, and swung me into motion with one graceful swirl. I relaxed, letting him guide me over the floor. I had never danced with him before, and I was surprised at his expertise. His eyes held mine, cool, remote, revealing nothing. I refused to be intimidated, refused to show the least emotion.

  "I've been expecting you, Marietta."

  "Have you?"

  "I felt certain you'd come."

  "You were wrong, it seems."

  "You wanted to," he said.

  "Indeed?"

  "I saw your face in the moonlight. I saw your expression when you recognized me. I'm sure. You don't love Jeff Rawlins. You're still in love with me."

  "You're mistaken."

  "I don't want to play word games, Marietta. We've already lost three weeks."

  "You're terribly sure of yourself."

  "I'm sure of you."

  "Because of what you imagined you saw in the moonlight?"

  "I didn't imagine it."

  The music stopped. There was a faint scattering of applause. Derek released me. I moved away from him as the music began again. He followed me and took hold of my arm. I turned, my anger beginning to surface. People were staring at us. I let him lead me over to the side of the room. We stopped by a tall basket of yellow roses, the sofa beside it vacant.

  "You're wasting your time, Derek," I said. "I mean that. Your—your arrogance is not to be believed. Whatever I might have felt for you is quite dead. I'm living with Jeff and I intend to marry him."

  "Not now you're not."

  "I suggest you leave, Derek."

  "Come, we'll go out to the courtyard. We can't talk here."

  "We've nothing to talk about."

  "Are you going to come peacefully, or shall I drag you out? I will if necessary. Your friends are already staring at us. I'm sure they'd enjoy seeing that little scene enacted."

  I could tell that he was serious. With as much dignity as possible, I left the ballroom with Derek beside me. The courtyard was clothed in deep blue-black shadows, moonlight illuminating the fountain and a section of the tiles. The two or three couples, whispering together in the darkness, paid us little attention. Taking hold of my hand, Derek led me over to one of the walls where tall shrubs concealed us from view.

  "I hope you're satisfied," I said.

  "You intend to keep playing games?"

  "I just want you to leave me alone."

  "No, Marietta. That isn't what you want."

  "It's been over three years—"

  "You want me, just as I want you."

  I wanted to deny it, but I was afraid that if I tried to, my voice would betray the emotions welling up inside. My anger had been genuine, but it was gone now, replaced by those other feelings I wanted so desperately to hide from him. I stood with my back against the wall, and he stood directly in front of me, now two feet away, and as my eyes adjusted to the dark I could see his mouth was set in a determined line. I prayed for strength, for I knew I must resist him.

  "I tried to forget you," he said. "I couldn't. After I had to give up the plantation, after I got into my new line of work, there were other women, one right after the other. I took them eagerly, hoping each one would cure me of you, make me forget. It was futile. They only made it worse, made me realize all the more what I'd lost."

  His voice betrayed no emotion.

  "You didn't lose me, Derek. You sold me."

  "In a fit of anger. I told you how much I regretted it the night I delivered the wine. I was filled with remorse for what I'd done."

  "And now—"

  "Now I want to make it up to you."

  "You don't owe me anything, Derek. You—you did me a favor. I have everything a woman could possibly want. I have money, jewels, security, a man who loves me with all his heart."

  "You don't love him."

  "You'd like to think that. Jeff is charming and kind and—generous. He treats me like a queen. He's tender, too, not afraid to show his love."

  "You don't love him," he repeated.

  "That's not true."

  "You love me. I knew. The minute I laid eyes on you I knew you hadn't been able to forget, just as I hadn't."

  "So you sent a key, expecting me to come like—like some expensive harlot. You were disappointed, weren't you? You're so in
credibly arrogant you actually believed that's all you had to do."

  "I want you, Marietta."

  "You want to sleep with me. You're not alone. There are dozens of men who'd give anything to be able to take me away from Jeff. Most of them have tried. I've never once been unfaithful to him." I gave him a piercing look, and asked, "You told me you're leaving for England shortly."

  "That's true."

  "And it would be nice to have a bed partner until it's time to leave, wouldn't it? Go find yourself a beautiful whore. New Orleans is full of them. I don't consider myself one of them."

  Derek didn't reply. I tried to control the tremors inside, tried to deny the aching desire that grew steadily. I longed to touch that jagged scar, that wide, determined mouth. I hated him for what he was doing to me, hated myself for feeling the emotions of old. The palm fronds rattled in the wind. From across the courtyard there came a throaty laugh, the sound of a brief scuffle, a moan smothered by a kiss.

  "You're trembling," he said.

  "I—I'm going back inside now. I have duties."

  "You're not going anywhere," he said softly.

  He pulled me toward him, sliding one arm around my waist and the other around my neck, tilting his head to one side as he leaned down, covering my mouth with his. I tried desperately to resist as those firm, moist lips pressed and probed, demanding the response I could withhold no longer. He parted my lips with his own, clasping me against him, and my head seemed to swim and the world seemed to recede. There was nothing but this man, that mouth, these emotions sweeping over me and rendering me helpless. My arms circled his broad shoulders, and I melted against him in total surrender.

  It seemed an eternity before he finally released me. I leaned back against the wall, looking up at him with tears in my eyes. The wind ruffled his hair, and in the faint mist of moonlight his face was stony, the face of a victor, stamped with satisfaction. I actually hated him at that moment, hated him even as I longed for those strong arms to enfold me once more, longed for that mouth to resume its sweet torture. Derek knew, and he nodded. It was a while before I could speak. My voice trembled.

  "I—I'll never forgive you for that."

  "I imagine you will. You love me and want me as much as I want you. I'll leave now. I don't intend to force you to do anything you don't want to do. You still have the key."

  "You actually think I—"

  "You'll come," he said, "and I'll be waiting. There's just one more thing I want to say. I love you, Marietta. There, I've used the words. I love you. I loved you from the first. I should have told you."

  "Derek—"

  "I'll be waiting, Marietta."

  He turned then and moved away from me. I heard his footsteps sounding on the tiles, and then he was gone and I was alone in the courtyard. All of the others had gone inside. As I listened to the crickets, to the splash of the fountain, to the lilting music muted by distance, I knew that he had won. I was helpless against the emotions still smouldering inside. I wiped the tears from my cheeks and tried to compose myself, but several minutes passed before I finally had the strength to go inside and bid the last of the guests goodbye.

  CHAPTER 24

  Perhaps today would be the day. There wasn't much time left. Although he hadn't mentioned it, I had heard that the ship for England would be leaving New Orleans on Monday, only five days from now. He hadn't talked about it at all, hadn't given the least indication that he planned to take me with him, but in my heart I was sure that's what he intended. Perhaps today he would tell me. He would be very casual and matter of fact, would simply tell me that I was going with him and should start making arrangements. He had probably already purchased my passage.

  He loved me. After all this time he had finally said the words, and although he had not repeated them, he had shown his love in a thousand small ways. Derek wasn't a demonstrative man, but he couldn't entirely conceal his emotions behind that stern façade. Each time I saw him he betrayed them with a look, a casual word, a gesture. He loved me, and when he left for England I would be with him. He would win his inheritance, would take his place among the aristocracy, and I would be his wife. How foolish of me to think my background would make the least difference. The opinion of his peers wouldn't matter in the least to him. He would be just as disdainful of them as he had been of his neighbors in Carolina.

  I quickened my step. It was after two o'clock in the afternoon, and Kyle had let me out in front of Lucille's only a few minutes ago. He would return to the dress shop at five. Derek and I would have almost three hours together in that sunny apartment, where we would talk, deliberately forestalling our trip to the bedroom, delaying it, savoring the anticipation. Then he would give me that drowsy look and I would smile and we would make love. Derek would express with his body, his flesh, all those things he found so difficult to express in words. Reluctantly, I would return to the dress shop, and Jeff would be none the wiser.

  He would probably be in his office all afternoon, going over the books in an effort to make them balance. He still hadn't confided in me what the problem was, but his face was grim as he worked. He wasn't at all concerned about all my visits to the dress shop. Actually he seemed pleased that I was planning a new wardrobe and devoting so much time to it. I think it made him feel less guilty about seeing Corinne again.

  Jeff hadn't returned the night of the ball, hadn't come back until almost noon the next day. Corinne had attempted to swallow a bottle of laudanum that night, he informed me, and he was going to have to break it off gently or the foolish creature would do something desperate. I could tell that he was flattered she had gone to such extremes. It bolstered his ego, made him feel dashing. He had been unusually affable and endearing during these past two and a half weeks, as though to compensate for his backsliding. The fact remained that he was seeing her again, regularly, and we hadn't kept our "appointment." Jeff had no idea how relieved I was about that.

  I would have to tell him soon, of course. It wasn't going to be easy, but I would try to break it to him as gently as possible. It had been sheer folly even to consider marrying him. Seeing Derek again had made me realize all the more that I could never give Jeff the love and total commitment he deserved. Once I was gone, he would find someone else, someone who could give him all the devotion he was entitled to. He would be hurt, of course, but in the long run he would be much happier, I told myself.

  I moved on down the street, my turquoise silk skirt fluttering in the breeze that cooled the air and laced it with the tang of salt. It was a glorious day, the sky a light, clear blue awash with silvery sunlight that threw flickering silver-gold spangles over the mellow brown walls. The city seemed to be charged with vitality, colors brighter, sounds noisier, its customary lethargy replaced by an atmosphere of joyous abandon.

  I felt young and radiant. I felt like a girl again, and all because of the happiness welling up inside. I had never thought I would feel this way again. I turned a corner, nearing Derek's quarters. The street was lined on either side with carts of flowers, feisty old women in faded shawls standing beside them, urging people to buy. There were golden marigolds, yellow chrysanthemums, blue larkspurs, pale lilacs, scarlet azaleas, their colors offset by the brown stone walls. People strolled up and down, stopping to examine, to haggle over prices. A spotted dog was barking lustily, tail awag. A stout black woman in starched blue dress and white bandana moved purposefully along, holding the hands of two beautiful little girls with long blond ringlets.

  I had told no one about these visits, not even Angie. Angie was immersed in her own affair, for Kyle had indeed succumbed the night of the ball and, to her horror and delight, declared that he intended to marry her, if only to keep her in line. She thought the idea outrageous, but she was beginning to warm to it day by day. The scrappy little sparrow was fast becoming a docile, devoted pet. Angie didn't suspect the true reason for my daily trips to Lucille's, and Lucille herself asked no questions. She knew I was using her shop as a blind and accepted it with c
ool sophistication.

  Reaching the intricately wrought black iron gate, I pushed it open and stepped into the sun-drenched patio with its blue slate tiles and splashing fountain. Buildings rose on three sides, festooned with ornate iron balconies on two levels. A brilliantly crested white cockatoo strutted restlessly on a slender yellow swing suspended from one of the dwarf palms, cawing loudly as I took the key from my reticule and inserted it in the lock. Valjean's rooms were on the ground floor, facing the gate, spacious, expensively appointed rooms designed for comfort.

  "Derek?" I called.

  "I'm in here. In the sitting room."

  I stepped to the door, smiling. Derek was sitting in one of the plush tan velvet chairs, sunlight spilling over him from the windows directly behind. His hair was disarrayed, and there were faint shadows beneath his eyes. I knew that he had made a delivery last night, and I suspected that he had just gotten out of bed and dressed. The deep coral draperies billowed behind him as the breeze swept into the room. He continued to lounge in the chair, looking at me with drowsy gray eyes.

  "You're so gallant," I remarked. "A gentleman is supposed to get up when a lady enters the room."

  "I'm no gentleman."

  "I'm delighted you're so glad to see me."

  "I'm glad to see you," he said.

  "Are you?"

  "I'm tired. I didn't get back until five o'clock this morning."

  "Perhaps I should leave," I teased.

  "I'm not that tired."

  Lounging with one leg slung over the arm of the chair, he examined me with lazy appraisal. The turquoise dress was new, a deep, rich silk, and I knew it went well with my coppery auburn hair. The petticoats beneath were in varying shades of green and blue. Derek liked what he saw. I was glad I had taken such care in selecting the dress and arranging my hair. I wanted to be attractive for him. Lazily he contemplated me with lids drooping and gray eyes darkening with desire, and then he scowled and looked away, almost as though he were irritated with himself for wanting me.