by Janet Dailey
"For the record, Mrs. Cochran," he said flatly, "you didn't change my mind. Cato did."
"I don't particularly care what changed your mind," Lara began, but her retort was drowned out as he put the truck in gear and drove away, leaving, a choking cloud of dust behind.
THE FIRST WEEK OF MARCH brought an explosion of spring color to the countryside. The snow-white blossoms of the flowering dogwood competed with the mauve shade of the red bud trees, their colors heightened by the contrasting backdrop of the thick pine forests of central and southern Mississippi.
In the courtyard the roses were blooming in red and pink profusion, their fragrance filling the air. The delicate flowers of the honeysuckle vines that clung to the brick walls were a vibrant yellow, their sweet scent vying with the rose fragrance. Azaleas and camellias were budding to join in the annual rebirth of spring.
The riotous display in the miniature courtyard was artificially illuminated by the lanterns scattered in strategic locations throughout the gardened area. Light blazed from every window of the house. The tiled floor of the entrance hall was waxed to a high-gloss shine. The woodwork throughout the house gleamed with fresh polish.
Lara paused beside a hallway table to adjust a floral arrangement in a vase. Her empire gown was a daring shade of pastel pink that accented the marble creaminess of her complexion and highlighted the fiery color of her hair piled in old-world ringlets atop her head. At the sound of footsteps, she turned toward the staircase.
"Lara, would you fix my tie?" Trevor turned at the landing and came down the last set of steps, his hands fumbling with the black bow. "I can't seem to get it right."
"Of course," she agreed blandly. Trevor looked darkly elegant in his black suit and a vest of silver brocade. Now Lara could see how easily her head had been turned by his handsome looks, not the man.
While she expertly started tying the bow, she could feel his dark eyes possessively studying her. The diamond in her wedding ring flashed brilliantly on her fingers, but Lara was no longer blinded by what it was supposed to represent.
"You are beautiful, Lara," Trevor murmured huskily. "You are an absolute vision tonight."
"Thank you," she replied politely.
"We don't really have to be here for this pilgrimage tour. Let's sneak off somewhere, just the two of us." His hands settled around her waist in suggestive familiarity.
Impatiently she pushed them away. "Stop it, Trevor."
"You are my wife, Lara. Have you forgotten that?"
"I haven't. Have you?" Her gaze flicked coldly to his face.
"You are on my mind constantly." He caressed her with his voice and eyes.
"Constantly? Don't you mean that between the blonde and the brunette you think of your wife?"
"Why must you keep bringing up the past?" He frowned. "That episode with my secretary has been over for a long time."
"Has it?" Lara smiled cynically. "Or have you merely replaced her with someone else?"
His dark, nearly black eyes narrowed harshly. "If I have, can you honestly blame me?" Trevor challenged. "I have normal physical needs, obviously unlike you. You were the one who shut me out, Lara. It isn't my fault that I have to go outside my marriage to seek satisfaction."
"That's a pat explanation." Lara knotted the bow. "Unfortunately it doesn't hold true for your first affair with the blonde. At least, I presume it was the first," she added tautly.
"I was a fool. I admit it." His arms slid around her waist before she could stop them. His hands locked together at the small of her back and he drew her against him. "You are still the most beautiful woman in my life. All I'm asking is another chance to make you the happiest." Trevor bent his dark head to nuzzle her ear, ignoring the rigidity of her body. "Once you enjoyed having me make love to you. I can make you feel good again. Let me show you tonight, darling. We can slip away to some intimate little spot, drink some champagne and dance. We did that on the first night of our honeymoon, remember? And I carried you all the way up to our hotel room?"
Lara remembered. But that girl in his arms had been someone else. She closed her eyes. Every nerve in her body now seemed to be dead at his touch.
"Let me go, Trevor," she said tautly. "Save your romantic words and kisses for some other gullible fool. I'm not interested in them anymore."
"I'm not going to accept that," Trevor murmured against the corner of her unresponsive mouth. "In time you'll change your mind and admit that you want me."
"You're wrong, Trevor. Now let me go," Lara commanded in a low voice.
"Okay, you two lovebirds, break it up." Her father's affectionately chiding voice joined them in the entry hall. "The tour will be here any time now."
Knowing Lara would not openly resist him in her father's presence, Trevor took advantage of the embrace to claim her lips in a possessive kiss before releasing her. Lara accepted it with cold tolerance, straightening the edges of his bow tie, then walked calmly away, the soft material of her long gown swishing around her ankles.
"The house looks as marvelous as you do, Lara," Martin Alexander declared.
"She is beautiful, like a goddess," Trevor agreed, his dark eyes glowing as he looked at her.
Her lips curved with the semblance of a smile at the compliment she knew was insincere. At the first sound of activity in the driveway outside, Lara turned toward the front door.
"I believe the tour is arriving now." Trevor was immediately at her side when she opened the door to admit the group. His hand rested on her waist, acting out the part of a romantic and happy wedded couple.
It was going to be a long and trying evening, Lara thought silently, if Trevor was going to take advantage of the touring guests to make his unwanted advances. There was very little she could do about it as she welcomed the guests to their home.
As usual, the group consisted mainly of couples. There was a trio of elderly women, who were obviously friends, and a representative of the Hattiesburg Historical Society. Lara was mildly surprised to see a young, attractive brunette in the group. She supposed she was the daughter of one of the couples.
The woman was staring at Trevor. A fact that didn't surprise Lara. It would have surprised her more if the brunette hadn't taken notice of him. Her dark gaze shifted to Lara, envy flashing across her face. Lara smiled faintly and looked away. If the woman only knew, she thought wryly, how totally false the impression was that she and Trevor were a happily married couple, she would probably be shocked.
Quietly Lara remained at Trevor's side, listening to her father as he explained to the group the details and the dimensions of the house and some of its early history. He was proud of his home and enjoyed showing it to visitors. He had just invited the group to follow him into the living room when there was a knock at the door.
Lara used the interruption as an excuse to separate herself from Trevor. "You go ahead with the others. I'll answer the door."
She had partially expected him to protest, but he smiled an acceptance and followed the group into the living room. With a little sigh of relief and a flicker of curiosity as to the identity of the late caller, she walked to the door and opened it.
Rans MacQuade was framed by the opening, vitally masculine in a crisp white shirt, opened at the throat, and dark trousers. She had seen him only a few times since the incident with Cato, then only at a distance. Fingers curled into the palm of her hand, her head tilting to a faintly haughty angle.
His lazy yet very alert brown eyes noticed the instinctive reaction with sardonic amusement. His gaze moved insolently over the perfection of her features, traveling down her slender neck to the hollow of her throat. It didn't stop there, but continued over the bareness of her skin, halting for an instant on her grandmother's brooch that modestly concealed the shadowy cleft between her breasts, then swept over the clinging material of her gown.
Her skin burned as if he had physically touched her. Lara's green eyes flashed her dislike of his insulting inspection when his gaze returned to her face.
From the living room came the chattering of several voices. Lara guessed that her father had invited the group to ask questions. Rans MacQuade heard them, too, and glanced in the general direction of the living room, hidden from his view by the house walls.
"I'm sorry. I wasn't aware you were entertaining this evening," he apologized smoothly.
"Not entertaining, exactly," Lara corrected in a coolly distant tone. "This is the night of the candlelight tour in connection with the annual pilgrimage. Was it something important you wanted?"
"No." Rans shook his head, a glint of curiosity entering his eyes. He raised his left hand slightly to indicate the thick folder he was carrying. "I promised Martin last week that I would gather the notes and literature I had on the Texas varieties of pecans, I finished about an hour ago and decided to bring them over."
"If you'd like, you can leave them in his study," Lara suggested, opening the door wider to admit him into the house. "I'm sure he'll want to go over them with you another evening when you are both free."
"I'll contact him tomorrow." Rans stepped into the hallway, his gaze idly sweeping into the living room where guests were trailing into the adjoining area. "Did you say it was a tour? I'm sorry," he offered with a trace of curious confusion, "but I wasn't aware that your home was open to the public."
"It isn't, with the exception of Pilgrimage Week."
Lara escorted him down the hallway toward the study. She was strangely reluctant to let him linger in the house longer than it was necessary to deliver the papers he had brought.
"Pilgrimage. Is that a local festivity?"
"Various cities throughout the state and the South have what is referred to as a pilgrimage scheduled at various times in the year. It's an annual event of the Hattiesburg Historical Society, which arranges for private homes that are historically significant to be open to the public on a tour basis. Most of the tours are in the afternoon, but certain homes are viewed in the evening on what is referred to as a candlelight tour," Lara explained in a concise tone.
"Historically, significant?" An eyebrow arched inquiringly.
"In our case, it's more the unusual architecture of the house than famous personages or events. Generally the architecture of southern plantation homes is Greek Revival or Colonial. Many homes are full of valuable antiques. Our appeal is mainly the heavy Spanish influence and the picturesque courtyard within the house walls."
"Doesn't it bother you to have a group of strangers parading through your home?" He closed the door, his gaze focusing curiously on her face.
"It's only once a year," she smiled coolly, "not an every day occurrence. Besides, my father enjoys it." Lara glanced pointedly at the large mahogany desk nestled in front of filled bookshelves. A large chair covered in wine-colored leather was behind it. "You can put the papers on his desk."
The tall windows in the study were actually parted glass doors opening into the courtyard, as in every room on the lower floor except the living room and side parlor. Heavy, velvet draperies in a matching wine color flanked the doors. The draperies were open, providing a view of the softly lighted courtyard.
As Rans passed the windowed doors to put the papers on the desk, he glanced out. "I had hoped to use the courtyard gate again, but your tour
group is out there."
"They'll be coming inside in a few minutes to see the parlor and the study before daddy takes them upstairs."
"They actually go through your private rooms, too?" he mocked.
"No, only the two guest rooms and daddy's sitting room," she answered stiffly, glancing through the window to see the visitors begin filing toward the door leading into the entrance hall. "They're coming back into the house now."
"Is the gate locked?"
"Yes, it is." Lara was angry with herself for forgetting that. "Excuse me, I'll get the key."
She slipped quickly into the hallway. The tour group was slowly congregating inside the rear area of the hall, waiting for the stragglers still gazing around the garden. In the buzz of conversation, Lara's quiet trip to the closet and back to the study, went unnoticed.
Rans was leaning a hip against the side of the desk, his arms folded in front of him when she returned. He straightened with lazy nonchalance as she closed the door and walked swiftly toward the glass-paned doors.
"I should apologize for keeping you from the tour," he offered.
"It's quite all right. Daddy usually takes over, anyway." Lara shrugged the polite gesture aside.
The door latch turned silently in her hand. She started to walk through the opening when she heard a woman's voice in the courtyard. She hesitated for a fraction of a second, not wanting to encounter the tour group, then decided it matter whether she did or not. A step later, she froze at the sound of Trevor's voice.
"Darling, you took such a chance coming here like this," he whispered. "What were you thinking about?"
The voice was close to the study, but wherever Trevor was, he and the girl must have been concealed in the shadows, because Lara strained her eyes and could see nothing.
"I had to see you. It's been so long," the girl murmured with an aching throb in her voice. "I couldn't help it. I had to come."
"I know," Trevor responded. "I've been wanting to see you, too, but someone from the tour is going to notice you aren't with them and come looking for you."
Lara's stomach lurched as she realized the girl had to be the attractive brunette she had noticed earlier. Her hand spread its fingers across her stomach to check its sickening turn.
"Not for a few minutes," the brunette protested. "Oh, Trevor, darling, you never told me your wife was so very beautiful. I wanted to die when I saw the two of you together. I wanted to tear the ring from her finger and tell the world that you belonged to me, but she's so much more beautiful than I am." The torture of jealousy and envy vibrated her words.
"Lara is beautiful, yes," Trevor agreed, "but so is an ice carving. To me, she will never be as beautiful as you are. I swear it's the truth, Melinda, love. All evening, until I saw you walk through that door, I kept trying to find some way, some excuse, not to take part in this tour so that I could slip away and be with you tonight."
Remembering his ardent pleas to spend a romantic evening with her, Lara sunk her teeth into her lip to choke the gasp that rose in her throat at his audacious lie. Trevor had certainly found another gullible fool.
"It must have been knowing how much you wanted to be with me that brought me here tonight," the girl murmured. "Darling, hold me. Hold me for just a little while."
A silence followed, faintly broken by the rustle of clothing. Lara knew they were embracing. A nauseous chill raced over her skin. Her husband was in the courtyard of their home, kissing and caressing another woman. Lara pivoted back into the study, not wanting to hear any more sounds or words of the disgusting scene.
She spun into the hard wall of Rans MacQuade's chest. In her shock at finding Trevor in the garden with another woman, she had completely forgotten that anyone else had overheard what she had. The discovery paralyzed her for a humiliating second, long enough for Rans to reach around her and close the study door to the courtyard.
"You look pale, Mrs. Cochran," he observed sardonically. "Surely you weren't surprised by what you heard. You've known all along about your husband's other women."
The pallor disappeared immediately in a flood of warmth. The words formed on her tongue to deny his statement, but it seemed pointless to deny the truth. "I foolishly believed he would be considerate enough not to meet them in my home," Lara retorted, lifting her chin in regal scorn.
His mouth quirked into a crooked, cyncial line. "Perhaps if you were as passionate and loving as the young woman in the courtyard, Trevor would not be having these affairs. A man doesn't enjoy making love to an unfeeling marble statue, however aesthetically beautiful it is."
There was an itch in the palm of her hand to feel the stinging contact with his strong jaw, it was checked by the impulse to
hurl the bitter facts of her marriage in his mocking face. There was no point in insisting that she was once passionate. Trevor's male ego would never allow him to be faithful. He constantly had to prove his manhood. He couldn't ignore the challenge of a pretty face, regardless of his love life at home. Lara obeyed neither impulse.
"I don't recall requesting any personal advice from you, Mr. MacQuade," she said icily. "Would you please leave through the front door?"
The corners of his mouth twitched in dry amusement, carving brief grooves in his lean cheeks to signify the presence of his dimples.
"I'll see myself out." His brown eyes glinted wickedly. "Good night, Mrs. Cochran."
Chapter Five
THE BRUNETTE HAD BEEN with the tour group when Lara had rejoined it. The girl had looked flushed and radiant and faintly triumphant as she met Lara's glance. Trevor had evidently reinforced his ardent words with affectionate deeds.
Almost a week had passed since the pilgrimage night. Lara might have been able to push from her mind the events of that night if it wasn't for the knowledge that Rans MacQuade had witnessed her humiliation. She knew it would be there in his eyes the next time she met him, mocking her, questioning her womanhood.
The knowledge was an irritant to her pride. Thus far, circumstances had not created a meeting. When they did, she wondered if she could contain her temper and treat him with the arrogant disdain he deserved.
Her finger turned the page of the book in her hand, impatiently Lara flipped it back. Her eyes had skimmed the printed page, but none of the contents had registered. What was the use? Lara closed the book with a snap, rising restlessly to her feet and walking to the front window in the living room.
"Don't you like the book?" Trevor inquired, glancing up from his own. "I read it last week and found it very absorbing."
Lara stared out the window at the blackened landscape. This was one of Trevor's duty evenings that he spent at home with her to maintain his image of a devoted spouse—for her father's benefit, she supposed. She doubted if her father guessed how totally empty their marriage had become.