Desert Hostage

by Diane Dunaway

  "It seems I have no choice but to accept your `bargain,' Monsieur Phillips. But I'm surprised you have to resort to such means to persuade a woman to keep your company," she finished caustically.

  He continued looking at her, seemingly unaffected by her rancor. "Usually they come quite freely," he said factually before adding with another smile, "As you will soon."

  "Never!"

  The word shot out violently, but his smile didn't fade. , "But you will be there tomorrow night." It was more a statement than a question.

  Juliette nodded. She could feel herself shaking and no longer trusted her voice.

  "Good," he said. "Then I will go. I keep my promises, you see. And I do beg your pardon for my interruption."

  He rose leisurely from the rock, his eyes admiring the shimmering image of her back in the clear water and the mantle of hair-so much longer than he had imagined it would be.

  "Until tomorrow, then," he said bowing gracefully and comically blowing her a kiss. Then turning, he mounted his horse and rode back toward the trees, his broad shoulders disappearing into the thick greenery.

  Chapter 26

  The following evening, Juliette could hear the hotel orchestra playing a waltz in the ballroom as she stood in front of her mirror. She was dressed only in a lace-trimmed chemise, garters, stockings, and a long petticoat ruffled down the back like the trailing tail of an elegant bird.

  Her hair was already coiffed, brushed back from her face into a riot of soft curls pinned at the back of her head. The style accentuated the delicate perfection of her features and, at the moment, the puckering of her brow.

  In her agitation, she had already dismissed Mrs. Winston, who had, for the previous hour, been tense and wordless under her mistress's ill temper. And now, on top of everything else, Juliette couldn't decide which of her gowns to wear.

  Since seven o'clock, she had tried on one gown after another-gowns from the finest couturiers in Paris. But she had rejected every one of them. It was insufferable to be ensnared by anyone, let alone this unspeakably rude Monsieur Phillips! Ever since she had safely retrieved her clothes the day before she had been trying to think of some plausible excuse-some way to escape this rendezvous.

  But she knew eluding him was hopeless. Already the man had demonstrated he would not be thwarted. So with another frown, Juliette held up a long pale green gown in front of her, turning sideways to see its effect.

  It was an original by Amelie, a light airy confection of chiffon that floated around her like a sea of mist. The large puffed sleeves were of dotted mousse line under a ruffle of beaded satin, and the hem and neckline were also beaded so they winked and flashed in the light.

  It was a lovely dress, she thought, turning side to side again. But the neckline was decidedly too low for this instance. Already this Phillips man had seen quite enough of her. So pulling it off, she tossed the dress on top of her bed where dozens of other gowns already lay in a colorful disarray of crêpe and Florentine and rich lute string, and turned back to the gowns remaining.

  Her mouth twisted in a grimace. She simply had to decide on something. If she didn't appear soon, he might come for her forcibly, if necessary. She wouldn't put anything past him, and wasn't a scandal just exactly what she was trying to avoid?

  Glancing in the mirror, Juliette tried to compose her face. "I won't give him the satisfaction of knowing how upset I really am," she told her reflection. "Certainly, I've endured worse humiliations at Miss Fayton's, and I can endure this. It will be simple. After one dance my promise will be fulfilled. After that I'll never need to speak to this vulgar Frenchman again. And from now on, I'll be sure never to go riding so far out alone!"

  Her resolve renewed, Juliette reached into her wardrobe and pulled out her violet gown of fine Persian silk. It was simply cut with a narrow tapering skirt that was fitted in front and full in back, with large off-the-shoulder sleeves that puffed to the elbow. Its line enhanced her slender waist perfectly and its scoop neck was only moderately low, showing just the first swell of her breasts.

  Her mind made up, she slipped into it, turned before the mirror, and decided she was satisfied. Taking a large painted silk fan and opening it wide with a snap, she set out to join the glittering throng.

  A receiving line stretched out into the marble foyer that was dominated by several large flower arrangements and a majordomo announcing guests. The French ambassador and his wife, with whom Juliette had first become acquainted in London, greeted her warmly, admiring her dress and calling her "quite the loveliest of all the young girls'"

  Then she was inside the ballroom and immediately surrounded by a group of young men and women who all at once admired her gown and told her how much they had missed her in London.

  Juliette smiled a stiff, absent smile, making comments mechanically as her eyes roamed the room. The music stopped and a new dance began. A voice asked her to dance, and she accepted, not knowing who it was until she turned and saw Bosley Linley, Lord Linley's eldest son.

  He was only slightly taller than herself and, unfortunately, forced to wear spectacles. They were thick and unbecoming, and Juliette knew he would have discarded them if he could have done so and still recognized anyone. Usually Juliette took a sisterly interest in Bosley, inquiring about his schooling at Cambridge, and his mother's health. But tonight she was preoccupied, and as they made their way around the floor, she answered his remarks in clipped syllables.

  It was only when Juliette caught Bosley glancing at her strangely that she realized how odd she must seem. But then, before she could change her behavior, she caught a glimpse of M. Phillips, and instantly, all other thoughts vanished like a blackboard being suddenly erased so only a puff of powdered chalk remained.

  He was leaning unconcernedly against a pillar near the windows, talking casually to two older men who listened to him and nodded with apparent interest and agreement.

  As she watched a new anger rose within her. What could he be saying that so absorbed these men's attention? She asked herself. And when Bosley, always the gentleman, inquired diffidently whether she was perhaps not feeling well, she snapped a harsh, "No!"

  that surprised even herself.

  Stricken, Bosley continued to lead her timidly around the room in silence until, at last, the music stopped. He guided Juliette into a chair, stammered an excuse, and made his way back to his mother's side.

  The orchestra began the first notes of a lively polka and Juliette, standing on the sidelines, felt her stomach fluttering. Had M. Phillips noticed her? Yes, of course. If he had seen her other times she was trying so hard not to be seen then certainly he must have noticed her now.

  She gripped her fan tightly, waving it until her curls blew and wondering if any moment she would see his imposing frame coming through the crowd to claim her. Well, let him, she thought. Better to dance now and get it over with. But another part quavered at the thought of his touch.

  And when another voice asked her to dance, again she accepted immediately relieved that her dance with him might be postponed. It was Roberto, the man Phillips had beaten so soundly at tennis the morning after she had rescued him, and fortunately, Juliette didn't have to worry about making polite conversation. Roberto kept up a continual stream of chatter, mostly about himself and the latest tennis matches he had won.

  As they turned round the floor, Juliette peered guardedly over Roberto's shoulders to see Brandon still in the same place, the two men still listening intently. And after that, she couldn't help but glance at him each time they went by.

  What a striking figure he made in evening clothes. His perfectly tailored jacket flattered his triangular frame, and underneath his coat he wore a waistcoat and a narrowly ruffled white shirt with black pearl studs. He seemed quite at home, calmly smoking a foreign-looking cigarette and occasionally gesturing with a long narrow hand. The gentlemen remained attentive as ever, and another joined them to add his thoughtful nods to those of the others.

  Again the dance
ended, and when Roberto escorted her to the edge of the floor and offered to bring her champagne, she smiled her assent. Already her mouth was dry, and her head was throbbing, too, by the time he returned, two glasses in hand. Then moving to the other side of the room they joined a group of acquaintances.

  Purposely Juliette had turned so she couldn't see Phillips. Of course, with a glass of champagne in her hand, she was not eligible to dance anyway, and her inapproachability gave her confidence.

  When she finished the first glass, she allowed one of the waiters to give her another and consuming the second as quickly as the first, she felt much better and began joining the conversation, a fact which pleased Roberto, who waved again to the waiter for more champagne.

  The lights glowed, and the music seemed gayer than ever, and Juliette felt her apprehensions melting away. What did it matter about the pompous Phillips? It was only a dance, something that could be done and over with. How silly of her to make such a fuss. She laughed heartily at one of Roberto's jokes, and when he asked, her to dance again, she smiled brightly in acceptance.

  As they made a turn round the floor toward where Phillips had been lounging with the other gentlemen, Juliette tossed her head and laughed, hoping he would notice what a good time she was having. But then, glancing out of the corner of her eye, her heart skipped as she saw he was no longer talking with the two men, but rather with a woman instead, a beautiful woman who reminded Juliette of Botticelli's Venus, though this woman was more buxom and her hair was a honey blond.

  Oh, what a fool I've made of myself, she thought savagely. He probably isn't even interested in dancing with me. He has just made the bargain to amuse himself at my expense, to make me come to this ball and then to guess when he will ask me to dance. All evening he has been dangling me like a toy, yes, a toy, while he shows his attention to others. And all the time he's known I would be afraid to leave. Oh, how he must be laughing! Just the thought was infuriating. And when the dance ended, she took another glass of champagne and drank it.

  How dare he humiliate me in this manner, she told herself, trying to get another glimpse of him through the crowd. As far as I am-concerned, my promise is fulfilled. If he thinks not . . . well, just let him tell everyone. I no longer care!

  When the next dance ended and all the younger set were gathered on the sidelines, Juliette smiled warmly at the group, bidding them good night before flashing a particular smile in Roberto's direction and turning to leave.

  As she anticipated, the young Spaniard came immediately to her side. "Perhaps I could have the honor of walking you back, Miss Thorpe?"

  Juliette's pleasant look turned up to meet his eager one. "Of course," she agreed, hoping Phillips would witness her departure. "How kind you are."

  Both surprised and delighted, Roberto offered his arm. And smiling, Juliette was about to take it when a voice interrupted them, seeming to exclude any argument in advance.

  "I believe Miss Thorpe promised this dance to me."

  In one motion they both turned to see Brandon Phillips, who nodded in greeting first to Juliette and then to Roberto.

  "Monsieur Phillips!" Roberto said, admiration lighting up his brown eyes. "It is good to see you, sir!"

  Phillips smiled, too, clapping Roberto on the shoulder. "Roberto, old man! How have you been?"

  "Quite well, sir. I was actually wondering if you would care to play another game of tennis sometime.’

  As they conversed, Juliette's thoughts flew in a flurry, all her resolutions faltering. Then to make matters worse, as Brandon spoke, he was taking her hand into his and drawing her toward him with a possessiveness that made her want to scream.

  To make a scene was unthinkable, and well he knew it, too, as a slightly raised eyebrow seemed to tell her. What could she do but submit, her lips compressed as she went to him, lifting her other hand between them to press against his broad chest. He seemed so tall this close, so tall she was unable to see over his shoulder.

  "Perhaps you could teach me your serve," Roberto was saying. "It's quite the most devastating I've ever encountered."

  "Yes, of course. On Friday. Shall we say ten o'clock."

  Eagerly Roberto agreed, and with a bow and a nod to her, moved off. Then Brandon's arm was slipping around her waist in a firm but gentle grip, and the music began.

  Chapter 27

  It was a waltz, and Juliette found herself suddenly among the other dancers and being turned round and round with long confident strides that made her dizzy. She tried to remember all the barbed things she had planned to say. But, at the moment, when he was silent, and outwardly observing every courtesy, nothing she planned seemed exactly right. So, confused and self-conscious, Juliette kept her eyes downcast and turned away, refusing even to look at him.

  As for Brandon, he found himself surprised at the unusual arousal he felt holding this girl in his arms. He had always known that Juliette Thorpe would be stunning in feminine clothing. But now, as his eyes roved slowly over her ripe, full mouth and peach-tinted neck and shoulders, he had to resist a raging urge to press his lips against the V where her throat pulsed in tiny waves.

  She was so slender, so light in his arms-the very essence of youth, of glowing life and, at the moment, of ill humor.

  "You have nothing to fear from looking at me," he said after they finished a second turn round the dance floor in silence. "I won't turn to stone from just a look and neither will you and I would prefer looking at your face instead of the top of your head."

  Juliette jerked her face up, wrathful eyes sparkling forcefully into his. Indeed her irises were striped with a darker shade, he thought. Perhaps that was what made them seem a deep violet, the color of royal velvet.

  "I'm not afraid to look at you," she snapped. "If looks could be fatal, Monsieur Phillips, then you would already be dead!"

  It was horrible when Brandon's laughter rolled out deep and throaty, and Juliette felt even more agitated to realize Lady Linley and the Countess Milshire were craning their necks to glimpse her among the dancing couples as they passed.

  "Shh," Juliette said. "You laugh too loudly and too impertinently! You'll have everyone gossiping about us!"

  "What gossips say doesn't trouble me. Besides, you amuse me. What a hotheaded vixen you are. Hasn't anyone ever taught you any manners?"

  "Manners?" Juliette hissed between clenched teeth, glancing again at the two ladies who now had their heads together whispering. "I warn you, monsieur," she continued in her most devastating tone, "Keep your distance or you will find I have claws."

  He lifted her hand from his shoulder and brought it to his lips, kissing the backs of her fingers. "Who would have guessed such soft hands could be so dangerous. But I'm not concerned." His eyes played with light as he smiled broadly. "I have a way with wild creatures."

  Juliette jerked her hand away. "I should have left you to drown. You are the rudest and most egotistical man I've ever been unfortunate enough to meet. And ..:'

  ",,. And you, Miss Thorpe, are a most beautiful young woman," he interrupted smiling again. "Come, dance with me," he continued. "If you wish to argue, I promise there will be time later."

  Juliette faltered. The champagne had released her temper but now muddled her words so she couldn't think of exactly what to say. So still keeping her head high she nodded a formal little nod, but a nod just the same. She had no choice anyway, that much was clear.

  And suddenly she was being swept round the floor in an embrace that pressed her breasts into his chest, and when she turned her face away, as if to ignore him, Phillips indulged in several sets of complicated steps that forced her to pay attention to his lead, while silently she wondered, with a touch of alarm, when the dance would end. But it didn't end. And he continued holding her tightly as they swung with winged agility round the floor in a rustle of silk, his arm pressed possessively against her back.

  The champagne bubbled inside her, and the thousand candles seemed to blur into one golden warmth. A soft buzzin
g was in her head, and when the music stopped, Phillips propelled her out a nearby doorway onto a balcony before she could think of saying no.

  There was an iron trellis where a vine grew twisting high overhead, and Juliette leaned against it, breathing deeply in an attempt to clear her head, and not wanting even to look at Phillips until she decided whether to stay here in the coolness with this unpleasant man, or return to the overly warm ballroom where she would undoubtedly begin to perspire.

  Phillips had moved closer, putting his back against a carved wooden column that supported the overhanging roof. He didn't try to touch her, he merely drew a gold cigarette case from inside his coat and placed one of the dark cigars between his lips. He lit it, puffing until a cloud of the sweet aroma rose around his head. He was quiet-even contemplative and as moments passed without words, Juliette listened to the distant lap of the waves.