Desert Hostage

by Diane Dunaway

  "And then what happened?"

  "I told him the next morning that I couldn't ... that I wouldn't marry him."

  "Yes, and?’

  "He was furious. There was a terrible scene. It was after that I saw you at my yacht. I went back to his villa to see if it was true about that woman. I . . . I . . . you were right about everything." Juliette grew whiter and her eyes filled with tears as she remembered the scene again and her voice faltered.

  Rodney looked back to the note, rereading it as he walked to the fireplace before crushing the paper and tossing it into the dying embers. Silently he watched as a tiny flame blazed larger to consume it.

  "He is furious, I'm afraid," Juliette began again. "And since I promised he wouldn't let me take it back. I tried to explain but ... but . . . It is really all my fault for being so naive. I didn't know about Luci-. I didn't know about his mistress, or that he was an Arab until you told me. I didn't know anything about him. But now I have insulted him. And the man is capable of anything. He won't stop before I'm disgraced, and William Bond will . . well, he has already threatened to retake control of the funds I receive." Juliette knew she was shaking. She hadn't slept well for nights now and had eaten almost nothing. She felt light-headed and her stomach turned so she felt weak. "Oh, Rodney," she finished. "I really am afraid of what he might do."

  Rodney spun around to face her. "That is ridiculous! Phillips is only a man, and a half-breed at that. There is nothing to be frightened about. I'll arrange everything."

  He seemed gravely serious and in command as Juliette had never seen him. He would help her-yes, she had been right to come to him.

  "Maybe I should leave London immediately," she said leaning back in her chair.

  Then suddenly she could no longer hold the tide of confusion that came out in a torrent of tears. Rodney smiled as he studied her bent head. At last his luck had taken a good turn. He put a comforting arm around Juliette's slim shoulders and handed her a handkerchief

  .

  "Leaving London won't help. In fact you'll be more vulnerable away from those who care about you. A man like Brandon won't let anything stop him. There is only one permanent answer. You must marry me."

  Abruptly Juliette pulled away and looked at him with round streaming eyes. "Marry you! Rodney! But that is absurd." She sniffed and wiped her nose. "You know I don't want to marry anyone. My freedom is exactly what I've been trying so hard to keep."

  Rodney took her hand. "But don't you see? It is the only solution. If Brandon does what he says, and I'm certain he'll do something typically vulgar, then William Bond will take away your independence and perhaps even force you to marry someone else. But, if you married me you could maintain your independence totally. The scandal would be stopped and it would end this engagement business with Phillips. From what I understand of Arabs, they do have some respect for marriage."

  "But Rodney, I don't love you, I love ..:' Juliette began, before stopping herself as she realized what she was about to say. Somehow tears filled her eyes again and she was sobbing. Was it really true? Did she love Brandon? But Rodney gave her no time to think.

  "You must marry me, and quickly! I know you don't love me," Rodney said forming the words bravely. "But it doesn't matter. We will be man and wife in name only."

  Juliette stared uncomprehending.

  "I mean," Rodney said, looking directly into her violet eyes. "I mean there would be nothing between us that could . . . that would lead to children. You would be free to go your own way. I would not hinder you or demand anything. You would, in fact, be just as you are now, your own mistress, only you would be Lady Keiths. Then no one could question you, and most of all Brandon Phillips won't have any claim on you."

  "But will it work, Rodney?" Juliette asked feeling numbed by the swiftness of events. "He is . . . is an extraordinary man. And clever."

  Rodney took her other hand in his and squeezed it. "Trust me," he said.

  Juliette stared at him standing before her, his blue eyes intense under his crown of blond hair. Now he seemed like a knight come to save her, just as he had done so long ago when he had come to her at the ball at Miss Fayton's when, taking her hand, he had transformed her from a poor orphan into a beautiful young woman.

  He had always been so good, so considerate, always understanding, and now, once again, he was unselfishly offering himself in her time of distress. This time she couldn't put him off. She had only to choose between a scandal that would ruin both her reputation and her independence or this desperate alternative. So silently, seriously, still looking into his questioning blue eyes, she nodded.

  Chapter 40

  "I tell you, I know what I'm doing!" Juliette's voice was raised and indignant. "Everyone always knew I would marry Rodney, didn't they! People have been gossiping about it since before I graduated from Miss Fayton's. And now that I'm doing exactly what they have all been expecting, you seem to think I've gone mad!"

  "No one thinks you are mad, dear," Mrs. Welwright replied, trying to calm Juliette. "Quite the contrary, you have made a brilliant match. It is only that you seemed so completely against any sort of permanent relationship just a few weeks ago, and now, suddenly, you are rushing into marriage."

  Mrs. Welwright paused and bit her lip. She wanted to question Juliette about Monsieur Phillips and what had happened at Las Flores del Mar, but she hesitated for fear of sending her into even greater distress. How sensitive and moody she had been lately!

  Happy one moment and sullen the next. But it wasn't her moodiness that worried Mrs. Welwright as much as her complete disinterest in the wedding preparations. When asked her preference on almost any matter, she would only reply, "Well, yes ... Whatever you think best," or, "I really don't know-be a dear and decide for me, won't you?"

  The whole ceremony seemed of no consequence to her. And lately, a new distance had come between them, making even discreet questions impossible.

  "I was only suggesting we might delay the ceremony for a time," Mrs. Welwright began in her calm voice. "You would still be engaged, naturally. But I think it would be better to wait until you are feeling better."

  "I'm feeling fine!" Juliette flared. "I've decided to get married, that's all, and in three weeks. I'm not a bit tired, and what is the point of waiting, anyway? I just want to do it and get it over with," she finished flatly.

  Mrs. Welwright looked startled.

  "I mean," Juliette fumbled, searching for words. "I mean, what could be more natural than bringing about my happiness and Rodney's as soon as possible?"

  Mrs. Welwright studied her young friend before finally expending a deep sigh. "Yes, of course, dear. I . . . we all only want your happiness. If this is what you want, then I will do everything in my power to make your wedding as perfect for you and Rodney as possible."

  Immediately, Juliette's expression altered in that abruptly changeable fashion that also seemed so uncharacteristic. Then coming close, she linked their arms together.

  "I do want to thank you so much," she said, assuming once more her normal tone and manner. "You have been so sweet and helpful. I can't ever repay everything you have already done to help."

  Mrs. Welwright smiled. "It has been little enough, really," she said. "And I'm glad to do it. I once told you I would be happy to be the governess to your children. It only surprises me that it is to come about so quickly."

  Mrs. Welwright was sure Juliette flushed then, her eyes rimming with tears before swiftly looking down.

  Mrs. Welwright frowned. "Maybe you should go and lie down," she offered, remembering how, only a few weeks before, Juliette would often dance most of the night, then rise at dawn to ride her horse without ever seeming to tire. "I'm sure these plans and decisions and your excitement have all exhausted you."

  "Yes, I believe I will." Juliette's voice sounded small. "I really am very tired. You will forgive my rudeness, won't you? I do appreciate everything you have done for me."

  "Of course, dear," Mrs. Welwright sai
d, giving her a motherly hug. "I was once a bride, too, you know, and I realize the strain it can be. Now go ahead upstairs and get a, good long rest. Three weeks is such a short time, and before you know it, you'll be standing at the head of the stairs, a happy bride."

  "Three weeks," Juliette had repeated.

  Each day she could never really think about Brandon, but never could completely forget him either or stop wondering how he could carry out his threat. So each night, Juliette fell into bed exhausted, though she never slept long or deeply. And each moment she was dominated by fear, and the absolute certainty that he would come.

  Yet at the same time she was so busy with fittings and the choosing of flowers and colors and her own trousseau, which everything ran together in a blur. But then, at last, sooner than seemed possible, Juliette did find herself standing at the head of a flower-festooned stairway, leaning on Rodney's uncle's arm, and looking below her at the assemblage of smiling faces and glowing candles filling the Thorpe mansion from stately wall to wall.

  "I will be married but I will be free," she told herself, as she had all afternoon, trying to calm the churning in her stomach. "I will be free!" But now the words had become meaningless syllables as she heard the wedding march begin, seeming to come from a different world.

  Her eyes drifted slowly over the sparkling, bejeweled throng and her legs felt weak and difficult to control.

  Looking down she saw the toes of her white high-heeled slippers peeping from beneath the white satin gown covered entirely in Chantilly lace. It had a flowing train and long pointed sleeves each hooked by twenty-five buttons-a wedding dress-her wedding dress.

  Sudden waves of cold dizziness swept her. "What am I doing?" a small voice within her asked. "Is it possible I've carried this folly so far?"

  "Juliette, Juliette," she heard another faraway voice say. "It's time dear. Now don't be nervous. Take my arm."

  It was Rodney's uncle, Lord Salisbury, a stocky, distinguished Englishman with thick gray muttonchops.

  Slowly, Juliette turned to him, swaying slightly as mechanically she circled her hand around his elbow.

  "Smile, dear," she heard him say. "This is not a funeral. It is your wedding, and the happiest day of your life!"

  Juliette smiled automatically with only her lips. Then reaching a foot outward while keeping her chin high, she started down the long winding stairway, slowly stepping in time to the wedding march.

  "Slowly, remember, walk slowly, Juliette," everyone had repeatedly reminded her.

  The walk seemed interminable, and Juliette's knuckles grew white, clenching her orchid bouquet as she descended first one flight of stairs, a landing, and then another. The fragrance of perfume and the brightness of candlelight surrounded her as a maze of eager eyes followed her every movement, every glance and smile.

  Her eyes recorded brief glimpses of Lady Linley with her diamond-encrusted lorgnette, the Countess of Devonshire smiling her mask of brittle sophistication, Mrs. Welwright, her eyes already moist as she twisted her lace handkerchief, and finally Rodney's mother, Lady Keiths, a smile fixed on her face as firmly, Juliette knew, as the exact figure of the Thorpe fortune was fixed in her head.

  At the end of the aisle, there was Rodney, his blond hair stuck to his perspiring forehead, his face solemn and his eyes glowing with pride. As she reached him, their gazes’ met, and unable to return his look of unspeakable joy, Juliette dropped her eyes to the polished wooden floor.

  The music quieted, and the bishop began the ceremony, intoning the same words Juliette had heard beginning a hundred weddings before. Then they were praying and everyone's head was bowed.

  Juliette tried to pay attention, but could not, her thoughts unwillingly traveling to Brandon's face as it rose in her mind's eye. Brandon Phillips, his chiseled cheek bones, his strong jaw, his dark penetrating eyes. If everything had been different she would already be Mrs. Brandon Phillips-Madame Phillips-Juliette Phillips. How she had trembled in his arms-just as she was trembling now. But that had been a wonderful soaring sensation instead of this horrible sinking one.

  She felt so removed, so far away as she vaguely heard the bishop ask if there was anyone who had reason that she and Rodney should not be joined as man and wife. There was a pause and, in the silence, Juliette closed her eyes and thought she heard a deep voice resonating above the crowd as it said, "I do!"

  All heads turned in one movement toward Brandon silhouetted by moonlight in the doorway. Then he was up the aisle, shouldering aside a stunned Rodney who gaped openmouthed.

  Her eyes were drawn and held by his black ones as suddenly he announced, "This woman is already promised in marriage to me."

  Rodney gasped, as did the bishop, and there was wild muttering in the crowd as Juliette turned to speak but could say nothing. It was exactly what she had hoped in her most secret heart.

  Then, after the pause, the bishop's words droned on again, bringing Juliette back to reality with a jolt of horrible empty despair. She listened as Lord Salisbury gave her away, and then she felt Rodney's clammy hand tentatively take hers.

  The bishop's voice continued before there was a chill of metal against her hand.

  Mesmerized, Juliette stared blankly as Rodney slipped the ring on her finger. It was a huge diamond, one of the Keiths's ancestral jewels, its flashing facets reminding her of the heart-shaped ruby ring that Brandon once had sent her. That ring she had refused while now, this one seemed riveted to her finger, impossible to remove, and with it Juliette realized her fate was sealed.

  The bishop was reciting the vows, and Rodney repeated them, his voice shaking with emotion as he promised to love her, to cherish her, to give himself to no one else until death do them part.

  Then it was her turn, but Juliette found she could not concentrate on the words, and the bishop had to repeat them before she replied in a voice barely audible.

  There was another pause. It was almost over. In a moment she would be Lady Keiths, wife of Lord Rodney Keiths, forever . . . until death.

  Blankly, Juliette raised her face to look at the bishop as he pronounced them man and wife. Rodney's voice was whispering in her ear, reassuring her, asking her to turn toward him.

  She felt stiff as wood as Rodney took her shoulders and turned her gently to face him. Then, with his heart in his eyes, his hands visibly shaking, he lifted her lace veil and kissed her.

  His mouth was soft, like a woman's, and, in spite of herself, Juliette remembered another mouth that had once covered hers in a blazing caress so different from this trembling peck that barely touched her and left her wondering if, in fact, she had been kissed.

  The orchestra crashed suddenly into the wedding song, and with a cold emptiness in her stomach, Juliette realized it was over.

  Head down, unable to look at any one, she turned and, at Rodney's side, started down the aisle. It had all happened just as she planned, Juliette told herself. Now Brandon couldn't hurt her. She was Rodney's wife . . . forever and ever, and no matter what she did, or how long she lived; Brandon Phillips would never take her breath away with his burning kisses again.

  Desperately she tried to blink down the tears that sprang to her eyes as a shaft of pain stabbed her heart.

  "But what is it, my love?" Rodney asked gently as he turned and saw Juliette's overflowing 'eyes staring up at him.

  "It's just . . . it's just," she began, looking down again and fumbling for words. "It's just that I'm . . . I'm so happy."

  Chapter 41

  It was after midnight before, mercifully, it was over. And as the half-moon was sinking through thick fog toward the western horizon, Juliette stood arm in arm with her groom, bidding good-bye to the last of their guests.

  Exhausted and wordless then, Juliette climbed the stairs beside him, past the drab portraits of the Thorpe ancestry, and along the hall until she reached her room. Then flushing self-consciously, she turned to Rodney and, tiptoeing, kissed him on the cheek.

  "Good night. It was a . . . a beauti
ful wedding."

  Juliette thought there was oddness about Rodney as he looked at her now, but she was too exhausted to consider it. If something was bothering him, morning was soon enough to discuss it.

  So she smiled, turned, and reached for the doorknob to her room though his hand pulled her back and as he whispered, "Don't you think we should spend the night in the same room? I mean, what will the servants think? We are newly married you know."

  Juliette's flush darkened. "Don't be ridiculous. There is only one bed in my room."

  Rodney frowned. His feet shifted uneasily, scuffing the carpet as his gaze dropped to the floor. "It's quite embarrassing for me," he began. "I wouldn't touch you-I swear. But if we sleep apart, everyone will think that I . . . that you . . . that we haven't… '

  ". .. But we agreed," Juliette hissed. "Why should we set a precedent that can't be continued? Anyway, who cares what the servants say? People have been gossiping about us for years. Frankly, I've learned to live with it," she finished starting to turn away.