Her Improper Affair

by Shea Mcmaster

  Inside, whatever light touched, it glittered. From the gowns to the chandeliers and the decorations, Birdie could have sworn someone had dumped a truck load of fairy dust on it all. Greenery stood in corners and graced table tops, all threaded with fairy lights. Women dripped diamonds and every other jewel to be found on earth. Men provided a debonair background against which the women were displayed. The couples spanned the age groups from young to old.

  Deirdre stood at the beginning of the receiving line looking like a queen, barely dressed in a black slip with spangled netting draped over it in the illusion of a full gown. It emphasized generous breasts, a tiny waist that gently flared into sculpted hips. Barely there spike heeled sandals gave shape to well toned legs. Many a man noticed each detail while Birdie and Oswald inched their way forward in the line.

  “You met Deirdre. That’s her father beside her, and then her stepmother. They don’t get along, but Dee’s the apple of her father’s eye. Mummy dearest isn’t happy about it,” Ozzie murmured in her ear. The woman he said was the stepmother appeared to be no more than a year, maybe two, older than Deirdre. No wonder there was competition for the old man’s attention. He looked about sixty, slightly past his prime. Not fat, but headed that way. He certainly hadn’t contributed much in the way of genetic imprinting on Deirdre. Hovering nearby was a young man Birdie didn’t recognize, although she’d bet Ozzie did by the nod he exchanged with the man who might have been his age. Possibly a little younger. That might have been Ozzie tonight.

  “Deirdre,” Ozzie said, calling Birdie’s attention to the fact they’d reached the front of the line. “You remember Miss Ferguson-Robinson. Courtney, Deirdre Portman-Wright.”

  “Of course,” Deirdre cooed and took Birdie’s hand in both of hers. “So delighted you could come this evening. Make sure Oswald takes you by the bidding tables. Don’t let him get off without bidding on something for you. We’ve had some fabulous last minute donations.”

  “Thank you. We’d be pleased to check them out.”

  The smile on Deirdre’s face didn’t reach her eyes, but she turned toward her father. And introduced Birdie.

  “Courtland Robinson’s daughter, you know.”

  “Ah yes,” Mr. Wright said. “The one raised in the wilds of America. Very pleased to meet you, young lady.”

  If Birdie got that right, he was a little too pleased to meet her. Apparently Ozzie figured that as well because his arm tightened around her waist. His arm around her, his hand on her waist was the most possessive move a man had ever made on her. She was very aware of his body against her right side as Oswald shook hands with the older man, then introduced her to his much younger wife. Although she gave the appearance of being a pampered society wife, there was something slightly off about her appearance. Like maybe she’d been a stripper in a previous life and was trying to fit in. Birdie couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for her, so she smiled warmly, shook her hand, and let Ozzie move her deeper into the house.

  For the first hour it was all meet and greet. She sipped champagne from crystal flutes circulated by impeccably dressed waiters, murmured small talk, listened to Ozzie as he did and said all the right things. They mingled; she met the right people, made a point to admire the beautiful gowns, demurely accepted compliments on hers, and generally felt like Cinderella on Prince Charming’s arm. Ozzie was absolutely perfect. At one point he’d even saved her from a bath in red wine when one of the younger crowd, as in her own age group, had turned suddenly, sending out a small wave of deep red liquid. Only Ozzie’s fast reflexes had saved her from wearing it.

  “Thank you,” she murmured for only him to hear.

  “Of course. Can’t have your beautiful gown ruined, or your evening.” As he said the words, he stared down at her, a tiny smile teasing his lips, a flame of heat in his eyes.

  Although she’d promised herself she wouldn’t be mesmerized by him, she failed to stick to her plan. His smile, directed solely at her, was more entrancing than a full moon shining down on a misty night.

  “What do you say we go check out the auction tables,” he said.

  “Sounds like fun.”

  Because she was closer to the room where the items were set up, Ozzie turned her by her shoulders and pointed them both that direction. Out of nowhere, a woman about her age stumbled, and this time the entire glass of deep red wine splashed the front of Birdie, from her face to her chest, with much of it going straight down her neckline and into her panties.

  Birdie gasped and backed into Oswald, who immediately grabbed her by the hips, stabilizing her on her feet.

  “Oh! Love, I’m so clumsy!” the redheaded woman exclaimed. “Pardon me, I guess I’ve had enough tonight.” The giggle sounded possibly tipsy, but not enough to believe the woman was actually drunk. In fact, the giggle had a note of glee to it.

  Humiliation filled Birdie, deepening with each gasp from the people around them.

  Ozzie was instantly in front of her with his crisp white linen handkerchief. “Here, mop up what you can.” Then he reached out and grabbed the arm of the woman starting to push through the gawking crowd.

  Birdie looked down at her chest and panicked. “My locket!” For the moment, ignoring the wine dripping from her hair and down her face, she wrapped the handkerchief around the precious charm and debated whether it was safe to open to check for damage to the contents. Squeezing the cloth, she prayed it soaked up all the red liquid before it could seep inside.

  Tears at what might be lost to carelessness sprang to her eyes, and she looked up as someone else held out a square of white linen. The discovery they had a circle of observers, including Drew’s friend Phillip, was not a welcome one.

  She took the handkerchief from his hand, and while still gripping her locket with one hand, used the other to pat her face with the cloth that came back badly stained, not only with the wine, but her makeup as well. Deep inside she understood, this was no accident. Fury and embarrassment made her cheeks burn. Tears still stung her eyes and clogged her throat, as she told herself to buck up. Ozzie would get her out of there in a minute.

  “Not so fast, Catherine. You owe Courtney a better apology than that, and more.”

  Birdie looked up from cleaning the wine from her skin to see Oswald holding the other woman by the arm.

  Phillip produced another hanky and pressed it to her hair. “Aw, Birdie, love, now that’s a shame. Catherine doesn’t have the best balance when she’s sober,” he said as he stood in front of her, doing his best to shield her from the audience, or to look down her dress. It was a toss-up.

  “I’m washable, but I’m afraid the locket and dress aren’t.” Damn, she’d loved this dress. True, the wine barely showed on the black fabric, but it stained the lighter colored beads and had soaked clear through to her skin, down the neckline, and dripped from her hair. Still, the dress was nowhere near as precious as the locket still held tight in her grasp. The dress had made her feel beautiful. Now it was a soggy, cold rag, the beading on the bodice making it cling even tighter. She really identified with the Cinderella allusion she’d made earlier. But most of all, she wanted to cry and refused to let them see her reduced to tears.

  Ozzie pushed Phillip aside. With one hand still holding the woman, he shrugged off his jacket one shoulder at a time.

  “Here, Courtney, put this on, love.”

  “Thanks, Oz—Oswald.” Her cheeks flamed and she peeked at him from beneath her eyelashes.

  “Here, hold Catherine,” Ozzie ordered and pushed the other woman at Phillip. Ozzie whipped his jacket around her, then helped her into it, wrapping it snuggly about her. “You all right there?”

  Birdie sniffed but nodded. “Not maimed, merely stained. I’m hoping the contents of my locket aren’t ruined. It came from my grandmother just before she died.” Despite her resolve, one tear leaked and slowly slid down her cheek.

  Ozzie’s hands held her by the shoulders, his gaze intense. “You’re a
real lady, Courtney. As soon as Catherine makes good, we’re out of here. We’ll check for damages as soon as I get you home, right?” He lifted one hand to cup her cheek. With his thumb, he very gently wiped the renegade tear away.

  Unable to speak, she nodded, then raised her chin. That earned her a full out, panty-melting, heart-twisting smile from Ozzie. “Good girl.”

  To see that smile again, she’d maintain her calm demeanor and get out of here with what was left of her dignity.

  Ozzie turned to the other woman as Deirdre pushed through the crowd. “What’s going on here, and why is Phillip holding Catherine?”

  “Catherine doused Miss Robinson with her wine and was about to make a proper apology,” Ozzie said in the sternest voice Birdie had ever heard from him. He scowled deeply at the woman now trying to pull away from Phillip’s grip.

  “I-I’m very sorry. Miss Robinson, did you say?” Green eyes widened.

  “Yes, Courtland Robinson’s daughter,” Ozzie said. “That was more than clumsiness on your part. I’m shocked, Catherine.”

  “It was an accident. I got bumped and my wine went flying, I swear.”

  “Oh, Oswald,” Deirdre said. “It was an accident. Why are you getting your knickers in a twist? Of course I’ll take care of the dress. Such a silly thing to get upset about.” Her cold brown gaze swept Birdie, and she found herself wanting to dump a vat of red over both women; neither of them were in the least sincere.

  “It’s possible a piece of heirloom jewelry has been ruined.” Oswald’s frown deepened. “I’m not sure it can be fixed.”

  Catherine jumped in. “I’ll replace the gown and get the jewelry cleaned. I’m so sorry. Tomorrow I’ll go down to Marks and Spencer and get a replacement gown sent over to you.”

  Ozzie’s lips twisted at the name of the department store. “I believe the dress came from Harrod’s, am I correct, Courtney?”

  “Yes, you are, but the dress doesn’t matter. And I’m positive this was no accident.” She glared at the woman trying to hold an apologetic expression on her face, although she flinched a little at Birdie’s accusation. “However, I don’t want to stand here dripping and debating it. The dress doesn’t mean anything. I’m more worried about the locket.” She turned her shoulder to the now protesting Catherine and Deirdre to face Ozzie. “Really, Oswald, I just want to leave now.” Even if Catherine replaced the expensive gown, she’d never wear it. The reminder would be too humiliating. And if the contents of the locket were ruined? Irreplaceable. Especially the note in her grandmother’s hand. The thought made her heart skip a beat.

  “And so we shall. Catherine. Deirdre.” Disdain clear in his most plummy tone, he insincerely wished them a good evening. Barely sparing them his deepest scowl, Ozzie wrapped his arm around Birdie and escorted her to the nearest exit, a set of French doors that opened onto a terrace. At least it was fairly dark outside. She was grateful he didn’t parade her through the large room. Enough people had seen her looking like a rat pulled from a vat of wine.

  By the time they reached the front, and Oswald had the valet running for his car, she was trembling in reaction. Angry and humiliated, she sniffed back the threatening tears.

  Careless of his shirt, he pulled her close, allowing her to hide her face against his chest. “It’s all right, love. You were far better behaved than those two bitches. I’ll take care of you and get the locket cleaned.”

  Tears were still too close to the surface, so she merely shrugged.

  “I’ll get you home in a trice. While you shower I’ll check it over, and make a pot of tea, possibly with a shot of brandy in it; then we’ll watch some telly or light a fire. I won’t leave you.”

  His kind words nearly broke her resolve not to cry. That she’d do in the shower. Alone. What confused her the most was why. She’d never faced such bullying in her entire life. No one had ever been so mean. Not for one moment did she imagine it was unplanned. The earlier miss had only made the perpetrators more determined. And she did recognize Catherine as the woman who’d nearly missed her earlier. Apparently Ozzie had as well, and he certainly knew the players better.

  “Here’s the car now.” Still holding her close, Ozzie all but picked her up and set her in the passenger seat of his car. “Don’t worry about the interior. Leather wipes clean.”

  Especially black leather. She choked out a little laugh, thankful he wasn’t fussing about his very expensive formal clothing or the interior of his car. He buckled her in, then gently shut her door where she was mostly hidden by tinted glass.

  A second or two later he tipped the valet and slid behind the wheel. “We’re out of here.”

  They drove a few miles, Ozzie expertly navigating the traffic, before Birdie found her voice.

  “Thank you.” The first time she said it her voice wobbled. It was better the second time.

  “Hmm?” He glanced sideways at her.

  “Thank you for getting me out of there so fast. So discreetly.”

  “I didn’t see the second one coming.”

  “I didn’t, either. I don’t think either of us would have had time to react if we had.” Using the cleanest of the two handkerchiefs, she once more attempted to pat wine from her hair, her face, her cleavage. All one-handed because she refused to uncover the locket just yet. The wine even felt like it was in her ears. She stank like a wino.

  “While it’s not a perfume I’d normally choose, at least the red smells pretty good.”

  Birdie laughed. How had he read her mind? Her cell phone buzzed from her purse, and she pulled it out. “It’s my mom.”

  “Assure her you’re all right and I’ve got you.”

  “Mom, hi.” Birdie nodded at Ozzie as she connected.

  “Honey, are you all right? I heard you got spilled on.”

  “That’s a mild way of saying it. I’m sorry, Mom, but the dress you bought me is probably ruined.”

  “I heard that too.” Mom sighed. “But you’re okay?”

  “I’m fine. I mean my body is, but I’m terribly worried about Nana’s locket. Ozzie is taking me home. He got me out of there after making the culprit apologize. She also offered to buy me a new dress.”

  “I don’t care about the dress, as beautiful as it is. Was. We can replace it. Tell me more about Nana’s locket.”

  “No, no. Please don’t replace the dress. Even if we could clean it, I just can’t, won’t, wear it again. I just want my picture of Nana undamaged.”

  “I understand, sweetie. We’ll clean the locket, and there will be lots of other dresses. Your dad is all set to take us both shopping, and believe me, that’s huge for him.”

  Birdie smiled at the amusement in her mother’s voice. “Yes, I know. I’m not worried. Not really sure I want to attend more events like this if I can look forward to more things being spilled on me. Although I’m pissed about the locket, it could have been much worse, like getting my face pushed into a cake or something.”

  Mom laughed. “That’s my girl. So, Oswald is taking you home?”

  Talking with Mom had done a whole lot to calm her down. She sighed and let the stress roll of her shoulders. “We’re nearly there. I just want a long shower, and he’s promised me a cup of tea and time to decompress in front of the TV. Think I’ll find my coziest pajamas and take him up on that. Might have to steal one of Dad’s shirts for him. His shirt, probably his whole suit, is ruined too. Wonder if that’s why they used red wine?”

  Mom gasped. “You think it was done on purpose?”

  “No doubt.” Anger once more sizzled to life. “Ozzie pulled me away from harm the first time. We weren’t watching closely enough for the second round, and she got me good. From the hair down.”

  “This was done deliberately?” Mom’s voice rose, and in the background Birdie could hear her father asking what she’d said. Mom repeated Birdie’s words, and then there were two men talking angrily. Dad’s voice she could make out, but with the other she couldn�
�t tell who was speaking.

  “Darling, Dad’s talking with Mr. Wright. We’ll be home soon.”

  “No, Mom, really, don’t leave on my account.” She glanced over at Ozzie who was obviously listening, but also intently focused on the road. “I wasn’t hurt. I’m just angry and a little stained is all.”

  “No, sweetie, we don’t want to stay at a party where guests are abused in such a manner.” The last was said loud enough to be overheard. “The behavior is outrageous and beneath people who are supposed to be the crème of society. I’m glad you’re headed home. Tell Oswald we want him to stay with you until we get there.”

  Birdie closed her eyes. “Mom, I’m not a kid. Of course I can stay home alone. But it doesn’t matter anyway because he’s told me he’s staying.” A glance his direction proved her right as he nodded. A muscle jumped in his cheek, and she realized he was gritting his teeth.

  “Well, we won’t be too long. Unless your father wants to go out for coffee. We might stop for dessert. Anything you want us to bring home?”

  “No, I’ll be fine. I think I saw a little carton of ice cream hidden in the back of the freezer.”

  Mom laughed again. “Nosy one. Fine, eat my ice cream. I think there’s enough to split with Oswald. All right, I’m glad you’re out of here. We won’t be terribly late.” Mom’s voice dropped in volume. “Unless you want us to be late?”

  “Mom!” A hot blush stole up Birdie’s cheeks. “No. You two do what you want, when you want. Go out for dessert or find another party. You’re dressed for a night out, might as well enjoy it.” When did parents stop embarrassing their children on purpose? Lord, she hoped it was soon.

  “Okay, Birdie. We’re through here. And we’re not leaving a donation. That’s a new one. Dad sends his love.” Mom made a smooching noise, and Birdie disconnected with a groan.