by Sara Logan
Christina was still preoccupied when her dance with Rory ended and she was claimed by a client who always came to the games. As they turned and danced around the crowded floor, her thoughts were jerked back to the present by the sound of a raised voice, a familiar voice. She looked around and saw James, his face very red and angry, holding Monica's arm in a tight grip. Monica was saying something furiously to him, and Christina swallowed hard as she realized that James was objecting to Monica's dancing with the embarrassed man standing behind her. Then the crowd of dancers shifted and she could no longer see the angry little scene being played out across the floor. Christina repressed a shudder. In the mood he was in now, she hoped that James didn't see her and decide to continue their interrupted conversation!
But he did find her. In the next hour she devoted herself to dancing with old and new friends and came close to forgetting all about James. But now she regarded his approach with a sinking heart. He looked more unsteady than ever, his face flushed with liquor and temper, as he bore down on her.
"I want to talk to you," he said roughly, grasping her arm in a hard grip. "We'll go outside," he added.
Christina took a deep breath, tried to pull her arm from his grasp, and started to protest.
"We'll go outside," he repeated stubbornly.
"I think not," a clear, cold voice said. Alex twisted James's hand from her arm and held her tightly against his side. "This is our dance, MacDonald. Darling?"
She went with him willingly, relieved to have averted the scene that she knew had been about to erupt. He swept her into his arms and they began moving across the floor to the lilting strains of a waltz. Christina suddenly felt very tired. It had been a long day and an anxious one, and the evening had been fraught with its tense moments also. She had danced virtually every dance, some of which had been spirited reels, which left her panting and feeling sadly out of shape. Now, after the near set-to with James, it was heaven to give herself up to the music and comfort of a strong man's arms.
He looked down at her and smiled reassuringly. "Tired?" he asked.
"A little. Also hot. The humidity in here is fierce."
Alex looked around and noticed the opened French doors. "They've opened the doors to the terrace," he said. "Wait a minute; let's try this."
Directly beside them, a pair of doors was visible. Alex danced her over to them and led her out onto the terrace. The cool mountain air touched her face and bared arms and she sighed with relief. In silence, they moved across the flagged terrace to the low stone railing and leaned over and looked down. The terrace ran along the slope of a hillside and was raised above the ground about five or six feet. A sweep of grass went down the hill for a short distance and ended at the edge of the lake. The water gleamed silver in the moonlight, and behind the lake a dark stand of trees marched up the side of the other hill. The moonlight was not strong, but there was enough light spilling through the partly opened door to show Alex's tall form, standing easily beside her, admiring the view and enjoying the refreshing cool air.
"It's beautiful," she murmured.
"And so are you," Alex said, not for the first time that day. He turned her to face him and drew her into his arms. "Very beautiful," he murmured, resting his cheek against her smooth, shining hair for a long minute, and then his mouth came down and claimed hers.
Without a thought of resistance in her mind, Christina, at the touch of those warm, firm lips, melted against him, moving closer in his embrace and giving herself up to the magic of the night and his kiss. Deep inside her a warm flame sprang into being, flickering a bit and then steadying into a spreading glow. She was aware of this man as she had been of no other, feeling a part of him, mated to his bone and strength, sharing a magic moment under a benevolent moon. She was so wrapped in the heaven of his nearness, his lips playing havoc with her emotions, his fingers lightly caressing the gentle swell of her breast, that it was several moments before she realized that they were not alone.
"Ah, up to her old tricks, I see," a thickened voice said.
Christina turned slowly, shaking her head and staring in bewilderment at James, who was standing in front of the partly opened door and steadying himself on a stone column. She had noticed that he was slurring his words, a sure sign that he had been drinking heavily, when he had accosted her in the ballroom. Now, to her horror, Christina realized that he was quite drunk. It was as if cold water had been thrown over her, and her wits cleared with frightening speed. James was not only drunk, he was in an ugly mood and clearly determined to cause a scene.
"Has she added you to her list—a long list, I might add—of conquests yet, my lord?" James sneered, looking at Alex. "Are you already engaged? It was my turn last year. Obviously this year it's your turn. Turnabout's fair play and all that."
Christina gasped and Alex stepped forward, his entire frame rigid with anger. "No, Alex, please! He's drunk!" Christina whispered, grabbing Alex's arm and trying to stop him. "Please! Not here!"
The appeal in her voice communicated itself to him. He looked from James to the open door where dancers, just finishing the dance, were milling around. The music had stopped for the moment. He hesitated; he would not willingly involve her in a public scene if he could avoid it.
James, misinterpreting the pause, pressed his advantage. "Why, Chrissy, love, are those tears? Are you, perhaps, weeping? Did I interrupt something very tender?" that hate-filled voice asked. "Did I spoil your chance to snare him properly?" James let go of the column and staggered toward them. "You'll have plenty of other chances, baby, later tonight! In that cozy adjoining suite of yours!"
Before Christina realized that Alex had even moved he reached James and caught him roughly by the lapels. His voice was like steel as he met James's startled eyes.
"We have seen quite enough of you, Mr. MacDonald. I suggest you go find your date. She's probably looking for you."
"Oh, really?" bristled James, trying to pull away. "Who says so?"
Christina knew that Alex was perilously close to losing his temper, so she clutched his arm desperately and whispered imploringly, "Please, Alex, not here!"
He glanced down at her, and James took advantage of the opportunity to jerk free. He straightened his coat and looked with contempt at Christina. "You'll be sorry!" he said in a loud voice.
Then he turned unsteadily away and disappeared into the ballroom. Christina, stricken with shame and humiliation, turned and fled.
She could hear music now, and laughter around the corner of the terrace, where the bulk of the people had gathered, and so she ran down the flagged terrace in the other direction. It was dark there, empty of lights and people. Tears streaming down her face, she ran, ignoring the dark, the sound of her name being called after her, ignoring everything but the urgent need to flee from James, Alex, and anyone else who had witnessed the scene. Blinded by her tears, Christina didn't see that the terrace ended in three steps leading to a wide landing, which then led down half a dozen steps to the neatly cut grass behind the clubhouse. She suddenly stepped into air, grabbed wildly at the railing, and half fell, half stumbled down the steps, arriving at the bottom in a heap.
"Chris!" Strong arms lifted her immediately and held her close. "Chris, are you hurt? Chris? Answer me!"
She gasped and leaned heavily against Alex. A sharp pain ran up her ankle to her calf, and she shook her head. "I—I don't know. My ankle, I t-think."
Without another word, Alex lifted her and carried her back up the stairs and into the pool of light from the open door. He eased her gently down on a stone bench and steadied her. "Which ankle?"
"L-left. Really, I'm all right, Alex," she said, willing her voice to be steady and calm.
He ignored that, and gentle hands pushed away her flowing skirt and explored her ankle, stopping when he felt her stiffen under his touch.
"That hurt? I think you've sprained it," he said, staring with a frown at her. "I think I'd better get you back to the Lodge and find a doctor."
Christina shook her head. "I don't need a doctor, Alex. Just… just to rest it, I think. Please, Alex?"
With great reluctance he agreed, half afraid that if he argued with her she would start to cry again. He drew out his handkerchief and gently wiped the tears from her cheeks, then looked around. There was no sign of James; he had evidently decided to remove himself from the vicinity before Alex made sure he went swimming in the lake.
"I'll get your shawl and bag. Can you sit here until I get back?"
She nodded wordlessly, not trusting herself to speak.
He vanished into the ballroom, and Christina sat miserably on the railing. For one moment she wondered if she dared get up quietly and leave, begging a ride back to the Lodge. Then she realized that it would be quite useless. Alex would catch her before she could leave the parking lot and would be even angrier than he was now. How could she have been so stupid as to have gotten herself into this? she wondered forlornly. And what would Alex say when they did get back to the Lodge? Trying to ignore the flashes of pain in her ankle and the ache in her heart, she huddled there in an unhappy heap until Alex returned. With admirable efficiency, he scooped her up and carried her around the balcony and down the main stairs, entirely ignoring the startled silence that spread across the main part of the terrace. Christina flushed and buried her face against his shoulder, unwilling to look at anyone. Heaven knows what they're thinking, she told herself miserably. Alex eased her gently into the car and drove rapidly back to the Lodge. He didn't speak at all until he had put her down on the side of the bed.
"Now, let me look at it properly."
He caught her calf in a firm hand, pushed the dress out of his way, and examined her ankle intently. She looked down at his dark head, bent over her ankle, and sighed.
"I know it must hurt," he said, easing her foot back down on the bed and getting up. "There's no swelling at all, Chris, and I don't think it's even sprained. I think you just turned it or knocked it on one of the steps." He eyed her shrinking form for a long minute. "A good soak in a hot bath will make it feel a lot better. I'll run your tub for you. Can you manage by yourself, or would you like me to find a maid to help you?"
"I can manage, but…"
"No buts," he said firmly, marching into the bath-room. She heard the rush of water, and then he returned. "I don't want you walking on it any more than can be helped. Where's your robe?"
A slight flush rose in her cheeks as she nodded toward the long rack where her dresses were hanging. "The blue one."
He went over and brought it back and put it on the bed beside her. "Your nightdress?"
She swallowed painfully and avoided his eyes. "I… top drawer of that dresser. It's light blue. Alex, I can…"
He ignored that and, with the same impersonal efficiency he had shown up to now, fetched the nightgown and silently put it on the bed with the robe. Then he vanished into the bathroom again and shut off the water. "Get undressed and get in that bath. I'll be back shortly. Oh, your key. Did I give it back to you?"
She pointed to the small table near the door and he picked up the key. "Get in that bath!"
Alex quietly left, locking her door from the outside, having told her that he intended to change out of his evening clothes into a comfortable pair of gray flannel slacks and a sweater, then search for a maid, a pot of hot tea, and a doctor.
Chapter Seven
After Alex left, Christina sat numbly on the bed for a few minutes and then slowly roused herself. If she knew Alex, and she was beginning to, he meant exactly what he said. He was perfectly capable of undressing her and putting her in the bathtub himself if she didn't do as he told her. She decided that she had endured enough humiliation for one evening, so she eased herself off the bed and managed to get her clothes off and hop into the bathroom, clutching the robe and nightgown.
She was nearly asleep in the tub, feeling much of her discomfort being soothed away by the hot, relaxing water, when someone knocked lightly on the bathroom door. Christina sat up with a jerk and fumbled for a towel.
"Miss?"
The voice was unmistakably feminine and Christina relaxed. "Yes?"
"Are you all right? The gentleman sent me up to check on you. Can I help you with anything?"
"No, I'm fine. I'm just getting out," she added hastily, before the maid decided to come in and fetch her. When she opened the bathroom door, the young girl came forward immediately and helped her to the bed. Christina noticed that her evening dress had been carefully hung up and her clothes and shoes put away as well. The bed was invitingly turned down, waiting for her, and she thankfully sank down on it.
The little maid, not more than sixteen or seventeen, tucked her in carefully and smiled. "The gentleman is waiting outside, miss. Can he come in now? He wanted to tell you something."
"Oh, yes, that will be all right," said a flustered Christina. She wondered if Alex was going to scold her for being so stupid and hurting herself.
Alex came to the side of her bed and looked down at her. She presented a pretty picture in her high-necked ruffly blue gown with her long blond hair flowing over her shoulders. "Does the ankle feel any better?" he asked.
"Yes, quite a bit. Alex, I can't begin to tell you how sorry I am…"
He interrupted gently. "None of that. It wasn't your fault, Chris. A doctor is on his way up; I want him to look at that ankle tonight, to be sure it's not broken or needs medical attention. No, no protests. Here he is. Maclean, come in. This is Miss Lennox. Chris, Dr. Maclean. You probably met him at the dance."
The middle-aged doctor, still attired in his kilt and jacket, came up to the bed, saying he had met Miss Lennox and how sorry he was that she had had an accident. Alex removed himself from the room, leaving the doctor to examine Christina's ankle. When the doctor called him a short time later, Alex came anxiously into the room.
"Well?" he asked tersely.
"Just twisted it. No signs of a break or a bad sprain. I think she'll find it nearly well tomorrow. She would be wise to take it easy for a couple of days, but it should do all right. Just don't let her walk on it a lot tomorrow. I've left her a couple of pills to help her sleep. She was shaken up a bit by the fall and has a few bruises that are coming out. What she needs most is to relax and get some rest. If you should need me, though, I'm just around the corner… four doors that way."
"Thank you, Dr. Maclean. We do appreciate it. Sorry to keep you up."
The sandy-haired doctor grinned. "We'd just returned from the dance and were going into the dining room for coffee. We were glad to have you with us, sir, and hope you'll come back again."
"I'll do that. Thanks again."
Alex, spotting the maid with the tray of tea, took it from her. He thanked her and then carried the tray over to Christina.
She was lying back against the pillows, staring at the ceiling. Alex drew the table close to the bed, put the tray on it, and poured her a cup of tea and one for himself. He could sense her unease and smiled reassuringly at her. Sitting down in a straight chair next to the bed, he stirred sugar into his own tea and leaned back with a sigh.
"Well, it has been quite a day and night, hasn't it? No, Chris, none of it was your fault," he said, cutting off her attempts at apology. "MacDonald was quite drunk and beside himself with jealousy. If it's anyone's fault, it's mine. I should have noticed his condition and removed you before it happened. I'm just sorry you're the one to suffer from it. You heard the doctor; take it easy on that ankle for a few days and it will be all right. No break or sprain. You'll be sore in various places tomorrow, I gather," he added, grinning mischievously it her, "but you'll survive. Now, just drink your tea and relax. He says the best thing for you is to get some rest."
She put the teacup down on the table and stretched out a hand to him. He took it and held it lightly but warmly. "Alex, I really am sorry. Not just about the ankle; naturally I feel stupid about doing that! But about… everything. I got you into this."
"Hey, no fair stealing the
credit! It was my idea to come with you, my idea to teach MacDonald a lesson. You can't claim the blame for that, anyway. Besides, with the exception of that little scene on the terrace, I've thoroughly enjoyed myself. And," he admitted, "I rather enjoyed the fringe benefits. So have no regrets, Chris. I don't."
"You're very generous, more than James has been. I really had no idea he could act so… so beastly."
"You mean, he's never displayed this side of his personality to you?" asked an amazed Alex.
"No, not really," said Christina slowly, thinking about it. "But I think I know why. Up until now, James has had pretty much his own way about everything. I always considered his wishes and preferences before I did my own."
"That could be it, then," answered Alex, "and also, I bet you never had cause to make him jealous."
"No, I never did. I don't think that's fair… making someone you care about jealous."
"It's amazing what jealously will do to a normal, levelheaded man, Chris. It distorts his thinking and leaves him prey to all sorts of unsatisfactory emotions. But don't have a lot of sympathy for him. He doesn't deserve it. He never cared about what he was putting you through; he just thought of himself. Now the boot is on the other foot and he doesn't like it at all. You're giving him a taste of his own medicine, you know, and it might be good for him. Next time, he might not be so careless about a girl's feelings… at least, a girl he cares about," he amended. "I can't say this is likely to make him change his ways too much, but it has, rather forcibly, shown him that he can't always have things his way. Which is, you'll agree, a lesson we all must learn at one time or another. He's just a little late in learning it."
"He's spoiled," she admitted, gently withdrawing her hand and picking up her cup. "The girls have always spoiled him, beginning with his mother."
"Well, my mother tended to spoil me a bit, but I hope I'm not that careless of other people's feelings. Of course, Father was very firm and had high standards that he expected us to live up to, so perhaps that balanced out the maternal spoiling. Mothers do that, you know. You'll be the same yourself."