Forbidden Affair

by Patti Beckman

  "Yes, Jacquelyn, will you marry me?" Austin lifted one of her hands and brought her fingers to his lips.

  Suddenly, confusion washed over her and extinguished some of the heavenly glow she had felt.

  "Austin, I just don't know," Jacquelyn answered slowly. "I'm trying to be as honest as I can. You know I'm fond of you. You're the best friend I have. But I'm not sure I love you or will ever love you. Maybe it's just the night, the beauty of the city, the atmosphere."

  "No," Austin assured her. "It's none of those. It's love Jacquelyn. I know it is. You love me. You're just afraid to admit it."

  Jacquelyn looked blankly at Austin. Her heart had stopped beating. A tingle of fear gripped her. Was he right?

  Chapter Seven

  "Yes, my heart belongs to you," Jacquelyn whispered hoarsely. But it was not to Austin she was talking. Instead, she spoke to the city of love as she and Scott sped along in the car he had leased for the day.

  Last night she had not been sure of her feelings. Too much confusion from the suddenness of the change in her had left her bewildered. But today, back out in the street once more, she knew. It had not been Austin that had captured her heart, it had been Paris.

  Just as she had resisted giving in so many times before—when Scott had wanted her to marry him before she had had her growing up time in New Orleans, when Uncle Luther had wanted her to restore the mansion—she had resisted again. This time, it had been to the allure of Paris.

  Jacquelyn had been so brokenhearted after her breakup with Scott that she didn't want to allow herself any romantic feelings ever again. That's why she had been reluctant to see the tourist attractions. She had wanted to remain in her protective shell. But her encounter with Natalie had unleashed a side of her she hadn't realized existed any longer. It had freed her to be herself again, to relish the appeal of the sights, sounds, tastes and atmosphere of the world's most divine city.

  She didn't know how Scott had arranged for just the two of them to drive to the estate sale, but she was beyond caring.

  "Make sure you're back in time for the four of us to go to the Moulin Rouge," Natalie had ordered just before Jacquelyn had left that morning.

  "We'll try," Jacquelyn tossed off casually. It was the first time she hadn't cared whether Natalie got mad or not. Jacquelyn was no longer afraid of her childhood chum and wondered why she had ever been a coward around her in the first place. What kind of power had Natalie exerted over her?

  At first Jacquelyn had been upset over their spat. But now she was grateful it had taken place. Only after Natalie had succeeded in killing some of Jacquelyn's concern for her feelings was Jacquelyn able to assert herself.

  The car slowed at an intersection. Scott stopped. They sat there a long time.

  "What's the matter?" Jacquelyn asked.

  "Traffic jam." Scott chuckled. "The man at the rental agency warned me about the overload of automobiles in Paris."

  "Just another of the charms of Paris," Jacquelyn quipped.

  "You don't mind being tied up here for who knows how long?"

  "Not if you don't."

  "Then we might as well enjoy it." Scott smiled.

  "What do you mean?"

  "You'll see."

  Scott opened the door, hopped out of the car and strode to the rear. He lifted the hatchback, took out a basket and returned. Jacquelyn noticed other motorists getting out of their vehicles and taking various items from the backseat or from the trunk.

  As Scott climbed back in, Jacquelyn couldn't help noticing the glint of the sun on his brown hair. His hand, with its lean, strong fingers, placed the tan wicker basket between them on the seat. He lifted the lid and extracted a bottle of wine and two glasses. He reached in for a small chunk of cheese and a stack of crackers.

  "A snack… here?" Jacquelyn asked.

  "Why not? We may be here quite a while. We might as well enjoy ourselves."

  Jacquelyn laughed softly. "Sure, why not?" she agreed. She settled back in the seat, a comfortable, relaxed feeling stealing over her. As Scott poured them each a drink, she let her eyes wander in the direction of the street. The door of one car, which was bumper-to-bumper with another vehicle, flew open, and a wiry man in a beret leaped out. He strode menacingly over to his mechanical opponent and kicked the front tire with a vengeance. The driver of the assaulted automobile waved a clenched fist out the window and drew himself half out of the opening, hurling a barrage of French insults at his assailant.

  "The French are a very emotional people, aren't they?" Jacquelyn observed, taking the glass Scott offered her.

  "Like everybody else, some are, some aren't," Scott said. "But the atmosphere here is one of less reserve. The people are freer to express their feelings openly. They are less likely to hide behind a veneer of restraint. That's one of the things I like about Paris. I can be more myself here."

  Jacquelyn nibbled the cheese and digested Scott's comment. "How do you mean?" she asked. She set her glass on the basket, which Scott had now closed.

  "It's the ambience of the city," Scott explained. "At home in the United States, there's more of a requirement to be in control of one's emotions. I guess it comes from our Puritan heritage. Men are ashamed to cry. They don't hug in public and oftentimes not even in their families. We deny so many of our feelings. We try to talk people out of grief, sadness, anger and hostility. When our children are hurt, instead of acknowledging their pain, we tell them not to cry, to be brave."

  "But here in Paris, emotional responses are expected. If a man is angry, he can wave his fists and shout. No one expects him to bottle up his feelings and pretend they don't exist. If someone is grieved, his friends cry with him instead of trying to cheer him up. The French are not afraid of their emotions."

  Jacquelyn was touched by the tone of Scott's voice. She had never heard him talk like this before. It was as if she had been introduced to a new dimension of his character. She had thought him capable only of ruthlessness and a selfish desire to satisfy his own wants. Even though she had once loved him, she had not known this side of his nature.

  Maybe that was part of the reason she had been willing to spend a year in New Orleans away from him.

  She must have sensed there was something lacking. Now she realized he was much deeper and more complex than she had thought. He had possessed a warmth she had never known. It must have always been there, but he had kept it tightly under wraps, like a mummy in a deep, mysterious tomb. She had sensed there was more to Scott, but she had never been able to penetrate the facade and get to the real man.

  Today, Jacquelyn was glimpsing the eternal depths of Scott she had never seen before. A little ripple of fear shot through her. There was something dangerous in the way he was exposing his inner nature to her.

  "Don't you sense it, Jacquelyn?" Scott asked. "The magic appeal of this town? Just look out there now. Men are free to kick tires, hurl insults and shout away their frustrations from being tied up in this snarl of traffic. In America, if motorists stalled in freeway traffic did the same thing, just imagine how many ulcers could be prevented!" Scott laughed freely, the sound reverberating in the little car like a deep-pitched bell.

  Jacquelyn noticed how much softer the lines around Scott's mouth had become. The hard glint in his eyes was now a twinkle. His strong, masculine hands dwarfed the glass goblet he held. For this moment, Scott McCrann seemed larger than life, a man who grabbed fate by the throat and made it bend to his will. Yet he was a man who flowed freely with the river of life, willingly molding himself to the ups and downs of existence, but always maintaining the upper hand in the game of living. Jacquelyn sensed a power in Scott she had not recognized before, and she felt a driving need to find out more about this man she had thought she knew. It was as if she were meeting him for the first time, and she was fascinated.

  But before she could ask him more, he reached toward the ignition and twisted the keys.

  "Looks like we can be on our way," he said, starting the engine. He lif
ted the lid on the basket, dropped in the cheese and crackers and reached for her glass. She shook her head, indicating she did not want the wine. Scott downed it and put both glasses to rest side by side in the basket. Jacquelyn noticed how close they lay together, their rims touching. Would they be broken by their close proximity? Why did the glasses remind her of Scott and herself?

  The car eased forward and Jacquelyn sat back against the seat. She sighed. She had been in the grips of a lovely, enchanted spell. Why couldn't it have lasted longer?

  The rest of the conversation seemed trivial compared to the flash of truth Jacquelyn had experienced with Scott. They chatted easily now, the former hostility temporarily washed away by the glamour of Paris.

  As they made their way out of the inner city and toward the small village Scott had told her about, Jacquelyn realized how different Scott seemed here in this other part of the world. Was it really that Scott was different, or was it that she was different? Or had the charms of Paris transformed them both into two new people who were meeting each other for the first time?

  Jacquelyn knew she felt different. Ever since yesterday, when she had finally succumbed to the charisma of this foreign atmosphere, she had floated along with an abandoned, devil-may-care headiness. She had shown it again this morning when she dressed. She had pulled all her hair over to one side and caught it up in a decorative clip. It cascaded down over her right shoulder and lent her a French air, which she adored. She had slipped into a bright yellow low-cut sundress with daring little cutouts in the back. The hem snapped around her legs as she walked in her high-heeled sandals. Today, just for fun, she had placed an artificial mole by her lower left lip. She had primped in the mirror, tossing her hair back over her shoulder and laughing, before she had wiped the fake beauty mark away.

  Jacquelyn was different. But what about Scott? Was he transformed too? Or did he just seem that way because she was changed?

  Well, she thought lazily. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered right now but this moment, this feeling. She didn't know how long it was going to last, but she was going to absorb it completely into her being and enjoy it to the fullest.

  She recalled with pleasure Scott's face when he had seen her that morning. She had always been a little on the conservative side. But her appearance today shouted how quickly she had thrown off the ordinary constraints. Scott's eyes had sparkled with an approving glow. His mouth had curved into a smile. His touch had been warm, close, intimate.

  An almost wicked feeling had gripped Jacquelyn when she noted the obvious anger in Natalie's eyes as Scott escorted Jacquelyn down the corridor from their hotel room. Normally, she would have been disturbed by this type of incident. But today she relished the look on Natalie's face. It gave her some kind of perverse pleasure to have the upper hand for a change.

  Jacquelyn felt herself absorbing the defiant, self-indulgent behavior of the typical Parisian. For now she understood with a new depth their rebellious nature. Life was a vibrant, pulsating heart, and she had become a part of it. She wanted to taste its nectar, to savor its flavor, to experience its joys and sorrows. To do that, she had to give herself over to her emotions, to allow herself to give vent to the full range of her impulses. She must hold nothing back.

  Reddish brown rooftops came into view as Jacquelyn looked out the car window. The high-peaked buildings were dotted with skylights and gables. Nestled closely, with small groves of trees sprouting up here and there, they looked like some small village Jacquelyn had seen in a travel picture book as a child.

  Scott turned off before they entered the heart of the small town and drove along a narrow paved road lined on both sides with towering trees. The sunlight flashed brightly through the trees as the car cruised slowly toward a huge white mansion.

  "This looks like the right place," Scott said, indicating the three-story structure with large colonnades. He checked a slip of paper that bore directions.

  "Oh, Scott, it looks divine," Jacquelyn gasped. "And very expensive. It reminds me of Cypress Halls."

  Scott nodded. "I have a feeling we're going to find exactly what you're looking for here."

  "Do you really think so?" she asked, excitement mounting.

  "Let's find out." Scott pulled the car to a stop several yards from the front door. The circular drive was dotted with vehicles. An elegant woman with steel gray hair, granny glasses and a smart blue suit emerged from the front door.

  "Looks like they have some customers already," Jacquelyn said, frowning. "I hope we haven't missed all the good buys."

  "In a house this size, I think there will be plenty to go around." Scott chuckled. "After all, we don't need to furnish the whole of Cypress Halls."

  "Yes, I guess I'm just excited. I have a good feeling about this place, Scott." Suddenly, Jacquelyn realized she had called Scott by his first name. She blushed at how easily the word had flowed from her lips. Until now, she had judiciously avoided calling him anything. She had kept their relationship as impersonal as possible by being as formal as she could.

  Scott smiled warmly as he helped Jacquelyn out of the car. When his hand touched hers, she suddenly forgot all about antiques and Cypress Halls. For an instant, all that mattered was the warmth of his skin on hers, the tingle that zipped through her, the breathless ness that left her feeling light-headed.

  Silently, they walked the few steps over the graveled drive to the front door. The ground crunched under their feet with a sharp crackle. A cool breeze brushed across Jacquelyn's bare arms. A bird soared noiselessly near the rooftop, landing on the edge of a high peak. It looked down at them and chirped. At the far side of the mansion, a robust man in overalls bent over a row of hedges with a pair of shiny clippers, trimming back the overgrowth.

  Scott pushed a button at the side of the massive wooden front door. In a matter of seconds, the door swung open and a petite woman of about fifty smiled up at them.

  She said something in French. Scott answered, and they were ushered inside.

  The inside of the house was spectacular. Jacquelyn felt a surge of pride knowing that she was in the process of putting Cypress Halls back into the same kind of condition as this magnificent structure. The woman took them through the rooms containing the items for sale. Jacquelyn ran her hands over smooth wood, fingered the delicate glass and crystal drops on the chandeliers, saw herself reflected in ornate mirrors and sat in chairs lovingly carved by master craftsmen of long ago.

  She dallied over fine vases, silver, goblets, clocks, mugs and intricate tapestries.

  Jacquelyn found a Louie XV tulip wood parquetry table DC dame. She ran her fingers over the ornate top and along the smooth wood bordering the design. She let her hands slide in and out along the scalloped edge, marveling at the fine workmanship. It was in superior condition. The intricate carvings at the top of each table leg were as sharp and finely honed as the day they had been fashioned. The slightly curved legs were fluid and graceful.

  "I want this," Jacquelyn sighed, looking at Scott, her eyes bright with the excitement of discovery.

  "Is that all?" Scott asked.

  "Oh, no," Jacquelyn said. "There's more. But I want to take my time. I want to enjoy this moment."

  "Go ahead," Scott said. "That's why we're here. Indulge yourself."

  Those were the finest words Jacquelyn had heard in a long while. And she took Scott up on his offer.

  She wandered around the house, imagining herself living in a time long past, when elegance and manners were the order of the day.

  It was with a stab of regret that Jacquelyn finally announced that she was finished. She had found exactly what she needed to complete one wing of the mansion and to fill in the gaps that she knew would exist after she'd browsed some more in New Orleans for the rest of the furniture she wanted. She would have enjoyed more time here, but she knew they had to head back to Paris soon to meet Natalie and Austin for their evening at the Moulin Rouge together.

  Scott made the arrangements to pay for Jacquelyn'
s choices and to have them shipped to the States. While he was taking care of that matter, Jacquelyn was allowed to roam in the other rooms of the estate house.

  Finally they were back in the car headed for Paris.

  "I would say that was well worth the trip, wouldn't you?" Scott asked.

  "Yes," Jacquelyn agreed enthusiastically. "Thank you for making it possible."

  "My pleasure."

  For a moment, Jacquelyn imagined that the barrier between them had crumbled. She felt as if she and Scott were standing on a grassy meadow, looking across the buttercups and sunflowers, smiling at each other.

  Impulsively, Jacquelyn asked, "Scott, what were you like as a child? It's funny, but I never asked you that before. It didn't occur to me, but now I'm curious."

  "Why now?" Scott asked, taking his eyes off the road momentarily.

  "I don't know. Just the atmosphere here, I guess. It makes me curious about you." Jacquelyn blurted out her answer. It scared her that she could be so honest with a man she didn't trust. But the old feelings of antagonism were melting away. What Scott had done seemed less important now than it had then.

  "I guess I was about average," Scott said.

  "Average? You?" Jacquelyn asked incredulously, laughing. "There's not an average bone in your body. What was your mother like?"

  "I don't know," Scott answered, his voice sounding strained. "She deserted my father when I was only five."

  "Oh, Scott, I'm sorry. You never told me."

  "You never asked," he said.

  It was true, she realized. She had been so wrapped up in her love affair with Scott that all she had been able to think about was the moment. Had she been in love with love? It had never occurred to her that she might get clues to his personality if she knew more about his background. It hadn't seemed important in those intoxicating days of romantic fulfillment.

  Scott suddenly muttered something and pumped the accelerator.

  "What's the matter?" she asked.

  "I don't know. The car is missing."