Suddenly he swept her about, setting her upon one of the whitewashed wrought-iron garden benches.
“Katrina, I love you.”
She shook her head, suddenly frightened. Things moved so very quickly. He fell upon one knee before her. She gasped when his hands slipped beneath her skirt, beneath her petticoat.
“Percy, stop!”
“Nay, I will not!”
His fingers skimmed along her flesh. Stunned and confused, she was aware only of the raw sensation that ripped into her.
“Percy, cease! Are you mad? What are you doing?”
His fingers deftly moved along her stockinged thigh and curled around her garter. “Percy!” She cried, holding his shoulders to stand, wondering desperately at his intention. He could not mean to continue this assault, not here in the garden, with the strains of the flute still coming to them and the full moon floating over the fragrant roses and the daises and the night...
“Percy! Please God, sir, for the very life of us both!”
He laughed with a hint of bitterness. His hand slid back to her ankle. He lifted it, kissing her foot. Then he removed his hands, and she saw that he had stolen her garter.
“Percy—”
“A memento, love. For when I face the future. For when I lie awake at night and imagine the time when you will give in to your heart and senses and come to me. Alas, now I am alone. So I will hold this piece of lace and silk while I sleep and I will hold you close to my heart and my dreams will be as sweet as the fragrance of roses.”
“Katrina!”
It was Henry calling her. She stared at Percy and her fear was naked in her eyes. She was supposed to be flirting with him and gaining information. Yet she had not obtained the information Henry wanted, and she was in a most compromising position.
“Percy—”
“What does he do to you?” Percy demanded harshly.
“What?”
“Why is there such fear upon your face?”
Terrified of a confrontation between Percy and her brother, Katrina touched his face, taking it between her palms. She kissed his lips quickly. “Nothing! I am afraid for you, Percy. Please—”
“I will meet him, Katrina, this brother of yours—”
“No! For God's sake, no!”
“Katrina—”
“Please, Percy. He will stop us! He will ship me back to England. He will do something terrible. He will trump up charges against you. Please, do nothing now!”
“I cannot leave you so.”
“You must!” She stood, swirling away from him. “You fool!” She denounced him furiously. “I want nothing from you, I have been trifling, and that is all. Leave me now!”
He shook his head. Watching her, he stood, heedless that he might be seen.
“Please!” Katrina begged him. He wasn't going to move, she saw. Her heart breaking, she said, “I despise you! You thought that you could drag me about and force me down! Well, I have but teased you in return, you foolish, strutting cock! I don't ever want to see you again!” She turned then, tears stinging her eyes. She fled toward the house. The evening was over for her.
Just before she reached the glow of candlelight that spilled onto the terrace, she remembered to slide her mask back into place. Even as she did so, Henry caught up with her.
“Well?”
“Well what?”
He wrenched hard upon her elbow. “What have you learned?”
“That he is a member of the House of Burgesses, brother,” Katrina spat out sarcastically.
He grit his teeth and spun her around. “You will find out what I want, Katrina. And I do not give a damn how you come about your information.”
CHAPTER 9
Gayle and Brent were married at two in the afternoon on the thirtieth of April.
It was a big, beautiful ceremony celebrated in St. Stephen's. Gayle wore a white gown with a massive train and a million tiny seed pearls, which she and Liz and Tina and Mary Richardson—Brent's housekeeper—had spent half the night sewing onto it. Brent wore a tailed tux and a ruffled blue shirt that emphasized his dark good looks wonderfully.
Mary Richardson's grandchildren were a big part of the ceremony: Alexandra, her six-year-old granddaughter, was the flower girl, darling in pastel lavender satin and off-white lace, and Jason, ten—who had broken his arm on Gayle's first night visiting Brent—was a handsome ring boy in a ruffled blue shirt and tux. Chad and Brent's cousin, Gary, were the ushers; and naturally, Tina and Liz served as maids of honor.
It was beautiful, Gayle thought. It was more than she had ever dreamed, more than she could have ever hoped might come true. The organist played “We've Only Just Begun” as Geoff escorted her down the long aisle to give her away. Brent, she thought fondly, watching him through the lace of her veil, had never looked more striking. Never more the heartbreaker. And it hadn't mattered to him, she knew. He hadn't cared about ceremony—a wedding before a notary would have served him fine. This was for her.
The aisle seemed very long. Gayle could see Tina and Liz ahead, both looking pretty in their mauve dresses. To the right she could see her friends and acquaintances from the art world—Sylvia was there, sniffling away into a handkerchief. To the left was Brent's family; they were a large group. His mother, Ria, as slim and dark and striking as Brent was himself, gave her a happy, encouraging smile that seemed to make her heart swell, and his dad, Jonathan McCauley, so straight and dignified, gave her a grin and an admiring okay sign.
It was a fairy tale. She was living a fairy tale. She hadn't exactly lived in the cinders, but Brent was truly like a prince who had come along on some kind of magnificent charger and swept her away into the land of “happily ever after.” His dad was as welcoming to her as his mother, and his entire array of aunts and uncles and cousins were pleasant and pleased to welcome her. So far, that is! she reminded herself, but then she smiled. Honeymoons could not last forever, but she didn't believe that they could ever fall out of love. It had come to them so passionately, so overwhelmingly. It was total and absorbing. Bad times were bound to come, she knew, but with her whole heart she believed that they could see their way through anything.
Liz was crying too, Gayle saw. Sniffling, dabbing carefully at her eyes, then smiling—and sniffling all over again.
“You sure?” Geoff whispered to her. “Absolutely sure about this?”
“Yes!” Gayle whispered back vehemently.
“Ah-ha! The press is here too, you know. Flashbulbs will be popping all over the place in a minute. You'll be Mrs. Artist, you know. Mrs. Genius. Ready for it?”
“Yes! And shush, will you, Geoff?”
“I just don't want you passing out on me or bawling all over the place on me, huh?”
“I won't,” Gayle promised; but she was afraid that she was going to start to laugh, she was suddenly so nervous. She was happy—thrilled—but she felt a lump growing in her throat. Her parents should have been here. For one moment, she missed them terribly. They had died so very long ago that she had adapted to their loss until this moment, and suddenly she wanted Doris and Ted Norman to be here so badly that she almost doubled over with the pain.
You would have loved him, Mom! She thought. Honest, you would have loved him. Daddy, he's rich, but that's the very least of it; he's wonderful, he's a man's man, he's—
Geoff squeezed her arm. “I think that they can see this; I really do.”
“Oh, Geoff,” she whispered. “How did you know what I was thinking about?”
“Your face, princess. No sweet smile. And every girl thinks of her mother on her wedding day. But look ahead. Brent is there. The future. Look at him frown. No—it's a scowl. And all because he can tell that there is something wrong.”
Gayle gave herself a serious mental shake. Why was she being so morbid at such a moment? They were coming closer and closer to the altar. To the priest in his robes, to Liz and Tina sniffling away, to Brent and Chad and Gary, all awaiting her. She saw Brent's eyes, dark and puz
zled and confused, and all her love for him seemed to swell to the fore, and the smile she gave him was radiant.
“This is it.” Geoff squeezed her arm again.
“Have I ever told you how much I love you?”
“Gayle, really! Right in front of the muscular hunk you're about to marry. Couldn't we have had this discussion before?”
“You're a nut.”
“I love you too.”
Finally, finally, they'd traveled the length of the aisle. He squeezed her hand one more time; the priest was already talking, demanding to know who gave this woman in holy matrimony, and Geoff was standing forward to give her hand to Brent, his voice clear, with no hesitation.
Liz sobbed loudly, Chad laughed nervously, and Liz hiccupped. Gayle noticed it all while she felt Brent's fingers twine around hers.
The service was beautiful. She heard the words, each and every one. They promised to love and to cherish until death did them part, and she knew that to each of them the vows were real, spoken from the depths of the heart. Her hand trembled when he slipped the wedding band upon her finger; she noted that his hand was firm and steady. The priest proclaimed them man and wife, and the pleasure that rushed through her with the words was almost too much to bear.
Brent lifted her veil and took her into his arms and kissed her soundly. She hugged him fiercely, returning his kiss with her whole heart. Gary McCauley let out a loud whoop—which somehow seemed appropriate despite the solemnity of the church. She and Brent parted breathlessly, stared into each other's eyes, and turned to travel back up the aisle to the laughter that followed Gary's irreverent sound and to a triumphant burst from the organ. She loved organs, she realized. She loved the sound that rushed around her and engulfed her.
Brent's fingers tightened around hers; she glanced up to see him smiling down at her as they seemed to race by the people in the pews, with Chad, Gary, Geoff, Tina, Liz, Jason, and Alexandra following behind them.
“Mrs. McCauley,” Brent murmured to her, rolling it on his tongue. “I like the sound of it.”
“Mrs. Brent McCauley. Be specific when you address me, will you please, sir?” She laughed, delighted with the new feelings. She was actually married to him; they were husband and wife. He was splendid. He was so gorgeous in the ruffled blue shirt and the vest and the tails. This was her moment. She luxuriated in it. She was happy just to study his face, to see the darkness of his eyes, the cleft in his chin, the structure of his jaw. She felt loved and cherished just having his fingers curl around hers. Just hearing the organ and the laughter and chatter that followed them then.
She didn't know quite what happened then; she never understood it; she could never describe it. It seemed that sound faded and paled and that mist fell around her to block out sight and sound. They were still there, the people, her friends. The church remained, and that never-ending aisle.
But the man holding her hand was suddenly not Brent. Not her husband. Or else it was him, and that was what was so frightening. He was different. His hair was very long, as if he were a wild man, and he was dressed differently—she couldn't even understand exactly what he was wearing because she was so very frightened. It was him, and it wasn't him; and he still had her hand, and they were still rushing along.
Then he looked down at her and she caught her breath, fighting not to scream. The look in his eyes was...awful. Ungodly. There was so much reproach, so much hatred there! She burned where he touched her and she felt his fury. It was as if he wanted to kill her. As if he really, truly wanted to kill her, as if he were dragging her toward her death and hell itself and every damnation...
She stopped still. She wanted to scream. No sound would come to her lips. The mist closed around her and she gasped, and suddenly Brent wasn't there at all anymore, nor was the church, nor the sound of laughter or music, nor the smell of sweet, fresh flowers...
There was only blackness. Silently, she closed her eyes and she fell to the floor, a pool of white against the crimson carpet of the aisle.
“Gayle!” He cried out her name, and it was Brent again; she vaguely knew it was Brent. But she could not answer him, for the blackness had claimed her.
* * *
Naturally there were a few screams. Brent ignored the sounds as he bent swiftly, plucked his bride of two minutes into his arms, and strode with her quickly from the church. Out on the steps to the street, the sun touched her face. He wasn't so startled or terribly alarmed that she had passed out—she'd barely slept in the last week, finishing up the arrangements with his mother, staying up half the night to sew embroidery with Tina and Liz, and laughing and fooling around all the while. She hadn't really been eating or sleeping properly, and she'd had natural shakes on top of all that. She'd lost a few pounds in the last few weeks too.
No, it wasn't so startling that she had passed out. In itself, it didn't really upset him.
What had bothered him, what had caused his heart to skip a moment's beat, was the way that she had looked at him.
One moment she had been the most beautiful bride in the world, bar none. A fairy-tale princess in white satin and lace, her hair a mass of golden tendrils and curls like a halo, her eyes bluer than the sky. She'd been regal, with the clean lines of her gown and the elegant train. He'd never loved her more than that moment when he'd seen her at the end of the aisle, looking across that vast space to him, coming to him on Geoff's arm, as if she walked on clouds.
And laughter became her too. As they had walked away, man and wife at last, she had given him that smile that dazzled, then laughed, and radiance in her gaze had all but caused him to explode with elation. She was his wife...
But then that gaze had changed. Slowly, as if a mist had descended. As if all that was real in life had receded. Her mouth formed into an O of horror, and her eyes mirrored a terrible, desperate fear. He had wanted to shout to her, to demand to know what was wrong, but he was so stunned by the depth of emotion in that gaze that he had not been able to whisper or make any sound at all.
And then she had fallen.
The sun lay against the softness of her cheeks. On the street below, a car went by, heading toward the Capitol building. Brent could feel the people rushing out around him, with all their cries of dismay and concern.
“She needs air! Stay back!” someone shouted. Brent dimly realized that it was Geoff keeping control.
Her eyes opened. She blinked at first, then her eyes opened full and wide and stared up into his with all the innocence and trust and purity of a child's.
“Brent?” She demanded quizzically.
“I have you,” he told her. “Are you all right?”
Her arms entwined around his neck and she smiled, weakly now, but with a sweet and dazzling beauty again. “I'm so sorry,” she murmured ruefully, realizing that people were milling all around them. “Oh, Brent! What a fool I've made of myself!”
Nothing seemed to be wrong—absolutely nothing. That strange look of terror she had given him was clean washed away as if the sunlight had erased it. Poof. Vanished. Never been.
His arms tightened around her; his features remained drawn and tense. “Are you all right?”
“I'm fine now,” she replied, puzzled by the tone of his voice. “I am sorry—”
“Ah, yes! She does appear to be fine now!” With pleasant ease, Brent's mother stepped up to them and made the announcement. She winked cheerfully to Gayle and inclined her head toward a group of photographers just as a dozen cameras started to click. “Perfectly fine! Brent, Gayle, I'm sure that the reporters will have a fine selection of poses, but if you want a wedding album, you've got to get back into the church for your hired photographer to do the job. Gayle, are you up to it?”
Brent's arms were still tight around her. She had to strain against him to get him to release her. His arms constricted, fighting her efforts for a moment. “Brent!” His mother hissed softly. Then he let her go.
Tina hurried around her to straighten out her gown and train. “Come on, yo
u two!” Chad called cheerfully.
Gayle reached for Brent's hand, dismayed by the dark confusion in his eyes. He looked at her. He looked at her hand, so delicate in its white lace, upon his arm. He gave himself a mental shake. He smiled at her tenderly, lifted her chin, and lightly kissed her lips. “You're sure you're fine?”
“Absolutely,” she vowed, her eyes on his, wide and clear.
They started back into the church, Gayle waving and smiling to their friends, relatives—and especially the press—to prove that she was really alive, well, and mobile. Once they had reentered the church, only Brent's immediate family were still with them, and of course Tina and Liz and Chad and Geoff, the children, and Mary Richardson.
“I know that marriage is supposed to be a scary step,” Tina teased, “but weren't you overdoing it a bit, Gayle?”
“It was the man she was marrying,” Chad said solemnly. “Muy hombre!” His eyes went wide and they all laughed.
“Oh, yeah, sure, but she already knew that,” Liz said innocently; then she clamped her hand over her mouth, realizing that Brent's parents were standing right behind her, as well as Alexandra and Jason. Everyone laughed again, and Brent's mother assured her that since Brent and Gayle were over twenty-one, she couldn't really have much to say about it.
“Besides which,” Brent's dad, as tall as his son, slim though, now, with a nice head of white hair and very distinguished features, cut in, “he's made an honest woman of her now. Or she's made an honest man of him. One or the other. We're just delighted.” He took Gayle's hands and kissed her knuckles, and Gayle gave him a quick thank-you hug. Then the photographer cleared his throat, and they spent the next thirty minutes posing for pictures.
When they were done, they came back out into the light of day. Most of the guests had gone on to the reception hall, but enough remained to shower the bridal couple with rice as they laughed and ran to enter the limousine that awaited them at the curb.
Every Time I Love You Page 12