"Lucien!” he called. “So you did make it back. I was beginning to wonder—” He trailed off as his gaze moved to his brother's companion, then he exclaimed, “Sherry!"
"Hello, Paul,” Sherry said. Her lips moved in some semblance of a smile, though her eyes remained bleak.
Paul flicked a glance at his brother before he went on. “I thought you weren't coming."
In some distant corner of her mind, Sherry realized there was scant welcome in Paul's manner. He seemed more than anything else to be disconcerted. It did not matter, of course, but it was peculiar after the way he had pleaded with her only two weeks ago. Even more peculiar was her reluctance to tell him what had happened and his elder brother's part in it. It could not be helped. Her presence had to be accounted for, and that could be done in only one way.
"It seems,” she began carefully, “that there was a small change in plans."
"What Sherry is trying to say,” Lucien interrupted, his voice harsh, “is that she left St. Louis and arrived in New Orleans a week ago today. She has spent the time since then with me, at Bayou's End."
Paul looked from one to the other. “I don't think I understand."
"I was curious to see this fiancée you had produced so conveniently at such short notice, curious too, to hear her version of the tale without your being present. In the beginning, I meant no more than that, to take her to dinner and to talk. We spent an evening together, and before it was over I could see that you were totally wrong for each other. I made one other discovery also; that she was the kind of woman I might, given time, come to love."
Paul looked at his brother through narrowed eyes. “And so, in your usual high-handed fashion, you talked her into forgetting her agreement with me and going with you to Bayou's End?"
"Agreement? That's an odd term. But no, you have it wrong. I kidnapped her."
"You what?"
"I persuaded her to go with me to Bayou's End, where she thought she would see you and then I kept her there. Last night we jumped the broom together with half the people of the bayou as witnesses. When the marriage is duly recorded with the clerk of court, she will be my legal wife, though I consider her in that light now."
"I can't believe it,” Paul said, his voice low. “You, Lucien, of all people."
Nor could Sherry believe it. There was no triumph in Lucien's voice, no self-righteous hints of the fate from which he had saved his brother by preventing him from marrying her. Though he had said that she and Paul were unsuited, he had not suggested she was not good enough for him. Quite the opposite, in fact. By allowing it to appear that it was the strength of his desire, rather than of his disapproval, that had caused him to intervene in his brother's engagement, he had made her appear something special. Despite these things, however, Sherry felt a coldness settled around her heart. There had been no need for him to pretend to love her.
"You can believe it or not,” Lucien was saying. “That is what happened."
"The telegram I received from Sherry?"
"Arranged by me to be sent from the St. Louis office. Sherry did not want you to worry, and I had no wish for you to come tracking her down like the outraged lover."
Paul turned to set down his glass, then swung back. There was a belligerent look in his dark eyes as he faced his brother. “What in the name of all the saints gave you the idea that you could do a thing like that, and to a girl like Sherry?"
"It was necessary to keep you from announcing your engagement and ruining both your lives."
"Was it? Let me tell you something, my dear brother, since Sherry obviously has not. There would have been no ruined lives because there would have been no marriage. I asked Sherry to be my wife and she refused. I begged her to at least pretend to be my fiancée, and she would not even consider it until your suspicions and high-handed tactics goaded her into it. So you see, Lucien, you did it all for nothing!"
Lucien's head came up, his brows drawn together in a frown. “There was no engagement?"
"Nothing more than an arrangement between friends."
"But she had—has the family ring."
"Only under protest, to appease the evil-minded,” Paul said, his voice carrying the lash of sarcasm.
The sudden quiet was broken by a lively hail from the open doorway. “So here is where everyone is? I was beginning to think the house was deserted!"
Consternation flitted across Paul's features and then was gone. With a warning glance at his brother, he turned toward the girl in the doorway. “The guest of honor,” he called, “and no one to greet you! That's what you get for slipping in the back way. Come on in, there's someone here I want you to meet."
The dark-haired girl who came down the room toward them was not beautiful in the classical sense, but she had that elusive quality called style. She moved with confidence and an utter disregard for the way she looked to those watching. And yet, the simple, figure-skimming black gown she wore, and the madonnalike severity of her hair drawn back from a center parting, were perfecto. Closer inspection revealed no faults. Her manner, though polished, was unaffected, and her smile charm itself. It was easy to see why there was a special light in Paul's eyes as they rested upon Aimee Dubois.
As the introductions were made, Sherry tried to thank the other girl for the loan of her clothing.
"Please think nothing of it,” Aimee said. “Since I've been in similar situations once or twice, I was glad to be of help."
"Oh you have, have you?” Paul asked. “I'd like to hear more about this?"
"Would you?” Aimee replied. “I might consider it if you have some amusing story to tell in return."
Paul pretended to search his memory. “I'll make something up,” he offered in mock innocence.
"Not good enough,” Aimee jibed. “Please don't let me interrupt your conversation, however. I had the distinct impression that my arrival called a halt to something interesting."
Paul glanced from Sherry to his brother. “We wouldn't dream of boring you with it,” he answered, a shade too quickly.
Aimee's sprightliness left her to be replaced by genuine contrition. “I'm sorry. Shall I go away again?"
It was Lucien who answered. “Not,” he said deliberately, “unless you take Paul with you."
Stepping to Paul's side, Aimee tucked her hand into the crook of his arm. “You heard the man,” she said. “Come along and I will show you the gardens by lantern light. Whatever the problem is, you will find me a sympathetic listener."
Paul hesitated, his gaze going to his brother's forbidding face. “Why is it,” he complained, “that I have the feeling I am being thrown to the wolves?"
"Wolf,” Aimee corrected with a demure smile.
Paul's dilemma was plain. He wanted very much to remove Aimee from this room where she might inadvertently learn that he had tried to hide from their past attachment behind a false engagement to another woman. At the same time he did not like leaving her to face his brother's wrath over his revelation alone. The only one who could release him was Sherry herself. She did so with a strained smile and a shake of her head. An apology in his eyes, Paul let himself be led away.
Lucien, his expression shuttered, watched this byplay. When the couple had passed out of sight, he spoke, his voice quiet, almost reflective. “So there was no engagement?"
"No."
"I should have known—I did know—but you confused me; you still do. Why? I don't understand why."
"Paul told you,” she said, her words clipped as he moved closer.
"He told me why you agreed in the first place, not why you went through with it."
"I had given my word."
"Yes, you had given your word to Paul. But didn't you realize the way it made you appear—a gold-digger, and worse?"
"I was not responsible for the false impression you had of my character and morals."
"But admit you did nothing to correct it. You even, unless I miss my guess, set out at our first meeting to prove me right!"
&
nbsp; She looked away, a flush tinting her cheekbones. “You were certain you knew precisely what I was and what I was after. You had set yourself up not only as my judge, but as the final word on what was best for me and for Paul."
"And for the sake of your pride and the pleasure of thumbing your beautiful nose at me, you came extremely close to paying the full price. Do you realize,” he demanded, his voice vibrant with anger, “how much I wanted you, and how near I came to taking what I wanted?"
As she turned away from him, away from the suppressed passion burning in his eyes, he reached out and caught her arm. His fingers seemed to scorch the flesh beneath the crepe sleeve of her dress. “You could have stopped me with a word,” he went on, “but you wouldn't open your mouth. Why? Were you still trying to protect Paul from his own stupidity?"
Stung, Sherry swung on him, her blue eyes clashing with his darker gaze. “I could have stopped you with a word? How was I to know that, when it seemed the fact that I was promised to your brother held no meaning for you? You had already shown how cheap you held me; how was branding myself an imposter supposed to help?"
"You could have worn the Villeré ring instead of hiding it like something you were ashamed of. Deny, if you can, that it had no effect."
Sherry dropped her gaze to the pulse that throbbed in his throat. It had been the ring and its apparent proof of her relationship with his brother that had caused Lucien to draw back when he might have possessed her. “It was not mine, I—I had no right to wear it."
"No,” he agreed. “Nor do I think you will ever have that right for my brother's sake. In that much, at least, I was correct. Paul and Aimee belong together."
"Yes, I'm sure you are right,” she said, her voice low. With trembling fingers she drew the long chain holding the betrothal ring from her bodice and pulled it off over her head. “Here, he will need this, and I would rather not have the responsibility for it any longer."
Lucien made no offer to take it. “Such self-sacrifice in the name of love. I must remind you, however, that you are still my promised wife, if not something more. That being the case, I think it is time we dispensed with this."
Taking the fine gold necklace in his hand, he stripped the ring from it, then dropped the chain into his pocket. Reaching for her left hand, he slid the ring onto her finger. She tried to draw her hand away, but he held it tightly clasped in his.
Reluctantly she raised her eyes to his. “Why are you doing this? Why have you brought me here, and why do you insist on making what happened between us public?"
"Call it a gamble,” he answered, his face set in tight lines.
"But why go on with it?” she insisted, a trace of desperation in her tone. “So far only your mother knows, and Paul. Don't you realize it may be over between Paul and Aimee if she discovers why I came, why you took me to Bayou's End? The longer I stay, the more likely it is everything will come out."
"What does it matter to you?” he asked.
If she told him, he would not believe her. She pressed her lips firmly together before she answered. “Nothing. Nothing at all."
"Then you may as well see the final outcome. After the part you have played, it would be a shame if you missed it."
Dinner was a trying meal, an hour dedicated to platitudes, meaningless smiles, and endless small talk. It was not a large gathering. Other than Madame Villeré, Sherry and Lucien, and Paul and Aimee, there was Madame Dubois, Aimee's grandmother, and Etienne and Estelle Villeré. On closer acquaintance, they seemed an amiable pair. Their air of congeniality was so pervasive, however, that she could not decide whether they had in truth mistaken Lucien's motives for failing to introduce her at their first meeting or whether they had simply put the best possible face on the encounter when speaking of it to his mother. Whichever version represented the truth of the matter, social blindness or a kind heart, Sherry was inclined to like them for it.
Paul, she thought, had a subdued look about him. Though she had not known Aimee long enough to recognize her moods, Sherry did not think the girl was any different from when she had first met her earlier in the evening. With a fund of small talk which did not depend too conspicuously on the tropical storm that had passed over during the morning, she did her part to assist her hostess in keeping the conversation moving.
Nor did the Creole girl flag as the evening progressed. As the house filled with people and the crowd overflowed out into the garden, she was everywhere. Laughing, scintillating groups of people crowded around her. She would stay for a time talking in vivacious animation, and then with a quip she would be gone to repeat the same scene in another section of the house or gardens. She danced, she ate and drank, but as the evening advanced, Sherry began to notice that Paul was seldom at her side. For some reason the couple was avoiding each other. It did not take a genius to decide what that reason must be.
"Paul?"
Sherry ran into him in a dim corner of the garden. The only illumination was the red Chinese lantern that cast an odd pink glow over the white cast-iron garden seat where he was sprawled.
"Hello, Sherry,” he answered, his voice tired but still deeper, more mature than she remembered. He sat up straighter, making room for her beside him.
"What are you doing out here?” she asked bluntly. “Why aren't you with Aimee?"
"Why should I be with Aimee?” he countered.
"For the simple reason that it's where you'd rather be."
The pink light slid across his face as he turned to look at her. After a moment he gave a nod. “So I would. You always were a smart girl."
"I take that as a compliment,” Sherry said, then went on. “I suppose you told her about our so-called engagement."
He gave a slow nod. “There wasn't much else to do under the circumstances. She would have heard about it from someone sometime."
"I'm afraid so. I'm sorry for my part in it."
"Don't worry about it,” Paul said with a sigh. “I know only too well who is to blame. It isn't you and it certainly isn't Lucien. I brought it on myself, so I guess you could say I deserve it. I just wish Aimee wouldn't take it so hard. I can't take knowing I've hurt her."
Sherry's gaze went to where the Creole girl was dancing on the terrace. She was laughing up at the man who held her in his arms, a man who happened to be Lucien.
"Oh, I know what you're thinking,” Paul said. “But Aimee is not the kind of person who parades her feelings, making a lot of noise for the sake of sympathy. In that, she reminds me of you, Sherry."
"It's kind of you to say so,” Sherry said, swallowing over a sudden fullness in her throat.
"I didn't say it to be kind,” Paul replied. “I said it because I saw the way you looked at my precious older brother this evening."
She glanced at him, then looked quickly away again. “I don't know what you mean."
"Don't you? I warn you, I'm more than ordinarily sensitive to that sort of thing these days."
Sherry tried for a light laugh that did not quite come off. “It's so stupid, falling in love with a man like that. The sooner I get away from here the better it will be."
"Are you afraid of him?"
"No, nothing like that,” she answered, so much surprise in her tone that he had no choice but to accept it.
"Women are forgiving,” he commented.
"Are we?” she queried, then added with a significant nod at the girl on the terrace. “Possibly, if we have reason to be."
"Reason being love?” Paul said. Without waiting for an answer, he went on. “Feeling that way about Lucien, are you certain it's wise to leave just now?"
"I have to,” she said with a short nod. “The only trouble is, I can't."
"Because of the loss of your belongings?"
"I'm afraid so. No money—no ticket."
"If that's all it is, I may be able to help."
She swung toward him, a look of strain in her sea-blue eyes. “Could you, Paul, without going through Lucien's office or the shipping fine?"
"The offices are closed for the weekend,” he answered, his tone vague, as though his mind were busy with other things. After a moment he gave an abrupt nod. “Tomorrow is Sunday, but if I came and picked you up early in the morning, you should be able to make connections for St. Louis."
"Oh, Paul,” Sherry said, reaching out to clasp his arm. “I can't tell you how much it would mean to me. I'll pay you back, every penny."
"No, forget it,” he answered, a sudden sharp note in his voice. “It's the least I can do after the problems I caused you."
The remainder of the evening passed quickly. Secure in the plan she and Paul had worked out together, assured that she was at last going to gain control of her life, Sherry was able to relax. She even managed to enjoy herself in a quiet way. She danced with Paul, with Etienne Villeré and finally with Lucien. The last was a bittersweet thing that stirred memories of the only other time they had moved together in time to music, at the fais-do-do. It was also a silent farewell. With the same motive she sought out Madame Villeré. She sat for a time chatting with her, then went to look for Aimee, intending to make her apologies once and for all for her part in the deception. There was also in the back of her mind an idea that if the opportunity arose, she might smooth Paul's way.
There was no need. Sherry found the girl in the garden. She was clasped tightly in Paul's arms beneath the pink light of a red Chinese lantern. Turning, Sherry left them alone in the night.
Sherry did not sleep well. Between shortly after one o'clock when the party finally ended, and dawn, she jerked into wakefulness a half dozen times. The clock on the bedside table read only a little after five when she finally gave up the effort and climbed out of bed. Selecting the simplest and least expensive-looking of the casual dresses Madame Villeré had ordered, Sherry put it on. A pair of medium-heeled sandals, a quick bit of attention to her makeup and hair, and she was ready.
Sternly she resisted the temptation to tiptoe out of the house. She was not a prisoner, nor was she, strictly speaking, an invited guest who must take leave of her host. She would have liked to have said good-bye in the normal way to Madame Villeré, but it could not be helped. She would send a short note—no, better to let it seem she was without manners than to have it look as though she were calling attention to her stay.
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