Patterson glanced at him, raised an approving eyebrow and asked, “May I take your gloves, sir?”
Jamey smiled. “I only wear the one. I’ll keep it on, thank you.”
The man inclined his head slightly and moved away to greet the next party.
“Aargh, me lass, Captain Hook at your service,” Jamey whispered.
“Hush, you idiot,” Vic said amiably. “Come on, let’s face the music.”
The decibel level in the drawing room was already deafening. The room was decorated with too much Louis XVI furniture, layers of Aubusson carpets and a great deal of ormolu and crystal. The tall windows were festooned with heavy taupe silk curtains that belonged on a theater proscenium.
The women, whose voices caromed off the silk-covered walls, wore sequins and beads, satins and velvets in a kaleidoscope of colors, and enough diamonds to retire the Scottish national debt. They were elaborately coiffed and made up. Vic was dressed more simply than any other woman in the room. “My God,” he said softly, “she’s an eagle in a roomful of parrots.”
“What?” Vic said.
“Nothing. I like your dress.”
“I don’t have anything fancier.”
“You are the most beautiful woman in the room.”
“Oh, right.”
“Vic, honey,” a deep voice boomed behind them. “You are the prettiest thing I ever did see.”
Vic sighed, pasted on a smile and turned her face so that she just avoided Vach Connaway’s kiss. “Evening, Vach. You remember Jamey McLachlan from the other night at the restaurant?”
Connaway stuck out his hand. The smile on his lips did not reach his eyes. “Indeed I do. Glad you could come to our little soiree, Mr. McLachlan.”
Jamey braced himself for the crushing squeeze he knew was to come. However, when Connaway saw his glove, he quickly withdrew his hand.
“I had an accident some time ago,” Jamey said. “My hand is not a pretty sight.”
“Sorry to hear that. Hard on a horseman not to have full use of his hands.”
“I manage.”
“You seem to be doing considerably better than merely managing,” Connaway said as he glanced at Vic.
Jamey felt his temper flare, but he kept his face neutral.
“Albert and I both find him invaluable,” Vic said.
“I’m sure.”
“Indeed we do.” Albert stepped up behind them and slid his arm through Vic’s.
Jamey glanced at him in astonishment. Albert apparently believed in presenting a united front to outsiders. From his set face and hard eyes, Jamey suspected he disliked Connaway more than he disliked Jamey.
Albert turned to his wife. “Linette, I don’t believe you’ve met our newest employee here.” Albert stepped aside. The woman behind him looked as though she’d just stepped off an Egyptian tomb painting. Despite her graying hair, she seemed considerably younger than Albert and was, in fact, one of the most beautiful women Jamey had ever seen.
Like Vic, and unlike the parrots, she was dressed simply in a soft green velvet dress that clung to her slim frame. For a moment he wondered how such a mountain as Albert had captured such an exquisite creature, but when he saw the glow on her face as she looked up at her husband, he realized he was seeing love in its purest form.
He wondered whether he could ever hope to see anything approaching that in Vic’s eyes.
Linette shook his gloved hand. Albert had probably warned her. “Albert tells me you’re from Scotland,” she said in a voice as warm as honey.
“From Oban.”
“I know where that is. One day, would you come and talk to my fourth-grade class about Scotland? I know they’d love to hear about it from somewhere who actually lives there. And they’ll adore your accent.”
“I’d be happy to, although there’s not much to say. I don’t have pictures or anything.”
“Oh, I’ll come up with slides. You and Vic come to dinner one night next week. We’ll work on it then.”
“Come on, woman, I’m hungry,” Albert said. Linette shrugged, smiled and trailed him toward the dining room.
Vic slipped her arm through Jamey’s. He loved the feel of her against his side, but even she couldn’t alleviate his discomfort.
Vic began to circulate, introducing him to so many people that the faces and names blurred. He was amazed that so many of the women brayed like donkeys and used language in casual conversation that his mother would have slapped his face for.
But he liked them. By and large they seemed warmhearted and open in a way that his Scottish acquaintances seldom were. Despite their sequins and diamonds, the women were as down-to-earth as old shoes, especially when they talked about horses. He gathered that most of the people here were members of Connaway’s hunt club.
“In your country, y’all kill the fox! That is positively barbaric!” one woman said to him. “We don’t have enough foxes to waste. We mostly run coyote, anyway.”
“Take a mighty dumb fox to get himself caught by hounds over heah,” said her husband, a big portly man. “They mostly know when it’s Wednesday and Saturday during the season. I’ve seen ‘em sit on top of a fence post and wait for hounds to discover ’em.”
He laughed and took a hefty swig of his drink, which was a very dark brown. He coughed, said, “Whew-ee!” and took another. “When they go to ground, we let ‘em go. We tip our hats to them, say, ’Good day, B’rer Fox, see you next Wednesday,’ and off we go to run a coyote or two.”
“I haven’t done any hunting at home in years,” Jamey said. “I found I was always pulling for the fox.”
“Why, so do we!” the woman said, and laid a hand on his arm. The gesture was close to a caress.
Jamey looked down to see that her fingers were stroking the wool of his jacket. Her hands were superbly manicured, with long red talons and four large dinner rings. Her skin, however, was the consistency of a fine lizard handbag.
“You’ll have to lend this child a huntah,” she said to Vic. “So he can come out with us one day and see what a real good time is.” Her laugh was low, husky and so full of sexual innuendo that the hair on Jamey’s neck stood up. He glanced at her husband to see if the man took offense and found him simpering gently at his wife. “I mean it, now,” she said.
The pair moved away.
“Was that serious?” Jamey whispered.
Vic smiled at his discomfort. “I’d try to avoid getting caught alone upstairs with her if you expect to go home tonight with your virtue unsullied.”
“My word.”
“Let’s get something to eat,” Vic said, and led him across the hall. “They all think you’re my boy toy, I’m afraid. And that it’s downright tacky of me not to share.”
“I’m sorry.”
She stopped and stared at him. “Well, I’m not. I haven’t had this much fun in years. You have raised my stock right into the stratosphere.”
“Then I’m sorry it’s not true.”
Vic blushed and turned away quickly to speak to someone else.
For a moment he felt a flash of resentment. He wished he were tall and distinguished like Vach Connaway with his fine gray hair and his patrician face. He was glad he’d gone to the barber and abandoned his stud. If only he felt as much a part of this crowd as he looked.
He followed Vic into the large dining room and was astounded by the riot of color and scent from the trays of food that covered every serving area. Even the Christmas hunt ball at home never came close to this over-ostentatious abundance.
One sideboard groaned under towering stacks of hors d’oeuvres, while another held silver trays of tiny tartlets and petits fours. The dining table itself groaned under a carved country ham surrounded by small hot biscuits, a smoked turkey that had been cut up and reassembled to look as though the bird were still intact and a steamship round of beef, which a white-coated sous-chef carved to order and layered between slices of tiny brioches.
Jamey and Vic filled their plates and foun
d a quiet corner of the room to eat. They were both too hungry to do much talking.
Jamey’s mouth was full of his second tartlet when Vach Connaway swept down on them, slid Vic’s nearly empty plate out of her hands, and handed it to the sous-chef, who had to stop in mid-carve to catch it. Without a word to Jamey, he steered Vic skillfully through the crowd toward a doorway at the back of the room.
Jamey swallowed quickly and looked around for a place to set his plate so that he could follow, but was intercepted by Angie Womack, who hugged him with her one good arm and kissed him with evident delight. He looked over her shoulder and nodded to Kevin, who tonight looked well rested and as distinguished as was possible for someone who resembled a koala bear.
“Where’s Vic?” Angie said. “I can hardly wait to see her to tell her the news!”
“News?”
“They think we could have our baby as early as next month. Isn’t that great? And I’m almost ready to get rid of this thing.” She held up her arm. Instead of a sling, she was using a large wildly patterned sequined scarf.
Jamey glanced at Kevin, who smiled benignly at his wife.
“Angie? Is that true?” Jamey heard Vic’s voice at his shoulder and saw with relief that she was alone.
Angie hugged Vic and kissed her. “It’s all thanks to you! I swear, if you hadn’t talked to Kevin...”
“Kevin?” Vic looked at him.
He nodded sheepishly. “Once we started opening up to each other...”
“And he’s talked to his father, who’s going to talk to his brother, and we’re going to go over to see him next weekend when he’s in town. Isn’t that great?”
“I hope so.”
“Yeah. Me, too,” Kevin said with a sigh. “But if anybody can mend fences, it’s Ange.” He smiled at her. “As for the baby, I’m still scared to death, but you convinced me it’ll be no worse having this baby than one of our own.”
“Don’t put this all off on me,” Vic said. “I refuse the responsibility.”
“Okay, it’s going to mean a lot of changes, but I’m really looking forward to it.”
Jamey detected a hint of “whistling past the graveyard” in his tone and hoped he was mistaken.
Angie patted Kevin’s arm. “He’ll be fine. He says all daddies get the shakes before the first one arrives.”
“First one? You’re planning on doing this again?” Vic asked.
“If it works out, I don’t see why we can’t have a dozen!” Angie spread her free arm and twirled around.
Kevin stared at her with something approaching dismay. She stopped in midtwirl and laughed at him. “Oh, Kev, I’m not serious! No more than six. I promise.”
“And what about the horses?” Vic asked. “Are you going to sell Trust Fund?”
“Absolutely not. We’ll get a nanny. Maybe Melba Hannaford now that Pat’s outgrown her. She was a super nanny to that child. And I’m going to breed my mare, Boop, again if I can find a suitable stallion.” She held Vic at arm’s length. “We’ll also need to go hunting for a small pony. The child will be ready for lead-line classes in a year.”
Kevin groaned.
“As for the stallion,” Jamey began, “I can think of one at ValleyCrest you might be interested in.”
Vic quelled him with a look. “Don’t you dare.”
“What?” Angie asked. “You mean breed her to Mr. Miracle.”
“Of course not,” Vic said.
“I think it’s an absolutely super idea!” Angie screamed. “The foal will be huge! How soon do you want to try? I mean, we need to move Boop back to ValleyCrest from home so we can wean this year’s foal and get Boop back in training. And she’s already started her cycle. Oh, Vic, let’s do it!”
“Angie, you don’t make that sort of decision at a party under the influence of champagne and caviar and an impending baby,” Vic said. She was looking daggers at Jamey, who smiled blandly in return. “Besides, that stallion’s never been bred to our knowledge. He doesn’t know his job and he’s big enough to really hurt Boop if he’s savage.”
“He’s just a precious lamb when Jamey’s around.”
“I don’t know how much Mike intends to charge as a stud fee, either.”
“Can’t be all that much with no history behind him. Oh, Vic, we have to do this, don’t we, Kev, honey?”
Kevin sighed in resignation. Jamey suspected he spent a good deal of time resigning himself to what Angie wanted.
“We’ll talk,” Vic said, then grabbed Jamey’s arm and dragged him away. “I intend to kill you the minute we get out of here,” she said between her teeth.
“No idea what you’re talking about,” he said with feigned innocence.
“No idea my foot.” She said, and grabbed a champagne flute from a passing waiter. “Just for that, you drive home. I’m going to get soused and fool around.”
She sailed off down the hall toward the back of the house. Jamey could hear a band coming from that direction and followed her at a more sedate pace.
Across the back of the house, a glassed-in loggia had been cleared to create a dance floor with small tables around the perimeter. A jazz combo played dance music at the far end.
Jamey’s spirits perked up. He was a good dancer, and the thought of holding Vic in his arms was heady. But he found she’d already been taken. However, the moment he stepped into the room, one of the largely interchangeable matrons he’d met latched on to him and dragged him onto the floor.
Having grown up in an environment where men asked women to dance except in what was called “the Ladies excuse me,” Jamey had to succumb to being handed from female to female like a parcel. Most of the women were very good dancers, although his feet suffered the occasional stomp from someone who’d had too much champagne.
He also had his ear blown into, his palm tickled, his wrist stroked, a couple of wet kisses that probably left lipstick imprints on his cheek and a number of startlingly risqué suggestions, several of which included a rent-free apartment and use of an entire stableful of fine horses.
If he was the hit of the party with the ladies, he didn’t think their husbands were equally impressed. As the women got drunker, he caught more angry looks. He didn’t much blame them, although if their wives were unhappy enough to proposition near strangers, the husbands were definitely spending too much time at the office.
He managed to elude the grasp of the fox-hunting lady and escape to the kitchen, where a smiling woman in a white uniform offered him a shrimp puff hot from the oven. “Better blow on that, honey,” she said, and handed him a glass of water from the kitchen tap. “You hiding out?”
“Is it that obvious?”
The woman laughed. “Sure is.” She picked up the corner of her apron and rubbed his cheek, then showed him the scarlet smudge. “They don’t mean anything by it, most of them. You’re fresh meat, honey, and tasty at that. They like making their husbands jealous.”
He felt his face suffuse with red. “If I don’t get out of here soon, one of those husbands is going to slug me. Have you seen Victoria Jamerson?”
The woman nodded. “She hid out awhile back here, too. Avoiding Mr. Connaway. That man is determined to get her to marry him.” The woman shook her head. “As if she’d be that big a fool.”
Jamey was speechless.
“She went out that way, toward the front of the house.”
“Thanks.” He found Patterson still manning the front door. “Patterson, have you seen Mrs. Jamerson?”
“Upstairs, sir, possibly in the library at the front of the house. That’s where the coffee is laid out.”
Jamey nodded and took the stairs two at a time. The door to the library stood ajar. He heard Vic’s voice, then Connaway’s rumble.
“It’s a wonderful offer, Vach, but no.”
“One weekend, Vic. I’ll change your mind. One night with me in New York...”
“No thanks, Vach. I have to go.”
“To find that trailer trash you dragged alon
g here tonight?” The venom in Connaway’s voice stunned Jamey. “You may think he’s good in bed, but damned if I’m not better.”
“She has no idea how I am in bed, Mr. Connaway,” Jamey said as he pushed the door open. “In any case, she seems to have no desire to compare your skills with mine.”
“What the hell, boy! You add eavesdropping to your other talents?”
Vic stepped between them. “The door was open, Vach, and you’re half-drunk. The party was lovely, but I want to get home before the roads get any worse.”
“Just one minute, Miss Victoria,” Connaway said. “You and me’s having a private discussion here. Don’t need the hired help butting in.”
Jamey took two quick steps into the room. Vach Connaway had twenty years on him, but he also had four inches and forty pounds. Jamey was a guest in the man’s house and the man was drunk. He told himself all this at the same time he felt his hands ball into fists at his sides. He dearly longed to deck Connaway, throw Vic over his shoulder and race away with her as Jock had raced away with Marika. The only thing missing was a horse.
“The first one of you that throws a punch I am going to toss over the balcony railing,” Vic said. “And don’t think I can’t do it. Stop acting like children, the pair of you.” She turned to Vach and extended her hand. “Your parties are always marvelous, Vach. Thank you for inviting us.” And to Jamey, “Please ask Patterson for my coat. It’s time to leave.”
She shoved him out of the room. “Go! I’m right behind you.”
“Victoria!” came Connaway’s voice behind them.
“Keep going,” Vic hissed.
They reached the bottom of the stairs. Patterson stood there, his face empty of expression, his hand holding Vic’s coat. “Mrs. Jamerson,” he said, and opened it for her to put on. “Thought you might want this. Always a pleasure to see you.”
“Thank you, Patterson,” she said, and practically ran for the front door.
“Sir.” Patterson nodded to Jamey. He raised his eyes to the top of the staircase and gave Jamey the ghost of a smile. “I’ve enjoyed meeting you, sir.”
“And I you, Patterson,” Jamey said. He followed Vic and heard the big front door whisper shut behind him.
Mr. Miracle (Harlequin Super Romance) Page 15