Caleb glanced at the various groups talking about the events of the day. Instead of sitting quietly around the edges of the room as they did in his time, the women mingled with the men and joined in the discussions. The men’s attire ranged from suits with vests to thick denim pants and wild print shirts. Some of the women even wore pants.
He circled the room twice, taking in bits of the different conversations. Twenty minutes later he spotted Becci standing by the kitchen door and slowly headed in her direction.
After watching the couples dancing, Caleb wanted to pull Becci out on the floor and whirl her about, but the music lacked the beat he’d clicked his heels to at barn dances. Still he liked it and—thanks to Miss Lilly’s fifteen minutes of dance instructions—he thought he could handle a slow dance or two with Becci.
Lilly had told him to hold Becci close, explaining that it was no longer improper to embrace a woman while you danced. As he surveyed the swaying couples, he saw what she meant. In his time, folks would be scandalized, and he would have been, too, if he hadn’t learned that people today weren’t as they were in his day.
Mr. Latham danced with his wife, a stout woman twice his size, and their hips brushed seductively together. Another couple, years younger than most of the others in attendance, were so close there was no denying that they would prefer being somewhere else—alone.
That brought memories of Becci’s and his night together, and he suddenly needed to get to her immediately. He wanted to touch her, to hold her. He wanted . . .
He cut off the thought. He wasn’t going to dwell on what he couldn’t have.
One song ended and another began before he reached Becci. She stood in the middle of a group of women discussing the antiques.
“Hi,” he said, carefully extracting her from the group.
“Hi yourself.”
She smiled up at him, and his heart lurched. “May I have the next dance?”
“I thought you’d never ask.”
She slipped her hand over his shoulder and rested her cheek in the curve of his neck just as the next song drifted from the stereo system.
“You dance quite well,” Becci complimented after they’d circled the dance floor.
“Thank you. Miss Lilly gave me a quick lesson before you came downstairs. I’ve been watching the others carefully so I wouldn’t embarrass you, but I’m still not real good on my feet.”
“You’re not bad, but I must admit, I think you’re better off your feet,” Becci said rising up on her tiptoes to press a kiss to his lips.
Caleb groaned. “Woman, you’d best not do that again. I’m mighty close to carrying you upstairs, and I don’t care who knows.”
Dancing with Becci was not going to make the evening go faster. He would much rather be where he could take his time discovering how many ways there were to love her. The thought sent a sudden rush of heat flowing though his body. He wrapped one arm around her waist and held her head to his shoulder. They swayed from side to side barely moving.
The song ended too soon. “I don’t want to let you go,” Caleb whispered. “You feel so right in my arms.”
The first chords of the next song started, but before he could fit her securely in his arms, the doorbell echoed through the house. Becci stepped back.
“Get a drink and mingle. Hopefully everyone will go home early, and we can test my theory on your dexterity.” She pressed two fingers to her lips then to his before backing away.
His gaze trailed after her, and he knew the dance they had just shared would be the only one tonight. His heart ached. Tomorrow he would be gone.
Becci disappeared into the crowd, taking his heart with her. At least they had tonight, but the party wouldn’t end for a couple more hours.
As he walked up to the bar, a woman caught him by the arm. “Hi, handsome. I’m Susan. I think you’re supposed to be my date tonight.” She ran her free hand over her hip, drawing attention to the red dress that hugged her figure.
“I don’t think so,” Caleb said. He turned to the waiter. “Just a soft drink for me.” He wasn’t sure what a soft drink was, but Lilly had assured him it wasn’t spirits and would be safe for him to drink.
“You are Caleb Harrison, aren’t you?”
He glanced at the woman as he took his glass. She wove her fingers through her hair, making it hang over one eye. She then brushed the long blond strands over her shoulder and looked up at him through half-closed eyes. With one finger, she traced the low cut neckline of her dress, drawing his eyes to her cleavage.
The moves were obviously the same century to century. This woman might have easily been from a neighboring bordello, if they still had them, but Becci said they no longer existed.
“My name is Caleb Harrison, but you are not my date.”
“Sure I am. You’re the host, aren’t you?”
Caleb nodded.
“Then you’re my date. Besides, I don’t see anyone else clinging to you. With a bod like yours, I have no idea why, either.”
“What do you want?” he asked, not sure what she meant by bod, but not about to ask.
“You, of course.” She laughed, a shrieking, sharp twang that made him bristle. “But since you’re determined that I’m not your date, I’ll settle for a glass of wine. Any kind as long as it’s white.”
When the bartender handed him the glass, he handed it to her and walked over to a group of men discussing something called pollution. The conversations were too steep for his limited knowledge, so he contented himself by listening and learning.
Susan followed him, slipped her hands around his arm and leaned her head against his shoulder.
“The flowers are a nice touch.” She ran a fingernail up and down the length of his arm. “I love flowers.”
“It wasn’t uncommon for the ladies of the eighteen hundreds to decorate with large vases of fresh flowers,” Caleb told her as he glanced around the room. Bouquets were placed on each of the glass-topped tables.
He pried his arm away from Susan and continued his journey around the room. With a slow stride he moved from group to group, studying all the different people.
Each time he stopped, Susan caught him by the elbow and leaned her cheek against his shoulder. He’d gone full circle, returning to the secluded corner of the room where the bartender served drinks. For almost an hour Caleb had tipped the same glass of cola to his lips, barely tasting the strange liquid, while he tried to escape the blonde trailing after him. No matter where he went, she followed as if someone had ordered her to stick by his side.
“If you don’t know how to dance, I’d be glad to give you a few private lessons.”
Her sultry words sent a chill down his spine. He had to admit she was pretty, but her voice ruined the effect. And she wasn’t Becci.
“I know how to dance. I just don’t want to,” he said. He downed the last few drops of the soft drink, letting its sweet taste coat his throat, then set his empty glass back on the bar and waited for the man to refill it. If he danced with anyone, it would be Becci, not some overly forward woman wearing a red dress that barely covered her essentials.
She tossed her hair back over her shoulder and raised up on her tiptoes to whisper in his ear, “We could go upstairs. It would be the perfect place for us to get to know each other better.”
“Lady, I don’t have the money to pay for your services, and even if I did, you’re not my type. If you’re desperate for a man, go find someone else.”
She laughed. “Why, sugar, I think you misunderstood me. I don’t charge, and I don’t sleep with just anyone. It’s you I want. What harm is there in my occupying your time until this dreadful party is over? After all, you are supposed to be my date for this charade.”
He’d given up correcting her. He eyed her warily as she tipped her head to one side, then flipped her hair back and
moved closer.
“I must admit that you’re a lot better looking than that bum Michael fixed me up with for that phony fund raiser. Imagine anyone falling for the bullshit Michael has been feeding Ms. Berclair.” She shook her head. “Ascomp. What a crock. If she’d checked on them, she would know that there is no Ascomp Corporation. There never has been, and,” she continued drawing out the word, “if she hadn’t broken off their engagement for some country hick, Michael would already have this house sold and torn down. Now he’ll just have to find some other way to steal it from the bitch.”
Caleb paused, his hand tightening on the glass as he inched it to his lips. He turned the full glass up and tossed back the liquid in one swift gulp. Had he heard this woman correctly? Had everything been a ruse? “If you’ll excuse me, miss, I need to make a phone call.”
She raked her long nails through his hair. “You just go ahead and make that little call. I’ll be right here waiting for you when you return.”
Caleb said a prayer of thanks for the soap operas Miss Lilly had made him watch to teach him about modern day language. Otherwise, he might not have understood the significance of what the woman had told him. Now he had to find Becci and tell her that all this had been for nothing—that Ascott was trying to steal her home from her.
Nineteen
BECCI RETURNED TO her guests after informing Mr. Latham he had a call and showing him to the phone. She joined a group of antique dealers. They all chatted about the various pieces in the house, but she couldn’t keep her mind on the conversation. She was covertly watching Caleb, and every time he leaned closer to the blonde, Becci wanted to scream. What she felt couldn’t be jealousy, could it?
Absolutely not. Well, maybe. She did want to wipe that flirtatious, cocky grin off Caleb’s face and give him a piece of her mind. As for the woman, she itched to confront the look-at-me-I’m-willing bombshell and give her a piece of her mind, too. Yes, she was definitely jealous. She wanted to pull out the bleached blonde’s hair a single strand at a time, the slower the better.
“Is that cameo an antique, too?”
“Huh . . . Oh, yes,” Becci said, bringing her attention back to the group. “I believe it was given to the first Rebecca Berclair in celebration of the birth of her son, Luke, by the boy’s godfather.”
Becci raised her hand to the cameo and tried to concentrate on what the ladies were discussing. It was impossible. Right now she wanted to put her hands around Caleb’s neck and shake some sense into the fool.
“Is the man who gave her the cameo the same man who made the furniture upstairs?”
“Y-yes. He made five pieces in all.” Even the bed we made love in last night. “Rebecca’s journals verify everything.”
Becci looked back at Caleb. He glanced up, and their gazes locked. A spiral of heat zipped through her in response to the desire she saw in his eyes.
It was as if he’d touched her in the most intimate of ways. She felt the heat creeping up her neck to touch her cheeks. He might be standing with another woman, but that look assured her it was her he wanted. And she wanted him. Her jealousy faded, and she smiled and tipped her head toward him. He acknowledged her with the same slight movement.
It didn’t matter that they were a room apart, his eyes warmed her from head to toe. When everyone left Becci knew she would be the one he chose to be with. More than anything she wanted to touch him. Love him. Hold him.
The blonde rose up on her tiptoes and whispered something in Caleb’s ear, and he looked down, breaking the heated visual contact between them. He shook his head and took his glass from the bartender. A couple danced past, blocking her view. In that fraction of time Caleb’s expression went from saucy to distressed.
His motions were slow and calculated as he brought his drink to his lips and drained every ounce of liquid from the glass. The action startled Becci. What had the woman said to bring about such a quick change?
Caleb’s gaze sought hers again. He looked as if he wanted to be rescued. He was a handsome man, and he needed to learn how to fend off modern women. She knew he should gain the experience on his own, but the blonde cupped her hand to his cheek, and Becci knew she couldn’t take another minute of watching her make a play for Caleb. He belonged to her.
Maneuvering her way around the room, Becci came to the spot where she’d last seen Caleb. The woman stood alone, staring toward the entry hall, but Caleb had vanished.
Becci went to the kitchen to see if he’d gone in there to help Lilly and Maude. Neither of them had seen him.
She returned to the family room and began to move from group to group while she looked for him. Her heart was pounding so hard it battled the beat of the music coming from the stereo. Where had he gone?
Whirling around to go to another room, she gasped and took a step backward. Michael stood so close she could smell the bourbon on his breath. Mr. Latham stood beside him, his gaze darting nervously around the room. A heavy silence hung between the three of them.
Becci glanced around the room in search of Caleb, who was still missing, then from one to the other of the men blocking her path.
Mr. Latham tugged at his bow tie, cleared his throat and cast a wary look at Michael before he said, “Ms. Berclair, as you know, I just had a phone call. It was the committee chairperson calling about the grant.” He finger-combed his hair nervously, then took a long draw from his drink as he cut his eyes toward Michael.
Why was he scared? Becci wondered, bewildered. It wouldn’t be his fault if she didn’t get the grant.
“I—he informed me that the decision came back late this afternoon on the grant’s recipient. They’ve decided to give it to the food kitchen on Beale Street. I’m sorry you went to all this trouble for nothing.” He gestured about the room with his glass then brought it to his lips again, emptying the remainder of its contents.
“Thank you. I . . . ” She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Without the grant, she could go on with her plans to sell, but where would that leave Caleb? “There’s nothing to be sorry about. Just enjoy yourself. Even if I’d found out this afternoon, it would have been too late to cancel the party.”
Mr. Latham nodded. Staggering slightly, he caught his wife by the arm and headed toward the dance floor.
“Please don’t hold this against me,” Michael pleaded. “I did everything in my power to sway them in your favor. After everyone leaves, we can discuss your options.”
Becci nodded. What options? She had to sell. The only difference now was that she didn’t want to. But with no money to pay the taxes, she didn’t have a choice.
“May I have the next dance?”
“W-what?”
Without waiting for her answer, Michael caught her hand and led her to the dance floor. He slipped his arm around her, holding her firmly against his chest. Becci tried to step away from him, and he tightened his hold even more.
Everything about Michael’s behavior frightened her. She straightened and leaned away until she was able to look him in the eye. His touch and his actions were angry, and the hard glare in his eyes confirmed his fury. But why was he so angry?
She moved stiffly around the dance floor and searched the room for Caleb. If he saw her in Michael’s arms, she knew he would come to her rescue. As she examined each group they passed, she was surprised to see Mr. Latham and Aunt Lilly engaged in a heated conversation. Mrs. Latham stood at the bar waiting for her drink order. Caleb and the blonde were nowhere in sight.
“If you’re trying to find your hired help, he snuck into the hall just after he tossed back his third drink. He’s probably upstairs rummaging through all your belongings, looking for more of the gold like he found last night.”
“Last night? What are you talking about?”
“According to his friend Jacobs, ‘he found the key that is supposed to make everything right.’ I ha
ve no idea what that means, but I don’t think the man was referring to what happened in your bed.”
Becci froze, the dance forgotten. Michael couldn’t possibly know that she and Caleb had made love.
“What I do in my house is no concern of yours. I am no longer your fiancé.” Becci jerked her hand free and stepped around him.
“I know that, Becci. That crack was totally uncalled for. It’s just that I thought you loved me, and I’m jealous. I see the way you look at him, and you held him so close when you were dancing. We were engaged, and you never danced so suggestively with me.”
Before she could respond, he continued, “This man doesn’t love you. All he wants is the gold he thinks is in the house. He probably found some old necklace that is worthless.”
“Caleb didn’t find anything,” Becci assured him.
“I don’t think Jacobs was lying. No. Let me correct that—I know Jacobs wasn’t lying. Harrison did find something. Jacobs showed me Harrison’s journal. The man wrote all about finding the ‘medallion.’ Mighty interesting reading. Of course, I didn’t get to read the whole journal, just the last entry. And I couldn’t tell you if what he wrote is the truth or not. I haven’t had a chance to go upstairs and investigate.”
Becci frowned as a myriad of questions rushed through her mind. How did he know Jacobs? And why would the man steal Caleb’s journal? “You have Caleb’s journal?”
“No. Jacobs thought it might have some valuable information in it that I needed. And it did. I know that whatever Harrison found, it’s not of value or he wouldn’t have left it in that little trinket box he made for you. I just wanted you to know he was rifling through your things.”
“And you know this because you read it in his journal.”
Michael nodded.
“H-he didn’t find anything,” Becci repeated. “He would have told me.”
“Would he?” Michael’s words were cold, pulling at the trust she felt for Caleb. “The proof is in your room. Ask him. I’m not sure he’ll be truthful, but I suppose you know him well enough to sense whether he’s lying or not. Or better yet, go look for yourself.” He indicated the stairs with a slight tilt of his head.
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