Christie (3 page)

" I dont know who he is, but I'm going to find out," she said, "and when I do, Thunder, I'm going to find a way to make him sorry for this insult. No one takes advantage of a Trevellyan without paying for it!"

But as she spoke, her cheeks flushed with the remembrance of warm, hard lips on hers and a fiery embrace that caused a curious tingle deep inside her, even as she fought to dismiss it from her mind.

Chapter Three

"Miss Christie, if you dont hold still, we're never going to get you laced up right."

Almeira's lips pursed together in a narrow line as she worked at the task of constricting an already wasp-thin waist into even narrower confines. The normally thin, pale face of the woman was flushed from the exertion of the afternoon's activities, which now centered on the business of readying her vivacious and energetic young mistress for yet another fitting for the gown she was to wear to her birthday ball a fortnight hence. Given the spirited nature of her young charge, Almeira found such activity no easy task, and as the date of the ball came closer, she found the responsibility of managing this frisky colt of a girl was bringing her near physical exhaustion.

Almeira's position in the Trevellyan household, that of general maid-housekeeper, had in recent years been extended to include acting as lady's maid to the master's growing daughter, something she normally found to occupy very little of her time - her mistress was of an independent sort, usually more than willing to dress and coif herself- but on special occasions such as the coming ball, her duties in this regard were the most demanding aspect of a job she usually carried out with ease.

"Oh, Merrie, why do women have to squeeze themselves into such contorted shapes anyhow?" Christie queried, "I really dont see the point of it - in my case, at least. Isnt my natural waist small enough to do without this nasty old corselet?"

As she finished her question, however, the final lacing was completed , and Almeira quietly noted with satisfaction that, despite her protesting words, Christie was eyeing with more than a little pleasure the narrow-waisted appearance she presented in the small mirror above her dressing table. Silently, Almeira crossed to the wardrobe to get the gown's matching satin slippers for Christie to wear while trying on the aqua-tinted gossamer gown created by Madame Celeste; she was the seamstress Charles had hired to come from Richmond to gown his daughter, and she had been working on it for days in an upper chamber especially set aside for this purpose.

Offering the slippers to Christie, Almeira moved towards the door, saying briefly over her shoulders, "Slip those on, dear, while I go and summon Madame Celeste and alert your Aunt Celia."

Mutely Christie obeyed, but she made an inward grimace of displeasure as she anticipated the bothersome business to come. trying on fancy clothes had never appealed to her as anything enjoyable and she hoped this session wouldnt prove too boring or tiresome.

It had been a difficult morning and afternoon for her, with a large share of disappointments and frustrations. Charles had begged out of their customary morning ride together, pleading business in the form of the unexpectedly early arrival of a visitor to negotiate the purchase of some of their best horses. He had explained that the size and importance of the anticipated transaction was such that he had been reluctant to delay it. Then, Thunder had thrown a shoe on the way back from their late morning ride, and she had been forced to remain at the house for the better part of the day. This had delighted Aunt Celia, who had arrived on the scene at noon to share a hasty luncheon meal with Christie on the terrace before whisking her niece away to the upper chambers, where there would now be more time for her to hover and preen over the young lady as she worked at some of the early preparations for what was to be her favorite niece's formal introduction into society.

Almeira soon returned with Aunt Celia and together they joined Madame Celeste in the sewing chamber, where an hour's worth of fussing, pinning, stitching and feminine babbling took place. Christie's role in all of this activity was the most silent while at the same time, the most physically active as she squirmed and wiggled, wiggled and squirmed, under the onslaught of sticking pins and clucking tongues. Made Celeste alternated between Gallic gasps over the beauty of the mademoiselle who could do such justice to her creation, and muttered declarations - in rapid French - that to be forced to work with one given to such highly charged energies was asking the impossible and should require a fee many times higher than the sum she was charging. Christie, whose fluency in French was excellent, owing to the many long hours spent with Madame Armand, had laughed gaily at this, for she was completely aware of the handsome sum this woman had already extracted from her indulgent father.

When the session was over, an exhausted Celia insisted they all take a nap for the duration of the afternoon to rest up for dinner, at which a guest of Charles' would be joining them. Almeira, who appeared near collapse, took the suggestion gratefully, as did Madame Celeste, who muttered something about true creativity being possible only when the artist was not beset by fatigue, and Christie surprised her aunt by agreeing without protest for a change.

Not that Christie could sleep. As she lay there in the dim, shaded bedchamber, her thoughts returned to the events of her post dawn encounter on horseback, and even as she tried to send them away, unbidden images of a tall, raven-haired, masculine figure on a dark horse entered her head. She saw him again, with that same lazy, mocking grin, returning her in helpless fury to her saddle following that shocking embrace. The act in itself had been enough to unsettle her, but what was even more disturbing was her memory of how she had felt at his touch. Even now, in the semidarkness of her room, her cheeks flushed hotly when she recalled that kiss, and there were all sorts of unaccountable, puzzling yearnings set off inside her, coupled with a queer feeling in the pit of her stomach as she imagined the warmth of a lean, hard male body close to hers. Her senses danced and whirled in dizzying confusion as she recollected the details of it. No one, nothing had ever caused her such emotions before, and she was caught up with wonder at how she could experience such unfamiliar feelings in a body she had somehow thought she knew throughly, having lived in it for almost eighteen years. So it had been with some degree of welcome relief that she had accepted the attentions and ministrations of her aunt and the others, allowing the fuss and bother of activities she found nuisance- worthy to fill up her mind for the bulk of the afternoon, gratefully letting them keep away the stray thoughts which now beset her.

At last, there came the welcome knock of Almeira at her chamber door, and Christie gladly rose to begin bathing and dressing for dinner. Since there was to be a guest, she took more than usual care with her toilet, allowing Almeira to fix her hair in a more sophisticated style than she usually wore. It was pulled sharply back and up, away from her face to teh crown of her head where Almeira fashioned the bulk of her heavy tresses into a high pile of shining curls that peaked and then cascaded down her back in a wealth of locks and ringlets which danced and shimmered with life, bespeaking her own vitality as she moved.

"Lord, I never saw anyone with hair as thick and abundant as yours, Miss Christie. It's a wonder Master Charles takes such pride in its beauty that he cannot make a single trip away from home without bringing you back a gift of some new fancy ribbons for these curls."

As she spoke, Almeira finished working the very ribbons she was speaking about, a deep turquoise satin one, through the cluster of curls atop Christie's head.

It matched exactly the color of the soft silk dinner gown Almeira now held out for her mistress.

Silently, Christie donned the gown and the older woman patiently closed up the long row of tiny pearl buttons in the back. Her young mistress smiled with open approval at teh image her mirror cast back at her, showing a perfect set of even white teeth between moist looking coral lips; the dimples that appeared in both her cheeks suggested a look that lay lay somewhere between angelic sweetness and barely hidden mischief. It was the very smile, the look, she knew, that without fail could melt her father's heart and turn him to modeling clay in her hands whenever she had a desire to do so, and it was with this knowledge in mind that she floated gaily down the huge staircase toward the dining room where everyone would be meeting before dinner. She knew she looked particularly appealing tonight and anticipated the pleased look of appreciation on Charles's face when she entered.

She heard another male voice besides her father's as she neared the drawing room doors. that would be the guest of whom Merrie and Aunt Celia had spoken. Smiling, she entered the room.

"Good evening, Father," she said sweetly as she moved towards the large Chippendale wing chair in which Charles was seated. "Thunder and I missed you this morning."

"Christie, darling." Charles said brightly as he rose from his seat to greet her. "Lord, but you're a lovely sight to see. And no one missed our ride more than this old father of yours. We'll have to take a longer one tomorrow to make up for it."

Her father's handsome face beamed, and she smiled softly up at him as he bent to kiss her on one cheek. Then, placing one large hand firmly at the small of her back, he turned her toward the far side of the room where the double French doors faced the terrace.

"But come," Charles said, "you havent met our guest yet, and he's been here since early this morning." Suddenly Christie

saw the tall figure standing before the French doors, his back toward the room. As he now turned around to meet her, the bite of recognition disturbed her flawless complexion with a rapid drain of all color, followed quickly by a deep flush that turned her cheeks crimson. it couldnt be .. but it was .. him!

The man who now faced them gave only the slightest evidence that he was as surprised as she at their meeting. There was a tightening in the muscles around his jaws before his mouth broke into a broad grin as he met her startled gaze with a bold and open appraisal.

"Mr Randall," Charles said, "May I present my daughter, Christie? Christie, this is Mr Garrett Randall, just in from Charleston. He arrived a bit prematurely this morning to discuss a transaction involving those prize brood mares we've got in the east pasture, as well as a few other purchases related to his plantation's business.

Garrett bowed deeply and then drawled in a voice that was as smooth and rich as she remembered it, "A pleasure, Miss Trevellyan. Your father has spoken of you a great deal in the course of our afternoon together, and I feel as if I know you already."

Only Christie caught the amusement that lay slightly beneath the surface of his words, and she gritted her teeth together before managing a smile as she replied, "Welcome to Windreach, Mr Randall. It's always a pleasure meeting Father's guests."

Actually, she felt tongue-tied for something to say and silently cursed her luck at her awkward situation which caused her such to make a bland and colorless reply when in reality she wanted to hurl at him some properly cloaked but scathing remark to stun him out of his grinning insolence.

"Oh, damn!," she thought, "Of all people, he had to turn up here, in my father's house!"

"Christie," Charles broke in, "I'm afraid Mr Randall is the reason I had to cancel our ride this morning, but I think when you hear about the exciting breeding principles he's planning to put into action, involving some of our stock, you'll see this was no run-of-the-mill horse business we were into and you'll surely forgive my breaking our engagement, darling."

Garrett continued to grin blatantly back at her, all the while running his eyes warmly over her discomfited slender form as she stood there, rooted to the spot.

"Forgive my stealing your father's time, Miss Trevellyan, but had I know he had you waiting for him, I'd have delayed my arrival. There was a prior engagement I might have prolonged to bring that about."

Piercing emerald eyes danced with amusement as his firm, broad mouth once more relaxed into a lazy grin.

At this point, Christie was speechless with anger and she stared at him helplessly for a moment before Charles interrupted teh growing silence.

"I wonder what's keeping Celia this evening. I'd better go and find out while I leave you two here to become better acquainted. I think you'll find you have a great deal in common, Christie," he said as he went toward the doors. "Mr Randall runs a breeding operation that, from the sounds of it, is not too different from our own.

Then he was out of the room, leaving Christie and Garrett alone together, and as this was the last thing in the world she wanted right now, she squirmed nervously even as she found herself staring at him once again.

Garrett moved over toward his left, then leaned casually against the fireplace mantel, his arms folded across his chest. This time, the brazen manner in which his eyes roamed thoroughly over her, left no doubt as to what he was thinking.

"Formal clothes become you every bit as much as boy's breeches, Christie. Right now, I'm trying to decide which I like you better in, and you know, my dear, I cannot decide. In either, your beauty overrides the apparel and commands a man to give up such hopeless decision-making and to happily settle on the woman beneath the clothes."

Christie continued to stare dumbly at him as he spoke, but even as she remained there, still fixed to the floor, she felt a strange play of fear and delight nothing down deep within her, and she could not take her eyes from him.

His height was such as to cause him to stand out anywhere, for he had even stood taller than Charles, who was well over six fee. Broad, capable shoulders topped a lean, well-muscled frame, apparent even beneath the carefully tailored clothes he wore with an air of casual indifference. His broad chest tapered down to a lean masculine waist and narrow hips, that flowed into long, muscular legs which were covered by buff-colored breeches encased in a pair of shiny black riding boots. His jacket, of a deep emerald hue, was the color of those intense eyes.