Authors: Diana Palmer
She got dressed early and went into her father’s study, where he’d been holed up all day, to show him her borrowed outfit and her new look.
He stared and nodded solemnly. “You look just like your mother, darling,” he said, smiling wistfully. “So beautiful.”
“Not me. Wrong girl.” She laughed. “But if you think I’ll do, that’s fine.”
“You’ll do all right. You may need a stick to beat off the boys.” He lit his pipe. “Watch yourself.”
“Everybody tells me that.” She sighed.
“Then I’d listen if I were you.” He studied her with shrewd eyes. “Remember that it’s a long way from the presidential suite to the economy-class rooms, will you?”
“We’re not servants,” she said haughtily.
“Yes, I know that. But we’re not high society, either. See that you remember it.”
“Yes, Your Worship,” she said, and curtsied.
“Away with you! And don’t drink. You know what it does to you.”
She did, indeed, remembering that one date with Keegan. Her face colored, and she bent, pretending to fix her shoe strap.
“I’ll remember.”
“And have a good time,” her father added.
“Oh, I expect to.”
“And say hello to Keegan for me,” he added with a twinkle in his eyes. “Didn’t you know he was invited, too?”
She glared at the knowing look in his eyes, then turned as she heard a car pull into the driveway. “Well, I’m off. I’ll see you when I get back. Don’t be up too late, now.”
He made a face at her and she closed the door on it.
The Blakes lived in a house just a little less palatial than Flintlock. It was redbrick, very old, and stood on the banks of a private lake overlooking one of the most beautiful plains near Lexington. There was rolling farmland around it, and Thoroughbreds pranced jauntily in the confines of white fences.
“Nice little place, isn’t it?” Wade asked as they stopped in the driveway where a liveried chauffeur waited to drive them from the parking spaces up to the house.
“Little,” she scoffed, getting into the back of the Rolls-Royce limousine. She tried to memorize every
inch of the leather luxury so that she could tell her father and Darcy. It was a little like being Cinderella.
“Little compared to some,” Wade replied with a laugh. Riding around in Rolls-Royces was probably nothing unusual for him. He leaned back, scanning Eleanor’s ensemble. “I like your dress, darling. Silk wears well, doesn’t it?”
“Uh, yes, it does,” she returned. Odd that he could recognize silk; he probably wore silk shirts. Most rich men did. She remembered that Keegan had worn a white silk shirt that night….
“I like the new haircut, too,” he said. “You pay for dressing, Eleanor. I like the way you look.”
“I’m glad.”
“Nervous?” he asked as the driver pulled up in front of the house, which was blazing with light. Exquisitely gowned women and men in black evening wear strode elegantly along the cobblestone walkway, and Eleanor did feel uneasy.
“Just a bit,” she confessed.
“Just stick with me, kid, I’ll take care of you,” he said with a wink.
She glanced at him. Was he afraid she might slurp her soup and try to butter her bread with her spoon? She frowned. Was it a dinner party?
She asked him. “No, darling,” he replied, guiding her to the front door. “It’s a champagne buffet.”
“With different kinds of champagne?”
“Not quite,” he chuckled, pressing her hand closer. Tall, dark, good-looking, he attracted attention, even with his slightly overweight frame. And Eleanor seemed to be doing that as well. And not because she
was out of place. “Champagne and hors d’oeuvres,” he whispered. “Conversation and dancing. There’s even a pool, if you fancy swimming.”
“Well, not in my gown,” she murmured demurely.
“They keep bathing suits on hand,” he said, laughing. “Sometimes, they actually fit.”
“I’ll pass, thank you,” she said with a smile.
She was introduced to her host and hostess. Mr. Blake was sixtyish, heavyset and pleasant. His wife— his third wife—was barely forty, vivacious and dripping diamonds. Their daughter was in her early twenties but already married. Her husband, an executive type, was beside her, helping to receive guests.
Fortunately no one asked if Eleanor was related to the Cape Cod Whitmans or the Palm Beach Whitmans, and she didn’t have to confess that her father was a carpenter on the Taber farm. That would have humiliated her beyond bearing. She hated being an outsider. But these people and their elegant furnishings graphically reminded her of what she would be going home to. They pointed up the difference between living and surviving. And she wondered if she hadn’t been better off not knowing that some people could afford trinkets like original oil paintings and velvet sofas and leather chairs and Oriental carpets and crystal chandeliers.
She had only one glass of champagne, standing rigid beside Wade while he discussed money matters with acquaintances. Conversation seemed to center around good stocks, municipal bonds, money markets, income taxes and new investment opportunities. The only investments Eleanor knew about were the ones she made on her car and groceries. She smiled into her
champagne and nibbled on a delicate little puff pastry filled with chicken.
“Well, look who’s arrived,” murmured the older man beside Wade, glancing toward the door.
Eleanor followed his amused stare and found Keegan, in a black tuxedo, just entering the house with an elegant little black-clad brunette on his arm.
Eleanor’s heart skipped a beat just looking at him. He was devastating in evening clothes, his red hair neatly combed, his patrician features alarmingly handsome. Lucky, lucky girl who had his whole attention, she thought miserably, then chided herself for the thought. After all, she was long over him.
“Isn’t that the O’Clancy girl, the one who’s visiting them from Ireland?”
“Yes, I think it is. Lovely, isn’t she? She and her parents are hoping to work a deal with Taber, or so we hear, on a Thoroughbred of theirs,” Wade murmured with a smile. “Trust Taber to come up with an escort like that. But what’s he doing here?”
“He’s after that new colt of Blake’s—the Arabian out of Dane’s Grace by Treadway. Probably Blake decided they could discuss business here as well as at the golf course.” He chuckled.
Watching Keegan with the brunette, Eleanor couldn’t help but wonder how many women he’d gone through since the night he’d seduced her. The thought made her go hot all over.
“Why the long face?” Wade teased, whispering in her ear.
“I don’t like him,” she blurted out.
His eyebrows arched. “Why not?” he exclaimed.
“He has freckles,” she muttered, glowering at the redheaded man, who seemed to feel her cold scrutiny and turned abruptly. He caught her eyes across the room, and she stood there dying of old wounds, feeling the floor lurch under her feet. Her body ached; it took her last ounce of willpower to jerk her gaze back to Wade and calm her wildly beating heart. “Don’t you think freckles are just horribly blatant?” she asked matter-of-factly. “I can’t think why anyone would want to have them.”
He laughed helplessly. “I don’t suppose he can get rid of them, darling,” he said.
“A likely story,” she returned.
He laughed even harder and pulled her close against his side. “You bubbly little thing. I’d rather have you around than a magnum of champagne.”
She knew. Oh, how she knew. She smiled up at him just as Keegan looked her way, intercepting her smile. He seemed to grow two feet and his eyes were suddenly darker, possessive. He let his gaze rove over her from head to toe, and even at a distance the look was powerfully narcotic. She avoided it this time, in self-defense.
“Shall we dance?” Wade asked. He put their glasses aside and moved her into the ballroom, where a small orchestra was playing Strauss waltzes. She moved across the floor with him like thistledown, and he grinned.
“You dance gloriously!” he said.
“Not what you expected of a nurse?” she teased. “Actually, I took dancing for three years. Ballroom dancing was part of the course. I do love a waltz.”
“Then let’s show them how a waltz should be
performed,” he murmured, and drew her around and around in the center of the floor.
Soon people were standing back to watch, because they moved as one person. He was an excellent dancer, and she followed him without a single missed step. She laughed up into his face, loving the music, feeling young again, full of life. It had been a long, bleak year, and now she was coming to life again. She closed her eyes and drifted, giving herself up to the joyous, seductive rhythm. It would have been perfect, she thought dreamily, if the arms holding her were wiry and strong, if the body against hers were lithe and lean and hard-muscled. And if the face above hers were surrounded by red hair, and if there were horrible freckles all over it….
She bit her lip. If. How long did it take a dream to die? she wondered sadly. Hers had lasted too long already.
Eleanor returned to the reality of applause all around as Wade bowed to her and led her off the dance floor. She held tight to his hand, vaguely aware of Keegan’s blue eyes watching. Always watching. Why did he stare at her so? she wondered. Was it guilt?
“That was nice,” she told Wade.
“I thought so, too. You’re magic.” He bent and brushed a kiss across her forehead. Across the room, a redheaded man clenched his fists and looked as if he could do murder.
When some of the other guests discovered that Eleanor was a nurse, she found herself much in demand to answer medical questions, none of which she felt qualified to address. She learned to excuse herself before
things got too complex, and she never lacked for partners. But inevitably Keegan claimed her for a dance, and the evening turned dark.
“Having fun?” he asked dryly. “You do seem to be the center of attention.”
“I’m having a lovely time,” she replied. “Are you?” she added with a glance at his young partner, who was dancing with an older man and smiling at him radiantly.
“Yes, I am, as a matter of fact,” he replied. “She’s a sweet girl. Generous and kind and beautiful.”
“Not your usual choice, but we all like a change, don’t we?” she taunted.
He looked down at her possessively, his eyes charming hers as he pulled her closer, letting her feel his strength as he turned her expertly to a slow box step. “What do you know about my usual choices?” he asked. “You make a science out of trying to avoid me.”
“Do I?” she asked with a carefully blank expression. “I hadn’t noticed.”
His eyes searched her body possessively, and the strong hand holding hers contracted a little; subtly his fingers eased between hers so that his palm meshed with her own. Her heart jumped, and his other hand felt it because it had snaked around her waist and was resting just underneath her breast.
“Not quite immune yet, Eleanor?” he asked, searching her dark eyes, her parted lips.
“I’ve been dancing, haven’t you noticed?” she hedged.
“I’ve noticed you all night, and you know it. This dress is pure witchery. Where did you get it?”
She smiled. “From the Salvation Army. Isn’t it nice?”
He drew in an irritated breath and turned her quickly, so she almost lost her balance. She felt his body intimately in the turn and put a little distance between them.
“Stop fighting me,” he muttered.
“Am I?” She looked up into his eyes lazily. “I thought you were reminding me of my place. Do you think this scene is a little too grand for your carpenter’s daughter, Mr. Taber, sir?”
“Have you been drinking?” he demanded.
“Just an itty-bitty glass of champagne, boss. Not to worry,” she mocked.
“I do worry,” he said beneath his breath. He studied her face quietly as the music flowed around them. “Wade isn’t the marrying kind, and you are.”
“What difference does that make?” she asked, shrugging. “You know yourself that men only sleep with the carpenter’s daughter, they don’t marry her….”
“Eleanor, hush!” he hissed, glancing around to make sure no one had heard her.
“Why?” she asked. “Are you worried that someone might suspect you of playing around with the hired help?” she whispered conspiratorially. “God forbid!”
“Eleanor…!”
“I never knew until then that I had so much in common with the downstairs maid. Isn’t that whom the master of the house usually seduces?” she asked, wide-eyed.
“Oh, for God’s sake!” he burst out in helpless frustration. “Can’t we have a normal conversation without sex coming into it?”
“Look who’s talking!” she returned, stopping in the
middle of the dance floor. “And I don’t want to have any normal conversations with you. You’re the only man I know who could probably talk a woman pregnant!”
He chuckled softly as he gazed at her, his eyes so warm they took the chill of the room off her. “We could try that, I suppose. How about coming with me on a picnic tomorrow?”
The invitation shocked her, but she kept it from showing. So he was trying to help history repeat itself, was he? Well, he wasn’t manipulating her into any tight corners again.
She smiled and shook her head. “Thanks, but Wade and I are going sailing tomorrow. He has a sailboat.”
The hand holding hers contracted. “He’s on the make, you little fool. Can’t you see it? He doesn’t give a damn for you or your feelings. He only wants to get you into bed!”
“Just like you did?” she probed.
He glared back at her. “You’re not in his class,” he began.
Her eyes widened and she smiled coldly. “Thanks a lot for reminding me. I’m not in yours, either, though, am I? Isn’t it beneath you, asking the carpenter’s daughter on picnics?”
He looked suddenly dangerous, those blue eyes glittering down at her through narrowed lids. Sensing explosions, she pulled out of his arms, regardless of the puzzled glances it brought, and went back to Wade as fast as she could walk. He was waiting, a faint smile on his dark face.
“Have a problem?” he asked amusedly, glancing past her to a glowering, blazing Keegan Taber.
“Not anymore, thanks,” she replied. She smiled up at him dazzlingly. “Would you like to dance with me?”
“Honey chile, I’d love to,” he drawled, and drew her lazily into his arms. “But do you think it’s quite safe?” he added, nodding toward Keegan.