Authors: Margaret Tanner
She longed for the cool evenings. A dark velvet sky pin-pricked with twinkling stars and the sounds of night animals always soothed her.
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The night of the ball arrived. Jim picked Jamie up on his way home from working at a neighboring property. Tommy couldn’t stop worrying. David knocked his leg while milking and now limped around looking pale and drawn.
“We don't have to go if you don't feel well enough,” she told him for about the tenth time.
“I'm all right, don't fuss. I'm looking forward to seeing Munro's face when we arrive.”
They finished getting ready. Tommy, who had never been vain, knew she looked well tonight. Her blue silk gown had a bunched up skirt at the back so it fell into a slight train. Pleated frills, a shade darker in color, matched the low cut bodice. Around her shoulders she draped a white tulle cape, flecked with silver threads.
“You look beautiful.” David limped into the parlor where she waited. The bright red of his jacket seemed to emphasize his fairness. He had spent an hour or more just cleaning and preparing his uniform. The white webbing stood out against his scarlet jacket.
“Ready?” He took her arm as they made their way out to the buggy. She wanted to hire a fancy coach but knew they could not afford such extravagance.
The Commissioner's residence, a two-storied house built of red brick on the outskirts of town, was only recently completed according to Mary, and with no expense spared. Dozens of carriages lined the driveway. David chose a spot a little away from the rest.
“No one will see our magnificent chariot in the dark.” He gave a low chuckle.
She put her arm through his, her gloved hand resting on the sleeve of his jacket as they made their way towards the verandah. All colonial houses seemed to have at least one verandah, some enclosed on all sides in an endeavor to beat the searing summer heat.
The orchestra played what sounded like a waltz as they made their way to the door where a uniformed butler met them.
“Your name please.”
Tommy gave it to him, emphasizing David's rank. “He's going to announce us.” She gave a nervous giggle and squeezed her brother’s arm.
“Come this way, please.” The man made a deferential bow.
“Well, here we go, sis, the grand entrance.”
“Captain David Lindsay and Miss Thomasina Lindsay.”
A murmur rippled through the crowd of guests. With her head held high, and her fingers biting into David's arm, they entered the ballroom.
Something made her glance across the dance floor. Her gaze locked with Adam’s. For a second sudden warmth lit his eyes, softening them to a misty gray, but they quickly iced over again. He wore a dark evening suit with a white frilly shirt. Her heartbeat escalated only because of nervousness.
A waiter passed by. David picked up two drinks of what looked like fruit punch, as neither of them drank alcohol. The music started up again and she glanced around with interest. The gowns were beautiful and surprisingly the latest designs from the continent. But mine is just as grand as any of them, she decided, with a secret little thrill.
When a young man came up to inquire whether her program was full, she realized she didn’t have one.
“I'm sorry. I didn’t bring one with me.” She smiled in apology. Of all the idiotic actions. A young woman could be socially ruined for committing such a faux pas in England.
Her would-be partner gave a nonchalant grin. “I’m Ian Wiseman. Would you mind?” he asked David.
“No, go ahead.”
Ian proved an accomplished dancer and she started enjoying herself. Her first ball in Australia would most probably be her last so she meant to savor every minute of it.
“Good evening, Miss Lindsay. Mind if I cut in?” Adam Munro strode up and whisked her out of her partner’s arms, executed a couple of fancy steps, and had them out in the middle of the dance floor before she could utter a protest.
“I don’t wish to dance with you,” she lied, knowing full well that she wanted to feel his arms around her.
“That’s too bad.” His breath stirred a few wispy strands of hair at her forehead.
He danced well, his skill surpassing hers, and she always considered herself an excellent dancer. His skin had an earthy, musky smell, a scent so potently male it seeped into every core of her being, causing her nerve endings to tingle. She couldn’t understand the affect he had on her. He held her firmly, not overly close, but the touch of his hand seared like a brand through the fine material of her gown.
Adam felt her body trembling against him. The perfume of her hair, sweeter than any flower known to man, wafted in his nostrils until he struggled to breathe. Tommy Lindsay floated around the dance floor, light as thistledown, delicate as the petals of a rose in full bloom. He had a sudden, inexplicable urge to crush her against his own hardness, to taste her lips, to probe for the nectar he knew his tongue would find inside her mouth.
Damn it. He loosened his hold a little and couldn’t understand why he suddenly felt bereft. The sooner he announced his betrothal to Sophia the better, before creamy English skin and sky blue eyes seduced him. Tommy Lindsay didn’t fit into his plans. He used clear logic when it came to choosing a wife. He didn’t want the bother of any emotional attachment.
Even after all these years he could still remember the desolation, the sheer agony of losing his mother, and he wasn’t prepared to put himself through that again. The only things he required of his wife were for her to give him two or three healthy sons, be decorative when he entertained, and bring some money or property into the union. Sophia proved perfect on all counts. He wanted nothing else. He didn’t need passion in his life.
“The music has ended, Mr. Munro.”
“So it has.” He trailed his finger across her cheek, enjoying the feel of her soft, smooth skin. “Thank you for the dance, little English rose. I had a sudden urge to hold you in my arms.”
His words shocked her, but not nearly as much as the low, almost tremulous way he spoke them. Her heart fluttered like a captured bird, but she forced herself to walk away from him. She didn’t understand the riotous feelings he aroused in her, but he must never know what effect he had on her.
Ten minutes after her first encounter with Adam, Tommy and her partner, Ian Wiseman, started to leave the dance floor when they encountered him again.
“So, we meet once more, Miss Lindsay.”
“Good evening, Mr. Munro.”
She felt herself blush at his intense scrutiny. She wore no jewelry except a gold cameo on a dark blue ribbon nestling in the hollow of her throat. From where he stared that item seemed to have caught his interest.
“There you are, Adam.” Sophia glided up to them and slipped her arm through his in a possessive gesture.
“Sophia, my dear.” He bent his head as he favored her with a dazzling smile that wiped years off his age. “Let me introduce you to Miss Lindsay. You know Mr. Wiseman, of course.”
“Good evening.” The polite smile died a sudden death on Tommy's lips. The girl looked quite attractive, her green silk gown Parisian inspired. This did not drain the warmth from Tommy's cheeks, but the pendant encircling Sophia’s throat did. “Where did you get that pendant from?”
“Adam bought it for me.”
“Why, you despicable cad.” Furious, Tommy glared at him. “That's my pendant.”
“I’m afraid it isn’t any more. You sold it and I happened to buy it.”
“I hate you, Adam Munro.” Angry tears filled her eyes.
As Ian tried to edge her away, the squatter turned on his heel and strode off with a gloating Sophia clinging to his arm.
“May I ask what that was about, Miss Lindsay?”
“Oh, nothing important.” She gave a high pitched, brittle laugh.
Ian escorted her back to David and hurried off. He obviously thought he had been dancing with a madwoman.
“He seemed in a rush to leave. Did you step on his toes?”
“No.” She clenched her fists as she explained what had transpired.
“You said you didn't like the pendant much.”
“I didn't.” She recovered herself in a flash. She had to stop showing her feelings so openly. “It was the principle of the thing that infuriated me.”
“Well, the poor devil you were dancing with seemed glad to escape.”
“Are you sure you’re feeling all right?” She stared into David’s flushed face and her anxiety heightened.
“Yes, I'm just hot.” He ran his fingers around the collar of his jacket.
“Do you want to sit down?”
He looked pale now, sweating. He passed a trembling hand across his eyes. His face turned ashen, and without a sound he slid to the floor in a dead faint.
She fell to her knees beside him and tried to loosen the collar of his jacket. “Don't just stand there,” she cried out as several couples milled around. “Get a doctor someone. He's sick.”
His whole body convulsed, the sweating more profuse, and he muttered incoherently.
“Just look at him?” a woman complained from close by. “He's drunk. Forced their way in here uninvited, it's disgusting.”
“Can't hold his drink,” another voice condemned.
“Please someone, find a doctor.” Tommy's voice turned shrill with fear.
“The Imdi are coming.” David moaned and threshed about.
“What's going on here?”
Blinking back tears, she stared into Adam Munro's smoky gray eyes.
“Please, Adam, find a doctor.” Her gaze pleaded with him for help. “He's sick. He's got some kind of fever.”
“Get the lids off those ammunition boxes. The Imdi are overrunning us.” David raved deliriously as Adam held him down with one hand, and loosened the tunic with the other.
“I hope he’ll be all right,” Tommy said.
“Move away all of you. Someone get Dr. Brannigan, I saw him out on the verandah.” Adam issued his orders in a clipped, authoritative voice that brooked no argument.
Tommy clung to David's hand. “He isn't going to die is he?” Her voice came out in a tortured whisper, and a single tear ran unchecked down her cheek. “It's my fault, I made him come. He wasn't well, but I insisted.”
“Pull yourself together. You can't help him by getting yourself in a state. If he felt sick he should have stayed home.”
“They're butchering us, use your bayonet.” David struggled to get up. “Let me go. I have to save my men.”
“Lie still.” Adam pushed him back on the floor, keeping him pinned there by the shoulders.
An elderly man in a black frock coat forced his way through the milling onlookers. “What's going on here?”
“How do I know, Doc? Young fool's drunk, I suppose,” Adam said.
“He isn't drunk. He's got some kind of fever, doctor. Will he be all right?” Tommy wrung her hands in anguish. This was all her fault. She shouldn’t have insisted on coming to the ball. What if something happened to him? What would become of her and Jamie?
“Won't know until I examine him. Are you his wife?”
“I'm his sister.”
“Give me a hand, Adam, so we can get him out of here.”
Adam beckoned one of the waiters over and between the three of them they carried David out of the room. She followed them down a passageway, past several closed doors until they came to a guest bedroom. They laid David on the bed, and the servant departed.