Beneath one of five magnificent chandeliers lighting the long white ballroom, Martay Kidd turned about on the polished floor in the arms of Major Lawrence Berton. The sweet strains of a waltz came from an alcove where the ten-piece orchestra was concealed behind garlands of cut flowers.
At half past ten the party was in full swing and dozens of couples were on the floor, the ladies’ colorful gowns contrasting beautifully with the solid white ballroom. Other guests had already hurried into the dining room to sample Regina Darlington’s splendid buffet.
One of the first shimmering ice sculptures ever to be seen in Denver reigned supreme atop a long, impressive banquet table draped in white damask. An imposing six-foot-long beautiful frozen panther seemed to prowl gracefully down a mountain of white damask amid strategically arranged huge silver platters bearing ribs of beef and sliced spring duck and broiled fresh trout and roast quail with wine sauce and grilled salmon and rosemary-scented lamb. Beyond the many kinds of meats was an array of vegetables, both plain and exotic, and two dozen different desserts.
White-gloved waiters served the feast to hungry young people holding out fine Limoges china plates. Others who had already visited the buffet sat about on the silk opera chairs in the ballroom, or upon the grand staircase, or outdoors on the stone veranda, balancing the china plates on their laps, dabbing at their mouths with fine Irish linen-and-lace napkins, and washing the delicious food down with vintage French champagne from sparkling crystal flutes.
The waltz ended, and Lawrence Berton’s hands dropped away from Martay’s narrow waist as he said, “Would you like supper now, Martay?”
She thought for only a moment. “No, Larry. I’m not hungry, but you go ahead.”
“Sure you don’t mind?”
She did, but she didn’t say as much. “Of course not. You go on. I’ll freshen up.” She was surprised he could be interested in food when she was willing to dance every dance with him. Larry was not behaving like himself. Not at all.
His hand at the small of her back, he guided her to the base of the stairs, smiled down at her, and said, “I’ll see you back in the ballroom in a half hour.”
She nodded, lifted her white silk skirts up to her slim ankles, and gracefully climbed the stairs, knowing very well that Larry was standing below, watching. Pausing when she reached the second floor landing, she turned to look down, intending to favor him with a smile.
But he wasn’t there.
Mystified and half miffed, Martay whirled about and hurried to the beige-and-white salon appointed as the room where young ladies were to retire if they wanted to freshen up and rest for a few minutes. Teeth grinding, Martay was growing more than a little annoyed with Larry Berton. Immediately she realized she was being foolish. After all, it was eleven and they’d not yet eaten a bite. Larry always had a hearty appetite, as did she. Except tonight. For some reason, she had no appetite. None at all.
Martay was not the only one with no appetite for food.
Pacing restlessly in the spacious beige-and-white salon, Regina Darlington felt she might never be hungry again. Where was he? Each time an arriving guest had stepped into the white ballroom, she had looked toward the entrance, her heart speeding, expecting to see him, elegant in his evening clothes with his raven hair gleaming under the chandeliers, his cool black eyes seeking her out.
It hadn’t happened.
It was almost eleven and he had not shown up. Damn him! Where was he? Why had he promised he would come if he never meant to?
“Oh, excuse me, dear,” Regina said as she almost bumped into Martay.
“Mrs. Darlington,” said Martay, “a lovely party. I can’t thank you enough. I’m having a wonderful time.”
Forcing herself to smile, Regina said, “I’m glad. Have you been to the buffet yet?”
“No, I’m far too excited to eat anything. And you?”
Again Regina smiled. “I’m too excited as well. Perhaps we’ll both be hungry later. I’m serving an early breakfast spread around two
A.M.
Nothing fancy, mind you. Strawberries and cream. French pastries. Omelettes and smoked ham. The usual.”
“I shall wait and …”
“Dear,” Regina interrupted, “you haven’t seen … that is … ah, have you met all the guests here this evening?”
“Every one of them,” Martay proudly announced.
“Hmmmm,” Regina responded. “If you’ll excuse me, I should get back downstairs. Relax here for a while, you must be winded after all that dancing.” And she was gone.
Regina hurried down the stairs and into the white ballroom. Eyes eagerly scanning the dancers, she looked for him without success. Waving away her husband’s invitation to dance, she proceeded into the dining room. A queue of hungry guests were still passing along before the food-laden table, filling their plates, but his tall form and dark noble head was not among them.
A feeling of despair came over Regina. It was foolish, she knew, to be so disappointed, but she couldn’t help it. This party was as much for his benefit as for Martay Kidd’s. She had so wanted to show Jim Savin that she was not simply the frustrated, lonely wife of a rich army colonel who sneaked up to his hotel room for afternoons of stolen ecstasy. She was a respected lady of great poise and beauty, looked up to and admired by the city’s gentry, capable of ruling over a vast estate with confidence and ease.
Sighing, she went back toward the ballroom, telling herself he would come, he had to come, and when he did, she’d find a way to get him alone. That thought chased away her gloom and a mild flutter of excitement took its place. How thrilling it would be to make love to Jim Savin in her own home while a party was going on around them. Her mood elevated, Regina smiled and circled the large dance floor.
Tapping the shoulder of Major Lawrence Berton, she said, “I told my husband, the colonel, I’m just so disappointed I could weep.”
“Ma’am?”
“That’s right. I told the colonel that the handsomest man at my party hadn’t so much as asked for one single dance.” She stepped closer, head thrown back, lashes fluttering. “Are you going to make me suffer, Major?”
“No. No. I … would you care to dance, Mrs. Darlington, ma’am?”
“Regina,” she corrected, and put her arms around his neck. Locking her hands behind his blond head, she purposely moved so close to him her breasts lay against his blue uniform blouse and her hips pressed against his. “Yes, Major, I’d love to dance with you.”
After a couple of dances, Regina thanked Lawrence Berton, then insisted he meet a lovely brunette at the edge of the crowd. No sooner had she introduced the pair than Regina pushed them both toward the floor.
While Lawrence Berton was taking the smiling girl in his arms, Martay was starting back downstairs. And a late-arriving guest was stepping into the empty foyer. Not even a servant was there to greet the gentleman. He was alone. His back was to Martay; she saw only that he was tall and lean and had hair a deep midnight-black. She paused midway down the steps, suddenly nervous, strangely reluctant to go further. Her fingers tightly clutching the polished banister, she realized her heart was behaving erratically, skipping beats, and the palms of her hands were moist.
She waited anxiously for the man to turn around so she could see his face. But he never did. He walked straight toward the dining room. As soon as his tuxedoed back disappeared through the double doors, Martay lifted her skirts and rushed the rest of the way down the stairs. Following him directly into the dining room, she looked eagerly about, longing to get a glimpse of his face, but couldn’t find him. Intently she studied every group, seated and standing, and still failed to locate him. Puzzled, she even asked two or three people if they had seen a tall black-haired man come into the room, a guest who had just arrived. None had.
Sighing, wondering why she cared about some dark-haired stranger, Martay pushed him from her mind and looked about for Larry Berton. Not finding him there either, she wandered back into the ballroom. She stopped short, not believing her eyes. Larry was on the dance floor. And a pretty brunette girl was in his arms. The girl was listening intently to what he was saying and looking up at him as though he were the most exciting man she had ever met.
Martay was not jealous, but the girl’s undisguised interest in Larry heightened her own. He was quite handsome tonight with his pale blond hair and arresting smile. And the fact he had hardly waited until she was out of sight to dance with another clearly showed he was not as totally snared by her charms as she’d presumed.
When the music stopped, Lawrence escorted the young lady back to her group of friends and came to join Martay. She waited for him to stammer and turn red and apologize for dancing with another woman, but again he surprised her. He neither stammered nor blushed nor so much as mentioned the other girl.
Instead Lawrence smiled at Martay, commandingly took her in his arms, and drew her out onto the floor. And when after several silent cheek-to-cheek dances he said, “Let’s go out-of-doors,” Martay was quick to agree.
It was well past midnight as they stood on the deserted veranda. A full moon had risen and was now sailing high over the mountains. The scent of honeysuckle sweetened the cooling air, and soft music from inside floated out through French doors thrown open to the night.
“It seems we’re all alone,” said Major Berton, turning to lean back against the smooth stone railing. He looked down at Martay and smiled.
“Yes,” she answered, glancing about, “all alone.” And putting her arms around his neck, Martay, with the white gardenia in her hand, boldly pulled his head down and kissed him so soundly, the major’s knees buckled.
When their lips separated, a man’s voice, very near and sounding apologetic, said, “Excuse me, Major,” and the pair turned to see a uniformed servant. In his white-gloved hand he was carrying a small silver tray, atop which lay a small envelope. Raising the tray, he said, “a message for you, Major Berton.”
“Thank you,” said Lawrence, picking up the envelope and hastily ripping it open.
“What is it?” asked Martay, seeing the look of annoyance in his eyes.
“I’m wanted upstairs by my superiors.” He lowered the note. “You’d think whatever it is could wait until morning. I must go, you understand.” He took her arm. “Shall we?”
“I’ll wait here, Larry. It’s too warm inside.” And she gave him a meaningful smile that promised more kisses upon his return.
“Sure you’ll be all right alone out here?”
“Just fine.”
“I’ll go, then, but I promise to be back in ten minutes.”
“I’ll be waiting. And, Larry, bring me a glass of punch when you come. I’m thirsty.”
He touched her cheek and smiled. “Meet you right here in ten minutes with the punch.” He hurried away, but when he reached the French doors, he turned back to look at her.
She blew him a kiss and laughed, the sound of her laughter floating out over the gardens. When he’d gone, she turned to look out at the magnificent scenery. Sighing with contentment, she tilted her head back and looked up at the towering majestic Rockies. Their tallest peaks were still dusted with snow, the moonlight turning them a glistening silver. After studying their splendor for several long moments, she let her eyes return to the nearer surroundings. To the flower-laden gardens and the sprawling well-tended lawns and finally to the thick forest beyond.
She caught sight of movement at the edge of the dense forest. Something flashed rapidly across her line of vision, an animal or creature with such startling swiftness, she lost sight of it. Then it stopped and Martay saw, shining from out of the blackness, a pair of gleaming animal eyes.
Transfixed, she stared unblinking at those light-reflecting eyes, her hands gripping the stone railing, her breath caught in her throat. It seemed as though those frighteningly awesome eyes, the only two points of light in a sea of blackness, had mysteriously locked her in place so that she could neither move nor look away.
For what seemed an eternity to Martay, she stood there alone, scarily hypnotized by those eyes. Then suddenly there was nothing there, only a thick, unrelieved blackness.
A chill raced up Martay’s spine and her hands felt icy. Her throat was tight and very dry. She was frightened, though she didn’t know why, and she hoped that Larry Berton would return very soon.
And as though he had read her thoughts, a hand came out of the shadows and passed her the promised punch. Relieved, Martay smiled and, looking only at the refreshing drink, eagerly reached for the glass. But before she could take it, an unsettling fact registered in her brain. The dark, tapered fingers holding the glass did not belong to the square freckled hand of Lawrence Berton.
Like a fawn sensing danger, Martay’s alarmed green eyes flew up to a handsome hawklike face with eyes as black as midnight. She opened her mouth to scream, but before any sound came, the glass of punch had been tossed away and the long, dark fingers and a snowy white handkerchief were clamped tightly over her open lips.
A feeling of acute dizziness immediately claimed Martay, but fleetingly she struggled as she was pulled against the rock-hard body of her assailant. Effortlessly she was lifted up into his arms and he agilely leapt over the stone railing and was running as soon as his feet touched the ground. In seconds they’d crossed the moon-splashed lawns and were into the forest, and Martay, feeling a strange lassitude coming over her, foggily realized that the hand was no longer covering her mouth. She was free to scream. But the effort was too great.
Vaguely aware of a muscled chest beneath her cheek, she drew in a much needed breath. His scent, clean and unique and masculine, mixed with that of the dying gardenia she still foolishly clutched in her hand. Desperately she fought to make out his features, to find out who was holding her so tightly in his arms, but she could see nothing but a pair of ebony eyes gleaming like an animal’s in the thick, cloying darkness.
Those strange, mesmerizing eyes shining brightly in the blackness were the last thing she remembered. Then even they disappeared as total darkness engulfed her.