After Midnight (17 page)

“Thanks just the same, but I really don't want to die of cholesterol poisoning,” Nikki chuckled. “Make that a small salad and some bread sticks instead, if you could.”

“You sparrow, you.” Madge smoothed her hands over her ample hips with a grimace. “If I liked lettuce leaves, I could look like you in places, at least.”

“You're very nice as you are, as I'm sure
Claude tells you constantly.” She linked her arm with Madge's. “Now, let's go over these catered items just once more.”

 

The day's activity, frantic though it was, didn't take her mind off the coming confrontation with Kane. She nibbled at her fingernails until she almost gnawed one into the quick. She looked around the room at the arrangements, satisfied, and went toward the staircase. It was nearing time for people to start arriving. If only it would go smoothly. She always worried about the food and musicians arriving on time.

“I can see the wheels turning in your head,” Claude observed, coming into the hall with a cat under one arm. One of the felines was a big, chocolate-point Siamese with blue eyes that appraised Nikki and found her uninteresting. He closed his big eyes and curled closer into Claude's jacket.

“Mudd is hopeless,” he remarked, nodding toward the sleeping cat. “He only wakes up to eat. He's so lazy that he even lets the others bathe him. His psychologist says it's because he's depressed. He isn't let outside you know, and it's frustrating him.”

Nikki didn't dare grin. Claude took Mudd's therapy sessions very seriously indeed.

“How is he progressing?” she asked cautiously.

“Well, I don't notice much change, but at least he's stopped chewing on my computer keyboard.
Damnedest thing, all those toothmarks. Jealousy, you know. Yes, that's right, he's jealous of the computer when I'm writing.”

It was impossible to be mad at Claude for long. Nikki, like everyone who knew him, adored him. She'd manage to stay out of Kane's way. He didn't know who she was, really, and in costume, perhaps she could go unrecognized. “Are you coming to the party?” Nikki asked her host.

“I might. I think I'll come as Ravel, with a cat under each arm,” he added. “Ravel kept cats, you know. Dozens of cats. He even spoke to them.”

“I used to speak to my cat,” Nikki pointed out.

“Not in its own language,” he returned with a wicked grin.

“Puff understood me well enough. He could hear the sound of a can being opened from the balcony upstairs,” Nikki recalled wistfully. Puff had died of old age a few weeks back, and she was still sad about it.

“You need a new cat,” he said gently.

She shrugged. “I'm too busy for cats,” she lied. It was unthinkable to replace Puff so soon.

“Why do you look so sad?” he remarked. “Clayton won the nomination.”

“That isn't what I feel sad about.”

“He'll discover that Bett isn't right for him and marry that Derrie of his one day,” Claude chuckled.

“Derrie quit, and Bett's already announced their engagement. She isn't so bad.”

“She's a lobbyist. If she marries Clayton there will be a major conflict of interest and she'll lose her job. She's an ambitious lady. When she had to make the final choice, she'll leave him.”

“How do you know so much about people?” Nikki asked, aghast.

“My dear girl, I'm a writer. Who knows more about people than we do?”

“Good point.”

“Didn't Camille have a cat?” he asked, frowning. “Madge told me that's who you're going dressed as. You could carry a cat, too.”

“I think having a woman with tuberculosis carry a cat would be a bit…how shall I put it…unexpected?”

“Oh, yes. I see.” He chuckled. “Bad suggestion. I know! I'll see if I can get Madge to dress as something Egyptian or even Babylonian—from the Rossini opera
Semiramide,
you know—and
she
can carry a cat under each arm.”

“Why does someone besides you have to carry a cat?”

“Two cats,” he corrected. “I have four. They get in my box of fanfold paper and eat it if I leave them alone. Or they chew up manuscripts. Mudd can open the cabinet under the desk, remember.”

“You need a filing cabinet.”

He frowned. “That's cruel.”

“What is?”

“Suggesting that I lock my cats up in a filing cabinet!”

Nikki gave him an exasperated look and dashed upstairs to the sound of mischievous laughter. Poor Madge, she had to live with him!

 

The gauzy white costume suited Nikki. She felt as if she were a floating island of sand among all the brightly colored costumes of the guests. Clayton and Bett had arrived, dressed as Carmen and her soldier. Clayton looked uncomfortable in the high-collared uniform while Bett was unconvincing as a peasant girl in the revealing blouse that showed little more than her extreme emaciation.

There was no sign of Kane as yet, and Nikki entertained a faint hope that he might not come. He didn't like Clayton, after all, and he must know that the party was being given in Clayton's honor. Nikki hadn't told Clayton that his archenemy was expected. She might not have to, she thought, as time passed and still Kane didn't make an appearance. She began to relax a little.

Claude and Madge were exceptionally colorful as Maurice Ravel and Madama Butterfly. Claude had Mudd under one arm. A quick scrutiny of the other guests revealed three more carrying cats. She smiled to herself. Claude was exceptionally per
suasive, and the cats were like children—they loved being held.

“It's the odd couple,” Nikki quipped when they joined her.

“Look who's insulting whom, the coughing courtesan,” Claude returned, clutching Mudd under an arm. Mudd was wide-awake and very obviously irritated at the company he was having to keep. He gave his human friend a pie-eyed glare and suddenly sank his teeth into Claude's arm.

“Ouch!” Claude cried.

“Repressed hostility can stunt mental growth,” Nikki said, nodding. “Better allow him freedom of expression. We wouldn't want to inhibit him.”

“I'll inhibit him into a
boeuf bourbonnais
if he does that again,” Claude said, glaring at the cat.

“Don't be absurd, dear, you can't cook a cat with red wine, it's so bourgeoisie,” Madge told him.

Nikki laughed. These two were the closest friends she'd ever had, and the most loyal. They didn't know of her background, but it wouldn't have mattered if they had. They were the least judgmental people she'd ever known.

“What a crowd,” Clayton murmured, joining them. He scowled at his sister with her stark white complexion and painted cheeks. “What are you supposed to be, Vampira?”

“I'm dying of tuberculosis, can't you tell?” she muttered at him. “I'm Camille.”

“I hate opera,” Clayton remarked to no one in particular.

“You'll learn to like it when we're married,” Bett said carelessly. “I love opera, so we'll be going quite often.”

Nikki didn't say a word, but she raised an eloquent eyebrow for her brother's benefit. He gave her a hard glare.

“Why isn't Derrie with the two of you tonight?” Claude asked suddenly. “Did she have other plans?”

Bett looked murderous. Clayton cleared his throat.

“Derrie quit and went to work for the competition,” Nikki replied. “She found that her job description didn't quite cover what the boss expected her to do.”

“She wouldn't follow orders so I fired her,” Clayton said, daring Nikki to argue. “She was a turncoat.”

“Indeed she was,” Bett agreed eagerly. “I never trusted her.”

“I did,” Nikki replied, staring at them both levelly. “She was the most loyal employee Clay ever had. She stayed with him through thick and thin, even when his office was attacked because of some unfavorable legislation he introduced in the state
house of representatives, before he even dreamed of going to Washington. Derrie was threatened, but she still wouldn't quit.” Her tone became fierce as she stood up for her friend. “She worked twelve-hour days without complaint, gave up her home to move to Washington with Clay to oversee his personal and constituent staff. She even sacrificed her personal life to do it. Untrustworthy? Well, if that's how you define it, I think we need more people like her.”

Clayton fidgeted uncomfortably under his sister's hot glare. “You're very loyal to your friends, Nikki, but you don't understand the situation at all.”

“Do explain it to me,” she challenged.

“Please,” he laughed. “Don't rock the boat, sis. A lot is riding on this. I need more support if I'm going to get back in the saddle come January.”

“Mosby and I are drumming up all sorts of support for you,” Bett told him.

“Where is Mosby?” Madge asked.

“He had other plans and sent his regrets,” Clayton said quickly. “He's not much of a mixer. Parties make him nervous.”

“It's because all the women throw themselves at his feet,” Madge said with a wicked smile. “He's so handsome, isn't he? Oh, my, even my knees go weak when I look at him.”

Nikki's had once, too. But now she thought of
Mosby with sadness and pain. She didn't reply. Bett knew about the marriage, but only that it had existed. Apparently Clayton didn't trust her very much, either.

“Look, more guests are arriving,” Claude said enthusiastically. “I must mingle, my dears. Here. Have a cat.”

He handed Mudd to a protesting Clayton, who promptly dumped him into Nikki's arms with a grin.

“You know you love cats,” he reminded her. “You have Puff.”

“I
had
Puff,” she amended. “I do miss him.” She petted Mudd, who narrowed his eyes and began to growl.

“He's expressing his buried hostility,” Clayton pointed out.

“He's asking to be put down. I wonder if I dare?” she mused, looking around for Claude.

“If you do, and he gets into Claude's manuscript, you'd better have an escape plan,” her brother said.

“Why can't you hold him?” she muttered.

“He doesn't like me.”

He was growling louder now, and Nikki held him out from her dress. His gleaming claws began to flex.

“Take him, Clay,” she pleaded.

“He matches your costume better than he
matches mine,” he protested. “Spanish officers hated cats, didn't you know?”

“They did?”

“How many paintings of Spanish officers holding cats have you ever seen?” he queried.

Nikki had to admit that she hadn't seen any. She was about to protest his sly escape when she heard a voice she'd never expected to hear again.

Catching Mudd from behind so that he couldn't bite or claw, she turned and looked straight into a pair of black eyes that held no shock or surprise whatsoever.

N
ikki felt her knees go rubbery underneath her. It was Kane. He wasn't paying much attention to the elegant woman standing close at hand that he was with. His whole attention was focused on Nikki, and there was accusation and anger and pain in his dark eyes.

She didn't understand the anger. He couldn't know she was Clayton's sister. Her own heart was turning over. She'd hoped to avoid him, although that was absurd. There weren't so many guests that she could have gone unrecognized.

“Hello, Kane,” Claude greeted, clapping the other man on the shoulder. “No costume, I see.”

“He wouldn't put one on,” Chris said carelessly. “I see that I don't have dibs on
Semiramide,”
she added with a raised eyebrow at Madge's
costume. They were both wearing the same colors, but Chris's smug smile was justified. Madge looked too chunky in her gear, while Chris's showed off her slender figure to advantage.

“Ah, but you don't have a cat, my dear,” Claude purred.

She gave the cat in his arms an unpleasant look. “I hate cats,” she said. “Nasty, sneaky things.”

Claude was affronted. He clutched Mudd closer and started to speak.

“Why, there's Ronald!” Chris said suddenly, brightening as she waved to a dark young man across the room. “Kane, do come and meet him. His father is chairman of an oil company.”

“I'll be along,” Kane said, refusing to be led.

Chris shrugged and went off by herself, her whole expression seductive as she wrapped herself around the younger man and then spoiled the effect by looking back to see if Kane noticed.

He didn't. His eyes were on Nikki.

“Expensive company for a beachcomber,” he remarked.

She flushed. “Well, you see…”

“Don't bother thinking up lies,” he continued curtly. “I know who you are. I knew before you left the beach house.”

“You never said a word,” she accused.

He stuck his hands in his slacks pockets. “I was
waiting to see why you were playing games,” he said.

“It wasn't a game. I didn't know how to tell you,” she replied quietly. Her green eyes searched his face, learning it all over again as the silence stretched between them. “You look so tired. It's been terrible, hasn't it?”

He lifted one thick eyebrow and smiled cynically. “Gathering tidbits to feed your brother?”

She drew herself up to her full height. “No. I was asking about the health of a friend,” she returned. “You were that, for a brief time.”

“And you weren't playing me for a sucker,” he agreed mockingly.

“Would that be possible, even if I'd wanted to?” she asked. She smiled wistfully. “You'd have seen right through me.”

He felt the ground going out from under him as he looked at her. He'd missed her. Being with Chris, even in the beginning, was nothing compared to the high he felt with Nikki. “Are you completely well this time?” he asked.

The concern thrilled her. “I think so. I've been taking it easy.”

He looked around. “So I see. Everyone knows that Madge can't organize. If she could, Claude's desk wouldn't be in such a deplorable mess. You did all this, I presume?”

“Madge helped,” she said in defense of her friend.

“And Claude reads Greek tragedies and listens to opera and pets cats when he isn't murdering people to entertain the public.”

“Shame on you. Claude's your friend.”

“Indeed.” His eyes scanned the room until he saw Clayton, and then they narrowed angrily. “Your brother plays dirty pool. He's going to discover that the mud sticks when it's thrown. Remind him what my people do for a living,” he added, glancing back down at her so quickly that she started. “And tell him that I said not to get overconfident. I'm on the firing line because one of my employees made an error in judgment. Your brother could be there for another reason entirely, along with his major cohort.”

Nikki felt the blood draining out of her face. Major cohort. Mosby!

“Whatever Clayton's done—and I'm not defending him blindly—you have no right to hurt Mosby.”

Her defense of her ex-husband irritated him. “Why not? He's behind this effort to discredit me, and don't think I don't know why. He's got a secret, hasn't he, Miss Seymour? And he thinks keeping my neck under his foot will keep us from digging for it while he uses every gutter tactic in the book to put Clayton Seymour back in office!”

“Mosby isn't underhanded,” she began.

“One member of his staff is. And the honorable senator is putting pressure on me from a new angle,” he said suddenly. “He has powerful contacts, you see, and he's using them all. Now it seems that I'm about to be investigated for income tax evasion. And guess who's heading the IRS in my direction?”

She just stared at him. It was inconceivable that Mosby would go so far unless he was really afraid. What did Kane know?

She moved closer to him, looking up with a plea in her eyes. “Don't hurt him,” she said softly. “He isn't what you think. He's not like that.”

“What is he like?” he demanded. “You ought to know, you married him, didn't you?” He caught her arm tightly and his dark eyes glittered down into hers. “Was he the one who didn't want you, Nikki? Did he only marry you to keep the gossip columnists finding out that he was involved with some married member's wife, was that it?”

She gasped.

“I thought so,” he said coldly. He dropped her arm as if it offended him to touch her. “And you want along like a lamb. Did you love him?”

She bit her lower lip until she tasted blood. Her eyes were huge, tragic.

“Well, did you?” he demanded.

“Yes!”

“But he didn't love you, did he? Or want you.” His eyes ran over her with involuntary appreciation, almost hunger. “But you still want him. You can't let go, can you? There hasn't been another man in your life since the divorce. Oh, yes,” he said smugly, “we checked.”

“We?”

“My father owns a tabloid,” he reminded her. He smiled slowly. “There's nothing he can't find out. In fact,” he added, “he's on the trail of something very big. If he finds it, your brother may be very sorry indeed that he took advantage of my unfortunate circumstances to feather his own political nest.”

“Clayton wasn't thinking beyond winning the race,” she said, defending Clayton, as she always had. “Sometimes he gets tunnel vision. But he's a good man, and he does care about his constituents.”

“I'm one of his constituents,” he reminded her. “He didn't show me any of that concern.”

“You're supporting his major opponent, a Democrat,” she pointed out.

“And I'll support him even more, now,” he returned. His face went even harder. “I'm going to see your brother thrown out of office in November. I promise you I am, no matter what it takes.”

She felt chills run down her arms. “Revenge, Kane?” she asked.

“Call it what you like.” He studied her beauty in the costume and felt regret like a wound. “Why didn't you tell me the truth?” he asked raggedly.

“It wouldn't have mattered,” she replied. Her eyes were haunted. “All you had to offer was an affair, and I'm not heart-whole anymore. It was never meant to be.”

One big, lean hand came out of his pocket. He reached out and touched her cheek, as lightly as a breath. She flinched, but she didn't pull back from it. Her soft, misty eyes sought his and gloried in their admiration of her beauty.

“Did you know what he planned to do?” he asked.

Her mouth pulled into a sad smile. “What do you think?”

“You're too honest for your own good in some ways, and a little liar in others. It hurt me to let you go, Nikki.”

The pain she felt was naked on her face. “It hurt me more,” she whispered unsteadily. “I don't have a lover hidden away to console me.”

His jaw tightened and he dropped his hand. “She's convenient and she doesn't make demands,” he said.

“I thought she made you impotent,” she shot back, green eyes sparking with jealous rage.

He smiled in spite of himself. “You hope,” he taunted.

“I loathe you,” she spat under her breath.

“Go ahead,” he challenged. His eyes were black, bright with wicked delight. “Hit me, Nikki. Come on.” He stepped closer. “Throw a punch. You want to.”

“If I hit you, it will be with a lamp!”

“You won't get that far. Know why?” He bent down, so that only she could hear him. “Because the minute you lift your hand to me, I'll back you up against a wall and kiss you blind.”

“Is that how you manage women, Mr. Lombard?” she choked.

“It's how I'd manage you,” he replied, so arrogant that her leg positively ached to kick him where it hurt most. “I haven't forgotten the way you looked at me that first morning,” he added, his eyes narrow with masculine glee. “You lusted after me, Nikki. And the one time I kissed you, do you remember who pulled my mouth down to your…”

“Isn't it warm in here?!” she croaked, fanning herself with the feather boa around her neck.

“Come out onto the balcony,” he invited. “We'll…reminisce.”

She could imagine how he'd do it. She had visions of being crushed between his powerful body and the stone wall, and her knees went rubbery. It wasn't fair. She was an independent, grown woman. He was making the sort of sexist remarks
that required her to pick up the nearest blunt object and lay his head open. If only her body would cooperate with her dizzy hormones.

“The ambitious senator obviously can't or won't do you any good,” he said huskily. His dark eyes slid down to the low neckline of her dress. “But I could. I know how to make love, Nikki.”

“I'll bet you do!” she said fiercely. “How many women did it take?”

“Not as many as you're thinking,” he mused. “And I'm not promiscuous, either. There'll be no accidents and no risk.”

“There'll be nothing, period,” she said shortly. “I'm not about to replace Miss Ribs in your bed.”

“Does your brother know about us?” he asked with pure honey in his deep voice.

Her face gave her away. That was an unexpected riposte.

“I didn't think so. Why didn't you tell him, Nikki?”

“Because I knew he'd have a screaming fit, that's why,” she said. Her eyes searched his and she felt the hunger for him all over again. It was an odd hunger; something gnawing and deep that was more than glands and hormones. “Why didn't you tell the reporters?” she asked. “It would have hurt Clayton in the polls.”

“It would have hurt you more. I don't have to stoop that low to win fights.” He traced her cheek
down to the small, pointed chin, and he smiled as he touched the faint hollow in her long, graceful neck. “I won't sacrifice you. Not even to save myself.”

The shock of what he was saying went all the way down to her toes. She stared at him with aching need, with a terrible sense of loss. She could have loved this man more than she ever dreamed. But her brother stood between them.

“Clayton won't stop. Neither will Mosby,” she said miserably. “They'll carry the pollution charges all the way to the court of last resort if they have to.”

“It was a nasty piece of work, wasn't it, Nikki?” he asked quietly. “I hated the photographs, the damage it did. It wasn't my fault, but I can't prove that.”

“If you told about the accident, on the beach…”

He shook his head, smiling. “Even that wouldn't exonerate me. I told you. I won't sacrifice you.”

“Why not? Everyone else has, at one time or another,” she said bitterly. First her father, then Mosby.

“I'm saving you for a special occasion,” he replied. “I miss you, Nikki.”

“I miss you, too,” she said sadly.

His dark eyes slid over her with a kind of pos-
Â¥session. “You look lovely. Your brother is glaring at us.”

“My brother is glaring at you,” she corrected. “He likes me.”

He smiled. “So do I. I'm sorry it didn't work out.”

“We never had a chance,” she replied.

The band was playing, and out of the corner of his eye, he could see Chris draping herself against the oil millionaire's son on the dance floor.

He caught Nikki's hand. “We're going to be burned at the stake before the evening's over,” he said. “We might as well enjoy it. Come here.”

He drew her into his arms, into his body, and wrapped her up tight as he began to move to the lazy two-step. Nikki shivered and tried to stop.

“Why?” he whispered at her ear.

“I can't,” she ground out, clutching his lapel.