Again the Magic (12 page)

“No,” Livia said placidly, settled in the family receiving room with a book in one hand and a glass of wine in the other. She wore her hair in a loose braid, and her feet were tucked into soft knit slippers. “I have no desire to mix with that mob of Americans. Besides, I know exactly why you’re unsettled, and my company won’t make a bit of difference to you.”

“Have you no desire to see McKenna, after all these years?”

“God help me, no.” Livia’s bright hazel-green eyes surveyed her over the rim of the glass as she sipped her wine. “The thought of facing McKenna after the way I tattled on the two of you so long ago makes me want to sink through the floor.”

“He doesn’t know about that.”

“Well, I do!”

Frowning, Aline decided to take another tack. “What about Mr. Shaw? Aren’t you the least bit desirous of meeting him?”

“From what Marcus has told me about the infamous Mr. Shaw, I would do well to stay far away from him.”

“I thought Marcus liked Shaw.”

“He does, but not as a companion for either of his sisters.”

“I should think that would make Mr. Shaw very entertaining,” Aline said, making Livia laugh.

“Since he’s staying here for a month, we’ll probably find out. In the meantime, go downstairs and enjoy yourself. You look so beautiful in that gown… didn’t you once tell me that blue was McKenna’s favorite color?”

“I don’t remember.”

It had indeed been blue. Tonight Aline had not been able to prevent herself from reaching for a silk gown the color of Russian lapis. It was a simple gown with no flounces or overskirt, just a demi-train in the back and a low, square-cut bodice. A string of pearls was wrapped twice around her throat, with the lower loop hanging almost to her waist. Another strand had been artfully entwined in her pinned-up curls.

“You’re a goddess,” her sister proclaimed cheerfully, raising her wineglass in tribute. “Good luck, dear. Because once McKenna sees you in that gown, I predict that you’ll have a difficult time keeping him at bay.”

Once McKenna’s business partnership with Gideon Shaw had been struck, Gideon had insisted on making him presentable for Knickerbocker society. This had entailed a long and rigorous period of training and instruction, which had given McKenna suitable polish to mingle with those in the Shaws’ elevated circles. However, McKenna would never deceive himself into thinking that his cultivation was anything more than skin-deep. Being a member of the upper class consisted of far more than clothes and manners. It required an attitude of entitlement, an intrinsic confidence in one’s own superiority, and an elegance of character that he knew he could never attain.

Luckily for McKenna, in America money was enough. As exclusive as the American upper class was, it still reluctantly made room for wealthy climbers. A man with new money, usually referred to as a “swell,” found that most doors were open to him. Women were not so fortunate. If an heiress’s family was not well established, no matter how financially well endowed, she would never be accepted by Old New York, and she was obliged to do her husband hunting in Paris or London rather than at home.

After the captious atmosphere of the New York balls, McKenna was pleasantly surprised by the relaxed quality of this gathering. When he said as much to Gideon, his friend laughed quietly.

“It’s always like this in England,” Gideon said. “English peers have nothing to prove. Since no one can ever take their titles away from them, they are free to do and say as they wish. Whereas in New York, one’s social status is a rather precarious thing. The only way you can be certain of your standing is if you’re included on one damned list or another. Committee lists, guest lists, members lists, visiting lists…”

“Are there any lists that you aren’t on?” McKenna had asked.

“God, no,” Gideon said with a self-mocking laugh. “I’m a Shaw. Everyone wants me.”

They stood together at one end of the ballroom, which contained what seemed to be acres of parquet flooring. The air was dense with the fragrance of roses, irises, and lilies, cut from the estate gardens and expertly arranged in crystal vases. The niches set into the walls had been fitted with tiny velvet-upholstered benches, where dowagers and wallflowers sat in tightly compacted groups. Music floated down from an upper-floor balcony, the small orchestra half concealed by bowers of lush greenery. Although this ball did not approach the extravagance of some of the Fifth Avenue affairs McKenna had attended, it put those opulent balls to shame. There was a difference between quality and mere showiness, he thought. That notion was reinforced immediately by the appearance of Lady Aline.

She was dazzling, with strands of white pearls in her lustrous dark hair, her voluptuous body wrapped in a blue dress that molded tightly over the swell of her breasts. A double circlet of fresh white rosebuds was wrapped around one of her gloved wrists. Extending her hands in welcome, she went to a group of guests near the door of the ballroom. Her smile was a flash of magic. As he watched her, McKenna noticed something about her that had not registered during their earlier meeting… she walked differently than he remembered. Instead of exhibiting the impetuous grace she had possessed as a girl, Aline now moved with the leisurely deliberateness of a swan gliding across a still pond.

Aline’s entrance attracted many gazes, and it was obvious that McKenna was not the only man who appreciated her sparkling allure. No matter how tranquil her facade, there was no concealing the luminous sensuality beneath. McKenna could barely restrain himself from going over to her and dragging her away to some dark, secluded place. He wanted to tear the pearls from her hair, and press his lips to her breast, and breathe in the scent of her body until he was drunk from it.

“Lovely,” Gideon commented, following his gaze. “But you could find someone almost as attractive — not to mention quite a bit younger — back in New York.”

McKenna threw him a dismissive glance. “I know what’s back in New York.” His gaze returned compulsively to Aline.

Gideon smiled and rolled the stem of a wineglass between his long fingers. “Although I wouldn’t claim that all women are alike, I can say with some authority that they do possess the same basic equipment. What makes this one so infinitely preferable to all the rest? The simple fact that you couldn’t have her?”

McKenna did not bother replying to such inanity. It would be impossible to make Shaw — or anyone else — understand. The dark reality was that he and Aline had never been separate — they could live on opposite sides of the earth, and they would still be caught together in a hellish tangle. Not have her? He had never
stopped
having her… She had been a perpetual torment to him. She was going to suffer for that, as he had suffered for more than a decade.

His thoughts were interrupted as Lord Westcliff approached. Like the other men present, Westcliff was clad in a formal scheme of black and white, with fashionably wide, straight-cut coat lapels and loose, expertly tailored trousers. He had the powerful build of a sportsman, and his manner was straightforward rather than scheming. His resemblance to the old earl, however, caused a prickle of animosity that McKenna couldn’t ignore. On the other hand, not many peers would receive a former servant as a valued guest — McKenna would give him that.

As Westcliff greeted them, his expression was pleasant, if not precisely friendly. “Good evening,” he murmured. “Are you enjoying yourselves so far, gentlemen?”

“Quite,” Shaw said cordially, lifting his glass in approbation. “A very fine Bordeaux, my lord.”

“Excellent. I will see that some of that particular vintage is stocked in the bachelor’s house for your convenience.” Westcliff’s gaze moved to McKenna. “And you, sir? What do you think of your first ball at Stony Cross Park?”

“It looks different from this side of the windows,” McKenna said frankly.

That drew a reluctant smile from Westcliff. “It is a long distance from the stables to the ballroom,” he acknowledged. “And not one that many men could have traversed.”

McKenna barely heard the remark. His attention had returned to Aline, who had gone to greet a newcomer.

It appeared the guest had come alone. He was a handsome man of not more than thirty years of age, with blond good looks that were comparable to Gideon Shaw’s. However, whereas Gideon was golden and weathered, this man was wintry-fair… his hair pale and gilded, his eyes piercing. The sight of him with Aline, light matched with dark, was strikingly attractive.

Following his gaze, Westcliff saw the pair. “Lord Sandridge,” he murmured. “A friend of the family, and held in high regard by Lady Aline.”

“Apparently so,” McKenna said, not missing the air of intimacy between the two. Jealousy spread through him in a poisonous tide.

Westcliff continued casually. “They have been friends for at leave five years. My sister has an unusual affinity with Sandridge — which pleases me a great deal, as I desire her happiness above all else.” He bowed to them both. “At your service, gentlemen.”

Gideon smiled as he watched the earl leave. “A proficient strategist is our Westcliff,” he murmured. “He seems to be warning you away from Lady Aline, McKenna.”

McKenna gave him a damning glance, though he had long been accustomed to Gideon’s perverse delight in jabbing at his self-possession. “Westcliff can go to hell,” he growled. “Along with Sandridge.”

“You’re not afraid of competition, then?” Gideon murmured.

McKenna arched one brow and spoke scornfully. “After five years of knowing Lady Aline, Sandridge hasn’t yet laid claim to her. That’s not what I would call competition, in any sense of the word.”

“Hasn’t
publicly
laid claim to her,” Gideon corrected.

McKenna shook his head with a faint smile. “To my knowledge, Shaw, that’s the only way that counts.”

T
here had been few people in Aline’s life that she had trusted enough to love. However, loving Adam, Lord Sandridge had been one of the easiest things she had ever done. Theirs was a friendship in its purest form, uncompromised by any nuance of sexuality. Many rumors of an affair had circulated during the past five years, which served both their purposes. Aline liked the fact that fewer men dared to approach her because of her supposed romantic involvement with Adam. And Adam, for his part, was grateful that the gossip about them prevented other, more destructive rumors that might have arisen otherwise.

Aline had never pried into the subject of Adam’s sexual preferences, as they had nothing to do with her. But she knew what very few people suspected — that his attraction was limited exclusively toward other men. Which would make some like-minded fellow very fortunate indeed. Adam’s charm, his intelligence, and his finely honed wit would have made him desirable no matter what his physical appearance. But as it happened, he was also resplendently handsome, with thick hair the color of white gold, dark-lashed gray eyes, and a lean, well-exercised body.

When Aline was with Adam, she couldn’t help but enjoy herself. He made her laugh, he made her think, and he understood what she was going to say before she even said it. Adam could lift her from her occasional depressions of the spirit as no one else could, and she had, on occasion, done the same for him. “Sometimes you make me wish that I were a man,” she told him once, laughing. His answering smile was a dazzle of white in his lightly tanned face.

“No, you’re too perfect as a woman.”

“Far from perfect,” she had murmured, conscious of the thick mass of scar tissue that covered her legs.

Being Adam, he had not resorted to platitudes or lies, but had only taken her hand in his and held it for a long time. She had already told him about her accident, and the damage it had done to her legs, not long after they had met. Odd, really, as she had kept it a secret from friends she had known for years… but there was no hiding anything from Adam. She had also told Adam every detail of her forbidden love for McKenna, and how she had sent him away. Adam had received her confidences with quiet understanding and just the right amount of sympathy.

Wearing a stiff social smile, Aline took his hands in a viselike grip, and spoke beneath her breath. “I need you, Adam.”

He looked into her face with light, intent eyes. “What is it?”

“McKenna,” she managed to say. “He’s come back.”

Adam shook his head incredulously. “To Stony Cross?” At her jerking nod, he shaped his lips in a soundless whistle. “Good God.”

Aline smiled tremulously. “He’s staying at the manor — he came with the Americans.”

“Poor sweet,” he said ruefully. “Your bad luck is holding true, it seems. Come with me to the garden, and we’ll talk.”

She longed to comply, but she held back uncertainly. “I must stay and receive the guests.”

“This is more important,” Adam informed her, pulling her hand to the crook of his arm. “Just a few minutes — I’ll have you back before you are missed. Come.”

They walked to the stone-flagged balcony overlooking the back terraces, where a row of French doors were open to admit any stray breeze from outdoors. Aline spoke rapidly, telling Adam everything while he listened in thoughtful silence. Pausing at the open doors, Adam glanced back at the milling throng. “Tell me which one he is,” he murmured.

Aline barely needed to glance inside the ballroom, so attuned was she to McKenna’s presence. “He’s over there, near the gilded frieze. My brother is speaking to him.”

After a discreet glance, Adam returned his gaze to hers and spoke dryly. “Quite nice, if one likes the dark, brooding sort.”

As distraught she was, Aline couldn’t suppress a wry laugh. “Is there anyone who doesn’t like that sort?”

“I, for one. You’re welcome to your Sturm und Drang, darling — I’ll take someone who’s a bit easier to manage.”

“What is Sturm und Drang?”

“Ah… I see that I’ll have to introduce you to the finer points of German literature. It means passionate turmoil — literally translated, ‘storm and stress.’ ”

“Yes, well, there is nothing quite as exciting as a storm, is there?” Aline asked ruefully.