Blind Promises (8 page)

“I find that blatant cowardice,” she murmured.

“No doubt. I call it self-preservation.” He strode back down the beach beside her. “Have you told him-about the scars?”

“No,” she said simply. She swallowed. “You… won’t tell him?”

He glanced at her. “You’re making too much of them, you know,” he said softly. “You’re a lovely woman. But if you don’t want him to know…”

“It’s not for any special reason,” she said quickly. “It’s just that, well, he doesn’t need to know, does he?”

He turned away before she could see the tiny smile on his face. “No, of course he doesn’t.”

They walked quietly back to the house, and Dana gathered all her nerve before she knocked at the door of Gannon’s study.

“Come in” was the harsh reply.

She opened the door, to find him sitting in his big armchair with tumbled furniture all around him, a black scowl on his face and a smoking cigarette in his hand.

“Who is it?” he asked shortly.

“It’s me,” Dana said.

The scowl blackened. “Back from your daily constitutional?” he asked sarcastically. “Did my brother go with you?”

“Yes, he did,” she said coolly. “It was quite a nice change, to walk and talk without yelling.”

He snorted, taking another draw from the cigarette. “Can you find me an ashtray?”

“Why?” she asked innocently, noting the pile of ashes beside the chair on the carpet “Are you tired of dumping them on the floor already?”

“Don’t get cute. Just find me an ashtray and bring it here.”

She didn’t like the silky note in his voice, but she got the ashtray and approached him warily.

“Where are you?” he asked, cocking his head and listening intently.

She set the ashtray softly on the arm of the chair and moved back. “Back here,” she replied then. “Your ashtray is next to you.”

He muttered something. “Afraid to come too close? Wise woman.”

She shifted from one foot to the other. “It’s my time off,” she reminded him, “but I wanted to ask you something.”

“I know it’s your time off,” he said curtly. “You remind me every day exactly how much you have and when you want it, so why the poor little slave girl act over the supper table? Playing on Dirk’s sympathies? I

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might warn you that my brother is something of a playboy: He likes skirts.”

“He’s a nice, kind man, and you ought to be half as blessed with his good humor,” she threw back.

“Shrew!” he accused, sitting up straight. His face hardened; his eyes darkened. “If I could see you, you’d be in considerable trouble right now.”

“What would you do, take me over your knee?” she asked.

His nostrils flared. “No, I wouldn’t risk breaking my hand.”

“How discerning of you,” she murmured.

His eyes searched in her direction, and something wicked flared in them. “I think I’d rather kiss you speechless than hit you.”

She couldn’t help it. She flushed like a budding rose, gaping at him. Her knees felt strangely weak as the words brought back vivid memories.

“No comment?” he murmured. “Have I shocked you? Or would you rather forget that last night in my arms you responded like a woman instead of a shrew?”

“I’m your nurse, Mr. van der Vere, not…!” she began.

“You’re a woman,” he interrupted, “and somehow I think that fact has escaped you for a long time. You have the feel of fine porcelain, as if you’ve never been touched by human hands. Is it part of the shield you wear to keep the world at bay? Are you afraid of feeling too much?”

“I’m afraid of being accused of unethical conduct,” she returned. “You aren’t the first man who’s made a pass at me, Mr. van der Vere, and, sadly, you probably won’t be the last. Sick men do sometimes make a grab

for their nurses if the nurses are young and not too unattractive.”

“The unattractive bit wouldn’t matter to a blind man, would it?” he asked shortly.

“The blindness is temporary,” she said firmly. “The doctors have told you that. Your sight will return; there’s no tissue damage-“

He cursed roundly. “There is!” he shot back. He got to his feet and almost fell in his haste.

She rushed forward without thinking and helped him regain his balance, only to find herself trapped in his arms before she could move away.

“Mr. van der Vere,” she said with controlled firmness, “please let me go.”

But his fingers tightened, and a look of sudden pain washed over his features as her small hands pressed helplessly against his warm, broad chest. “Dana, don’t push me away,” he said softly.

The quiet plea took the fight out of her. She stared up at him, hating what he made her feel, hating her own reaction to it. But how could she fight him like this?

His big hands ran up and down her arms. “I wish I could see you,” he said harshly.

“There’s nothing uncommon about me. I’m just an ordinary woman,” she said quietly. “I’m not a beauty; I’m plain.”

“Let me find that out for myself,” he said, letting his hands move to the sides of her face. “Let me feel you.”

“No!” She tried to move away, but his hands were too strong.

“What is there about my touch that frightens you?” he asked harshly. “I won’t hurt you, I promise.”

“It isn’t that…!”

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“Then, what?” His face contorted. “For God’s sake, am I such a leper? Does my blindness repel you…?”

Her eyes closed; her lower lip trembled. There was nothing for it now: She was going to have to tell him the truth or let him feel it, and she didn’t think she could bear that. She didn’t want him to know that she was disfigured.

“I’m…there’s a scar,” she whispered shakily, her eyes closed so that she missed the expression on his face. “Down my left cheek. A very long one.”

His hands shifted, and he found the scar with its puckered surface and traced it from her temple down past her ear, traced it with fingers that suddenly trembled.

Her eyes closed even more tightly. “I didn’t want you to know,” she whispered.

“Dana.” He searched her delicate features with warm, slow fingers, tracing her eyebrows, her eyes, her nose, her cheeks and, finally, her trembling mouth.

“It’s like a bow, isn’t it?” he whispered, drawing his forefinger over the line of her mouth. “Do you wear lipstick?”

“No,” she admitted. “I…I don’t like it.”

“Firm little chin, high cheekbones, wide-spaced eyes…and a scar that I can barely feel, which must hardly show at all.” He bent and brushed his mouth over the scar with such tenderness that her eyes clouded and tears escaped from them.

“Don’t cry,” he whispered.

She swallowed. “You make it seem so…so small a thing.”

“It is. Beauty is more than skin deep-isn’t that what they say? You have a lovely young soul…and a stubborn spirit that makes me gnash my teeth, even though

I respect it.” He lifted his head. “Dana, I’d give a lot to taste your mouth again. But that wouldn’t be ethical, I suppose, and we must above all be ethical.”

She smiled at his cynicism. “Yes, me must,” she murmured. She disentangled herself gently from his hands and he let her go with a sigh. “Now, about going to Savannah…”

His face darkened and he scowled. “I do not want you to go….”

“Oh, Dirk and I aren’t going alone,” she assured him. “We’re taking you with us.”

He blinked. “What?”

“We thought the ride would do you good,” she murmured. “Help your disposition, as it were. Blow the cobwebs away.”

He chuckled softly, then loudly, and she loved the masculine beauty of his face when it relaxed. “I can think of something that would do my disposition a lot more good than a drive,” he murmured, tongue in cheek.

She cleared her throat and moved toward the door. “You just sit here and mink about that. I’m going.”

“Coward,” he said silkily.

“Strategic retreat,” she corrected. She paused at the doorway. “Thank you for what you said about the scar, Mr. van der Vere.”

“My name is Gannon,” he reminded her. “I’d…like to hear you say it”

“Gannon,” she whispered, making a caress of it She turned away from his set features. “Good night.”

She barely heard his own “Good night” as the door closed behind her.

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Dana had never seen a city like Savannah, having spent most of her life around Ashton. She was overwhelmed by the history of the sprawling city, and when she and Dirk and Gannon had lunch at an eighteenth-century pirate inn, she almost swooned.

“Pirates really stopped here?” she asked in a whisper, staring around at the homey interior, which was crowded with lunch guests.

“According to legend, they did,” Gannon murmured. “If I remember correctly, you can see the ocean from the window, can you not?”

She glanced out toward the horizon. “Oh, yes, you certainly can. What kinds of boats are those way out there?”

“Take your pick-shrimp boats, fishing boats, trawlers, tugboats…. It’s a busy harbor,” Dirk commented. “The seafood here is super.”

“Something else we need to show her,” Gannon said between sips of his hot, creamy coffee, “is one of the hidden gardens.”

A flower-lover, her ears perked up. “Hidden gardens?”

“Little courtyards. Most of them are in private homes, but we have cousins here who love visitors. We’ll drive by before we leave the city,” Gannon told her. “I think you’ll be impressed.”

“I’m glad we didn’t bring Lorraine.” Dirk chuckled. “Every time she visits Maude and Katy, she wants to renovate the beach house.”

“Maude and Katy are spinsters,” Gannon continued. “Maude married, but her husband is dead, so she lives with Katy, who never married. They’re sisters.”

“You’ll like the furniture especially, I think,” Dirk added. “Most of it is mahogany. It came from the West Indies, where one of our ancestors made a fortune in shipping.”

“Indeed he did,” Gannon chuckled. “Raiding British ships. He was a pirate.”

“Now I know why Gannon’s so hard to get along with,” Dana told Dirk with a wicked grin. “It’s in his blood. I wonder how many people that pirate ancestor tossed overboard to feed hungry sharks?”

“Only one, as legends go,” Gannon said, his eyes twinkling as they stared straight ahead. “His wife,” he added on a low chuckle. “Well, the old blackguard!” Dana exclaimed. “He found her in his cabin with his first mate,” he whispered, “and tied them together and pushed them from the starboard deck into the ocean.” She shivered. “What happened to him?” “Nobody’s sure,” Gannon continued. “But at least one legend says that he went on to become a provincial governor in the West Indies.” “Injustice,” Dana grumbled.

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“That depends on your definition,” Gannon reminded her. “Those were different times; there were different codes of honor. In those days it was suicide for a woman to be adulterous.”

“And these days it’s more the ‘in’ thing than not,” Dirk nodded. “How times change.”

“Not always for the better,” Dana added. Her eyes widened as she saw the platters of seafood being brought by their waitress. “Food!” she exclaimed.

“I hope your appetite is up to it,” Dirk teased.

“If it isn’t, I’ll go home with my pockets full,” she returned, and was pleased to hear Gannon’s laughter mingling with his brother’s.

The happy mood lasted and seemed to increase when they reached the Victorian home of the sisters Van Bloom. Maude was tall and thin and Katy was short and dumpy, but they shared a love of people that went beyond their physical attributes.

Dana was amazed at the garden she saw when she walked through the black wrought-iron gate. The courtyard was floored with brick, and its size was about that of a medium-size living room. It was filled with flowers and potted shrubs and trees, and there was black wrought-iron furniture set near a small fountain positioned in front of a vine-covered wall. Dana could understand why Lorraine felt like redoing the beach house every time she came to the Van Blooms’. It made the most infrequent gardener’s fingers itch to recreate it.

“Lovely, isn’t it?” Gannon said from behind her. “I remember it very well.”

“You may have appreciated it, my dear,” Maude said shortly, “but that woman you brought with you last time most certainly did not. Did you hear her, muttering about putting in a bar and a hot tub…!”

Dana turned, frowning, and Gannon looked distinctly uncomfortable.

“Layn likes modern surroundings, Aunt,” Gannon said curtly. “What kinds of flowers do you have in here?”

Maude hesitated before she let the subject of Gannon’s former girlfriend drop. “Azaleas, my dear,” she. said. “Roses and sultanas and geraniums in shades of pink and red. I particularly like the red. How about you, Miss Steele?”

Dana sighed. “Oh, I just love them all,” she said with quiet enthusiasm. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything so lovely.”

“You might try one of your own; it isn’t so difficult,” Maude encouraged.

“The nurse’s home isn’t the best place, I’m afraid,” Dana said wryly.

“You’re a nurse?” Maude burst out. “Why, so am 1.1 practiced as an R.N. for over fifteen years before I retired. Come, my dear, let’s sit and discuss the changes over a pot of hot tea.”

It was a long time before the two women finished, and then suddenly the others had joined them and it was time to leave. Dana climbed into the front seat with Dirk, while Gannon sat alone and quiet in the backseat and turned his head in the direction of the charming old home with a feeling of loss.

“Isn’t it grand?” Dana sighed. “Are there many of those courtyards in Savannah?”

“More than you’d imagine,” Dirk replied. “There’s an active historical foundation here, with conscientious members who have a love of history and a sense of continuity. They’ve accomplished a lot, as you’ll notice when we go through the downtown area. General Ogle-84 Blind Promises