Catch Me If You Can (16 page)

“Most comfortable. It’s several years since I was in New York and the club I frequented has improved dramatically.” 

Eleanor turned the glass in hand. There was a matter of great import that she wished to question him about. “Shouldn’t you…I mean, shouldn’t you be with Frieda, now?”

She offered the question tentatively.

Rivers’ eyebrows lifted imperceptibly but the smile on his face didn’t alter. “Why, Miss Craven, have you been concerning yourself with my duties as well as the comfort of my lodgings? What a lucky man I am to receive such attentions.” 

Eleanor pursed her lips in order to stop herself from retorting too sharply. “Well, I’ve been concerned about your commitments, yes.” 

He considered her for a moment, his expression impassive. “Don’t fret. It is a reasonable time of the year for me to be away from the estate. During the winter months, my work is predominantly concerned with the markets where we might sell, and I’m as well doing that here as in any part of the world.” He smiled. “I trained a deputy before our departure last summer.”

He was sure of himself. He also gave little away, after having been blatant and aggressive about it before. They were both now cautious and guarded with each other, after having been so intimate. The irony was clear.

Eleanor suppressed a rush of infuriation. “I intend to stay in New York for several weeks, maybe even months.” 

He bowed his head, seemingly unfazed. “I feel sure we’ll both be in California long before the busy season.”

“I see.” 

He seemed quite determined to stay nearby. Presumably, however, his business matters might keep him otherwise occupied from noticing when she slipped away by herself.

“I assure you, Eleanor, your best endeavors to make yourself a nuisance to me do little more than entertain me.” 

What?
How dare he say such a thing? Her cheeks flamed, her heart thumping. “And I assure you I don’t intend to be a nuisance to you or anyone,” she retorted, turning away. It was that impudent streak of his showing itself again. Although he was reasonably just in his remark – her recent need to apologize attested to that. She chastised herself for leading the conversation that way. She should have ignored the issue.

As if taking pity on her, Rivers chuckled and relieved her of her glass. “May I claim my dance now? I believe I hear a waltz starting. I’ve yet to enjoy the pleasure of holding you in my arms on the dance floor.”

Eleanor looked up into his masked eyes. Even in the shadows she could see them twinkling roguishly. She was left both speechless and weak-kneed. Over the past few minutes, he’d set her on a course of wildly varying emotions with a few choice remarks and intimate gestures. What was it about this man that had her in such a dizzy fit?

He led her quickly through to the main ballroom and onto the floor, mercifully ending a conversation she was finding far too difficult to negotiate. Instead, she was swept into his arms. She tried to focus steadily on his shoulder. His body was close to hers and his arm was strong and unyielding around her waist. His costume emphasized his whip-strong, lean countenance and memories of his body against hers came all too easily.

“You dance well, Rivers.” She looked up at him from behind her mask, fighting light-headedness while making a feeble attempt at normal conversation.

“It’s made easy with such an exquisite woman in my arms.”  His gaze met hers steadily, his grip tightening on her waist.

Her chest constricted. Between her thighs a pulse beat a fevered rhythm. She allowed herself to melt into his eyes as they turned on the floor, the erotic tension between them palpable.

True to his word and much to her disappointment, at the end of the dance he simply bowed and left her. She watched his broad back with a great sense of loss as he disappeared through a doorway onto the balcony. She fought the urge to go after him and glanced around. The floor was crowded with people and she edged away from the dance floor toward a seating area in order to regain her faculties.

As she took her seat, Frank appeared and asked her to dance.

She obliged her host, glad at least to be distracted from the muddled senses that a few minutes in the company of Peter Rivers had left her with.

“You look the most charming Guinevere, my dear,” Frank commented as they danced.

“And you, are you one of Monsieur Dumas’s famous musketeers, Sire?”

He shrugged. “Who knows? Miette chose the costume, I haven’t a clue.”

They both laughed.

“Ah, your friend the fencing instructor has arrived,” he said, as they left the floor. She noted the tight tone in Frank’s voice as she looked round, following his line of vision. Ari. She’d quite forgotten about him.

He was standing awkwardly to one side, and when he realized he’d been pointed out, he adopted a lofty attitude and swept toward her, both arms reaching out to take her hands.

“Eleanor, my dear, it is good to see you again.” He grasped her hand and bowed over it stiffly while he issued the hurried greeting.

Eleanor caught sight of Miette close behind him.

“You look as beautiful as ever, more so, in fact.” 

Eleanor wondered if her memory had completely deceived her. The exuberant peacock of a man that stood before her, preening under her gaze, bore scant resemblance to the Monsieur Redon she remembered. “Why, Ari Redon, it is indeed good to see you again as well.”

Ari nodded and turned anxiously toward Miette, who marched over as if to take charge. Miette’s determined expression amused Eleanor greatly and she battled the urge to laugh aloud.

“Aha, Guinevere has found her Lancelot, has she not?” 

Eleanor realized Ari wore the costume of Lancelot. Miette had chosen his costume too, pairing them off by implication. Was there in fact anyone in the room who had chosen their own costume?

Ari shifted from foot to foot, looking embarrassed. A rather makeshift looking sword hung from his waist and rattled against his hip with the movement. She wondered briefly why he hadn’t used one of his own French blades instead of the costume sword.

She turned to Miette. “If memory serves me, Guinevere and Lancelot were ill-fated lovers, were they not?”

Miette pursed her lips and her eyes narrowed.

Ari laughed nervously. Then, as if prompted by the ensuing silence, he asked Eleanor to dance.

As they approached the dance floor she noticed Rivers had been observing the scene from a few feet behind her. Oh yes, there was a longing look in his eyes.
It serves him right for leaving me
, she thought, then realized how errant her thoughts were – she was supposed to be outrunning him, not ruing the fact that he’d walked away.

She smiled at Ari encouragingly as they came to the edge of the dance floor.

He returned her smile, but she sensed he was as unhappy with the rather odd situation as she was now amused by it. As they turned across the floor, she felt rather sorry for him, for he was a pawn in Miette’s games.

Her mind ticked over. Why did Miette want to put them together? Was her plan to keep Eleanor in New York? Surely not? She wanted to know. “Ari, this is rather a formal occasion to catch up with one another.” 

He looked down at her with a worried expression in his eyes.

“I would dearly love to know how you find life in New York before I leave the city. Perhaps we could meet for a short ride, or for luncheon, if you have a spare hour?” She made sure the suggestion sounded polite and distant.

He seemed relieved and agreed, offering a day and time the following week.

They finished their dance in a more relaxed silence, but a silence nonetheless. She looked over his shoulder and into the crowd. She couldn’t catch sight of Rivers. She knew he would’ve affected her differently by the proximity of his body. The attraction between them was much stronger than anything she’d ever known, and possibly ever would again. She was also aware of her growing affection for him. It made her vulnerable, for it increased her susceptibility to his charms tenfold, she was sure of it. When Ari thanked her for the dance and took his leave, she realized with a start she’d been thinking of Rivers the whole time she’d been in his arms.

As the evening wore on, Miette’s motives still puzzled Eleanor, but she began to enjoy the ball. Frank introduced her to many entertaining heroes, villains and warriors of his acquaintance. Later, grabbing a moment alone, she moved to the edge of the dance floor and walked amongst the screens and plants. She’d noticed Miette’s coppery hair on the other side of the room, half-hidden in shadows. She stepped between the plants for cover. Miette was in discussion with Ari. Ari nodded and shrugged alternately while she talked to him, hanging his head sheepishly. When Miette stopped speaking, he caressed her cheek with his hand. Miette turned her face into his palm and kissed it, before carrying on with the conversation.

Eleanor wasn’t overly surprised by the show of tender affection between the two, and it crossed her mind then that it might have been Miette herself who had exposed her rendezvous with Ari in Toulouse. They may have begun an affair then, an affair that had crossed the globe under the guise of Miette’s patronage. Miette wasn’t faithful to her husband and she’d endeavored to keep Ari nearby.

However, it didn’t explain why Miette seemed determined to involve her with Ari again, if she was in fact having a love affair with him herself. As Eleanor stood there musing on the puzzle, a fleeting touch ran across her shoulders. She assumed it to be the strands of the fern plant. Then she realized it was a hand brushing her loose hair away from the nape of her neck.

Her body tensed.

Strong lips pressed against her skin. From the very touch of his mouth, she knew it was Rivers. Her head sank back in reaction to the touch of him.

“Careful,” he whispered, against her skin.

Eleanor breathed, savoring his presence against her back.

He whispered against her ear. “Her curious plan isn’t succeeding. You are too strong and independent for her.”

He gave a low chuckle, tinged with pride.

His intimacy and the camaraderie of his words warmed Eleanor. He was as intrigued as she. She slipped her hand behind her back and reached for him. His fingers entwined briefly with hers. He moved his lips down the line of her neck, setting alive a chaotic thread of nerves down her spine.

Then he was gone.

Her body wavered momentarily and when she looked up, she saw Miette and Ari had also departed. Rivers had obviously moved in case they were caught watching. Eleanor spied Frank at that moment and went to him. Half turning back, she saw the grey shoulder of Rivers’ uniform moving away amongst the crowd.

“May I beg my host for another dance?”  

“My dear, of course. We are nearing the midnight hour, the start of another year, isn’t it exciting?” 

Eleanor let the question wander in her mind as she danced with him. Anticipation built at the thought of the New Year and the onward journey.

“Where is Miette? I haven’t seen her for an age. She’s with that damned Ari again no doubt.”

Eleanor looked up at him, surprised.

“He has a terrible reputation,” Frank said, as if in explanation. “I’m not sure I should let her remain on such sociable terms with him.”

“Oh?” Eleanor responded, eager to know more.

Drink and revelry had clearly loosened his tongue, and he told her Ari had been involved in several scandalous affairs. The most recent of these had involved one of his young pupils. The girl had fallen pregnant. Although there was no proof the child was Ari’s, the girl’s parents wasted no time in banishing her to a convent and demanded Ari be sent back to Europe in disgrace.

Could this be why Miette hoped to involve her?

Eleanor looked at Frank’s enthusiastic expression as he divulged the story. He was quite obviously an outrageous gossip, a characteristic that, at that point in time, amused her greatly. It also amused her that Ari never seemed sensible enough to ensure his illicit affairs weren’t discovered. Frank was pleased with her smiles and they chatted happily about New York society until the hour chimed, and Eleanor was crushed in the embrace of a stranger in Roman dress.

There was no sign of Rivers. Or Miette, or Ari.

* * *

Rivers clasped the icy cold railing on the balcony and glanced at the door to the ballroom. If only he could catch Eleanor alone, without having to push past a whole entourage of eager dance partners awaiting her company. He was fixed on having some time alone with her. He’d been trying to work out a way to take her aside and make things between them easier, if not restored to their former blissful intimacy. He’d spent sleepless nights thinking about her. Even during the day, he couldn’t seem to distract himself from thoughts of her entrancing smile and her body, the way it had responded to his. He’d dreamed of her constantly. Eleanor, his sweet innocent Eleanor, with her headstrong ways and her burgeoning passion. Oh, how he wanted to share that passion with her.

After several days of such restlessness, followed by an evening of being kept away from her by circumstance, he’d been unable to leave the O’ Neill household without making a direct approach. He’d observed the evening’s proceedings with relief and had found he was pleased with the turn of events. An all too fierce need for possession and a strange jealousy had overcome him when he’d learnt of the presence of the fencing instructor. Miette had wasted no time in informing him Eleanor’s old amour would be present, her warning glance releasing the first stab of jealousy within him. It was an unfamiliar emotion. He’d never felt this way about a woman before. Later, when he’d watched her dance with the gangly fop, he’d had to leave the ballroom for some time to overcome his urge to physically remove Eleanor from the man’s arms, right in front of the whole crowd of onlookers.