Gregory, Lisa (46 page)

They
protested politely and he was heartbroken, but firm. He bowed over Angela's
hand and then Katherine's, his lips barely grazing her fair skin. That alone
was enough to send a delicious shiver through her.

Matthew
was alive! When he left them, Katherine dashed out of the room without a glance
at her astounded cousin. Calling for Pegeen, she ran to her room, tearing out
hairpins as she ran. Inside her room, she skinned out of her drab dress.

"Miss
Katherine, what—" Pegeen halted in the doorway, struck speechless at the
sight of her mistress, clad only in her chemise, her hair tumbled down about
her shoulders, her face alight with joy.

"Oh,
Pegeen!" Katherine took her by the shoulders and danced her around the
room. "Pegeen, he isn't dead at all! He is alive and I am going to a ball
tomorrow night."

"Who?
What are you—do you mean Captain Hampton?"

"Of
course I do. Who else? Pegeen, we've got to find a way to fix my hair. And get
rid of that dress; burn it or something. I don't care. Get my new clothes
ready. Oh, Pegeen, I'm so excited I can hardly breathe!"

"Oh,
mum, but whatever is he doing here?"

"I
haven't the slightest idea—and I don't care. He's parading around as a Union
commander named Jason Forrest. And Peg, if you tell another soul, I shall kill
you. I mean it; not one person, even one of the servants."

"Oh,
no, mum, never." Pegeen glowed with empathetic happiness.

Katherine
smiled idiotically at herself in the mirror as Pegeen experimented with her hair.
Alive! He was alive and here. She had seen him, seen his smile, his dark gray
eyes, his browned, strong hands. He had touched her hand, had sat across the
room from her, so close she could have reached him in two steps. He was alive,
and she felt as if she could soar as easily as a gull.

Her
thoughts were scattered, disconnected; she could only feel. The world had
turned suddenly bright and sunny; she wanted only to don one of her brilliant
new dresses and dance in Matthew's arms. She wanted to be beautiful for him;
she would be beautiful—she felt beautiful. He would want her again; she would
make him want her. They would begin anew, everything forgotten, and she would
entrance him, entice him, until he would take her away and once again make love
to her.

Who
cared what the world would think, or what was right or wrong, or which one of
them won in their battles of will? She had learned her lesson: the only
important thing was to love him and share pleasure with him and grab her one
chance at happiness. And everything else be damned!

Matthew
stepped out onto the street, feeling his spirits soaring precariously. He had
agreed to undertake this suicidal mission out of sheer despair. After Katherine
left him, he had felt lower than he ever thought possible. Plagued by a low but
unremitting fever from his wound, haggard from lack of sleep and ceaseless
self-recriminations, he had felt as if he would die from loving her, wanting
her and not having her. Neither whiskey nor women could ease the pain. He
cursed himself for letting her go and hated himself for wanting to keep her
against her will. He was tortured both night and day by hot, lustful dreams in
which she moaned in ecstasy beneath him, and nightmares in which he saw her
brutalized again and again at the brothel.

So
when Redfield had laid out this scheme, the most appealing thing about it was
the near-certainty of death in it for him. But to find Katherine here like
this! When he saw her standing in that room, thin and pale, her gold eyes dark
with sadness, it had taken every ounce of will power in him not to sweep her
into his arms. And then she had lightly bandied words with him, smiling and
looking up at him provocatively, her eyes amber beneath the thick fringe of her
lashes. He thought of the way she had looked at him when he first entered, her
face glowing, her eyes alight. Surely that had been love, not hate, shining out
of those eyes at him. He would see her again, hold her in his arms in a waltz
tomorrow night, steal a few moments alone with her on the terrace. He began to
whistle, then stopped abruptly when he realized that the tune he was whistling
was "Dixie."

Katherine
turned slowly before the mirror, checking to make sure every fold of the soft
gold satin gown was in place. Behind her, Angela watched enviously her slow
rotation in the powder room mirror. It just wasn't fair, she told herself, that
her ugly duckling cousin had turned into such a swan. Her gown was beautiful
and shimmering and revealed her bosom to a point just short of indecency. Her
hair was pulled back from her face and arranged in artless curls falling from
the crown. Her perfect, shell-shaped ears were adorned with simple gold studs,
and around the base of her slender, regal neck lay a fragile gold chain. The
effect was stunning. Somehow she looked majestic and exotic all at once, and
Angela felt like a colorless child beside her. She could not imagine how
Katherine had managed such a complete transformation, but she had no doubt that
that golden glow of her skin and eyes was due to the imminently eligible
Commander Forrest And she had the uneasy feeling that her dowdy cousin was
about to pull off the catch of the Season.

"Well,
Cousin, I am ready to go down now. Coming?" Katherine asked her.

Angela
smiled. She was not fool enough to make her entrance in Katherine's shadow.
"No, dear, you run along. I simply must speak to Rosemary Clifton
first."

"All
right." Katherine smiled, headily suspecting Angela's true reason. She
swept out of the powder room door and paused at the top of the stairway, her
eyes searching for Matthew. She began to descend the broad stairs, her wide
skirts trailing the marble. Her right hand clutched the ivory fan fiercely, as
she willed him to look up and see her. Already men had noticed her and were
clustering about the bottom of the stairs. Then casually he glanced around and
saw her and stopped in midsentence. Lazily he smiled at her entrance, but she
had seen the way his entire body had stiffened when he saw her and the fierce
blaze that had sparked in his eyes before he regained control of himself. She
favored the room with a dazzling smile, and a barely audible sigh ran around
the ballroom.

Katherine
was the hit of the evening. She had not really considered that possibility. Her
dress had been for Matthew; she had wanted to stir his senses, tease him,
en-flame him. Her own senses had been in a whirl ever since she saw him again.
She had not been able to sleep or eat from the excitement that raged in her. A
thousand questions spun in her hand, and she could not untangle her own
turbulent emotions. Only two things seemed clear to her: he was alive, and
somehow she must rekindle his desire for her. It had not occurred to her that
she might produce similar effects on other men as well.

She
found herself besieged by officers in blue, all begging for a space on her
dance card. It was a heady feeling for a former wallflower. Laughing, smiling,
flirting, she danced the night away. The only thing spoiling the evening was
the fact that Matthew had not approached her at all. Then suddenly, she saw him
striding purposefully across the floor toward her, and she waited for him
breathlessly, almost faint with fear and hope and excitement.

"I
believe this dance is mine," he said, cutting off an approaching swain,
and she moved into his arms without a murmur of protest.

His
hand was firm against her waist as he guided her about the floor, their bodies
a very correct distance apart. But the grip his other hand maintained on hers
was anything but seemly. She followed him easily; he danced well, lightly, and
she felt as if they were floating around the floor. It was all perfect: it felt
so right, so good, to be in his arms, to be staring, entranced, into his gray
eyes, devilishly alight. She felt as if she could whirl around the floor like
this forever.

At
last she managed to find her voice enough to say lightly, "You have
neglected me, Commander Forrest. Quite shamefully, too; I haven't seen you all
evening."

"Oh,
but I have seen you. The crowd around you has been too thick for me to get
close. Besides," his teeth flashed in his tanned face, "I couldn't
let you have it all your own way, could I?"

"Well,
I can see you're as conceited as always," she snapped, and he burst into
laughter.

"Oh,
Katherine, you look so beautiful I could devour you."

"Right
here on the dance floor?" she teased.

"Right
here." His voice was husky. "Kathy, when this dance is through, walk
with me on the terrace."

Her
heart began to pound violently, and her voice was barely more than a whisper:
"All right."

"I
see you wore my chain." He didn't add that he had been quite shaken when
he saw her coming down the staircase in that alluring gown cut from his cloth
and his chain hung enticingly about her silken neck. Surely that was a clear
statement that she had forgiven him.

She
smiled. "Your fan, also. And your dress. And some other things you gave
me." She smiled meaningfully.

His
breath caught in his throat at the idea of the flimsy undergarments he had
given her lying soft against her skin. The music wound to a close, and she took
his arm for him to lead her to the terrace. Fanning her flushed face, she
noticed with pleasure that his arm trembled under her hand. Once outside, they
walked to the far end of the colonnade, beyond the lighted windows, where the
darkness covered them. He faced her, suddenly realizing he had no idea what to
do. Should he try to explain to her, enlist her silence? Beg her to forgive
him? He longed to kiss her, but was afraid he might frighten her off.

Gently
he touched the chain about her neck; the metal was warm with the heat of her
body. Softly his fingers traveled downward, lightly brushing the tops of her
breasts, slipping down between her breasts and back up, tracing intricate
designs about her chest. Both of them stood still, their eyes locked, almost
afraid to move for fear of breaking the pleasure of his touch, painful in its
intensity and lack of fulfillment.

Finally,
Katherine broke the spell by taking his hand between hers and lifting it to her
lips. Softly she kissed the palm, then each fingertip; for an instant she held
his hand to her cheek, then again kissed his palm.

"Katherine."
The word came out almost a groan.

"Matthew."
She took his other hand and began to kiss it the same way. "Matt. Matthew.
'See how I say your name?'" she quoted shakily. He felt wetness on her
cheek. Tears? "He said you were dead." There was a catch in her voice.
"I thought you were dead."

"As
you can see, I am very much alive." He slid his fingers along the soft
angles of her face. "Oh, Katherine, I haven't felt so alive since the last
time I saw you."

She
stretched up on tiptoe, and kissed him, a brief whisper of a kiss, but his arms
tightened around her and he kissed her deeply, hungrily, his tongue caressing
hers, and she responded, pressing her lips to his, her tongue playing with his.
His hands roamed her body, delving into her bodice to fondle her perfect
breasts. Hungrily he bent to kiss them. To his amazement, he felt her hands
traveling over his chest, sliding down his legs.

"Oh,
God!" He pulled away from her.

"Matthew!"

"We
have to go back in now."

"Matthew,
why?" She pressed her body into his, felt the shudder that shook his body.
He wanted her; she could feel it.

"We
have been out here too long already. Soon people will notice we are not there
and, if we stay out here long, your reputation will be ruined."

"I
don't care; it already is."

"Perhaps
in Boston; not here."

Her
hand slipped between the buttons of his uniform, caressing his chest.

"Katherine,
please, you are torturing me."

"Then
take me. Can't we slip into the garden, back behind the hedges?"

"My
love, I can think of nothing I would rather do than abscond with you to the
garden and make love to you. But we can't! Don't you see? Your reputation would
be in shreds. I cannot blacken your name here, too. It would be different if I
could take you with me when I leave, but I can't. It's far too dangerous. I
would have to leave you here, fair game for all the scandalmongers, without me
here to protect you. Otherwise, I would say, 'reputation be damned,' because I
have never wanted anyone so badly as I want you now."