Nan Ryan (2 page)

Blithely ignoring the warnings of her handsome escort, Sir William Perry, as well as the others in her party, the free-spirited Temple was enjoying herself. Excited about her imminent adventure, the slightly tipsy Temple whirled about on the dance floor, a dazzling smile on her flushed face, her slender arms raised above her head, the swaying skirts of her scarlet evening gown lifting to reveal fleeting glimpses of slim ankles and well-shaped legs.

On the landing above, the unsmiling gentleman withdrew a slim gold case from inside his white linen suit jacket. Dark, intense eyes never leaving the woman whirling giddily about below, he lighted one of his favored French Cartier cigarettes. After drawing the smoke deep into his lungs, he took the cigarette from his lips and exhaled slowly, releasing the smoke to spiral upward. He lowered his hand to the table and glanced at the ruby.

His dark eyes widened slightly.

The ruby’s blood red color had darkened to near black. But he was not a superstitious man. His full lips stretched into a cynical half smile, and he dismissed the ruby’s dramatic change of color as an aberration caused by the cabaret’s transforming light.

Languidly he smoked his French cigarette and continued to observe the movements of the beautiful blond American.

All at once Temple felt a hint of a chill skip up her spine. Quite suddenly she was aware of an unsettling presence, felt the disturbing pressure of probing eyes upon her.

Regarding her. Examining her. Touching her.

Temple lifted her head from Sir William’s shoulder and looked about. She saw no one but her circle of friends. The lower floor of the opulent club was nearly deserted, as the hour had grown late and the regulars had departed.

She glanced up at the mezzanine and immediately spotted a dark man in a white suit seated alone and apart at a tiny table beside the wrought-iron railing.

She caught only a fleeting glimpse of a dark head before he leaned back into the deep shadow and his face was completely hidden from her view. Curious, half intrigued, Temple was acutely aware that the mysterious man was watching her.

And only her.

Unconsciously she played to him. She caught herself laughing a bit too loudly and dancing a bit too wildly. And pretending to have even more fun than she was actually having. All for his benefit.

Inexplicably, she was bent on holding the dark stranger’s attention. She was showing off and couldn’t stop herself. She wanted him to continue staring at her. Was determined to hold his interest. She felt strangely hot and cold at the same time, experiencing a definite thrill from feeling the enigmatic stranger’s eyes scrutinizing her.

She spun about dizzily, keenly aware that her shiny blond hair was dancing around her bare shoulders and that her scarlet skirts were rising higher and higher above her stockinged ankles.

Temple abruptly threw back her head and looked up challengingly.

And was mildly disappointed to see only an empty table.

The dark stranger was gone.

Temple DuPlessis Longworth felt oddly let down.

Midnight had come and gone
when the gleaming black coach bearing the Perry heraldic crest neared London’s Savoy Hotel. Sir William and Temple were alone in the coach’s roomy interior. Temple’s indulgent cousin, Rupert Longworth, had joined in the evening’s festivities but had tired early. He had made his apologies and returned to the hotel shortly after ten o’clock.

A creature of habit, Rupert Longworth, the fifty-eight-year-old widower and one of Temple’s most favorite relatives, never stayed up past eleven, no matter where he was or with whom. Rupert Longworth would gladly tell anyone who would listen that he insisted on being undressed and in his monogrammed silk pajamas each night at precisely ten-thirty, at which time he enjoyed, without fail, exactly two snifters of cognac and at least one chapter of a good book before falling asleep.

As the black brougham rolled to a stop before the Savoy’s canopied main entrance, Temple Longworth turned to Sir William and offered her cheek for his good-night kiss, saying, “It’s very late, Bill. Let’s say good night here.”

“Certainly not.” Sir William Perry shook his head vigorously. “My dear, do you really suppose I’d allow you to roam the hotel corridors alone at this hour?”

Before Temple could reply, Sir William had stepped across her and was out of the carriage. He turned to offer her his hand. Temple sighed inwardly but placed her slender fingers atop his gloved palm and allowed him to help her down to the curb.

Inside the spacious hotel lobby Temple paused beneath a huge chandelier and tried once more. “It was a lovely evening, Bill, truly lovely. I can’t thank you enough.”

“The pleasure was all mine,” said he, as he took her upper arm and ushered her toward the lift.

“You needn’t come up,” she said gently. “I’m entirely safe now, and—”

“I shall see you directly to your door,” Sir William insisted. “No gentleman would do less.” And he handed her inside the lift’s barred cage.

The lift began its rise the moment they were inside, and Sir William Perry, turning his back on the uniformed operator, drew Temple close and said in a low voice, “You are beautiful. So incredibly beautiful. All evening I’ve been wanting—”

“Bill, please, not here.…” Temple pulled away and made a face. Her green eyes snapping with annoyance, she inclined her head toward the little uniformed man operating the lift.

“You’re right, of course,” said Sir William, and gave her a knowing smile that made Temple cringe inwardly.

Her eager escort was undoubtedly counting on being invited in for a nightcap. Well, that wasn’t going to happen. She was exhausted from the long evening, and she had a slight headache from the champagne. And she’d had quite enough of him and his company. She hoped he wouldn’t make a scene.

The elevator came to a jolting stop. Temple and Sir William stepped out into the silent corridor. Temple began making excuses before they reached the door of her sixth-floor suite.

“I’ll have to be extra quiet,” she whispered, giving Sir William a small smile. “I wouldn’t want to wake Cousin Rupert.”

“No,
we
wouldn’t,” William replied, smiling back at her.

At the door, Temple withdrew a key from her small evening bag. Key in hand, she turned to face Sir William. Swiftly he reached for the key, saying, “Invite me in for a nightcap?”

“I wish I could, Bill, but as I mentioned, Cousin Rupert is—”

“Sound asleep and not likely to wake up anytime soon,” he finished for her. His smile and tone mildly accusing, he added, “You’ve forgotten, Temple. I played cards with your cousin on Tuesday afternoon. I distinctly recall his having his own suite across the corridor.”

Caught, Temple smiled and said, “You have me, Bill.”

“No. No, I haven’t,” he said, “But I want you, and—”

“Don’t. Don’t do this.”

“I must. Allow me to come inside, dearest. Just for a moment. Let me say all the things I’ve been wanting to say since we first—”

“Bill, we’ve been over this before,” Temple cut in anxiously. “I’m sorry if you—”

“Darling, darling,” he interrupted, “you know how I feel about you. I love you, Temple,” he said, impatiently putting his arms around her and drawing her to him. He bent his head and murmured raggedly against her left ear, “Please don’t go. Stay here in London. Marry me, darling. Marry me now, tonight! I’ll give you everything you want. I’ll take good care of you and—”

“I take good care of myself, thank you very much,” Temple cut in, struggling to free herself from his smothering embrace. Reluctantly he released her and looked at her with baleful blue eyes when she stated flatly, “I’ve told you repeatedly how much I value my independence. You know, as does everyone, exactly what kind of woman I am. I neither need nor want to be married, Bill. You knew that. You swore to me you understood perfectly. You said you admired me for being frank and that you respected my position since you yourself felt much the same way. Remember?”

Half sheepishly he admitted that he did. “But that was long ago, old girl. Since then I’ve come to—”

“It was less than ten days ago. We met only two weeks ago.”

“Two weeks, two years, what does it matter? Our families go back forever,” said he. “I could make you happy if only you’d give me the opportunity. Let me come in now and—”

“No. No, I’m sorry,” she said, finality in her tone. “My key, please.” She held out her hand, palm up.

Beaten, Sir William nodded sadly, unlocked the door, and handed her the key. But before she could slip inside, he said again, “I love you, Temple,” and his usually well-modulated voice lifted and there was a hint of a whine to his tone. “I love you madly. I can’t live without you. How can you be so cruel? How can you do this to me?”

“Shhh,” she scolded, anger replacing any sympathy she might have felt toward him. “Do want to wake the entire hotel?”

“I don’t care if I do,” he pressed on. “I only care about you. About the two of us. Give me a chance to show you how much I love you. Is that asking too much? Won’t you at least—”

He was literally begging now, and Temple was repelled. She had so hoped it wouldn’t come to this, had counted on his breeding to make him behave better. Had supposed he would maintain his dignity.

Well, she had been wrong.

“Stop it, Bill!” she interrupted none too sweetly. “Get hold of yourself, for heaven sake! I never led you to believe there was anything between us because there wasn’t. I like my life exactly as it is and have no intention of changing it. I’ve made no secret of that fact. Have I?”

A long moment passed.

“No,” he finally admitted, dejected. “No, you haven’t.”

Her expression softened. She smiled and put out her hand. He took it in both of his, crushing the slim fingers as if he would never let her go.

She said, “Thank you for making my stay in London a pleasant one.”

“A good-bye kiss?” Sir William implored hopefully.

And didn’t wait for a reply. Gripping her hand, he eagerly leaned down and kissed her fully on the lips. When the kiss ended, he was half dazed. Temple was not.

Seizing the opportunity of his temporary stupor, she mumbled one last quick “Good night,” slipped inside, and closed the door.

She was glad to be rid of him. Glad she was leaving London with the dawn. Glad she wouldn’t be seeing him again.

Sir William Perry had turned out to be most tiresome. In two short weeks he had fallen in love with her, had begged for her hand in marriage. How disappointing. He had been such an urbane, entertaining companion that first evening they’d met.

As soon as she and Cousin Rupert had arrived in London they had been invited to the country estate of Rupert’s dear old friend Lord Hempbill. It was a dinner party for some fifty guests, most of whom—like Cousin Rupert—were getting on in years.

After the lengthy meal Temple had grown restless and had wandered out onto the stone terrace. Sir William Perry was there, smoking alone in the moonlight.

On seeing him, she’d nodded and smiled, then laughed out loud when he’d said bluntly, “Are you as bloody bored as I?”

She had been and she’d thought she’d found a kindred soul in the tall, blond, sophisticated thirty-five-year-old British gentleman. For the next few days—and evenings—she had enjoyed Sir William’s company immensely. He was intelligent and charming and totally uncaring of what people thought or said about him.

But the fun didn’t last.

Too soon he was looking at her with undisguised longing in his blue eyes and addressing her with an unmistakable sugary tenderness in his tone. Before the week was out he had confessed that he was falling in love with her.

Temple sighed deeply now as she pushed away from the door. She kicked off her dancing slippers as she crossed the suite’s opulent sitting room. She extinguished the last of the sitting room’s many lamps and moved listlessly toward the bedroom.

Only one light burned there: a small porcelain lamp with a pleated white shade shed a circle of pale illumination on the polished mahogany bedside table. The bed had been turned down for the night. Across its foot lay a fresh nightgown and matching robe.

Wearily Temple began to undress, still bothered by the final unpleasantness with Sir William. It was always the same. Just a different man, a different face. A pleasant, enjoyable relationship with an unfettered, self-confident adult male in the very beginning. Then the inevitable change. The hated transformation into a foolish, lovesick boy. Before her eyes the dreaded metamorphosis into a drooling, addled would-be lover who couldn’t think straight for wanting to own her body and soul.

Temple wondered sometimes if perhaps she was the perverse one. Maybe it wasn’t they. Maybe there was something terribly wrong with her. Maybe she should be pleased that she could inspire such passion. And maybe she would have been if not for the fact that when a man surrendered to his burning desire he was immediately eager to become putty in her hands. Which repelled her. And why not? Men abhorred women who were clinging vines, and she understood perfectly. She felt the same way. So she quite naturally rebelled against the chafing chains of suffocating devotion from a bewitched beau.