Nan Ryan (16 page)

From another room, the baroness swept in to greet him, wearing a long beige satin dressing gown. Her auburn hair was falling loose around her shoulders and her brown eyes were warm and inviting. Dawson smiled at her, “Baroness,” he bowed and walked to her.

“How very sweet of you to come, Mister Blakely. I find it very depressing to be alone when it’s raining, don’t you?”

“I do indeed, Baroness,” he agreed and took a seat on the couch when she invited him to sit beside her.

The baroness poured champagne for them and handed him a glass, “Now tell me about yourself, Mister Blakely.”

“Call me Dawson. I’m from America; I’m spending the winter in London. And I’m going to enjoy my stay much more than I thought. And you?”

“Dawson, I’m delighted you are an American. To tell you the truth, I am, too. I married the Baron Le Poyferre seven years ago after meeting him in New York. I moved to Paris with him and have lived there ever since. The baron passed away last spring; he was quite old, so it wasn’t tragic. I remained in Paris, though I do get frightfully homesick at times. Having you here is like having a little bit of home. Well, now that we’re acquainted, what shall we do this evening?” She smiled a dazzling smile.

“I’ll be happy to take you anywhere you’d like to go, Baroness.”

“Darling, call me Susan, that’s really my name,” she laughed, “and to tell you the truth, Dawson, if it suits you, I believe I’d rather just spend a cozy evening right here.”

“I can think of nothing I’d like better.”

The baroness rose moments later and held out her hand to Dawson. “Come,” she said sweetly. Dawson rose and took her hand. She led him to her big bedroom. All the curtains in the room were open, the rain pelting against the panes. A roaring fire burned brightly in the fireplace, the only light in the room. The baroness closed the double doors behind them and looked at Dawson seductively, “Do you find me too forward, Dawson?”

“I find you utterly charming,” he assured her, smiling.

“Good,” she said and slipped out of the beige dressing gown and walked to the bed.

Dawson pulled off his jacket and followed her. She was between the satin sheets and looking lovely, the red hair falling about her on the pillow. Dawson came to the bed and sat on its edge looking at her. He unbuttoned his white ruffled shirt, took the studs from his cuffs, and took it off. He leaned close to the baroness and put his fingers to the cameo he wore around his neck. “You see this, Baroness?” he said evenly.

“Yes, darling, why?”

“I never take it off, never.” He looked at her unsmiling.

She smiled and looked into his dark eyes, “Well, darling, I think you should leave something on.”

Dawson smiled his lazy smile and pulled her into his arms. The cameo stayed around his neck all night and he got no complaints from the baroness.

*   *   *

“I’m sick and tired of this miserable rain,” Dawson said two weeks later when he woke at 10
A.M.
to find the baroness already drinking her morning coffee.

“Well, I like that,” she pouted. “I thought we had been having a wonderful time, Dawson.” She looked at him, hurt.

“Oh, my dear, I didn’t mean it that way.” Dawson took the coffee cup from her, took a drink, and set it aside. “Come here,” he whispered and pulled her to him. She smiled and gladly laid her head on his chest. “We have had a lovely time, darling.” He kissed the thick auburn hair. “It’s just that I need to see the sun; the constant rain in London is beginning to get on my nerves.”

“Dawson,” she said, stroking the thick dark hair of his chest, “do you have to get back to America soon?”

“I don’t ever have to get back.”

“Then I’ve a marvelous idea.” She sat up in bed. “I have a charming little villa in Monte Carlo, why don’t we go down there for a few days?”

“You have a villa in Monte Carlo? What are we doing in dreary old London? Start packing, love.” He smiled and kissed her.

A week later, Dawson felt his spirits lift when the two pulled up in front of a huge villa in the south of France. The sun was shining brightly and the palm trees swayed in the gentle breezes blowing in off the blue Mediterranean. House servants came to the carriage to greet the baroness and her new guest. Dawson smiled and said, “I may just spend the rest of my life right here,” and followed his hostess up the steps to the villa.

The little villa was a thirty-two room mansion set high on a hill reached by a winding hairpin road from below. The view was breathtaking; the villa’s white balconies overlooked a panoramic expanse of the principality of Monte Carlo with all its twinkling lights and the Mediterranean Sea beyond. The days were warm and lazy and Dawson’s swarthy body grew darker still as he lay basking in the welcome sun day after glorious day while the baroness rubbed sweet scented oil on his long limbs and offered him sips of exotic drinks through colored straws.

Dawson was making her life very pleasant and it showed. She grew more lovely with each passing day, and though she never let him know, she was falling head over heels in love with her young, amorous lover. Dawson never thought of love; it was the last thing on his mind. He thought only of pleasure and that consisted of lying in the hot sun, drinking the cooling drinks she held out to him, gambling in the casino after the sun had gone down, and making love to the luscious redhead in the wee hours of the morning. He had no ambition to do anything else. He was as content as he could ever hope to be, never giving a thought to tomorrow.

Dawson lay on his back in the sun. It was almost three in the afternoon and he had been sunning himself since noon. A bottle of wine was cooling in a silver bucket within his reach. He was pleasantly tipsy and relaxed from the warmth on his body. The fair-skinned baroness wouldn’t dream of laying out with him. She would have burned in just a few minutes. She was in and out of the villa to check on him, but knew better than to stay out for any length of time.

“Darling,” she said softly and Dawson opened his eyes. “Why don’t you come in for a while?” She grinned. She was standing over him in a white satin robe tied loosely at her waist.

“Why?” Dawson teased, “I like it out here.”

“Darling, you know we have to go to a party tonight. It’s a dinner party and I promised we would be there.”

“Dear, the party doesn’t start until 7:30. It’s only three o’clock, so what’s the hurry?” He closed his eyes again.

The baroness dropped down beside Dawson on the beach blanket and put her hand on his muscled, brown chest, “I know, darling, but I would like to spend a little time with you before we go.”

Dawson opened lazy, hooded eyes and smiled at her. Without a word, he reached up and put his hand to the nape of her neck and pulled her down to him. He kissed her and whispered, “Just what did you have in mind?”

“Oh, you,” she said and tried to pull away, but he stopped her.

“I was joking, darling,” and he pulled her down onto her back. He leaned up on an elbow and looked down at her. “Have you any idea how lovely you are in the sun?” He bent and kissed her again.

“Dawson, you’re the most exciting man I’ve ever met,” and her arms came around his neck. “We’ve been here for six months and it seems like only a few days.”

“Yes, darling,” he said and untied the sash at her waist.

“Dawson,” she pleaded, but he covered her mouth with his, quieting her. She found it impossible to resist him and put up no struggle when he pulled the robe away from her creamy body. “Darling, darling,” she sighed as he slowly caressed the satiny skin. “I love you,” she murmured against his shoulder, but he only said, “Ummm,” and stroked her again.

Two hours later they awoke and the baroness was already miserably sunburned. “Oh, Dawson, look at me,” she cried.

“Oh, my sweet,” he sympathized and, picking her up, he took her inside. He laid her on the big bed and her red skin against the white counterpane suddenly struck him as funny. He couldn’t help himself; he started laughing.

“Dawson Blakely, this isn’t a joke!” she shrieked at him.

He sat down beside her and pinned down the flailing arms that were trying to hit him. “I’m sorry, darling, it’s just that you look like a giant lobster and I find it irresistibly amusing.”

“I’m glad you’re amused,” she sniffed, “but what about the party? Have you forgotten we are due at a dinner party at 7:30?”

“You’d best forget the party, love, you won’t be able to wear any clothes.”

“I’m well aware of that, thank you very much.”

“Well, it isn’t so tragic, we’ll just stay right here and have dinner in our room. Then I’ll try to rub some of the soreness from your lovely red body. How does that sound?”

“Dawson Blakely, the party is in our honor. We can’t stay away!”

“You’re being foolish. You can’t go and you know it.”

“Yes, I know, but you will have to go. You must go without me.”

“I don’t want to, I want to stay here with you.” He grinned and kissed her red nose.

“Stop it, Dawson, you are going, do you hear me?”

“As you wish, madam!”

Twelve

When Doctor and Mrs. Hunter Alexander returned to Natchez after their week-long honeymoon in New Orleans, Louis and Abigail joyfully ran down the steps of Sans Souci to welcome the young couple home.

“Darling, darling,” Louis called to his daughter. He swept her off her feet, turning round and round, laughing happily.

“Oh, Father, I’m so glad to be home,” she said as she kissed his cheek.

Kathleen’s new husband stood awkwardly watching this affectionate scene and smiled, but deep inside he realized that he was not to have his lovely bride all to himself anymore. A small twinge of jealousy lay just below the surface of his calm exterior. He knew she was just a young girl and loved her parents, was especially close to her father, but he secretly wished they were going to a home of their own where he could have her more to himself. For now, he would have to be contented with sharing her, but as soon as he could get her to agree, he wanted them to look for a place of their own.

“Hunter,” Louis released his daughter at last and shook hands with the tall, blond doctor. “So glad to have you two back, we missed you terribly.”

“Thanks, Mister Beauregard, it’s nice to be home,” Hunter smiled, while Kathleen walked up the steps with her arm around her mother.

“Come on in, son. I’ll have Daniel unload the carriage. How was New Orleans?”

“We had a wonderful time, Mister Beauregard, wonderful.”

“Ah, that’s nice, but I’m glad you’re here, safe and sound. Kathleen has never been away from home that long before, you know, and we have been lost without her.”

“I’m sure you have,” Hunter followed his father-in-law into the big house.

At dinner that night, Kathleen was lively and entertained the family with her stories of all the things they did and the places they saw on their honeymoon. She seemed in high spirits and had her parents and her husband laughing through much of the meal. After coffee in the library, she asked Hunter to play the piano for them and he good naturedly complied. It all seemed the picture of contentment and happiness to young Doctor Alexander as he played soft, sentimental songs and looked across the room at his lovely young wife. It was still hard to believe she belonged to him, loved him.

When Louis began to yawn and nod in his chair, Hunter was secretly glad. “I’m afraid I must go to bed,” Louis said and rose from his chair. “Dear,” he extended his hand to his wife, “coming?”

“Yes, Louis,” she took her husband’s hand. “So glad you are home,” she smiled to the two young people.

“Goodnight, Angel,” Louis said, kissing Kathleen. “Night, Hunter. See you two in the morning.”

Hunter had risen from the piano and stood saying goodnight, smiling happily. After the Beauregards left the room, he smiled at Kathleen and said, “Darling, you must be tired from the trip. Shall we go up, too?”

“Oh, Hunter, why don’t you play some more. It’s so lovely, I like to sit and listen.”

Hunter once again played quietly, looking down at his hands. After several minutes, he looked back at his wife. She was asleep in her chair. Hunter grinned, rose, and walked to her.

“Darling,” he whispered, “it’s time to go up.”

Her eyes fluttered open and she looked up at him, “I’m sorry, Hunter, I guess I was more tired than I thought.”

“I know, darling, it’s alright. Let me carry you.” He bent and easily picked her up and carried her to their room.

When Kathleen came out of the dressing room in her nightgown, Hunter lay in their bed, the white sheet pulled up around his waist. She blew out the lamp and got in beside him. No sooner had she lay down than her husband leaned over her. “Darling,” he whispered and kissed her, moving closer to her.

“Hunter, please,” she said, “I’m so tired and sleepy, try to understand.”

Hunter smiled at her and said, “I do understand, love. Go to sleep. I love you, Kathleen Alexander.”

“I love you, too,” she said and turned over on her side and shut her eyes.

Hunter laid back on his pillow, a slim arm slung up over his forehead. The beautiful girl sleeping beside him kept him awake. It was a long time before sleep came to her ardent lover, Hunter Alexander.

After a few hours of sleep, Hunter awoke at sunrise while Kathleen was still sound asleep. He looked down at her and felt his heart speed up. She was so very lovely, her face so angelic in sleep. Affection and passion mingled in him and he bent over her face and kissed her. She didn’t waken so he continued to kiss her softly until she finally opened her eyes. “Good morning, sweetheart,” he smiled down at her and caressed the silky blond hair falling around her face.

“Good morning, Hunter,” she said. “What time is it?”

“It’s early, darling.”

“Then why are you awake?”

“I don’t know, I guess sleeping with you is still so new to me it wakes me up.” He brought his arm around her waist.

“Well, I’m getting up,” she said and started to rise.

The arm around her waist tightened and he pleaded, “Kathleen, darling, I said it’s early. We don’t have to get out of bed yet. No one else is awake, I’m sure.”