The Fiancée Fiasco (18 page)

He was looking for her.

"Do you think Sylvia is here?" Roseanne asked the question aloud, knowing she'd rather have the issue out in the open.

"She's here." Win's tone was grim. "Let's get over to the side. This crowd is gettin' to me."

Roseanne sincerely doubted it was the crowd that was getting to Win, unless he were annoyed that it prevented him from finding the woman for whom he searched. Nevertheless, she dutifully followed him over to the side of the room against a wall of high arched windows.

"You never told me exactly how you met Sylvia," Roseanne chattered idiotically. "It couldn't have been easy in a crush like this."

He shot her a peculiar look. "Is this something you've been thinking about?"

"Not really," Roseanne hastened to claim. It wouldn't do for him to think she'd spent any time mooning over the romanticism involved in that initial contact with his one-time bride. "It's just, well, here we are. Naturally the topic comes to mind."

"Naturally." Win returned to his regard of the crowd.

"Well?" Roseanne prompted.

"Well what?"

She sighed and crossed her arms over her rather exposed chest. Realizing the pose only made the matter of her exposure worse, she quickly uncrossed her arms again. Her hands clasped into fists by her side. "Well," she demanded more explicitly, "how did you meet her?"

Win turned his searching gaze onto Roseanne's face. "If you must know, she dropped her stole, I picked it up. She turned around and I asked her to dance."

Diffident Win, asking a woman to dance just like that. "Sounds like love at first sight." She wasn't sure if she were asking or telling him.

Win's eyes narrowed harshly at her. "It was like a damn volcano. Anything else you want to know?"

About a thousand questions popped into Roseanne's mind, along with a strange, stabbing pain. She shook her head, her hair swishing gently over her cheeks. "Nope."

"Good." Frowning, Win went back to his anxious perusal of the masses. Suddenly he stiffened, his eyes darkening, his muscles tensed, like a dog that had caught its prey's scent.

Following his unblinking gaze, Roseanne found a stunning goddess of a woman, her golden hair caught in an elegant chignon, her eyes sparkling like sapphires. The gown she wore was of a matching sapphire shade, cut to display a handsome swell of décolletage. Roseanne had only seen Sylvia's photograph once, and ten years old at that, but she'd have known her identity even without Win's reaction. Sylvia was a siren capable of luring out to sea even a scientific sailor like Win. It was easy to understand how he'd fallen for her. For the millionth time Roseanne wondered what had gone wrong.

"Will you look at that?" Win's voice dripped with contempt. "Wonder what rehab center she dug
him
out of."

Roseanne then noticed the handsome man at Sylvia's side. He had the dark good looks of the professional charmer: the club's golf pro, the tennis coach, the lodge's special ski instructor. Probably not a lot in the brain department, but heavy with the blatant sex appeal. "Quite a stud," she observed. "Do you know him?"

Without taking his eyes off the pair, Win grunted. "I've met him. Once." His lips curved ironically as he finally tore his eyes away to glance toward Roseanne. "Your little scheme must have shaken Sylvia up something awful."

Frowning at Win, Roseanne sensed a bitterness that was directed more toward himself than anywhere else. "Why do you say that?"

"Because she's resorting to desperate measures." To Roseanne's surprise, Win chuckled. "Very desperate measures indeed."

A long-distance chemistry sizzled between Win and his ex-wife. Even an outsider like Roseanne could feel it. "We'd better go say hello." She'd much rather confront the thing head on. It would be impossible to ignore that sizzle all night.

Win looked alarmed. "I haven't spoken directly to Sylvia in four years."

"Hmph. Then now's as good a time as any." Saying which, Roseanne propelled herself through the crowd in the direction of the goddess. She might not come out ahead in this confrontation, but she was determined to have it.

Win was left with little choice but to follow.

"Mrs. Carruthers? I'm Roseanne Archer. How do you do?" Roseanne heard her voice come out crisp and businesslike, as if she were meeting an opposing counsel in a courtroom.

Sylvia's polite, false smile was a picture of that same opposing counsel as she shook the proffered hand. "Miz Archer." Then, looking past her rival, she turned her cool smile's wattage up to brilliance. "Hello, Win."

"'Lo Sylvia." Win looked as uncomfortable as a teenager.

Sylvia turned to the handsome man by her side and put her hand through his arm. "And of course you remember Ted Charleston."

If possible, Ted looked even more uncomfortable than Win. "He remembers," Ted grumbled, meeting and then avoiding Win's eyes.

"Yes, I do," Win drawled.

With that the conversation ground to a dead halt. In the ensuing silence the tension between the parties only grew in strength.

"Win," Roseanne turned to him, grasping for straws, anything to dispel the crowd of emotions to which she felt no part. "I think it would be a nice gesture if you asked Sylvia to dance."

Win opened his eyes and stared down at Roseanne as if she'd just grown two heads. "What?!"

"Don't argue with me, darling. Let's let bygones be bygones, at least for tonight." Was that what she intended? Mostly she just wanted to bring this thing to a head, one way or the other. The last four years of estrangement clearly hadn't resolved the matter. Determined, Roseanne turned to Ted. "I'm sure you agree," she claimed, although the gentleman looked more like Roseanne had just suggested flying to the moon.

Roseanne was saved from Ted's possibly disastrous response by Win's sudden and unexpected capitulation. "I believe my fiancée is right." His expression was baffled, as though he were hearing someone else saying the words. "Sylvia, may I have this dance?"

Sylvia's gorgeous blue eyes leapt with happiness. If Roseanne had needed proof that Sylvia was behind the rumors of a reconciliation, she had it in the undisguised want she saw in the other woman's gaze. Strange how that want made Roseanne suddenly feel a little ill. Sylvia's desire for Win was none of her concern, after all. The relationship Roseanne and Win shared was only casual—and was ending, in fact, tomorrow.

As Win and Sylvia moved off toward the dance floor, a dark voice said, "That was a creative solution."

Roseanne dragged her eyes from the vanishing couple to gaze at the good-looking golf pro. "You say that as if you think it's a mistake."

The man lifted a glass of champagne to his lips and drank it as though he wished it were something a lot stronger. Lowering the glass again with a discontented grimace, he said, "It's never a good idea to give Sylvia too much rope. She's already an expert at getting what she wants."

"And you think she wants Win."

Ted smiled. "She wants every man." His smile faded as he shrugged. "And she usually gets what she wants."

Roseanne's gaze went to the speck of dance floor she could spy. She caught a glimpse of Win holding his ex-wife in his arms. He looked like he was getting comfortable. Who was Roseanne kidding? He looked like he was becoming downright pleased with the situation.

"What about you?" Roseanne asked Ted. "Don't you mind being one among many?"

"I mind." He took another swig from his champagne flute, then leered. "But Sylvia knows how to make it worthwhile."

Roseanne realized she didn't particularly care to hear about Sylvia's accomplishments as a courtesan. "Men are so simple. It's truly pathetic."

Ted chuckled. "I don't call it pathetic to keep a permanent hook-up with a wealthy woman. Oh, yeah, that divorce left Sylvia very well-off. To which she rightly gives me credit. See, it was my idea to ask for a cut of Carruthers Engineering profits. All mine."

Roseanne raised her eyebrows. "Astute of you."

"Win's a hard worker and shrewder than he looks." Ted gave a knowing nod. "I figured he'd pour all that frustrated sexual energy back into the company and, apparently, I was right."

The man was as slimy an operator as Roseanne had ever met. Seething inside, she smiled sweetly. "Pity then, that I came into the picture, hm?"

Ted's eyes narrowed. "Judging by the way Win looks at you, I'd have to say yes."

Strange, that a peculiar thrill of pleasure should shimmer through her. Did Win really look at her that way, as though she could channel his frustrated sexual energy? It didn't matter, though. His first choice was Sylvia.

Not that she'd admit as much to the golf pro. "I'd extend my regrets to you, but they wouldn't be sincere." She showed her teeth in another smile. "Say, do you know where a girl could find herself a drink?"

It was fortunate she'd asked, for it was a good hour before Win caught up with her again. When he finally did, it was with all the earmarks of guilt. In other words, he took the offensive.

"Where've you been?" he demanded, approaching Roseanne where she sat at one of the bars set up around the room. Delicately, he relocated the inebriated man slouched to Roseanne's left, then slid onto that stool. Win's cheeks were touched with color and the right corner of his collar had gotten turned up instead of down. "I've been looking all over for you."

"Have you, now?" Roseanne took another sip of pink champagne, the only drink they'd give her in this godforsaken place. Apparently there'd been some trouble in past years when headier brew had been offered. "Are you saying
that's
where you've been? All over looking for me?"

Win's put-upon expression checked. He was intelligent enough to start looking wary. "What else would I have been doing?"

"Oh, I don't know..." Setting down her champagne, Roseanne turned to look at him, then reached over to turn down his up-flipped collar.

Win flinched, then checked his adjusted collar with one hand. "Thanks." His gaze cut over to her. "Oh, now, Roseanne, you aren't thinking—?"

"I'm thinking I asked you to dance with the lady, not spend the rest of the night with her."

"I didn't—" Win shook his head, frustrated. "Yes, we ended up outside for a minute or two— Look, I can explain."

"Three little words," Roseanne replied, "that no self-respecting woman ever wants to hear." Carefully, she rose from her stool at the bar, privately grateful that after three glasses of champagne she still had enough motor control to pull off such a feat.

"All right, then." Win rose smoothly beside her. He didn't appear to have any problem with motor control. No, he was in full possession of that unconscious male grace Roseanne could never ignore. "If that's the way you want it, then I won't explain."

He took a firm grip on her elbow. Under normal circumstances Roseanne would have rejected the possessive gesture, but just then she was secretly glad for the physical support it gave her.

"We don't have as long as I'd have preferred," Win said. "But there are a few people I'd like you to meet."

Roseanne soon discovered that 'a few people' was a gross understatement. It was a tribute to the openness and cheerful acceptance of Texas society that a retiring wallflower like Win could possibly know so many people. Roseanne's false sobriety was strained to the limit as she put up a brave and smiling front to all of these many, hearty acquaintances.

Meanwhile, over the course of the next couple hours, Win's arm slowly moved from her elbow to slide around her waist. That arm sat there comfortably, as though it had all the right in the world to be there. Every time Roseanne looked up, she saw his face wearing the most natural-looking smile.

Roseanne figured he was trying his best to do damage control. After disappearing with Sylvia for all that time, he knew he had to backpedal to convince everyone he was actually with Roseanne and not his ex-wife.

That is, if Win
had
disappeared with Sylvia. Roseanne remembered he claimed he hadn't. Claimed he'd been looking for
her
. Maybe, just maybe, he was telling the truth.

But given how much Roseanne had drunk of that miserable pink champagne, she couldn't be sure how clearly she was thinking. For example, the arm he had around her waist certainly felt possessive. The smile on his face sure did appear pleased. He looked as though he really and truly considered Roseanne to be his. Not play-acting, but for real.

It seemed so real she started to feel...good.

Idiotic. None of this was real.

As they moved off from yet another group of elderly folk Win had described as 'old family friends,' Roseanne put a hand to the inevitable ache developing behind her forehead. Part of it came from over-imbibing alcohol, but an even larger part came from trying to remember this was all just an act. Just. An. Act. "I do believe we've met half of Houston," she remarked.

"I'd put it closer to three quarters," Win agreed matter-of-factly. "As far as I'm concerned, we've taken care of obligations. Do you want to go home?"

Did she ever. But Roseanne didn't want him to think she couldn't take whatever he had to dish out. She didn't want him to guess she was having any kind of a problem here. "It's your party. You call it."

He gave her a slight frown. "Then let's go." Taking her arm, he led the way out.

It occurred to Roseanne, with no particular pleasure, that as they passed through the wide double doors her duties as fiancée of Winthrop Carruthers officially ended.

CHAPTER TWELVE

"Something is wrong," Win decided. They were in his car and merging onto the freeway home.

"I don't know what you're talking about." Roseanne's eyes were closed and her head tilted to rest against the seat back. Truthfully, she was still muddled in her mind as to what was true and what was make-believe—and what she wanted to be either. "I'm just a little tired is all."

"Or maybe you had a little too much to drink."

"You noticed?" Surprised, Roseanne opened her eyes. She'd thought she'd held her liquor well.

"Something has to be keeping that sharp tongue of yours in slow motion."