The Flame and the Flower (50 page)

"I think my wife is a very beautiful woman, Miss Sybil," he said, trying to hide his annoyance.

"Oh yes, and she is too," Sybil replied readily. She giggled again. "I've been told I'm beautiful too. Why, just the other day Mr. Bartlett told me so."

Brandon glanced at her with a start. The hair on the back of his neck bristled at the mere mention of the man's name. "Mr. Bartlett is one of your callers?"

"Why, yes," she smiled. "Do you know him?"

"Yes," Brandon muttered. "I know him." He sighed heavily and eyed her. "Tell me, Miss Sybil, what does your mother say about your gentlemen friends?"

Her brow knitted in confusion. "She won't speak of them. I don't know why. She always wanted me to have lots of beaus and now when I do, she won't even set foot in the parlor when one of them is there."

"Perhaps she doesn't think they're fit company for you, Miss Sybil."

She giggled happily and fluttered her thin lashes. "Why, Brandon. I do believe you're jealous."

He sighed in exasperation and was greatly relieved when she stopped at a buggy. He placed the bundles on the seat for her, and as he turned to tip his hat in farewell Sybil smiled and reached out to pick an imaginary bit of lint from his coat just as she had seen Heather do in church.

"I'll be looking forward to having a dance with you tonight, Brandon," she murmured. "I hope you won't disappoint me."

"Why, Miss Sybil, you'll probably be so occupied with beaus, I won't be able to get near you," he replied, taking his hurried leave. He turned and found a group of ladies gawking at them, and he touched his hat in greeting and continued on his way.

Brandon searched through the wardrobes and bureaus in the master bedroom for his clothes and cast an occasional sidelong glance at Heather who sat before the mirror in a light shift while Mary arranged her hair into an elegant coiffure, twining narrow turquoise ribbons in and out through the lustrous strands. He brought out a box he had tucked away in a bottom drawer and set it before his wife.

"My mother loved jewelry," he said, rather hoarsely, finding her barely concealed bosom unnerving. "She left part of it to me and part to Jeff for our wives when we married. This is my share. You might find something in here you wish to wear."

He lifted the lid and Heather gasped at the contents. It contained a vast assortment of jewelry abounding with different types of precious stones.

"Oh, Brandon, I never, ever, dreamed I'd own even one piece of jewelry, and here you gift me with so much at once. What can I say? You spoil me so."

He laughed and placed a warm kiss upon her shoulder, his beard tickling her soft flesh, and met her gaze in the mirror.

"No longer the cad, my sweet?" he questioned softly against her ear.

She shook her head and her eyes deepened in color as a pleasant sensation ran through her body. "No, never, my love."

Brandon left her to her primping, feeling reassured. He bathed and began to dress, thinking of how her eyes had darkened when he kissed her. He straightened his lace-edged stock and slid the emerald green coat over the white waistvest. Except for his silk coat and his black gold-buckled shoes, he was attired in flawless white and his tanned skin seemed that much darker against the lightness of his shirt. When he was done, he regarded himself critically in the mirror, wondering if she would find him handsome.

As Heather came down the stairs, the long pleats of her vivid turquoise gown swished about her and seemed to open and close in a strange undulating pattern as she walked. The gown clung closely to her slender body and about her long limbs, and the shallow bodice pressed her bosom upward until she was precariously close to overflowing its bounds. When men first saw her, they seemed to hold their breaths in anticipation of that event. Brandon was the first to display this unique reaction to her dress. She was standing by the front windows, looking out, when he came down the stairs, whistling gaily, extremely light of spirit. She glanced around at him and greatly admired the splendid masculine figure he presented. When he saw her, he smiled broadly and came to stand near. He reached out to tease one of the diamond earrings that dangled prettily from her ears. It was the only jewelry she wore.

"Are you nervous, sweet?"

"Only a little," she replied.

She turned to face him and watched his eyes drop to her bosom and widen with surprise. His breath seemed caught in his throat. Knowing Louisa would be coming, she had worn the gown for the purpose of keeping his attention on herself and not allowing it to wander to the other woman. Finally Brandon coughed lightly and regained his tongue.

"Perhaps you should wear something a little less revealing, madam."

Materializing from somewhere behind them, Jeff laughed and came to stand beside his brother. Heather was very conscious of both men's eyes upon her.

"Let her wear it, Brandon. You never let the rest of us have any fun," he said and smiled. "Of course, I can understand how you feel. If she were mine, I'd keep her under lock and key." He half turned to his brother and loudly whispered. "You know she looks a hell of a lot better than Louisa."

Heather threw her arms akimbo and stamped her tiny foot as if in anger, and Brandon blanched, expecting to see her come out of her gown.

"Now, Jeff, if you want to ruin my evening, just mention that woman's name again!" she declared.

Jeff chuckled and clasped his brother's shoulder. "Come on, Bran. Don't play the Quaker tonight. Let her wear it. She looks too damned beautiful. Don't make her change, and I promise I'll try not to look at her too hard this evening."

Brandon scowled blackly at his brother and started to say something but changed his mind. Instead he turned back to Heather.

"Wear what pleases you, madam," he said, none too happily.

Jeff laughed and rubbed his hands together. "Oh, I think this is going to be one hell of a party." He took Heather's hand and placed it into the bend of his arm. "Come, sweet sister, I must show you off to the house guests."

Heather smiled over her shoulder at Brandon as she let her brother-in-law led her away, but he frowned and looked around as if he didn't know what to do with himself. As she entered the drawing room, she glanced back to see him going into the study and some moments later he joined them, carrying a liberally filled brandy snifter.

Brandon stood first at the door to greet his guests and made certain that all the bachelors were passed quickly onto Jeff and given minimum opportunity to leer at his wife. Louisa swept in with a wide smile on the arm of a new beau. Her eyes rested briefly on Heather's décolletage before she spoke a greeting, and the smile faded somewhat. Her own gown of yellow silk was just as low and slightly transparent, but her self-assurance was rather shaken to see visible proof that Heather needed no stuffing for her gown.

"Why, my dear Heather, you look quite charming this evening," she said, recovering slightly from the shock. "Motherhood seems to agree with you."

"You're very kind, Louisa," Heather replied smoothly. "But I'm sure I must seem quite dowdy beside you. That is a lovely gown you're wearing."

Louisa smiled slowly as her eyelids drooped a little over her brown eyes. She lightly ran a hand across her bosom as if wanting to bring attention to the transparency of her dress.

"Yes, isn't it. Thomas designed it especially for me. He is quite clever with the needle, don't you think?"

Heather had only a chance to smile a reply before the woman went on.

"Did you have your gown made here, darling? I never see you in any of the shops in Charleston. Don't tell me Brandon has become a penny pincher since he married you. He was always so generous before."

"He had this gown made for me in London," Heather replied rather brittlely.

"Yes, of course," Louisa smiled. "It must have been that same shop where he bought some gowns for me."

Heather chose to ignore the woman's crude barbs. It was Brandon who felt the irritation and anger because his former mistress couldn't acknowledge his marriage and treat his wife with at least a nominal respect.

"Did you also get those earrings in London?" Louisa inquired. "For some reason they seem familiar."

"They belonged to Brandon's mother," Heather answered.

Louisa stiffened. "Yes, I recognize them now," she said and without another word strode haughtily away.

Jeff chuckled as he bent near Heather's ear. "You've cut her to the quick, Tory. She had already laid claim to everything that was Brandon's."

It was some moments later when Matthew Bishop arrived by himself, free by choice to direct his attention to any young woman who happened to catch his fancy. His raiment was composed of the finest of pinkish gray silk with a light plum jacket to accentuate the hue. His stock rose so high it seemed about to swallow his chin as great billows of lace tumbled down his chest and hung from his cuffs to nearly cover his hands. He doffed his plumed hat and ignoring his host, stepped to take Heather's hand. Brandon mumbled a hasty introduction and tried to urge him on, but the man held his place and spoke in reply.

"Brandon, I always admired your taste in horses but I never dreamt you could extend it to the realms of feminine pulchritude with such an amazing degree of success." He turned to Heather with a confident smile. "Madam, you are most enchanting." And lowering his gaze to her bosom he continued. "Your beauty makes my poor heart flutter and your charms almost bring a stutter to my tongue."

He bent low over her hand for what seemed to her husband an unduly long time. Brandon reddened slightly and clenched his fist. When Matt rose again, it was Jeff who took his arm and ushered him quickly into the ballroom, out of harm's way.

The music was quick as another dance began, and Brandon took his wife by the hand and presented her to the ballroom. Two lines were formed by gay couples, one of the belles, the other their escorts, and Heather found herself swept along in the happy group. A minuet followed and Brandon bowed to her as it began, where in turn she smiled and sank into a deep curtsy before him. They grapevined, toepointed and crossed to the music while he, quite frequently, cast anxious glances toward her bosom. When the dances were done, he drew her aside and spoke low.

"Madam, you're ruining my evening with that gown. I beg for some consideration."

She raised innocent eyes to him. "But, Brandon, Louisa's gown is much more immodest and there are others."

"I don't give a damn what anybody else is wearing," he ground out. "It's your attire that concerns me. I expect you to come out of it any moment—and it makes me nervous."

"I'm quite safe, Brandon," she replied sweetly. "I don't think there's anything for you to worry..."

"Brandon, good fellow," interrupted a man's voice, and Matt joined them. "Would you allow me to dance with your charming wife? I shan't keep her for long."

Brandon could see no out and handed her over grudgingly and watched unhappily to say the least, as the other man led her onto the floor.

As they danced Heather felt the man's devouring gaze upon her, and he took advantage of the steps of the minuet. His eyes as she curtsied were on her bosom, his hands held hers possessively as they crossed, and through the entire dance she was aware of being leered at.

Now, as Matt had earlier requested, the music swept into a rhythm called a waltz, and he pulled a reluctant Heather into his eager grasp to teach her the steps.

"It's really quite simple, Heather, dear sweet. Just relax and follow my lead."

It was not possible to relax with his arms around her so familiarly, and she fought him to keep his hands where they should be. He was bound to make Brandon furious with this dance, and she was about to beg her leave of him when she glanced to where her husband stood and found him in Louisa's clutches. The blonde was laughing and leaning against him, giving him every opportunity to take advantage of her gaping neckline which Heather was sure bared her to the floor. He made no move to pull away, and Heather's back stiffened as unreasonable jealousy possessed her. She missed the step Matt was trying to teach her and ended up on his foot. Her face flamed scarlet.

"Oh, I'm terribly sorry, Mr. Bishop. I fear I'm far too clumsy for this dance."

Matt laughed. "On the contrary, Heather, you're very graceful. Yet you must relax more." His hand squeezed her waist. "Come, don't be so nervous. I won't bite you."

She tried again to follow him but she couldn't keep her eyes away from her husband and as a result, Matt's foot suffered again.

He laughed. "Perhaps if we have some wine," he said, gazing down at her apologetic face.

"Yes, perhaps," she whispered, mortified, and let him pull her along to the refreshment tables.

It was a determination born of jealousy that made her laugh gaily as they spun about into another waltz. The champagne had little to do with it. She learned the dance quickly and after a few sweeping whirls about the floor, found it rather delightful.

Though he was not the best of dancers, Matt was persistent and when Jeff came to claim her after several more waltzes, he gave her up almost as reluctantly as Brandon had.

"It appears that you have captured another male heart, Tory," Jeff grinned, when they were into the dance.