The Glory Game (26 page)

“Luz isn't ready,” she informed him. “Shall we go down together?”

The small swagger left his walk, part of a remaining cockiness from that afternoon's victory that had gained his polo team a place in the next day's final match. His complacent expression flickered as he glanced at the door to the suite. “Anything wrong?”

“She can't make up her mind what to wear.” Trisha shrugged aside the delay.

“Oh.” Satisfied by her explanation, Rob continued down the wide corridor, and Trisha walked with him to the upper foyer where the staircase went down to the main floor.

As they descended the stairs, the hum of brittle voices grew louder, nearly drowning out the background music of the orchestra. The larger main foyer was congested by the steady flow of arriving guests and the bustle of servants checking the expensive stoles and wraps. Rob and Trisha slipped around the slow-moving line of people entering the manor's Great Hall, where they were formally welcomed by their hosts.

Lights from the chandeliers glittered off the recently restored
fresco ceiling—and the jeweled bosoms of matrons who had little else to show off. As they wandered into the mixed crowd of old and young and in between, Trisha kept an eye out for one face in particular, staring at the back of dark heads until her angle changed and she could see it wasn't Raul Buchanan.

The double set of doors leading onto the lighted terrace and the Elizabethan knot garden beyond stood open to maintain a continual flow of fresh air through the huge crowded ballroom. A scattering of guests had already strayed outside to stroll along the formal terrace.

“Champagne?” A uniformed servant proffered a tray laden with glasses of the sparkling wine, and Trisha paused to take one.

After Rob had taken a glass, the stiff-lipped servant inclined his head and moved on to the next guests. Sipping their drinks, they drifted over to an empty space close to the wall not far from the opened terrace doors.

“As many people as we've met this trip, I only see a half-dozen familiar faces,” Rob murmured.

“I know.”

“Hello.” A slinky brunette fastened her green eyes on Rob, her svelt body swaying provocatively as she paused before him. “We met at the Guddreaux's party last week. Lady Cynthia Hall.” She supplied the name, and title, that Rob had so obviously forgotten. “Call me Cyn. Everyone does.”

“Lady Cyn.” Rob bowed slightly, taken aback and trying not to let it show.

“And I do try to live up to my name,” she assured him, then slid a cool glance at Trisha. “You're his sister, aren't you?”

Therefore, a nonentity whose company wasn't wanted, Trisha thought. “I am.” Stubbornly she remained beside her brother, not liking this haughty feline.

The young brunette ignored her. “You were a sensation on the polo field today, Rob.” And her brother visibly preened under the praise. “Tell me, do you dance as well as you play polo?”

“Almost. Would you care to find out?” he invited.

“Delighted.” She hugged an arm around his and led him toward the dance floor. But not before Trisha heard her say, “I'd love to discover everything you do … almost as well.”

Alone, Trisha idly sipped at her champagne while her gaze
made a long, slow sweep of the room's occupants. She stiffened when she noticed Raul standing a few feet to her left, feeling the impact the sight of him made on her senses, not all of it negative. The formal attire seemed to blunt the rough edges while the black material combined with his dark coloring to create a stronger contrast with his blue eyes. All the arrogance and virility she usually noticed about him was there, this time enhanced by a touch of elegance.

The wave of anger receded under the sobering memory of her reaction a moment ago to Lady Cynthia Hall and the disgust she had felt over the way the brunette had fawned over Rob. It gave her a clearer image of herself, but it didn't lessen the wound to her pride.

She walked over to Raul in a falsely sauntering stride, meeting his measuring gaze without flinching. Inwardly, she felt the seething heat of embarrassment and indignation, but she maintained an outward poise.

“Good evening, Miss Thomas.” His glance drifted briefly down to take in her gown. Her fingers tightened on the glass stem. She wasn't sure if that look was a deliberate reminder of her previous nudity or an unconscious act.

“I'm torn between throwing this champagne in your face and simply laughing at the whole ridiculous episode.” She held her jaw stiffly as she spoke while she struggled to raise the flash point of her temper.

“I would prefer that you not throw the champagne. The suit does not belong to me.”

“When I noticed how poorly it fit you, I guessed it was either that or an inept tailor,” she retaliated, seeking to make him uncomfortable with the sleeves that were a half-inch too long and the fullness of the jacket through the chest. “But since you are seldom in one place for long, I decided you were probably the kind who travels light.”

“That is true.”

She had not meant to acknowledge how thoroughly he had frustrated her, but it welled beyond her control. “Not many men have ever gotten the best of me the way you have. You are becoming quite a challenge.”

“I have no wish to challenge you,” he countered smoothly.

“Maybe not,” Trisha conceded. “But I admit to wishing that I'm around the day some woman forces you to your knees.”

“If you had attended today's game, you would have seen me flat on the ground when my mare threw me.” A lazy, half-unused smile curved his mouth.

“I was thinking in terms of the two-legged kind.” Trisha lifted the champagne glass, using it for a distraction.

A rich, deep-throated laugh came from a nearby cluster of guests. With the glass to her lips, she half turned, spying Luz among them. Briefly she felt shadowed by her mother's stunning looks and sophistication. The metallic fabric of her evening gown, the color of dark steel, shimmered in a thousand rippling shades over her slim body. The long sleeves were held together by a crisscrossing lattice all the way to the high-throated neckline, hinting at bare arms and shoulders. Her hair was pulled sleekly back in a chignon at the nape, and crescents of diamond baguettes glittered on her earlobes. Trisha glanced again at the gown, recalling its distinctive feature. It was backless, plunging low on the spine.

When Luz noticed Trisha, she extricated herself from the laughing group and glided toward her, a half-empty champagne glass dangling from her hand. Trisha spared a glance at Raul, murmuring, “You haven't met Luz, have you?” Then she was turning back to greet her mother.

“Trisha. I wanted to see you before you came down,” Luz declared, but after an appraising look, a smile widened her lips. “Not that there was any need. You look beautiful.” Trisha detected a faint slurring of words and remembered Emma's warning, especially when the champagne glass was raised for another swallow.

“So do you,” she returned uneasily.

“I noticed Rob has already been stolen away by a young lady.” Luz glanced in the direction of the dance floor.

“A lady by title only,” Trisha inserted.

The comment elicited a lifted brow from Luz. “I shouldn't be surprised,” she said. “It appears Fiona took her guest list from the pages of
Debrett's Peerage
and
Burke's Landed Gentry
, with a few notable exceptions such as ourselves.” She drained the glass, then noticed Raul looking silently on. “I don't believe we've met. I'm Luz Kincaid Thomas … and I'm trying very hard to forget that my name was once Mrs. Drew Thomas until a few short weeks ago.” She held out her
hand, level, in the Continental fashion that required it only be clasped, not shaken. “Which count or lord are you?”

“Señor de nada
, lord of nothing.” Raul leaned slightly over her hand, a mocking smile on his lips.

The servant appeared with filled champagne glasses balanced on his tray. Luz motioned for him. “I'll have another.”

“I don't think you should, Luz,” Trisha cautioned.

“Never mind my daughter,” she instructed the servant and traded her empty glass for a full one, missing the sharp glance Raul directed at the pair of them. He was seeking a resemblance without finding an obvious one. “She mistakenly believes I've had enough to drink.”

“Yes, madam.”

“What is your name?” she asked the servant.

“Simms, madam.”

“Well, Simms, do you see this glass?” She showed him the one she had just taken from the tray. “I want you to keep your eye on it this evening, and when it starts getting empty, I want you to see that I have a refill. Will you do that for me, Simms?”

“As you wish, madam,” he acknowledged, nodding politely.

“That
is
what I wish. Thank you, Simms.” With a shift of her attention, she dismissed him.

“I don't think that's wise, Luz,” Trisha repeated.

“Why must I behave wisely?” Her shoulders lifted in a careless shrug before she turned to Raul. “What my daughter fails to understand is that tonight I want to get drunk. I don't want to be responsible for the things I say or do.”

Raul watched her take a drink from the glass, vaguely surprised that she was aware of what she was trying to escape. It was apparent that the alcohol she'd already consumed had loosened her usual restraint, or she never would have admitted such a thing. Odd bits of information fit into place—Trisha's assertion that her father was marrying a considerably younger woman and her mother's desire to forget her former married name. The divorce was evidently very recent … and the bitterness very fresh. He'd seen it before, although this woman, even half drunk, had a certain class about her.

“Are you married, my lord of nothing?” Luz inquired.

“No.”

“Divorced, then?”

“No.”

She frowned, narrowing her eyes to examine him more closely. “How old are you?”

“Thirty-seven.”

“You have made a mistake, milord.” Luz wagged her glass at him in a scolding fashion. “You should have married the daughter of some wealthy, influential family, had a couple of children, preferably a son and daughter, and used the family connections to make a name for yourself. Once you have the fine home, important friends, and the money, you can dump your first wife. She'll be old by then. With wealth, power, and status, you can have all the pretty young things you want. That's how it is done, milord.”

“I see.” It was an old story, retold countless times.

“You would be amazed how easy it is to fool a woman.” She bolted down a swallow of champagne, then stared at the sparkling wine left in the glass. “She's invariably the last one to guess anything's wrong. All your friends will see it. Even your family. But not her.”

“Luz, please,” Trisha urged while she glanced uncomfortably at Raul.

“Luz, please—what? Don't make trouble?” she mocked. “You can count on that. How can a woman make trouble without appearing to be a bitch? It isn't fair. He divorces her for someone else—and she becomes the social outcast. Friends suddenly don't want you around for fear what happened to you might rub off onto them. Or else they're afraid you'll go after their husbands.” She looked around the room with bitter, knowing eyes. “Worse is going to a party alone.”

“Luz, why don't we go out on the terrace and get some fresh air?” Trisha suggested.

Luz drew away from the hand that reached to take hold of her arm. “I told you I don't want to be sober tonight. Or …” She paused to glance ruefully at Raul. “Am I boring you?”

“Not at all.” He felt a certain curiosity, a detached interest in this little byplay. These formal affairs didn't appeal to him, so he had no desire to mingle and engage in boring small talk with some guest.

“Do you know what the saddest thing is?” She appeared to address the question to the nearly empty champagne glass. “Realizing you'd be better off if he were dead.”

“How can you think that?” Trisha demanded angrily.

“Because it's true,” she flashed. “If he were dead, I could at least have his memories to hold on to. But now I look back on twenty-one years and see the waste. It was all for nothing. It's been thrown away—like my life. What do I have left? Where do I begin again? I've always been a wife. You warned me, Trisha. My life has no purpose, you said. Well, it doesn't. Not anymore.” She downed the rest of the champagne and swung away from them. “Where's Simms?”

She took an unsteady step forward and hooked the hem of her gown, nearly tripping. In a reflexive move, Raul was at her side, a supporting hand on her waist to right her. “Thank you,” she said.

Her head remained downcast, a slight flush staining her cheeks. Over his shoulder, Raul caught the look of silent appeal Trisha sent him; she was plainly at a loss to prevent the certain embarrassment she knew would come.

“I believe Simms has gone for more champagne, Mrs. Thomas.” Raul had no idea where the servant was. “I am rather tired of standing around myself. Would you care to dance? At least until Simms comes back.”

She looked at him, a degree of sobriety in her brown eyes, but he could feel the uneven sway of her body; she needed his support. “Are you trying to save my pride so that I won't look the fool in front of all these people?”

“Yes.” He smiled faintly at her astuteness.

“You are the most gallant lord here tonight,” she mocked. “I would curtsy at the honor, but you understand, my lord of nothing, that if I sank to the floor, I would likely stay there.”

“I understand.” His smile deepened.

With his arm firmly around her slim body, he guided her through the milling guests to the small dance floor. She held her head high, smiling and nodding to two or three people along the way. When they reached the cleared area, he took the empty wineglass from her and gave it to a bystander, then gathered her into his arms. As he spread his hand over the hollow of her back, he was surprised by the heat of her bare skin. She had given him the impression of coolness, yet her flesh felt almost feverish. The fiery warmth stirred him, and he frowned thoughtfully, aware of the exotic fragrance scenting the curve of her neck.