The Moon by Night (55 page)

Bain was an extremely charming man when he wished to be, and even Solange responded to it in her little girl way. “Would you? May I hold your arm, as the ladies do?”

“Why, of course,” Bain said gravely, bowing and offering his arm. She hopped down and took it. It took some clever bending to accomplish it gracefully, but Bain took Solange over to Victoria, who was sitting out the waltz and drinking punch with Mrs. Barentine.

He returned to Fiona, much too quickly, it seemed to her. He bowed, then extended his hand without a word, merely watching her in that coolly amused manner that upset her so terribly. She didn't know what to do except to take his hand and dance.

Her thoughts were whirling so that they made no common thread of sense. They were like small bits of debris caught in a strong whirlwind:
He never touched me except my hair…fixed my hair…So warm, too warm in here…Am I dizzy? His hand, his touch…

Bain watched her face, her blazing eyes darting from his face to fall away in confusion, the tension in her hands, the stiffness of her back as his hand gently rested on it. A glint of cold amusement lit his eyes for a few short moments, but then his hard expression softened, and he said calmly, “Hello, Fiona. It's so good to see you again.”

She took a deep breath and managed to look up at him. “H-hello, Mr. Winslow.”

“I must deliver a message from Sweet before I forget. He sends his warmest, most respectful regards and hopes that you will always know his immense gratitude toward you for nursing him through his illness.”

Fiona managed a smile that was somewhat breathless but genuine. “Mr. Sweet never said all of that,” she asserted. “Did he?”

“No, I lied,” Bain said lightly. “But it was in a good cause. What he actually did was shove a package into my hand and mumble, ‘Give this to Miss Fiona and tell her my thanks.' So that is what I did.”

“He sent a gift?” Fiona asked with surprise. “How very thoughtful of him! I shall certainly write him my sincerest thanks.”

“Mm, better wait and see what it is first,” Bain said gravely. “It may be a pretty rock or a big clamshell or a bottle of bay rum men's cologne, knowing Sweet.”

“It won't matter,” Fiona said. “I will be grateful anyway, because Mr. Sweet is a sincere and honest man.”

“So he is,” Bain agreed carelessly. “But I don't want to talk about old Sweet. How are you? How are you faring with Dr. Duvall and my cousin?”

As always, when Bain chose to be personable, he could make even the shyest companion feel comfortable. By the end of the waltz Fiona was laughing and talking with remarkable ease. He offered her his arm and said, “Will you have some refreshment, Miss Keane? I can personally vouch for the hot punch. It's absolutely delicious. I never would have imagined that a winter punch would be worth the bowl it's in without a good shot of spirits. Shall I spike it, do you think, and see if it improves the taste?”

Fiona's eyes grew huge and shocked, “Oh, Mr. Winslow, please don't do any such—” Suddenly she frowned darkly. “You were just teasing me, sir.”

His glance was angelic.

“Weren't you?” she asked tenuously.

He smiled.

“Oh! Mr. Winslow, you really shouldn't tease a girl like me!” Fiona said, ducking her head with embarrassment.

“Why not?” he asked lightly. “You're not the kind of girl to have the vapors over a bit of teasing. Now, here is your punch, unspiked, and please direct me to where you should like to sit now. I hate to see you shrinking back in the shadows of the window seat again.”

Fiona managed a smile, though she was dismayed that evidently her time with Bain was ending. “I'll sit with Mrs. Barentine, thank you.”

Shiloh loomed up beside them, his sculpted features hardened as he said to Bain, “If you would excuse us, Fiona, I need to speak to my cousin for a moment.”

“Of…of course.” Fiona fled.

Bain sighed theatrically, set his cup of punch down, and went out into the stairwell, followed by Shiloh. Bain went down a couple of steps to put some distance between them and the laughter and loud music coming from the library, then he turned, leaned with arms crossed against the wall, and looked up at Shiloh mutinously.

“What do you think you're doing?” Shiloh growled.

“I knew you would do this,” Bain said tensely. “And you're wrong to act like this, Locke. I wasn't doing anything to that girl.”

“Don't call her ‘that girl.' It's disrespectful, and it shows me that you were doing something wrong.”

Bain looked uncomfortably surprised for a moment, and then he said with obvious difficulty, “Very well. It never occurred to me how that phrase sounds. But I was not doing anything at all to the lady. I never have.”

Now Shiloh was nonplussed. “Then…then why were you dancing with her? And talking to her?”

“Because I wanted to dance with her and talk to her,” he answered very slowly, as if he were speaking to an inattentive child. “I didn't do anything wrong, Locke.”

Shiloh frowned. “She—Fiona's innocent, you know, and she doesn't know how to play the games that some other women—I mean, ladies—er—”

One of Bain's eyebrows arched high. It was a curious Winslow trait that Shiloh, too, evidenced sometimes. “I understand what you're trying to do, Locke. You want to defend her from a dastardly ne'er-do-well like me. You can see that she's infatuated with me, but you don't want to say such a thing about a lady. It would be like gossiping about her. Dear, dear, you are in a mortal coil, aren't you, Cousin?”

Shiloh glared at him, then suddenly they both grinned and then chuckled, shaking their heads. Though they looked nothing at all alike physically, and certainly their personalities, their behavior, their gestures, their entire deportment could not have been more different, there was still some odd similarity between them. They had the same muted manner of showing mild amusement. Perhaps it was because their mouths curled in the same manner, or maybe it was the arched eyebrow, or perhaps it was a similarity in the timbre of their voices. They were, of course, completely unaware that they shared any similarities at all.

“Sweet sent her a gift,” Bain continued, “and he often mentions her, Locke. After all, she was a very important part of our lives back then. Sweet thinks—and I must say I agree with him—that she saved his life. So I just wanted to talk to her and dance with her. She's a pretty and nice lady.”

Shiloh nodded with agreement, but his eyes narrowed somewhat. “You do understand that she is vulnerable, Bain, and she is in my household, under my protection. I'm not going to let anyone—particularly you—hurt her.”

Bain sighed with exasperation. “Why is it that every conversation we have turns into a fight? We might be an old married couple!”

They glared at each other again and then burst into laughter. Finally Shiloh said, “Okay, we're grown mature men. We can do this over again like grown-ups. Hello, Cousin, I'm glad to see you. I hope you will be staying awhile this time.”

He stuck out his hand.

Bain grasped it, shook it, and said, “Hello, Cousin. It's a pleasure to see you again. Perhaps I will stay awhile this time, Locke. Perhaps I will.”

Gilbert Morris & Lynn Morris are a father/daughter writing team who combine Gilbert's strength of great story plots and adventure with Lynn's research skills and character development. Together they form a powerful duo!

Lynn has also written a solo novel,
The Balcony
, in the P
ORTRAITS
contemporary romance series with Bethany House. She lives in Alabama.

BOOKS BY GILBERT MORRIS

T
HE
H
OUSE OF
W
INSLOW
S
ERIES

1. The Honorable Imposter

2. The Captive Bride

3. The Indentured Heart

4. The Gentle Rebel

5. The Saintly Buccaneer

6. The Holy Warrior

7. The Reluctant Bridegroom

8. The Last Confederate

9. The Dixie Widow

10. The Wounded Yankee

11. The Union Belle

12. The Final Adversary

13. The Crossed Sabres

14. The Valiant Gunman

15. The Gallant Outlaw

16. The Jeweled Spur

17. The Yukon Queen

18. The Rough Rider

19. The Iron Lady

20. The Silver Star

21. The Shadow Portrait

22. The White Hunter

23. The Flying Cavalier

24. The Glorious Prodigal

25. The Amazon Quest

26. The Golden Angel

27. The Heavenly Fugitive

28. The Fiery Ring

29. The Pilgrim Song

30. The Beloved Enemy

31. The Shining Badge

32. The Royal Handmaid

33. The Silent Harp

34. The Virtuous Woman

35. The Gypsy Moon

36. The Unlikely Allies

37. The High Calling

38. The Hesitant Hero

39. The Widow's Choice

40. The White Knight

C
HENEY
D
UVALL
, M.D.
[*]

1. The Stars for a Light

2. Shadow of the Mountains

3. A City Not Forsaken

4. Toward the Sunrising

5. Secret Place of Thunder

6. In the Twilight, in the Evening

7. Island of the Innocent

8. Driven With the Wind

C
HENEY AND
S
HILOH
: T
HE
I
NHERITANCE
[*]

1. Where Two Seas Met

2. The Moon by Night

3. There Is a Season

T
HE
S
PIRIT OF
A
PPALACHIA
[**]

1. Over the Misty Mountains

2. Beyond the Quiet Hills

3. Among the King's Soldiers

4. Beneath the Mockingbird's Wings

5. Around the River's Bend

L
IONS OF
J
UDAH

1. Heart of a Lion

2. No Woman So Fair

3. The Gate of Heaven

4. Till Shiloh Comes

5. By Way of the Wilderness

6. Daughter of Deliverance

*
with Lynn Morris
**
with Aaron McCarver

Don't Miss

CHENEY
&
SHILOH
:
THE INHERITANCE

Book Three

It had been a brutal winter in New York City. St. Luke the Physician Hospital had treated countless cases of the three scourges of the bleak season: frostbite, catarrh, and influenza. One of the victims of influenza was Irene Duvall, Cheney's mother; she had contracted the flu twice and now, at the end of February, had suffered a relapse. And in the unforgiving freezing cold spells that lasted for days, sometimes weeks, Richard Duvall suffered from rheumatism in his hip from his old wound. Once again he limped and leaned heavily on a cane. Cheney, Devlin Buchanan, and Cleve Batson had all worked ceaselessly day and night since the loss of Dr. Marcus Pettijohn. Finally, after interviewing almost one hundred physicians, they did engage two staff physicians for the hospital. Even the tireless, driven Devlin Buchanan admitted that he would like a short vacation.

Sangria House seemed like an answer to prayer. Victoria Buchanan had been considering purchasing a winter home in Florida. Acquaintances from New York who had moved to St. Augustine ten years before were now selling their estate, a small citrus plantation, and had contacted Victoria to invite her to bring a party and stay as long as she liked while she considered the purchase. Cheney, Shiloh, and Dev, concerned for Richard and Irene Duvall's health, thought that it was a good idea for the three families to spend the rest of the winter in Florida.

Bain Winslow had contracted to build a racing yacht for Victoria Buchanan's brothers, Beckett and Carsten Steen. The three of them decided to sail Bain's schooner,
Bequia Breeze
, and the Steens' new yacht,
Diamond Lady
, to St. Augustine to join the party at Sangria House.

By the time
Locke's Day Dream
sailed into the blue warmth of the southern waters, the Duvalls, the Irons-Winslows, and the Buchanans had become a much merrier, much livelier, and even a much healthier party.

But Sangria House was not at all what they had come to expect.

For one thing, the house was locked. No one—not an owner, an estate agent, or even a servant—was there to greet them.

When they managed to get into the house, it had no supplies and no food, and no preparations had been made to receive the guests.

With good grace and humor they managed to get settled in, and though their first night at Sangria House was not particularly enjoyable, they did rest well and awakened with new optimism, even excitement, for their holiday.

But then they found the body in the wine cellar.

Perhaps Sangria House was not the haven they had thought, after all.