They call her Dana (37 page)

by a master, a Bouchet canvas come to life. I closed my eyes, arching my back, and another moan escaped my lips as he began to kiss my thighs, his lips brushing my skin, and when, finally, they reached the soft center of me I cried out and felt myself falling and then I was in his arms and he was carrying me over to the bed and I was writhing atop the satin counterpane, its smooth, silken surface caressing my back and buttocks and legs.

The rain was still splattering softly, a muted music in the background, and one of the two remaining candle flames leaped in a frenzied dance and made spluttering noises and finally expired, and Charles was standing beside the bed, looking down at me as though in awe, as though unable to believe what he saw. I was writhing, floating, falling into an abyss of splendid, tormenting sensation. My limbs seemed to be tied with velvet cord and someone was stretching me on a rack and the ache grew and grew and I would expire at any moment if I wasn't released, if I wasn't complemented, completed, the aching void inside me filled with flesh and made whole. Moans formed in my throat and softly escaped my mouth. My eyelids were so heavy I could barely keep them open.

Charles moved away from the bed and slowly removed his damp white shirt and tossed it aside, and the last faint glimmer of candlelight burnished his muscular chest, his strong shoulders and powerful arms. He sat on the edge of the chair and tugged at his boots, removing first one, then the other. He peeled ofl" his stockings and stood, tugging at the waistband of his breeches, and the last candle flame fluttered and leaped and went out and the room was engulfed in shadowy blue-gray darkness and I could see the white blur of him bending, straightening, moving across the room. He stepped in front of the windows and I saw him standing there, his tall, lean body like a Greek statue seen through the mist. He shut the windows and came slowly toward the bed, a moving white blur in the semidarkness. I saw him leaning over me and felt a burst of anticipation that seemed to shudder throughout me, and when I felt his hands on my flesh I gave a quiet sob, shuddering still.

He gathered me up in his arms and swept the bedclothes back and gently lowered me down onto the mattress, cool, crisp linen caressing my skin now. He was there, looming over me, and it was real, it wasn't the dream, the dream had never been so intense. I raised my arms, drawing him to me, and he lowered

himself carefully. When I felt the weight of him atop me I gasped and he crooned softly to me and adjusted my body beneath his and instinctively I spread my legs, wrapping them around his, my hands moving up and down his back, finally clasping his rain-damp hair and tugging violently as I felt the velvety tip of that hard, warm rod touch, part, probe. I thought I would explode inside as it moved in, moved deeper, flesh meeting, massaging, melting together.

It was bliss. It was beauty. Sensation followed sensation and I let go of his hair and gasped again as I felt tremors of pain amidst the pleasure. I felt his surprise as he met the unexpected obstacle, felt his hesitation. I gripped his buttocks with my hands and arched my hips, letting him know he must continue despite the pain. Arms at my sides now, I clenched my fists and felt the tearing inside and felt white-hot stabs of pain that seemed to shoot through my body and then miraculously melt into shimmering waves of ecstacy violently surpassing all that had come before. They swept over me, mounting, mounting, higher, higher, drowning me in delight. I felt him tense, poised, felt him shudder and fall limp and heavy atop me even as I went soaring into a shattering oblivion.

I opened my eyes and the room was awash with silvery moonlight and the rain was no longer falling. It still dripped from the eaves, though, slowly dropping with soft, intermittent plops. There was a delicious languor in my blood, a delicious ache in my bones. I sighed deeply and stretched and he stirred beside me, moaning sleepily, reaching for me, gathering me to him. I nuzzled against him, savoring the scent and feel of him, gloriously, gloriously happy, and he shifted his position and warm ashes inside stirred into flame and it began anew, wonderftjl this time, even better, no pain, only lazily prolonged pleasure that mounted as before and filled me with the same shimmering bliss. Charles yawned mightily afterward and dropped ofl" to sleep immediately, his arms still enfolding me. I cradled his damp head to my bosom and watched the moonlight make shifting silver patterns on the ceiling, asking myself if it was really possible to be so blissftiUy content.

A bird warbled in the courtyard, I opened my eyes. The moonlight was gone now, replaced by a hazy pinkish-gold glow. Charles was moving around the room, completely naked, gathering up his clothes. I stirred, the bedclothes rustling. He looked

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at me and I smiled, but he didn't smile back. He seemed bothered, his blue eyes dark and moody, and he was frowning, a deep furrow above the bridge of his nose. Silently he put on his breeches, pulling them up and over those lean, muscular flanks, then he sat down and began to put on his stockings. Why was he frowning? Why hadn't he returned my smile? Was he sorry? Did he feel guilty? The cheerful warbling of the bird continued as he thrust his right foot into his boot and pulled it up to mid-calf. He put his left boot on next and then stood, shifting his weight a litde as his feet eased down into the boots.

"Good morning," I said.

He didn't answer.

"Is—is something wrong?"

"Why didn't you tell me you were a virgin?"

' 'I—I assumed you knew.''

"My mistake," he said grimly.

"I told you I was a good girl. I told you none of—none of what you believed was true. That day in the east wing I—"

I cut myself short, looking at him. He pulled on the thin white lawn shirt and tucked the tail loosely into the waistband of his breeches. I sat up on the edge of the bed, holding the satin counterpane up over my bosom. The back of my throat felt tight. He hadn't believed me. He had thought there had been other men. He brushed the errant wave from his brow and looked at me, the frown still making a deep furrow. Last night we had been as close as it was possible to be, and now it was as though we were strangers.

"I'm glad you were the first," I told him.

"The harm is already done."

"Charies, I love you, and—"

"I'm sorry, Dana."

"Sorry?"

"I take full blame for what happened."

He stepped over to the windows and opened them. It was six o'clock in the morning. He planned to slip back to his room before any of the servants were up and about.

"Are you still going to go visit the plantations?" I asked.

"That can wait," he said. "I suggest you either bum those sheets or wash them yourself. Those bloodstains are a dead giveaway. The maid will know inmiediately what took place here last night."

My throat seemed to tighten even more. The bird stopped warbling. I could hear the splash of the fountain below.

"Will—will you be coming back to my room tonight?" I asked.

"Oh yes," he said. "I'll be back. As I said, the harm has already been done, and I haven't the strength nor the inclination to stay away. You've cast your spell over me completely."

He stood there in front of the windows, cool and remote, looking at me with silent accusation, and then he turned and left the room.

i

chapter Thirteen

DELIA WAS IN HNE FORM, wondcrftilly refreshed and full of delicious gossip with which she regaled us at breakfast the morning after she returned. I sipped my coffee, trying my best to pretend an interest in the goings-on of the gentry on the River Road, and Charles was frankly bored. With a captive audience, Delia continued to chatter on with great vivacity, looking charming in her pale lilac frock. Her cheeks were flushed a delicate pink, her eyes all asparkle, and her hair was a soft, silvery cloud framing that aged but piquant face. I was glad she had had such a good time, but her enthusiasm was rather hard to take so early in the morning.

"—and then the ball, my dears! I'll say this for Alicia, she spared no expense. The food, the champagne, the flowers! Huge bunches of lilies wherever you turned, all tied up with blue and silver ribbon. I wore my buttercup-yellow gown and, I might as well confess it, I was rather a hit with the elderly set. You'd never believe how many arthritic old men shuffled me around the dance floor. One of them even proposed! Poor dear, eighty-five if he was a day, and with only one kidney—"

"You should have grabbed him," Charles said dryly.

"Don't think I wasn't tempted," she retorted. "His father made a fortune in tobacco and indigo before we even grew cotton in Louisiana. He has a palatial town house in Baton Rouge, a famous collection of Ming porcelain and investments amounting to three million—still, there's that missing kidney." Delia sighed and helped herself to more apricot preserves. "Did I tell you all about Alicia's cousin Jessica?"

"Her horse fell on her," Charles said.

"They had to amputate a leg," I added. 263

*'I guess I did. It hasn't stopped her from enjoying herself one bit. She sat on the sofa, painted like a doll, fanning herself with an exquisite fan and flirting outrageously with any male who came within range. Later on, at cards, she cleaned up. Everyone was vying to be her partner. Of course, with those full skirts she wore, you couldn't tell her leg was amputated."

*'How did she get around?" I inquired.

"I understand she uses a cnitch at home, but at Alicia's she had a perfectly enormous Negro in white velvet livery who carried her to and fro. Very dramatic. Jessica always was theatrical, Alicia tells me, even before she lost her leg. I for one think it's splendid how she copes. I must say, Charles, you've been very quiet and solemn this morning."

'*Who's had a chance to get a word in edgewise?"

"I know you don't really mean that, dear. I know you're positively delighted to see your old aunt again. Confess it—you missed me?"

"The peace and quiet almost drove me mad.'*

*'Eat your ham and grits, dear. I feel altogether too good to let you get a rise out of me this morning, even if you have spent the entire meal looking like you were staring into an open grave. Julian, I trust, will be a little more enthusiastic about seeing his aunt back safe and sound. I understand he's returning this afternoon. No doubt he'll bring a bag full of plants and muddy roots, all wrapped up in paper, and painstakingly describe each one to us. Still, it's nice to have a hobby."

Charles rose. "If you'll excuse me, I really must be getting to the store now," he said.

"You haven't finished your plate," Delia pointed out.

"Delia, darling. I am no longer twelve years old."

"One would never guess it from the way you act, dear. Your manners are as bad as they were back then—every bit as bad. Have a nice day, dear, and when you get home I expect you to be a little more attentive/'

Charles moved around the table to her chair and leaned down, kissing her on the cheek. Delia shooed him away in mock exasperation, but I could see that she was utterly enchanted with this moody nephew of hers. Charles left without even glancing at me. I felt a sharp pang, but I told myself it was because he didn't want to give anything away. Our nights together in my bedroom were intensely intimate and swollen with passion, but

during the day and in front of others Charles affected a cool indifference toward me I couldn't help but find hurtful. I poured another cup of coffee, giving Delia a warm smile.

"He was awfully solemn this morning," she observed, buttering another one of Jezebel's wonderful biscuits. "I know that boy like the back of my hand and I can read him like a book. Something's preying on his mind. I can tell. He never was one to conceal things with any success."

"Per—perhaps he's worried about business," I said lightly.

"Could be," she replied. "I know he's terribly displeased with Raoul and resents having him at the store, but that situation has been going on for a long time. No, it's something else. Hmmmm."

Delia frowned, musing about it.

"I'm so glad you enjoyed yourself," I told her, changing the subject. "It is nice to have you back. You look marvelous."

"I haven't had one of my headaches in days," she confessed. "I must say, though, my dear, you certainly seem to have bloomed during the time I've been away. There's a new glow about you, and you seem—well, curiously older. More grown-up."

"It must be your imagination."

"Perhaps my being away has merely given me a new perspective. You've been changing all the time, of course—when I think of the gawky, screechy creature Julian first brought home ..."

Delia shook her head. I forced a smile.

"That seems such a very long time ago," I said.

"I did enjoy myself tremendously," Delia confided, "and I'm sure it did me a world of good, but I felt strangely out of touch. I missed you all, and I missed the house and—well, I have the feeling things have been going on while I was at Alicia's."

"Everything's fine," I assured her.

"I do hope Charles isn't having more financial difficulties. He tries to keep these things from me, doesn't want me to worry about them, but I worry all the more when I don't know. I'm going to have to have a talk with him."

I finished my coffee and carefully set the cup in the saucer.

"All through dear?" Delia asked.

I nodded, folding my napkin beside my plate.

"I'd love to have another one of those biscuits with some more

of the preserves, but I dare not, not if I want to keep this willowy waistline. I missed Jezebel's cooking, I can tell you for sure."

"What are you going to do this morning?" I asked.

Delia smiled a smile that could only be called mischievous.

"I'm going to pay a call on Lavinia/' she told me. "I hate to go visit her, but I can't resist the opportunity to crow about my social conquests. Lavinia has never been invited to Alicia's, and I shall probably rub it in. When I tell her about the ball and all my dancing partners and the marriage proposal she'll turn green. I don't intend to mention the missing kidney."