Where the Heart Chooses (10 page)

Mrs. Roberts, who was seated at that end of
the table, steered the conversation into more convivial waters. A
renowned hostess in her own right, she did it in such a way that
Mrs. Mann wasn’t even aware.

There was a lull in the conversation as the
main course ended and dinner plates were removed and salad plates
replaced them. I caught Nigel’s gaze, and he smiled, a cool little
smile.

My hand shook, and I dropped my fork. “Oh,
dear! I’m so sorry. How clumsy of me!” My eyes didn’t leave
Nigel’s, and Nigel’s didn’t leave mine.

“Not at all, miss.” The server picked up the
fork and handed me another one.

“Thank you.”

Nigel continued to watch me, and it amazed
me that no one could see how hot, almost ravenous the look in his
eyes was. Abruptly, it was gone, and although he looked more cool
and remote than ever, there was a tightness around his mouth.

Mrs. Garfield was fidgeting with her pearls
with her right hand, and meanly I wondered if she was aware they
were dipped. Her left hand, however, was out of sight beneath the
table.

Nigel lowered his right hand and then placed
her hand on the table. He said something to her, and she scowled
for a moment—not a good look for her—before smoothing it from her
expression. She laughed and fluttered her lashes at him.

I noticed Mr. Mann watching me thoughtfully.
“Where’s Mr. Garfield?” I asked him.

“He spends the holidays with his
children.”

“And Mrs. Garfield doesn’t go with him?”

“No.” He laughed shortly. “She’s not
invited. They blame her for their parents’ divorce.”

“Ah.” And if the rest of the dinner
conversation was going to be idle gossip, it was going to be
tedious, indeed.

The woman on Mr. Mann’s left murmured
something, and he turned to her.

“You should let her have my stepbrother,”
Addison said, drawing my attention to him.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Did you know he’s called Mr. Freeze? A
woman like you—”

“What kind of woman would that be?” I
challenged him.

“Don’t you know you’re called the ice
princess? You need a man who can melt the ice.”

“And you think you’re the man?”

“I know I am. I like cool blondes.”

“Then perhaps you should switch places with
Nigel and make a play for Mrs. Garfield.”

“I said
cool blondes
. I’ve already
had Laura. And so has just about every man in this room, including
my stepfather.” He leered at me, reached over, and pinched my
hip.

He honestly thought he would succeed by
putting his hands on me?

“Do you know my father, Addison?” I gave him
my most charming smile.

“I’ve heard of him, of course, although I
haven’t met him yet. The old man’s been dragging his feet about
it…” He sent a resentful glare toward Mr. Mann. “But I’m hoping you
will introduce us. I’d be perfect at State.” His broad grin
revealed a piece of spinach stuck between his teeth. “I have a good
deal to offer the government, I’ll have you know.”

“Do you really?” I leaned close, so that
only he would hear me. “Well, let me tell you this. If you touch me
again, I will not only
not
introduce you to my father, but
I’ll drive my dinner knife into your hand.”

“You’re not serious!”

“Do you really want to chance it? And by the
way, you have spinach in your teeth.”

“Addison, are you annoying Miss Sebring?”
Mr. Mann didn’t look happy.

“No,” his stepson said sulkily as he ran a
thumbnail between his teeth. “I was just—”

I’d had enough. I folded my napkin and
placed it on my plate. “You’ll have to forgive me, Mr. Mann. I find
I’m not feeling well. Nigel will have to take me home.”

“Oh, but my dear…”

Nigel must have been watching. “Is something
wrong, Portia?”

“I’m a trifle indisposed. Would you
mind…?”

“Of course not!” He hurried around the table
and pulled my chair back, allowing me to rise.

“Oh, no, please don’t get up,” I said to the
men as their chairs scraped back. “I’m very sorry, Mr. Mann. Mrs.
Mann, everything was delicious. Please give my compliments to your
cook.”

Mrs. Roberts hid a smile behind her hand.
She knew a polite lie when she heard one.

“We’ll do this another time,” Mr. Mann
announced.

“Of course.” I gave him a wan smile—after
all I was supposed to be ill. “Happy Thanksgiving, everyone.”

Nigel took my arm and we walked out of the
dining room. “Portia, do you need to see a doctor?”

“No, I’m fine. I’ll tell you once we’re in
the car.”

The butler was standing in the hall. “Mr.
Nigel?”

“We’re leaving now, Peabody. Miss Sebring
isn’t feeling well. Our coats, please.” The butler moved quickly to
fetch them. “Thank you.” Nigel held the mink so I could slide my
arms into the sleeves, and then did the same with his overcoat.

As he handed me into his car, I murmured to
him, “I’m sorry I ruined your Thanksgiving.”

“Don’t be. Dinner with my family is always
trying. Although this time Mother outdid herself.”

I found it interesting that he should refer
to Mrs. Mann as ‘mother,’ but Addison called Mr. Mann by his first
name.

I didn’t know what had happened to Nigel’s
birth mother—he’d been four when she’d packed her bags and left.
His father remarried later that same year, a widow with a son even
younger than Nigel.

Meanwhile, Nigel was saying, “Why she
insisted on seating me beside Laura Garfield…I’m assuming you saw
her actions?”

“Yes. I was about two seconds away from
leaping across the table and tearing that witch’s hair out by its
bleached-blonde roots.”

“Portia!” A blush mounted his cheeks,
turning the tips of his ears red. Was he offended by my words? But
then he said, “No one’s ever felt the need to defend my honor
before!”

“That’s because no one was me. And if your
stepbrother hadn’t distracted me by deciding he was the one to thaw
the ice princess, I would have given your father’s guests a story
to dine out on for quite some time.”

I was interested to see how he would react
to that. After all, I was a female, and most men would have felt
the need to exhibit their caveman side and protect the little
woman.

I should have realized Nigel wasn’t most
men. “You must tell me what you said to him. I swear I thought he
was going to throw a tantrum right at the table.” He closed the
door, strode around to the driver’s side, and got in. He put the
key into the ignition and turned to smile at me. That smile
lightened his expression and made him seem younger. But then he
frowned. “What’s bothering you?”

“Nothing, darling. I’m just pleased to know
you realize I can take care of myself.”

“You’re a Sebring,” he said, as if that
explained everything. And in a manner of speaking, I supposed it
did. “However, I hope you won’t object if I ever step in and punch
someone’s nose for making a pass at you?”

“Of course not. Why should I be selfish and
keep you from having any fun.”

“I’m just sorry you missed the rest of the
meal. Mrs. Armstrong makes an excellent pumpkin pie.”

“Perhaps next year? I hope this won’t offend
you, darling, but if we have to dine with your family again before
next Thanksgiving, I may be obliged to slip something into their
wine.”

“I’m not offended in the least. I don’t see
them too frequently myself. Father was very heavy-handed today. I
don’t know if he did that for himself or his wife,” he mused. After
a few moments, he cleared his throat. “Portia…you see us together
next year?”

“Am I being too forward? I know that’s what
I would like.”

“Darling!” He leaned across the bench seat
and brushed his lips over mine. Then he put the car in gear and
drove out of his father’s drive.

“Do you know, I love your mink, Portia.”

“Really?”

“I’d…I’d like to make love to you on it, if
you wouldn’t object.”

“No, Nigel. No objections at all.”

“It…it might get a trifle messy.”

“Darling, that’s what dry cleaners are for!”
The image of him laying me out on the cool fur and then following
me down to cover my body with his was arousing. Desire arrowed down
to the core of my body, and I shifted restlessly in my seat. What
would Nigel think if I reached under my dress and began touching
myself? If I spread my legs and slid a finger over the crotch of my
panties? Or better yet, reached for his hand and had him do it? I
crossed my legs and squeezed my thighs together. “Nigel, which of
our apartments is closer?”

“Mine is. Why?”

“It’s too light for us to pull over and make
love, and I don’t believe I can wait until we arrive at my
apartment.”

He stalled the car.

But once he got it back in gear, he lost no
time in getting us to Arlington.

* * * *

We continued deciphering codes for the
Venona Project, until late in 1960, when Nigel’s talents were no
longer needed by the National Security Agency, and he returned to
the CIA.

My family was surprised that we remained
together, although they did try to conceal it in my presence. Tony
was annoyed, but for some reason his ire was directed not only at
Nigel, but at Father as well.

“What did Father have to do with me keeping
company with Nigel, Tony?”

“Too damn much,” he growled under his
breath, but I heard him anyway.

“Explain that, if you please?”

“There’s nothing to explain.” Father
approached us, a bluff smile on his face. “I simply knew you and
Nigel would make an ideal couple.”

And beyond that he would say nothing.

* * * *

Nigel and I never spoke of love, but the
ties—emotional as well as physical—that bound us together were
stronger than words.

“Portia?”

“Yes, darling?” I stood before the mirror,
screwing into my ears the sapphires my parents had given me for my
eighteenth birthday. We’d been to the inauguration—in spite of Mr.
Mann’s words, the young senator from Massachusetts had defeated the
former vice president—and now we were getting ready to go to the
inaugural ball.

“Bryan is sending me on a mission.” Nigel’s
eyes were reflected in the mirror, and I watched them, almost
gray-green now to match the muted colors in the tie I had given him
as a Christmas gift.

“Official cover, Nigel?” A sham position
which would afford him diplomatic immunity in whatever embassy he
was assigned.

“Yes.” There was no hesitation. That didn’t
mean he couldn’t have been lying to me, but I was able to see the
truth in his eyes.

I picked up the bottle of the perfume he’d
had blended for me as a birthday gift—
Solo Tu
—tipped it, and
stroked my fingertip behind my ears and over my pulse points. It
was going to be the first time we’d be apart. How long would he be
away?

“Portia, if I asked you to come with me on
this mission, would you consider it? I know a justice of the peace
in South Carolina. As soon as we’ve put in an appearance at the
reception, we can slip out and get married today.”

Ah. That explained the drive to South
Carolina. The three day waiting period was unnecessary.

“Isn’t that going a bit far for cover? I
mean, we could get false documents that would simply state we were
husband and wife.”

He cleared his throat and tugged at his
collar. “Obviously I’ve done this wrong. I’m asking you to marry
me.”

I blinked and turned to stare at him.
“
Marry
you, marry you?”

The corner of his mouth twisted in a wry
grin. “That’s one way to put it.”

“I hadn’t thought…Would this be just for the
mission?”

“No. It would be for the traditional
reasons—in sickness and in health, until death did us part. Would
you consider it?”

“Mother would have wanted to pull out all
the stops for my wedding.” I sighed. “This is the only chance
she’ll have to play mother of the bride.”

“All right, darling. I understand. Of course
you’ll want a fancy wedding with someone who had your parents’
approval. I just wish it might be me.”

“You didn’t let me finish, Nigel.” It was
naughty of me to tease him, but I couldn’t resist. I went into his
arms and curled my hand around his neck, stroking the hollow at its
base.
Burn for me, Nigel! God knows I burn for you!
“I want
you to realize that even if we do get married today, we’re still in
for a
huge
,
formal wedding.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You’ve never really seen Mother in action.
This is what she does best. Firstly, she’s going to be adamant
about a June wedding, and for what she’ll plan, that will be June
of ‘62 at the earliest. Banks of orchids all over St. Matthew’s
Cathedral. My Tau Zeta Epsilon sisters as bridesmaids, and we’re
talking about a dozen of them. The woman I’ll ask to be my matron
of honor has a set of twins, a boy and a girl, who’ll be four in a
year and a half, so that means a ring bearer and a flower girl. The
men in cutaways, and you…” I rrowled at him flirtatiously. The man
was gorgeous in formalwear. “Me in a white dress with a train that
will rival Princess Grace’s…Although I really shouldn’t wear white.
Ice blue, perhaps, or champagne pink—”

“No. It never mattered to me, Portia.” Nigel
turned me in his embrace, looked down into my eyes, and said
softly, “You’ll look beautiful in white.”

My eyes burned with tears, and I dropped my
gaze to study the pin in his tie. “And there will be relatives
crawling out of the woodwork.”

He frowned. “Mother will want Addison to be
my best man.”

“Must he?”

“It’s the conventional thing to do.”

“But we aren’t a conventional couple.”

“No, we aren’t, are we? I have a friend…we
served in Korea together. I hadn’t seen him in a number of years,
but I happened to run into him a few weeks ago. I’ll give Carter a
call and see if he’d be interested.” He smiled down at me. “Well,
if we have that sorted out…Are you game, darling?”