Wilde, Jennifer (53 page)

Skirt
rustling with a soft crackle, I moved on into the ballroom. Two hundred candles
burning in the chandeliers and wall sconces shed a dazzling light. Gold gilt
patterns glittered in the sky-blue ceiling high above, and the vast parquet
floor gleamed. The white silk sofas and gilt white chairs had been arranged
around the wall, separated by tall white wicker baskets of long-stemmed roses,
white, yellow, yellow-gold. Partially concealed by the bank of plants, the
musicians were tuning up their instruments, and the neatly uniformed waiters
were chilling bottles of champagne. Everything was in readiness.

These
monthly balls at Rawlins Palace had become a regular feature in New Orleans
demimonde society, so popular that they were already being imitated elsewhere.
Tickets were shockingly expensive, but there was always a large crowd. Men
could bring their quadroon mistresses, could drink and dance and dally in an
atmosphere of total discretion. Champagne would flow. A buffet would be open,
the tables laden with superb food. There would be no gambling tonight, the
emphasis on romance. Gorgeously gowned courtesans would make new conquests.
Dashing young rakes would flaunt their virility, hoping it would compensate for
the lack of plentiful cash. Intricate games of love would be played to the lilt
of music, enhanced by the perfume of roses, the glow of candlelight.

Hearing
footsteps, I turned to see Jeff strolling into the ballroom. He paused a few
feet away, looking at me with warm brown eyes that gleamed with admiration.

"You
look a vision," he said. "I've never seen anything so lovely."

"Thank
you, Jeff."

"I
can't believe it."

"Can't
believe what?"

"Can't
believe you're real, that anything so breathtaking actually belongs to
me."

"I'm
quite real, I assure you."

"And
you belong to me."

"More
or less."

He
grinned. "I should never have given you your freedom. Then I could be
sure."

"You're
not sure now?"

"I
keep thinkin'—what if I lost you? What if you left me? What would I do?"

"I'm
not going to leave you."

"I
wouldn't blame you if you did," he said. "Chap like me—always actin'
up, drinkin' too much, gettin' into mischief. I just wish I was worthy of
you."

He
tilted his head to one side, looking thoughtful now. He was elegantly attired
himself, in black trousers, black frock coat, and a white satin waistcoat, his
shirtfront frilled. Sandy hair neatly brushed, burnished by candlelight, wide
mouth curling in the familiar grin, he looked like a naughty lad dressed up in
grownup clothes. I stepped over to him and touched his cheek, letting my
fingertips linger there.

"Don't
be silly," I told him.

"Hey,
you actually
like
me."

"Very
much."

"Guess
I should be satisfied with that."

"You
know what I wish?"

"What's
that?"

"I
wish the ball were over," I said. "I wish the two of us could go
upstairs right now."

His
grin widened. The brown eyes danced.

"Reckon
that's one hold I have on you. You love makin' love with me. I reckon I'm still
about the best in that department."

"If
not the most modest," I teased.

Jeff
drew me to him and gave me a long, lingering kiss, his mouth caressing my own
gently, firmly. He made a moaning noise in his throat, drawing me closer,
gentility giving way to greed. I pretended a response I was too tense to feel,
melting against him, letting him drink his fill. When he finally released me,
his eyes were aglitter with desire. A lock of hair fell over his brow, I
reached up and brushed it back. Jeff sighed deeply.

"Shouldn't
have done that," he admitted. "Now you got me all stirred up and
there's no time to do anything about it."

"You'll
just have to wait."

"I'm
gonna be thinkin' about it all evening."

"Good."

"I
reckon you'll be thinkin' about it, too."

"Perhaps."

"We
got an appointment, then?"

I
nodded, and suddenly I felt very pleased with myself, proud even, for I had
resisted temptation, had been faithful to him. I felt a great rush of affection
for this good-looking scamp who loved me so inordinately. I smiled and touched
his cheek again, and he looked both pleased and surprised, as though I had just
handed him a beautifully wrapped present. It was such a little thing, and it
gave him such pleasure. He gave me a quick hug, rough, clumsy, and it was at
that moment that I vowed I was going to relent at last. Jeff deserved
happiness, and I had the ability to make him the happiest man alive. The next
time he asked that familiar question, I was going to say the word he had wanted
to hear for such a long time.

"I
hear folks comin' in," he said. "Guess we'd better go greet 'em. I
feel
good
tonight."

"So
do I."

"I'm
gonna feel even better when this shebang is over with and I get you alone. I'm
gonna feel terrific then— and so are you. That's a promise!"

Guests
arrived in a continuous flow, and soon the place was filled with the rustle of
silken skirts, the popping of champagne corks, the sound of husky laughter.
Jeff and I greeted people as they arrived, as though it were indeed merely a
social occasion, and finally, when most of the guests had arrived, a grim-faced
Kyle took our place so that we could open the ball. Angie was chatting
vivaciously with a handsome young Spaniard who devoured her with his eyes. Kyle
didn't like that a bit. I smiled and shook my head as Jeff led me into the
ballroom.

The
musicians began to play. The dance floor cleared.

Jeff
slipped his arm around my waist and took my hand and grinned, whirling me onto
the floor with great gusto. I almost tripped, my skirt flying. He gripped me
tightly, sweeping me around, and the candles seemed to spin and the guests
standing around the floor blurred into a swirl of color. As the other couples
joined in, the dance floor became a garden of colored skirts spinning, swaying
in ever-shifting patterns. I felt flushed, elated, secure with his arm like an
iron band holding me against him, his face inches from my own, brown eyes
merry, wide mouth curving in the inevitable grin.

"Sorry,"
he said as he stepped on my foot.

"You
really
are
a wretched dancer, Jeff."

"You
like it, though. I can tell."

"I
feel like you're going to break me in two. Must you hold me quite so
tightly?"

"Pardon,"
he said as he crashed into another dancer.

"Why
they all long to dance with you I'll never know."

"They
like me. They'll be linin' up soon."

"We're
dancing,
Jeff, not trying to escape a band of Indians."

"Shut
up," he said amiably. "Know what I want to do?"

"I'm
afraid to ask."

"I
wanna sink my teeth into your shoulder."

"Don't
you dare."

He
chuckled, holding me even closer when the music permitted, whirling me about as
though I were a rag doll, and he was right, I liked it, liked his enthusiasm,
his boisterous zest. When the dance ended, he gave me a quick, clumsy kiss and
chuckled again. He had rarely been so relaxed, so carefree. Did he perhaps
suspect I was going to capitulate? Was that the reason for that robust glow,
that jaunty manner of old? Breathless, feeling bruised, I informed him that I
desperately needed a glass of champagne. He took hold of my hand and
half-dragged me over to where a waiter stood with tray in hand.

"Here,"
he said. "The best stuff. Those smugglers may ask the earth, but they
always deliver the goods. I'll have one, too. This is a champagne
evening."

"You're
in rare form."

"
'Cause I've been behavin'," he confessed. " 'Cause I've been doin' a
lot of thinkin'."

"Indeed?"

"I've
been thinkin' what a bloody fool I am to drink so much, to carry on like a
spoiled schoolboy just 'cause I can't have everything my way. I've decided to
devote all that energy to
gettin'
my way."

"Oh?"

"I...
uh... haven't seen Corinne for three weeks. I don't intend to see her again.
She's too fond of me, gettin' too possessive, and me, I've merely been usin'
her. From now on, I'm not gonna see anyone but you. I'm gonna see you every
night, all night long, and I'm gonna wear you down. I'm gonna keep after you
and keep after you till you give in."

"And
if I don't?" I teased.

"I'll
either throttle you or take you to the altar with your arm twisted up behind
your back, and I'll keep twistin' it until you give the proper responses. I
don't intend to fool around any longer. It's time I started gettin' mean about
it."

"You
could never be mean," I told him.

He
looked at me with mock ferocity. "No?"

I
shook my head. He grinned.

"Guess
I couldn't," he confessed, "but I can be mighty persuasive. I intend
to be from here on out. I got methods in mind that'd make you blush."

I
smiled, feeling that rush of affection again, and the anguish I had gone
through these past three weeks seemed totally absurd. Perhaps this affection
was even better than love. There would be no pinnacles of bliss, but neither
would there be bleak despair. I could make Jeff happy, and he would never be
able to wound me, no matter what he did. I wondered why it had taken me over
three years to see things this way.

Jeff
set his empty glass down on a table. "Guess I'd better go make the ladies
happy," he said. "They're pantin' to have a go-round with me. That's
why most of 'em come, to dance with me."

"They're
welcome to you."

"I'll
get back to you, don't you worry. And don't you forget out little appointment.
I'm gonna start usin' those new methods I was tellin' you about soon as I get
you out of that dress."

Jeff
sauntered off and was promptly snapped up by a dark-eyed blond in honey-colored
satin. I finished my champagne, thoughtful now, almost happy about my decision.
Jeff would be very, very good to me, just as he had always been. Most women
would envy me. Why had I been so stubborn? He was sweet and engaging and
virile, and he loved me like few women were ever loved. Derek... Derek thought
I was a whore, had always thought so. Damn him for sending that key. Damn him
for thinking I'd come running. I hated him for his arrogance, and I prayed he
would stay away.

"Dance,
Marietta?" Raoul DuBois asked.

"Hello,
Raoul. I'd love to."

"Festive
night tonight," he said.

"Isn't
it. My, you look quite dashing in that waistcoat."

I
flirted instinctively as I danced with Raoul, with Jonathan Barkley, with Jamie
Perez, making light conversation and smiling, playing my role with ease. An
hour and a half passed, and I was beginning to grow a bit weary, thankful for
the opportunity to take a short break from dancing. Jean Paul Etienne fetched a
glass of champagne for me. A handsome young Frenchman with wavy black hair and
moody brown eyes, he wore a wine-colored suit, and his right arm was in a black
silk sling. When I inquired about that, Jean Paul made a face, looking
disgruntled.

"It's
only a nick. I'll be out of this sling in a week or so."

"Another
duel?" I asked.

Jean
Paul nodded. "You should see Guy Nicholas. I put a bullet through his
kneecap. He'll walk with a limp for the rest of his life."

"One
of these days you're going to kill someone," I admonished.

"I
intended to kill Nicholas. The duel took place three mornings ago, at the Oaks.
Devereaux was my second. It was foggy, and I couldn't see properly. I aimed for
his heart, hit his kneecap. Rotten luck. I had to be satisfied, though."

I
shook
my head. Dueling was a regular feature of New Orleans society, and hardly a
morning passed that there wasn't a duel of some sort under the oak trees
outside the city. So many duels had been fought beneath a certain group of
trees that they were known as the Dueling Oaks, a dubious landmark where
countless men had been wounded or killed. Hot-blooded youths like Jean Paul
bragged of their exploits beneath the Oaks, and even the most trifling
arguments were settled there with pistols or swords. It was a deadly sport I
couldn't comprehend.

"More
champagne?" he asked as I set my empty glass aside.

"No,
thank you, Jean Paul. I think I'll circulate and give some of the other women
an opportunity to question you about your wound. I've noticed a number of them
casting glances your way."

Jean
Paul curled his lip, looking bored with the idea, but I could tell he was eager
to dazzle the ladies. He had come by himself, but he had no intention of
leaving alone. As soon as I moved away, two women rushed over to question him,
fluttering like beautiful moths about a seductive flame. Candles burned
brightly, bathing the walls with golden shadows. The music rose and fell as
dancers swept around the floor. Courtesans held court, sitting on the white
silk sofas, surrounded by admirers, and groups stood all around the floor,
talking quietly, flirting. Many couples had already adjourned to the courtyard
for more intimate conversation.