Wilde, Jennifer (54 page)

As
I moved from group to group, I saw Corinne entering the ballroom on the arm of
a swarthy young Spanish officer in full-dress uniform. She paused, said something
to him in a sharp tone and sent him on his way, his purpose fulfilled, as
unaccompanied women were not permitted to attend. While the officer retreated
with snapping black eyes and a fierce expression, Corinne glanced around the
ballroom trying to spot Jeff. Her dark hair was worn in a bun in back; a
magnolia blossom was fastened above one ear, and her pink silk gown was sumptuous,
with its full skirt in layers like pink rose petals. There were shadows under
her eyes. She looked tense. I hoped there wouldn't be trouble.

Jeff
was talking with a blond in blue velvet across the room. Looking up a moment or
so later, he saw Corinne, and I could tell that he wasn't at all happy about
it. He scowled, brows pressing together. When Corinne finally spotted him and
started in that direction, Jeff turned to the blond, asked her to dance and
swept her onto the floor, quickly guiding her to the other end of the room,
away from Corinne. Corinne took a glass of champagne and downed it in one gulp,
then drank two more in rapid succession, looking mutinous and ready to explode.
The music stopped, began again. Jeff was dancing with another woman now, deftly
avoiding the languorous brunette in pink.

Immersed
in my duties, I soon lost track of both Jeff and Corinne. I smiled. I chatted.
I danced with half a dozen men, sailing around the floor with my golden skirt
belling out behind me, the candles ablaze above like flickering golden stars,
the scent of roses mingling with the scent of sweat. My tension vanished. I was
enjoying myself now, and I was anticipating the night to come, Jeff's body, his
love, the present I intended to give him. I felt at peace with myself after
such a long time, pleased with my decision, sure it was the right one.

I
went into the gaming room where the buffet tables had been set up in splendor.
Waiters were filling plates with slices of ham and roast and turkey, with
exquisite chilled salads, steaming saffron rice and tender asparagus cooked in
butter. I had a few oysters, another glass of champagne, and I complimented
Pierre, who stood behind the tables looking resentful as his gorgeously
arranged dishes were demolished. Jean Paul Etienne sauntered in with a sultry
blond in bronze satin who fetched a plate for him, treating him like a wounded
hero. He watched her with heavy-lidded eyes, contemplating pleasures to come.

As
I was returning to the ballroom, I met Jeff in the hall. He looked both
exasperated and worried. When I asked him what was wrong, he scowled and
indicated the staircase. Corinne was sitting on the bottom step, her layered
pink skirt spilling over the floor. She clutched the banister with one hand,
the other holding an empty champagne glass. The magnolia fastened in her hair
was drooping limply. Tears streamed down her cheeks.

"I've
got to take her home," Jeff told me.

"Is
something wrong?"

"She's
drunk. God knows how many glasses of champagne she's downed. I tried to keep
away from her, but she finally caught me—started cryin', started threatenin' to
kill herself. I got her out of the ballroom before she could make a real scene,
but—" He shook his head in disgust. "Christ! Just what I
needed!"

"Of
course you must take her home, Jeff."

"I
don't
want
to," he insisted, "but if I don't, God knows what
she might do. Kyle's gone to fetch the carriage and bring it round. He'll be
out front in a couple minutes. I... uh... I might have to stay with her a
while, Marietta."

"I
understand."

"She
keeps talkin' about killin' herself. I'll have to sober her up, give her some
hot coffee, keep her on her feet. I'd like to strangle the minx!"

"Don't
worry about it."

"You're
not
mad?"

"Of
course not. Jeff—be kind to her. You owe her that."

"I'll
try," he groaned.

Kyle
came in and told Jeff that the carriage was waiting. Jeff shook his head again
and, stepping over to the staircase, took hold of Corinne's wrist and pulled
her to her feet. As she looked up at him with tearful eyes, Jeff wrapped his
arm around her waist and moved her toward the door. Corinne staggered, waving
the empty glass in the air, demanding more champagne. Jeff clamped his free
hand over her mouth and hurried her out into the night, cursing under his
breath. I wasn't at all perturbed, was, in fact, rather amused. It served him
right for treating her so shabbily. Poor Jeff and his women. After tonight
there would be only one. He wouldn't need to look elsewhere for reassurance.

When
I returned to the ballroom, the Spaniard in dress uniform who had come with
Corinne asked me to dance. I nodded graciously. He was a superb dancer, and
those dark, flashing eyes seemed to devour me. When the dance was over, he made
a highly improper suggestion. I smiled, pretending to be flattered, and crushed
his hopes with a polite refusal. He executed a formal bow, clicking his heels
together, then sought out a more responsive partner. Someone else asked me to
dance, then someone else, and it was wonderful to be desirable, to be dancing,
to be wearing a golden ball gown and diamonds, to be at peace after three weeks
of anguished indecision.

Another
hour passed. It was after midnight, and the ball was officially over at one.
The candles were starting to burn down, the roses beginning to wilt. Many
people had already left for more private entertainment, Jean Paul with his
blond, the Spaniard with a brunette in red. Angie had disappeared, too, and
Kyle was no longer at his post. I imagined they had gone into the shadowy
courtyard or perhaps even upstairs to one of their rooms. They would be good
for each other, I thought. Angie would make Kyle less grim, and Kyle would keep
her in line.

The
musicians were taking a well-deserved break before the last session. No more
than thirty people were left in the ballroom. Standing with a glass of
champagne in my hand, surrounded by a small group of men who hadn't yet found
partners for the remaining hours of the night, I smiled and chatted lightly.
They teased me about Jeff's abrupt departure, volunteering to keep me company
in his stead. It was all good-natured, relaxed, diverting.

Five
gorgeously gowned women stood together at the other end of the room, near the
door, gossiping, toying with their fans. Couples sat on the sofas or wandered
up and down waiting for the music to resume. The floor was empty, gleaming
still, reflecting the candlelight. Looking around, I saw the tall man with the
scar enter the ballroom. The courtesans stopped talking, and then, as one, they
moved toward him, colored skirts swaying. He paused, cool gray eyes searching,
and when he saw me he started toward me, ignoring the fluttering beauties who
fell back in disappointment.

I
handed my empty champagne glass to one of the men and asked them to excuse me.
They grumbled. Returned to their stand, the musicians began playing as I moved
forward to greet Derek Hawke. Couples began to dance. And I paused to wait for
him to reach me. My emotions were in wonderful control. I had made my decision.
I would be polite. I wasn't scared, wasn't even nervous. I felt very strong.

He
was wearing black, his waistcoat a deep maroon embroidered in black silk. The
slight hollows beneath his cheekbones that I had noticed that night in the
moonlight were still there, and he looked thinner, taller as well. That thin,
jagged scar made him look like a handsome pirate, sinister and romantic. It was
difficult to associate this elegantly attired stranger with the farmer in
sweat-damp shirt, old breeches, and muddy boots.

"Hello,
Derek," I said politely.

"I
intended to get here earlier, but I had one or two errands I had to run."

"I'm
glad you could make it."

"Are
you?"

"We
welcome all comers as long as they pay. I assume you bought a ticket."

He
nodded. "There was no one at the door to collect it."

"Keep
it. The ball is almost over. I'm afraid you're not going to get your money's
worth."

"I
imagine I shall."

"Oh?"

"Where's
Rawlins?" he asked.

"Jeff
had to leave some time ago."

"Shall
we dance?"

"I'm
rather weary, Derek. There are at least a dozen very attractive women who'll be
delighted to dance with you. You might even persuade one of them to go home
with you."

"We'll
dance," he said.

He
took my hand, wrapped his arm around my waist, and swung me into motion with
one graceful swirl. I relaxed, letting him guide me over the floor. I had never
danced with him before, and I was surprised at his expertise. His eyes held
mine, cool, remote, revealing nothing. I refused to be intimidated, refused to
show the least emotion.

"I've
been expecting you, Marietta."

"Have
you?"

"I
felt certain you'd come."

"You
were wrong, it seems."

"You
wanted to," he said.

"Indeed?"

"I
saw your face in the moonlight. I saw your expression when you recognized me.
I'm sure. You don't love Jeff Rawlins. You're still in love with me."

"You're
mistaken."

"I
don't want to play word games, Marietta. We've already lost three weeks."

"You're
terribly sure of yourself."

"I'm
sure of you."

"Because
of what you imagined you saw in the moonlight?"

"I
didn't imagine it."

The
music stopped. There was a faint scattering of applause. Derek released me. I
moved away from him as the music began again. He followed me and took hold of
my arm. I turned, my anger beginning to surface. People were staring at us. I
let him lead me over to the side of the room. We stopped by a tall basket of
yellow roses, the sofa beside it vacant.

"You're
wasting your time, Derek," I said. "I mean that. Your—your arrogance
is not to be believed. Whatever I might have felt for you is quite dead. I'm
living with Jeff and I intend to marry him."

"Not
now you're not."

"I
suggest you leave, Derek."

"Come,
we'll go out to the courtyard. We can't talk here."

"We've
nothing to talk about."

"Are
you going to come peacefully, or shall I drag you out? I will if necessary.
Your friends are already staring at us. I'm sure they'd enjoy seeing that
little scene enacted."

I
could tell that he was serious. With as much dignity as possible, I left the
ballroom with Derek beside me. The courtyard was clothed in deep blue-black
shadows, moonlight illuminating the fountain and a section of the tiles. The
two or three couples, whispering together in the darkness, paid us little attention.
Taking hold of my hand, Derek led me over to one of the walls where tall shrubs
concealed us from view.

"I
hope you're satisfied," I said.

"You
intend to keep playing games?"

"I
just want you to leave me alone."

"No,
Marietta. That isn't what you want."

"It's
been over three years—"

"You
want me, just as I want you."

I
wanted to deny it, but I was afraid that if I tried to, my voice would betray
the emotions welling up inside. My anger had been genuine, but it was gone now,
replaced by those other feelings I wanted so desperately to hide from him. I
stood with my back against the wall, and he stood directly in front of me, now
two feet away, and as my eyes adjusted to the dark I could see his mouth was
set in a determined line. I prayed for strength, for I knew I must resist him.

"I
tried to forget you," he said. "I couldn't. After I had to give up
the plantation, after I got into my new line of work, there were other women,
one right after the other. I took them eagerly, hoping each one would cure me
of you, make me forget. It was futile. They only made it worse, made me realize
all the more what I'd lost."

His
voice betrayed no emotion.

"You
didn't lose me, Derek. You sold me."

"In
a fit of anger. I told you how much I regretted it the night I delivered the
wine. I was filled with remorse for what I'd done."

"And
now—"

"Now
I want to make it up to you."

"You
don't owe me anything, Derek. You—you did me a favor. I have everything a woman
could possibly want. I have money, jewels, security, a man who loves me with all
his heart."

"You
don't love him."

"You'd
like to think that. Jeff is charming and kind and—generous. He treats me like a
queen. He's tender, too, not afraid to show his love."

"You
don't love him," he repeated.

"That's
not true."

"You
love me. I knew. The minute I laid eyes on you I knew you hadn't been able to
forget, just as I hadn't."

"So
you sent a key, expecting me to come like—like some expensive harlot. You were
disappointed, weren't you? You're so incredibly arrogant you actually believed
that's all you had to do."