With One Look (10 page)

Don't cry. Dear God, just don't cry—

Victor drank in the sight of her, unable to believe it was really her, unable to believe any woman could be that beautiful. Obviously, she was afraid. She lowered her head and closed her eyes while her arms crossed her bosom, each hand rested on a shoulder, hiding what other women in the house flaunted. There seemed two possible explanations for her fear: she was afraid of that woman or she was afraid of him.

"I'm sure you understand my surprise at finding you here, Mary? That is your name, is it

not?"

The question caused a slight visible jerk. 'Twas his same voice. The American she had met.

Mary. Yes. She nodded, feeling her warm blood pounding in a curious slow thud.

"Mary." He said her name with a curious chuckle. "The name ill suits you." There was masculine amusement in his voice as he reached to brush a stray wisp of hair from her face, the intimate gesture causing a startling rush of shivers. She felt suddenly warm. "Rather like calling the Black Prince's ruby a piece of rock. Is it true that you've worked here for over a year?"

She nodded again. "Yes, Monsieur."

On the heels of a long pause that filled with his scrutiny, he said: "Why do I think you're lying, sweetheart?"

Why? Dear lord, what could she say? She struggled for a coherent thought but she felt so strangely dizzy. The silence grew as they waited her response and her silent panic mounted. How many? How many men stared at her now?

"You are lying—"

"No, no, Monsieur." She shook her head, sending a river of dark hair sliding over her shoulder. "Please, you cannot expect me to answer why you think that, why you think anything. I do not know. Many men are surprised."

Laughter erupted from the men around her. The man Sebastian was saying something about a line forming that reached to the Gulf of Mexico. More laughter followed the remark. Someone got up from the gaming table, the man named John. She wondered if she should smile but by the time she finished wondering, it seemed like time had stretched and slowed. She reached a distressed hand to her forehead. Victor was speaking to her but she could hardly grasp his words....

"I had thought you might be Monsieur Deubler's mistress; I even made inquiries but was told that Monsieur Deubler does not keep a mistress and never has."

Victor waited her response, watching closely. He had started to make another inquiry concerning the lovely lady Monsieur Deubler had escorted that night, only to sense this would be a mistake. He could not even say why, past the fleeting understanding—considering the circumstances now, an obviously mistaken understanding—that she would not be a casual affair and perhaps selfishly, but certainly rationally, he knew he could never offer anything more to a young lady who suffered from sightlessness.

"So was this Monsieur Deubler a patron?"

The Madame watched from across the room with increasing anxiety, an anxiety she rarely had cause to feel. She felt a tremor of alarm. Perhaps she should return his money and withdraw the girl—

No, he would be more suspicious.... She motioned to Mercedes to intervene.

Jade tried to focus on the words of his questions long enough to generate an appropriate reply but somehow her mind seized only the dear name. What had happened to Monsieur Deubler? What he injured or, dear God, was he dead? She tried desperately to reason if this inquiry had concluded or if perhaps he had discovered her true identity, and as she struggled, his hand reached gently under her chin, turning her face to him.

A sea of beautiful colors swam through her mind, startlingly vivid, drawn from the long- ago time when she could see. They were so pretty! For a long moment they held her spellbound....

Victor watched her closely. Oh no, he thought, she was too beautiful for this house. Indeed, seeing her here was like finding a royal gem in a pawnshop. She kept her lashes closed over those

jeweled unseeing eyes; the thick black lashes brushing the high flushed cheeks. Lips the color of dark red wine and set on the palest of complexions, skin—his finger brushed her cheek—as soft as a kitten's underside. There was something wrong here....

"Is it drink or opium, sweetheart?"

A slight gasp escaped her lips. He was so clever! She struggled to find an answer, the right one, hardly knowing whether she should confess or deny when suddenly Mercedes did it for her.

"It is a potion," Mercedes said as she came to the table, still reeling from the heady relief of seeing the man who had made the last bid. "The Madame permits this only on nights of an auction. Just enough to enhance rather than inhibit desire."

Victor still stared, hardly taking his eyes from her. He had spent enough time in the Orient to know she was not an addict, at least not yet. Her beauty would have been lost after a month of opium addiction. Though that certainly would have explained everything.

He held her in his gaze, even as he sipped his brandy, his eyes revealing brash desire and suspicions that bordered on confusion. He looked across the room to where that woman stood watching. He suddenly just wanted his prize out of here, whether or not she was what she said she was.

lady."

He motioned to a waiting servant. "Have my horse brought 'round and fetch a cloak for the

Sebastian thought it was love at first sight, and if it wasn't, the pleasure of merely watching

the gorgeous creature walk to the table abruptly changed his attitude regarding the purchase of a woman's favor. She had an angel's face, a breathtaking feminine shape revealed in a pink striped gown and a smile that was at once seductive and demure. Like all men, he instantly recognized the promise in her soft hazel eyes.

Mercedes curtsied and introduced herself. Victor watched Mercedes's arm slip around Mary's shoulder. Mary reached for her friend's hand: their fingers locked quickly and tightly.

"Monsieur Nolte, I have waited many years for this opportunity to thank you for a kindness you once showed me.”

Victor looked up but found nothing familiar, though he was immediately taken by her manner. Something about her spoke of a gentleness of person, uncommon in women who worked in these houses.

"You don't remember me?"

"No, I'm sorry—"

"You should, Victor." Sebastian smiled. "You once paid a fortune for her." "I believe I'd remember such a thing."

"'Twas years ago, Monsieur," Mercedes explained. "As tonight, you doubled the last bid, but then left without seeing me." Her eyes lowered, her sincerity obvious. "It meant a lot to me and ... and I have thought often of your kindness since then."

"While Victor might have forgotten," Sebastian said, "I could never forget such a beautiful young lady."

Mercedes laughed lightly, met the blue eyes and felt an unexplainable flutter at Sebastian's open admiration. He was so handsome! With his blond curls and fine blue eyes, he looked like a perfect image of Adonis. "I'm flattered, Monsieur. Madame Charmane has asked me to extend the house hospitality to Monsieur Nolte's friend, to show her appreciation of his generosity tonight."

Nolte, Nolte, Nolte, the name echoed through Jade's mind. Yes. She needed to find Father Nolte but he was away....

"Ah," Sebastian inquired with a lift of brow, "just what does this hospitality include?" "Perhaps you Would care to visit the sunshine corner?"

"The sunshine corner?" Sebastian repeated. His tone caused Victor to chuckle, roll his eyes. "That depends," Sebastian said. "Just who is the mistress of such a place?"

"Yours truly." Mercedes curtsied, confused by her excitement. "It would be my pleasure to show you, Monsieur."

"I will make certain of that!"

Victor chuckled again, standing up as a man finally returned with Mary's cloak. "Sebastian, I do believe you have just met your match." Turning to Mercedes, he said, "Mercedes, you are a delight. No doubt, Sebastian will enjoy his visit to your, ah, 'sunshine corner.' "

Mercedes thanked Victor again before she leaned over, whispering something in Jade's ear.

Jade had spend the last minutes floating on a not unpleasant sea of warm sensations; she felt as if she could actually feel the blood moving lethargically through her limbs. The whispered words pulled her back. She nodded at Mercedes as she felt Victor's arm come around her. She did not want to move, or be changed, but she grasped that he was waiting for her to stand. She stood up, and only vaguely realized she had no sense of direction.

Normally she spent many hours exploring a room's contours, her mathematical gift allowing her to remember the exact number of steps to the door or the dresser or a writing table, so as not to constantly depend on others. She had never been in this room. Her keen sense of direction was inhibited.

Her legs felt unsteady....

Then for some reason her disorientation brought a prick of amusement. She was so ridiculous! "Monsieur," she said, almost laughing, "I fear I—"

Victor felt her falling weight and quickly bent over to catch her up in his arms. The long hair slid over his arm, falling in a thick mass halfway to the floor. He met the glassy, amused green eyes, only to realize the trick of it. Somehow she made a man imagine she was looking at him. "Just how bad off are we, Mary?"

The question was asked as he carried her outside.

The night air felt cool on her feverish skin, but she hardly noticed, taken by the compelling timbre of his voice. "I love your voice," she told him. "It is so rich and deep and kind...."

She suddenly tried to think of the terrible things that had happened to her, the reasons she should be afraid, but it seemed so long ago, as if time itself had eroded its intensity. Like a distant memory. She could only think of him, the tall American, the man named Victor....

Victor was smiling down at the lovely intoxicated creature. Seeing that his horse had yet to be brought up, he set her to her feet on the wide porch, careful to keep her close and hold her steady. He noticed the oddity of velvet slippers on her feet that matched the corset. She still seemed to stare up at him. She reached a hand up to touch the textured surface of his chin. "You are so tall," she said. "How tall?"

"About six feet four."

Tall like Father Nolte. She had a crush on Father Nolte. She couldn't help it. She knew many Catholic girls had crushes on priests and she felt so foolish about it some times, trying to banish the thoughts, but he was just so... so interesting, magnetic, wonderful, like the American…

He felt her hand gently trace the contours of his face— the first and only time she had dropped the pretense of sight. He held still for her, though he realized too late the innocent touch had the unnerving effect of a lightning bolt.

Jade didn't understand the warm pleasure brought by touching him. As if the nerves on the pads of her fingertips leaped up to greet this fun. "I can read physiognomy."

"I might have guessed," he replied, teased by her fingers moving feather light over his face. He had as much faith in the so-called science of physiognomy as he did in fortune-telling—which is to say none—but he was nonetheless interested in her perceptions, if indeed she even had any.

"You have a most distinguished face, Monsieur." Her fingers returned to his broad, dominating forehead to begin a closer, more specific inspection. Her nerves tingled queerly. She tried to concentrate on what his face told her about him. "You possess a formidable intelligence, one guided by logic and rationality. And these lines here are like… Father Nolte's, she thought.

The name echoed in her mind like a warning, resonating softer with each beat of her heart.

Suddenly her consciousness focused only on the unnaturally loud thud of her heart. "Like who?" he asked.

She returned but forgot the question. She laughed lightly, for no reason she knew, but enough to throw her head back too far. A warm wave of dizziness washed over her in force.

"Easy, sweetheart," Victor said.

Her clumsiness made her laugh again but her curiosity was pricked. A shiver of a queer excitement raced up her spine. She breathed in his clean masculine scent, wanting to brush her hot cheek against him as she returned her hands to his face.

"What color are your eyes?" "Blue."

"What color is your hair?" "Dark brown."

"How old are you?" "Thirty-one."

Jade continued and felt the lean, strong lines of his face, the finely shaped nose. "I have never read such a strong character in a face," she said, feeling wondrously expansive suddenly. "You have enlightened views, governed by very liberal attitudes." The idea came to her that Sister Benedict would not like him, and as she imagined Sister Benedict's shock, she felt a bubble of mirth in her throat.

Yet her fingertips were gently sliding over his mouth, discovering a smile of patient amusement. "You are generous too, exceedingly generous. But here"—she traced a line and smiled

—"the lines of benevolence cross with this line marking a fine temper."

Victor chuckled at last; it was only too true. He returned his gaze to the lovely upturned face. His smile disappeared. She looked suddenly feverish, her cheeks were flushed crimson, her eyes held an unnatural shine. He watched her lips tremble slightly as if she were suddenly holding back tears. "I am not afraid of you," she whispered. "I know you will not hurt me...."

The words struck him somewhere deep inside, stirring a place he had never felt before, as if... as if the moment were misplaced in time. It was not just the lure of her startling beauty or the bright shine of her intelligence but rather the extreme fragility brought by her sightlessness, followed by the unpleasant idea of what she must have endured to reach this place. "Never," he whispered as his thumb slid under her chin. "Never."

He held her face and his lips lowered to hers. They hovered there for a long time as if measuring her response. She struggled with confusion, sensing how very close he was but not understanding why. For she had been kissed many times in her imagination but never in fact.

Black lashes fluttered over her eyes. He tenderly pressed his mouth to hers, pulling back to assess her reaction before gently kneading her bottom lip until she gasped, her lips parting slightly. One taste of unknown spices and delicious sunshine of her mouth and he wanted more. She tensed ever so lightly but as his tongue swept into her mouth with compelling eroticism, she went limp, melting into a sea of thick honeyed sensations.