With One Look (16 page)

"I see," he said.

"Did you speak to Maydrian's family?" "Yes, I did."

He did not explain that he had prepared them for bad news, that Maydrian might never be found, and if she were, she would probably be dead. "Naturally they are very concerned, and I believe they are prepared to hear the worst—"

"The worst?"

The beautiful green eyes seemed to search his face, unnerving him with the practiced ability to create an illusion of sight.

"What can you mean?" The question was asked whisper soft. "Surely we will find Maydrian? If something terrible had happened to her, do you not think we would have discovered it by now?"

He suddenly remembered his father laughing at some amusing episode with the girl: "You just have to experience the rose-colored glasses from which she views the world to believe it. Ah, she is like a breath of fresh perfumed air...."

"Sweetheart ..." He knelt in front of her. "It seems the opposite is true, if you think about it.

If Maydrian were fine, no doubt we would have found her by now."

Her fists clenched around the rim of her bonnet, a pained expression crossing her face. "I don't believe it. 'Tis true something terrible must have happened to her, but it does not mean she has

perished. Quite the contrary! We are only ignorant of what has befallen her. I'm just certain Maydrian will appear hale and healthy...."

"I suppose time will tell," he replied noncommittally. He realized quite suddenly how tired he felt and yet there was something he still very much wanted to do. "Jade Terese, as we wait for the carriage that will take you home, it's occurred to me that while we experienced"—he smiled-

—"the height of intimacy, I've yet to stroll in the garden with you. Would you like to take a turn in the garden while we wait?"

She held out her hands as she stood up. He led her down a smooth stone path. Amidst the exotic setting, she looked like a picture taken from a French romantic painting. Nimble fingers secured the yellow ribbons of her bonnet around her chin. The hat tilted to the side, while her hair fell to the small of her back. He smiled when he saw her bare feet.

She felt the gentle weight of his arm on her shoulder, his other hand in hers. She imagined the sky was red with the sunset over the river. In her mind's eye she saw the shadows lengthening and the rainbow colors of the garden darkening. "It's beautiful, your garden...."

The words stopped him. With humor and surprise, he asked: "But how can you know?" "I see it perfectly in my mind," she said. "Sister Benedict informed me it's at least two

acres, all surrounded by a thirty-foot-high wall of bamboo and ivy. Over there"— she pointed toward the comer—"is a grove of old maple trees, colored bright green now, and she counted three apple trees there, banana trees and blossoming cherry trees." She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. "Their scent reaches me here. I can smell the blossoming flower beds myself: I imagine red marigolds, lilies, fragile bunches of lavender and wild clumps of jasmine everywhere. She also described the curious sculpture garden. She even tried to make sense of it, but its meaning, if indeed it has a meaning, eluded her."

And so he first confronted the poetry of her mind, and all the while the high musical voice described his garden he was thinking back to his father's and the Reverend Mother's poignant questions concerning his intentions. He had barely refrained from pointing out that if he married every woman who found herself in his bed ... well, instead he had answered honestly. He didn't know—and indeed, despite what had happened, they hardly knew each other.

It had been a long time since he had considered marriage to any woman, and then not seriously. While he fell in love more often than the seasons shifted, these inevitably proved to be passing infatuations. He had never met a woman he had wanted to be with for the rest of his life.

The trouble was, and it was apparent to everyone, Jade Terese was a woman a man either married or left alone. Leaving Jade alone did not seem possible. It took only a memory of their night together, of her complete surrender to him and a passion meeting his own, to shatter that resolution. He might even admit it would be a losing battle with her except for one thing.

There was no way he could pretend her blindness didn't bother him. One of his shipmates had once cared for his blind sister and Victor kept thinking of this now. One never forgot for a moment the man's sister had been blind: her blank stare, the hands almost constantly extended to feel the world before her, and a indefinable stiffness and caution of movement. Jade had a few of these manners, and when they occurred, she quickly righted herself. Indeed, her manners were a kind of miracle themselves. She must have practiced the illusion of sight for many years, concealing her blindness so well he found himself forgetting even now, as she dragged her hand over silky moss on a trunk, asking for a description of this and that, even pointing, turning her face up to his before offering up the sound of her laughter.

Watching her thoughtfully as they strolled, Victor turned the conversation around to her . "My father told me about your gifts, of course."

"Oh? I can't tell you how much I care for your father. He has helped me so much over the years. Did he tell you how often I visit him? He instructs me in history and philosophy, too, did he tell you that?"

"Yes, he mentioned all that. It seems my father had been quite taken by you as well." She smiled shyly and he continued. "These gifts, Jade, I find them difficult to believe. He says you're fluent in four languages: French, English, Spanish and Latin. He claims your Latin is exceptional."

"It's only because I can memorize things so easily."

"So I've heard. I'd like to hear it, though. Say something in Latin."

Jade asked in that romantic language a question pressing heavily on her thoughts: "Do you think we are going to fall in love?"

His laughter startled her. "That question demonstrates both your honesty and the arresting idea that you've yet to develop the normal feminine pretensions."

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have—"

"Don't apologize. I'm delighted. I find it refreshing, to say the least."

He led Jade beneath a sugar gum tree, where they sat down on the grass. The garden scents were delicious, the shade under the tree cool. "What languages do you speak?" she asked, trying to change the subject.

"My Spanish and French have never been very good. I also speak some Japanese, though that's a most difficult language. It's nothing like Western tongues, and having no similarity, it gave me the most trouble. I learned just enough to get by there."

Interested, Jade started to inquire further but he was quicker, shifting the subject back. "My father claims that you can add long sums of numbers in your head, that you enjoy putting poems to memory, that you can recite on request most major works and are particularly fond of Shakespeare?"

"You have to understand, I'm not like other people—" "I can see that." He laughed.

"I mean ... well, I can't just open a book and read like others, so I have to put it to memory." "You're very fortunate to be able to do so."

"I suppose I am."

"I'm beginning to understand how much your gifts allow you to compensate for being blind." He looked at her thoughtfully, brushing a mosquito from her face. "But there is one thing I will not believe until it's demonstrated."

"I think I know what's coming."

"I'll bet you do. How can you play chess without seeing the board?"

"I do see the board. I see it in my mind. I only need the positions called out, you know, King to Queen's Knight four and so forth."

"How often do you have to have the positions called back?" he asked, curious, chuckling when she blushed, for the positions had to be called only once. "I shouldn't have asked. I will be looking forward to a game or two."

"I would never play chess with you!" "Why not?"

"Men seem such poor losers."

"Jade"—he laughed—"you will be sorry you said that. I will show you no mercy. A fact: you could not beat me in chess."

"The arrogance!"

"Is justified," he replied.

The musical sound of her laughter was intoxicating. Too much so, and he rose, then took her hands as he helped her to her feet. Her laughter died beneath his amused scrutiny. The silence made her suddenly shy again. "Victor, I don't know how to thank you for what you and Sebastian did— stopping that woman, saving Mercedes and—"

A gentle finer came over her lips. "I am undeserving, and if I weren't, I have been rewarded royally. As you know."

As he studied her upturned face, time seemed to stretch, broken at last by the soft whisper of her name. A finger traced the contours of her mouth, barely touching her skin. She drew a shaky uneven breath as she heard him say, "I cannot resist this. I am trying but—"

He lowered his head to hers. He first kissed her closed lids before letting his mouth lightly graze, drinking the sweet scent of her. He whispered her name against her ear. Shivers, she felt a rush of tiny shivers, a feverish trail where his lips touched her skin. The pounding of her heart became a roar in her ears, more as the curve of his finger parted her lips for his kiss.

The kiss called a promise to the very core of her being. Like last night, only now she was in no way impaired. So tenderly did he first kiss her, she felt that strange sense of wonder mixed with some small distress. One answered as the sensual press of his mouth deepened, fueling a tingling warmth surging from deep inside, growing, spreading until—

The pleasure magnified as the play of the kiss sent her into a soft swoon, melting and helpless. Yet he was holding her up. He had taken her small hands in his, bringing them behind her back and lifting her as he did so, gently aligning her soft curves to the hard outline of his body.

He broke the kiss but did not part as his moist lips found the soft hollow of her throat, the line of her neck and the curve of her ear, where he whispered her name over and over. The artful teasing of his mouth and tongue sent small hot slashes of pleasure through her, her breath came in small little gasps and—

"Here, sweetheart"—he reached for her arms even as he was kissing her closed eyes, her mouth—"put your arms around my neck.... Better," he said, rewarding the movement by tightening his arms around her and returning his mouth to hers, taking her soft pliant lips with tender insistence.

Like a finely planned crescendo, the kiss deepened slowly. She couldn't resist or think or breathe. There was no thought past the lips on hers, the heady flavor of his mouth, the sweep of his tongue, the feel of his body. As a dream—

Carl found it necessary to contain his surprise upon finding Victor and Jade locked in such an intimate embrace, kissing and God knows what else, oblivious to the world crumbling quickly around them. He cleared his throat and loudly said, "Do allow me to interrupt for a moment."

Victor broke from her and turned. "You make it sound as though we have a choice."

"I didn't mean to mislead you." Carl smiled. "I only meant to draw you attention to the fact that the carriage is waiting; there are worldly concerns to be attended to, to say nothing of the smaller trifles ..."

"I get your drift, Carl," Victor said, releasing Jade from his tight embrace. "I can only say, I found myself distracted."

Carl looked at Jade. "Obviously."

Darkness stretched over the city as the carriage made slow progress through the muddy streets. Jade listened to the banter between Victor and his two men riding alongside the vehicle. It was not a large distance between her house and his, but the streets were still flooded from the rain, and it was so much easier to maneuver with a horse.

She kept thinking of his kiss.

Her hand gently touched her lips, remembering the sweeping sensations and reliving the startling awakening of her own sensuality. She must be falling in love!

How else to explain this heady excitement, changing the amount of oxygen she needed in her lungs, changing the normal steady pace of her heart to fast, then slow, then fast again. It felt like being atop a wondrous winged stallion of fairy tales long ago told, a creature who gave wings to a flight of secret dreams, so that she now flew through life at a dizzying yet exhilarating pace.

The carriage stopped in front of the small cottage behind the convent grounds. "Wait here, sweetheart," Victor said after a quick glance around told him Mercedes and Sebastian had not arrived yet. He hoped that Sister and the new servant would be here soon, though he would keep two men outside her cottage door for a week or so.

"All right," he began to whisper so as not to be overheard by Jade. He did not want her frightened. "I want everyone in the surrounding cottages questioned. Someone had to have seen the

men who abducted her—this whole French section of the city is like a small town; everyone knows everyone's business ..."

Waiting in the carriage, Jade felt a growing uneasiness at the thought of entering her house again. Why? As if there was something there She couldn't quite put her finger on it. What could it be?

Hamlet! Was Hamlet still lying there? Victor never mentioned her dog, and in the rush of events, no one probably thought to bury poor Hamlet! She got out of the carriage and with an outstretched arm, she ran toward the cottage.

"Jade!" Victor called.

Victor's voice didn't stop her, and ignoring the scent that should have alerted her, she climbed the steps and pushed open the door. With tears filling her eyes, she dropped to her knees and cautiously began patting the surrounding area.

She moved forward and knocked into something hanging in the air. She gasped, jerked back, but it swung back and hit her in the face, smashing her hat and sending a pain through her. A timid hand reached into the air. She felt ... a nose and a mouth—

A body hung upside down.

A blinding white light burst in her head and she screamed with the explosion of unimaginable pain in her head, a seizure that claimed her consciousness.

The men raced into the house. Victor's arm shot up in a quick reflex, stopping the other two in their tracks. An old woman, undoubtedly Maydrian, hung upside down from the ceiling. In case the gruesome sight wasn't warning enough, her throat was slit and the mutilated body barely connected.