by Margaret Way
Shadows flitted across her face. “Well, what about you?”
“Crush?” he scoffed, drawing back a little to gaze into her lustrous dark eyes. “More a full-blown passion, wouldn’t you say?” The shadow on her lids, he saw, matched the colour of her delicately seductive dress. Her mouth was so beautiful and soft, a deep but harmonising pink. Did she know what a picture she made?
“I’m not talking about me!” There was a definite sparkle in her eyes.
He lowered his head, his cheek pressed against hers. Then he gave a little groan into her ear. “If you start talking about Sally giving way to a mad urge to kiss me I think I’ll lose it.”
“You appear totally in control.” She resisted the urge to throw both arms around his neck à la Sally. “I did see you try to pull away, though. Well, maybe a bare inch.”
“Zara, my love, please don’t let’s talk about Sally,” he begged. “I feel truly sorry for her. This is supposed to be a festive occasion.”
“And so it is,” she returned, light and fire still in her eyes. “Dare I mention you’ve never felt truly sorry for me?” She threw back her head so she could look him full in the face. Her expression said it all without need for words. It was true. He had been very hard on her and they both had to contend with the fact that it was still eating away at her.
“I’m human.” He shrugged a wide shoulder. Wide shoulders made a dinner jacket hang divinely. “Humans make mistakes. Besides, you don’t feel sorry for runaway women,” he gently mocked. “Did I tell you how beautiful you look tonight?”
She had him back. Was she going to drive him away again? “You did, a number of times,” she relented, bestowing on him her sweetest smile. “But don’t worry. I won’t tire of hearing it.”
“My first and my only great obsession,” he murmured, his blue eyes aglitter. All around them, couples were dancing, slowly, sinuously to a familiar romantic ballad. There was no sign of Sally or her husband. Zara hoped fervently they would make up. Sally had embarked on marriage, from all accounts, to a fine young man. Surely she had to give it, at the very least, her best shot.
Eventually the music stopped and Garrick smiled into her face, noting her magnolia skin was showing the flush of intense sexual awareness. He imagined there was colour under his own skin. Heat! “Dancing is what tonight is all about, agreed?”
“Agreed.” She laughed, a happy sound.
“So why don’t we show ’em how to do it?” he suggested. “We were great in the old days.”
“Weren’t we ever!” She snapped to attention. “So what’s it going to be?”
Garrick, his head slightly turned, was getting ready to signal the band. “A tango. Are you up for it?”
She grasped his arm, assuming a serious yet passionate expression. “Get real! We’re talking about my favourite.”
He laughed aloud. “Okay, let’s show them how to do the dance of love!”
Across the Great Hall, half shielded by the luxuriant fronds of an enormous golden cane, Sally Draper watched the performance, a fevered shine to her hazel eyes. Longing she had thought buried deep inside her had broken free, gushing like a fountain for all to see. That public kiss had been a terrible mistake but her emotions had become too fierce to restrain. She loved Garrick Rylance. She had loved him for most of her life. Her parents had held high hopes for a union of the two great pastoral families. They had been thrilled out of their minds when the engagement was announced, although she knew in her heart that not only Garrick’s parents had had some reservations. So had her own father.
“The cousin—the Rylance girl—what was that all about?” he had asked, his brow knotted in concern.
“It’s over, Dad. Long over. Garrick has moved on. Be happy for me.”
She shouldn’t have come this weekend. Nick had been committed to play but she could have made some excuse. She had made a fool of herself and a fool of Nick, her husband. For once, he was very angry with her. He hadn’t seen that kiss as a joke.
“Goddamn it, Sal; you’re still in love with him?”
“Nonsense! The kiss was nothing!”
“Didn’t look like that to me. Or anyone else. What you did was insane. I don’t want to hurt you, Sal, but Rick isn’t in love with you. He never was. He’s crazy about that cousin of his. I thought you would have known that when you and your whole family went after him.” She had gone after him. No two ways about it. There was pressure on Garrick to get married and have children. Hopefully, a male heir first up. She had believed she could make him love her. How pathetic, how futile was that? No one could love to order any more than they could cease loving someone they couldn’t have.
But that Zara was a callous, cold-hearted vixen who liked to collect men’s hearts. She was the quintessential siren. Just look at her now, showing her true colours. The tango wasn’t a dance she approved of at all. Way too familiar and the movements—all that footwork—far too difficult. She disliked the flamboyant head snaps. She particularly disliked the overly close body contact. It was as good as a passionate embrace.
The guitarist was really going to town, his defining moment when the piano and the double bass joined in, their faces aglow with enjoyment. She knew Garrick was a skilled natural dancer. He had made several trips to Argentina over the years—polo matches, business combining pleasure. She knew he loved it there, the people, the country. Probably that was where he had learned those extravagant steps. He wasn’t in the least inhibited as Nick was. Nick disliked showing off. Not that Garrick was showing off precisely. He was enjoying himself hugely. Where had she learned her steps? Garrick leading, her following as though they had spent many hours practising. She could never have danced the tango herself. Its main characteristic appeared to be an overt invitation to sex. Everyone else had stopped dancing so they could watch this very provocative performance. Obviously they found it exciting. To her it was hell! She couldn’t wait for the dance to finish.
And soon it was, ending in a very theatrical drop with Garrick holding that woman, her long legs outstretched, torso and head arched right back. Pity he didn’t let her come a cropper, hit the ground. Hard. No such luck. Applause broke out. Wave upon wave of it.
In case some curious eyes were on her, to judge her reaction, Sally allowed herself to bring her hands together. Briefly. She wanted to run out with a card bearing a great big zero.
Damn them both to hell!
At that moment Sally turned her head. And met her husband’s eyes.
Sure enough, the party went on and on. Everyone was having a glorious time. And that tango! How about that? The highlight of the ball. Not long after Garrick and Zara had dazzled them, any number of couples began to have a go; admittedly not all that well but it was tons of fun. Especially the up close and personal. Sally watched on in disgust at the antics. No drinker, Sally got seriously stroppy after a glass of champagne. At this point she’d lost count. Who was counting anyway? Certainly not her.
Her husband was. Wearing an expression that was frankly pleading, he put a hand on his wife’s slim, strong arm. “Don’t you think you’ve had enough, Sal?” he questioned very gently.
“Enough?” She swung on him, showing yet another side of her personality. The determined to-hell-with-it side that won her big cross-country endurance races. “You’re such a pain in the ass, Nick.”
“Hey!” Nick, deeply offended, tried to remain calm. “I thought I was the guy you married? Why don’t you come quietly, Sal? You have such a fine reputation. Don’t want to spoil it. I saw Mrs Rylance eyeing you a bit anxiously.”
“Uppity old cow!” Sally growled. “Guess what? She never did like me.”
Nick was shocked. “She did too. Mrs Rylance is none of those things. She’s a splendid woman and still a beauty. She’s concerned for you, that’s all.”
“Go hang yourself, Nick,” Sally said, further shocking her husband.
“Who’d want you then?” surprisingly he retaliated.
“I beg your pardon!”
Sally made a swipe at him, hitting him hard in the chest. She was oblivious to the flurry of talk that burst out around them. Nick was a very popular young man. Far more popular than his wife.
“So you’re going to make a show of us both, are you?” Nick asked, trying desperately to remain cool.
“No need.” Sally reached out to pat him on his black jacketed shoulder. “Why don’t you just clear off?”
He shook his head firmly. “You’re my wife. Come quietly, Sally. There’s a good girl.”
“Yeah, yeah, that’s all I’ve ever been!” Sally said in a sadly off-key voice. “A good girl. Men don’t give a rats about good girls. They want the femme fatales of this world. They’re the ones they’re mad to bed. Like Zara Rylance.”
Nick’s expression changed to one of shame and anger. “Enough!” he said sharply. “Rick is coming this way. He says the word and you’re out of here. We’re both out of here. I’ve been friends with Rick all my life. We went to school and university together.”
“Buddies, right!” Sally spluttered with rage. She had worked herself into a fine tantrum. “Is that his precious Zara coming with him?”
“For God’s sake, control yourself, Sally,” Nick said desperately. “You hear what I’m saying?”
“Give her a good wallop,” an inebriated young man suggested helpfully from close by.
“Yeah, like he should try it!” Sally’s expression spoke volumes. Bring it on.
That expression changed remarkably as Garrick reached them, with Zara following a short distance behind. A very sensitive woman, Zara was suffering on Sally’s behalf.
“Why don’t we all go out and get a breath of fresh air?” Garrick suggested in a quiet but unmistakably authoritative voice. “It’s getting a bit overheated in here.”
Sally gave him a huge smile. She had beautiful white teeth. “Good idea. We don’t need the other two.”
“No. We’ll all go out,” Garrick said. “There are going to be a lot of sore heads by daylight,” he observed.
“I don’t want her,” Sally muttered. “She can get the hell away.”
Zara took a quick look at Garrick’s face. He had already remarked that his friend Nick had better get control of his wife. Now his expression was set in granite. “You know, Sal, you used to be real big on manners. Seems you’ve lost them.”
Sally flushed a violent red but she didn’t answer. Instead, she twirled, picked up her unfinished glass of champagne, then hurled the contents over Zara and her exquisite dress. “Everything about you screams trouble!” she cried, stunning the onlookers.
“Oh, God!” said Nick.
“Get on the other side of her, Nick,” Garrick told his friend forcibly. “Now!”
“I’m so sorry…so sorry!” The mortified Nick jumped to attention.
Helen, who had witnessed the incident, moved swiftly across the Hall to Zara’s side. “Dear…oh, dear…oh, dear,” she said, staring at Zara’s beautiful evening dress, which was soaked in places. “What can we do?” she cried, clearly distressed. “Leave well alone? Have it dry-cleaned? Zara, my dear!”
Sally let out a laugh as if she was having fun. “She had it coming. Big time.”
“You’re a disgrace, Sally. No other word for it,” Helen flashed back, brilliant blue eyes alight.
“Leave it, Ellie,” Garrick said, catching Zara’s shocked eyes. “I’ll be back, Zara. Just give me a moment.”
“What kind of a fool are you, Garrick?” Sally raged as she was being carried off like a wayward child. “Can’t you see she’s set to break your heart all over again?”
For a moment Garrick had no idea where this was going, he was so angry. “Shut it, Sal,” he barked curtly, his whole demeanour radiating a possible instant reprisal.
Drunk or not, Sally was no fool. She did.
CHAPTER SEVEN
“LET me come up to your room with you,” Helen said with a concerned look at Zara’s pale face. She was quite composed, taking the distressing incident in her stride, but that magnolia skin was whiter than white. Mercifully, her irreplaceable evening dress was already drying out, with little damage apparent. Zara could be depended upon to act like the lady she was. There was now a big question mark hanging over Sally Draper.
Zara put out her hand, more upset for Helen, who was mistress of Coorango and hostess for this Gala weekend, than herself. “Don’t let this get to you, Helen,” she said, rubbing Helen’s arm. “Sally was drunk. She probably won’t remember anything about it in the morning.”
“She mightn’t. I will,” Helen retorted, putting her own hand over Zara’s. “How dare she? Like a bomb going off. Unforgivable. She’s brought disgrace on her family. The Forbes are proud, very decent people.”
“As Sally has been up to date,” Zara pointed out.
Helen threw up her hands. “Considering how she behaved, you’re very forgiving, Zara.”
“Truth is, I feel for her.” Zara was quite sincere. She understood Sally’s big problem. “Sally loves Garrick. She married Nick. Just imagine what that’s like, Helen! She really shouldn’t have come this weekend, feeling the way she does.”
“She won’t come to another,” said Helen, not nearly so forgiving. “I’ve never noticed before, but Sally has a manic side. If she’s not careful, she’s going to bring her marriage down on her head.”
“I hope not. But it could happen. I suppose at the end of the day one can’t waste one’s life. Look, Helen, you were about to go off to bed. It’s been a very long day but a marvellous success. We can’t let one incident spoil it.”
“Indeed no,” Helen agreed, lost in admiration for Zara’s forbearance. “I noticed a few of the guests were actually enjoying the action. Young Angus McKellar, for one. What was he hoping for, a fist fight? I thank God Daniel missed it. He would have given Sally a piece of his mind.”
“I think she was too far gone to take anything in,” Zara pointed out wryly. “Nick shouldn’t have spent so much time away from her. He must be aware she’s no drinker.”
“I have to say, in all these long years I’ve never seen her like that,” Helen conceded.
“Unhappiness can do it,” said Zara, well acquainted with that state of mind. “Unhappiness is driving her a little crazy. Nick should take her on a long holiday. He has to be hurting too.”
“Of course he is,” Helen agreed vigorously, highly disgusted with Sally. “You’re sure you’re all right, Zara?”
“I’m fine, Helen. Truly. As they say, worse things happen at sea.”
Helen gave her a beaming smile of approval. “Sally is lucky. She might have got pushed over the side. I don’t like to leave Daniel for long stretches.”
“I know that.” Zara felt a flow of sympathy. Helen, with all her worries, hardly needed Sally Draper to spoil Coorango’s big weekend.
“Garrick will be back shortly,” Helen said with relief. “Poor old Nick needs to get a whole lot tougher.”
Zara’s answer was very dry. “Garrick is tough enough for both of them.”
And then some.
She heard the tap on her door. Didn’t answer it. She knew Nick couldn’t handle the situation without Garrick’s assistance. Even so, it hit home that Garrick had taken over-long to check on her. She had come to believe she was the woman he loved. Maybe insult and upset had made her a little irrational, but looking after Sally appeared to have been his number one priority. One had to wonder about that.
What else could he have done? I mean, seriously, now?
Her inner voice struggled to make itself heard.
She had taken off her dress, hung it on a padded hanger in the en suite bathroom. Incredibly, it was unmarked and she had given it a very close inspection. She loved that dress.
Not getting a response, Garrick half opened the door, putting his handsome dark head around it. “Zara?”
“Oh, you’re back!” she carolled, turning to face him. “Do come in and join me.” She was fully aware that she was being propelled alo
ng by a free-ranging temper that was flaring inside her but unable to do much about it. Such was the female tendency towards perversity. “But please don’t ask me how I am,” she said sweetly. “Sally’s needs are more pressing than mine.”
Garrick closed the door. “You got that right!” he groaned. The light from the lovely Murano glass chandelier glanced off his clean, high chiselled cheekbones. His expression was taut with multiple upsets. “Like poor old Nick was going to save the situation?” he challenged, his eyes sweeping over her. She was wearing only a nightgown that, if possible, was more beautiful than the last one he had seen. Sexy nightgowns were a real turn-on, even if they didn’t stay on for long. The light was shining through the silky ice-blue fabric, revealing the tantalising silhouette of her supple naked body beneath. Her wonderful mane of hair, dressed for the ball, now sprang wildly and in disarray all around her face and down her back. She didn’t look quite like herself. Hostile was the wrong word, he thought. Aggressive, maybe? Zara, aggressive? His forever cool, calm Zara—aggressive?
Of course she was.
“But you did,” she said to prove it, her great dark eyes pools of light. “I’m okay, as it happens. I won’t put you through more trauma. Not for me to complain. My dress is fine.”
He tried a conciliatory smile. “I’m glad to hear it. I loved it. The nightgown is terrific too. I can as good as see right through it. But be fair, Zara, my angel. What would you have had me do? Sally was like a hand grenade primed to go off. She had to be deactivated. And fast.” He gave another groan, deeper this time. “I actually had to give her a shake to stop her ranting.”
“Now that must have felt awful!” she cried with extravagant sympathy.
“On the contrary—it felt good. She was almost entirely off her head. The shake made her settle.”
