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 b
leak 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.
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.
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