by Nora Roberts
“It made the night last longer,” Laine replied, smiling at the affectionate scold.
“You liked the roast pig and poi?” Miri asked with a wise nod and a whisper of a smile.
“It was wonderful.”
With her lilting laugh floating through the room, Miri turned to leave. “I am going to the market. My nephew is here to see your bauble. Do you want him to wait?”
“Oh.” Forcing herself back down to earth, Laine ran her fingers through her hair. “I didn’t realize it was that late. I don’t want to inconvenience him. I … is anyone else at home?”
“No, they are gone.”
Glancing down at her robe, Laine decided it was adequate coverage. “Perhaps he could come up and look at it. I don’t want to keep him waiting.”
“He will give you a fair price,” Miri stated as she drifted through the doorway. “Or, you will tell me.”
Laine took the small box from her drawer and opened the lid. The locket glinted under a ray of sunshine. There were no pictures to remove but, nonetheless, she opened it and stared at its emptiness.
“Laine.”
Turning, she managed to smile at Tommy as he stood in the doorway. “Hello. It was good of you to come. Forgive me, I slept rather late this morning.”
“A compliment to the host of the luau.” He made a small, rather dapper bow as she approached him.
“It was my first, and I have no doubt it will remain my favorite.” Laine handed him the box, then gripped her hands together as he made his examination.
“It’s a nice piece,” he said at length. Lifting his eyes, Tommy studied her. “Laine, you don’t want to sell this—it’s written all over your face.”
“No.” She saw from his manner she need not hedge. “It’s necessary that I do.”
Detecting the firmness in her voice, Tommy shrugged and placed the locket back in its box. “I can give you a hundred for it, though I think it’s worth a great deal more to you.”
Laine nodded and closed the lid as he handed the box back to her. “That will be fine. Perhaps you’d take it now. I would rather you kept it.”
“If that’s what you want.” Tommy drew out his wallet and counted out bills. “I brought some cash. I thought you’d find it easier than a check.”
“Thank you.” After accepting the money, Laine stared down at it until he rested a hand on her shoulder.
“Laine, I’ve known Cap a long time. Would you take this as a loan?”
“No.” She shook her head, then smiled to ease the sharpness of the word. “No. It’s very kind of you, but I must do it this way.”
“Okay.” He took the offered box and pocketed it. “I will, however, hold this for a while in case you have second thoughts.”
“Thank you. Thank you for not asking questions.”
“I’ll see myself out.” He took her hand and gave it a small squeeze. “Just tell Miri to get in touch with me if you change your mind.”
“Yes, I will.”
After he had gone, Laine sat heavily on the bed and stared at the money she held clutched in her hand. There was nothing else I could do, she told herself. It was only a piece of metal. Now, it’s done, I can’t dwell on it.
“Well, Duchess, it seems you’ve had a profitable morning.”
Laine’s head snapped up. Dillon’s eyes were frosted like an ice-crusted lake, and she stared at him, unable to clear her thoughts. His gaze raked her scantily clad body, and she reached a hand to the throat of her robe in an automatic gesture. Moving toward her, he pulled the bills from her hand and dropped the money on the nightstand.
“You’ve got class, Duchess.” Dillon pinned her with his eyes. “I’d say that’s pretty good for a morning’s work.”
“What are you talking about?” Her thoughts were scattered as she searched for a way to avoid telling him about the locket.
“Oh, I think that’s clear enough. I guess I owe Orchid an apology.” He thrust his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels. The easy gesture belied the burning temper in his eyes. “When she told me about this little arrangement, I came down on her pretty hard. You’re a fast worker, Laine. You couldn’t have been with Tommy for more than ten minutes last night; you must have made quite a sales pitch.”
“I don’t know why you’re so angry,” she began, confused as to why the sale of her locket would bring on such fury. “I suppose Miss King listened to our conversation last night.” Suddenly, Laine remembered the quick rustle of leaves. “But why she should feel it necessary to report to you on my business …”
“How’d you manage to get rid of Miri while you conducted your little business transaction?” Dillon demanded. “She has a rather strict moral code, you know. If she finds out how you’re earning your pin money, she’s liable to toss you out on your ear.”
“What do you…” Realization dawned slowly. Not my locket, Laine thought dumbly, but myself. All trace of color fled from her face. “You don’t really believe that I …” Her voice broke as she read the condemnation in his eyes. “This is despicable of you, Dillon. Nothing you’ve accused me of, nothing you’ve said to me since we first met compares with this.” The words trembled with emotion as she felt a vicelike pressure around her heart. “I won’t be insulted this way by you.”
“Oh, won’t you?” Taking her arm, Dillon dragged Laine to her feet. “Have you a more plausible explanation up your sleeve for Tommy’s visit and the wad you’re fondling? Go ahead, run it by me. I’m listening.”
“Oh, yes, I can see you are. Forgive me for refusing, but Tommy’s visit and my money are my business. I owe you no explanation, Dillon. Your conclusions aren’t worthy of my words. The fact that you gave enough credence to whatever lie Orchid told you to come check on me, means we have nothing more to say to each other.”
“I didn’t come here to check on you.” He was towering menacingly over her, but Laine met his eyes without flinching. “I came by because I thought you’d want to go up again. You said you wanted to learn to fly, and I said I’d teach you. If you want an apology, all you have to do is give me a reasonable explanation.”
“I’ve spent enough time explaining myself to you. More than you deserve. Questions, always questions. Never trust.” Her eyes smoldered with blue fire. “I want you to leave my room. I want you to leave me alone for the rest of the time I have in my father’s house.”
“You had me going.” His fingers tightened on her arms, and she caught her breath at the pressure. “I bought it all. The big, innocent eyes, the virginal frailty, the pictures you painted of a woman looking for her father’s affection and nothing else. Trust?” he flung back at her. “You’d taken me to the point where I trusted you more than myself. You knew I wanted you, and you worked on me. All those trembles and melting bones and artless looks. You played it perfectly, right down to the blushes.” He pulled her against him, nearly lifting her off her feet.
“Dillon, you’re hurting me.” She faltered.
“I wanted you,” he went on, as if she had not spoken. “Last night I was aching for you, but I treated you with a restraint and respect I’ve never shown another woman. You slip on that innocent aura that drives a man crazy. You shouldn’t have used it on me, Duchess.”
Terror shivered along her skin. Her breath was rapid and aching in her lungs.
“Game’s over. I’m going to collect.” He silenced her protest with a hard, punishing kiss. Though she struggled against his imprisoning arms, she made no more ripple than a leaf battling a whirlpool. The room tilted, and she was crushed beneath him on the mattress. She fought against the intimacy as his mouth and hands bruised her. He was claiming her in fury, disposing of the barrier of her robe and possessing her flesh with angry demand.
Slowly, his movements altered in texture. Punishment became seduction as his hands began to caress rather than bruise. His mouth left hers to trail down her throat. With a sob ending on a moan, Laine surrendered. Her body became pliant under his, her will snapping wit
h the weight of sensations never tasted. Tears gathered, but she made no more effort to halt them than she did the man who urged them from her soul.
All movement stopped abruptly, and Dillon lay still. The room was thrown into a tortured silence, broken only by the sound of quick breathing. Lifting his head, Dillon studied the journey of a tear down Laine’s cheek. He swore with sudden eloquence, then rose. He tugged a hand through his hair as he turned his back on her.
“This is the first time I’ve been driven to nearly forcing myself on a woman.” His voice was low and harsh as he swung around and stared at her. Laine lay still, emotionally drained. She made no effort to cover herself, but merely stared up at him with the eyes of a wounded child. “I can’t deal with what you do to me, Laine.”
Turning on his heel, he strode from the room. Laine thought the slamming of her door the loneliest sound she had ever heard.
Chapter Twelve
It was raining on the new spring grass. From her dormitory window Laine watched the green brighten with its morning bath. Outside her door, she heard girls trooping down the hall toward breakfast, but she did not smile at their gay chattering in French and English. She found smiles still difficult.
It had not yet been two weeks since Miri had met Laine’s packed cases with a frown and drawn brows. She had met Laine’s sketchy explanations with crossed arms and further questions. Laine had remained firm, refusing to postpone her departure or to give specific answers. The note she had left for her father had contained no more details, only an apology for her abrupt leave-taking and a promise to write once she had settled back in France. As of yet, Laine had not found the courage to put pen to paper.
Memories of her last moments with Dillon continued to haunt her. She could still smell the perfume of island blossoms, still feel the warm, moist air rise from the sea to move over her skin. Watching the moon wane, she could remember its lush fullness over the heads of palms. She had hoped her memories would fade with time. She reminded herself that Kauai and its promises were behind her.
It’s better this way, she told herself, picking up her brush and preparing herself for the day’s work. Better for everyone. Her father was settled in his life and would be content to exchange occasional letters. One day, perhaps, he would visit her. Laine knew she could never go back. She, too, had her own life, a job, the comfort of familiar surroundings. Here, she knew what was expected of her. Her existence would be tranquil and unmarred by storms of emotions. She closed her eyes on Dillon’s image.
It’s too soon, she told herself. Too soon to test her ability to think of him without pain. Later, when the memory had dulled, she would open the door. When she allowed herself to think of him again, it would be to remember the beauty.
It was easier to forget if she followed a routine. Laine scheduled each day to allow for a minimum of idle time. Classes claimed her mornings and early afternoons, and she spent the remainder of her days with chores designed to keep her mind and hands busy.
Throughout the day, the rain continued. With a musical plop, the inevitable leak dripped into the basin on Laine’s classroom floor. The school building was old and rambling. Repairs were always either just completed, slated to be done or in vague consideration for the future. The windows were shut against the damp, but the gloom crept into the room. The students were languid and inattentive. Her final class of the day was made up of English girls just entering adolescence. They were thoroughly bored by their hour lesson on French grammar. As it was Saturday, there was only a half day of classes, but the hours dragged. Hugging her navy blazer closer, Laine reflected that the afternoon would be better employed with a good book and a cheerful fire than by conjugating verbs in a rain-dreary classroom.
“Eloise,” Laine said, recalling her duty. “One must postpone naps until after class.”
The girl’s eyes blinked open. She gave a groggy, self-conscious smile as her classmates giggled. “Yes, Mademoiselle Simmons.”
Laine bit back a sigh. “You will have your freedom in ten minutes,” she reminded them as she perched on the edge of her desk. “If you have forgotten, it is Saturday. Sunday follows.”
This information brought murmurs of approval and a few straightened shoulders. Seeing she had at least momentarily captured their attention, Laine went on. “Maintenant, the verb chanter. To sing. Attendez, ensuite répétez. Je chante, tu chantes, il chante, nous chantons, vous … ” Her voice faded as she saw the man leaning against the open door in the rear of the classroom.
“Vous chantez.”
Laine forced her attention back to young Eloise. “Oui, vous chantez, et ils chantent. Répétez.”
Obediently, the music of high girlish voices repeated the lesson. Laine retreated behind her desk while Dillon stood calmly and watched. As the voices faded into silence, Laine wracked her brain for the assignment she had planned.
“Bien. You will write, for Monday, sentences using this verb in all its forms. Eloise, we will not consider ‘Il chante’ an imaginative sentence.”
“Yes, Mademoiselle Simmons.”
The bell rang signaling the end of class.
“You will not run,” she called over the furious clatter of shuffling desks and scurrying feet. Gripping her hands in her lap, Laine prepared herself for the encounter.
She watched the girls giggle and whisper as they passed by Dillon, and saw, as her heart spun circles, his familiar, easy grin. Crossing the room with his long stride, he stood before her.
“Hello, Dillon.” She spoke quickly to cover her confusion. “You seem to have quite an effect on my students.”
He studied her face in silence as she fought to keep her smile in place. The flood of emotion threatened to drown her.
“You haven’t changed,” he said at length. “I don’t know why I was afraid you would.” Reaching in his pocket, he pulled out the locket and placed it on her desk. Unable to speak, Laine stared at it. As her eyes filled, her hand closed convulsively over the gold heart. “Not a very eloquent apology, but I haven’t had a lot of practice. For pity’s sake, Laine.” His tone shifted into anger so quickly, she lifted her head in shock. “If you needed money, why didn’t you tell me?”
“And confirm your opinion of my character?” she retorted.
Turning away, Dillon moved to a window and looked into the insistent mist of rain. “I had that one coming,” he murmured, then rested his hands on the sill and lapsed into silence.
She was moved by the flicker of pain that had crossed his face. “There’s no purpose in recriminations now, Dillon. It’s best to leave all that in the past.” Rising, she kept the desk between them. “I’m very grateful to you for taking the time and the trouble to return my locket. It’s more important to me than I can tell you. I don’t know when I’ll be able to pay you. I …”
Dillon whirled, and Laine stepped away from the fury on his face. She watched him struggle for control. “No, don’t say anything, just give me a minute.” His hands retreated to his pockets. For several long moments, he paced the room. Gradually, his movements grew calmer. “The roof leaks,” he said idly.
“Only when it rains.”
He gave a short laugh and turned back to her. “Maybe it doesn’t mean much, but I’m sorry. No.” He shook his head to ward her off as she began to answer. “Don’t be so blasted generous. It’ll only make me feel more guilty.” He started to light a cigarette, remembered where he was and let out a long breath. “After my exhibition of stupidity, I went up for a while. I find that I think more clearly a few thousand feet off the ground. You might find this hard to believe, and I suppose it’s even more ridiculous to expect you to forgive me, but I did manage to get a grip on reality. I didn’t even believe the things I was saying to you when I was saying them.” He rubbed his hands over his face, and Laine noticed for the first time that he looked tired and drawn. “I only know that I went a little crazy from the first minute I saw you.
“I went back to the house with the intention of offering a ser
ies of inadequate apologies. I tried to rationalize that all the accusations I tossed at you about Cap were made for his sake.” He shook his head, and a faint smile touched his mouth. “It didn’t help.”
“Dillon …”
“Laine, don’t interrupt. I haven’t the patience as it is.” He paced again, and she stood silent. “I’m not very good at this, so just don’t say anything until I’m finished.” Restless, he continued to roam around the room as he spoke. “When I got back, Miri was waiting for me. I couldn’t get anything out of her at first but a detailed lecture on my character. Finally, she told me you’d gone. I didn’t take that news very well, but it’s no use going into that now. After a lot of glaring and ancient curses, she told me about the locket. I had to swear a blood oath not to tell Cap. It seems you had her word on that. I’ve been in France for ten days trying to find you.” Turning back, he gestured in frustration. “Ten days,” he repeated as if it were a lifetime. “It wasn’t until this morning that I traced the maid who worked for your mother. She was very expansive once I settled her into broken English. I got an earful about debts and auctions and the little mademoiselle who stayed in school over Christmas vacations while Madame went to Saint Moritz. She gave me the name of your school.” Dillon paused. For a moment there was only the sound of water dripping from the ceiling into the basin. “There’s nothing you can say to me that I haven’t already said to myself, in more graphic terms. But I figured you should have the chance.”
Seeing he was finished, Laine drew a deep breath and prepared to speak. “Dillon, I’ve thought carefully on how my position would have looked to you. You knew only one side, and your heart was with my father. I find it difficult, when I’m calm, to resent that loyalty or your protection of his welfare. As for what happened on the last morning—” Laine swallowed, striving to keep her voice composed. “I think it was as difficult for you as it was for me, perhaps more difficult.”
“You’d make it a whole lot easier on my conscience if you’d yell or toss a few things at me.”
