Deceit

by Fayrene Preston

  Liana pulled the tank top down to cover her nakedness, but she stayed where she was, too weakened by what had just happened to move. “What are you saying, Richard?”

  “I’m saying that I’ve been innoculated against you.” His mouth twisted cruelly. "I may be the only man in the world who is. I wonder if science would be interested in using my blood to make a vaccine against you.”

  Her stomach churned sickeningly. She closed her eyes, certain she was going to throw up.

  “What do you think. Liana? Should I volunteer my blood? I might even get the Nobel Prize.” Her unresponsiveness didn’t faze him. He felt driven, unable to stop the bitter, hateful words. “Another man might fall for the way you give yourself during lovemaking, but I'm in the unique position to know that you have no heart, no soul.” At a small sound of distress from her, he bent and pressed a hard kiss to her lips. “Don’t worry,” he whispered. “I’m not saying we won’t eventually go to bed together. There’s nothing wrong with the purely physical as long as it’s kept in perspective. Right?”

  After a moment, she felt his weight leave the cushion, then heard the retreat of his footsteps as he left the gazebo. Tears slipped from beneath her lashes and slid slowly down her cheek, and her only thought was that she’d been right about this gazebo. There was an incredible sadness here.

  Richard turned on the cold faucet and stepped into the etched glass shower stall. He didn’t flinch as the icy water hit him. He braced his arms against the tiled wall, welcoming the frigid temperature as it washed over his body, numbing his body and his mind. He stayed and he stayed, until, when he finally turned off the water, he was satisfied that he couldn’t feel a thing.

  Three

  Liana brushed her fingers across the brooch pinned to the bodice of her evening gown and wished herself anywhere but the dining room of SwanSea. She’d almost stayed in her room. After her encounter with Richard in the gazebo that afternoon, the last thing she had wanted to do was face a large group of people. Even now she could feel their curious stares, as harmful to her as physical blows.

  Jewellike flower lamps by Tiffany lighted the room. The long graceful leaves of potted palms stirred ever so slightly in the gentle currents of air. In the background, a string quartet played pleasantly, soothingly. Startling white linen tablecloths draped tables ladened with glistening silver, gleaming china, and sparkling crystal. Tall white candles added their golden flames to the elegant ambience, and bowls filled with velvet-petaled roses emitted a faint sweet scent.

  She had to get out of here.

  “Are you all right, Liana?”

  An unaccountable desperation was working in her, urging her to bolt from the table, and it was only her years of discipline that came to her rescue. Calmly she looked across the expanse of white linen at Sara, and not even the merciless eye of a camera lens could have detected the effort it cost her. “I’m fine, thank you.”

  “It’s my fault. I worked you too hard today,” Clay said, sitting in the chair to her right. “After that fall you took last night, I probably should have canceled today’s schedule. Jean-Paul will have my hide if he hears about this.”

  She reached over and patted his hand. “I’m getting tired of telling you people I’m fine. Just believe me. And about Jean-Paul, you know as well as I do how ruthless he can be when it comes to getting the pictures he wants. He would understand.”

  Clay’s mouth twisted wryly. “You’re right about him being ruthless—when it comes to his profession at any rate. Have some champagne. It will make you feel better.”

  In the hopes that he’d drop the subject of her well-being, she raised the fluted glass to her lips and let a small sip of the cool, bubbly wine slide down her throat. It felt good.

  “Champagne seems to fit SwanSea, doesn’t it?” asked Rosalyn, striking in a pale rose dress that grazed her ankles. “I mean the glamour of this place is incredible.”

  Steve shrugged his shoulders against the unaccustomed weight of a dinner jacket, then with a grimace ran a finger inside the buttoned collar of his white dress shirt. “This place is damned hard on your eyes, if you ask me.”

  “Hard on your eyes?” Rosalyn asked with disbelief. “Everywhere you look, there’s something fantastic. That sort of thing can damage your eyesight after a while.” Still squirming uncomfortably, he crossed his long, blue jean-clad legs beneath the table.

  Rosalyn laughed. “You can drop the jaded, world-weary act, Steve. I know better. I can’t believe how lucky we are to be at this opening. The house isn’t full yet, but by the night of the ball, I understand everyone who’s anyone in New York society will be here. Liana, have you picked up any information about the socialites who are coming?”

  Hearing her name, Liana pulled herself back from the distant place in her mind to which she’d retreated. She shouldn’t have been there anyway. Richard had been there, and it had been springtime in Paris. “I’m sorry, what did you say?”

  Sara, demure and lovely in a long, gold shirtwaist, used her champagne glass to gesture toward Rosalyn. “She’s been busy picking up gossip.” Rosalyn suddenly gasped with admiration. “Look, Liana. There’s that man who caught you last night when you fell.”

  She looked, not because she wanted to, but because Richard’s very presence demanded that she do so. He was standing in the arched doorway, self-assured and at ease, carrying on a casual conversation with an attractive younger woman who stood beside him. She saw his gaze idly sweep the room, then stop cold on her and narrow. Something sharp pierced her heart. The candlelight blurred, the music dimmed.

  “Who is he anyway?” Clay asked.

  “Richard Zagen,” she whispered. His mouth curved into a slow, hard smile, telling her he’d read her lips.

  Her fingers sought out the brooch, its familiar textures and shapes acting as a worry stone. Odd, she thought, how this inanimate object could comfort her. But she'd loved it from the first moment she’d seen it—an exquisite lily with carved ivory petals, topaz stamen, and gold and green enameled stem and leaves.

  “What a beautiful brooch. ”

  The sound of a friendly voice gave Liana strength to tear her gaze from Richard, and she turned her attention to Caitlin who had just come up to their table. “Thank you.”

  “You’re welcome.” Caitlin gave her a smile, then addressed the entire table. “How is everyone tonight? Are you all enjoying yourselves?” "Absolutely,” Rosalyn said. “We’ve never had more luxurious working conditions.”

  “Usually we’re on some atoll that isn’t even on the charts,” Steve mumbled, fidgeting in his chair.

  “And that’s in the dead of winter,” Rosalyn added. “If the weather’s cold, you can always find us on some beach. Tell me, is it true that the Trumps will be coming to the ball?”

  Liana heard Caitlin laugh, but her reply to Rosalyn somehow blended into a muted white sound. Richard was no longer at the door. Lord, where was he? She cast a surreptitious glance around the dining room. He was here somewhere. The surface of her skin felt too exposed, her soul too unprotected, for him not to be.

  Then she saw him seated at a comer table that gave him an unobstructed view of her. He was smiling at his dinner companion, and the woman seemed to be hanging on his every word. But much to Liana’s dismay, she found it didn’t matter that his attention was elsewhere. Richard didn’t have to look at her to affect her. His mere presence made her feel battered and bruised, as if she’d taken another fall down the great marble stairway.

  And it would have been much better for her if she had, she reflected. Instead she’d allowed herself to fall under Richard’s spell, to be carried away by his kisses and caresses, to forget their past. Any one of those things had the potential to be fatal, and she’d done all three.

  She should leave SwanSea. It would solve everything. She could fly to France and retreat for a while to her cottage. It would be so easy. She sighed, bringing herself to a mental halt. Unfortunately for her—at least in this instance—she w
as too disciplined, too professional, to leave an assignment.

  “That is a stunning gown, Liana,” Caitlin said. “Should I know the designer?”

  “What?” she asked dumbly, then quickly recovered. Her dress was a deceptively uncomplicated midnight blue dress of silk and chiffon. The sheer material draped from its right lower side upward to the top left of the bodice. From there, a single sheer panel swept over her shoulder and dropped down her back to the floor-length hem. “The dress is by a friend of mine, but he’s not well known yet.”

  “He will be soon though,” Sara said in her quiet voice. “And every dress of his Liana wears in public increases the odds of his success.”

  “I can see that it would,” Caitlin said thoughtfully. “You know, my sister-in-law, Angelica Di-Frenza, might be interested in his clothes for DiFrenza’s. She’ll be here for the ball. IH introduce you, and you can put them in touch.”

  “I’ll be glad to,” she murmured.

  It was a sense of self-preservation that made her check to see if Richard was still sitting in the same place as he’d been when she had looked the last time. But her need to safeguard herself disappeared as her gaze collided with his. The heat and the hatred of his expression lacerated her, opening wounds she had worked hard to keep closed. She reached for her champagne glass. “Did your friend design the brooch, too, Liana?”

  Liana took another cooling, sustaining drink before she answered Caitlin. “No, the brooch was a gift from another friend.”

  A frown of concentration knit Caitlin’s brow as she stared at the brooch. “I just wondered. The lily design seems so familiar. ”

  “I’m sure it does. It’s of the art nouveau period. ’’ “Do you know who the artist was?”

  “I was told it was Rene Lalique.”

  “Really? That’s very interesting. I just wish I knew why I think I’ve seen it before.”

  “Lalique must have used the lily as a theme many times, but with different variations.”

  “Yes, I guess you’re right.” Caitlin raised her head, and a smile suddenly lit her face. “Oh, how wonderful, my husband is finally here.”

  Everyone at the table followed her gaze toward the doorway and the handsome man with black hair and olive-toned skin.

  Caitlin waved at him and mouthed, I’ll be right there, to him. He nodded, and she turned back to the occupants of the table. “I wasn’t sure he was going to make it tonight. He and his partner have had to be in Boston all week.”

  “Is that his partner with him?” Sara asked, indicating the tail, lean, sandy-haired man standing with Nico DiFrenza, his hands stuffed casually into the pants of his western cut evening suit. “He looks interesting.”

  Caitlin laughed. “Women usually use the word fatal in reference to him. And yes, that’s Nico’s partner, Amarillo Smith.”

  “He’s wearing boots,” Rosalyn said with slight amazement.

  “Of course,” Caitlin said. “Well, they’re waiting for me. It was lovely talking with you. Enjoy your dinner.”

  Clay spoke for everyone. “Thank you, I’m sure we will.”

  “I wonder what she would have said if she’d seen my tennis shoes,” Steve said after Caitlin left.

  Rosalyn’s eyebrows rose. “Not to mention your jeans.”

  Liana watched with a pang of envy as Caitlin’s husband enfolded her in his arms and kissed her. “I’m sure she wouldn’t have said a thing.”

  “She did seem nice, didn’t she?” Sara said.

  Liana unconsciously sought out Richard. To her dismay, his attention was still focused on her. “Is there any more champagne?” she asked.

  Rosalyn tilted her head and stared at Liana. “I’ve never seen you drink on a photo shoot before.”

  Liana forced a smile. “But we’re at SwanSea, and as you said, it seems proper. ”

  “I agree,” Clay said, summoning a waiter.

  Dinner was almost over, but Liana couldn’t remember eating a thing. It seemed to her that Richard had watched every move she had made, every breath she had drawn.

  Several of the dining room doors that led out onto a large terrace were open. Occasionally she had seen the embroidered silk drapes billow as a breeze slid into the room. But even though no one else at the table seemed uncomfortable, she felt overly warm, disoriented, light-headed.

  Music and conversation blurred into a muted wall of noise and flowed over her without making an impression. She reached for her champagne glass and was surprised to find it empty.

  “Let me refill that for you,” Clay murmured, even while he was doing so.

  She drank without acknowledging his courtesy. Was it guilt over Richard that was making her so edgy, she wondered. Or was it the need that, unbidden, rose up in her every time she saw him? No. She stopped that train of thought in its tracks. She would acknowledge the guilt, but not the need.

  She’d lived with the guilt of her deceit for the past eleven years, and with the help of a strong system of defense mechanisms, she had survived.

  But this need—she had to forget about it. Even though there had been many times when she had awakened aching for him over the years, her desire had always been easily quenched by the hard, cold realization that she had been dreaming and he wasn’t there beside her and never would be again.

  But she wasn’t dreaming now. He was a short walk away from her, and she had learned this afternoon that she had no defense against him.

  “I have to get out of here,” she mumbled, pushing back the chair and struggling to her feet.

  Clay jerked around, startled. “Liana, what’s wrong?”

  Her hand shot out to the high back of the chair to steady herself. “Nothing. I just need some air.”

  "Would you like me to go with you?” Steve asked.

  Another time she might have smiled at his eagerness to leave the formality of the dining room. Another time she might have couched her rejection in a softer tone. But not this time, not with Richard staring at her from across the room. “No, I’d rather be alone.”

  Lights placed unobtrusively beneath shrubs and in grasses guided Liana along unfamiliar paths as she walked farther and farther from the house. She stumbled occasionally, but quickly regained her footing and kept going. She had no destination in mind. It was more a matter of going away from than to.

  She finally stopped when she reached the edge of the cliff. Here, the ocean’s roar was louder, the moon and stars brighter, the mood of the night blacker, more isolated. She drew a deep breath and felt herself sway.

  “Be careful!” a deep voice said from behind her. She turned quickly and almost fell. “Richard!” He grasped her arms to steady her. “You’re drunk.”

  What was the use of denying it? “The champagne was very good.” And you, she thought, were completely unnerving. “What are you doing out here?”

  “I followed you.”

  The idea that he had deliberately sought her out panicked her. Plus there were his fingers wrapped around her arms. She tried to break away from him, but his grip didn’t ease. “What about the woman you were having dinner with? You just left her?”

  He frowned as if he were having trouble comprehending her train of thought. “Margaret? She’s my administrative assistant. We had some business to discuss, but she’s back in her room working now.”

  She put a hand to her swimming head. “I thought you were here on vacation.”

  “I’ve never quite developed the knack of complete relaxation. Some people call me driven.” A private thought finned his mouth into a hard line. “Come away from the edge of the cliff, Liana. You might think it’s the answer, but in the end, you wouldn’t be happy with the way you looked smashed on the rocks below. ”

  The ground seemed to be rising and falling beneath her feet. Her mind was having trouble operating in the midst of such dizzying motion. Richard was the only thing around her at the moment that was steady and unchanging. She had the greatest urge to hold onto him for dear life, but their past made that
impossible. “What are you talking about?”

  “Nothing important,” he said, casually moving her back from the edge.

  His hand on her bare arm was causing internal damage she might not be able to repair. “I really need you to take your hand off me, Richard,” she said as clearly and as firmly as she could.

  His brows rose, but he released her, then adopted an indifferent tone. “So, when did you become an alcoholic?”

  The shock of the question nearly made her lose her balance. “What an incredible thing to say.” “Not so incredible when you consider how much you had to drink tonight.”

  “It was only champagne.”

  “I know, but I seem to remember that you never could drink much of it. One glass and you’d be light-headed. If I needed confirmation that you hadn't changed, I guess I have it.”

  “I guess you do,” she said dully. Moonlight slanted over his face, its silver light emphasizing the cold set of his expression. He represented a great menace to her, but she found she couldn’t look at him without wanting him. She turned away and fixed her gaze on the phosphorescent shimmer of the dark sea. “Why did you follow me?”

  “It’s easy to follow someone who looks like you do, Liana.”

  He moved closer, and then closer still, until she could feel the warmth of his hard body up and down her back, and a new type of intoxication invaded her bloodstream. She closed her eyes. “Go away, Richard.”

  He bent his head, put his mouth against her ear. “You know what else I remembered as I sat there and watched you tonight?”

  His breath was warm on the delicate shell of her ear. She no longer heard the ocean’s roar, only his voice, quiet and intimate. “I don’t want to know.”

  “But I want to tell you. It’s about that afternoon in Paris when we discovered another way to use champagne.”

  His words conjured up the day for her with clear, perfect recall. She swayed back against him, and he slid his arms around her waist. As a lover would do. Or as a man trying to set a trap for her.