“Rox, I don’t want to fly.” She made her voice sound slightly plaintive.
A pause. “What, did you want to drive up? Really, Cap, it would be much easier to just get that flight out of Richmond, and much quicker too.”
“Yes, you’re right of course,” she replied immediately.
The satisfaction was evident in the other girl’s voice. “So shall I book two flights on Friday for us?”
Flying would be much easier, but it would also leave them trapped for the entire weekend without independent transportation, and she said slowly, “No, I don’t think so. Thanks anyway.”
Swift alarm now in Roxanne’s voice. “What do you mean? You haven’t changed your mind about going, have you?”
Caprice smiled at the hall stairs, where she happened to be staring. “You go ahead and book a flight for yourself,” she replied understandingly. “I believe I’m going to drive.”
Friday dawned bright and clear. She had her suitcase already packed, so, after dressing in khaki shorts and a rich cream, sleeveless shirt, it was a simple matter of running downstairs to sit down at the light breakfast Liz prepared for her, and then throwing her suitcase in the back of the Porsche. The day was already quite hot, so she took out the sunroof before leaving the driveway, and about fifteen minutes later she was pulling up at her friend’s house and leaning on her horn. For a few moments the front door didn’t budge an inch, and then it exploded open with the force of Roxanne’s exuberant exit. The brunette skipped down the steps lightly, suitcase in hand, and was in obviously better spirits than she had been when Caprice had last talked with her.
“I decided to forgive you,” said Roxanne with a puff, as she tossed her suitcase along with Caprice’s.
“That’s very generous of you. Get in. Forgive me for what, though? I think I’ve forgotten.”
“For driving, idiot. You knew I wouldn’t fly without you.” Roxanne climbed in and ran a covetous hand over the passenger seat. The brunette had been frankly envious of Caprice’s car ever since her father had given it to her for her twenty-first birthday.
“Yes, well, it’s a lovely day, and we’re going to have a marvelous time,” said Caprice a bit absently as she backed out of the driveway. “I hope you didn’t forget the map?”
“Of course not.” Roxanne patted her handbag complacently. “It’s right here, never fear.”
“That’s good,” Caprice replied cheerfully as she pressed down the accelerator and the car gained speed. Hot wind whipped through her hair. “I hope you can read it. I never could make sense out of a map.”
Later that day, Caprice looked out of her bedroom window at the lush, wooded greenery that surrounded the Langstons’ large house. Lodge was scarcely the word for it; it was nearly as big as her own family’s house, and this was used only for holidays. She shook her head. Her family was what one might call rich, but this was a totally different meaning to the word.
She and Roxanne did have a lovely drive north, arriving with sunny spirits, a bit of glow on their noses and arms from the open sunroof, and windblown hair. They found Jeffrey’s parents in residence, along with several of the weekend guests who had already arrived, so the house was lively, with the promise of a party and dancing later in the evening. She took one more look around the room she’d been given, a lovely one, though quite small. That didn’t matter to her in the slightest, for she was simply thankful she didn’t have to team up with one of the other girls.
Roxanne was located across the hall from her, so, after she had brushed her silver-gilt hair into some semblance of order, she strolled across and rapped on the door.
Rox’s voice called out for whoever it was to enter, and Caprice stuck her head around the edge of the door. “I’m ready to go back down,” she said. “Are you?”
The brunette was touching up her makeup and peering at herself closely. “How do I look?” she asked through stiff lips as she ran her lipstick over them. “No. Don’t answer that. I don’t think I want to know. Yes. I’m ready if you are.”
Caprice’s laughter pealed merrily down the halls. “Quit acting like a martyr!” she exclaimed. “Come on. We’re here to enjoy ourselves, right?”
And she led the way down the stairs, lightly skipping. When they reached the large living room, they ran smack into Jeffrey, a handsome, dark fellow, who laughingly caught at Caprice’s arms to keep her from being bowled over. “There you two are!” he said, still laughing. “I was just coming to get you.”
Some of the people she knew, and some she didn’t. As she set about getting to know each of them without delay, there was soon a slight but definite gravitational shift in the room. One by one the young men wandered over, lured by Caprice’s flashing, laughing eyes and light voice. With four men and four women, ages from early twenties to about twenty-five or -six, there was obviously supposed to be some pairing, but that seemed to be upset at once.
Perhaps the reason why the other three women didn’t get extremely annoyed with Caprice was because she never did quite give any one man too much attention. She flitted from person to person, watchful of the atmosphere under her careless facade, and talked with as much enthusiasm to each of the young women as she did with the men, so that soon everyone was jabbering quite comfortably with everyone else, and nobody was exactly sure how it came about. Besides Jeffrey, there was another dark, slim man named Lane Randall. Then she knew the blond, rather stocky, good-natured man named Emory, and a redhead named Ralph. Of the women, Caprice was the only blonde, the others being varying shades of brunette, and one woman, Petra, being particularly ravishing. Both Caprice and Roxanne knew the other, Gwynne, and for that reason Caprice tried to go out of her way to be especially nice to Petra.
Dinner came and went, an informal affair consisting of cold meats and salads, and the talk was very general. Jeffrey’s parents were lovely people who made themselves as unobtrusive as possible, with the kind of tact that Caprice silently appreciated. Afterward, everyone made a general exodus to their rooms to change for the party, which started at eight. Several local people had been invited, and it was to be quite large.
The house was located at the shoreline of a deep, large, sky-blue lake, and Caprice hoped that the party would spill outdoors so that they could take advantage of the cooling night breeze. She held two dresses in her hands, one a simple, light, lavender affair, and the other also made of a light summer material but not at all simple, being a frothy white confection and nearly (as Ricky had said) good enough to eat. She dithered over which to wear, and then laughed at herself, for she would have to wear the other the next night anyway, and so she laid down the white confection and put away the lavender.
Fifteen minutes later, she whirled in a circle and the skirt flared from her wasp-slim waist, three layers of transparent tulle falling to settle against her knees. She patted her hair, which was arranged in her best French braid, and then with a small, satisfied smile she descended the stairs just in time to meet the first wave of guests.
The evening went splendidly. Jeffrey did not pay too much attention to Caprice, so Roxanne didn’t feel slighted. The back garden was, much to Caprice’s delight, lit with low-hanging, yellowish lanterns that were reflected off the blackened waters of the lake until it looked like the whole scene held a countless array of lights. The breeze blew cool and refreshing, and the talking, laughing guests spilled from large, open glass doors that led to a roofless veranda. After some time, music was played over stereo speakers positioned so that the songs filled the open area.
Caprice took a position next to the soft-lapping water, leaning against the sturdy, waist-high wooden rail as she watched the dancing. Just to her left was a pier of the same sturdy wood as the rail, red stained, and several small boats were moored to it, quietly bumping against each other. Soon she was joined by others, and the small group held a confusion of witty, enjoyable talk.
She had danced with every male weekend guest, and Jeffrey also, and then she had danced with almost every
other man besides, laughingly, stepping as light as the breeze that touched at her warm cheeks. To one side was a table holding beer for those who cared for it, wine, which was more to her own taste, and an array of soft and mixed drinks. For some reason the dancing had trickled down to just a few. She leaned back against the rail, sipped at her glass of wine and listened to the talk around her.
She could never say why the impulse grabbed her, later. But it came as they always came, on a fit of quick-welling, inexplicable boredom, incomprehensible to her and so never talked about. She knew the impulses were why other people thought she was whimsical and flighty, but she couldn’t seem to curb them.
She set her glass down with a sharp click onto the flat, wide top of the wooden rail and pushed herself away from it. Then she drew herself to attention and politely, ludicrously addressed the empty air in front of her. “Dear sir, would you care to dance with me?”
A neat sidestep and she was the gentleman, responding as courteously to the inviting lady, “Why yes, madam, I would be delighted.”
She moved back to the role of the lady. “Thank you, sir. I am much obliged.” Her arms curved up gracefully, holding her invisible partner. He would be blond, she thought, fleetingly fanciful. Tall, blond and utterly gorgeous. Polite. Passionate. Perfect.
At first there had been a blank silence from everyone, and then a few of the men made as if they would laughingly partner her, but she was already stepping into an old-fashioned ballroom waltz, swinging wide, sweeping graceful and swirling, making her white dress billow from her waist in the night wind. The breeze feathered at the light, silvery, loose hair at her temples, and the lighting from the open glass doors spilled over her, at one moment making her a slim silhouette, at another highlighting her perfectly. Her slim neck rose from her white shoulders with the slight curve of a swan’s, and she was distinctly seen to be talking away to her invisible partner. Everyone from the group watched her, entranced and highly entertained. Everyone saw the imminent collision except for Caprice.
She whirled around and bumped right into someone. With a laughing gasp, her arms collapsed and clutched at the real flesh-and-blood someone she had run into, and hard arms went around her waist in response. She tumbled out an apology.
And looked up. The man who lightly held her was half obscured from the light spilling out of the house, and half lit. She caught a glittering impression of dark, bright eyes under a black fall of straight, glossy hair. His face—what she could see of it—was vaguely familiar and arresting. He was taller than she, and slim also, and not looking at all surprised to be holding a piece of white fluff and froth.
A slow smile creased whitely over his lips, lighting his whole countenance. Something kicked in her chest like a captured bird. “Oh, well,” he said, and his voice was low, and well modulated. “If you really need a partner…”
She began to smile in response, as she tilted her head a little to one side like a diffident bird. “Sir,” she said sedately, immensely thankful he couldn’t determine her inner reaction, “I would be charmed.”
They began the waltz steps as one.
Chapter Two
As they circled in that grand style, she leaned comfortably back against the steady, hard arm at her waist and smiled at her unknown partner, her sudden, inexplicable boredom for the moment quite erased. His dark head was bent, angled to her, as he watched her face in the quick golden flashes that spilled over them from the lanterns hung in the trees.
“Tell me,” he said, and she raised her brows. He started to smile again, eyes sparkling. “Do you ride away on a pumpkin at midnight?”
“Goodness, no,” she replied lightly, feeling dizzy. “I brought a car. Besides, I’m not leaving at midnight. I’m staying the weekend.” She tried to focus more sharply on his flickering features, finding she liked the feel of his firm hold on her and the smooth grace with which he danced. “And you? Are you one of the neighborhood guests? I don’t believe we’ve been introduced.”
“No, we haven’t,” he said as lightly, watching her. “I’d have remembered if we had.” That brought a secret smile to her lips. He knew his party patter. “I’m Jeffrey’s brother, Pierce, come from New York for a bit of relaxation. No one told me there was to be a weekend party.”
“Don’t feel bad,” she said confidingly, and she leaned close to him. For a brief instant she inhaled a fresh, attractive scent that was his aftershave. “I was told just a few days ago myself.”
He looked indulgent, amused. They circled, now somewhat far from the house and lakeside, and he came to a stop underneath one of the glowing lanterns, letting his hands rest at her waist as she twinkled up at him with her enormous, midnight-violet eyes. She could feel the weight and the warmth of those large hands through her thin dress. “Well, I’ve told you mine,” he said, running his eyes over her face lingeringly. “Do you, by any chance, have a name of your own?”
She laughed, finding suddenly that the party was quite enjoyable and that the weekend might indeed end up being, to say the least, interesting. Letting one light finger trail down the side of her impromptu partner’s lean cheek, savoring the feel of warm skin, she then pulled gently out of his arms and turned away. She called over her shoulder, voice threaded with teasing, “Yes, I do.”
As she walked across the lawn, she could feel his gaze on her back. Their little confrontation had been watched by many interested eyes. Among the watchers was Jeffrey, who didn’t appear too pleased at his older brother’s unexpected arrival. Caprice went over to her wineglass, still precariously perched on the wooden rail, and she sipped at the drink sedately while Roxanne neatly swooped from around one of the young men to reach her side.
“So, how was it?” she asked, her eyes avid.
Caprice glanced at the brunette and then away, and as she hadn’t liked the question or how Roxanne had posed it, she let her eyes go vague. “The wine?” she murmured, looking at her glass in some surprise. “Why, it’s delicious, of course. Haven’t you tried it yet?”
“No, stupid! I meant the dance with Pierce Langston.” With difficulty, Roxanne tried to keep her voice down.
“Quite an accident,” replied Caprice flippantly.
“Honey, that was no accident,” responded Roxanne rather drily. For the moment, the two girls were as if they were alone, as nobody seemed to be paying any attention to them. “He deliberately stepped into your path.”
Another leap in her chest, as when she had bumped into Pierce, only this one was much stronger. As her violet eyes swiveled sharply to her friend, she thought the sensation wasn’t at all pleasant. “Are—you sure?”
“Everybody noticed,” whispered Roxanne, while she appeared to be staring interestedly into the dark, lapping waters. “Jeffrey was so jealous, he nearly turned bright green right in front of our eyes.”
That brought even more disconcertment to her, and she stared at Roxanne for some moments before saying softly, “You know that he’s— he’s—”
“Infatuated with you, yes. He’s certainly made no secret of it,” said the brunette, suddenly acid. “That was why he invited us. Didn’t you realize?”
She blinked. She wanted to say that she’d hoped Roxanne hadn’t, but as there was no point in being so bluntly honest, especially with the possibility that they might be overheard, she merely shrugged it off. Her patent unconcern for Jeffrey’s affections made the brunette relax after a moment, and even regret her acidic tone. Just because Jeffrey was infatuated with Caprice didn’t mean that Caprice returned the compliment. Half the men at the party tonight were infatuated with the blonde, and the other half were clearly indulgent. Roxanne’s irritation melted away.
Caprice glanced at her friend, saw the return of good humor in the other girl’s expression, and was pleased. She hated it when other people were angry at her, especially when the cause for their anger wasn’t her fault. She tossed off the last bit of wine in her glass, hiccupping before she could help it, and they both laughed.
Th
ere was a sound of slow footsteps. Jeffrey’s pleasant, teasing voice said next to Caprice, “And what’s the joke you two are sharing so secretively?”
She looked at him. His large, dark eyes were full of admiration and dazzlement as he stared at her. After a quickly flicked glance, he hadn’t so much as smiled at Roxanne, who was near to drooling over his handsome, smooth features. A quiver of anger shook through her at his utter obtuseness and her friend’s total lack of taste. She flipped out a hand and twitched at his dark tie. “You, darling,” she said, sweetly malicious, and she strolled away.
Jeffrey stared after her, astonished and half-angry at her rather too sharp reply. Then, in a fit of pique, he turned to lavish his attention on an all too willing Roxanne, who didn’t know or care why her friend had taken it into her head to make one of those all too uncomfortable retorts of hers.
Caprice turned to observe her handiwork from an outside table, where she busied herself refilling her wineglass. The two she had just left were close together, dark head to dark head, while they animatedly talked about something. Good, she thought, turning away with an unconscious toss of her head. Maybe he would pester Rox all weekend and quit bothering her. Rox would more than welcome it. His older brother was nowhere to be seen, she found as she looked around casually. She moved her nearly bare shoulders. Oh well, the party was becoming dull anyway. Perhaps she would go upstairs early.
Then Emory joined her, his fair complexion rather flushed in the yellow light spilling from their direct right. She let her gaze run swiftly over him while she smiled an ingenuous welcome. He was immaculately groomed, and she could faintly smell his expensive cologne from where she stood. He was even handsome, in a fleshy sort of way. She couldn’t think why he reminded her of nothing so much as an overgrown puppy.
She chattered with him for a while, but, when Petra drifted over, she was soon able to extricate herself from the pair with a rambling comment about the boats tied to the pier as she walked that way. She stepped carefully on the planks as a vivid image of herself tripping by catching one of her stiletto heels in the inch-wide gaps came to mind, and then stood at the end of the pier looking over the lake. The breeze felt slightly damp on her cheeks and refreshingly cool, while the water looked black and impenetrable, with rippling gold reflections of light dancing across its surface.
Caprice Page 2
