Caprice

by Amanda Carpenter

  There came a time when, as she was chattering away with a presentable young man who showed unmistakable signs of infatuation, Pierce strolled up to stand beside her. “Excuse me,” he said, without interest, to the young man. Without even waiting for the other to question him or withdraw politely, he turned to her and said, “I’ve had enough. I’m leaving now. If you would like to come with me, you may, and if not, then I’m sure your parents will be more than happy to see you home.”

  She was unprepared for the ultimatum, or the cavalier manner in which he presented it. That she might have deserved it didn’t come into the matter; she felt a sudden wave of rage wash over her, and with her eyes sparkling like hard stones, she said between her teeth, “Don’t you dare issue orders to me, do you hear?”

  Pierce turned to the presentable young man and said pleasantly, “Now, did you hear me issuing any orders? I thought not.” He turned back to her. “I merely informed you of your choices.”

  The presentable young man looked extremely uncomfortable, gabbled something that was supposed to be polite or witty, and backed quickly away. Neither noticed.

  Caprice had never been treated that way in her entire life. Men always came and went at her bidding, not the other way around. She couldn’t believe her ears. “Do you mean you would actually walk out on someone you escorted to a party?”

  Incredibly, he smiled. “Yes,” he said. “So, which is it to be? Either you come with me now and we have that talk I’ve been waiting for all evening, or I walk out of here, and that’s it. I won’t be commuting anymore to Virginia. It’s quite a clear-cut choice, I should think.”

  Shock hit her anew. Somehow she hadn’t been expecting it to be this way. Somehow she’d been expecting to be the one to call things off whenever it suited her. Her huge, violet eyes quickly searched his, and she found nothing in them but a smiling steeliness. “You’re just angry,” she said, attempting to shrug it off. But her voice sounded uncertain.

  He raised his brows. “Wherever did you get that idea?” he asked, sounding genuinely surprised. “Perhaps you think I have cause to be?” That sent color to her cheeks. “But no, I’m not. I think I’m beginning to understand you a little better—not a whole lot, God knows! Your mind works in truly tortuous ways. But I certainly don’t feel angry with you tonight, merely a bit bored. I can watch you talk with someone else for only so long, I’m afraid. Now, for the final time, which is it to be? I’ve had your wrap brought down.”

  He didn’t even sound concerned, and that hurt and angered her the most. Without thinking, she spat out, “I’m not ready to leave yet!”

  Something in his pleasant, blank face flickered then. “I see. Good night, then, sweetheart.” He pressed a quick, light kiss to her cheek and turned to walk away.

  She watched him leave, feeling cold and stiff. Something began a hard pounding in her heart. He went into the hall and was out of sight. She looked around at the people packed in the room, milling about, talking to one another about things that were certainly interesting but by no means crucial to her happiness. She was left with nothing crucial to her happiness, just a lot of pleasantries that meant nothing at all to her.

  She was racing for the door in the next instant, bumping through people, whisking around the woman who held her wrap and yanking it out of her hands without bothering to excuse herself or to even say thank you. Then she was at the front door, wondering if she was too late, throwing it open wide.

  Chapter Ten

  “Wait!” she cried, straining her eyes to peer through the darkness. She hurried down the front steps toward the driveway. A patch of shadow that was Pierce’s black suit stopped suddenly still and whirled round. She had reached the driveway by then, and her steps faltered to a stop as her eyes adjusted to the night and she took in his rigid stance. He wasn’t as indifferent as he seemed. “I’ll come,” she said, voice sounding thin in the open air. “But I don’t make any promises.” Despite her words, she hovered uncertainly, unsure if his offer was still open.

  She hadn’t realized how much it meant to her until she saw his hand come up wordlessly, palm outstretched in invitation. She sighed harshly in sagging reaction, her wrap crushed against her chest in her arms. The knowledge bolted through her then that if he would but call her name, she would follow him anywhere he asked. Her shaking legs found the impetus to carry her forward to him, to take his hand, but instead of closing his fingers around hers, he drew her evening wrap out of her arms, draped it carefully about her slight figure and then put his arm around her shoulders. In that way they walked to the car.

  Caprice’s mind and heart were reeling. She didn’t know how or when, but she had managed to fall deeply in love with him. Her lips shook. Such a fine, cool-headed determination she’d had, and, despite all her efforts, she would be the one to get hurt.

  She should have known from the beginning. She should have seen. She knew that he was different from the very start; she knew that what she’d felt for him had been different. But she’d never fallen in love before, and didn’t know how to recognize the signs of it in herself. She turned her head as he courteously gave a hand to help her into the Jaguar, averting her face. How could anyone not love him? His gentleness, his quiet poise, his understanding. It all made him endearing to her. But what shook her to the core was something in him, barely glimpsed or understood, that lay beneath his other qualities like a brooding, slumbering beast. It was a wealth of passion and compassion, a stronghold of deep, overpowering feeling, and it frightened her even as it drew her close to its warmth.

  He got into the car silently, started the engine and pulled onto the street. She was off-balance and shaking. He was frowning and withdrawn, his jawline hard as though he worked hard to contain something.

  When he missed the turn that took them to her house, she blinked a few times and flicked a wary, sidelong glance to him. He seemed like a stranger. “Where are we going?” she asked cautiously. “Why aren’t you taking me home?”

  “I know from experience that Jeffrey and my parents will be gone till quite late,” he said then, almost absently. “And the servants have the evening off. I want you in privacy, so that I know we won’t be disturbed and that you can’t run away, as seems to be your habit whenever I try to have a heart-to-heart talk with you.”

  She put a hand to her forehead, letting her hair fall forward to hide her face. She wasn’t in control. Everything about her was stupidly shaking. The slightest pressure from him, and she would crack up. “Thanks for asking,” she said bitterly.

  “You made your choice.”

  She’d never been to the Langston home. It seemed huge, easily twice the size of her own home, the yellow security lights illuminating great pools of deep red brick and creeping, mature ivy. Pierce parked the car and turned in his seat to stare at her thoughtfully. She kept her eyes steadfastly trained on the dashboard ahead of her, expression tight. He lifted his hand and touched at her hair with the backs of his fingers. Then he climbed out of the car and, as there was nothing else for her to do, she followed.

  Inside, he led her to a rather larger version of their den and, as she walked jerkily around the room, he mixed them drinks. She took her wrap and threw it carelessly to a chair, letting it slide between her fingers. The deep, brilliant blue of her dress and her silver-blonde hair made her stand out from the muted browns in the background like a slim, cool flame. When he handed her a gin and tonic, she took the round, cold glass, carefully avoiding his fingers, and a wry twist of his well-shaped lips told her he knew it.

  The silence stretched tight, magnified by the hulking weight of huge emptiness that expanded around them. The house was probably from the 1700s, she guessed by the architecture, and no doubt it creaked at night. She turned away from Pierce’s tall figure and ran her eyes up to the ceiling. It was a lovely home.

  “I love you,” he said quietly, and she spilled her drink.

  “Oh God, I’m sorry,” she exclaimed breathlessly, her heart knocking ninety mil
es an hour in her chest. She set down her half-full glass with a sharp chink and hurried to the bar in search of towels. It incidentally took her well away from Pierce, for which she was grateful.

  “Leave it,” he said sharply, making an impatient gesture. “The carpet doesn’t matter.”

  She found a towel and turned to stare at the floor at his feet. “But it should be cleaned before it soaks in too much—”

  “I said leave it!” His voice rose harshly, and she dropped the towel in immediate reaction. “Damn it, woman, I just said I love you! Does that do anything at all to you?”

  Her hands flew to her face as she was stung into crying, “What do you want me to say? That I love you too, and let’s go live happily ever after?”

  He made a sharp, ungraceful movement toward her that she felt through her entire body, making her jump where she stood. “Would that be so bad?” he replied, sounding ragged, quite unlike himself. “What do you feel for me, Caprice? You act so differently from one moment to the next, I can’t tell!”

  She pulled her hands from her face to stare at them, the slender fingers, the oval palms. “I—want to go home now,” she whispered, her eyes filling.

  “What will it take to break through to you?” he shouted, and she visibly cringed. “You’re always running away, putting on an act, doing anything you possibly can to avoid something like this between us! Why? If you don’t love me, for God’s sake, just say so and it’s the end of the discussion!”

  “Don’t,” she choked out. “Oh, don’t.”

  He made a strange sort of sound that was more wrenched out of him than anything else, and he strode over to take her into his arms. With one hand, he cradled her bright head to his chest. “And why do you tear me apart inside?” he whispered into her hair. “All this week I thought of you. I tried to put you out of my mind so that I could get through work, but you were there when I least expected it. I heard your laugh, saw your smile, and all I wanted was to hold you.”

  She found that she was clinging to him, knees shaking, weeping into his shirt as she tried to say coherently, “But I never wanted to hurt you. I never wanted to hurt anyone.”

  His hand fondled the back of her head, warm fingers, gentle touch. “There’s no reason to hurt anyone or to be hurt, sweetheart. Just tell me how you feel. Let me into that heart and mind of yours so that I can understand you a little better! Can’t you see that this is vitally important? I know you must care for me to some extent. I can sense that much.”

  “You’re moving too fast,” she whispered, shaking her head. “You’re pushing too hard!”

  He went very still. Then his voice sounded in her ear, harsh, almost savage with the force of feeling behind it. “I should have forced the issue last Saturday. I should have pushed then, but thought I should try to hold back for your sake.” He drew back and forced her to meet his eyes. She saw grim hardness in his. “At least I know one way to get to you.”

  The tension in his body snapped. He came to a decision; she could feel it. In one swift movement, he bent and picked her up. Sheer shock held her immobile as he carried her into the hall and to the stairs.

  “Pierce,” she strangled out, but he was unrelenting and his grip too tight for her to wriggle out of. “My God!”

  The next several seconds were a blurred rush as she arched her body in frightened, stunned protest, and he raced up the stairs with no apparent lessening of his stride when burdened with her weight. They passed into a room, he kicked the door shut behind him, and then he strode forward and threw her onto a bed.

  Her body gave a bounce, but before she could thrust herself off the mattress, he fell on her. She held herself rigid and straight in blind fear, and then he took her head between his large hands and began to kiss her. He stroked her body in long, jerky strokes, cupping her breast through the material of her dress. His mouth was everywhere, black head moving urgently as he put his mouth on her neck, her forehead, her trembling jaw, chin, lips, anything he could reach.

  Gradually realization dawned, and she felt herself relax. He hadn’t even tried to force his way past her lips. This was a man who knew very well how she was stirred physically by him. This was a man pleading with her, with everything in his body and soul. This was a man who was telling her he wanted her past pride and reservation, and he was letting her know it in any way he could.

  She felt heat wash over her, and she groaned. Along with it came a severe bout of trembling. “Oh, Pierce,” she whispered, and cupped his head with both hands.

  He rose from pressing his lips to her collarbone and bare shoulder, and he came down to her mouth with a single-minded hungriness. Once she weakly opened her mouth to his, he plunged in deep. She made a whimpering sound and thrust her fingers into his silken hair. He drew back, stared down at her with dark eyes that glittered hotly through the dusky shadow, and he whispered, “Let me undress you.”

  She drew in an unsteady breath, looking up at him. His hair fell on his brow, and she wasn’t even aware when she reached up to smooth it back. “I’m scared.”

  The alien, bone-clenched expression on his face faded somewhat, and he took her hands to bring them gently to his chest, half lying on her heavily, half off, propped on one elbow. “Don’t think. Don’t doubt. I love you. You want this. Put your hands on me. Help me take my clothes off.”

  He was determined to pull her into full participation. He was making her a partner, forcing her to succumb to the rising, driving response they both knew was inside her. When he was completely naked, he made her touch every part of his hot, tight body, and she was shaking so that she could barely move her heavy limbs by that time. She was in such a feverish welter of desire that she twisted her body to him and whispered achingly, “Why aren’t you taking my clothes off and touching me too?”

  He was tight, so tight, so hard and big and masculine, with a light sheen of salty sweat on his skin. Then the rigidity broke, and he began to tremble too. He gently pushed her back against the pillows and looked deeply into her immense eyes, his own dilated. His cheeks held a dark flush. “I love you, I want to make love with you, I want to touch you all over and bury myself so deep in you, I’ll never find my way out again,” he said, quick and hot and low. “But most of all, Caprice—most of all, I want and need to hear you say that you love me, and know that you have the courage to admit it. Otherwise,” he shook everywhere, that strong, poised, contained man, “otherwise this means nothing. I need it.” His head lowered until he was whispering the words, lips touching lips. “Tell me. Say it.”

  He had made himself totally accessible and vulnerable. He had bared himself to her and showed his own desire without shame. He had taken the plunge alone, through the strength of his emotion, to make her see that though love was an unseen, unplundered depth, frightening and life changing, it could also be a wealth of comfort and sensation and total sharing. Something in her loosened. She was made to believe in the force of his conviction. She said the words and then she couldn’t say them enough, as he gently slipped her dress from her body and touched her then with hands and mouth, for the love inside her welled up, stronger and deeper with every heartfelt caress from him. She stroked him then in excited, wondering acknowledgment.

  They gave in to physical sensation and body movement and a mutual, rhythmic desire, his hard body over hers, his low, muttered voice saying in her ear, “Love me. Don’t stop. Love me.”

  Then she was curled into an exhausted ball, eyes closed, breathing deep, while she clasped his hand close to her breast. His arm was curled around her waist, and he was against her, chest to back, and slowly, languidly kissing the nape of her neck. She sighed, throaty and low, and raised her arm to touch her fingers to his face.

  “How are you?” he asked gently.

  “Mm, just fine. How are you?”

  She felt his smile against her skin. “A little tired.”

  That brought a quiet laugh out of her. “I love you,” she said, and he buried his face in her hair.

>   “Then marry me.” She tensed involuntarily and knew he had to feel it. He went up on one elbow. “Live with me, love me, light up my mornings with your smile and your kiss. Is it so hard, sweetheart? Don’t you see that it’s just a lifetime of every day, and a moment-to-moment sharing?”

  He made it sound so good and sweet. “I—don’t—” she started, and began to shake all over again.

  He dragged her around to face him and said urgently, “Don’t close up on me now.” There was fear in that voice.

  She reached out and took hold of his naked shoulder with her free hand, fingers clinging. “Try your best to understand me,” she whispered. “I am still afraid. I’m afraid of you, of myself, of our differences and the strange life we would be starting. I—want to say yes, but something always holds me back. What would happen ten years, twenty years later? Would we end up like my parents, tolerating each other but never being happy? Would you be like my father and lose all respect for me while I live through my days, going to parties and luncheons and feeling lonely?”

  “Caprice, you are not your mother,” Pierce said patiently. “Don’t you see the qualities you have that come from both your parents? Irene is a very likable, shallow woman, and you’re not shallow at all. And I’m not your father. I’m not reticent. I need and desire your lightness, your jokes and laughter and inconsistencies. I want your soft understanding and quick retorts. If I wanted someone like myself, I could have found a woman and married her in New York. We would have lived a very serious, very quiet life, and I would have been left wondering what was missing. And in turn, I can offer you a steadiness and emotional security, because I’m not so careless as to let my affection and love for you fade. We’re different from each other; nobody disputes that. It isn’t bad to be different. It means we’ll argue. It means that sometimes we won’t understand each other. It means that we’ll live a richer, fuller life together than we would apart. You’re such a special person. Don’t leave my life out of fear.”