Vanessa, the taller of the two, looked around and over heads of milling people. She saw a brief flash of lavender heading for the French doors leading to the gallery. “This way,” she whispered, pulling her sister across the room. “Pardon. Pardon. Excusez-moi,” she rattled out absently as she threaded their way through the throng.
“Why is it everyone seems to congregate in one area?” Vanessa whispered. Adeline only giggled in response.
“Miss Mannion!” hailed Mr. Wilmot, stepping across her path.
Vanessa halted abruptly, her sister nearly colliding into her. “Excuse me, Mr. Wilmot,” she said, attempting to steer clear of his formidable black form.
“Surely you will not refuse me a few moments of your time,” he persisted.
“No, no, of course not. But we are late descending, and we must find Louisa. I am certain she wishes to introduce us to her guests.”
“It would be very rude of us if we only talked among ourselves,” Adeline offered timidly, looking past Vanessa. She spotted Hugh Talverton’s tall figure and threw him a speaking glance.
As luck would have it, Hugh was looking in their direction and Adeline caught his attention. He was surprised by her ardent look of entreaty and casually started toward her, absently making his excuses to those he was talking with. He took but a few steps when he spied Vanessa’s glossy brown hair near Mr. Wilmot. His sandy brows lowered and his eyes narrowed as he made his way toward them.
From his position amid a group of plantation owners gathered near the fireplace, Trevor Danielson also saw Wilmot and Vanessa. He bowed out of the group, edged around several women settled on a sofa, and approached his friends.
Inexorably, Trevor and Hugh made their way from opposite ends of the room to Vanessa’s side, each determined to rescue her from any unnecessary unpleasantness.
“I have been waiting for days to speak to you, and surely you would be forgiven a small conversation with a suitor,” Mr. Wilmot coaxed, not quite able to keep the undercurrent of threat removed from his voice.
“Suitor! La, sir, you take me by surprise,” she returned airily, hiding behind her fan, though her hand shook betrayingly.
“Don’t take me for a fool!” he said harshly, his face darkening and his voice rasping against her nerve endings. Then his face relaxed and he spoke softly, winningly. “You must know, Miss Mannion, of my heartfelt intentions.”
“Sir, you put me to the blush. Not now, please,” she pleaded, stepping back a pace. Around her, she noted people beginning to turn and stare.
Trevor and Hugh both saw the little retreat and the blush staining her cheeks, and each grimly began formulating a comment to interrupt and cut through the tension between Vanessa and Wilmot. Unfortunately, their mutual, immediate reactions were not to do it with joviality.
Adeline saw them both, and though daunted by their expressions, she was relieved, and turned quickly from one to the other to smile welcome.
“Vanessa!”
Vanessa snapped her head up and glanced away from Wilmot with some little relief.
“Vanessa!” called Paulette enthusiastically, waving her hand to catch her friend’s attention as she plowed through the people around her with a devastatingly handsome young man in her wake.
Shocked gasps were heard at the hoydenish impropriety of her call, soon followed by a surge of rapid, scandalized French from those same souls. Paulette ignored them all.
“Vanessa! Here is someone I wish you to meet. You, too, Adeline,” she added gaily. She pulled the young man to her side, clasping her hand possessively around his forearm. “This is the Comte Andre Baligny de Sachire. He has been telling me the most remarkable things about France and his estates.” Her eyes sparkled with mischief, the curls at the side of her face dancing, for she could not be still.
Trevor and Hugh stopped where they stood on either side of Vanessa, wondering how to proceed. They had both worked such malice into their thoughts that it was difficult to reorient their thinking. They glanced, up, seeing each other at opposite sides of their goal and glowered, each realizing the other’s intent, and how they might not have been the one to extricate her. An irrational jealousy gripped both as their gazes locked.
“Oh, but where are my manners? Comte, celles-ci Americaines sortt mes amies Mademoiselles Vanessa et Adeline Mannion.”
“Do not feel you must converse in French. I would improve my English, if you please,” the young man said graciously.
Vanessa looked up into his dark, soulful eyes and smiled. He was truly a handsome man, with his slender build and glossy black waves of hair that allowed one lock to fall and curl across his brow.
“It is a pleasure, Comte Baligny,” she said simply, followed by Adeline. Somehow, she noticed, Paulette had managed to elbow past Mr. Wilmot and edge him out of their circle while Hugh and Trevor edged closer. Mr. Wilmot’s face was a thundercloud. Turning on his heel, he stalked off.
Paulette peeped over her shoulder after him and giggled.
“He was the one?” the Comte asked.
Paulette nodded.
“The one what? What are you about, Paulette?” demanded Vanessa.
“Saving you, of course. You, you do not think I know anything, that my only interest is frivolity.” She smiled smugly and tapped her brow with a forefinger. “But I see much. I know,” she said, nodding her head sagely.
“Egad,” murmured Hugh. “How the deuce, Miss Chaumonde,” he began again, pausing to bow over her hand, “I have wronged you.’
She shrugged whimsically. “Not really, only a little.”
“Be that as it may,” protested Trevor, “we would most likely have made a mull of it.”
“What is this?” demanded Vanessa, suddenly very annoyed. “Does no one think I may take care of myself?” She backed out of the little circle and turned. “If you are all quite through managing my life, I will now find Louisa, as I told Mr. Wilmot I should.” She turned her back on them and walked away, denying the gathering of tears in her eyes with an angry shake of her head and a quick little audible sniff.
“I do not understand,” protested the young Comte Baligny, “did she not wish to be rescued?”
Hugh Talverton smiled sardonically. “Yes, she did, my dear sir, however not quite so obviously. Excuse me, I will see if I may make amends for us all,” he stated softly, his lips twisting up in one corner with amusement as he followed Vanessa.
She fled out of the parlor and across the foyer to slip into the dining room. Curious, Hugh walked faster and opened the dining room door in time to see her slip out the French doors on the other side of the room. He rounded the long table and stopped, peering out onto the heavily shadowed gallery. He could just make out her slender figure slumped against a column, her shoulders heaving.
Silently, he slid out the partially open door and glided to her side. His heart pounded and tore at the confines of his chest. He stared down at her. “It’s all right, love,” he murmured, taking her shoulders in his hands and turning her to face him. It agonized him to see her in such pain.
She turned easily, and in the pale moonlight he searched her face. His jaw slackened. She wasn’t crying, she was laughing!
His surprise must have been clearly evident upon his face for her laughter increased until she was nearly hiccupping with wild hysteria.
“I—I’m sorry,” she finally managed. “In some ways, I feel I should still be crying; however, as I ran from the parlor, the humor of all your actions did not escape me, and belatedly I recalled your and Trevor’s expressions when you realized Paulette had beaten you at your own noble game!” She laughed freely again, her eyes shining up at him.
Hugh looked down at her, the moonlight softening her features beautifully. His breath constricted in his chest.
“You think it funny, do you,” he growled deep in his throat. His hands were shaking as he grabbed her shoulders and roughly pulled her against him, his breath now coming rapidly, echoing the pounding of his pulse. He lowered his
head, claiming her lips in a bruising kiss.
Vanessa struggled against his sudden onslaught. She pushed at him, pounding on his chest. Panic engulfed her as the strange tingling she sometimes felt in his presence began singing along her nerve endings.
His arm went around her to still her struggles, the other creeping up to caress the back of her neck, holding her head still and urging her closer.
A sensual weakness robbed Vanessa’s limbs of strength, her writhing and pounding growing weaker as Hugh stole her very soul through his lips. She relaxed against him, a little mew of helpless enthrallment rising up in her throat.
He felt her relax, felt her give herself into his care. His senses soared with masculine power, glorying in her feel and the quick tightening in his loins. Then he heard her little whimpering sound, and his heart stopped. His breathing ragged, his eyes glazed and glinting feverishly, he gently released her, setting her a foot away, his hands sliding slowly down her arm, capturing her hands.
Vanessa staggered before she could force her pliant knees to hold her upright. With an odd, remote part of her mind, she was aware of a cool breeze blowing between them, evaporating the heat of their embrace. Louisa and her mother were correct, whispered a distinct little corner of her mind. Love soared in her and through her, beyond description. She understood her sister’s dreamy reflection on the emotion, in reality it wasn’t one emotion, but a myriad of bright, coruscating feelings; light through a prism.
She looked at Hugh in wonder. She saw him inhale deeply, close his eyes, and turn his head up to the bright moon as he slowly exhaled. He opened his eyes, his hands convulsively clenching hers.
“Oh, God, Vanessa, I’m sorry,” he whispered raggedly. “I had no right . . .” He dropped her hands and turned to lean against the gallery railing, fighting to regain his sanity. Never before had a woman shaken him to the core as Vanessa had. He was lost, and ashamed. “If you choose now to avoid me as you do Wilmot, I’ll understand.” He turned back to look at her, a slight self-deprecating smile on his lips. “I won’t like it, but I’ll understand and I’ll not trouble you as he does.”
A vague smile touched her lips. “Please, enough of your nobility.”
“But you belong to Trevor,” he cried, anguish resonating in his voice.
“Do I?” she asked in a faraway dreamy tone touched with humor.
“Yes!” he affirmed harshly, turning away from her again.
“Why is it that everyone around me feels the necessity to make my decisions for me and assign themselves the thankless job of my protector?” she asked whimsically. A pensive little frown wrinkled her brow. “It is very lowering, you know. I have always prided myself on being a thinking, rational woman, with an even above average comprehension of the realities of life.” She blinked, struggling with the sensual haze that remained swathed about her.
He laughed shortly, a harsh, heavy sound. “You are all that and more. Your father’s called you his bright star.” His tone lowered until it was a mere whisper that Vanessa could barely hear. “And you are my bright particular star. Shakespeare had the right of it,” he said with a grim smile.
Vanessa frowned sharply as her mind cleared. The last threads of the sensuous haze were blown away by the freshening breeze. Anger and confusion rushed to overcome her. “So what is this all about? Did you just seek to take something before Wilmot got it? Is this a game of masculine superiority?”
He whirled to face her. “What? Vanessa, no. On my honor, no.”
“Well, what then?” she asked, her voice breaking as tears welled in her eyes. “I’m so confused! You raise feelings and fears and joys inside me that I’ve never felt before.”
He grabbed her shoulders and shook her gently. “They’re feelings you’re meant to feel, but not with me,” he said softly.
“Why?” she demanded. “It’s been coming. You can’t tell me you haven’t felt the pull between us.”
“Yes,” he admitted harshly. “But in this maze we tread, Trevor is your salvation, not me.”
“Why?” she demanded again, her voice rising as she struggled with her tears. They were tears of loss and tears of embarrassment, and they flowed from her very soul.
He raked his hand distractedly through his hair and shook his head to clear his thoughts. He sighed heavily, his broad shoulders slumping. “Once before Trevor and I courted the same woman, Julia,” he recited flatly. “I thought I loved her, but she showed me my love was only a toy, a prize at the end of a game. She was right, and she chose Trevor. Now, again I am attracted to the same woman as Trevor, and I want her with an even greater hunger. Luckily, Julia showed me how false are my affections, something I am too close to see.”
Vanessa stared at him in shocked surprise, then a shimmering anger curled and roiled through her. “I don’t believe what I am hearing,” she gritted out. “You would bow out of a courtship because of Trevor and some dead woman?” It was incredible. How could he be so blind and so—so naive?
“You don’t understand,” protested Hugh.
“Yes, oh, yes, I think I do understand. You’ve carried Julia’s rejection around as some sort of armor, a convenient excuse for shallow emotions and amusing little dalliances. For all your great military service and courage under fire, you haven’t shown courage where it really counts. This country of mine was founded on risks and the people willing to take them. That takes a special kind of courage, a courage you can’t even begin to know,” she blazed, her eyes sparkling like jewels. She paused, glaring at him, then gave it up in disgust and turned, fleeing the gallery, the moonlight, the sharp tingling, and him.
Stupid, stupid, stupid. The single-word litany resounded in her mind as she made her way back to the parlor. She was the naive one. Imagine thinking an English aristocrat could be interested in her. Hadn’t she despised him for days after their first meeting? Her initial reaction to the man bore more truth than the subsequent softening of her ideas and feelings. She had merely been surprised by the debilitating and exhilarating feelings he aroused, for they were alien to her. Now that she knew and understood more about love, she was confident another gentleman could rouse her to the same emotional state if she allowed him.
The quartet Louisa hired for the evening was playing a sprightly contredanse. Vanessa wondered how long she had been gone, and if her absence went unnoticed. Though she asked herself that question, she realized she actually didn’t care. Suddenly the party seemed as appetizing as flat champagne. She slipped inside the parlor behind a guest nearly as rotund as Madame Rouchardier, then sidled around the edge of the room toward the back section of the large double parlor where the quartet was playing and the dancers bowed and moved through the figures with more arrogant elegance than competence.
On the dance floor, Paulette was being led out by the Comte Baligny, and Adeline by a young man who displayed more awkward angles to his limbs than lines. Vanessa winced when she noted him accidentally jabbing her sister in the shoulder as they executed siding. Trevor came up beside her, standing silently.
She smiled and waved her hand in Adeline’s direction. “My sister displays more forbearance than I could manage.”
He nodded. “Hers is a gentle soul, and she would not hurt or embarrass anyone by her actions.”
She looked up at him, an arrested expression in her eyes. “I’ve always known that, but I don’t believe I’ve ever put it into words before. You’re very right.”
“Where’s Hugh?” Trevor asked abruptly.
Vanessa’s face twisted into a grimace. “He is busily employed with fabricating rationalizations for his actions that have nothing to do with his emotions.”
Trevor cocked an eyebrow. “Oh?”
She shook her head. “It is not important. They are his demons, and I for one refuse to allow someone else’s deficiencies to cause me pain.”
“And could they?”
“Could they what?”
“Cause you pain?”
She laughed shrilly. “La,
Trevor, you are reading too much into a short conversation.”
He looked at her solemnly, then quickly smiled warmly at her when he spied Wilmot making his steady way toward them. “Would you care to dance?” he asked with stiff pleasantry.
Vanessa’s brow knit at the abrupt change in conversation, then she, too, saw Mr. Wilmot. She smiled brilliantly up at Mr. Danielson and nodded, tucking her hand in his arm. “I shall be delighted, and I promise my bad temper shall not resurface.”
“I have no fear of your temper,” he said, “for you are nothing if not fair.”
Vanessa thought of her words to Hugh Talverton, and a brief feeling of remorse swept through her. “Sometimes I wonder, Mr. Danielson, sometimes I wonder.”
He looked at her strangely but, leading her out onto the dance floor, he did not question her further. In truth, she was in an uncertain temper. He was curious to know what had transpired between his friend and her; however, his manners were too polished to inquire.
Vanessa danced, smiled, and adopted a deliberate carefree demeanor. If her laughter was a trifle shrill to her own ears, and her eyes overly bright, it did not seem to be noticed by others. She even allowed herself a mild flirtation with this or that young man who squired her to a dance, and bent so far as to allow Mr. Wilmot to partner her for a set.
Hugh Talverton entered the makeshift ballroom in time to see Vanessa lead down through a set on Wilmot’s arm. He watched them perform the intricate figures of the dance, an arrogant mask hardening his features. He had promised he would protect her from Mr. Wilmot’s unwanted advances. The irony was he afforded her no protection from himself. He was the veriest cad to take advantage of her trust, and Trevor’s. Yet he could not deny the curious allure she exuded, and now he was uncertain who was the spider and who the fly.
Remembering the warmth and gentle pliancy of her body against his, the taste of her kiss, the sweet essence that was hers alone filling his nostrils, he hated himself and, God help him, he hated Trevor. The jealousy he bore his best friend ate at his soul, but he steadfastly vowed he would not make the same mistakes he made with Julia. Now that his business dealings were near completion, and there was no need of his presence in the city until the cotton harvest, perhaps he should do as he told Wilmot and leave and explore this raw, untamed land.
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