Jeopardy

by Fayrene Preston

  “The ball?”

  “The ball is the reason you’re here. Didn’t he say during one of his calls that you should be a good girl and stay home?"

  “Something like that. Seems like he definitely wanted me to stay back in Boston." She grimaced. “But you’re off the mark with the ball. For heaven’s sake, it’s for the Children’s Fund. Nothing could be more harmless or, I might add, more worthwhile.”

  “When you have nothing to go on, Angelica, all theories are fair for consideration.”

  “I suppose.”

  “I’m going to run a check on all the guests.” She stiffened, but he was prepared for her displeasure with his decision. “Don’t worry, I will be ultra discreet. No one will know. No one will be offended. Trust me.”

  She rested her head against his shoulder, seeking comfort and warmth, and thought about his request to trust him. He was the kind of mam who inspired confidence in others, and there was no doubt in her mind that she could trust him with her safety, and if it came down to it, her life.

  Trusting him with her heart was another matter. Her love for him was too new, too fragile to expose. With each moment she spent with him, her feelings of love for him were growing stronger, larger. He was rapidly becoming everything to her, but she understood that his emotions weren’t so deeply Involved.

  She trusted him not to deliberately hurt her, and in a relationship such as theirs, where only she loved, that was all she could reasonably ask. Above all, she had to remember a hugely Important fact—he hadn’t asked her to trust him with her heart. Only her safety.

  Her robe had come undone; she looked up and saw that his eyes had darkened with yearning. Until that moment she hadn’t realized she was wanting him too, but it was there—the passion, the desire, the need. She wrapped her arms around his neck and drew his mouth down to hers.

  He made love slowly to her on the floor in front of the fire. With his touches he created a burning that became a seemingly permanent part of her skin, with his kisses he ignited a raging Inferno inside her that not only lasted but built.

  She had a craving for him—for the feel of him, the smell of him, the weight of him on top of her. He seemed to sense her neediness and responded with a generosity that took her breath away. He gave to her until tears clung to her lashes and she was crying out his name. He gave to her until she couldn’t take any more. He gave to her until he was crying out her name.

  Angelica was frightened, terribly frightened. Somewhere a child was whimpering, somewhere there was the sound of music and laughter. She caught a scent of English lavender, and she heard the familiar, sweet voice say, “She shouldn’t be going out. She should stay home on a night like this. It’s too cold.” Then, “Be good. Be good.”

  The voice faded. Another voice, one she hadn’t heard before, one that was deeper, gruffer, spoke to her. Rough hands grabbed her, and she started to cry.

  “Mind me, dammit!” the man said. “If you don’t mind me, I’ll make you mind me!”

  She tried to stop crying, but she couldn’t. The orchestra was playing dance music. Then it was dark and she was so cold. The silence she heard terrified her. She screamed and screamed but no one heard her.

  Her first scream woke Amarillo. “Angelica? Good Lord!”

  He jerked upright, switched on the bedside light, then quickly turned to her. And his heart almost failed at what he saw. She was twisting and thrashing as if she were trying to fend off some enemy only she could see. Sweat covered her body and plastered her dark hair to her head. Worst of all, her face was contorted with sheer terror.

  “Angelica, what’s wrong? Honey, wake up and tell me what’s wrong.”

  He grasped her shoulders and lightly shook her, but she struck out at him with balled-up fists.

  “Angelica sweetheart, wake up. It’s Amarillo. You’re safe. You’re just having a nightmare.” He saw the tears streaming down her cheeks and cursed. The nightmare had her in a terrible grip and he couldn’t free her.

  She felt someone gently stroking her brow. The music had faded; Amarillo’s voice filled the silence. Where was he, she wondered, sobbing. If only she could find him. If only someone would find her.

  In desperation, Amarillo yanked a blanket from the bottom of the bed, wrapped her in it, then carried her across the room to a chair that sat in front of the low-burning fire. He settled into it, held her close against him, and rocked her.

  He pressed his mouth to her forehead. “Shhh, sweetheart, don’t cry, please don’t cry. Wake up now, wake up. Everything’s all right.”

  His big body warmed her, his low, soft purring voice soothed her. Somehow she realized he was holding her. Little by little the fear receded until slowly she lifted her eyelids and looked up at him.

  Relief beyond measure flooded through him. He smoothed a shaky hand across her brow, brushing damp strands of hair away from her face. “There now,” he said softly. “See? You’re awake and you’re safe. It was only a dream.”

  “Yes.” She felt as if he had rescued her from something terrible, unendurable. She just didn’t know what it could have been.

  “That was some dream you were having,” he murmured, aware that he was still rocking her, still stroking her, but unable to stop. And he didn’t know if he was doing it for him or for her. “What was It about?”

  “I don’t know. It didn't make sense.”

  She sounded like a frightened little girl, and he was overwhelmed by the urge to slay dragons for her. “Dreams are that way most of the time. It’s hard to tell what they mean and why they come to you. But in this case, the dream could have been triggered by the note you received earlier. Goodness knows, it was enough to upset anyone.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Forget the dream. It’s gone now.”

  She was sure he was right. She had been understandably disturbed over the note. It had said, “If you don’t mind me. I'll make you mind me.” Someone had said the same thing to her in her dream, someone she was afraid of. It made sense.

  So why then did she think the explanation for her dream was more complicated than that? And why was she afraid of finding out the answer? “Do you want to go back to bed now?” he asked.

  “No. Can we just stay here for a while?”

  He gathered her closer to him. “As long as you like.”

  Seven

  Winston Lawrence caught sight of Angelica coming down the grand staircase and went to meet her. “Miss DiFrenza, a phone call for you has been mistakenly put through to the front desk. I was about to take a message, but since you’re here, would you like to go ahead and accept it?”

  Angelica’s step faltered, and she came to a stop at the bottom of the staircase. “Did the caller give a name?”

  “Oh, yes. I’m sorry I didn’t mention it before. It's a Mr. William Breckinridge of DiFrenza’s.” Her sigh of relief was almost audible. After last night’s dream and its traumatic aftermath, she wasn’t up to facing another strange phone call. She crossed the great hall to the phone. “Hello, Mr. Breckinridge. How are things going?”

  “Highly satisfactory. Miss DiFrenza, which is one of the reasons I’m calling. I wanted to assure you that I have everything under control. Eleven sets of jewels have been chosen. They’re all packed and ready for me to bring.”

  “Have you had to referee any disagreements among the ladies, two of them wanting the same necklace?”

  “I’m happy to report that this year, unlike several in the past, everything has gone quite smoothly.”

  “And what about the rubies? Have you had a chance to go to the bank yet?”

  There was a pause. “Not as yet. I suppose the bank will be one of the last things I do before I leave for SwanSea, that is if you haven't changed your mind about the Deverell rubies.”

  “I won’t. I’m looking forward to wearing them. In fact, I can hardly wait.”

  “I take it, then, that your ballgown has been completed."

  “Yes, I have it here with me.” She glanced down at the li
st in her hand, then at her watch. She had an appointment to see the chef in five minutes. “When will you be arriving, Mr. Breckinridge?”

  “If the schedule stays the same, day after tomorrow. ”

  “Fine, fine. I’ll see you then. Good-bye.” She hung up the phone, took another look at the list, and realized she had left off the head gardener of the greenhouse. Damn. Well, she would just have to squeeze him in.

  “So this is where you are,” Amarillo said to Angelica, strolling into the ballroom later that day. “I’ve been looking for you. ”

  She was sitting on the floor beside the center chandelier that had been lowered for cleaning. It was a giant exotic flower made up of sparkling crystal petals. At the sound of his voice she looked around at him with a smile. “I’m surprised you found me. I didn’t think anyone would look for me in here.”

  He dropped down to the sun-warmed floor beside her. “Were you trying to hide?”

  “Just looking for a moment’s peace. I’ve had nonstop appointments all day.”

  He nodded and propped his arm on a raised knee. “I’m glad to hear you weren’t trying to avoid me.”

  She laughed. “Somehow I don’t think I would have much luck in hiding from you if you were really trying to find me.”

  He grinned. “You’re right about that. I have two things going for me. One, I’m a detective. And two, I never give up. Oh, and there is a third thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You pull me to you, just like a magnet.”

  Her smile softened, and he leaned toward her, intending to kiss her, but he hit his head on the chandelier. The crystals shimmied and tinkled one against the other. And color shot from their prism centers, causing fairylike rainbow designs to dance over her.

  “Look at the rainbows," she exclaimed, laughing. “Aren't they pretty?”

  “Pretty, but I'd rather look at you. I can’t reach out and touch a rainbow, there’d be nothing there.” He ran a finger down the side of her throat. “But I can touch you.”

  She heated all over. “Yes, you can. Anytime, anyplace."

  He felt himself begin to grow hard. Damn. He wanted her all the time now. This compulsive desire for her was growing, not diminishing—and it spoke of dependency. Better to get his mind on another subject. He glanced around, taking in the gold, silver, and crystal room. “Why did you choose this place as a hideout?”

  “I don’t know. I’ve always liked it here. Caitlin once told me that her grandmother, Arabella, felt the same way. You’d think a room as enormous as this would be cold, but it’s not. It’s a warm, happy room. I've always thought I’d like to attend a ball here.”

  “I’m not surprised. You love parties, the larger the better."

  “That's not true,” she said quickly, suppressing a sudden shudder. “As a matter of fact. I’ve never liked balls or galas. There something about them that makes me very uncomfortable.”

  He frowned. “Now, I’m surprised. You’re always the life of any party.”

  She moved her shoulders, uncomfortable about explaining something she’d never really understood herself. “I’ve always dreaded large parties, but if my family is there, I feel better about it. And once I get there and I see people I know, I’m usually okay."

  “I would think okay is an understatement. Honey, I’ve seen you positively sizzle.”

  She grinned. “You were paying attention?”

  “There were times I couldn’t take my eyes off you.”

  “You know what? Sometimes I had the same problem with you.”

  He nodded slowly. “It’s only fair."

  Her grin widened. “Would you like to hear my theory about rooms and houses?”

  “If you have a theory," he said solemnly, “then I have an obligation to hear it.”

  She noted the twinkle in his eye and punched him lightly in the arm. “Okay, here it is. I think houses absorb and store up the things that happen inside them, I think that’s what gives them their character and personality."

  Amarillo cleared his throat. “That’s an interesting theory, all right. Do we have any scientists working on it at the moment?"

  She sent him a look meant to quell, but that succeeded only in increasing the twinkle in his eye. “Okay, now, take this room for instance. It’s known parties and dances galore. It’s even had at least one wedding that we know of held in it. Remember? Nico and Caitlin were married here.”

  “I remember. You wore violet.”

  She grimaced. “Violet, of course.” She shook her head. “I'm beginning to believe that I have a very weird mind. ”

  He grinned. "Luckily, I get very turned on by weird.”

  She laughed, and the sound traveled through the empty room, then came back to her as a faint echo. She looked at him. “See what I mean? It’s a happy room.”

  He reached out and touched her. "I don’t know about the room,” he said quietly, “but I’m glad to see you happy.”

  She decided not to let him know how fleeting she felt this happiness was. He would want to know why, she wouldn’t be able to explain, and they would both get upset. “Remember Elena here on Nico and Caitlin’s wedding day? Now, there was someone who was happy.”

  He nodded in agreement. “She glowed. It was wonderful that she could come to SwanSea at least once before she died.”

  “And that she lived to see her family united with her husband's family. It gave her such peace in her last year. I’m very grateful for it. Caitlin told her what she had heard of that time after Elena’s husband John was killed in the war. According to lore passed down among SwanSea servants, Edward closed himself up in his rooms and didn’t come out until months later. The servants put the mail aside and eventually bundled it up into the attic. Edward never received Elena’s Bible or letter. He never knew he had a daughter-in-law or a grandson. If he had known, I’m sure Deverell history would have been rewritten.” Angelica shrugged her shoulders.

  He pushed a heavy strand of her hair away from her face. “You might have grown up right here at SwanSea. Have you ever thought about that?”

  “No, but I’ve never felt deprived. It hasn’t been that many years since I learned I was a Deverell. The news was a wonderful, astonishing surprise, but nothing can take away from the DiFrenza part of me. Thanks to Elena, I already had a complete and rich life and heritage. Knowing about the Deverells’ connection to us and about SwanSea is simply an enrichment of that life and heritage."

  “What a nice way to look at it.”

  “The first time I saw SwanSea, I had the strangest sensation of coming home. It was as if this place had always been waiting for me. I love coming here to visit, but I wouldn’t change anything about my life up until now. I don’t feel as if I’ve lost anything. I feel as if I’ve gained.” Especially her time with him, she thought. She reached out and caressed his face, and it occurred to her that this was a very precious moment, talking quietly with him in the surrounding warmth and sunshine of the room.

  He took her hand, kissed its palm, then curled his hand around hers. “Your mother died when you were very young, didn't she?”

  "I was about two and a half years old. If I didn’t have photographs of her, I wouldn’t remember her at all. Elena became my mother. If I hadn’t had her—”

  Amarillo suddenly frowned. “Are we making you sad by talking about your mother and Elena?”

  She laughed at him in surprise. “No. Why?”

  “I don’t know. Just a feeling I got.”

  He was very perceptive, she thought. He had realized before she had that her spirits were falling. He had the reason wrong, though. It wasn’t what they were talking about that was the cause, but rather her growing belief that a peaceful, quiet time with him like this might not happen again.

  There was a darkness threatening her, and she was frightened. She didn’t know from where the darkness was coming, but she was certain it would eventually entomb her. A strange sort of cold sensation gripped her, chilling her to
the bone. She glanced around the beautiful, sun-filled room, then back to him. She could still feel the room’s warmth, and she knew he could make her feel heat.

  She reached for him. “Make love to me.”

  “Here? Now?”

  “No one will come in.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Please,” she whispered, her lips against his.

  He shouldn’t, he thought. At least not until he had locked or barred the doors in some way. But he was only human, a man obsessed with one woman, this woman. And there was an urgency in her. He could no more turn down her request to make love than he could fly.

  To be able to touch her was a guarantee that his heart would beat one more time. To be able to slide into her and feel her close tightly around him was insurance that he would continue to breathe. Without these things he might die.

  He helped her undress, then undressed himself.

  He touched her, he slid into her; he continued to live.

  Currents of air drifted around the huge room, brushing over the crystals of the chandeliers. Sweet, clear, bell-like music sounded, and rainbows of color played over their skin. And their happiness and pleasure in each other seemed to saturate the ballroom and be absorbed into its very walls.

  * * *

  Angelica was frightened. She couldn’t see; everything was dark, black. She heard a child crying. The child was so scared, so bewildered, she didn’t understand the muted voices outside. But they grew louder, angrier.

  “Stupid woman! You’re worrying about the wrong things."

  “Don’t be angry with me. I love you. You’re my golden-haired boy. It hurts me when you call me names.”

  “Then do what I say, exactly what I say.”

  “I will. I love you.”

  The door was jerked open. The dark silhouette of a man appeared against a dim light. “Look at her. She’s filthy! And she’s always crying. I told her if she doesn’t start minding me, she’ll be sorry, because I’ll make her mind me.”

  “She needs to go home.”

  “She will, if she minds me, and if you do as I say. ”