by Tinnean
“Thank you.” He smoked Winstons, I’d learned, and he took one out, tapped it on the back of his hand, and lit it. Then he leaned toward me and held the flame to the Winston I’d put between my lips.
“Thank you.”
“You seem partial to violets.” He ran his thumb over the enamel violets on the lighter before putting it down.
“I am.”
“And yet you won’t let me buy them for you.”
“I don’t buy them for me either.” I drew in a lungful of smoke and began coughing, grateful for the distraction. “S-sorry,” I choked as I crushed out the cigarette.
“It’s odd, isn’t it? How we react to different brands? I know someone who enjoys Camels very much, and yet the only time I accepted one from him, I coughed as if my lungs no longer wanted to stay in my chest, and I had a sore throat for the rest of the day.” He ran his palm in soothing circles over my back. “Better now?”
I drew a breath that thankfully didn’t result in another coughing attack and reached for my napkin, dabbing at my eyes. “Is my makeup ruined?”
“Not in the least.” He crushed out his own cigarette.
“In that case, yes, thanks.” I folded my napkin, set it down on the table, and reached for my coffee cup.
“You’re quite the cook, Portia.”
“No. I’m quite the hostess.” I smiled into his eyes. “I have a confession to make.”
“You didn’t make all this yourself?” His eyebrow rose to disappear under the lock of hair that spilled over his forehead. I always had such a desire to stroke it back.
I burst into laughter. “How did you know?”
“Your brother made a point of warning me just before I left for the day.”
“Well, I had every intention of telling you before you left. Are you disappointed?”
“I’m not. I think your talents lie in other directions.”
I hoped he’d let me show him.
He glanced at his wristwatch and pushed his chair back from the table.
“You’re not leaving!”
“I think it might be a good idea if I did.”
“Why?”
“Shall I be truthful with you?”
“Please.”
“If I don’t leave now, I’m afraid I won’t leave until morning.”
I rose and went to stand before him, and rested my palms on his chest. His heart was beating in slow, heavy thuds, and I could feel the vibrations. He looked down into my eyes. Usually it irritated me when a man did that, but with Nigel…I ran a fingertip over his lower lip. “Please stay.”
“Portia, you understand we won’t simply sit on the couch and…and neck. If I stay, I won’t have any choice but to make love to you.”
“Yes, please.”
“Portia…”
I went up on my tiptoes and brought our mouths together. His lips were dry, and he wouldn’t part them for me, so I ran my tongue over them, making it easier to brush my own lips over his. He still refused to open his mouth. “So stubborn,” I murmured and licked at the seam, teasing it. “I want you, Nigel. I don’t say that casually.”
“Your brothers…”
“You won’t be making love to them.” For all his objections, I wasn’t worried that perhaps he might like men. The erection against my abdomen informed me that even if he did, he liked me as well.
He groaned and finally met my tongue with his as he scooped me up. “Bedroom!”
“Yes, darling.”
“No.” His laugh was strained. “Where is it?”
I blindly gestured toward the door, and he carried me there, kissing me the entire time.
* * * *
Afterward, Nigel groaned. “God, Portia, I’m so sorry!”
“Why?” It had been the most amazing experience, and I was still tingling from head to toe as aftershocks rippled through my body.
“I…I didn’t pull out.”
I had made Nigel Mann, known to all and sundry as the coldest, most contained man in Washington, lose control. I wrapped my arms around him and kissed the corner of his mouth. “You don’t need to worry.”
“Of course I do. If you become pregnant…”
“I won’t. Before you arrived this evening, I inserted my diaphragm.”
“You…you use a diaphragm?”
“Shouldn’t I? I don’t believe in being careless.”
“I…”
“However, even if I should become pregnant, I wouldn’t use that to entrap you.” All my life I’d seen how unhappy my parents were, and I’d never subject myself to a loveless marriage. I’d stay single and raise my child on my own.
“It wouldn’t be entrapment.”
“Excuse me?”
“There are two of us in this bed, Portia.” He braced himself on his hands and looked down into my eyes. “I can’t say I blame you for not wanting to marry me—”
“What?”
“What woman wants to marry a cold fish?”
I burst into laughter. “And what man wants to marry an ice princess? Now, stop talking nonsense. You’ll have to leave before dawn—”
“Yes. If your brothers discover I’ve been in your bed, they just might see I become this century’s Abelard.”
I reached down, wedged my hand between our bodies, and caressed his cock with my fingertips. “That would be such a waste.”
“Portia, I’m serious.”
“I know. And so am I when I say I wouldn’t allow it. Nigel, this is the middle of the twentieth century. I’m a grown woman, and my decisions are my own.”
He cupped my cheek, ran his thumb over my lips, and sighed. “I’d better leave.” He started to roll out of bed.
“Not yet.” With both Jason and Folana I’d had no problem leaving when it was time to go, but with Nigel…”Please stay a while longer. It won’t be dawn for some time.”
“It was the nightingale, and not the lark?”
“Yes.”
“How can I resist you?”
“Do you want try?”
“Frankly? No. Portia, I…”
“Yes, darling?”
“I promise that I won’t hurt you.” He settled himself on my body again, his cock nestled between my thighs, and his weight was a pleasure.
* * * *
Chapter 5
I met Nigel’s family at Thanksgiving. His father was a petty bureaucrat who worked at the CIA as an attorney, his stepmother aspired to be a society hostess, and his stepbrother was the sort Father would label a wastrel.
It was an uncomfortable occasion.
“Good afternoon, Peabody,” Nigel said to the butler as he handed him our coats.
“Good afternoon, sir. Everyone is in the study.”
“Thank you.”
We walked into Mr. Mann’s study and found that instead of the intimate family dinner we’d been led to expect, Mr. Mann had invited a number of my parents’ acquaintances as well as his business associates and their wives.
Nigel grew tense. “I’m sorry, Portia. I had no idea.”
I took his hand and threaded my fingers through his. “It’s all right.”
“Let’s get this over with.” He led me to his father. “Good afternoon, Father.”
“What took you so long, Nigel?” His father scowled at him. “Ada had to tell Mrs. Armstrong to put dinner back until you arrived.”
“I apologize. Traffic.”
“Well, you should have given yourself more time.”
Nigel didn’t respond to that. “Sir, may I introduce Portia Sebring?”
“Mr. Mann.”
“My dear.” The scowl was replaced by a fawning smile. He took my right hand and squeezed it. His grip was tight and his palm was moist. Once he released my hand, I wiped it surreptitiously against my skirt. “It’s so good to finally meet you. I know your father, and I must say you have quite the look of him. A more feminine version, of course. As you can see, I’ve invited some familiar faces, so you won’t feel at a loss. Oh, and thi
s is Ada, my wife, and Addison, her son.”
She didn’t look happy to be an afterthought, and I couldn’t say that I blamed her. Or perhaps she was annoyed that he didn’t appear to regard her son as his son.
“How do you do, Mrs. Mann? It’s very kind of you to invite me to join your family for Thanksgiving.”
“Miss Sebring. Algernon was very pleased when he learned you and Nigel were keeping company. Although what you see in him is beyond me.” She didn’t bother lowering her voice. “You could do so much better with my son.”
Nigel simply looked disinterested. I hated seeing that expression on his face.
“Indeed? I do very well with Nigel.” I slipped my arm through his and smiled at her. “He’s a good, honorable man.” I turned to her son. “Addison.”
“Where have you been all my life, gorgeous? And now that I’ve found you, why don’t you ditch the iceberg and let me show you what it can be like with a hot-blooded man?” He took my hand, but he didn’t simply shake it; he grasped my upper arm and stroked the bare flesh above my elbow. Pale, watery-blue eyes that were set too close together crawled over the bronze silk faille dress I wore, and I had to call upon the social smile Mother had taught me before I entered school, or I would have curled my lip at him. He was taller than Nigel, and heavier, and although he was two years younger, his receding hairline matched his receding chin.
I peeled his fingers off me despite the desire to dig my fingernails into his hand.
“Portia, my dear, let me introduce you to the rest of my guests.” Mr. Mann scowled at Addison, folded my hand through his arm, and then took me around the room, as if I were a prize to be exhibited.
Nigel was about to join us, when a young woman caught his arm. He sent an apologetic look my way, and I smiled back at him.
“You do seem to be taken with my son,” Mr. Mann observed. I liked neither the sardonic way Mr. Mann regarded his son nor his proprietary manner toward me.
“Isn’t that what you wanted?” His jaw dropped, and I turned to the couple who were standing to the side. “Mr. Roberts, how nice to see you again. And Mrs. Roberts.” I knew the couple from the visits they’d pay to Shadow Brook. “Mother was saying just the other day that she hadn’t seen you in too long!”
“Ah. I must give her a call. And how are you, Portia? I understand you’re actually working.”
“Yes, Tony’s letting me help out at the office. Father thought it would be a good idea until I was ready to settle down. And how are your two boys? I believe Hamilton said something about applying to Harvard?”
After chatting with the Roberts for a short time, I went on to greet the Yorks, and then the van Burens.
Nigel’s father seemed surprised to see me in action. Did he think I was a shy debutante who didn’t know my way around society? Even when I’d been a deb, I’d never been shy.
I smiled up at him. “Why don’t you introduce me to the woman who’s got a death grip on Nigel’s arm?” I walked toward them, and he had no option but to accompany me.
He snorted. “Don’t like that, do you?”
“The fact that other women find Nigel attractive? That simply compliments my choice in men.”
“Hmm. You’re as cool as he is.”
I just smiled at him again, and he gave a braying laugh, which had everyone in the room staring at him, something he ignored.
“Laura, this is Portia Sebring. Portia, Mrs. Laura Garfield.”
“Mrs. Garfield.”
“Miss Sebring.” She studied my dress. “I believe I have something similar in my closet. Of course I’d never wear last year’s fashions.”
“I understand completely. However, you must be mistaken. Yves designed this especially for me for my birthday this year.” Oh, no, you don’t want to trade barbs with me!
“Yves?”
“Saint-Laurent, darling. Of course you know he took over the House of Dior after Christian passed away. Lady Portia and I were so saddened by his death, and of course we attended his funeral. His designs were classic.”
“You knew Dior well enough to call him by his first name?”
“Of course. He designed for me from the time of my first cotillion.”
“Cotillion?” Her eyes seemed about to pop out of her head.
“Oh, yes,” I said brightly. “And he did my wardrobe when I was in London, and took special pains for the gown I wore when I was presented at court.”
“Court?” Her voice was faint.
Nigel’s expression became mildly bored, although I noticed the faint flush of red on his cheekbones. He brought his hand to his mouth to muffle a cough.
“I was fortunate enough to make my curtsy the year before Her Majesty abolished presentations.”
“Her Majesty?” Her complexion became sickly.
Mrs. Mann stalked toward us and announced, “We’ll dine now, Algernon. If we wait much longer, dinner will be ruined.”
“Of course, my dear. Nigel, escort your lovely companion into the dining room.”
“It will be my pleasure, Father.” Apparently the blonde thought Mr. Mann meant her, but Nigel came to my side. “Portia?” He smiled into my eyes, and I took his arm. As we entered the dining room, he leaned down and whispered, “I hope you never call me ‘darling’ in that manner!”
* * * *
I was seated at Mr. Mann’s right, and Nigel was at the bottom of the table between his stepmother and Mrs. Garfield. Addison, I was sorry to see, was seated to my right.
Throughout the soup and fish courses, Mr. Mann persisted in talking politics, something Father would never do, simply because Mother wouldn’t tolerate it at the dinner table.
“The Democratic party must be desperate if they’re touting that young senator from Massachusetts as their candidate. The last thing this country needs is a Catholic in the White House, and the people won’t stand for it! Nixon is sure to get in.”
Not only politics, but religion as well.
Having had Mother as an example, I wasn’t inclined to think much of Mrs. Mann’s hostessing skills. I would have been willing to give her the benefit of the doubt if it hadn’t been for her treatment of Nigel—she ignored him to the point of rudeness. I disliked seeing that expression of cool indifference on his face.
Mrs. Roberts, who was seated at that end of the table, steered the conversation into more convivial waters. A renowned hostess in her own right, she did it in such a way that Mrs. Mann wasn’t even aware.
There was a lull in the conversation as the main course ended and dinner plates were removed and salad plates replaced them. I caught Nigel’s gaze, and he smiled, a cool little smile.
My hand shook, and I dropped my fork. “Oh, dear! I’m so sorry. How clumsy of me!” My eyes didn’t leave Nigel’s, and Nigel’s didn’t leave mine.
“Not at all, miss.” The server picked up the fork and handed me another one.
“Thank you.”
Nigel continued to watch me, and it amazed me that no one could see how hot, almost ravenous the look in his eyes was. Abruptly, it was gone, and although he looked more cool and remote than ever, there was a tightness around his mouth.
Mrs. Garfield was fidgeting with her pearls with her right hand, and meanly I wondered if she was aware they were dipped. Her left hand, however, was out of sight beneath the table.
Nigel lowered his right hand and then placed her hand on the table. He said something to her, and she scowled for a moment—not a good look for her—before smoothing it from her expression. She laughed and fluttered her lashes at him.
I noticed Mr. Mann watching me thoughtfully. “Where’s Mr. Garfield?” I asked him.
“He spends the holidays with his children.”
“And Mrs. Garfield doesn’t go with him?”
“No.” He laughed shortly. “She’s not invited. They blame her for their parents’ divorce.”
“Ah.” And if the rest of the dinner conversation was going to be idle gossip, it was going to be tedious, indeed
.
The woman on Mr. Mann’s left murmured something, and he turned to her.
“You should let her have my stepbrother,” Addison said, drawing my attention to him.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Did you know he’s called Mr. Freeze? A woman like you—”
“What kind of woman would that be?” I challenged him.
“Don’t you know you’re called the ice princess? You need a man who can melt the ice.”
“And you think you’re the man?”
“I know I am. I like cool blondes.”
“Then perhaps you should switch places with Nigel and make a play for Mrs. Garfield.”
“I said cool blondes. I’ve already had Laura. And so has just about every man in this room, including my stepfather.” He leered at me, reached over, and pinched my hip.
He honestly thought he would succeed by putting his hands on me?
“Do you know my father, Addison?” I gave him my most charming smile.
“I’ve heard of him, of course, although I haven’t met him yet. The old man’s been dragging his feet about it…” He sent a resentful glare toward Mr. Mann. “But I’m hoping you will introduce us. I’d be perfect at State.” His broad grin revealed a piece of spinach stuck between his teeth. “I have a good deal to offer the government, I’ll have you know.”
“Do you really?” I leaned close, so that only he would hear me. “Well, let me tell you this. If you touch me again, I will not only not introduce you to my father, but I’ll drive my dinner knife into your hand.”
“You’re not serious!”
“Do you really want to chance it? And by the way, you have spinach in your teeth.”
“Addison, are you annoying Miss Sebring?” Mr. Mann didn’t look happy.
“No,” his stepson said sulkily as he ran a thumbnail between his teeth. “I was just—”
I’d had enough. I folded my napkin and placed it on my plate. “You’ll have to forgive me, Mr. Mann. I find I’m not feeling well. Nigel will have to take me home.”
“Oh, but my dear…”
