Inconvenient Lover

by Cooper-Posey, Tracy

  She couldn’t marry Hugh. It had nothing to do with her love for David, except that it allowed her to acknowledge unreservedly he had been right to say marrying Hugh would be unjust.

  Unintentionally, she felt her hand tighten its grasp on David’s and she felt an echoing squeeze. But before she could voice a protest, he was lifting her hand up toward Hugh.

  “Here, you lucky devil,” David said conversationally. “But I want to take over when you run out of breath.”

  Hugh nodded. “Get comfortable, then, my friend,” he said, taking Anastasia’s hand.

  She looked to David for help. But his face was studiously blank. His glance met hers for a fraction of a second and then Hugh was leading her away, across the rapidly filling dance floor, pulling her into his arms and she had to look away, to concentrate on picking up her train and following Hugh’s lead into the waltz.

  They began to circle around the floor. She tried to keep track of where David went to and saw he had not moved from the entrance but stood, arms crossed, watching them. There was a dark, brooding look on his face.

  “I forgot to say hello,” Hugh murmured. “Good evening, Anastasia.”

  She looked up. “Hello.” Her tone was wary, even though she tried to make it sound friendly.

  “You’re still angry with me then.” He sighed. “Honestly, Anastasia, I don’t know what I did, or didn’t do but if it is my fault, I’m sorry.”

  “It wasn’t your fault.” She paused while they danced around a tight knot of couples. “Hugh, we need to talk. Somewhere quiet and private.”

  “Finding somewhere quiet might be difficult around here tonight. At least say you’ll forgive me for now, until we do get the chance.”

  Knowing it would be churlish to remain uncooperative, she nodded and tried to smile. “Of course you’re forgiven.”

  His face lit up with a slow smile. “Good.” He bent his head and dropped a kiss onto her cheek. “You had me quite worried, especially when you wouldn’t talk to me on the phone.”

  She felt the old guilt stirring within her but quelled it with the thought that she did intend to end this, as soon as possible. She looked away from Hugh’s relieved features and saw David, still watching them. The brooding look had intensified to one resembling anger. He had seen the kiss, of course.

  He turned and walked away as she watched and she lost sight of him in the crowded room when Hugh whirled her away again.

  He finally relinquished his turn many dances later, breathing heavily, while she still felt cool and relaxed. Hugh was a typical office slouch, barely exercising once a week, while she was reaping unexpected benefits from her midnight swims. He led her off the dance floor and to a clear table and sank into the seat thankfully, waving at a waiter as he wiped his forehead.

  An ice bucket with champagne and two crystal glasses were laid between them, along with a bowl of strawberries and a small plate of sugar cubes, which gave away the host’s European background. Anastasia slid a cube into Hugh’s glass as he poured, knowing he liked the sweet edge to the wine and sat back to sip her unadulterated drink.

  Her respite was brief. Pierre claimed her for his promised waltz the next dance the orchestra began and, she was spun around the floor with gentle expertise while Pierre kept up a running monologue about his garden and the tribulations he had gone through to keep it to the standard all his ball guests had come to expect over the years. She nodded sympathetically, knowing Pierre enjoyed every moment of time he spent on his garden, regardless of any expectations. Then he switched topics abruptly.

  “You look so lovely tonight, little Anastasia. You put me in mind of your mother.”

  “I know we look alike.”

  “You resemble each other, yes. But your mother—you must forgive me the comparison, for it is how I must explain it—she was the fire to your snow. Both of you could sting but she always burned, while you have always hidden everything beneath a cold blanket and your sting was delivered only after long immersion. Frost bite. You know they call the frost bite ‘snow burn’?”

  Anastasia nodded. “I understand.”

  “But tonight—” He paused dramatically and rolled his eyes.

  “I’m the fire tonight?” Anastasia prompted.

  “Yes.”

  She let this new information sink in. “This was my mother’s dress,” she said.

  “Yes, I know. I remember it well.”

  “You remember it?”

  “Yes, indeed.” He smiled. “And seeing it upon you explains why I remember it so well. Your mother and you now, are quite magnificent. You have thawed out, little Anastasia.”

  Pierre fell silent for the rest of the dance, for which she was grateful, for she was reluctant to follow up his poetic observations with bland social chit chat. He had reminded her of a fact she had overlooked until now. He was not the only person here tonight who had known her mother and might remember the dress. To them, Anastasia would also be making a statement—a very public one. She wondered if that had been a contributing reason for her father’s anger.

  The dance ended and she was claimed by another friend for the next dance. After looking around for David and not finding him, she agreed and was led off into a fox-trot.

  The dances began to meld together after that, as she was kept on her feet by a startling number of men asking her to dance with them. The only respite she had was enforced because the orchestra needed to rest occasionally too. During those breaks, she sat at the table with Hugh and drank champagne, interspersed with large glasses of mineral water to drown her thirst, only to be whisked back onto the dance floor as soon as the orchestra struck up once more.

  Every time a dance ended she looked for David. He had virtually promised to dance with her and now he was nowhere to be seen. She was troubled by his absence.

  The last set before supper was called. The man Anastasia was dancing with looked at her in query. “Do you want to continue?”

  David was not going to appear, it seemed. “Why not?” she answered. “I’m enjoying this.”

  They were only a few beats into the dance when David did appear, one large hand on the man’s shoulder firmly bringing them both to a halt. “Sorry to interrupt,” David said. “But I believe it’s my turn, now.”

  “Sure.” The man stepped aside. “I’ve been greedy enough.” He turned and walked away.

  David pulled her into his arms and she gasped at the physical contact. His hand was warm and firm against the skin of her back, pressing her against him, as he moved into the slow, perfect rhythm of the dance. She could feel his breath expand his ribcage against her.

  “I missed you,” she told him.

  “You appeared to be adequately entertained. Every man here is falling over himself in the rush to dance with you.” His voice was rough.

  She looked up into his eyes. “Is that jealousy I hear in your voice?”

  “Yes, damn it,” he growled. “Blind, arrant jealousy. Do you think I’ve enjoyed watching you in other men’s arms?”

  She felt her stomach do a slow back flip. A straight answer. He had given her a straight answer. “Does this mean you’ll dance with me for the rest of the night?”

  “If that’s the only way I can keep you from dancing with them, then yes.”

  “I was only waiting for you to ask.” She tried to analyze his words and action tonight. There was something different about them that hinted at a change of attitude. The air of patient waiting and watching had evaporated. Suddenly, David had become unpredictable.

  “Something has changed, hasn’t it? Our agreement…all bets are off, now, aren’t they?”

  There was a long silence before he said slowly, as if he were choosing his words with care, “This dress, your appearance tonight tell me the reasons for our agreement have lapsed. And I have endured enough. I won’t wait any longer, Anastasia. You must make a decision. Tonight. Me. Or Hugh.”

  The dance ended and the supper bell sounded. They came to a halt on the dance
floor, David’s arm still about her. Anastasia let her train fall to the ground.

  “Haven’t you overlooked the third option, David? If I must choose, I could choose neither of you.”

  She saw his jaw clench tight. He nodded. “You could but you’re a fool if you do, Anastasia.”

  Her heart was pounding from the dance but now it gave an extra hard thump that physically hurt. “I agree that decisions must be made, David and I’m working on them. But must it be tonight?” She hesitated, then plunged ahead with the truth anyway. “Tonight…is special to me. I don’t want to spoil it.”

  David considered for a moment, then reluctantly shook his head. “No. It must be tonight.”

  I can’t send him away from me forever, not tonight. Tomorrow, if I must, when I have had the time to steel myself for it. But not tonight. She tried to convey all her anguish as she spoke the only word possible. “Please.” It was a plea.

  He let her go and stepped away. She could see that he was fighting a battle within himself, for the reluctance in him was banking all the fire and feeling she could normally read in his eyes.

  “I’ll take you in to supper, Anastasia.” Hugh moved to her right and caught her arm in his. “Coming, David?”

  She kept her gaze firmly on David’s face. “Well?” she asked, knowing he would answer her question and not Hugh’s.

  “I can’t,” he said, his face still and devoid of expression. He looked at Hugh. “I promised Anastasia’s Aunt Benitta I would meet her during the supper break.”

  She closed her eyes for a moment, rallying herself. She looked at Hugh. “Let’s go, then. I’m thirsty too.”

  They were halfway up the flight of steps to the top terrace when she processed David’s final words. He was meeting with Benitta at her aunt’s request. Why? She shivered. Surely Benitta wouldn’t relate their conversation this afternoon to David? She wouldn’t. It wasn’t like Benitta to betray confidences.

  It was only a small reassurance. Anastasia had put into motion events she hadn’t dreamed might develop and now she had to ride out the storm. The night was moving ahead with the inexorable determination of a runaway hurricane. No one appeared to be able to withstand it.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Supper was served in the large formal salon of the Therion’s home and to serve all two hundred guests, the entire lower floor of the building was turned over to the caterers.

  Inside, Anastasia discovered why she had not seen her father since her arrival. She noticed him sitting in one of the lounge chairs, a small group of his closest friends sitting around him. Christopher Kirk was holding court.

  They all rose to their feet as she came into the room, obviously intending to go to supper themselves. She came face to face with her father and his expression metamorphosed into the blank unreadable tablet she had grown up with.

  Suddenly she was tired of it all. The most important people in her life had all cut her off, ceased communicating. They were all shielding truths from her and she was sick of being sheltered, of not being given the chance to make choices of her own. It was time to wrest some of that control back.

  “Hello, Dad,” she said pleasantly, her tone firm but friendly. Look at me! she shouted silently at him.

  “Excuse me,” he said, side-stepping, as if he were going to move around her. Without a word. The cold shoulder she had become infinitely familiar with.

  She shot her hand out to grasp her father’s wrist. “I said hello. Don’t turn your back on me, Dad.”

  “You deserve no more than my back.” He looked down at her hand on his wrist. “Do you mind?”

  “Only if you will promise the first waltz with me after supper.”

  Christopher Kirk turned to face her square on. “I find it difficult to so much as look at you while you are wearing that dress. You’re presuming far too much to expect me to dance with you.” The derision in his voice was like a whiplash to her soul. “And now, if you will release my arm, I intend to get my supper, for even talking to you is more than I can tolerate.”

  There was a subtle shifting in the group of people standing around them. They were obviously uncomfortable witnesses to a scene such as they hadn’t been given by a member of the Kirk household for many years. Not since her mother had died. And this one was even worse. This was an argument and an acrimonious one at that. They had never beheld a scene quite like this one before.

  Anastasia blinked back the tears in her eyes. She didn’t move from her blocking position in front of her father. “Then just listen, Dad. I’ve got enough to say for both of us—”

  “Not here, you don’t,” Christopher snapped. “Not in public.”

  “And if you and Mom hadn’t kept up such a perfect public facade I wouldn’t be standing here in this dress tonight!”

  The color drained from his face. This time she had gone too far. His throat worked soundlessly and she watched as his eyes narrowed, the blue glittering harshly. White weals appeared beside his mouth, running up into the hollow cheeks. He had never reacted like this before and she became a little frightened.

  His hand came up, the palm open.

  Dear heaven, he’s going to hit me.

  Another hand arrested Christopher’s swinging forearm in mid-flight. The impact of hand meeting arm sounded like a blow in itself. David imposed himself between them, facing her father. “You don’t need to resort to that,” he said, forcing her father to lower his arm. He looked over his shoulder at her. “Get her out of here, Hugh,” he said shortly.

  She felt Hugh’s slim fingers on her waist. “Come on,” he said into her ear. She was pushed away, her father hidden behind David’s broad back. She passed Benitta, who stood to one side, her eyes wide with shock.

  Hugh was nearly as strong as David and his wiry strength was quite sufficient to propel Anastasia out of the room, down the hall, onto the broad veranda. When he let her go, she found herself shaking violently in reaction.

  “Damn it, Anastasia, what’s got into you? You know better than to bait your father like that!” Hugh looked back down the passage but it was clear of people for the moment. When he looked back at her, he frowned. “You’re shaking.”

  “I know.” She tried to smile. “You don’t think I enjoyed that, did you?”

  His natural kindness reasserted itself. With a click of his tongue, like a mother hen, he took off his jacket and dropped it around her shoulders and took her hand. “Come on. We’ll go back to the marquee. I’m sure we’ll be able to scrounge up a drink for you there.”

  They went back down the stairs and into the tent, where a small battalion of people in waiter’s clothes were rushing around, sweeping, cleaning, tidying, while the lull during supper lasted. Hugh sat her down at the nearest table to the entrance and went to the bar to organize a drink. He came back with champagne. “It’s all they’ve got,” he apologized.

  “It will do nicely,” she replied. For the first time in her life she didn’t care if she got drunk. She had always been careful with alcohol because she had seen what fools it could make of people but she had already been called a fool and worse tonight. She had nothing left to lose.

  She lifted the glass to her lips and the fine edge clattered against her teeth as her hand trembled. She drained the glass and pushed it across to Hugh to refill.

  Silently he refilled it.

  “Talk to me,” she commanded.

  He cast about for a topic. “What was all that about your dress?”

  She smoothed out the material across her knee. “It was my mother’s.”

  Hugh picked up the implications very fast. “And your father didn’t give it to you?”

  She shook her head after another long sip.

  “Well, I admire your courage, Anastasia. But why?”

  She sighed. “Ask me again someday, when we have plenty of time and tonight is a distant memory.”

  “All right.” He appeared to accept that easily. He refilled her glass again. “Though, I admit you and your mo
ther have…did have…good taste. If this is another of your yearnings being given air time, Anastasia, I might have to seriously reconsider my own standards. You look gorgeous. More than that.”

  “Thank you.”

  “No, I mean it. I’ve actually been getting quite jealous tonight, watching other men watching you.”

  She found she could actually smile a little. “I’ll take that as a compliment,” she told him.

  He leaned forward to pick up her free hand. “Do that.”

  Then it occurred to her. “Is that why you’ve suddenly appeared at my side every time I was talking to David tonight? Are you jealous of David too?”

  Hugh pursed his lips. “I hate to say it about my best friend but yes, I was.”

  “Why now, after all this time? You’ve trusted him…us… utterly up until now.”

  “Maybe that’s what I’m trying to say about the dress, about your appearance tonight. I’m not sure I understand it myself. You look so different, that it’s almost like you’re a different person. One that I should get jealous about, even when it’s David. Or maybe especially when it’s David, for as much as I trust him, I suspect that the way you look tonight is enough to make him wish he’d met you first.”

  She pulled her hand out of his grip. Even Hugh was beginning to pick up the subliminal signals, now. She drained her glass. It wasn’t fair, she thought. She intended to put everything to rights. But not tonight. She wanted tonight for herself. But everything was happening too fast.

  Hugh considerately refilled her glass for her. He was smiling again. “I really shouldn’t let it bother me so much, should I?” he said. “As you say—I trust David completely, more than anyone else here. And after tonight it will cease to be an issue.”

  Anastasia gripped the glass tightly. “Why?” she asked, her senses alerted.

  Hugh looked at her fondly, as if he was forgiving her for a momentary obtuseness. “Because David’s going back to China tomorrow, of course.”