Louisa was left alone for a few minutes while the maid sought a tea tray. While she was gone, Aaron came into their room, and when he reached to draw her fragrant soft body against him for a brief moment, he was greeted with a stiffness he knew he didn't deserve.
"Hey, what's this reception?"
Louisa was in a definite huff. "Oh, I've just been talking with Loo Kim," she announced distractedly.
"Then I suggest you not talk to her anymore," he said, whisking the towel from her body, instantly leaving her naked for his perusal. But in her frame of mind, it was the last thing he should have done.
"Give that to me!" she snapped, grasping furiously for the towel, which he threw at her.
"I hope your temper improves a little by this evening, honey," he said sarcastically, sitting heavily in a large, cushioned chair, beginning to remove his boots. "This is the night we've been waiting for all these weeks, and in some respects, all these months. Need I speak to Easton? Should I tell him his servant is upsetting you?" he asked harshly.
"Don't you dare!" she flashed.
"Well, then, what in hell is the matter with you?―It doesn't matter," he waved at her wearily, "just behave yourself tonight, is all I ask." And he flung his boots and gloves into a corner, and they looked at each other sullenly for a few minutes, until Louisa smiled, rushing to him, kneeling between his legs, stretching herself against him comfortably. He closed his legs and his arms around her, this time finding his reception more to his liking. "You feel like satin," he sighed, stroking her, "wonderful, soft satin," kissing her mouth, pulling her even closer. "Care for another bath?"
"It would spoil my hair, if I know you!"
"You're right. Just don't bother dressing―unless you don't mind taking off your clothes again." He smiled, easily raising them both from the chair, beginning to remove his own clothing.
Aaron had disrobed when Loo Kim returned, and, to Louisa's shock, he made no effort to conceal his nakedness, even though her entry was announced before she came into the room. Aaron seemed not to notice, and neither did the servant, but Louisa blushed for both of them, very relieved when Aaron disappeared into the bath. She soon dismissed the girl, thinking wickedly Aaron might not bother with even that formality when he came back with only one thing on his mind.
She ate and drank from the tray that had just arrived, then wound her untangled, but not yet arranged hair into another towel, piling it into a turban on her head. She entered the steamy bathroom and sat on the floor above Aaron. "Why didn't you tell me about Loo Kim? You knew she was more than just a simple servant."
"Anyone could guess that by looking at her. There aren't many 'simple servants' that look like she does―even at home―if you'll recall," he said, submerging into the superheated water for an instant.
"Well, Easton has a better eye for women than I'd heard."
"There's nothing wrong with his eyes, that's for sure. Nor with mine," he said, rising from the tub, toweling quickly, seeking what promised to be more than an afternoon of idle conversation.
Chapter Forty-seven
THE guests began to gather early, daylight extending late into the evening. Aaron had entered the party some time before Louisa came down, and when she stood preparing to descend the now seemingly precipitous staircase, in yards of billowing skirts, she could hear the usually quiet house resonant with deep, forceful voices. She listened briefly, hearing echoes, thinking they might have come from the past when, as a child, she would perch above her father's entertainments, those occasions also having a purpose, always a means to an end. She remembered Momma―the glittering ornament―and Louisa felt herself pale. "I follow in your footsteps," she murmured. "But not forever," she vowed, beginning her descent.
Servants at the ballroom doors bowed, and she entered quietly into the collection of men, who momentarily seemed intent on their conversations. The room was crowded, the lamps not yet raised, dusk only beginning to settle, and for a moment, Louisa stood motionless and unnoticed, framed in the now closed doorway. Slowly, eyes began to turn to her, and she appeared as another of Easton's priceless paintings, a portrait―classic, perfect woman―the dimness of the room only illuminating her beauty. One by one, conversations dropped off, and soon Easton was at her side, with Aaron close behind. Her effect on the gathering was just as she had planned, her success evident even in Aaron's eyes. The emerald collar alone captured everyone's attention with its alluring plunge into her cleavage. The men in her presence were neither immune to her―nor to the value of the jewels at her throat.
As she watched the gathering admire her, Louisa noted she would have her share of amusement this evening, suspecting her audience was already anxiously considering the skill of her dressmaker. She had never before worn the gown, though it had been made for her when she was in Paris, and she had declined for the very reasons she now wore it. Though the dress was carefully made and very secure on her body, the absence of straps to support its incredibly shallow bodice would render almost anyone to speculate on and watch for her fate through the night. The shimmering ivory satin fabric caught the essence of the now raised lamplight, and as Louisa moved for introductions into the small clusters of elegant but darkly clad men, the contrast of light and dark at once softened the décolletage, and made her even more compelling. For her audience she appeared both daring and vulnerable.
Her host was delighted with her, feeling as if she were somehow an extension of his own splendid surroundings, and thereby a credit to himself. He thoroughly enjoyed circulating among his guests to introduce her, even if his remarks did have to include the handsome husband at her side. She met senators and bankers, ranchers and businessmen, mining czars and professional men, and slowly conversations resumed, but the tone was more subdued, and the assembly proceeded to take its cue from her. Soon most of the others had arrived. A few men escorted their wives or other women, and what easily could have been another political gathering took on the aspects of a pleasant social function.
Franklin Carson made a point to spend a few moments with Louisa, candidly admiring her appearance. "At least my eyes didn't fail me on the crossing!" he sighed. "It would have been a pity to miss such a sight," he beamed at her. "My regard for Marshall's intellect increases measurably every day," he sighed with his eyes fixed on the enormous solitary emerald nestled pleasantly between her curving breasts. Louisa sipped champagne and giggled at him almost conspiratorially as he took her arm and whispered, "As Janna's father, it may seem traitorous, but from what I've seen, Marshall would have been a sap to marry her and abandon you. In fact, I can't imagine whatever possessed him to think of it." And he left her side to seek another drink, one which, even this early in the evening, he could scarcely use. Louisa suspected if he often drank so heavily, in addition to his continuing malaise from recent travels, his usefulness to the operation at hand would be severely limited.
She watched the other guests arrive, most interested in the women, finding each had an enthusiastic reception in the woman-hungry group of men. None, however, was quite as spectacular as she. The one who came the closest to her radiance, even in her own estimation, was Marguerite Augusta Hill, the wife of Colonel Philip Hill, assistant to the United States, Commandant of the Pacific, a man whose knowledge was precious to the planners, and whose honor was respected among his peers, his true nature not yet fully revealed.
Marguerite and Louisa were both undeniably beautiful women, yet a very pleasing contrast for the eye. Marguerite's skin was fairer than Louisa's, creamy white beneath a rosy glow, fragile but exuding health. Her smoky dark brown hair with short wisps of curls framing her face balanced a heavy twisted knot of luxurious hair laced with pearls and pinned at the back of her head. Thick black lashes and delicately curved brows enhanced her pale, wide aquamarine eyes, which, as Louisa noted, seemed to have a quizzical look, a look that suggested the need for a response―and the room was filled with answers to any questions she might have, Louisa smirked to herself when she paused to assess
her only real rival of the night.
Marguerite was dressed simply but effectively in a silk gown the same color as her eyes, the design without affectation, covering her promising and sensuous body without concealment of any curve. A long rope of baroque pearls did nothing to hide the deep V of the dress's neckline nor obscure her shapely full breasts, and, in its way, the design of the gown was as bold as Louisa's. Marguerite's movements were fluid and politely suggestive. She was neither plump nor slender, with a conflicting aura of maternal woman's knowledge and virginal innocence, and Louisa was certain she escaped the contemplation of few, if any, of the men in the room―including Aaron. And Marguerite was frankly curious about her only apparent competition, seeking Louisa out, her soft, husky voice requiring the listener to strain slightly to hear her words.
"We've been so anxious to meet you and your husband," she said warmly, gesturing in Aaron's direction. When Louisa's eyes followed, she saw Aaron watching the woman with a pleasant, thoughtful look on his face. He smiled broadly at the two when he found their eyes on him. Marguerite gave him a cheerful nod, then turned her attention back to Louisa. "Peter expects you to come to live in San Francisco with the rest of us."
"We've settled in San Diego, but, perhaps, not for long," Louisa replied, then glanced around the room. "I've not seen Peter for a number of years, and I'm looking forward to seeing him again. What delays him tonight―have you any idea?"
"Oh, he never arrives promptly. I don't think I've ever been to a party where he was not the last to arrive. It's very annoying if you're the hostess, but his eventual presence always seems to make up for his tardiness―at least it always has for me." And Louisa wondered if there was anything to the flicker she saw in Marguerite's eyes.
Her recollection of Peter Melville was not good. She'd seen him frequently in her father's house over the years, but she'd never had any opportunity for any real contact with the man. She really knew him by reputation only. Like his partners, he was enormously wealthy and influential. At one time he had considered high political office, soon finding his taste was more for manipulation than performance as a public figure. He preferred the rewards of power over its outward manifestations. She knew also, from Aaron's remarks, that he was dangerous, not to be taken lightly. For a moment, Louisa felt afraid, more for Aaron than for herself, because her losses to the man's authority were already more than she could comprehend.
Louisa's musings were brief, as suddenly Marguerite and Louisa's attention was distracted by the addition of music to the sounds in the room. Over the rumble of conversation and laughter came chords of music from a piano. The notes lifted Louisa's spirits from the edges of her memories, and from the tight grip of grief threatening to take her in hand. When she looked in the direction of the music, she found a screen that held a rich medieval tapestry moved aside, and behind it sat a piano whose keys were played as if the musician were merely a working part of the instrument. He played beautifully, effortlessly, and the music captured Louisa's heart. She looked to Easton as if he were a magician, her look of astonishment and appreciation gratifying him. In her excitement, Louisa moved quickly toward him in a spontaneous gesture of gratitude. "Oh, where did he come from? And why haven't you paraded him for my pleasure before this?" she demanded, teasingly but sincerely.
"I would have, if I'd been able, you can be sure. But even I cannot have everything I want," he replied pleasantly. "Yet, a little pressure applied in the right circumstances usually works. People rarely say no to Peter Melville."
"He's that influential? I am impressed."
"The pianist is not always up to performing. It seems he came out here along with the others to make his fortune in the gold fields, and along with many, found it was more work than he cared for. Can you imagine, Louisa, some assumed fortunes in gold were lying about for the taking."
"There are a lot of things I find hard to believe." Louisa smiled at him innocently, putting her arm on his, strolling with him to stand by the piano.
"Our musician now practices his art in San Francisco, often for Peter's enjoyment, and, sometimes, in lesser places of music." He made other remarks but she barely heard, being taken so suddenly and completely with the strains of melodies she had not heard for far too long. But when Easton left her side to greet latecomers, she could not disregard Aaron's hands as they came around her waist, pulling her briefly against him. Aaron was impossible to ignore for long that evening, his clothes cut perfectly for his tall magnificent body. Even in this group of carefully groomed, stylish men, he was outstanding, the rich deep black fabric of his frock coat and trousers sharply contrasting the shock of a pure white, fashionably ruffled shirt. He looked born to this style of dress. No one, save Marshall himself, could look more comfortable, Louisa mused as she gazed happily at this darkly handsome man who devoured her with undeniable hunger in his wonderful eyes. When the light was as it was this instant, the pupils of Aaron's eyes were enormous, their color more black than brown, and the intensity of his look electrified her and made her pulse seem to stop. His gaze seemed to penetrate to her very soul, to pull her away from herself and into his domain. Under his magnetic stare, she felt she would do whatever he might command. Yet she composed herself and spoke to him lightheartedly, as if he had no effect on her. "Isn't this a wonderful surprise? Can you believe you're hearing such music here in this wilderness?"
"You're the best surprise of the night!" he whispered. "What keeps you decent?"
She tossed her head back and laughed at him. "Something you and nearly everyone else in this house wants to know!" she said, sipping enthusiastically from another glass of champagne. "I'm beginning to get giddy. How long do you suppose it will be before dinner?"
Aaron frowned slightly. "We're waiting on Melville. He runs the operation, on this front at least, and he doesn't bother to wait on others. He lets everyone else wait on him. But the senators are here, so 'His Eminence' won't be long now," he said under his breath. "Tonight Easton's table will be graced with men from both sides of the aisle, but most have strong sympathies for our grand scheme. The only real exception is Ellis Crawford, and he is, first of all, a politician, and persuadable―perhaps. 'We' are treading around him carefully. He's in camp tonight for wooing. By the way, he seems to have no particular interest in women―you might like to test that rumor," Aaron grinned at her. "You know, Louisa, my love, you might have had a little mercy on me! I'm supposed to be at my best this evening, not wandering down the front of your dress."
"Why, my appearance shouldn't bother you in the least," she murmured, smiling sweetly with only a glint of wickedness in her eyes. "You already know where the path leads."
His reply was a muffled groan and a broad smile, his focus of attention at the same instant shifting reluctantly to the arrival of Peter Melville.
Chapter Forty-eight
IN appearance Peter and Arabella Melville were the cream of Southern gentility. Those standing superficially on the sidelines would admire them, wish for the same existence, and be grateful society had such models. "A fine Christian man," it was said, "an exemplary citizen," much honored and much respected. And Arabella Melville was probably all of the things her husband was not, according to Louisa's scant information: fine and honorable, but dreadfully, purposefully ignorant of her husband's real motives and inclinations. Both were of stoutest Southern conviction, but politics were not even a peripheral interest of Mrs. Melville. Her duties lay in the management of the home, in total subjugation to her husband, having relinquished her rights in deference to him. Truth became whatever "Mr. Melville" said it was, if there was even an occasion to ask. And if his interest lay in other beds, it was easier not to see, than to question his authority, or his right.
Mr. and Mrs. Melville quickly greeted most of the congregation familiarly, and hastened to become better acquainted with the young Hudson couple. Soon the guests were summoned to dinner, Peter Melville seated between Louisa and Aaron. He did not hesitate to take full advantage of his view
of her, nor, despite the distraction, did he fail to draw out Marshall Hudson on the subjects of politics and ethics, and the probable future of the world if the government in Washington should pursue the economics of federal supremacy over its sovereign states.
As expected, no detail, no expense was spared at Easton's table. William Easton outdid himself, and his hospitality was greatly appreciated. They dined in the room with mirrored walls, and it seemed to Louisa the greenhouse must have been emptied and its plants moved to the house for this occasion. The tables were set with gold service, strewn with flowers, and lit with gracefully tapered candles set in golden candelabra. The scene was resplendent, its opulence, and the luxury of the plants, magnified in effect by the shining mirrors. The meal was long, and many of the guests, though gratified by its sumptuous presentation, were more than ready to adjourn to deeper after-dinner conversations and lighter pastimes, keeping the few women present well occupied in dancing to the rare musical accompaniment.
Louisa scarcely had a moment to herself, which was also the fate of the other women. When she charmingly begged for a rest, she was not rescued by Aaron as she had hoped. She wanted to ask him about some of the men with whom she danced, or, in some instances, inquire more about the men who had stepped heavily on her feet in clumsy imitation of dancing. Through it all, though, she was dazzling, and if Aaron's acceptance was to be scored on her behavior, not a vote would have gone against him.
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