by Janet Dailey
“And what am I supposed to do about tonight?” Shari challenged, because it wasn’t that humorous to her.
“I’d be very happy if you came as you are,” Whit murmured with a lazy, raking glance at her nude form only fractionally hidden from him by the towel absently clutched in her hand. “Unfortunately, it would probably raise a few eyebrows.”
A degree of inhibition returned. Shari suddenly wasn’t as comfortable as she had been with his eyes seeing so much of her. Her hand lifted the towel to the valley between her breasts to at least conceal the frontal view from him.
“You aren’t very helpful,” she replied.
His gaze flicked to the towel. “It’s a little late for that.”
“That’s your opinion.” Shari lifted a bare shoulder to indicate indifference but it was a faked gesture. She wasn’t indifferent at all.
When he gathered her into his arms, it was as if he was dealing with a reluctant child. There was amused indulgence in his look, and a patient curve to his mouth. Only his hands gave away that he knew he was holding a woman.
They roamed idly over the bareness of her lower spine and hips, their touch pleasantly rough against the silken smoothness of her skin. Shari kept the towel between them, firmly holding onto it.
“You have to leave, Whit.” If she let him continue, they’d be back on the bed. “I need to get dressed.”
“It’s a shame to hide such a beautiful body,” he murmured, running his hands over it. There was a wry slant to his mouth after he’d spoken. “But I don’t want anyone to see it except me.”
Bending his head, he rolled his mouth onto her lips, rubbing them until they softened in response. While she was still wanting more of his kiss, Whit moved away. Her gaze followed him as he walked toward the door.
The voice of pride whispered in her ear and advised against standing there and watching him leave. It was too clear an indication of what she was feeling for him. Shari turned to the wrinkled clothes on the bed, and wrapped the towel completely around her. She listened for the click of the door opening to signal his departure. When she heard Whit pause, she sent a side glance in his direction.
He was standing beside the chest of drawers. “While you’re choosing what to wear tonight, pick something that will go with this,” he ordered, and tossed the ring box across the room onto the bed in front of her.
Her backbone stiffened at his autocratic tone. She stared at the ring box, making no move to pick it up until she heard the door open and close behind Whit.
Nothing had really changed. He had kissed and caressed her—but for his pleasure. He still believed he could tell her they were getting married and she would accept it—he could toss an engagement ring on the bed and she would wear it.
Shari held the ring box in her hand, debating what to do with it. Curiosity briefly overcame her sense of independence. She couldn’t resist opening it.
Disappointment pulled down the corners of her mouth. The ring inside was ugly, a single diamond surrounded by a circlet of smaller ones. Yet it looked gaudy and cheap. Whit had picked this out for her to wear? She hadn’t realized he had such poor taste.
She snapped the box shut in a gesture of dislike and closed her fingers around it. For the time being, she set it on the nightstand next to her bed. She swore to herself that she’d never be caught dead wearing that thing.
Taking the wrinkled clothes from the bed, Shari put them back on a hanger to be pressed another time. Then she went through her closet to find something else to wear that night. It wasn’t easy when she’d already made her choice once. Nothing else seemed quite as appropriate. Finally she settled for the simplicity of a pleated white skirt and a tunic blouse in a green and gold print.
The better part of a half hour was gone before Shari was dressed and her makeup was on. She left the room to join the rest of the family downstairs. As she was walking down the steps, Whit came out of the library.
When he saw her, he came to the bottom of the staircase and waited for her. Under his steady gaze, her heart began to beat unevenly, but outwardly, Shari appeared calm.
“Very nice,” he remarked when she paused on the last step, her hand resting on the carved banister. His sweeping glance had already indicated that he was referring to the outfit she was wearing yet Shari was disturbed by the sensation that he could see through her clothes.
“It’s better than nothing, which was your suggestion,” she replied with a hint of challenge.
“A suggestion that I retracted,” Whit reminded her that he had decided to keep her nudity for his eyes alone.
He had decided, the phrase burned with the implication that she had no say in the matter. He reached out to curl the fingers of her left hand over his. His glance noticed the bareness of her ring finger and swung sharply to her face.
“You aren’t wearing the engagement ring.” The statement bordered on a challenge.
“No,” Shari admitted freely. “I told you I didn’t want it. You seem to be the one who’s engaged because I’m certainly not. Maybe you should wear it.”
He tipped his head to the side to regard her with narrowed eyes. “What was all that talk about children and grandchildren?”
“You brought the subject up,” she reminded him smoothly. “I only corrected you when you were talking about grandchildren before there were any children. Perhaps I should have added before there was any marriage.”
“You still claim that you don’t want to marry me after that little scene upstairs?” Whit murmured with dangerous softness.
“I don’t see that marriage has anything to do with what happened,” Shari reasoned with wide, mocking eyes. “If you recall, I admitted that you would be an ideal lover. I didn’t say anything about a husband.” His features hardened at her barely veiled taunt. She smiled with more mockery. “Why do you look so grim? Did I say something wrong?”
“I will be the only lover that you’ll ever know. And I’ll be your husband as well,” he stated tersely.
“I did say the wrong thing, didn’t I?” She released a low, throaty laugh. “I forgot you Lancasters always want sole ownership. You don’t believe in sharing.”
“Neither do you,” Whit countered with a flint-hard smile.
Shari changed the subject rather than argue that point, because she had already experienced jealousy where he was concerned. But she didn’t want him to know that.
“I suppose you conveniently avoided talking to my mother about this myth you are trying to perpetuate,” she charged.
“It isn’t a myth, Shari,” he corrected blandly. “You are going to marry me whether or not you choose to wear an engagement ring at this particular point. So Elizabeth isn’t under the wrong impression when she believes that. You might as well accept it.”
“Nobody decides anything for me,” she stated. “You may think you do, but I assure you that you don’t. I do what I want—not what you or Granddad or Mother think I should. You might as well accept that.”
“I do accept it.” There was a smile in his eyes. “Because I know what you want. It happens to be the same thing I want.”
“I wouldn’t be too sure about that,” Shari retorted, and didn’t want to continue the conversation. “I believe the others are in the dining room already. Don’t you think it’s time we joined them?”
Keeping a hold of her hand, Whit moved to one side so she could descend the last step. His firm grip was a show of possession, a silent declaration that her place was by his side.
Together they entered the dining room, causing all heads to turn their way. The pleased looks on their faces told Shari what they were thinking. It probably appeared very romantic for the, supposedly, engaged couple to walk in hand in hand. She had denied the engagement to everyone there so she didn’t waste her breath doing it again.
With a little tug, she was able to pull her hand free from Whit’s grasp and walk to the chair where her mother was seated. “It’s wonderful to see you sitting at the table with the res
t of us again,” Shari declared and bent to kiss the rouged cheek.
“All of us here echo that,” Frederick Lancaster inserted, inclining his iron-gray head to the woman seated at the opposite end of the table from him.
“It means very much to me to be here,” Elizabeth spoke with stiff care and covered Shari’s hand resting on the chair’s arm. “Especially tonight. I would have hated to miss my daughter’s engagement dinner.”
“It is hardly that, Mother,” Shari replied.
“Perhaps not officially an engagement dinner,” her mother conceded. “But it is a family occasion.”
“Having you with us makes it a special occasion,” Shari insisted, in her own way trying to keep the emphasis off the fictional engagement.
But her mother was too much of a romantic to permit that. “I’ve been wanting to see your ring. Will you show it to us?” Then she noticed Shari’s ring finger was bare. “Didn’t Whit give it to you? I thought that was why you were so late in joining us.”
“He gave it to me.” Shari could say that in all honesty, since he had refused to take it back.
“Why aren’t you wearing it?” her mother frowned.
Shari moved away from the chair to her own, tossing a glance at Whit to let him field that question.
“There were some difficulties getting it on her finger,” he replied with a half-truth and pulled out a chair for Shari to sit on.
“That’s one way of putting it,” she murmured for his ears alone.
“Was it too small?” her mother guessed and cast a sympathetic glance at Shari. “You should have given Whit your ring size.”
“He didn’t ask,” Shari said, fully away there were many things he hadn’t asked her.
“Now you’ll have to take it back to the jeweler and have it made larger. That’s a shame,” Elizabeth sighed with regret. “Do you have it with you?” she asked Whit. “I’d like to see it anyway.”
“No, I don’t.” The answer was accompanied by a slight shake of his head.
Shari saw a ready-made opportunity to trap him into accepting the return of the ring. She wasn’t going to let that slip away from her.
“I have it in my room,” she declared and pushed her chair back from the table. “I’d better give it back to you so you can have it fixed.” She rose quickly. “Excuse me. It will only take a minute to fetch it.”
“It can wait until later,” Whit insisted, half-rising out of his chair to stop her.
“I might forget.” Her smile was mockingly sweet. “And we can’t have that. Once I return it to you, it’s out of my hands.”
With a faint nod of his dark head, Whit acknowledged the superiority of her tactics. The faint glint in his eye seemed to warn her to enjoy her small victory because there would be other battles.
“Don’t be too long!” Rory called after her as she walked quickly to the door. “Mrs. Youngblood is going to start serving dinner.”
As usual, Rory was concerned about satisfying his never-ending appetite. Shari wasn’t interested in taking her time. She rushed up the stairs and down the hallway to her room. The ring box was where she had left it—on the nightstand by her bed. Shari picked it up and hurried out of the room to retrace her steps.
When she entered the dining room, Whit courteously stood up. She was slightly out of breath from her race up and down the stairs but her green eyes were sparkling. She presented him with the ring box before smoothing the back of her skirt to sit in the chair next to his. A green salad had already been dished for her.
“May I see the ring?” her mother requested as Whit started to sit back down.
He hesitated briefly, and Shari wondered if he was aware of the ring’s poor quality. It seemed unlikely since he had expected her to wear it. On the other hand, the ring could have excellent gemstones in it. Shari didn’t claim to have an eye for such things. The ring just didn’t appeal to her.
Without trying to appear too interested in her mother’s reaction, Shari covertly watched Whit walk to the end of the table to her mother’s chair and show her the ring. Her mother stared at it for a blank instant, then quickly tried to force a polite expression on her face. Her mother had never been very good at hiding her feelings and Shari could tell she didn’t think it was attractive at all.
“It’s … very nice.” She looked up at Whit and tried to smile.
“I thought it suited Shari,” he said and closed the ring box to slip it back in his pocket.
“Yes … well, I’m sure she liked it,” her mother responded carefully.
“I was very impressed,” Shari said without telling whether the impression had been good or bad.
The look Whit slid to her seemed to contain some secret light that she couldn’t fathom. She didn’t like the sensation that he knew something she didn’t. It put them on uneven footing. Her sense of triumph was shaken by this new uneasiness and she wasn’t able to enjoy the special meal the housekeeper had prepared.
As usually happened at the dinner table, the conversation became centered on business which excluded Shari and her mother and for the most part, Rory, too. The discussion continued through the coffee following dessert. Mrs. Youngblood went ahead and cleared the table of all but the cups, aware that Frederick Lancaster could sit at the table for hours.
Shari seemed to be the only one who noticed her mother was getting tired. She leaned toward her. “I think it’s time you were getting some rest. I’ll help you to your room,” she volunteered and straightened from her chair before her mother could protest. “Would you excuse us, Granddad?” She politely asked his permission to leave the table.
“Of course.” He gave it immediately. “Forgive me, Elizabeth, I didn’t consider how tiring this was for you.”
“I am a little tired,” her mother admitted reluctantly and glanced up at Shari when she came to her chair. “You needn’t come upstairs with me. Nurse Jeffers can help me.”
“But I’m already here,” Shari reasoned. “Besides, I can read you another chapter of the Christie novel.”
“It isn’t necessary,” her mother declared. “You should be spending the evening with Whit.”
“I’m sure Whit understands that, under the circumstances, I’d rather spend the time with you,” she countered, and sent Whit a challenging look that dared him to refute her claim, or question her reasons.
“Yes, I quite understand.” Dryness rustled through his voice.
Chapter Nine
During the next three days, no mention was made of the ring, although there were several references to the supposed engagement by various members of the family. Shari reacted to none of them while she managed to tactfully avoid being alone with Whit, using one pretext or another.
She did it partly out of self-defense, cognizant of how vulnerable she was to his male persuasions but her main thought was to take a stand and not weaken it by protesting too much. Again, Shari used her mother as a shield.
A light knock at the door of her mother’s room lifted Shari’s gaze from the envelopes she was addressing; responses to the many “get well” wishes her mother had received. She glanced at her mother, sitting in one of the armchairs.
“Yes, come in.” Elizabeth granted the caller permission to enter, and quickly removed her reading glasses, too vain to be seen wearing them.
Mrs. Youngblood walked in, balancing a tray in her hands. “I thought you might enjoy some freshly baked pecan rolls with your coffee this morning.”
“I think you’re trying to fatten us up,” Shari accused with a laugh and appreciatively sniffed the yeasty aroma of warm rolls. “They smell delicious.”
“I have some mail for you, too, Mrs. Lancaster,” the housekeeper said as she set the tray on the round table next to Elizabeth’s chair. “It’s beside the cups.”
Laying down her pen, Shari left the antique escritoire and walked over to pour the coffee for the two of them while her mother went through the small stack of envelopes. She added a lump of sugar to her mother’s c
up.
“More letters to answer?” Shari asked and ruefully shook her head. “At this rate, Mother, you’re going to need to hire a social secretary to keep up with all your correspondence.”
“Everyone has been so thoughtful,” was the absent reply as Elizabeth cast a frowning glance at the housekeeper. “There wasn’t anything else in the mail for me?”
“No, ma’m.” Mrs. Youngblood paused before leaving the room. “Is there anything else you need?”
“No, this is perfect,” Elizabeth assured her but Shari caught the faint sigh, nearly lost under the sound of the closing door.
“Is something wrong?” she asked.
“I ordered a bridal book and catalog over the telephone and asked them to rush it here,” her mother explained. “They thought I should receive it in a week or less. I was hoping it would be in today’s mail.”
“I see,” Shari murmured and concentrated on stirring the coffee.
“Have you given any thought to the style of wedding gown you’d like?” Elizabeth tipped her head to one side with curious interest.
“No.” Simple, straightforward answers had proved to be best.
“So much of the choice depends on the time of year when the wedding takes place,” her mother admitted. “Have you and Whit discussed a date at all? This autumn? Or were you considering a winter wedding?”
“Nothing definite has been decided,” Shari replied. As far as she was concerned, not even the engagement was definite.
“There is a great deal that has to be done beforehand. It can’t be left to the last minute. You and Whit need to sit down and make some plans.”
“Yes, Mother.” Which really meant nothing.
“Frederick can give you away,” Elizabeth began the planning for her. “I imagine you’ll want your two friends from college in your bridal party.”
“Perhaps.” Shari took a bite of the warm pecan roll, its sweet, caramel topping coating her lips. She licked it away and began chewing. “Mmm, Mom, you really have to eat one of these.” It was difficult to talk and chew at the same time but she managed it, because she wanted to change the subject. “They are so good.”
