Ronnie wondered as she listlessly showered if Pieter still imagined Drake would come back. She had dreamed of it at first, but as the days passed and no word was heard from him, she had to accept the truth.
Drake had gone home where life was normal, where women were in abundance, where he could forget his strange encounters and affairs on the remote, forbidding, windswept island. He hadn't even called to inquire about Pieter's health. He had entered her life with passion and a searing temper, and he was gone like a winter's thaw.
Leaving the shower, Ronnie surveyed her reflection with a grimace. She was terribly pale, and purple shadows were tinging beneath her eyes. She had to perk herself up; she would do nothing to ruin the wonderful night for Pieter.
After a careful application of makeup, she was more than satisfied. A brush of light blush had colored her cheeks; three- toned shadow and then mascara had subtly improved her eyes. A gloss of lipstick, and she could fool anyone, she promised herself.
On a whim she pulled the pins from her hair and brushed it loose. Another improvement. She could look almost young, almost gay, almost carefree. Pieter would love it.
She chose a dress of metallic blue that highlighted her eyes and complemented the waves of rich dark hair that cascaded over her shoulders. It was a daring dress for the one-time totally dignified
Mrs. von Hurst. The skirt drifted about her shapely legs like sheer mist while sporting a long slit that bared a glimpse of nyloned thigh when she walked—but again, she decided that Pieter would love it. Always the artist, his once purely aesthetic eye was now laced with warmth. He still appreciated a beautiful woman—even one he no longer called wife.
She slipped into a pair of matching heeled sandles, grabbed her evening bag and stole, and gave herself a final critical glance in the mirror.
Clothing and makeup, she thought with a sigh. They could do wonders. She looked fine, and when she smiled, she looked happy, which she was. Very happy for Pieter. He was eagerly looking forward to his new life.
She wanted him to believe she was happy, but she wondered if she ever could be again. Pieter did not hold her heart, but while he had needed her, she had cared for him and busied herself so industriously that she had managed to push her sense of loss to the back of her mind.
Tonight it was upon her full force. Drake had never really been hers, but she had been his completely. No matter how she tried to convince herself that a real love would come one day, she knew she lied. She was in love with a one-of-a-kind Black Irish devil. He would never come again.
A knock sounded at the door, and Ronnie focused her blurring eyes once more on the mirror to adjust her drooping smile. She wouldn't have Pieter see her with anything but the brightest face.
"Coming," she called cheerfully, spinning away from the full- length mirror and walking briskly to the door. She threw it open, and her heart missed a beat and seemed to stop entirely.
It was not Pieter at her door, it was Drake. She stared at him blankly for a moment, wondering desperately if she had conjured his image with sheer yearning. But she hadn't. No mere image could be as resplendent as Drake in a three piece, vested navy suit and elegant powder-blue French-cuffed shirt. Only Drake
could wear such attire with such assured, raw masculinity. He was towering, beautiful, magnificent.
"Miss Flynn." He greeted her with a grave nod. "Are you ready?"
She wanted to throw her arms around him, to ignore everything but his presence, question nothing.
She chose fury instead. "Drake O'Hara. How nice to see yon, except you're a little late, aren't you?" The weeks of loneliness, worry, and pain had driven her to the frenzy she felt now. "You've only come in time for the grand finale. Pieter has seen his doctors—the ones you arranged for—and he has. already sweated through the diagnosis. It was good, thank you. He has finished his work. I'm afraid you left Chicago merely for a dinner."
Drake was laughing, pushing his way into the room.
"Stop it!" Ronnie hissed, fruitlessly pitting herself against his chest to prevent his entry. "You could have called, you could have written—"
"Damn!" he replied with amusement, catching her wrists to fend off her feeble pummeling. "To think I ever compared you to cold marble! You're as hot as volcanic fire—not that I don't love it!"
Ronnie stopped her assault with ired awe. "How dare you walk in here joking after—after—"
"Leaving when it was the only possible thing to do?" he supplied. He briskly led her to the carved love seat that dominated the salon of her suite. "Sit down, Miss Flynn."
"I will not—"
"Yes, you will." He smiled. "We've been through this before."
Ronnie sat.
Drake pushed back his jacket to plant his hands upon his hips as he paced before her. "For your information, Miss Flynn, I have been in Maryland since the day you arrived. I have been in constant contact with Pieter."
Ronnie felt her jaw fall in a most undignified manner. He laughed and tapped it closed, then his expression sobered.
"I left when I did, Ronnie, because I knew you had to see this through with Pieter. I felt like a complete fool that day on the beach. You were right, I hadn't understood a thing. But dear God, Ronnie, I was in love with you, and I couldn't do a thing about it. How could I take you from a man like Von Hurst? I was continually frustrated, and I lashed out at you. I judged you because I couldn't bear the situation, and I had to have someone to blame. Then, when it appeared Pieter would do anything to be rid of you, you still didn't want me!"
He stopped his pacing and knelt on one knee before her, tenderly taking her hands in his. "I told you I was going to marry you, Ronnie. I meant it. I have Pieter's happy blessing, and nothing is going to stop me, not even you. I'll drug you and drag you down the aisle if I have to."
Moisture burned in Ronnie's eyes and she carried Drake's hands to her lips. "Oh, Drake! We still can't marry one another! You'll never trust me, and our lives would be a disaster."
Drake emitted an impatient oath, but Ronnie noted incredulously that it was directed at himself. "Ronnie, you have to forgive me for being an insufferable bastard. Trust you! I would trust you with my life—it's yours anyway—my heart, and my soul."
"But—"
"Ronnie," he interrupted, caressing her face with tender fingers and shaking it slightly as if he could force sense into her. "I believed at first that you and Pieter had had a very normal marriage, and that you had turned from him when he became ill—still caring, but not enough to endure a little chastity for the sake of his love and pride. I felt horrible when I entered his house and discovered I had had an affair with his wife. I admired the man, I respected him, I cared for him—and I had taken the one thing from him that a man doesn't take from another. I was furious with you, and I loathed myself, because even when I thought you were his wife, I wanted you still. I went through torture every night in that house. I wanted to run down the hall and ravish you—willing or no—in your husband's own home."
He stopped speaking abruptly and rose to sit beside her. His black eyes were on her with all the love and trust she could ever pray for. "I have to kiss you, Ronnie. I've gone crazy staying away this last month."
She did not protest as his lips touched hers with hungry reverence and his arms encircled her with firm possession. After a sweet infinity that threatened to grow dangerously passionate, he pulled away, gruffly explaining, "We are meeting Pieter for dinner."
"Oh, Drake," she choked, finally realizing the impact of what was happening through her reeling senses. "I can't believe this."
"I doubt if I'll ever stop being amazed at the sight and touch of you," Drake responded huskily. "You haven't said anything. Am I abducting you and dragging you down the aisle, or are you coming willingly?"
"Not willingly, eagerly." It was ridiculous; she wanted to run in wild circles, shouting for joy, but tears were streaking her cheeks.
Drake smoothed the dampness from her cheeks with the slightly rough touc
h of his thumbs. "What is it, Ronnie?" he demanded.
"Nothing, Drake," she assured him quickly, fingers trembling as they came to rest tentatively on the texture of his jacket. She laughed, wiping her own face with the back of her other hand. "I seem to cry so easily these days! But right now I'm happy, so happy. I never believed you wanted to spend your life with me. I thought you felt a proposal was the right thing to do—since you believed I'd be out in the cold. I wanted you to believe in me, forgive me, so badly, and I never thought it could happen."
"I was a pompous ass," Drake said baldly. "It is you who need to forgive me."
She thought of him, then, patiently waiting this month, on the sidelines all the time if needed, while she had carried out the commitment of her heart to another man. He had never left her, even when she sent him away. He had loved where she had loved, given her a depth of comprehensive understanding that went beyond all speech and explanation.
"Drake," she cried suddenly, flinging herself onto his lap, mindless of her dress and his impeccable suit, to cling to his chest and bury her face in his neck, where the heady scent of his crisp and wild after-shave assailed her senses like a potent drug and sent delicious shivers to her spine. "I love you."
"I love you, sweet marble seductress," he hoarsely returned cradling her to him and running a possessive hand down her spine. The shattering ferocity of his love took hold of him as he held her, his own now, his incredible creature of warmth, gentleness, and beauty, of quiet, stubborn pride and steadfast loyalty. His arms tightened around her. "No more tears, Ronnie. I'm going to make you happy, or die trying. We're going to do everything together, go everywhere together. We'll go anywhere you want. Rome, London, back to Paris. The honeymoon will be your choice. Where would you like to go?"
She raised eyes to him that now shimmered with crystal laughter. "Everywhere—eventually," she told him. "But for a honeymoon I want to take a cruise out of Charleston Harbor."
His own eyes twinkled and his mustache took on a lopsided twitch. "I'm crazy about cruises out of Charleston. I can guarantee you, I'm one man who will never knock southern hospitality —or charming southern belles." He planted a kiss on the tip of her nose. "Right now, we do have to get down to the lobby. Pieter is waiting."
"Drake." Ronnie paused with her fingers unnecessarily straightening his tie. "There's something else I'd like to do very much."
"And what is that?" He raised a querying brow.
"I want to go to Chicago." She raised impish eyes to his. "I want to meet your family, and all the little monster nephews and nieces. I want to meet the parents who could create such a creature as you!"
"I'm not sure how to take that, Miss Flynn," he replied with mock severity. "You have to have respect for your future husband. I will be a man who insists upon you toeing the line!"
"As long as he toes it in return!" Ronnie said demurely.
"Oh, he will," Drake said airily, lacing his fingers through the hair at her nape. "But you, young lady, you keep in mind that he—your future husband—is a temperamental Irishman, prone to irate rages and use of a horsewhip on erring wives."
"I'll bear that in mind!" Ronnie promised gravely, ruining the effect entirely by bursting into a fit of giggles. She couldn't imagine Drake, who went into self-torture for control, horsewhipping anyone—not even a horse.
"Laugh at me, woman, would you?" he challenged sternly, adding a threatening "You will get yours."
Ronnie smiled mischievously and raised a doubting brow. "I guess we had better meet Pieter." His last statement, had she retorted, could have become very leading. They could have explored the potential meanings of his words for hours.
Pieter himself was magnificent in his own way that night. Slender and gaunt, he nevertheless made a handsome picture in his brocade jacket. Pride soared in Ronnie's heart for him, and she deserted an understanding Drake to slip her arm through Pieter's and plant a loving kiss upon his cheek.
His eyes were more alive that night than she had seen them in years. He smiled at her and squeezed her arm, but directed his comment to Drake. "You see, O'Hara, I told you she wasn't entirely unreasonable."
"I'm not quite convinced of that, Von Hurst," Drake replied, the curl of his lips obliterating his attempted frown. "But she has consented to marry me."
"Who needed my consent?" Ronnie charged with an indignant sniff, her chin tilting but her eyes sparkling. "It seems I'm the only one who hasn't known what's been going on. You two have obviously been conniving. I suppose I should consider myself lucky you brought me in on everything tonight!"
Drake met Pieter's eyes over her head. "Maybe we should feed her," he said innocently. "Is she always this cranky when hungry?"
"Hmmm . . ." Pieter replied absently. "Even when she isn't hungry. But dinner might cause an improvement. Let us go. I have a taxi waiting outside."
Dinner was Pieter's choice; it was his birthday, and a very real celebration of life. He had discovered a wonderful French restaurant near D.C. that he swore was "almost tike dining on the Champs-filysees."
He was right. The meal was authentically French, from the champagne to the delicate fruit dessert. The decor was intimate and pleasant, the room dimly lit, and a strolling violinist added just the right touch as he moved unobtrusively through the trellised vines that gave the lush wicker-and-velvet room a hint of the feel of a true terrace.
Drake and Pieter did most of the talking, and as she listened Ronnie marveled that her life could have held two such wonderful men, who both loved her deeply in their own special ways. Such a short time ago she could never have imagined such a scene, her relationship with Pieter turned to a binding friendship, her love for Drake turned to a commitment that would last forever. And Pieter and Drake, her two magnificent men, fast, sure friends.
It was a fairy-tale romance. She had her prince, but there were no evil warlocks. Only a magnanimous and benign king.
"Is that all right with you, Ronnie?"
"Pardon?" she realized guiltily that her mind had drifted from the conversation.
Drake smiled tolerantly. "You accuse us of not involving you," he complained teasingly, "but when we do, you don't pay any attention! Pieter and I were discussing the wedding taking place in three days. Pieter has made all the arrangements. It will be in the little chapel down the street from the hotel."
Ronnie's eyes flitted from Drake's to Pieter's. Pieter was grinning like a very smug Dutch cat. Ronnie felt tears coming to her eyes again, tears she couldn't dare show. Impulsively she jumped to her feet, threw her arms around Pieter's neck, and kissed both his cheeks.
A crimson blush filled his cheeks and he admonished her gruffly through the grin he couldn't force to fade. "Really, Veronica, such behavior is most undignified."
"Oh, I know!" she agreed with wide eyes. "Don't you just love it?"
"Yes," he mumbled into his demitasse cup, "yes, I do."
By the time Drake walked Ronnie back to her room that night, the future she had worried about had been settled. She and Drake would spend a few days in Chicago after the wedding, then fly back to Charleston to arrange for the transport of Pieter's marble sculptures. They were not going to be sold but dispersed to various museums. Von Hurst had taken his place with the masters.
As soon as Drake made the shipping arrangements Ronnie and he would leave for their honeymoon, and Pieter would shortly leave for his new life in Paris.
A Season for Love Page 19
