by Jenny Lykins
“Stop that.” Molly moved Shae’s hands away and readjusted her neckline. “You’re going to make your skin all red. One would think you’d never shown your cleavage. And why do you not know these dances?”
Shaelyn gave one final, futile yank to her bodice, then eyed Molly’s comfortable gypsy costume with envy.
“Where I come from, the dances are...quite a bit different.”
“The dances are that much different in Louisiana?”
Before Shae could come up with a suitable half-truth, masculine voices broke into her thoughts.
William Hawthorne, dressed ironically as Henry VIII, rounded the corner of the room, deep in conversation with a rather tall leprechaun with limp blond hair combed in thin yellow stands across his balding head.
“She’s nearly eighteen. Past time to be wed. If we can come to an agreement - ”
He glanced up and stopped dead in his tracks. He nailed Shaelyn with a glare, then raked, his angry gaze to his daughter. Molly’s eyes grew innocently round above the scarves. Even in the dim light in the corner, Shaelyn could see his face darken in anger and the veins pulse at his temples.
“Hello, Father, Mr. Crimmer.” Molly acknowledged the second man with a slight shudder. “I just came to fetch Shaelyn to…” she searched the ballroom and adjoining dining room, “…oh, there he is! Come along, Shaelyn. He wants to dance with you.”
The girl grabbed Shaelyn’s hand and pulled her toward the vacant dining room and out of sight before William could do more than sputter. Both girls staggered, giggling and out of breath, into the shadows of a deserted alcove.
“He’s going to kill you, you know,” Shaelyn laughed, gasping for air.
“He shall have to find me first.” Molly shrugged with unconcern and flicked at her scarves. Her eyes danced with humor.
The sound of someone approaching caught their attention and they sank even deeper into the shadows.
“Ah. Two fair damsels, hopefully in distress.” The voice belonged to a knight in chain mail with a helmet for a mask. “Are either of you in need of rescuing?”
Though he spoke to them both, his eyes never left Molly’s. And Molly’s never left his. It didn’t take a genius to figure out that he had come in search of his gypsy, and he’d zeroed in on her even when they’d been hiding.
Molly’s gaze flickered to Shaelyn with a hint of apology before turning back to her fairytale hero.
“Oh, yes, kind sir. Even now, the evil dragon stalks me.” She glanced toward the ballroom. “Pray, save me from the clutches of such a monster!”
The knight presented his arm to Molly as he bowed to Shaelyn. “With your permission...your highness?”
Shaelyn snapped open her fan and waved them away. “Be gone, peasant.”
When the two melted into the throng of dancers, Shaelyn left her hiding place and wandered onto the brick terrace of Alec’s parents’ huge home. Perhaps she would find a dark corner and remove the emerald and black feather domino that covered the top half of her face.
The cool night air caressed her skin like a lover’s kiss when she stepped through the diamond-paned doors and into the star-sprinkled night. The thumbnail moon lent just enough light to glitter off the inky waters below. Forgetting her plan to remove the domino, she leaned against the stone balustrade and drank in the beauty of the night; the scents of sea and subtle perfumes and fragrant summer flowers. How nice it would be to have someone to share it with.
“Would my lady care to dance?”
“Alec!” She spun around to face a towering pirate who might have just stepped off his ship. He was dressed all in black. Black boots. Black trousers. Black silk shirt stretched across a broad chest. Even the mask that framed his familiar brown eyes blended with the night. A small golden hoop dangled from his left ear. Without thinking, she reached up and touched the tip of his earlobe.
“It’s really pierced,” she said, almost to herself.
He inclined his head. “A ring for every shipwreck survived, my lady. And now I would have this dance.”
Without waiting for her consent, he pulled her into his arms and spun her into a waltz, right there on the terrace of his parents’ home.
She stared up into his eyes; eyes so intense they melted her bones. While she matched his steps, a flock of tiny birds took flight in her chest.
“Forgive me for deceiving you into marrying me,” he whispered.
She swallowed hard against the fist that now gripped her heart. At that moment she would have forgiven him anything, had there been anything to forgive.
“I’d not have a friend think ill of me,” he teased.
She swallowed again and willed her knees not to buckle, mirroring his steps as they swept around the terrace.
“There’s nothing to forgive.”
A smile curved the lips she’d been dreaming of earlier. Lips that any woman in her right mind would want pressed to her own.
“Would my lady care to give a token, to show that there is truly no ill will?”
A token? Translated as a kiss. Shaelyn looked away, forcing her racing heart to slow, fighting the laser heat that shot through her being. It would be a stupid, stupid thing to do, to kiss this man and complicate her life.
She looked back up at him, lost herself in the golden magic of his eyes. Her gaze dropped to lips that moved closer, and closer still. The sweet warmth of his breath fanned across her face, and then her body nearly convulsed when his mouth settled on hers.
“Shaelyn? Are you out here?”
The two jumped apart at the sound of Molly’s whispered call. Alec with an oath. Shaelyn stifling one.
“Oh, there you are... Alec? Is that you?” His sister tiptoed up to the couple. “What in the world are you wearing? That is not the costume - ”
“What do you want, brat?” Alec demanded, with all the frustration in his voice that Shaelyn felt. Molly’s eyes widened, then a smile teased her lips.
“Only to tell you that Father is on his way out for a breath of air. You see, he doesn’t know Shaelyn - ”
“Yes, yes. Thank you, pest.” He brushed a distracted kiss atop Molly’s forehead, then took Shaelyn’s arm and guided her to the granite steps that led to the gardens below. She managed to take three running steps before tripping over the hem of her skirts. Alec took no time to steady her. He simply scooped her into his arms in a flurry of lace and petticoats, and they disappeared into the shadows of the garden.
“Why, Alec,” she teased as the night engulfed them, as her heart rose in her chest, “if I were a bystander, I’d swear you were running from your father.”
“Merely removing myself from a nasty situation, my dear. I’ve no desire to be present when my brother announces that he and Mary Templeton have been wed these past several days.”
Just the thought of Der Fuehrer’s reaction would have put wings on Shaelyn’s feet.
“You can put me down now,” she reminded Alec, who had carried her through the gardens and down toward the beach.
His steps slowed, and finally, almost reluctantly, he lowered her to the ground.
She stood there for a moment, looking up at him, toying with the idea of resuming the kiss, fighting down the butterflies that swarmed beneath her ribs.
He toyed with the same idea. She could tell by the way his head slowly tilted; the way he stared at her mouth.
The earlier brief, interrupted brush of his lips had nearly devastated her. She didn’t need to know what the full force of his kisses would do. She knew enough to realize that she could get addicted to them with not much more than a taste.
“How did you know it was me?” She broke the spell deliberately, reluctantly, and turned to stroll along the edge of the water. “I mean, I have on this mask,” she pulled off the feathered domino, “and my back was to you. I wasn’t even supposed to be - ”
“Your scent.”
Those two little words stopped her in her tracks. Stopped her breath. Turned her blood to warm, thick honey. S
he turned back to him with a teasing grin.
“But I’m not wearing perfume.”
“I know.”
Every nerve ending on every square inch of her body came alive with a fiery surge at his simple, honest statement. He wasn’t playing fair. How could she remain immune to such words, uttered with such intoxicating sensuality? And was he playing? Or was he simply being complimentary? A friend trying to right a wrong he’d committed?
He answered her unspoken question when his silhouette blocked the thin silver line of the moon and slowly moved ever closer to her upturned face.
“Hawthorne?”
Another curse burst from his lips, and this time Shaelyn donated a hundred charitable dollars under her breath as well. Would she ever get to taste his kiss again?
“Griffin,” Alec ground through clenched teeth as he yanked off his mask, “if you plan to make a comment about a Puckering Puf - ”
“Florence has lost the baby, Alec. I leave for Baton Rouge with the tide.”
Shaelyn gasped, both to hear about a miscarriage, and to learn that Alec’s friend had connections so near her home.
Alec strode to the dark shadow that was Griffin Elliott. A shadow dressed in very similar attire to Alec’s.
“Grif, I am truly sorry. Is Florence well? Other than the disappointment?”
The night hid Griffin’s face, but nothing could mask the grief in his voice.
“The message said she is well. But I fear what this might do to her spirit. We have lost so many babies.”
So Florence was his wife. And the baby would have been his child. Shaelyn had not even imagined this laid-back flirt to be a married man, let alone a father-to-be. But, when she thought of what little she’d known of him, he had always been a perfect gentleman, if a tad confident of his charm. Now she saw the act for what it was.
By the time she managed to form words of condolence, Alec had murmured something to his friend and Griffin had disappeared into the night.
Shae shook her head, at a loss when Alec turned back to her.
“I...I didn’t even know he was married,” she said. She’d never been good at finding comforting words.
Alec took her arm and led her back along the beach. All of the mystery and romance from that sliver of moon had fled with Griffin’s announcement.
“He has been married for several years now. Another case of joining fortunes and businesses through family. But he’s fond enough of Florence, and she is everything sweet and kind. A beautiful woman, both inside and out.” They walked on in silence for a moment, her slippers and his boots crunching companionably against small shells and rocks. “Beautiful and boring,” he muttered under his breath. Then he raised his head. “And now she has lost a sixth babe, and a child is all she has yearned for from the moment of their marriage.”
She could well imagine the emotions tearing at poor Florence. All her life, Shae had heard how her own mother, Louisa, had suffered each month when she realized she wasn’t pregnant. How she’d grown more desperate with each passing year, until Jack Sumner had feared for his wife’s sanity. And then there had been the years of waiting to adopt. Even after Shaelyn had become their child, they had agonized over whether or not the birth parents would show up and snatch her from their arms. But whoever had left her in that busy airport terminal had never come looking to reclaim her.
She shook off those musings. They only made her worry about what her poor parents might be going through now. Just the thought of them tore at her.
“I’d assumed Griffin was from Maine,” she ventured, changing the subject. “But after hearing him tonight, I guess he does have a Southern accent.”
“As do you,” Alec countered, but he didn’t wait for her to comment. “His home is in Baton Rouge. He has been helping me with...some business dealings.”
“But he hasn’t been staying at Windward Cottage. Does he have a summer home here?”
“He stays in the guest house. Sometimes his visits are quite lengthy, and he prefers the solitude Harbor Mist affords him.”
“Oh.” Shaelyn hadn’t even known there was a guest cottage.
She wondered if Florence ever got lonely during those lengthy visits. What would it be like to be trapped in a marriage of convenience? Did they feel trapped, or were they happy?
“And what part of the South are you from?” Alec’s voice sounded almost hesitant, pulling her thoughts back to his question. Truthfully, she’d been a little surprised that he hadn’t grilled her for answers long before now. He most certainly wasn’t the timid type. But there was no getting around giving at least some answers now.
“Why, suh! What makes you think Ah’m not a Nawthener, bawn and bred?”
He threw back his head and laughed at the sky. The sound did funny little things to Shaelyn’s insides; made her ache to touch him.
“If you are a Northerner, madam, then I am a Chinaman.” He reached up and dragged a blowing tendril of hair away from her cheek. “And I know nothing of China, save that some of my ships sail there.”
His touch sent a delicious ripple through her blood, and she shivered as it left a trail of heat in its wake.
“Are you chilled?” He reached for lapels of his non-existent jacket, then sighed. “The night has grown cool. We must get you back to the ball before you catch a chill.” He slipped his arm around her shoulders, which nearly caused another shiver, then guided her back toward the golden rectangles of light pouring from the windows of the house.
The warmth of his body, the feel of his arm around her, the scent that belonged to him alone, all swirled in her senses. All felt so right. She fought the feeling. Moments like these would come back to haunt her when she was back in her own time.
They climbed the steps together from the beach to the garden. Music still drifted on the wind, and several costumed guests strolled the torch-lit paths that wound through the summer foliage. He stopped her just beyond a pool of light, took the feather domino from her hand, then slid it back into place on her face. With a teasing flourish he tied his own mask back on, then took her hand and kissed the back of it.
“Many thanks to my lady for the waltz, interrupted though it was. Could this poor, undeserving peasant persuade yet another dance from madame?”
“Alec?” a husky, decidedly male voice called from the lighted path beyond.
Alec’s head dropped to his chest, then he raised his face to the heavens and muttered, “I beg You, find someone else with whom to amuse Yourself.” He took Shaelyn’s arm and guided her into the light. “What is it, Charles? If Father has not killed you, I very well might.”
*******
After Alec had seen Shaelyn home - never having gotten a second dance - he rode to the docks to see Griffin off. On his way, he allowed Irish, his gelding, to pick his own pace while Alec lost himself in thought.
Not until after he’d left her did he realize Shaelyn never gave him an answer about where she came from. His conversation with Griffin before their trip to Maryland had made him realize how lax he’d been in researching who she was or why she was in Maine. It was as if she held him in some sort of spell. Just this evening proved that. While he’d toyed with kissing her - tried his best to, as a matter of fact - his mind had shoved thoughts of Faith to its darkest recesses. Faith, the woman he’d first loved; the woman he could now marry with no tantrums from his father.
He shuddered at the very thought. After Charles’ ill-timed arrival in the garden, he and Alec had sought out their father in the library to break the news of Charles and Mary’s marriage before making the announcement at midnight. Alec had truly feared William might burst something in his brain. Veins had popped out at his temples and forehead, his face and neck had flared to an alarming red and bulged out over the starched white of his collar. The effort of holding in his roars of rage had left him sputtering incoherently.
Charles, surprisingly, had stood up to his father and insisted that even had he not wed Mary, he would not have bowed to William
’s choice of another wife for him. Their mother had made little noises of alarm, then fluttered around William in a vain attempt to calm him. She might have been a gnat, buzzing around his head, for all the calming she did. In fact, her efforts, coupled with Charles’ stand, had turned their father’s face from alarming red to explosive burgundy.
Not until he had ordered them all from the room, then smashed everything breakable, did William Hawthorne even begin to calm himself. Jane had hovered beyond the doors, wringing her hands and giving prayerful thanks that the ballroom was so far removed from the library. When the massive grandfather clock in the foyer had chimed twelve o’clock, William had somehow collected himself enough to suffer through the festive, happy toasts, giving every impression that the whole idea had been his. Even when Charles mentioned their plans for an extended wedding trip to the continent, their father’s color barely heightened at all as he’d clenched his teeth.
Sounds and smells from the docks pulled Alec’s thoughts back to the present. The Rising Star bobbed in her moorings while the crew swarmed like insects over her, preparing to set sail. The mere smell of fish, wet hemp, tar and wood, set his stomach to churning, and the sight of the gently swaying ship sent bile climbing in his throat like mercury in a thermometer. He swallowed hard and cursed himself for his weakness.
Griffin stood at the rail, smoking a cheroot and blowing out the gray plume with studied contemplation. He was still dressed - as was Alec - in the black garb they wore when on a “trip.” Alec had barely made it back to Cape Helm in time for the ball, and rather than take time to fetch his costume and explain his tardiness, he’d simply cut holes in a a black silk cravat and went dressed in his “uniform.” Only Molly, his bright, incorrigible, infuriating baby sister had seemed to notice that he was not in the costume he’d ordered.
