by Sandra Cox
He shrugged and bit into a sausage.
Ms Bell came back in through the kitchen door. She saw Christopher’s plate and began to smirk.
“Don’t say a word, chipmunk cheeks,” he warned.
“Why Christopher,” Tamara admonished as she sat down with a cup of hot tea and a bowl of fresh fruit, “how can you possibly say that after looking at those lovely cheekbones?”
“You’ll soon see,” he predicted, as he speared another sausage and bit it in half.
Tamara turned to her guest. “It will probably come as a shock to you, Ms. Bell, but most young ladies find my nephew quite attractive.”
Gabby shrugged her shoulders and sat down. “Money talks,” she said indifferently, folding her napkin in her lap, adding, “Please call me Gabby.” Before Tamara could respond, Gabby looked over at Christopher. “You may continue to call me Ms. Bell.”
Christopher said nothing, but his eyes narrowed. Then he grinned reluctantly. She had moxie. He’d give her that. In fact, she was like no woman he’d ever known. The women he knew fell into two categories. Spoiled rich debutantes and hard, fast women looking for a good time.
Normally, outside of bed, the opposite sex bored him.
This one didn’t. What she did was irritate him past all bearing.
Beatrice came trudging into the breakfast room, interrupting his cogitations. “Miss Davis is on the phone, Master Christopher.” She looked at him hopefully. “Shall I tell her you’re not available?”
For a moment Christopher hesitated, it was tempting. Then he shook his head, “I’ll take it in the study.” Christopher got up and excused himself.
Tamara sighed as he left the room.
Gabby gave her a questioning look. Really, it was none of her business, but a good reporter needed to be awake on all suits she reminded herself. “Is something wrong?”
“Sherry Davis is a spoiled little socialite that has every intention of becoming Mrs. Saint.”
“Is she a redhead?” Gabby heard herself ask. Geez, Gabby, she groaned internally.
“Why yes, dear, how did you know?”
“Just a guess,” Gabby said dryly then changed the subject. “Why do you call my room the daffodilly room instead of daffodil room. Is it a Southern thing?”
Tamara smiled gently.
Really, Gabby thought, even though she has my globe, she’s a likable old soul.
“I miscarried. It was a girl. I named her Daffodil and planned to call her Dilly for short.”
“I’m sorry,” Gabby said quietly, determined that for once in her life she wasn’t going to place both size nine feet in her mouth.
“Don’t be. Those days are long past. Would you like to see my globe?”
“I would like to see my globe,” Gabby responded firmly. It was quite disturbing how desperately she wanted to see it.
Tamara laughed. “Then come along, my dear.”
Chapter Eleven
Stepping into the conservatory was like stepping into a damp lush rainforest. Tropical plants abounded. Two bright colored parrots sat in a banana tree and a macaw sat on a rubber plant.
As they walked along the pathway, wide green leaves brushed them. Gabby pointed toward an exotic, spotted flower. “What is that?”
“Spider orchid,” Tamara said, grazing it with her fingertips. “Do you like it?”
“No.”
Tamara laughed, unoffended.
In the center of the conservatory was a shrine-like structure made of smooth gray stones.
Gabby’s pace quickened. She didn’t need to be told what she would find at its center. She could feel it. It drew her, like the smell of baking bread would draw a starving child.
“I’ll leave you alone,” Tamara said quietly.
It’s almost as if she understands the hold the globe has over me. Then all coherent thought fled as Gabby approached the globe, the pull growing stronger, more demanding.
Tamara turned and went back in the house.
Gabby walked as if in a trance. The globe, beginning to glow, beckoned her like a lover. She leaned toward it and reached out her hands. It was warm to the touch, comforting.
Gabby closed her eyes, her thoughts centered inward, as she immersed herself in the feel of it. She threw back her head and arched her neck as warmth crept over her like ocean waves lapping at her feet.
Time had no meaning.
In a dreamlike state, Gabby turned as hands on her arms moved her, strong, gentle hands that pressed her against a hard body, a body that molded to hers as if it were made for her. She could smell the clean scent of shampoo and freshly laundered clothes, mingled with the expensive fragrance of a man’s cologne.
“My love,” she breathed, just before cool thin lips closed over hers, causing her awareness of everything else to sift to the back of her mind like smoke. Conscious only of the mindless pleasure filling her as his mouth moved across her own.
She heard his breath catch, before he murmured, “My darling, my darling,” over and over against her lips, her closed eyelids, her arched neck.
She mewed in protest as his lips drew away, reluctantly, she’d swear it.
He shook her gently. “Gabriella, open your eyes,” her lover’s voice commanded, hoarsely. The lover she had waited for all her life. No man had ever measured up and now she knew why.
“Open your eyes,” he commanded again.
Her eyes fluttered open. A smile trembled on her lips. She blinked a few times and the hawk-like face staring into hers came sharply into focus.
Gabby stiffened. “You!” she squeaked, her voice high with disbelief.
She watched his nostrils flare and his head jerk back as if he’d been slapped before his habitual expression of ennui settled over his features.
“And who were you expecting? Prince Charming?” he drawled. “Now that we are both aware of the parties involved shall we try it again, love?” he added hatefully.
Gabby whitened. How dare he! Head in the air she brushed past him, hurrying from the conservatory. She could feel his eyes on her as she walked away and thought she heard him mutter, “Smooth, Saint, very smooth.”
Gabby raced up the long winding white and honeyed staircase, nearly knocking over Beatrice who was coming down them with her arms full of towels.
“Sorry,” Gabby choked out over the lump in her throat as she ran up the steps.
The maid’s voice floated up after her, “I sure would like to know what Master Christopher did to discomfit that long-legged Northerner.”
Racing to her room, Gabby slammed the door behind her. She glared in frustration at the closed portal. Well-oiled, it shut silently, allowing no venting of her tumultuous emotions.
Flopping on the bed, Gabby put her head in her hands and groaned. “How dare he come along pretending to be my Prince Charming?”
A long wet tongue licked her face trying to comfort her. Ned had been napping at the foot of the bed.
Gabby patted him absently.
“Would you listen to me,” she told the dog. “I’m starting to sound like a heroine in a sappy romance. Prince Charming indeed! What is wrong with me?” she whispered.
Ned whined and wagged his tail.
Gabby got up and moved around the room. It had to be the globe. She was beginning to comprehend drug and alcohol addiction. She’d always had a supercilious attitude about people stupid enough to get hooked on artificial highs. But she’d become every bit as bad with the crystal. She was obsessed with it.
The carpet nap darkened into perfect footsteps where she strode, restless, back and forth. Ned’s head tilted first one way and then the other as he followed her with his eyes his tongue hanging out as he panted.
“What is happening to me? Why did I ever let that arrogant man kiss me?” She took a deep breath. “And why did it feel so right?”
It was almost as if she were in a trance or dreaming a dream so beautiful that being brought back to reality was devastating. Christopher Saint, rich dilettante, was not her idea of
the perfect man.
And just why in Hades had he kissed her? She was hardly his preferred style. A petite redhead she was not. And whether he cared to admit it or not that kiss affected him every bit as much as it did her. His voice had been hoarse and ragged when he told her to open her eyes.
If she had any sense at all, she’d get the hell out of Dodge, with or without the globe. And with that sensible thought she pulled her suitcase out of the closet and began throwing her clothes into it.
She didn’t bother with everything, just the essentials, makeup from the bathroom, underwear and a change of clothes. She could send for the rest. She must go now before she weakened, before the globe once more wove its insidious web around her resolve.
Gabby clicked her fingers. “Come, Neddy. We’ll round up Jericho and be on our way.”
As Gabby reached the foot of the stairs, she glanced toward the open door of the sitting room. Tamara looked up from the magazine she had been idly thumbing through. Drat!
Tamara rose gracefully to her feet. Reminding Gabby once again what a fairylike creature she was.
“Where are you going, dear?”
Gabby straightened and squared her shoulders, bringing her height to nearly six feet. But Tamara didn’t seem the least intimidated. God, she felt like such an Amazon around this tiny lady.
“Back to the hotel and you can’t stop me.”
Tamara gave her an astonished look. “My dear, I wouldn’t begin to try. It’s really very sporting of you, leaving the globe with its rightful owner. I can but thank you.”
Gabby sensed a trap. And she also felt herself weakening. She still wanted the globe. Damn it.
“It’s my nephew isn’t it?” Tamara gave her a commiserating look. “We are just frail vessels where the stronger sex is concerned aren’t we? I don’t blame you. I’d run too. Christopher can be frightfully appealing when he chooses.”
“Run?” Gabby repeated in a cold voice, stiffening. “You think I’m running away from your nephew?”
Tamara tipped her head to one side, like a small bird. “It’s the only explanation. I know how badly you want that globe. Obviously, you’re more concerned about falling under my nephew’s spell.” She put her hand on Gabby’s resting on the newel post. “Truly, I understand. I’m sure under normal circumstances no one could turn you from your chosen course.”
Gabby could hear her teeth grind as she bit out the words. “I am not under your nephew’s spell.”
Tamara looked her in the eye. “Prove it.”
Gabby gave the older woman a look of intense dislike. She’d been checked and checkmated. Wordlessly, she heaved her suitcase under her arm, turned around and headed back upstairs. She could have sworn she heard Tamara’s soft laugh echoing behind her.
Once again, Gabby tried with no success to slam her door. It glided smoothly shut behind her. With a resigned sigh, she dropped her suitcase and went to the window seat in her room. She plopped down on the soft peach pillow and stared down at the courtyard.
Christopher came strolling out, his hands in his pockets. He looked around then back at the house. Gabby didn’t know what it was that caused her to pull back. She flattened herself behind the window embrasure. He stared at her room for a long moment. She could almost feel his eyes raking her. Finally, he turned and headed toward the back of the courtyard.
Gabby felt her breath quicken as a man stepped out of the shadows. Christopher put his hand on his arm and drew him behind the large sprays of jasmine that effectively hid both men from her sight. Where had the man come from? “There must be a hidden gate in the courtyard,” Gabby said aloud.
The scent of a story grew stronger. “What are you up to Christopher Saint?” Twitching with impatience, she hurried toward the door and threw it open.
Tamara went stumbling back.
Gabby reached out and caught her before she went sprawling. “Oh dear, are you all right?”
Tamara laughed, patting her silver hair back in place. “You are an impetuous young thing, aren’t you? I was coming to ask you if you’d like to attend the masked ball tonight with my nephew, myself and Miss Davis.”
Gabby’s first reaction was to refuse. Then she remembered the meeting in the courtyard. If she wanted to discover if anything fishy was going on, she would need to stick to Saint like glue. And was completely disgusted to realize just how much the idea appealed to her.
“I have nothing to wear,” she heard herself say.
“Not to worry, dear, I have just the thing,” Tamara assured her.
“I refuse to go as a gypsy.”
“With that blonde hair, I should say not.”
Gabby smiled, satisfied.
* * * * *
The two men stood motionless at the very back of the courtyard. A huge spray of jasmine blocked them from the view of anyone coming into the walled garden. Christopher spoke quietly, even though they were alone. “What did you find out?” he asked a middle-aged, wirily built man.
The man looked around almost fearfully.
“I can assure you. You are perfectly safe here.”
“Like the globe?” he sneered.
Christopher’s eyes narrowed. He said in a low, silky voice. “Did you come here just to waste my time?”
The man cringed. He had been a fool. No amount of money was worth placing himself between two such powerful adversaries. But the bottom line was that one stood in front of him and was willing to pay and pay well. The Tiger had a reputation for paying those who delivered—and those who didn’t.
The man’s glance darted from side to side, he lowered his voice.
Christopher had to bend forward to hear him. “The word on the streets is a woman wants that ball of yours, a foreign woman.”
Chapter Twelve
“You invited Ms. Bell to the masked ball tonight?” Christopher tried without noticeable success to rein in his temper. “I didn’t think you were going.”
He glanced around the study. A picture of Edward James hung over the fireplace. Another of Christopher was on the wall behind the desk. And an eight-by-ten of the three of them, the year before Edward died, sat in a silver frame on the desktop.
“Of course, I’m going, darling. And why shouldn’t I invite Ms. Bell? She’s a guest you know.”
Other than the fact this evening is going to be trying enough, no reason at all. “Trying to tweak Ms. Davis’ nose, are you?” he asked shrewdly.
“Why, Christopher,” his aunt replied placidly. “What an unkind thing to say.”
“You can drop that sweet, absentminded little old lady act with me, Auntie. I know beneath that placid expression is a razor-sharp mind plotting who knows what devilment.”
“And to think I actually encouraged you to speak your mind when you were young. I should have been pounding respect for your elders into your head, plotting devilment indeed.” Tamara sighed, shaking her head.
Christopher could feel his face relax and his eyes light as he gave Tamara a smile reserved for her and her alone. He pulled her to him and kissed the top of her head. “You’re an old fraud, my girl, but I love you dearly.”
She buried her head against his chest. Tamara said nothing for a moment, though he could sense her eyelashes fluttering rapidly against him as she choked back sentimental tears. After a moment, she stepped back and said in her usual calm voice, “I know you do, dear boy.”
He walked to the desk and picked up the picture of the three of them. They had been vacationing in San Francisco. It was a happy memory. “It’s really not necessary, you know. Sherry and I are through.”
“Then why are you taking her?” she asked, her hands folded primly together in front of her.
Christopher said dryly, “Sherry reminded me, in between the broken shards of glass raining down on my hapless head, that I had already committed to it.” He shrugged. “One evening, it’s not that big a deal.”
He could see his aunt bite back a smile at the scene he had just described. “I see. Well, a
s you said, it’s not that big a deal. Now, shall we go find our lovely young guest?” They left the room arm in arm.
The lovely young guest was at that moment looking at herself in the mirror, turning this way, then that. She had to hand it to Tamara the old girl certainly had a sense of style. A tiara gleamed atop Gabby’s hair. She sincerely hoped the glittering stones were paste but she had serious doubts that zirconium could possibly gleam with this much fire and brilliance.
She tilted her head and studied the dress. It was exquisite, made of a gossamer-like material, shot through with silver threads, done in a medieval style that fit her like it had been made for her.
She picked up her scepter, a long silver rod with a crystal ball on the end of it. Gabby wondered for the thousandth time where Tamara had ever found it.
What had Tamara called her, The Lady of the Lake and Guardian of King Arthur’s Sword? Gabby smiled. She rather liked that.
She tapped the scepter, thoughtfully, remembering the afternoon. By the time she’d reached the courtyard it was empty. But something was going on, she was sure of it. And she, Gabriella Josephine Bell, intended to find out what. She straightened her shoulders heading for the door.
Gabby walked to the head of the stairs. With a hopeful feeling, she looked down, but no Rhett Butler stood staring up at her. Oh well. She shrugged and started her descent.
Her foot on the last rung, Gabby paused as Tamara came into the hall. “Don’t you look lovely,” Tamara said admiringly.
“And might I return the compliment. You look ageless.” And it was true. Tamara was garbed as Mab, sometimes called Titania, the fairy queen. She wore a gauzy lavender gown, with delicate wings attached to her back.
“I’ll be the envy of every man there tonight, with two lovely ladies on my arms,” Christopher said with a gallant bow as he stepped out of the shadows.
Gabby jumped. The man moved like a cat. She turned slowly and looked at him, speaking of cats. She couldn’t quite hide her consternation.
Christopher laughed.
“You’re going as a thief?” she asked, raising her eyebrows. He was wearing a black turtleneck, black slacks and a pair of black canvas shoes. “Isn’t that a bit close to home?” she queried, thinking of her globe.
